My desk is covered with printouts about reusing cooking oil, turning old cooking oil into biodiesel, maltrodextrin, MSG, and a recipe for making homemade Funyuns. What began as a challenge by my daughter to make a healthier version, has blossomed into a two-part cooking series with her sixth grade class. The crazy part here is that none of us have even tasted a Funyun. It began as a discussion in class, while reading the ingredients on the package from another student. Isabella chimed in, and said “I bet my mom can make them healthier”. I love her confidence in me, but food can be a tricky issue with families. Not everyone has the same litmus test for what they should, and shouldn’t be eating. Continue reading »
The kids are snuggled in their beds, fast asleep. Much as I should be in bed, too, I’m wide-eyed after a cat nap. It’s become part of Virginia’s bedtime routine. After we read books, I usually curl up with her, to help her fall into a peaceful slumber. This wasn’t always our pattern; certainly not when Michael was alive. Then again, I was always firm about bedtime, knowing that a cuddle on the couch was my reward after a long day. The daytime was all about the girls. Nighttime was a standing date with my guy to catch up on our day, relax, and enjoy curling up in the corner of our L-shaped sofa together.
Write. Delete. Repeat.
This has been my habit as I stare blankly into the screen this morning. It’s not so much that I’m at a loss for words. In fact, the words are scattered in my mind, a mental game of 52 pick up in progress. Still, my lack of clarity to how I’m feeling lately shouldn’t get in the way of sharing these cookies with you. They’re inspired by a recipe for chocolate chip cookies from a bakery in Paris called Laura Todd. It took a little detective work to figure out if levure sans phosphate was baking powder or baking soda, so thanks to Mardi for helping me out with that one.
We had our first big snowfall in the country this weekend. Well, not in the country, as in the United States of America. I mean the country, as in the area where our house is upstate. I figure you all probably knew what I was talking about, but the writer in me felt compelled to make it very clear. I have readers around the globe (it boggles my mind, really), and I didn’t want anyone to confuse my country with the country.
See how easy it is to get caught up on the little details? Something as simple as me coming here to share an easy recipe for a quick last-minute homemade gift has me pondering the clarity of my own words. Perhaps the simple things are the tasks that truly push us to look closer at the finer details of life. I’ve been contemplating this a lot lately. Continue reading »
“The whole truth is that you can love your life, and still yearn for what is missing.”
This quote is from an article Katie Devine wrote recently about being 35 and single. What struck me about her piece was the honesty in her words, something we are often too afraid to be with ourselves. I didn’t expect to walk away from it feeling validated. Our lives are on different paths, but the truth she shared summed up so much of what I’ve been feeling lately.
I am incredibly thankful for my health (let’s hope I didn’t just jinx it!). My daughters, though they drive me crazy often, and I will never love being a single parent, are two gifts I feel so thankful to have in my life. I’m in love again, and loved again, by a person who understands me almost better than I do myself. Continue reading »
Day two of the Homemade with Love photo shoot is where Penny De Los Santos captured the cover shoot for the book. We tried it with a few different tops and various baked goods. This wasn’t the final of either, but everyone had a good laugh when Penny attached those clamps to my shirt—one of my friends cleverly refers to them as my suspenders.
Looking back on this photo, almost a month after the shoot, I realized I have a twinkle in my eye. The photo shoot was emotional, but to see that genuine smile on my face warmed my heart. It reminds me that somewhere inside is the old me, and she comes out, ever so slowly as each day passes.
You can get “extra helpings” from day two of the photo shoot over at my Flickr page.
It used to be I woke up and knew what kind of day I was going to have, or at least what mindset I would approach it with. Most days it was with a sunnier side of life outlook. On the days I stirred feeling a restlessness in my core, I'd do my best to break out of it.
Nowadays, unpredictability seems to be the name of the game. I feel lost, like I'm in need of an anchor, something to ground me and assure me that everything will be okay. I know this is only a phase, but the anxiety on my part stems from the wonder of how long this phase will last. The feelings of sadness and insecurity also come barreling out of nowhere. One minute I'm fine, fondling Valentino dresses at Loehmann's—I didn't buy any, the next I'm a teary mess talking to the salesman at West Elm. It just seems to be par for the course these days.
I needed something to center me, keep me focused and remind me that I can do this, even during the seconds and minutes when I don't want to. See, everyone seems to think my girls are enough to keep moving forward. I love them, gosh knows I really do. Isabella and Virginia, if you girls read this post one day when you grow up, you should know that next to your daddy, the two of you are my beacons. I am very aware, though, that you both need to be free to grow up one day and live your own lives. You do not need to be tethered to a mom who is utterly dependent on you for her own happiness. I've always been keenly aware of this, long before your papa died.
I took this picture a few months back when Mikey, the girls and I were at Socrates Sculpture Park in Queens. The park is filled with art installations, and this saying was scrawled on one that reminded of the top of a lighthouse. Something about those four words jumped out at me, beckoning me to take a picture. Almost as if I would need this reminder down the road.
I’ve been thinking it would be therapeutic to write a book about what not to say to a grieving widow. While it’s true most of it is well-intentioned, some of it leaves me flat out bewildered. I especially get a kick out of the ones that say God has a plan. Um, more like a twisted sense of humor is how I’d see it if I considered myself a religious person.
Really, I’d love to know your plan for me God.
I pride myself in making killer pancakes. The secret is butter. Really, it’s a no brainer, but often times people seek to make a healthy version and wonder why they can’t recreate that crisp ridge around the outer edge.
It’s butter people, so don’t be afraid of it. I melt a couple of tablespoons for the batter, then add a generous pat to the pan for each batch of pancakes. It’s important to grease the pan again for each new batch, or you can kiss that crackly, crunchy pancake rim goodbye.