Pesto

A couple of neighbors invited me to join them in making pesto from lakeside basil growing a few doors down from our house.  I gladly agreed, and was soon pulling leaves from stems and toasting pine nuts in a skillet at my namesake’s house (the other Beth on our road).

I returned home with aromatic green stuff begging for some sort of culinary adventure. So I thawed frozen (wild caught) cod steaks and topped them with the fresh pesto, then added sliced super-ripe roma tomatoes (purchased from a roadside stand), crumbled goat feta, and pine nuts. I drizzled everything with olive oil and placed the pan in a hot oven (450 degrees) until the fish flaked and the nuts began to gently brown.

Black and wild rice (cooked together and seasoned with garlic and thyme), and roasted baby peppers/ mushrooms/ Bermuda onions/kale…and a glass of very nice, no-sulfite-added cabernet sauvignon…were perfect companions.   

Mmmmmmmmmmm.  I could easily become a pesto-holic.

The Next Wave: Happy Day

For the last couple of years our local 7-year-old granddaughter has visited periodically to enjoy a special one-on-one time she calls “Fancy Day.” At last it is time for her little sister, age 5, to enjoy the same privilege! 

This excited newbie requested a sleepover for her kick-off, and waited eagerly for her appointed day to arrive: "Happy Day!"

Although spending the night was her focus, we kept busy on either side of sleeping. During daylight hours she hunted for pretty or unusual rocks in the shallows, jumped off the pier countless times, fished with Grampa, and enthusiastically completed various craft projects with me.

Here are some documentary pictures of the first “Happy Day.”

English Words

I fell in love with the written word as a child, and have grown to depend on language as a form of glue that 1.) helps me make sense of things, and 2.) holds me together.

However, I also continue to learn how limiting English can be compared to other languages.  For example, I’ve discovered Greek, the original language of the New Testament, may use two or three words to define various nuances of a word we translate into English singularly as only one word. This can have profound implications when reading an English Bible.

Take our word, “power,” for example.  Greek recognizes “dynamis” as potential power, like a stick of dynamite, and “energia” as the actual explosion.  Two very different realities! And yet in English we translate them both simply as “power.”

Or consider our word “healing.”  The Greek recognizes three words: “iaomaiis,” as when Jesus heals a physical body part; “therapeuw,” as when an entire body is healed; and “swdzo,” which refers to spiritual healing in a salvational context.  Misinterpretations can and do result when we stick with our one word, “healing!”

I bring this up not to degrade the English language (which I love, remember?), but to point out the value of researching ancient languages.  I am not a scholar, and yet I value authors who help me understand linguistic dynamics that are otherwise sadly ignored.

Thanksgiving Dinner in August

It’s been a cool, windy day, a forerunner of approaching autumn.  In the morning I watched white foam rebound against the seawall, and goldenrod stream away from the lake like a horse’s tail at full gallop. It was downright cold.

In the afternoon I finally gave in to the chill and changed into a long-sleeved shirt, and an idea came to me.  I’d prepare a mini-Thanksgiving dinner!  Everyone has heard of Christmas in July, right, so why not Thanksgiving in August? What better time to be grateful for abundant blessings, and celebrate with a feast? Of course the meal would need to comply with our anti-inflammatory goals (gluten, sugar, and dairy-free).  Why not give it a go? 

I had appropriate ingredients on hand and got right to work.  The menu ended up being interesting and tasty: fresh baby kale salad with dry-roasted sunflower and pumpkin seeds, chicken stuffed with lemon and sage (the sage was grown in my side yard), steamed locally-grown green beans topped with a walnut sauce and caramelized onions, butternut squash and apples baked in a cinnamon goo, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie.  Here are a few pictures in case you’re not salivating yet.

Brownie Points, Part II (a sequel to August 14)

The old picture window (with double hung windows on either side) popped out all in one piece without complication.  Preparation of the opening also went well, and the new windows slid in smooth and slick.  So we thought.

Actually the new windows were secured in place (caulked and nailed) before we realized there was a slight bend, and we haven’t been able to correct it.  The naked eye doesn’t notice, and there’s no structural weakness as a result, so we quickly decided it’s not a major issue.  We’re not building the Taj Mahal here.  The new window is fine.  Just fine.

However, this divergence brings new, curvy challenges to the job of cutting and applying trim to  the windows. Yesterday’s focus was on exterior trim and caulk, which went smoothly. Today’s is interior, which is a different matter. Shaping the windowsill has required patience and more than a smidgen of carpentry wizardry. I am thankful for my husband and his brainy math skills, since measurements and calculations to the 16^th of an inch can be mind-boggling for me.  Also I’m grateful for his proficiency in handling various terror-inducing power saws with nasty metal teeth that spin like robotic bear claws gone crazy.  Their raspy noises mess with my sanity, so I wear earplugs and gladly defer their operation to my manly man.  (More brownie points!)

Drama is always an ingredient in our do-it-yourself projects, but we’ve mellowed with age as far as our reactions to it. I am glad to report that in the midst of today’s project, neither of us are gnashing teeth, spewing verbal expletives (or growling beneath our breath), or sobbing quietly behind the bathroom’s closed door. In fact, the atmosphere is jovial and upbeat. This is certainly a good sign.

"Eye Drips"

Sometimes tears mysteriously fill the gap when words fail us.  These “eye drips,” as a friend’s child says, emanate from a point of intersection between body and soul.  They are spontaneous and puzzling, potentially the result of confronting heightened goodness or difficulty, or some intimate emotion too deep for words.  They can be physical and exterior, but also symbolic and spiritual.

Rather than an embarrassment or sign of weakness, spiritual tears are evidence of important transition, of passing from familiarity to a new reality.  Such tears, during a moment of inner birthing, are reminiscent of that cry-piercing moment of physical birth, except profound in a different way.

This morning, peacefulness pervaded our little house. I was alone with the computer, ironing wrinkled shirts and slacks while listening to voices singing haunting liturgical hymns originating from ancient Christianity.  These songs have been chanted for hundreds of years, inspiring countless Christ-followers in ways largely lost to contemporary worship methods.  As steam spit from the iron and I smoothed a shirt’s warm lapel, something hard within me cracked open like an eggshell.  There were no words to explain it.

However, tears bore evidence to ongoing interior remodeling, a process that has become more intense in recent years and months.  Unexpected, gentle “eye drips” confirmed that significant changes are in progress – a different sort of quickening.  God is speaking to my soul uniquely these days, and I am expanding, shifting, and healing at the core, even in casual, ordinary moments over the ironing board.