Authentic Homemade Bread

Authenticity. It’s undoubtedly one of the buzz words of our generation. My trusty, well-worn (okay, okay, abused is probably a more authentic description!) 1966 Webster’s gives only these two definitions:

1. authoritative; trustworthy; reliable
2. genuine; real

Fast forward forty years, Merriam-Webster now lists five definitions for authenticity, the last of which reads: “true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character.”  The definition itself has expanded to reflect the burgeoning value we place on authenticity.  In the name of authenticity, we write off people and causes that come across as disingenuous (in our subjective opinion), expect full disclosure, and see authenticity as the key to any meaningful connection. At the same time, though, our primary medium for social, and often professional connections are forged in the fires of facebook, twitter, and flickr, where we can calculate and control the images, tone, and information surrounding our virtual selves.  So how do we live authentically, really?

This morning I made homemade bread.  With the help of my great-grandmother’s original recipe, my three year old’s  master ingredient-pouring-skills, and about seven phone calls to my mom, we produced the beautiful loaf pictured above. Now, before you think I’ve completely lost my train of thought (which, as those of you who know me can testify, would not be entirely out of character to flip from philosophizing to food prep in one breathe), let me explain:

The inspiration to bake came, oddly enough, from a conversation I had Wednesday morning on the topic of hypocrisy, which I propose is the antithesis of authenticity.  In the Gospel of Luke, chapter 11, Jesus slams the religious leaders of his day for holding to the letter of the law, for requiring outward perfection from their followers, yet having hard, cold hearts.  They had it all together on the outside and were pressuring others to measure up, but inwardly they cared nothing about the things closest to God’s heart: the poor, justice, and the love of God are a just a few Christ mentions in this passage.

In chapter 12, Jesus goes on to warn his followers against the “yeast of hypocrisy,” which got us talking about bread. Quantitatively the yeast is the least ingredient, but it sure does have a lot of bang for its buck. Over time, it changes everything. So too, when I start focusing on the externals, my outward performance and what I have to show for it, at the expense of the condition of my heart, I become a hypocrite by definition.  And sadly I infect others when I begin to size them up by these external measurements apart from a heart that is motivated by love.

This concept of first taking care of the condition of my heart and allowing the externals to follow (albeit the following often takes discipline and hard work) seems so counter-intuitive to everything inside of me. I’m not sure if it’s just my human nature, my people pleasing personality, or what, but my gut reaction in almost any situation is to look good on the outside. Rarely is my primary motivation love, or justice, or the cause of the oppressed.   So tonight, with flour dust still on my counter top, I’m longing for a heart that beats in rhythm with Jesus’ heart: for the poor, for justice, for the love of God and trusting He’ll help me sort through the rest.

Photo Credit: Believe it or not, my three year old snapped this picture.  After trying to capture a good shot of the bread we made together, I left the camera on the table, with autofocus on, and Laura snapped this shot when she got up from her nap.  Here she is, my little protégée!

Tea Time

Full disclosure:  I love tea. A lot. Not fancy-schmancy tea. Just rich, black tea (preferably decaf Typhoo, imported with love whenever my dear cousin Marti visits from England.)

I come from a long line of tea drinkers.  My grandmother’s common yellow tea cup will inevitably be the prize inheritance she leaves behind, simply because its impossible to separate her from it in my mind’s eye. I suspect her sister, my great Aunt Alice, left her kettle simmering on low for years on end.

As a little girl, my sisters and I each had our own miniature china tea pot, and I received several as wedding gifts: a beautiful Whittard of Chelsea pot from our cousins in England, a sweet floral one from my mother in law, and my Grandmother’s sweet Noritake Mabel teapot.  But my favorite is this one.

I can’t remember if it was Christmas or our anniversary, but out of all the gifts Ted’s given over the years, this is possibly my favorite.

I’ve already finished two cups in the time between taking these photographs & posting this.  So, go ahead.  Go turn the kettle on! Happy tea time!

On Grief, Joy & Fallen Soldiers

All week I’ve been scheming about my Thoughtful Thursday post, planning to share some exciting news, but as is so often the case, I was met with the unexpected today, and feel compelled to share about it.  I met a friend for lunch at her place, and we spontaneously decided to walk into town with the kids to grab a bite of pizza.  I was aware that later in the afternoon there would be a funeral procession through town, a hero’s welcome for the remains of a soldier killed in the war in Afghanistan.

What I didn’t understand was the magnitude of the procession.  As we casually strolled out of the pizza shop and down the main drag to Trader Joe’s, women were handing out flags. (Ours eventually found a home with our avocado sprout, pictured above.) People were lining the streets: World War II vets with matching red jackets, firefighters from 30 different towns in dress uniform, a motorcycle gang clad in red, white, and blue, the elderly clutching flags, children taken out of school.  Looking up, we saw the largest American flag I have ever seen billowing in the crisp air, strung between the fully extended ladders of two fire trucks.

You can see some of the stunning images and read more about Sgt. Christopher Hrbek here and here. I can testify that in all my life I have never seen a community come together to honor someone’s life in this way.  I left Westwood in a somber state: such sadness, and yet such a truly beautiful tribute of gratefulness for the highest sacrifice.

My mind was reeling.  Already this week, I had been grappling with the devastation in Haiti.  And although I am amazed and grateful for the enormous outpouring of aid and financial help for Haiti, a dear soul reminded me that there are countless others suffering from not a single quake of devastation, but a slow descent into poverty, the cruelty of AIDS, the hatred of genocide, the destructive nature of abuse, the hardships of mental illness. There is grief all around us.

And all the while, as I process these devastating losses, I am surrounded by two little girls, who know nothing of earthquakes and genocide and war.  They delight in such simple joys and thrive in the security of the love that surrounds them.

All this brought me back to a simple concept that significantly shifted my understanding of grief: the idea that grief and joy exist in our lives on a continuum, and when we limit our experience of one, we also shut out the other.

Henri Nouwen wrote:  “Joy and sorrow are never separated. When our hearts rejoice at a spectacular view, we may miss our friends who cannot see it, and when we are overwhelmed with grief, we may discover what true friendship is all about. Joy is hidden in sorrow and sorrow in joy. If we try to avoid sorrow at all costs, we may never taste joy, and if we are suspicious of ecstasy, agony can never reach us either.”

So, tonight I am giving myself permission to feel the pangs of loss, both the tangible and those beyond quantification as well as the sweet whispers of love and moments of pure joy, with gratitude that joy and grief are chisels in the hand of the sculptor, and I am a work in progress.

For Haiti

As our hearts break for those suffering in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti, I wanted to share a creative way to give.  Craft for Hope has created a special etsy shop, called Craft Hope for Haiti, where you can purchase handmade goods.  All the proceeds go to Doctors Without Borders in Haiti.  So, if you have baby showers coming up, birthday gifts to buy for, check it out.

I love the heart behind this project, using our gifts & abilities to make an impact.  It’s got me thinking about what other creative ways we can give & serve, in Haiti and the many other places where the need is great.  How can we involve our kids & teach them the value of acts of service and love?  I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Domino

When I first discovered Design Blogs, a little over a year ago, it seemed like the image of this book was as common as a Search button.  Released in October of 2008, Domino magazine’s editors put together this “room by room decorating guide” before the magazine folded in January 2009.  New to the design realm, I didn’t understand what a treasure it is until I checked it out of our library this weekend.  Beyond the hundreds of inspirational images of perfectly styled bathrooms and kitchens and bedrooms, the book contains tons of practical information, a little black book of for finding retailers & products, and much more.  It’s an incredibly practical tool and a design text book rolled into one, with lots of eye candy to boot.  Check it out.

Chocolately Goodness

With a thousand apologies to all of you who are successfully finishing your second week of New Year dieting, I fear simply glancing at the picture above may cost you 200 calories.  Yesterday I ran solo to the grocery store at 7am, knowing that I had less than half an hour to fill our almost bare pantry with groceries, but that the supermarket sweep was worth not bundling two stuffy-nosed kids up to shop, to say nothing of the fact that very few groceries actually fit into your cart when you have an infant car seat in the rear and a toddler in the front.  But, there was a hidden cost to this early morning, child-free grocery blitz.  A seductively delicious hidden cost!  I found my normal sense of stringent list abiding reason flew out the window in the excitement of rushing down aisles, and  I threw in several items that were not on my list, not necessary, and not in the best interest of the pre-maternity jeans lurking the farthest corner of my closet suffering from an abandonment complex.

I’m aware that Nutella is not exactly gourmet fare.  The decadency is more emotional: it warms my heart to think of my Pops who first introduced me to the delicacy, and the wonder that filled my little heart at the concept of chocolate spread on crackers.  Amazingly, the taste lived up to my memory (which has a tendency to exaggerate the positive).  I was happily surprised to find that not only the taste, but the look & label of Nutella remain unchanged.  In an aisle of bright colored, cartoon endorsed, bubbly fonted peanut butters, Nutella stands like a time capsule. I love the simple lettering, and  of course the image, from a day when hazelnut chocolate spread on a piece of bread was a suitable snack.  Here at this home, that day is today! Mmmm…

Christmas Card

If you rang my doorbell right now, you’d find me at my desk, with a pile of 200 cards that look exactly like this one – except the left & bottom eighth of an inch would be strangely, no, sadly cropped off.  Let me explain.

This year, with adorable cards pouring in from friends and loved ones all over the country, I was inspired to create my own photo card.  I had way too much fun playing with photoshop.   My very patient  and web savvy husband, Ted, has taught me some photoshop basics over the past few years – enough to create graphics for this blog, images for evites and such,  but this was my first attempt at a printable project all on my own.  I’m most proud of the dotted lines, mostly because it’s a trick Ted, somehow, didn’t know how to accomplish… (Okay, so I did cave and ask him for help!  But I ended up figuring out with a little help from designer/illustrator Marlina who blogs over at Lovely Room, not from Ted!)

So, the design was a great success.  Sadly, I had them printed at a less then apt printing establishment, whose name I shall not defame here but whose services I will never again use, and while I was able to recover the cashola I paid for the pitiful printing mess, I was out of time to send them for 2009.  Maybe next year… Regardless, I hope all of you thoroughly enjoyed the Holidays!  We had a several wonderful days with family, the surprise homecoming of my cousin who is stationed far away with the Air Force, a Christmas Eve Pageant with live animals and beautiful hymns in a stone church that borders Central Park, and two little girls with twinkles in their eyes & awe in their hearts at the mystery of a baby King in a stable.  And, like my cards, our holiday memories weren’t perfect, but making them was a blast!