It's All About the Handwork

Coffee in a lovely sea green ceramic mug, Lynne's podcast on metal clay and the lapping of waves and the calls of the gulls for my music. Photo at right courtesy of Lynne, who is an avid and excellent photographer. This time in Florida is a time of focused, creative recharge. I brought four projects with me--two beading and two textile. I have so far worked on three of the four, and will start the fourth today. I have also meditated at least once a day, done yoga every day, and moved January from "dry" to "moist"... or maybe a little more damp than that. It's not sopping wet yet, but there are still two more days! Oh, and if all that wasn't enough, I finally figured out the premise for an urban fantasy series I have long wanted to write. More on that in another post. Today, it's all about the craft(s). 

Project I is a 3-D beading endeavor. On last year's January trip I visited Jumping Mouse Beads, a friend's bead shop in Blue Ridge GA. She had a frosted blue bottle with a peyote (bead, not hallucinogen) abstract sleeve on the neck that she used for a display prop. I fell in love with it, and convinced her to sell it to me. Since then I have wanted to do my own 3-D bead overlay, and the current project is a beaded deer antler. The idea, antler, and instruction came from Laura at Austin Bead Gallery 

I realized when I arrived here that I had neglected to finish drilling the holes in the antler, and had not bring any kind of hole-making apparatus. I am a resourceful mammal with a credit card so was undaunted. However, Cedar Key is a small town... village... dot on the map. It's smaller than Polson--our summer home in Montana. When we walked around the corner to the town's hardware store we discovered that they don't carry power tools. Nor did they have a manual hand drill. (Insert shocked face emoji here). So we all piled into Becky's car and drove 30 miles to the Ace Hardware in Chiefland to acquire a Dremel and a couple of 1/16" drill bits. 

Back at the house-on-stilts, I drilled the remaining holes and set to beading. It's a completely unstructured project where both the beads and the stitches I use are at will and at random. I have just started this project, so there is a lot of bare antler and not very many beads--though there are more beads on the underside. But hat will change. By today even.

A couple of hours later, I switched to Project II: an art deco-style beaded necklace by Linda Richmond with two gorgeous Swarovski crystal square rings for the focal point. It uses peyote, herringbone, and brick stitches, and came as a kit so I didn't need to design the colors or scrounge the materials--enabling me to just focus on the technique. 

After a couple of hours I had an inch and a quarter done... and three and a half inches more to go on the first small section. A bit daunting, but I reminded myself that it is all about the journey--and went to take a nap. Napping is a HUGE component of creativity--especially when nit is prefaced with a glass of wine.

After napping and before dinner I worked on Project III:Norah's Vintage Afghan, a Berroco pattern which incorporates different colors and stitches in a series of knitted squares. I started this project pre-Covid or early Covid, and am about one quarter of the way through. I am not going to put it down again till I finish it. Ironically, when I first started it, I enthused about it so much to another friend that she also got the pattern... and then knitted the whole thing. To add insult to injury, she made it with the wool I brought back from Iceland for her. I, of course, have done nothing with any of my Icelandic wool. (Insert eye-rolling emoji here). I suppose if I make it a requirement to knit something with the plötulopi (a special kind of Icelandic yarn) I brought home before I can go to Iceland again, I might get in gear and knit a sweater... or maybe a tunic... a scarf?

Today I begin another new project, a crocheted mandala afghan from Annie's Kit Clubs. I'm making the multi-color one on the right, and I know I won't have any trouble finishing this one as I already completed one of their other crocheted afghan patterns (in record time for me) last year, and I loved doing it. I gave it to Jessie, and she liked it enough she took it to college this year as her one blanket from home. This was quite an honor as she has at least three other hand-made blankets she could have chosen. 

Okay, enough with the writing about crafting, on to the crafting!

I am With the Other Old People in Florida

No coffee, the sounds of food prep done by others as music while the house-on-stilts where we are staying in Cedar Key sways beneath us. It's like being back on a cruise ship. Apparently I was able to sway the whole house by doing yoga last night after the others went to bed. I would NOT want to be here in a high wind.

There is no place like Florida in the winter time: Birds, breezes, empty beaches--and golf carts galore. On the way to the beer shack last evening, I saw a cart bedecked with pirate skeletons and sea booty. Now THAT was a golf cart I would drive! I'm sorry I didn't get a picture, but the week is young. Pre-covid, I used to spend a long weekend every January in Destin for a spin-in. Imagine a conference room in a resort, filled with hard-eyed, hard-drinking, hard-shopping, hand spinners of all ages, pronouns, and declensions, and you get the picture. It was my January Joy. But the average age was probably 60 so the Boomer Doom (aka Covid) killed the in-person meeting. It still goes on (it's happening this weekend even), but over zoom. I am so heartily sick of zoom that it would have to be a really incredible live activity for me to be willing to join it. Until we have VR headsets with other sensory input (smells, temperature) for zoom, count me out. Even then, count me out.

Florida is also old people. Wise people. My kind of people. (See above: hard-eyed, hard-drinking...). Except for the dearth of teeth. I'll go gray. I'll take wrinkles and saggy boobs, but I will not give up my teeth. 

So, old people. Let's talk about old people for a moment. When I was 27, a friend and I were making tiropita for the University of Chicago's annual linguistics conference (CLS)--traditionally catered by the first year grad students. Yours truly was the organizer for my year and I decided to do a Greek feast--hence the tiropita. Karen Deaton and I made HUNDREDS of little phyllo pastry cheese pies--many of them while watching Lethal Weapon. There is one scene where Mel Gibson walks to the refrigerator naked. No stunt butt. We were watching on VHS, and we used the rewind button to watch him walk back and forth, and back and forth, and back forth like a Hobbit (there and back again) as we cackled like mad . I see that Mel now, and I could not be less interested. Absolutely zip, zero, zilch attraction for me. But Mel Gibson now, in Fat Man... The Mel Gibson that looks like my spouse on a craggy day... Now THAT is a hot guy. 

I am aware that I have been becoming invisible to younger people. I am gradually being replaced by an old-person cut-out. Arguably, for anyone under 30, I have been unknowingly there for awhile. But it is more apparent to me now as I am more often looked through than looked at. And I remember looking at "old" people when I was in my 20's and thinking how horrible it must be to be old, and no longer attractive, and looked through by the young and vibrant. Now I recognize that thought as spawned by the arrogance and ignorance of youth, and I chuckle, quietly and evilly, to myself realizing that I look through them as much as they look through me. Thirty-somethings are not remotely attractive to me, (apologies to friends in their 30's but...). Instead, they seem larval and I feel parental. I know someday they will be interesting, but right now all they've got is hubris.

Returning to the beer shack of yesterday, my "type" now must have grey hair--or at least salt and pepper, weather-worn skin with lots of laugh lines, and a solid, relaxed, I'm good-in-my-skin-ness that (for most people) does not come before 55 or 60. A man who knows how to laugh, live, and love for today. As I looked at the scruffy, old, hippy guys sitting and watching the world go by, I felt an urge to flirt. Obviously not because I am looking for anything, but because I was attracted, and felt like appreciatively expressing that attraction. Well-oiled, sleek, firm bodies on the beach just irritate me and make me want to yell "Get Out of My Sun!"--the old woman equivalent to "Get Off My Lawn".

There is Still Coffee

(For Bill...) Coffee in the lovely, personalized, travel mug that Zaga laser-engraved for me before our transatlantic cruise last fall, Rémy whimpering for biscotti as my music. Apparently, dogs like anise, and Rémy LOVES biscotti. 

Short post today as I am still in a biscotti coma from yesterday's writing, and I also have a ton of stuff to do before heading off to Florida on Thursday for a crafting trip, and to deliver Jessie's car to her so she can get back and forth to work. Today, I wear many hats. I play:

• An electrician - finishing up wiring three way dimmable smart switches in the house
• A seamstress - can't say what I am sewing as it's a surprise gift
• A small-business owner - orders to ship from my Etsy store

I am purposely going to leave paying bills (including the property taxes... whew!), looking for work, filling out unemployment logs, and moving mesquite wood into the wood shop for turning until tomorrow. Dave is tired of electrical switches hanging out of the wall and catching on his sweater, but the living room switch box is so small and has so many switches in it that I am having a hard time getting everything stuffed back in without accidentally disconnecting a wire or two in the process. Stupid switch box.

Writing all of those to-do's makes it even more weird that I am still struck when I see my Google calendar totally empty for the week. No meetings, no appointments, no time-boxed activities. Wow, is that nice! At some point I am going to have to do taxes. Ah, January. I knew it was more than the dreary weather that made me dislike you so!

Techniques of F*ing Refinement

Intro

La Croix sparkling water in a can as I catch my breath after yoga and post. The sound of the oven, which has been producing delectables all the live-long day, is my music. The post today is named for Dave, as he is usually the one in the house who combines magic, science, and cookery into something really amazing. True to form, he is currently braising the most exquisite-smelling Korean short ribs. But this post isn't about the short ribs--or any of Dave's cookery. Nope. Today was my day to kick butt and take names in the kitchen as I upped my biscotti game. 

Today I made four kinds--two keto two regular--with four different kinds of dark chocolate--one keto (sugar-free) and three regular ranging from 55% to 72% cocoa --in five batches. I planned to make four batches, but I accidentally doubled one of the ingredients in one of the batches and had to double the batch. But that's okay because it was the regular Stella Parks straight recipe that got doubled, and I already know it's perfect so it served as the control group. The biscotti shown above are (from left to right):

• Regular (almond/anise) with Lily's dark chocolate
• Regular with almond flour and monkfruit sweetener
• Regular with Guittard Extra Dark
• Regular with almond flour and allolose
• Regular with Ghirardelli 72% cocoa 

The basics of biscotti

I mentioned previously that Stella Parks is my baking guru. I wrote about her pie crust recipe, and today I delve into her take on biscotti. First, let me say, I do not like licorice. Anise is similar to licorice. I am not usually attracted to recipes that call for anise. The Stella Park's biscotti recipe is loaded with anise, but the flavor profile is so well-balanced that it works. 

What makes good biscotti? First and foremost, it must be hard. Biscotti is meant to be dipped, and there are few things more disappointing than the tip of the biscotti plopping off into your coffee and sluggishly swimming around dissolving in it. It also has to be sturdy--hold together and not crumble in the tin. Finally, it needs a complex, delicate flavor. An additional requirement for me today--as I made five batches and I only eat a piece a day--is it should have a long shelf-life. Stella Parks recipe has all of those things:

• It is satisfyingly rock-like
• It stays in one, perfect piece when cut
• The blend of vanilla, toasted whole almonds, and chopped anise seeds is sublime
• It has no fat in it so it lasts *forever*

I have made this recipe a few times in past couple of months, and though it requires precision and paying attention, it is not difficult. You toast the almonds, roughly chop them and the anise, mix the chopped bits with the rest of the dry ingredients using the stand mixer, add three cold eggs, and blend until smooth. Then you make a loaf from the dough, roll it out till it is as long as the half-sheet pan you bake it on, and pat it flat until it measures 17" x 4" x 1/2". It is baked in three stages. The first, and half the total baking time is unttil it is puffy and just beginning to brown. At that point you take it out of the oven and let it cool five minutes on the pan and then five minutes more on the cutting board. When is just warm and no longer hot, you cut it into 1/2" slices with a thin serrated knife, and put the slices on their sides and they go back into the oven for 12 minutes on one side and then 12 minutes on the other side, and Bob's your uncle! (That means they're done).

Today's bunch of batches is in preparation for meeting up with some friends in Florida at the end of the week. As some of them are big keto-ers, I decided to play with the recipe a bit and make:

• almond/anise (the regular recipe, two batches)
• pistachio (no anise, otherwise the regular recipe)
• keto almond/anise with almond flour and monk fruit
• keto almond/anise with almond flour and allulose

Adding another variable to the experiment

Chocolates used

Even though the biscotti is perfectly flavored on its own, I also wanted to try tempering chocolate and drizzling it over some f the slices. For those who are not familiar with the term "tempering" (like me before the other day), tempered chocolate is chocolate that has melted and hardened in such a way that it forms just the right crystalline structure. Chocolate, you see, is a six-phase polymorphic crystal because of the cocoa butter in it, and the optimal polymorphic form is Form V, also known as beta-V. "Beta crystals are composed of triglyceride molecules interlocked in a way that makes them most resistant to melting (they have a melting point of about 95 or 96 degrees F and most resistant to physical distortion (this is the reason the chocolate snaps rather than bends and doesn't set when cooled)."  Really. 

Getting it to form into the beta V structure is all about managing the heat, and this is the only time that Stella Parks has let me down. She is old-school, and uses a technique called seeding. Seeding it too loosey-goosey (prone to failure) for me so I used the sous-vide technique detailed in this article by  J. Kenji López-Alt. He wrote The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science (which Dave, of course, has). He is an excellent, knowledgable, engaging writer, and makes the science-y stuff accessible to, well, everyone. In addition to being able to exactly control the temperature changes with the sous vide, another benefit of this method is that there is absolutely no mess and no waste. To do it you vacuum-seal the chocolate, pop it into a sous vide bath at 115 degrees F, after a few minutes (five or so) when it is all melted, drop the temperature to 81 degrees. To drop the temp, you add ice to the sous vide. When it gets down to 80 degrees, set the sous-vide for 90 degrees. As the temperature rises, take the bag(s) of chocolate out every minute oor so and really mash them around to keep the chocolate mixing, and the crystals forming appropriately and evenly. You can then hold the chocolate at 90 degrees until you are ready to use it.

To use it, snip a corner of the vacuum bag like a pastry bag, and drizzle the melted chocolate. When you are done, you just reseal the bag with the vacuum sealer, and the left-over chocolate keeps indefinitely for future melting, re-tempering, and drizzling!

The chocolates I used are:

• Guittard 63% Extra Dark Chocolate Baking Chips
• Guittard Akoma Extra Semisweet Organic 55% Dark Chocolate Baking Chips
• Ghirardelli 72% Cacao Dark Chocolate Premium Baking Chips
• Lily's Dark Chocolate Baking Chips 55% cocoa (sweetened with Stevia)

Labeling

Vacuum-sealed bags of chocolate, labeled

When baking a bunch of different things which end up looking pretty much the same it is wise to label every stage of every batch. To this end, I used a black Sharpie to write the type of biscotti in each batch on the parchment paper. I also numbered the bags of chocolate chips 1-4 and put the corresponding numbers on the vacuum bags after I sealed them. Finally, I have pretty little cellophane bags that I Sharpied on the bottom with the code for the biscotti and the chocolate. Well, that was my INTENT anyway! the reality was pretty much like that, and even where I missed labeling I can tell which is which for the biscotti and most of the chocolate.

Results - biscotti

Pistachio is a wonderful flavor, but just pistachio with no spice counterpoint is not as orally exciting as almond and anise. It made an adequate biscotti, not a brilliant one. Next time I need to find a spice for it...

Almond flour doers not make biscotti. What it makes is closer to a coarse shortbread. It is also MUCH harder to handle as almond flour does not have the structural integrity of wheat flour (i.e., gliuten) so the pieces were prone to crumbling and breaking as they were cut and flipped for baking. The almond flour is richer and sweeter than wheat flour, and chock full of oil--something missing from regular wheat-flour biscotti. The oil also makes it a bit softer and not as dry. I would guess it is also less shelf-stable thanks to the oil. If I want biscotti, I prefer the wheat version. However, if I were gluten-sensitive or on keto, the almond-flour version (made with Stella Park's recipe substituting almond flour for all-purpose flour 1:1 and dusting the rolling surface with almond flour too) is not bad.  

As for sweeteners, I had high hopes for monk fruit as it does not raise your glycemic level, has anti-inflammatory properties, is all natural, and has no calories. It is also 200 times sweeter than sugar. In spite of the disparity in sweetness, different brands of monkfruit sweetener recommend different ratios for substitution for sugar. I used HEB's brand which recommends 1:1, and it was both too sweet and had a weird sweetener flavor that I don't really like. Again, if I couldn't have sugar, the monkfruit version was good enough. It just wasn't great.

On the other hand, the biscotti made with the allulose sugar substitute (Swerve) had a less noticeable taste and adequate sweetness. It is also used 1:1 for sugar. Allulose is another naturally occurring sugar that is 70% as sweet as sugar, does not raise blood sugar, does not cause tooth decay, and is almost calorie free. The biggest downsides to allulose are the price (it is WAY expensive) and that excessive consumption can cause gassiness and bloating. 

I might experiment a little more, but my inclination now is to use allullose whenever I can't use sugar.

Results - chocolate

Wow is this turning into a long post! 

Okay, all chocolate does not melt the same. There seems to be a correlation between flow of the chocolate and the percentage of cocoa. (Interesting note: For something to be called chocolate in the US, it must contain 100% cocoa butter and not any less expensive fat like coconut or palm oil). The Ghirardelli was runny like chocolate syrup and slightly melted into the sides of the biscotti. The Lily's dark and the Guittard dark (both at 55%) were very stiff and kept their shape, just resting on surface of the biscotti slices. The Guittard Akoma (63% and the first one I used) was almost as stiff as the 55% ones. Next time I use them, I think I will up the temperature a bit for the lower % cocoa chocolates to see if they will flow better.

For taste and appearance, all were delicious and glossy with a good snap to them.

Conclusion

I have experimented enough with keto biscotti. I am going to stick with all-purpose flour and sugar, and make keto batches upon request for friends. My next forays will be into spice-nut combinations: 

• pecan/brown sugar, molasses, cinnamon
• walnut/nutmeg, clove
• pistachio/chai spice
• cashews/pumpkin pie spice (cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, allspice, cloves)

As for the chocolate, as easy as it is, I'll do it--but only for half the batch: There is nothing like the pure flavor of the biscotti dipped in coffee to make my morning perfect!

Inadvertent Bead Soup

Sippin a late afternoon diet coke from Mickie D's, and listening to "Find the Cost of Freedom" by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. I am such a Boomer! In the time it took me to write that sentence, the music slid into "The Times They Are A-Changin'" covered by Simon and Garfunkle. Spotify never lets me down. (Although the next song in the Daily Mix is "Love the One You're With" by Crosby, Stills & Nash, and I don't think Dave would approve of me following that sentiment...)

Yesterday was the first just relax, go with the flow, and be creative day I've had since I retired. I did NOTHING on any list, nor did I meditate, yoga, blog, or walk the dog. Instead I: 

• had a facial
• dropped by the Austin Bead Gallery (ABG) for a refresher lesson on Peyote wrapping (I am beading a deer antler)
• started designing labels for the biscotti I want to package and give to friends
• went to the retirement-from-data.world party at Jewboy Subs thrown by my wonderful spouse
• drank an entire bottle of lovely Roederer collection 242 champagne
• went to bed at 8:45 like a really old person

So, bead soup. Where does that come from? I learned about bead soup from Laura at ABG. It refers to the practice of taking a bunch of seed beads and other small to medium beads (usually odds and ends leftover from projects in limited quantities), and mixing them all together in a baggie. This soup is then the material used for any abstract bead project--like the antler I am working on. I have a bead soup that I carefully made for my antler, and yesterday as I was looking for a few more beads to add to it, I dropped a whole tray of little boxes of beads on the floor of my studio. Some of them opened, some of them did not. Those that opened spewed little beads EVERYWHERE. My first thought when they hit the floor was "CRAP that's going to be a mess to sort!" But when I swept them all together to pick up, I saw that they made a really nice bead soup (shown above). As you might guess, I choose to see the inadvertent bead soup as a serendipitous metaphor for my life right now. It's kind of like, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade--only with beads!

CRASH! Something just hit the floor behind me. I looked over at a swinging strand of carabiners and thought, "Huh, how did whatever that was happen?" Then I saw both the 19-lb cat slink under the table and the newly fallen container of red #15 Miyuki delicas spilled open on the floor. After yelling at the cat, banishing him from the studio, and sweeping up the wee beads, I have decided to just take the pile as a new addition to my bead soup of life.

Let the Day Begin

Coffee is long since drunk, "Let the Day Begin" by The Call on Spotify. Another day, another (non-) workweek begins. Yesterday was a holiday so I don't count it. Today Dave is back to work, and in wall-to-wall meetings. I chortle happily and head off to the fiber studio/office/she-cave to get on with MY day. Outside the wall of windows in front of me the sun is shining and the air is still. In the pause between songs, I hear the birds chirping, and my heart cannot help but to lift, to soar. No matter what the future brings, this moment is perfect. My mind races with all the possibilities for the day. A few of the most attractive ones are:

• make biscotti
• order sausage casings and peruse recipes for exotic sausage
• reorganize the freezer so types and cuts of meat can be better organized (and three-year-old riced cauliflower can be humanely disposed of)
• piece Patrick's quilt
• fill frit orders from my Etsy shop
• chat with distant friends
• do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!

Of course, even in the perfect life, there are the petty annoyances like helping the child cancel the gym membership she forgot to take care of before heading off to school (I have to do it in person), and pay bills. But in the minor scheme of life (much less the grand scheme), these things are so tiny that they won't even make me twitch. 

I may even make croissants! Never before have I had the time to really focus on making them, and now I want to master them. To help me out, a present from Dave arrived yesterday--a 16" x 20" marble slab for rolling pastry--and it's already in the freezer! Also yesterday, I mastered pie crust. Seriously! I think I posted this once before, but it bears repeating now: In seventh grade we all had to give presentations showing how to do something. I made a pie crust. For all of my life up until now I used my grandmother's recipe (oil--not butter or lard--and ice water) and method (rolling it out between sheets of waxed paper).  While others moaned and lamented the difficulty of pie crust, I smugly basked in my superiority. The crust was good in a lean way (my grandmother had MS and controlled it by strictly limiting animal fat), but when I shared it with Dave early in our marriage, he was not impressed. And years (decades) passed.

Then Dave introduced me (literarily, not literally) to Stella Parks and her book BraveTart: Iconic American Desserts, and my perception of pie crust changed forever. Her piecrust recipe--which uses butter, a laminating technique similar to the one used for croissants, and abundant flour--is a game changer. The first couple of times I made it it was good. Or at least, it was okay. It wasn't stellar (get it? Stellar? I crack myself up), and I attribute that to two things: 1) I didn't follow the recipe exactly (right down to the size of the butter cubes), and 2) I didn't give all of my attention and focus to the texture of the dough--both in terms of what I wanted it to be and what it was. Pastry is precise. You don't throw things in, and taste, and modify, and expect to create something perfect every time. 

Sunday I made two crusts (I meant to make one, but I accidentally doubled the water needed so I made two), and I was precise (in spite of the water snafu). I kept the butter big. I didn't overwork or soften it in the mixing, and I folded the crust just so before chilling it and rolling it out. Dave made her Frankie's coconut creme pie recipe (also from BraveTart) and a bacon and cheese quiche with them yesterday. The remains of the pie are shown above. No, we didn't eat it all! We gave half to Zaga and Dan. I haven't tried the quiche yet, but will have it for lunch today. The crust was no kidding the best I have ever had anywhere. Crispy, layered, buttery, salty, a hint sweet, light, flaky... you get the idea.

All this talk of food has made me hungry. Good thing I start every morning with a 30 minute walk!

Timey Wimey

I sip water as I listen to The Dave Brubeck album Time Out, and I ponder the essence of time. This morning I have already gone on a walk with Zaga and Rémy, and made my list of tasks and schedule for the day. My list yesterday was HUGE, but I got through it, and it didn't require a Herculean effort. My efficiency yesterday got me to wondering why I have been so ineffectual over the past 10+ years. Really, my effectiveness started going downhill as soon as I met Dave...

I clearly remember lamenting how I couldn't get anything finished anymore after we moved in together. I did even less after Jessie was born, and less still when my mother moved in with us--partly because my mother started doing a lot of the tings I wasn't managing anyway, but also because I just couldn't. I have beaten myself up for years because I kept thinking I was just slacking, and I felt guilty about it.

Yesterday, as I moved smoothly through my chores, I realized that it wasn't that I had been doing less for the past 28 years, it was that I had been doing unacknowledged and unappreciated (by me) other things instead. I am not only "retired" now (we'll see how long that lasts!), but I am also an empty-nester, and a woman in a solid relationship built over the past 28 years. A relationship that doesn't take the amount of time anymore that it took to build it. The amount of time and mental energy I am spending on things other than the ones on my "list" (chores and creative) is almost nil. THAT'S why I'm getting done: because there are no longer things that are not on my list for which I am still holding myself accountable.

The fact is, people take time. Whether you are actively engaging with them or not, the people around you take time and mental energy. It may be naive, but I never took that time and energy into account when I was planning what I would get done in a day and madly scrambling to (fail) to accomplish it all--even though I was often (mostly) exhausted at the end of every day. I do not believe it's because I am more efficient now than I used to be. Instead, I think it's that I have fewer things pulling on my mental energy... and maybe that I'm not as overweight as I was for, oh, the past 28 years (try carrying a pack with two water cooler bottles full of water all day and see how much energy you have). 

Damn! I was mean to myself for no reason! I criticized and denigrated myself ,and felt small and bad because I didn't clean the kitchen and wash the dishes every night like someone in every other household did. Dave does the cooking, I'm supposed to do the cleaning. I have never managed it on a regular basis till very recently. When I started putting away the food, straightening the kitchen and loading the dishwasher every night right after dinner, I thought it was because I was finally growing up and becoming the adult I should have been by 30. But then I remembered that I was always more successful at these tasks in Montana. I blamed not doing it on being overwhelmed by the house here, but it was the number of people in the house, not the house itself.

Wow. This has been a long ramble about time, and I'm not sure I've quite noodled it all out, but I think I'm on the right track. But the list is calling, and the time allotted for posting is over for the day. I'm going to check in with the rest of the world and then go put away laundry.

And I'm Feeling Good

Late, late post today! Can of cold diet coke by my side, and Nina Simone singing "Feeling Good". This is the song I want played at my funeral. I'm listening to it today less for that particular song and more because Dave and I just got home from a big screen showing of La La Land, and I'm feeling jazzish. Think I'll move over to "Take Five" by the Dave Brubeck Quartet now. What has Ryan Gosling been up to lately? Has he retired too? Oh yes! He's playing Ken opposite Margot Robbie in the lead role as Barbie in Greta Gerwig's upcoming movie of the same name!

Somehow it's already almost 3:30 and all I have done is go for breakfast at at the boulangerie, Saveurs with Dave, move the loom from our bedroom to the livingroom, go to Alamo to see La La Land, make the oblkigatory weekend Home Depot run, and grocery shop. I still have a pie crust to make, a dog to walk, yoga, meditation, a loom to dust and put together, and a quilt to work on. Time is really screwing with me right now. Tuesday it flew by, Wednesday was very slow, Thursday was just right, Friday I started to feel behind or slow myself, and today? Today is a hot mess... but only if I let it be. Instead, if I think that everything is unfolding just the way it is supposed to, then I'm feeling good. 

Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean

And this old world is a new world

And a bold world

For me

...

Oh, freedom is mine

And I know how I feel

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

...

For me

And I'm feeling good

The Finer Things

Coffee in a lovely sea-green mug, "Don't Worry Baby" by Los Lobos slides into "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men on Spotify.

There's an old voice in my head
That's holding me back
Well, tell her that I miss our little talks
Soon it will be over and buried with our past
We used to play outside when we were young
And full of life and full of love
Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

'Cause though the truth may vary
This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

Another spot-on music morning. I write slowly so the song has time to change into "Windfall" by Son Volt--may the wind take your troubles away... 

The first full week of being unemployed/retired/what are we going to call this stage? ends (and Bob Seger sings "Beautiful Loser" live--Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall? You realize you just can't have it all... you don't need it all. You can try, but you can'y have it all..." 

I need to, As Cher said to Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck...

and close the music portion of this post as "Come as You Are", covered by Iron Horse from Pickin' on Nirvana--plays on Spotify. "Come as You Are" with banjos. Could the morning get any more surreal? No I don't have a gun...

The truth is, as I sit here reflecting, I can't remember how long it's been since I've been this consistently happy. When I wake and realize there is no potential conflict ahead in my day, I feel the physical release in my shoulders and in my breath. And then I get the buoyant bubble that rises through my body and bursts forth in a smile. Life is good. Really, really good. Sure, I have my share of first-world problems, but they are just that: less than dandruff on someone else's shoulder.

It's too bad that leaving a job is a bit like getting a divorce: The friends always get divided up and you never know if they just weren't friends in the first place, or if there is some other pressure in their lives that makes them choose not you. Whatever it is, the constant thread connecting me to the majority of the people who have been in my life for the past several years has snapped: I no longer have access to Slack (the texting/communication app used by everyone at d.w). And I find myself thinking, "I need to post to yoga pod to see if anyone else had as much difficulty with the asanas as I did today!"... and I can't. I am no longer on it. But those thoughts are momentary regrets, less substantial than the ash of last night's fire. In the bigger picture, the sun is shining, and the world is my oyster. 

Today I work on the lovely quilt made from Crown Royal bags for Patrick, meditate, walk the dog, do yoga, blog, check in with friends, do some paperwork (including signing my exit papers--Free! Free!), and end at the movies ("Plane" with Gerard Butler) with the love of my life. 

I know I said the music references were done, but "The Finer Things" by Steve Winwood came on as I wrote the last paragraph and I just can't ignore the obvious message the universe is sending me? Won't you come out and dance with me? 

Keep shinin' y'all!

While there is time
Let's go out and feel everything
If you hold me
I will let you into my dreams
For time is a river rolling into nowhere
We must live while we can
And we'll drink our cup of laughter

The finer things keep shining through
The way my soul gets lost in you
The finer things I feel in me
The golden dance life could be

I've been sad
And have walked bitter streets alone
And come morning
There's a good wind to blow me home
So time be a river rolling into nowhere
I will live while I can
I will have my ever after

The finer things keep shining through
The way my soul gets lost in you
The finer things I feel in me
The golden dance life could be

We go so fast, why don't we make it last
Life is glowing inside you and me
Please take my hand, right here where I stand
Won't you come out and dance with me, oh
Come see

And lovers try
'Til they get the best of the night
And come morning
They are tangled up in the light
So time be a river rolling into nowhere
And they love while they can
And they think about the night so sweet

The finer things keep shining through
The way my soul gets lost in you
The finer things I feel in me
The golden dance life could be

The finer things keep shining through
The way my soul gets lost in you
The finer things I feel in me
The golden dance life could be

Musing

The wonderful spouse just brought me a large iced latte from McDonald's with no sweetener--my favorite coffee in the world. Listening to "If We Were Vampires" by Jason Isbell and the 400. This is one of my

favorite songs, and a poignant call-out to where I am--where we all are really--in life right now.

...If we were vampires and death was a joke
We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke
And laugh at all the lovers and their plans
I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand
Maybe time running out is a gift
I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift
And give you every second I can find
And hope it isn't me who's left behind
It's knowing that this can't go on forever
Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone
Maybe we'll get forty years together
But one day I'll be gone
Or one day you'll be gone...

And "Turn the Page" by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band just came on. Man, Spotify is really messing with me this morning!

So what does one do with a bunch of new free time on her hands while waiting at the fork in the road for a sign on which direction she should go? She meditates. Does it go well? No, no it does not. I get no effing birds. Let me explain...

I got Dave a Muse for his birthday, and he loves it. So I got one for me at the end of the year. The way it works is that it reads your brain waves and gives you auditory feedback on how calm you are as you listen to waves, or rain, or a river, or (mostly) something else to do with water. As your brain calms, the water sounds gentle. When you get really calm, you hear birds. When we meditate together, Dave turns on birds only so we aren't drowned in water sounds. What this means for me is that I hear waves crashing against rocks in a hurricane from my app and Dave's sounds like he's in an aviary.

Dammit, I FEEL calm! And, yet, yesterday I got one lousy bird. One! And I was only "calm" for 5% of the meditation. Is it the caffeine? Should I meditate before coffee? I don't know if I can do anything before coffee--anything that requires staying awake anyway. Or is it just me? Am I wired all the time? Two days in a row, three birds total. Grumble, grumble, grumble. 

This morning's music is really funny--"Straight To Hell" by Drivin N Cryin just slid into "Ruby and Carlos" by James McMurtry. For those not familiar with the songs, the lyrics go from 

"As we walked into the sun
A new days promise had
Begun
We'll make it alone
Whether you like it or not
I turned and shouted
Help me mother
I'm going straight to hell
Just like my mama said
I'm going straight to hell" 

to 

"...And holding back the flood
Just don't do no good
You can't unclench your teeth
To howl the way you should
So you curl your lips around
The taste of tears and the hollow sound
That no one owns but you
No one owns but you" 

Okay, so maybe I'm not as calm as I thought I was. As I finishing writing, "Sweet Jane" comes on. (Sadly by Mott the Hoople and not the Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground version, but the lyrics are almost the same. Unlike the Cowboy Junkies version. They seem to have missed the point completely.)

"...And there's always some evil mothers

They'll tell you life is just full of dirt

And that women never really faint

And that villains always blink their eyes

And that children are the only ones who blush

'Cause life is just to die

But, anyone who has a heart

He wouldn't want to turn around and break it

And anyone who ever played their part

He wouldn't want to turn around and hate it"

I'll take it.

Never Gonna Change

Finished my coffee before sitting down to write, but the music this morning is particularly appropriate: "Never Gonna Change" by Drive By Truckers: "There ain't much difference in the man I wanna be, and the man that I really am. We ain't never gonna change, we ain't doin' nothin' wrong." Sing it, Patterson Hood. Speaking of Drive By Truckers--they are playing at the Paramount here in Austin on March 24 and I just got us tickets! Front row mezzanine. Other people can stand up--there'll be no one in front of me so I can sit and still see. Or maybe this time I'll want to dance!

I'm in a holding pattern today. Waiting for movement on three life-events: closure at data.world, return of the rights on my books (turns out both are now out of print and they are reverting the rights to me) which ties into the Big Project, and a response on the job application I submitted on a whim. I hate to wait. But as soon as I am done posting, meditating, doing yoga, and having lunch, I am going to work on a friend's quilt made of Crown Royal bags so that will keep my mind and fingers busy. I have had the project languishing for over a year and I finally have time to do it! Got to get it done so I can move onto gardening--it's going to be 81 here today. 

Perception shifts in life

The view from my desk

The days of coffee and music to start my post may have come to a close. I already drank my coffee while walking the dog, and I am happy in the quiet as I sit at my desk and ponder life. 

This blog is supposed to be about creativity and living a creative life. But right now, this minute, I don't feel creative. I feel... Old? Still? Poised? Finite? All of those are true, none of them are bad, and none of them catch the full essence of this stage, this transition I am at in life. There really is something unique about the moment you truly acknowledge that there is more--probably MUCH more--behind you than ahead of you. Some special people probably go through life knowing that every moment counts and making the most of all of them. But I bet the majority are like me: blithely rushing ahead from one flower to the next with not only no concept of the limited scope of our lives, but with a blatant complacency that there is all the time in the world. 

This isn't the first time I've had a shift in my perception of life. The first was in my 20's or early 30's when I thought of all of the stupid, dangerous shit I did as a teenager and into my 20's, and was both appalled at my naivety, and grateful for my luck. I went from "I am immortal, nothing bad will ever happen to me" (the belief of all teenagers who get into cars with strangers, drink and drive, ride motorcycles at high speeds with no helmet on, party recklessly, and do a plethora of other really (really) dumb things) to "I have to be careful and keep myself safe, then I will live a long life".

The next time I started to see my place in life differently was as I approached 50, and I realized that there were doors that were absolutely closed to me. I would never be a doctor, or an astronaut, or serve in the military. Not that I wanted to do any of those things, but the idea I had had my entire life that I could do anything and be anyone I wanted was no longer true. Physically I could not go through a medical residency (that was more for my weight at them time than my age, but the feeling was the same). Nor would I be allowed to train to be an astronaut, or join the military: I was too old. Over the next decade, more and more doors closed. That I would never be a landscape architect was one that really stung. And it wasn't that I couldn't become one, it was that I believed I did not have the time left to build a successful career at it--I would be starting all over and losing all the life experience points I had gained up to then.

In spite of some negativity, those previous shifts felt more like a progression in life--a narrowing of focus if you will, whereas this one feels more like a readying for the end. How morbid! But, while it is my intent to live a full, active life till I'm at least in my nineties, I realize that I might only live to 67 or less... What if I only have five more years? There is so much left to see and do--and I don't mean things that will be left in my inbox. I am done caring about those. No one gets everything they're supposed to do done, or finishes every project they've ever started. But I think everyone wants to lie on their deathbed and think "I did everything I needed to do". And it will be hard to do that if I keep wasting my time on unimportant goals and unappreciated work. 

But it's hard to let go of the safety net! It's hard not to be afraid of ending up unable to support myself (a truly unrealistic possibility). Some part of me feels that I have to look for another job, and to use my skills for making money. But I want to be what I perceive of as selfish and spend my days doing the bare minimum of responsible things, and the absolute maximum of things that give me joy. I don't want to be "responsible" and get another job where I will be undervalued and unappreciated by a younger generation who is as blind to my worth as I was to those who came before me. I am still energetic, vibrant, smart, resourceful, dynamic, and soooo experienced. I have a lot to offer to a new employer, but do I want to? 

Where is this all coming from you might wonder. Well, I applied for unemployment for the first time in my life yesterday, and part of the process is looking for a new job. I did my duty, and while there were mostly positions that would not interest me in the least up on the job boards, there were a couple I felt drawn to--and one I even applied for. What if they call me? What about the creative project I have been hinting at and planning for? What DO I want to be when I grow up?!?

There is too much to write

It-was-hot-now-it's-cold mint tea in a little mug with Jessie's hand and foot prints on it, only the sound of the dryer for background music. Mint tea is good for digestion. I am old and I need help digesting. A word of warning: This post is not really worth reading. It is whiny and pitiful and tired, like me. But I have to post, if only to say "I promise I'll write with energy and enthusiasm first thing tomorrow!"

It is late. Not only did I not blog first thing this morning, but I couldn't even get to it till now. It was truly a hair-on-fire day.  I reached out to my publisher about getting the rights for my book back so that is in motion--it is sadly the only piece of my New Project that got any attention today. Most of the day was spent wrapping up my paperwork for a tidy exit from data.world, and dealing with other really annoying administrative tasks. I am exhausted. But I meditated, walked the dog, did not drink, blogged, and am heading off to do yoga before a hot tub and bed. I'll scintillate tomorrow. Really, really.

Let the day begin

No coffee, no music. What's the world coming to?

Well, it's no longer morning--I took Rémy to the dog park with Zaga this morning, and then put away Christmas. That took all of the morning. And it's Sunday, so the one day of no routine in the week. 

Retirement is a tricky thing. I wasn't much of one for a schedule when I was "working", but now that I am not it, I can see that it would be very easy to fall into sloth and sloven. So I try to maintain if not a strict schedule, at least a set of things I plan to accomplish in the day. Because it's January--the first month of the year and traditional time for resolutions, affirmations, and other things ending in -tion--my daily activities already included:

• The 30-day Yoga Journey with Adriene,
• Meditating for 30 minutes 
• Walking the dog 
• 20 minutes cleaning/decluttering/organizing

But those are all things I was doing in addition to working. Now I need to do something instead of working... Interestingly, my first book is out of print (and has been for some time). My contract states that when it goes out of print, all rights revert back to me. Hmm. Tomorrow I call my publisher (was Lark before they were acquired by Sterling, which is a subsidiary of Barnes and Noble). My options are to either convince them to 

• Put it back in print
• Release a new edition
• Turn it over to me. 

From where I stand right now, none of those are bad. And all three of them work well with my New Project. I'll let you know how it goes.

A New Beginning

Coffee in a lovely mint green and bronze ceramic mug, nothing but the clacking of the keys for music this morning. My new companion Rémy lounges regally next to me, waiting till we go for walkies. 

Today I opened a blank page in this blog for the first time in almost a year and a half, and fell right back into the comfortable pattern of many years ago: what coffee mug was I using today, and what music was I listening to. 

When I began blogging almost nine years ago, writing was really, really hard for me. I was self-conscious as I had been told my writing wasn't good by both my undergraduate and graduate mentors, so I believed it wasn't any good. But I started the blog because I had just been offered a book contract with a well-known publisher, and I needed to start exercising my writing muscle daily and getting stronger so I could tackle the book. I started with that opening sentence because I found that once I wrote  "Coffee in the...", it would unlock my mind and my fingers and I could go on with the rest of the post. Pretty soon, daily blogging became an addiction, and I discovered two things: 1) I loved to write, and 2) it mattered less that my grammar was perfect and I had just the right number of commas in my sentences than that my message was clearly and engagingly communicated. I went on to write the book. Then a few years later, another. Later still I took a technical writing job. Now I have come full circle back to the blog to help me with another project similar in size and impact to the book. But let me back up a bit...

When we moved to Austin several years ago I closed my teaching/retail studio in Atlanta and focused desultorily on my studio work and gallery relationships from Austin. I plodded along, but the joy had left  glass for me, and making the same pieces over and over again was not satisfying. When a shiny object in the form of a new endeavor, a new project--one that actually paid a living wage--presented itself, I reached out and took it. And it was good for awhile. But then it, too, became more and more of a daily grind, and less and less of an adventure. Finally, the only thing that was keeping me in it was fear of losing the income--and the occasional challenging project that made the politics bearable. I considered taking a second retirement (having officially retired from studio glass work to grasp the corporate shiny object), but the aforementioned fear held me back. Last week the choice was taken from me, and I found myself... free. And really, really happy and at peace for the first time in over a year. That was unexpected. I thought I'd be angry, and hurt, and stressed about money, and feel like there was something wrong with me--and I was and did--for about an hour. Since then, it's been nothing but up.

I breathed in and thought about everything I would do with my new free time. I would get caught up on the things I needed to do in the Austin house (like unpack and take back the garden and yard), and in the Montana house (like finally sort through my mother's things  and transform the house from my parents to ours). Between the have-to's, should-do's, and want-to-do's, I had enough to keep me busy for the rest of the lifetime I have, and I was energized. So of course when someone suggested I take on a new project, I jumped at it. 

As in my very first post, I am going to remain mum for now on exactly what the project is. I don't want to tip my hand before I'm ready, or to jinx it. I will say that it is a culmination of everything I have learned and done over the last 50 years. And it has to do with glass. And it is about sharing knowledge. And it is full of passion, and joy, and verve, and poetry. Most of all, it is me being comfortable in my skin, believing in myself, and knowing my own worth.

Stay tuned...