A MEASURED WORD

Yeast (n.): a unicellular fungus that feeds on sugar and is used to make bread rise

Yeast is an amazing organism, dormant until activated in warm water and fed sugar to reproduce. The resulting carbon dioxide creates the froth or foam that makes bread lighter with air bubbles.

More than anything, I love the smell of yeast, when bread dough rises in the kitchen. I have incredibly strong memories of fresh baked bread, eaten with a thick coat of butter and slathered in homemade raspberry jam. I wrote a bit about yeast here at my friends online literary journal, Painted Parrot. And, despite life's busyness, I did decide on a new set of 12 Simple Recipes for 2012 on yeasted breads. Last year, I worked on 12 Simple Chocolate Recipes that Satiate. This year, I will share 12 Simple Bread Recipes That Rise Above.

Here is a recipe for Honey Spelt Rolls -- so light and simple, a touch of sweetness to balance out the yeast. These rolls will complement a dinner, and the recipe allow for extras the next day for breakfast or sandwiches.

HONEY SPELT ROLLS

½ cup warm (110º F) water

⅓ cup honey

2 ½ teaspoons active dry yeast

¼ cup 2% or whole milk

2 eggs

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

2+ cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 cups spelt flour

¼ cup dry buttermilk powder

1 ½ teaspoons salt

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted

1. In a small bowl, combine water, ⅓ cup honey, and yeast. Set aside until mixture becomes frothy, 5 to 10 minutes.
2. In another small bowl, whisk together milk, eggs, and 2 tablespoons melted butter. Set aside.
3. In the large bowl of a standing mixer, combine 2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, spelt flour, buttermilk powder, and salt. Fold in yeast and egg mixtures.
4. Knead with the mixer, using the dough hook, on medium-low speed, about 5 to 8 minutes. If dough is sticky, add up to an additional ½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, kneading after each addition until dough forms a smooth ball and pulls away from the sides of the bowl.
5. Place dough in a large buttered bowl. Cover bowl with a towel and let rise in a warm spot until dough has doubled in size, about 1 ½ to 2 hours.
6. Butter two 9-inch pie plates. Divide dough into 16 equal-size pieces. On a cutting board, cup your hand over 1 dough piece; roll firmly against the board to form a smooth ball. Place one ball in center of each pie plate. Roll and evenly arrange another 7 balls around each center ball, evenly spacing them. Cover with a towel and let rise in a warm spot until balls touch and fill pie plate, about 45 to 60 minutes.
7. Whisk together 1 tablespoon honey and 1 tablespoon melted butter. Lightly brush mixture over top of rolls.
8. Bake in a 375ºF oven for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden. Let cool slightly in pie plates for 15 minutes. Turn out onto a wire rack and break apart for serving.

Yield: 16 rolls

Finally, I just want to offer you a bit of encouragement. If you have always found yeasted bread making to be intimidating, I can only offer myself as an example. If I can bake yeasted breads, SO CAN YOU. Seize the day, my friend. Seize the day.

Graduation Speech

by Charles W. Pratt

Like much that matters, baking bread is easy
Enough, with good ingredients, a simple recipe:
To water, sweetener, salt and yeast
Add flower, and mix. Oh, yes, there's Mystery,
But who demands to understand
When the dough is answering the hand
Under a morning window facing east?
Do they teach this at the University?

Cover the dough—left in the dark alone
It knows to take the next step on its own.
And when it's risen with the sun
Towards noon an hour or two, punch it back down,
Shape it into loaves, and wait
Again while it again grows great—
But not too great: just peers above the pan.
Then, as the good book says, "Bake until done."

The Zen of loafing? Eat a metaphor?
Now's the time to try if bread is more
Than bread alone. Taste. Devour.
Firmly yielding? Moist and crunchy? Or
Evidence scattered on the plate
Of a loaf the knife disintegrates?
You've made it, anyhow. The day is yours—
Yours and the sun's, now at its tallest hour.

From The Box Marked Some Are Missing: New and Selected Poems.

Hobblebush Books, 2010.

Collect (v.): to gather together or accumulate in one body or place

For me, vacations have a magical way of sweeping the mind clean so that we might have room for an original and authentic thought. "A thought went up my mind today"* about collecting and collections, and I have to thank a week's vacation on the Gulf for it. All the hot, breezy days blew the cobwebs from my mind and replaced them with the here and now as well as a bit of sand that inevitably creeps into every crevice there.

Original thoughts arise when you have hours to search knee-deep for seashells and sand dollars. Or, time to build a sandcastle with moat and wait for the tide to come in to fill it. Time to walk over the dune and stop as long as you like to admire heron's majesty and beauty or observe crane's skill and precision in the quest for a meal. Time to fly a kite or sleep at will or walk, walk, walk out and back from the dilapidated pier for the simple pleasure of feeling the sand beneath your feet.

As such, your mind finds room for a new thought to occur now and then. And, I thought about all the things besides seashells and sand dollars I collect like buttons and poems, postcards and pottery, books and recipes. Then, I thought of all the intangibles people collect like words and memories and experiences that make us this very day who we are from the inside out. These things aren't displayed on a wall or a bookshelf or tucked away in a drawer or a closet for retrieval on special occasions or unexpected moments of nostalgia

No, our intangible collections of words of praise, harsh criticisms, murmurs of love, and offhand comments as well as a treasure trove of memories are always with us, hidden away deep inside. They can't be appraised and auctioned off despite their value. More importantly, this collection helps build our sense of self, our best self, our self that was misunderstood or misrepresented, our self we always hoped to become or always knew to be there. Our intangible collection becomes our armor with Achilles' heel.

So, as the Gulf breezes blew, my internal collection was dusted off, reexamined, and rearranged, allowing me to return here to write with renewed energy and inspiration to try again to compile my thoughts to the best of my ability. Hopefully, I will collect and arrange words in such a way that they might mean to you nearly what they mean to me. At least, that's the way I now see it in my mind.

*Emily Dickinson

Liebster (n.): German for beloved, dearest

I am back. I'll tell you tomorrow a bit more about where I have been and what I have been doing. The bottom line is that I have been struggling to recharge my imaginative spirit in blogging, writing, and creating. Then, my friend Kath passed the Liebster Award my way last week. The Liebster Award is a way of sharing new or underappreciated blogs to help them build a larger following and encourage the blogger in the process. 

That is exactly what the Liebster did for me: I was reminded that someone might actually read all my ramblings and enjoy it, too. Readers might actually miss me.... That is a huge responsibility and an incredible form of motivation for me. I simply can't disappear for weeks on end without touching base. So, here I am. Thanks, Kath!

Now, I need to pay it forward and nominate five Liebster Awards of my own. I follow plenty of blogs, but here are a handful you simply shouldn't miss. More importantly, these are a group of women, in addition to Kath, whom I have come to know through their words in my writing group and their blogs. They write in a voice that your soul needs to hear with words your soul needs to ponder. They remind me of what is possible creatively and personally. Finally, they will share with you the unheralded but abounding talent that pervades my home town and a bit farther afield here in Central New York.

Take a look and you might find a bit of yourself like I did in the reflection of our Finger Lakes:

Gwen http://leafyg.blogspot.com/

Pat http://zencrafting.blogspot.com/

Paula http://fallingbackwardintobliss.blogspot.com

Susan http://www.susanrdixon.com

Zee (who is responsible for so much of this blogging and writing) http://www.zeezahava.blogspot.com/

Thanks, ladies!

If you receive the award, you should:

1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you. 

2. Reveal your top five picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog. 

3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.

 4. Hope that the people you’ve sent the award to forward it to their five favourite bloggers and keep it going!

 

 

Relinquish (v.): to give up, let go, or surrender one in favor of another

Let me finally say it, "We are relinquishing one home for another." Yes, we are exchanging our "old" new house for a "new" old house. Not just any house, I am talking about the kind of house that you secretly dreamed about when your love and your future together were blooming and the world of possibility was burgeoning. Somehow, the dream returned to the table just as we were welcoming in 2012. Now, 10 weeks later, after all the meetings and viewings and paperwork and phone calls and discussions and negotiations and inspections and bids and estimates and counter proposals, the purchase agreements have been signed.

I know I have been the silent blogger in the midst of this process, but I didn't want to say anything concrete earlier. I didn't want to jinx it all -- I can be superstitious that way. Of course,  the deal is never complete until you close, but somehow this new house just seems meant to be -- I can be fatalistic that way, too. And, I didn't post, because I have been very busy and quite distracted (see the above paragraph).

Still, I realized today that my creative self has been silent as well. I have lost my "voice" for this very venue. The voice that puts these words together and feels I have something I have to share on A Measured Word or I will explode. The voice that sees something that has to be photographed and linked to a specific word or poem or experience. I have been struggling with this realization for several days and have come to the conclusion that I am not just relinquishing a house, I am relinquishing some of my passions as we transition, at least temporarily or in their current incarnation.

We will be moving in July, right in the middle of the growing season. So, I won't plant a vegetable garden and will have to rebuild the bed. I am slowly going to pack, weeding out all the material goods we store and never use. So, I am going to set aside any crafting that might relate to gifting until the fall. And, my mind is already moving onto the new house and all the projects that the future will hold. I am gathering inspiration in books and magazines and finding it hard to focus on the here and now. As far as cooking? The cooking muse is nowhere to be found either. Sigh.

Still, I think I am returning and all this relinquishing simply means a bit of re-envisioning of where I will focus my efforts and where I will take A Measured Word. Let's see. How about:

• Pots, pots, and more pots? There are entire books dedicated to container gardening, and our new brick and slate house will require large, ornate vessals of planted matter.
• Emptying the freezer? What can I cook and bake that will help me empty the freezer over the next few months and perhaps add a new recipe or two to my repertoire of family favorites.
• Craft projects for the new house? I could make a new runner for the table or refinish a side table for starters.
• Midlife crisis? I am 45 and might just take this opporunity to relinquish a bit of the old self for touches of an ideal self with new goals and dreams to boot. We are moving from a fairly contemporary house with traditional touches to a tudor revival. A revival for the second half of one's life might just be in order as well.

All this contemplation led me to the prefix re, originating from the Middle English and meaning again or again and again. This is where re took me today:

Reawaken

Rebirth

Reclaim

Reconnect

Reconsider

Reconstitute

Reconstruct

Recover

Recreate

Recuperate

Recycle

Redecorate

Redeem

Redefine

Redesign

Redirect

Redress

Reduce

Reenact

Reentry

Refill

Refine

Refocus

Reform

Refresh

Regenerate

Regroup

Regrow

Rehabilitate

Rehash

Reincarnate

Reinstate

Reinvent

Reinvest

Reiterate

Reinvigorate

Rekindle

Reknit

Relate

Relieve

Relinquish

Relive

Remake

Remap

Remember

Remit

Renew

Reorganize

Repackage

Repair

Repeat

Replace

Replant

Replay

Replenish

Report

Reprint

Reprise

Reproduce

Republish

Resale

Resolve

Resource

Respond

Restate

Restore

Restudy

Resume

Resuscitate

Retain

Retell

Rethink

Retool

Retouch

Retrieve

Return

Reunite

Reuse

Revamp

Reveal

Revere

Review

Revise

Revisit

Revitalize

Revive

Reward

Rewind

Rework

Rewrite

 

Revival. So much more to come. Stay tuned....

Simple (adj.): free from complications; easy to understand or perform

I finally found the last of the 12 Simple Chocolate Recipes That Satiate. In the home stretch, I found the task harder than I could have imagined, when I set out to compile the recipes at the start of last year. Not only did the recipes need to have chocolate as a key ingredient they also needed to be delicious and easy to prepare.

Let's just say that I tried plenty of recipes that never made it to my blog. I made cream puffs which my father adores but managed to burn twice. Was it the oven starting to go (see my last post) or me? Not worth the risk. I'll try them again another time with hopes for greater success. And, the almond chocolate cake I came up with for the Super Bowl was deemed way too almondy by my most intimate and trustworthy critics: my husband and daughters. Sometimes simple isn't so simple.

However, the recipe for Chocolate Dump Cake IS simple. You can prepare this for last minute guests with little fuss: all the ingredients are mixed right in the cake pan. I am sure it will satisfy. You might even serve up a real treat with a side of vanilla ice cream.

CHOCOLATE DUMP CAKE

Cake:

1½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour

⅓ cup unsweetened baking cocoa

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup granulated sugar

1 egg, slightly beaten

½ cup vegetable oil

1 cup cold milk

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

Chocolate Frosting:

8 ounces semi-sweet chocolate

⅓ cup milk, heated but not boiling

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

½ cup confectioners’ sugar

Cake:

1. Sift together flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and sugar directly into an 8-inch square cake pan.
2. In a measuring cup, measure and mix together egg, oil, milk, and vanilla.
3. Pour liquid ingredients into the baking pan and mix batter with a small whisk.
4. When batter is smooth, add vinegar and stir quickly. There will be pale swirls in batter as baking soda and vinegar react. Stir just until vinegar is evenly distributed throughout batter.
5. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes at 375˚F. Set aside to cool completely.

Chocolate Frosting:

1. Melt chocolate in a double boiler or microwave. Add milk, vanilla, and confectioners’ sugar, stirring until smooth.
2. Chill frosting for 20 to 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it reaches a good spreading consistency. If it over thickens, heat the bottom of the bowl until some frosting melts. Then, stir briskly until it softens again.
3. Frost, cut, and serve cake directly from the pan.

Yield: 8 servings

I have more sets of 12 Simple Recipes to come. In the meantime, try one or two of the 12 Simple Chocolate Recipes That Satiate and let me know what you think. May I also recommend you pair your chocolate treat with a glass of milk? This is always a requisite at my house. More food for thought.

The Glass and the Bowl

by Louise Erdrich

 

The father pours the milk from his glass

into the cup of the child,

and as the child drinks

the whiteness, opening

her throat to the good taste

eagerly, the father is filled.

He closes the refrigerator

on its light, he walks out

under the bowl of frozen darkness

and nothing seems withheld from him.

Overhead, the burst ropes of stars,

the buckets of craters,

the chaos of heaven, absence

of refuge in the design.

Yet down here, his daughter

in her quilts, under patterns

of diamonds and novas,

full of rich milk,

sleeping.

from Baptism of Desire (Harper Perennial, 1989)

Recent Full Moon as Seen From the Stairwell Out the Second Floor Foyer Window

So much to ponder over a piece of cake and a glass of milk....

Praise (v.): to express warm approval or favorable judgment of; to commend

 

I live in a relatively new two-story house with lots of curb appeal. The interior is colorful, spacious, and well lit, and I have decorated it in a mixture of contemporary and traditional styles. Really, it is a lovely home, although I haven't said as much lately.
Actually, my house and I have been on the outs. It started out about six months ago, when the wash machine started to shake so violently during the spin cycle that the entire house quaked. The repairman declared that there must have been a defect that caused the drums to come unhinged, but the warranty had expired years ago and the repair was costly. We opted to buy a new wash machine instead. I should have remembered then that repairs are never a one and done; they tend to cluster and hit your pocketbook hard.

Since that fateful day, I have seen more repairmen than I would like to admit. The oven stopped working completely, and the rear left burner wouldn't light. The kitchen faucet began to leak as did its identical counterpart in the laundry room. The furnace blower motor gave out. The handle on the vacuum cleaner broke off. The toaster had to be replaced. Several electrical switches have become temperamental. And, I haven't even taken you to the garage to talk about car repairs, upgrades, and recalls.

Where did all this bad karma come from? We may have brought it on ourselves as we began to toss around the idea of buying another house -- same neighborhood just different layout and character. We've always loved old homes and are considering making a move, if we can find the right house in the next year or two. Our current abode must have overheard us and made her displeasure known, loud and clear.

Of course, each successive repair made us more displeased with our home, made the idea of a move more desirable, and made our current home feel more rejected. It was a viscous cycle until winter came along. Although milder than anyone can ever remember, winter makes a person feel grateful for comforts small and large. This winter was no different. On the days, when the wind began to blow and bite our noses and the flurries began their free fall, we were reminded that the warmth of our home and the shelter under its roof should never be taken for granted.
So, as I sit at my newly reconfigured workspace, I want to sing praises for our current home that cradles us and offers space for tears and laughter and learning and creating. She takes good care of us, and we will continue to do the same for her no matter where the repairs take us. Should we move or decide to stay long term, our home has taken root in our collective memory as a family, offering shelter to our dreams, disappointments, and struggles.

Winter Thanks

by Marcus Jackson from Neighborhood Register

To the furnace—tall, steel rectangle
containing a flawless flame.
                     To heat

gliding through ducts, our babies
asleep like bundled opal.
                     Praise

every furry grain of every
warm hour, praise each
                     deflection of frost,

praise the fluent veins, praise
the repair person, trudging
                     in a Carhartt coat

to dig for leaky lines, praise
the equator, where snow
                     is a stranger,

praise the eminent sun
for letting us orbs buzz around it
                     like younger brothers,

praise the shooter's pistol
for silencing its fire by
                     reason of a chilly chamber

praise our ancestors who shuddered
through winters, bunched
                     on stark bunks,

praise the owed money
becoming postponed by a lender
                     who won't wait

much longer in the icy wind,
praise the neon antifreeze
                     in our Chevrolet radiator,

and praise the kettle whistle,
imitating an important train,
                     delivering us

these steam-brimmed sips of tea.

from Neighborhood Register (2011)

 

Bloom (v.): to flower, blossom, flourish, thrive

I have seen many bloggers choose a word of the year. I thought I might join in and choose a word for 2012. This word will be a mantra of sorts, a word to meditate on as I focus my energies and stretch my creativity. Instead of writing down a list of resolutions, I thought I would choose an active word that encompasses me as a person in the here and now as well as a person I imagine myself to be, to become.

I am choosing BLOOM. I hope I not only to flourish and thrive this year but also to pass some of my blossoms onto those I love. I was thinking about that this week, because my older daughter and I met with the school counselor to begin to set her ninth grade course schedule.

I can't quite believe that very soon I will be the mother of a high schooler. I know she is somewhat nervous about the prospect, but I have complete confidence in her. She is well prepared and ready for the challenge I am sure she will bloom as a freshman, and I will beam with pride as her parent.

I wrote this poem about my first girl a few years ago, when I was hit by how quickly she was growing up. I was a bit freaked out about it, honestly. Read on:

 

She Wants a Pair of High Heels for Christmas

 

She wants a pair of high heels for Christmas.

At 10, I’m not talking about dress up shoes.

She wants the real thing to wear. Where?

Not around the house but out and about.

 

She also wants some makeup.

At Halloween, she was a geisha.

She was thrilled to paint her face, heavily.

Then, she ran off to her first middle school dance.

 

I cringe, I resist, quite frankly, I respond poorly.

“You can’t even match your clothes or keep them clean.

You don’t even notice the hole in your sock or the fact that your pants are way too short.

You still need to be reminded to bathe and trim your nails and brush your teeth!”

 

I know the heels will arrive sooner or later, in a box wrapped with ribbon,

Earned or gifted at Christmas or on a birthday or on a whim

From me or her grandma or she’ll buy them herself.

And, she mentioned a bikini for next summer, didn’t she?

 

I need to shop for her but stumble about the house instead, tripping over memories

And baby dolls and stuffed animals and costumes and bath toys,

Knowing that growing up isn’t bought with money but willed with time.

Then, I remember she also wants books for Christmas and games and craft supplies.

 

I grab the keys and run out the door without a thought to how I look

Or what I’m wearing or what to buy or how to say I’m sorry,

But I know that a New Year fast approaches and time is running out.

I just don’t want to waste another minute, because school lets out in two hours.

 

I think I have calmed down some since then. She probably thinks I nag her mercilessly. All I know is that I see the blossoms, and she is beautiful in every way. Just a whole bunch of inspiration for 2012.

Lost (adj.): no longer in the possession of or in existence

Lost.

Lost my balance.

Lost the vote.

Lost contact.

Lost ground.

Lost my way.

Lost myself.

Lost heart.

Lost patience.

Lost my temper.

Lost you.

Lost out.

Lost the game.

Lost confidence.

Lost hope.

Lost weight.

Lost in space.

Lost at sea.

Lost my reason for living.

Lost the blame.

Lost the guilt.

Lost the past.

Lost all pretense.

Lost and found.

I read last month that Filene's Basement, the legendary Boston retailer, had closed all of its stores. And, I had to join the legions of mourners. It isn't that I am a fashion hound. I haven't even lived in Boston for more than eight years now. Rather, I think I am mourning a period of my life that revolved around graduate school as I transitioned into my professional life with limited funds and high hopes, a combination that never left me feeling deprived. In particular, I was able to build a professional wardrobe around signature pieces that I found at Filene's Basement.

I always shopped at the flagship store at Downtown Crossing, riding the "T" from Harvard Square to make an afternoon of it. It was never an easy task, because finding a coveted item required persistence. Here you could find designer clothes at bargain prices, but you had to dig for it. Furthermore, the longer an item remained on the floor unsold, the more the price would automatically be reduced. You would look for the dated tags to determine if those wool pants or that cashmere sweater was 25% or 50% or possibly (What great fortune!) 75% off. What was not sold was given to charity.

Such prospects led shoppers to some rather unseemly behavior as you can imagine. As for me, I was able to ride the escalator back up onto street level with something exceptional in my shopping bag. At 23, I knew I had to dress impeccably and professionally to build credibility with my diverse, urban class of high schoolers during my teaching practicum. After all, I was barely their senior, but I remember clearly how my piecemeal wardrobe helped me put on an air of confidence and authority.

Over 20 years later, I still have a few of the treasures I landed at Filene's Basement.

  The gray trench coat (and an umbrella) was a necessity with the dampness that settled into Boston.

I still love the cinched waist and buckles.

The short black wool coat that can be dressed up or down.

I still love the beautiful ribbon trim.

The blue leather sandals I wore as the weather warmed being partial to dresses and skirts for work.

I still love the contrasting stitching that has held up so well over the years.

I am reminded that so many things like Filene's Basement can be lost over a lifetime, but the memories can always be found with a little prompting. Our memories are the biggest black box of lost and found around. I am going to wear my black wool jacket with ribbon trim later this week and remember. In fact, I am going to remember every time I wear the black wool jacket or the trench coat or the sandals. I am going to remember that time in my life with great joy and contentment. At least in part, it made me who I am today, bargains and all.

Upcycle (v.): the process of converting waste materials or useless products into new materials or products of better quality or a higher environmental value

Today, I am finally going to give you an accounting of the crafts I made last year as gifts for the holidays. Last year, I resolved to undertake more crafts, because I enjoy the creative process and handmade gifts are far more personal and unique. I also resolved to craft with thrifted and used materials as much as possible. For example, I upcycled old fabric and clothing and worked with used glassware. I just love the notion of "upcycling" rather than "recycling." When you upcycle, you don't just reuse old or used materials. Rather, you go one step further, taking old and used materials to create something of higher quality and value.

Here is the accounting of what the girls (my helpers) and I created:

Hot Water Bottle and Cozy (Upcycled Wool Sweater)

Christmas Stockings (Upcycled Fleece, Fabric, and Trim)

Embellished Candy Jar (Upcycled Glass Jar with Lid)

Raspberry Vanilla Infused Vodka (Upcycled Glass Bottles)

Pin Cushions (Upcycled Sundae Dishes, Fabric, and Trim)

Paper Mache Bowls (Upcycled Newsprint)

Felted Wool Coasters

Embellished Clipboards

Set of Bloom Note Cards with Images of Flowers from My Garden

NOTE: I want to continue to encourage you to move away from plastic as much as possible. I recently learned that unlike steel, glass, or aluminum, plastic is largely downcycled. Plastic that is recycled from your home can only be turned into an item that itself cannot be recycled. Plastic is one and done in the recycling world. Learn more at Green America.

Happiness (n.): state of well-being and contentment; joy

As I regroup, I always think about happiness in January. All it takes is a bit of snow and some bitter cold temperatures to help you realize that as long as your basic needs are met, you can be content. Of course, I tend to dig a bit deeper, remembering that I can't change anything in this life, in this world except for myself. Now isn't that daunting?

On our last visit to New York City, the family and I made our usual trek to The Strand on the corner of 12th Street and Broadway, a favorite independent book store. My husband found a lovely little book there by Anna Quindlen called A Short Guide to a Happy Life. Quindlen advises us to get a life, a real life:

[Y]ou are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on the bus, or in the car, or at the computer.  Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul. (10)

As hard as it is to admit, I needed that reminder recently. Isn't it just like Anna Quindlen to put into words what needs to be said? So, she encourages the reader to get a life in which:

• you remember it is short
• you remember it is the journey not the destination
• you are not alone
• you are generous
• you see the small things and experience the small moments

I have begun flipping through my writing journal from years past and came across a series of declarations that reminded me what I understand happiness to be:

Happiness is knowing that tomorrow will be the best day of your five-year-old life, because Grandpa is coming to visit.

Happiness is when you go to pick up your daughter from school just as you have done every day for two months, and she still runs to greet you with a smile on her face, a "Mommy!" on her lips, and a great big hug.

Happiness is when your husband finally puts down his work to come to bed and reaches for your hand under the covers in the quiet of the night.

Happiness is when a good belly laugh sneaks up and surprises you and your loved ones and resists letting you go.

I can only see so far down the bend in the road, but I love the journey. And, as I seek wisdom to direct my choices, I may take solace now and again in one of the simplest chocolate recipes around: Chocolate Ganache. I got this recipe from Martha Stewart Living and recommend it as a frosting or glaze or as the key ingredient to a decadent hot chocolate. Whip up the recipe and freeze it in small batches so that it will be there as you sit in front of the fire with the wind howling outside, missing your husband who's in Boston for work, thinking about happiness, and knowing contentment is within reach.

CHOCOLATE GANACHE

Ingredients

8 ounces of semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate
1 Cup of heavy cream
1/8 tsp of coarse salt

Prepare

1. Pour cream into a small saucepan and heat until just boiling.

2. Chop chocolate and set aside in bowl.

3. When cream is heated, pour over chocolate and add salt. Do not stir. Let sit for ten minutes.

4. Whisk cream and chocolate until smooth, silky and shiny.

5. Let cool to room temperature. (Minimum 45 minutes.)

Ganache and White Chocolate on Karen's Saucepan Brownies in Baking Cups

NOTE: If you are really into thinking about happiness, check out The Happiness Project, where Gretchen Rubin spent a year test-driving studies and theories about how to be happier and continues to share her insights to help you create your own happiness project. You can even join the 2012 challenge, if you like.

Picture Book (n.): a book that consists wholly or in part of pictures, especially for children

I am nesting these days as I always do in January with the holidays behind me. Being a family of bibliophiles, we received many books as gifts in December. We love these new reads but don't know where to put them anymore, because our bookshelves are currently overflowing and bending under the weight of their burden. So, I am charged with adding more bookcases to our home in the coming year.

In the meantime, it snowed enough yesterday and today to give us a sizable snow cover for the first time this winter. So, I decided to tackle the girls' bookcases to weed out many of their picture books. I made room for all the chapter books that are far more in line with what they are currently reading and have been reading for quite some time to be honest. I have been putting it off, because I know it marks a passage in the life of my children that is difficult for this mother to completely accept. Many of these picture books are like old friends, books I read innumerable times with each daughter and came to love for their beauty and insight.

Still, I packed up nearly seven boxes of picture books that we collected over the years. I will store these in the basement for the future, to peruse periodically and pass on when the time is right. These are friends that aren't going anywhere. Then, I packed up two boxes of books to donate to the library book sale. These are books we enjoyed but simply didn't bond over in the same way. Hopefully, other parents and children will get to know them intimately and form relationships of their own.

In the process, I made a list of our all-time favorite picture book authors as follows:

• Tomie DePaola
• Kevin Henkes
• David Small and Sarah Stewart
• Alice and Martin Provensen
• Aliki
• Gail Gibbons
• Lois Ehlert
• Jan Brett
• Eric Carle
• William Steig
• Rosemary Wells
• James Marshall
• Robert McCloskey
• Ezra Jack Keats
• Maurice Sendak

I can attest that buying a picture book from any of these authors will not leave you disappointed. And, I am sure that you could add many more that I have forgotten or passed by, and I would feel the same way. 

I did keep all of our holiday picture books set aside. Whenever a holiday rolls around, I bring out all of our picture books on the subject for the girls to enjoy one more time.  I include the first day of school and a snow day to this list of "holidays" to be marked by a good sitting of picture book reading to feed the soul and honor the day. For example, if today had been a snow day off of school, I would have pulled out all the relevant books, and we would have read this favorite just one more time, Katy and the Big Snow:

Let it snow!

Taciturn (adj.): temperamentally disinclined to talk

I have been feeling taciturn lately. O.K., I may simply be taciturn by nature. I might be what many may technically call an introvert. Yes, I have been busy with the holidays and guests and gifts and meals and digging out and making plans for the year and talking long-term and returning the entire family to some semblance of a routine. Most likely, you have been doing much of the same in the last month, the last week.

However, in my taciturn state, I have been doing plenty of thinking, too. I have been creating mental space to redirect and reinvigorate what I do in the New Year, what I do every day. What do I do as spouse and parent and blogger and writer and cook and crafter and gardener? I think you'll see more of what I do here in the coming year. Your curiosity (should A Measured Word fuel it) will be satiated. At least, that's my plan, although both you and I know what they say about plans (or resolutions for that matter). I'll share more on Wednesday.

Right now, let's take a minute to just be. Let's set the doing aside. Or, if it makes you feel better, let's do some being. The weather was so mild over the holiday break that we enjoyed a hike at the falls nearby. I was reminded that I live in a beautiful place. I was reminded that the earth is a beautiful place. I was reminded that this isn't a bad place to be.

See what I mean? Shh. Don't tell me. Think it. Just be.