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the holidays are coming, beginning with thanksgiving in just a few days, and i have been cleaning, prepping, and making lists. when i poll the family about preferences and expectations, the not-so-little-girl reminds me that we alway have cookies for dessert. i guess i have inadvertently made yet another tradition, so tonight and i drag out my old cookbook to make the dough so she can decorate cookies when she comes on wednesday.

the book falls open to the recipe, such a mess is the page it's on. forty-five years of splattered dough, greasy smudges, and messy fingerprints distract me from the familiar words as i follow them to make the dough. after i set it in the refrigerator to chill, after i clean and put away the mixing bowls and spatulas, i sit with choral music and tea to type the ingredients and directions into google docs, my recipe box in the cloud, where all my old favorites these days reside, annotated and ready to share when the time is right. i think to cut and paste it here, where i have not been in a very long time.

Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies

From McCall’s Cookie Collection © The McCall Corporation 1965

...these are the sugar cookies we made every Christmas when the girl was a child,

and later at Thanksgiving when the not-so-little girl was young…

4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon (or more!) nutmeg
1 cup soft butter
1 ½ cups sugar
1 egg
½ cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Sift flour with baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg; set aside.
In a large bowl of electric mixer, at medium speed, beat butter, sugar, and egg until light and fluffy.
At low speed, beat in sour cream and vanilla until smooth.
Gradually add flour mixture, beating until well combined.
With rubber scraper, form dough into a ball. Wrap in waxed paper or foil; refrigerate several hours, or overnight.
Divide dough into 4 parts. Refrigerate until ready to roll out.
Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease cookie sheet.
On a well-floured surface, roll dough, one part at a time, ¼” thick.
With floured, 2 ½” round or scalloped cookie cutter, cut out cookies. Using spatula, place, 2” apart, on prepared cookie sheets. Reroll trimmings and cut.
Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden. Remove to wire rack; cool.
Makes about 6 dozen (the round 2 ½” ones).

My notes: Pshaw! We never made plain old round ones! We made trees and Santas and reindeers and gingerbread men and stars - and leaves and turkeys at Thanksgiving!! These are very good, especially the ones that get rolled out first - rerolls are not as light. Don’t roll too thick. They taste best frosted and are yummy with eggnog.

Our frosting: 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar and 2 ½ to 3 tablespoons of milk. Beat with wooden spoon, add more milk if too thick. Color with food coloring, of course. Keep a little white for snowmen, and Santa's beard. 

i head to bed now, content in the knowledge that the recipe is preserved for the girl, for her daughter, for posterity. and for tradition. 

bestseller

since i've semi-retired, one thing i'm just not doing enough of is keeping up with new books. it's odd, i know, but it's true, and it bothers me a lot. so when folks started talking about the girl on the train and what a thriller it was, i thought- i must read it. since i didn't want to wait for it at the library, and because i didn't want to lose my resolve, i downloaded it to my kindle and began to read straight away. and, from the get-go, i did not like it - at all. i'd read rave reviews - so i kept on reading. friends gushed about it - so i kept on reading. i finished it friday night. and i hated it. yes, i did.

today at the library, i saw the print version at the desk, so i thumbed through it. inside, characters i didn't know, scenarios i didn't recognize, whole paragraphs i didn't recall. how could this have happened? did i fall asleep and miss large chunks of the story? am i really that poor a reader?

i went to the kindle app on my phone to check. and the cover (which i never look at on ebooks) was very different. so was the author's name. slowly it dawned on me - i read the wrong book. 

in hindsight, it's no wonder. just look at how many there are!  what am i reading now? station eleven...i think. 

feeling hopeful

as i write this, bright blue sky is turning a steely gray, a winter sky again. but these photos i took not fifteen minutes ago show the skies i awoke to, the hopeful skies, the brilliant ones, blue with white clouds sailing effortlessly. i do hope today is spring.

morning crescent

brilliant blue sky this morning with birdsong and a waning crescent moon. already, the sun is warm on my face. these are the days i wait for all winter long.

winter storm warning

a winter storm, predicted, anticipated. it sounds like a significant snowfall, with sustained high winds and dangerous road conditions. i hope 'they' are wrong. this winter, i have liked having just a little snow - enough for foot prints and animal tracks, enough to protect perennials in the garden, enough for holiday ambiance, and enough for children to sled. i am not looking forward to amounts that will reach the lower windows or snowbanks so high i have to inch my way out of the driveway. i do not want so much snow that it will remain until april.

but today, i must find my very serious heavy-duty boots, just in case 'they' are right.

all is calm

a stormy day spent inside, quietly baking and wrapping, puttering, drinking chai and listening to choral christmas music. as much as i truly love being with family and friends at christmas time, peace-filled days like today stay etched in my soul.

christmas cactus

for too many years to count, i've wanted a christmas cactus that blooms. most of the plants i've had have been green and beautiful, but sadly flowerless. once i bought a christmas cactus at an estate sale, sure that if it bloomed for some old deceased lady, it would bloom for me as well. not so. then, i had a huge christmas cactus at school that i left there with a colleague. it never bloomed for me - maybe my friend can coax it along. but this one, this tiny little slip of a thing, is a cutting i bought from a fifth grade fund-raiser last year for two dollars. it had a few blossoms then. but look - it's really going to bloom this year. i'm pretty excited - and i don't even care that it's going to bloom for thanksgiving and not for christmas!

rising green

here they come - at last!!

i am hopeful that tonight's rain will wash away all that's left of the snow. it's time for spring!

sneakers!

first day i've worn these since november, maybe. what a liberating feeling to not be wearing something heavy and dark, with big ole grooved, slip-resistent soles...

election day

election day is always such a source of community pride here, as i imagine it is in most places. good to see neighbors and friends at the polls, to visit with the ladies who bake for the scholarship fund, to stand around the wood stove and talk town politics. and to help shape the nation, from our small corner of it. 

tonight i am on pins and needles, like much of the rest of the country.

change

for a control freak like me, change can be unsettling, unnerving, and sometimes, downright terrifying. this has been such a time of change, both real and potential, and i can feel in my bones that i am handling it badly. always, i have found comfort in the steady rhythm of the seasons and the promise of renewal after a period of darkness and rest. i try to harken back to this now, and it's difficult. i know i need to close my eyes and breathe. trust. let go. even to remember the lilies of the field. but knowing that doesn't make things any easier...at least not yet.

wildly curious

seeing this sign makes me want to go grab a book, an apple, my phone, and my water bottle and camp out here all day long, waiting for that baby animal to cross the road. 

almost here

days like today i love. overcast and damp, the world smells like earth. snow melt coupled with hidden frost creates mud everywhere. birds sing, tiny moths appear at the windows. and by the roadside, i spot pussy willows, the first indication that the earth is waking up and things are again beginning to grow.

the long-awaited poppy

if i could grow only one flower, i'd want poppies. the ruffly foliage, the delicate petals, the ornate pods, the minuscule seeds, the colors. even the name: poppies. there's nothing about poppies that i don't love! 

i've tried to grow poppies and have failed more times than i can count. seeds, plants, seed pods from friends' gardens - nothing works. i thought i finally had a winner here, just one plant, and have been watching it closely all summer. last evening i photographed it beginning to unfurl. then i left the camera and lens on the table so i could run out first thing this morning to catch it wide open and in all its splendor. and here it is. beautiful still, but obviously, sadly, gone by. 

poppy: last evening :-)

poppy: this morning :-(

herbed butter

this weekend, while buying vegetables and bread at the local farm stand, i inquired about the availability of corn. next weekend, they said. seven more days. time to make dill butter. 

it's easy. softened butter, mixed with lots of snipped dill leaves from the garden. the dill butter is packed into tiny ramekins wrapped in foil. after a day in the freezer, the foil is removed, and the inverted ramekins are run under hot water. in a moment, out slides the frozen molded butter. quickly, it is wrapped back in the same foil and popped back into the freezer. 

until the corn arrives. next weekend. my mouth waters already, thinking of the herbed butter melting on fresh-picked, steaming ears of corn. seven more days!

march sun

on impluse this morning i threw open a window, leaned out, and basked in the march 1st sun for as long as my pajama-clad arms would endure. the air felt heavenly after having the place closed up for so long. even though some of our worst new england weather has come this month,  there's something inherently hopeful about march. the slant of the sun, the song of the birds, a shift in the wind - all make me keenly aware that we're finally on the down side of winter and that much closer to spring. 

view from the chair

tomorrow, i have to go back to the dentist. i would rather clean ovens, eat lint, or go without internet for a month, than go to the dentist.  in truth, i'm a total wimp when dealing with matters of the mouth. what makes these visits bearable, though, is not the nitrous oxide, not the novocaine, not the ipod with the earbuds - it's the maps. there are floor to ceiling maps in each of the treatment rooms, filling the entire wall in front of the chair. this map of the world is my favorite one. i'm always so excited to be put in this room. reading the names of far-off places, studying the borders between countries, visually tracing the routes of rivers from the mountains to the sea and dreaming dreams of distant lands all bring a sense of calm and wonder that help set the tone for the visits. i'm content and in control when my dentist appears. then i insert the earbuds, the nitrous oxide kicks in - and i'm good.

a brown december

outside, it begins - our first real snowstorm of the winter. it promises to be a big one, with blizzard conditions overnight and more snow tomorrow. so this morning i took to the woods, one final walk before winter sets in. the sky was overcast with the thick grey clouds that always precede a good snow. the air was invigoratingly chilly but so still. maple and beech leaves crunched under my boots on the frozen forest floor - not the dry crackle of fall but the solid sound of a winter's freeze. mosses and fungi were frozen in time, hanging on to stumps and rocks in muted autumn shades of brown and tan and green. the small pools of the brook were skimmed over with ice as water beneath continued to bubble over rocks on its way down the hill. i looked for animals, but saw none. i listened for birds and squirrels, but heard nothing. all was calm and still, waiting for the snow that, sooner or later, always comes in december.

new learning

spending several days at my favorite professional conference, one i haven't attended in two years. there is just so much to take in, so much new to learn. it's energizing though, as i sit here in stocking feet with room service, reviewing the events of the day and wondering what wonders tomorrow may bring...

anticipation

bright light in the morning these march days and the air is smelling cool and earthy. deep in the woods, huge flocks of crows have been gathering at dawn, cawing and calling to each other, raucous enough to be heard even through still closed windows. the wood pile shrinks. the snow recedes. pine cones fall. the equinox looms. and finally this morning, i go outside without boots.