Favorite Things

Let us talk of two of my favorite things, pies and Scotland.  I adore pies and cobblers.  Cakes are all well and good.  I recently made a chocolate cake that was mind boggling decadent in every good way and deserves a post all its own.  But what I love the most is pie, with chocolate or lemon filling topped with waves of meringue or a blackberry cobbler with little islands of crust floating on a sea of dark purple sweetness... I can get carried away.  

In a rather different but no less devoted way, I also love Scotland.  Although like most Americans my family heritage is a mishmash of different cultures, I have been drawn to my Scottish roots since I was a teenager.  When I was seventeen I spent a month on a farm outside of Glasgow on a mission trip.  I remember walking out of the airport on a sunny June day and feeling an incredible sensation of homecoming.  It was as if some tightly coiled part of me had suddenly sprung free.  I spent the days cleaning sheep dung out WWII bunkers, mixing cement and laying concrete blocks and I could not stop smiling.  

Who wouldn’t love this?

via fliker

During that trip we worked on building an extension to a rehab center, lived in tents, explored the ruins a castle on nearby farm, and spent time with the lovely family who hosted us.  It was a summer was a revelation for me, both because it confirmed everything I had imagined about the land of my ancestors was true and because it was my first time traveling overseas, a habit which I have found hard to break ever since.  

*****

The weather has been a bit cooler the past few days and the idea of baking a peach pie has been hovering in the corners of my mind.  It was drizzling slightly as I drove to the outdoor fruit stand which sets up every year in the parking lot of a nearby gas station.  There were crates and crates of peaches and it didn’t take me long to pick out enough for a pie. 

I also decided to get some grapes for an experimental recipe one of my Moldovan friends gave me recently.  The problem was he had told me how many kilograms of grapes to get and I had no idea what that translated to in pounds.  I asked the girl at the cash register and she had no idea.  That’s when the lady behind me in line said, “Can I help?”  in a lovely Scottish accent.  She helped me do the conversions and then we started talking about Europe.  She wanted to know where I had traveled and when I reeled off a list including Spain, Switzerland, and Italy she said, “Oh those places are much nicer than Scotland!”  I must have stared at her strangely because she said, “I mean the weather is much better” and I could not but agree with that.  After we said our cordial goodbyes I thought for a while about how interesting it is that what one person treasures another takes for granted.  

Today I made the pie.  It turned out pretty well.  

I was going to wait for Jesse to come home before having a sample but a hour of smelling it cooling on the table and I decided a little nibble wouldn’t hurt.  

Yummy!

I hope you’ve had something good to eat today.

The man in my life

The man in my life has flaming red hair.  It was the first thing I noticed about Jesse when I saw his picture on a well known online matchmaking site.  The second thing I noticed was his concern for others, which was apparent even with the limited amount of information available on his profile.  I was smitten before I even knew it was coming.  

We met face-to-face for the first time on a blustery October day at an Indian restaurant in the city where he lived.  We talked over chicken tika masala (sometimes I try to branch out but I always return to it) about the strange things we had in common, most notably having traveled (in his case) and lived (in my case) in the former Soviet Socialist Republics.  In some circles knowing something about those countries with their poverty, their lively music, and their amazingly yummy BBQ “shashlik” is commonplace but in the bluegrass of Kentucky it is a rare thing indeed.  Later, we went for a walk through a park where the cold wind blew off the lake and he made me laugh.  

The rest of the story of getting to know each other and our beautiful wedding will come another day.  But this morning as I consider the adventures I have had, I know that the biggest adventure of my life is the one I experience, every day, with him.

The why and wherefore

I’ve long believed that each person has a story to tell, that even the most ordinary life has moments of radiance.  In many ways I have spent my life chasing those moments, volcanos have been climbed, castles explored, sunsets reveled in, and lifelong friendships made.  In spite of this, recently I have felt very predictable, bound by responsibilities that seem to to limit my ability to recognize the adventure that my own life is.  I hope that this blog will serve as a reminder to myself and to whoever else may wander by that the small things in life, as well as the breathtaking moments, are what make each day worth living.  Whoever you are, wherever you are, your story is worth the telling.

The beginning

The screen door to the patio is open, for the first time in weeks there is a cool breeze.  I sit at the white coffee table with my hands on the keyboard and I am writing again.