Sweetness & Light

Posted on December 24, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Thanks-Giving Square Chapel

Solstice Sweetness

Last night, I joined a bunch of friends from church and went caroling around the neighborhood. We started out almost 30 strong, with four generations represented; a toddler in a stroller, younger adults with and without spouses, their parents, some grandparents. We visited some of our dear oldies, people who have aged out of active participation in beloved seasonal traditions. They are quieter people now, yet most of them still maintain their sparkle and kindness. Poignant, sweet memories and stories shared, favorite songs sung, lots of hugs, a few tears shed.

We visited assisted living and skilled nursing facilities, where more hugs were exchanged, and a few more tears were shed, mostly happy, some bittersweet. People who have outlived family and friends sometimes weep for what they’ve lost as well as for the happiness of a sweet moment. There were joyful hugs and pats for the cheerful toddler, armed with jingle bells and excited to learn what happened when bells are plunged into deep puddles. A year ago, he was diagnosed with a rare cancer that starts in the eyes. Today, he is thriving and the cancer is in check, all but gone. We who have been praying for this adorable person kept looking over at him with awe and delight, our own Solstice miracle; light returning to eyes once clouded, now clear.

Sweet Moments

As we meandered from apartment to house, there were careful, tender hugs for frail oldies who seem like fallen leaves waiting for a wind. There were fond friendly hugs, compassionate, teary hugs, hugs shared with laughter. I keep thinking about the way one ancient looking woman wrapped her arms around me and drew my head close to hers, then said, “Who am I? Who are you? Why are you singing to us?” While I explained, she gave me a long, lingering embrace, her body collapsed into softness, her spirit kind and sweet. She didn’t care that we had never met and didn’t know each other’s names. Her smile filled her face and spilled from her eyes. I can still feel the sweetness of that soft old body, that soft embrace, and hope I’ll be as full of light when I’m truly old.

The sweet incident reminded me of my mom, who, toward the end, would wake in the night and say, “Am I dead?” When I’d say no, she’d ask, “Are you dead?” When I’d again say no, she’d add, “Well, then, can I have some coffee?” That still makes me smile and I cherish it as one of the brighter memories I have of my mother. One a few years have worn away the sharp edges of pain and grief and loss, there’s increasing sweetness in recalling our lost ones. For many years, we’ve set an extra place at each holiday table, with a candle on the plate. Sometimes we put pictures or cards on the plate as well, but by my time of life, the plate can get pretty crowded. Now I just let the candle be a symbol of all the losses of the years. As I’m aging, I’m finding more sweetness in the sorrow, more acceptance of the pattern of life and death, of gain and loss, and a clearer understanding that I am drawing closer to my exit with every passing year.

Sharing Sweetness

Our last stop of the evening was at the fire station. By then, our group had dwindled to a mere dozen or so, but we attempted to serenade our much appreciated first responders with joy. It’s an old island tradition for the fire department to circle the island during the long winter holiday nights with a fire truck, blaring out seasonal music for the neighborhoods through squawky old speakers. Back when my kids were little, they mainly played corny old secular Christmas selections, from Rudolf and Frosty to chestnuts by Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. These days, the playlist and the speakers have been upgraded and there are so many more street and houses that it takes several long nights to get to everyone.

As it happened, only one fellow was at the station when we arrived, as everyone else was out on calls. We sang to him anyway, and as we were leaving, I was moved to receive yet anther huge hug. He asked me how I was doing and said he was counting on a better year coming for us all. He had come with others to pick my mom off the floor countless times, and he had been among those who tried to resuscitate my late husband. We’d met at various bedsides where help was needed and we rode together in aid cars more than once, taking someone to meet an ambulance. I was touched that he remembered me fondly, as I certainly remember him an the many others who show up for us when we need help.

Open To The Light

Today, I’m finishing up a stocking for a friend’s transgender teenager who found the old name on her stocking disturbing. Not sure how to fix it, I took the stocking to our little local fabric store (the longest running fabric store in Washington State). A very kind employee ironed backing onto a piece of cloth, then used her own cutting machine to cut out letters of the right size. She then helped me iron the name onto another piece of cloth to cover up the old name. I got it home, sewed down the letters, measured the strip and promptly cut it the wrong size. Unusually, I didn’t get upset, but calmly sewed little strips of cloth at each end so the name patch fit the stocking. Sewed over the old name, the new name looks as good as new. Another sweetness to taste.

I’m deliberately calling out sweetness in every possible situation these days. In these dark and bitter times, we all need the refreshment of sweetness and light. When I savor the sweet moments, pleasant connections, kind actions, cheerful exchanges, generous impulses, friendly greetings, beautiful sunsets, happy birds, joyful children, lovely music, pretty lights, delicious food, warm words, embracing hugs, I feel myself filling up with all that natural sweetness and light. When our minds are open, the light can come in. When our hearts are broken, the light gets in even better. Let us be light.

 

 

 

 

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The Magic Of Mushrooms

Posted on December 16, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Mycological Exploring

These days, almost everyone I know is talking about Fantastic Fungi, a film celebrating the role fungi play in all life on earth. Much of the film focuses on the lifework of Paul Stamets, founder of Fungi Perfecti, a remarkable family-owned business in Olympia. Back in the 80s, Fungi Perfecti was The Place to get grow-your-own mushroom kits, awesome tools that got a whole generation of gardeners to begin recognizing the benefits fungi offer people and the planet. Many people, gardeners included, have been used to thinking of fungus as a problem, the curse of the kitchen and a dangerous source of diseases for people and plants. Clearly, some fungi do cause problems, but we easily forget-or never really understood-that fungi support an astonishing range of lifeforms on our beautiful planet.

Fungi themselves come in a zillion forms, far more than we have yet identified, recognized or labeled, despite knowing about thousands of fungi that nurture and promote healthy ecosystems, from old growth forests to open meadows, prairies and savannahs, even to our own personal gut flora. We’re still exploring the mycorrhizal relationship between fungi and plant roots and learning its value for the productivity of forest and farm land, an interweaving without which over 80% of trees and grasses could not survive. We rely on beneficial fungi, like penicillium molds that heal diseases, and Beauveria bassiana, a promising biological control agent for kudzu bugs, tree borers, and other insect pests. We now use fungi to produce antibiotic or antiviral compounds used in human medicine (among many other things).

Food For Thought

And of course, we eat fungi! Everywhere mushrooms grow (which is pretty much everywhere, in some form or another), people dote on them. The woods near my home are host to chanterelles and morels, matsutake and chicken-of-the-woods, all succulent and delicious seasonal treats that make their way into nearly as many meals as the common White Button mushroom found in supermarkets. Even supermarkets offer a lot more mushrooms than ever these days, from Portobello and Crimini (baby Portobellos, aka Italian Brown Field mushrooms) to Shiitake, Maitake, Enoki, Oyster and Black Trumpets. We eat fungi in sourdough and other yeast breads, and drink them, or their yeasty byproducts, as hard cider, beer and wine.

Some mushrooms also have psychoactive properties and have been used in shamanic rituals for millennia. These days, researchers are returning to valuable post-WWII work on Psilocybin, a compound found in several fungi. Long recognized as a potent hallucinogen, Psilocybin in small doses and very carefully monitored settings appears to be able to relieve debilitating depression and anxiety in people with advanced cancers. So far, many patients given such treatment experience peaceful and profound spiritual awakenings with effects lasting for months. Some researchers believe that the beneficial effects may be permanent, but recognize that few pharmaceutical companies are interested in a medication that only requires a single dose to achieve a cure. As one said, “There’s no money in that, of course.”

Let’s Eat

Truth be told, I found the conversation about the beneficial effects of Psilocybin attractive enough that, should this therapy become more widely available, I’d be very tempted to try it myself. In fact, I’d ask about a family plan, as all my relatives have been on antidepressants for decades. My kids also struggle with depression, as do I, and I love the idea that a Magical Mushroom Tour might set us-and so many others-free to fully enjoy and participate in life. As it happens, I’m far less stressed this year because my family has eagerly embraced the idea of a very low key holiday season. Instead of gifts, we’re focusing on sharing wonderful food, with zero complaints (of course the grandkids will get some gifts, but the adults have happily opted out).

In early winter, I tend to make simple, clean tasting food that showcases just a few plant-based flavors. Right now, the simmering soup pot holds a delectable melange of plump leeks and Crimini mushrooms. Another new favorite is caramelized carrot soup with roasted Portobellos and cauliflower. Bliss!

Marvelous Mushroom Soups

Thick with barley and rich with leeks, this vegan soup owes its umami-rich flavor to Crimini mushrooms and a bit of miso. Don’t mention that part; let everyone guess what makes this soup so satisfying (or leave them blissfully ignorant). As always, soup is even better the next day.

Leek And Mushroom Soup

2 tablespoons avocado or olive oil
3 large leeks, sliced into rings
3 large cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups sliced Crimini (or any) mushrooms
1 teaspoon stemmed and chopped thyme
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
2 tablespoons miso
1 quart water or vegetable broth
1/2 cup barley
1/2 teaspoon hot smoked paprika
1/4 cup toasted pumpkin seeds
1/4 cup stemmed parsley

In a wide, shallow soup pan, combine oil, leeks, garlic, mushrooms, thyme, and salt over medium high heat until fragrant (1-2 minutes). Stir occasionally until mushrooms are well coated with oil and nicely sauteed (3-5 minutes). Mash in the miso and add the water or broth. Bring to a simmer, add barley, return to a simmer, reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, until barley is tender. Season to taste with paprika and salt and serve hot, garnished with pumpkin seeds and parsley. Serves 4-6.

Another new favorite is caramelized carrot soup with roasted Portobellos and cauliflower.

Caramelized Carrot & Mushroom Soup

2 tablespoons avocado oil
4 sweet carrots, sliced lengthwise into quarters
2 large Portobello mushroom caps, sliced into 1-inch wide strips
1 head cauliflower, divided into florets
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1 large yellow onion, thickly sliced
4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 quart water
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup finely chopped crisp apple

On a rimmed baking sheet, gently toss carrots, mushroom strips and cauliflower florets with 1 tablespoon avocado oil. Pat into a single layer, sprinkle with salt and roast at 400 degrees F. until caramelized (30-40 minutes). Meanwhile, in a wide shallow pan, combine remaining oil, onion, garlic, and celery, add 1/4 teaspoon salt and cook over medium heat until onion is soft and golden (20-30 minutes). Add water, maple syrup, and pepper, cover pan, bring to a simmer and simmer over low heat until roasting vegetables are ready. Chop carrots and add with cauliflower to the soup, then puree with an immersion (stick) blender. Cut mushroom strips very thinly and add to the soup. Adjust seasoning to taste and serve hot, garnished with chopped apple. Serves 4-6.

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Baking Edible Wreaths

Posted on December 9, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Beautiful Gifts That Are Always Welcome

In recent years, our family holiday celebrations have been shrinking. With my brothers living hours away or clear across the country, we haven’t had a family reunion since my mom died. With dad long gone, Mom was the tie that bound my birth family together, if pretty loosely. I haven’t seen my brothers in years, though we’re sporadically in touch. I’ve encouraged my son and his wonderful wife to make their own family holiday traditions with their young children. My daughter and I are quite happy with very modest plans. Of course, I share some holiday cooking and crafting activities with my grandkids when they’re here for the day, but the days of excess are thankfully gone.

This new simplicity is fine by me, because I’ve been struggling for years (ok decades) with an out-of-balance urge to gift extravagantly (yet somehow equally !?!) to my kids, who couldn’t possibly reciprocate. It was a shock to realize that my extravagance created both gratitude and some overwhelmed resentment. In fact, when I announced that I’m no longer giving gifts to adults and didn’t want any myself, my adult kids were relieved. The thing is, I’ve enjoy being generous since early childhood. I like being able to share the bounty, but now that there’s less bounty, I have to be less impulsive, more careful and thoughtful about giving.

The Gift That Requires More Giving

For one thing, I’m more aware now of the chains of obligation that can get started with even a small act. Yesterday a young woman mentioned receiving a $5 Starbucks gift card at the office and feeling dismayed and conflicted. Should she reciprocate? Should she give something to everyone? She works in a government office mostly staffed by men and had assumed (probably quite rightly) that obligatory gifting wouldn’t be an issue. She was wondering if she should buy a big jar of treats and make little gift bags to give everyone. Yikes! Several of us encouraged her to resist the reflexive gifting, because it can cascade into far more than anyone intended. Busy young moms don’t need to come up with another 50 “little” gifts that don’t mean anything significant to anyone, including the giver. In such situations, maybe donate to Habitat For Humanity or an aid/service ground and post the card in the staff room.

Of course, my new simplicity is entirely voluntary, unlike that of holidays for millions of dispossessed people around the world. And unlike the enforced simplicity for people in my own country-state-town, people who are living in cars or tents and definitely not stressing about whether to send cards or cut back on the gifting habit. I still make things for the immediate family, but I’ve replaced second- and third-tier gifting with acts, like serving homemade food to people who are sleeping out, or handing out blankets and warm clothing.

Food, Beautiful Food

Having made all these bold resolutions, I find myself incapable of not making A FEW things for friends and neighbors. Happily, food is almost universally acceptable and if the experience of making or eating is shared, food gifts can lead to genuine interaction. Thus, the neighbor kids make cookies with my grandkids and take home a plateful, and their grandmother comes by with their youngest one to share a delightful Russian pastry and a cup of tea. Yay! Since most people say that special food is their favorite part of the holidays, here are some simple recipes for easy-to-make edible wreaths that look beautiful, taste wonderful, and are perfect for bringing to potlucks and parties.

Stuffed with sweet or savory fillings, these fragrant treats freeze beautifully; thaw and reheat briefly (15 minutes at 225 degrees) to bring out that amazing fresh bread smell. There’s no need to knead, as the patting and rolling does the trick. To reduce mess, work on a rimmed baking sheet and bake each wreath as soon as it rises. Basically, you shape dough into a long snake, about 28-30 inches long and 8-10 inches wide, which bites its own tail once filled. Place the snake seam-side down, then snip with scissors along the outer edge every inch or so. Tightly roll the dough to make cinnamon spirals, or simply fold over and gently pinch shut for fatter fillings. As the dough rises, the wreath gets wider, so center it on the pan.

Basic Bread Wreath

1-1/4 cups hot water
1 tablespoon molasses
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1 teaspoon dry yeast
1 tablespoon avocado or plain vegetable oil
4-5 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

In a mixing bowl, combine hot water, molasses, salt, and yeast. Let stand until yeast blooms (about 15 minutes). Stir in oil and enough flour to make a soft dough. Cover and let rise for 30 minutes, then transfer to a floured, rimmed baking sheet. Roll or pat into a long U-shape about 28-30 inches long and 6-7 inches deep. Fill, pinch ends together, snip, let rise and bake as directed each recipe.

Seasonal Fillings

Enjoy playing around with favorite ingredients; spinach and feta or soft goat cheese with green onions and smoked trout are wonderful starting places. Any yummy appetizer spread or dip will work, from artichoke and cheese to smoked salmon, as long as it’s thick; runny fillings make a leaky mess. For sweet treats, consider adding dried fruits, chopped nuts, and flaked coconut to the cinnamon spice rolls, spread the dough with homemade jam or lemon curd. Yum!

Holiday Spice Wreath

1 batch bread wreath dough
2 tablespoons avocado or plain vegetable oil
3 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon each coriander, ginger, and cardamom
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar

Working on a floured, rimmed baking sheet, make dough snake and brush with oil, leaving edges oil-free. Sift sugar and spices together and sprinkle evenly over the oil, then add brown sugar and press down gently. Roll dough up lengthwise to make a fairly tight “snake” and form the circle, seam-side-down, pinching ends firmly together. With kitchen scissors, make even cuts all around the outer edge. Let rise for 30 minutes. Bake at 350 degrees F until firm and golden (40-50 minutes). Let cool for 10-15 minutes before serving or serve at room temperature.

Ham & Leek Filling

8 ounces soft goat cheese at room temperature
1/3 cup grated Parmesan or Romano cheese
1/4 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/8 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 leek, thinly sliced (white/pale green parts only)
1/2 cup finely chopped onion
2 cups shredded kale
1 cup finely chopped ham
1 batch bread wreath dough

Mash goat cheese with grated cheese, salt and smoked paprika, set aside. In a wide, shallow pan, combine oil, leeks, onion, kale and ham over medium heat and cook, stirring, until soft (5-6 minutes). Cool slightly and blend with goat cheese. On a rimmed, floured baking sheet, prepare dough snake. Spread ham mixture over prepared dough, leaving 1/2 inch edges free of spread. Gently roll up dough and make the circle, seam-side-down, pressing ends together well. With kitchen scissors, snip all around the outer edge. Let rise for 30 minutes. Bake at 350 degrees F until firm and golden (40-50 minutes). Let cool for 10-15 minutes before serving or serve at room temperature.

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Nurturing Hope

Posted on December 2, 2019 by Ann Lovejoy
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Keeping On Keeping On And On

This morning I was struggling as usual with seasonal blues and political angst when my almost-four year old granddaughter arrived a few hours before her usual time. Seven hours later, my mood has shifted into the green, out of the pit and back to the world of living, growing people. Back to replenishment and renewal. Truth be told, seven hour stints with a kidlet or two more commonly leave me feeling frazzled, but today, youth worked its healing magic on the grumpy old granny. Hallmark moment? Not exactly, but there’s no denying that a dip into the realm of enchantment is, well, enchanting. It probably helped that we were one-on-one for most of the day, and that she can immerse herself in imaginative play for long stretches.

Her gentle burble formed a cheerful background to our projects, which ranged from knitting a ridiculous scarf of incredibly soft, incredibly tacky pale pink, fluffy yarn (me) to baking bread (us) and decorating our little fake tree with (unbreakable) glittery ornaments (her). Before long, she got caught up in making nests of tinsel garlands for the bird ornaments, who then got into complicated games with the knitted gnomes and trolls. The argumentative ones got won over by the promise of treats for good behavior and they ended up having a big picnic with a fleet of unicorn and dragons. Now they’re all nesting in the little tree, waiting hopefully for the return of a playful child.

There’s Hope & There’s Hope

A friend recently spoke about two kinds of hope; one is the anticipatory hope of looking forward to an awaited, presumably joyful event. That tickle of coming pleasure is as tasty as sugar, sweetening our days and soothing our nights. The other kind of hope is more like salt mixed with pepper, bringing us out of the daily trance with a jolt. This hope is not a soporific but a wake up call. Red alert! It’s an imperative cry for action, a klieg light shining in the dimness of dailiness, revealing what’s been disguised, overlooked, or ignored. This kind of hope inspires a willingness to live a changed life, leaving unquestioning comfort behind. We may not immediately recognize the impulse as hopeful but it is. When despair drags us down into the dark, hope pushes us up to the light, where we can see what’s happening and decide what we’re going to do about it.

That’s the part that has me wondering lately; what am I going to do about the it of the day? I’m very happy with my scaled down life, exchanging a very large house on acreage for a very modest renovated mobile home. I’m thrilled with our relatively small power bills, delighted to be driving an average of 12 miles a week instead of closer to 100. We can and do walk to most of our usual haunts. We don’t have bucket lists and we don’t travel anymore (something we’ve both been very glad to let go of, so no big merit points here). We’re largely ovo-lacto vegetarians with some fish and fowl (ok, and maybe a pound of bacon and a few pepperoni pizzas a year). All these reductions and changes have been voluntary and are practically and philosophically pleasing to us both.

That’s Nice, But

So where’s the effort, the hardship, the extra mile? I definitely don’t want to be one of the tediously moral high ground claiming people who make everyone else feel like crap, but should doing my bit really be this easy? Why am I so awkwardly aware that virtue signaling is a reflexive white privilege response to the universal challenge to “get active”? Who, me? How can I possibly do more than I do when I’m already being so GOOD? Personally, I’m finding clearer direction, inspiration and hope from teens all over the world.

The most obvious are stellar girls like Greta Thunberg, and Autumn Peltier, a 13 year old water protector from the Wikwemikong First Nation in northern Ontario who called out world leaders at the United Nations General Assembly in March. Her big question was the same as mine: what are you going to do about it? Pretty sure she was talking to me as well as to the international delegates. Closer to home, Kai Joseph, a Kitsap seventh-grader, collected bins of shoes for kids in foster care because the foster care kids her family cares for arrived with funky hand-me-downs that didn’t fit. I do walk local beaches, picking up trash every few weeks; could do that more often. I’m happy to donate shoes to foster kids and knit warm scarves and hats and fingerless gloves for homeless kids. Could do that more as well. I guess my real question is, how much is enough? Do we give until it hurts?

Hurting Doesn’t Help

Is giving supposed to hurt? Is it more virtuous if it hurts? I’m thinking no. I’ve been noticing how horrible I feel after reading or listening to the news, how helpless and depressed I am when those narratives run my life. There’s just so much gut wrenching news blasting at us every single day. I’m certainly not the only one who get overwhelmed and flees to the garden, or starts knitting hats and scarves, or makes too much bread and soup. It’s interesting that when I do retreat from the barrage for long enough to regain my balance, that’s when an activating hope bubbles up. That’s when I get renewed, energized, hopeful.

So of course we keep on voting, and exercising our rights as citizens by requiring our elected officials to act in our names and according to our will: Abolish ICE! Set the captive immigrant families free! Reunite those families and make reparation! Get the unfairly imprisoned out of jail-for-profit institutions and help them find their feet. Stop the increasing ecological abuses of all kinds NOW! We can call again and again and we must, for only by letting our representatives hear from us daily, over and over and over, can we expect them to act in our interests, not corporate interests.

Now For The Hard Part

And above all, we can all be kind, generous, quick to offer a hand when a need is made known. Stress can make us crabby, that’s for damn sure, but let’s make a pact to stay kind. And happy. I used to think that the pursuit of happiness was selfish, shallow, and frivolous. The older I get, the greater the value I see in happiness for everyone. For one thing, happy people don’t covet other people’s land. Happy people don’t need to fill an inner black hole with stuff. Happy people don’t create competitive hierarchies or play win-lose games with people, places, or things. Happy people don’t make war, don’t steal (legally or otherwise), don’t develop addictions. As the Buddha famously pointed out, happy people don’t need anything and they like to help. So now, I’m trying my best to be a happy person. It’s definitely NOT the easiest work I’ve ever done. Wait, what? So maybe this IS the hard part? Hmmm….

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