Pie Philosophy

Thanksgiving seems to be all about the food.  Tonight is Thanksgiving eve and our oven has already been running all day.  The fridge is packed with jello salads and refrigerated desserts.  Of course, we also have to make the pies tonight, as the turkey will have sole ownership of the oven tomorrow.   

For the last three or four years I have been in charge of the Thanksgiving apple pie.  Sara makes some specialty recipe she just has to try (this year it's Turtle Pumpkin Pie).  The rest; pumpkin, berry, and chocolate are divided up between Mom, Kelli, Lisa, and Kirsti.  Yet, the apple is always, and without question, mine.  It is a role I feel honored to have.  

My mom, amazing cook though she is, hates making pies.  I, on the other hand, consider it something of an art.  I pull ingredients from the cupboards and line measuring cups along the counter with a certain relish for each step of the process.  Mom is at the other end of the counter stirring mandarin oranges into bright orange jello.  

We converse easily about great books, Christmas plans, and cooking as I start working on the apples.  My pie is completely from scratch.  No canned pie filling here!  The apples are Granny Smiths; one of my favorite kinds.  They are big and almost perfectly round with a shiny, bright green skin that rarely shows signs of bruising or blemishes.  I can almost smell how tart they are as I slice into their crispness.

Brooke, my six year old sister, pulls up a bar stool and asks if she can help as I'm finishing up the apples.  I fill a pot with water and add the apples to blanch, telling Brooke she can help me start the crust now that the apples are cooking.  There is not a lot for her to do.   Pie crust has a relatively simple ingredient list; flour, salt, shortening, and water.  I measure and she dumps everything into the big metal mixing bowl.  For as simple as the recipe looks, pie crust is a rather touchy food.  I drop a few ice cubes into the water I'm using.  Cold water, not too dry dough, and as little handling as possible will keep the crust flaky and light, instead of tough or doughy.

I finish rolling out the crust just as the apples finish cooking.  A bit of apple juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and some lemon juice will make a spicy, never-too-sweet sauce for the apples.  I spread the pie filling into the crust, carefully lay on the top crust, and pinch the edges closed.  It's not quite ready for the oven yet, though.  Unless I'm in the mood to scrub apples off the bottom of the oven, my pie needs some air vents.  I grab a knife and carefully carve my signature into the pie; a heart flanked by a couple of curlicues.  

40 minutes later the pie comes out of the oven golden brown with steam curling up from the heart in the center.  It looks like "homemade" personnified.  I can smell the cinnamon, and I can't help but think of all apple pie symbolizes to me.  It means chattering with my mom and sisters in the kitchen while covered in flour, the blessings of a plentiful harvest, stories told around the Thanksgiving dinner table, old-fashioned values, and working for something that will be worth the effort in the end.

I know, it is just a pie.  But we are heading into the holiday season.  I am allowed to be sentimental.  Happy Thanksgiving!

They Make Me Laugh!

One of my teacher friends recently suggested that several of us collaborate and make a "Book of Stupid" documenting all the crazy, stupid, and simply ridiculous things our students do.  Although I'm not sure how well it would work out as a book, the idea of recording all my crazy fun moments as a teacher seemed brilliant, so I began writing them down.  I had one today that just seemed too funny not to share.  Enjoy!

Today I forgot that my clock is a minute fast and finished my lesson and reminders with two minutes of class time left.  The kids, of course, decided to take full advantage of this brief free time.  

Two of the guys had been on one all day hitting, poking and teasing each other.  Noticing that I didn’t have anything for them to do at the moment, Tyson immediately began to chase Mike around the classroom.  Mike had already packed up to leave and was wearing his backpack.  The backpack had a strap hanging down with a buckle on the end.  As Mike ran past one of the desks this buckle hooked on a bar that connects the desk to the chair causing the desk to be jerked after Mike.  

Tyson, noticing Mike’s predicament, stopped to laugh at his victory.  Mike had a look on his face that told me he was not completely sure what was wrong;  however, he was determined to get back at Tyson, so he began running again, only this time as the pursuer.  What he did not know is that the desk was still connected and so continued to follow him as he ran, making the pursuit difficult.  

I stood nearby watching and trying with every ounce of self-control I had to avoid laughing at these boys.  What grade am I teaching again?  11^th?  No, you must be wrong.  I’m sure they’re 4^th graders!

Memory Lane

Add a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember! Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll assume you're playing the game and I'll come to your blog and leave one about you. If you don't want to play on your blog, or if you don't have a blog, I'll leave my memory of you in my comments. I can't wait to see what people remember.

A Quote for Thought

In my random wanderings on the internet I ran across a quote that I have heard bits and pieces of throughout the years. It's one of my favorites and deserves to be shared.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear isthat we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." ~Nelson Mandela~

What Europe Taught Me About Beauty

"A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul." ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe ~

My recent trip to Europe made me feel like my senses were being saturated with beauty. Germany was a vast spread of green forests dotted with castles on hills and picturesque little villages. Bright red and pink flowers trailed over the edges of every balcony, and the houses looked like they belonged in a fairy tale. One early morning fog was draped over the valleys. Spires of countless cathedrals and churches pierced it making me feel like there were adventures waiting around each corner.

Paris contained some of the most awe-inspiring sculptures and paintings I have ever seen. The Louve left me silent and breathless. Filmy veils covered the faces of marble goddesses, and gold frames edged paintings filled with perfectly porportioned humans in every joyful circumstance imaginable. The gardens of Versailles were quietly glorious. Tree lined avenues led to vast flower beds in colors that will never be accurately captured by a camera. As dusk fell I looked out over the lit city towards the Eiffel Tower and the Sacre Couer and wondered if Parisians realized what was all around them.

Rome immersed me in another kind of beauty. History was everywhere and its magnificence nearly made me gasp. The Colosseum rose with column stacked on top of column. Flowers were scattered around cathedrals and pillars adding color to the white marble that dominated the Roman Forum. Even the bright green and red of the Italian flags in front of the Victor Emanuel monument seemed proud and significant, like they were more than just strips of cotton.

Every night I went to bed feeling like I was enlightened, inspired, and unbelieveably fortunate. After three marvelous weeks I took a train to the airport in Frankfurt and watched the vibrant trees and winding rivers drop farther and farther into the distance.

I stepped off the airplane in Salt Lake City wondering how I would ever go back to normal life. Yet, as I resumed life where I had left it I realized that rather than ruining everyday beauty for me, Europe only heightened my appreciation of the things that make us pause and bask for a moment. I watched my friend snuggle close to her first child and thought, "God's love is great." I joined amazing women of all ages, physical builds, and backgrounds in a Middle Eastern dance class and thought, "Marble will never capture the beauty of confident, happy women." I woke up surrounded by friends in the Idaho mountains and thought, "It's good to be home." Finally, I watched my family gather in our less-than-fabulous livingroom to listen to my mom read aloud a chapter from Strawberry Girl and realized that beauty is more a matter of heart than eyes.

I would love to return to Europe someday. There is so much still available for me to explore. The pictures I took there will more than likely grace my classroom walls and desktop wallpaper making me smile for years to come. I hope; however, that I never lose the ability to see beauty in a friend's face or my little sister's Crayola masterpiece. These things show me the love of God, which is the true source of all the beauty contained in this world.

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting -- a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

Just for Fun

I was tagged!
I read this on Annie's blog and thought it looked fun. So, here's a few snippets about me:

What was I doing~-10 years ago: Hmmm...I was probably going to girl's camp about this time. It was my second or third year and I was finally to the point where there were some newbies below me to give the dirty work to. Good times!

-5 years ago: Five years ago would have been my freshman year of college. I was finally starting to recover from sending my boyfriend off on a mission and was loving life taking tonz of classes and partying all night with my crazy roommates.

-5 months ago: January...I was just getting back from Christmas break and trying to get back in the swing of things. My students were driving me crazy, but I was enjoying hanging out with some new friends in my branch.

5 things on my to do list for today:
1- Study my scriptures
2- Take a nap
3- Write in my journal
4- Study up on Pres. Monson, as per Pres. Simpson's counsel
5- Write to my missionary brother and sister

5 snacks I enjoy:
1-Popcorn (extra buttery!)
2- Fresh pineapple
3- Garden cucumbers
4- Warm bread
5- Cheese and pickles

5 things I would do if I was suddenly a billionare
1- Furnish my classroom with a laptop for every student
2- Pay off my car/student loan
3- Buy a house with a back yard and pasture so I could have a dog and a horse
4- Create my very own library
5- Take each of my siblings for a special day where we could do anything they wanted

5 of my bad habits:
1- Speeding
2- Eating more than I should
3- Spending too much time online
4- Trying to do everything all at once
5- Worrying about what other people think


5 jobs I have had:
1- Ranch hand
2- Daycare aide
3- Custodian
4- Waitress
5- High School Teacher

5 things you don't know about me:
1-I HATE tomatoes
2- I am probably one of the healthiest people you've ever met (no broken bones, surgeries, still have my appendix and tonsils, no stitches, etc.)
3- I would rather sit in a pasture full of horses than do just about anything else (they have a very calming effect on me)
4- I was team captain of the 2nd place Scholastic Bowl team at the Idaho state tournament
5- I was painfully shy clear through about my junior year of high school

Tag, you're it!

Anger Update

To All My Kind Friends:

I would like to thank you for your thoughtfulness. I am feeling much better. It was late at night after a bad day and I, like most writers, elaborated on the situation. :) I was in a foul mood, but everyone has those moments, and you can't keep me down for long.

I'm learning lately how silly it is to make a big deal of little things. Why make a mountain out of a molehill? I have the feeling moles would be kind of fun to watch. Oh, and if you happen to run into a mountain, make sure to take a picture from the top for me.

I love you all! To quote a poet in disguise, "Keep ya head up!" - Tupac Shakur

Anger Fades to Optimism

Tonight I'm angry. I'm a frustrated, throw things at the wall, yell and scream type of angry. I don't know whether to break something or cry. I want to drive my car really fast and say what's on my mind no matter what the results might be. My playlist right now includes Linkin Park, Simple Plan, Bush, and Hoobastank.

The interesting thing about this is that I do it to myself. It would take about one sentence to end it all. "Get out of my life." That's it. That is all I would have to say. I know, you're wondering why I don't just say it and move on with life. I guess it's because anything involving emotion is never that simple. The things that make me the most frustrated are usually closely tied to the things that make me the most happy. Strange isn't it? The people I care about the most are the ones who can make me lose it.

I've come to this conclusion: If they make your stomach twist into knots and are constantly in your thoughts; watch out! Caring means hurting. Yet in the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

So here's to all the ups and downs. I'm told I'll be a better person because of it. I'm crying and screaming into my pillow right now, but when it all straightens out it will have been worth it. I'll look back on the good times and be glad I played the game.

Thunderstorms in May

I remembered, this evening, a summer Sunday that occured just after I graduated from high school. One of the most magnificent thunderstorms I have ever seen was underway outside. My family, in usual Sunday evening style, had scattered throughout the house with games, books, and journals. I think Levi and Eric were probably bickering over who got to pick the story my dad would read next. I slipped on my favorite flip-flops, worn blue stripes from a trip to Spain, and wandered out to the front porch.

As I sat with my knees pulled up to my chin, my beautiful mother joined me for a moment of quiet. She could have told me to put on a jacket, asked me what in the world I was doing, or chided me for getting my good pants dirty by sitting on the dusty cement, but she didn't. She sat next to me. We watched the storm for quite a while. The thunder reminded me of the old legend about the gods bowling in the sky, and I have never seen lightening spread across the sky in veins and rivers like that. Midnight blue hung high above us, and it turned a deep purple in the intermittent flashes. Contrasting with the rumbling thunder, the leaves and branches of our trees swished quietly in the sweeping wind. The air smelled intensely clean. It was more fresh than fruit or grass or even spring water. I felt like I could do anything.

My mother was perfectly still beside me, and it seemed like we had never communicated more clearly than we did at that moment in absolute silence. I don't know if she felt the same way. I do know that at that moment I loved her so much it made my stomach knot up. She was my mom and she understood thunderstorms and quiet and how I felt. After a few more seconds she gave me a hug and softly reminded, "Don't stay out too long." She went inside and I followed not long after. I have loved thunderstorms since that day. I still watch the lightening and think of my mom.

Tonight the weather changed faces and became reminiscent of winter yet again. I looked out the window and did not see a thunderstorm. Instead I saw rain and snow mixing together as they descended heavily. The sky was a thick gray. Thunder was missing, and it was uncannily quiet. It was a lonely quiet, not like the peace of warm summer rain.

I grabbed my fluffy white towel and turned on a steamy shower hoping to wash away the feeling. I guess my melancholy mood was not to be thwarted because the water was cold. Of course, it didn't warn me before I got in. It started out hot and faded to a dull chill. The worst! I hastily exited wishing for steam, sunshine, and most of all, my mom.

I'm wearing a turtleneck sweater now and am sitting on my bed with a pile of pillows behind my back. I feel fresh scrubbed. Cozy. The rain has stopped and black is creeping into the color palette in the sky. Everything seems calm. The cold is just outside now and the rain has left everything hopeful and unsoiled. I think it's time to call my mom. Maybe this Mother's Day May will let us share a thunderstorm. I love you Mom!

Update

Do you remember Channel One, the news show that we all watched every day in high school? Well, I have the amazing privilege of watching that show every day! I know, you're all jealous. :) However, today I decided that I like Channel One. Today, Channel One nearly stated the exact words of my last post. Channel One told me that according to recent studies, students who have blogs show improvement in their writing, and even write more outside of school.

Of little consequence, I know. Just an interesting thought. Maybe a project for next year's juniors... ?

The Lost and Found Art of Writing

For those of you who don't know me, I am a reader. I'm serious, a real honest to goodness reader! I read cereal boxes, shampoo bottles, billboards, tags, and of course novels. I revel in flipping pages and bask in the smell of paper and the sight of sharp black type on a page. I am currently in the middle of 5 different books, and when I was younger my Mom's favorite, and ultimate, threat was "I am going to take your book away!"

Now, I have become rather worried of late about the future of books. Writing is becoming a lost art which few undertake and even fewer master. I feared for wittiness, suspense, fantastic characters, and beautiful scenes. My students (yes, I know, I am the dreaded teacher) have provided something less than consolation in this area. Abbreviations such as brb, lol, and gtg have taken the place of my beloved words. Don't get me wrong, I update my facebook page with alarming regularity, and my monthly texts number in the hundreds. However, a computer doesn't smell like paper and abbreviations will never be able to create that perfect description of a sunset.

Yet today, my faith has been restored. I began reading blogs. I was touched, entertained, and enlightened. Blogging has created a new genre that showcases some of the better writing I have encountered in a long while. Suddenly, I want to create a book; Blogger Meets Bryant or The Shakespeare in My Computer. Terrible titles, but it is a work in progress. Written wit and wisdom have regained their throne and my thanks goes out to all you brainy bloggers. Can I publish you some day?