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The question I couldn’t answer (and strawberry rhubarb pie!)

1 Jun

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I was in hibernation for the winter. Like the flower bulbs snuggled into the dirt now making their way to the surface, my random thoughts and interest in pie are making their way back to the pages of this blog.

My team at work just finished reading Lean In by Facebook Chief Operating Officer, Sheryl Sandberg. Women, work and the will to lead. No loaded topics there. Surprisingly, Sandberg’s message didn’t resonate with me as I had expected. The conversation about women in the workplace is very real and always worth having, but the honest truth is that I found myself a bit exhausted of the discussion. That being said, I did take away a very important insight that helped me address something I’ve been wrestling with for years.

The opening chapter asked a very simple question: What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

Continue reading →

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Dark Chocolate Pudding Cups

6 Jan

January 2013 073

The lens through which I come up with ideas is admittedly a tad off the grid from what your average person might consider normal. I’m rarely surprised that when I throw an idea out there, I’m often met with looks of skepticism or, in most cases, advice not to do it.  But, in most cases, I still do it and the result always creates a story or memory for me to bookmark into my life.

This week was a perfect example.  My friend went through a devastating break up this past month ending with a move out of the house she shared with her boyfriend of two-years and starting over in a new apartment.  One of the few things that has made her smile and laugh over these painful weeks has been a local Cleveland comedian, Mike Polk, Jr.  His claim to local fame are some funny You Tube videos that have garnered millions of hits.  His Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video and now infamous Factory of Sadness rant about the Cleveland Browns also landed him an opportunity to publish a novelty book entitled, Damn Right I’m From Cleveland.

Cleveland book

My friend gave us all this book for Christmas and it is hands-down a required read for anyone who lives in or understands Cleveland, Ohio.

As I sat pondering what I could get as a housewarming present for the big move, the perfect thought crossed my mind.  Mike Polk, Jr.!  How awesome would it be if Mike Polk, Jr. would show up at her new apartment as her housewarming gift? I promptly sent him a message explaining the situation and asking him if he would consider my crazy idea. And you know what?  He said yes!

As the day came closer, my friends started to question my judgement.  “It’s a little weird” one would say.  “It seems a bit stalkerish,” said another. “I would never do that,” said yet another.  By the day of the planned visit, I was so worried that this idea was too outlandish, I emailed Mike Polk and offered him an out.  He declined the out and reinforced that he was happy to do it, so I followed my gut and stayed the course.  The surprise went off without a hitch.  Mike Polk arrived exactly as planned and the look on my friend’s face was priceless as she watched in confusion and excitement as he walked through her door.    He was gracious enough to stay for a drink and within minutes, her empty apartment was overflowing with the sounds of friends and laughter. And more importantly, we all watched as the empty, sad look on her face transformed into smiles and excitement.

So what was the moral of this long story?  Everyone has varying degrees of “normal” and I need to trust my judgement and not suffocate my excitement or creativity just because it’s outside of someone else’s comfort zone.  But an even bigger lesson for me here is to not be the one to squash the excitement of others.  I saw myself begin to do this with my 6 year old son.  Since I was just coming off of my own crazy idea stunt, I was a little more tuned in to this dynamic.  I have a tendency to tell him why an idea might not be good when he suggests something a little outside of the box. So, instead of jumping immediately to the reasons why his ideas might not be good, I’m making a conscious effort to just roll with them.  Take these recent examples:

1.  Leaving food on the back deck for Bigfoot

What I wanted to say:  No, Bigfoot hibernates in the winter and I don’t want to go outside in the snow.  What I said:  Sure, let’s see what happens.

2.  Bringing flowers to school tomorrow for a girl’s birthday

What I wanted to say:  I don’t think that’s appropriate (as visions of the Say Anything boombox scene cross my mind).  What I said:  That’s very thoughtful of you, go for it.

3.  Painting a sled for the man down the street that yells at his dog

What I wanted to say:  I don’t even know his name, and he kind of scares me.  What I said:  What I nice idea, I’m sure he’ll love it.

I see glimpses of a familiar zest for life in my children.  A hint of crazy and the constant awareness that today could bring more excitement than yesterday. We seem to share an understanding that life won’t happen if you don’t seize the opportunity to make it happen.  So we go forward into the new week.  My friends and I have a new story to tell and a memory to share.  Tomorrow, a little girl will remember the time her classmate brought her flowers for her birthday.  And the trail of corn on the back deck has solidified my son’s hypothesis that Bigfoot does, in fact, like corn and live in the woods.

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F-U, Fertility

15 Oct

October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Heavy stuff. I’ve never heard of such a day, but I saw it on Facebook via a friend who was honoring three babies she had lost.

The subject of pregnancy and infant loss always strikes a chord with me. I’m never sure if I’m in the club or not. I feel like my four early miscarriages don’t give me true street credit to self-identify as someone who has suffered significant loss.

On the other side of the fertility spectrum, I was in a conversation today with a friend who is trying to have a baby. I have numerous friends right now who are facing down the fertility challenge a little later in life. Images of ovaries with padlocks on them, refusing to ovulate because you just blew out your 40th birthday candle flash through my mind as I hear the uncertainty in their voices.

Every time I have these conversations, I get a pit in my stomach because I know what a joke fertility can be. This obscure concept that is nothing short of a superpower can be cruel and misleading. One minute you’re ovulating, the next your ovaries have posted a sign saying closed for the season. One minute the stick is pink, and the next you are getting wheeled into the operating room for a D&C. It’s a joke. Every 14th day of a cycle holds the promise of getting knocked up that month. Every 28th day holds the promise of two lines on the stick. Every stick with two lines holds the promise of a baby in your arms in 9 months. Every ultrasound promises that your baby is ok… for today. And every package of prenatal vitamins holds the promise that someday, your pregnancy will last long enough to get through an entire bottle. Continue reading →

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Almost, maybe, could have been…

18 Sep

I have a life filled with almost-maybes. You know, those times in your life when you have stuck your toe into something and then right when the critical moment came to go full-in, you bailed and headed another direction.  That’s me.  And if memory serves me right, that’s always been me.  I could have been so many things in my life…

I almost played the violin.  I started playing when I was four years old.  I remember falling asleep every night to the Suzuki records, hearing the patterns and allowing the brainwashing melodies to lull me to sleep. I played in recitals with adults and I think I could have been good had I continued.  But I didn’t.  I got bored.

I was almost a gymnast.  I started when I was five and know the exact date of when I did my first round-off back tuck (no handed back flip).  It was 8-8-88 and I was 10.  I was fearless and loved tumbling.  I flipped in the back yard, in the living room, in random parking lots.  I could have been really good had I actually practiced.  But I didn’t.  I got distracted.

I was almost a piano player.  I spent my whole life playing the piano by ear, so by the time I was in high school, I signed up for real piano lessons.  Every lesson started with a piano exercise going up and down the scale in complicated patterns.   My teacher told me that she had never seen a student play the exercises so proficiently and so fast.  She even tape recorded me.  She handed me the Maple Leaf Rag, and I played it.  She handed me Clair de Lune and I played it.  What she didn’t know was that I barely practiced.  I always wonder what could have been had I applied myself.  But I didn’t.  I made out with my boyfriend instead. Continue reading →

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Lose yourself when it comes to someone else’s loss

6 Jul

I’ve been watching from afar over the past few months as someone I went to high school with has been fighting tirelessly to save her seven year old daughter from Neuroblastoma cancer.  Recently, I watched in disbelief as she chronicled her daughter’s last days, and then on June 28th, her final breaths.

I say from afar because I mean just that.  We are not close in our adult life.  We had a tumultuous friendship in high school wrought with fights and manipulation, but sprinkled with some of the most fun I have ever had.  She was a spirited, boisterous, irreverent young woman – just the type of personality I needed to pull me from my rough waters of mean girls and stupid boys.  We clicked in chemistry class and I was immediately drawn to her no-nonsense style and her wicked sense of humor.  One might call her a bad influence, but she was truly a good person and inspired me to relax a little and find more fun in my teenage life.

That year, we filled our days quoting the most recent Saturday Night Live skits and  our weekends memorizing all of the lines to The Breakfast Club.  We had inside jokes… “Cheese and Rice!” instead of “Jesus Christ!”… after all, you can’t be teenage friends if you don’t have some ridiculous joke to define your relationship.  There was also a fair amount of inappropriate fun including skipping class, stealing a rubber chicken key chain from Spencer’s at the mall, and making a vodka Screwdriver and eating it with Captain Crunch in place of the milk.

Our friendship was exhilarating and I loved it.  But the reason our short friendship will always stay with me is because of a road trip that we took together.  I was allowed to go with her to visit her sister on the Ohio University campus.  I didn’t know much about OU other than a couple of ex-boyfriends went there, so naturally I was intrigued.  We sped off early that morning and headed two and a half hours south to Appalachia.  I had never been to that part of Ohio, and the minute I saw the campus peek over the rolling foothills, I was smitten.  I was fifteen and had never seen a college campus in full swing.  The buildings were big!  The campus was big!  The boys were so big!  It was amazing.  I was where I needed to be.

On our ride down, she played some music that I had never heard, but I loved it.  We stopped by a funky music store at the end of our trip and she found the tape for me to buy – the Eagles, Hotel California.  We played it the whole way back singing and laughing.  I came home from that trip changed.  Changed not because I now knew the words to every song on that album, but I knew where I was headed when high school ended in two years.

I can’t say exactly why we grew apart – I suspect it was typical high school obstructions like boys, new friends, new interests.  We both went to OU and have since moved away from our hometowns.  I hadn’t thought about her at all until Facebook kept suggesting a friend for me.  I didn’t recognize the name, so I never paid that much attention to it.  But one day, I took a second glance and it was her.  All of the memories came rushing back and I was interested to see how she was doing. Continue reading →

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Nashville Pie Crawl

22 Apr

You know your life has turned a corner when upon visiting a new city, you embark on a pie crawl and not a bar crawl like a more youthful and resilient version of yourself might have say, oh, 15 years ago.  My how time has changed me – those rounds of cherry bombs and appletinis have now turned into slices of cherry pies and apple pies.

I haven’t gone anywhere interesting since I started this blog until recently when my husband and I went to Nashville, Tennessee.  The plane had barely dropped its landing gear and I was already formulating my plan of attack to find the best pie in Nashville.  And find Ben Folds.  But the pie would be easier.  By the time we went to bed that first night, I had mapped out the top three pie stops and was eager to experience all Nashville had to offer.

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How I Learned to Love My Dog

26 Mar

 

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One would think I should be a dog lover seeing as though I have one, but it took me quite some time to learn to love my dog. I had not been able to completely warm up to her until an unexpected experience left us with more in common than I ever could have imagined.

It’s surprising that I am so luke warm about animals. Look, I don’t want to see them hurt, but I also don’t want them in my bed. As a child, I was a PETA advocate in the making. I have so many memories of a young me shedding buckets of tears over all things living. One of my earliest memories is of watching a pet mouse die a slow death from a tumor. I would stare at his cage sobbing until my dad finally put construction paper on the glass to block the view. Then there was the baby bat in the bushes who had a broken wing. I had grand plans to nurse it back to health, but those went out the window as I shrieked in horror watching my dad put it out of its misery with a shovel. I cried over a chicken that lived on the side porch that was sent to a farm, I cried over a rabbit that broke out of his cage and died in the yard, I cried over a parakeet who I found lying on the floor of his cage (to which I later found out my mom stopped feeding it because I would not take care of it). Hamsters, dogs, fish – you name it, it had tears shed over it.

I don’t know what happened to that passionate little girl who brought home stray kittens and would have snuggled up with a hermit crab. For years, I have tried to rekindle my passion for animals by reacquiring some, but I just haven’t crossed that boundary to LOVE.

Four years ago, we succumbed to the pleas of our two young boys and got our first family dog, Chloe. I would pat her on the head and throw her a ball, going through the motions of a good dog owner, but I remained emotionally distant from her. Part of our arrangement with the breeder was that we would let her have a litter of puppies (yes, the people who just kind of like dogs signed up for this situation). It seemed good in theory. She would get pregnant, and then go back to the breeder’s house a few days before she was due to have the puppies. No puppy business in our house and we would get a mini dog vacation. As planned, she got pregnant and as her little belly continued to grow, I found myself identifying with her more and more as she waddled around the house. When she went through a phase of not eating, I would look at her sympathetically as if to say, “I feel your pain, sister.”

To our surprise, she went into labor two weeks early. It was 3am and we ripped the boys out of bed, threw everyone into the minivan and set out on the 45 minute drive to the breeder’s house. I sat on the floor of the mini van next to Chloe praying that I would not have to deliver puppies on the highway. With every contraction, my panic intensified as I frantically yelled at my husband to drive faster. We made it in time, but because this was a rather abrupt arrival, my husband went home with the boys and I stayed behind to keep Chloe calm. I felt like her Lamaze partner.

Chloe was confused and scared, but she relaxed as I sat by her head. To our disappointment, the first seven puppies were dead and the next three passed soon after birth. She was miscarrying. Of course Chloe was unaware of what was happening, but in that moment I had such an unexpected wave of compassion for her. Tears sprang to my eyes as I chuckled at the irony that the only girls living in our household (me and her) struggle to have successful pregnancies. Sure, she’s a dog, but my heart went out to her after trying to grow ten healthy puppies. I know what it feels like to trust that your body knows what to do; and I also know all too well what it feels like for your body to totally let you down.

I’ve had four miscarriages. My husband and I experienced three losses before our oldest son was born. Those early days are a blur of blood draws, genetic testing and inaccurate diagnoses, all with an undercurrent of the fear and confusion that arrives when you learn that your fertility is not in your control. We went on to have a text book second son and the trauma of those years began to fade. But just when I thought I had control over my fertility again, I was reminded that I, in fact, have none when our attempt at a third child resulted in another miscarriage.

And so, sitting on the kitchen floor in a virtual stranger’s house at 4am, I began to let Chloe creep into my heart. We had a unique bond that only I was aware of, but it helped me begin to love her. As I stroked her head and smiled at her, I remembered how the first time I let her lay in my lap was when I was having my last miscarriage. One of the few times I cried over that miscarriage was when I let Chloe come near and lay by me while I wept over another lost pregnancy. She sat with me through my miscarriage and now here I was sitting with her.

And while we both might have lost our pregnancies, I can say with confidence that we both found comfort in a most unexpected friend.

But she still can’t sleep in my bed.

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Pie it Forward Celebrates National Pie Day

29 Jan

In case you haven’t caught on yet, last Monday was National Pie Day.  I had never heard of this holiday until recently, so naturally, I was all over it.  What better excuse to bake (and eat) tons of pie?  I spent the weekend baking up a storm and then the whole family hit the pavement to Pie it Forward.

Pie, pie and more pie...

We spent the day back in our old neighborhood showering our friends and former neighbors with packages of pie.

My thoughtful coworker gave me these great boxes!

First on my list were some friends from a group of moms that I met when my son was born.  I love these ladies and will eventually get pie to all of them!  These are women who withheld their judgement as I wished for my cat to die in a freak accident during the early weeks of my son’s birth. They didn’t flinch when I fled a party after mere minutes because our entire family was having a meltdown.  These are the friends who made me feel as if it was perfectly normal to stick my one year old in a blow-up baby bathtub filled with masses of leftover cooked pasta because I was out of ideas to entertain him. And for that, they deserve pie for the rest of their lives.

Pie for two! (well, her third actually)

Then is was on to the old ‘hood to drop in unexpectedly on some neighbors.

Neighbors are like family – no matter where you go, they will always be your neighbors.  As soon as each door opened, we were invited into their homes and spent the time talking, laughing and reminiscing.  My pie obsession was news to them, but they gratefully accepted the surprise package.

We wrapped up our time there and headed back so my husband could do his first official Pie it Forward.  My husband has chronic hives (don’t ask, we don’t know) and the pharmacist at our local drive-through pharmacy has gone the extra mile to help him.  She remembers his name, knows his prescriptions and makes him feel like she genuinely cares.

You should have seen the look on her face when instead of handing pills out of the window, she was handed a bag of pie into the window!  Although she was grateful for the nice gesture, she seemed a bit confused and surprised.  While I’m sure she does not get thank you pie everyday, we also learned the key to Pie it Forward – don’t forget to tell someone why you are thanking them!  I think my husband was a little nervous and he forgot to explain WHY he was giving her pie.  Practice will make perfect.

And now, the moment we have been waiting for…

The winner of the first Pie it Forward Challenge!

Lisa from Monterey, CA!

Lisa had a great story and really went out of her comfort zone to Pie it Forward!  She took the challenge and decided to extend her gratitude to Ronny Cox, an actor turned singer/songwriter who took the time last year to talk with her son and give him some advice about professional acting.  Here’s an excerpt from Lisa’s story:

It made me happy that this man would not only come to a small church that no one outside the area would have ever heard of and play a benefit concert for a small group of people to help a small, largely unknown, charity and to make himself accessible to everyone who came. So I decided that’s who I should give my pie (cake) to, Ronny Cox, actor, singer, songwriter and genuinely good person.

Nice work, Lisa!  You will receive this awesome decal/poster from Spiffy Decals.

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Pear Eggnog Winter Pie

5 Jan

It’s 2012 and the best thing to do for a new year is to come clean and start fresh.  Don’t get excited – there’s nothing juicy here like sordid affairs, slipping my kids Benadryl so they will sleep, or a problem with shop lifting.  My confessions are rather mundane, but they are mine and blogging about them makes me feel like I can bless and release them, then move on.

I don’t recycle if the item is upstairs, in the kids’ room, in the bathroom, or anywhere really but the kitchen. And this is a step towards a greener me.

I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty for being a working Mom.  I’ve felt like this for a while and am waiting for some type of guilt to set in for working full time and liking it.  But I’m fine.  So instead, I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty.

I did karaoke just before Christmas in a bar full of strangers.  On a Wednesday. Sober.  My husband and I also have our own personal library of karaoke songs – nearly 1,000.  And we do karaoke.  Sober.  On any day.

This blog didn’t start entirely because of pie and I didn’t tell you the whole story.  I was totally into pie, so that part is true. The rest of the truth is that this blog came into being because I needed a distraction from a miscarriage that I had over the summer.  My husband and I finally got the nerve to try for a third child, succeeded for a brief moment, and lost the pregnancy.  This was my fourth miscarriage (three before my first son) and I was looking for a way to distract myself from the disappointment.  While I think I cope with my miscarriages pretty darn well, I do tend to do something slightly drastic after each one.

#1 – adopted two cats.

#2 – Painted every room downstairs in one night

#3 – Moved to Portland, Oregon (for a minute – found out I was pregnant (again) three weeks after I got there, quit my job and moved back to Cleveland.  That was the now 5 year old.)

Having a fourth miscarriage in the midst of raising two boys, a dog, a cat (left over from the first miscarriage), and a harder job left me with slim pickings for drastic change.  So instead of moving across the country, I started baking even more pie and blogging about it.  In those first weeks, I was making pie three or four times a week.  Pie is about precision and paying attention – especially when you’re new at it.  I found that the process of making pie cleared my head and prevented my mind from wandering and over-analyzing the summer’s events.  The rolling, the shaping, the baking, the eating – pie raised up my let down spirits and provided comfort.  And since we’re confessing here, it also added a few more pounds.

I love making pie.  I love giving it to people.  I didn’t know it at the time, but this funny little hobby has given me so much more than just a distraction.  It’s given me some space in my life to practice the art of gratitude and acceptance.  And that’s what I never had before – I always had to react, to make sense of things, make a plan, move on, go, go, go.  Who knew pie would teach me how to just be still and enjoy the slice of life that is mine?

Pear Eggnog Winter Pie

Adapted from Vegetarian Times

My coworker sent me a recipe for a Pear Eggnog Pie from Vegetarian Times a couple of weeks ago.  One look at this pie and I knew it was my next suspect!  There were some things about it that I wanted to tweak, so I used the recipe as my base and developed what I think is a pretty awesome winter pie.

Ingredients

1 recipe of pie dough for a 9 inch crust

10 gingersnaps (pulsed into fine crumbs)

3 medium pears (peeled and sliced about 1/4 -1/2 inch thick)

1 Tablespoon crushed or minced fresh ginger (in the jar if you’re lazy like me)

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup sugar

2 eggs

1 can evaporated milk

2 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

1 Tablespoon rum

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Directions

Ahead of time:

Make pie dough and refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to two days.

Pre-bake the crust:

Preheat oven to 400.  Roll dough into a 12 inch circle and place into a 9 inch pie plate.  You will want to leave a one-inch over hang by cutting the dough to even it out.  Tuck edges under and sculpt an upstanding ridge if desired.  Place pie plate in refrigerator for 15 minutes.

Make the filling:

Keep oven at 400.  Using a food processor or mini-chopper (or a ziploc bag and a rolling pin) turn the ginersnaps into fine crumbs.  You will line the crust with a thin layer of gingersnap crumbs when it’s time to assemble.

Peel and slice pears.  Toss together with lemon juice and ginger in a medium bowl.  Arrange the pears in rows, standing on edge along the bottom of the crust.  Place pie plate on a baking sheet.

Whisk the sugar and eggs together until well blended.  Add in the evaporated milk.  Continuing to whisk well, add the vanilla, nutmeg, cinnamon and rum.  Pour mixture over pears into the prepared pie shell.

Place pie on the center rack of the oven and cook for 15 minutes at 400.  Lower the temperature to 350 and cook for another 35-40 minutes until the middle is set.  Ovens will vary, so begin watching it after 30 minutes.  Enjoy with ice cream or fresh whipped cream!

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Hungarian Kiflis (it’s not pie!)

18 Dec

There comes a time when you need to leave the pie behind and get down to business.  It’s Christmas and I have other baked goods standing in line waiting for some attention.  First on the list – my Grandma’s Hungarian Kiflis.

I would venture to say that I have been eating Kiflis since before I could walk.  As soon as the babies in my family are old enough to gum a teething biscuit, they are ready for Kiflis.

Elliot conquers his first Kifli

I’m very territorial over these Kiflis.  Friends will say, “Oh, we make those – they are Kolache.”  No way – those are Czechoslovakian.  Or someone will mention that they have a recipe for the same thing – Rugelach.  Close, but not the same thing.   Kiflis are a soft, yeast-based pastry that are rolled closed around an apricot, plum or nut filling.  They are not super sweet and are the perfect side for a cup of coffee.

This is our family recipe. It didn’t come out of a food blog, nor did it come from the pages of the latest epicurian magazine.  It came from my Grandmother’s tattered cookbook that now rests proudly in my kitchen.  I became the new owner of this cookbook when my Grandmother moved into a nursing home several years ago.  This was the one and only item that I begged to have.  I adored her cooking and wanted to learn straight from her pen.

The year my Grandmother went into the nursing home would also be the first year that she did not make Kiflis for Christmas.  Instead, I decided to pass the torch to myself and learn to make these beloved pastries.  I made them that year the same way I do now – using her bowl, apron, spoon and rolling pin (I really don’t know what it is, but it’s good for rolling).  I figured I’d do my best to put some good Kifli karma into the air and use the tools that had spent decades producing these little horns of goodness.

Continue reading →

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