Paint the Town Red

Autumn was a little slow in coming here, but it has (finally) officially arrived now. The signs of the season's arrival are all around. We have a jack-o-lantern on our patio. The basil plant succumbed to the cold; all the leaves are shriveled and black. Jackets and scarves (hooray!) are needed in the morning. Soup season has started. Fresh cooked pumpkin has overtaken the kitchen and is finding its way into many recipes (pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pudding, and pumpkin pie). And there are fallen leaves everywhere that MUST be walked through. (I think I might have some kind of deficiency of fall leaf crunching because I grew up with mostly pine needles). Before the trees are completely naked, the horticulturist in me begs to give voice to the colors of the season here.
Many of the trees in this area turn yellow/brown in the autumn (ie, poplar, aspen, willow, green ash, honeylocust, linden, sycamore, most of the oaks). But, there are a few trees worth mentioning individually that are real stand-outs amongst all the golden leaves. Maples are often wonderful showstoppers in the fall. Sugar maples in the northeast provide most of the stunning color. Sugar maples aren't very plentiful here, but other types of maples give quite a show. For example, both the Acer rubrum 'October Glory' (red maple) and Acer x freemanii 'Autumn Blaze' (a cross between a red maple and a sugar maple) have brilliant orange-red fall color. The 'October Glory' maple has a nice rounded form and grows to 40' or more, and its fall color can persist for three to four weeks. The 'Autumn Blaze' maple has much more deeply lobed leaves, similar to a silver maple and has extremely long-lasting color. It grows rapidly and is hardy to zone 4 (ie, Iowa wind-chill hardy), and is also quite drought tolerant. Another tree that really caught my attention was the Fraxinus americana 'Autumn Purple'. This is a cultivar of the white ash with a spectacular range of fall color from deep purple, to maroon, to red, finally to yellow-orange. I enjoyed seeing this tree slowly make its color change over an entire month. Another added perk of this tree is that is is male, so there is no messy fruit dropping everywhere (ash trees have a fruit that looks like a canoe paddle).
Finally, a note on one of the lovely native trees with great fall color. Acer grandidentatum (big tooth maple) grows as a large native shrub or small tree from Montana to northern Mexico and is found in Colorado at elevations between 7000-8000'. The leaves are 4" in diameter with blunt edges and nice red-orange fall color. It is often found growing in association with gambel oak, chokecherry, and box elder.

Reason no. 24

Dear Dallin,

It started simple enough. You were interested in finding a more convenient and accessible place for my cookbooks. Your kind thought soon evolved into a total reorganization of a portion of the kitchen, with amazing results. I love your way of thinking, the kind of thinking that focuses on finding the better way to do something. I love that your way of thinking is so often focused on how to make my life sweeter. You show me your love by your actions, and it means so much.

All my love, Liezel

Nesting

Our neighbor downstairs moved in recently from upstate New York, and the third day after her arrival she was fixing up her outside patio space. She pulled all the weeds, washed off the fence and concrete, put down new rocks, and set out a fancy outdoor dining table with a stone top. The table is now decorated with an interesting seasonal display of gourds, pumpkins, watering cans, and flower pots. I am intrigued by her creative impulse to make her living space, even a 6' by 6' patio, more beautiful. My mom calls all those instinctual efforts to beautify and create and make a house feel like a home nesting. Birds build and pad their nests mostly for the comfort of their young. In a similar way, I believe these creative desires, these "nesting" efforts are part of the divine character of a woman. It is part of the nurturing nature of women, whether or not they have children, to create an environment for learning and growth. A home that has the feeling of home is one that emulates the feeling of the temple. The temple, of course, uses the very best materials and the finest fabrics and furniture, but the feeling comes by the holy work performed there and the devotion of the people found within its walls. However simple the home, the feeling of holiness is there when creative and inspired efforts build a loving and nurturing place. No creative effort is wasted because creativity toward worthy ends has divine origins.

A Room with a [Gilded] View

Every day for the past two weeks I look out ANY window in our apartment and have this gorgeous golden-leafed view (from a Honeylocust, Gleditsia triacanthos):













Life is simple, really, and so is this little blessing, but even still, I see many reasons to give thanks. I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful for color and sunshine. I am grateful for windows that help me to see the good right in front of my face. I am grateful for the influence of the Holy Ghost that helps me to choose to recognize my abundance and tend that garden. I am grateful that after the fleeting glory of autumn there still exist the unchanging truths of life: God lives, Jesus Christ is His Only Begotten Son, we are each beloved spirit children of our Father in Heaven, and there is victory over death through the Atonement.

Upward Ever Upward

We went on a hike that started in the Chautauqua Historic Park on the northern edge of Boulder. Our end destination was near the top of the mountains pictured below. The day was absolutely picturesque, which I am discovering, happens a lot here. I never expected a Colorado fall to be this fantastic, but I keep being surprised. We have had weather in the 70s and 80s for the entire month. At night it cools down to 35 or 40 so we are still getting the coldness required for good color.
These mountains are called the Flatirons and have very interesting steep-angled flat fronts that are immediately recognizable. The hike was only 3 miles and was marked in our guidebook as "moderate", but it gained considerable elevation in a short amount of time. We started at 5710' above sea level and went to 6950'. This low-lander with southern gills was huffing and puffing like a chain smoker, but I did it! Pictured above is the view from the mountain down to Boulder.The triumphant team after about 6600 steps and lots of climbing over rocks (they don't call this Boulder for nothing!). The "Royal Arch" is the entrance to the final ascent and the sort of gateway to completion of your journey. Hoorah!

Paint me a picture

A recent conversation with some women turned sort of unexpectedly to memories of childhood play. I was fascinated to hear the accounts of each woman; each had a unique picture to paint. One woman reminisced over her pet June bug that she kept in a shoe box padded with cotton swabs. Another woman grew up with chinchillas and chickens and had adventures with her brothers in the empty lot behind their house. Another remembered having Saturday afternoon picnics on a grassy knoll in a small bit of forest close to her house where she would read for hours. My childhood play memories include trying to catch tree frogs and lizards, collecting cicada skins in yogurt cups, hide-and-seek with my brothers and the neighbor boys, creating aerobic-exercise obstacle courses on our driveway, bike rides, playing "house" in the fort my dad built, or going on "camping trips" in tents made from paint drop clothes and PVC pipes.

And so, reader, I am curious--what memories do you have of your play time as a child?

The Power of Association

The 180th Semiannual General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was held last Saturday and Sunday. I love listening to the conference broadcast! I look forward to it for weeks in advance, but despite all the anticipation and preparation I always feel like I come with a one-gallon bucket to receive a veritable deluge of teaching and testimony. So, I play happy little sponge and absorb what I can in the moment.
One of the talks that made an immediate impression on me was Elder D. Todd Christofferson's talk, "Reflections on a Consecrated Life", which he gave in the Saturday morning session. In particular, the idea of the power of association has made me ponder quite a bit. The ultimate association, of course, is with our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, as expressed in a quote by B.H. Roberts included in Elder Christofferson's remarks:
“The man who so walks in the light and wisdom and power of God, will at the last, by the very force of association, make the light and wisdom and power of God his own—weaving those bright rays into a chain divine, linking himself forever to God and God to him.”
In addition, Elder Christofferson notes the power of association here and now with our fellow men. He taught:
"A consecrated life is a beautiful thing...Of particular significance is the influence of a consecrated man or woman upon others, especially those closest and dearest. The consecration of many who have gone before us and others who live among us has helped lay the foundation for our happiness."
From The Book of Mormon we have the example of Amulek's association with Alma and the potent power of their missionary companionship. Surely the 40+ years of association with the brethren helped men like Gordon B. Hinckley and Thomas S. Monson more fully polish their characters to become Prophets of the church in these latter days.
My own life is so full of powerful and influential associations that it seems unfair to even make a list because I would inadvertantly leave someone of by accident. But, to bring this down to my life and station, I did want to site just one example. Several years ago I worked with a woman about my mom's age named Mollie. She and I became fast friends almost instantly. She adopted me as the daughter she never had. We talked about everything, including religion at great length. She grew up Catholic and was a modern-day saint. On her days off she went to the homeless shelter in downtown Atlanta and worked as a volunteer washing stranger's feet.
In time we talked about all the gospel principles, The Book of Mormon, temples, prophetic authority, and the plan of salvation. I bore my testimony to her on many occasions. She did more than just hear what I would say, she began to incorporate the faith that I expressed to her into the way she spoke to me. For example, I sometimes expressed my concerns about dating and my desire to find someone to marry. Without missing a beat she would say to me with complete conviction, "You know how to pray and you know how to receive answers. You have faith. Why are you worried?" On another occasion I was being hammered by my boss to work on Sundays. Week after week he would call me into his office to see if I would change my mind and just work this one Sunday. I always said no, but after so many confrontations I was beginning to waver a little in my resolution. Just before I was called in again to see my boss, Mollie pulled me aside and looked me straight in the eyes. With incredible fervor she said, "Don't you dare give in. You know the blessings that come from keeping the Sabbath day holy. Don't you dare let him sway you." With her words of courage I was able to tell my boss in no uncertain terms that I could not, nor would not ever work on Sunday, and then I told him why. He never bothered me again.
How grateful I am for Mollie and the power of her association. She taught me. She listened to me. She encouraged me. She had a wonderful way of praising my personal convictions. I know the power of a righteous influence and have been richly blessed because of this influence.

Mouse Musings

I found a dead mouse on the sidewalk near my apartment yesterday. My very first thought was, "I wonder what kind of mouse life he lived?" Mouse characters abound in children's literature and I immediately started an internal review of every such creature I could think of.
Perhaps he was a mouse like Gus or Jack in Disney's animated version of Cinderella who were all kindness and helpfulness to their trapped friend. Or a Stuart Little type who was on vacation from New York with his human family and tried to befriend the birds here--with sad consequence. I could imagine him as Despereaux from Kate DiCamillo's book with large ears and eyes wide open and courage enough to save a Princess Pea.
These little animal creatures are so appealing to little children because they can see themselves in the character; they relate to someone small and weak, someone with big ideas, but perhaps lacking in courage or strength.
My mind next turned to little children and then with gratitude to the many people of my acquaintance who teach or nurture them. My sister, for example, is in her second year of teaching fifth graders and puts her whole heart and soul into giving them the best possible education.
One of the women I visit teach in my new ward has a very heavy case load teaching elementary aged children with special needs (physical, emotional, and behavioral), and has a depth of passion and compassion for them that is truly humbling.
My friend Katie took a teaching job in a school 40 miles from home in a disadvantaged school working with children with learning disabilities because she hoped to make a difference.
Of course, I also thought of all my college roommates, most recently Heather, who are now mothers and doing such an amazing job at building the next generation.

Oh the [Colorado] places we go!

Have I mentioned that I love it here? May it be known that I do. Have I mentioned that I am rather smitten with Colorado? It will tell you right now, I am.
Our most recent adventuring included seeing four extreme landscapes in a two day period. We saw a huge hole in the ground (Royal Gorge, Canon City). We experienced a sand dune, or two...or five...(Great Sand Dune National Park and Preserve, near Alamosa). We marveled at aspens in all their autumn glory (10,000+ mountain peaks off Highway 149 in the Rio Grande National Forest near Creede). We explored giant red rocks (Garden of the Gods, Colorado Springs).
During the peak of the autumn color viewing on gorgeous mountain roads we had Aaron Copeland's Appalachian Spring narrating our tour. It was glorious! It was majestic! I felt patriotic seeing America and listening to America and getting to see it all with Dallin, my most excellent traveling companion.

Plant Nerd Gets a New Pet

My little plant collection grew by one when Dallin (the sweet) gave me a birthday orchid. It is of the Cattleya species, cultivar Haiwaiian Thrill 'Paradise'. I think we will call her Catty for short. This is a young plant, so it may take up to a year before she blooms the first time, but when she does, it will be a vibrant orange with a red lip and very fragrant. The bloom should look something like this:
Catty gets some pretty posh treatment here. A nice sunny window, vitamin water, and other plant friends, like Aloe (who is nice, but can seem a bit prickly on first impression), and African Violet, (who is content, as long as there is no water on her leaves). And Dallin, who supplies regular entertainment and companionship. This morning he danced for the plants. Adorable.

The Great Zuchinni Race

Think outside the frying pan folks. Put away your food processor. Hold the juicer. This goes way beyond zucchini relish, zucchini gratin, zucchini salsa, or zucchini souffle. We are dawning a new day of usefulness for the piles of oversized zucchini in your garden. Brought to you by some super creative people at the Boulder Creek Hometown Fair Dallin and I saw with our very own eyes the first ever (cue drumroll and obnoxious gameshow announcer voice) GREAT ZUCHINNI RACE! Yup, that's right for a small fee your child can give new life to a neglected garden veggie. Simply attach four wooden wheels and decorate your zuchinni-gone-racecar with an assortment of provided pipe cleaners, glitter, puff paint, tissue paper, and googly eyes. Finished specimen are then fitly equipped for the race they always dreamed of. It's the ten-minute or less pinewood derby for the green-thumb third grader. I call it dang cute.

Gluten-free, round two

Last month when Dallin was out of town for a week I made some kind of gluten-free baked item every day. There were some real winners from the experiment, like a nice dried fruit Irish scone recipe, a chewy cookie with oatmeal, golden raisins and walnuts, and a sweet potato pie with a almond meal/brown sugar crust. During that week and the weeks since there were also some less than stellar performers, like my attempt to convert a naan recipe to gluten-free (denture-wearers ought not to taste test), or the gluten-free gnocchi that turned to mashed potatoes as soon as it was mixed with other food. We are still perfecting a homemade gluten-free/egg-free waffle without spending six dollars on a store bought mix. Sweet brown rice/tapioca starch combos seem promising, but success continues to allude us. Yesterday was a good day in the amateur gluten-free kitchen. I tried a new recipe for gluten-free Italian amaretti (almond) cookies that turned out pretty well. Egg whites beaten to a frothy state and almond extract give this cookie a very unique flavor and airy texture. Dinner was a Dallin favorite and a good way to say "I love you." Gluten-free AND vegan macaroni and cheese...yes, yes, I hear you. Just trust me, this macaroni and cheese without the cheese tastes amazing. And it means my Dallin has a happy tummy, which is worth a lot.

Practicing

Dallin and I have been practicing being spontaneous.

Ridiculous isn't it?...we are making plans for spontaneity. Neither one of us are free spirits, though, and this fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants business is not really in our comfort zone. So, occasionally we will be driving and Dallin (who is usually the instigator of such things, his spontaneity impulses being more highly refined than mine) will say, "Let's be spontaneous." And we do, and it is surprisingly delightful.
In our latest sort-of-planned/sort-of-random adventure, Dallin decided to turn down an unfamiliar street instead of going home. In short order we found a custard establishment that was still open. So we got custard because it seemed like a perfectly unplanned thing to do. While we were eating custard we discovered a Mediterranean grocery store and cafe in the same shopping center. So we decided to eat our custard and browse the aisles. It was lovely. We ended up buying a few things on a whim. In the near future we will culminate our spontaneity with a dinner via Turkey. The most interesting impulse buy? Mediterranean sesame fudge (sesame paste, sugar, pistaschios).

Wisdom and order

Yesterday Mama Bear, Dallin, and I went to the Denver Botanic Gardens on one of their "free days". It was my first time (during the growing season) to see the property. I am trying to learn Colorado plants, so I took advantage of plant photo opportunities right and left. I enjoyed the various garden rooms and thematic displays (perennial garden, herb garden, prairie garden, scripture garden, rose garden, seasonal flower cutting garden, native flora garden, desert mesa garden, Japanese garden, water garden, etc.) I enjoyed having so much to touch and see and feel and hear. I enjoyed my perfect company.
Towards the end of our day I was able to catch this dragonfly on a lotus pod with just a little Kodak point-and-shoot camera. Dragonflies at the garden were plentiful and busy in their flight patterns and meal acquistion, but they were also very attentive to their resting time. I was impressed by these dragonflies that recognized their abilities and energy level and took needed routine breaks. A particular phrase from Mosiah 4:27 came to mind, "and see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength...therefore, all things must be done in order." A lesson from dragonflies that I needed to remember.

A Favorite Local Adventure

At around 6:00 am on a clear day with fair winds in the open field across the street from our apartment complex, you might notice an interesting gathering of people. At first glance, you might think it is an overnight camping group packing up from a sleepover under the stars. Upon closer inspection, though, you realize that the people are actually unloading, not loading.

This particular open field is the launching pad for several local hot air balloon companies. Just as the sun is coming up, they arrive in 15-passenger vans with yellow-shirted employees and sleepy-eyed customers and lay out their baskets and colorful balloons.

By 6:30 am they have started to fill the balloons with hot air. Many mornings I have woken to the sound of blowing propane tanks from our open windows. The deep-throated sound makes me think of a tottering old near-sighted troll fogging up his spectacles to clean them.
This morning when I went out to watch, there were five balloons being filled for take-off. The balloons move amazingly fast from half-filled to full and upright. Passengers climb inside the wicker basket, ropes are removed, pictures are taken...

...And lift-off!
The balloons are all up in the air by no later than 7:15 am, each following just one or two minutes behind the previous one traveling wherever the wind may take them.
And the going rate for this unique form of flight technology?
Monday-Friday, $245 per adult, $195 per child
(slightly more on the weekends)

You told me so

When I would sit obstinately on the piano bench as a little girl arms crossed over my chest, crocodile tears running down my frustrated, scowly face, my mom would say,

"You'll wish you had practiced when you get older."
"You'll wish you could play the piano sometime later in life."

She was right.

I do and I have for several years. Age and maturity have prompted that desire. Hearing my sisters play, (very well!) in over-the-phone piano concerts have intensified that desire. Now add to that the fact that I am married to a musician, and have public school music educators for in-laws!

The good news is, I still have time; and it seems that my opportune time is now. The other good news is, I can pick my own music. No offense to those beginner tunes with ridiculous names like "Quiet Thoughts", "Sun on the Snow", or "Curious Cat", but I never really got into them. Sorry to say I never really felt that burning urge to perfect my little ditty called "String Beans." I am more inclined to pick something far above my playing ability and allow sheer tenacity to rule while I sit for three hours straight trying to hash it out. If I really want to learn a certain piece, I will. Be patient with me, it could be a month or two, but if I really want to, I can. No major progress yet, but I have a song or two under my belt and a few more in the works.

And, Mom, you were right.
You are always right.

And this makes me happy too.

First tomato harvest from the vegetable garden on our patio!

You make me happy.

Dallin and I received some fantastic wedding gifts. For example, the Airbake cookie sheets have somehow improved my cookie baking skills ten fold (thanks Aunt Sanny!) Simple as it is I love my $10 or less citrus juicer; it works like a charm and does its job in a jiffy. All the wonders of gluten-free baking are mine for the taking with our super-dandy grain grinder (Mum, you are amazing!) My sister Molly read my mind and got us the Haslam family special occasion staple, a red "you are special today" plate (I love you Molly!) We have knives in their perfected form from Cutco (thanks Mama Bear!), a cherry wood salad bowl set that makes just salad look like a gourmet meal, an ice cream maker, a rice cooker, etc.
BUT, my favorite wedding gift in the category of low (monetary) input for high (happiness) output is without a doubt our shower curtain. It makes me smile everyday. Oh, and here's a shout-out to the monkeys-eat-bananas Pagets that helped unite this monkey with her Kermit. Love you!

Contribute.

Last week Dallin and I visited the campus here in Boulder, which I have admired from afar ever since I moved here. The architecture is what I would expect from the front range/almost the prairie/but sort of the desert. It has Romanesque roots, but tries to be southwestern and kind of pueblo-mission, and also reminds me of Frank Lloyd Wright, with lots of straight lines, and stable horizontality. Okay, that was really random, and unfortunately we didn't have our camera during our walking tour. Just trust me, it fits the landscape. All the buildings are terra cotta and wheat colored, which is impressively beautiful against the summer green of the Flatiron Mountains.
During the course of our walk we found the word "CONTRIBUTE" in large block capital letters stamped conspicuously in the sidewalk. I have been thinking of that ever since--or it has been haunting me, more like. I guess I am overly sensitive to feel guilty over a word stamped in a square of sidewalk, but I have been wondering, "Am I contributing?" "To what should I contribute?" Sometimes I feel the need to validate my efforts as a human being. So I am mulling here about me and that contributing state of being.

• I recycle. And I love to do it. I think I might even be a little bit of a recycling Nazi because Dallin will sometimes be in mid-arm swing over the trashcan with a tuna can or a milk carton and I, in shock, will call him out on his grave misdeed (over-dramatization).
  
• If possible, I ride my bike or walk rather than drive the car. I am contributing to clean air (and my high altitude lung capacity).
  
• I plant flowers. I have an organic vegetable garden. I am making a contribution to honey bee survival. I am making a contribution to the beauty of the earth even if I only have a very little bit of earth to tend.
  
• I keep a journal, and have for the last fifteen years. I am making a contribution toward my family history work, record keeping, my writing skills, and good penmanship.
• I run a tidy home. I love to clean. I am contributing to bad germ elimination. I vacuum regularly. I get a little delight from clean counters and a mopped floor.
• I still use the good old post office of the United States to regularly send homemade cards, handwritten letters, and care packages just because. I contribute to the smile of surprise at the mailbox.
  
• I say please and thank you. I smile at strangers. I give people the benefit of the doubt. I contribute to those little old-fashioned nice-ties that make small ripples for good.
• I love my family. I love my friends. I love my Dallin. I contribute to the happiness of the people in my circle of influence.
  

Snapshots from a time and place

When I walk to the end of our road and do a 360 degree turn at sunset on a clear night, this is my view. The clouds in this part of the country are more often than not spectacular and full of color. I love the rural open space feeling; it is an interesting mix of Utah and Iowa. Mountains, plains, meadows, bluffs, and lots of unobstructed sky.
I have started to get a feel for the character of this place. The common vegetation are scrubby, hardy trees like cottonwood, Russian olive, blue spruce, and scotch pine. Some more cultivated ornamental trees include linden, ash, honeylocust, crabapple, bur oak, white oak, and many kinds of maple. Perennial flower gardens are common and lovely. I have been pleasantly surprised to see many flower gardeners here who grow things like penstemon, columbine, Russian sage, lavender, yarrow, coneflower, and clematis.
There is a distinct local culture and clearly defined preferences here. For example, vehicle of choice? Subaru Outback, complete with all-wheel drive, bike rack, and dog hanging out the window. Most common routine purchase? Organic produce. Favorite Friday night hang-out? The prepared food section of Whole Foods. Restaurant of choice? Anything Tibetan. Favorite weekend pastime? Hiking, biking, kayaking, tubing, etc. Stereotypical residents? Hippie eco-tistical free spirits. Most common exercise establishment? Yoga studios. A historic must see? Chautauqua Auditorium, which has hosted summer music programs every year since 1898. Claim to fame? Bolder Boulder 10 km road race every Memorial Day since 1979. Beware of the...? Halloween naked pumpkin run, a tradition since 1998, (runners have hollowed out pumpkins on their heads and shoes on their feet...nothing more...) What will you NOT find here? Wal-Mart.
Eclectic. Interesting. Beautiful. Earth-loving. Colorful. Health conscious. Peaceful. Home.

Perfect

Yesterday in Sunday School a portion of the lesson came from 1 Kings 17:8-16, which is the widow of Zaraphath's faithful response to fed the prophet Elijah. We watched a short Old Testament DVD account of this story and then had a discussion of doctrine and impressions. My overwhelming thought was simply this: The timing of the Lord is perfect. The feeling satisfied my little pocket-full of purposes for my fast. I have nothing more to elaborate on that point. Those seven words are sufficient for me.
The timing of the Lord is perfect.
I know that.

Reason no. 1

Dear Dallin,
This is what started it all.

It was summer. It was Georgia. It was the Paget's living room. It was a little crazy. It was me dancing like a wild monkey with hyper children. And it was you making a violin sing. It was magical. It was an all new Dallin that I hadn't noticed before. And in that moment I think I feel in love. How I love to hear you play! Keep that magic alive. Your violin playing was then, and remains for me now, my reason number one.

Love always, Liezel

Gluten-free goddess (in training)

I have goddess envy--gluten-free goddess envy. I am a stalker of this blog http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/ and just don't seem to have her touch. This goddess posts a plethora of amazing gluten-free recipes in twenty different categories with gorgeous finished product pictures, yet try as I might my gluten-free baking always falls a little short of her high standard (no pun intended). Perhaps she will take an apprentice? Gluten-free baker certification might look nice on a resume.
Currently, I have more failures than successes. Like my gluten-free pumpkin muffins, which had nice texture, but the taste was questionable. Or my gluten-free quinoa peanut butter cookies--amazing taste, but required a five minute soaking in almond milk in order to be edible. My bread machine recipe for gluten-free bread is at about 85% satisfaction, good taste, texture is still a little heavy. And then there was the lemon poppy seed muffins that weren't even fit as food for the ducks.
Amongst all my hockey pucks and door stops of baked goods, though, there has been one overwhelming success. The gluten-free banana bread I made was spectacular (if you can handle that it didn't get a nice rise in the center of the loaf like its gluten counterparts.) The texture and taste (together at the same time!) were perfect. It was moist, it held together, you didn't gag on it trying to chew or swallow, it wasn't so thick that it got stuck in your throat half way down, and our apartment smelled like a banana paradise while it was baking.
Dallin, gem that he is, though, thinks everything I create is wonderful--except for the lemon poppy seed disaster, we were in mutual disdain over that one. His approval of my efforts is always good motivation to keep at it. I also refuse to be beaten by millet flour, potato starch, or xanthum gum. I will triumph, I will, I will.
Actually though, my real impetus for all these hours of what sometimes seems fruitless labors is about love. This is all for the "fatten-Dallin-up-while-being-easy-on-his-system" campaign. If I can have a success every once in a while and know that it is helping him, it is all worth it.

Summer Is...

wearing flip flops. eating watermelon. picnics under a perfect sky. carefree. spontaneous. relaxing.

Summer is also ice cream, frozen yogurt, and popsicles. What is it about ice cream that is so memorable? Why is the recollection of frozen sweetness from bygone days so delectably enduring? Perhaps we have brain triggers for pleasure that are distinctively aligned on our cold-treats-in-sultry-weather experiences. I certainly have a healthy collection of them: Homemade lemonade popsicles in the freeze-it-yourself tray on the back porch by the marigolds in Omaha, age five. Pralines and cream BlueBell ice cream direct from the source in Brenham, Texas eaten in a field of bluebonnets and indian paintbrushes, age eight. Mint chocolate chip ice cream cones from the Randall's grocery store, age nine. Dad's blender-made orange julius smoothies for a family home evening treat, age eleven. T.C.B.Y's white chocolate mousse and raspberry swirl in a waffle cone as a reward for good grades, age thirteen. And Coldstone with Sarah and Nikki and Lina. And Baskin Robbins with Julia and Kira. And Brusters with Jenni and Mia. And Blue Bunny with Mom and Lauren. And Ben & Jerry's with Katie. And homemade creations with Dallin in our own ice cream maker. Hoorah for summer!

Home-making

So it's not a temple landscape and it's not a real yard, but friends and neighbors, Liezel has a bit of earth! Here's to colorful Colorado and more green-thumbing in my new home. Here's to that wonderful process of planting, tending, maintaining, and patiently waiting for the fruit. A good reminder of what a wonderful marriage takes--consistent tending and joy all through the process.

Eternal Convergence

These pictures were in our wedding reception slide show and inspired a blog idea. Dallin and I were both roughly six months old and progressing equally along a normal developmental pattern. As we grew, though, we slowly diverged in our development pace, personal interests, and skills. About three weeks ago we created an eternal kind of reconnection in our earthly development. Marriage is the reconnecting point, or at least the beginning of a convergence. As we were dating I was amazed by our similar interests and now as a married couple continue to be amazed by the connection points that we have and are discovering. What a beautiful thing to find your eternal companion and have mutually enriching couple development on so many levels. I am grateful for my Dallin and his gentle heart. I am grateful for his generous, considerate attention. I am grateful for his homemade breakfast every morning. I am grateful for his good mornings. I am grateful for his kisses goodnight. I am grateful for being able to hold his hand for always. I am grateful for our growth time together. I am grateful for this sweet and rewarding relationship that creates unity. I am grateful for temple marriage as ordained by God.

Dad's hands

My dad is the one that taught me how to peel an orange. He would sit at the head of the kitchen table in his pajamas just before my bedtime, a cluster of two, sometimes three oranges arranged in front of him. There was a certain close of the back door that my ears seemed to know; a sound that meant my dad had brought the oranges in from the box in the garage. I would scurry in and take a seat beside him, tucking my knees up under my chin to watch. One at a time he would roll the fruit in his big hands, looking for that perfect spot to start peeling. I think he liked the familiar oily texture of the skin because no matter how long he rolled the orange around in his hands, he always picked the same place to start peeling—sinking his teeth in just enough to pull out a piece on the stem end. It was magic to me as a young girl to see the steady, deliberate way he used thumb and fingers to weave around and around the fruit. As more and more of the orange flesh was exposed, the curl of peel got longer and longer, dangling just above the surface of the table. With the last section of peel removed, my dad would quickly divide the orange in two, handing me half. Sometimes Dad would tell a story or two while we ate our oranges, memories of the Idaho farm, his favorite cows and the family dog, Caesar.

I realize now that my Dad speaks his love with his hands. Love communicated through handmade wood creations finished in the wee hours of the morning to be ready for Christmas morning. Love communicated through unsolicited back and shoulder rubs as I ate breakfast or did homework. Love communicated through his work in the garden, in cultivating the land to bring a bounteous harvest for his family. Love communicated in as simple a thing as peeling an orange and sharing half with me. I love you Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Quiet goodbye

Picture this: 5:45 pm, I-285 rush-hour bumper-to-bumper evening traffic in Atlanta the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, Iowa-trained driver behind the wheel of a 17' U-Haul truck with a tow bar hauling an Acura Legend, and Ray Charles' "Georgia on my Mind" playing on the radio. That was me almost seven years ago when I arrived in the state for my very first "real" job. My departure will be much less dramatic. Lunch with friends, one more drive down the connector, and an evening flight to the west.
In the last few weeks, there has been much looking back, much reminiscing, and recalling pleasant memories of this home-away-from-home for all these years. When I make my quiet exit there will be trails of pictures scattered behind me like colored confetti thrown over my shoulder catching the breeze and slowly weaving downward. I will remember Eden-like springtime with dogwoods and azaleas. I will remember the magnolias and hydrangeas, the smell of gardenia after a summer evening rainstorm. I will remember whipped topping clouds that tell stories and cool autumn mornings. I will remember the daphne and camellias of winter. I will remember kudzu, and boiled peanuts, and peaches, and collard greens, and fried green tomatoes, and Vidalia onions. I will remember kayaking on the Chattahoochee River, climbing Stone Mountain, apple picking, and garden hopping. I will remember the rainstorms and the rainbows. I will remember my mornings with the cardinals and Moroni. I will remember all my travels with Tilly (may she rest in peace). I will remember the granola co-op and the Arab meze party. I will remember the farmer's market and planting season. I will remember the temple. I will remember creative writing and bike-ride commuting. I will remember institute and visiting teaching. I will remember tunnel and cutting cardboard. I will remember throwing out and bedding up. I will remember customers and shipments. I will remember finding myself and letting go of fear. I will remember Easter picnics and ASO concerts. I will remember bell choir and oil painting. I will remember live oaks and Spanish moss. I will remember tubing and ice cream at Bruster's. I will remember all the closet prayers. I will remember the tender mercies. I will remember my answers.
And I remember the people and the kindred sprits and the friendships. I will remember my Relief Society sisters. I will remember my temple sisters. I will remember so many faces and stories. Natalie. Jenni. Sarah. Tarryn. Amber. Nikki. Benjamin. Brooke. Christiana. Mia. Eryn. Stephen. Rreza. Hannah. Tamra. The Cheesman's. The Heaton's. Mollie. Roger. Germaine. Janet. Julia. Tim. Yvonne. Hitomi. Sprice. Ginger. Becky. Irikefe. Leslie. Dawan. Amy. Melanie.
Georgia has been good to me and I will remember her.

Reason no. 82

Dear Dallin,

I love sharing an umbrella with you. Just thought you should know. That is all.

Love always, Liezel