focus: weeks twelve & thirteen

When things go all fuzzy...

Week 12:  Remembering August

“For fast-acting relief, try slowing down.”  ~Lily Tomlin

With the arrival of spring, I suddenly had too many things on my plate.  I wondered how this could have happened, when I take such care to lead a simple life.  But I have realized in the last two weeks that although my heart was gladdened by the change of seasons and my soul was lit up with joy for love of spring, my body and mind were clinging doggedly to the old habits of winter and fighting the natural shift.  The clash between them became so bad that even my regular sleep schedule suffered.

Suddenly, my focus became fuzzy.  There was too much to see, and too much to do, and I felt monumentally overwhelmed by such mundane tasks as the dishes.

This state of affairs could not long continue, of course.  After about a week, I remembered August.

In August, the kitchen floors were not gleaming, or were so for about 20 minutes after drying after their once-a-week mopping.  In August the laundry did not get done like clockwork, especially with the added load for “outside clothes,” often liberally mud-streaked after storms.  In August I made time for communing with the tomatoes and long drives to our CSA farm — and still managed to pay the rent and begin two blogs.  But that’s probably because my mind wasn’t caught in a litany of shoulds.

How could I have made such a rigid, rule-based view of my home over the course of one season?  I suspect it is because with the withdrawal of the Victory Garden from my life, I had very little to occupy my sometimes overactive self.  Suddenly it became rather easy to require of myself freshly made beds and perpetually clean countertops — especially now that there was no dirt-spattered fresh produce sitting on the latter.

It’s a funny thought, that I might be considered “active,” because growing up I was always considered the lazy, dreamy, slow one.  But F. has since informed me that I move so fast and do so much I sometimes frighten him.  Either I adjusted my level of activity over the years to match the expectations of my family of origin, or I was perhaps the least active in a family that was unusually so.

Either way, I need to stop shoulding all over myself and regain my perspective so I can live again in the moment.  And spring is so full of glorious moments, really.  How hard can it be to take a deep breath of the softly scented air and refocus?

Week 13:  A Triumph of Culinary Genius

Mmmmm... can you smell the leeks sizzling?

Okay.  I might be exaggerating about the genius part.  Still, I was pleased as punch this week by the results of my culinary adventures.  Unfortunately, I didn’t take any pictures of the one that I’m going to describe; my hands were coated in dough for most of the process, and then we were too busy eating to think of grabbing the camera.  So the shot of leeks beginning to cook down will have to do.  (Besides, I quite like that shot.)

For F.’s birthday, I attempted an unknown-to-me dish, papanasi (pronounced papa-nosh with the barest whisper of an “ee” sound on the end, so tiny you almost wonder if you imagined it), which I’ve heard him mention several times over the course of our time together.  When we were still dating, he took me to a Romanian restaurant in metro Atlanta and was heartily disappointed when papanasi were not on the dessert menu that day.  There is, I’m sure it goes almost without saying, a shortage of exotic ethnic restaurants out here in the boonies.

So I decided to make them at home, and somehow keep it a secret until they were served piping hot after a special birthday dinner.  Problem being:  I’d never eaten them, and the recipe I found using ingredients readily available in an American grocery store was rather vague on certain details.

I did it anyway.

F. was blown away. The taste was close enough to authentic to evoke an expression on his face that I hope will stay with me for many years.  “And you’ve never even seen them,” he said wonderingly.

The only thing I screwed up, apparently, was the sizing and shape of the little pastries.  The description was vague enough, to roll “small” balls of dough in one’s palms and then make a hole through the center with the thumb before dredging it through the flour and frying them.  Unfortunately, mine ended up looking like American-style doughnuts — about four times too big.  Also, in the region where F. grew up, papanasi do not have holes in them, but are served as perfect spheres, about the size of a golf ball.

However, I had some leftover dough and quickly made another batch the correct size and shape, and served them up with liberal dollops of fresh sour cream and good quality cherry preserves.  I even loved them, and I positively detest cottage cheese, the main ingredient.  (If you’d like the recipe, feel free to email me.)

All in all, it was a meal made and served with love, and eaten in shared delight, well worth those few days of intense focus.

And now I’m caught up on my focus posts, and you won’t hear from me about them again until week fourteen, next Saturday!

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