Just Call Me Susy Homemaker

I'm typing with that homey sound of the washer and dryer as background music. It's a satisfying feeling, because I was so behind in laundry that I had run out of just about everything. But it's satisfying for another reason: I just made my own laundry detergent. It took five minutes, seriously, and it's better for me, better for creation, and better for my wallet. (We'll find out if it's better for my clothes - I'm guessing it will be.)

I also mixed up a batch of my cereal. That's nothing new, as I've been eating the same breakfast nearly every day for months. It's a blend of whole oats, unsweetened coconut, chopped walnuts, ground flax seed, and (the one concession to my new attempt to avoid processed food) Grape Nuts. I eat it raw with cinnamon and milk every morning, but it's good cooked, too. I crave the stuff.

Earlier this week I invented a new salad (fresh greens with plenty of spinach, yummy local strawberries, local-to-Alabama-where-I-bought-them cucumbers, fresh mint, ginger-candied almonds, and little chunks of extra-dark chocolate) and a new smoothie (made with all that leftover cucumber, mint and spinach, plus flax seed, milk and agave nectar). They were delish, mostly nutrish - and I thought them up in my very own noggin.

I am very proud of me.

New Friend

"I almost got hit by a car."

I was loading my trunk in a dark parking lot when along came a boy no older than four who clearly knew no stranger. It had been a long weekend of standing on high heels, running frenzied errands, slapping yellow flies, catching my breath on various porch swings. I had just watched two of my dearest friends exchange forgettable words that held unforgettable significance, and now I was cleaning up their party and loading up their gifts. This sociable urchin with his round face and silky hair was a welcome reprieve. He was the sort who ought to be in overalls, no shirt, no shoes, with a creek in the vicinity.

"Yes, I saw that," I replied seriously. "That's why it is so important to listen when your mom is telling you to wait." I reminded myself of my mother, as I so often do when speaking to children. His own hovered in the background, nodding appreciatively. A moment ago she'd apologized to me after hollering "Car!" in my ear as I walked past, my arms full of silver-wrapped towels, spatulas and casserole dishes.

"The music made my tummy hurt," he continued, clutching his little round belly and filling me in on the details while Mom fidgeted, clearly eager to put her family to bed. I tried to help. "I think your parents want to leave," I told my friend regretfully.

He stood eye level with my taillights and leaned in, lips puckered. "I'm going to kiss your car. Then you'll remember me."

I bent over and pointed to my cheek. "Why don't you put a kiss right here? That will help me remember."

He obliged. I'll keep up my end of the bargain.

Letter

Dear Premature Grey Hairs,

Bite me.

Cordially,
Libby

Sunrise

Good morning, old friend!

I hated time this morning, hated the floor that met my feet, hated being awake and alive, but then you came along, filtering rosily through the branches outside my east window.

The birds have been singing for hours, but did they get louder when you joined them? Like the child who thinks all grown-up company comes just to see him, they welcome their big shiny playmate.

Few things are certain - fewer, perhaps, than I once thought - but you never fail to greet me, hand in hand with each new day. I'm beginning to think, just maybe, that this one holds something worth getting up for, after all.

Bittersweet Mayan Chocolate Cake

I bragged the other night that I was going to make "the cake to end all cakes." That may be a stretch, but it was pretty dang good. So, without further ado:

Bittersweet Mayan Chocolate Cake

First, I made a Flourless Chocolate Cake adapted from this epicurious recipe:

• 5 ounces bittersweet chocolate
• 1 ounce unsweetened chocolate
• 1 1/2 sticks butter
• 1 cup sugar
• 5 eggs
• 3/4 cup cocoa
• vanilla
  

Chocolate and butter were melted in a jimmy-rigged double boiler (during which I added a splash of vanilla). I removed the top pot from the heat and whisked in the sugar, then the eggs. The cocoa was "sifted" (I also don't have a sifter, so I filled my tea strainer with cocoa and sprinkled it by gently tapping the side) over the surface, then whisked in until just combined. Baked in a 9-inch cake pan (buttered, then wax-papered, then buttered again) at 375° for 25 minutes (until a crust formed).

This dense chocolatey goodness was inverted onto a plate and topped with...

Spiced Ganache:

• 3 ounces bittersweet chocolate
• 3 ounces unsweetened chocolate
• 3 tablespoons butter
• 2 tablespoons heavy cream
• 'nother splash of vanilla
  
• sugar
• cayenne pepper
• cinnamon

I melted the chocolate and butter, vanilla and cream all together, added a sprinkling of sugar because it was supposed to be bittersweet but was leaning a little too heavily toward the front end of that adjective, and stirred in cayenne pepper and cinnamon "to taste". (I guess I ought to measure if I'm going to post recipes, huh?)

The ganache was spread over the cake, then sprinkled with some cocoa powder.

I served this with a mango raspberry sauce - just fruit, really. (I diced the mango and mushed a small portion of both fruits, then mixed 'em back up. This made it saucy, messy, and sweet, much like myself.) On top was fresh whipped cream.

We squeezed thirteen pieces out of this cake, so as not to leave anyone out, which is unluckier than any old number. It got some rave reviews, some hesitant ones, which is to be expected - spicy chocolate is not for everyone. My own review? I'm too modest to tell you.

Dreaming of...

...spice racks, aprons on hooks, row upon row of gleaming Mason jars.

Again, Ceaseless Praise

"I will sing to the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praise to my God while I have being."
-Psalm 104:33

How much praise does He deserve? As long as I have breath!

Spring Rain

It rained last night, and now the world is all fresh-scrubbed and green.

"The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful."
-e.e. cummings