Corner

I would have missed it if it weren't for the bushel of split, leaking tomatoes intended for sheep food.

I would have missed it even though the signs were everywhere.

Friday night. I took those free tomatoes, phoned a friend after 9, and together we started a double batch of spaghetti sauce. Blanching, skinning, seeding, pressing. Every bowl and pot I owned was full of something red. Steamy vapors coming from the range for hours on end made the upstairs hot so Greg cranked our air down to 73 and opened all the windows.  I slinked under the sheets well past midnight. Hot house, tired muscles, white dog with red hair (she likes to curl up directly under the juicing apparatus) asleep on the bed next to us.

Tired muscles generally make for sound sleeping but not during the storm of the century. The whole state heard it. Wicked thunder accompanied a multi-directional lightning show. Epic first boom nearly stopped my heart. The following booms sparked childhood memories of Missouri thunderstorms...deciduous trees shedding their flotsam and jetsam, green-hued air, the scent of wet mulch.

Saturday dawn. Wait, we had opened all the windows because of my inopportune saucing schedule. Our couch is still wet. Oh well. It was worth it to have the THUNDERWIND whip through the house and animate my inanimate objects.

Early morning. Farmer's market. Raspberries, peaches, Honeycrisp apples. Pink-eyed beans to save for a winter ham hock. Friendly chatter sponsored by those who have worked the land all year.

Noon. A drive to the Draper Temple. Up close and personal with scrub oaks who just lost their chlorophyll thanks to elevation and despite the sweat that remains in the valley.

Late afternoon. Me tending the sauce that reduced itself by half in a duet of garlic and onion, Greg and RE making white noise with the mower and vacuum, windows still open due to tomato heat. The zephyr blew in the kitchen window right under my nose and electrified me with its sneak peek. I smelled it. The smell I long for all year. The smell that is synchronized with canning and college football. The smell that promises of sweaters, pumpkin bread, and cider. The smell that propels me to fill my trunk with acorns. The smell that amplifies my domestic song and surges extra energy through my veins. Autumn is coming. Change is near.

And just like that, while contentedly preserving summer as part of an idyllic threesome, I sensed that our trio won't last forever. That this season will end. An increase of all I love is just around the corner.

Prima Donna

  

Photo caption: My precious purchases from Caputo's that make me feel like a Euro hipster. Prima Donna cheese with its blue, typographic rind, savory corn cookies (think "Corn Biscoffs"), salami, fig cake (dried figs, almonds and lemon zest...delicious with any cheese or fruit or cured meat), cinnamon date cookies.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I feel distinguished because I have my own index card in the file box. That card lists the vittles I have purchased (and liked) so that I can remember what to buy the next time I visit. It's a small file box that holds no more than 400 cards. I have to be one of the 400 coolest people on the Wasatch Front.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I always buy Prima Donna* cheese. I like to read the cheese dictionary that tells me where each cheese hails from and what it tastes of. I pretend I've picnicked on the agrarian hillsides of countries that boast these products. In my dreams I'm usually wearing a fantastically tailored outfit (anything that Juliette Binoche wore in Chocolat) with an equally glorious picnic basket.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I like to watch the wispy mold attaching to cheese rounds in the cheese cave. I'm doing a few sketches at home and running the numbers to see what a cheese cave would cost us.  

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I blithely note that every imported product comes in a fantastic tin or bottle or bag with neat graphics. I am allured beyond measure by pink and black finishing salts, polenta blocks, flavored oils, unusual preserves and legit frozen pasta. Maybe we also need some boar meat or ostrich filets?

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I notice that the employees are inked-up U of U marathoners with lattes. I prematurely judge them but then flip the coin to madly respecting them after their knowledge of heirloom tomatoes and flavor notes of chocolate surfaces.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's each cut of Europe is wrapped in cellophane, then waxy tissue paper, then brown kraft paper. It's like Christmas morning when I arrive home. I especially love to unwrap my Buon Gusto salami that has been cut so thin it's translucent. (Like the bean Mickey slices for Donald Duck and Goofy in the Mickey & the Beanstalk cartoon.) I save the deli labels and stick them in my journal to remind myself that I've practically been to Europe.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's nobody knows that I've never been to Europe. They might think I'm just another Slavic foreign exchange student that has the authority to speak of watercolored Venetian light, blue Spanish tiles and stony Etruscan walls. That I've raised a white piglet until it became Serrano ham.

When I shop at Tony Caputo's I'm anybody other than an ordinary Missourian in a turquoise v-neck and jeans.

*Prima Donna is a relatively mild style of a Dutch Gouda cow's milk cheese that is aged for one year. As compared to a four- or six-year Gouda, Prima Donna has a distinctly softer texture and a more subtle flavor. It has an ivory rind with a slight rose blush, a crystalline texture, and a sweet, nutty flavor with a caramel aftertaste.

Dragons

After ten years of wanting a baby my one and only mortal fear (okay, besides singing alone in public) was to miscarry. I just knew something that tragic would pull me deep into a personal hell and I'd never resurface. Well I miscarried and that didn't happen. I took a quick descent into the pit, stared into the eyes of my dragon, realized dragons aren't as scary as I thought and came back up to the land of sunshine and rainbows. Mortal fear, schmortal fear. Seriously, sometimes I am such a drama queen.

I am comforted by this quote from Corrie Ten Boom:

There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still.

It is literally impossible to be alone. I should have nothing to fear since I know I will never be alone. I am trying to train my brain to not be afraid of anything ever again. Fear is the antithesis of hope. I want hope.

Most of us have heard this famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote:

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.

You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'

The danger lies in refusing to face the fear, in not daring to come to grips with it. You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

You can bet your bottom dollar I watched Annie too much as kid since the "Tomorrow" song is the first thing I think of when I hear Eleanor Roosevelt mentioned. (Complete with her impersonator's warbling vibrato.) But she was right. You must do the thing you think you cannot do so that you can conquer it, move on and be a little braver for the next dragon. I conquered miscarriage. There is a new dragon to stare down.

The new dragon is IVF. I keep reminding myself how free I will feel once I've beat this one. The money, the needles, the odds, the violation of personal space, the unknown: not dragons. Just tiny lizards fronting as a fire-breathing beasts. We've picked our doctor, our paperwork is submitted and our consult is scheduled. Not scared. Moving forward. Not looking down into the pit. Ignoring dragons. Focusing on rainbows. Full of hope. Feeling the love.

Quote by Eleanor Roosevelt (Oct 1884-Nov 1962), "You Learn By Living: Eleven Keys For a More Fulfilling Life", 1960.

"Hearken unto me, ye that follow after righteousness. Look unto the rock from whence you are hewn, and to the hole of the pit from whence you are digged." -Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 8:1 (quoting Isaiah)

Superstar

There is a street in Denver called Old South Gaylord Street. It is historic and houses a boutique called Pome.

A year ago I went to Pome with my Durko-sisters. We were on vacay and Suzette sold her baby bibs there, so it was a must-see. Pome was the distilled essence of everything in my life that had ever made me happy. Quirky + innocent + Europe + vintage + meaningful + circus + glitter + perfect packaging + one-of-a-kind + I-wanted-every-fixture-and-prop. My heart palpitates as I type this.

I spent over $100 on the world's smallest post service kit, etched glass jars, crystal knobs, a set of stamps involving Little Red Riding Hood, a reflexology card kit, a finger puppet of a Buckingham Palace guard (Kate & Will!), a spy camera for RE and a French milk pitcher (which I hide my dark chocolate in inside the china cabinet). Pome is owned by Kate. Kate and I were like long-lost twins separated at birth with a mutual love for all things Tinsel Trading Co. She even had square business cards with quinces on them. We hit it off to say the least. Well, as much as you can hit it off in an hour at a store one small day of your very long life.

A few months later it was Thanksgiving. I prayed that I could be part of a Christmas miracle. I know I watch too many Hallmark movies and I get completely swept up in Good Will Towards Men, but I really wanted to be a part of something special.

December flew by, as it always does, and I toiled and made nine Christmas stars that month, an act that should have made the Guinness Book of World Records. I gave them to friends and neighbors that could appreciate them. I thought of Kate and her magical store and perfect taste. I knew she would like a star because she made bouquets out of vintage Christmas light bulbs. On a whim I penned a letter and shipped out one carefully-wrapped star.

Christmas came and went. It was merry but I didn't really feel like anything miraculous happened. Oh well.

In May I was chatting with Suzette on the phone and she mentioned that Kate had called asking for my address. This was a relief as I had never heard from Kate and figured I had either creeped her out, an employee stole her star or it got lost in the Christmas rush. I tried to forget about it because I like to adhere to GIVE AND FORGET. RECEIVE AND REMEMBER.

In June we headed to Denver for Greg to do some work and for me to see my youngest sister Rat that lives mere blocks from Pome. A visit was mandatory.

When I got to Pome Kate rushed out from behind the counter and gave me the best hug and proceeded to spill. She told me how she had been meaning to write me a letter but every time she tried she got too emotional and couldn't go to that place and had to abandon ship. She had been wanting to thank me for sending her the Christmas star and letter that arrived on the worst day of her life*. By the time she was done we were all in tears (Rat, too, the poor little innocent bystander) and I was lit up inside. I'm not going to divulge Kate's life story, but I am so glad I mailed that star on a whim. I remember thinking after I mailed it, "I only met her once. She's going to think I'm a stalker. This is weird."  But it wasn't weird. It was a miracle. My Christmas miracle in June.

"We can initiate and partake in small miracles on behalf of others—miracles that we are uniquely prepared to do, and that only we can do."

"Do small things with great love."

"Believe in your capacity to do some good in this world. God sent us here for a purpose, and that purpose was to improve the world in which we live. The wonderful thing is that we can do it."

I have learned this lesson multiple times. Don't suppress a generous thought. Don't ignore that flash of "I should do ____ for ____" that streaks across your brain during the day. It is wonderful to be the giver. It is also wonderful to be the recipient. I am beyond thankful to have been the recipient of others' timely love so recently in my life. Throngs of people reached out and personally filled each hole in my heart. It doesn't take much to fill a heart hole. They're pretty small. A gesture will do. It's the timing that's big.

Complete text for quotes here. One of the best speeches I have ever heard.

*And I don't believe in coincidences. I believe we are being watched over, and I believe the quote by Spencer W. Kimball, husband of Camilla, who said, "God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."

Practical Pig

Let us remember that Practical Pig was the genius that built the house of bricks that saved the Pig family. He was sensible in his overalls and probably took a multivitamin and had money set aside in an IRA to save his clueless brothers in their retirement. Practicality is important. And so I present...drumroll, please...some practical tips that have made my life better.

• Put your salt in an old baking powder canister. You can level it off as you measure it. No more Morton spout dumping out twice as much as needed and making a granulated mess underfoot.
• If you get an eggshell in your eggs remove it with eggshell. Eggshell is like a magnet to itself.
• Keep a pen and paper on your nightstand. The best thoughts come when one is falling asleep, dreaming, or just waking up. Catch them.
• Get eight hours of sleep if you can. Sleep is the best medicine of all. If you do get sick, use a nasal rinse kit. It will fix everything in two days or less. I promise.
• Stretch every morning. Your day will be so much better.
• BEAUTY TIPS: Don't spend more than 30 minutes getting ready each morning. Life is too short. Moisturize your neck. There is no sense in taking care of your face if you are going to ignore your neck. Your neck will tell everyone how old you are someday and you will wish you had loved it a little. Wear sunscreen and don't forget the tops of your ears.
• BLUSH. Pick the right color. I wore the wrong color forever. I found a little chart in a magazine that helped clue me in. Here it is. People with gold or yellow undertones (people with olive skin/tan easily) wear orange and reddish pinks. People with pink or red undertones (people that blush readily) wear light pinks (to complement your natural coloring) or peach or mocha (to cut redness). People with plum or blue undertones (dark skin) wear vivid oranges or pinks. People with a natural healthy glow: good for you.
• Write the date on letters and notes that you write.
• Never plant more than one zucchini plant. Unless you are feeding Africa.
• Never store your tomatoes in the fridge. Ever. It makes them mushy.
• Never, ever, ever drink soda. It is the devil in a can. I can say this because I don't like soda. You'll notice that none of my practical tips say "don't eat sugar."
• Don't bring it into your house if it doesn't mean something to you. Useless clutter is just useless. Meaningful clutter makes a house your home.
• Say your morning prayers. A day hemmed in prayer seldom unravels.
• Freeze soft grapes and squishy peaches and black bananas for smoothies. Don't throw them away. Smoothies don't care. Black bananas make the best banana muffins, too.
• Hang your curtain rods halfway between the top of your window and the ceiling and your wall art at eye-level.
• "Swallow the Frog." Do the thing you hate first (exercise?) and get on with your day.
• Don't take yourself too seriously. None of this really matters in the end except for the morning prayers.

• One last tip, and this because I am an avid people-watcher and hung out in the airport restroom to see if my theory was true (and it is): VEER LEFT in public restrooms. People always go for the first open stall on the right. See my photo above? People generally choose the right when presented with two options. If you are a germophobe like me your odds are better on the left side of the restroom. I always go left and as far down as possible. The least convenient stall is usually the least used. Gross to discuss and more than you wanted to know? Sorry.