The invitation series will return next week. Today, what I am inviting to the table is 10,000 mgs of vitamin C, ibuprofen, and my weight in fluids. I shall defeat this fever with sheer force of will. And orange juice.
Archive for the ‘Feast’ Category
Invitation to the *cough* *wheeze*
Posted in Feast, Invitation on March 31, 2015| 2 Comments »
Take Your Seat
Posted in Feast, Invitation on March 24, 2015| 4 Comments »
Part of being invited to the table is the decision to attend. There will be a future post about the importance of the RSVP (I have feelings about it), but this week, I am wandering through my online world and highlighting five blogs, posts, projects, and/or people who are taking their seats.
1. The Mudroom is one of my new favorite places on the Internet. It’s a collaborative blog that launched in February. Their vision says it all – “make room for people.” And they do it beautifully.
2. I could fangirl about Reverend Wil Gafney all day. Her words are rich. I was searching for a quote from her post entitled The Color Purple: A Lenten Sermon, but all of it is too good to miss.
3. I am currently taking Jamie Wright Bagley‘s Heart of Prayer course. It’s a guide through praying the hours, and it has infused my last couple of weeks with a renewed confidence in approaching God. Jamie also has a free poetry e-book that I think you need. I love it (and her).
4. I have been following (or more accurately, lurking, as I don’t know if I have ever left a comment) Lisa Bartelt’s blog for a while, and this post is one of the reasons why. I love her passion for justice.
5. This post by Huda Alawa. It reads like an honest prayer.
There are so many people to hear from. Who are some of the voices that you love?*
*It’s okay if it’s your own. It’s better than okay. It’s taking your seat.
Set Your Own Table – Guest Post from Sharry Miller
Posted in Andilit, Feast, Invitation on March 17, 2015| 2 Comments »
My friends in the Andilit writing community are gold. Pure gold. I am pleased to bring you my second guest post from that group from artist Sharry Miller.
Sharry with her public art installation created with local students out of fused glass for Gilson Middle School in Valdez, Alaska
It never ceases to amaze me the ways in which I can contrive to crush my own spirit.
There’s been a lot of press over the years about how we need to ensure our children’s self-esteem is kept high, how the little things we say to other people inadvertently tear them down, how, essentially, we’re all responsible for creating a kinder, gentler world. Within reason, I totally agree with these sentiments. Who doesn’t want to live in a world in which we all treat each other with respect and care?
What about how we treat ourselves, though?
I regularly read several blogs written by, for, and about writers, as well as belong to a couple of Facebook groups of glass artists. I have a whole library of books with advice about living a creative life. One of the messages that’s reiterated time and again by virtually every author and artist is how critical it is for an artist to be kind to herself.
We are our own worst critics. Every single one of us has that little voice in her head that says, “You’re not good enough.” If you tell me you don’t, I’ll call you a liar. Or be very jealous of you. Ultimately, we do more harm to our creative selves by being too self-critical than anyone else could ever do to us.
That voice in my head screams loud and clear. I have no trouble at all comparing myself to nearly everyone else and coming up the lesser. My art isn’t as artistic, my writing isn’t as literary, or at the very least, I’m not committed enough to my art to spend sufficient time on it so that I keep improving – let alone get good. My rational brain usually tells me to shut up, and reminds me, for example, that as much as I love photorealistic art, that’s not what I like to create and therefore it is not my forte. I shouldn’t, therefore, compare my colorful, playful art to that of artists who specialize in photorealistic art. If I try, I can usually validate who I am right now in my life, even if it sometimes feels like I’m making excuses for myself.
And then there are those times I let something outside me, something totally trivial, derail my ego. Recently, it’s been those 5-day art challenges that were running around Facebook. The idea was that an artist got challenged by another artist to share three pieces of her artwork each day for five days, and on each day nominate another artist to do the same. The amount of artwork being shared should expand exponentially (to use the word metaphorically, not in its literal mathematic sense), giving the artists great exposure and flooding the Facebook world with creativity.
What’s wrong with this? Nothing, except…
No one nominated me (whine, snivel).
I’ve been doing some sort of art since I was a kid, although my early forays into that world are better characterized as crafts. Over the years, I’ve cross-stitched, crocheted, knitted, quilted, woven baskets and textiles, spun yarn, painted…you name it, I’ve probably at least tried it. For the past several years, my focus has been working in glass, particularly fused glass. It’s like making magic: putting hard, cold pieces of glass into a kiln, heating it up until it’s molten hot, cooling it back down, and always, always being at least a little surprised by the results. Colors change, shapes meld, parts become whole. For the first time, I really feel like I am taking raw materials and creating something new and unique from them. I am an artist. (Okay, I admit that I choked a little writing that last sentence, but it’s getting easier. Sort of.)
In my ridiculous little brain, I have translated this lack of nomination to share my art to mean that I’m not an artist, at least not in the world of those I associate with on Facebook. It’s not that I haven’t previously shared enough of my work with those groups to remind them that I exist. Of course not. It’s clearly a personal comment on my so-called artwork and my self-proclaimed creative abilities. I might as well just give up now and start gardening or cleaning my toilets or something.
Holy crap. How is it possible that voice in my head can be so loud and overpowering? My rational brain is allowing me to sit here and type these words about how stupid that voice is, but still…still it’s here with me undermining my confidence.
And as soon as I send this post off for publishing, any future nomination will be undone. I’ll know that the nomination had nothing to do with my worth as an artist, but was instead motivated by pity after someone read this rant. I’m not really worthy of being invited to sit at the real-artists’ table.
(That little voice just said, “Yeah, right. Like anyone’s actually going to read this drivel.” See how insidious it is?)
I didn’t write these words to engender your sympathy or to solicit compliments. My rational brain reminds me regularly how many people tell me they like what I write and what I create (thank you, thank you!), and that I only need to accept those compliments in the spirit in which they were given to believe in myself. Heck, I don’t even need to do that. It’s enough that I like what I create, that it makes me happy – that’s all the validation I need.
I suppose I wrote these words to remind myself that I’m of value whether or not anyone else tells me I am, and to remind you that you are, too. Sure, it’s nice to be recognized by others for our efforts, but not a single one of us needs that recognition in order to be of real value. If you’re not invited to sit at the table of your choice, set your own. Only invite those guests who are going to support you and build up your confidence, not tear it down. Be your own loudest cheerleader, and that kinder, gentler world will be there to greet you.
Sharry Miller is an aspiring artist, writer, and world-adventurer living life to the fullest in Valdez, Alaska. You can follow her creative and life journeys at http://sharrymiller.typepad.com.
She promises to not post too many pictures of her new puppy, Scout.
The Party Alternative – Guest Post from JoAnne Silvia
Posted in Andilit, Feast, Invitation on March 10, 2015| Leave a Comment »
I met JoAnne Silvia in the Andilit writing community. She knows how to get right to the heart of a matter, so it is perfectly fitting that she is my first guest poster for this series. I am ecstatic to share her words here today on invitation.
Years ago, when I was still licking my wounds from divorce and the rebound from hell, I was at church and overheard some people talking about a garden party.
My church family is loving and accepting, but I was in a bad place. I wondered if would get an invitation as those childhood feelings of being outside the popular crowd rose from dormancy. The personal invitation didn’t come.
I would have liked to have gone to the party, but when I didn’t get the invitation, I scheduled something else for that same time. I’d been struggling with some health issues that turned out to be stress related, issues originating from the rebound from hell on the heels of divorce. Knowing someone who did hypnotherapy, I decided to give it a try. It turned out she was available on the same afternoon as the party. Not wanting to sit home alone whilst the party was going on, I scheduled the session. That way, I wouldn’t be able to go to the party anyway, because I had other plans.
The hypnosis session turned out to be an important step in my healing. Lying on the massage table, I remained fully conscious, but in an altered state where emotions of grief and insights of my needs were easily accessible. I cried out my anguish. Water and dogs, two constant loves, surfaced from my subconscious mind as the medicine I needed. Swimming soothed me. Dogs offered unconditional love.
I know I was in an altered state, because, when I came out of hypnosis, it was the same feeling I felt after giving birth: a profound shift in awareness, from an extremely inward focus, to a suddenly acute awareness of my surroundings. The intense emotions evaporated instantly.
The next Sunday at church, a friend mentioned she was sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the party.
“I wasn’t invited,” I stated simply. I didn’t mean to sound so pitiful.
“Oh.” She looked bewildered.
Not long after that, the person who hosted the garden party had another get-together. She came to me directly and looked me in the eye.
“I want you to come to my party.” She said it slowly with clear intention.
I firmly believe, now, that my not being invited to the garden party, was an oversight. I know how that can happen, I guess. You think you’ve invited someone, or assumed everyone knew they were invited. Did my wounded state lead me to assume I wasn’t invited?
If the lack of invitation happened today, under those same circumstances, I would assume it was an oversight, and dig around to get more information. Provided I wanted to be included, I would fish for an invitation, or maybe just ask, “So, I heard you’re having a party, Is everyone invited?”
But maybe I wasn’t supposed to go to the garden party. Maybe on that particular afternoon, I was supposed to be lying on that massage table, in the dim light, in that quiet place of personal healing.
JoAnne Silvia
http://joannaoftheforest.wordpress.com/
An Invitation To Feast
Posted in Feast, Invitation on March 3, 2015| 12 Comments »
When I think of what it means to be invited to the table, my first thoughts come in broad terms. I think of empowerment. I dream of burning patriarchy’s house to the ground. I look for new ways to lay down my selfishness and spend a little more money in better ways to ensure a livable wage for people who work hard to grow/make/produce the things I want. I remember my Riot Grrrl days, and I still hear the revolution(s).
Soon, more concrete images come to mind:
- Having dinner for the first time in my friends’ new house
- How risotto-in-progress looks when it’s time to add more liquid to it
- Ladybug cupcakes and gallons of sherbet punch
- Champagne and steak and chipotle mayo
- Conversation that sparks over delicious treats
And finally, pondering what invitation is leads to thoughts of what it is not. For many of us, invitation carries both hope and sting – both fond and painful memories. It’s seeing the picture on social media and thinking, “Hey, the whole group is there…except me,” and trying to convince yourself that it must have been because they all spontaneously appeared and decided at the last minute to sit together, not because they didn’t choose (or worse – forgot) to include you. It’s the public conversation about tonight’s outing that doesn’t notice that there are people nearby whose invitations must have gotten lost in the mail. It’s being overqualified for what you do because you are repeatedly overlooked for what you could do. It’s all the little intersections that conspire to make the way easier for some than it is for others.
It’s the not-quite-finished spot on my table that matches the not-quite-part-of-it part of me.
In the process of writing Feast, I have been listening to stories that reveal that invitation is not as simple as it seems on the surface. I want to listen to more stories, and I’m going to take you with me. I am going to start sharing and telling these stories every Tuesday. Sometimes, these posts will be link-intensive, because there are a lot of people talking about how wonderful it feels to be invited and how terrible it can feel to be excluded. Sometimes, these posts will be snapshots of my own experience.
I hope most of these posts, however, come from you. I’m opening the floor to your experiences. The prompt is simple:
What does it mean to be invited to the table?
You can send pictures or stories (or both). You can touch on things I’ve mentioned above or, because my experience as just one human out of billions is inherently limited, you can touch on things I haven’t even fathomed. It can be a few sentences, or it can be a whole post. I want to hear from you. In case anyone hasn’t invited you to the conversation before, I want to invite you now.
Email your contribution to coffeesnob@gmail.com, including any pictures, your bio, your website/blog link, or anything else you want to include. I will also take anonymous posts (please indicate clearly in the email if this is your wish, and I will honor it).
I look forward to hearing from you. *hands you virtual cup of coffee/glass of wine/cookie/bacon*
Feast Test #1 – Steak and Champagne
Posted in Feast, Food on January 26, 2015| 2 Comments »
So my amazing Supper Club friends let me test things out on them. It’s a symbiosis, really. I get feedback; they get steak and fancy drinks.
They also contribute new ideas and courses. Adriana and Josh brought the first course and the wine and the chipotle mayo, and Becky brought chili to accompany the second course, which was a grand idea that I am totally going to keep. Hats off to them!
Each Feast test will have three courses and be served with a champagne cocktail (for which I will never actually use champagne but rather my favorite Prosecco) and a similar mocktail for those who do not wish to imbibe. This first round tested the recipes from the week we will be enjoying the Holiday Menu.
Holiday Menu:
- Appetizer – Mixed greens salad with vinaigrette or chipotle mayo
- Main – Steak, seared in ghee, and baked potato with chili and cheese (OR, alternatively, garlic mashed potatoes with ghee and coconut milk – great idea, Adriana), served with red wine.
- Dessert – Butter cake (or one of the ten thousand desserts you still have sitting in your fridge after the family leaves)
- Cocktail – White Christmas
- Mocktail – Stick and Ale
Notes and Observations:
- We seared in ghee because one of us is doing Whole 30, and butter does not go on Whole 30, but ghee does. Which was awesome for us, because steak seared in ghee? AMAZING. I highly recommend it.
- The plan was to sear the steaks for two minutes on each side and then slide them under the broiler for a couple of minutes to get them to the preferred level of done-ness, which for me is medium. The reality was that I seared the steaks, broiled them, and then second-guessed myself and put them back in because I cut into them (the cardinal sin of steak – I know – I’m sorry!), and they weren’t where I wanted them to be yet. If I had just let them sit for five minutes like you are supposed to do, it would have been fine. They were overdone. I mean, everyone liked it and ate it anyway, because they’re proper humans who don’t complain about steak. It was fine. Tasty, even. But it could have been better if I would just let them rest. Perhaps I should write out 100 times, “I will let the steak rest. I will let the steak rest,” like my teachers made us do in elementary school when we did something wrong.
- You know what’s delicious on steak? Chipotle mayo. That’s the drizzle you see on the steak at the bottom of the picture above. Happy.
- Baked potatoes are super versatile. They’re good with butter and cheese. They’re good with chili. You know what else is good on a baked potato? Chipotle mayo.
- The White Christmas cocktail can be found under many names. White Christmas. Christmas Kiss (which makes me think it has chocolate and subsequently makes me disappointed that it doesn’t). Merry Kissmas (ick. Just no.). Frosty the Snowman (*blinks*). I chose “White Christmas” because I like my cocktails to have practical names. This is one of my weird pet peeves. I cannot abide a cocktail with a cutesy name that is also impractical. If it’s cutesy, the name better tell me how to make it. For example, a Southern Peach? Southern Comfort and peach schnapps. A Slow Comfortable Screw (other than its obvious purpose of sounding dirty)? Sloe gin, Southern Comfort, orange juice, and vodka. White Christmas? White creme de cacao and the essential Christmas candy icon – the peppermint stick. See? The recipe is basically in the name.
(Look how cute!)
- I was skeptical about the mocktail. It’s ginger ale and peppermint…and that’s it. I wasn’t sure how those two flavors would mesh. It was delicious. In fact, if I made it with a better ginger ale, I might actually like it better than its cocktail counterpart. As an added bonus, if enjoyed with a meal that makes your stomach angry, between the peppermint and the levels of ginger found in proper ginger ale, it will actually help settle your stomach.
- If anyone offers you dessert as a reward for a favor you’ve done for them or as leftovers to take home from a party, take them! They can be a delicious end to a meal you share with friends – with absolutely no effort on your part. Shout-out to Kim and Beth for the delicious butter cake. All the people thank you.
I consider this fantastic evening a successful first test!
Sunday Kind of Love
Posted in Feast, Music on January 13, 2015| Leave a Comment »
(Sunday Kind of Love – sung by the incomparable Etta James)
Music was my first art. Of course, I toyed with crafts and drawing and stories from the time I first learned to hold a pencil, but no more so than anyone else did. Music was the first art that was mine. I didn’t choose it – it was important to my mom that both my sister and I learn to play piano – but it was the first one that I wept over. I remember struggling through a difficult section, tears running down my face in frustration. I remember having sore fingers from playing harder and louder, not because the sheet music called for it, but because I was throwing all that angst into the piece. I remember the unfiltered joy at getting it right. I remember watching the timer that kept track of my hour of practice, willing it to move faster, when inspiration was dry. I remember leaping to quiet the timer before Mom heard it when it rang before I was finished telling my life to the keys.
Some days, music is the thing that leaves me in need of therapy. Other days, music is therapy. Either way, it drives me to create.
It’s no surprise to anyone who knows me that I have a playlist for everything. If something is important – if it’s going to be real to me – it will have a soundtrack. This week, I’ve been working on my playlist for Feast. It’s a compilation of my favorite songs to hear when I’m cooking, particularly when I’m cooking for other people.
It’s no coincidence that I’ve cooked more this week than I cooked all of last month.
Whenever I hear Sunday Kind of Love, I think of the same thing everyone else thinks of – finding a lasting love. That’s what the song is about. But I also think of the moments I already have in my life that are Sunday kinds of love. Friends. Feeding people. Welcoming others into my home. Inviting others to the table. Being connected by common experience and interests. Being captivated and challenged by differences. These things are eternal.
They’re love that lasts forever.
(Another one of my favorite renditions – Beth Rowley)
A Big To-Do
Posted in Andilit, Feast, Lists on January 9, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Andi prompted our writing group this week to talk about lists. I am a list fiend. I love making lists. As someone who is not naturally grand at organization, lists (and extensive training from my mother, who is the list queen) have been my salvation in that area. My genes are missing that one little nugget of an otherwise pristine INTJ personality. I love anything that makes me look good at something for which I have almost no natural talent.
Many of my lists are kept on my phone. I keep a running grocery/home list of things I need so that I can grab them if I’m out and happen upon them so that I don’t have to make an extra trip later. I also keep a list of books I want to read and gift ideas for friends (also something that doesn’t come naturally to me, so I grab all the help I can get). I keep lists of story ideas and blog posts ideas. These lists have saved me from a lot of wasted time, frustration, and writer’s block, and unlike paper lists, which I will surely misplace or leave at home/work or douse with coffee, I always have them.
A few of my lists are old-school, written lists. At the beginning of every season (you can take the girl off the farm…), I make a master list of meals before I put them on my food calendar in my kitchen. Then I file it away with recipes (or notes on where I stashed the recipe online). It makes meal-planning super easy.
If I am making a special trip to the store for a specific event, I sometimes write the list out by hand. I’m not sure why. It could be nostalgia, or it could just be because I’m using my Pinterest app for ingredients and don’t want to keep flipping back over to the notes. These lists sometimes show up in my art journal, because they tell their own story. For instance, this list is for the first testing of Feast recipes. It’s a notable moment for me. It also might be my most favorite grocery list I’ve ever made.
Happy.
I also write out goal lists. I have yearly goals, which I divide into quarterly goals, which I divide into weekly task lists. There is something about seeing a goal written in my own writing that makes it mean more to me. It’s weightier. I can’t blame anyone else for pushing it on me. It’s mine. I can tell, because it’s written in my own scrawl. It’s more satisfying to cross them off when they’re finished, too. I used to separate writing goals and work goals and personal goals, but now I put them all in one place, which has helped me be more realistic.
Do you make lists? Are they a help or a hindrance to you?
Feast – Just Because
Posted in Feast, Food, Getting It Together, NaNoWriMo, Real Talk Tuesday, Writing on November 11, 2014| 17 Comments »
I am taking liberties with the goal of NaNoWriMo this year. I am writing 50,000 new words, but instead of fiction, I am writing a book of prompts for a course I am planning to launch next April called Feast. Here’s a teaser of the course-to-be.
Sometimes life just needs celebrating. And by “sometimes,” I do mean “pretty much all the time.” Any excuse for food, really.
This is my favorite reason to feast – nothing. No reason at all. I am prone to making elaborate dishes on a whim to savor just for the sake of savoring them. If you were to ask me what the special occasion was or why I was doing it, you would get an answer like, “Because…Tuesday,” or “Because I can.” I might even turn it around on you – “Why not?” It’s not that there isn’t a reason but rather that life itself is the reason.
You are alive. Celebrate!
But it’s not quite that easy, is it?
The first seedlings of thought about this course sprung out of my need to bring celebration back into my everyday life. It’s so easy to go through the motions, looking forward to that next fun event on the calendar so much that I sail past all the rest of my days, eyes glazed and barely seeing everything that I’m passing by. If the next fun event is Friday night relaxing at home (and yes, this is on my calendar – it’s very important), and it’s Tuesday, that’s a whole lot of time to check out mentally.
This is no way to live. I want to make my days matter as much as possible. I don’t want to kill time until an acceptable hour to collapse into bed arrives. I want to live.
So I was going to call the class Celebrate because I wanted to explore all the ways we enjoy life. While doing so is certainly part of the course, something was missing. Celebration alone didn’t seem like exactly what I was going for. The word that kept coming up – the one that tied my vision together – was feast.
This was both exciting and terrifying.
I was excited because I love the idea of feasting. I love holidays where there is a ridiculous amount of food – ten times what the people present should actually ingest in the allotted time. I love the security and the hominess that excessive abundance implies. I love feeding people and being the one who supplies the ridiculous amount of food. I might not have a big house or a fancy car, but when you are invited over to my place, you will never leave hungry.
The excess is also the terrifying part.
Feasting and I have a sordid history. We can get a little codependent if I’m not careful. I love feasting so much that it’s easy for it to infiltrate my life on an identity level.
I was raised to be great at it. When people remark that hosting seems to come naturally to me, I take it as the compliment it was meant to be and say, “Thank you.” But let’s be clear – it’s not talent; it’s training. I have worked hard to become good at it, and I take a certain amount of pride in that. I love having people over, and they usually have a pretty good time. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s important to remember, however, that being a good host is a seductive minx to my ego, and because of that, it’s also important to remember that hosting the occasional flop does not define (and therefore cannot diminish) me.
At the heart of feasting is the food, and with the food comes the seedy underbelly of food issues.
In some ways, I do have a healthy relationship with food. I’m not really one for restrictive diets. I know a lot of them well, because when I have guests that are on limited choices, I prefer to know how to fix something they will eat without having to interrogate them about their dietary needs. I’ve been vegetarian or vegan at different phases of my life, but that was less a function of a plan to diet and more a function of a Lenten fast or having just read something like Fast Food Nation and thus simply losing my taste for meat. And I have to confess that I’m one of those annoying folk who, if I just eat like a normal person and get a moderate amount of exercise, the excess weight falls off pretty easily.
It’s that “eating like a normal person” thing that trips me up.
My issues with food are mainly emotional rather than physical. I am a chronic over-indulger. There are various things that I cannot keep in the house – soda, snack cakes, certain candy bars – because I cannot leave them alone. Since I am hypersensitive to sugar and most of my compulsive food choices are sweets, they’re extra bad news. I know in my head that having only one Kit Kat is the prudent choice, yet minutes later there I stand over four empty wrappers with a darty feeling behind my eyes, a budding headache, and no real memory of where one indulgence ended and the next one began.
I tremble to write that. As you are reading it, I am nervous, knowing that you know something that is a source of shame for me.
But shame doesn’t get to win.
I will remember that I am not what I eat.
I will remind myself that growth is a process and that by my mid-twenties, I had overcome my habit of bingeing to the point that purging was not physically optional.
I will go look at my well-stocked kitchen, full of real food, not junk food, and I will declare aloud, “I did that. I made those good choices.”
And I will sit here and savor my half a glass of wine and my two little squares of decadent dark chocolate. And I will be satisfied.
And then I will drink a bucket of water, because wine dries me out. I will listen to my body and give it what it needs.
I will honor who I am, where I came from, and how far I’ve come. I will celebrate myself. I will feast.
Just because.
Journal prompt: What do you need to celebrate about yourself today? Where can you show yourself a little more kindness? What do you need to acknowledge?
Activity prompt: Go for a walk for a minimum of five minutes. Don’t come back from the walk until you have noticed at least five things that you think you would normally miss. Go out and see your world today.
Marvia’s prompt for this Real Talk Tuesday is “celebration,” so I’m linking up over there as well.
M. Suzanne Terry 