A List of Praises

It's long, but so worth it.

 

A List of Praises

by Anne Porter

Give praise with psalms that tell the trees to sing,

Give praise with Gospel choirs in storefront churches,

Mad with the joy of the Sabbath,

Give praise with the babble of infants, who wake with the sun,

Give praise with children chanting their skip-rope rhymes,

A poetry not in books, a vagrant mischievous poetry living wild on the

Streets through generations of children.

 

Give praise with the sound of the milk-train far away

With its mutter of wheels and long-drawn-out sweet whistle

As it speeds through the fields of sleep at three in the morning,

Give praise with the immense and peaceful sigh

Of the wind in the pinewoods,

At night give praise with starry silences. 

This is why I avoid Trader Joe's

These are on my desk right now.  Full disclosure: I have already had one and it's 9:32am.

People talk about it like it's a health food store but I always leave with what must surely be crack-laced chocolate covered pretzels, parmesan crisps, wine, fried fontina-filled riceballs, and, like, pink lemonade.  It's not just me, right?  Or does everyone else leave with tabbouleh and quinoa and organic baby spinach?

It's the big questions in life, you know?

Buckwheat Pancakes

Okay listen. I'm perhaps the least qualified person on the planet to start doing cooking tutorials, but I was making buckwheat pancakes for the hubs yesterday morning, and I thought just in case anyone needed some pancake tips, I might help. Let's begin.

Here's what you'll need (this picture is minus the buttermilk, which is being created on the opposite counter.  Did you know that if you mix together one cup of milk with one tablespoon of vinegar and let it sit a few minutes you make buttermilk?  Fun fact.):

The green egg isn't required, but it is fun.  And never you mind what the wine is for.  That's neither here nor there.

In a medium bowl whisk the dry ingredients together, then set those aside.

Beat together the egg and molasses, then add in the melted butter and buttermilk.  Now add the wet to the dry and whisk together.

More after the jump...

Big

When I was pregnant I was told frequently that people would give me all kinds of unsolicited advice as a new mom (does telling one that they should be prepared for oodles of unsolicited advice count as unsolicited advice?).  I'd get told (so I was told) that strangers would accost me in grocery stores and shopping malls, wagging their fingers and tongues at me in wild condemnation of... whatever it was that I was doing.

Once I had J I did occasionally get the odd bit of advice, but more often these sweet older women just wanted to come over and smile at my little girl.

Most of them offered one piece of advice, though, and it has really stuck with me: cherish this time.  They grow up so quickly.  It goes by fast!

That same sentiment in all kinds of different ways.  My mom has said it.  My aunt has said it. PW says it.

So I'm trying.  I'm trying really really hard to remember it all and take pictures and smell baby head.  Because seriously, this little critter

is already practically a teenager.  I mean, look:

Who taught her that??

 

 

Stumble

I definitely fell down during my lunch run today.  There I am, huffing and puffing along, and --this is the weird part-- I actually thought to myself "wouldn't it be funny if I fell down and skinned my knees?  It would be just like when I was 8."  Note to my fellow runners/klutzes: don't think things like that while you're running.  You will will them into being.  Just like Oprah says (does she say that?  Seems like something she would say).

My toe clipped the edge of something (an uneven sidewalk, my other shoe, a stray piece of grass, air ... we'll never know) and I skidded, palms-first, onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, a car blew by right at that moment, so I know my finest moment will forever live in the memory of that passerby.   I popped back up oh-so-casually: nothing wrong here, I'm good at running!  And kept jogging, hands now festively adorned with blood and bits of sidewalk.

The moral of the story?  Oh, you want a moral?  Um, avoid trippy things?  Wait, no: think positively!  Or maybe it's just that I wanted an excuse to post this sweet note I got from the hubs reminding me to deposit a check I've been carrying around for a month and also, of the important stuff:

 

Who cares about falling?  That guy's great.

Wordless Wednesday

To not plucking blackberries

… 'There’s nothing great
Nor small,’ has said a poet of our day,
(Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin’s bell)
And truly, I reiterate, . . nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim:
And,-glancing on my own thin, veined wrist,-
In such a little tremour of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries...

---Book Seven, Aurora Leigh - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

It is Lent, after all.