Spoiled Milk

Well, I had a long post all written out about our incredibly exciting morning removing Little Bear's first splinter and trying to keep a bandaid on the offending finger (oh horrors!), wearing a bandaid clearly being the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to him in his entire life and I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call someone to make sure everything was okay, with all of the hysterics... But the Internet ate my post, and I don't feel like rehashing the drama again. So lucky you; here's a recipe instead:

Buttermilk Cinnamon Bread

1/4 cup butter, softened

1 cup sugar

1 egg

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 cups flour

1 cup buttermilk (or sour milk)

1/4 cup sugar

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 F. Cream butter and 1 cup sugar. Beat in egg. Slowly add baking powder, baking soda, salt, and flour. Beat in milk until smooth. In a small bowl, combine 1/4 cup sugar and cinnamon. Pour 1/3 of batter into greased loaf pan; sprinkle 1/3 of cinnamon sugar on top. Repeat twice, ending with sugar on top. Bake for 50 minutes or until inserted knife comes out clean.

This may be my new favorite quickbread, y'all. It is so easy, and so delicious, and such a perfect texture, and it's a convenient way to use up the milk that didn't all get used before the expiration date... really, what more could you ask for? 

I'm making another loaf today to stick in the freezer; it's that good. If you want to try it but don't have any buttermilk or expired milk (am I the only one who winds up with that problem?), just use regular milk and add a couple of drops of white vinegar or lemon juice -- that works just fine.

What I Wore Sunday {24}

Linking up a little late with the fabulous ladies of Fine Linen and Purple!

This morning we had a substitute priest at our parish; this is his third year spending about a month in Alaska giving our pastor a hand, and we are grateful for his sacrifice coming here and helping our pastor out! As I understand it, each will be saying two weekend Masses (different schedule each week) and they will trade off during the weekdays. I am sure that it is helpful for our pastor to get a bit of a break; we are the largest parish in the diocese, and he generally has to handle everything liturgical himself since our diocese simply doesn't have enough priests.

Which is why I feel so guilty about my reaction upon finding out that our pastor was not the celebrant of the Mass we attended this morning. We were able to attend Mass; there was a priest; he didn't change the words of the consecration or anything like that; I have absolutely 100% no right whatsoever to complain. But I looked at my husband, sighed, and maybe even rolled my eyes a little bit, because both of us are bothered by his delivery of his homilies. And yes, he did swear in his homily today like we remembered from last year. But he did have a good message, and it's uncommon these days to hear about the redemptive nature of suffering from the pulpit, and I realize that it was not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things. Totally not justification for being annoyed and allowing myself to be distracted from what I should have been focusing on. Mea culpa.

Would it be wrong, or rude, or in poor taste for us to attend a different parish for the next few weeks? Does the intention behind the act matter? We could say that we were doing it because we really do like the priest at the university parish and don't get to hear his homilies very often... or because we wanted to save some gas money by going to a parish that isn't 20 miles away... or because Little Bear has been unusually fussy with new teeth coming in lately... And all of those excuses would be true, but they would still be excuses. Is it enough of a reason that we don't want our (preverbal) son to hear a priest swearing? That we don't want to hear that? I don't know.

Anyway! What you're really here for:

Grey cable-knit sweater: thrifted ages ago

Scarf that used to be on my head: garage sale

Green microsuede skirt: Sears

Shoes: hand-me-ups from my little sister

Disaster of a hairdo: scarf + child

The little man is all in hand-me-down Old Navy.

It has been chilly! The high today was theoretically 72, but I don't think we ever got there. I definitely wasn't overwarm in the crowded church in this sweater/scarf/heavy skirt combination, and Little Bear didn't complain once about wearing flannel. Is it really still July? It feels like September!

I hope that you are enjoying more seasonable weather. Have a lovely week!

7P7D: Yay, Linguistics

I wasn't planning to post anything for NFP Awareness Week because, well, just because. But then I read this article last night, and everyone needs to go read it. Really, go.

When there's a contradiction between Translation X of an encyclical and the Vatican's translation, the Vatican is right. Period, end of story. There are quite a few Catholics opposing NFP on the interwebs that need to get off their high horses and stop worshiping the phrase "grave reason," because them just ain't the right words, y'all. And yammering on about the majority of NFP-users going to hell, based on your favorite inaccurate translation of Humanae Vitae, just isn't good evangelization.

If you didn't go read the whole thing, do it! But here's a quick recap:

- There are several English translations of Humanae Vitae available, but the Pauline Edition is the most widely circulated.

- The Pauline Edition is a transliteration from the Italian and is published by the Daughters of St Paul; the Vatican Edition was translated from the official Latin and is put forth by (surprise!) the Vatican.

- The two editions have, shall we say, "grave" differences which can substantially affect the meaning of certain passages.

- Such differences occur in paragraph 10 and paragraph 16, the paragraphs most commonly used to support the claims of those suspicious of or objecting to NFP use.

- If you didn't actively seek out the Vatican Edition when you read Humanae Vitae (or looked for the Church's teachings on NFP), you probably read the Pauline Edition instead... and you should go read the Vatican Edition, because it doesn't say the same thing. And the version from the Vatican is the correct version, because it's the Vatican.

Really, go read it. If you're Catholic, even if you aren't married, this is an area of Church teaching that is in the forefront of many people's minds with the ongoing HHS Mandate kerfuffle, and it's important for all Catholics to be able to clearly articulate what the Church actually teaches.

Seven Quick Takes Friday, Vol. 41

Lining up with Jen of Conversion Diary for the usual Friday party!

I

So far, so good on the 7 posts in 7 days challenge, although last night was close. I've learned a few things this week: I reallyd do have time to blog on the days that Little Bear naps on my lap, it's hard to force myself to come up with something to write about every single day, and linkups are definitely not "cheating" posts!

II

I also learned, on a completely different note, why it is a bad idea to walk a couple of miles in flip flops. Yes, I always knew in my head that it wasn't a great idea, but I didn't have any practical knowledge of why until yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and Little Bear was resisting a nap at the top of his lungs, so I drove to campus earlier than I needed to pick Matt up, put Little Bear in the ergo, and took the longest route possible to walk to his office building. It didn't connect that I was wearing flip flops until I was almost half a mile from the parking lot, and being a stubborn woman, especially since the child had finally fallen asleep, I just kept going. By the time we met Matt and walked back down to the car, I had large blisters on both feet and the skin was cracking and starting to bleed. No more flip flops for me for a while!

III

It should be okay to keep going for walks, though, right? As long as I wear socks and proper shoes? I've gotten out for at least one walk every day this week, and already agreed to another this afternoon, and I really don't want to skip it. Getting motivated was hard at first, but right now I know how good I'll feel afterwards and how much Little Bear and I will both enjoy being outside, so I don't want to lose that momentum. Winter is coming fast enough, and it will be much harder to want to get exercise when it is cold.

IV

Posting every day definitely has the downside of using up the things I would normally save up for Fridays... I have nothing here.

V

The children's room at our public library has a large, whimsical mural covering one wall: a parade of fairy-tale figures wends from a timber-framed castle toward the woods, where Alaskan animals and fanciful creatures alike look on. We sat in front of it reading stories the other day, and I was struck by the incredible details I'd never been close enough to notice before: in a fairy house high up in a spruce tree, a daddy stands on the balcony holding a baby no bigger than Little Bear's thumbnail. Farther down the tree, the mom looks up at them, and you can pick out every teeny flower embroidered on her apron. A gypsy in the far-away procession shakes a tambourine, and you can just see each of the bells. It's incredible! Little Bear was too wrapped up in staring at the paper stars hanging from the ceiling to pay much attention to the mural, but that'll come as he gets older.

VI

We did a bit of saint-day feasting this week: for St Mary Magdalene on Monday, I made a nice moose roast; for St Bridget of Sweden on Tuesday, we had Swedish meatballs; and yesterday, for St James, my mother made a lovely plum tart. Today we celebrate Sts Joachim and Anne, parents of Our Lady, but I'm not sure yet what I'll be doing for it.

VII

Little Bear is using words to communicate more and more: The other day he saw me standing in the kitchen eating a scone. He crawled over and pulled himself up, saying "Mama! Mama!" When I picked him up, he pointed to my scone and exclaimed, "Dat!" He grinned and bounced when I gave him a bite, and when he finished it he pointed to my scone and said "Dat!" again. It is so much fun to be a part of him learning new things every day!

Have a lovely weekend!

7P7D: Bedtime for Nazgul

How is it late o'clock already? Jen's 7 posts in 7 days challenge is harder to keep up with than it sounded...

All during the day, from before he wakes up until we carry him into the bedroom in the evening, Little Bear is Little Bear. When his pajamas go on, though, it's like Cinderella's stroke of midnight: he transforms into Little Nazgul. 

He has perfected the ear-piercing shriek, and performs it for us frequently as we go through the process of putting him to bed. They aren't unhappy cries -- he thinks it's fun. I have no idea why this noise only comes out at bedtime, but it's sure better than hearing it all day long. His ear-splitting pre-sleep play is usually narrated in a dry voice by whichever parent isn't currently being attacked:

Little Nazgul: (bites Daddy's nose and shrieks)

Mama: Nazgul is hungry.

Little Nazgul: (blows raspberry on Mama and shrieks)

Daddy: Nazgul is playing.

Little Nazgul: (pounces onto Daddy and shrieks)

Mama: Nazgul is hunting.

Little Nazgul: (shrieks)

Daddy: Nazgul is angry... because I am tickling him.

Neither of us would go so far as to say that we enjoy being the Nazgul's victim, but it's a lot of fun to be a part of his play and know that he is happy. If only he was willing to do this before late o'clock at night!

7P7D: Fruit-full Thoughts

Last night I stood at the kitchen counter, cleaning berries and listening to the wild laughter coming from the living room as Matt and Little Bear played together. Sticky orange juice trickled down my hands as I closed my eyes and breathed in, savoring the wild medley of scents in front of me: sweet, pungent salmon berry juice, earthy blueberries, sharp, spicy Labrador tea leaves. It smelled of home, of summer, of who I am. The Pandora station shifted into one of the themes for the The Lord of the Rings, and suddenly I was blinking back tears. "Please, can we skip this one tonight? I'm sorry," I called to my confused husband. "I just can't..."

Looking at photos I brought back from a summer hiking trip in the mountains, a college friend once exclaimed, "You don't live in Alaska, you live in Middle Earth!" And it's true. Up in the mountains, the plants are too green, the water too clear, the sky too vast to be real. From the first time I heard Howard Shore's soundtrack, I have associated it with my favorite -- to my mind, the most beautiful -- part of the state: a region of the Alaska Range, mostly above treeline and dotted with mountain lakes. If the homesteading act was ever renewed, I would build a cabin there in a heartbeat.

Hiking and camping in those mountains every year from when I was very young is one of the best memories I have, and if you asked me suddenly to picture a time or place when I was very happy, I would probably see myself high on a ridge, looking out across a lake. I would feel the wind in my hair, smell the tundra and the sunshine and my liberally-applied perfume of DEET, taste the frigid stream water and tart berry juice, hear loons calling, beavers slapping, ground squirrels chattering. I've always intended to share this area, my favorite place, with whomever I married... And now we have been married two years, nearly, and haven't been able to do any camping at all.

I understand; you grow up, and real life gets in the way, and you can't do the fun things that you thought would come with growing up when you were younger. Children happen, medical problems, tight work schedules. I do understand, really. But being out berry picking yesterday, with the sudden onslaught of the sights, and smells, and sounds, and sensations of all of those happy times growing up, brought home to me how very, very much I missed all of that. How long it had been, and how nothing else could really take its place. 

That's when the tears came. The m-word (moving) has come up many times recently, between frustration with the work situation and the long, cold winters and the astronomically high cost of living, and I have to admit that for many reasons it is the logical decision. But emotionally, it feels like pretty much the worst idea ever, and the idea of leaving is tearing me up. Nothing will be the same, and I'll be leaving behind so much that I love. There aren't any definite plans yet, but we both know that it will probably happen, maybe even within the next year. And last night, I realized that that meant that I might never see my mountains again.

So like the mature adult that I am, I sat down with my husband to explain why making a trip there was important to me and discuss whether we could find a way to make camping with the child work, right? Ha. Well, that did eventually happen, after an hour or two of him being confused because I was sad but wouldn't say why and just apologized for being selfish when he asked... But because he is wonderful, y'all, he did get me to talk about it and was totally open to the idea, pointing out several logistical problems we will have to try to work around but being willing to help me find solutions, like finding out whether Little Bear will sleep in a tent before we drive five hours away from home, and looking for ways to keep him happy in the car on such a long drive, and working around his office's very, very busy schedule in August and September. I am so blessed to have such a husband.

There's no guarantee it will happen this summer, but we will try. And if it doesn't work, letting him know how much I miss being out in the mountains means that we will at least get some more hiking in; we've been uneasy doing much of that on our own without bear protection, but since we're collectively getting just that for our anniversary, that's no longer a concern! I'm so grateful to him, and so excited to spend more time outdoors.

Salmon berry, AK blueberry, store-bought blueberry 

7P7D: Berrying

July, usually mid-July, marks the beginning of our berry season. Blueberries, then salmon berries, cranberries, cloudberries... We are so blessed to live somewhere with such natural bounty, and where we can just drive ten minutes out of town, hike into the woods, and pick! I haven't been able to go berrying for several years, having a brand-new baby last berry season and being busy with work and wedding preparation the previous year, so being able to get out this year has been so enjoyable; kneeling amid the boggy tussocks, smelling the trees and the plants and the sodden ground, reveling in the wide-open space with no other human in sight or earshot... If we ever move away, well, I'm sure I would be happy anywhere as long as I had my husband and my son... but the outdoors of Alaska is like a part of me, being out in those woods is as instinctive as breathing, and leaving it behind would be painful.

Little Bear and I met my mom and a few of the kids to pick blueberries this morning. We tromped through the tussocks for maybe a quarter of a mile to find a patch they had noticed when they were out Sunday afternoon. Blue everywhere! I love looking ahead through the trees and seeing a bush that is more blue than green... and we found plenty of those today! Little Bear had fun for a while sitting on a blanket, watching my little sisters and trying to dump their buckets, while I picked almost a half-gallon of blueberries and an overflowing pint of salmon berries. We have to go back; there were still so many out there, and I would love to have a freezer full! Fresh fruit is ridiculously expensive here even in the summers; it is important for us to preserve as much as we can to eat during the winter.

I didn't go out looking for salmon berries today, but they were ripe and beautiful and everywhere and I just couldn't resist. I think I have enough for two small jars of jam; I'll probably wind up picking more, though. The blueberries will just be frozen in quart bags after I finish cleaning them, to go in pancakes and muffins and smoothies and such. 

Our picking time was cut short today because someone didn't take a nap this morning, and was all done being awake but couldn't bring himself to lay down and go to sleep. He got a good nap this afternoon, though, so maybe we will even go back out with Daddy once he gets off work? We shall see.