When I think of Thanksgiving, the first thing I hear is Aunt Ann’s voice coming from the kitchen. She is setting things on the counter or washing dishes and talking about some funny bit of news. Then I hear Nana laughing from the table. The girl cousins are laughing, too, and I see their faces. I see little Charlotte in her dress running to and frow with Aunt Katy not far behind and the men watching football in the living room. I see Daphne’s pies and remember the old stories we like to tell over and over. Nana and Aunt Gretchen tell the best old stories. Aunt Nora and Heather tell the best new ones. And Pete and Daphne’s stories, they are always warm like bread. When I think about Thanksgiving, Uncle Jack asks, again, if I want something to drink, the kind and gracious host. Uncle Ed is making a joke, Uncle Al is messing about with his camera, and Papa is sitting in a chair eating a piece of pie, watching and listening. The other boys are in the basement. When we were young and it was summer, we would jump on the trampoline while the grown-ups watched from behind the windows. Cousin Chris could do flips. We would sit around the edge, close to the springs and watch him jumping high above us.
I am thankful for family and Aunt Ann’s voice and the old stories I want to hear over and over and over.
I don’t remember what first got the idea of pasta-making in my head, but I remember asking for a hand-cranked pasta roller on my 15th birthday. I remember the little blue pasta cookbook I picked up for a buck at Barnes & Noble, and the feel of the egg and flour becoming smooth in my hand. I remember how thick and tough those first hand-rolled noodles were and the silken ones I made years later in the kitchen with my best friend. We hung the noodles to dry on broomsticks and invited her mother and sister to share diner with us. My pasta machine is still one of my favourite treasures. I like its lines, how it hooks to the table, the crank, and the dial. It is one of the few machines a find truly elegant (the other I can think of is a bicycle).
It still is magical to me. 2 1/2 cups of semolina. Three eggs. A pinch of salt. Rough, and then soft and warm like skin. Fat and round. Long and lovely.
Beside me are 98 pages, warm from the printer: the rough draft of the novel I am writing. On the stove is a warm pan of lasagna.
5 Things I can make:
-noodles
-rough drafts
-messes
-people smile
-a toy for my cat
5 Things I cannot make:
-hats
-shoes
-the universe
-quick, witty remarks
-chocolates
What can you make? What can you not make? Do you make noodles?
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Thing I love #28: coffee.
For some reason, I don’t find myself talking about coffee much here. Which is weird. Because I work with coffee. I come home with coffee under my fingernails and in my hair. I spend a lot of my day pondering how the Tanzanian Peaberry is tasting, sharing the joyous news that we have switched back to the Kenya AA, sampling the new El Salvador, and gushing over beautifully pulled espresso shots. Why I don’t talk about these things here is a bit of a mystery to me. Perhaps it is because I like to pretend I don’t think or care about work much. Perhaps it is because my coffee enjoyment has never become an addiction, so talk of coffee headaches/cravings doesn’t really come up here. But get me started and I will gush on and on about Ethiopian beans and well-roasted Sumatra (why people insist on burning Sumatra beans is completely beyond me). I will talk brewing methods. I will count the merits of the french press.
Oh, yes. I will.
And then I will hold myself back. Because even reading this, I feel a bit weary of my passion and knowledge of something as small and silly as coffee. On the other hand, it’s nice to know something. And I love the smell of the coffee freshly ground and wrapped in a bag. And I like when Adam smells it in my hair.
What is something you know a lot about?
from hula seventy. Make your own! It’s fun.
1. homemade bread fresh from the oven
2. warm rain
3. snugly afternoon naps
4. apples
5. used-book stores
6. scarves
7. birds outside my window
8. fires in fireplaces
9. burning piles of leaves
10. birthday cake
11. pumpkin pie
12. birch bark
13. the sunrise
14. quiet snow
15. hula hoops
16. pitchers of lemonade
17. horses
18. hazelnut honey
19. picnics
20. mountain tops
21. the sea
22. letters
23. fresh milk
24. raspberries
25. Christmas
26. candlelight
27. morning light
28. coffee
29. old photographs
30. Little Women
31. trees
32. leaves
33. big breakfasts
34. boy smell
35. musicals
36. harvest moon
37. haystacks
38. the funnies
39. the puffs that fall from cottonwood trees
38. old churches
39. whipped cream
40. lightening bugs
41. perfect skirts
42. typewriters
43. cranberry sauce
44. pine needles
45. hats
46. drive-ins
47. spring
48. whistling
49. humming
50. green-thumbs
51. tea
52. wooden boxes
53. wooden spoons
54. mixing bowls
55. blankets
56. movie nights
57. hiking
58. water lilies
59. lilacs
60. orchards
61. fireworks
62. Thanksgiving
63. spring
64. farmer’s markets
65. notebooks
66. pipes
67. flashlights
68. puddles
69. wooden swings
70. forts
71. rooftops
72. small cups
73. deep bowls
74. good pens
75. candlesticks
78. languages
79. bellies
80. old notes
81. Christmas cookies
82. Christmas lights
83. stationary
84. snow angels
85. sparkling water
86. Peter Pan
87. spanish moss
88. deer paths
89. mason jars
90. jam
91. sandcastles
92. waves
93. towers
94. roses
95. poems
96. clotheslines
97. cream
98. buttons
99. porches
100. walnuts green on trees
I’m at my desk writing. And on the pages, a boy is flying on his new bike over the city. And a bird is starting a forest on fire with an olive branch. And a man is stepping up onto a podium with something to say…
What will he say when he gets to the top of the stairs? I’m a little bit afraid to find out. It’s a weighty thing, standing on a podium, speaking to the world.
Somehow, this chapter seems very timely.
Rainy today. I didn’t want to carry my camera around. But at work, I spent my break under the awning of the shop with a cup of coffee watching the rain pour down the street. Cold, wet days are coming. Oh, yes. Short dark days of stews, fireplaces, and gingerbread are at hand. I’m ready.
I don’t write much about politics, but I feel it would be a strange omission. I’m really proud of the United States today. I’m proud of the hopeful faces I saw in the crowd watching Obama’s speech. I’m proud of the people who worked hard for something they believed in.
Today, I’m happy for America.
That’s all. Have a good night, friends.
1. To consistently bake soft, spongy loaves of whole grain bread.
2. To make things with wood.
3. A third language. Maybe Arabic.
4. To constantly care for the poor.
5. To sew and maybe knit.
(lofty goals? yes. But I’ve got a few years.)
What do you want to learn? Can you teach me any of these things? Is there anything I can teach you?
