I’m hanging out with my parents when my dad sees me frantically rubbing my thumbs against the palms of my hands.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
He wants to know why. How to explain?
My parents have been visiting the past few days. I haven’t seen them in over six months. It’s the longest period of time we’ve ever been apart (even when I lived in Europe after college I saw them at least every four months). The past few days have been one big party. We’ve eaten red meat and fried foods. We’ve had Grasshoppers (ice cream and alcohol) and cookies. I think I munched on a vegetable in there somewhere – yes, I steamed spinach one night – but other than that, I can’t say I’ve been practicing “mindful eating” since Saturday. And my home yoga regime? Completely cut off once my parents arrived (although my mom saw my mat, which was rolled out on the floor, and she practiced sun salutations).
“I’m not sure what to blog about for Wasa this week,” I finally say to my dad.
“Well, let’s think,” he says.
“I’m supposed to blog about yoga and mindful eating, but I’m not inspired given my eating habits and lack of yoga practice,” I explain.
My dad is silent for awhile. “You could talk about how yoga is important for old people like me,” he finally says. “As people age, they are at an increased risk of falling. So write in your blog that yoga is important for balance and to do yoga with a Wasa cracker.”
“Uh, okay. Thanks,” I say.
“Just trying to help,” he says.
My mom chimes in too. “Oh, I know,” she says. “Blog about the fact that we bought a juicer.”
It’s true. My parents read the Wasa blog and were inspired to buy a juicer.
“Last week we made peach juice with vodka,” my mom says. “It was delicious!” She pauses. “Am I missing the point?”
Well, I do wish they would make vegetable juice instead, but maybe I’m the one who is missing the point. As I drop them off at the airport, I know what I’m going to blog about: A Time to Feast. This week we’ve hit up good restaurants and had fun cooking in too. We played cards and watched baseball and talked, all over scones for breakfast and steaks for dinner. It was a reunion. A celebration. A time to enjoy life. Not that we couldn’t have done that over Brussels sprouts and brown rice, but eating well most of the time makes it easier to allow the exceptions. Not to mention, those “exceptions” are much appreciated.
Ingredients
¼ cup green olives, pitted
¼ cup Kalamata olives, pitted
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon flat leaf Italian parsley, finely chopped
¼ teaspoon dried oregano
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon roasted red pepper, chopped
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 pieces peperocini, chopped
6 teaspoons Dijon style mustard
6 thin slices Guyere Swiss cheese
6 thin slices imported ham
6 pieces WASA Sourdough Rye Crispbread
Directions
Prepare muffuletta spread by mixing together in a small bowl green olives, Kalamata olives, olive oil, parsley, oregano, garlic, red pepper, peperocini, and lemon juice.
Spread 1 teaspoon of Dijon mustard on each crispbread followed by one slice of cheese and one slice of ham. Top with 1 tablespoon of muffuletta mixture.
Prep time: 15 minutes
Serves 2
Nutritional Value Per Serving
| Calories |
145 |
| Total Fat |
8 g |
| Saturated Fat |
3 g |
| Cholesterol |
24 mg |
| Sodium |
684 mg |
| Total Carbohydrate |
10 g |
| Dietary Fiber |
2 g |
| Protein |
10 g |
| Calcium |
10% of daily value |
“Let’s take a meditation walk,” my mom suggested when she was visiting earlier this week.
That sounded neat.
“What is it?” I asked.
My mom said it’s when you take a walk in nature while meditating on a word or phrase. As you walk you don’t necessarily seek out specific things, but you do open yourself up to whatever gifts or lessons nature has to teach.
My mom, dad, and I all piled on our coats and boots and headed out into the woods. When we passed the woodshed, we discussed logs. When we passed the garden, we discussed vegetables. We talked about family and food and the gorgeous day. Before long we had finished the loop. Not exactly meditative. Oh, well. We still enjoyed each other’s company and the crisp air of nightfall. That’s priceless in itself.
Meditation walks are probably best when each individual wanders off on his or her own path. This morning I threw on sweatpants and headed outside. I was still wearing my pajama top. I had yet to comb my hair or eat. But I wanted to be outdoors first thing.
I choose to meditate on the words: “I will rejoice and be glad in this day.” The wind brushed against me with affection. The pines played a rustling tune. The sky offered colors of deep blue. The sun poured forth armfuls of warmth. I don’t know what this day will bring, but good or bad, happy or sad, easy or tough, I rejoice in its beauty.
Bread.
The staple of life.
Now that I’ve gotten used to making my own fresh vegetable juice, I’m thinking of bread. I recall reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle a few months ago and coming across a passage by the author’s husband (Steven Hopp) who makes a fresh loaf practically everyday.
He says, “I know you’ve got one around somewhere: maybe in the closet. Or on the kitchen counter, so dusty nobody remembers it’s there. A bread machine.”
A bread machine? Nope, don’t have one in the closet or on the counter or anywhere. I’m lucky if I can find a spatula in our kitchen. During a party this spring, I was talking with the host’s mother. She’s in her late 80s and makes her own bread. I told her I wanted to learn so I could make homemade pizza dough, whole wheat, pumpernickel, etc.
“But I don’t have a bread machine,” I said.
She practically fell out of her chair laughing. I guess if you really know how to make bread the old fashioned way, you knead the dough. By hand. For a long time.
“You have to feel the dough to make sure it’s right,” she said.
Call me crazy, but kneading dough by hand actually sounds fun. I think I’ll try it (although I have no idea what it’s supposed to “feel” like, so I’ll have to wing that part). In the meantime, I’ll keep my eye out at garage sales for someone else’s barely-used, dusty bread machine.
