Brooke

Lucky Number Seven. A photo post.

Seven years ago today, Matt and I were saying our vows on a gorgeous Fall evening in the Sierra Nevada foothills of California.  We were married on our family's Dude Ranch (thank you Jacobsons!) and it couldn't have been a more magical day. 

Seven months pregnant with Satchel on our wedding day, we were already a family.

In honor of this anniversary, I thought I'd post a photo retrospect of our marriage.

A girl.

A boy.

A wedding.

A lovestory.

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 Matt's parents on their wedding day.

My parents, celebrating their wedding.  (Like mother, like daughter.  In this photo, my mom was 8 months pregnant with me.)

Ancient History:  Matt and I at the lake.  Dating.  And most likely drunk.  2001.

It happens.  We are getting hitched.  Our wedding invitation: 
 
 

At the altar.  Matt waits.

Outside the barn.  Brooke waits. 

Sealed with a kiss.

 

We did it!

Very, very pregnant, she tosses the bouquet.

 
 

It's official.  We are married.
 
 

The morning after.  Leaving for our honeymoon. 

Bless this...

First Anniversary.  2003.

Celebrated at Sea Ranch.  Satchel is 9 months old.  You can tell we are doting new parents.  Satchel eating the top tier of our wedding cake is the only photo we have our anniversary.

Second Anniversary.  2004

In our new home.
 

Fourth Anniversary.  2006.

Donner, California.  With family for Thanksgiving. 

Fifth Anniverary.

Sonoma, California.  6 months pregnant with Temple.

Sixth Anniversary.  Vancouver, BC.  2 kiddos now.

Seventh Annivesary.  2009. 

(Stole this photo from a friend, who took photos of us out last Saturday night...sorry it is so small.)

  
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Matt, my husband, my magician.  A man who pulls rabbits out of a hat by alligning himself with the elements in a concrete way, through hard work and sweat and diligence.  He is the balance of earth, air, fire and water – like the magician in the tarot deck who creates through concretes, through willing things to be so.  Matt provides and supports and upholds.  He sustains and perserveres and tells the truth.  He is devoted, loyal, true-blue.  He is stand-up husband and stick-around father.  He is funny man and shit disturber and crinkle-eyed-smiler.  He is a worker and planner and no-shades-of-grey kind of guy.  He makes me feel safe and happy and loved.  What more could I ask for?  Except for seven plus seven plus seven plus seven...more happy years together.
 
  

 

Another Goddess in our Midst

My friend, Julie, gave birth yesterday morning.  A long-awaited baby girl who has three older brothers to protect and love and eventually torture her the way all big brothers do. 

Baby Neela arrived in this world just before 10 am on Saturday, November 21st.  A scorpio girl with black hair and dimples.  She and her and mama were home before bedtime. 

Neela is divine.  Her hair smells like the ocean and her eyes look right into you, the intense and wonderous gaze of a newborn.  I love her already.

Congratulations Julie and Dave!!!! 

The world has just changed forever.

Banana Bread and Writer's Prompt

First things, first.  Banana Bread.  Who makes an irresistable, delicious one.  Preferably with chocolate chips included?  I need your recipe.  Ripe bananas have taken over our freezer.  And I need to make 10 of them for a bake sale on Saturday.  Help! 

Second, the past two weeks have been filled with living.  Writing has gone by the wayside.  Empty.  Vanished.  Until this morning when I read MaryBeth's blog.  She gave me a writer's prompt.  So I'm bitin' her style: 

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1. where is your cell phone?
In the front pocket of my diaper bag. Only half useful because I can't use it to call the States.

2. your hair?
Not washed in 3 days but freshly high-lighted.  Bright, creamy, pearly blonde.  After much mourning of my former hair stylist, John, of Festoon Salon in San Francisco and Berkeley, I finally found a new stylist, Christine, at Tao Salon in Vancouver.  She is like my younger, prettier, skinnier sister.  But I don't have a complex.  She gets blonde.  I love her.

3. your mother?
See previous post.   

4. your father?

Stogie smoker.  Leather worker.  Selfless.  Perfectionist.  Generous to a fault.  Made his life over.  Self-sufficient.  Camper.  Fisherman.  Loves to drive fast cars but chooses to own a 1967 VW bus.  Recovered addict.  Father of 4.  Grandfather to 4.  Son of an airforce pilot.  Pack rat.  Best guacamole and garlic bread maker.  Workshop man.  Home open to anyone, anytime.  Potion maker.  Contraption creator.  Awesome, loving dad.

 

5. your favorite food?
Anything made with potatoes.  Anything green.  Lemon meringue pie.  Depression Dinner and Gramma Tacos (don't ask).  Anything I haven't tried before.

6. your dream last night?
I wish I remembered.

7. your favorite drink?
Coffee the way my husband makes it.  Buttery, oaky chardonnay.  Fruity Pinot Noir.  Jack & Coke.  Lime flavored bubbly water.  Vodka with anything. 

8. your dream | goal?
Balance.  To have it all in equal measure.

9. the room you are in?
The ground floor room with radiant heat floors and french doors to the garden. 

10. hobbies?
Running, because it is a practice that forces my body into submission.  Dancing, dance party, dance clubs, dance class, So You Think You Can Dance.  Dance.  Cooking because it is nutritious and zen and adventurous and honest and gives immediate feedback and it nourishes.  Reading long novels on rainy afternoons. 

11. what is your fear?
Dying in a plane crash.

12. where were you last night?
Sitting with my husband, in the dark, with wine, hashing out our future.

13. something you are not?
Regretful.  (apologetic?  Yes.  Regretful?  No.)

14. muffins:
My "meal in a muffin" muffins.  Whole grains: walnuts: shredded apple, carrot, zucchini; raisins; coconut; banana; blueberries; maple syrup, brown rice syrup or agave.  Blueberry muffins with crunchy, sugary tops.

25. wish list items:
above the knee boots.  a job writing.  dance lessons with my husband.  a vacation in the caribbean.  botox.

26. where did you grow up?
The San Francisco Bay Area.

17. last thing you did?
Nursed Temple to sleep, gave Satchel a bath and tucked him in bed, poured myself a glass of wine.

18. what are you wearing?
An american apparel tank top with worn out pajama bottoms I bought last winter at Walmart.  A grey cashmere cardigan.  Red nail polish on my toes.

19. your TV:
Yes.  Survivor Samoa is on. 

20. your pets?
None.  All gone 'up to the roof' according to Satchel.  We think that means heaven.

21. your friends:
how did I get so lucky???

22. your life:
Is blessed.

23. your mood?
A roller coaster:  Hopeful.  Depressed.  Anxious.  Excited.  Elated.  Curious.  Despairing.  Grateful.  Full of joy.

24. missing someone?
my girls.

25. vehicle:
I don't tell.  I'll get wrath.

26. something you’re not wearing:
Lipstick.

27. your favorite store?
Anyone that will extend personal credit right now.

28. your favorite color?
Black patent.  Metallics.  Snakeskin.  Flashes of red. 

29. the time you last laughed?

Really hard?  Last night in bed with my husband.

30. the time you last cried?
This afternoon when I found out Satchel wouldn't surgery to correct his jaw.  A simple retainer will do.

31. your best friend:
Keep adding up.  What can I say?  I'm lucky.  And once a best friend, always a best friend.  They don't go away. 

32. one place you go over and over?
Self criticism and doubt.

33. guilty pleasure?
It used to be a housekeeper.  Now I am her. 

34. favorite place to eat?
Anywhere someone will make me a home made meal.  Real food always beats a restaurant.

35. where do you want to be in six years?
That means I will be 45.  I better be somewhere absolutely amazing.

Happy Birthday, Mom

My mom, holding me, almost 39 years ago.

She was 17.

 

My mom, a few months ago, on Vashon Island. 

Magical mama, funny lady, compassionate soul, beautiful woman, sparkly-eyed, humble hearted, package-sender, artist who can make-something-out-of-everything-and-out-of-nothing, silly and crazy, unafraid to be the fool, honest, hippy to her core, spiritual seeker, cozy corner lover, black licorice eater, radiant smile, lifetime adventurer, determined, lets the wind fly in and stir up her life.

Mother to 5, grandmother to 4, teacher to dozens, inspiration to many.

We love you Mom.  Busha.  Marianne Julie.
 
 Happy Birthday.

What I Can't Get Enough Of Right Now

Apple chips.  Bio-dynamically farmed Canadian apples, sliced and dried (and probably prayed over) in an old barn by a group of Menonite senior citizens.  I can feel the moonlight and cow-horn manure and heartfelt religious devotion in each and every crunchy slice.  I buy them by the bagful, $10 each, from the back of a farmer's truck in the parking lot of Satchel's school.

Fresh honeycrisp apples too.

Temple, saying blessing before dinner each night.  Her tiny paw reaches out for a hand, to her left and to her right, and she says, "Ina, Ina, Ina" as a request for us to start our blessing.  She's got the cadence even if she doesn't have the words.

A new spectrum of hair products including Eli Manuel My Everything Glaze, Davines Momo Shampoo and Alchemic Conditioner in Argent, and Kevin Murphey Anti.Gravity Volumiser. 

Novels: Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver and The Angel's Game, the latest release by Carlos Luis Zafon.

The TV series, Criminal Minds.

Outings with my friend Deana, who happens to be a newspaper editor and food writer, which usually involve good food, creative endeavors or an invitation-only literary event. 

Daddy Bloggers.  My favorites:  Matt Logelin and Pacing the Panic Room.

Food Blog 101 Cookbooks by Heidi Swanson of my much-missed city, San Francisco.

So You Think You Can Dance.  The US version and the Canadian version.  The dancing makes me cry.

Cheesy, awesome songs that make me wanna get my slackness on:  Hot Girl by Belly and Snoop, I Know You Want Me by Pit Bull and Fire Burning by Sean Kingston.  Old and pathetic of me, I know.  But it's true.

Suriving Disaster.  That TV show is a creepy hook.  How to survive a nuclear attack, a flood, a terrorist attack, a fire in an office building.  It appeals to the scaredy cat in me and the mother who wants to be able to save her babies no matter what happens.  If you haven't seen it, don't even turn it on.

Italian roasted pumpkin - sliced like cantaloupe with olive oil, garlic and italian herbs, roasted for one hour at 325.  Eat off the rind.

Mail and phone calls from my family at home.

Long runs each weekend with my new running crew.

Julie, my best friend in Canada, even when she is miserable and pissed off at 9 months pregnant.  She still makes me laugh.

Frequent trips to Bellingham, for MaryBeth and Trader Joes.

Satchel, crawling into our bed at 5 in the morning for cuddles. 

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What can you not get enough of right now?

18.

My little 18 month old girlie.

Chatterbox.

Swerving drunk.

Eyelash swashbuckler.

Super Pooper.

Sturdy.

Hugger.

Dollie kisser.

All Night Sleeper.

Happy Girl.

Daughter, mine.

A life in retrospect:

Temple, One Week Old.  (April, 2008)

Three Months. (July, 2008.)

Six Months.  (October, 2008.)

Nine Months.  (January, 2009.)

One Year.  With cake. (April, 2009.)

15 Months.  (July, 2009.)

Today, at 18 months.

She loves her hat.  And boots.  (October, 2009.)
 

Nine months in.  Nine months out.   Nine months more...

Happy 18 months, Temple Lova Tiger-Lily.

When life hands you...

...a refrigerator full of miscellaneous produce, a carton of half-used chicken broth and a pantry of odds & ends, what do you do? 

Me?  I make 'Must-Go Soup,' the result of all the leftovers that need to be put to use.  I learned this from my mother who learned it from her Busha, our Polish (great) grandmother, and I must say, I am always surprised at how inspired and tasty this meal turns out.

Tonight it was:

One half carton of free-range chicken broth opened last weekend for braised vegetables.

One quarter of a head of red cabbage that was chopped down to a compromised purple chunk.

Three brilliant carrots with tops on and dirt from the garden still attached.

The remnants of a frozen bag of organic mixed vegetables from Trader Joes: peas, corn, carrots, grean beans.

One third bag of pesto tortellini from an Italian grocer here in Vancouver, Bosa Foods, that has been sitting in my pantry for 2 months.

20 leaves of lacinato, otherwise known as black kale, Tuscan kale  or - Satchel's favorite - dinosaur kale.

A yellow onion, slivered.

Four cloves of garlic, crushed.

One late-season, juicy tomato from a friend's garden, peeled and diced.

Three sundried tomatoes packed in olive oil, minced.

A yukon gold potato beginning to go green at the skin, chopped.

Sea salt and freshly cracked black pepper.

Water & boullion cubes for more broth.

On top of this we piled freshly grated Reggiano parmesan for all and crushed red chili flakes for the adults. 

The beauty of 'Must Go Soup' is the innovation, the surprise, the alchemy of unknown tastes.  After this one creation, you will never, ever eat this exact soup again.  Something similar perhaps, but not this particular soup.  It makes me think of old-fashioned porridge that consisted of a cast iron kettle hanging over the fire that was home to grains and meat scraps, bones, odds & ends like turnip tops, potato skins and cabbage trimmings.  The pot was never emptied, only augmented with daily additions, an evolving meal that was always familiar, warm in the belly, ready to nourish. 

I have always been a soup lover, a stew lover, a champion of one-dish meals of all kinds:  tagines, casseroles, stews, soups, chilis, braises, roasts.  And here, in Vancouver, with the rain and the damp and the coziness we need, I am even more of a die-hard fan.  Combine this with our current frugality - the awareness of most these days that nothing should be wasted, budgets should be tightened, resources valued - Must Go Soup is a staple, a beloved recipe that never goes wrong.

So tell me, do you have your own version of Must Go Soup (or casserole or braise or crockpot or roast?)  If so, I want to know.  I need your recipe, your innovation, your inspiration.  Send it in so we can all do a recipe swap of sorts.

Sweet. Salty. Bitter.

The other night it was Prince Paul on the ipod and pancetta in the frying pan.  The beginning of a favorite recipe and a good evening. 

Something delectable when added - in small doses - as a compliment to mellower flavors in a recipe and maybe not so great in a human being:  bitter.  In this case, the culprit is broccoli raab, otherwise known as rapini.  A cousin of the turnip, rapini looks like leafy, long-stemmed broccoli.  Almost too much to handle on its own (unless smothered in garlic, olive oil and chili flakes), broccoli raab is the perfect balance to the saltiness of pancetta and the sweetness of butternut squash.

I love this mixture of flavors served with pasta. 

The recipe I'm about to share with you is some bastardization of a recipe I saw once on a cooking show.  This is the recipe that taught me how to use pasta water, instead of olive oil or other sauce, to finish a dish.  Here is how it goes:

One package of sturdy pasta. 

The original recipe called for Pappardelle which is long, like fettucine, but much wider, almost as thick as an egg noodle.  When I made it this way, the sweet salty bitter parts got lost in the tangle of ribbon noodles - too much noodle not enough goodies.  I prefer something shorter, but still wide or otherwise hefty - rigatoni, penne, farfalle, fusilli, campanelle, orechiette, etc...I also prefer whole wheat pasta for it's bite and nutritional benefits. 

Prepare pasta according to package directions.  Make sure you put olive oil and salt in your boiling water.  You will use the pasta water to finish the dish.

Remove pasta but SAVE PASTA WATER.  Keep water simmering.**

1/2 - 1 lb. pancetta in 1/4" thick slices.

Have your butcher or deli slice your pancetta into thick slices - about 1/4 to 1/2' thick.  Then, at home, dice it into small squares, about the size of a pea (if peas were square).

Place diced pancetta into a frying pan and sautee until crisp, brown and releasing juices.

When cooked, remove pancetta from pan and put on a plate or bowl.  Keep fat in frying pan.

2 cups butternut squash, cubed.  Salt & Pepper.

If you have the patience, the time and the desire, you can peel, seed and cube your butternut squash.  If you are lazy or in a hurry, try to find cubed squash in your produce department.  I know that Whole Foods and Trader Joes both carry prepared, raw squash.  If you are really desperate, look for cubed butternut squash in the freezer section.  It saves lots of time.

The most important part of this recipe is the squash.  Like any vegetable that has the potential to go soft and fall apart when cooked, squash asks for committment.  That's right - committment. 

When your pancetta fat is sizzling, place the uncooked squash in the frying pan with the largest surface area facing down.  Add salt and pepper.  Leave the squash there while it caramelizes and turns brown.  DO NOT be tempted to toy with it or push it around or check on it.  Commit.  Leave the squash alone until it has fully cooked on one side.  Carefully turn the squash onto the opposite side and, again, leave it until the other side has turned nice and toasty brown. 

After the squash has been grilled on all outside edges, but is not yet mushy, take out of the pan and place in a bowl or on a plate.

One onion.  Three cloves garlic. 

Sliver one yellow onion and crush three cloves garlic into the remaining pancetta grease after you have removed the squash.  Sautee until transluscent and aromatic.  You will smell the gentle browning of your aromatics and know when they are done.

One large bunch broccoli raab.

Clean and prepare broccoli raab into florets and 1" strips of stems and leaves.  The entire plant is good for the recipe - just trim very bottom of stems when cleaning. 

**Once pasta has been cooked and removed from boiling water, add broccoli raab to simmering pasta water for 3 minutes to blanche.

Remove broccoli raab and drain.

Finishing the dish.

Place pancetta, squash and broccoli raab back into frying pan with onion and garlic.  Sautee and blend all ingredients for 2 minutes.  Salt & pepper to taste as needed.  Slowly add pasta to the frying pan or add the frying pan ingredients to your pasta - wherever you have the most room to toss and blend.

If needed, add hot pasta water, 1/4 cup at a time, to the pasta and veggies.  The pasta water will loosen and dress the entire dish with starchy water, oil and salt - the perfect sauce!

A few notes.

The dish is best if all ingredients are 'al dente.'  Don't overcook anything, except maybe the pancetta which, at worst, become bacon bits.  The pasta, squash and broccoli raab should be crisp even though cooked.

Don't forget to save the pasta water.  Use this for pre-boiling the broccoli raab and as a medium for finishing the whole dish.

Commit to frying the squash.  No fiddling around.  Let it caramelize and brown before you turn it.

If you can't get broccoli raab, any bitter green will do - even kale or arugula in a pinch.  Just don't pre-boil the arugula.

That's about all. 

Sweet.  Salty.  Bitter.

Maybe you'll want Sour too and then you can serve lemon sorbet for dessert.

Bon Appetit!

From the weekend

Sometimes she looks really sweet.

Sometimes she looks like Chuckie:

'Friends to the end...'

Last weekend, a roadtrip to Nelson, BC.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

My Boy.

 He is the one who made me a mother.  Wirey, nimble, strong.  Heart of gold.  Eyelashes of mink.  He captivates me, intoxicates me, melts me. 

His one dimple.  His grin that bubbles up from his toes, unstoppable, so that it transforms his face into a beam of sunlight, a glint of mischief in his eye.  His crazy teeth, in the midst of change -even they melt me.

He is monster and wrestler and wild tarzan in the trees.  He is sister-minder, rule maker, etiquette enforcer.  He is fair and opinionated and flexible.  He is vegetable chopper, scrambled egg maker, ramen lover.  He is bike rider, fisherman, and skiier.  He is dragon drawer, story teller, sleeper.

 
 

He writes his letters now, subtracts 7 from 13 and arrives at 6.  He stands in line each morning before class and solemnly shakes his teachers hand.  It is serious business, being in grade one. 

My firstborn.  My boy.  Each day I melt.

Last night I dreamt that his heart had been cut out of his body and it was because of something I'd done.  I held him in my arms while he took his last breaths.  In my dream, he was dying of a broken heart and it was my fault. 

In the dream, I prayed and whispered in his ear, telling him that I'd be a better mother next time.  That I would be more tender, fierce, fun, thoughtful, gentle, capable, playful.  That I would wrap my arms around him and do a better job of caring for him.  That next time, I wouldn't break his heart.

Chew with your mouth closed.  Get your muddy boots off of the carpet.  Shake hands.  Share.  Say please.  Say thank you.  Eat your vegetables.  Brush your teeth.  Make your bed.  Clean your toys.

I say all of these things because it is in the job description.  I say all of these things because I want the world to love my child and I feel compelled to socialize him.  I want him to grow up responsible and strong and courteous.  I want to help him learn right from wrong.  I want to balance the primal wildness in his child's body with with civilized rules.

 
  
But when I look at his liquid brown eyes and the joy that bubbles up from his toes, what I really want to tell him is how my heart bursts with love for him.  That I trust his own joyful nature, his inner kindness, the compassion that radiates from inside of him.  That I recognize heartfelt reverence for the world and a genuine, gentle love that lives in him already.  That he is my teacher and my guide and that I rely on him to show me the magic that I forget to see.  That my quest to make him strong and good and kind is sometimes too heavy handed and I am sorry.  That in my efforts to help shape him, I forget to honor what is right in front of me - that he IS strong and good and kind already.

 

My dream last night was a reminder.  Do not kill my child's heart.  His heart is a precious gift.  Do not put rules above love.  Do not shape him for the approval of others but give him courage to find approval within himself.  Yes, cultivate him kindly, shape him gently, fertilize him, water him, help him grow, but do not overly prune him.  Let him shine from the inside out.  Trust him more.  Keep his wide-eyed wonder alive.  Above all, do not break his heart.