Yes Ma'am

Video Source (brought to my attention via littlest brother)

My Sweet Tooth To The Rescue

So, this week is all about change. Change and English Toffee. I find that toffee assists in the many small discomforts that accompany change.

I've never been a skilled candy maker despite my excellence as a candy consumer. My friend Jessie spent a good amount of time trying to teach me the delicate art of toffee making. This elaborate ritual involved candy thermometers and a marble slab. I never seemed to be able to achieve success. My best effort resulted in something very like a soft praline, but never the crisp, rich snap of toffee.

One day I was cruising through a variety of pages at Instructables when I saw a link to The Infamous Benson Family Sinful Almond Roca recipe.

Intrigued by the idea that an infamous family was sharing such a recipe, I clicked through and discovered that I was a master confectioner.

The recipe is fool-proof. I have added some twists on occasion (malden salt, mixed nuts, chili powder) and each and every batch has turned out beautifully.

I note this here solely because in my rash decision to reduce my consumption of sweet things I had neglected the recipe for months. When I tried to recall it from memory it had vanished. This worries me as it takes just 5 simple ingredients to make a perfect batch. Here's the list:

1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1.5 tsp water
almonds about a cup
chocolate pieces

Melt butter, sugar, and water in a heavy pan over medium high heat.
When mixture begins to boil stir constantly with a wooden spoon for 5 minutes or until bubbling gooeyness is a caramel color..
Pour over nuts placed on a parchment lined baking tray.
Cover with chocolate (I use chocolate chips most of the time-about 12 ounces).
As chocolate melts spread evenly over toffee.
Cool in fridge.
Snap into pieces and eat-or like the infamous Benson's give as holiday gifts or party favors

So I won't forget

I'm in LOVE

And this from 2002 with D'Angelo:


And oh Lord have mercy:



It's official. Raphael Saadiq where have you been all my life?

I Love You

I was married to a man who told me that I said "I love you" too much. That to say it cheapened the emotion (quick aside dear reader-major red flag-just trust me on this one). This man was not my first husband.

My first husband was a sweet, loving young man who took delight in me, cared for me, a kind man who did willingly abide me and my hysterical youth, my confusion of drama for passion. He was a patient person who had a deep faith in life's goodness. Naturally, I had to get away from him. I was so young. I love you Scott.

No, the husband who insisted that one could over do "I love you" simply by stating it more than once was my second, my last husband. The one who was invited in to shatter my heart. The one who helped me grow up by being so much a child. He probably still believes that I love you's should be carefully doled out like penicillin or anti-retroviral therapy. Maybe once per relationship. Never between parent and child. That I endured with him is testament to my foolishness and my vanity as he was oh so beautiful to me. What woman in her right mind would tolerate such ridiculousness?  I love you Vivek.

Recently, I started reading Cherry Menlove's blog which is very sweet and right now a bit sad as her beloved struggles with cancer. She signs off every post with "I love you." Sometimes she adds something else too like, "thank you for visiting" or "I want to wish you joy in the small things." At first, I was a bit struck by the sentiment. I wondered how she could be so sure she loved me.

Now I know that Cherry is on to something and that I had just a few little kinks left over from a failed marriage to work out.

As my son can attest, I have always been lavish with "I love you's" despite the dire warnings and asshat censorship. I am fond of kissing and clinches. But I openly loved just a small circle of people. As my heart reassembled into a new and better organ, I began to feel certain that it's well-being, it's joyful thrum was enhanced by my ability to love in a bigger, better, faster pussycat, more, more way. It is also entirely plausible that one can love the unknown and accept that the truth of love is in the pitching, not the catching.

I am grateful to Cherry for the love. And I love you.

The Bluest Eyes

 

Mendenhall Glacier

My obnoxious father is dying. He has the bluest eyes. I may never see them again. He prefers distance. He was born in Texas. He was an Eagle Scout. He married a beauty queen. He took his California born children to Alaska where he built highways and in collaboration with our glorious mother gave us a beloved little brother. He brought me to Oregon, my home. And left me here. I love him.

Savage Beauty

I just received my copy. The cover broke my heart. 

 

Inside, breathtaking.

As Susannah Frankel's introduction mentions, much mythologizing has and will forever occur around the late, great Lee Alexander McQueen. 

As someone who loves the romanticism and drama of great design, for me he is unparalleled.  

His creative life produced an inspiring, completely original body of work. 

He made terrifyingly beautiful rags.

 

I wrapped this book in a satin pillowcase to protect it. 

I've never done such a curious thing with a book before.

The retrospective runs through August 7th. 

How I wish I could see it in person. 

I am so grateful to have the book.