Z to A Even Day Challenge report

Now that we’re a third of the way into July, I thought I’d report on how the Z to A Even Day Challenge worked out.

I was able to stick to the schedule pretty faithfully, only missing the appointed date a couple of times. The every-other-day format allowed me to post a day late without falling behind on subsequent postings, exactly as it was intended to do. This kept the stress level very low, which was also one of the objectives.

I wrote almost every day, whether or not it was a posting day. On the  days I didn’t get to write, I thought about writing: possible topics, what I wanted to say, etc. To my mind, that’s almost as good as writing, because that’s the groundwork. With stuff in my brain clamoring to get out onto the page, I had a jump start the next time I sat down to work.

With my unplanned week off the grid, the challenge worked out almost exactly to fill the months of May and June. I wrote every day during that week away and continue to do so, though not everything I’ve written has been blog material. The real point of the exercise was to support a habit of daily writing, and it succeeded marvelously.

So where do I go from here?

  • I write every day. If I’m at a loss about what to write, I use whatever letter of the alphabet corresponds to that day’s date as a jumping off point.
  • I post to this blog at least once a week, more often if I have something appropriate.
  • I continue to read and respond to comments, to other blogs, to books and movies and the world around me.
  • I give thanks for you, my readers and companions on the journey. Your very presence encourages me more than you could know.

Onward and inward/upward/outward!

A bad poem for a good friend

Following the advice I gave someone else today, I wrote some bad poetry.

For My Friend (You Know Who You Are)

This poem on the letter A
was written just for you today
with couplets rhymed
and metered lines
(plus this odd bit that just sticks out)

Bullwinkle reads it in my mind
with nasal voice and slanted rhyme
a little lame
but all the same
the thought’s the thing that really counts.

The best fireworks

On the way back from Cincinnati last night, we were treated to terrific light show. For the entire drive of more than an hour, the sky lit up in a spectacular lightning display. We weren’t in rain most of the way and had a clear view of each strike: lightning really does move from the ground up.

Every few minutes, a column of light snaked up from the ground. When it reached the clouds, the bolt scattered, combing through the clouds with glowing fingers. Sometimes the countryside was illuminated like broad daylight; other times it was simply blinding, though only for a split second, thank goodness.

But as amazing as the light show had been, the best thing by far was driving into steady, soaking rain for the last twenty miles. No one minded getting wet one bit.

Avocado aficianado

I have become the sort of person who always has at least one avocado in the house. In fact, when I eat my last avocado, I feel a little panicky: what if I want some avocado before I have a chance to stop at the store?

Growing up, I don’t think I even knew what an avocado was. For all I know, they didn’t carry them in the grocery stores where I lived. My first true experience with avocados happened while visiting friends in Santa Fe. We went to a local restaurant where they made guacamole fresh, at your table, while you watched. It was amazingly delicious, and I was in love.

I started looking for avocados in my local grocery, buying them whenever I found them and making my own guacamole. Then another friend, who had lived in Santa Fe for several years, introduced me to sliced avocado on a sandwich. She puts turkey, a slice of bacon, Monterey Jack cheese, and sliced avocado on toasted wheat bread spread with homemade pesto mayonnaise. It’s incredible! Now I had something else to make with avocados!

Now I put avocado in my Southwest chicken soup; I put it on tacos and burritos; I eat avocado wedges with chicken salad, and sometimes I just scoop it out of the shell with a spoon and eat it plain. I recently found a recipe for tuna salad with avocado, which I will be making for lunch the next time I eat at home.

What’s your favorite avocado recipe?

(The image above is from http://whatscookingamerica.net/avacado.htm, which has some great information about choosing and using avocados.)

Blue (a list poem)

blue

sky water periwinkle
moody robin’s egg midnight
navy cerulean topaz
turquoise deep sea
aristocratic azure blood
teal peacock bachelor’s button
alkaline litmus forget-me-not
sad ultramarine woad
royal flax balls
cool colonial slate
into the out of the Wedgewood
morning glory sapphire
indecent cyan bells
berries in the face
puritanical indigo laws
melancholy fish bonnets
Prussian wild yonder
powder stocking steel
cobalt lapis lazuli
aquamarine print collar
bottle once in a moon

Camp

I’m back in civilization after a week in the woods with my daughter’s confirmation class (and about 70 other confirmation kids from a dozen congregations). It was peaceful to be off the grid; it was heaven not to have to plan and prepare meals, though I did help with setup and cleanup several times. Because I was a last-minute substitution (our youth minister’s mother had surgery two days before camp began), I had very few responsibilities, so a good chunk of time was at my disposal almost every day.

I put that time to fairly good use. I finished reading a novel I had begun weeks before, and then devoured three more novels I’d brought along. For those keeping score at home, that’s more novels than I read in the twelve preceding months. (I’m so far behind in my reading that it’s statistically unlikely I will live long enough to read all the books in my possession right now – never mind any list I might have.)

All that reading made me realize that I need a new prescription for my glasses. To rest my eyes between bouts of reading, I wrote. I drafted a couple new poems, recorded a few dreams, explored plot ideas that came out of those dreams, and reworked a poem I found when I flipped back through my journal. I was able to write every day, and it was wonderful.

I’m trying to figure out how I can wangle an invitation to camp again next year.

Dough!

(I’ll be off the grid for a week, so the Z to A Even Day Blog Challenge is on hold until I get back.)

(image from Amazon.com)

At the library last week, I saw a new cookbook that I must have: The Cookie Dough Lover’s Cookbook, by food blogger Lindsay Landis. It’s chock-full of recipes featuring egg-free cookie dough made to be eaten raw. I knew this book was for me when I read the following:

This book is dedicated to anyone who’s ever been caught with a finger in the mixing bowl.

When I was growing up, we always doubled any cookie dough recipe we made because otherwise there would be no cookies. We all ate the cookie dough, raw eggs notwithstanding, and with five people dipping into the mixing bowl, a single batch of dough wouldn’t yield much more than one pan of cookies.

From the moment I walked in the house with this book, my daughter badgered me to make things from it. The first night, she insisted on making Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Pudding. Pudding made from scratch involves a lot of time standing at the stove, stirring, which explains why instant pudding is so popular. She gamely hung in there, declining my offers to relieve her. The pudding didn’t cool in time to eat that night, but we had a festive dessert after dinner the next evening.

We next made a batch of classic Chocolate Chip Dough. It was delicious! We didn’t feel so great after snarfing down the entire batch, however, and agreed in future to divide the dough and set a portion of it aside before we start eating. That strategy worked well with the Peanut Butter Dough we made next, which we modified by using half whole wheat flour and adding chocolate chips.

Aside from the delicious doughs themselves, the cookbook offers recipes in which dough plays a decadent part: truffles, fudge, brownies, pie, cheesecake, frozen treats, granola bars, pancakes, fritters, and more. The directions are easy to follow and the photography is truly drool-worthy.

(I apologize for not having any pictures, but we ate everything before I thought about this blog post. The truth is, I find it hard to think about anything at all when faced with a bowlful of cookie dough.)

Enough today (a draft)

(first draft of a poem written at the park)

Enough today

to sit beneath giant oaks
steady breeze laced
with chlorine and cut grass

the burr of a diving board
the thwok of tennis balls
punctuate the distant white noise of mowers

middle-aged men grunt on the basketball court
testosterone sounds
the whir and clatter of teenage bravado
at the skate park

a brace of au pairs at the playground
complain about their charges, compare notes on their employers
in loud German
confident that no one around will understand

a college girl sunbathes on a blanket, oblivious
while adolescent boys with smart phones photograph
the round symmetry of her bikinied buttocks

Flaky

No, I’m not talking pastry; I’m talking about myself.

I spent the better part of the day searching through photo disks and thumb drives for a picture of a frog. A particular frog (actually, a series of frogs) known as Pond Frog. I was going to write a lovely post about Pond Frog (all of them), but first I just had to find that picture I remembered seeing. Sometime.

Since Pond Frog lived at our previous house, I had to look through pictures taken over eight years ago, because that’s how long we’ve been in this house. Things that far back aren’t quite as well organized as more recent things, and recent things aren’t all that well organized, so you see my problem.

I know I’ve seen that picture, but I can’t remember where, or for that matter, when. And now it’s time to head for bed, and I have neither a picture of Pond Frog or a post about it to show for my trouble.

I did get to relive a lot of great memories, though.

Grace, today

This is a day of grace. Waking in a comfortable bed, in a climate-controlled house. Opening a cupboard to find food to prepare. Turning on a faucet for clean water to drink, cook, and bathe. Having transportation to church, library, store. Worshiping in the midst of the beloved community. Watching a movie with family and talking with friends. Praying for those I love, for those I dislike, and for those I don’t know. Searching for a way through apathy and anger, fear and regret.

And through, in, and around it all, there is sunshine and rain, birds and trees, tears and laughter. There are songs to sing and books to read, hands to hold and gifts to receive. There is work to do and blessed rest. This is a day of grace.

Every day.