Crouton Pie

Tai Chi Tennis

This afternoon Bronson is grudgingly riding his bike around the neighborhood at Purcell's insistence, to ward off any possibility of contracting Nature Deficit Disorder  I regret to say that while Purcell was in Canada, Bronson developed a deep devotion to wii tennis.  He loved to play it after we came home from serving food from the chuck wagon, and I have to admit I was too tired to provide a more enriching alternative. 

Now, the  game is still here, but Purcell--clever and resourceful as always--has somehow slowed down the game so that now when Bronson plays he looks like he's practicing Tai Chi.

Walden Lawn

Instead of signing up to do an official science project this year, Hailey has decided that she will try to see if she can actually see the grass grow.  Much to Purcell's delight, she is spending every afternoon after school peacefully lying on the back lawn in pursuit of her goal.

April in Alto Cinco

Purcell thinks it's not mindful of me to spend so much time at the computer (although I really believe that a minute spent in front of a blue-green screen has just as much redeeming potential as any other!).  Be that as it may, I had to stop posting until Purcell went out of town.  Fortunately, he is consulting all day today at the National Crossing Guard Institute, so I have some time to write. When Purcell is nearby, I will try to post helpful snippets in which I am truly mindful of each word (really, each LETTER!).  At the end of the day, all I will have to do is post it, and a haiku-like sum of my day will belong to eternity.  I tried it yesterday for the first time, but things got a little too hectic at bedtime for me to post it.  So here is yesterday, perhaps the first section of something longer and more wonderful that I'm almost certain should be titled "April in Alto Cinco".

Sun dried sheets.  Best smell ever.  Best sleep ever.  Promise.

Half smile like Buddha.  You can do it.  Even while parking at Trader Joe's.

If you eat slow food does that mean you have to slow brush and slow floss?

Guiltless, we are eating takeout pizza tonight so we have enough time to meditate as a family before bed.

Amber laughs every time she closes her eyes.  Is two too young to meditate?

If the battery on your Itty Bitty Book Lite runs out, be sure to put it in the e-waste bin! 

Amber's got the giggles and can't stop.  Goodnight!

Silent Syndrome

During his time quarantined in the curling clubhouse in Canada, Purcell came up with a novel theory:  we are all over-scheduled and suffering in some way from contagious chronic fatigue syndrome.  He believes that he and the folks in the curling clubhouse simply contracted a more virulent strain of chronic fatigue than the rest of us already have.  (This is purely his personal theory and is in no way endorsed by the medical authorities up in Canada.)

It's very possible that Purcell could be the Rachel Carson of our generation, and by encouraging us all to slow down and rest he could be literally preserving humanity.  As he says, rest begins at home, so we are all making an effort to slow down.  At his insistence, the children are learning to chew slowly at dinner and savor each flavor.  Sometimes they are still slowly chewing at 8:00 pm.

Fortunately, his consulting business still takes him out of town for days at a time, so I use these interludes to conduct my busier activities, such as assembling interactive gift baskets for the school silent auction.

While Purcell is in the house I try to constrain myself to making mental plans.  With all the extra time to plot things in my head, I believe I am more efficient and mentally acute than ever!

Monkfulness

Fortunately, Purcell has not become a monk.  He has simply taken on some of their better habits. 

One completely lovely thing is that he has taken to wearing a saffron Buddhist robe instead of his old scratchy Pendleton wool bathrobe, which is really so much more cheerful in the morning and at bedtime.

The Twelfth Day of Easter

I was a little worried that, with his new spiritual interests, Purcell would decline to celebrate our favorite Christian holidays.  Fortunately, he assured me this will not be the case, particularly when it comes to marking one of our family favorites, the Twelfth Day of Easter. 

It was my own mother who realized that the twelfth day after Easter is really the longest a marshmallow Peep can last and still be edible.  By the twelfth day these dear little chicks need special treatment, such as steaming, to remain more edible than Styrofoam.  Hence, our delightful tradition of steamed Peep Pudding.

If you've ever tried a real Hasty Pudding for Independence Day, or a real Figgy Pudding for Christmas, I think you'll agree that Peep Pudding deserves a place in the pantheon.  She served this memorable dish the first time I brought Purcell home for dinner, so it has a special place in our personal pantheon as well.  Unfortunately, my mother never wrote down her recipe, but here is what I think she did to make an individual serving:

Place four Peeps (any color you wish) in a small heat-safe bowl.

Set the bowl on the rack of a steamer and steam covered for about 30 seconds.

When you take off the lid you should see them beautifully puffed up to about four times their size! They will shrink back down when cool air hits them.

Using a hot pad, remove the bowl.

Have some grated chocolate bunny ready and immediately toss a little on top.

Enjoy!

The grated chocolate bunny is optional but really adds to the feeling that Easter is happening all over again. The true beauty of it is that you really can live in the Easter moment all year long!

The Wow of Now

There certainly is no time like the present...no power like now...nothing more redeemable than this very moment!  We have a lot to catch up on, but most fortunately Purcell is back home and has even resumed his consulting business with a wonderful new angle: mindfulness.  I had advised him to take up disease and epidemic prevention, given his hands-on experience with contagious chronic fatigue syndrome, but I am delighted to say he took the problem even deeper.  We are still getting used to his mindful way of washing the dinner dishes (he does them all by hand, very slowly, but we have to believe him when he says it is so much more edifying!).

Uncloaked

When I opened the door I was surprised to see the wandering monk on the porch. Before I could say a word, Purcell's face popped like a Mardi Gras mask from the visitor's shaved head, and I heard his voice saying, "I didn't want to shock you by just walking in, and besides, I didn't have my key."

The banner the kids had been making saying "Welcome Home Dad" was spread out on the living room floor.  As soon as he walked in the kids and dogs started jumping all over him, and he explained he'd been able to get an earlier flight from Edmonton.

Hailey and Bronson assumed that his shaved head and saffron robe were some sort of hospital garb.  Only after the children went to bed was I able to get more detail out of him.

A Glimpse of Saffron

I can't say Purcell didn't give us some warning, which he believed would help us have a more serene encounter with reality.  He returned on Super Tuesday, which was also Mardi Gras.  It was a beautiful sunny day with spring in the air, and when I went to vote at the Stella Rondo Elementary School multi-purpose room I saw lots of boys on the playground wearing pioneer-lady dresses over their jeans.  Bronson told me later that the tradition is for sixth graders to raid the school drama closet and put on the craziest outfits they can think of, along with strings of plastic beads, for their annual Mardi Gras party (part of their study of world religions).

The other colorful religious figure out that day was an orange-robed monk walking through the neighborhood.  One woman in the voting line claimed she had seen him plant an Obama sign in someone's yard.  She seemed extremely concerned about the possibility, and was not at all reassured by the woman who cheerfully doubted her story, saying, "Well, the saffron robes mean he's Tibetan, not Muslim, and why would a Tibetan monk put out signs for Obama?"

Late in the day, as the sun was throwing shadows across the yards and turning all the election signs from red and blue to purple, our doorbell rang.  I was at my computer working on my Croutonpie recipe book, and doing my best to ignore the dogs' whining and Amber's squeals as they noticed someone cross the lawn under the oak tree and come up to the front door.  After a rainy winter and too much shade from the oak, I have to admit the lawn was looking a bit thin and shabby, and the big bay window needed washing, so perhaps that is why I barely caught a glimpse of saffron from the corner of my eye.  That glimpse did not prepare me for what happened next.

Easiest Halloween recipe ever: blood-roasted corn!

So much has happened since I last wrote, but the main thing I have to report is that, sadly, Purcell will not be home for Halloween.  Fortunately, he is well enough to make our family's favorite spooky recipe for the crew that's still quarantined in the curling clubhouse.  I'm including it here because REALLY, no matter how chronically fatigued, frantically busy, or perpetually over-committed you are, you can add this spooky side dish to your Halloween menu. 

Blood-roasted Corn

Take 1 whole pomegranate.  Remove all the seeds and place them in a small serving bowl.  Voila!  Those little pomegranate seeds look like you spent hours cooking corn kernels in, well, blood.

Extra benefit: high in vitamins and anti-oxidants!  Much more healthful than actual corn!  If your kids are like mine, they'll gobble up the seeds as an after school snack, or as a side dish next to their Mad Eye Rib-eye and Pumpkin Risotto, washed down with a big glass of cold bat milk (just regular milk, no need to milk a bat!)