A World Made of Butter

In our household, we have decided that this summer will be dedicated to the pursuit of healthier bodies. After a long winter in which we built up (slowly but surely) an extra layer of insulation mostly via Saag Paneer and Peshwari Naan from across the street, we have committed to taking charge of our health: nutritionally, cardio-vascularly, muscular-ly.

Jason has worked hard to get us ready for this: getting us really into biking and fresh summer salads and hiking. And so I thought what I would do to contribute to this endeavor was to register for a French Pastry class. I know....I am always so helpful, you don't even have to say it.

Actually, the wheels for this were already in motion, as my friends K and J and I had already been conspiring to take a baking class for sometime. So french pastries it was. What better way to emerge into a healthy, nutritional lifestyle than learning to cram as much butter as humanly possible into some flour, filling it with chocolate and then eating it? None, I say, none.

The class we chose at the local Culinary Arts school was advertised as a "Morning Pastry" class and billed as a way to "learn the techniques" used to make breakfast treats with croissant, puff pastry, and brioche dough.
Thankfully, it was also an unadvertised opportunity to work alongside some totally wacky characters, which delighted me as I knew it was going to be a blog worthy experience from the get-go.

Class began when "Chef" called us to order by taking attendance and then casually informing us that one could not make a quality croissant in less than two days. Since our class was two four hour sessions a week apart, we wondered what on earth we were doing there, but this did not seem to phase him. Chef was French of course, mostly very disorganized and unclear, and fortunately, incredibly talented at making pastries and jokes. For most of the four hours he wandered around showering us with puns about France, throwing flour everywhere while drinking wine from a paper cup that magically continued to be filled out of nowhere and periodically slamming down a rolling pin on the aluminum table for effect. Perfect.

Also present:
-The "know-it-all" couple, sadly placed at the cooking station directly across from me, who clearly gain a sense of self worth from taking courses such as this one and then pretending to know everything and spewing their half-formed knowledge around the room in the form of thinly-veiled criticism of others' work. ("Excuse me, but I think you're dough is a little too dry." or "You're going to need to roll that thinner.") If you imagine that this particular type of input is especially irritating to me, you are correct, but in the name of culinary compatriotism, I withheld the many witty and stinging retorts which I composed in my mind during our many hours of rolling.
-A VERY pregnant woman and her mother....pretty much nothing more to say here than "You are a genius and that's exactly what I would do if I were as pregnant as you."
-A somewhat awkward young man, maybe in high school, there with his mother, who was quite endearing and funny, though not completely adept at the detailed process of pastry making.....ultimately his turnovers ended up looking like some sort of CSI crime scene, with raspberry oozing out of odd places all over the place, but it was fun to get to know him.
-One of the more hilarious women I've met recently who I desperately want to be friends with forever and who continued to make jokes the entire time in step with Chef.
-And my friends and I.

And there gathered, for two weeks on Monday nights, we made pastries. But how do you make pastries, you ask? Like this:
1) Mix a bunch of ingredients (such as flour, salt, sugar, milk, eggs and water) in a stand mixer.*
2) Let that dough rise for one hour.
3) Punch it down. Hard. I said HARD, damn it. Punch it until your knuckles hurt from smashing them accidentally on the edge of the bowl if don't have the "techinique" quite down yet. This is easier if you are an especially passionate* person already.
4) Refrigerate this abused dough overnight or, in this case, for one hour.
5) In the meantime, take several POUNDS of butter (no joke) and bash them together as hard as you can with a rolling pin until they form an 8X8 square slab about a half inch thick.
6) Roll out the dough into a square about twice as big as the butter slab. Fold the dough around the butter and roll it. And roll it. And roll it. And roll it some more until it is a very long rectangle the thickness and consistency of which  is a secret they must only reveal to you in the advanced pastry program. In our case, we rolled until chef said "ENOUGH."
7) Once finished, fold this slab in a very special pattern the purpose of which was not explained in the introductory level class and put a dot in the top with your finger (This is called a "turn").
8) Refrigerate it for another hour and then take it out.
9) And then roll it again and again and again and again until your arms hurt, all the while throwing flour on the table and dough and the floor and yourself until every inch of you is covered with flour including the insides of your shoes for week. When finished, fold it in the special pattern again and put two dots in the top.
10) Repeat steps 8 and 9 four times or until it is either midnight or you can't feel your triceps.
11) Roll the dough out a final time. Cut it into triangles. Fill with delicious things like almond paste, chocolate, cinnamon, nuts, whatever.
12) Bake.
13) Eat. 
14) Die of happiness.
15) Return to life.
16) Bring home three boxes of pastries to husband who will eat them for breakfast and dinner for two weeks because they are SO good it's impossible to stop eating them and feeling amazing.

I'm completely serious about this last part. These were LITERALLY the best pastries I have EVER had. They were like a little puffy piece of heaven covered in satisfaction and glazed with joy. On the spot I vowed that I would never waste my time or calories on a mediocre pastry again in my life (a promise I quickly broke the next time I found myself hungry and at Starbucks, but the sentiment was legitimate.) It is amazing what a few pounds of butter can do, isn't it?

So here's to pastries, chef, and health plans out the window. Vive la France!



*Apparently, in the culinary world, a "recipe" serves a different purpose than it does in the actual world. A progressional "recipe" is just a list of ingredients in insane proportions with absolutely no directions at all. Here is what we were handed when we got to class as a "recipe" for croissants:
5 oz yeast
5 cups water
6 lb flour
3 oz salt
10 oz sugar
14 oz milk
2 eggs
4 lbs butter
1/2 tablet vitamin C
WHAT?!??!
*Read: Angry.

Fun Facts about Puerto Rico

1. Puerto has the only tropical rainforest in the US National Forest system, which is home to 50 species of orchids, the formerly endangered and also quite elusive Puerto Rican Parrot, and no mammals other than bats.
3. Gas is sold there in litres rather than gallons. 
4. U.S. Dollars are called pesos.
5. Traditionally, everyone on the plane applauds upon touch down in Puerto Rico.
6. It is hot and tropical and fairly amazing.
7. And I love Mr. L.
8. And I'm 30.

The Big 3-0

Exactly ten years ago today I was in Barcelona, in an archery bar*, celebrating as I entered my 20s. At that time, when I imagined what I would be doing at 30, I felt filled to the brim with potential. I was sure that in one decade I would be the following:
1) Newly married (I wanted to get married at 28...how exactly I chose this number now eludes me.)
2) Finished with Law School at a prestigious institution.
3) Enjoying my career as a successful lawyer in public service (a career which in my mind somehow also made me well-off...hmmm.)
4) The newest up-and-coming political star likely to be the President of the United States or at the very least Governor of Oregon. (This is not a joke....I really thought this.)
5) Beautiful, fit, tan, and all that jazz.

Now, standing on that threshold (or I guess already having crossed it as it is 6am here), I find I have done very few of those things and that my life has taken a completely different direction. I was not who I thought I would be. And I realize this morning that that is okay. So it is on my list of things to do today to say goodbye of some of those goals and to embrace new ones.

I think my 20s was about "emergence," as I emerged in my adulthood, into my marriage, into my career. I realize that I could spend today asking if I had "emerged' enough...if I had accomplished enough or become enough or been enough, asking myself if I had hit the mark of what I wanted my life to be. But that's not what I'm going to do. Because now I'm 30. And 30-year-old me is focused on cultivating balance rather than calculating achievement....balance spiritually, professionally, and emotionally as well as balance in my expectations. I hope to reach 40 again aware that, sometimes, not fulfilling your expectations can be the best possible thing.

And so I'm off! (No, I actually really am. Our flight leaves in a few hours for the surprise tropical birthday vacation planned by my amazing husband who I married too early. At least this might help me work on part 5c!)

Here's to you 30!

*Yes....this is absolutely a bar where you shoot arrows in the bar while drinking (at the time) Rum and Cokes. Best idea ever.

A List of Things I Wish They Had Taught Me in Seminary

An episcopal priest who works in the same building as me has often joked that we should start a Post-Seminry Degree Program (for-profit, of course) called, "Everything You Wished You'd Learned in Seminary." What better opportunity than my sort-of belated but also almost two year anniversary for a little glimpse into that endeavor?

Courses to Include: 
Stewardship 1: How to get people to give you money.
Stewardship 2: How to get foundations to give you money.
Stewardship 3: How to get the government to give you money.
Building Management 101: Plumbing, Electrical, Heat
Building Management 102: Roofing, Flooring, Interior/Exterior
Combatting Sinfulness and Gluttony: How Not to Get Sued
Real Skillz Workshop: How to do a funeral. 
Real Skillz Workshop 2: How not to hate everyone at a wedding rehearsal.
Nonviolent Communication: How to avoid attending meetings I don't want to attend.
P90X for Congregations: How to Make Your Church Grow!
Institutional Strategy 1: How to affirm people while dismissing their ridiculous ideas.
Delegating 101: How to assure you'll never have to give a children's sermon again. 
Forgiveness Practicum: Why did my seminary teach me about Irenaus and not about any of this other stuff?
Fire Gel, Flying Doves, and Paper Cranes: Liturgical Toys to Keep Your Worship Interesting!
Djembe Playing for Beginners

I could go on and on.........

Two Down.....

One of my favorites: Laying on of hands during my ordination service in 2009.

About two weeks ago, I celebrated the second anniversary of my ordination to the ministry. About two weeks from now, I will observe the second anniversary of my first day on the job as a minister.* So, it seems a sensible interval to stop and ask myself what on earth I have been doing.

My Pastoral Record book tells me that I have given about 70 sermons, made approximately 238 pastoral visits, and presided over communion about 50 times. I have organized 3 funerals, participated in 2 baptisms and officiated at 8 weddings. I have helped welcome 7 new members and ordained 7 officers. I have moderated a dozen session meetings, led bible study about 63 times, created 2 annual budgets and sent approximately 3,000 emails. 

I have orchestrated two stewardship drives and one capital campaign. I helped to facilitate one sanctuary renovation, including the coordination of 2 committees, 3 carpenters, 5 painters, 6 carpet installers and 29 community conversations about what color the walls should be. I have helped dispose of 50 pews and paid for the 80 chairs that would replace them twice: once to the company that stole our deposit money and went out of business and once to the company who actually delivered chairs to us. This also means that I have made 749 calls to Church Chair Industries, 3 calls to Jerry Boyd at the Floyd County Sheriff's department in Rome Georgia and 2 to the Clerk of the United States Bankruptcy Court of North Georgia.

I have consumed upwards of 193 cups of coffee and ordered about 28 pizzas. I watched out my window as 6 tomato plants have grown and flourished and witnessed just as many pepper plants whither in the sun when our volunteer watering brigade failed to materialize. I saw 96 Easter eggs hid, almost all of which have been found.

I walked down the main street in our town with a live donkey twice. I responded to the church getting sued, the basement being flooded with sewage and trees falling on the roof. I burned 900 tea-light candles, sung 548 rounds of Taize songs and washed 9 pairs of feet.


In each of these distinct moments it was easy to forget that I was living out the promises I made on my ordination day. As I slogged through sewage and received summons from the Sheriff and screamed at Church Chair employees and wasted away in meetings that went late into the night, I didn't always feel as though I was being guided by our scriptures and confessions, or furthering the peace, unity and purity of the church or working for the reconciliation of the world.  It was easy to forget what I was doing and the larger purpose behind it. But luckily, there were many instances in which God and others helped me to remember. Such as every time someone said thank you unexpectedly, or told me they were praying for me unsolicited, or called me "Pastor" and reminded me of who I was supposed to be.

If I had to name a theme that encompasses these two years, it would be, without a doubt, humility. I set out on that ordination day a sense of inflated potential. And while I have fulfilled some of that, I have also realized how much I am unable to do alone. Because despite all the things I've done, the one thing I have not done is save the church. I think I have learned that I can't do that. We are still small, still struggling and still relatively insignificant except for in our little corner of the world. And God has taught me to feel humble about this. And taught me that salvation is God's department. While mine is to mop and pray and not to forget the grape juice.

Though I spend an exorbitant amount of time wondering what is ahead (for me, for the church, for ministry), I have come to the conclusion that I hope the next two years involves less time obesssing about these things. I've recently been reading "An Altar in the World," by one of my favorites (certainly one of the greats!), Barbara Brown Taylor. This morning, serendipitously, I finished her chapter on vocation entitled, "The Practice of Living with Purpose." In it she discusses the challenges of living with a purpose and working with a purpose. In a section in which she discusses the significant implications of the Christian belief incarnation, she writes of the wisdom of sometimes doing and not just thinking. So let me sign off with some of her words:

Jesus clearly thought this was the best plan....With all kinds of opportunities to tell people what to think, he told them what to do instead.  Wash feet. Give your stuff away. Share your food. Favor reprobates.  Pray for those who are out to get you.  Be the first to say, "I'm sorry." 

*Which means, church types, if you are reading this, which I don't think you are: you are supposed to be getting me a gift made from cotton, I believe.

Two Wheeled Ticket to Happiness

My new best friend.

"What's the you say? You were outside biking and not blogging? But, L, I thought you HATED biking, as in despise, detest, loathe, abhor. I thought you NEVER wanted to get on a bike EVER again?!??"

And to that I say, "Yes. And I was wrong. Just as I have been wrong about so many things: about how the fashions of the 80s were flattering on me, about how to make a vodka-watermelon, about how deep-fried ice-cream wasn't really fried, about how burning tiki torch fuel indoors would create carbon monoxide. But now I'm going to make it right."

But first, the back story: As a child (you'll be surprised to know), I did a lot of biking. It was my parents' transportation method of choice to get us around the city in which I grew up, and so I biked to school and church and the park...first in a bike seat on my parents' bikes* and then on my own. But upon moving to the top of a mountain in Oregon in fifth grade, biking was excised from my life for the simple reason that one would have to be in Marathonn shape to bike anywhere from my home or back to it. So I gave up on it for the better part of a decade. And anyone who says "It's just like riding a bike" in reference to the ease of reclaiming a sport that one has neglected for the better part of one's life can shove it where the sun don't shine. My several attempts to re-enter the cycling world several years ago ended in disaster, thwarted mostly by my bad attitude and being really, REALLY out of shape. And then I moved to Boston where biking is an extreme sport the side effect of which can be death, given that not only it is the least bike friendly city on the planet (it just installed it's first ever bike lane....which runs for one mile) BUT it is also home to all of the world's worst, most aggressive drivers.

But last month, serendipity (or providence?) intervened. First, some good friends from Oregon (SB and WEB3) told me that they had just gotten super into cycling. These are people who I really like and who like many of the things that I like (jukeboxes, beer, my husband)....and now BIKING. But I hate biking, I thought, and dismissed it.  Until the very next week, when a woman who recently began attending our congregation happened to mention to me that she was super into biking, had biked 160 miles last year and had never found another exercise that she loved so much. Strange, I though, so many bikers in my life right now. And THEN, our ex-neighbor stopped by the other night and mentioned that she was excited for biking season to begin, because "isn't that cheese shop you can bike to in Concord so amazing?" Wait a minute, BIKING AND CHEESE? Worlds colliding. And that was it. I couldn't resist the pull of the universe.

And I got a bike.

And I went for a ride.

And it was pretty darn awesome.

Mostly because it was so much better than running, which I have always found to be a torturous experiment in pain and self-hatred.** But BIKING is awesome. Because you are covering so much ground, so fast that it never gets boring, and you are whizzing past all the panting, sweaty, red-faced joggers and thinking "SO LONG SUCKAS!" which is a great feeling.

In fact, the first ride I went 8 miles. And the second ride, I went 11. And the third, 18. And the fourth, 21. And the fifth 38 (although that almost ended in tragedy, but more on that to come). And I never even found that cheese shop. I'll update you more as I go, but for now, thanks to SB, WEB3, church lady, SM and the universe for a new-found passion.*** In the words of that woman who was in the Montgomery Bus Boycott, though slightly adapted of course, "My butt is sore, but my soul is at rest!"



*There was a photograph of me in the Village Voice as a toddler completely asleep in my bike seat, with my mom, riding down 5th Avenue. Little did I know then, this would only be the beginning of my fame and fortune....
**Runners: Please stop being that person who says, "Oh, you'll just get so addicted to running once you get into it. I started running and now I can't go a day without it" No, I won't. I've been running. And all I want to do when I go running is to stop running. And never do it again. All I can think of, in fact, while running, is how awful it is and how I want to stop. RIGHT NOW. Addiction my A*%.
***Does anyone worry that I am a serial hobbyist? Do you think there are therapy groups that can help you become a hobby monogamist?

MIA

Where have I been lately? Well, I've been in a wonderful and far-away place called "Outside." For those of you from more moderate climates, there exists something here in New England called "Winter." For those unfamiliar, this is basically a six-month long period in which it is so cold outside that you consider being infused with bear hormones so that hybernation becomes possible, but, as an alternative, you are tempted to eat nothing but cheese, drink nothing but alcohol, and do nothing but watch sad movies and blog. Here is a metaphor for what winter feels like:

Unfortunately, long after the snow is gone, winter continues. Skies are clear, but temperatures continue in the 30s and 40s for about two months, though after a single day at 52, sundresses and sandals abound among the inappropriately optimistic. Fortunately, just about the moment when all hope is lost comes the beloved gift we call "Spring." Spring in New England is beautiful: sunny, warm, low-humidity, flowers, graduations, fro-yo. Perfect. Unfortunately, it only lasts for about 3 days. And of course, these aren't three days in a row, but rather three days scattered here and there, admist dips into 40s and spikes into the 90s that make you feel as though you're on some sort of meterological roller coaster. Despite all this, I was able to take advantage of those three days: biking, hiking, walking the dog....which is why I've been MIA. Yay!

Here is a pic of The Beloved and I canoeing up the Concord River to the Concord Battlefield a few springs ago....One if by land, two if by....Canoe!

Luckily for you, summer will arrive in a few days. It will be 99 outside with about a billion percent humidity for the next two months. So I'll be driven back indoors and into the blogosphere. (Also, I just found out that my friend DRJ's dad who is awesome reads this blog, so I had to get back on track!)