Dear -
I am worried about you. Not in a motherly, let-me-save-you-from-whatever-is-killing-you-from-the-inside way, but as a friend, and as someone who’s been where you are before. At 20, everything around me died. I ended a destructive, abusive relationship but didn’t give myself time to mourn it, and mourn the childhood I’d lost as a result. I made mistakes, did stupid things, lost friends, and the whole time, felt absolutely nothing. My behavior became more and more erratic as I tried to extract the slightest emotion from the most extreme circumstance. My friends left me alone, thinking I was being selfish and immature and dumb, not knowing/caring that I was depressed, blank, numb. I probably was being all of those things, but in retrospect, all I needed was someone to continuously grab me by the shoulders and shake me, and tell me that I’d been right to be sad, but that now I needed to be better, and to come back, and then to hug me, and tell me I was loved.

I don’t think I have the right to do that for you. By all accounts, I don’t know you, and I have no right and no place to come into your life and tell you what to do. I don’t know what advice to give you (I’ve tried Be Happy – it didn’t help me, and I don’t think it’ll help you). I don’t even know the truth of what makes you sad (do you? Tell someone, anyone, please). All I know how is how to do things, but I am afraid that if I try, you will push me away – because you have.

I remember reaching out to people, but as soon as they got close enough to help, I’d push them away. I feel like you are doing that too. Please don’t – please try.

I used to think that being happy was a lot harder than not being happy. I used to think that being depressed, depending on nobody, and hating myself were the right ways to engage with the world. I was wrong. I hope you are too.

For the new year, for the new decade, I wish you peace, happiness, love, and I wish you honesty – not with me, but with yourself. I am here; that is the only place I can be. But I am here, for you.

With love,

Me.

Di! Di!

It’s me! JB. Remember my song called “Small Things?” …No? You don’t? Well I’ll refresh your memory. A few years back, I read that book called “The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold.

No. I know. It was amazing. I can’t even.

The story is basically of a young girl named Susie, who is murdered. She narrates from heaven, looking down on her family as they live their lives, and have various interactions with HER KILLER…yes. They don’t know that he’s her killer but the story evolves into her trying to infiltrate the living world in order to help them solve the crime.

Heavy stuff.

So I lay in my bed one night as a college student and just couldn’t shake Susie’s story. I couldn’t shake her world, Di. It reminded me a lot of Our Town by Thornton Wilder. The idea of seeing what you once had, but not being able to touch it. Seeing the life that you lived so casually and all the small things you took for granted. That’s just heart-breaking to me, Di. I don’t deal well with regret. In fact, I don’t do regret at all.

So my song, “Small Things” touches on those ideas. And interweaves a bit of the actual story as well.

Now I know the movie just came out in limited release. And while “Small Things” was inspired by the book, since I have yet to see the film, let me tell you, Di. I have been waiting for this movie for a good 2 years. I heard that it was going to become a major motion picture in 2008 as I was mixing my EP,

My EP, "Music From & Inspired By"

and even submitted my song for consideration to be included in the film. But sadly, they passed on it.

I would love to show it to Alice Sebold, the author. Because obviously, that ship has sailed, but I would feel some sense of completion knowing that she had at least heard it.

Oh well, Diary. But OH! I should include this little vid I did. (rhyme)

I just used some shots from the trailer and laid my song “Small Things” over it.

I hope you like it.

“The Lovely Bones” will be in wide release on January 15. I know this because I foolishly awaited what was announced as opening day, Dec. 11, only to discover that it was not showing any closer than an hour away. In one theater. At all.

In any event, I can’t WAIT to see it on January 15! I don’t care what any reviews have to say. I feel a very personal connection to this story, Di. And no, I’ve never gone through any of the things that Susie does. It just struck a chord. I’ve been playing my song for so long (rhyme) that I never forgot how the book made me feel. Even 4 years later.

With a coy smile,

jb =)

This was the first time I went to a designer for H&M mayhem.   I own a few pieces of H&M crossovers, namely, Stella McCartney and Matthew Williamson.   I finally went to check out one of my favourite designers, Jimmy Choo.

I wasn’t really that keen on their shoes collection, but I thought since this is the first time Jimmy Choo is designing clothes under his label, I thought it would be nice to check it out.   Of course I didn’t have the patience to stand in line all night (seriously, apparently people were lining up the night bef0re) and wait for the stores to open at 10:30am.

Woke up lazily and went to get breakfast ( 葱油雞扒撈丁- fried chicken fillet served with ginger and scallion sauce over instant noodles from 蘭芳園), and walked down to the H&M Central store.   We basically grabbed all the “rejects” that people decided they didn’t want, and essentially I found everything that I was looking for.

I thought the clothes were actually not as nice as I thought.   Quality-wise they were just so-so (I mean, seriously, what do you expect from H&M), but not with the cheapest price tag, and some of the designs were just… let’s put it this way: not v. me.  So we snatched the bags and accessories in sight and left with a big shopping bag (mostly  items I got for friends).  Happy happy happy : )

Conclusion: if you’re not really that crazy about the cross-over items but still kinda wanna own a couple pieces… go slightly later and wait by the cashier for rejects : )

December is busy. Writing is slow. Ideas are small and kind of cliché:

The Thing About Dreams

The thing about dreams:

for them to come true, you need to be awake

and not sleeping in so late

drooling on your pillow case

wrapped up in your make-believes.

Hands touch, eyes meet
Sudden silence, sudden heat
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl
He could be that boy
But I’m not that girl.

Don’t dream too far
Don’t lose sight of who you are
Don’t remember that rush of joy
He could be that boy
I’m not that girl

Ev’ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been
But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in

Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who’s winsome, she wins him
Gold hair with gentle curl
That’s the girl he chose
And heaven knows
I’m not that girl…

Don’t wish, don’t start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn’t born for the rose and pearl
There’s a girl I know
He loves her so
I’m not that girl…

From Wicked Musical

View of the Lake at University Park Campus

A Long Day’s Journey into Night (Eugene O’Neill) is one of my favorite play titles. This is probably because of one of my MA professors, who had such a lyrical quality to his voice that whenever he talked about the play, it was beautiful just to hear him say it. The days aren’t so long now here – and things start getting pretty dark by 4pm. One good thing about living on the second storey is that I get to see so much more. Like the fog on Friday, which was deliciously sticky. I am still surprised when I walk out into fog and feel the humidity. To me, fog is the stuff of postcards and high places, not little old Beeston.

Mince rolls under the tree

Last night I cooked Lebanese food for some good friends. I woke up early, went out and bought the ingredients, and made things that I haven’t made in a long time (some things I hadn’t made before in their entirety, just components while my mother or grandmother put the dish together). It felt very, very good to be responsible for an entire dish. I know I am a good cook, and I’ve always wanted to be a chef (professionally) but this was the first time in a very long time I felt proud of what I’d made. I think people enjoyed dinner – there wasn’t much left – and I had a really good evening.

Eireann and Jonathan surprised me with this Christmas tree earlier in the day, and Eireann even brought me some of her own decorations for the tree. I haven’t had a Christmas tree for almost 10 years (for various reasons, none to do with me), and it is a wonderful feeling to have one in my first home alone. I am going back to Beirut tomorrow for three weeks, but I will miss my little life here, my Christmas tree and my little flat and little Beeston and the friends who make it worth coming back for.

Eireann's and Jonathan's Christmas tree gift, with mince rolls and wrapped gifts underneath

Tomorrow night I will be in Beirut – just a short day’s journey but a world away. But we are all very small, everywhere.

]]> http://chrisleibow.wordpress.com/2009/12/12/here-comes-the-moment-you-have-been-waiting-for/ Sat, 12 Dec 2009 02:11:17 +0000 Christopher Leibow http://chrisleibow.wordpress.com/2009/12/12/here-comes-the-moment-you-have-been-waiting-for/

Apples fall to the ground of their own accord
And a lone balloon floats aimlessly on the wind.

You are tired and you lean against a dark cloud
That slowly moves across your mind. Here is the
Place where everything else is irrelevant, this place
Where you build a house of “Enough” A new home

Where everyone will live in peace and even
The night can sleep a long awaited dreamless sleep.

Image via PurlBee

I saw this project on PurlBee and immediately thought, this is perfect for our family! The only problem is, I couldn’t narrow down the color choices to four. So I already bought five Kona Cottons, red, tangerine, bright pink, lime, and sable. Two more is on the way, pomegranate and chocolate. I couldn’t even decide which color goes to who. I will make five stockings out of them and let Papa decide which one is for me, for himself, and for baby Chris. The pink one is spoken for (Miss Abby), but the others are fair game. The lone sock that’s not chosen will go to you! Pick one favorite color and if that happens to be the one that Papa didn’t choose for us, I will send it out to you, complete with the embroidered name too.

top to bottom: tangerine, lime (left one), bright pink, sable, and red

So go ahead, tell me which one is your favorite, and I’ll pick a winner among those who pick the unchosen stocking on Sunday evening. To make it even more fun, also tell me what are you planning for the holiday season. By the way, this is also a good push for me to finish those stockings before Christmas Eve. *wink*

"Blue Burn #1", Oil on Canvas.

Rich Bowman
Very Small Landscapes

10 a.m.-5:30 p.m.

Blue Gallery
118 Southwest Boulevard
Kansas City, MO
816.527.0823

Hours: 10 a.m.-5:30 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday.
Runs through: Jan. 4.

Artist’s site: http://www.bowmangallery.com
Gallery site: http://www.bluegalleryonline.com

Some show titles seem designed to keep a potential viewer guessing. If there’s an award for most straightforward title, though, Rich Bowman’s Very Small Landscapes has to be this year’s outright winner.

(Maybe next  year’s, too, as the show at Blue Gallery runs through Jan. 4.)

They’re landscapes. They’re small … tiny, really. The largest oils run less than 18 inches square, the smallest — a subset that includes Blue Burn #1, today’s featured piece — a miniscule 5 inches by 5 inches. (It’s not often ARTKC365 gets to show work actual size, or close to it.)

Several of Bowman’s larger works hang nearby, but the smaller pieces don’t suffer by comparison. Power, after all, has nothing to do with size — and it’s not as though Bowman altered his characteristic, all-but-abstract style when he decided to go (very) small.

The open fields, river valleys and ever-changing sky… where they meet and become one is the source of my inspiration, Bowman writes. That familiar, silent place has always drawn me in.

Being drawn to that place and being able to paint it to his satisfaction weren’t always on speaking terms, however.

For years I struggled to be at peace with myself and my work. I came to the realization that the detail and craft of my illustrative past were secondary to the emotional quality and truth of my paintings today, Bowman adds. This freedom to paint without the burden of a camera’s detail helps the landscapes come from a place filled with emotion, a place that I know well, my world. Starting with only a snapshot in my mind, void of unnecessary detail, the paintings begin. Details, instead are replaced by the emotional strokes and scrapes of my painting knife. Harmonious color, non-descript locations and abstract layouts allow the viewer to fill in their own details and hopefully remind them of a space in time silent of all distraction.

With the holiday season and all of its pressures upon us, anything that provides a moment’s peace is welcome — especially when that peace comes with so many chances to be drawn into Bowman’s serene, dreamlike landscapes.

No matter how big they are … or aren’t … more here is definitely merrier.

I recently attended TEDx Mid-Atlantic. One of the speakers, Bob Duggan co-founder of the Tai Sophia Institute, spoke of loosing his mother as a young child. It is hard for me to imagine this moment in a young child’s life, but it is not hard to imagine the response of those surrounding the boy in this death-denying culture in which we find ourselves. The words, though coming from the best of intentions, undoubtedly reinforced his experience of loss. He spoke of a doctor offering a very different view of the experience, one that shifted his relationship to this experience and probably the trajectory of his life. The insightful man said how lucky he was that his mother was now at the hand of GOD, and could protect him where every he was. This little act was profoundly powerful and continues to educate through the ripples it still sends across the Unisphere.

Doors to Self Perception ~ Ray's Results

This got me thinking of a sentence that changed my life. I was not the student all of my grade school teachers wanted me to be ~ to say the least. I had the fortunate “accident” of landing for college at the Maryland Institute College of Art which is where TEDx happened to take place exactly 30 years later. My first semester passed with similar pattern of non-performance resulting in a 2.0 GPA. Then, enter Ray Allen, a teacher that lit my imagination and passion for creating like no other since my kindergarten steward Grace Land. I hit each assignment with the delight of a 5-year-old in mud. At one point, mid-second semester he said, “You are responsible, I have a project I would like you to do for me.” I panned the room looking for who he must be talking to. There was no one else there. I had never heard any words resembling those from an authority figure in my life. I realized for the first time that my performance and my capacity were not the same thing, and that it was I who was “responsible” and able to bring them together. From that moment on my engagement in my work and my education lifted. But more powerfully, my image of my self was changed forever.

Many of us have moments like this that have shaped and shifted our lives. If you have such a story you wish to share, post it below and let us know the little acts that changed your life.

We have officially retired the “temporary” advent calendar that has seen us through the past few years. Those little activities and gifts have become a staple in our holiday traditions. I’m using a lot of the same activities but I’ve been adding in a little more reverence for the Christmas story (the one with Jesus, not Santa). I discovered this little activity that we started on Sunday. I’m sure there are other non-secular advent traditions out there too. What I liked about it was that it’s a nice short little lesson (for those two-year-old attention spans) and it’s kind of peaceful too. I am also working with our local neighborhood house to provide a hamper for a family in need. Our kids are still a little too young to be volunteering at a soup kitchen but perhaps they will get a similar experience from choosing gifts for a child in need.

I made the new advent calendar out of simple muslin bags. Sharilyn has a great tutorial here if you are interested. Mine were about half the size of the ones in her tutorial. I used number stamps and black screen printing ink for the numbers. I’m pretty happy with it’s simple look. I find that too many decorations at once can be a bit overwhelming.

And the houses are from a local craftsperson, mud puppy clayworks. We’ve been collecting them for years and use them as our Christmas village. Each one houses a little tea light.

Hope you are all having a great first day of advent.

1.  I’ve just reinstated writing a diary, after eighteen months absence.  I say this partly because it’s arguably interesting and it’s definitely recent, but also as explanation for the lack of contact recently.  The writing of diary itself may or may not be a success – at the moment we’re just at the Getting To Know You Stage and it’s still a bit awkward, so we’ve been having a bit of alone time over the last few days, y’know, just to see how things work out.  All in all, it’s going alright, but I still think we might have more luck with the absence of lined paper.  But there we go.

2.  I really do think I am the sort of person who falls in love with people on public transport.

3.  I also appear to be the sort of person who gets chatted up on public transport.  Particularly the Durham-Home railway line.  I know it’s a long journey, but seriously, the number of times it happens.  Especially since it never happens anywhere else in the world these days.

4.  Relatedly, there is definitely something to be said for having a ball of yarn, and a notebook and pencil, and a long time on a train, and thinking well yes I would like to make such and such for so and so, and doing the maths a bit, and discovering that actually, the best thing you could be doing is actually making it.  And so you do.  And then, when you get off the train quite a long time later you have three or so inches of it and it looks amazing.  I’ve just got into designing my own things recently – and honestly, it gives me a buzz like few other things.  You know when I get excited because something is pretty and I did it?  Well, it’s pretty, and I did it, from scratch, with nobody holding my hand or showing me what to do next, it’s like knitting for big girls.  And I can sod about with all the cabley goodness to my heart’s content.

5.  Any ills that are not cured by six hours, a pair of headphones and some knitting needles can most definitely be cured by a 30-degree slice of my mum’s cheesecake.  Especially when it’s eaten at home, with the whole family, half a bottle of rose and the Independent on Sunday crossword.  Fact.

6.  I went out shopping with my sister on Saturday, and after her coming up to Durham not long ago I feel like I’ve got my sister back.  I missed her when she was busy getting to sixteen.

7.  I don’t care if I stopped being Young And Ethereal long ago, there’s something about candlelight that puts me in the mood for writing stories.

8.  I can’t write stories for toffee any more.  Or poetry.  I can’t write fiction any more.  This crept up on me a bit; I used to do it for fun.  I’m slowly getting used to the fact that being a published author, for me, was something I wanted to do when I was grown up.  Like being a fairy, or the prime minister.  Or an actor.  Or Stella Rimington.  I still have the short stories in my head – but I can’t write them any more.

9.  On Thursday, I am going somewhere other than here, to meet someone I haven’t seen in a good few months.  And I decided it this afternoon: I don’t care about the weather.  I’m going to dress up.  It’s an occasion, I shall damned well treat it so.

10.  I have the greatest respect for stay at home mums but I am coming rapidly to the conclusion that I could never, ever, do-it-or-die ever be one.

11.  The inside of the library is really quite endearing when you see it enough.

12.  I am knitting this hat and it is the most exciting thing in the world.  Seriously.  You should make something from scratch.  It makes you feel so grown-up.  I’ve been bouncing up and down with excitement for the last two days.  I invite you to do something, anything you like, to feel the same sort of way.  Poetry.  Watercolours.  Cake.  Oh go on, it’s just so sparkly and wonderful.

Hello.

I got home about an hour and a half ago.  On the train, I read two articles, then stuck my headphones in and knitted for the rest of the journey.  And it was blissful.

I got back home to discover… more metaphorical hugs than I could have hoped or wished for.  It made me grin from ear to ear – exactly as it did when I checked my blog at His Nibs’ earlier, and discovered some of the comments here.  I think you ought to know that it made up for the fact that the floor space in the living room is nil, and that in the hall is rapidly diminishing.  It made up for the distinct lack of heat in my bedroom and all the textbooks and bits of paper and folders and washing dumped on my bed that I hadn’t had time to sort on Friday.  It almost – not quite – made up for the fact that the kitchen is a biological warzone and nobody appears to have done any washing up since I left.  But all in all, you know, feeling like you have a bit of back-up, a safety net if you will, makes all the difference.  (And, I have to say, discovering a new lurker always cheers me up!  Fantastic!)

I’ve also realised how very much I’m looking forward to going home for a bit next week.  And to having these essays finished.  These are the thoughts that are pushing me through at the moment.

Anyway, it’s been a wonderful weekend.  And you’re all just as responsible for that as purple sock yarn, lemon drizzle cake, Coraline, charity shopping and nearly black tights.  So thank you.

So, I was driving on the highway the other night in the pitch black. I never really realized that when you drive there is actually a lot of time to just think. I mean, really, even with music in the background I could really think about anything in the world. Yet, despite all of that I kept my mind focused on the serenity of the forest and the almost empty road.

My truck was slowly racing over those miles and distance back to campus shortened and all I could see was the dark outline of the trees against the darker sky. I started to wonder how many people really see the night.

This may seem sorta random in my though process, but it just struck me as unique. How many times a day do we get caught up with what we are doing or thinking of just larger bigger things, but sometimes we forget that sometimes the world does have something to show us once in a while. I guess it just takes a bit of observing and the right perspective.

Just from my driving I could just look and see it. The night was silent as well, which I do not get back home, yet up here among the Alleghenies it’s a different story. Black actually has different shades if you can see it carefully enough. I mean, sure there is gray and its variant forms, but as light comes closer to shadows it’s not really gray, just a ‘lighter’ black. I know that sounds sorta insignificant, but it was just something I noticed with the headlights.

I had a whole other set of thoughts going through my mind as well, but it’s hard to explain exactly that here. But, what I can say is that some people should take some time to do this. Life gets a bit busy sometimes and sometimes it’s just too raw and sometimes for our sake we just need to observe simplicity.

Well, I am going to jump back into life for now, but when the night drive calls I will not ignore it.

One night, you are out late.  Until half past three, to be precise, helping people you care about a lot clear up the detritus of people you couldn’t tell from Adam, and then you get home, have your dinner – which has been waiting on the kitchen table since six the previous evening, nine and a half hours since dinner time and you can’t even tell – and fall straight into bed at just gone four.

You are up at half past nine because you have a careers talk – sitting in a lecture theatre while people tell you how hard you’re going to have to work to have a chance of doing something so very prestigious, all the research and preparation you’ll have to do, even though you don’t want to do it anyway.  (My options appear to be thus: Barrister.  If not; solicitor.  If not; finance.  Or You Could Go Into The EU, That’s A Bit Different, We’ve Had People Do That Before.)  You start to worry a bit about why you are where you are, and what you’re trying to achieve.  Who thought something you enjoy for the time being could only serve to push you in directions you don’t want to go?  I chose Law over Maths because I thought I could do what I want to do with it.  Now I don’t know what I want to do, just that it isn’t this.

Ignore it.  Pull yourself together and spend the next five hours in the library, solidly.  Try and understand what you’re doing, you’ve got an essay due on it soon.  You might want to start writing that too, if you’ve done enough work for it.  Your call.

You’re supposed to be half an hour’s walk away at eight o’clock.  Do the maths.  Eat beans on toast in an empty house, and set off at nine.  Ring home while you’re walking and find out how everyone is, because God knows when you’ll get another chance to do it.

Excuse yourself early, start walking home about a quarter to midnight.  Look neither left nor right because if you see anyone, or any drunken students start a conversation with you, you’re just going to burst into tears.  (I wonder if they’ll remember, and if they’re paranoid it’s their fault now.)

Your fingernails have been full of muck for a good twenty-four hours and you haven’t brushed your hair in coming up to a week now.  It ought to be disgusting, and it used to be something you’d never do.  Isn’t that interesting?

This is a request to everyone at the moment.  The nights are drawing in, the workload is getting longer, the stress is creeping up on all of us.  Please, it’s not much, but I’m asking you to ask people how they are.  They might be people you see every day, you live with, you work with, or people miles away, counties away, that you ought to share things with a bit.  Just, when you see them, or speak to them, say, “How are you?”  It’s not a big thing.  They might say, “I’m fine,” and leave it at that, and just feel a bit closer to fine.  They might say, “I’m really busy,” and being busy feels just that bit more legitimate, for once.  Or they might tell you they’re feeling worn down, or they had a really good lecture earlier, or that they have a hundred and one things to think about.  Bu please, please ask them, because if someone starts to go a while without switching off or shutting down, if they turn into an automaton for a bit without really realising it, and nobody stops them for a second and just gently reminds them that they have emotions too and that’s okay, and they’re interested, even if they’re only slightly interested… they might find themselves wandering through the middle of town at nothing o’clock in the morning with their hands stuffed in their pockets and just bursting into tears with the emptiness of switching off and finding there’s nothing inside themselves to fall back on.  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I’m not about the next few days.  See you on Sunday night or more likely Monday.  Sorry to everyone if this was a bit gut-spewy but I haven’t anywhere else to put it and blogging is all the vanity I have at the moment.  I’m still a teenager technically so I’m afraid it’s going to have to be okay.

W warzywniaku był piękny, świeży szpinak – nie sposób było go nie kupić. Jednak zanim doszłam z warzywniak do domu, przedzierając się przez kałuże i listopadowe błotko, przeszła mi ochota na sałatkę z zielonych liści. Szpinak leżał w lodówce od wczoraj i błagał o odrobinę zainteresowania. Może zatem quiche ze szpinakiem w roli głównej? Zamiast jednego dużego placka zdecydowałam się jednak na zrobienie mini-quiche’y, takich na dwa kęsy (przy odrobinie wysiłku na jeden;-) ). W sam raz do dobrego czerwonego wina (tak tak, wiem, że dzisiaj święto beaujolais nouveau, ale jeśli jutro rano czeka nas jakieś poważne spotkanie, lepiej sięgnąć po coś innego.)

Szpinak trzeba opłukać i osuszyć

Mini quiche ze szpinakiem i kozim serem

2 szklanki mąki
125 g masła, zimnego
2 łyżki śmietany
sól
500 g świeżego szpinaku (lub mrożonego, ale w liściach, nie siekanego)
1 mała cebula perłowa, obrana i drobno posiekana
2 ząbki czosnku
250 g tłustego białego sera, zmielonego
2 jajka
100 g sera koziego, dojrzewającego (a jak ktoś nie lubi, to np. mozzarelli)
sproszkowane pepperoncino, sól, biały pieprz

Po godzinie w zamrażalniku ciasto nadaje się do wałkowania

Z przesianej z solą mąki i pokrojonego masła zagnieść szybko kruche ciasto (jeśli jest za suche, dodać śmietanę). Włożyć do lodówki (a nawet lepiej do zamrażalnika) na minimum godzinę.
Szpinak opłukać i osuszyć. Na patelni rozgrzać oliwę, oddać cebulkę, a gdy zacznie się szklić – zmiażdżony nożem czosnek. Podsmażać na wolnym ogniu uważając, by czosnek się nie przypalił. Dodać osuszony i nieco posiekany szpinak (lub rozmrożony i odsączony szpinak). Dodać sól, pieprz i ewentualnie szczyptę pepperoncino, dusić na średnim ogniu – bez przykrycia, by szpinak mógł odparować. Gdy liście zmiękną, odstawić patelnię z ognia, od wystudzenia.
Nagrzać piekarnik do 190 stopni. Masłem wysmarować foremki to mini-tartaletek (lub formę do muffinów – sprawdzi się tu niezgorzej). Wyjąć ciasto z lodówki i rozwałkować na grubość 3-4 mm. Wykrawać krążki i wyłożyć nimi przygotowaną foremkę. Ciasto ponakłuwać widelcem i piec “na ślepo” ok 10 minut.
W międzyczasie do szpinaku dodać ser oraz jajka i dokładnie wymieszać. Masę nałożyć do podpieczonych foremek. Zmniejszyć temperaturę w piekarniku do 175 stopni i piec babeczki z farszem ok 20-25 minut. 5 minut przed końcem na wierzchu posypać je kawałkami koziego sera lub mozzarelli i piec do zrumienienia serka.

Mini Quiche ze Szpinakiem i Kozim Serem

In the grocery store there was a really beautiful fresh spinach and it just was impossible to pass it by. But before I’ve returned home, struggling through ubiquitous puddles and mud whole my appetite for some spinach salad was gone. And so was the spinach, laying abandoned in my fridge, waiting for my mercy or mere interest. So maybe a quiche with spinach and some cheese? Sounds nice, don’t you think? Instead of making one big pie I’ve decided to make small quiches, for one bite. Perfect as a small nibble to go with some red wine ( I know, I know, today’s is the beaujolais nouveau, but maybe, especially if you have some important meeting tomorrow morning, it would be better to choose some other bottle;-) ).

Mini quiches with spinach and goat cheese

2 cups flour
125 g butter, cold
2 tablespoons of sour cream
salt
500 g fresh spinach (or frozen one, but choose the whole-leaf version)
1 small onion, peeled and finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic
250 g fromage or ricotta
2 eggs
100 g goat cheese (or mozzarella)
chilli powder, salt, white pepper

Sift flour with salt, add butter cut in cubes and mix well . If the mixture is to dry, add some cream (don’t work with the dough to long, as it may became though) . Form dough into a ball, wrap in cling foil and put into fridge or freezer for at least one hour.
Wash and dry spinach, chop it merely. Warm some olive oil on the pan, add chopped onion and after one minute – mashed garlic. Sizzle till the onion will be translucent. Add the spinach and frizzle on medium heat. When the spinach will be cooked and quite dry, remove the pan from the stove and leave to cool down.
Preheat oven to 190 C. Butter quiche forms. Take dough out of the fridge and roll out on the floured surface. Cut circles out of the dough sheet and place into forms and prick them with fork. Bake the pie shells for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile mix the cooled spinach with fromage and eggs, add some spices to taste. When the shell will be baked, take them out from the oven and fill with spinach mixture. Lower the temperature to 175 C and bake quiches for 20 minutes. 5 minutes before end sprinkle them on top with some crumbled goat cheese or mozzarella.

Small things matter.
Not just the big ones.

A simple hello.
Lovely smiles.
Stroke of a paint brush.
A stain on your shirt.
A strand of your hair.
A whiff of your perfume.
A stitch in time.
Two cents of an idea.
Your pillow.

Little travelers
on a massive sea.
Fearless and undaunted.

The future brings many wonders,
and many small things that matter.

Tonight I went swing dancing, for the second time in my life.  For reference, the first time in my life was an hour’s beginner lesson yesterday afternoon in which we learned the Charleston and one or two variations on same, and basically hopped about being enthusiastic.  For further reference, I have since discovered that the Charleston bears no resemblance to the basic Lindy Hop step in the slightest, which, also for the reference, goes a bit like this: ‘one, two, YUNK-a-tunk, five, six, YUNK-a-tunk…’ which differs from the Jive (which I’ve been doing for years) in one beat somewhere about the five and six and means I keep getting hopelessly lost every other bar.

On the other hand… well, it was really good fun.  The thing about being a girl dancing with a man who’s leading is that you spin where you’re spun, you move where you’re moved and you follow where you’re led.  You concentrate on where the signs lead you but other than that, it’s not your dance – it’s his dance and he’s making it up as he goes along.  Which is half the fun – like a game, if he sends you into three consecutive spins, can you keep going?  I’m not one for the clubbing at all, and this is very much my kind of losing yourself in the music.  (Which, I might add, is excellent.  And only occasionally foxtrot music.)

One of the things I love about swing dancing – and about social partnered dancing in general – is being asked to dance.  It is excellent.  There is something kind of tingly about being stood at the edge of a ballroom, and being asked to dance, and dancing, and saying thank you, and then being asked to dance by someone else and dancing with them.  I’m very lucky that my ordinary Ballroom partner and I have our own signals in terms of ‘I’m going to go in that direction now, you’d probably better come too or you’re going to be trodden on’, and we’ve been dancing together long enough and learned enough together that the leading and the following comes pretty naturally most of the time.  So even though I’d barely done it before I had no trouble getting up on the dance floor, letting him show me the basic rhythm, and then just going for it.  This is a pretty big thing, and a credit to him more than anything else: me a year ago would have under no circumstances agreed to start dancing a rhythm I’d only ever tried once, with steps I’d never tried before (although I’ve tried similar ones, so I suppose it wasn’t too bad), in front of a whole lot of people I’d met for the first time that evening.

This year, I’ve learned the gentle art of muddling through, pretending you know what’s going on, and making an arse out of yourself in front of people you don’t know with some degree of grace.  It doesn’t always work.  There is so much to be said for trusting someone to lead you, and being trusted to follow them.  There is so much to be said for asking someone to dance, and so much to be said for accepting it.  If you’ve never done it before, I very much recommend taking social partnered dance classes – I like salsa, but Swing/Lindy Hop is my new favourite.  There is so much to be said for spending four minutes not talking but being in it together.

Anyone who knew me at the age of about fifteen is probably staring with eyebrows raised at the moment.  Being asked to dance is akin to being bought a drink, and following the lead of some unknown male is akin to denying the revolution!  Well, sod it.  I’d only done it once, this evening.  I’m missing the next two lots of classes, for various reasons.  But by the end of this term, when I have a bit more confidence in my own ability to dance the right dance at the right time, I’ll be asking people for dances too, and probably learning the man’s steps and everything.  You see if I don’t.

As for the GCSEs, I wrote my CV yesterday.  I’m sure nobody’s interested, they can’t be, can they?  CV-writing always makes me worry.  Argh.