Whimsy
I am the keeper of the little black book. Now I know that sounds like something that could be potentially sordid. It may call to your mind the scandalous and somewhat nefarious behaviors of certain people. But this black book, it's been passed from our mother to us and it contains recipes. We've thumbed through it our entire lives. If a recipe was called for and we were with our mother in her kitchen, the command, "Get the book," was met with an immediate knowing. We knew she meant the black book.
And oh! The recipes. Most are simple but they are flavored notes of our childhood.
It's little wonder that when she passed away, each of us wanted the book. More than just nostalgic, written in her handwriting and sometimes in our childish scrawl (she had each of us write in a few of our own recipes) but there was something about the compilation. It encapsulates so many things. The heart of our Italian-American home was always the kitchen. We were most always in the kitchen. But there's also something so beautiful to me about this dog-eared book. Some of the pages have come away from the binding. There are dozens of recipes shoved in between the pages, gathered in a pretty haphazard way. It's an artifact from a sweet chapter when we were all together, doing well, leading a charmed life...although we didn't realize it then.
I thought I knew every single page of that book. But the first page...I got a surprise this past year by the first page (one of the torn out ones but tucked back into the book) reveals that the little black book started as something other than a recipe collection. Our mother was definitely on her way somewhere and she made a list of things she wanted to pack. Because I knew her so well, it didn't surprise me to see this list, although there was a decided element of surprise that I'd overlooked this page for all my life. She was a list maker, to be sure, and fastidious about what she wrote down. To remind herself to pack bras and panties...well, that just made me smile. The list was written in her familiar script, in black ink. Except for the final word on the list, written in red. WHIMSY.
On the first day of this new year, I decided to share with my sisters, niece and nephew this delightful surprise, hidden in plain sight, as it were. And the word...well, this word may very well be the impetus for my newest dream.
I haven't stopped dreaming, despite the drear of 2020. The isolation, the back and forth due to COVID about what is safe, what is not. The craziness and unpredictability of the current school year. People continue to ask, "How is school this year?" And I contemplate that...thinking about how many times I have said, "I don't mind that the kids aren't around. I don't mind this set up this year." It's got me to thinking about many things. Are the lessons I'm teaching my students relevant? Do they GET me anymore? Has my heart gone out of it? Why do I feel so much better teaching from home? I think that some of it is the safety factor (we've had 2 pretty significant spikes of COVID at MHS. The kids are still remote.) but I also know that the schedule of school has worn me so thin. The exactness of the teaching schedule is awful. Almost 21 years of it has worn me out. I also just think so much of the passion for it has gone away for me. I'm constantly seeking new material. Well, if the year 2020 has provided one thing, it's NEW MATERIAL. Besides being remote/in school/kids remote/all together/kids remote and I'm in school, I joined the option, which has been different enough to propel me to the halfway point of this year. But there's this other part of me that thinks, that dreams.
Pesky dreams. I think about what I tell my students when they relate to me what their dreams may be. I tell them, "If not now, then when? If not you, then who?" I'm old enough to be their mother...entering the time in my life that I'm older than many of their mothers...but I'm still dreaming, too. There's a part of me that wants something completely separate and successful from being a teacher. Education has been a wonderful profession for me on many levels. It checks many of the boxes. But there's also a part of me that wants something bigger. And I have to surmise that pursuing it is not wrong. I worry about grieving God, by overreaching and getting too ambitious, by making it seem like I'm not grateful for the gifts that He has given to me. But at the same time, I don't want to ignore the desire that I have to minister in every possible way, to make this world nicer than it already is and that basic desire that I have to feed people. Enter the word WHIMSY.
I've been baking now for years. The cookies, biscotti, the macarons, even bread. I'm working on it all of the time, believing that my cookies could bring cheer to other people and knowing that they make lovely gifts. The recipients certainly have raved over them. And I started to wonder, could I expand this? Could I make cakes? So Matthew bought me cake tools this Christmas and I started baking cakes. I made buttercream icing, toyed around with fondant. I've doctored boxed cakes to make a more scratch recipe, just to see how things turned out. I'm playing, practicing, and I've given a couple of cakes away. I'm awaiting feedback on them both...one cake went to Matt's mother and one to my friend, Angela. I just want to get real critique on what they thought, how the cakes tasted.
One thing I noticed is when I look to escape the stress of life or of school, I head into the kitchen. And lately, I have not been cooking as much as I've been baking. That's what I have been doing. And this next part is the thing that I can't help wondering...whether it's too ambitious to think this, whether it grieves God...how can I monetize this? How can I make money by doing this? Could this whimsical desire to head into the kitchen be the next step for me? Could I have a business that won't tether me to a particular place that is successful and could grow by word of mouth? Perhaps.
So Whimsy would be the name of it. And on this first day of a new year, I have decided to let my thoughts drift and to dream about a new thing, an altogether new idea. I am hopeful and excited about it all.
Until we meet again...
And oh! The recipes. Most are simple but they are flavored notes of our childhood.
It's little wonder that when she passed away, each of us wanted the book. More than just nostalgic, written in her handwriting and sometimes in our childish scrawl (she had each of us write in a few of our own recipes) but there was something about the compilation. It encapsulates so many things. The heart of our Italian-American home was always the kitchen. We were most always in the kitchen. But there's also something so beautiful to me about this dog-eared book. Some of the pages have come away from the binding. There are dozens of recipes shoved in between the pages, gathered in a pretty haphazard way. It's an artifact from a sweet chapter when we were all together, doing well, leading a charmed life...although we didn't realize it then.
I thought I knew every single page of that book. But the first page...I got a surprise this past year by the first page (one of the torn out ones but tucked back into the book) reveals that the little black book started as something other than a recipe collection. Our mother was definitely on her way somewhere and she made a list of things she wanted to pack. Because I knew her so well, it didn't surprise me to see this list, although there was a decided element of surprise that I'd overlooked this page for all my life. She was a list maker, to be sure, and fastidious about what she wrote down. To remind herself to pack bras and panties...well, that just made me smile. The list was written in her familiar script, in black ink. Except for the final word on the list, written in red. WHIMSY.
On the first day of this new year, I decided to share with my sisters, niece and nephew this delightful surprise, hidden in plain sight, as it were. And the word...well, this word may very well be the impetus for my newest dream.
I haven't stopped dreaming, despite the drear of 2020. The isolation, the back and forth due to COVID about what is safe, what is not. The craziness and unpredictability of the current school year. People continue to ask, "How is school this year?" And I contemplate that...thinking about how many times I have said, "I don't mind that the kids aren't around. I don't mind this set up this year." It's got me to thinking about many things. Are the lessons I'm teaching my students relevant? Do they GET me anymore? Has my heart gone out of it? Why do I feel so much better teaching from home? I think that some of it is the safety factor (we've had 2 pretty significant spikes of COVID at MHS. The kids are still remote.) but I also know that the schedule of school has worn me so thin. The exactness of the teaching schedule is awful. Almost 21 years of it has worn me out. I also just think so much of the passion for it has gone away for me. I'm constantly seeking new material. Well, if the year 2020 has provided one thing, it's NEW MATERIAL. Besides being remote/in school/kids remote/all together/kids remote and I'm in school, I joined the option, which has been different enough to propel me to the halfway point of this year. But there's this other part of me that thinks, that dreams.
Pesky dreams. I think about what I tell my students when they relate to me what their dreams may be. I tell them, "If not now, then when? If not you, then who?" I'm old enough to be their mother...entering the time in my life that I'm older than many of their mothers...but I'm still dreaming, too. There's a part of me that wants something completely separate and successful from being a teacher. Education has been a wonderful profession for me on many levels. It checks many of the boxes. But there's also a part of me that wants something bigger. And I have to surmise that pursuing it is not wrong. I worry about grieving God, by overreaching and getting too ambitious, by making it seem like I'm not grateful for the gifts that He has given to me. But at the same time, I don't want to ignore the desire that I have to minister in every possible way, to make this world nicer than it already is and that basic desire that I have to feed people. Enter the word WHIMSY.
I've been baking now for years. The cookies, biscotti, the macarons, even bread. I'm working on it all of the time, believing that my cookies could bring cheer to other people and knowing that they make lovely gifts. The recipients certainly have raved over them. And I started to wonder, could I expand this? Could I make cakes? So Matthew bought me cake tools this Christmas and I started baking cakes. I made buttercream icing, toyed around with fondant. I've doctored boxed cakes to make a more scratch recipe, just to see how things turned out. I'm playing, practicing, and I've given a couple of cakes away. I'm awaiting feedback on them both...one cake went to Matt's mother and one to my friend, Angela. I just want to get real critique on what they thought, how the cakes tasted.
One thing I noticed is when I look to escape the stress of life or of school, I head into the kitchen. And lately, I have not been cooking as much as I've been baking. That's what I have been doing. And this next part is the thing that I can't help wondering...whether it's too ambitious to think this, whether it grieves God...how can I monetize this? How can I make money by doing this? Could this whimsical desire to head into the kitchen be the next step for me? Could I have a business that won't tether me to a particular place that is successful and could grow by word of mouth? Perhaps.
So Whimsy would be the name of it. And on this first day of a new year, I have decided to let my thoughts drift and to dream about a new thing, an altogether new idea. I am hopeful and excited about it all.
Until we meet again...