Minzio the Strong & Julie the Old

Mom is in town and we have taken up our 'kafa pauza' rituals again. I so miss making up stories and am determined to not let the opportunities slip from me in the new year.

Minzio & Julie

Here are her two ancient cats, the male with only one tooth proud and big as a tiger. He is protecting his own mom, the oldest, skinniest ass Siamese girl cat in the world. She waits for her padrona to come back from Denver and dreams big heart warm dreams all day long while lying on the rabbit shaped pupazzo on the bed. There is sadness and joy in seeing these things.

Afternoon Cake

One of my writer colleagues in the Global Niche workshop I am taking, mentioned a blog called Sassy Radish the other day and I went and checked it out.  I found a recipe that was totally to my liking.

I decided to make it on the spot.

My 'afternoon cake' inspired by the Sassy Radish

It appealed to the time-starved/mom/domestic goddess in me. The link to this lovely recipe is here and I suggest not only that you make the cake but also that you stay a while on Olga's blog and check out the rest of her savvy. 

Pomegranates & Grapes


I took the Sassy Radish on her word when she said the recipe was easy. It was. I sighed relief when she said substitutions were allowed. I even believed her when she said no baking soda or powder, because as luck would have it I had neither. I also had no berries or nuts. I did have grapes and pomegranates and
I added coconut oil when I discovered I only had 3/4 of a stick of butter left 

Lemon zest in everything

My mom and I say 'the Bosnian way' - which pretty much means vague measurements. I'm sure its common throughout cooking history in every culture on the planet. Passed down through generations from elders with their busy hands to granddaughters with their busy eyes. 

Once out of the oven this cake was moist and dense, almost cookie like. I feel the butter might not have been cool enough when I stirred it in the flour so it seemed a bit gloopy at first. (which the SR specifically addresses...) None of which mattered at 2am in the morning when I ate a piece. Or at 8am in the morning when I had another piece, at which point it had solidified a bit and was nice and chewy.

Ok. It was good at 4 in the afternoon too, when I had to share some with The Girl who was fresh home from school.

As a writer who often writes about food and a home cook myself, I am so appreciative of the many dedicated and talented food bloggers who take time and love in the kitchen to bring warmth and goodness to our homes and families. 

In an ironic twist, this is probably the best chocolate chip
cookie I will ever make...

Ciao ciao

Little Boxes and Big

 I am sitting at my makeshift kitchen table with the mismatched Ottomans. Contemplating. The boxes behind the bakers rack have been piled up there now for more than a month. I plan to fold them up and put them in The Constant Storage for the next time I need to move. I will do this  because as lessons go, we learn that boxes, toilet paper, half bottles of expensive shampoo and all that 'crap' that you want to throw into the trash bin when moving so you don't have to schlep it around  - that crap costs money to repurchase. 'I have become money conscientious', I say to myself smugly. {My family who use me as a textbook example of wild abandon shake their heads collectively}

There is a subtler truth though. Zebra's don't really change their stripes, silly family.

It is this: even though I know it won't last long, I think I am muddling about in various stages of grief.

The scoop:
Recently we all moved out of the lulling Mother Home and my free spirit allowed itself to reawaken, giving in to my life long love of travel. Through my adolescence we moved to far flung places in the world with my dashing army officer father. During my 20's and 30's I made Europe and the two US coasts a priority. I opened up businesses, married,  researched, worked and had plenty of adventures. That was fun.
Now, more fun. Working the deep blue currents, taking care with family, dreaming and talking more than doing: that was over. The chance came. We moved. And the move changed everything.

But was temporary.
And we are back...home?

 I look at the boxes in my kitchen, so many I can barely get out the back door,  as sort of a talisman. For now, I am processing  'that which could have been but was not' and the boxes stay.  Everyday, a bit at a time, I guess, I will have to indulge in all the things that I experienced that brought me further along my path in the world by moving.  Soon, the boxes will get thrown away (I'm not really going to change my ways after all these years!) and eventually my emotions will have incorporated this constantly mentioned but still often unexpected motto: change must become second nature to an adventurous heart.

Questioning Stable Life

From my Window

I am proud to announce that I am featured once more with a new guest blog post at Anastasia Ashman's expat+HAREM website. Be sure to read it and then browse the rest of the site for fascinating accounts from women all over the world describing how they successfully integrate their art, work and play while living the expat life far from their countries of origin. 
(painting by Albert Shvilly)