Ooops!

I have been very very naughty. I am positive that one of the steps in addiction recovery is to acknowledge your slip ups.


So, hi! my name is Midodi. My stimulant of choice is baked goods, particularly bread. I have been bread free for 4 minutes.


Yes, I fell off the wagon. Writing about crusty, sweet, chewy bread made my knees week and after a baking session with Sunshine, 2 slices are now in my stomach. One and one half loaves have been consumed. Heaven help me if the last half is still available when I leave the library.

Bread Renaissance

We have been having a bread renaissance, a bread revival, a celebration of crusty warm grains fresh from the oven. In the past month I have cooked boules, olive bread, oatmeal bread, baguettes, Challah, french bread, soda bread, shaped bread.... you get the picture. Every night with dinner we've sampled another one of my creations. As a breadophile, I have been in heaven, till my blood sugar recently crashed. I have to go off carbs for awhile to re regulate and regain my energy. But like any self respecting addict, I think about my addiction constantly while drying out.

Since I cannot make it today, I am going to write about my favorite everyday bread, the castle's serf bread. It is perfect for sandwiches, for homemade chokecherry jelly, for toast. Mmmmm.

I went on a search for the perfect every day bread and learned a lot of things like what ingredients make the bread soft, chewy, or light. After sampling dozens of recipes, I found one that was almost perfect at Blue Yonder. I tweaked it a bit for my taste with gluten and the steam method, and found my perfection. Shortening makes it really soft, but is unhealthy. At Wild Oats, and in the health food section of my grocery store I found a shortening product that has 0 trans fats and is non-hydrogenated. Butter flavored would be even better, but I don't have any on shelf currently. Pictures of the steam method are posted on the dinner blog for Soda Bread. I hope someone out there in cyberspace makes this amazing bread and enjoys it for me while I am unable.

The Castle's Serf Bread

2 T warm water
1 1/2 t yeast
1/2 t sugar
1 1/2 cups bread flour
2 c whole wheat flour
3 t vital wheat gluten
1/4 c health food store shortening
1/4 c honey
1 c warm water
1 t salt

In a small cup combine water with yeast and sugar. Let sit for 10-15 minutes. Then, in a large bowl pour yeast mixture, water, flours, shortening, honey and salt. Using an electric mixer or food processor, blend until all ingredients are incorporated, scraping down sides of bowl as necessary.

Mix (knead) for 5 minutes. The dough should no longer be sticky, but smooth and elastic. If you push your fingers in, the hole should refill itself quickly.

Remove the dough and place in a clean bowl that has been greased lightly with oil. Turn dough over in bowl. Cover bowl with a damp cloth and place in a warm spot until the dough doubles in size, about 1 hour to 1 hour and 20 minutes.

Punch down to eliminate bubbles. Spray or grease 9x4 or 5 inch loaf pan. Shape dough into a loaf and place in pan. Let rise in warm spot till doubled in size. I usually let it rise for 30-40 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees with a broiler pan on the lowest shelf. When oven is preheated, pour 1 cup of water in the lower pan when you put the bread in. Bake for 30 minutes or until loaf sounds hollow when tapped lightly on top.

This recipe makes only 1 loaf so you'd better double or triple it so some is ready in the freezer.

Family Treasure Hunt

The Leprechauns left a treasure for my girls and my parents this morning. The spring thaw made their feet awfully muddy, and their prints led us right to the spots they had hidden their treasures. This evening, my girls went on quite a hunt to find another sort of treasure detailed on my dinner celebration blog. We found the treasure of a rare evening with grandparents, silliness, and imagination.

My mother and I spent the day on a different sort of treasure hunt. We visited with Aunt Moey, Uncle Bob, and Uncle Cliff. Driving home, I felt the day as well spent as any I've spent in the last year.
My Nana asked that my mom would take care of her sister, Aunt Moey after she died. With several states separating them, I wanted to step in as a substitute for my mother. One visit turned to many. My notion of caring for Moey and Bob quickly changed to thorough enjoyment of our visits where with my sweetheart we discussed common loves such as books, fossils, rocks, anthropology and of course, family history. My world increased as I gained two more people to love and think about.

Tonight, I unexpectedly cuddle up in her love, crocheted over hours by this dear great aunt.
"I thought of you the whole time I was making it. You don't have to take it if you don't want. It's just a dumb little thing."

How can hours, days, and months of love be a little thing - something to discard? I am not loved by so many that my heart does not swell at the physical reminder I received today. She LOVES me!!!
My visits to Uncle Cliff are a bit more recent. A year ago, my mother called. "I think I found my great uncle Cliff, my grandmother's last remaining brother!" Will you call, see if it's him, and see what he knows about his mother?"

Ah! A quest to find a missing link... someone we thought long dead. Though excited, I was subdued to call someone who didn't even know I existed.

The door opened, and a familiar tall well built man I had never before seen, invited me in. I met his daughter, Elaine, and within seconds knew I had found family. Yes, we are distant relatives. He is my great great uncle. I'm not sure what that makes Elaine, but I don't think of all that. I just knew my family circle had grown that much wider.

The visits began with stories about my direct line, but I became so fascinated with these dear people, I wanted to know about them... what their stories were, what moves them. I am still in the process of finding out and that is fun.

My visits to them have been a hunt. And I have found treasure. The treasure of family. Not only them, but others I have come to know through their stories and pictures. I feel surrounded by great and great great grandparents I never knew. It's a little odd, but since my visits have begun, I feel less alone... I feel encircled by family.

Gift of Friendship

In the cool of Sunday evening, Charlynn and I walked through the city, catching up and providing each other "brain clearing" therapy.

"My brain is so full of odds and ends... I'm really not sure where to begin." I said.

Her advice was, "Go have a few more minutes... meditate, pray, find peace. Then you will know which of your many mind cluttering things-to-do is most important. "

Her service did not end with her great advice. On Monday, little one in tow, she arrived at my house, looked at my deer-in-the-headlights look and began to supervise a declutter and reorganization of my office. Often, we get so overwhelmed by our own stuff we can't see beyond it. Two hours later, my face hurt from smiling so hard. With less clutter in my home, my brain had a little more room to think.

I like candles and hand cream as much as the next girl, but they can not compare to the gift of the two hours that translated to hope that Char gave to me.

The Runaway

Ladybug disappeared for some time. Finally she appeared with 2 cases.
"I'm all packed and ready to go."
"Where are you going honey?"
"I'm running away."
"Oh. Where are you running away to?"
"The front yard and the back yard and around the house."
"Good. I just need to know where you are when you run away."
"Yeah, that's because you love me. Can I pack some of my favorite nuts?"
"Sure honey. Here are some olives too."
Once packed and fed, my rebel walked out the door and down the steps with her cases, a soft drink and a furry companion to keep her company. She ran into Sunshine and her friend Em and recruited them to join her. Ten minutes later they were settled on the front lawn, happily dining on the hoard. Oh for a carefree runaway once a day. I think I'll try it.

The Invisible Woman

Why are nips and tucks so attractive to us middle aged women? Why are we looking for the special cream that will wipe away our wrinkles? For that matter, why are so many of us blogging to the world at large? Why try to get our thoughts out in cyberspace? Is it voyeurism as my friend Melody thinks? Is it a hope that someone out there will hear us, that they might comment and recognize our existence. Or are we writing to convince ourselves that we still exist, that we are here?

I think many of us feel invisible. Others walk by without seeing us. We have disappeared into the anonymity of the wife, the mom, the butter getter, the milk pourer, the laundry washer. Heads that used to turn, business people that used to listen, young people that used to admire, stop noticing a fully and completely "mom." Sometimes even and especially those we love and serve, treat us as the pair of hands, the apron, the clock, the pillow, and the nameless chauffeur. We have become invisible. We feel that they fail to see our beauty, our service, our love. The question is, do they fail to see us or do we really wonder if we have any value?

To anyone who has ever wondered about the previous, experience with me, The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson. Read this hour long book or click on this link to watch a few minute condensed version on U-Tube. How could this woman have been in my head? I shed a tear as I recognize that she too has felt invisible...I shed a tear for all those who fail to see, as I sometimes do, the beauty of their soul and their work.

Ponder Mother Tereasa with me... how she was invisible for decades, and then when she became visible to the world in general, used her visibility to help others see the poor, the diseased and the overlooked. Even more thought provoking, I ponder God. Do we often treat him as though he is the magical man behind the curtain ready to offer us our desires and then forget he is there? Do I fail to see him in our everyday life? Does he demand my recognition, my praise for his countless and glorious works in my behalf?

After much thought, invisibility is not what we think. "Invisibility is love's most beautiful costume." So, watch or read... and I will remain invisible and not expect a comment.

Addicted to the race

I have become addicted to racing. I am on the waiting list for an upcoming marathon. When I run with Megan, we chat and the minutes and miles fly by and I am amazed at my accomplishment. But alone, I agonize over every minute... it is sheer torture. Why is it so much harder than the spinning class that burns 100 more calories per hour?

Briz and I woke up early Saturday morning to torture ourselves together. Since I had not attended a spinning class in over 4 months, I knew I was in for a rough morning. Endurance Day! Ugh. The hardest class they offer.

The spinning room blasts eardrum popping music and is dark, with two enormous screens in front. Sometimes we bike in some scenic place, but usually we are in a biking race like the Tour de France. Today we were racing in Italy. I matched my cadence to the rider in yellow, I examined his shoulder set, the bend of his back, and his grip and I match them. I lean when we turn, I imagine that the overhead fans are the mountain air swooshing past me as I ride my amazing ride. We have turned up the tension on our bikes so our legs burn, but still, I must match my racer's cadence. It is hard going up this mountain and keeping my form. To my right, a group of fans starts yipping and hollering and twirling their shirts as I pass. They don't know me, I am probably not even from their country, but they scream me on. One fellow gets right next to me and jogs next to me for a second and yells, "Go, Go, Go!" I forget the burn, forget the ache in my wrists and I respond. I feel that grin spread over my face, the one I can wear in the dark when I know that I am unstoppable, that even though I am exhausted the other bikes will eat my dust. I grimly pedal onward full of power, pushed by crowd of well wishers.

Suddenly, my heart catches. I see life, my life, how very easily I am influenced by others. I wonder for a moment how much I would like my spin class if the fans on the screen yelled, "Crappy form! Give it up. You are the worst rider in this whole race! Stop hunching your shoulders, your stomach muscles are not holding your back!" In the midst of doing something very hard, there is no doubt that my cadence would slow, my energy would ebb and I would think... "You're right. I am doing it all wrong. I really am the worst."

My vision changes. I see my daughters, my friends, my husband. They are not biking, they are running the race of life. They each have spots that are hard to race, form that is imperfect, and a spot where their strength weakens. Where am I? What am I doing? Am I at the sidelines screaming, "You can do it! Go, Go, Go!" Do I give them a second wind, power, hope? Or am I criticizing their form, their weakness in the mountain pass, or their place in the race?

The rock song switches, the fans hum, I drink. On the screens, the winner recieves a trophy and gets a kiss on each cheek from two girls in skimpy clothing. I've got it! A tear trickles down my cheek. I wipe it away. Briz probably doesn't notice. It looks like sweat. A coach! My role for others, is to be an inspiring coach, shouting encouragement from the sidelines as they run their own race. My criticisms will not help their form or their race. How clear it is in this dark sweaty room.

We take advantage of a day of sunshine and ride our bikes by the river. The trail beckons and we go on and on. We stop and refresh our feet in the ice cold water. Finally we turn homeward. The wind rises, blowing so hard I barely stay seated. Little Mother's front tire is flat. She rides as far as she can, then pushes the bike on. Sunshine is on her plasma bike. She has kept up with us the whole way by pushing with her feet. I cannot ride so slow, so I circle back and forth. I ride ahead, and rest on a bench. Little Mother trudges by. I wait and wait. The wind whips my hair and knocks over my bike. Where is my Sunshine? Down the path, I see a small forlorn figure standing next to a bike, pulling it along with small sobs. My mind shoots to my bike race in Italy. I bike back to find my brave trooper. "You are amazing! We are almost there! I am right here with you!" Without another word or whimper, Sunshine sat down on her bike and vroom, vroom, sped off down the trail till she reached the car. Can others become addicted to racing too?

biological children

So I've never gotten over the curiosity of what a baby from our genes would make. I couldn't resist going to this site to try it out. Check out the line thin lips, the enormous foreheads and one thick eyebrow and one pencil thin. Well, I'm cured. If this is what our genes would produce, I think it is better we adopted. The little ones we have are so much cuter! So much for genetics.

To see a thing

"Looking at a thing is far different from seeing a thing. And you have not seen a thing until you have seen its beauty." -Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband

Southern Utah has always been a fine place for me, not my favorite, just fine. For 18 years, I've visited the place and its people out of respect for my husband's past- his memories.

The trip started with a funeral. I only met him a few times and am now at his funeral in the family section. At the graveside, the veterans of foreign wars honored him for service in the Korean War with a gun salute and a mournful rendition of taps. Holding their guns straight and proud, were some 7 plus ancient gnomes. One in a plaid work shirt, had a large knobby nose that was blue, and blue hands, but his voice shook with emotion as he presented the elderly widow with the flag from "a grateful nation". Another looked like a character out of a Zane Grey novel. He matched his long drooping gray moustache with gray wranglers and a slick jacket covered in a silk screened logo. His old fingers moved by their own accord over his weapon from memory of an experience years ago in some far off land. "Where had they been?" I wondered. "What adventures had these men, once young, known? What feelings did they have as they left this small town and faced the world, in all its ferocity during war? After seeing, living, opening their eyes to new things, what was it that brought these men back? A sweetheart, love of the mountains, family? How had they adjusted to a life of feeding the livestock or changing tires? Did they ever get together and talk of the world they had seen?" At first glance, I would have pronounced an easy judgement of uninteresting small towners. I know now that I never really saw any of them, nor uncle Hal, just looked at them. Just who were these men, what courageous acts have they performed, what have they seen? I had enjoyed this man we honored's hugs, and dwarflike attention to Snow White, as though they were my due, but I never saw him till today. My retinas missed so much!

I have wandered this landscape thanks to my kind in-laws for many years, slightly disgusted or annoyed at the cactus, the lack of abundant greenery and wild life. I found the rock formations interesting but bleak. In view of my funeral experience, I try to expand my vision to really see the place by seeing its beauty.I examine the funnel shaped web of a deadly spider. I let my imagination work with my mother in law as we find a woman posing over the left side of an arch for us. I track small animals with my small ones. I marvel not only at the tenacity of the vegetation that thrives here, but at the beauty of the arranged colors and leaf shapes. I enjoy the absurdity of the rock shapes. I ponder the strength and resolve of a tree that incorporated the rock that could have killed it into its structure. I appreciate the lessons of courage and trust the landscape has given us, of fear overcome, of cooperation, exploration, and self sufficiency. I bask in the radiation, as only a winter starved person can, and listen to the self hum of bakers. They bake peach pie, blueberry pie, pancakes, buttermilk cookies, cinnamon sticks, popcorn balls, and rows of truffles. Truffles with sprinkles, truffles with cocoa, they are rolled with sticks, dipped in sand and presented to me for my judgement and consumption. I listen with joy as the stick beats three times on the rocks to the words of "Magical, magical, turn into a spoon!" and watch the rolling pin magically turn into a mixing spoon for Sunshine's use. I hear the song of Ladybug echoing high above me as she explores the caves to find the miraculous discovery of a vein of crystals running through a cave of sandstone and grizzly evidence of a predator. I lay under a perfectly blue sky and watch the tiny new spring leaves open heralding the hope of spring as I hear my husband yell from the caves to look up and see the soaring falcons. I think about the cactus, so prickly and uninviting, yet so strong they can survive in the harshest environments.... and other similar live things...

I rephrase Wilde's statement. To know/understand any thing or person is to see its beauty. For all God's creations are marvelous, miraculous and beautiful. The desert is beautiful to me now, as are the people that chose to live there. My spouse seems more beautiful now that I see his heritage, personal and environmental.

Why I married

I married my husband in large part for his fathering potential. I recall Heather, my older sister, telling me I was in love. I didn't want to be in love so I protested, reminding her of the looks and style of my former GQ type boyfriend, and pointing out Briz was balding and often had bad breath. Exasperated, she said, "keep some gum in your pocket then!" and "Imagine your life with GQ in 10 years and with Briz in 10 years. They'll both be bald, but which one will come in swing you around and roll on the floor with the kids?"

I bowed to her superior wisdom and realized that the best gift I would ever give my children would be the dad I chose for them.

Last night as almost every night, he showed me what I great gift I had given them in him. I had a night at "Twilight" planned with Margaret. At the last minute a good friend offered Briz Jazz tickets. Who to go with? My kids of course!!! Within 10 minutes he found fan outfits to improve the experience and they were off.

They loved the mascot's antics and some weird guy who took off his shirt and tie and danced with his big belly hanging out for all to see. They learned what it meant to be really tall. They screamed and jumped up and down for their team till the camera men couldn't help it and put my girls on the big screen 3 separate times. They wore their little selves right out with the support of their dad who coached them in their cheering, explained the game and players, and held them on his shoulders so they could be on T.V.

His way of relating to the world is so different than mine and I am grateful that he enlarges my girl's world view in ways I couldn't or wouldn't.
The girls love their dad and want to be just like him. My reality of the gift for my kids is better than my daydream and those sweeties are so lucky.

I Blame Mom

"How do you think of so many fun things to do with your kids?" Mmmmm, I think. Can I take credit myself and make everyone think I am clever and fun? Nope. I'm a copier. Mainly from my mom. When I was little she did amazing things with us. We baked bread, cookies and pies with her in our own tiny pans, we washed dishes in the sink playing with bubbles, baby bottles, and cups for hours, we finger painted with chocolate pudding and the list goes on and on. "I do nothing save what I have seen my mother do." Now that I've said it, its a bit frightening for me. What am I modeling unaware for my kids?
The girls love playing with "Grandpa and Nana's farm." They feed the horses and ride the tractors as if they were there. They remember good times and plan for future times. Sunshine rides the golf cart down to visit her "French"cousin and Little Mother has to walk down the road to tend Jacob. I need to keep Sunshine busy while Little Mother and I finish school. I pull out my mom's standby, shaving cream. I watch it squish in the little hands, I see pictures of dogs, cats, and Suzanna the bunny, I smell the clean scent and I remember it between my own fingers. I use this opportunity to finish preparations for my Little Musicians class this afternoon. I surface 5 minutes later to joy, joy joy. I just swept and mopped and cleaned for the week!!! I am a bit mad. But also tickled with their simple pleasures.

I blame my mom.

Girls, Girls, Girls

I love my friends. I love that we can talk about anything, that the house can be a mess, that we live close, and most of all, that when we get together, between the families we have 10 girls. Girls appreciate the extra touches and the things that I find fun so its fun to do them. I have detailed some of our night on the dinner blog.

M. helped me demonstrate that we had provided so many wonderful things for the perfect picnic that we were just overwhelmed. We likened it to the blessings our Heavenly Father has given us to help us in our lifetimes. After our picnic, we played Disney Scene It, then watched Facing the Giants.
May I recommend this movie as the best family movie I have seen all this year and last? (That is if you like blatant gospel messages in your movies. I do.) I have now seen it twice and I have cried both times. I dare you to watch it and not wipe away a little tear. It is about facing the giants in our lives, big and small, and how he can fight our battles if we have prepared ourselves to the best of our abilities. Who doesn't need this type of encouragement?