Success!

Ahh Sunday once again.

I spent last night and a very lazy today day with Annie while she is house/dog/cousin-sitting in a northern Chicago suburb. While I missed DreamHome, it was nice to be in a real, lived in home. But the real reason I am writing is to post an update on the baking project. Friday night, thanks to the wisdom of Teany, I made vegan petit fours. Yum. And easy. Yesterday, Annie and I took a baking break to eat some of the past project and still some Thanksgiving leftovers. We did bake our own pizzas from scratch, however. That could count, right? This morning, to cap off our anniversary of the Klobouky Mikulašska jarmek, Annie whipped up a batch of pani dough. Fueled by slivovice, naturally, we braided, rolled, and baked some nice little angels, mermaids, devils, birds, and other strange yet vaguely traditional shapes. Happy Saint Nicholas Day!!

So this is going to take discipline, kids

December.
Deemed the month of Baking One Cookie Recipe Per Day.

So far Annie is kicking my butt.

Background: A while ago, anticipating the baking of Czech gingerbread, I came up with the idea that was voiced something like, "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if every day in December we baked a different cookie recipe??" Annie was all about the idea, but as for me... when push came to shove and the calendar page turned, I rather lost the momentum. Annie is living for a few weeks in the northern suburbs, therefore her enthusiasm for this idea hasn't been translated well through the distance. December 1, she sent me a text message saying "Happy Cookie Month", and when we met the other night, she made me renew my promise. (I should mention, though, that she has the help of a younger and overall impressionable to the whims of her cool older cousin relative. For the record, I too think Annie is the coolest cousin ever. BCEFL, even.)

OK. It's now the 4th, and I have a half-failed batch of Mexican Icebox Cookies half baked and half still in the icebox and some cooling cups of custard in the fridge. "Custard?" you may be asking. Yes, Custard. I was wrested from the reverie of my bank coffee break by a nearly year-old copy of Good Housekeeping. Given my ever-growing reverence for Better Homes & Gardens, I thought I'd find something worthwhile while flipping though the glossy pages. And voilá, custard still counts as a sweet, goshdarnit, and if I am forced to make something sweet, it should at least fit into my evening's dessert plans.

One moment while I try to flip over the cup and give my creation a taste.
(In the meantime, take a look at what I hope to have achieved.)

Loosen the edges with a small spatula - check.
Flip on to plate, and let sit so the caramel can drip onto custard - check.
And now try to soak up soppy mess with a spoon - hmmmm....

I have a jiggly custard and no caramel. Maybe it didn't bake long enough. Maybe the sugar didn't thicken enough. Maybe it was the rum I thought would be a good idea to add to the caramel. Whatever. Maybe December will just be the month of my failed desserts.

Bon apetite.

Sunday is becoming my favoritest day

How did November just slip away? I'm glad to get one more post in here, so it looks like I'm not totally ignoring my blog. I know how I keep saying that I should update about all the less obvious things and changes happening in my life, but I'm not sure what keeps me from it. A full time job may have something to do with it, but that's mostly just an excuse. Home alone on a Sunday night is the perfect opportunity to catch up with my thoughts.

This last weekend in November coincided with Thanksgiving this year. I had a lovely time for at least three reasons: the bank gave me a freaking 20 lb. turkey, my kitchen successfully brined and cooked that bird and many other Thanksgiving staples, and my family was all under one roof for the first time in months. That last point felt nice. Of course there were the expected stresses, but having my own place provided a nice escape. Whenever people come to visit me, I often feel responsible for showing them fun things and places to go, so the fact that parents and brother had a good time is contributing to my contentment. Oh, and also, my brother and I again fulfilled our tradition of going on an adventure for Polish food when he comes to visit me for Thanksgiving. 2003 was a little deli in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. This year was an all-you-can eat buffet on Milwaukee Ave, the "Red Apple" or "Czerwone Jabluszko" Restaurant. (The cooks from that restaurant came to do the pierogi demonstration that I went to a few weeks ago at the Polish Museum of Chicago. Seriously, best pierogi in my life. No joke.)

*I just need to mention -by way of praising my culinary mastery- that this Thanksgiving meal was brought to you by Cafe Brenda, Alton Brown, Better Homes & Gardens, the Polish deli on Cicero Ave, Stanley's Produce Market, and my parents for providing supplemental cookware and cutlery. Julius Meinl stepped in with a fabulous Black Friday brunch, Vienna style. Oh for cafe melange.*

Another thing that has been on my mind is that of my body. I'm sure I have mentioned how living with Annie is like a crash course in physical self-awareness, but I've become aware (or at least more aware) of some new sensations lately. First off, I have been physical in different ways than I am used to. It began with my women's running group. I go once a week to run along the lake shore trail. Now, after training last winter for the Warsaw Halfmarathon, distance running through the cold is nothing I haven't done before, but running here has given me knee pain. It began with my worn out Asics, but I also have IT band and tight quad issues. And I'm only running about 5 miles once a week. What's the deal with that? And biking. I'm doing a lot of biking. The simple act of commuting puts about 10 miles to my legs each day. I'm sure the biking is what has increased my stamina for running -- I can easily do 6 miles now!-- but I'm sure it is also what's making my shoulders and lower back constantly sore. If I get a decent Christmas bonus from the bank, it's going towards a nice massage. Maybe I'll have some cash leftover for a session at the Russian baths, complete with a beating of oak branches. (Subsequently I have invested in -and brought back from the depths of my closet for use, finally- some nice pieces of clothes for winter training.) And today being Sunday, I took advantage of the free yoga class at a studio in my neighborhood. After one simple session, I can be sore for days after, but it is one of those good sore, happy sore feelings. Yoga is one of those things that can blend pleasure and pain so wonderfully to make my body feel balanced. And though all this, I have been on a trial of birth control for to try and ameliorate a rogue ovary. I've actually enjoyed the regularity of my cycle, and I have been experienced significantly less of the associated pain. Shall I continue with the abnormal hormonal levels? And should I have shared all this here? Hmmm...

One final thing that nearly ruined my near perfect holiday weekend: the "Sex and the City" movie. Worst thing ever. Gimme "The Dark Knight" for three bucks at the Logan Theater any day over an excruciating Netflix pick. Next up on the queue, an Argentine flick about the war for the Falklands/Malvinas. Next week should be a good one.

Thanks for making through these digressions.

Memory Lane, all covered in snow

Of course now I am all wrapped up in the business of looking at old pictures. Here is a look at how much snow there was on the ground already on this day in Kraków. And in Chicago, nothing more that a few minute-long flurries.

*sigh*

I'm trying

No way.
I can't let November pass by without a single post. I just spent the last couple minutes looking over the writings of one year ago and thinking about what has happened in the space of one year. Even since I've been in Chicago, there is so much I could be writing about, but the time just slips away. I think it's that things are moving too fast for any time for reflection. My body moves faster than my brain, I guess. C'mon! there's my decent performance at the apple pie baking contest, my two jobs (teller at a bank and, although less and less frequently, "fitness specialist" for seniors), my running club, my French club, MY BIRTHDAY!, Chic-A-Go-Go, stress over a CO-emitting furnace, lots of Annie dancing, a saucy piece of performance art, and a six-hour production of "The Great Gatsby."

But speaking of the bank job, even if it is the kind of job where people tell you when you are allowed to go get a cup of coffee and where you have to wear a uniform, I think it will improve my Polish and at least keep my Spanish from rusting away unused. I got my little rubber stamp bearing my initials, so I am pretty much as official as an employee of Community Savings Bank can get. Clearly, I understand the benefit of a stable job in a time of economic volatility that provides health care, a free 20 lb. turkey next Tuesday and a Christmas bonus can't be all that bad. I just hope it will not resemble a career in any way.

I plan on writing more now that the love haze of a new routine is beginning to lift from my vision. Maybe it's just the freezing temperatures making me want to stay indoors and enjoy computers + Netflix.

See you soon, I promise.

Dream a Little Dream...

Here is something weird that has been happening ever since I moved into my new apartment: I am remembering my dreams. I have always been the odd one out when any conversation turned to dreams because after about the age of 8 I was never able to remember the deep sleep musings of my REM cycles. However, for some reason, barely a week goes by when I don't have some crazy, split-second long flashes from my subconscious. Strange changes. Oh, and just as a side note, Annie and I affectionately called our apartment -before I knew what would transpire in the midnight hours- "DreamHome#1". Fitting.

Another thing that hasn't happened to me since I was I'm sure past the toddler age was waking up in the middle of the night out of hunger. That, too, happened to me last week. Turns out it was the beginning of a week-long stomach sickness. Luckily, my mom came down to Chicago to celebrate her annual flee from the Education MN conference (and to have fun for her birthday). There's no better time to be sick than when your mom is around. She brought me soup, made me cream of wheat and hot water bottles, did my errands, and was okay with skipping the Institute of Art in favor of sleep.

By Saturday night, I thankfully still had the stomach for my first, epic entry into the world of... competitive baking! That's right, I entered an apple pie baking contest. As if I were a 4-H -er! For some reason I really wanted to give it a go and to get some outside validation on my growing gourmand ego. Turns out my first ever entirely from scratch pie was a semifinalist! Out of 75 entries, ours made it in the top third! Of course, I wouldn't have even thought twice about entering if not for the fact that Minnesota Mama was here (her, and the other women of my family present in my kitchen through all the stories my mom was telling as she rolled out our secret recipe pie crust).

Just because it was a hoot, here is the website for the pie contest. Why was this contest so awesome –besides getting a free mug, a Home Depot gift card, and aggravating my stomach with more pie than was good for it...? Their slogan: "Pies You Can Believe In."

catholic = universal = multilingual at the very least

There is a Catholic church about two blocks away from my Chicago apartment. It is known as Holy Innocents Church OR Parafia świętych Mąodzianków OR Parroquia Santos Inocentes. Yes, this church serves the three communities that live in the neighborhood - the Polish, the Hispanic, and the English. In other words, it's perfect for me. :)

I went to a mass the other week (which happened to be in Polish, and while it's not a church that will take your breath away like some grand cathedral, but it has it's charms. Like for example the two side altars at about the halfway point of the church. On the left as you face the altar is the obligatory tribute to the Holy Queen Mother of Poland, Matka Boska Częstochowska. <----- She is done in a mosaic of golden tiles and resplendent in all her jewels. It is a rich but subdued statement of devotion. Who does Matka Boska stare at from across the nave? None other than Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe! Yesssss, there she is. In duplicate, maybe even triplicate. Surrounded by 3-d tissue paper flowers of many colors. And other photos whose significance is lost to me. By comparison to her European altar, this one might seem a bit cluttered, but the point is the eclecticism and the vibrancy. This is a Mary with spunk! Contrast #1 in my perceptions of the two cultures that this parish serves.


Contrast #2 came from the church's 103rd anniversary celebration mass, which involved songs and readings in all three languages. I was already intrigued. (Plus, there were going to be refreshments afterwards. I was in.) In 103 years, this was going to be the first service in which all three languages were going to appear in the same Mass. There was a small paper program outlining the order and which readings or responsorials were to be sung in each language. For example, the first reading was read from the lectern in Spanish, but the program had the text in Polish and English.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'd like to back up to the beginning of the Mass. After the opening song, the next two parts of the Ordinary are also sung: the Kyrie and the Gloria. The Kyrie was in Polish. The text is as follows: Kyrie elesion / Christe elesion / Kyrie eleison, or Panie zmiłuj się nad nami / Chryste zmiłuj się nad nami / Panie zmiłuj się nad nami, or Lord have mercy / Christ have mercy / Lord have mercy. To me, the Kyrie seems like an acknowledgment of something done wrong, a plea for atonement. It is very solemn, and the way it was sung by one soprano voice invoked the modality of Gregorian chant. And the subtext under the Greek text points to the exotic and conflicted Baltic region and the weight of history on Baltic and Slavic shoulders.

Next up, the Gloria. Here is where I burst into laughter in God's house. The Gloria is a song of praise and thanksgiving. Its text is much longer and more complicated. It verbosely talks about the Father and the Son with metaphors and allusions to Scripture. So what better musical setting for this upbeat text than a Mariachi band?? That's what Holy Innocents thought. Keeping in line with its Latin roots, the lines were sung in Spanish accompanied by guitar, keyboard, tambourine (yes, tambourine) and a host of voices declaring, "Gloria, Gloria, cantamos al Señor," and other joyful, joyful strains.

Maybe it's just me and my experiences in a Slavic and a Hispanic culture, but the way I felt when these two peoples stood face to face, I couldn't help but deem their musical interpretations and choices as extensions of their cultures and their respective worldviews. No doubt about it, the whole experience was so cool! I'm not sure if other parishioners felt the same, but then again, I'm not sure if any others have had the chance to see spirituality from both (or all three) sides. The bottom line is exactly the motto of the church, as echoed in the words of the pastor's homily, the church is a house of prayer (dom modlitwy, una casa de adoración) for all people (dla wszystkich ludzi, para todas las gentes)...