Heresy Alert!

True confession. I don’t do turkey the way my Granny did. It turns out there are even better options. Because I’m grateful for each of you, I’m sharing my secrets here. Feel free to share them far and wide and feed them to those you love!

Dry turkey is never on anyone’s menu, but it seems that it shows up on an awful lot of serving platters. Hence, the big name guys with the magic basting goo, turkey fryers, syringes for injecting liquid brine solutions, smearing the whole thing with butter, etc., etc. This is the way to do it Juicy meat, crispy skin, perfect flavor, all natural and with very little effort. And easy enough for a first time Thanksgiving host to manage!

Ingredient Notes: Buy the best you can get. It takes some hunting. Local farmers. Whole Foods. Dean & DeLuca, Zingermans, White Oak Pastures. Ours are Heritage breed birds, pasture raised by local, sustainable farmers. I like turkeys in the 18-20 pound range because they fit in my oven and I want lots of bones and leftover meat for soup. I can actually feed 75-100 people from one turkey by making bone broth and using it well! (You can, too!) Thaw, if needed, in a fridge. It may take up to 72 hours to thaw a turkey this size. Or, scale down, if desired!

Brining: This is optional but I highly recommend it. I’ve tried both wet and dry brines and I like dry the best. It’s easier, often cheaper, a lot less messy, and ultimately, more effective. And it has no sugar! The purpose is to season the bird, while holding juices in the muscle for a moist, tender turkey, with gorgeous, crispy, perfectly seasoned skin. Wash your hands a lot during the process! You’ll need:

Coarse grey Celtic sea salt

Freshly ground pepper (black or mixed colors)

Dried thyme (or other herbs as desired)

A pan large enough to hold the turkey loosely. (ie Eco-foil from your local supermarket. Nobody’s perfect!)

Mix together in a small bowl: 4 Tbsp. coarse sea salt with 2 Tbsp. ground pepper and 1 1/2 Tbsp crushed, dried thyme, etc., if desired. (You can also do this with just salt, in which case you may need an extra Tbsp. for coverage.) Don’t use regular table or fine grind salt! It leaves a bitter taste and you have to reduce the amount significantly so it’s hard to cover the whole bird without making it too salty.

For an 18-20 pound, thawed turkey, remove any neck and innards. Reserve them for other uses as needed. I freeze the neck, heart, and gizzard for soup stock or feed them to the dogs. The liver is great for dirty rice and may be frozen, separately. (Or added to the dog feast!) Pat bird dry, inside and out, with paper towels and place bird in pan. (If using foil pan, place that on top of a sheet tray or similar pan for stability.)

Working in the pan, season the dried inside and outside of the bird well with salt mix. Get down around the wings and legs and thighs. Pat and rub. Leave uncovered or cover loosely with parchment paper. Place in fridge, preferably the old one in the basement, and just leave it alone for up to 3 days. I like 18-24 hours. It will be fine. What you’re aiming for with the timing is that miraculous moment when the skin is crispy, the meat is juicy and tender, and the bird is perfectly salted.

You’re well on the way to the best Thanksgiving feast ever!

On Sunday I’ll be back here with roasting directions for Gorgeous, Juicy (Easy) Turkey!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Perils of FOMO

It’s amazing how fast chaos can sneak up on you!

Or at least how fast it seems once we begin to notice.

I got pretty busy over the last year or so. Mostly good stuff. Learning. Writing. Traveling.

Lots of it was awesome!

Then I came down with a big case of what my wise (and really talented) friend Yasmin Nguyen, at Gratitude Inspired Living,  calls FOMOFear of missing out. (Which feels rather like fear of not being enough.)

I signed up for way more learning than I could keep up with. My e-mail was overwhelming. I wanted to sleep. Or watch Grey’s Anatomy re-runs.

Then, in July, I fell down. Literally. I’m ok, but at the time it was a fairly big deal.

In August, I did it again. Much less of a deal, but still not at all helpful.

About that same time, I began learning about Intentional Creativity. And painting, which is something of a miracle in my world.

Then my friend got sick and I invested a whole bunch of September and October in prayer and presence.

All that learning I had signed up for pretty much went by the wayside. Technically, it’s still there but it has felt buried under all the overwhelm.

Except for the creating and painting. That happened. Slowly, but it happened. And as I painted, I began to learn new things.

My butt hurt less. I found new parts of me.

I woke up. (Though I’m still a fan of napping.)

One day I opened my eyes and realized that a lot of things had gotten away from me.

My sewing table was buried in miscellaneous junk. Dusty miscellaneous junk.

I couldn’t find the tape measure. Or my passport.

My closet was running over with artifacts from lives past.

You get the drift.

It’s getting better these days.

I can actually see the sewing table. And, Wednesday, I’m giving a friend a sewing lesson!

I have a new passport.

A bunch of the old stuff in my closet has been promoted to the “paint clothes” department. A bunch more is headed out the door to new lives in other places.

My freezers are full of bone broth.

Mostly, though, I’m recovering from the fear of missing out.

I have a plan. I’m going with things I believe in. Following my heart kinds of things.

I’ve dumped a bunch of email. My recycling basket is full of catalogs which are full of shiny things I don’t need.

There is space in my world. More would be good, but it’s a start!

There is meditation music playing in my house. The dogs are more relaxed which helps me be more relaxed.

Most of all, I have a sense of where I’m going. I suspect it’s like nowhere I’ve ever been before and that’s ok. It seems a little less chaos makes me feel a bit more brave.

I’ll keep you posted.

Tomorrow, chalk board paint.

And, Wednesday, meet me back here. It’s all about my super simple dry brining process for a fabulous, juicy turkey!

 

 

I got another turn!

Hi, everybody! It’s me, Luther.

I asked Mom if I could blog again because I’ve been here about nine months now and I’ve learned a lot of new things. (Mom is still in charge of spelling!)

First, I wanted you to know that I’m not nearly as scared as I used to be!

It’s kind of surprising, but pretty much everybody likes me. They pet me and rub my ears, which feels good. If they’re really nice, I let them rub my belly.

I’ve gotten to be an expert at treats and am usually the first one to sit.

I’m also really good at our new food, which I love. (Though it makes a lot of noise!)

Being brushed is awesome but I’m still not real excited about the things called scissors.

I learned that it’s ok to sleep when people walk around, especially if they’re my people.

I also learned that things change and that’s ok, too.

We’ve been playing the game Mom calls Furniture Yahtzee again. I’m not really sure what the point is but Mom carries things from one place to another and then Dad pushes furniture around. Sometimes our friend, Harry, comes to help. He gives good belly rubs!

The house feels different when we play that game, but I always know how to find my bed.

In fact, I know how to find most things now.

Mom says I don’t see too well. I heard her tell one of our friends that it’s probably because I was raised in the dark when I was a tiny puppy and some things in my eyes didn’t grow right.

I hear really well, though, and I can smell supper as soon as it comes out of the refrigerator. (We’re working on a thing called waiting!)

Lately, it’s dark more often than it used to be. Mom seems to wish for more light but somehow it all works out.

I think there are a lot of things going on around here right now.

New smells and those things Mom calls boxes on the carport, waiting for the recycling people. (I’m not sure the recycling people want to meet me!)

And lots of nights Mom gets up and helps me watch the house. She does the things called reading and writing and drinks a lot of the stuff she calls tea.

My sisters usually sleep.

Mom says progress is messy. I don’t know what that means.

We’ve also been busy making lots of bone broth. It makes the house smell really good!

Some of our friends come and sit in the rocking chair and tell us stories. Sometimes they cry.

I know about how that feels.

Sarah and Phoebe and I are in charge of something Mom calls non-anxious presence. I’m not sure what that means but apparently I’m getting better at it because now I can go cuddle, too, when somebody cries.

I’ve gotten really good at car riding. Today, we all got to go in the taxi to Camp for a quick visit because Mom had to go to a meeting. I think we had more fun than she did!

I’m still working on towels. (I think there are still a few other things on Mom and Dad’s list of things to work on, like the time we tore up the kitchen when nobody was home.)

Mom says a lot of the things we’re all learning are about something called expectations. That’s a pretty big word. I think it means that we’re just supposed to see how things turn out instead of thinking we know ahead of time how they’re supposed to be.

I used to expect that people touching me would be very scary and might hurt a lot.

Now, Mom and Dad remind me that there’s a lot of better in the world, even though there are not-better things, too.

Sometimes water leaks from Mom’s face when she says things like that, which happened this week. Something about a place called Texas.

I know my job.

I’m in charge of licking up the water.

For now, though, it’s time to get ready for supper.

Thanks for being here!

Love, Luther

P.S. – I’m supposed to say to our new friend Kim that, if Gumby and Pokey come to visit, I probably won’t eat them!

 

Does Anybody Really Know?

With apologies to Simon and Garfunkel, does anybody really know what time it is?

We certainly don’t at our house.

The dogs are not amused at the revisions to their fine dining schedule on this time change weekend in the US.

Three hungry Newfoundlands who suspect the ones with thumbs have forgotten them are quite the force of nature!

They remind me of Dave when he was in middle school. My perpetually late son somehow got fascinated with Stephen Hawking and spent a great deal of energy trying to convince me that time was just a theory for controlling people and had nothing to do with reality.

Especially when it had to do with the time school started.

(Don’t tell Dave, but I’m not entirely sure he was wrong!)

I can’t help but wonder what impulse to control the natural world caused us to think adjusting the time twice a year was a good idea. (Or not, if you happen to live in places like Arizona and parts of Indiana!)

Bill, who lives in a random “time zone” of his own, is probably wishing that the mythical extra hour of sleep had really happened. Fortunately, he’s really good at changing the multitude of digital clocks that surround us. (Me, not so much!)

I have noticed, this fall, since I turned my chair to face the big garden window, how much more aware of the shortening of the days I’ve been than in previous years.

And, as a person who grew up mainly in Florida, I’ve long been a fan of bright, golden sun light.

Lately, though, I’ve been learning some new things.

I’ve been learning about light and dark.

My learning began, in a new conscious sort of way, about a year ago as I listened to friends and scholars reflect on the Jungian notion of light and shadow in light of our recent American experience.

We might say that this moment in history is bringing us face to face with our shadow, which always has the potential to teach us things we need to know.

Then, this past August, I embarked on a virtual Black Madonna Pilgrimage.

My painting, Our Lady of Fierce Compassion, is complete. (Stay tuned!)

I’ve learned how to buy paint. I’ve learned about brushes, and glazes, and how to fix canvases for hanging.

I’ve learned to chant in Latin, which makes three languages for me now, when you add that to English and Chinese. Hebrew, too, I suppose, depending on your understanding of “chant”.

Then there’s been dark. And light.

Along with spirituality and physics, which are not nearly as different as I used to imagine.

Which is rather a lot for someone who learned absolutely nothing and got B’s in high school physics, mostly based on the fact that I wore a skirt to school now and then. (That’s a problem for a different day!)

For this moment, I’m reading Stephanie Georgieff”s fine book, The Black Madonna…mysterious soul companion and learning more about dark and light.

Here’s my favorite quote so far:

I find it fascinating that the Black Madonnas combine both darkness and large hands. For me it is as if they are saying, get to work and do something, plant the seeds for the future.

If, in this moment, you’re even pondering some new questions, this time, today, is totally worthwhile.

And, if you’re just trying to figure out when to get up in the morning, some (paraphrased) advice from the brilliant artist and author, SARK… just be where you are, whatever time it is!

 

 

 

 

Saints and Breathing Words

There’s an old saying that claims each preacher has only seven sermons.

Yes, I know –  you’re doing the math!

I’ve begun to wonder recently if the same is true for poets and bloggers and writers of other sorts.

This is a day that brings up one of my personal seven.

All Saints’ Day.

Also known as the day after Halloween.

Humor me, please, if you’ve heard me tell this story before. It winds up in a new place this time!

Somewhere close to 20 years ago, I was sitting in the chapel at Columbia Theological Seminary on All Saints’ Day. Walter Brueggemann stood up to preach.

The assembled congregation got anxious. “Saints,” at least in the traditional Catholic sense, are not a notably Reformed concept.

Walter made things clearer, as he often does.

The saints of the church, he explained, are all those who believe for us on days when we can’t quite believe for ourselves.

(I’ve discovered that the same concept also applies to people and situations that don’t appear to be inherently church-y.)

Today, I’m celebrating a new batch of saints. A whole new group of people who’ve been busy believing on days some of us couldn’t quite believe for ourselves.

The kind of folks it takes to make a book.

To be specific, a book called Breathing Words.

Breathing Words is an anthology project I’ve been involved with for about a year and a half. Lots of writers. Many, new. Poets. Even a songwriter or two. Editors. Formatters. Organizers. Graphic designers. More organizers. We’d be honored if you’d check out our  work, which launched as a bestseller in Epic Poetry. (Just click the pretty colored title!)

People with a dream.

People hanging on to that dream with enough determination to make it come true.

More than twenty writers. Five pieces each. A quilt, in a sense, of consonants and vowels. Perspectives and fears. A quilt of diverse voices raised to celebrate our differences where the only rule was love and kindness.

It wasn’t always easy. Love and kindness rarely are.

Neither, if we come right down to it, is truth. Claiming our experience. Sharing our perceptions. Asking our questions.

Think, for a moment, about the biggest thing you’ve ever had to say.

And then think about all those people, each saying their own biggest things between the covers of one book.

And, every day, enough of us believing even when some of the rest could not in that particular moment.

New reality born of language and persistence, of doubt and faith alike.

Come visit us at www.facebook.com/BreathingWordsAlive !

I suspect you’ll make some new friends. One of them just might be the voice inside whispering to you to speak up. Pick up a pen. Or a camera. Or a microphone. Claim your truth. Tell your story.

When enough of us both speak and listen, the world gets different. And the saints–the real ones, at least–rejoice!

 

 

 

 

What are you going to be?

Frost season has arrived in Atlanta. The deck is really cold. And, at our house, Charlie Brown and his pumpkin patch friends are hoping against hope to actually make it out of the basement for the festivities this year.

The freezer is well stocked with fabulous butternut squash soup.

And one of the superstore chains is oh, so happy to remind you that you can get same day pick up on costumes.

Clearly, it’s almost Halloween.

Just between us, this particular holiday has never been one of my personal favorites.

It’s grown on me some since my girls came along and there are trick or treat bags to sew and pictures to look forward to, each year more amazing than the last.

The thing that most surprises me, though, is all the people wondering what I’m going to “be” for Halloween.

Here’s the scoop:

I’m going to be a grandmother!

(Not more babies. Just more awareness.)

My “sparkly silver” hair is all set. And a bit wild-looking in a maybe growing out kind of way these days!

All I need is my favorite peachy-orange Oxford cloth shirt covered, as it usually is, with quilt threads and dog hair. Paint spatters are not out of the question.

Black leggings.

And, who knows? If it really gets chilly I might even bust out the magical ruby slippers that followed me home from Portland in June.

The whole “costume” question seems to be almost an obsession in our world.

What are we going to “be” in our lives? And how will we communicate that to others? Especially the little ones who are watching us?

It used to be easier for me.

Back in the day, nurses and pastors had pretty specific “costumes” for going about their business. At least it seemed so at the time. Though it got a bit more complicated if you happened to be a “girl” pastor in the south.

For a while, even before Steve Jobs, I flirted with the “uniform” theory. You know. One less thing to think about.

Inevitably, though, I busted out of the box and wound up with a bunch of random “fun” things that never seemed to solve the what-to-wear problem.

Eventually, I read a book that suggested starting to plan a wardrobe with adjectives rather than color swatches.

A concept I understood!

Three descriptive words for what you hope to “say” with a wardrobe.

(Go ahead. I’ll wait.)

The thing that continues to wonder me about the three words I chose, close to 15 years ago, is that they still work for me!

Not that my wardrobe choices are still the same. Or my life, for that matter. But the message still feels true.

Now, just between us, I’ve tried hard to figure out how to tell this story without actually telling you the words I picked. It feels really personal.

It seems, though, that there’s no way around it. Your words will no doubt be different. (That’s the way it’s supposed to work.) Mine were/are:

Wise, Creative, and Refined

Let’s start with a bit of reality! When you live with three Newfoundland dogs,  actually looking refined is, at best, a special occasion option.

These days, the meaning that particular adjective has for me falls somewhere between the William Morris notion I mentioned recently of having nothing we do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful and moves on to the old quote by Coco Chanel about getting all dressed and accessorized, then removing one piece.

Both of these ideas inspire me.

Wise and Creative have some more practical applications.

At this point in my journey, Wise reminds me of safe, organic, natural fabrics. Almost nothing that needs to be dry cleaned. Layers of all-season garments. As few shoes as possible.

Creative is all about flexibility and color and imagination, with a few quirky accessories.

I’m loving the environmentally friendly, colorful, decidedly quirky clothes from Gudrun Sjoden these days. It’s like Garanimals for grandmothers!

And, of course, a red thread around my wrist.

This year, I’m going to be me for Halloween.

How about you?

 

 

 

 

 

“I love to go a-wandering…”

I spent a recent morning in the Decatur post office.

You’ll have a better grasp of what a big deal this was when I explain that I’d do just about anything to avoid going to the post office. Bill will confirm that fact.

This, however, was a special mission.

I needed to renew my passport which is a bit ironic for a woman who, for a lot of boring logistical reasons, needs to negotiate dog-sitter time for a quick trip to the Farmers Market.

But, let’s back up just a bit.

I hate paperwork. I hate government forms. I’m none too fond of having my picture taken.

So why did I find myself leaning against the wall, waiting for the door to the passport kingdom to open at 9:15 on a Thursday morning?

I love my kids!

And this year, we’re going on a cruise for Christmas.

I can’t wait!  And yet, complications abound.

First, there are the usual sort.

When is school out? Who has to work when? Which choices are–shall we say–better investments?

Then there are the somewhat more complicated sort. Names. Birth certificates. Social Security cards. Not numbers. Just cards.

Then there are the really cosmic sort. You see, we made these plans just before the 2017 onslaught of hurricanes started.

It’s entirely possible that we’re getting on a boat headed for several places that aren’t there anymore.

On the one hand, it’s no big deal. I’ll happily float around and teach the girls to play Cribbage.

On the other hand, it’s a huge deal for the world.

I have friends in South Florida. And Puerto Rico. And the Dominican Republic.

Friends who are thrilled that, even though they lost all their stuff, their houses are still standing. And friends who are less thrilled.

Friends who are still wondering when they will have power and clean water.

I also have friends who don’t have the luxury of being able to plunk down some papers from the file cabinet so they can go where they want to be.

And a whole bunch more friends who are trying, with every fiber of their beings, to figure out what you and I can do about all of that.

There don’t seem to be any easy answers.

In fact, the best thing I’ve got is to hang out with people asking the same questions.

Here’s where my list starts:

More experience. Less stuff.

Getting out of our personal safe spaces and meeting people from other places.

Hearing the stories those people need to tell.

Voting for people who realize that climate change is important and urgent and real.

So, a couple of months from now, I’m getting on a boat with the people I love the most, and a whole bunch more I’ve never met.

Pens and paper and cameras will no doubt be involved.

So will some conversations about blessings. And how to share them.

I don’t know what will change in our lives because of this trip, but I’m pretty sure we’ll learn some things we don’t know now.

Sure enough to show up at the Decatur post office at 9:15 in the morning and sign papers, swear oaths, and write a very official check, all to make the cruise, which may be going to nowhere, a possibility.

I’m betting my girls and I will learn something.

Maybe Cribbage!

Also, I suspect, that the world is both huge and very, very close by.

 

Sue Boardman, Certified Intentional Creativity®
Color of Woman Teacher & Coach