That Temple You Are

We have begun the celebration of the Feast of the Entrance of the Most Holy Theotokos into the Temple, focusing on an event that is not mentioned in the Bible, but is a story with important meaning.

As Fr. Thomas Hopko explains in The Winter Pascha, "It's purpose is not so much to commemorate an historical happening as to celebrate a dogmatic mystery of the Christian faith, namely, that every human being is made to be a living temple of God.

"The festal event is that the three-year-old Mary, in fulfillment of a promise made at her conception by her parents, Joachim and Anna, is offered by them to God in the temple at Jerusalem."

And in the next chapter, "In the Orthodox Church the Virgin Mary is the image of those who are being saved....she shows how all people must be when they are sanctified by the Holy Spirit as servants of God and imitators of Christ."

Lord, may we by your grace imitate your Mother in her glad obedience, and also by your grace live as becomes temples of your Holy Spirit.

"For God's temple is holy, and that temple you are."  I Corinthians 3:17

Psalter and Soup

This Advent season I'm participating with other women, organized by Sylvia, in reading the Psalter every day for the 40 days. Our Psalter is divided into 20 groupings each of which is called a kathisma, and every woman will read one per day.

There are more than 40 of us participating so that the whole book of Psalms will be read twice a day. Everyone who perseveres will end up having read the Psalter through twice before Christmas, as well! What a joy it has already been.


I'm also trying to read The Winter Pascha by Fr Thomas Hopko, which has 40 readings about this period in the church year that has similarities to Lent and Pascha. I read two days' entries and now can't find the book, so we'll see how that goes....

We just got a good rain and everything is washed clean, the sky is blue, and the snowball bush is showing its glory.

It's the season for soup! It's easy to make a lenten meal in the soup kettle, and today I am putting in three kinds of beans and some winter vegetables.

I don't often buy parsnips or turnips. When I used to read Down, Down the Mountain by Ellis Credle to my children, the vegetables the characters are so fond of must have seemed as exotic as boys and girls riding barefoot for lack of shoes to wear.

In the story, the mountain children carry a bagful of turnips down to the town, turnips they themselves planted and tended lovingly, in hopes of selling them for enough money to buy shoes. But everyone they meet along the way is hungering and thirsting for just such a delicacy, and when they arrive in town they discover that only one turnip is left in the bag.

 I'm afraid that after my first 15 years of family cooking, with its centerpieces of lentil soup and bread, I might have inadvertently started cultivating a taste in my family for fancier food. Fast periods are a good opportunity to repent and reform.

 But this plain food tastes pretty fancy after all.

Poem for the beginning of a fast

(We Orthodox begin our Nativity or Advent Fast today.)


Matthew VI, 28 FF.

Rabbi, we Gadarenes
Are not ascetics; we are fond of wealth and possessions.
Love, as you call it, we obviate by means
Of the planned release of aggressions.

We have deep faith in prosperity.
Soon, it is hoped, we will reach our full potential.
In the light of our gross product, the practice of charity
Is palpably inessential.

It is true that we go insane;
That for no good reason we are possessed by devils;
That we suffer, despite the amenities which obtain
At all but the lowest levels.

We shall not, however, resign
Our trust in the high-heaped table and the full trough.
If you cannot cure us without destroying our swine,
We had rather you shoved off.


--Richard Wilbur

 

Pear Pie of the Year?

"Pie of the Week" is the inspiring category of postings at Gigi's Firefly Cottage blog, and her latest pie is Fudge; a list of many pies by Gigi and links to their recipes is on the sidebar of the page.

I wish I could bake a pie once a week. I also wish I could have a day of prayer and contemplation every week, and a day of gardening, and a loaf of bread baked every seven days or so. But at the rate I'm going, I should set my sights lower-- perhaps one pie every six months or so? (If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, and eat more pie.)

My latest pie is Pear. It's the first pear pie I've ever eaten or baked. The thought of eating this subtle fruit any way besides fresh or dried never appealed, until I read a recipe on one of my favorite blogs recently, a recipe that made me think pear pie would be worth a try. I was prepared in mind, then, for the display of pale green Bartletts at a fruit stand where I stopped for a snack on Monday.

The price was right, but you had to buy a big bag of them, more than B. and I could possibly eat. I thought, "This is my chance to bake a pear pie," and I brought them home, and there was my deadline in front of me: within two days they would be pale yellow, and the pie would have to be baked.

Here is my new white pie dish waiting for its pears. The hearts on the cloth that is under the clear vinyl were my solution to shoe polish stains about 15 year ago.

But where was the recipe? Nowhere to be found. Had I imagined it, or just lost it? The pie had to be baked, so I researched ideas on Epicurious.com for quite a while, settling on a this recipe that featured lemon, maple, and ginger to add complexity.



 I made a couple of changes: doubled the ginger and forgot to put in the sugar. I'm so glad about that last omission, because the maple syrup made the pie just sweet enough for my taste. All the various flavors blended nicely and nothing overpowered the pears. I found it to be quite lovely. It was hard to know just what the added flavors were.







This pie was thickened with instant tapioca granules. I discovered I didn't have instant, so I ground some small pearls in the blender and then sifted out the bigger pieces. The finished product was a bit soupy, maybe only because it was still warm.

 

But B. often doesn't like new taste sensations, especially the first time. After having a slice of this one, he said it had nothing that made him want to keep eating it. I should have that feeling; after eating more than necessary, I quickly wrapped the rest of the pie, dish and all, in heavy foil and stuck it in the freezer.

Maybe my pear pie will be the Pie of the Century!

Poem That Makes Me Love the Earth

Today I want to share with you a blessed poem I found, by Cindy Marsch at Wrasselings. There is no photo I could post that would provide a worthy accompanying image, and it hardly needs help in conveying the metaphor.

Untitled

In Spring the Earth bends and melts toward the South,
Gathering the orb of sunrise in her left hand,
Then passing it along her breast, warming herself,
Until she lays it gently among the bare trees at dusk
And basks in the rosy glow chilled blue at the edge.

The days warm as she lifts her orb-passing hands higher and higher,
'Til over her head she brandishes fire,
Stretched to utmost peak,
Dazzling the fat green grown full all about her.

Her midsummer glory she cannot sustain,
But slowly limits the extent of her reach.
Day by dog day,
The sun's heat parches,
The dusty summer wearies.

Then, arms outstretched, she relinquishes her hold:
Drawn down toward heavy harvest,
The sun's blazes graze the trees.

Spent with the year, she lets go her hands,
And the dawn orb and dusk roll down to her feet.

Still, she waits, spent, chill,
Almost dead with the year.
But a freshet stirs, and calls her to listen.
And again she bends down, melting toward the South.

--Cindy Marsch

Indian Rice Pudding

With the temperature in the 30's there in the North Country, it wasn't surprising that we desired comfort food. Rice pudding came to one daughter's mind, and passed from there to mine, where the idea germinated into a Google search, and from there sprouted plans to use ingredients on hand.

Judging from the variety of methods and ingredients, I think you could have success with many different combinations. I didn't write down what I came up with, but I think I can remember...

While the 1/2 cup of jasmine rice was soaking in warm water, I chopped 1/3 cup almonds.












   
One recipe called for "dried fruit" and suggested almonds, pistachios, and raisins. I found some currants to go with the almonds. The cardamom was for later on.

The yellow stuff is ghee, which I had brought along on the previous trip and forgotten to take home.

Lucky me, because I wanted it to for sautéeing the almonds and about 1/3 cup currants. If there is any better smell in the culinary world than this, I haven't met it. I cooked the almonds and currants until the almonds were toasty brown.

In the meantime the rice had soaked for half an hour and after draining I added it to a quart of milk. (Some recipes used half coconut milk, and I have made many puddings without dairy, using primarily coconut milk, during church fasts.)

This pot needed frequent stirring over medium-low heat so that the pudding wouldn't stick and burn. After perhaps 15 minutes it had thickened a bit and the rice was tender. That was the signal to add 3 tablespoons of sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of cardamom, along with the ghee mixture.  

After a few more minutes of cooking, the pudding was even thicker, and ready to eat. But we waited a while until it had cooled to warm.

It had a good flavor, but we had been looking forward to a more runny pudding. If I make this sort of thing again I think I'll try using 50% more milk.

Flowers, Daughters, and Books

"When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there is any left over, I buy food."  --Desiderius Erasmus       

That seems to be my attitude this fall. I got a little money, and then when I got a little time, I did order used books online, and the packages started coming. This stack was one day's delivery, and when I saw them overflowing the mailbox my heart went all a-flutter Christmas-like. What was inside all the wrapping will take another blog post to reveal.       

 Before I could even get those out of the packages, I took some hardcovers I wasn't currently reading and stacked them in such a way as to hide an electrical outlet. B. said it didn't look as stylish as the arrangement pictured in the Pottery Barn catalog. 

 

I just got back from the North Country where Seventh Grandson lives. In the two weeks since I'd been there, cold weather and dwindling light had taken their toll, and the trees weren't as colorful. These berries were an exception.

As soon as the trees and shrubs go dormant, they are due for a good pruning, having been neglected for a couple of years after the former owners departed.

Gifts I received this week: a Ukrainian matroyshka doll from M., and some horse chestnuts, a.k.a. buckeye pods, from a granddaughter whom I got to see one day. There are as many nuts there as children in her family, so I told her it would remind me to pray for them all.

 

I enjoyed time with my daughters for a few days. We walked in the meadow, talked, cooked, and played with Baby C.  

One day when I didn't have time to stop the car, I saw herds of black cattle grazing quietly while making a scene on golden meadows like this one.


Back at home, snapdragons are enjoying Indian summer, and the pumpkin hasn't even turned soft yet!

   When I drove up to the house I was greeting by a glowing rose.