A Visual on making Roasted Tomato Basil Soup on a snowy day

A perfect day to make soup!

On a recent rare snowy day, the local forest beckoned.  Five minute drive to a winter white landscape of snow-capped branches and trails.  Bailey, our 8-year-old Yellow Lab romped happily ahead.  What an invigorating feeling to come in from the cold, a healthy tired.

I suddenly craved soup and since I am taking an on-line photography course, decided to produce a photo accompanied recipe.

First make a cup of delicious gingerbread tea.

Yum.

Wonderfully warming especially after cross-country skiing.

Slice pint of grape tomatoes in half (when you don’t have whole tomatoes – which I don’t buy in winter).   Note:   apples, pears or naval oranges are a wonderful alternative in a winter salad bowl

Sprinkle with olive oil; mix then add sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

Roast in 400 degree oven for 40 minutes.

Next, chop up garlic and one onion.  Since I fell on my thumb in the forest while cross-country skiing, I will resort to the way I chopped onion and garlic while living in Hawaii when I didn’t have a chef’s knive – in the Cuisinart (thanks to a parting gift from my friends at Filene’s in Boston) – and will bypass using my chef’s knive.

Saute onion and garlic in hot olive oil and butter – remember, never burn the butter or you must start over!

Then add a large 28-oz can of tomatoes.  This part is a fond reminder of my old friend Mitch:  “Always buy Redpack”  — which I do.

Add basil, fresh if you have it, sliced in slivers and thyme.  I sprinkle dried basil and thyme.

Add 1 quart of chicken broth.  Having just roasted a chicken, I use homemade chicken broth.  Just skim off the fat which has congealed on top — although my friend Christine says a little fat in chicken soup is good to have when recovering from a cold.

Next, add the delicious roasted tomatoes.

Bring to a boil, then simmer for 40 minutes.

One last step…puree in batches in Cuisinart!  And voila — dee-vine!

 

The Perfect Thank You Note

 

 

The Perfect Thank You Note

 

“The fondness for writing grows with writing.”
 
-Epictetus, 100 A.D. 

 

I asked a simple question on my Andi’s People Facebook page recently, “Do you prefer to write notes on a flat note card or folded?”  Responses varied.

 

One flat.  Others preferred folded.  ‘A folded card is like opening a gift,’ a friend, Christine replied.

 

I believe the hand-written envelope is the ‘ribbon on the note’, saying ‘I care about you’.  How satisfying it is to carefully insert a personal note in an envelope.  I love note writing. In fact, that is how Andi’s People started.

 

I had moved independently to Hawaii, leaving behind a large Boston Irish, Catholic family and many good friends.  I needed the right thank you note.  Searching to no avail, I finally made my own.  I sketched my Hawaiian boy – with an aloha shirt, shorts and flip-flops.  Above the sketch was the word ‘Mahalo’, which means thank you in Hawaiian.  Inside, the quote:

 

 “The river flows a winding course to the sea
 
We must be equally flexible if we hope to reach our goals.”
 
                                                -Nelson Boswell
 

But it’s not just the note.  It’s the pen.  Just as in journal writing, in note writing, the perfect pen is essential.  I prefer fine point black Pilot pen.  I love the grip, the flow, the lack of smudge.

 

Only once did I choose my calligraphy pen and bottled ink.  So deep was my bereavement following the death of my beloved piano teacher a few years ago, I felt compelled to sit at my desk and craft a beautiful calligraphied letter to his mother.

 

A few years ago, at our local book shop, Westwinds, I came across the book, The Art of the Hand-written Note by Margaret Shepherd.  So excited was I in making the purchase I addressed my check to the book title!  The book sits prominently in my living room bookcase.  Part of my cherished collection.  Just like a good friend, waiting to be called on.

 

Another find was a recent article.  I’m not often able to peruse the entire Boston Globe.  My 96-year-old father visited this past Sunday from his home.  He is legally blind, so not able to read the Globe on his own, but as a retired attorney and adept historian, he is as eager as I to glean interesting news.

 

“Listen to this, Dad,” I had said.  “ A man in Plymouth found two hand-written notes in an old magazine he’d found at a yard sale.  One was signed by Abigail van Buren (Dear Abby).  The other – by John F. Kennedy!

 

My father recalled stories of his friend, Jack Kennedy, and lunches with him in the Congressional Dining Room as well as the Senate.  “Did you ever receive a thank you note from John F. Kennedy?”  My father laughed, saying no, he had not.

 

Another article read “Up Your Gratitude” by John Kralik, author of A Simple Act of Gratitude (now in paperback).  In the depths of down-turned luck, he was inspired to write a year of thank you’s, thus beginning a new chapter in his life.

 

Kralik says, “Your message doesn’t need to be long and eloquent…by sticking to a few lines, you keep the focus on your thank-you and on the other person’s kindness.”

 

A simple thank you and yet such a gift.

 

For Stationery and thank you notes in over 80 designs, please visit www.andispeople.com

 

 

 

Autumn Plunge

The Water Aerobics girl in my whimsical collection was inspired by my teaching Water Aerobics.  Having taught water aerobics for seven years before teaching middle school, I am excited to be teaching in the pool again!  Returning to the water and familiar faces after a 3-year teaching-middle-school hiatus has been a homecoming.

 

Water Aerobics, unlike my yoga classes, is conversational and social conditioning as well as physical.  In the arena of the water, we move in unison and apart, always with an eye on instruction and an ear on safety reminders and wholly ensconced in friendship and community.

 

A new water aerobics friend of mine, a Mid-Westerner, newly re-located to New England, made a comment that was thought-provoking.

 

“You New Englanders  are obsessed with the weather!”

 

I thought, ‘Where else do you measure summer by ‘bookends’ Memorial Day and Labor Day?’

 

Just last weekend, we delighted in an ‘Indian Summer Day’ on October 8. A warm Autumn Day is not considered Indian Summer until after the first frost.   Defying the calendar, the temperatures rose to 80 – 85 degrees!

 

In Vermont with my family and visiting my son who is a sophomore in college, we stayed with friends at an old fishing lodge set on an icy mountain lake near Stowe.  It is always a welcoming site to approach the quaint lodge with rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch and cheery, red geraniums in the flower boxes.

In all seasons, the lake and the mountains beyond are a delicious feast for the eyes.

It has become another ‘homecoming’.

After hiking a mountain path ablaze with Fall colors, the water looked inviting, refreshing, tantalizing.  Can we do it?  The New England calendar challenge surfaced…plunge into the frigid lake on October 8?  My college son suddenly back-flipped off the dock, followed by our other son Ben and our friend, Kate.

 

My dear friend Laurie and I followed. The dive in was

a shock to our bodies.  We quickly moved toward the ladder to climb back up onto the dock.  No towels needed.  The air at 80 degrees was a thick, toasty blanket of warmth.

I guess it is true.  In New England, weather is a popular subject and with it, an attitude of carpe deum…delight in the sunshine, go outside quickly, enjoy.  Tomorrow may bring rain.

Sandwich Serenity

In New England a soft rainfall allows us time for inner calm and attention to indoor projects and chores.  When the sun shines, we think “carpe deum” (seize the day).  Yesterday, a scheduled visit to Titcombe Book Shop in Sandwich afforded just that.

I met with Titcombe Book Shop owner, delightful Nancy Titcombe.  Her kitchen is through a rear door in the bookshop.  So cozy and welcoming, I almost expect the tea kettle to be on a quiet simmer.

 

It is difficult for me to walk directly through a bookshop without perusing the aisles.  I made a mental note to check the book of letters to Jackie Kennedy and Caroline’s new book.

 

I spread out the additions to Andi’s People whimsical collection of cards and greetings, excited about all that is new.  I’m eager to hear Nancy’s news since our last visit and she listens with interest to the news of my children…one now a Sophomore at St. Michael’s in Vermont and two lined up to graduate from high school with their own pending college decisions.

 

I leave with an order, one more to add to my stack to process.

Sandwich Beach beckons.  As I leave the parking lot and head north on Rt. 6A, I take a quick right.  My eyes dart to one charming Cape Cod cottage after another.  When I reach the waterfront road, I turn left and admire the cottages lined up on the beachfront.  A “For Sale” sign in front of one cottage is an invitation to explore the view from the rear.

 

A sandy path down to the beach is too hard to resist.  The sea air is delicious and I fill my soul with its goodness.  Not a soul in sight as I gaze in both directions.  ‘The magic of the off-season’, I think to myself.

Back in my car I meander in the other direction.  A sign catches my attention.  I think of my website.  It is coming, I am promised.  I am waiting patiently.

I can’t wait to share it with you.

 

Thank you for visiting.  Please check back soon.

 

Andi

A Poem for Artists

oboe girl birthday card, personalized birthday card

Play a little on your birthday

Art-Making Poem

Friday, July 29, 2011 by Tara

Your gifts are shy,
and stand behind you,
like a child peeking out
from mommy’s leg.

But you already know that.

You’ve seen it a thousand times
as you tucked and buried them
wondering what was wrong with you.

It wasn’t you. Gifts are bashful.
Most live hidden, and die
in alleys or crumble into broken stones.

What to do?

How to entice them to open the sliding door
and step out?

A mad love for the thing itself
is the best remedy that’s been discovered

a love so wild you are willing to step
into the middle of a circle and dance.
You won’t know if the witnesses around you
are the neighbors
or the world
or just the critics from within

but you’ll go there
for the feeling of your foot sanding the floor,
for the flight in your chest when you jump.

That’s the best prescription:
a kind of foolery, a mad love.

But what if the fear has won out, you ask?

First, sink down to the floor and kiss
your feet.

Fall like someone has just
popped the balloon of you.

Then hug yourself into stillness.
Know that, sweetie, it will be alright.

Next build a fort in your bedroom,
a soft and covered spaced.
Pitch blankets, prop pillows,
bring a firefly inside for light.

Then take it out, whatever it is
your flute or your pen or your clay,
and say your prayer of thank you
for this everything: vessel for your thoughts,
ceaseless companion, adventure-bringer, peace song.

Then take the question, Is it good or not?
and send it to the river to fish.
Let it catch you dinner while you work.

You are not making to be good.
You are making because
it is the great romance of your life.

Then make something. A little thing.
Look at how it loves you
how it woke up the earth to you
and gave you the life-heart back

how the days are growing long again, as in childhood,
as if time is being given back to you
as you learn how your soul wants to fill it.

- Tara Sophia Mohr