27. Dinner for Six

Another weekend, another dinner party...that's pretty much the way it is around here. While many of you are now firing up the grill and visiting the farmers' market for fresh asparagus and greens, those of us in northern New England are still trying to push winter out the door. Our seasonal spring meals will come in May, if we're lucky.

Last Saturday we had a particularly congenial group of friends both old and new over for dinner. And I took a chance, preparing a recipe that I'd never made before. A few weeks earlier my friend Debby had served it at her husband's birthday party and it was so good that I left the gathering with recipe in hand. It cooks in a crock pot and along about 4:30 on Saturday afternoon I just about panicked, thinking it would not be done in time. I seriously considered dashing to the supermarket for salmon, potatoes and South American asparagus. But I decided to have faith in the instructions and everything came out well.

The crock pot I use belonged to my grandparents and has to be well over 30 years old. It is an unfashionable harvest gold and is quite large. The lid is held together by duct-tape and the exterior is covered in nicks and scars. It is perfectly dependable and I love that it has been passed down thru the generations.

So here's my new dinner party recipe, just right for a cool spring evening in Maine. I served it with Michael's Salad (see No.10, Rx for the Winter Blahs) and a guest brought dessert. Couldn't be easier.

Slow-Cooker Pork and Black Bean Stew (adapted from Real Simple)

2 12-ounce bottles of lager beer

1 tablespoon chopped canned chipotle chilies in adobo sauce, plus 1 tablespoon adobo sauce

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 large onion, chopped

1 pound dried black beans, rinsed and sorted

1 1/2 pounds boneless pork butt (pork shoulder)

kosher salt

In a slow cooker combine beer, 3 cups water, chilies, adobo sauce, cumin, onion and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Stir in beans (yes, they will cook in time without soaking) and add pork. Cook on high, covered, until beans are tender and pork pulls apart easily, about 5 to 6 hours. With a fork separate the pork into large pieces.

Now comes the fun part: Divide among individual bowls and top with southwestern-inspired condiments such as cooked corn, salsa, sour cream, guacamole and chopped fresh cilantro. Crumble some tostada chips on top and you've got a great dish. This serves 6 generously and you'll be grateful for any leftovers!

26. Birthday

Last week my mother turned 80. So many feelings have been stirred up because of that...I hardly know where to begin. How can my mother be 80? How is it that I am old enough to have an 80 year-old mother? How much longer do I have with her? What will I be like when I'm 80 and Emily is 50?

First of all, I am so very sorry that I was not there to help her celebrate this notable occasion. Missing this particular birthday ranks high on the list of reasons not to live in Maine. And what would I have done for her? I would have had a party-all of our family that could possibly come and any of her friends, too. A house full of flowers and a marvelous meal. A cake, either homemade or the best one I could afford. For reasons too complicated to go into here, my mother did not have a birthday cake this year and that breaks my heart.

Hidden beneath the smooth veneer of good Southern manners is a somewhat strained relationship between my mother and myself. As a teenager and young adult I did not go to her for advice or to confide, fearing her stern admonition and disapproval. She had her Baptist mind set and did not like my pushing the boundaries. Throughout those years we somehow managed to get along; she, worried all the time and I, craving someone to talk to. In hindsight I'd say we were equally at fault in this impasse, unable to cross the imaginary line keeping us from intimacy and hurting because of it.

Only once in my entire life do I feel she has let me down. Being human, that is unfortunately what I recall foremost rather than the hundreds of times she has stood by me. When I left my first husband and it became clear that we were not going to reconcile, she would not speak to me. I remember calling home and talking first with my dad, and when I asked to speak to Mother, he said She doesn't want to talk to you. She might as well have slapped me in the face. But time intervened, I married a man she has come to adore, and I gave her Emily, her first grandchild. She has been the best grandmother I could possibly imagine and Emily loves her dearly.

Since my brother's death in 2004 and my parents' subsequent grief and illnesses our relationship has changed, and for the better. There have been times of closeness that would not have been possible earlier. My mother's intense desire to always do the right thing and make the right decision has been tempered by tragic experience and unwelcome accidents. We have been able to talk about death, religion, homosexuality and a host of other topics that once would have been off-limits. To my surprise and despite my left-leaning tendencies I believe she has come to see me as a wise woman and actively seeks my advice and counsel.

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror I am caught off-guard because...yes, you guessed it...I see my mother. But all in all I am grateful for that because she has taught me so much about the importance of love in this life: loving a spouse, loving a child, loving friends and loving being alive.

25. Sabbatical

For the past 4 weeks I have been on sabbatical. Although I like my church job very much, indeed even thrive on it, having this much free time from the ever-recurring Sunday morning has been a tremendous gift. A little breathing space, a chance to step back and think, some time to see friends- these and more have been most welcome.

Somehow I missed the idea of resting during a sabbatical and instead am hard at work. Most mornings I have been driving 17 miles to St. Francis church in Blue Hill to practice on their fine Wilhelm organ. And on Fridays I've made the 2 1/2 hour trek to Brunswick for a lesson with my teacher Ray. The practice time has been pure bliss-although I normally practice quite a bit each week it's always with the goal of having something ready for an upcoming Sunday. For the past few years I've wanted to learn some specific new repertoire and have been frustrated in my attempts to do that. So after careful thought I decided to focus on the following: Bach's Prelude and Fugue in G Major (the most challenging piece I've ever played), Vierne's lovely, evocative Clair de Lune, and two chorale preludes by Brahms, O Welt, ich muss dich lassen and Herlich tut mich erfreuen. I have made great progress on these works but likewise have discovered that I must keep them at the top of my priority list for some time if I'm ever to perform them successfully.

Not having to play on Sunday I have taken the opportunity to attend other churches, mostly Episcopal, in the area. Last weekend a friend of Bill's was visiting and when I told him I was on sabbatical he commented Great! Then you can sleep in tomorrow! I replied that no, I was planning to go to church, and he looked baffled. So I explained that I wanted to hear my colleagues play and see what creative things other parishes were doing with liturgy. While that may be true, it is not the complete truth. I am actually going to church on my days off because I want to. I need that time of quiet, of getting away from my own concerns, of being in the spiritual presence of something greater than myself...I need to worship.

I will be "back on the bench" this week and I am ready. I have missed playing that spine-tingling postlude, registering the hymns in a way that brings out the text, setting the last note of the prelude in just the right place. And I look forward to seeing my choir, with their eager faces full of anticipation and trust.

24. Reading List

For weeks I have been thinking about this list of the best books I read in 2009. Should I just include the top 5? Will anyone actually look at the entire list if it's long? Who am I to voice an opinion about these books? My reading got off to a shaky start last year; I read a few truly mediocre things and wondered what was going on, even thinking that the craft of writing was going downhill. But then after a few weeks I hit my stride and haven't stopped since. Already in 2010 I've read something notable and have a huge pile of promising suspects next to my bed.

So here's my lengthy list of favorites for last year, mostly in the order I read them. And I would love to hear your comments on these books, too, if you are familiar with them.

Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson. Petterson is Norwegian and his description of landscape is hauntingly beautiful. The main character is a retired man who returns home to live out his years in a remote cabin. Flashbacks of his younger days with his father are interspersed with adjusting to life alone.

The Hearts of Horses by Molly Gloss. An independent, go-getter young woman makes her living breaking horses in Oregon during World War I.

The Tenth Muse-My Life in Food by Judith Jones. Jones, editor for Julia Child, writes a chatty, but inspiring book about the importance of good food. I particularly liked her admonition to cook well, even if it's just for one.

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout. There has been so much said about this book; what can I possibly add? That in my last days I don't want to look back and see that I've squandered day after day. I will read this again.

Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher. Pipher is best known for her Reviving Ophelia, a book I didn't much like. But this one is full of wisdom for a woman my age. She is a stunningly compassionate and astute writer.

American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld. A fictional biography of Laura Bush. Not being a fan of Mrs. Bush , I absolutely DID NOT want to read this book! But a choir member thrust it into my hands and said You have got to read this. She was right: I couldn't put it down and likewise learned something about seeing a story from more than one side.

Appassionata by Eva Hoffman. The title refers to Beethoven's piano sonata of the same name and well describes the temperaments of the two main characters. Isabel, an accomplished pianist, begins a tumultuous affair during a concert tour with Anzor, a Chechen man. Along the way she begins to question the importance and significance of her chosen career and wonders does making music do any good for the world?

Where Dreams Die Hard by Carl Stowers. A small, sweet story of one year in the life of the 6-man football team in Penelope, Texas. I know something about this town, as my first husband was pastor of the Baptist church there in 1977 and I, of course, played the piano for services.

Drinking the Rain by Alix Kates Shulman. Compelling memoir of a woman finding herself in her 50's, after raising a family and discarding a bad marriage. Her later memoir, To Love What Is: A Marriage Transformed was on my list last year.

The Whole World Over by Julia Glass. A good, old-fashioned novel with believable, quirky characters to love, cry over and encourage. Much of the story takes place in Santa Fe and I could taste the green chilies and feel the unrelenting southwestern sun.

A Happy Marriage by Rafael Iglesias. The saga of a marriage, not always or conventionally happy, from the first meeting to final goodbye. The book alternates between the couple's last few years, as he cares for his dying wife, and the story of their courtship, marrying, raising children and negotiating the hurdles of life. You'll shed tears over this one.

Why Religion Matters by Huston Smith. This venerable author explains just why religion does matter to our hungry, suffocated souls. The finitude of mundane existence cannot satisfy the human heart completely. Built into the human makeup is a longing for a "more" that the world of everyday experience cannot requite. Not an easy read, but worth the struggle.

That's it. Twelve notable and worthy books. Happy Reading.

23. Cooking with Christie

New Year's Eve has always been an overrated holiday in my book. For years I ignored it by hosting a big open house on January 1, complete with a pot of black-eyed peas for good luck, of course. With 30 or so friends arriving on our doorstep that day, there was no way I could go out and party the night before. But more recently Bill and I have been going to Connecticut for the holiday to visit our friends Christie and Jay and I'm learning how to celebrate in style. Despite having to dodge snowstorms on each trip, I like this new tradition and hope it will continue.

Christie and I met in 1985 when our babies were baptized together in Dallas. Subsequently both of our families moved to New England and even though we live 400 miles apart our friendship has prospered. I-95 from Maine to Connecticut has become commonplace for both of us- no map needed. Up until their college years Christopher or Emily would usually be in tow and we even stopped for a visit on our way to Emily's first semester at GW.

Very early in our friendship Christie and I found we were both interested in cooking good, healthy and at times unusual food. We discovered the wisdom of Jane Brody together and have searched out many a recipe containing olives or capers. My cookbooks are filled with notations such as made this with Christie or recommended by Christie and I have a large pile of recipe clippings that she's sent me from the New York Times. Each of our visits has been a chance to experiment with something new or show off a recent success.

This New Years was no exception. On December 30 Bill and I headed down the highway to spend the holiday with Christie and her husband Jay. When we walked into the house savory rosemary pecans and spicy olives were awaiting us, with sherry and white wine to drink. Before much time had passed Christie and I began to discuss our New Year's Eve menu. We tossed around a few ideas and looked thru cookbooks and clippings. And we came up with a fabulous meal to celebrate the old and anticipate the new. Here's the menu:

Chicken with Capers and Lemons

Roasted Carrots and Parsnips

Green Goddess Salad

Strawberries and Pecans Flambe'

And of course, French champagne. Make that 2 bottles.

Below you'll find some recipes. As many of us enter the gloomy, bitter, dark months of winter, I recommend inviting a few friends over to share this meal, guaranteed to chase away the doldrums. Happy New Year!

Chicken with Capers and Lemons (serves 4)

Roasted Lemons:

3 medium lemons, scrubbed, thinly sliced and seeded

1 teaspoon olive oil

1/8 teaspoon sea salt or more to taste

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and arrange the lemons in a single layer. Brush lemons with oil and sprinkle with salt. Roast until slightly dry and beginning to turn brown around the edges, about 30 minutes.

Chicken:

Boneless, skinless, thinly sliced chicken breast halves, about 1 pound

1/8 teaspoon salt, or to taste

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1/4 cup all purpose flour

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 1/4 cups fat free, lower sodium chicken broth

3/4 cup white wine

2 tablespoons rinsed and drained capers

2 teaspoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, divided

Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. Dredge in flour to coat both sides. Shake off excess flour. In a large nonstick skillet, heat the oil over medium high heat. Add chicken and cook until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Add chicken broth and wine and bring to a boil, scraping up any browned bits. Cook until liquid has thickened, about 5 to 8 minutes, turning chicken halfway.

Add roasted lemons, capers, butter, 2 tablespoons parsley and more pepper if desired. Simmer until butter melts and chicken is cooked through, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a serving platter, sprinkle with remaining parsley and serve.

Green Goddess Salad (we used a recipe from the New York Times, available online)

Sauteed Pecans with Strawberries Flambe' (from Bragg Pecans in Hondo, Texas) serves 4

1/3 cup pecan or other nut oil

1/2 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 cup brandy

1 cup fresh pecans

1 pound fresh strawberries, washed, hulled and sliced

1 quart vanilla ice cream

Saute pecans in oil with the brown sugar until sugar is dissolved and begins to bubble. Add strawberries and warm through. Add brandy, ignite, stand back and SCREAM! Allow alcohol to completely burn off and serve over ice cream.

22. A Funeral

The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God...

The Book of Wisdom

In my work as a church musician I find that I prefer to play for funerals rather than weddings. Before I am accused of being macabre, let me explain. Many couples come to Bar Harbor for "destination weddings" and treat the music for the ceremony as peripheral to the bride's gown, the flowers, the dinner and all that. Often the entire wedding party just seems eager to get to the reception afterwards and I end up feeling like the "hired help."

A funeral or memorial service is a different story, however. Music here is traditionally used to set a somber, soothing tone, and also allows mourners to recall memories of the beloved. But most of all it is able to express bereavement beyond words.

Last week I played for the funeral of a 20 year-old boy from Mount Desert Island. Benjamin had been at a party, drinking, and wandered outside where he passed out and died from exposure. From reading his obituary I determined that life had already thrown this sweet young man some hard knocks and I was captivated by this line: He will be missed by his canine companions Zoey and Danny.

About half an hour before the service I walked into the church to organize my music. Already there were two pews filled with stone-faced young women, staring silently ahead, full of grief and disbelief. Gradually the church filled to capacity with friends and relatives of this lobstering family, who was now facing the unthinkable. I played Bach and Brahms. Despite knowing that these works were most likely unfamiliar to the listeners, I played them anyway, confident of their ability to offer solace and comfort.

Our rector Jonathan tackled the circumstances of Benjamin's death head-on. He did not mince words about dying and acknowledged the questioning of God that was surely going on among the congregation. Why did God not save Benjamin? How could God let this happen?

Most of us have wondered the same... I grew up with a theology which encouraged me to believe in an all-powerful, omniscient God. This God had his finger on the world and controlled everything. Tragic events were somehow "God's will" and good people were rewarded with loving families and material success. I started the painful, never-ending process of questioning these beliefs while in college. And I see now that one's theology is never concrete; it ebbs and flows, expands and contracts, with the experiences life provides us.

It seems to me that what I call God is with us, period. In the bountiful times, the ordinary times, the horrific times, the brokenhearted times. There is nothing or no one who can protect us from life or death. We live, with all that encompasses, and we die. In the tragedy of Benjamin's young death my faith allows me to be comforted in knowing that in that cold, dark woods he was not alone.

21. A Texas Thanksgiving

It's that time of year again- snow boots down from the attic, frost on my car windows in the morning, hardening ground underfoot, growing darkness on both ends of the day. The leaves are off the trees and now one can see the houses, barns and clutter that have been hidden all summer. All these signs point to the November-December holidays. As an exile in Maine I have always found Thanksgiving to be the most difficult holiday to be away from Texas. Not Christmas, you might ask? No, Christmas is mostly about work for me- there's no time to feel homesick.

It's turkey day that gets to me. After living in Maine for 16 years we have never established our own Thanksgiving tradition. Several times we have had friends over and often have been invited elsewhere. We've tried restaurants and have gone to Texas once or twice. But I just can't get away from the feeling that Thanksgiving is really about sitting around a big table with my family and stuffing ourselves with a Butterball bird and cornbread dressing.

All of this should take place, of course, at my family home in Lubbock, and therein lies a new wrinkle in this year's celebration. It has now been a year since I have been to Lubbock: the family home has been sold and my parents have moved to a suburb of Dallas. And despite agreeing with the Dixie Chicks' view of my hometown- Dust bowl-Bible belt-Got more churches than trees- at times I find myself longing for the wide open spaces, dazzling light, and big, big sky.

When I learned that Emily would not be coming to Maine for Thanksgiving I just couldn't stand the thought. So I immediately started searching for affordable flights and a Sunday sub and Bill and I made plans to head to Texas for a week. We stayed with my mom and dad in their retirement apartment in Irving, visited some friends, heard the Dallas Symphony and enjoyed sunny, warm weather. But most importantly we had Thanksgiving dinner around a big, jovial table, surrounded by family.

Last Decemeber I wrote about my struggles with Yankee stuffing and my frustration at trying to replicate my mother's cornbread dressing. Well, I had a hands-on lesson from her and now I can do it! The torch of hosting Thanksgiving dinner was officially and successfully passed to my sister Amy. It wasn't Thanksgiving in Lubbock, but it was close enough.

I suppose many of us in our 50's question some of the choices we've made: leaving home to go to college, moving to the big city of Dallas, finally settling down in Maine. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have my parents hear one of my recitals, to see my niece and nephew on a regular basis, to enjoy family gatherings frequently instead of twice a year. (And yes, I know those get-togethers can be burdensome.) My career and a treasure trove of good friends and memories are here in Maine, but I am sometimes lonely for those blood-ties.

This fall I've become well-acquainted with a musical setting of Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken by composer Randall Thompson. For many children memorizing this poem is de rigueur in elementary school, but thanks to this wistful, poignant song I feel that I have at last, as an adult, heard the meaning of Frost's famous words.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost