A Tale of Two.

Courage in a Coffee Shop.

Today, Erik was post call, and I am on vacation, which means that I leave the house so I don’t interrupt him while he gets some much needed sleep.  

My favorite days are the ones that include no plans, just spontaneous decisions. Today was just that.  I left the house and went for a drive.  And then I decided to stop for a coffee break.  

That is when I met Beverly.  

The Tucker Box, a coffee joint in White River, is a tiny little place.  And it was quite busy today at lunch.  The only spot for me to sit was at the bar next to an elderly, plain-looking woman.  I politely squeezed in, opened up “The Bee Eater” - a book on Michelle Rhee and her relentless approach to excellence in education - and waited on yesterday’s soup and my latte.  

Do you ever have moments when you’re trying to focus on something, but you can’t quite bring yourself to focus enough?  No, I’m not talking ADD.  I mean situationally.  It’s as if you know you should stop what you’re doing at the moment and do something else.  That was me today.  

There was so much hustle and bustle around the coffee shop; I am trying to read, a woman is almost touching my elbow to the right of me, a Japanese-speaking man is trying to communicate with the English speaking cashier, and the line of people waiting to order is out the door.  Not exactly a quiet reading environment.  An abundance of stimulation.

So I closed my book, sat it next to me, and turned to the elbow rubbing, elderly, plain-looking woman next to me.  

“What kind of tea are you drinking?”  

“Well, that’s a brilliant question.  I can’t quite remember myself, but I do know that it was supposed to taste like licorice, but I have yet to experience it.”

And so the conversation began.

She, Beverly, was on holiday from England, visiting her son who gave up his high paying PR job for an English government official to move to the Upper Valley to live with his girlfriend who attends Dartmouth graduate school, and now he’s a waiter.  She had never visited the Upper Valley, but said she found it ‘a delightfully intelligent place’ to take up residence, and she was proud of her son for following his heart (I wasn’t expecting to hear that, based on his career choices - it was refreshing).  

As it turns out, we have quite a bit in common.  Beverly, like myself, is a fellow advocate of education.  She was a professor of psychology at a community college in England, and she now works in the field of research, discovering the links and kinks between literacy and technology.  She was very much interested in my opinion on Michelle Rhee, merit-based pay, and teacher unions (and I was extremely eager to give my opinion on such things).  

We talked for an hour.  And the most fantastic comment she made to me was this:

“I am so delighted that you had the courage to strike up a conversation with me.”

Come again?  Courage? Really? Courage is something you find in the Wizard of Oz, on the streets of Afghanistan, in the heart of patients fighting cancer.  Nothing about striking up a conversation is courageous.

Or is it?  

How many times do we become so absorbed in our day to day comings and goings that we forget everybody, everything around us?  I would venture to say nearly always. 

We live in such a rushed, hurried, busy, task-oriented culture.  And it takes courage to step out of the normal.  To break the routine.  To befriend someone you might never see again.  To disrupt your focus and shift it to something potentially better or worse than what you had in mind.  It takes courage to act without knowing the outcome.

I’ve never been told that I am courageous.  Especially for simply talking and being myself (I’m usually told I’m weird, in most cases).  And perhaps I’m still not entirely convinced.  But I think I’ll keep practicing this courageous-ness and see what it brings. 

Perhaps you should do something not-so-ordinary today.  My not-so-ordinary something brought me inspiration and a new friend from England.  You just never know!  

Apple Hoopla.

It’s fall, which means apples, pumpkins, cider, and cinnamon-vanilla candles in my home.  And other delicious foods that I bake during the week.  Who doesn’t love a delicious REAL pumpkin pie or apple crisp?  Mmmm.

I took my students to the apple orchard last Friday, and the rest of the school decided to tag along.  The kids had a lot of fun!  I somehow was roped into holding Prakhyat’s hand the entire time (the cutest little 3 year-old boy), who really enjoyed taking an apple off the tree, shining it on his pants, taking a bite, and throwing it down.  Which, of course, sparked a mini-lesson about not wasting food and being nice to apples.  He apologized to his apples.  And then did it again.  Oy.

 I digress.

Windy Ridge orchard had several rows of delicious apples, a Cider House Cafe, a petting zoo with goats, sheep, pigs, and chickens (we didn’t pet the chickens), and nature trails.  The Cider House Cafe was so delicious!  All of their ingredients are homegrown, and those that aren’t from their farm are from neighboring communities.  It was a great kick off event for a unit I’ve created on sustainable agriculture and healthy eating.  

I bought a 10 lb. bag of apples that I picked during our trip.  This is significantly less than last year (I might have bought over 18 lbs. last year. Might have.).  So, naturally, I did a little baking!  

Let me introduce to you my good friend Apple Crisp.  Gluten Free, of course.  I would have taken a picture, but we ate half the pan (oops), so it didn’t look too pretty anymore.  All you wheat-haters, enjoy this melt-in-your-mouth goodness!

Desert Before Dinner (AKA Gluten Free Apple Crisp)

For Topping:

• 2 cups gluten free whole oats
• 1/3 cup almond meal
• 5 tbsp. turbinado (demurara) sugar
• 2 tsp. cinnamon
• 5 tbsp. butter, cut into small pieces

For Filling:

• 6 medium tart apples (I used macoun), cored and sliced into wedges
• lemon juice
• 100% pure maple syrup
• 1 tsp. cinnamon
• handful of brown rice flour

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. Butter a 9x9 baking pan.  Place all apples in the pan.  Drizzle lemon juice over the apples (enough to coat).  Toss.  Drizzle maple syrup over tops of apples.  Toss.  Sprinkle cinnamon and brown rice flour over the apple mixture.  Toss to make sure everything is coated.
3. Mix all ingredients together for the topping in a medium bowl.  Use your hands to “knead” the butter into the oat mixture.  When it’s ready to top the apples, it should stick together in little clumps.
4. Distribute topping mixture onto apples.  Bake for 30-40 minutes at 350.  Then EAT!

We ate our apple crisp with vanilla icecream, and we drizzled warm caramel sauce over the top.  I hope you love it as much as we do!

Cheers!

Why Not?

The Pattison house has been busy this past month!  Erik has been on the cardio thoracic service all month, which has been exhausting and time consuming and I started a new job as a teacher at a very small Christian academy.  So while Erik has been consumed with saving lives, I’ve been busy trying to figure out how best to mold them.  Our cup is overflowing in the absolute best of ways.

My wonderful parents flew back to Indiana today after a 7-day stay here in the Upper Valley.  It was so great to have them here!  Erik and I had so much fun showing them our favorite spots, taking them to little towns, and letting them experience the culture here.  My dad loved it here, which I knew he would, and he made the comment, “I could definitely live here.”  Of course I think they should. :)

Which got us thinking.

Erik and I have a simple little phrase we adopted when we began our marriage.  Two words with a lot of undeclared meaning: Why not?  We are passionate about not just dreaming of what could be, but actually making it happen.  Too often you hear older couples talk about what they could have or would done if they could do things over again.  I think that is sad.

Life is too short for woulda-coulda-shoulda.  

We want to embrace everything God put on earth for us to enjoy.  Mountains. Sunsets.  Lakes. Oceans. Countries. Cultures. Recreation.  The list goes on and on.

You don’t have to wait for a 5-day vacation to enjoy your favorite state or scenery.  You don’t have to live in the same town you grew up in just because your dad wants you to take over his business.  You don’t have to stay in the job you’ve hated but dealt with for 20 years because it pays well.  

You HAVE the option to take risks, to live truly alive, to wake up and be excited to drive to work and start your day, to love where the journey has taken you.  

We turned “coulda-shoulda-woulda” into “can, will, did.”  And God blessed us, abundantly.  

You know, I’m sure we surprised some people when we decided to place Dartmouth as our top choice for Erik’s residency.  We both loved the city of Indianapolis, and we enjoyed being close to the ones we love, so VERMONT? Really? Why? And our most common response: doesn’t it snow a lot there?

But we thought…why not?

And we’re here!  We’re happy.  We’re busy.  We’ve made more friends in the past 3 months than we did in our 2 years living in Indy.  We’re actually excited for winter (working on finding our skis!).  We spend most of our weekends hiking, biking, trail running, exploring.  And best of all, our hearts are alive with possibility, anticipation, dreams, and love for our new home.  This is the best decision we have ever made for our family!    

So if you’re hinging on a decision, or stuck in an awful rut, what’s the hold up?  If you’re the praying type, pray for discernment.  If you’re the pros and cons type, throw away your dang list and stop being so logical.  Not everything makes sense or comes together to fit perfectly.  But if you trust, embrace, and relentlessly chase after something, you just might find that it makes more sense than you ever thought it could.  

To Darren, Britney, Adam, Amanda, Lindsey, Heather, Derek, Bradley, Mandy, Nathan & Erik, I’m glad we’re in this dream-chasing bit together.  It’s a wild ride, isn’t it? :)

Cheers!

The Latest Moos.

Corny, but I’m pretty sure that the cow Erik hit on Route 5 is no longer mooing.  Or maybe he is?  We don’t really know, because he abandoned the scene of the accident.  

I woke up to a 5:15 AM wake up call on Wednesday that went a little something like this:

“Hi honey. I hit a cow.” (keep in mind that this is Erik speaking…totally calm and collected)

“WHAT! You hit a COW?”

“I hit a cow.”

“Oh my gosh.  Are you okay?”

“Yah, I’m fine, but my car’s not.”

“Well what about the cow??!”

“I don’t know, he layed on the ground for a few minutes and then he kind of trotted off up the hill.  I need you to come get me.”

I’m still concerned about the cow, for the record.  Can’t help it.

That’s not something you hear every day.  And to put this into perspective on where we live, cows are not hit daily.  This one had wondered pretty far away from where he was supposed to be (there are no cows pastures by the Hanover/Norwich split), and he was standing smack dab in the middle of the road, just past a blind curve.  Not exactly the best spot.  By the time I arrived, Erik and our neighbor (who just happened to be driving by) had managed to get the car out of the road.  Several nice and interested people were stopping to figure out if they could help in any way, and the police officer who filed the report for us was a true gentleman.  He is still trying to figure out which farmer owns the cow.  I really don’t think this accident could have gone any smoother, really.  

So, Erik’s beloved Corolla is totaled, and we are car shopping! He’s cruising around in his rental, a black HHR, while I’m mourning the fact that I wish he’d been driving my Sunfire so I could be the one car shopping.  

Anywho, Erik’s fine, and we’re happy.  I’ve been wheelin’ and dealin’ with vultures ( or car salesmen) who apparently think that I’m a weak-minded, stupid woman that would be fine with test driving cars that are 10K over our price range.  Really?  Turns out, if you ask me the same question 10 times, you’re going to get the same answer 10 times, only with stronger words and more emphasis.  Those sorry salesman realized after an hour of me declining their exorbitant offers that I, in fact, was not quite the customer they were hoping I would be.  I did my man proud.

Cheers to the full Vermont experience! And prayers for the poor cow.