In the bleak midwinter

This afternoon I drove to meet some friends in Oakland, and as I drove I listened to a Chanticleer CD. As I drove and watched the various scenes around me -- storm clouds gathering in the patches of sky between the sky scrapers, commuters and old people waiting at a bus shelter, a street person lurching across Broadway, business people on their phones -- all backed with transcendent harmony, it seemed as though I was driving through a beautiful, heartbreaking movie. I remembered a time when I was 19 and riding my bike along the ocean-front boardwalk in Santa Barbara, on my way to class. A storm was gathering that morning, also, and the sunrise set the clouds off from the ocean and the sky between them in a striking syncopation of grays that transitioned into the beautiful gold and green of the beach and cliffs. I stopped my bike and took it all in, and it occurred to me, there at 19, that I had only a few short days of life on this earth, and that I would miss it once I had gone. There are times when my world already echoes with my former presence, with who I was, what I hoped to accomplish. I wonder who I will be, what I have left to do, what difference I have yet to make, and for whom. The Christmas season always reminds me that I need to be thankful -- that I must be present and grateful for every humble moment, and not be fooled by mundane afternoons. 

In other news, holiday candy making is finally done. That cold I posted about turned into a mild case of walking pneumonia, which delayed me a week. But after a five-day course of antibiotics, I bounced back into the kitchen and promptly ruined two batches of lavender caramel. It was the weather -- way too humid. We don't have air conditioning, and so I gave up on caramels and made lavender truffles instead. The Hunky Scientist deemed them "interesting," but I liked them just fine. Then I candied some orange peels, dried them, and dipped them in semisweet chocolate, shaped some marzipan and did the same with it, made some almond clusters, then half-dipped some dried apricots. Very pretty. We've given most of it away, but have about four pounds left here at the house to disperse. As a Christmas gift to myself, I bought a big book called "Chocolates & Confections: Formula, theory, and technique for the artisan confectioner." The editor in me can't stand that prissy subtitle, but the candy maker in me is inspired. I can't wait to test out some of the recipes next year. For now, I've put away my dipping forks. There's just enough chocolate left for my husband to use in my birthday cake in January.