blerg

I started this post once, trying for a cute opening - something lighthearted. Alas, dear reader, I am not quite lighthearted at the moment. There's nothing serious going on, just a lot of little things adding up to a feeling that can best be summarized á la Liz Lemon: blerg. I have wavered between wallowing in it and trying to buck up and get over myself. (Hopefully you'll forgive a little wallowing? Oh, good.)

So I was just looking through old journal entries, wallowing, wondering how I'd ever - oh, I don't know, find a satisfying career, become a writer, deal with friends leaving for school, write a blog post. Then, solving the latter problem at least, I found an entry with this phrase inherited from the Quakers: way opens.

I've written about this phrase before. It's helped me get through some rough times, most of which are too personal to write up here. It - like "your life is beautiful" - is a good reminder to have written down somewhere, especially when you are in your early-to-mid-twenties and all your friends are figuring out what they want to do with your lives and you feel lost in the wilderness. (I did mention a little wallowing, right? I promise, that's it.) Because, honestly, all I need to do is buck up and a way will open. It may not be the way I planned on - already my life has changed dramatically from the way I envisioned it - but it will be beautiful in its own right.


Moving on, there is another thing I inherited from the Quakers and that is potlucks. There was a while in DC where we had a weekly potluck set up - and sometimes it would only be four people, sometimes it would be many more - but when my friend Josh went off to Israel for grad school, they pretty much ceased. So I took it upon myself to make them happen again. After months of emailing friends and coordinating schedules, we finally managed to get together to share food and company.

I will spare you a discussion on why eating is an important community-building exercise. For now.


I thought to make popovers. What I wound up making was something between a muffin and a scone. They were by all accounts edible, but that is not quite enough for me anymore. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I tried again the very next night. The scent of parmesan and thyme filled my apartment for a second time, and I tried my very best to follow the recipe exactly, not straying one iota from what was written. I did not check on them, except at the fifteen minute mark when I turned down the temperature. They had started to rise! Maybe they will pop yet!

As you can tell, dear reader, they did not. Sigh.

I could try to gloss it over, give you a recipe for some indefinite "parmesan and thyme quickbread," but it's not good enough. Instead you get another story of kitchen failure - and if anyone has any advice for baking popovers, please, let me know!