What Is up with Amber?

“What is not up with Amber?” should be the question. I’ve been having one of those whole “life interrupted” experiences filled with non-stop streams of sour news and chaotic crap that continues to happen, leaving the well of my writing resourcefulness rather dry, in turn leading to my noticeable absence from my blogging abode and making me wonder if this drought of mine has lead to a whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” effect, as a few friends have been moved to remind me of said absence and offhandedly mention that more frequent bloggage would be nice – would be nice to have for some summer [break] reading material that is . . . .

So at this point my mind jumps a bit – perhaps it’s a lack of self-esteem on my part, or perhaps even the opposite, an overdriven ego which has made me misunderstand my friends’ insinuations, but I find it very odd that I am relied upon as the source of anyone’s summer entertainment, for I am sure there far more entertaining reads (with far shorter sentences) at one’s local library than I can ever ink out: The Woman Who Walked into Doors and its somewhat superior sequel Paula Spencer, both written by Irish author Roddy Doyle, being two perfect examples . . . , just sayin’. *smiles coyly*

Nonetheless, a request has been made (I think), and I certainly do not want to let the very small handful of those who have been steadfast readers of my scribed spewing down and out, which leaves me to beg the question: What do I do when life throws me dried up lemons with no writing wit in sight . . . ?

I post a recipe for CITRUS SUGAR COOKIES, and give the requesters something to do during this turbulent time of mine, hoping they will still be around when I make my return to regularly written essays.

May you be able calm your cravings with something for your palate while I calm the chaotic currents of my currently crazy life . . . . Happy baking!

CITRUS SUGAR COOKIES (recipe adapted by moi from http://www.marthastewart.com/)

Makes about 30 large cookies

* indicates to check note at base of recipe

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
1/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
2 large eggs
*2 tablespoons finely chopped candied orange peel (optional, but don’t use orange zest if using candied peel)
Zest of one lemon
Zest of one lime
Zest of one orange
*1/8 tsp lemon or lime oil
*1/4 tsp orange oil
Fine sanding sugar, for sprinkling

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with Silpats or parchment paper; set aside. Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside.

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter and the granulated and brown sugars on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating to incorporate after each addition. Mix in candied orange peel, the zests, and the oils. Reduce mixer speed to low, and slowly add dry ingredients. Beat until fully combined and dough begins to form around paddle.

3. Use a *2-inch ice-cream scoop to drop cookies onto prepared baking sheets about 2 inches apart. Flatten cookies with palm of hand. Sprinkle with sanding sugar. Using a pastry brush, lightly brush tops with water. Sprinkle with more sanding sugar. Transfer to oven, and bake until just set and beginning to turn golden at edges, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from oven. Transfer cookies to wire rack to cool completely.

*Candied orange peel can sometimes be found in stores around the holidays, but there are recipes on the internet to make your own.

*The citrus oils can be found at most stores with candy making supplies. For example, in Columbus they can be found at Drug Mart and Hobby Lobby.

*Feel free to make the cookies as large as called for in the recipe, but they are just as I said, large. I usually make them with a traditional cookie scoop and begin to check them after about 6 min. Always check your baked goods early until you know best how they will bake in your oven.

Diamond in the Rough

Sleeping soundly, dreaming peacefully, all is right in the world . . . until the blaring begins in my ears and makes me forget my pleasant dream. Ugh, I reach my hand over my head in an attempt shut off the alarm. I slam on the snooze, but to no avail, the pounding at my peace is not my everyday alarm which usually wakes me around 8, but is my ringing phone for which is now unexpectedly interrupting my slumber at 7:30. It takes a moment, but then I remember that it's Monday. Before I even look at the phone I know who is calling; I pretty much know what is going to be said before I even answer it.

I push the button and do my best to make it seem as though I have been awake for awhile. Even though I already know I'm going to have to call my husband in five minutes and sweetly ask him to come home for a bit to take our son to school, I let my friend explain his situation, that his oldest of two daughters is sick, and unless I want to risk my own daughter becoming ill, he is not be able to take my Emie to school on this "Manic Monday". The quiet morning I have planned to have at home has just been cancelled.

I sucked up the sleepiness, did what I needed to do, and tried to ignore the fact that I really could have used that extra 30 minutes of sleep. I also tried to ignore the fact that I missed a lot of time with my family the day before to run the errands, errands I could have been running while my daughter was a school had I known I would not be able to take advantage of my abode. Frustrated with the turn of events, knowing that driving back home and returning to pick up my daughter and her friend (my aforementioned friend's youngest daughter who was in tow) was going to waste an hour of my time, I glanced at stack of books on top of my laptop next to me on my path to preschool and told myself that if I couldn't do housework, I was going to find somewhere quiet to read during this two hour duration I needed to fill.

After kissing the girls goodbye and leaving them to learn, I begin to drive aimlessly in pursuit of a destination, a quaint place to read my books. I think of my favorite coffee shop, coincidentally much closer to the preschool than my home, and take a few wrong turns before arriving. I order cup of hot chai and sit it down next to my laptop to cool a bit. I sit staring at the laptop, knowing that bringing it in would inevitably cause me to put off my reading material. "I'm just going to check my email and facebook account," I tell myself. The next thing I know I am perusing my twitter feed, which I use mainly to follow others, because tweeting is not something I do so much. John Cusack, who loves to tweet, tweet, and retweet, has filled my feed with his thoughts, links, and a quote, a quote that I happen to fall in love with, and suddenly I'm on a quest to add this fascinating find to my email siggie, not an easy task for a low-tech girl like myself.

I end up spending a chubby chunk of my time figuring out how to add this quote to my signature, an experience which forces my fingers to pound away at the keyboard once again. Before I know it my two hours are up, and no novel reading in sight. Normally I would be bummed that I didn't take full advantage of my hazy little diamond in the rough, uninterrupted time to read, but in this case the diamond I do discover is much clearer, whiter, and has a much better cut. It sparkles very brightly and lights the sometimes dim bulb in my brain, for the quote of which I've mentioned has been the gem for which I've been searching, the opening line to something I've been working on since beginning this blog a few months ago, the opening line of an essay which should appear on a blog page near you sometime soon.

Diamonds are rare and hard to find, and finding this one has let me know that writing is what I'm meant to be doing right now . . . that I need to let go of the fact that not many are reading and that the stories I tell need to satisfy no one other than me. For the few of you who keep returning, I'm pleased that you enjoy what I write and I thank you for your loyalty. This day my wish for you is to be blessed with the ability make lemonade out of lemons and find your own sparkling diamond in the rough.

‘Words Like Violence Break the Silence’

Talking, as I have previously established, is something I like to do frequently and for long periods of time. Much of this issue with my 'diarrhea of the mouth' is just part of who I am, but as I've stated before, it's been worsened by the fact that the only two people I get to talk to all day are ages six and two, and as interesting as my conversations with Aidan and Emie may be, they are not exactly the stimulating adult dialogues I crave so dearly day after day. So when presented with the prospect to speak with other, as my kids would say, grown-ups, I ramble on raggedly, even when my 'words are meaningless and forgettable', and the above mentioned children are assailing my arms and pleading for departure. Nonetheless, there are indeed times where I find 'words are unnecessary', and I wish to not be spoken to, and do not want to use my vast aptitude for verbiage to speak in return, but when that time is deeply desired, 'words like violence break the silence, come crashing in, into my little world' and I am walloped with the very verbal violence I've subjected so many others to time and time again.

The time someone else's chatter creates chaos on my composure and when uncommunicativeness becomes utterly important is when 'all I've ever wanted and all I've ever needed is here in my arms' – meaning there is a book is nested comfortably between my two hands. One of my favorite things to do is to escape into the world of someone else's imagination and not come up for air until I deem myself ready to do so. However, upon reaching the pinnacle of any narrative, I certainly become the most imperative person in the world to family, friends, and sometimes strangers. Emie predictably needs help on the potty; Aidan's toy inevitably needs batteries; Hallo, our precious pup, without doubt wants left outside; a friend indubitably calls to converse (which rarely happens due to my aforementioned defect); and my husband definitively decides this is the moment to actually have quaint conversation with his wife. Sometimes I feel as if I am about to split open at the seams when such situations strike and certainly am stirred to spout out, "Leave me the hell alone, I just want to finish this chapter". While that does happen on occasion, especially if it's my husband who has instigated the interruption, I usually put on my polite grin and address whoever it is that needs my attention, attention which is only precious to others when I am doing something I enjoy so immensely, such as perusing the pages of my favorite plot.

Of course, since I am indeed inspired to share such seething with you at this moment, you can confidently come to the conclusion that this interruption into my escape in fact happened today, when I was thoroughly engrossed in the first book of my favorite series of novels. I took said book to the gym, and doing so must have meant I was wearing a sign that said, "I'm desperate, please talk to me." I promise you, I have went to the gym many a time with no reading material and no one ever wanted to share with me the cute things their little tots did that morning or what their favorite movie was, but if I have a book in hand, I suddenly achieve the popularity I once longed for in high school but would much rather do without in moments like these. By now you are probably begging the question of why I would take a book to the gym in the first place, as one would not reasonably go to the gym to read. Well no, I do not go to the gym with the sole intention to read, rather to take my 9:30 class. However, my son Aidan is a walking kindergartener, which translates to me having to drop him off at school at 9:00 and pick him up at 11:30 each day, in turn leaving me no time to return home before or after class, but just enough time to sink into in my favorite story. Today however, I was beaten with a barrage of bedlam on my brain, which has now left it bouncing like a raft on the rapids of a river rather than in the peaceful placidity and alternate universe of my beloved book.

So my friends, today I have been reminded of a lesson I learned long ago . . . karma is a bitch. I have complexity to conquer, one of becoming cognizant of when to cage the cackle. There is indeed a time to Enjoy the Silence, and I am not the only one who wishes to partake of such pleasures. Perhaps I may get the sweet silence I seek if I remember that what goes around comes around and that you only get what you give.

The title of this blog and all single quoted phrases are from the song Enjoy the Silence, written by Martin Gore and originally sung by Depeche Mode.