Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: the virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.

Somebody call the case company

I’m feeling a particular longing increasingly frequently these days.

To see the sun, actually.  But rain and the dreariness of this foul weather are hardly blog topics.

No, what I long for is a tupperware.  I just attended a recital after which the performer’s mom–a chef–had a spread of 5+ cheesecake types.  The pumpkin spice was my favorite.  There’s only so much cheesecake this poor belly can take, though, and the sight of half-eaten cheesecaken waiting forlornly to head to somebody else’s fridge brought my lack of preparation home.  Other times I’ve wished for this recently:

Lunch today at church.  As I watched them wonder what to do with that full vat of incredible pasta..

Lunch on Sunday at the Johnson’s place.  That beef brisket was so good, and look at all those leftovers..

The strolling violin gig I did a couple of weeks ago at the fancy business club.  So many plates of easily-tupperwearable tasties..

Right now.  In fact, I should be in Bible study right now where the singing, loving, and pizza is..

And all of these have something in common: I’m playing violin at or around them.  So here is my idea: let’s get rid of the compartment in my violin case that’s full of non-edible things like metronomes, strings, and rosin, and let’s replace it with a removable, dishwasher and microwave-safe Gig’n'Grab Musician’s Food Tote.  Honestly, for a starving musician–and aren’t we all?–this is in an incredible idea.

I guess I’m not a woman after all

This post was going to be entitled “Signs that I am a woman.”  Then I wrote it and said to myself, “mighty sad list there, bucko.  Not a single mention of BBC movies or overanalyzing?  Psh.”  So now it’s “Signs that I have a sweets addiction.”  That’s better, right?

1) I have three types of chocolate waiting for me at home. 

2) I buy Ben and Jerry’s and eat it in my favorite chair when I’m stressed.

3) I received a set of springform pans for my birthday.

4) I can’t resist buying food that is both on sale and that I have a coupon for.  Especially sweets.

5) I shop to relax.  But not at the mall.  No.  At Kroger.  For desserts.  Or cheap cereal.  Or healthy junk food.  Man, I love healthy junk food.  You know the stuff, right?  Like Kashi cookies, Newman’s Own Organic chocolate, all-natural fruit roll-ups, etc.   Can’t resist.  Especially when #4 applies.

The cupcake pirate

Hannah and I had a terrific plan.  We were going to bake THIS.  Classy, eh?

We were all ready to go.  All we needed was the eight-inch springform pan.  

WHAT EIGHT INCH SPRINGFORM?

Back to the drawing board.              …                     …and I know what I want…

So we decide on a compromise between flourless chocolate cake and icecream:

Cooks’ Illustrated Best Recipes to the rescue, with this heavenly concoction on top.

AND THE NUMBER OF CAKES THOU SHALT BAKE SHALL BE MANY.

So here’s where we get down to the nitty-gritty.  Hopefully never, actually; we want the texture of these cupcakes to be like biting into a stick of chocolate-flavored butter.  I’d like that, at least.  Hannah doesn’t want heart disease, so we settled on half oil, half butter.

(Does anybody else think vanilla is the best scent in the world?)

BUT WAIT!  A CUPCAKE IS MISSING! WHO COULD BE THE CULPRIT?

…no idearr!

it’s best when conversations turn out this way

I
am
quite
fascinated
by
patterns
made
by
w
o
r
d
s

.

words of life

There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’

 So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.

 That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.

 When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

 But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.

 All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the houseboys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has ordered a feast—barbecued beef!—because he has him home safe and sound.’

 The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’

 His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’

My trip to Masterworks so far

Planned departure time: 9am

Current time: 11am

Nail: 1

Tire: 0

Caffeine: check

Departure: fail

My mom died on Friday the 19th.  We miss her, but we are joyful because she is home with Jesus.

Here is the good news, as told by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend:

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev’ry sin on Him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow’r of Christ in me;
From life’s first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow’r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow’r of Christ I’ll stand.

The goods

http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Whipped-Cream-Cream-Cheese-Frosting/Detail.aspx

http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Carrot-Cake-III/Detail.aspx

For Lydia’s Birthday

The cupcakes–O, so carrot-filled and young,
Beguiling in their not-yet bakéd tan
Ask questioningly through 350′s haze:
“Will you bake me too long yet again?”

“Nay,” I swear, and promptly burn my hand
As wingéd Hermes swoop I down to touch
The process of the oven’s science cure
And wonder if ‘twer springy or too mush

Methinks the cakes of joy are ready to be free
But firm ensconced in separate metal caves
They cling to bakeware’s tender touch and rest
As stumped I wait and watch them cool conclave

Well, shucks; it seems that first one met its match
When armed with knife and wit I scooped around
And liberated it! save that chunk there;
Perhaps you’d like to split this half newfound?

My plan is true, and safe save for the heart
To cover sin and woe of mauléd treats
For cream cheese frosting mixed with whippéd cream
Charms tongue and soul and stiffens arteries

A homemade pastry bag becomes my tool
Of artistry and fitting more on top
But Hannah says my swirls look too like poo;
My dreams of architecture sadly pop

With smacking lips we find that all ends well
Though some might say that snacking oft’s a vice
And, truth be told, I’ll make these treats again
‘Cept next time’s recipe I’ll measure twice!