I have always enjoyed making risotto. Adding the broth one ladle at a time, letting the rice dry out before adding more. Gradually, watching it become a creamy mass. This time I added a little of my Mom’s saffron. I found it in a packet in her kitchen cupboard when we were preparing her house for sale. Inside the packet, a thin, waxy paper lining held the rust colored spice, like a rare golden dust that I sprinkled into the broth. Mom would have enjoyed a taste of this!
Hiking through a meadow of golden grasses, I spotted this tree curved around a boulder. Returning to trail head, the last mile of 12 in the dark, was a bit spooky. Even though we were tired, cold and hungry, the exhilaration of the day left us feeling fulfilled and grateful for the wilderness.
Ice is just beginning to form at the corner of Lake Ann.
Hiking on the Continental Divide provided ample doses of peace and beauty in late September.
Sun Star in a tidepool on the central Oregon Coast.
I spent Christmas Eve morning making 62 ravioli. In the background, the King’s College Choir at Cambridge sang Christmas Carol favorites. This is my first Christmas without my mother and my cat. The music of the season has been especially soothing. I feel as if I have come to a place of greater acceptance of both these losses. Though I still have my tear-filled moments, I have started to once again embrace the future.
