I baked these molasses-coconut cookies some time early last week. And last week has become a distant hazy memory. I do remember the cookies were good. Everyone here liked them. Semi-soft and chewy. Good with milk. According to Sharon Tyler Herbst, chancaca is a “crude native molasses.” Further, “most palates prefer a more refined flavor.” Sounds vaguely prejudiced to me. Anyway, she substituted a light unsulphured molasses for chancaca in the recipe. My refined palate probably wouldn’t notice the difference.
I don’t know if you know this, but I do check the stats of this blog more regularly than I post to it. I can see that I’ve had visitors every day since last posting; visitors in an amount completely unwarranted by what little I’ve had to say here over all, let alone of late. I’ve been silent because I’ve been busy. And because I’ve been in pain and a little drugged up.
Saturday, as I left a wonderful party in the beautiful home of a gracious host, knitting friend and fellow blogger (A Crunchy Life; party co-hosted by another knitting friend, the oh-so-talented KAB of KAB’s Creative Concepts), I managed to miss a step and land on my ankle rather than my foot. I felt or heard something sinister, and was fairly sure I’d fractured something and, indeed, I had. After three plus hours in the emergency room I learned I had given myself a badly sprained ankle and an avulsion fracture. I also skinned one elbow. For the next little while (or long while — haven’t learned just how many days or weeks I’ll be living like this yet) I’m wearing an air-cast and using crutches to get around, elevating my foot whenever possible and avoiding putting weight on it at all times. I’m also building up sorely-lacking upper body strength I never imagined I’d need (emphasis on sore intended).
We have two sets of narrow steep steps in this house, and I must use one set every day if I want to sleep in my own bed, or drink coffee in my own kitchen — those being the two essentials in life, yes? I have never summoned more intentionality into how I move through space in my life as I do when climbing or descending those stairs. Plant, lift, controlled upswing, and repeat. Or lower, plant, controlled fall, and repeat. This is teaching me to be present in the moment and aware of every portion of my body in space like nothing else quite ever has.
The timing of this life lesson is … a little inconvenient. But I’m doing my best to make the most of what I can do and let go of what I simply cannot. I think it’s a good thing — an apropos of Advent thing even. As an annual Advent calendar we used to receive in our NYC Episcopal church days said: “Slow down. Quiet. It’s Advent.” Even if it does hurt like hell.