A new favorite coffee mug

A new favorite coffee mug 

We’ve always liked the earthiness of wood-fired pottery and not long ago friends took us to a cool potter’s studio near Amery, Wisconsin, where Sarah Dudgeon has been throwing and firing pots in an old country mercantile store that is also her home for about 20 years. There is an attractive charm to the setting – a creative tumbling of plants and color and chaos. (see her facebook page Dudgeon Pottery or go to the website) Sarah’s work –much of it with botanical themes – is gorgeous.

Dudgeon Pottery in an old general store near Amory, WI

Pottery has been an affordable way for us to support artists as we purchase gifts for others, and, of course, for ourselves. We excuse our obsession with the the thought that some day, when we die, our children will have the joy of dividing it among themselves. Uh-huh. The one that caught my eye that day had leaves and stems of a coppery golden sheen on browns that fade into a turquoise green background – I liked it even more when I held it in my hand. Not only for its beauty but for its functionality. It’s not uncommon for people with RA to have swollen sausage-like fingers. Yes, on certain days, mine look almost edible. So a handle designed to fit four fingers and a thumb on top distributes the weight of coffee and mug so there is minimal pain in getting that caffeine lifted to your mouth. Extremely satisfying. 

A load ready to come out of the kiln

It causes great gladness to witness how some people in this fallen world are able to combine their calling or vocation with what they love to do even when it is hard work and will never make them rich in money. But as you look around her site it is clear that in the diversity of color and plants and textures there is an unmistakable richness and warmth to the life she has created.

Fort Lauderdale here and there

Taking a short break from my ordinary. Yesterday, I finished writing the next issue of Letters from the House Between. (Although it will be another three weeks before it gets mailed out.) Wrapping always gives equal waves of relief, regrets for what I wrote – never good enough –  and the urge to leave. Perhaps it’s a common feeling when something is completed, something you pour yourself into, that you have a sense of emptiness? To persuade myself not to pay much attention to that, I go to a coffee shop. Lingering, then moving on to the next thing. Today it was Patisserie 46. Denis dropped Anita and I off while he went on to Bethel University to visit their library and book store, doing some research for a project. I see why 46 gets raves – I had an almond croissant – never one this flaky, melty-good – and a creamy almond latte. Feeling better.

Almond latte at Patisserie 46

 We leave for Fort Lauderdale next week. Not vacation, but work. We welcome this trip, though. It’s a chance to connect with people who love the arts, are interested in creativity and how popular culture reflects human longing for meaning. So if you are a friend who lives in the area, or would like to BE our friend,  join us in discussion. I will be reflecting on the ordinary: how it carries traces of the sacred (are you shocked? No?) and reading from God in the Sink. Denis will be giving lectures on film and how they can give windows of insight into our culture. (His lectures are always prime. Truly, I am his severest critic, trust me):

Here is where we’ll be:

Monday, November 10, St. Mark’s Episcopal, Fort Lauderdale. Evening session.

Tuesday Noon, November 11,  I will be at Kenny Lunsford’s Book Club in Boca Raton.

Tuesday Evening, November 11, we will be at Coral Ridge Church, Fort Lauderdale sharing an evening session.

Wednesday Morning, November 12, Dianne Garvin’s Book Club.

Wednesday Evening, November 12, New Covenant Church, Pompano Beach, for their evening supper and service.

Please forgive my bumbling efforts to get a workable button on the sidebar. It looks anything but professional. I can’t get the entire book cover to show, just “the sink” part. You can still help launch this little book into the world if you pre-order God in the Sink now. It’s on sale for $9:95 until its release in mid-November. At that rate, everyone you know could receive a copy for Christmas.  Or for any reason, any time. 

Coffee for Toadies

It's been a long time since I posted anything about coffee, even though I think about coffee and drink it every day. My newer readers may wonder what's with the name of this blog. Toads Drink Coffee. A few coffee spammers must wonder too, because I never accept their invites to try coffee. Their very special, very damned special coffee from all over the world. If they offered it free, maybe.

 First of all the name. I know. It is obscure and not as funny as I once imagined. We lived in a house called "Toad Hall" for many years. So would toads live in Toad Hall? Well, yes, I'm pretty sure, but when I mentioned to my husband that we were getting kind of old, wrinkly and warty and to be nice, I said I could fit that description, not mentioning him, he still didn't like the association. But the truth is, we are sort of toady and we both happen to love coffee. Good coffee. Hence, this name. Now that we no longer live at Toad Hall the name is a little problem. We lately moved to a new spot called "The House Between." But the same people who love coffee live there.

The summer hasn't been excruciatingly hot so far - heat always makes iced coffee that much better, but even on cool days, Denis makes iced latte from the coffee concentrate we make. It is ultra, ultra, I mean ultra smooth. Not a hint of bitterness or acid and many of the unwanted oils are removed in the process of making it when we use the Toddy Coffee Maker.

It's easy.

1. You do need the Toddy Coffee Maker which consists of a plastic container with a felt filter and a stoppered hole in the bottom. And a nice glass carafe.

2. Take a pound of ground coffee - almost any kind will do. (It doesn't have to be made from the fresh-roasted Ethiopian Yirgacheffe Beans I order from Zanzibars Coffee Adventure in Des Moines, IA. I'm ashamed to admit to this sorry burden. As if confession lessons my guilt?) Place it in the plastic container with the felt and stopper in place.

3.  Fill water to the line and let it sit for 24 hours.

4. Pull out the stopper and let it drain into the glass carafe and you are done.

It keeps in the refrigerator for a long time. Weeks, I think. It is very concentrated so use it sparingly. Add hot or cold water to make Americanos or just a cup of coffee. Add milk to make a latte. I need to use soy or almond milk. Experiment to get the right proportions.

Here is Denis making his daily drink.

"In the bleak midwinter" the car breaks down

"In the bleak midwinter long, long ago" …  Christina Rosetti's poem sang through my head for hours as we drove through the North Dakota prairies this past weekend. The weather was gasping cold for our grandson's hockey tournament in Crookston. We've been looking forward to it for weeks now. Icy roads. Drifts. Currents flowed across the highway, twining, twisting streams of fine snow. Denis and I laughed as we passed miles and miles of buried fence lines. We were remembering that scene from the movie Fargo where the character played by Steve Buscemi buries a suitcase with the money in a snowbank and returned to his partner with only $80,000.00. The character stops his car along the highway, looks both directions, flounders through the snow, and buries the suitcase in a spot that is so like a billion other spots, we know he will never, ever find it again.

North Dakota power plant

The land makes you wonder about the early pioneers who made it to the Red River Valley in the fall, and before winter only had time to build a three-sided sod house in the lee of a hill - if they were so lucky to find a hill. Even in our warm car, it felt a little dangerous. When we left Grand Forks for home on Sunday morning, it was 26 below not counting wind chill.
My favorite app is the Starbucks Locator that can lead me to the closest store anywhere in the U.S. - the coffee I count on when traveling. Allowing the pulsing blue circle to lead us to the green light on the map, just over the hill and off the next exit always gives me a small jolt of pleasure. You may not know that my blog name "toadsdrinkcoffee" is not random. We live in Toad Hall, so I suppose you could call us Toadies and good coffee is a burden I gladly bear.

No buried treasure here

On that cold morning we found a Starbucks in Grand Forks before we headed south. Along the way I had fleeting thoughts of what it would be like to break down along the road. About 10 miles north of Fargo, we did. Suddenly the rpms dropped to zero and we coasted to a stop. Our engine was still running, but the accelerator wouldn't engage. These days with every insurance company carrying road-side assistance, we knew we'd be okay, but it made Denis very tense, while me, I'm just sitting there sipping my latte, dough-dee-dough. With the engine still alive, we stayed warm. After several calls someone in a far-away, warm climate called a towing service in Fargo, located our position via our iPhone and GPS, and after an hour's wait the tow truck arrived. As he towed us into a Firestone shop, he told us he had pulled 72 drivers out of the ditch that weekend. (There had been a strange sleet that fell making roads even more treacherous.) All of them idiots, he said. He didn't count ones like us who broke down. As we waited for the shop to open, Denis started the engine again and automatically touched the accelerator which suddenly woke up. We quickly decided to take the chance and head to Rochester. On the five hour drive home the engine cut out three more times. It was stressful for Denis, especially when it happened while we were in the passing lane surrounded by semis and me yelling, "Turn on the hazards! Turn on the hazards!" Shutting the engine off and restarting seemed to reboot the system. It's fixed now.
Winter has its bleak side, of course. But to be home safe? To be warm? More than sufficient.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, 
 earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; 
 snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, 
 in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain; 
 heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign. 
 In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed 
 the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. 

Angels and archangels may have gathered there, 
 cherubim and seraphim thronged the air; 
 but his mother only, in her maiden bliss, 
 worshiped the beloved with a kiss. 

What can I give him, poor as I am? 
 If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; 
 if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part; 
 yet what I can I give him:  give my heart. - Christina Rosetti

Coffee. Obscurantum-itis.

Explaining the odd name of this blog. We live at Toad Hall. We drink coffee, nay, love it. So in a way … I know, you get it. So….. coffee….

Yesterday, I awakened despondent and wordless. (mainly vacation-needy) I know some writers make best-selling novels out of the bleak and pathetic. I only manage to stare out the window. When I mentioned to Denis that all I wanted in LIFE was a cappuccino from Kopplin’s, he said, go, even though it’s in St. Paul – 90 minutes from where we live.

In the warm wool of a coat found at the thrift store, in the white feather-fern across the surface of my coffee, to the sound of leaves kicking along the avenue, and from the blue Mississippi lined with golden trees beneath the arches of the 35^th street bridge, I detect beams of Sabbath. Which I seem to need more of these days. Leisure is a necessity.

If Denis had not given me the gift of insisting I go, I wouldn’t be reminded of why I think Kopplin’s makes the best coffee anywhere. I love him. Denis.