...both the flour and now this blog. Looking through some old photos, I stumbled upon a photo documentation of one my favorite recipes for lemon bars. And since it's tuesday peruse-day (that's a thing, right?), why not make something succulent & sweet to accompany all that reading? 

In the mean time, preheat your oven to 350 degrees and grease your favorite baking sheet. 

For the crust

1/2 pound of unsalted butter at room temperature

1/2 cup of granulated sugar

2 cups of all purpose flour 

1/8 teaspoon of salt

Cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer. Combine the flour and salt and add it to the mixer. Put the mixer on low and watch it come together. Then dump the dough onto a well-floured sheet of wax paper.

Roll into a ball. Then flatten it and press into the greased baking sheet you prepared earlier. Build a 1/2-inch edge on all sides. Put it in the refrigerator.

Two rules: hands are meant to get dirty & most kitchen utensils (rolling pins, spatulas...) are therefore unnecessary.

My grandmother used to suit up the five of us little ladies-in-waiting in her stained, eyelet aprons. They would drag like wedding veil trains around our ankles. She employed our mess-craving help, let us sit indian-style on top of the kitchen table and play with the dough. In reality, this was only making her culinary creation better: "hands should always do the kneading." 

Alright, let's make the lemon filling while the crust chills.

For the lemon layer

6 large eggs

2 1/2 cups of sugar

2 tablespoons of grated lemon zest (4-6 lemons worth)

1 cup of freshly-squeezed lemon juice

1 cup of all purpose flour

Whisk everything together in a bowl.

Pour the lemon layer over the crust and bake for 30 to 35 minutes or about 5 minutes beyond the point where the filling is set. Basically, once it stops jiggling when you go to check the dish, bake for a few more minutes. Then take it out and let it cool to room temperature before cutting and serving.

Dust with powdered sugar. 

If you're feeling something fancy, cut a slice of lemon, dip it in sugar, and place it on top.

This is where I insert the final product photo, but I don't have one. They really are just that good. Once they came out of the oven, I retired the camera and began consumption. As should you. 

Enjoy!

Thanks you Smitten Kitchen for the recipe inspiration!

Watershed

For the third weekend in a row, I went away. Excited for the annual trip to Camp Dixie, I geared up for the social and the spiritual, an alliterative combination of words that describe nearly every Christian getaway out there. This one, however, is near and dear to my heart. As a senior, it's my final year. So, we vowed to make it our best, to go out with a bang and to blob, go cart, swim, jump, hammock, run, canoe, dance, eat, sing to our hearts' content. The Lord took our willingness and ran.

"Engaging hearts and minds in worship" is normally what praise bands say prior to entering into a series of songs, but truly, truly I tell you, that's what it does. There's something about songs, as evidenced by all 150 Psalms, that allows the Spirit to do His work in tendering our hearts. For many years, I frowned upon the sensorial experience of our Lord, thinking it was only for the weak-minded and shallow-hearted. All it took was a good whipping in systematic theology, catechisms and Puritan prayer to spiral me into proper Christian reflection. Boy, was I missing out?! And while a foundational bedrock of theology supplements my meditation and grounds me in the Truth my heart so easily forgets, if I don't feel Him, breathe Him in and experience the tingling sensation the Spirit provides, then I'm severely neglecting the totality of His promises. And while I've spent many months diving deep into spiritual gifts that rocked me like a buoy in the perfect storm, I realized that I worship an immutable God regardless of my articulation of Him. Otherwise, I am not completely perceiving my share in the spoils of Christ's victory on the cross. Christ died so that I would live and have life to the full, able to glorify Him AND enjoy Him.

In full awareness of my getaway privilege, I went off into the woods to spend time with the Lord: to hang from His trees, to dialogue with Him, to read His love poetry to me and to write Him some, to surround myself with one of the greatest testimonies to His expansiveness (both micro and macro scales), and to sing and dance with His people. It was imperfect in every way - sticky, smelly, writhing, restless, irritated, sore, cold and slow - but nonetheless a slice of the final version that's to come in the next life.

Spectrum God

Imperfectly devoted to loving Thee and ardently convinced of your Truth. Confined to a three-part harmonious articulation of Your "infinance" as did, doing, and will do and was, is, and will be. I love Thee tonight, immeasurably so. Your non-temporal memory has catalogued my affections in the Heavens and longs, as I do, for our embrace. I await the day of Your judgment with assurance of my pardon and humble excitement for our Life together as a united, consecrated couple.

Hasten the day, Lord.

Under your blanket of galactic awesomeness I dwell according to Thine purposes. Increase your measure of Goodness in the heart of a meek child. Emblazon me with a yearning spirit, full of humility and abounding in love as I proclaim the Rule of the Universe to Your earthly inhabitants. This sphere You have created is ordained for completion. And as a busy bee working out salvation in the hexagonal matrix of Your sanctified design, I decidedly and ever-devotionally desire to glorify and enjoy Thee. Illuminated dusk-dwelling fireflies, smoke-billowing cigar, crickets and bullfrog chirps alike, I watch your booming oranges and purples. The hues which bounce through the clouds direct my attention to the same power which redeemed me from the pit of mine own destruction. This is Your preferable display of said power. For you, Oh God, are a creator and friend to sinners.

Amen.

Autumnal Onslaught

Our stagnancy shifts to anxious stirrings, like the pond rings from a coffee stick twirl. We sing the never-too-repetitive rhymes of holiday delinquency. The color guard steps down from its summer post. Pigmentation heeds and bleeds, ending nearly as soon as it has begun. The stippling that blows away at full effect is a momentary expression. 

Born to Fly

I'll be the other hand

That always holds a line

Connecting in between 

Your sweet heart and mine

I'm strung out on that wire

My Quadratic Equation

I dream to be alone.

Solidarity is scent free.

Controlled, but not even as much that.

It is my preferred element. 

Can I think without your stare please?

Your interest has a death grip on my introspection-craving mentus.

Must I wear a sign declaring my intent?

Cohabitation is not my forte,

Quality time is my language of love.

Philosophize me that!

I am the +, - quadrant of human interaction and withdrawal.

I am increasingly self-aware of an imbalanced equilibrium.

Say "thank you!" to the hissing kettle inside my corporeal shell.

The last grain of sanity signals my extrovert “time out,” and retreat is necessitated.

Unfortunately that’s a hard respect to demand of my fellow life bodies.

I’m breaking no promises.

“If you knew me, then you’d know…”

I’m readying myself to keep promises.

It’s my in and out: a God-given dichotomous ecosystem.

While out or intro I would naturally give priority, I practice balance.

It’s my mandate.

All cloud surfers must come down.