Enchantment Learning & Living Blog

Welcome to Enchantment Learning & Living, the inspirational space where I write about the simple pleasures, radical self-care, and everyday magic that make life delicious.

On Double Yolks

March 7, 2014

The skillet is hot--as hot as the bluegrass playing in the background, as hot as the coffee in your cup. Today is a day for a bold breakfast. You shake off your usual weekday oatmeal in favor of eggs over easy, chorizo, and toast, a perfect gourmet diner breakfast made all the better for coming from your kitchen.

You crack one egg and pour it into the pan, then another. And there it is, in the second egg: a fat golden double yolk. The orbs sit piled atop one another as if caught kissing before they could disentangle themselves. You marvel at how so much yolk could fit into such a tiny little eggshell such as the empty one you now hold in your hand.

You watch your eggs cook, and a sly voice inside your head--the one who loves a good story, a good superstition--coyly whispers that double yolks are good luck, harbingers of double the grace, the plenty, the fortune. These are the stories of old wives and crones and witches that you are half-tempted to believe if only because these fat yolks nestled together in front of you seem nothing short of magic themselves.

You flip your eggs and decide to let your fanciful imagination run away with you. Double yolks are good luck. Yes, you commit to the idea. Already, as you plate your breakfast, your mind turns to the possible adventures these double yolks foretell.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Signs of Spring No. 1

March 6, 2014

And once again, spring is upon us!

On Healing a Shoulder Injury

March 5, 2014

It is an exercise in patience.

You feel the twinge of an old injury--one made years ago from overwork and an addiction to busyness that still haunts you. It comes and goes in time with the rise and fall of the semester.

The overachiever in you was once tempted to strengthen that shoulder with weights and more complex yoga postures and more time on fancy workout machines. You know now how futile that all is. It only buries the pain deeper inside your tissues.

No. The answer to your injury is at once more simple and more profound than that: you must listen to your body. Your shoulder, like a wing stretched too tight around your back, is remembering how to unfurl itself, how to let one feather after another relax its grip on your ribcage and do what it was meant to do. Let it reach skyward even as you lay your roots in the earth.

Your shoulder. Full of infinite strength but too often asked to carry more than it should. With each feather that unwraps itself from your body, each gentle exercise that allows you to move your shoulder back into its place, you let go of the weight that has held your shoulder down for too long. You let go of the memories embedded in the socket, the feelings your body remembers but that your mind strives to forget.

And at the end of your work you are left with this one answer, this one truth: your body heals only when you stop trying to forget. When you stop. When you listen. When you truly let yourself mend.

On an Afternoon Walk

March 4, 2014

You hadn't planned to take a walk.

There were things to do, tasks to accomplish. But the afternoon called to you, beckoning you from your perch at your desk, luring you outside to bask under the tender caress of the soft spring sun like a kitten stretched out under a plot of light by the window.

It is fresh air you needed. You know that now that you are walking--the cool breeze with the faint hint of spring in it, the smell of dirt and dry grass and sunlight. You take in one long breath, then another, and another, letting your chest expand with this intoxicating air.

Gradually, you become aware of other things--the birds singing: finches, doves, sparrows pleasantly clamoring for attention all at once. The sharp cries of a hawk, too, are a welcome presence as you stroll around the park. You watch people walking their dogs or playing sports or circling the park just as you do. Admire how the sun seems to melt away their cares; even the normally frazzled soccer moms look fresh, vibrant with the promise of spring in the air.

With each lap, you admire the homes--especially the tenderly cared for adobes--and the grounded, calm energy they represent. Soon it is time to wind your way back to your home, the cares of your work left scattered on your desk, all but forgotten by you.

On Driving Home From Work

March 3, 2014

The road is spread out before you.

Aretha Franklin is playing on the radio and the sun is shining. You've finished grading all your papers. They lay in neat stacks on your office desk, just as you left them. Each file has been put carefully back in its place and your computer has been turned off. Your mind drifts back to the evidence of your industry, but can't linger there for long.

Your thoughts move from emails and lesson plans to the possibility of a long walk or an afternoon yoga--but even there, you cannot linger. Your mind doesn't want to focus on anything except the sound of soul in your speakers and the smooth sailing of your car as it cruises down Montgomery.

You let go of your professional to-do list as Aretha Franklin makes way for Otis Redding. The mountains take up all the space in your view mirror and the rest of the day stretches out before you.

You are half tempted to keep cruising down Montgomery, just listening to music and breathing and being--far enough at least to see the river and the Bosque, and maybe, if you're lucky, the faint promise of spring in budding trees. But your body wants to move. It wants to dance and wiggle after a day of focused movements, so you turn home, lowering your music as you go, and slide your car into its space.

Somewhere between revving your engine in the school lot and parking your car at home, you've moved from teacher to simple human being. You shake off the last of your day as you lock the car and carry your teacher tote inside, mind already on the roasted vegetables for dinner.

On an Afternoon Spent Reading in Bed

March 2, 2014

It is the perfect day for it. The sky is coated in thick gray clouds; the air is cool and moist. The weather practically begs for you to turn inwards and indulge in an afternoon of reading in bed. You put on the kettle. You prepare the tea tray. You change into comfy jammies and wrap your knitted blanket around you, ready to forget about the world for a little while.

You don't commit to one book, however, or the lush enjoyment of losing yourself in a single adventure. Instead, you give yourself over to the luxury of many worlds spread out before you on your bed, each book a passport to another life. You read some of one, then another, content to flit between your favorite characters as if you were hosting a dinner party and they were your honored guests.

Eventually, when the pot of tea is empty, and each book has been turned through--some more than once--you allow yourself to drift, comforted by the soft texture of your knitted blanket, the quiet hush of the day, and the collection of books in disarray on your bed. You close your eyes and, as sleep takes you, feel the afternoon unravel into evening.

On the Doves Outside My Window

March 1, 2014

Every morning they greet you with their cooing and cuddling.

They perch on the thick branches of the naked tree just outside your window, warbling and fluffing their feathers and flitting around each other in an ancient mating dance. Those two are your writing companions, punctuating each of your sentences with their full-bellied song. This time of year, the leaves of the tree do not hide their presence--and so you see them, in all their glory, as they go about their day, flirting, singing, flying.

You need no other music but their song and the flap of their wings as they wind around each other, circle the tree and dart around other birds--their neighbors the finches and sparrows. They remind you that spring is almost here, that the earth is already preparing for the new season, that seeds are sprouting in the ground, getting ready to push their little heads skyward.

These doves are proof that life is more than just one keystroke after another, but a continuous dance, a never ending song, a bright burst of flight over the tree, out of range of your windowsill, and towards the mountains. They are your evidence that life is in the quiet moment where you pause and simply listen to the doves' song and watch as they playfully chase each other from branch to branch and then take flight.

On Revisiting an Old Story

February 28, 2014

It's like a friend you'd almost forgotten you had until you accidentally stumble across it one day in your search for something soothing to read.

There it sits high up on your bookshelf, sandwiched between books you have read and some you will never read. There, there is the one that you go back to again and again, despite the many unread stories taking up space on your shelf and nightstand.

Before you know it, you have the book in your hand and you are curled up on the couch, once again immersed in the world of your favorite heroine. Each city street or hedgerow is so familiar as if you have walked those grounds a hundred times before. You relish entering the familiar kitchen or the basement alchemical workshop as you would your own home; if you could, you would spend a quiet afternoon there, sipping tea in front of the kitchen fire, or rummaging through ancient books and jars filled with mysterious things in the workshop.

You eagerly anticipate every plot twist as if it were a long-expected guest that you wait for from your perch by the window. There it is! The car has turned the corner and makes its way up the drive, signaling the arrival of your guest, just as the new chapter reveals what you already knew would happen and yet keeps your heart racing all the same. You read on, grateful to once again be in this familiar world, uncaring that soon you will reach the end of your book, and have to put it back on your shelf--no, you try not to think about the end.

For now, you content yourself with lingering in the pages of your worn book, taking comfort in the old story that tells itself again and stretches beyond the page into your waking imagination.

On Red Chile Stew

February 27, 2014

It is your medicine.

It is the cure-all that warms your bones and mends your heart, more chicken noodle soup than chicken noodle soup. It is memories of a kitchen filled with the scent of cooking pinto beans, a counter coated in flour as your roll out one fresh tortilla after another. It is the taste of good Mexican beer and lively conversation on your tongue. It is the feel of the desert in your bowl, a treat so little appreciated beyond the borders of your realm.

You grind your red chile pods, already softened from a long soak in warm water, and run them through a sieve until you are left with nothing but a velvety red liquid to fill your soul as it fills your bowl. Although you will later spoon beans into your bowl of chile, you take a moment to enjoy the simmering treat at its best: hot on the stove, a fresh tortilla dipped into the pot to scoop up the ruby liquid.

You take one bite, then another. The spiciness hits your tongue first, then the earthy sweetness of the chiles. The steam from the pot washes over your faces, coating it in the soothing smell of a New Mexican home--your chile, your beans, your tortillas all cooking on the stove to create a rich perfume of the southwest.

It is home. It is healing. It is the desert.

On Grading Essays at Home

February 26, 2014

The afternoon was built for quietly wading through another round of papers.

You are grateful to be home, soaking up the peaceful surroundings as you fill out one rubric after another in green pen. Earlier, you had forgone your usual teacher uniform as soon as you closed the front door, exchanging it instead for the comfort of yoga pants, your favorite sweatshirt, and a sloppy bun.

Now, you sit at your writing desk, a pot of tea by your side brimming with a soothing mint concoction. The window is cracked open and the fresh air wafts over you, stirring your pile of papers and gently caressing your skin. You can hear the little finches in the tree outside your window trilling their robust song and the sparrows responding in kind.

This is the real art of teaching, the one students never see: the steady rhythm of responding to their words on paper as the minutes tick into hours, the methodical process of reading between each line, seeing what they wanted to say, not what they necessarily committed to paper. Yes, this is true teaching in all its glory: yoga pants and sentence-fragment corrections, sloppy up-dos and tips on thesis development, home-blended tea and organization advice--and always, always the hope that they can read your handwriting.

Lemon-Mint Sleepy Time Tea

February 25, 2014

...because sometimes we need a little variation to our sleepy time tea.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup skullcap

1/2 cup hops

1/2 cup chamomile

1/2 cup lemon balm

1/2 cup peppermint leaves

Blend all ingredients in a bowl and transfer to an airtight container. Keep away from direct sunlight and heat. To brew, use a heaping tablespoon per cup of hot water. Add more tea per cup of water for a stronger brew. Makes approximately 2 1/2 cups of tea. Enjoy!

Health benefits of ingredients:

Chamomile: anti-inflammatory; sedative; skin softening; all around body soother.

Hops: contains calcium and magnesium among other vital nutrients; sedative; soothes PMS symptoms; diuretic; antispasmodic.

Lemon Balm: antihistamine; antibacterial; nerve tonic; digestive stimulant.

Peppermint: a cure all herb for headaches, cramps, sore throat, and stomach aches.

Skullcap: nerve tonic; tension soother; contains calcium, potassium, and magnesium, among other vital nutrients.

Sleepy Time Tea

February 24, 2014

At night I need a little herbal tea to get me ready for bed. I grew up drinking Celestial Seasoning's Sleepy Time Tea, mostly because it had a cute bear on the cover of the box all curled up in his jammies by the fire, his cup of tea on the table next to him. All I would have to do is look at that box and be ready for bed--but, of course, I still drank the tea too. And, yes, there is still a part of me that wants to drink only that brand of Sleepy Time Tea just for the bear on the cover. These days, though, I can do a pretty good imitation of that bear myself, both in how I fall asleep on the couch in my pjs, my cup of tea at my side, and in my own Sleepy Time Tea Blend that I've concocted in honor of that Celestial Seasoning's sleepy bear.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup skullcap

1/2 cup hops

1/2 cup chamomile

Health benefits of ingredients:

Chamomile: anti-inflammatory; sedative; skin softening; all around body soother.

Hops: contains calcium and magnesium among other vital nutrients; sedative; soothes PMS symptoms; diuretic; antispasmodic.

Skullcap: nerve tonic; tension soother; contains calcium, potassium, and magnesium, among other vital nutrients.

On Pasta Making

February 23, 2014

It is made up of nothing but eggs and olive oil and flour and a flick of the wrist.

There the ingredients sit in a pile on your kitchen counter, ready to be molded into Sunday's most glorious indulgence: fresh pasta. Sunday dinner is never a real meal without it.

You pour double zero flour on your clean counter, pushing the fine powder into a small mountain. With your fingers, you create a large well in the middle of the pile--the new home to your eggs and olive oil. You crack three eggs, letting them slip from their shell into the flour nest. Next is the olive oil, the golden liquid dropping from its spout to wrap itself around the raw eggs.

Gently, you poke the yokes with a fork and whisk the eggs and oil together until they look like a rich yellow custard. You let the fork scrape the flour edges of your well a little at a time until you've got a soft dough forming on your counter. A fork will no longer do. You use your hands, folding in the last of the flour and kneading, relishing the feel of the tender pasta dough on the pads of your fingers and palms.

You are up to your elbows in flour. That is when you know it is time to let the dough rest as you put together the pasta maker, your steel jewel that transforms the golden ball into fine strands of heaven.

You take a small piece of that ball and roll it through your machine, first once, then twice, then three times until it is a thin strip. You dust the dough again in flour then roll it through one final time so that it breaks into thin strands. You do this again and again, growing your pile of pasta until you have no more dough left.

All that remains is a pot of boiling water to transform your raw strands into edible perfection.

Honey Face Mask

February 22, 2014

I woke up this morning feeling like a simple home-spa day. It was a full week, and happily so, finished off by an all-day conference downtown yesterday. Now that I've got all sorts of professional inspiration to bring into next week, it's time to unwind and recharge. So after my yoga, a bubble bath is in order, followed by an afternoon of reading and tea drinking and yes, napping.

But before we get to the naps, I've got plans to enjoy a simple honey face mask during my spa hours. This is literally the easiest face mask on the planet--and so good for you! Antioxidant-rich honey is soothing and moisturizing for dry skin and does a great job of adding a natural glow to your face. It is also antibacterial, making it great for fighting acne and unclogging pores. Best of all, honey is gentle so it won't irritate sensitive skin. You can even add a little cinnamon to your honey to get even more antibacterial benefits, but be careful as cinnamon can irritate sensitive skin.

Ingredients:

1-2 tablespoons organic honey

A pinch of cinnamon (optional)

Apply honey liberally to clean face and let sit for 20-30 minutes. Rinse off with warm water and moisturize.

On Grocery Lists

February 21, 2014

There it is, a little blackboard sticking to your refrigerator door, a continual work in progress.

You use up your last sweet onion, caramelizing it for a mushroom pizza. As the onions simmer in the pan, filling your kitchen with their savory aroma, you take a moment to write 'onions' on your grocery list in thin white chalk. It is then you see that you also have nutritional yeast on the board and you erase it, having bought more of the cheese-like miracle on your previous grocery trip. There is now a blank space over blue corn tortillas, those kitchen staples you have had on your list for some time, the ones you keep forgetting to pick up with each trip to the grocery store.

It is your daily work of art, the truest expression of your life: the recipes you cook to nourish self and family, the ingredients that make up your week--here a wedge of aged cheddar, there more radishes because you can never keep enough of them in your refrigerator. Spinach, your perennial favorite, never quite erased from your list because you always need it.

It occurs to you as you finish caramelizing your onions that your life is made up of a series of grocery lists, each one building on the other, like layers of paint on an artist's canvas. Your life is made up of caramelized onions and red wine, chia seeds and fresh blackberries. Your life is made up of a deep desire to nourish and be nourished.

On Maybes

February 20, 2014

Maybes: at the crossroad of no and yes. Mislabeled as indecision.

But really the maybe--when used right--is a coy invitation to synchronicity to do what it will. Maybe you will go out for drinks with friends at the end of the day, or maybe you will do yoga, or maybe you will go home, disappear into a hot bubble bath with nothing but a jazz record, a book, and a finger of whiskey to keep you company. You just don't know which way your maybe will pull you.

It is the thrill of possibility, an unplanned adventure ready to unfold if only you don't quite commit to any other plans just yet. It is the last minute decision to turn left instead of continuing to drive straight ahead in the hopes of catching the bookstore before it closes. This maybe invites the day to lead you where it will.

Maybe. It is the sweet pleasure of being gently pulled in one direction, then another over unimportant decisions: perhaps you will get these antique tea cups or maybe these small ceramic plates. It is the potential of a moment, the split second where you can imagine where your life might go.

It is the safety net, this maybe--safer than a clean no, more relieving than a grudging yes. It hides a multitude of sins and births others. Maybe stretches the gap between what might have happened and what could happen.

Maybe. It is our verbal trickster, stirring up life around us and making us hungry for something new.

On the Power of 'Yes'

February 19, 2014

Yes.

Yes to singing in the car on your way to work. Yes to the weekend mid-day bubble baths when you should be grading papers. Yes to the impromptu visits to the herb store. Yes to watching the sun set. Yes to the joyful moments that impregnate your day--the ones too often looked over in a hurry to get from here to there.

Yes to a good day at work. Yes to a good lesson plan and absolutely yes to the students who take you by surprise and take that carefully scripted agenda in a different direction. Yes to feeling your might as a force in your field.

Yes to listening to the birds, yes to tuning out the mindless chatter of others. Yes to the afternoon cup of tea--and yes to a second cup. Yes to losing track of time because your enjoyment turns time into an irrelevant construct invented by the bored and tiresome. Yes to getting lost in the magic of the day.

Yes. Yes.

Yes to dressing like a fictional character and yes to living out loud. Yes to collecting jewelry and crystals like a magpie collects shiny treasures and yes to wearing them all at once without rhyme or reason. Yes to writing who knows what--a poem, a list, a blog entry--and enjoying its amorphous exuberance. Yes to living your creed.

Yes to the power of your no's and yes to the power of your yes's.

Yes.

Just hell yes.

On the Power of 'No'

February 18, 2014

You used to be no good at it: the no.

You would want to say it, feel those two little letters roll over your tongue and escape your lips, that one little syllable slips out of your mouth like a soft exhale.

But there were big Bambi eyes and even bigger stories about why you must obligate yourself. You were needed, they were needy--you could help, just this one last time--you should really give more of yourself. Although lately, you felt you had less and less to give, like you were a butterfly whose wings were stuck through with pins, your lack of no on display for all to see. The more you showed your yes, the more you gave--the more they needed--the more they took--the less they gave.

But that was before. Somewhere between the new year and your last birthday, you felt it growing inside you: the desire to let go of responsibilities not your own, shedding them like heavy flaps of other people's skin you'd worn. All it took was one courageous whispered no to release you from the bonds of over-extension.

The other no's came more easily after that. You began to feel a gentle fulness swelling in your chest; you learned the bounty, the joyfulness of no. You shed your fears of the names you might be called, the people you might lose, learning instead that there were others like you--those who knew the power of this light syllable--the heady commitment of a balanced life.

You learned that no is not a vulgar, two lettered word, but a gentle embrace of self-care. It is given gently, reminding self and others that you cannot save everyone, fix everything, nor does anyone require it of you, not really. The no reveals--giving others, too, the freedom to tend their lives, their needs in their own way, in their own time, which they inevitably do, also freed from the obligation of your yes. It is a lesson a long time coming, but you welcome the no into your life with open arms, grateful for the space it creates, the calming energy, the positive results blooming in self and others, dormant seeds that only needed the nourishment of your no to unfurl and grow.

On Eggs and Ham

February 17, 2014

They are your much anticipated morning indulgence, a break from your usual chaste breakfast quinoa.

You fry up some hash browns while sipping perfectly dark, rich coffee. Corelli plays in the background as if in harmony to the birds' song outside your window. Then ham is next in the pan. You like it slightly seared, the heat caramelizing the outer layers of the sweet meat. You sift through the news while your morning breakfast cooks and take a moment to drift to your porch, savoring a lazy Monday morning, a rare treat gobbled up by teachers and students alike as the semester barrels forward.

Back in the kitchen, your hash browns are perfectly crisp, your ham expertly cooked. Carefully, you crack two eggs over the skillet, enjoying the sizzling noises they make as they hit the pan. You give them a quick flip, careful not to break the golden yokes.

You plate up.

At the table, you liberally sprinkle pepper on your eggs, then just a touch of salt. Your fork breaks into the tender yolks, spilling their thick liquid all over your plate. The hash browns soak up the juice, the ham acts as the perfect salty-sweet balance to the savory eggs. You devour every last piece of your ham and eggs, washed down with coffee until all that is left are faint golden streaks on your plate, a few wet coffee grounds in your cup, and Corelli in the air.

On Visiting the Herb Store

February 16, 2014

You feel like you've stepped into an old apothecary shop. Jars and jars of herbs, dried flowers, gnarly broken down roots, and strange powders line the shelves.

You run your hands across the line of pots, marveling at the wealth of healing magics birthed from the earth. Each herb is a little miracle, made from dirt and sunlight and water--tiny seeds brought to life by sheer willpower and raised through the ground for no other reason than a will to see the light, breathe in the fresh air that tickles their leaves and feeds their roots. These glorious specimens contain the life force of all they sucked in through their roots, all they absorbed through their leaves.

You have a list of herbs you need. More raspberry leaf for women's health, along with some hops and skullcap for a sleepy time tea recipe you are concocting. You allow yourself to be seduced by the jar of nettle leaves, the prickly thing known best for its sting, but is, at heart, a gentle tonic for the system. You also get taken in by rose hips, more robust than the fragile petals of their flower, an unsung nutritional powerhouse.

You watch the herbalists measure out and weigh your selection, while you contemplate how you will use these new herbs in blends and simple steeps. You can't wait to get home and unwrap your little bundles of herbs and pour them into your own jars, your own collection of earth's healing magic.