March in Wisconsin has taught me that endings are untidy. According to the calendar, winter ends, but only if you are very lucky does the weather concur. The daily forecasts fluctuate from gray and windy to sunny and windy. The winter coats retreat into the closet only to be dragged back out a few weeks later in anticipation of a final attack of cold. The snow on the lawns seeps away while the plowed piles of it remain like blackened glaciers, shrinking ever so slowly into a tiny heap of crunchy ice and trash, and then into nothing. The grass, exposed to the sun for the first time in months, seems spindly and blanched; it will not be green for a few more weeks at least. In some ways, the landscape seems more barren than it did in the winter, when all the decay and detritus at least had the decency to cover itself. It is difficult to imagine that only a few good rains and a little time stand between this scene and the verdant vibrancy of the spring to come.
It seems to me that, when I reach the end of each month and sit down to consider what I will write about it, I always reach for some tangible reality from each month to discuss and hope that it will suggest a lesson to me. The seasons tend to be the easiest thing to focus on, probably because I don't pay as much attention as I ought to the rest of the world around me.This month has been a rush––finish my rhetoric class, finish this unit, finish reading this book––all in anticipation of what would soon be starting (my thesis work, the next unit, the next book). It is that middle moment of anticipation that feels so untidy; shouldn't the next thing start now? Shouldn't I go from event to event seamlessly? Shouldn't I be doing something now?
Intellectually, I know the answer to each of those questions is no, but I instinctively feel that can't be right. The time for waiting does not feel foreordained; it just seems like a waste. Yet it seems as though the majority of my adult life has been spent doing precisely that: waiting for something else to start. One would think that by now I would have learned that during the wait, the snow melts; the grass turns expectantly to the sky; the rain falls. The growth begins, invisible and immeasurable at first until it is undeniable that something is there, something is happening.
So what did I do this month? Here's what I read, cooked, and created in the month of March.
What I Read
Jack, Marilynne Robinson (★★★★)
Percy Jackson and the Last Olympian, Rick Riordan (★★★★★)––reread
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee (★★★★★)––reread
A Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare (★★★★★)
Adorning the Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling, and the Mystery of Making, Andrew Peterson (★★★★★)
Fault Lines: The Social Justice Movement and Evangelicalism's Looming Catastrophe, Voddie Baucham (★★★★★)––advanced copy
Why To Kill a Mockingbird Matters: What Harper Lee's Book and America's Iconic Film Mean to Us Today, Tom Santopietro (★★★★)
Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, Peter Scazzero (★★★)
White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, Robin DiAngelo (★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
I discovered that, if I time my trips to the specialty cheese case at our grocery store correctly, I can occasionally find fresh cheeses at half their original price. Since a ball of burrata usually runs upwards of $5, this is really the only way I can justify purchasing it (even though it is so delicious). Closeout burrata in hand, I decided to find a new recipe to use it in and landed on this one. Even though it seems pretty summery, nothing in it is strictly seasonal, so I gave it a shot.
Overall, I enjoyed it. I was skeptical of the tahini Caesar dressing, but it tasted like the real deal (sans weird ingredients). I burned the batch of croutons that were made on the stove, decided to make croutons in the oven as God intended, and found success in doing so. I did cook the chicken in the skillet since I don't have a grill, although I think roasting the chicken in the oven would be a less fussy and more effective strategy for next time. I did also add some avocado, because why not. Will be making again.
Since I had some coconut milk left over from the coconut crepes I made last month, I decided I had best use it. I have never made Thai food, and this soup intrigued me, most likely because it was utterly unlike anything I had ever made.
On the whole, it wasn't a difficult recipe. I subbed ground turkey for the ground chicken and used soy sauce in lieu of fish sauce as the recipe suggests, and I made only a half recipe. This choice turned out to be a smart once, since Mitchell declared it "weird" and did not help me eat any leftovers. It was weird, I'll give him that, but not in a bad way. I did like the flavor of the meatballs, and while I can't see myself making the soup itself again, I would be open to trying this recipe that uses the same base meatballs.
What I Created
Original poem "Daughters of Eve: A Woman's Sonnet"
The lengthy final paper for my rhetoric class
"Christians and Humanities: Humanities and the Bible"(technically created last spring, but just now being released into the world)
In the untidy waiting, I wonder about the beginnings, and I forget that they are already happening in their own unprepossessing way. The things now past shape the things to come. Already they are growing, and soon I will see them blossom before me. I am sure they will be lovely.