the friday feed: san pasqual

Meet my new kitchen muse, San Pasqual. I have had my eye on him for a little while now and on my birthday I decided it was time for him to come home with me.

Paschal Baylón was born on May 16, 1540 (Pentecost), in Torrehermosa, Spain. Because he was born on Pentecost, he was given the name Paschal. As a young child, he worked as a shepherd and taught himself to read with the help of some of the townspeople.

Around 1564, Paschal joined the Reformed Franciscan Order. He was deeply devoted to the poor. Although a bowl of broth was the customary offering given to those who came to the monastery seeking food, Paschal believed the poor deserved more than leftovers. He would prepare a pot of cabbage, adding bread and meat, to  share a more substantial meal with those in need.

Paschal was deeply devoted to the Holy Eucharist. He was assigned to work in the monastery kitchen, where he became known for preparing wonderful meals from the simple ingredients available to him. As he cooked, his fellow friars would often see him praying or meditating. They believed that angels assisted him in his daily work.

Because of his love for cooking and his humble service to others, Saint Paschal is honored as the patron saint of cooks and kitchens.

San Pasqual died on May 17, 1592. His feast day is celebrated each year on May 17.

I try to follow San Pasqual’s philosophy of cooking: taking simple ingredients and transforming them into meals that are both delicious and nourishing. For me, cooking is also a way of showing love and caring for others. I enjoy sharing food with family and neighbors, making a comforting pot of chicken soup when someone is sick, and preparing food for special occasions. One of my latest projects is baking 10 dozen cookies to share at the cookie table for my nephew’s upcoming wedding.

In these simple acts of cooking and sharing, I hope to carry on San Pasqual’s spirit of generosity and service. As he is remembered for saying:

“I joyfully celebrate the food I am given. May it deeply nourish everyone that I feed.” ~San Pasqual

the river fountains

Back in August, when heavy rain fell for several days, the Great Miami watershed received 10 to 15 inches of rain over a 30-day period. Four of the dry dams in the area collectively stored 5.8 billion gallons of water—the largest volume recorded during a high-water event this year. Because of the continued rainfall and the resulting volume of water, the 2026 season was extended through September 20 due to prolonged maintenance over the summer.

On September 20, Todd and I headed down to the river for one last look at the fountains for the season. We arrived at 4:45 and waited for the 4:55 whoosh as the fountains streamed into the river.

Then 4:46 came and went. Then 4:47, 4:48, and 4:49.

At 5:00, there were still no fountains.

With all the rain we've had since August, I'm thinking Five Rivers MetroParks decided it was time to shut them down for the season. C'est la vie...

Until next Memorial Day.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

We spent last weekend in Cincinnati. Todd’s former boss and good friend got married, so the weekend was filled with celebration, laughter, and time with good friends. At this stage of life, we are beginning to say our last goodbyes to friends and family, which makes a new beginning like marriage feel especially meaningful. Celebrating the start of a new life together was such a joyful occasion.

Before the wedding, we visited the Cincinnati Art Museum to see Yayoi Kusama’s All the Eternal Love I Have for the Pumpkins. The timing felt poignant because Kusama recently died on August 14, 2026, at the age of 97. 

Pumpkins were a deeply personal and important symbol throughout Kusama’s life. She grew up in a troubled family life with a strict, abusive mother and found a sense of warmth and comfort in pumpkins. Beginning around the age of ten, she experienced frightening hallucinations in which patterns and dots seemed to engulf her. Against that darkness, pumpkins became an emotional anchor. Kusama often described pumpkins as speaking to her about the “joy of living” - a source of comfort and, in her words and art, a triumph over the darkness she experienced.

The Cincinnati installation places dozens of vibrant yellow pumpkins, covered in black polka dots, inside an infinity mirror room. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors transform the small chamber into an endless field of glowing pumpkins. The effect is whimsical but profound. Because of the intimate size of the room, only two visitors are allowed inside at a time for 90 seconds.

90 seconds doesn't sound like much, but that's part of what made the experience memorable. Standing among those infinite pumpkins, knowing that the moment would end almost as soon as it began, was a fitting metaphor for life. We step into moments of beauty, love, friendship, and celebration, knowing that none of them can last forever.

This weekend was so special. We were celebrating a beginning while also being reminded of how quickly time passes. A marriage begins, friendships evolve, people we love leave us, and even an artist like Kusama, who created worlds without limits, eventually reaches the end of her own.

Her pumpkins remain bright, playful, and infinite, offering their simple message of the joy of living.

It's a reminder to hold these seasons of life: celebrate the beginnings, cherish the people who are still beside us, and step into the beautiful moments we are given, even when we know they will last only 90 seconds.

strong wind, buckets of rain, and damage

Last night around 8:30 p.m., a doozy of a storm came through the area and it was very scary. I almost went to the tornado "safe spot" to ride it out. Luckily it was a fast moving storm but a frightening 30 minutes. At the time of writing this (September 21, 6:30 p.m.), we have been without power for 21 hours.

We drove around a little today to see the storm damage. Lots of big limbs down and uprooted trees. This is one time I'm glad we don't have large trees in our yard.

My son does have large trees...

To be continued...

autumnal equinox

 

monday's mulling: you know what day it is!

Released in November 1978, this song became a lasting global anthem of pure joy, nostalgia, and celebration. 

Do you remember the 21st night of September?

Love was changing the minds of pretenders

While chasing the clouds away

Our hearts were ringing

In the key that our souls were singing

As we danced in the night

Remember how the stars stole the night away

Hey hey hey

Ba de ya, say do you remember?

Ba de ya, dancing in September...

Get up and dance...or at least boogie a little in your chair! 

blue willow china

Last May, Todd and I were in New York City and while he was doing his “conference thing,” one of the days I was exploring the DUMBO neighborhood, just across the Brooklyn Bridge from Manhattan. I found a really cool store there called Fishs Eddy, known for its quirky vintage dishware, glassware, and home accessories.

I wandered around the store, and when I reached the back, there it was, a HUGE display of Blue Willow dishes.

Boy, oh boy, did that bring back memories.

My grandma had a set of Blue Willow dishes, and when she died my mom brought them home with her. Mom loved pretty china and collected quite a few sets over the years, most of them purchased at estate sales. When Mom left this earth, she had nine complete sets of fine china. One of those sets was the Blue Willow that had belonged to her mother.

I was the one who had the job of finding new homes for all those beautiful sets of china. My sister took one set, my two sisters-in-law each chose a set, and my two daughters each said they would like one as well. (By the way, those dishes are still in my storage room). No one wanted the Blue Willow. I advertised the dishes, someone inquired about them, and I took them up on their offer. It was sad to let the set go, but I found comfort in knowing that someone would appreciate and use them, and in some small way Mom’s love of beautiful dishes would live on.

Standing there in Fishs Eddy and looking at that huge display of Blue Willow, I realized how much more than dishes they had been. They were pieces of my family’s story - my grandma’s, my mom’s, and mine, and have become part of someone else's story.

I stood there for a bit, smiled at the Blue Willow china display and walked away with a reminder that sometimes the things we inherit aren’t meant to stay with us forever. Sometimes their purpose is simply to connect us to the people we love and bring back precious memories.