The essence of Christmas,  of which we celebrated the first round yesterday, in a few photos.

I also have some shared google docs with recipe files so that, in theory, I can easily find them when needed. Apparently, I didn’t put the one for my gluten-free pie crust in it, so I’ve been scrambling around for 15 minutes trying to find where I put it, other than my now-defunct gluten-free site.

I’ll put it in my google docs files. But, since I’m typing it up, here it is also.

Gluten-free pie crust

This works well for any pie – apple, pumpkin, tartes… (and that’s the extent of my pie making repertoire). It makes enough pie crust for a 2-crust pie (or 2 pies with only the bottom crust).

Ingredients

1 1/4 cups gluten free flour (I use Bob’s Red Mill all purpose gluten free baking mix or Arrowhead Mills baking mix)

1/4 cup almond meal (this adds a lovely nuttiness)

1/3 cup corn starch

1/2 cup sugar

1 teaspoon xanthan gum

8 TBSP butter, cut into pieces

1 large egg

2 tsp vanilla extract

Directions

1. In a mixing bowl, stir together the flour, xanthan gum, sugar and cornstarch.

2. Add the butter, egg and vanilla and mix until combined.

3. Either remove the dough from the bowl and knead on a surface dusted with gluten-free flour, or knead the dough in the bowl (my preferred method).

4. Divide into two pieces and chill in the refrigerator for 15-20 minutes.

5. Pre-heat oven to 400F (or whatever temperature your filling recipe calls for).

6. Roll crusts. Put waxed paper on your work surface and flour it lightly. Using a rolling pin, roll out one crust at a time.

7. Spray your pie dish with non-stick gluten-free cooking spray.

8. Invert the pie dish over the waxed paper and flip it over. Peel the waxed paper off. Make the edges look as pretty as possible.

9. Using a fork, poke holes in the sides and bottom of the crust.

10. Fill with delicious filling of your choosing.

11. If making a 2-crust pie, roll out and place the crust on top, pinching edges together.

12. Cover edges with foil to prevent burning.

13. Pop in the oven for the required time.

14. Eat pie!

Two new members joined our family last weekend, two female gerbils named Sulu and Pear. Duncan and Berry each named one. They are happily living in Duncan’s bedroom.

Last week, their attractions were a running wheel and wooden climbing structure. This week: shredded paper tunnels.

I’ve read that we should get the gerbils used to us by playing with them. I’m not sure how one plays with gerbils. Perhaps Google can tell me.

I get a lot of pleasure from our small garden. This morning, it’s cool and sunny, a perfect time to harvest everything that’s been readying itself for consumption.

I’m not sure what to do with all the basil yet. Dry it, make pesto, make basil hummus…

Last weekend, we managed to plant a whole lot of snow and snap peas. Once all the warm season veggies are done, I’ll plant fava beans as a winter cover crop.

As I sat there, wet hair being combed and snipped, it struck me that the last time I’d been here — in late May — Mum was alive and healthy. How can so much change in between two hair cuts?

People ask me how I am — and I know they mean it. I say that I’m mostly OK. I mostly am. There are moments, lots of them, when my thoughts collide with reality. My counselor says I’m still in shock. It doesn’t feel like it. So how will I know when I’m out of shock?

I tend to get saddest at night, before bed. Perhaps because the day is finally quiet and I have time to do more than go from one activity to the next. I started crying the other evening and Adam held me and said something to the effect of, “You haven’t cried in a few days, so this is probably good.”

Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about Mum or not to other people. Today I’m wearing a shirt she bought me. A coworker complimented it and I mentioned it was from my mum. Then wondered if I should. But then I remembered that it’s only a terribly sad thing for me. At most it might make someone else feel a bit awkward, if they don’t quite know how to react. I’m not always sure how it will make me feel, to talk about her. Sometimes it feels warm, sometimes hollow.

A better answer to how I am is that I miss her every moment, ever day, but most of the time I deal with it all right. Some moments are harder than others: Duncan’s birthday (which I was sure she’d still be here for), getting my haircut and realizing my hair dresser knows nothing of how my life has changed in a short interval, holding Berry while she cries, loudly missing her Nanny.

Duncan now possesses the incredible ability at age not-quite-six to carrying on lengthy text message conversations with me. They even make sense. I haven’t been in touch with the kids this visit as much as I have in prior ones and I miss them lots. Yet I respect their need to have a relationship with their Dad independent of me and want to give them the space for that to exist. Plus, when Berry misses you, she prefers to ignore you. It’s easier for her.

I’ve been back to work on and off over the last couple of weeks – about 2 days each week. It’s exhausting right now. But it’s also good to get back into the swing of things. Hopefully I’ll be able to manage when I’m working full time and have kids full time. While I miss them, having a break has also given me some space in my head and quiet time to begin to sort things out.

My first flight (of three) is boarding, so I’ll dutifully wait in line. Perhaps other airports will have power and free WiFi, too.

At Mum’s memorial service, Christopher told a story about her ability to hold onto things for years.

He used the example of yarn that she used in an airplane sweater that she knitted for him as a child. She carried that yarn all the way from England, to Barbados, to several houses in Florida all the way to Oregon over the years. And she used those same balls of yarn for the same sweater pattern thatbshe made for his son, her grandson last year.

I now have that yarn in my garage. I may need it for a sweater for my grandchildren…

My story about Mum holding onto things is about her curtain rod. It hung in her bedroom in England. It travelled to Florida, by way of Barbados to hold up her bedroom curtains for years. Then it came to Oregon, where it fit none of her windows, yet she still kept it.

And now? Now it’s in my car, the very last of her things to empty out from her house. It’s clean and vacant in there now. I said goodbye for one last time and shut the door. Time to go home, unload and see if it the blasted curtain rod fits in Berry’s room, where Mum’s curtains, that I made for her from bed sheets, now hang.

That moment was hard. I’m grateful for it – that it’s sold, that we have the money for it, that we don’t have to move it or deal with it anymore. But it was hard to see it go. It’ll go in the bedroom of a girl, upgrading from a kid twin-size bed to a mature, pretty bedroom set. Her mom offered her condolences, and I told her and her daughter how much Mum loved that furniture.

Yesterday I took Mum’s cable TV modem and box back to Comcast. Initially, the customer service rep balked at someone other than the account holder returning items. “She’s dead,” I said. He accepted them without another word.

On Tuesday, I went to vital records to get copies of her death certificate (in case folks like Comcast thought I was merely ripping the cable out of my mother’s apartment, denying her the pleasure of Desperate Housewives — my favorite vapid show, not hers). The woman behind the counter (after she got back from a long break) offered her condolences, too. She said she couldn’t imaging not having her mama around. I couldn’t have, before, either. I made it back to the car before I started crying.

I took the kids to the airport this morning to spend 2 weeks with Kevin (I picked Kevin up from where he was staying at a friend’s house down the road and took him, too). Now I’m back at home, in an empty quiet house with the summer sun warming up the world outside. Their bedrooms seem empty. I know I’ll see them again soon and that they’re fine.

In fact, they just called. They’re safely in Chicago, looking for the pizza place that Duncan likes to eat at (it’s his favorite pizza restaurant). They love me very very very very very very very very very … very very very very much! And that makes me cry a bit too – with gladness, at least.

There’s a way that Duncan looks at me sometimes that fills me with joy. He looked that way this morning in between rub-a-noses and kisses goodbye at the airport. There’s a sparkle in his eye and a little crinkle in his freckle-covered nose. It melts me. And makes me realize that any of the things I’ve let go of or given up in order to succeed at motherhood are entirely worth it.

Being strong and put together is hard work. I’m grateful for it, though.

Just found Mum’s wedding dress as I haphazardly go through her things. I’m through most of it now and am ready to call in friends and family to help prepare the rest for an estate sale this weekend.

Adam is somewhat dismayed at the number of boxes that have entered our house. I will find homes for all of it, though.

I didn’t know Mum had kept her wedding dress from all those years ago. I suspect, in one of the many bins of old photos, her wedding album is there, too. I foolishly plan to keep all of Mum’s never-used photo albums and put them in over the next week or so. A girl can have dreams. It’s more likely than her dress ever fitting me.

Just found Mum’s wedding dress as I haphazardly go through her things. I’m through most of it now and am ready to call in friends and family to help prepare the rest for an estate sale this weekend.

Adam is somewhat dismayed at the number of boxes that have entered our house. I will find homes for all of it, though.

I didn’t know Mum had kept her wedding dress from all those years ago. I suspect, in one of the many bins of old photos, her wedding album is there, too. I foolishly plan to keep all of Mum’s never-used photo albums and put them in over the next week or so. A girl can have dreams. It’s more likely than her dress ever fitting me.