happy kourambiedes

I made my first Greek cookies one December, maybe five years ago, with my friend Joanna and her father, Peter. Joanna mixed the ingredients for Koulourakias as her father instructed her using his memories of her mother's recipe. We all shared the responsibility of forming the cookies, placing them on the sheets and baking them. This is a moment in my life that makes me smile. A 90-year-old Greek father, born on the tiny island of Oinousses, now living in the US so many years later, sharing traditions with his daughter.

I haven't made a Greek cookie in the five years since, until recently, when Joanna and I visited the kitchen of St. Elizabeth's Greek Orthodox Church to help make Kourambiedes for their upcoming bake sale. A Kourambiede is not a Koulourakia by any means; a Kourambiede is like an Italian wedding cookie, a dense sugar cookie with walnuts, dossed in powdered sugar. A Koulourakia is similar but does not have a powdered sugar coating -instead it is glazed with egg yolk and then sprinkled with sesame seeds. Mmmmmm!

Joanna and I were there to help roll the dough into cookies. We joined Carol and Jennifer who are part of Philoptochos (Friends of the Poor). Philoptochos is a charitable group; proceeds from the bake sale will support the national organization as well as Gainesville charities. In the past money has gone to support local programs providing coats and blankets for families-in-need, as well as Thanksgiving and Christmas Food Baskets.

Carol and Jennifer bake year-round for the church. When they aren't baking for the holiday sale, they, and other Philoptochos members, share the responsibility of baking the Prosphoro (communion bread).Rolling many dozens of cookies was quick work when tackled by the four of us; we were so immersed in our conversations that the dough ran out well before the stories did.

modes of transportation

Yesterday morning, I drove to my friend's house to do yoga.

While this statement may not seem in any way odd - it is. I don't drive anymore; it's been six months since I sold my beloved Jeep. I can count on one hand the number of times I was behind the wheel during the month of November (actually I can count on two fingers - once I drove James' sister to Publix in her parents car and once I circled Walmart's parking lot while my friend Diane ran in to get some last minute food items for a party (another story..))

During our trip to the northeast, I didn't drive a single time. It's easier that way - James is a wonderful person, but a constant backseat driver. When we go somewhere together - he drives. So, I happily knitted my way along our journey (producing 3 scarves, one hat, 4 washcloths, and a pair of fingerless gloves during the trip.)

I don't drive in Gainesville. I primarily work from home or from the library - only a mile away. For errands, I have my backpack and my bike which has a basket. Because we live so close to campus, I have a grocery store, book store, post office, ABC store, and various restaurants and other services within a quarter mile and more options in a two mile radius. I can ride my bike, walk, get a ride with a friend or take the bus anywhere I need to go.

My friend, Joanna, with whom I do yoga 3+ times a week, lives 3.5 miles from our house. She is my farthest commute. I like the ride. I pass two elementary schools on my way - watching the kids and their families makes me happy. There are a few families who bike to school and I usually cross paths with them. One dad followed by a little mini version of him, a mom on a tandem bicycle with her little girl who never seems to know where they are going, and another mom who has a green bike and a whole gaggle of kids who wobble behind her even on rainy mornings.

Interestingly, I don't miss driving. Biking or walking or catching a ride is actually a pretty nice way to live. I get some exercise or time with friends that I wouldn't have otherwise. I also only buy as much as I can carry, which is a good way to limit spending and buying unnecessarily.

So, I drove yesterday, and it felt weird. Passing those school kids in a big, old truck rather than on my little bike, I felt a little trapped and very large and overstated. I didn't get to Joanna's house any faster and her dog barked frantically when I arrived.

I did, however, enjoy the freedom of being able to go as far as I wanted and to run as many errands as I needed at one time. Plus, I stocked up on canned tomatoes, tuna and beans, because those suckers are heavy in the bike basket.