Krista Maurer

Farewell to Summer: Our Latest Dinner Party

Posted on September 29, 2010 by Krista

It all began with an email that read:

Sept. 9, 2010

Dearest Cookie (a.k.a. Frit),
Did you realize that the last day of Summer is this month? Well, it is. The 21st of September to be exact. And so I propose … a dress up dinner party hostessed by toi et moi (that’s “you and me” in French. I learned that the other day when I was watching my French subtitled movie from Netflix On Demand). A “Farewell to Summer” dinner party if you will.
What do you think? Invite 4 ladies, dresses required, and fancy to boot?
Fondly,
Kristafer

The reply to which, was:

Dear Cookie. Stop.

Though I am saddened to hear that summer will be departing, I think a dinner party in honor of the warm days is a splendid idea.

Sincerely. Cordially. And affectionately.

Frit

And so. A guest list was finalized, a plan was outlined, and invitations were mailed.

(Sidenote: I illustrated the banner on our invitations which you are free to download here if you would like use it in the future. Simply paste into a Word document or other editing program, type in your party info, and print. *Remember–it’s for personal use only. Please do not sell my illustration or anything made from my illustration. Stealing makes me sad.)

When the twenty-first arrived, I was beside myself with anticipation and began the day busily making final preparations … ironing the linens, polishing the silverware, gathering supplies for the centerpieces, preparing an assortment of foods. But when I went to hang the bistro lights on the patio outside, I found the bees were out in full force and I knew there was no way we would enjoy a relaxing dinner with all the buzzing in our backyard. I could foresee the swatting and cowering with a final mad dash back into the house, plates in hand, my lovely table abandoned.

And that, my friends, is why you must always have a Plan B when hostessing a party.

I moved the party inside and while the decor wasn’t what I’d originally envisioned (that is, buntings and lights hanging from the trellis to match the invitations I’d drawn) it still turned out perfectly.

I used a white tablecloth as my base, with two pinky-peach runners laid across the width of the table on each end. On top of that I placed a hand-laced square overlay that I found while on a holiday in Scotland. I also arranged an assortment of glassware around the table and placed tea-lights in each.

For the centerpieces, I bought three bouquets from the grocer: 1 dozen peach roses, 6 stems of pink snap dragons, and a handful of yellow wildflower fillers, to divide and arrange between three vases filled with water and clear glass stones. I then wrapped each vase (2 of which were mason jars) with hemp twine and tied with a loose bow.

As for place settings, I used large white dinner plates, chartreuse linen napkins with silverware to the sides (knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left … in case you wondered), beveled glass bowls for the dinner rolls, stemmed glasses for iced water and mason jars for lemonade. It was summer casual meets simple elegance.

Place cards were printed with each person’s name and various quotes about summer including …

The summer night is like a perfection of thought. ~Wallace Stevens

In summer, the song sings itself. ~William Carlos Williams

A life without love is like a year without summer. ~Swedish Proverb

Summer afternoon – summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James

Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move your dancing feet. ~Bob Marley

On the menu we had:

Grilled Marinated Chicken

(halved chicken breasts soaked in a mixture of olive oil, sparkling cider, lemon juice, dijon mustard, and basil for 3 hours and then grilled up on the George Foreman)

Warm Garlic String Beans

(blanch 1-pound of string beans for 2 minutes. Return to a saucepan with 3 tablespoons olive oil, 1 tablespoon butter, 4 cloves of garlic minced, 3 tablespoons lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and a 1/4 teaspoon black pepper. Cook about 4 minutes over medium-high heat. Toss in 2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley and 1 tablespoon grated lemon zest. Serve warm.)

Lemon Rice Pilaf

(prepare rice and risotto as instructed on packaging but substitute 1/4 of the water with fresh lemon juice, add herbs as desired. Sprinkle with chopped parsley when served.)

Fresh Corn and Tomato Salad

Dinner Rolls from Sego Lily Cafe in Bountiful

(the rolls are worth the drive from anywhere, but the Butternut Squash Ravioli will put you over the edge.)

with my Citrus Tart for dessert

It was a light, fresh meal–a perfect etude of summer.

In attendance we had the lovely and talented Brooke, a long-time friend who immediately came to mind when we began planning. (And just so you know, you should totally download her new CD. Tracks 3 and 6 are my faves.)

As well as the beautiful Misses Kelly and LuAnn, who drove all the way from American Fork (an hour away) to have dinner with us. Kelly was a blog reader I had never met–I drew her name from those who emailed interest in coming when I extended the invitation to all of you readers. She brought her mother LuAnn as her guest and as soon as they walked in, they felt like old friends. They own Lu Kels, a darling online boutique (speaking of…I’ve got my eye on the red 3-button cadet cap. Isn’t it fantastic?!) and were so fun to meet. It was honestly a perfect group of people.

Our dear neighbor Paula was also on the guest list but had to cancel last minute due to her twin babes being sick. This was sad news for many reasons. First, Paula is down-right hilarious and fun to have around. Second, we would have loved to give her a night away from the kids. And third, Paula is an amazing violinist and we’d asked her to bring her violin to favor us with a mini concert. But no matter, we took her a plate of deliciousness later that night and kept her at the top of the list for the next dinner party.

And as for the concert, we still had plenty of entertainment. Brooke and I each sang a couple of songs and that in and of itself made my whole night. Singing around the piano with friends is balm to the soul.

I honestly had the most wonderful evening–meeting new friends, sitting with old ones, sharing food and laughter. That’s the reason I love to hostess. Nourishment in every way. I hoped our guests knew how grateful we were that they came. And if they didn’t, we gave them a jar of homemade peach jam to remind them.

(Thank you so much Brookie, Kelly, and LuAnn. You’re all so wonderful and Frit and I had the most fantastic time with you. xoxo)

And now? I’m just scheming for the next party. Can’t wait!

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That Time Howie Mandel Interrupted My Prayer

Posted on September 16, 2010 by Krista

Frit and I think very differently. And as such, sometimes I tell her that I would like to spend a day inside her head. To which she replies, “You couldn’t pay me enough to spend an hour inside your head.”

Case in point: Today I was driving to the TV station for my monthly appearance and my train of thought went something like this …

I need some music. [I turn the radio on.]

Oh shoot. I forgot to say my prayers this morning and I’m gonna need His help with this TV segment. [I turn the radio off.]

Heavenly Father: I thank thee so much for this day. I’m so grateful for my life. Please help me this morning with my TV segment …

That song on the radio sounded just like the song that girl sang on America’s Got Talent last night with T-payne.

T-pain?

Tea-pane?

Hm.

I wonder if he’s related to Tu-pac.

It was kind of a weird song.

I heard somewhere, or maybe I read it, that Howie Mandel is germaphobic.

Is the term “germaphobic” politically correct? Probably not. What do you even call someone who’s anxious about germs? There’s got to be a term for that.

If I ever met Howie Mandel, he probably wouldn’t want to shake my hand.

Not that my hands in particular are extra dirty, but hands in general do carry a lot of germs. I actually wash my hands a lot and use a lot of that anti-bacterial stuff. I’m probably borderline germaphobic too.

So anyway, how would I say “hello Mr. Mandel, pleased to meet you,” without a handshake?

Nugs?

Yes, I think nugs would work. Less germs on the top knuckles, I’d assume.

Well at least that’s settled. If I ever meet Howie Mandel, I’ll give him nugs.

Why am I thinking about Howie Mandel?

Oh right. The radio song that sounded like the song on America’s Got Talent, which I turned off because I needed to pray.

Oh shoot. My prayer. It’s still hanging in the air.

Heavenly Father: sorry ’bout that. I’m back. So … can you please help me with my TV segment this morning?

Early Morning Fishing: A Summer Must

Posted on July 13, 2010 by Krista

Last week Frit had a day off work and we used her free morning to drive up into the Uintas for an early morning fishing trip. We woke before the sun, packed a cooler, loaded our gear, and were on our way as light made its way up over the horizon.

After an hour winding through the mountains, we hiked down a hill, past fields of blue bells, and over a tiny stream to a trail that wound around a sleeping lake. It was calm and quiet. In other words, it was perfection.

A few other fishermen were already perched at their stoops and kindly told us that the fishing was good. Not that that mattered to us. We never catch anything anyway, even if everyone else does. But that’s not why we go. We go for the calm. And the quiet.

The colors were deep and saturated, I remember. Plump with hue, the lake and sky volleyed their finest features back and forth, spilling over onto everything in their blue-green reach. And once the sun was high, her bright white yellow mingled gold and sparkling, chasing the shadows of night back into hiding.

I captured a sunburst in the sky.

And starbusts on the lake.

(Doesn’t it look as though little lake urchins strung twinkle lights along the lapping ripples?)

That was about all I caught that day. My big bite of the day was, well … not so big.

But the fish enjoyed a mighty fine breakfast, courtesy of us. And we were happy to oblige.

After all, they did provide us reason for escape, a perfect morning of casting and reeling, the kind of graceful monotony that eases a weary soul.

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The Buddhist Flutist

Posted on April 10, 2010 by Krista

A conversation I had with Frit a la 5 minutes ago…

Me: I have a lunch meeting today with that flutist that I’m doing some consulting for, so I might not make it to the baby shower.

Frit: What Buddhist?

Me: [laughing so hard I almost peed my pants] Did you say “Buddhist”?

Frit: Yeah.

Me: No, it’s the flutist.

Frit: Oh. Well. Rub her belly for good luck will ya?

My 5K Marathon

Posted on July 8, 2008 by Krista

“You’ll be glad I stayed,” she said.

“No I won’t,” I replied indignantly. “I gave everyone strict instructions. Remember? ‘Don’t run slower than you usually do just for me.’ I’m slow and I don’t want anyone holding themselves back just because they feel bad leaving me. So go. Please. I know you run faster than this.”

She didn’t answer. She also didn’t increase her pace.

I gave up. Mostly because I can’t talk, breathe, and run all at the same time, but also because I didn’t have energy to waste on arguing. I knew the mountain I had to climb and I didn’t have stamina to spare.

So we ran. But I was annoyed. I didn’t want to hold anyone back. I also didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I know I run slow – about as slow as the 70-year-old walkers in front of us. But that’s fine. My only goals were to finish in less than forty-five minutes and to run the whole way. Not one step of walking.

At the quarter-mile mark the police officer cording off traffic danced and clapped as we passed. “You go girls! You can do it!”

“I’m gonna need you again in about a mile,” I laughed.

“I’ll be right here on your way back,” she said.

I was keeping an even pace. An even, slow, pace. I knew if I wanted to finish having run the whole way I couldn’t go any faster. But she was still beside me – even as slow as I was.

At mile one we started seeing runners already on their way back. Every so often we’d pass a member of our group and I’d smile, straighten my back, and add a bit more bounce to my step, trying to make it look like I was enjoying this and holding up well.

Why I decided to do this was beyond me. I hate running. But I said I was going to do it. So there I was. Running as best I could. And she was still beside me.

We made it to the half-way point and I was oddly happy to be on the return side meeting people still headed for the turn-around. Not that I was glad they were behind me, but I was just grateful not to be last. I looked to my right and the ocean spread far beneath a cloudy sky. It had seemed crazy to drive so far for such a short race, but now – looking out over the California coastline – it was worth it. Maybe.

I could see mile marker two ahead. I was tired but okay. Two miles was as far as I had ever gone before. I said a quick prayer that I’d be able to go the last mile.

Mile two and a quarter. The mind-talk begins.

I’m really tired. I really want to walk. I don’t think I can do this. I have to walk. Just one step.
No Krista. You can’t.
Heavenly Father please. Help me.
Please …
Please …
Please …
Please help me finish. Help me just do this one thing. Help me do what I said I would do.

I was breathless. “Help me remember why I love this? Tell me again why I’m doing this?”

She began to rattle off the why’s, legitimate or otherwise. I just prayed. And we kept on running.

I don’t remember anything about the space between two-and-a-half and three miles but I know my body gave up and something else took over. My mind perhaps. More likely my spirit. But I was still running. And she was still beside me.

Only one-tenth left. The crowd along the streets got thicker the farther we went.

“You can do it!”
“You’re SO close!”
“The finish line is right there,” they yelled.

They didn’t even know me. And I was practically last. I didn’t know it would feel like this. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I just didn’t know it would feel like this.

I could see the finish line up ahead and my legs voluntarily pumped faster. I couldn’t slow them down. Audible sobs escaped with every gasp for air. Heart racing, I kept pounding forward. She reached over and put her hand on my back.

“I have to stop crying,” I laughed. “I can’t breathe and I can’t see! But I just didn’t know it would feel like this.”

I had never run this fast, or this far, but there I was – three steps away. Three. Two. One. Runner 663: Forty-four minutes and fifty-nine seconds. And there she was – right beside me.

For a minute I was lost in the euphoria and the finishing ribbons and the commotion of it all. But then I heard my name. I looked to my right and there was my group. Four girls jumping up and down, smiling, laughing, cheering as though I’d just finished a marathon. In a way – I had.

I really wasn’t prepared for how it would feel to finish. Truthfully, I wasn’t really prepared for any of it. And I needed a minute alone.

Run slowed to walk and I didn’t stop until I reached the wall by the cliff. Shuddering, I collapsed into a fit of uncontrollable sobs.

Heavenly Father I did it. I finished and I ran the whole way. I did it.
Thank you …
Thank you …
Thank you …
I did what I said I would do.

And I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

Looking back, that race was the most excruciating physical experience I have ever had to that point. I’ve never pushed my body farther or relied so heavily on my spirit. To some it’s only a 5K – a mere 3.1 miles. But to me it represents the depths of my ability and the wellspring of strength from which my soul draws. I’ve done hard things before – but I’ve never reached a point where I was certain I couldn’t go on. I’ve never felt the moment where body ends and spirit transcends. Until that day. May 20, 2006. The day I did what I said I’d do.

***

“You’ll be glad I stayed,” she said. And she was right.

She’ll probably never know just how glad, or how grateful I was – and am – that she stayed. She’ll probably never understand how both she, and those three miles, changed my life for forever. And the funny thing is – the race is over. But she’s still here. Still matching my pace. Still running beside me. Helping me do the things I say I’ll do.

Tell me: Who’s running beside you?

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