July 4: Cornmeal Thyme Cookies

Oh, my head hurts.

I wish I could say it's the result of a fun night of drinking, but no such luck. Just a head cold, along with a sinus headache. I hope the codeine kicks in soon.

Already it's July 8. Where did June go? Even the Fourth of July came and went in a blink. We stayed in town again this year for the neighborhood party: BBQ picnic; sidewalk art contest; kid-n-bikes parade; live band; water fights; and illegal fireworks in our park (including two that were federally banned). I hid out in the kitchen a lot of the weekend making jam. I'm already six batches into Jam Season, and that's just a good start. I've got lots of jamming to go.

On the Fourth I also managed to squeeze in a batch of cornmeal thyme cookies (pg. 65). (At least I think that was the Fourth--it's all a blur now.) James made a face when he tried the first one, but he kept asking for more, so I guess he liked them. Ian ate several, but Christian wasn't a fan. They're more savory than sweet, with cornmeal, thyme and currents. I just like baking anything that has ingredients from my backyard. Later on the Fourth I also popped out a batch of profiteroles just for fun. The rest of the neighborhood women were out whooping it up in the park, while I baked. This is precisely why we're not popular. I also hid on my front porch with Renee to read while the rest of the 'hood partied across the street. Call us anti-social, but at least we're well-read misfits.

There's one more weekend of idleness ahead of us before the summer really cranks up. Between camping trips and soccer tournaments, most of the summer is booked. That's why I enjoyed last weekend so much. I love unscheduled time. Stirring a pot of jam while reading a book on a lazy summer morning is bliss. My life feels so scheduled, full of deadlines, timelines and ticking clocks, that any time I get to just do what I want is priceless.

But I do need to work in more time for jam. And I'm feeling like I need to bake some cakes, and maybe some bread. Last summer I had some success with brioche and rosemary bread. I'm also suffering cookie guilt, as--while I haven't actually done the math lately--I'm suspecting that I'm behind schedule. Wasn't the goal 40 recipes in 52 weeks?

I've sort of checked out of the cooking thing lately. But I'm starting to dig my kitchen again. Maybe it's all that time I've been spending with pots and pans and kitchen scales. Making jam is a religious experience in our house. It's a ritual--a rite of summer. The berry is king in my kitchen between June and August. Even my boys, who normally disregard anything I say, know that jamming is serious business. Part science and part art, it's something I truly love to do. The funny thing is that I give most of it away.

Does that make me a generous person or just a Jam Pimp?

Well, no time now to ponder my jam motives. It's 10 p.m., and the boys are still up. My headache is better, but the house is a mess. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, I haven't had dinner, and my husband just discovered my Whoppers stash. And I have a 52"x30" original oil painting of a half-naked Inuit boy on my living room floor.

Don't ask.