It wasn’t about the chocolate… (Although over a quarter of that hazelnut torte is already gone. Coconut oil does work for a dairy-free version says I, here, let me make sure again, you want another piece too?)

Good thing I said something to Richard after I posted last night as we headed to bed. About how I’d mentally arranged my morning for picking Michelle up at the airport.

Wait, says he: she’s coming in at night.

What?! (Running and doublechecking the flight.)

Saved me twelve hours of circling. I guess I just really really wanted to see her as soon as I could.

(Ed.  Friday to add: we got home about 12:30 am. She’s home! She’s home!)

The box sits there. Unopened. I haven’t even looked at the bars inside because if I did it might all be over. They need to be pristine.

Michelle comes home tomorrow and there are two critically acclaimed bars of Potomac Chocolate sitting inside their Priority mailer, having come from near where we grew up; Richard ordered them for me with Mother’s Day as an excuse after the fact and they arrived a few days ago.

Isn’t it everybody’s dream to set up a tiny chocolate factory in their basement? Buy directly from the farmers, claim the quality because you made it come to be and you did it right? Paying for the best cocoa beans, then grinding them down, tempering, a little sugar going in. Nothing more. Picking up where Scharffenberger sold out and left off. Getting growing praise for a great product.

One. More. Day.

Meantime, I baked a second chocolate hazelnut torte tonight, substituting coconut oil for the butter so Michelle could eat it. It’s only fair; she’s the one that got me hooked on working with hazelnuts. I went researching a bit, and oil swaps out for butter best where there are a lot of nut oils present.

Hey.

Looks perfect. And now it has to refrigerate overnight before unmolding and slicing.

One. More. Day.

Meantime…

I went off to buy some birdseed today, and while I was in Los Gatos, out of curiosity I decided to swing by their Trader Joe’s on my way back to the freeway. Never been there.

As the clerk was checking me out I mentioned to him that after you toast those raw hazelnuts you want to rub the skins off–they’re bitter.

Oh! Thank you, good to know! He was very pleased and I thought, now, there’s a foodie.

I have always loved to bake. With Ryan here, we have someone in the household again whom I can go to town around without feeling quite so guilty–it’s a problem when one person needs to lose weight and the other could sure stand to gain some.

Well, nuts. And so I went looking for recipes.

Which is how I came across this flourless chocolate hazelnut cake on a site that won a clearly well-deserved culinary award.

Caution, though: definitely read through before starting.

I told Richard in the middle of it that next time I would know what I was doing and it would go a whole lot faster. It took me something like an hour and a half to get it into the oven, checking and doublechecking that I wasn’t forgetting anything, figuring out why you do this and then that on the two sets of hazelnuts in definitely the order she said. And I’m glad she said a half pound here to let me know that the four ounce measure of them there was to be in weight, not volume–it made a cup, not a half cup.

Six eggs, two extra egg whites, dark chocolate, and 3/4 lb of nuts. We can live with that.

I didn’t add the liqueor nor the espresso powder, good little Mormon that I am, but I will say that only bourbon vanilla will do for chocolate. I scooped the last of the batter from the spatula and bowl and cuisinart and onto a plate and nuked it. Wow was it good!

She suggests topping it with ganache.

I think my old chocolate torte recipe just got totally upstaged.

Ryan is dear to us and we are fortunate to be able to have him; this is going to be a great summer. (Note to my sister- and brother-in-law: you did a great job.)

Meantime, yesterday I frogged my latest project most of the way back to tweak the very first row and it is much better for it. Little details matter.

I’m glad too that I wasn’t satisfied with the darker, grayer blue silk I was knitting for my aunt, because that means the original shawl is still here to check against and improve on. This time I’m carefully writing down every stitch as I go–because this time I know how it comes out and that I like it and that I want to knit it again and again. (Always a good sign.)

By the way, just for fun: some books recycled into art here. Books of a cover, carved another.

Hamilton? I didn’t hear the rest so I parked on that street and pulled out my phone; Holly appeared within maybe ten seconds and I waved.

It’s not often you get to share lunch with a knitter who lives on a different continent. (And then she surprised me and treated me at Coupa Cafe–thank you, Holly!)

We talked knitting, we talked kids, we both looked forward to the day she and her husband actually move here and stay put, but in the meantime, we grabbed what time together we could.

And then I very reluctantly drove her to the train station and went home to do exciting things like getting laundry done and put away.

Our nephew Ryan will be arriving tonight. I can’t wait!

Ten a.m.: a baby shower. A cabled-brim hat of superwash, soft Malabrigo Rios that looked absolutely adorable on the little newborn, who had arrived before the originally scheduled shower. I’ve always said the best way to get a baby to come is to commit to doing something else. Hey.

Had a lovely time, dashed, came home to a message that Kathy had called and ran right back out the door to Stanford hospital, where our friend Kelli (scroll halfway down) was recovering from surgery. Never rear-end someone on a bike.

The three of us laughed, we told stories, I stayed four hours till I really did have to go: we had shopping to do before Costco closed and we had to un-claim Sam’s old room. (She had yarn in her old dresser? Who knew?)

Our nephew Ryan is arriving Monday for the summer.  His room is ready. Our Michelle will arrive ten days later. It will be good to have young’uns around again.

When we went to our son Richard’s law school graduation last month, his little Parker did a doubletake, studying us intently and then breaking into a grin that got huge when we spoke–that WAS the Skype people! Cool!

Today he saw our faces on the screen and he knew exactly who we were and that we were real. We had a great time playing with him, clapping with him, cheering him on and even got a “Hi” and “Bye”!

Seventeen months. Next thing you know he’ll be on the soccer team.

Here’s him riding with his cousin coming up close behind. (Go for the nose, kid, and your dad cuts off the video quick.) We think he’s cute.

You know how to get me really knitting? Really burning through the stash?

Dangle a yarn in front of me that I really, really want, that I could tell you all the reasons why it would be just the most perfect yarn for so many potential recipients, and to seal it, make it something that’s a one-time thing only and at an unbeatable price…

…While knowing there’s just no justifying it till I make decent headway on what I’ve got. Lots of sand on that beach grabbing at my toes.

Well then. Dive in!

Richard’s Uncle Rosel (pronounced RAW-zul) passed this afternoon. He was elderly but it was quite unexpected.

But–but–I wanted to SEE them again, both of them!

I am grateful beyond words that we got to see him and his wife several times in the last few years and that they made the effort to come to our son’s wedding four years ago. Where pictures were taken.

And now for some Parker pictures from Richard’s graduation. He played with his truck and he played peekaboo while exploring everything.

Even when he was dog-tired from being too interested in all the new places to take a nap, he stayed cheerful. Such a sweetie.

So we got home Monday night and flew out again Thursday morning and home again tonight. Richard’s graduation and then Michelle’s, with the help of some very antique frequent flier miles.

I so wanted to stop by Diana’s on our way to the airport, but we had made it Thursday morning by three minutes before they started boarding, and snow–*snow*!–was predicted in Michigan; Richard didn’t want to risk the time, not with all the people who might be cramming the airport with the graduation festivities all ending and the possible road hazards with the weather and returning the rental car.  And all that.

Michelle’s roommate had her mom staying with them and so Michelle’s friend Melissa offered sight unseen to put us up for the two nights; all the hotels around had been booked for that weekend for months, we were told. So a big shout-out to Melissa for her kindness; she’s such a good soul, and her grandpa she takes care of is a love, too. Apple. Tree. Yes. And Grandpa loves his birdfeeder.

It was so good to see our daughter in her own environment. To see where–well, everything, and quite a few really good people. To meet her peach of a roommate.

We did stop by Friday night at Lisa and Mike’s, the friends whose daughter Tara is the namesake of my redwood-burl-pattern shawl. (Holy cow. $899 for a new copy on Amazon tonight? Hey, y’all, go to Purlescence; they’ve got it in stock at cover.)

I asked their youngest, now in high school, the only one not born in California, if he remembered meeting us when he was little. How I picked him up and twirled him around and around, arms to outstretched arms, spinning, spinning till we both fell down and his oldest brother David exclaiming, NOW you’ve had the Sister Hyde experience!

Nope, he shook his head a bit bashfully, don’t remember that.

That’s okay, you were pretty little.

Today, our GPS tried to route us straight through campus to get to the airport.  As if! We turned left instead and made it tell us how to get to the highway going around all the other celebrants.

New adventures and new places to come. Our children have the whole world open to them.

Michelle’s college presented their most celebrated award and announced the winner. We all clapped–and then they gave a shout out to another student whose work they wanted recognized, too.

Whose mother managed not to yell, Go SHELLE!!!

But only just barely.

Which one were we in?

I told her.

My mom: “That’s the bedroom I was in before I went to college!”

My grandparents built their dream house in the late 1940’s on a hillside overlooking Salt Lake City. My grandmother wanted it old and traditional; my grandfather wanted it new and modern.

So they compromised: at the front, you see a lovely stone house–I have always loved stone houses, and if you’ve got Rocky (note the name) Mountains facing your  front yard… And the back is floor-to-ceiling windowspace across the living room, as if the house were in California rather than Utah.

My grandparents sold it; as I understand it, another couple lived there for decades, and finally it came back on the market.

My uncle, the baby of his family and the one with the most memories of that house, snatched it immediately.

He invited us to come stay there while we were visiting for our son Richard’s graduation from BYU Law school; his beds would be more comfortable than the small hide-a-bed at my folks (true). My brother wanted to come from Colorado with his three girls, the chances for us to see each other being far too few, and Uncle Bob offered them his house, too. Plenty of space, feel free, come!

We had such a good time…

We got to see Richard and Kim and her parents, (my husband) Richard’s sister and her family, one son having just finished his undergrad at BYU, aunts, uncles,  nephews, my parents. Some of my cousins visited us. Today we got to see Richard’s other sister, who recently finished her chemo treatments and looked so much better than the last time I saw her. (As I was told, too, over and over by everybody.)

And we got to play with Parker! Pictures coming.

I asked Uncle Bob, who was about to grab his own plane out, what Aunt Joyce’s favorite color was.

And you know he suddenly knew exactly why I was asking that as his face totally lit up.  Blue. Then he clarified, Light blue.

Let the stash search begin.

John caught me doing the dishes and protested, Mom–that’s MY job.

My older brother came from Colorado with his girls. My sister-in-law and her family came from Texas (one of theirs had finished his undergrad). My daughter-in-law’s parents came from California. My parents came.

That was the first graduation I’ve ever been to where, except for one enthusiastic family from I think Hawaii, the audience actually held their applause as requested till the end–but maybe the fact that Richard’s was a law school ceremony had something to do with it.

And Parker, surrounded by friendly strangers and unfamiliar surroundings and a lack of nap times, charmed the socks off everybody anyway. He is such a sweet baby.