Leavening in Eleven

"You have just entered a dimension where two pans of dinner rolls, made from the same batch of dough, baked in the same oven, can end up in two drastically different universes."

Welcome to Suburban Nairobi...aka, "The Twilight Zone." I SWEAR, I've been battling big-assed Easy Bake Ovens for two and a half years now in Kenya, but nothing, not even the pasta made from ostrich eggs that dissolved into a gooey mess about 30 seconds after it hit the boiling water, can top this debacle! Granted, one reason for this sorry outcome is that I've been flipping back and forth between reports from Sudan and Arizona all day. Watching the surgeon's press conference, trying to get an update on how Rep. Gabrielle Giffords is doing, made me ease up on the vigilance one needs to regulate the uneven supply of electricity fueling the aforementioned Easy Bake oven.

But after I finished this latest round of culinary cussin', I stood there a minute and stared. Then I got clobbered by a memory from January 2007, after I'd settled on my annual New Year's motto:

"My life will leaven in 2007." I hoped it would invoke a rising from the ashes of death and disease that had stalked my family the prior 4 years. By that point, my eldest brother and both parents had died, and my sister Julie had battled through a year of a Stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis. She seemed to be hanging tough in that moment, and so I vowed to rise like a phoenix, or at least like one of my famous batches of cloverleaf dinner rolls, in 2007.

Three months later, my NPR job got cut in half, which signaled an eventual parting of ways, probably a lot sooner than I would want it to happen. But I remember walking out of Managing Editor Ellen Weiss's office after she'd lowered the boom and squaring my shoulders, vowing to not crumble. I remember consciously reminding myself that when one door closes, another opens, and I was determined to not let it destroy my ego. Three weeks later, I'd been offered "the opportunity of a lifetime"...a chance to live overseas...

In Gulu.

Well, after I got over the initial shock of Northern Uganda and figured things out with my gig, I started to believe I could not only survive that stint, I could even thrive. I couldn't have asked for two more genial, hardworking colleagues in guys named Sean and Akiiki, and it seemed like I could ride out the rest of the tour without blowing a gasket. In fact, I was in the middle of one of the best workshops I've ever organized, in Arua, Uganda, just a stone's throw from the Democratic Republic of Congo, when I got the first call from my sister Marilyn, gently suggesting that if I ever wanted to see Julie alive again, I might want to start looking into a plane ticket.

By December of 2007, I'd concluded the universe must have misheard the motto I'd affirmed on New Year's Day. Instead of "leaven," Higher Power must've thought I'd vowed that my life would "leaden" in 2007. It was just one more way for me to laugh through the pain. Well, looking at this picture, I realize the Universe is finally getting around to setting the record straight. It reminds me that you don't get the good without the bad in this life. It reminds me that as much as you might try to control the situation, there's always going to be something that is completely out of your control, and more often than not, that something will SUCK OUT LOUD, and you will think that this time, you won't be able to survive it. But then you wake up a few years later and realize you did.

Let me break this thing on down to Chinatown, aiiiiight???? The Universe is reminding me to stop focusing on the six incinerated rolls in the pan on the right, and rejoice in 12 of the most delectable, buttery, flaky, yummy rolls I have ever made in my life! I know this because I have already started picking at the one in the center of the bottom row of the pan on the left. They are incredible, probably because I got a little carried away with the butter this time.

Higher Power is giving me one more chance to keep my promise to be "Grateful Times Seven in Twenty-Eleven." No wishing for Seventh Heaven for THIS gal, or any magic wands or Prince Charmings. "Just keep rising, Rachella." That's what all the angels and other celestial guides and good vibrations keep whispering. I'm still listening, don't worry.

P.S. I just found out that NPR's now Senior Vice President for News Ellen Weiss resigned a few days ago, part of the blowback from the Juan Williams saga. After 29 years. Half the network is in shock, the other half is rejoicing. I'm somewhere in between. Don't worry, I'll write about it soon.