They will try to hold on to the shore.  They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know that the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open and heads above the water.

And I say see who is there with you and celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves, for the moment we do our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.

The way of the lone wolf is over.  Gather yourselves.

Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.  All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

–Message from the Hopi Elders

Several of my friends have asked for my Mom’s pizzelle recipe, and I’m happy to share it here.  But get ready to dive in, as there are many schools of thought as to what makes the perfect pizzelle.

In our extended family there’s an unresolved schism over pizzelles.  Several of us insist they must be anise, others favor vanilla or almond.  I’ve tried them all–even chocolate–and for our family anise is the only way to go.  A cup of coffee with an anise biscotti can only be beat by a cup of coffee with an anise pizzelle–and the anise makes the house smell heavenly.  It’s the smell of Christmas.

Then there’s the question of butter or oil?  Oil–without a doubt.  And it must be Wesson oil, because Mom made a batch with some other oil once and the pizzelles tasted wrong, so Wesson it is.  Anise extract (me) and anise oil (Mom) is another issue, as is with or without anise seed.  Should they be thin & crisp?  Or thicker?  How sweet should they be?  How much anise?  Should you add vanilla extract, or citrus zest?  How about ground nuts?

Pizzelles have an interesting history, and the early ones were made with irons held over a fire.  Today I use an electric iron, and we always watch “The Christmas Carol”, the one with George C. Scott, while we’re making them.  If we start heating the iron at the beginning of the movie, we’re almost finished about the time the third ghost shows up.  And then the house smells like anise and we have pizzelles for breakfast with coffee or tea (shut up–it’s Christmas), for dessert, and for a treat anytime.  I’m even tempted to go back to coffee at this time of year just so I can have it with pizzelles . . . and eggnog :-O

Making pizzelles is a family ritual.  My kids look forward to it every year, and so do I.  Making the pizzelles is my Christmas benchmark–once it’s done I can relax.

Here’s the recipe:

Anise Pizzeles

1 dozen eggs at room temperature

3 cups sugar

2 cups Wesson oil

7 cups flour

3 Tablespoons of anise seed, lightly crushed

1 small bottle anise extract

Crack the eggs into a bowl and beat with the sugar.  Add oil gradually while beating.  Beat until combined, then add anise seed & extract.  Add flour in several additions.  Don’t over-beat , but make sure everything is combined well.  Cook according to instructions of the electric pizzelle maker of your choice.

A disclaimer: our family likes a fairly strong anise flavor, so please adjust to your taste.  Also, Mom usually makes about half the amount of this recipe.

Happy Holidays!

It’s the Holidays, so I think I’m going to go a bit out-of-order and post My Mom’s Pizzelle Recipe first, as that one was really popular last year.  It’s nice to be back, I missed posting about the crazy world of voiceover.

I hope you’ll follow me to my new blog home, where you’ll be able to subscribe to an RSS feed for new updates.  And I couldn’t move all the content from this blog to the new one, so if your blog site isn’t listed please let me know and I’ll put you on there.  Here’s the address: http://kitziesvoice.blogspot.com/

Looking forward to seeing you there to continue the conversation!

Love from me,

Kitzie

I’ve been away from my home/studio for almost 3 weeks . . . way too long. I was in Philadelphia for several weeks taking care of my Mom after knee replacement (that’s another story). But now I’m in Cape Cod with my husband’s family. This isn’t my first time, I’ve been here twice before. But this time I think I finally get it.

The Cape is a different vacation experience for me. I grew up in Philly, and I’m used to goin’ down the shore, specifically Ocean City or Avalon, and laying on the beach with my friends. The Cape Cod shore experience involves woods, lakes, bugs and the like. I haven’t done much camping, and the whole woodsy, bugsy thing creeps me out. But yesterday a walk through the woods around several bodies of water (I’m still trying to figure the place out) was delightful despite the bugs. So was the ice cream parlor last night. And the tour of the Victorian sea captain’s house was a gas . . . no kidding! Today I swam in the lake . . . glorious, and I even got to like all the dragonflies flitting around.

History is so present here, and there is such charm, despite the traffic and the crowds. I’ve just finished a book recommended by my mother-in-law called “The Widow’s War” by Sally Gunning. The story of the spirited, young whaling widow got me so involved in imagining her life in colonial Cape Cod, I pretended to be her today as I walked along the trail by our house . . . imagining my long skirt swishing and a freshly caught fish in hand. It helped that the setting for the book and the author are both local. And I’m good at imagining.

I’m pretty new in town, but here’s what I know. Here there is always an awareness of the immense power of nature. History is always present. The greenery is lush, and wild roses cascade over old stone walls. There are stories of the old farmhouse, of glorious carefree childhood summers on the Cape. Of sailing with cousins. Of fresh corn and grandmother’s blackberry pies. It must have been grand, and in so many ways it still is.

Dear Cape Cod,

It appears I have sand in my shoes. Catch you next time.

Love,

Kitzie

- Joni Mitchell “Chelsea Morning”

Summer has arrived in the Pacific Northwest, and this weekend was glorious. Up to now, we’ve been having “Juneuary”. I think we’ve invented a new word out here. Anyway, it has been a cold, wet spring and it is wonderful to see (and feel) the sun again.

I’m finding these ceremonies mean more to me as I get older. They celebrate a moment in time, and as I age I realize time moves fast. Marking the moment takes on more importance, and this was a big one for me. No more driving children to school, no more lunch money to give. No more middle school soccer or high school football. No more birthday parties at Papa’s Pizza. It feels sad and exhilarating at the same time.

I imagine over the next several months my emotions will swing between joy and sadness. My son is going through the same thing. He is saying goodbye to his childhood this summer, and so am I. Jess says his real life is finally beginning. A new phase of my life it beginning too, my life after children. We’re both alternately sad and joyful, but open to possibility.

You probably know all kinds of exotic remedies for preventing colds and if you get one how to sound normal through it all. You know what a neti pot is. You rarely eat dairy (clogs the throat) or wheat (runs the nose). No wait . . . that’s me. I also keep protein water in my booth in case my stomach starts to growl during a long session. Microphones will totally pick those growls up, usually during your best take. And speaking of microphones. If you’re a VO, you’re constantly in search of the ultimate microphone, the one that makes you sound rich and delicious. Neumann, Horch, Sennheiser, Gefell are all familiar names.

Here’s another VO thing. Right now I have to make an appointment with the dentist for my annual check-up and I’m dreading it, but not for the reasons most people dread going to the dentist. Even a simple teeth cleaning means I’ll be sibilant (lots of ssss in my tracks) for several weeks. And something more complicated involving novacaine? Forget about it, I’m out of commission for half a day. But it must be done, so I’ll make the appointment and hope a big job doesn’t come in that week. Or I’ll time it so the dental cleaning appointment is right before a vacation.

I’m fresh out of thoughts about weird VO stuff at the moment, but feel free to add your own. I have to call my dentist

I’m searching for my voice in many areas of my life these days, and it has become something of a spiritual quest. Very soon now, for the first time in almost 25 years, I won’t have children at home. I have no idea of how that will feel. I’ll always speak with the voice of a Mom, but it will be different after this summer.

It’s an emotional transition, and I’ve found that one of my strongest places of peace and grounding is the house we live in. It’s older, built in the ’20s, and is small but charming, a bungalow with lots of built-in shelves and cupboards and a sun room. Every time I clean the chandelier over the dining room table or open one of the cupboards I feel connected to every woman who lived here and who has done the same thing. I feel especially connected to the womanly ghosts of this house in the old garden. For instance, what woman planted the daffodils right outside the gate? They’re in a really inconvenient place, but you have to pass them to take out the trash. I just know a woman who lived here planted those daffodils, someone who wanted to see the first sign of spring. I look for them every spring, and expect she did too.

It’s comforting to know our house has witnessed a lot of life , and that life has left its mark here. It reminds me that life moves, but many things stay constant. Like the love a Mom has for her children, and the love they have for her . . . even though they’re not here every night to say “What’s for dinner?” I feel sometimes the house is wrapping its arms around me, reminding me to stay centered and live each moment as fully as possible. Our house reminds me we are all here for a time, we live our lives, we plant our daffodils, and ultimately we all move on. Buddah’s Wheel is always turning.

Enjoy your day.

I’m also fascinated with how the exercise form called Pilates came to be. There was actually a Joseph Pilates. He developed his original method during WW 1 in internment hospitals using hospital beds and springs rigged to provide resistance for bedridden patients. If you look at the design of the Reformer, you can see where it came from. When he and his wife moved from Germany to New York, their fitness studio shared an address with the New York City Ballet. When the dancers were injured, they were told to “Go see Joe” and he would rehabilitate them. George Balanchine studied with Joseph Pilates in the ’60′s, as did many other dancers in the New York community.

I’m loving this exercise method, and an unexpected benefit is all my summer clothes are loose. I’ve been a happy camper just with the gains in strength and flexibility I’ve made, but wow . . . now I can see the difference with the way my clothes fit. What’s not to like?