I haven't written in a while, because I've been working on publishing some books. Kinda kills me, really. I can't believe that I've moved forward with that purpose. That I am, in fact, living the dream. And, it's amazing how many people are living it with me. This isn't something I could do alone. And as I consider that though, I wonder how many other dreams are, in fact, lived alone. There's an extensive amount of emotional support coming at me from different angles. I wonder if that's been predetermined for me, since I am fragile; or if that kind of support is given to each dreamer, in different ways, from different voices, but still given.
Anyway, to the point:
As I work on collecting content for future books, it dawns on me that if I don't continue to feed the fountain of raw content, that one day when I am searching for new thoughts to expand on, they will not be there....
A completely unacceptable fate. Especially, since this is my job. New content - raw or polished - is my job.
And so, as I get to learn this new position, it occurs to me the importance of finding the right balance. There's so many different things that I am in charge of, for myself and for others...in the last 6 weeks, I've chided myself for spending too much time on one thing. I haven't yet established a solid enough pattern to write things down on a schedule, but then, I'd like to force myself to be open to creating the schedule as it goes....
which can only work if I am self-disciplined enough to get the lesser fun things done.
Balance.
I mean, really?! Because at this point, it's the balance of fun and not-so-fun. It's all work, but then it would be profitable if it wasn't. But, I am very lucky to be able to category all my work as fun and not-so-fun....I mean, it could be much, much worse. It could be terrible and even-more-terrible. I will count my blessings; and find the balance.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
hippo
I wasn't the teddy bear kind of girl.I used to sleep with a hippo.
The hippo, named Hippo (I was so creative as a child, wasn't I?), appeared in my life as a gift about the time I turned 8 years old. I don't know why I felt an immediate and intense bond with this small, purple stuffed animal; but I did.
I proudly slept with this animal as I grew up, toting him with me wherever I went: to sleepovers and summer camps, senior high school retreats and college dorm rooms. He's even traveled internationally with me - on several occasions, in fact (lucky little hippo).
And then I got married; and I respectfully placed him on the night table on my side of the bed. He was my guard-hippo; and only every now and then would I indulge in a hippo-snuggle, mostly if I was taking a nap solo or if my husband was gone for the weekend.
During my separation, I kept Hippo close (he's my family after all), but I wouldn't sleep-snuggle with him. There was something desperately sad and lonely in the act of embracing a stuffed animal after I had chosen a man to embrace in bed for the rest of my life and then went back on that promise.
Even now, divorce settled and water under the bridge, Hippo stands guard more than he provides comfort. Just because it doesn't feel right anymore. I am sure he understands, old friends always do. But it makes me sad.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
reflections on family
I am currently reading Paul Reiser's Familyhood.
This is the result one of those little trails in life that came up unexpected, and I took the opportunity to explore it.
------
"Hey, the bookstore in that shopping center is closing. Want to go check it out?"
Of course. I was game for just about anything on that lovely, childless afternoon. I could relish in my ability to be and act irresponsible. I hadn't "just perused" a bookstore in a long time; and I was certainly interested in enjoying the fact that I had no child tagging along to gripe and complain as I lingered over the shelves of books and CD's.
------
I walked alone through the shelves, just as I used to when my parents took me during my teenage years. It's an intense solitary string of moments when you open your mind to evaluate whether new stories, songs and information will become a part of your existence.
I have countless happy moments of learning lived in the quiet corners of bookstores.
------
The new Paul Reiser book shouted at me from its predominate display.
I thought: Hey, I know that guy!
And in a bookstore full of yet-unknowns, it is always nice to see a familiar face (or name).
I am familiar with Paul's expression through his first book, Couplehood. My uncle gave me that book when I started dating seriously and I enjoyed Paul's perspective of coupling immensely. It became a kind of subconscious subtext for me as I moved along in relationships.
Just a note: I haven't read Paul's second book, Babyhood, because I was very much in the midst of dealing with my own budding courtship and sooner-than-expected baby's arrival.
------
My definition of family has been challenged, yet again, through my recent divorce.
I mean, who doesn't already have issues with defining their family as they grow - which is something that Paul explores - but, I feel like divorce, when there's a young child (or children) involved presents a challenge to the splitting partners on how their not-yet-realized "family unit" will be maintained, if at all.
I would suspect that there are issues outlining a definition no matter how old the children are, a truth I can attest to, as I have seen my own parents struggle to maintain their relationship. I am the child with a child, waiting to hear about boundaries, lines in the sand and having to establish a few of my own, for the protection of my own heart.
------
And, as I work to carve out my own meaning and definition of family - the one that I want to banner-carry through my existence and for my son, I know - that for me - the participants included aren't just blood relatives.
They are the handful of people that have seen me at my weakest and most vulnerable, and have encouraged me to keep moving forward because they love and support me no matter what. They are the people that love my child and engage in his development on a direct level, knowing that their influence of love and acceptance will positively impact him.
------
I am not sure that Paul will get to this. I haven't gotten into the book very far yet and I expect that he'll talk more about the family that is right there in front of him: his wife and two boys, and their adventures together.
But his first couple of chapters have my mind churning through the brain-compost and I feel like the seeds of self-reflection are already taking root and sprouting.
I'll probably struggle to get through this book. There will be another wave of mourning over the family unit I started that now suffers through an awkward existence of halting development. There will mostly likely be a wave of mourning over acknowledging that my dream of a house full of boys (one big one and a handful of smaller ones) is most likely not a realistic life-path for me anymore....I can actually already feel the premonitional heart-tug, in a sad kind of way.
I am not saying that things can't change- just saying that the elements that make it what it is are heavy-sided.
------
In the midst of my self-reflection and honorific mournful rite, I am thankful for the handful of individuals who love me like family, because they are my family.
This is the result one of those little trails in life that came up unexpected, and I took the opportunity to explore it.
------
"Hey, the bookstore in that shopping center is closing. Want to go check it out?"
Of course. I was game for just about anything on that lovely, childless afternoon. I could relish in my ability to be and act irresponsible. I hadn't "just perused" a bookstore in a long time; and I was certainly interested in enjoying the fact that I had no child tagging along to gripe and complain as I lingered over the shelves of books and CD's.
------
I walked alone through the shelves, just as I used to when my parents took me during my teenage years. It's an intense solitary string of moments when you open your mind to evaluate whether new stories, songs and information will become a part of your existence.
I have countless happy moments of learning lived in the quiet corners of bookstores.
------
The new Paul Reiser book shouted at me from its predominate display.
I thought: Hey, I know that guy!
And in a bookstore full of yet-unknowns, it is always nice to see a familiar face (or name).
I am familiar with Paul's expression through his first book, Couplehood. My uncle gave me that book when I started dating seriously and I enjoyed Paul's perspective of coupling immensely. It became a kind of subconscious subtext for me as I moved along in relationships.
Just a note: I haven't read Paul's second book, Babyhood, because I was very much in the midst of dealing with my own budding courtship and sooner-than-expected baby's arrival.
------
My definition of family has been challenged, yet again, through my recent divorce.
I mean, who doesn't already have issues with defining their family as they grow - which is something that Paul explores - but, I feel like divorce, when there's a young child (or children) involved presents a challenge to the splitting partners on how their not-yet-realized "family unit" will be maintained, if at all.
I would suspect that there are issues outlining a definition no matter how old the children are, a truth I can attest to, as I have seen my own parents struggle to maintain their relationship. I am the child with a child, waiting to hear about boundaries, lines in the sand and having to establish a few of my own, for the protection of my own heart.
------
And, as I work to carve out my own meaning and definition of family - the one that I want to banner-carry through my existence and for my son, I know - that for me - the participants included aren't just blood relatives.
They are the handful of people that have seen me at my weakest and most vulnerable, and have encouraged me to keep moving forward because they love and support me no matter what. They are the people that love my child and engage in his development on a direct level, knowing that their influence of love and acceptance will positively impact him.
------
I am not sure that Paul will get to this. I haven't gotten into the book very far yet and I expect that he'll talk more about the family that is right there in front of him: his wife and two boys, and their adventures together.
But his first couple of chapters have my mind churning through the brain-compost and I feel like the seeds of self-reflection are already taking root and sprouting.
I'll probably struggle to get through this book. There will be another wave of mourning over the family unit I started that now suffers through an awkward existence of halting development. There will mostly likely be a wave of mourning over acknowledging that my dream of a house full of boys (one big one and a handful of smaller ones) is most likely not a realistic life-path for me anymore....I can actually already feel the premonitional heart-tug, in a sad kind of way.
I am not saying that things can't change- just saying that the elements that make it what it is are heavy-sided.
------
In the midst of my self-reflection and honorific mournful rite, I am thankful for the handful of individuals who love me like family, because they are my family.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Eel (Unagi)
I am one of those people...let me go ahead and confess that: one of those people who had a bad experience with sushi, which has now put me off a bit.
I had come to a place in life where I was going to tackle sushi as a good type, and I did a really good job wading into the waters of experimentation and trial/error. But, then, there was this one time.
It could have been the prepackaged sushi.
It could have been the fact that I mixed it with German wine; with too much wine.
Let's just say that my friend's apartment probably never smelled the same ever again....I was mortified and completely closed to the idea of sushi...for a very long time. Just smelling it turned my belly to dark, ugly places.
But, I am also one of those "if you fall off the horse, just get back on" kind of people (for most things; timing is always relative). So, I put myself in sushi-encountering moments. I had to get over smelling it first. Then, I would take bites and eat them slowly...carefully; just one slice of a roll. I did that for a long, long time.
And then recently, I tried Nigiri sushi. And LOVED it!
Its simplicity appeals to my still-nervous belly.
My good friend, holding my hand and helping me wade back into the sushi waves, ordered Unagi; and I haven't been the same since. The eel is tender and lightly basted with a sweet sauce.
I tell my belly, "Hey, don't freak - it's only eel and rice and a tiny bit of seaweed. Nothing to get all "up in arms" over. Promise. High in nutrients that provide stamina; and what else is going to get you through the rest of the workday? You know that chocolate really doesn't; you just try to convince yourself of that one." And, miraculously, it seems to work.
Try it.
This is good stuff.
Definitely yummy-goodness.
I had come to a place in life where I was going to tackle sushi as a good type, and I did a really good job wading into the waters of experimentation and trial/error. But, then, there was this one time.
It could have been the prepackaged sushi.
It could have been the fact that I mixed it with German wine; with too much wine.
Let's just say that my friend's apartment probably never smelled the same ever again....I was mortified and completely closed to the idea of sushi...for a very long time. Just smelling it turned my belly to dark, ugly places.
But, I am also one of those "if you fall off the horse, just get back on" kind of people (for most things; timing is always relative). So, I put myself in sushi-encountering moments. I had to get over smelling it first. Then, I would take bites and eat them slowly...carefully; just one slice of a roll. I did that for a long, long time.
And then recently, I tried Nigiri sushi. And LOVED it!
Its simplicity appeals to my still-nervous belly.
My good friend, holding my hand and helping me wade back into the sushi waves, ordered Unagi; and I haven't been the same since. The eel is tender and lightly basted with a sweet sauce.
I tell my belly, "Hey, don't freak - it's only eel and rice and a tiny bit of seaweed. Nothing to get all "up in arms" over. Promise. High in nutrients that provide stamina; and what else is going to get you through the rest of the workday? You know that chocolate really doesn't; you just try to convince yourself of that one." And, miraculously, it seems to work.
Try it.
This is good stuff.
Definitely yummy-goodness.
Baby Elephants
May 2, 2011
I've never been to an animal orphanage.
I've never seen elephants up close.
On May 2nd, I got to check off both of these objectives at the same time.
For 1 hour each day, this elephant orphanage opens to the public. You stand around the "play area" and watch elephants eat, play and relax. There are two sessions, in fact. One for the little ones (an ironic statement, because they never really seem small; only in relation each other): 3 to 18 months. And a second session for what I've termed "the teenagers": 18 to 36 months.
When the elephants are 3 years old, they leave this sanctuary for another area.
There, they are placed with a group of older elephants to learn the hierarchy and "ways to elephant."
As an incentive to enter the observatory area, the handlers have milk (more akin to human baby formula; I learned that cow's milk is actually very dangerous to their digestive systems)...and the elephants LOVE their milk!
I've never been to an animal orphanage.
I've never seen elephants up close.
On May 2nd, I got to check off both of these objectives at the same time.
For 1 hour each day, this elephant orphanage opens to the public. You stand around the "play area" and watch elephants eat, play and relax. There are two sessions, in fact. One for the little ones (an ironic statement, because they never really seem small; only in relation each other): 3 to 18 months. And a second session for what I've termed "the teenagers": 18 to 36 months.
When the elephants are 3 years old, they leave this sanctuary for another area.
There, they are placed with a group of older elephants to learn the hierarchy and "ways to elephant."
As an incentive to enter the observatory area, the handlers have milk (more akin to human baby formula; I learned that cow's milk is actually very dangerous to their digestive systems)...and the elephants LOVE their milk!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Rain on the Masi Mara
May 4, 2011
It was our first night at the safari lodge. We were settled in, already having enjoyed 2 game drives. We were full to the brim with new experiences and were ready to fill our bellies silly with the local cuisine.
A rain storm followed us from the open area where the animals walk free to the 5 star resort space; and covered all the air around us with water vapor and gray fog. And the view was covered; and the rain came.
And, we felt like kids.
It was the middle of the week, and instead of being at work, we were half a world away splashing in the puddles on our way to dinner.
It was our first night at the safari lodge. We were settled in, already having enjoyed 2 game drives. We were full to the brim with new experiences and were ready to fill our bellies silly with the local cuisine.
A rain storm followed us from the open area where the animals walk free to the 5 star resort space; and covered all the air around us with water vapor and gray fog. And the view was covered; and the rain came.
And, we felt like kids.
It was the middle of the week, and instead of being at work, we were half a world away splashing in the puddles on our way to dinner.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
as simple as whipped cream
And sometimes, instead of enjoying the yummy-goodness myself, I hear of instances where others have enjoyed themselves thoroughly; and I can image having joined in the taste bud celebration.
In this instance, it was as simple as hot chocolate from IHOP topped with whipped cream.
And, who doesn't like whipped cream?!
(Okay, I know that there are some of you out there and for whatever reason, you aren't fans of the aerated creamy delicacy. I may not agree, but I can respect your position; and, if you aren't going to eat it, can I have your dollop?)
----
"Can I please have a hot chocolate?"
The conscientious waitress, knowing that there are some people who don't like whipped cream, asked, "Would you like whipped cream?"
"Yes, please!"
They shared a moment; a brief moment of intense eye contact. Secrets and dedication levels (to the secret society of serious whipped cream lovers) were exchanged. The waitress offered a barely perceptible nod and responded with a polite (as if nothing happened, no tryst was shared), "Yes, ma'am."
----
It was clear when she returned with the order that the subtext had been clearly understood.
the lycan chronicles
I am a vampire.
I mean, if such things existed, that's the kind of immortal I would be.
Unless...of course, a mix-breed existed as in Underworld. If that were the case, then I would most certainly be a hybrid.
But, anyway...
I have a mixed group of friends: vampires and werewolves among them; and for the most part, living in harmony.
A very dear friend of mine, one that would be listed among the wolves in the group, started a writing project during the summer of 2009. It is scheduled for release starting tomorrow (Wednesday, September 21, 2011); at least the first installment is scheduled for release.
I am very proud of him; and extremely thankful that he has asked me to help edit the content. We are among the different extremes living in peace and working towards a common goal.
Please visit The Lycan Chronicles facebook page for more information; even better, "Like" it.
I mean, if such things existed, that's the kind of immortal I would be.
Unless...of course, a mix-breed existed as in Underworld. If that were the case, then I would most certainly be a hybrid.
But, anyway...
I have a mixed group of friends: vampires and werewolves among them; and for the most part, living in harmony.
A very dear friend of mine, one that would be listed among the wolves in the group, started a writing project during the summer of 2009. It is scheduled for release starting tomorrow (Wednesday, September 21, 2011); at least the first installment is scheduled for release.
I am very proud of him; and extremely thankful that he has asked me to help edit the content. We are among the different extremes living in peace and working towards a common goal.
Please visit The Lycan Chronicles facebook page for more information; even better, "Like" it.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Fatayas
Meet Fatayas.
Seasoned beef encased in a flaky pastry shell with caramelized onions in a special sauce drizzled on top. You can order these delectable takes on the traditional meat pocket (think about it, just about every culture has their own version) at Mawa's Taste of Africa in Morrisville, NC.
I enjoy Mawa's for both the choice and quality of African cuisine, as well as the very pleasant service and attention from the staff. They are always willing to take a newcomer and walk them through the menu to try and suit tastes; it happened on my first time at the restaurant, and I saw it happen again tonight when the waitress offered suggestions to my friend regarding which Chicken-based dinner she should try.
Although the flavors can sometimes challenge my pallet, I've never had anything at Mawa's that I didn't like. If you are adventurous and close to Morrisville, get there and eat well!
Order the fatayas - you will not be disappointed!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
adventures in camping (april 2011)
I went camping with my boyfriend and my son together for the first time.
Let me clarify.
It was the first time I went on a camping trip with my new boyfriend. We had started dating the month before and things were going well. He was easy to get along with and, although we were concerned about long term compatibility, we were mostly content to enjoy the moment. He didn't seem to mind dealing with the fact that I was a single mom and applauded me for my efforts in investing in my child's development. He was nice to my kid, which is really the extent to which a girl in my position can ask for without crossing a line. This guy took really good care of me, something that I had been missing in a life partner for a while up until this point, so I was lapping him up; trying my best not to be over-gluttonous (clearly, I wasn't ashamed of a little gluttony).
And, it was the first time I was taking my kid, who lives with moderate autism, camping. The kid's atypical sensory processing is hard to judge and is more than a little exhausting when it's off kilter more than usual, which is all dependent on his ability to cope...or not (which, in itself, is dependent on things like rest, health, eating right, clothing fabrics/tags, potty issues, new environments, routines...you get the point). I've committed to making sure that he experiences as much as he can, as much as I am able to manage as his mom. That's really the crux of it: I have to have a pretty decent inner reserve in order to help him manage and cope through new sensory experiences. I do the best I can as a single career-professional. I am by no means perfect, but I give it my best shot.
Thank goodness for a good group of camping friends!
The choice to haul a bunch of stuff into the middle of the woods and "set up house" is not one easily made. Camping is a lot of work. Period. But, with the right people, it is also a lot of fun!
The three of us were sort of having fun. We were learning, which is really all I can say.
The kid's initial meltdown (loud and obnoxious) mellowed into a resigned curiosity. He asked about going home a couple of times that first night. I didn't blame him. After all that fuss, I wanted to go home too. I felt so bad for my boyfriend who had basically had to set up our tent by himself, while I managed the spazzed-out little human. I tried to make it up to him much later that evening, but I don't think he'll ever understand how much I appreciated his hard work.
The next day was stormy: literally and figuratively.
We were experiencing a pretty forceful spring storm, which ended up lasting a solid half of the day, though it was an off-and-on kind of thing. The guys tied up tarps so that we would have shelter outside of the tents. We gathered our camping chairs close together and talked about how big the raindrops were.
My kid, who at the time was dealing with an Angry Bids obsession, was trying to overcome his disappointment (which was always loudly conveyed) at the lack of power supply to support his (my) technical devices. It was unfair to expect him to cold-turkey off the game, so I would charge the phone using the car-jack every now-and-then handing over the distraction at opportune times - hating myself for giving in to the easy-way-out; knowing that I should have just let him out-think his boredom.
We enjoyed a bit of rock crawling that day. My nerves were high, not really knowing if the kid would enjoy the bumpy ride or not. I was on edge the entire time, on alert for when he suddenly decided he'd had enough. It didn't come. For some of the extreme bumps, he'd look to me for assurance that this was indeed "fun" and that we weren't in danger. Every single time I gave him a full smile to brush off his misgivings. The truth was the ride was one of the roughest I had ever been on, and we stayed out for a really long time. By the end of it, I was supremely low on any reserves and didn't have much patience when the kid started whining about not wanting to stop.
Back at camp, I headed straight to the tent, told him to lay down and about passed out. I didn't completely let go for sleep, because my mommy-sense was still on high. There was no one else to care for the kid - I didn't expect the boyfriend to do it since he was laying out on the air mattress beside me - and I didn't want to ask one of the other families. They were extended friends, and though I am sure they wouldn't have minded, I wasn't in the frame of mind to ask. I rested poorly. Eventually, I decided to get up, not being able to stand the fitful tossing anymore. The boyfriend was hardcore snoozed-out. I was envious. The kid was a-flutter with energy and I hoped it meant that he would sleep well that evening. I headed over to his part of the tent and inspected his pallet. My heart sank. Lake Superior was stealthily hiding underneath his sleeping bag. I assume that a zip seal wasn't closed properly on his side of the tent before the rain had started.
I was grumpy incarnate.
And spent the rest of the afternoon hauling his bedding outside of the tent and wriggling it out. Thank goodness one of the other guys had plenty of rope with him. He made a clothes line for me so that everything could be hung out to dry as much as possible before night fell.
I was exhausted; and concerned.
I didn't expect the bedding to dry completely in time. I had some extra layers that could be used, but it wouldn't be enough to keep the kid warm through the upcoming night. Night fell too soon, in my opinion, and I did the best I could. I pulled blankets from the air mattress that I was sharing with the boyfriend and covered my kid as best as his squirmy self would allow. I knew that he would need the extra layers, sleeping by himself and with a cooler night setting in after the stormy day.
Pain crept up on me that night. The cool-moist air was setting into my sore muscles and joints, which were already aching from a long day on the trails. I snuggled close to my boyfriend's body. I had reserved two of the thinner blankets for our bed, knowing that we would have the benefit of body heat to see us through the night.
I woke up in the middle of the night and had to use the restroom. The boyfriend needed to grab an extra layer from his baggage and rustled around a bit with the flashlight on. The kid was sleeping poorly, moaning as he moved again to get comfortable. I got up and inspected his pallet. It was cold and slightly damp, mostly due to the fact that the sleeping bag hadn't completely dried out. I adjusted the covers to make the most of what was dry and laid down close to the child to warm him.
Let's be honest, it occurred to me that I should stay with him and see the rest of the night through keeping him warm. But I was hurting and couldn't even imagine what kind of pain I would be dealing with in the morning air, were I to spend the night on the ground. I left him after a bit and made my way back to the air mattress, beside my boyfriend's warm body.
"How is he?"
"I thought you were asleep. I was trying to be quiet," I answered sofly.
"How is he," he asked me again.
"He's awake and trying to get comfortable. He's cold, but I laid down with him for a little bit to warm him up. The sleep bag is still a little damp, which doesn't help; but I adjusted the blankets as much as possible to keep his dry."
"Do you want him to come sleep with us," he whispered the question to me, his concern for the child's condition unmasked.
I raised my head a little in order to get a better view of his face in the semi-dark and said flatly, "We will not get any sleep. Do you understand that? He'll be too excited and we'll be miserable in the morning."
Had it been light enough, he probably would have seen that dead-cold stare in my eyes that people tell me I have an uncanny way of delivering. I needed him to be sure of this decision. My heart was flip-flopping. I knew this was the right solution, but I hadn't been able to bring myself to ask him to deal with the responsibility of it with me; to play care-giver (i.e. daddy) for the night and put himself out for the good of the little human being in my charge.
"Well, at least he won't be cold."
My heart swelled. I called the kid to come to bed. I told him to bring a blanket. I was adjusting closer to my boyfriend so that I could be between them, trying to provide a buffer for him from the little boy antics we were inviting to our bed.
"He'll get warmer faster in between us."
I knew that; and I didn't have any energy left to argue my point. I had to trust that this guy wasn't offering this sacrifice without understanding that there would be consequences; or at least, I would deal with the outcome, his possible lack of understanding, in the morning. I told my little man to crawl over me to the middle of the bed; he obliged with a little too much energy for my taste. He snuggled in, reaching his arms out to touch the two adults that encased his body and sighed deeply. I soothingly encouraged him to settle down and he curled into his pillow. He was blissfully happy and getting warmer by the second.
I looked over my son's head into the darkness towards my boyfriend's face. I reached over and rested my hand on his chest, just over his heart, and offered an emotionally-rich, "Thank you."
What I really meant was, "I love you."
And, sleep came; the morning light, when it woke me up, was a little aged, and I quietly thanked the heavens that we had been able to truly sleep and get some rest. I looked over towards my boys, two of my favorite people, and saw that they still slept.
I giggled. The boyfriend had protected his face space with a pillow at some point in the night. Smart guy; I knew there were some obvious reasons for why I liked him so much.
Let me clarify.
It was the first time I went on a camping trip with my new boyfriend. We had started dating the month before and things were going well. He was easy to get along with and, although we were concerned about long term compatibility, we were mostly content to enjoy the moment. He didn't seem to mind dealing with the fact that I was a single mom and applauded me for my efforts in investing in my child's development. He was nice to my kid, which is really the extent to which a girl in my position can ask for without crossing a line. This guy took really good care of me, something that I had been missing in a life partner for a while up until this point, so I was lapping him up; trying my best not to be over-gluttonous (clearly, I wasn't ashamed of a little gluttony).
And, it was the first time I was taking my kid, who lives with moderate autism, camping. The kid's atypical sensory processing is hard to judge and is more than a little exhausting when it's off kilter more than usual, which is all dependent on his ability to cope...or not (which, in itself, is dependent on things like rest, health, eating right, clothing fabrics/tags, potty issues, new environments, routines...you get the point). I've committed to making sure that he experiences as much as he can, as much as I am able to manage as his mom. That's really the crux of it: I have to have a pretty decent inner reserve in order to help him manage and cope through new sensory experiences. I do the best I can as a single career-professional. I am by no means perfect, but I give it my best shot.
Thank goodness for a good group of camping friends!
The choice to haul a bunch of stuff into the middle of the woods and "set up house" is not one easily made. Camping is a lot of work. Period. But, with the right people, it is also a lot of fun!
The three of us were sort of having fun. We were learning, which is really all I can say.
The kid's initial meltdown (loud and obnoxious) mellowed into a resigned curiosity. He asked about going home a couple of times that first night. I didn't blame him. After all that fuss, I wanted to go home too. I felt so bad for my boyfriend who had basically had to set up our tent by himself, while I managed the spazzed-out little human. I tried to make it up to him much later that evening, but I don't think he'll ever understand how much I appreciated his hard work.
The next day was stormy: literally and figuratively.
We were experiencing a pretty forceful spring storm, which ended up lasting a solid half of the day, though it was an off-and-on kind of thing. The guys tied up tarps so that we would have shelter outside of the tents. We gathered our camping chairs close together and talked about how big the raindrops were.
My kid, who at the time was dealing with an Angry Bids obsession, was trying to overcome his disappointment (which was always loudly conveyed) at the lack of power supply to support his (my) technical devices. It was unfair to expect him to cold-turkey off the game, so I would charge the phone using the car-jack every now-and-then handing over the distraction at opportune times - hating myself for giving in to the easy-way-out; knowing that I should have just let him out-think his boredom.
We enjoyed a bit of rock crawling that day. My nerves were high, not really knowing if the kid would enjoy the bumpy ride or not. I was on edge the entire time, on alert for when he suddenly decided he'd had enough. It didn't come. For some of the extreme bumps, he'd look to me for assurance that this was indeed "fun" and that we weren't in danger. Every single time I gave him a full smile to brush off his misgivings. The truth was the ride was one of the roughest I had ever been on, and we stayed out for a really long time. By the end of it, I was supremely low on any reserves and didn't have much patience when the kid started whining about not wanting to stop.
Back at camp, I headed straight to the tent, told him to lay down and about passed out. I didn't completely let go for sleep, because my mommy-sense was still on high. There was no one else to care for the kid - I didn't expect the boyfriend to do it since he was laying out on the air mattress beside me - and I didn't want to ask one of the other families. They were extended friends, and though I am sure they wouldn't have minded, I wasn't in the frame of mind to ask. I rested poorly. Eventually, I decided to get up, not being able to stand the fitful tossing anymore. The boyfriend was hardcore snoozed-out. I was envious. The kid was a-flutter with energy and I hoped it meant that he would sleep well that evening. I headed over to his part of the tent and inspected his pallet. My heart sank. Lake Superior was stealthily hiding underneath his sleeping bag. I assume that a zip seal wasn't closed properly on his side of the tent before the rain had started.
I was grumpy incarnate.
And spent the rest of the afternoon hauling his bedding outside of the tent and wriggling it out. Thank goodness one of the other guys had plenty of rope with him. He made a clothes line for me so that everything could be hung out to dry as much as possible before night fell.
I was exhausted; and concerned.
I didn't expect the bedding to dry completely in time. I had some extra layers that could be used, but it wouldn't be enough to keep the kid warm through the upcoming night. Night fell too soon, in my opinion, and I did the best I could. I pulled blankets from the air mattress that I was sharing with the boyfriend and covered my kid as best as his squirmy self would allow. I knew that he would need the extra layers, sleeping by himself and with a cooler night setting in after the stormy day.
Pain crept up on me that night. The cool-moist air was setting into my sore muscles and joints, which were already aching from a long day on the trails. I snuggled close to my boyfriend's body. I had reserved two of the thinner blankets for our bed, knowing that we would have the benefit of body heat to see us through the night.
I woke up in the middle of the night and had to use the restroom. The boyfriend needed to grab an extra layer from his baggage and rustled around a bit with the flashlight on. The kid was sleeping poorly, moaning as he moved again to get comfortable. I got up and inspected his pallet. It was cold and slightly damp, mostly due to the fact that the sleeping bag hadn't completely dried out. I adjusted the covers to make the most of what was dry and laid down close to the child to warm him.
Let's be honest, it occurred to me that I should stay with him and see the rest of the night through keeping him warm. But I was hurting and couldn't even imagine what kind of pain I would be dealing with in the morning air, were I to spend the night on the ground. I left him after a bit and made my way back to the air mattress, beside my boyfriend's warm body.
"How is he?"
"I thought you were asleep. I was trying to be quiet," I answered sofly.
"How is he," he asked me again.
"He's awake and trying to get comfortable. He's cold, but I laid down with him for a little bit to warm him up. The sleep bag is still a little damp, which doesn't help; but I adjusted the blankets as much as possible to keep his dry."
"Do you want him to come sleep with us," he whispered the question to me, his concern for the child's condition unmasked.
I raised my head a little in order to get a better view of his face in the semi-dark and said flatly, "We will not get any sleep. Do you understand that? He'll be too excited and we'll be miserable in the morning."
Had it been light enough, he probably would have seen that dead-cold stare in my eyes that people tell me I have an uncanny way of delivering. I needed him to be sure of this decision. My heart was flip-flopping. I knew this was the right solution, but I hadn't been able to bring myself to ask him to deal with the responsibility of it with me; to play care-giver (i.e. daddy) for the night and put himself out for the good of the little human being in my charge.
"Well, at least he won't be cold."
My heart swelled. I called the kid to come to bed. I told him to bring a blanket. I was adjusting closer to my boyfriend so that I could be between them, trying to provide a buffer for him from the little boy antics we were inviting to our bed.
"He'll get warmer faster in between us."
I knew that; and I didn't have any energy left to argue my point. I had to trust that this guy wasn't offering this sacrifice without understanding that there would be consequences; or at least, I would deal with the outcome, his possible lack of understanding, in the morning. I told my little man to crawl over me to the middle of the bed; he obliged with a little too much energy for my taste. He snuggled in, reaching his arms out to touch the two adults that encased his body and sighed deeply. I soothingly encouraged him to settle down and he curled into his pillow. He was blissfully happy and getting warmer by the second.
I looked over my son's head into the darkness towards my boyfriend's face. I reached over and rested my hand on his chest, just over his heart, and offered an emotionally-rich, "Thank you."
What I really meant was, "I love you."
And, sleep came; the morning light, when it woke me up, was a little aged, and I quietly thanked the heavens that we had been able to truly sleep and get some rest. I looked over towards my boys, two of my favorite people, and saw that they still slept.
I giggled. The boyfriend had protected his face space with a pillow at some point in the night. Smart guy; I knew there were some obvious reasons for why I liked him so much.
Bavarian Chocolate meets Lazy Sunday Morning
Lazy Sunday mornings are among life's treasures, I am sure of it. The meeting of 1. the opportunity to engage in slow, happy non tasks, and 2. the desire to lavish in said non-tasks is a rare treat. Business days have us rushing to perform professional feats and Saturdays are abuzz with social commitments.
Sundays are often available for a little bit of a pause; if we are willing to heed the call.
I can't think of a better accompaniment to this particular Sunday morning's snooze-fest on the couch than the warm, sensual aroma of the Bavarian Chocolate coffee roast available at A Southern Season. You can be sure that this is one of those particular coffee roasts that taste as good as it smells.
Happy Sunday!
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Chicken Pie - Southern Living Style
Something about the morning air - cool and damp - whispered to me that this would be a perfect night for chicken pie. The little man was scheduled to be with his dad and it occurred to me that I wouldn't have to feign horror at the fact that there would be no vegetables present at the dinner table; or that the dinner wouldn't be at the table, but eaten snuggled on the couch.
The chilled breeze floated across the back of my neck and as I bent my head to stretched with it, the craving of buttery rich crunch meeting creamy chicken overwhelmed me. I knew exactly which recipe I would make.
There's an old Southern Living recipe that makes a splendid meal, one that would target this craving directly. I remember it fondly as one of my first experiences with chicken pie in North Carolina as a child.
I found an archive link:
http://community.southernl
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tiramisu Parfait at Barnes & Noble
"You will want to lick the plastic when you're done," he said so lustily that I was afraid that I didn't hear him correctly.
"And, if you don't want to; I will," he declared.
Wow. This had better be amazing then, I thought.
I was at the cafe area of a local Barnes & Noble, already tired from the long day, but committed to a 4 hour editing session with my good friend who is in the process of writing a series of novels. I needed a caffeine break and headed to the line so that I could order some sort of Starbucks-esque beverage to keep me truckin' through the content. I came back with this delightful little parfait in addition to a Pumpkin Spice Latte.
I have a weakness for tiramisu and will try a new version of this delectable dessert whenever I have the chance. He was enthiastically in favor of my choice: "that is sooooo good!"
I wasn't expecting it to be that good. I don't have a ton of faith in prepackaged dessert items. They look nice, but don't often deliver when it comes to quality of product and/or taste. I would much rather have a slightly sloppy chunk of tiramisu served from a pan in the kitchen of some old Italian lady...but after a long day, I figured anything would be better than nothing.
At least, I hoped it would be.
I am happy to report that my fears were unfounded.
It was fresh and creamy; moist, but not overly wet. The flavor was exactly as tiramisu should be - coffee and cocoa meet buttery lady fingers layered in smooth cream. Wow.
I love it when I am wrong...in circumstances like this.
If you find yourself relaxing at a Barnes & Noble this weekend, treat yourself.
It is my opinion that you won't be disappointed.
And I won't hold it against you if I glance up and see you licking the plastic.
bend over, baby
Instead of being a gentleman and pulling out the plug himself (he was, after all, sitting in the chair right beside it), he moved out of the way so that I could do it myself.
"You just want to see me bend over, don't ya?"
He grinned without guilt.
I rolled my eyes and moved towards the outlet. It was located beside the table, almost flush with the floor. I decided to make the most of it. I bent from the waist all the way down so that my hips and ass were exposed, full sight. I pulled my computer's cord easily and straighted up, staring him down as a came up, winding the cord with precision moves.
"I am all of the sudden really hungry," he exclaimed.
"Nice timing," I smirked at him.
"No, wait. That was completely unrelated."
Yeah right, I thought.
"You just want to see me bend over, don't ya?"
He grinned without guilt.
I rolled my eyes and moved towards the outlet. It was located beside the table, almost flush with the floor. I decided to make the most of it. I bent from the waist all the way down so that my hips and ass were exposed, full sight. I pulled my computer's cord easily and straighted up, staring him down as a came up, winding the cord with precision moves.
"I am all of the sudden really hungry," he exclaimed.
"Nice timing," I smirked at him.
"No, wait. That was completely unrelated."
Yeah right, I thought.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
love heels all
He walked in and I was pleased as punch to see him, this quiet boy who was quickly becoming one of my favorites. He was sweet and snarky, a lively combo that kept me off-balance just enough to keep me guessing...but in a good kind of way. I was tentative, being back in the game after sitting on the sidelines for so long; and he seemed just the right kind of guy to get me back into the swing of things.
He had been shopping, as evidenced by the bag in his hand and self-satisfied gleam in his eyes.
"I gotcha something; well...a couple of somethings," he said; and pulled out two different lotions from the bag and handed them to me. Surprised, again, at his generosity, which I had already noted was a strong characteristic of this guy, I gave him a full smile.
I couldn't tell you what I had expected, but lotion would have been near the bottom of my list of guesses. Not that I was unhappy, mind you, just taken aback. I don't think a boy has ever gotten me lotion before...
Flowers - yes
Jewelry - yes
Poetry - yes
Lotion - um, yea, a definite no
But, I am an equal opportunity gift receiver.
I appreciate being thought of, especially by a boy that I think so much of, so I enthusiastically sniffed each lotion and said thanks. Sniffing was clearly not enough. We were sitting on the couch and he adjusted his direction so that he was facing my side. He lifted my shirt sleeve, rolled it up a bit and got started with an upper arm massage. He was using the Vanilla Chai Hemp cream and the smell permeated the living room space as we talked about the events of the day. He transitioned to the other arm and I felt like I had won the boyfriend lottery.
When he was done, he grabbed the other, much smaller bottle of lotion. It was an intensive butter-based cream for heels and feet, spiced with a eucalyptus-based scent. He grabbed my legs and positioned my feet in his lap and went to town rubbing and massing my tired footsies.
Now, I have given boyfriends foot massages, but I don't - for the life of me - remember any one of them returning the favor. And it wasn't like I was weirded-out, by any means; just surprised, really surprised; and realizing that his guy was easily in my Top 5 - I mean out of all the boys that I have dated...ever...this guy was definitely in the top five and contending for the number one spot.
My feet are certainly not the prettiest part of my body - take my word for it (though I'm sure you aren't surprised by that comment). But, he didn't seem weirded-out about the job he was doing; it wasn't awkward, just comfortable. And I think that was one of the best parts about being with him: we were comfortable. In spite of the extreme differences of our personalities and backgrounds, we were simply at-ease in each other's presence. We hadn't even really been dating that long, but that didn't seem to matter either. It just felt right, and so I was going with the flow, enjoying his vibe and being really, really happy.
And, my feet were certainly happy as well. They tend to be on the dry side, no matter how much I moisturize. And, he was really getting into it; taking a lot of time with each foot, really massaging in the essential, natural butters. I could almost hear my feet sigh with delighted pleasure.
--------
Later, in the semi dark as he lifted my legs up high to score a more satisfying position, I couldn't help but notice that my heels rubbed in rhythm against his body.
I chuckled to myself.
Clearly this man had foreseen the need to treat my feet and heels to some TLC.
Score one for the boyfriend, I thought.
In reality, he had banked quite a few points through the evening and was doing a seriously good job of collecting at the moment. I decided then and there that he could buy me lotion anytime.
He had been shopping, as evidenced by the bag in his hand and self-satisfied gleam in his eyes.
"I gotcha something; well...a couple of somethings," he said; and pulled out two different lotions from the bag and handed them to me. Surprised, again, at his generosity, which I had already noted was a strong characteristic of this guy, I gave him a full smile.
I couldn't tell you what I had expected, but lotion would have been near the bottom of my list of guesses. Not that I was unhappy, mind you, just taken aback. I don't think a boy has ever gotten me lotion before...
Flowers - yes
Jewelry - yes
Poetry - yes
Lotion - um, yea, a definite no
But, I am an equal opportunity gift receiver.
I appreciate being thought of, especially by a boy that I think so much of, so I enthusiastically sniffed each lotion and said thanks. Sniffing was clearly not enough. We were sitting on the couch and he adjusted his direction so that he was facing my side. He lifted my shirt sleeve, rolled it up a bit and got started with an upper arm massage. He was using the Vanilla Chai Hemp cream and the smell permeated the living room space as we talked about the events of the day. He transitioned to the other arm and I felt like I had won the boyfriend lottery.
When he was done, he grabbed the other, much smaller bottle of lotion. It was an intensive butter-based cream for heels and feet, spiced with a eucalyptus-based scent. He grabbed my legs and positioned my feet in his lap and went to town rubbing and massing my tired footsies.
Now, I have given boyfriends foot massages, but I don't - for the life of me - remember any one of them returning the favor. And it wasn't like I was weirded-out, by any means; just surprised, really surprised; and realizing that his guy was easily in my Top 5 - I mean out of all the boys that I have dated...ever...this guy was definitely in the top five and contending for the number one spot.
My feet are certainly not the prettiest part of my body - take my word for it (though I'm sure you aren't surprised by that comment). But, he didn't seem weirded-out about the job he was doing; it wasn't awkward, just comfortable. And I think that was one of the best parts about being with him: we were comfortable. In spite of the extreme differences of our personalities and backgrounds, we were simply at-ease in each other's presence. We hadn't even really been dating that long, but that didn't seem to matter either. It just felt right, and so I was going with the flow, enjoying his vibe and being really, really happy.
And, my feet were certainly happy as well. They tend to be on the dry side, no matter how much I moisturize. And, he was really getting into it; taking a lot of time with each foot, really massaging in the essential, natural butters. I could almost hear my feet sigh with delighted pleasure.
--------
Later, in the semi dark as he lifted my legs up high to score a more satisfying position, I couldn't help but notice that my heels rubbed in rhythm against his body.
I chuckled to myself.
Clearly this man had foreseen the need to treat my feet and heels to some TLC.
Score one for the boyfriend, I thought.
In reality, he had banked quite a few points through the evening and was doing a seriously good job of collecting at the moment. I decided then and there that he could buy me lotion anytime.
Sweet Tart Martini
This single mommy scored a date night this past Friday and decided to use her Groupon for a happening, local Martini and Tapas bar: Dick & Jane's.
Dick & Jane's is located on Clay St. in downtown Mebane, NC and has all the charm that only a local downtown establishment can deliver. They recently expanded their Martini menu - not, mind you, that it was lacking in any way - they are just on top of the fact that people like variety.
Meet the Sweet Tart: pineapple meets sour pucker in a way that resembles reliving your childhood candy binges. And, as you can see, both Dick and Jane are serious about providing a generous dose of martini-love, however you order it: sweet, tart, berry or creamy.
I can usually only handle two of their martinis; and that's if I've got time to sit a bit and run my mouth (usually not a problem, since many of my friends support this particular local business).
This particular night was a 3 martini night...it was a date, remember?
Dick & Jane's is located on Clay St. in downtown Mebane, NC and has all the charm that only a local downtown establishment can deliver. They recently expanded their Martini menu - not, mind you, that it was lacking in any way - they are just on top of the fact that people like variety.
Meet the Sweet Tart: pineapple meets sour pucker in a way that resembles reliving your childhood candy binges. And, as you can see, both Dick and Jane are serious about providing a generous dose of martini-love, however you order it: sweet, tart, berry or creamy.
I can usually only handle two of their martinis; and that's if I've got time to sit a bit and run my mouth (usually not a problem, since many of my friends support this particular local business).
This particular night was a 3 martini night...it was a date, remember?
Apple Rolls
I promised people at the party on Saturday night as I was leaving early, small child in tow, "Sure. Come over tomorrow morning, as early as you can manage after staying up late. We'll be up. I will have fresh coffee and some sort of apple-based yummy-goodness."
At this point in my experience with the apples, as many people as I can invite to come over and help me eat, the better I will be for it. These apples, cooked however I choose, require a decent amount of sugar added; and I've got a pair of tight, sexy jeans that I am trying to get into this fall season.
Sunday morning came too early for me. Thank goodness the kid saw fit to remind me that I needed up get up early and get things started. His method is tried and true: jumping on my bed works every time.
And so, with the little man settled into a Lego kind of morning, I started a pot of coffee. I heaved the never-ending bag of apples on the tall kitchen stool and started peeling with a pleasant resignation. It is always easier for me to engage in the grunt work when I know that I will be able to share the outcome with people I love.
The guests started trickling in...
I had apple pie and apple butter ready. The apple crisp was in progress. And I was marinating on how to incorporate the crescent roll dough in my fridge to create something fresh and warm. I was already a little tuckered, so I chose the obvious. Roll up some marinated apples in the dough and bake.
Done and done.
It dawned on me that I was going to have to chop the apples pretty fine. Crescent roll dough is completely baked within 11 to 15 mins. I didn't want to have a crunchy effect because the apple pieces were too big without enough time to cook through; and neither did I want to have overdone dough.
Alize Apple Rolls with Cinnamon
This portion of apples was mixed in a bowl with some powered sugar and Passion Alize. Decently generous spoonfuls of apples were placed on a rectangle of dough (I pressed 2 triangles together, patted them down and cut rectangles instead) and rolled up as best as possible.
Good thing about morning-after-party breakfast guests is that they aren't too worried about how pretty the food looks; they just want it to taste good.
The rolls were drizzled with the Alize-sugar liquid left in the bowl and then sprinkled with a enthusiastic dusting of cinnamon.
Baked for approximately 12 minutes, these were a hit!
Cinnamon Apple Rolls with Sugar Dressing
This portion of apples was mixed in the bowl with cinnamon (very generous dusting) and powered sugar. I drizzled just a tad of half & half to make a sauce of sorts. The dough rectangles were first dipped into the sauce at the bottom of the bowl and then filled with apples. After baking they were drizzled with a powdered sugar sauce.
These were good as well; a little too sweet for my Sunday-morning tastes, but if you need that sugar high to get you rolling, I would definitely recommend this option.
At this point in my experience with the apples, as many people as I can invite to come over and help me eat, the better I will be for it. These apples, cooked however I choose, require a decent amount of sugar added; and I've got a pair of tight, sexy jeans that I am trying to get into this fall season.
Sunday morning came too early for me. Thank goodness the kid saw fit to remind me that I needed up get up early and get things started. His method is tried and true: jumping on my bed works every time.
And so, with the little man settled into a Lego kind of morning, I started a pot of coffee. I heaved the never-ending bag of apples on the tall kitchen stool and started peeling with a pleasant resignation. It is always easier for me to engage in the grunt work when I know that I will be able to share the outcome with people I love.
The guests started trickling in...
I had apple pie and apple butter ready. The apple crisp was in progress. And I was marinating on how to incorporate the crescent roll dough in my fridge to create something fresh and warm. I was already a little tuckered, so I chose the obvious. Roll up some marinated apples in the dough and bake.
Done and done.
It dawned on me that I was going to have to chop the apples pretty fine. Crescent roll dough is completely baked within 11 to 15 mins. I didn't want to have a crunchy effect because the apple pieces were too big without enough time to cook through; and neither did I want to have overdone dough.
Alize Apple Rolls with Cinnamon
This portion of apples was mixed in a bowl with some powered sugar and Passion Alize. Decently generous spoonfuls of apples were placed on a rectangle of dough (I pressed 2 triangles together, patted them down and cut rectangles instead) and rolled up as best as possible.
Good thing about morning-after-party breakfast guests is that they aren't too worried about how pretty the food looks; they just want it to taste good.
The rolls were drizzled with the Alize-sugar liquid left in the bowl and then sprinkled with a enthusiastic dusting of cinnamon.
Baked for approximately 12 minutes, these were a hit!
Cinnamon Apple Rolls with Sugar Dressing
This portion of apples was mixed in the bowl with cinnamon (very generous dusting) and powered sugar. I drizzled just a tad of half & half to make a sauce of sorts. The dough rectangles were first dipped into the sauce at the bottom of the bowl and then filled with apples. After baking they were drizzled with a powdered sugar sauce.
These were good as well; a little too sweet for my Sunday-morning tastes, but if you need that sugar high to get you rolling, I would definitely recommend this option.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Shelby’s Mexican Dip (AKA - Deliciousness)
I visited a friend of mine (an old college roommate from Freshman year - Go UNC!!) during the late winter and spring of 2009 - clearly, it was an extended visit. I was going through some hard times and needed to clear my head. I was trying to figure out the path ahead of me; trying desperately to see the forest, instead of drowning in the trees.
She was kind enough to take me in and let me cry and rage; and, well, mooch.
I didn't have a job and I was doing my best to contribute to the household responsibilities; but she was definitely succeeding in taking care of my temporarily lost soul, which included feeding my belly as much if not more than my heart.
So, when you ask me what is on my list of comfort food, Shelby's Mexican Dip will be near the top of the list. This delicious appetizer, often-turned-meal, provided sustenance on several occasions as she helped me talk through my heart-hurts and clear out the debris from my life-path.
I will forever be thankful that she was there for me; and that she fed me so well.
The following content has been published with her permission.
Shelby’s Mexican Dip
(AKA - Deliciousness)
Ingredients:
1 Can Old El Paso Vegetarian Refried Beans
Appx. 8-12 oz Daisy Brand Sour Cream
Old El Paso Taco Seasoning
Shredded Lettuce
Kraft Mild Finely Shredded Cheddar Cheese
Tomatoes
Black Olives
Old El Paso Green Chilies
Old El Paso Jalepeños
I will caveat that I have never measured any of the ingredients for this recipe in the 15+ years I've been making it. However, I always stick to the same brand (Old El Paso) for most of the ingredients (I usually use the Mario Black Olives, but didn’t have those today, and I’ve used the Ortega green chilies with no noticeable difference; the rest are always the same). I attempted to take note of how much I used today, and it was delicious - Jason commented that it's one of the best ones I've ever made :)
Cook the refried beans until heated through in a pot at low/medium temperature.
Spoon into a 9” pie pan or similar serving dish until spread evenly. I do not do a thick layer. Refrigerate until cool.
Mix approximately 8-12 oz. of sour cream with Old El Paso Taco seasoning. Again, I have never measured this out, but I had a 16 oz container of sour cream today, and I used a little more than half. I believe this is where the magic happens. I don’t know the exact measurement of the seasoning - I have the large 6.25 oz container of Old El Paso Taco Seasoning at all times in my pantry for these occasions. I just shake the seasoning onto the sour cream and blend together until the mixture is a beautiful, light peach, orange color. I did a lot of shaking. I imagine it's at least a tablespoon or two...give or take. You can do this to taste…and check the color!
When the sour cream and taco seasoning mixture is perfect, spread over the cooled refried beans. Top with a thin layer of shredded lettuce. Then top with a generous layer of cheese.
Here are the reasons I do not call it a “Seven Layer Dip”: You add what you want from there - just chop what you have! I usually load ours up with everything if we have it all! Tomatoes, green chilies (I had the whole ones on hand today and cut them, but you can buy them pre-diced), black olives and **most importantly** jalapenos (we love them, so I used about 8 sliced ones from the jar and diced them up). This is a recipe for deliciousness. Refrigerate until you are ready to eat.
We have Tostitos Restaurant Style Chips tonight, but the dip is a little thick, which makes the chips break. Round chips and Scoops work well, but I’m not a huge fan of Scoops. We’ve enjoyed the dip with Mission Brand Tortilla Chips as well – they don’t break as easily.
**Alternatives** - We have also made the dip where we cook some green chilies in with the refried beans. Super delish if you want to try this. We’ve also tried it where we have a cheese layer on the cooled refried beans…then lettuce, then more cheese. Let's be honest, you can't have too much cheese!
**Why Guacamole is Not Part of This Recipe** I know tons of people do a “Seven Layer Dip” with guacamole. However, I love this recipe as is, and personally, I love guacamole so much on it’s own, I don’t want to mix the flavors!
Enjoy...and know in advance that this is highly addictive and that husbands have been known to eat whole pans on their own, so my advice: make a second batch :)
~Shelby
the beauty of ripeness
I am awed by this picture. It seems simple enough. A tomato plant with varying stages of ripeness portrayed. And yet, it is the ripeness, the redness that awes me.
This is my first year tending tomato plants. I was late in the joining in the gardening community and restricted with how deeply I could commit. I live in an apartment complex with only a small patio to claim for growing space. I found 3 tiny plants at Walmart for 50 cents each - I figured I wouldn't be over extending myself if the investment to tend didn't pan out. I had 3 medium-to-large sized pots and planted them with an inexperienced, still-hopeful thumb who wished to be green.
It was a very matter-of-fact attitude with which I told the plants, "You have soil. You'll have full sun each afternoon. And I will try to remember to water you as much as possible. If you are going to grow, have at it. If you don't, I don't blame you."
And they grew. I was amazed.
I purchased a wire frame so that they would feel supported as they grew taller.
I about jigged around the patio when I realized buds were giving way to actual fruit. Little pea-sized tomatoes were sprouting at different levels of the three plants. I considered it miraculous, since I wasn't a good tender; meaning, I wasn't consistent with the water they so needed to combat the full-sun afternoons.
And yet, they grew.
Bulbous spheres of would-be juicy fruit plumped-out in front of my eyes. I was delighted and proud. And thankful.
Green started turning to yellow. My mouth watered with anticipation.
And then, a storm popped out of nowhere. This storm was strong, the winds raging. In fact, it produced a tornado only a few miles away from my apartment complex. I wasn't prepared. Had no idea that it was coming. Didn't know to protect my growing plants from the violence about to ensue. A hail beating came first. Then winds so hard that they rocked the plants back and forth until they toppled over, slamming the growing vines and fruit to the cement patio. I saw this unfold, knowing it wasn't safe to go out into the storm, but feeling so sad for something that I had been caring for, had been tending towards growth being dealt hard, hard blows of nature's reality.
After the storm, I inspected the plants and turned them right-side up. Three of the tomatoes had disconnected from the plant and were brought tenderly inside to continue ripening on my counter.
The others looked intact and I asked them to be okay.
"Boy, that was tough. I hope that you are going to be okay. I mean, I understand if you feel set back and need to recalibrate or something before growing again; but know that I would really appreciate your continued growth. I thought you guys were doing so well."
A few mornings later, during a routine inspection of the plants, I saw this beautiful sight and my heart welled with pride. This little tomato, my first really red one, was proudly coming to terms with its growth cycle and would be ready to eat at any moment. I saved it's picking until later in the day, just before dinner. I figured one more morning and afternoon of sunlight would be a perfect end to its story of becoming ripe.
------
I couldn't help but appreciate how many of us are like this little tomato. Doggedly honoring the growth cycle, no matter what trials come along, in order to reach our full potential of ripeness.
I can't help but be proud of us all.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Bring on the MEAT
Enough with the apples, right?
I know. But, there's been a lot of them around. I can't let them go to waste. There are other apple-based projects in the works (apple crisp and apple butter, to name a couple), but I'll come back to them another time.
Besides, I've got to give my hands a break. All the peeling and chopping has got my wrists and knuckles a bit sore. I might need to stage a party - BYOP: Bring Your Own Peeler.
There's been several instances of yummy-goodness that have nothing to do with apples. So, let's take a look at one of those. Literally.
What you see is dinner a couple of Saturday nights ago.
These steaks were purchased at the meat department at Walmart with the intended purpose of meeting the heat of the porch grill. The man, i.e. resident grill master, was suppose to handle the meat while I took care of the veggies; but I got an unexpected surprise when he walked back into the kitchen with a resolute, "there's no gas."
WHAT?!
Oh, it was so sad. Beautiful, chunky slabs of beef without a working grill...tsk, tsk.
I really wanted this meal to be lovely and delicious. I was with a couple of friends away for the weekend, and we had opted to eat in instead of making reservations on one the local winery-restaurants nearby. I'll admit, I felt a little bit of pressure to provide an above average meal.
I don't really have experience with broiling, but I knew immediately that was the best alternative available. I had already planned to roast the veggies in Olive Oil with salt and pepper - simple and delicious. I could have sauteed the squash, which is the best option for squash in my opinion, but there was no real butter in the house.
(Again just my opinion, but squash prepared in a hot pan is only best with real butter in the mix.)
So, I rummaged around the kitchen to make-shift a boiler pan for the steaks and placed them on the highest shelf in the oven. The veggies went on the lower shelf on a cookie sheet. And I kept my eye on things -- that's really the only secret I can offer. I didn't know what kind of time I should be employing and didn't have the means to look it up online. We were in a cabin in the VA Mountains. It was a remote weekend away (a sometimes very necessary thing, when one's job is being connected 24/7).
When they looked brown and the fat was cracklin' a bit, I pulled out the pan and flipped them. I also conducted the touch-test, to see how much "give" the meat had...hoping that somehow, my fingers would translate the amount of "give" with how pink in the innards were.
Rough estimate was that I had the steaks under the broiler for about 6 mins on each side. The NY Strips eneded up medium to medium well. The Rib Eye steaks were medium to medium rare. And, magically, everyone was happy with this outcome.
I look at this picture and my mouth immediately waters with the want of meat.
It could be the influence of my werewolf friends starting to affect me, finally.
I know. But, there's been a lot of them around. I can't let them go to waste. There are other apple-based projects in the works (apple crisp and apple butter, to name a couple), but I'll come back to them another time.
Besides, I've got to give my hands a break. All the peeling and chopping has got my wrists and knuckles a bit sore. I might need to stage a party - BYOP: Bring Your Own Peeler.
There's been several instances of yummy-goodness that have nothing to do with apples. So, let's take a look at one of those. Literally.
What you see is dinner a couple of Saturday nights ago.
These steaks were purchased at the meat department at Walmart with the intended purpose of meeting the heat of the porch grill. The man, i.e. resident grill master, was suppose to handle the meat while I took care of the veggies; but I got an unexpected surprise when he walked back into the kitchen with a resolute, "there's no gas."
WHAT?!
Oh, it was so sad. Beautiful, chunky slabs of beef without a working grill...tsk, tsk.
I really wanted this meal to be lovely and delicious. I was with a couple of friends away for the weekend, and we had opted to eat in instead of making reservations on one the local winery-restaurants nearby. I'll admit, I felt a little bit of pressure to provide an above average meal.
I don't really have experience with broiling, but I knew immediately that was the best alternative available. I had already planned to roast the veggies in Olive Oil with salt and pepper - simple and delicious. I could have sauteed the squash, which is the best option for squash in my opinion, but there was no real butter in the house.
(Again just my opinion, but squash prepared in a hot pan is only best with real butter in the mix.)
So, I rummaged around the kitchen to make-shift a boiler pan for the steaks and placed them on the highest shelf in the oven. The veggies went on the lower shelf on a cookie sheet. And I kept my eye on things -- that's really the only secret I can offer. I didn't know what kind of time I should be employing and didn't have the means to look it up online. We were in a cabin in the VA Mountains. It was a remote weekend away (a sometimes very necessary thing, when one's job is being connected 24/7).
When they looked brown and the fat was cracklin' a bit, I pulled out the pan and flipped them. I also conducted the touch-test, to see how much "give" the meat had...hoping that somehow, my fingers would translate the amount of "give" with how pink in the innards were.
Rough estimate was that I had the steaks under the broiler for about 6 mins on each side. The NY Strips eneded up medium to medium well. The Rib Eye steaks were medium to medium rare. And, magically, everyone was happy with this outcome.
I look at this picture and my mouth immediately waters with the want of meat.
It could be the influence of my werewolf friends starting to affect me, finally.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Apple Pie #2 - Citrus
I was in pie-making mode i.e. getting ready for a evening birthday party. My RSVP included some apple-based yummy goodness and pie was the next item to tackle on the list (applesauce and apple crisp have already been checked off).
I am a fan of options. I see no point in bringing two apple pies with the same flavoring to a party, so I decided to deviate from the recipe just a little bit the second time around.
(For the typical Cinnamon Apple Pie run-down, check out the previous blog post.)
I've got a couple of interesting leftovers on my counter: a net of limes (which were used for Tequila shots recently) and some Passion Alize.
I am a mad-daemon when it comes to using leftovers. There's no need for good food to go to waste. So, I decided to make a citrus based apple pie...sort of. I used the same recipe base as before:
Again, there was no real commitment to measuring.
I added the heaped pile of peeled and chopped apples from the shell into a bowl. Added sugar and freshly squeezed lime juice and a decent pour of the Passion Alize. That mixture was dumped back into the shell (another 9in frozen pie shell from Walmart. It is VERY safe to say that most all pies - at least in the near future - will be baked within these pre-made crusts. Don't even get me started on my abysmal experience with pie pastry making.).
Using my Kitchen Aid, I mixed up the sugar, flour and butter. I added more lime juice. And carefully dumped (having learned my lesson from topping the previous pie) the topping onto the heaped pile of apples. There was, again, some strategic placing involved.
This pie was also baked on top of a cookie sheet.
Again, points for me, since it also bubbled over a bit and dripped onto the pan.
45min in the oven. And, I am not going to lie... both pies were in the oven at the same time, which worked perfectly.
The reviews were favorable for this version of apple pie as well. It was a little sweeter due to the Alize, no doubt. I could see adding orange juice to the mix, if Alize isn't a leftover you typically have sitting, collecting dust on your counter.
I had a healthy helping of both pies tonight; and liked them both. I think I was so relieved that they weren't a disaster...and that my taste-buds were doing a happy dance, that I couldn't much decide which was better. Seemed almost overkill to....
I left that to the critics at the party. And they seemed to have no problem falling on top of their faves, once they had tasted the both of them.
I am a fan of options. I see no point in bringing two apple pies with the same flavoring to a party, so I decided to deviate from the recipe just a little bit the second time around.
(For the typical Cinnamon Apple Pie run-down, check out the previous blog post.)
I've got a couple of interesting leftovers on my counter: a net of limes (which were used for Tequila shots recently) and some Passion Alize.
I am a mad-daemon when it comes to using leftovers. There's no need for good food to go to waste. So, I decided to make a citrus based apple pie...sort of. I used the same recipe base as before:
- 1/2 cup sugar and 1tsp cinnamon mixed together and poured over the apples...
- and then to make the topping its 1/2 cup sugar, 3/4 cup flour and 1/3 cup butter mixed with a pastry blender til it resembles a course meal and sprinkle over apples...
- bake at 400 for 40-50 min
Again, there was no real commitment to measuring.
I added the heaped pile of peeled and chopped apples from the shell into a bowl. Added sugar and freshly squeezed lime juice and a decent pour of the Passion Alize. That mixture was dumped back into the shell (another 9in frozen pie shell from Walmart. It is VERY safe to say that most all pies - at least in the near future - will be baked within these pre-made crusts. Don't even get me started on my abysmal experience with pie pastry making.).
Using my Kitchen Aid, I mixed up the sugar, flour and butter. I added more lime juice. And carefully dumped (having learned my lesson from topping the previous pie) the topping onto the heaped pile of apples. There was, again, some strategic placing involved.
This pie was also baked on top of a cookie sheet.
Again, points for me, since it also bubbled over a bit and dripped onto the pan.
45min in the oven. And, I am not going to lie... both pies were in the oven at the same time, which worked perfectly.
The reviews were favorable for this version of apple pie as well. It was a little sweeter due to the Alize, no doubt. I could see adding orange juice to the mix, if Alize isn't a leftover you typically have sitting, collecting dust on your counter.
I had a healthy helping of both pies tonight; and liked them both. I think I was so relieved that they weren't a disaster...and that my taste-buds were doing a happy dance, that I couldn't much decide which was better. Seemed almost overkill to....
I left that to the critics at the party. And they seemed to have no problem falling on top of their faves, once they had tasted the both of them.
Apple Pie #1 - Cinnamon
As I've mentioned, I've not had a lot of previous success with apple pies. But, what are you going to do with a ton-load of apples?
Pie is really one of the most basic and widely-excepted options. I mean, let's be honest, there aren't a lot of adults that really go ga-ga over a bowl of applesauce. And there's only so much of it that me and my kid can eat.
So, it was time to buck-up and own the pie situation.
I pulled out my references and asked a friend for her pie filling recipe. She handed over one of the most de-lish apple pies during a recent Holiday season, and I knew that whatever directions she was following would be the best place to start.
I was in a rush. I had a car situation that delayed the start of my baking-fest and I had evening party plans. My RSVP to this event included some sort of apple-based yummy-goodness. So, my arrival without said yummy-goodness was not an option.
Being in a rush means that I didn't do a good job measuring. Be warned: if you want to repeat this...you've got to grin, bear it and be adventurous with your measuring.
I used a 9in frozen pie crust purchased from Walmart. I peeled and chopped enough apples to fill the pie shell with a heap o' apples. When I had a good mound, I poured them from the shell to a bowl. I added the sugar (ok, I did measure that...1/2 cup as stated above) and a enthusiastic poof of cinnamon. I stirred until the apples were brown with spice and then added them back into the shell.
The crust was prepped with the help of my Kitchen Aid.
I added approximately 1/2 cup of sugar and 3/4 cup of flour (as stated above). There was another enthusiastic poof of cinnamon and a big fat pad of unsalted butter. It seemed a little dry, so I added a sprinkle of Half n Half. It was a soft "course meal" as my friend describes above. I figured it being a little soft wasn't going to hurt anything.
And I didn't really sprinkle it on top...I dumped it - as best I could. The apples were heaping over the shell already. So, it was more of a dump...which was then strategically placed. I knew the apples would cook down, having had the experience of already making them into sauce; so I knew that the filling would most not likely be heaping after it was done.
I placed the pie onto a cookie sheet, I didn't want overflowing sugary-apple juices to drip onto my oven surface. Cleaning that goo would be torture. (By the way, that idea was inspired by the gods, because there was definitely a decent amount of dripping and cookie sheets are A LOT easier to clean...just let 'em soak for about 10 mins and you're golden).
And, so, 45mins later, I had a brown, crispy topped Cinnamon Apple Pie out of the oven and packed ready for transport. The heap most certainly leveled out.
The reviews were favorable. I sighed with relief. I thought it was pretty tasty as well.
And, thank goodness, because there are more apples still....and pie will happen again. Soon.
Pie is really one of the most basic and widely-excepted options. I mean, let's be honest, there aren't a lot of adults that really go ga-ga over a bowl of applesauce. And there's only so much of it that me and my kid can eat.
So, it was time to buck-up and own the pie situation.
I pulled out my references and asked a friend for her pie filling recipe. She handed over one of the most de-lish apple pies during a recent Holiday season, and I knew that whatever directions she was following would be the best place to start.
- 1/2 cup sugar and 1tsp cinnamon mixed together and poured over the apples...
- and then to make the topping its 1/2 cup sugar, 3/4 cup flour and 1/3 cup butter mixed with a pastry blender til it resembles a course meal and sprinkle over apples...
- bake at 400 for 40-50 min
I was in a rush. I had a car situation that delayed the start of my baking-fest and I had evening party plans. My RSVP to this event included some sort of apple-based yummy-goodness. So, my arrival without said yummy-goodness was not an option.
Being in a rush means that I didn't do a good job measuring. Be warned: if you want to repeat this...you've got to grin, bear it and be adventurous with your measuring.
I used a 9in frozen pie crust purchased from Walmart. I peeled and chopped enough apples to fill the pie shell with a heap o' apples. When I had a good mound, I poured them from the shell to a bowl. I added the sugar (ok, I did measure that...1/2 cup as stated above) and a enthusiastic poof of cinnamon. I stirred until the apples were brown with spice and then added them back into the shell.
The crust was prepped with the help of my Kitchen Aid.
I added approximately 1/2 cup of sugar and 3/4 cup of flour (as stated above). There was another enthusiastic poof of cinnamon and a big fat pad of unsalted butter. It seemed a little dry, so I added a sprinkle of Half n Half. It was a soft "course meal" as my friend describes above. I figured it being a little soft wasn't going to hurt anything.
And I didn't really sprinkle it on top...I dumped it - as best I could. The apples were heaping over the shell already. So, it was more of a dump...which was then strategically placed. I knew the apples would cook down, having had the experience of already making them into sauce; so I knew that the filling would most not likely be heaping after it was done.
I placed the pie onto a cookie sheet, I didn't want overflowing sugary-apple juices to drip onto my oven surface. Cleaning that goo would be torture. (By the way, that idea was inspired by the gods, because there was definitely a decent amount of dripping and cookie sheets are A LOT easier to clean...just let 'em soak for about 10 mins and you're golden).
And, so, 45mins later, I had a brown, crispy topped Cinnamon Apple Pie out of the oven and packed ready for transport. The heap most certainly leveled out.
The reviews were favorable. I sighed with relief. I thought it was pretty tasty as well.
And, thank goodness, because there are more apples still....and pie will happen again. Soon.
Best Air Freshener Ever
Honest confession: I've never had much luck baking apple pies.
But, as you know, I've got a ton-load of apples that need to realize their yummy-goodness potential; and what is more natural than investing time and love into making Apple Pies?
I asked a good friend for her recipe - not for pie pastry: I've only had disaster come from that engagement. I wanted her filling recipe. I remember the pie she gave me one year during the Holidays - absolutely scrumptious. She obliged.
And so, I've got the latest group of peeled and chopped apples in the oven; and it occurs to me, that there is no better air freshener than the smell of something amazing baking in my kitchen's oven.
Pie #1 -- Standard Apple Cinnamon
Apples, sugar, cinnamon with a cinnamon-based topping (flour, sugar, butter, cinnamon and milk)
Pie #2 -- Apple Citrus
Apples, sugar, lime juice and some Passion Fruit Alize with a lime juice topping (flour, sugar, butter and lime juice)
Hopefully, they will taste as good as they smell.
I'll let you know.
But, as you know, I've got a ton-load of apples that need to realize their yummy-goodness potential; and what is more natural than investing time and love into making Apple Pies?
I asked a good friend for her recipe - not for pie pastry: I've only had disaster come from that engagement. I wanted her filling recipe. I remember the pie she gave me one year during the Holidays - absolutely scrumptious. She obliged.
And so, I've got the latest group of peeled and chopped apples in the oven; and it occurs to me, that there is no better air freshener than the smell of something amazing baking in my kitchen's oven.
Pie #1 -- Standard Apple Cinnamon
Apples, sugar, cinnamon with a cinnamon-based topping (flour, sugar, butter, cinnamon and milk)
Pie #2 -- Apple Citrus
Apples, sugar, lime juice and some Passion Fruit Alize with a lime juice topping (flour, sugar, butter and lime juice)
Hopefully, they will taste as good as they smell.
I'll let you know.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
the whispers, the voices
I hear you.
Don't think that I don't.
Oh, god, I want to.
Don't think that I don't.
But I can't this time. I've got the weight of responsibility on me; and though I would much prefer to listen to you and dance and run....
....I've got to submit to the consequences of my decisions.
What kind of person would I be if I forsook the demands that are required of me; that were put in place my my own choices? I'd be a coward...a loser. I can't be that -- even you would be disappointed.
Don't pretend that you wouldn't.
What you like best about me is that I commit full-force...whether it is for work...or play.
I promise that I will play sometime soon. I will set up the game board appropriately soon.
I will. You know that.
And we will create a lustful agenda of dastardly deeds.
Don't think that I don't.
Oh, god, I want to.
Don't think that I don't.
But I can't this time. I've got the weight of responsibility on me; and though I would much prefer to listen to you and dance and run....
....I've got to submit to the consequences of my decisions.
What kind of person would I be if I forsook the demands that are required of me; that were put in place my my own choices? I'd be a coward...a loser. I can't be that -- even you would be disappointed.
Don't pretend that you wouldn't.
What you like best about me is that I commit full-force...whether it is for work...or play.
I promise that I will play sometime soon. I will set up the game board appropriately soon.
I will. You know that.
And we will create a lustful agenda of dastardly deeds.
Friday, September 2, 2011
reason and logic be damned
The magnetism was intense.
She couldn’t deny its existence as they grew to know each
other more and more. It pulled at her anytime he was close. It was like the
smell of baking cookies: tantalizing and mouthwatering with the promise of
sweetness.
Knowing that he was near warmed her. She felt washed in
yet-unknown nostalgia; you could say comfort, which made her feel inexplicably
safe and accepted. What bothered her was not being able to understand why.
There was no history between them, no relationship beyond that of friendly
acquaintance.
But, as she made the occasion to spend more and more time
with him, the pull was stronger, harder to ignore.
On the first night they ventured into the friendly space,
sharing time just getting to know each other over a few drinks, she felt this
barely-escapable need to grab his face and kiss the breath out of him. The
desire to touch him made her fingers tingle with want.
And, then, there was a weekend away. It was particularly
difficult because they were together as friends with two other couples. It made
the situation perfect for falling into each other and exploring the essence of
shared space. There was a moment of enlightenment for her: they worked really
well with each other. Their souls met and connected on the same living plane.
Being was easy, happier.
She noted all these things as they prepared and shared meals
together, working towards a common goal in the kitchen. She observed as he made
2 perfect cups of coffee and invited her to the porch swing for several moments
of appreciating the cool night air, the rain and the pressure of their bodies
sitting close together. She was awed at the absolute-happy intonation of their
shared periodic sighs. It was as if something deep within them had found
contentment, a soul-satisfying contentment that ignores all arguments of reason
or logic.
The next morning, through the pouring-down rain, there was a
silent parallel-reality tryst; silent except for the heavy intakes of breaths
and soul-cleansing exhales. Ties of deeper connection were double knotted in
some alternate universe in front of the others as they spent an innocent
morning talking over nothing in particular.
Her life was sucked into a deep state of want: intense want
over this soul that had been in front of her for over a year. The wanting
expanded to all layers of her existence. She wanted him all to herself, for
shared hours of deep breathing and pressed bodies. She wanted him to be happy
and asked him what it would take; and encouraged him to be himself, because the
him that she saw was delightful, intense, intoxicating, and she was sad to learn
that he didn’t realize the whole of it yet.
Their first kiss happened shortly after the weekend trip. It
was a night of ignoring reason, of sharing wine and talk, of teasing the fire
of passion until it was too much to contain. Laying down on the couch together,
he had rubbed her face gently with his thumb and titled her head just so before
pressing his lips against hers. She exploded. Her mind was mush. The want of
it, the want of him; the want of more, of as much as she could hold, completely
possessed her. She found a new default existence and was happy to find him
there to share it.
Beyond happy, she was blissed-out.
The magnetism was intense; is intense.
She remembers that first kiss and tingles still shoot
through her body. She thinks about the kisses that have followed and pure joy floods
her sense of being. She wants more kisses now and finds that the want leaves
her breathless and soul-lonely.
They fostered the connection for a short time. It made them
full and happy. There was a new-found realization of togetherness, of
partnership that their base-level shared-essence understood and accepted as
perfectly normally, finally right.
Their reason and logic scoffed and made spectacle of all the arguments proving their companionship doomed. The new, young shared-ness was no
match for practiced cynicism.
Reason and logic won.
It is the saddest thing, she thinks.
Their personalities battled the case of differences, of
extreme differences. They stomped and raged the particulars; and their minds
conceded. Wills were soon to follow.
They cried over it, at first together.
Now, she cries alone; damning reason and logic to the
hell-holes in which they belong for destroying such a beautiful, organic
co-existence.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
read the headlines
We fall in love, choose to love, commit to love and get married.
And for many, the assumption is that love will stay the same. Time passes and growth happens; but dang it, this love will always be here, supporting us to carry us through anything that life brings.
But love is based on connection and connection is based on....what?
I think that to a certain extent, connection is ethereal link to someone else. It is hard to explain why we meet certain people on certain planes. Connection, and the associated attraction, is so much deeper than just sexuality; it is a brass tacks kind of understanding between people at a certain level...not necessarily all levels.
People marry. People change.
At least, we hope so, right?
An individual should continue towards growth, continue to learn from the world around them. Their life experiences outside of the marriage connection will effect change in their default character and personality, in their thought processes. It may be dramatic; but it could also be subtle. Either way, the hope is that we are dynamic characters in our own life story.
These changes may affect the "feeling" of love, but hopefully, not the commitment to love.
It occurs to me that change is inevitable, though we gripe and complain...maybe even resist.
It also occurs to me that the best way to foster the marriage connection through the time that passes and ages us is to consistently visit the brass tacks connection with our partner. If you can't be honest and vulnerable with your person about who you are and how you're changing....if you can't trust them enough with your base level humanity, why would you make vows and promise to spend your life with them?
Revisit the brass tacks: talk, share, dust-off the connection.
You can't be on the same page with someone unless you are willing to read the headlines as they appear on the news stand.
------
And I believe the responsibility to share as well as the act of asking for sharing stands directly on the doorstep of both hearts within the marriage connection. The union of two souls requires give and take on so many levels, this being one of the most important of them all.
And for many, the assumption is that love will stay the same. Time passes and growth happens; but dang it, this love will always be here, supporting us to carry us through anything that life brings.
But love is based on connection and connection is based on....what?
I think that to a certain extent, connection is ethereal link to someone else. It is hard to explain why we meet certain people on certain planes. Connection, and the associated attraction, is so much deeper than just sexuality; it is a brass tacks kind of understanding between people at a certain level...not necessarily all levels.
People marry. People change.
At least, we hope so, right?
An individual should continue towards growth, continue to learn from the world around them. Their life experiences outside of the marriage connection will effect change in their default character and personality, in their thought processes. It may be dramatic; but it could also be subtle. Either way, the hope is that we are dynamic characters in our own life story.
These changes may affect the "feeling" of love, but hopefully, not the commitment to love.
It occurs to me that change is inevitable, though we gripe and complain...maybe even resist.
It also occurs to me that the best way to foster the marriage connection through the time that passes and ages us is to consistently visit the brass tacks connection with our partner. If you can't be honest and vulnerable with your person about who you are and how you're changing....if you can't trust them enough with your base level humanity, why would you make vows and promise to spend your life with them?
Revisit the brass tacks: talk, share, dust-off the connection.
You can't be on the same page with someone unless you are willing to read the headlines as they appear on the news stand.
------
And I believe the responsibility to share as well as the act of asking for sharing stands directly on the doorstep of both hearts within the marriage connection. The union of two souls requires give and take on so many levels, this being one of the most important of them all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
My local dōTERRA team is hosting a Customer Appreciation Event on SAT, August 10th from 10am to 2pm. With that in mind, we've been wo... -
The beginning is always today. -- Mary Shelley Are you familiar with the book Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery? There’s a quote t... -
At Send Me Encouragement, we love shipping postal pick-me-ups so that you can wait with positive anticipation for your snailmail. But at the...