Public Apology

February 2010: Oceanside, CA

December 2010: Malibu, CA

On many occasions I declared a strong dislike for LA and swore I'd never, ever travel north of there. In my head it was crowed, and cold and lame. In my head, it was just as bad as Kansas. Not this Kansas:

This Kansas:

But I digress. The good news is, I was wrong. LA is awesome. Places north of LA, like Santa Barbara, are beautiful. So California, I apologize, I was wrong for judging places I have never gone. You were right, you (no matter who you are), can find yourself in California. I look forward to more visits to more places I've never been. Thanks for being way better than Kansas.

California Love

I woke up in Santa Monica, CA today and although the sound of my phone ringing was my alarm clock, I did't care all that much. The sun is shining through my window and its the legit warm kind. Not the tricky midwest kind that lures you outside with false pretenses of warmth.

What adds even more to the experience is that as me and the hubs venture to Santa Barbara for the first time, our trusting tour guides will be our great friends Jenny and Aaron. Mostly, I'm excited about all the food. All the eating. All the consupmtion. It'll be difficult to top In N Out Burger yesterday but Aaron assures me that a local wonder called Amandine will deliver a solid effort by way of breakfast and most importantly, coffee.

Getting up, moving out.

Christmas at 801

I'm a fool for Christmas decorations.  The tiny twinkle lights. The glittery baubles, even the fake snow flocked on trees and padded around vignettes. The rule in our house is firm, no leanings toward Christmas decorations, music or otherwise until Thanksgiving has been fully celebrated.  

This year we returned from visiting my mom in Seattle and almost immediately went out and purchased the largest Christmas tree I've ever owned. lovingly called, "The Whale."

Hubs rigged up the star to kind of balance in front of the top branches on The Whale since there was no room between the top branch and the ceiling. The Whale holds 600 mini multi-color lights, which seems like an obscene amount but it's just right. And we did learn that the generic version of the "magic eraser" will in fact clean the skid marks from a tree that is too tall off the ceiling. Its like nothing happened.

Joy to the World, part 2

Today is my birthday and while I realized that my introduction to the world did not have the weight as Jesus but I like to think I've done more good than harm with my time on this earth.

I'm not sure what all one says in a birthday blog. I just thought it was an occasion worth noting. I have no wishes because the life I live is cooler than my wildest dreams. I picked out some notable moments from the past year in no particular order:

Martinis and Manicures @ Room 38

My first LV bag hasn't left my side since then

Graduation night I came in a Bachelor and left a Master

I said goodbye to some friends

Had one of the most legendary vacations ever

Bought a house

Provided housing for an undocumented Mexican-Italian

Represented on The Nationwide Leader in Sports

Joy to the World

I appreciate Thanksgiving and all but I admit it is also in many ways merely a gateway to Christmas. The very first order of business by way of welcoming the Christmas season is to watch the classic movie Christmas Vacation.  After that I'll start with a regular rotation of other favorites like The Holiday, Love Actually, Elf (the one Will Ferrell movie that does not make me want to punch him in the face), and A Christmas Story. Not because I like it all that much but because its what you do when its Christmas, you watch a Christmas Story. If you're really serious about it, you watch some portion the 24 hours of it on TBS because its awesome.

Nothing Changes but the Seasons

When I was in college a movie called Beautiful Girls was one of my absolute favorites. Its sort a grown up coming of age story from the perspective of a man who returns to his home town for a high school reunion. It's got laugh's, it's got drama, it's got Rosie O'Donnell and it's got an awkwardly realistic ending where one of the high school buddies offers the main character a farewell along the lines of "Come back and see us, nothing changes here but the seasons." 

Day to day living feels very much the same, I'd even say it seems boring most of the time. Then a big change happens and a friend moves away. All of a sudden I'm engulfed by the minutia, the tiny bits of life and relationship with that person that overtime became overlooked and unappreciated.  Game changed. Now, in my head, its all changes all the time. Nothing is the same. And I'm not convinced that this upside down world will ever right itself. Why did I not appreciate those little bits more while I could?


I've said a lot of goodbyes in my day. Its an geographical hazard when you live in a college town where residents tend to be more transient than most places. Whenever that happens, that scene from Beautiful Girls comes to mind because in my experience its so real. The leaving is such a big deal in the moment but there will come a point, and it's always sooner rather than later, when the change will feel less big.  And the distance will settle in. And equilibrium returns. And this becomes part of the story I tell about back in the day when those friends lived in that house. And the only thing that seems to change, is the season.

Working for the sake of my sanity

Its Sunday and I'm working. I'm not a holy roller. I don't even know what that means but I invoke it here to point out that I don't work at a place of worship. Although you would not have believed that a few weekends ago when the worship of all things Homecoming was upon us.  So maybe I'll say, I don't work at a conventional place of worship. That being said, there is some hope that working this morning will save me some stress come tomorrow and the rest of the week. Not eliminate, I'm not an optimist and the glass is solidly still half empty, just reduce the chances that I go off the deep end, punch someone in the face and walk out on my job.  That seems to be the most logical alternative. So to avoid that, I work. Which is what I should go do right now.

Bedside manner

I've had a number of pretty random appointments with medical professionals recently.  The one I cannot shake from my memory is my visit the doctor who stopped mid sentence to check his Blackberry and then had a hard time remembering where we left off. Really!?! REALLY!?! And then there was they doc who definitely seemed drunk or high or both and avoided answering any direct questions regarding my ailment.  I'm typically going in blind, selecting someone off of the approved insurance provider list or in the above cases, being rolled over to one of the other members of the practice when my primary care physician is too busy so no telling who is going to walk through the door.

In all of that, it occurred to me that as I work with students in my day job, I have a heightened awareness of my own manner.  When someone walks into my office, I want them to feel as comfortable here as I do.  Now I'm wondering if I can do more to creating a caring, inviting and safe space by what I say and how I interact. Many students come in overwhelmed by life and intimidated to be in the office of another adult who may very well treat them like a child.

I want to grow in the practice of thoughtful advising. Just as I relate to a friend or colleague with their concerns, I want to show care and concern to my students.  I want my bedside manner to be just as desirable as my knowledge and professionalism. I can think of many examples where I have been given correct information, in what could be perceived as a brash manner and I don't want to be that guy.

So, first step: Choose to actually give a rip about my job and those who rely on me to do it. I think that is a good place to begin.

Great day

There are good days, and there are great days. Yesterday, was a great day. There are no "what ifs" no "if onlys" just an amazing sense of satisfaction at the end of a day that went exceptionally well. 

I wish it were this easy

Could it get any better?

When I was in my twenties I went through this season where I gave up on happiness. I had achieved a number of things that other people were happy about. I graduated college, had a sweet apartment, fun roommate, hot ride and a damn good job. When I was bored or lonely or feeling particularly reflective, I would take on some massive project to clean or organize.  One day, mostly likely a Saturday morning, the time when I tended to be alone and the most bored, I took to my walk-in closet. I showed it no mercy. My goal was not just an organized grouping of clothes but color coordination also. 

When I'd finished, I sat on the floor and tried to figure out why I had so much but still didn't feel happy.  And that was the moment when I gave up on happy. The best I could come up with was contentment.  And I left it. My mantra became "I am content with my life." I concluded that maybe happiness was a delusion, a false belief or if nothing else, maybe everyone didn't get to feel happy.

I wish I could remember as vividly the moment when the happiness came back. The effect of watching too many romantic dramadies is that I expect a dramatic scene where I started to see the world in color. Where I fell in love. Where the sun sets on the beach and I walked off into the distance. It was not like any of those things. There was a time I wanted to say "I am content with my life" but that was not even close to what I felt. Happy just fit better. And so I just let happy be. And happy is where I've stayed. I like it but I don't chase it.

I've graduated college (again), I have a sweet house, a fun roommate, the same ride, which is still hot, and a damn good career and I'm happy.

Storytelling

Inspired by a friend to read this blog post from Donald Miller, I immediately hit up my local university library catalog and requested every one of the 7 books on Donald Miller's list. My appetite for reading about writing has grown to insatiable. I admit that is because I have 7 books to read with looming due dates and some weird aversion to renewals. But mostly because the first 3 books I've read have been SO good. 

I had no idea that in real life, Stephen King is just a regular old guy. Not weird, not creepy, just a dude with a wife and family living the dream.  His work is writing and he is diligently about that. His thoughts on writing are enlightening for any writer in any genere. Same thing with Anne Lamott, her advice is strongly focused on everything other than a prescription on how to get published which from what I've read so far is the unfortunate end game for many aspiring writers. If you have a story, don't just write it but write it well.

One of the most captivating ideas that both authors have discussed is character development and plot. As a non-writer, I'm bored already just typing the words. Steve (that's what I call him now) suggests that in the writing process, the writer is merely the scribe of the characters. Any development that takes place is designed by those in it.  The story is already out there, just waiting to be written. I cannot stop thinking about that idea. So while the writer may have some thoughts, some ideas about the shape of the story, he cannot force it to develop a certain way. For example, what Steve had in mind for the ending of Misery was not in fact what happened. Turns out the main character had more gumption that Steve gave him credit for. I enjoyed being carried away by a good story.  Knowing that authors can be carried away in writing in a similar way is absolutely brilliant.

I have no intentions to write more than what my personal journal and this blog can hold but reading about other people writing is definitely a new interest. On to book number three, don't disappoint me Zissner.

Upstairs Left

I told the hubs, I have embraced the idea of "entertain early and entertain often" in relation to the completion of home improvement projects.  I'm amazed at how much we've completed overall at the new abode but when I think about the actual moment when those projects are finished, its usually late, late in the evening, the night before said an is set to take place at our house.

Poor upstairs left, the room where things went to die for the first month we lived at 801, has been no exception.

Its hard to believe there was actually a cutout in the wall even though these photos were taken just a few short weeks ago.

Hallway view

Bedroom view

I am convinced, this is better.

Hallway view after

Bedroom view after

And we could not have done it without this jury-rigged contraption. Thanks FiL.

Add a bed on loan.

And that is the transformation from upstairs left:no man's land to guest bedroom retreat.

I feel proud because I created this moment

Unless it was a high holy day, my family did not sit at the dining room table to share meals.  Growing up in a single parent household, dinner often was a free for all, popcorn and toasted cheese (that's right toasted, not grilled) being staple staples. My mom also preferred to use paper products daily instead of dirtying any dishes if possible. Great in the long run as my brother and I were "the dishwashers" but still not the traditional family meal time experience.

That is why I still have a sense of wonderment when the hubs and I sit down to a meal together. To put forth the effort for just the two of us feels extra special.  The food wasn't fancy, quiche and a salad (and even paper napkins) but the moment was worth capturing.

Heat Advisory

It was face meltin' hot yesterday. Its going to be to face meltin' hot today. And it will be face meltin' hot tomorrow.

This was before going to bed:

 By the morning the snow was deeper than my snow boots:

I'm 15 degrees cooler just thinking about it.




Photos taken December 2007, Wildwood, MO

Progress: Master Bedroom

Goal: Create a beach vibe without turning my house into a beach house cliche. The first brush strokes of Seaside Blue changed my life. I was terrified and smitten at once.

 

I'm on a daily hunt for the perfect bedding and accessories for this room with but this is how we're living now:

Its obvious that the yellow chair in the corner is my favorite place to sit. 

Last but not least in any way, the en suite bathroom:

 

Pale Sea Mist found its way into this room also. I just could not help myself. The color combination with Seaside Blue is perfection. I still enjoy the effect of standing in one room and looking into another and watching how the colors interact from different angles, indifferent light and at different times of day.

Enough on this room. Hopefully it won't take me a week (or a month) to decide which room is next.

"This house is clean."

The creepiest thing I've ever done is willingly compared my hew house to a scene from Poltergeist. The thing is I can't help myself because as of this week my house has been blessed.  My Father-in-Law happens to be a man of the cloth, so when you've got that guy around for a week, might as well get some good mojo going. 

As he said this week, there was nothing mystical about the blessing but as with any building in any place, it has a past.  People and events occurred of which we are not aware. In the blessing of the house, we hope for a fresh start.  Creating space where our friends and family can gather and have fun and share love and create lots of good times and great memories. 

I like that idea.  The ability to take something old and make it new.

Tomato, Tomato?

This week MiL and FiL join us from the Northland to help with some heavy duty house projects.  This is the collective family vacation. Since we are technically not leaving home, I've taken a liking the modern vernacular of calling a week off work where you do not actually travel, a staycation. And would qualify this week as such.

The hubs does not accept this terminology. He insists he's on a "workcation." Now maybe its because I'm not the one using power tools or hauling brush but that does seem to be a bit of an over statement. I mean who gets to drink beer AT work? (But not while using power tools, that's irresponsible). I'm just saying that while we may not be on a boat or near a beach or even leaving the city limits, there are some perks that we will enjoy this week that people who are working will not.

A little bit of this:

 And a little bit of this:

Can't be all that bad.

The Hibiscus Incident of 2010

I've been waiting to post pictures of the dream house but its not ready yet. The Hibiscus incident part of the reason why. I spent the last couple of months agonizing over paint colors for the house. Ah-gooo-ni-zing, literally.

I didn't want to go circus style and pick too many colors and I felt even more confident in that choice once the Hubs hit up the ever so helpful Young House Love blog.

In the end I landed on a common color for 5ish rooms to coordinate with the other colors I'd selected. The dining room and kitchen/sunroom  plus the 2 bedrooms and bathroom upstairs were going to be a lovely Benjamin Moore shade called Pale Sea Mist.

Then I waffled. I made one last visit to the paint store the afternoon before purchasing and decided to go with Hibiscus instead of Pale Sea Mist based solely on the paint sample. We bought 5 gallons of Hibiscus that night.

That night we started painting in the dining room and it was scary. From the very first brush strokes I was totally intimidated by my paint selection. Alas, we forged on. On into the kitchen/sunroom. On to second coats in all rooms. And finally, on to bed.  Everyone knows that the color will dry darker and that you have check the color in different light throughout the day, right?

Morning came. It was awful. It was as if someone had painstakingly colored every inch of every wall in those two (or 3) rooms in yellow highlighter. Hibiscus was most definitely not the the bright, cheery green I had hoped for. It was something totally different and worse than I'd imagined. 

Two things happened immediately, well three things, I made coffee. Then I sent the hubs back to the paint store for samples of the color I had originally selected. And I texted the neighbors to come over for an immediate consult.

The consensus of me, the hubs and the neighbors was that although a bold and lovely color for some room out there, not for my room and not when the picture in my head was more celery and less scorching sun. This is an admittedly terrible photo but it shows the vast difference of Hibiscus vs. Pale Sea Mist.

The good news is that the hubs is a Saint and the repainting was complete the very next day. Order has been restored and Hibiscus has been healed to a lovely turquoise lovingly called "Seabiscus" thanks to several re-tinting efforts at the paint store.

Home

In July 2006 I moved into my first home as a married person.

It was in an aged but well managed apartment complex with a office manager that you just wanted to hug. The rent was budget friendly and the location was perfect for the commute to work. With a large window in the kitchen, I looked forward to cooking with the window open and sending delicious smells out into the courtyard.  I picked the large living based on solely on the idea of hosting parties and game nights and friends as much as possible.

The apartment evolved, mostly as we acquired additional furniture from IKEA. Space allocation was an ongoing experiment and surprisingly 650 square feet was a lot to work with. Hosting dinners, cocktail parties, game nights and the like always worked out well.

The latest version of the bedroom was inspired by yet another IKEA trip. I needed a change, I didn't really have an idea in mind but bright green seemed liked a good idea at the time. My first wall words but not my last.  In this apartment I learned that labeling things with stick on words can become an addiction.


June 2010, I purchased my first house as a married person.  And being a homeowner has already been an adventure in work and reward but before moving forward, it seems the apartment deserves recognition. 

Good times were had. Thank you M2.

Operation Pack Smart

I don't like to brag but in this case, it must be done.

Over the course of the past two weeks, I devised a packing plan that would make it so that I could celebrate the hubs and his 30+ years of life.  Well in what may be the greatest feat of organization, planning and strategery of my lifetime, I did it.  Small increments of packing over a two week period means that last night at 11:00pm CST, I packed the last dish in the last box.  That includes closets, drawers, the pantry, bathroom, everything. 

That being said, this weekend will rocketh mucheth. Happy birthday hubs, you're getting a house. Hope you like it.

Mental Health

Who knows where it started, but the concept of a "mental health day" has served my overall mental health extremely well.  I confessed my tendency to over-commit previously, so having a day where I do nothing but things that are replenishing for me is a godsend.  It was not a convenient time to take a day off work but rarely is there an ideal time to be gone from the office.Yesterday I gave myself the opportunity to just sit and sleep and stare into space.  There was also time for lunch with the hubs, a movie with girlfriends and ended the day on a blanket watching Zoolander under the stars with friends. 

These are activities I could do in the span of any given weekend but the day provided space for me to rest, physically, mentally and spiritually.  I didn't just take a day off from work, I also took a day off from me. From running around town like a crazy person trying do everything and see everyone and be everywhere all at once.  I took a day of from stressing over how in the world we were going to afford a house and the turned off the worry about becoming house-obsessed people. I took the day off from trying to anticipate and control every, single, micro detail of each minute of the day.

It does not happen a lot but for the majority of the day, I felt still. Not just that I was sitting still, but that my mind was still and the worries of my heart were still. And that is what I call a successful mental health day.

Today when I woke up my mind was going 100 miles an hour, I eventually had to get up and make the mental to-do list less overwhelming by actually sending that email, emptying that box in the media room, and taking the sausage out of the freezer for breakfast.  Of course each of those tasks lead to another task and so went the morning, that's my life but the stillness was good while it lasted.

Blues and greens are serene

I want to live in a space that's relaxing and inviting. I want to feel like I'm in Southern California year round. Then I saw this photo and it was love at first sight:

I think this bright color combination will give me what I want without looking like a circus. That blue wall is scary and intriguing all at once. But as a good friend reminded me last night, "its just paint."

This is the vision. Now I'll just have to start pulling the pieces together.

Photo & ideas from: http://www.younghouselove.com/

It snuck up on me like a freight train

No suspense needed on this one, the Missouri summer kicked into high gear two days ago and has been relentless ever since. After being gone for a weekend stay/dog sitting stint and the house that shall be mine, we were welcomed home to the current dwelling with a balmy 90+ degree temperature on the inside. The thermostat circa 1920 only goes up to 90.

After 30(ish) minutes of pretending like that the temperature was going to work itself down from the tizzy it was in to something tolerable by humans was futile.  Every single window was open as wide as it would go. The air circulating fan was on high speed and the hubs and I proceeded to melt into puddles drip, by sweat soaked drip.  Being cheap is one thing, but being found dead in your apartment is another ballgame, one in which I'm not willing to pay.  So I said "uncle" to the heat. I admitted we were fighting a losing battle and clicked the miraculous little button that saved us all from "off" to "cool." It's still 87 degrees but were moving in the right direction.

Moving out

While I was waiting for a meeting to start, I watched students and parents haul a year's worth of college dorm tackle out the door.  I still have vivid memories of my first year of college. I wish I could say, well it was just a few years ago but that would be lying and liars go to hell which sounds unpleasant.

It was so exciting, I just could not believe that the time had finally come for me to get the heck out of my mom’s house, my home town and my old life.  I was so excited I cried. Ok, that’s a lie too. I was so stinking terrified, I cried when I couldn’t think of any more errands to run or sites to see and my family finally drove away.

I don’t remember what happened after they left but it must have gotten better almost immediately because I remember that in total, freshman year rocked. Rocked so much I still smile when I think about parts of it. I want my future kids to have a freshman year that is so awesome they never want to leave college. I made life-long friends that year. Literally people that could read this and tell you exactly what year these freshman events occurred because they were there with me. But they are all smart people and that information would not come cheap I’m sure.

Life is good these days, I’d never want to go back and do it again and if I am ever in your presence and say that out loud, feel free to kick me. But it was definitely fun while it lasted.

The day after

It was with a great sigh of relief that I greeted the day after Mother's Day, even though it was a Monday, which is generally a lame day.  I don't have anything against mothers or celebrating them, don't get me wrong, but at best, its a complicated day for me.

This is a picture of me and my mom.  She died when I was in second grade and so it's always been hard to celebrate Mother's Day with no mother present. I don't even have any vivid memories of my mother to hold on to for this one occasion.  I don't remember ever celebrating her on Mother's Day.  Even though I don't even think of her most of the time, there are times when I still feel so very lost without her. Someone I barely knew shaped the woman that I am and the loss will affect the mother I may someday become.

It is too much to untangle all at once. This has been part of my story for years and I barely understand the full effect. I prefer to focus on the smaller accomplishments, like no one asked me what I was getting my mom for Mother's Day this year. Counting that one as a win.

Jury Duty: FML or Honored to Serve?

My bad, I completely and totally forgot to call in to see if I my presence was required for jury duty last night. So this morning at 7am when I'm leisurely checking my calendar for the day, I'm reminded that I need to check in again today AND that I never called the night before. So I call and of course, my number's up and I have to report to the courthouse by 8am.  And I'm still in BED! FML!

In record time, I'm showered, dressed (in nice clothes even) and out the door. I managed to make it just in time.  I was cranky but present.  The juror instruction sheet  said there would be coffee and snacks, and indeed both were present but for some reason my only option for coffee cups were these shot glass sized Styrofoam things. I didn't even care, I loaded up two cups (sorry environment) and went and sat down. There were about 150 plain glazed donuts too but I'm still trying not to think about the fact that I opted for a granola bar instead.


The good news is that there are 2 criminal cases on the docket for the day. I was gonna see some action, at least get to the voire dire part of the morning. Then after an somewhat entertaining hour and a half we were separated into two groups and group one goes off to their courtroom. I don't know if all marshals are funny but ours liked to crack jokes on themselves (donuts, had to see that one coming) and hair (or lack there of). 

Anyway, as the rest of us in the second group are eagerly awaiting for our chance, the judge comes in.  Now, since that did not happen with the first group, I know something is up. I'm distracted because I really regret not having a donut but I managed focused long enough to hear the judge say, "Well, some of you are going to be happy and some of you are not."  Come to find out the defendant plead guilty and we were all discharged.


Since I technically did not serve, I'm still on-call the rest of the week. This  was just enough insight to the process that I'm actually excited about being able to return one day. I mean after all, it is Juror Appreciation Week, what better time to offer my civic involvement? And if nothing else, if I'm called back, I'm having a donut.

Is that Jesus?

It was 7:45 in the morning and all I wanted was some Powerade and a biscuit surely my eyes were playing a trick on me but nope, it was Jesus.

Good for nothing friends

I tend to be the type of girl that says "Yes" too often.  This leads to me often being over-committed and well, late to almost everything, all the time.  Its how I roll those that love me accept it and move on those that want more a prompt arrival/departure lie to me about what time I should arrive somewhere, adjusting appropriately for the 30 minute bubble of my definition of "on time".

That being said, there are actually times when I like to do nothing, at all.  Not that tricky dance where nothing=a little something, just nothing. Sit, not talk or only talk as the spirit moves, stare at tv/space/wall whatever is near.  In the midst of the chaos in which I tend to exist, I've somehow managed to acquire girlfriends who will just let me sit.  It happens organically, I have this unplanned expanse of time and end up at their house and often while their family's life is happening around me. I guess that just kind of happens when the majority of your friends have been with you since the 90's. A combination of already knowing your story and no assuming that you're going anywhere anytime soon (even though you might talk about up an moving every 5 years or so) makes it all work out.  Whatever the factors, I dig that I have a bunch of good for nothing friends.

I don't get people

When I go to the store to pick up an item, I take my wallet with me  (the one with the money in it) because I know when I get to said store to pick up said item, they're expecting that I pay for that item.  This entire exchange makes sense to me. Until I get to the store and there is a box of the same item I came to purchase in the same aisle but not in the right spot, and its open, and kind of haphazardly tossed on top of other items on the shelf. 

I know, this is not a good sign. I pick up the box because I'm assuming the worse and I want to be proved wrong. I was not wrong.  The only remaining content of the box was a sad little piece of paper with instructions on how to use a product that was no longer contained in that box.  

So, at some point that day, someone else thought I'm going to go to the store to pick up an item. By pick up they meant secretly tear into the box, stuff the contents of the box in their pants/coat/purse/pocket and go home. And that totally made sense to them.

Even after knowing there was nothing in there, I took the empty box to the counter when I checked out and said "I'm pretty sure I'm the bearer of bad news" and handed the box the clerk because it only seemed right that they should know that someone had stolen from the store.  It even crossed my mind that I could be accused of stealing but I knew I didn't steal it and I couldn't just leave that sad misplaced box there for someone else to just happen upon. So I braced myself for extensive questioning and took a chance by turning in the evidence and apparently, I do not in anyway, shape or form look like a thief. The clerk took the box, obviously disgusted but asked me no questions and sent me on my way with my legit and paid for item. 

 

And now I have already spent too much of time trying to make a nonsensical thing make sense.

When I live in a house (2)

When I live in a house it will be this one (literally, we're under contract and will close on June 30th):

 My favorite room will be this one:

I'll have grown up dinners here:

I'll sit around and chat with friends new and old here:

And I'll be able to offer a place for friends to rest here:

When I live in this house, I will cherish every moment of everyday that I get to do life in the home of my dreams.

Eat This

The hubs read a book about food processing or eating organically or something and decided to experiment with a meatless life style for 30 days. With the exception of a couple of of times when I just couldn't say no to the meat cravings, I've been a willing accomplice.

There are definitely times when eating meat seems easier, like this one time when we were having people over for dinner. An unexpected meatless meal seemed be difficult to explain or expect other people to agree to try but we have wonderfully supportive friends who just went along with us.

The totality of my menu planning is fueled by Real Simple recipes and regularly they offer great looking vegetarian meals that I usually don't bother to make. Since we aim to cook dinner at home at least twice a week. This has been an opportunity to try out lots of different things I have never considered before.

This week I picked the potato-leek-flatbread (below, left) because I like potatoes and leeks and cheese. The hubs picked the polenta pizza (below,right) because...well, I don't know, I guess he likes polenta.

The flatbread was Monday night's dinner and it tasted as good as that photo looks. I went heavy on the Gruyere cheese and could have gone lighter on the leeks but definitely worth a repeat.  tonight, the polenta pizza gets a turn.

Palm Sunday

Lent Day 34: The Book of 1 Thessalonians

God says, only in unplanned, unarranged, unwelcomed, unmanageable, and thoroughly unenjoyable dark nights will My plan for your maturity unfold.

Listen to what an offbeat follower of Mine, Tim Farrington, wrote in A Hell of Mercy:

"You will be graced with the disaster your soul requires to find its way home."

John of the Cross put it this way:

"No matter how much an individual does through his own efforts, he cannot actively purify himself enough to be disposed in the least degree for the divine union of the perfection of love."

Your frustration with everything, including yourself, makes it possible to turn in deeper dependence to Me. Your weariness requires the strength of supernatural love to continue serving Me. Your haunting sense of futility shuts you up to a kind of endurance that can be sustained only with hope in My Son's return.

You are in a good place.

(from 66 Love Letters: A Conversation with God that Invites You into His Story by Dr. Larry Crabb, ©2009.)

Connectivity, Connectedness, Connections

This is where I work.  I first crossed this part of Hitt Street my first semester at Mizzou almost 15 years ago. Since then, especially now that I attend weekly staff meetings in Memorial Union, I have crossed it hundreds of times.  Its to the point where I don't even think about it anymore.


Now, this is also where I dance. This weekend stood in that crosswalk and busted a move. I danced in front of Memorial Union for the first and lets go ahead and say last time.  Walking across the crosswalk to go to staff meeting will never be quite the same again.