summer means...

gorging yourself on fresh fruit. and lots of it. no remorse here!

cherries

blueberries

raspberries

strawberries

peaches

mangos

plums

figs

...and chocolate chips. i mean, cacao grows on trees, right? these pancakes were hearty and tasted delightfully nutritious. no added sugar, no butter, and no eggs made for an informal, guilt-free 4th of July brunch. i love satisfying tummys and souls, especially my family's.  

This Is Real

I'm always hearing people referencing living "real life," as in, "Yeah, and now it's back to real life." My response is always tinged with sass: "As opposed to fake life?" As I'm thinking of what to write next, it is a stream of questions, and phrases starting with the word "maybe". I think perhaps I have been watching too much Sex and the City the last few days, and that Carrie Bradshaw's writing style is starting to affect my mental processes.


But getting back to real life (oops...there I go using those two silly little words...it's an epidemic!), it seems that Americans in particular have become acculturated to viewing truly enjoying oneself as not counting as real life. Is real life then working day in and day out, meanwhile exhausting ourselves in the process? I've got to believe we are meant for more. Maybe I'm thinking differently because I'm a college student. After all, I did just take a course on American cultural and political society, which was code for "come to class and leave depressed". Why can't we be like Europe? They seem to have got this whole living for pleasure thing down pat. Well, it seems we just have to try harder.

Where am I going with this? 

Peonies are in bloom and showing up on living room tables and kitchen islands everywhere. There is time for peach tea and oatmeal with fruit on the patio in the morning, and summer vegetables there again in the evening. My book goes everywhere with me. There are opportunities for me to sit in a corner couch surrounded by windows and read for three hour intervals in complete silence. I enjoy the company of good friends. Sometimes there are pistachio macaroons and ginger tea involved, and there is always love, laughter and good conversation. I am even practicing living instinctually, making the decision at 8:30 on a Saturday night to drive home amid blackened sky to the east and setting sun to the west, and surprise my family. I can always count on them for a treat (Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Fro-Yo) and a movie (the gorgeous animated views of Paris and fine cuisine in Ratatouille). There are farmer's markets to be walked, neighborhoods to be bicycled through, baseball games to be attended, beaches and parks to be graced with fair skin and pockets of freckles, and more books to be poured over. 


It's summer, but there is no reason why we can't choose to live all year round. There will still be dishes to wash, laundry to fold, errands to run. Real life is all-inclusive. It is laced with enjoyment.

And So It Went

Someday you need to take a walk when the sky is dark and a storm is about to rush in. It's often good to stop and smell the roses. Sometimes there will be retaining walls of shrubbery around the beds and warning signs that say the area is restricted to personnel only. Ignore those, and put your long legs to use and climb over the uncomfortably prickly stuff anyway. Your tuition is being paid to fund a public university, including its gardens, and you would like the right to smush your face into hundreds of varieties of roses and drink in their delicate floral fragrances. I support you. I supported myself, despite uncomfortable stares directed in the general direction of an ungraceful woman sticking out like a sore thumb with its nail painted red.

No Place

Drapes that actually block out early morning sun, successfully prolonging my sleep. Bike rides every day. Through downtown, up and down residential streets lined with trees and well-maintained early 20th century homes, along the waterfront and into the marina. Cool temperatures, salty winds, changing scents with the changing of tides, and views of islands, sailboats and kite surfers. Cordial interactions with strangers in passing, and sidewalk chats with friends. Daytime PJs and Sex and the City marathons. Pastel purple toenails. Laying in the backyard receiving massages from my sister. Laughing at 6 feet 5 inches and over 220 pounds of brother nearly breaking his neck attempting oafish hands stands. Driving ten minutes to the J. Crew outlet.

Home. I could use some more of it.

Probably Too Much

Right now, home still means the place where I grew up, even if my bedroom now belongs to my sister. This just means I get to spend more time elsewhere, like the kitchen. My breakfast is relatively consistent: a small bowl featuring oatmeal or greek yogurt with berries and/or banana, almonds and a sprinkle of flaxseed. This stability means I can get a bit more creative throughout my day, hence my adventure with a poached egg. Whoever said third time is the charm was just making an excuse for not getting it right the first time. Had I ever poached an egg before? Nope. Was I nervous I was going to have a dinner void of protein? Yes, that was definitely on my mind. But my fried polenta rounds and peas, spinach, and tomato in olive oil and basil had a lovely, delicate pillow of egg white filled with runny yolk to cover it with love. 


I will admit to you though, I loathe baking in my kitchen at school. Not that I don't enjoy satisfying the sweet tooth of fifteen college girls, it's just that I get zero peace from baking when the incessant, "Whatcha bakin'?" is asked in tones suggesting the underlying question is really, "Can I have some when it's done?" I just want to spend time methodically scooping, sweeping, and meditating in sweet aroma. Home is where the heart is, and mine is often in the kitchen (with plenty of granite counter space, baking tools and necessities) surrounded by my family. 


My culinary release over the extended stay at home this Memorial Day weekend was just what I have been missing in my life. Alton Brown's individual berry crisps with blueberries and raspberries was served as dessert two nights in a row. I insist on topping it with vanilla bean ice cream, which melts beautifully over bubbly soft berries and crispy oat and nut topping in truly decadent fashion. 


On a more everyday level, jacked-up banana bread from Smitten Kitchen for a late afternoon treat is always welcome. This bread was so moist that only its shiny top could begin to illustrate what words would fall short attempting. What else could make this bread better? Substitutions. 1 teaspoon water + 1.5 tablespoons water + 1.5 tablespoons vegetable oil replaced 1 egg, and 3 tablespoons of vegetable oil replaced 1/3 cup of butter. Heap your cinnamon and nutmeg, turn that pinch of cloves into 1/2 teaspoon and voila! Truly jacked-up banana bread.


Finally, homemade Mounds bars. They turned out looking so unattractive that I just couldn't bear to share a photo of them. But 2.5 cups flaked coconut, 7 ounces sweetened condensed milk and 12 ounces semisweet chips melted over a double boiler (taking nice and tidy logs and turning them into exactly what the name states, mounds) were tasty nonetheless. And there ended my baking spree. 


Sugar will be removed from my diet for several weeks, starting...now.

In The Moment

Who ever died from following their impulses? Ok, dumb question. It would be best if you didn't answer that. But hey, I'm here to tell the tale! It's not one of crazy adventure, or anything remotely dangerous. On the other hand, let's be real about this. Braving Northgate during rush hour is totally ballsy, and so is eating saturated fats at an unholy hour. More on that later.

As has been noted in the past, I lack the go-get-em' spirit to make quick decisions. I want to make the best one, and it often results in second guessing myself. But no sir, not the past two days! Takin' chances! Doin' what I want, when I want! That sounds more selfish than anything, but shoot, I need to start somewhere, right?

A late night text to a friend for legal addictive stimulants (...coffee) and a chat the following afternoon? Check. Nevermind the dear girl managed to flush her car keys down the toilet. Hey, stuff happens!

I'm bored...I'm going to the mall! A minute thirty later I'm in the driver's seat and bumpin' to J.B. Impulse buy: citron dress for $22 (from Forever 21 of all places)? Check. 

"Let's watch something sappy and romantic, or something pretty tonight." 

"Agreed."

"Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows Part II it is." (Not romantic, not too pretty among the rubble of Hogwarts, but perhaps a tiny bit sappy in ending an era of wits and wizardry.)

Bourbon banana bread baked by Elisa in her sweet, retro kitchen? Check.

I really wasn't ready to end my day. 11:30 Dick's run. A Dick's Special, fries and a side of tartar? Check. Thunder thighs and a side of love handles? Check, check. 

Ok, so I'm lame and not very exciting. In other news, I'm slowly making progress in becoming a bit more spontaneous, except when I get in my PJs by dinnertime. That happens more than I'd care to admit. Comfort over cool factor, my friends.

Who Said

If I have learned anything this school year (besides the fact that the labradoodle is the preferred breed of posh Seattleites), it's that guilt is preposterous. Time spent away from my studies does not mean I should be thinking about the fact I am not being academically productive. My sense of self comes from mentally living in the moment. It makes the days when I am not reading and cramming notes into my brain until my eyes swell completely worth it.

This spring has been exactly what I had hoped it would be, an equal balance of school, work, friends and family. I couldn't imagine a better way to spend my final weeks in the house that has nourished me for the last three years. There have been evening baseball games looking upon sunsets and the Seattle skyline, complete with multiple encounters with a woman preening and photographing her Mariner-outfitted Troll. Saturday mornings have been spent chatting over double espressos and specialty treats (hence that divine buttermilk biscuit filled with marionberry jam) at Macrina on Queen Anne, followed by browsing the local farmer's market. There have been moments of laughter and conversation, and others of simply appreciating the silent presence of another. Above all, there has been the continual recognition of His faithfulness. I am thankful in such a way that cannot be transcribed. The senses overcome me and I am reduced to tears as I fail to comprehend the vastness of love and beauty before me, both worldly and other. 


What do I in seven months when I am released from academia? What do I do tomorrow? Who will walk into my life and who will leave it? Living each day for what it is: that is what having it figured out looks like.