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.

Let Us Chase It

At 5:55 AM I tapped my touchpad to "Register for this schedule" one last time. Technically, I tapped it about fifteen times until the person controlling the server decided to get their act together and open registration two minutes late at 5:57. One last teaser for old time's sake, and probably a bit of a power trip, sniggering at us all behind the guise of a computer screen. He/she must have loved imagining how annoyed we all were, sitting in our beds and just wanting to go back to bed for a few more hours.

Meanwhile, all this rain has me thinking about traipsing through the English countryside in wellies and a herringbone jacket as if I were a modern day Elizabeth Bennet, off to Netherfield and six inches deep in mud. Someday. And when that day comes I'll lead my dogs back over the stone retaining wall, through the picket fence and garden beds and into the house, where we will retire by the fire. Knees up to my chest and tea on the table adjacent my wingback chair I'll read Dickens. I'll occasionally look out on the rain through the window and wonder what Jemima Puddleduck, Mr. Jeremy Fisher and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle are up to. It's silly I know, to dream up such fanciful ideas about a life that doesn't exist, at least not yet. But where would any of us be without these spurts of the imagination? I for one would be bored and uninspired. There is the hope of always pursuing beauty. I will chase it to the very end.