Think Pink

So...I never though I would enjoy the color pink. Just putting that out there. Blues and greens have always held a dear place in my heart, and when it comes to warm tones, hook me up with orange and yellow please! But apparently people can change (even if it's just hue preferences)! The colors people like speak volumes about who they are as a person. What does my recent fascination with fuschia say about me and who I am right now? I really couldn't say; I'm not that introspective. All I know is that I mega splurged on lipstick named Exhilarating, there is a purple dress with hot pink polka dots hanging in my closet, and I turned down a Tiffany-blue bracelet at J. Crew for the exact same one in guess what, hot pink. An Aztec-esque print dress (with pink in it) and coral color-blocked platforms sit at the end of my bed right now waiting to celebrate a birthday tonight. Freak out for me, please, because I (at least temporarily) love pink!

PS. I have Justin Bieber's "Boyfriend" on repeat. Ok, maybe now I should be embarrassed. 

My Goodness

How is it that he is always the last one out the door? With no hair to dry, no makeup to apply, and Daddy-o ironing his clothes for him, it is a complete mystery to us all. But hey, we made it to church with time to spare and got prime seating, so all was well. And we looked a pretty smashing set, if I do say so myself. Lucas sporting Donald Trump, Caroline looking ladylike in midnight blue and polka dots, and me managing to pull off a steady walk in platforms. My view was increased by a good 4 inches, standing at 6 foot 1 1/2. Yowzaaah...intimidated? I think I may be! 

Following, there was Easter brunch at home. Can I just say that I cannot imagine going out for brunch with the masses? For me anyways it is so much more satisfying to be in the kitchen with my family, rather than eating the same smoked salmon blah blah blah that everyone else is ordering at such and such a place. And you know what, I don't even mind doing the dishes afterward. Ok, my snobbish rant is over now. Which leaves you wondering, what the heck could be better than my smoked salmon blah blah blah I had for brunch today? 

The Sontra Family Easter 2012 menu was as follows. Spiral ham and some fancy dancy mustard on the side. Egg, bell pepper and onion scramble topped with fresh basil. Steamed asparagus. Fresh scones (recipe courtesy of the Empress Hotel in Victoria, B.C.) with sinfully decadent homemade Devonshire cream. Fresh pineapple. Frothy orange juice, and various other drinks of choice. We really outdid ourselves. Heavens above! My heart should have stopped working hours ago! I'm sure it was in the plan when Jesus died for our salvation that the fresh start we can have at any time through Him starts with me tomorrow and a serious fast to detoxify my body of butter and heavy whipping cream. It was so worth it.

Oh, and did I mention the Easter Bunny fills polka dot and Hello Kitty easter eggs with money (as in paperrrr) at our house? It's NBD. Before you get too jealous though, I'll just let you know that my sister made out better than me and my $7. That's like a gallon and a half of gas! It's more likely however that it will be put toward purchasing vegetables at the farmer's market next weekend (you know, to restore my health and such).

A Promise

And this is the promise which He Himself made to us: eternal life.

1 John 2:25

Sister Sister

There couldn't have been a better day for my sister to come visit. After three years of wanting her to stay with me in Seattle, she finally did, and it was a grand event. The little bookworm told me all about Leonardo da Vinci and Annie Oakley over pesto whole wheat pasta and vegetables. There were lots of giggles over Monsters Inc. while sipping on our preferred beverages, cocoa for her and herbal tea for me. Although I must admit, I was simultaneously poring over the latest issue of Real Simple, my ultimate source of inspiration. 

The forecast said rain showers. Boy oh boy was my Mac dashboard completely off. Sunshine and 60 degree weather was a welcome surprise! We dashed off to Green Lake for a brisk morning walk amid daffodils, cherry blossoms, baby strollers and labradoodles en mass. Surrounded by stylish first-time mothers decked out in Lululemon chasing around stubby-legged Crew Cuts representatives, Caroline and I showed off our long windblown hair at soaring heights on the playground swings. Relaxation was beckoning us home.

Soon the kitchen found itself filled with the loving aroma of butter, bananas and chocolate. It drifted through the backdoor, down the stairs, and out to the backyard, where we reclined exposing our winter skin to the first real sun of spring. What should we do now? Lunches, crayons, Disney princesses coloring book, and blanket in tow we made our way down through campus to the quad, which was densely populated with similarly pale faces, weapons disguised as frisbees and an entire tuning choir. 

But it really wouldn't have mattered what we did together. Reveling in our sisterhood and each other's company was more than enough to make us content. 

At the end of the day I sent her home with fingernails painted green, tupperware full of banana chocolate chip bars, memories of quality sister time and dreams of playing soccer for UW. I do not doubt she slept very well that night. 

Melon & Mint

Beautiful on their own; made even more so when paired.

Little Italy: Round Two

My last day in San Diego was one of my favorites of the entire trip. It was a testament to a) how much I adore Amy and appreciate our friendship, and b) how the smallest things make me perfectly happy. We spent the afternoon in Little Italy. I again found myself charmed by the sunny (literally), pleasant atmosphere. Perhaps it was because I was on vacation and free of daily obligations that I sensed life was taken at a more leisurely pace in Little Italy. But don't get me wrong, people were still hard at work in their shops, on the sidewalk patios and in front of their laptops. Yet everyone's demeanor seemed a bit more relaxed than what I am accustomed to among the stern-faced comings and goings of Seattleites. Here, we always seem to be on a mission every second of our lives.

I had my second gelato of my entire life that day, and I was informed that it was nothing like what is actually eaten in Italy. I didn't mind, and frankly I didn't know the difference. All I cared about in that moment was sunning my face in the hopes of attaining more freckles, while alternating bites between scoops of peanut butter cup and espresso gelato. Satisfaction.

As we walked down India Street, amass with potted lemon and lime trees, I couldn't help being thrilled by what I observed. Each intersection greeted us with a view of glittering ocean, a palm lined marina boulevard and lethargic sailing ships. Along the way I peeped into little markets run by native Italians. I sighed both because of my enchantment by the sights and scents, as well as my disappointment in the 3 ounce liquid rule for the flight home limiting my purchases. There were cured meats, fresh seafood salads, imported cheeses, and carefully ordered shelves of good olive oils, sweets and wines. Glass cases displayed empty chocolate cannoli shells waiting to be pumped full of fresh cream and dipped in pistachios, amaretto cookies and other decadent sweets. Darling little trattorias had sidewalk patios set with white linens and clear shining glass goblets. It was beautiful.

We posted up outside at a small iron table next to a lemon tree at a corner cafe. I sat as the sun warmed my face, while my eyes raced down the pages and my mind filled with the daring adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel, his comrades and the alluring Marguerite St. Just. The pleasantly strong, sickly-sweet cigar smoke from the gentleman sitting adjacent our table filled my nostrils. Passersby spoke loudly and animatedly in Italian, accompanied by enthusiastic gestures. In need of a late afternoon caffeine pick-me-up, Amy and I moved to Starbucks, chatting about home, our loves, the future, and reminiscing about the past and our families over one of the greatest things to come out of Seattle: fruity, bitter roast.

Alas dinnertime approached and it was time to meet our friends. I was sad to depart, but my soul was full and happy. The wall wishing me "Ciao" as I boarded the trolly sent me off in good spirits with pleasant memories to accompany me forever.

A 180

La Jolla. Now there's a beach community I could enjoy. Undoubtedly pretentious and swarming with flirty housewives, but upscale, classy and clean nonetheless. A pretty cove, clear blue water, and white frothy foam crouching up along the shore as a product of surging waves. Hoards of roly-poly, grunting seals packed flipper to tail while sunbathing on mammoth rocks, while picnicking women in rather large floppy hats did the same. 

And then there was a late lunch on the Ocean Terrace at George's alongside La Jolla's creme de la creme, accompanied by ocean views as far as the eye could see. What was on my plate? Farro salad with grilled zucchini, asparagus, roasted beets, cherry tomatoes, red onion, kalamata olives, marinated feta, mint, parsley and basil. Light and refreshing, corresponding with the way I felt about being in that lovely and pristine seaside town after the previous day among SoCal beach bums.