And they deep fried a turkey

Family Dinner is back and we're all growing up. 

I think I have mentioned this in the past but a while ago my roommate, Jessi, and I started this thing called family dinners. We pick a theme and text our friends and make magic happen. Everyone brings something depending on what type of night it is. Taco night has been a personal favorite

It is great time and is always a big hit. We eat, drink and be merry and play the occasional game like catch phrase. So then it becomes, we eat, drink, be merry and yell. A lot. 

But this week we stepped family dinner up to an impressive degree. 

First annual Pilgrims and Indians family dinner. 

Oh yes, we all cooked, baked and slaved away in the kitchen all day. Minus the ones who brought beverages and decided store buying was their safest bet. 

But we had everything and it was quite lovely. 

Jessi cooked one of the turkey's and then our dear friend, JR wanted  to test out deep frying. So, there was a deep fried turkey. 

There is a first time for everything and overall it was a success.  JR didn't burn himself or anyone surrounded the turkey. Cambria did a rain dance, and it so happened to rain. Said farewell to a good friend, Katrina Hagen, we will miss you.

Pumpkin pie requires some thought.

I mentioned that overall the night was a success.

Until, I may have taken the quote of the night. And not in a cocky sort of way. 

I find that I get over things fairly quickly if I spend more than a few hours on a project. 

Jess and I have had this can to make pumpkin pie in our cupboard through a couple of moves--maybe even dating back to Vanguard Centre.  But we had never made a pie and I get rather tired of looking at this can every time I open the cupboard. So impromptu decided I may as well make the pie.

But by the time I got to the pie, I was tired of being a perfectionist and measuring every detail. So I took a quick look at the directions and proceeded on my way. 

I guestimated the entire pie and put it in the oven. An hour after the normal cooking time it was finally baked. Personally, I had already vowed that I would not try this pie.

A few of my friends around the dining room table and a few of them are grabbing pie and there is my pumpkin pie chilling on the table. I see JR reach for the night and the only thing out of my mouth was, "Don't." 

All eyes were on me. There were some confused looks. And all I could do was give a quick smirk and ease the freak out.

I explained that all good chefs just know the right amount by feeling the ingredients. All good chefs don't measure.

My friend Jason's mother was in the room. She went on this Food Network kick. She chimed in, "yes, but when it comes to baking all the ingredients must be accurate. It's an issue of compounds and proportions."

Then every looked at me again and just laughed. 

And the rest of the night, a good deal of sentences started out with, "You know how good chef's just know the right amounts." 

Needless to say, I tossed the pie without a second thought. 

Thanks Becca for this one.

love this.

I have so much to be thankful for and I don't want to take it for granted.  I have far more than I need and am rich with friendship.

What are you thankful for this season? 

Rekindle

I went running today, for quite a while actually. A while in my terms, that is. 

I'm not a great runner but I'm trying to like it. But I get to run in my backyard. and I really like my backyard.

This is Back Bay, it's a nature reserve. It is so unique and people in Newport Beach take it for granted.

It is beautiful and I love running at sunset. It is perfect and peaceful. Let peace flow.

Shutting off and being able to just be and surround myself with a piece of the world that God made to enjoy. So, why wouldn't I find Him there if I'm willing to listen.

The rest of the night felt like one of those two part movies. The first part where everything is as it is. But the second part where you find that all you see isn't all that is there. Thank you Holy Spirit.

I have been trying to make a conscious effort to be.

But not just be. to be here

To invest, and to see God through all.

and it's funny through that all, I'm beginning to understand that God is teaching me in every aspect of daily life. It's overwhelming. In a great and powerful way.

But through that something in me is being rekindled.

Compassion.

I shut it off for a while. Who knew it was possible.

But compassion has found me again and it is almost like having the chance to relive a situation, make the changes where you learned from the past.

You learn from the people of your past. even the ones that hurt you.

I used to listen to this song Better from Brooke Fraser. I would listen to it a number of years ago and cry at the end of the day when I meditated on the lyrics.  At the time it was true. It was the kind of compassion that I had. To be real honest, it is something too much for a human alone to bear.  And I take others' situations as my burdens.

///// Take my shoulder back now

Your head's too heavy for me

Please don't come around here no more

'Cos I asked you to stop

And you wouldn't

[Chorus]

I would give anything to make you better

I would give anything to point you to free

I would give anything to help you realise

I loved you 'til it killed me...////

As I'm seeking Him more, I'm realizing.

I do get a second chance at compassion. It is something I want but it is also something that can kill. I lay it at His feet. 

Gradually, I'm learning.

As I'm drawn to specific people and as I can sit next to them and feel the bricks fall on my chest and feel their hurt. There is nothing I can do.

Except.

live in love.

listen.

and just be.

And be ready for anything. 

These are a few of my favorite things

someday, someday 

Here are a few things that I'm really excited about this year.

A couple items go toward great causes. Seriously, check out 31 bits and Krochet Kids. Both of their winter lines were just launched!  A couple are guilty pleasures. While another just seems like a blast to learn.




I have one more favorite thing. Okay, not so much a thing but the cutest baby girl, Cayla Lynn. She's a doll and I can't wait to document more of her life. 

Humankind says the best things in life are free

But I believe it's a 44 cent stamp.

"I have found that whenever I want something sweet, but don't want to spend the money, the best thing is to find a chocolate shop, make conversation with whoever is working and then nicely ask, 'so do oyu have any free samples?'Works almost every time."

-Ashley Wells, The wise woman of D.C.

The other day, I was having one of those days. You know those days where you the best remedy is to turn on some great screaming music, roll down the windows and just scream with whatever is playing. Rolling down the windows seems to be the better remedy because it is out in the open and not hidden.

Yes, it was one of those days.

I get home and check the mail. And I see handwritten letters on an envelope and those are typically the best kind. Mainly because you know it is something better than a bank statement or a bill. I pick the letter from my box and I see my name and some pretty fall drawings around my address. So I open the letter and it is full of free things.

Fall leaves, I adore fall and the changing of colors.

A sketch of the capitol building. I really enjoy sketches and the hands the sketched the building.

A comic strip that happens to describe me very well. It is slightly embarrassing but so true.

So, thankful for miss Ashley Wells and can't help but smile.

And I realized the best things are the smallest things, in the simplest forms. 

But the greatest is when someone knows you and accepts your quirky mannerisms.

Writer's block-- what a tragedy

Coming from a writer's perspective. 

Do I have what it takes? Writing articles vs. writing story. 

Writing articles for a newspaper or a magazine isn't about inspiration. You have an assignment. You must make it clear enough to where an 8th grader can understand, and it is cut and dry depending on the publication. Writing story is about inspiration but about the ability to tap into a character and story as it is your own life. It is extremely emotional and when your story dies, it is as if the writer dies as well. 

I often times wonder if I have what it takes, the fall and triumph of character development. The story that I'm creating becomes truth in some way or another. The emotional rollercoaster, oy vey. 

It is something I love, and self-motivating myself is a task. So here starts my motivation, all inclusive with an exert:

I lie there and let him kiss my forehead, then my cheek. Nothing else.

           

…And all she wants is this to be true and all she needs is something better.            

“You should stay away from me,” he says.

            “Should I leave then,” I ask.

            “No.”

I look at him, my eyes straight intro his.

            “Should I leave if I’m requested to stay away from you,” I ask again.

            “No, I care about you.”

He pauses.

           

            “I care about you too much to let anything happen,” he says.

As he grabs her and hols her closer. He gives more details to why he is bad and asks about her purity. “I am pure,” she says, confidentally.

            “All the more reason to stay away,” he says.

His promiscuity has worn on him. He is broken for it. He continues to be broken.

           

            “I hold your purity with high standard,” I say.

            “Thank you.”

… and he held me hand.

As he closes his eyes he tells her more secrets. More pain that even she dare not write, for it is his and Gods— and now hidden in her heart for it is not hers to tell. She holds them. Almost as if they never existed—Although they do exist, lively.

And he takes me to bed where I lie at an opposite end.

Until he reaches for me that is and pulls me to his chest and holds mine to his and encompasses my being. I can barely breath.

           

He intertwines our legs and kisses my cheek—so close to my lips.

            “This can’t happen unless you can do this right,” I say.

            “Okay, I understand,” he says.

As he grabs me closer, my heart drops and I only have the urge to kiss him. And him hold me is almost more than I can bare.

Because the reality is, you won’t recall a thing.

He holds her. He holds her hand. She caresses his skin. She can’t stop touching his face. She outlines his face with her fingertip. He faces her and she faces him. His lock tight arms keep her. And as she escapes, she wakes to being found. He never leaves her untouched.

As the morning comes, she lies there. His hands never leave hers. She tries to save herself from the heartbreak of the morning and detaches her hands. But alas, he finds her even in his sleep.

She wakes up fully and stares at the ceiling.

“What the heck am I doing,” I think.

I continue to stare at the ceiling. I look at him. I look anywhere to find answers of the fact that I am in the past’s future.

She panics. She hates the reality of this being tainted and this being a sham.

They separate.

He wakes up.

It is as if this never existed.

Cue music.

Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, you’re heard. As well as your body. Any can you lie next to her and confess your love as well as your folly. And can you kneel before the King and saying, I’m clean. I’m clean…” Mumford and Sons—White blank page.