The Red Dress Club: Until Someday Comes

Another post focused on writing instead of food! Weird, huh? Today I'm happy to once again be participating in The Red Dress Club's weekly writing meme.  Thanks for all of the wonderful responses last week - I wasn't as "social" as I would have liked to be, but that's because we were out of town.  This weekend watch out - I'm gonna be all up in y'all's business.


Today's prompt: Write about finding a lost article of clothing in the back of a drawer or closet.  How was it found, what is it, why is it so meaningful?




Saturday. Laundry day. I find it easiest to just barrel through as fast as I can, single-minded, before inertia sets in and I “discover” a movie on TV that I’ve seen a million times but need to watch just…once…more.  Before you know it hours have passed and I’ve sat through yet another “Rocky” marathon with nothing but an overflowing hamper to show for it. Gotta stay focused.


I finish matching up what seems like a million pairs of socks and open the drawer to dump them in when I see it.  A small lump of light blue fabric in the back corner.  How long has it been there? Months? Years? I don’t even remember exactly when it ended up in my possession, but I’ve kept it all this time.


I reach for it and pull it out, smiling sheepishly to myself.  Yes, now I remember.  I’d been visiting one of my oldest friends, a girl I’d gone through high school with. She was the first of my girlfriends from that time of my life to have a baby. Talk about a shock – seeing the girl you giggled with late into the night, who you sat around and dreamed up your fantasy wedding with and swooned over Antonio Banderas with (you know, back when he was still hot) now sporting a baby on her shoulder and spit-up stains down her back.


At the time of my visit she had recently given birth to her second little boy.  Little guy #1 was running around with the sort of boundless energy all toddlers have and I was playing games with him. The big event that afternoon was “hiding” an article in plain view for him to “find” it and return it to me. Amazing how the simplest games can entertain a child for hours.


When I got home that night I was searching for something in my purse and I found it. A little present my buddy had given me.  I'd left my bag sitting wide open on the floor and he’d evidently gotten it into his head to hide something for me to find but then forgot all about it. A tiny pair of his baby brother’s socks.


A few years later I examine those socks once again. So small. I hold them up to my nose and breathe deep. They still have that glorious scent of extra gentle detergent – fainter now, but there nonetheless. I run my thumb over the unfathomably soft cotton and I smile to myself.


Why did I keep them? Why did I tuck them safely into the back of my own sock drawer and never tell a soul about them, not even my husband? I don’t know for sure.


Okay, that’s a lie. My heart knows better. I told myself that I was saving them for “someday”. For the day my own little baby would need them. Until then they would stay a secret, an ever-present symbol of my heart’s desire. I had forgotten about their existence but not about what they stood for.


For now I will put my little treasure back in its place and shut the drawer. There it will stay until someday comes.


 Thanks for reading! Any and all constructive criticism is welcome.  For the record, the specifics of the story are fictional - the only socks in my drawer are mine (well, maybe there's a pair of my husband's in there, too...).

Writer's Workshop: A Vacation to Remember

Prompt #1: A Vacation to Remember


Rumspringa is a Pennsylvania German term which means "running around", and it is used to describe a period of time for Amish youth from the age of 16 until they decide to be baptized into the Amish church or to leave the church and the Amish way of life forever.  During this time, the teenagers can pretty much do whatever they want in order to ensure that when they decide to become baptized, they are making the most informed decision possible.


Recently we watched a documentary entitled "The Devil's Playground" which told the stories of several such teens and their experiences.  It's fascinating and at times downright shocking to see what some of these kids will get into during their "time off".


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This past weekend, Rob and I took a short trip to Amish country and stayed at a bed & breakfast just outside of Lancaster, PA.


It was a fantastic mini-vacation.  We relaxed for the sake of relaxing.  On Saturday we actually took a nap.  Yes.  A nap.  For, like, 3 hours.  Because we could.  That's one thing we never feel like we can attempt when we go to Disneyworld, for sure - everything's scheduled, there's always something more to do, you can maybe take a quick snooze if you play your cards right.  But in Amish country? Zzzzz....Bliss.


We had some really important, probing conversations, such as "What would happen if the government banned all fast food restaurants?".  We discovered a quaint little place called "Pancake Farm" and wondered if they, in fact, grew pancakes there.  Alas, we never found out, since they are closed on Sunday.


Most importantly, we did something we hadn't done in a while.  We did it again and again throughout the entire weekend.  Seriously, we were unstoppable.


We laughed.  


We laughed at everything.  We were silly, we were goofy.  Everything was funny to us.


One of our biggest running jokes focused on rumspringa.  We decided that we would just wreak havoc all over the place and shout "Ruuuuumspringaaaa!" at the top of our lungs while doing so.  And we came up with all sorts of crazy scenarios that sent us into fits of hysterical laughter. 


Oh, did I rear-end you because you cut me off in the parking lot? Rumspringa!


Did I tell you off because you're being all chatty and annoying while I'm trying to eat breakfast which you forced me to get out of bed at 8 AM for, B&B owner? Rumspringa!


Did I punch your lights out for walking back and forth, repeatedly, in the room above me? On a hardwood floor? Wearing heels? At 7:00 in the morning? Rumspringa!


I think we even decided to legally change our last name to Rumspringa.


And no.  We hadn't touched a drop.  It was just one of those magical times when you're drunk on laughter and silliness and the simple joy of being together.


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We were at my favorite Amish smorgasbord on Saturday night.  I love the place.  It is Heaven to me.  Simple, homecooked food prepared expertly by people who know how to fry a piece of chicken.  If I could marry a restaurant, this would be the place.


The only drawback for me is sharing a long table with a bunch of strangers, as the food is served family-style on big platters.  I don't mind eating with my entire family or a big group of friends.  It's when I have to sit with strangers that I feel uncomfortable.  And besides, who wants to look like a pig at one of these places? My family and friends already know I'm a pig...er...enthusiastic over good food.  But here, we all have to "share" and "be polite".  Psssh.


Anyway, we were seated first and wondered who we would be sharing our table with.  Soon another couple joined us.  And I knew from the get-go, just by hearing the way the wife talked about their numerous past experiences here, that they could very well foil my plans for gluttonous overindulgence.  I didn't want to have to break any fingers in pursuit of that extra slice of pie (seriously, I am so hardcore - I only eat there, like, once every 3 or 4 years).


In my distress, I texted Rob from across the table.  Throwdown


His reply?  RUMSPRINGA!!!!

Oh, homemade bread and apple butter.  You complete me.

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Rob pointed out something to me last night.  Evidently our trip made a lasting impression with him and he's been thinking back on it quite a bit. 


To him, it symbolized that apart from all the stress we've been through in the past year, all the depression and anxiety and general insanity we've weathered...we still have "It".  It's still there.  We may not be able to tap into it as much as we would like, but the reason we're together in the first place stands strong. 


We were able to shed all of that excess baggage for a couple of days and get back to the basics of our marriage and our friendship.  We cut loose.  We lived without a schedule.  We overate (<-- understatement) and threw all caution to the wind.  And then we went back to our "real life" together, with a fresh point of view and the determination to tap into that silly side of ourselves more often.


It was a very important mini-vacation.


It was our rumspringa.

Red Writing Hood: The Love of My Life

I'm happy to be linking up for the first time this week with The Red Dress Club! Squeal!

This week's prompt involved starting the submission with "I could never have imagined" and ending with "Then the world shifted".  I would love any comments and any constructive criticism, and am looking forward to visiting the other participants.  Thanks!

I could never have imagined that I would meet the love of my life on Craigslist.

Yes.  Craigslist.

It wasn’t the sort of ad through which men and women usually meet on that site.  There were no come on’s, no propositions.  Just a girl writing an ad, venting about the shallowness of the men she had met to that point and laying it all on the line for anyone who cared to read it, and a boy who found that ad and felt compelled to respond.

Out of all of the replies I got that day, his in particular stood out.  He had clearly put a lot of thought into it.  Hell, he could spell and knew how to put a sentence together.  That alone put him ahead of the pack.  But it was more than that.  As I read I became increasingly interested in getting to know him.  I laughed out loud once or twice.  He had a dry sense of humor while at the same time an openness, a friendliness.  He seemed eager to hear back from me.  So he did.

Two days later he told me he would happen to be in my area that night with a couple of his friends, and asked if I would like to meet up with them.  My exact words were, “I’m in a what-the-hell kind of mood, so why not?”.  

I have to admit that it wasn’t an instant love connection.  I later found out that up to that evening, he had habitually driven himself crazy getting ready to meet a girl for the first time, only to be disappointed time and again.  This time he decided to play it cool to the point of underdressing.  So no, I wasn’t exactly bowled over.

Over the next month we emailed back and forth several times a day, and I’ve saved every single one of those precious messages.  Sometimes when I’m having a bad day I go back through them and laugh over those early days, the delicate getting-to-know-you dance we performed together.  I was still unsure – this was completely new territory for me, and as much as I wanted to be a part of a relationship, there was something to be said for the comfort of knowing what to expect from life.  Change is scary.

Still, a month after our first meeting we went on an actual date.  After dinner we spent a lot of time talking in the car, as he drove in circles trying to find a parking spot in my hectic neighborhood.  Finally, after 45 minutes or so, he decided to give up – he was working on Saturdays at that time and had to be in early the next morning.  Wouldn’t know you it, though, that as soon as he decided to simply drop me off, a spot opened up almost directly outside the door leading up to my apartment? Fate’s a funny thing.

There we stood, in that crucial moment.  I remember how my heart raced, wondering how this would turn out, not knowing what to do.  My palms were sweaty. 

Something had changed that evening.  He was prepared this time, he was on his game.  That plus the deepening of our friendship over the several weeks prior sparked something in me.  

After a minute or two of small talk, I knew that it would be up to me to take matters into my own hands.  And so I took a deep breath and went in for the kill.  Right there in the dingy entryway of my dingy apartment building.  Our first kiss.

Then the whole world shifted.

My Top Ten Kitchen Essentials

Little known fact: I spend a lot of time in the kitchen.

Oh...wait...you knew that? For real? Wow.  There I was, thinking I was all mysterious about how I spend my free time.

For someone who lives in the kitchen, there are bound to be tools which are absolutely essential to ensuring that your finished product is, well, edible.  There are others which are not quite so essential, but they sure do make life easier.  In my little old opinion, here's 10 which I know I couldn't live without.

My Favorite Non-Essentials:

1) Stand mixer - In how many ways has my stand mixer changed my life? How much time have you got to read this? Seriously, I don't know what I did without my girl (Yes, she's a girl.  Say something, I dare you).  Whether being used to knead dough while I'm doing something else, to mix ultra thick cake batter which I know my hand-held mixer couldn't manage and then whip up the frosting, or to help bring cookie dough together in a flash...my KitchenAid is truly the superstar of my kitchen.  Next to me, of course.

2) Slow cooker - Our slow cooker gets used at least 3 times a week, sometimes as many as 4 or 5.  Like the stand mixer, the slow cooker has changed my life in many happy ways.  There is absolutely nothing like coming home to the smell of a roast or stew which has been cooking all day long.  We've used it to make chicken, meatloaf, pork roast, soup, meatballs.  Most recently, Rob made a jambalaya in there which knocked my socks clear off my feet.  It was fabulous.  Plus it helps keep food warm during parties, which is a huge bonus.

3) Food processor - Where oh where have you been all my life, glorious food processor? I've had mine for just shy of a year and, honestly, I have no idea what I did without it (see a trend here?).  From breaking down tons of veggies and fresh bradcrumbs for a vat of meatballs and sauce to mixing the creamiest deviled egg filling imaginable to making quick work of chopping jars of olives and shredding cheese for olive cheesy bread, I've used this baby a lot over the past 52 weeks or so.  Oh, and most recently I made a killer pasta dough with it.  It's so versatile and a total workhorse.  I love it.

4) Wooden spoons - Wait, what? Not another small appliance? Well, no.  Not all superstar tools have to be plugged in to be amazing.  My wooden spoons have seen me through a lot of cooking projects and, except for the one that broke (RIP old friend), they're going strong.  I have around a half dozen and would happily keep buying more and more...only I don't have enough room for them.  And I think there's a good possibility that Rob would kill me if I cluttered up the kitchen more than I already have.  I'm tempted to move these into the "essential" category - they're just that important to have around, and plastic tools can melt and warp.  But they're not really a 100% must-have.

5) Someone to clean it all up when you're finished - This one needs no explanation.


The Essentials:

1) A Sense of Humor - Please don't take yourself too seriously in the kitchen.  As long as you're abiding by the rules of food safety and not allowing cooking oil to explode into flames, it's all fair game.  Laugh at yourself and your mistakes.  Burned dinner? Sounds like a good excuse to order takeout!

2) A Sense of Calm - BE CALM.  Panic hurts people! Panic hurts appliances! Panic possibly hurts entire kitchens and/or homes! If you're in a panic you're that much likelier to cause an accident, and no one needs that.  Just relax.  It's only cooking.  The food will be done when the food is done.  And again, if you don't succeed there's always pizza.

3) Common Sense - When you read a recipe for the first time, especially if it's not printed in a cookbook (but even if it is), really read it.  Does it make sense to you? Do you think there's a typo? Everyone makes mistakes, even recipe writers.  Just keep an eye out and you may avoid making the same mistake as someone I know who, due to a problem converting a recipe from a website to their iPhone, added 3 cups of soy sauce to a dish instead of 1/3 cup.  Guess what they had for dinner that night...? You can't always trust what's written down.

4) Imagination - Do you think you could make a dish taste better by adding your own little flare? Do you wonder what this ingredient would taste like if you mixed it with that one? Give it a shot! What do you have to lose? Worst case scenario, it doesn't turn out well.  Now, do I suggest experimenting with expensive ingredients? Um, no.  Just be fearless when and where you can.  You never know - you might make magic happen.

5) Knowledge - Do you know what to do in case of a cooking oil fire? Do you know how to avoid cross-contamination? When using your knife to slice or chop, what do you do with the fingers of your inactive hand? Should you use a damp dishtowel to grab a pan out of the oven? You need to know the answers to these sorts of questions - ask someone or use the trusty internet.  Play it safe.

Are there any essentials in YOUR kitchen - the sort of stuff you just can't do without?

Spinning My Wheels?

Friends, I need your advice!

See, I've never been what you might call "proficient" when it comes to time management.  I'm more the "Ohmygod I have so much to do it's making my brain shut down, time to take a nap and sort it all out later" kind of gal.  The "I'll think about that tomorrow", Scarlett O'Hara sort.

I compose to-do lists, but somehow while in the midst of trying to finish my tasks I always get sidetracked by other things that I need to do which didn't make it to my list.  So I start doing those things.  And by the end of the day I feel as though I've done nothing but spin my wheels.  So I eat lots of chocolate in order to soothe my feelings of inadequacy.

And never has this problem been so glaringly obvious than in relation to blogging.

There is no way that a non-blogger could understand everything that goes into running a blog, outside of physically creating posts.  And I know that each blogger does things differently, especially in relation to the topics they blog about.  For me, most of the time there's the obvious cooking/photo taking/minor photo editing aspect.  Then there's the creation of a post.  And of course the eating of what I cooked.  But what happens after I click "Publish Post"?

Numerous things.  I tweet.  I Facebook.  I link to many memes and make it a point to visit and comment on as many other links as humanly possible (I've blown entire days doing this, truly, but have found some great friends and have drummed up a few readers as well).  I email my own commentors and sometimes am lucky enough to start conversations with them.  I tell myself that I should put recipes up on Tasty Kitchen but usually forget (I think I've remembered, like, twice).  I submit to other food sites.  I go through my reader.  I visit forums.  I tweet some more.  I try to remember to Stumble (this is a more recent discovery of mine...late to the party, as always).  Now I'm also a contributing blogger for About One (my foccacia recipe went up today!) and have another project in the pipeline which I alluded to last month - this is a paying gig but I still don't want to say anything definite because even though I submitted my signed paperwork a couple of days ago I haven't received confirmation of receipt. 

Then? I tweet some more.  Sometimes the Twitter stream is moving so rapidly that I just read tweets.  Me and my voyeuristic tendencies.

The result: I'm exhausted.  I am really 100% loving all of the talking, sharing and communicating which is going on.  Not to mention learning.  I'm having so much fun, and there's no way I'm giving up this time.

But I'm tired, too.  And the worst part? I feel like all I'm doing is spinning my wheels.  If I felt like I was accomplishing something it would be one thing.  But all I'm doing is eating more and more chocolate to compensate for feelings of inadequacy because I just can't get it all done.  I can't visit all my friends every day.  I can't comment on all of my fellow meme linkers' blogs.  Sometimes I don't manage to get back to all of my beautiful commentors.  I can't churn out brilliant post after brilliant post.  There's only so much brilliance in my head.

But still I tippity-type away.

Don't even get me started on how "real life" may be suffering.

So I ask you, my wise bloggy friends: Have you been in my shoes? Do you have a blogging schedule? Do certain forms of blog-related activity take precedence over others? Are you a Twaddict? (I don't know if that's a word or if I just made it up right now)  Share with me!  Or, send chocolate.  Preferably the dark variety.

Writer's Workshop: Left Out

Mama Kat's prompt #3: Describe a time when you felt left out.

I'm 6 years old and in 1st grade.  The girl who was my best friend through kindergarten didn't invite me to her birthday party.  I just found out that all the other girls got an invitation but me.  I sit down in the schoolyard one morning and cry, asking her why I wasn't invited.  Why we're not friends anymore.  I need to know - because in my head, we're still friends.  I need to know when she decided that things were different, why she didn't like me anymore.  But she walks away.  I call her name, tears clouding my vision.  She keeps walking.

I'm 10 and already the girls are talking about who has and who hasn't kissed a boy yet.  They already know all sorts of words I've never heard before.  The terminology alludes me, as much as I try to keep up.  They act unaffected, comparing numbers of kissing conquests as easily as they used to compare the number of Barbies or She-Ra dolls they owned.  Either way, I know I've never kissed a boy and what's worse, they know it too.

I'm 12 and the only reason any boys hang out with me is because they want to hang out with my best friend (the crazy one).  Don't they know me? Don't they know all of the cool things about me? How, one day, they may actually want to hang out with a smart (if slightly awkward) girl? I hate these boys, I really do.  They're not nice to me.  But I want to be cool, so much so that I swallow my pride again and again just to hang out with the cool kids.

I'm 16 and the only girl I know not going to the Junior Prom.  I go to the movies and Olive Garden with my Mom instead.  I sit in school the following Monday, listening to the stories, eventually oohing and aahing over the pictures as they get developed (ahh, the days before digital photography).  I try to be a good sport and take a genuine interest in my friends' experiences, but envy eats my heart.

I'm 20-going-on-21 and I still haven't been kissed.  I try not to tell anyone.  It's too embarrassing.  I feel ashamed for reasons I can't even describe to this day.

I'm 25 and I've only been on a few dates in my life.  Everyone I know is seeing someone, is living with someone, is married, has years of experience to fall back on.  I've never had a boyfriend.  The kissing thing has been rectified, though.  But that's it.  A well-meaning friend of a friend gently asks me when I'm going to start dating.  As if it's that easy.  I feel left out of life.

Of course, things changed.  It may have taken me a little longer than some, but things did get better.  And now here I am, 31 years old, looking back over all these years of pain and awkwardness.  Of feeling left out.

Have I learned anything from that feeling? Well, I'd like to think that it's taught me a deeper level of compassion.  It has taught me to include others, especially those who appear to be hanging around on the fringe, waiting for someone to be friendly towards them.  People who have a whole world of thoughts and experiences inside them, just waiting to be shared if only someone would give them a chance.

So do I always live up to these high ideals for myself? Am I, like, the Mother Theresa of inclusiveness?  No, not always - sometimes feeling included is so wonderful, I forget how it feels on the other side of things.  It's very easy to forget when you're in the moment.  All I can do is work on being more mindful.  It doesn't hurt to make sure that someone isn't going through the same stuff we've all gone through at one point or another - feeling left out or left behind.  And maybe one day they'll pay it forward by remembering that kindness and extending the same courtesy to someone else. 

After all, like they say, a candle doesn't lose anything by lighting another candle.  Or something like that.

Bliss at Home '11

Welcome, lovers of bliss! It's a bummer that we weren't able to travel to Blissdom '11, isn't it? But all is not lost - we can network and have a good time from the comfort of our own home, in our jammies if we feel like it.  Hence my excitement over  Bliss at Home '11!

Because let me tell you...I big puffy pink heart my jammies.  To the point where I rarely wear anything else around the house. 

My name is Jen, and this is my corner of Bloggyland.  Take off your shoes, put on your stretchy pants and get comfy.  I love to write about cooking food, eating food, and then feeling bad about eating so much food.  Oh, and other stuff, too.  Like my family, my home and my horribly embarrassing tendency to do embarrassing things. 

What are some of my favorite posts, you ask? Well, I'm happy to share them with you!

The Greatest Chocolate Cake Ever - Seriously, visit at your own risk.  And the risk of your pants suddenly tightening.  Which is why I recommended the stretchy pants earlier.

A Toddler Without A Tiara - Please, come revel in one of the most painful memories of my life.  I beg you.

The Worst Day of My Life - Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.  It was epic.  My mom still pees her pants laughing over it.

Chicken Tikka Masala and Grilled Naan - They go so well together.  Like peanut butter and jelly or chocolate and just about anything else.

Lots of exciting things are going to be happening soon, like the launching of my new site and a new series entitled Cooking Basics, where I'll be going step-by-step through basic cooking techniques and then building recipes using them.  I really hope you'll be joining me for all the fun there.

I can't wait to meet all you fabulous home Blissers! If you stop by for a visit, be sure to leave me a comment and let me know you were here so I can swing by and say hi!

On The Phone With Dad: Seven Dollars

This is a verbatim transcript of a recent conversation with my father.

I am on the train.  My phone rings.

Me: "Hello?"

Dad: "The bill is thirty-five dollars.  What's the tip?" (notice the lack of a "hi, how ya doin?" there)

Me: "Seven dollars."

Dad: "Seven dollars?"

Me: "Seven."

Dad: "I'll give her 10.  Okay, honey, thank you."

Me: "You're welcome."

Dad: "Don't tell anyone about this."

Me: "Okay, I won't."

Dad: "Unless it's in the book you write about me."

Me: "Okay, Dad."

*click*


Seriously.  I couldn't make this up.

Pouring My Heart Out: Trusting My Instincts

Today I'm happy to have the opportunity to be linking up with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out over at Things I Can't Say. It's so timely because I really do need to pour my heart out over something that's weighing on me today.

Have you ever been in a situation which left a funny feeling in your gut? A situation which, though innocent enough on the surface, caused you to take pause and wonder if something was off somehow? Did you ever get a feeling about a person - someone who you liked perfectly well, but who said or did something which kinda threw you for a moment?

What did you do? Did you follow that feeling? Or did you talk yourself out of it somehow? Did you ever find out whether or not your instincts were on the money?

A few years ago, I went into the doctor's office for an appointment.  I had been feeling sick to my stomach on a very regular basis and wanted to talk to someone about it (I didn't know it at the time, but I had UC).  This doctor was someone who Rob had been seeing ever since he came home from the hospital after having contracted pertussis.  They had developed a great rapport, and once I moved in with Rob I started seeing this doctor as well.  We fell into a regular routine - I'd go in, he'd remind me that Rob's a bum and I'm too good for him, wocka wocka.  Eventually we'd talk about why I was actually there, and we'd part with a hug.

Except for when I went in with my stomach ache.  He came in and immediately started asking me questions about my birth control pills.  Now, I hadn't been seeing him for very long at this point and I figured that he saw on my form that I was taking them and wanted to know how they were working for me.  It made sense at the time since he was also a gynecologist (he would eventually become my gynecologist).  So I answered his questions, waiting to get to the reason I was there to see him.  But much to my surprise, he took out his pad, scribbled a prescription for refills on the pills I was taking, and started for the door.

"Um...hang on...are we going to talk about why I came in?".  He looked at me.  I explained my reason for being there.  He apologized and told me that he was swamped and that there was a huge backlog of patients.  Crossed wires with his assistant (who I'd explained my symptoms to), etc etc. 

As I was leaving the office, something was bugging me.  It seemed strange that he was so quick to write me a prescription, without asking me if I even needed it (I didn't at the time), and without asking how I was actually feeling.  It seemed rather negligent, somehow.  I told Rob about it and even told my mom - that's how much it stuck with me.  I can't explain why it did, but it did.

Still, I brushed it off.  I figured he was busy, tired, and that there'd been a miscommunication.  I was being overly picky, no one's perfect.  No big deal.  And over time both Rob and I complained to the other about him - mainly about how he was so quick to write a prescription without really attacking the problem at hand - to the point where I said more than once that I wanted to find a new doctor.  But hey, don't all doctors do that? Besides, he was so close to our apartment and we already had a good relationship with him.  We were willing to overlook it.

Then we moved last year - I was sorry to see him for the last time not long before we left.  He was sympathetic to our situation, to Rob's dad's health problems, and wished us well.  We've talked about him since then, and about how it was a shame that we were so far away.

Last night Rob found an article online stating that this man was arrested this past summer when it was revealed that he had for years been writing prescriptions for painkillers in exchange for sexual favors.  Unfortunately, one young woman (a 31 year old mother) died last spring after overdosing.  Her sister had known that he was the one supplying the scripts for Oxy and other drugs, and confronted him prior to her sister's death, telling him that this woman had already been in the hospital twice as a result of overdosing.  He wrote a new script the next day.

There were lots of other details in this article, things that turned my stomach, things he admitted to.  But that's not the point of my telling you this.

The point is that maybe I need to trust my instincts a little more.  After all, how often do you hear after the fact about people "just having a feeling" about someone who did something wrong? Most recently it was a former teacher of the guy who committed the shootings in Arizona - they said that they were uncomfortable around him and even feared that he'd bring a gun in to school one day, that he would laugh at inappropriate times and say things that made the other students uncomfortable.  But rather than taking action, I'm sure they talked themselves out of it.

I'm not saying that there was any way I could have known what was going on in that office after hours, and I'm fully aware that nothing was ever done to hurt me personally and that it's none of my business.  I am honestly praying for the women involved, and for him - clearly in order for him to jeopardize his career, not to mention the ethical issues involved, he must have some serious issues.

Still, I keep going back to that one visit.  My gut feeling was that this was not the right guy for me.  Regardless, I talked myself out of it and kept going back. 

I talk myself out of a lot of feelings.

Maybe it's time to start honoring my instincts after all.

How about you? Do you find yourself going with your gut feelings or do you tend to overthink things?

I Was A Baby Beauty Queen

Have you ever seen Toddlers and Tiaras? You know, the show that features little girls (and some babies, from what I've seen on commercials) getting all dolled up and prancing around and crying because their scalps hurt from their hair getting teased so much?

Yeah.  That show.

And no, I've never seen a whole episode.  Just commercials.  Because I think that's all I could take in one sitting.  It hits too close to home and reminds me of my own painful pageant days.

What? You didn't know that I was a baby beauty queen? Oh yes, I was, when I was 4 years old.  I still remember those days.  Training, all the time.  My face hurt from constantly smiling, my feet hurt from going tippity-tap for hours.  The gowns.  The hairspray.  The bathing suit competition.

Okay...maybe it wasn't like that.  Maybe I only appeared in one pageant and didn't even win.  But the experience has stayed with me for 27 years.

Photo courtesy of BroadcastPioneers.com

If you live in the Philadelphia area, you're probably familiar with Al Alberts.

Good old Uncle Al.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with Uncle Al, he was a singer back in the...50's? 60's? with an quartet who released some albums or something.  Anyway, he had his own show on our local ABC station called "Al Alberts Showcase", and he'd feature kids doing all sorts of singing and dancing and whatnot.  He would banter with his wife, Stella, and would eventually sing at least once over the course of the program.  It was local TV at its cheesy finest.

And every year he held two contests, one for girls (Little Miss Showcase) and one for boys (Little Mr. Showcase).  Parents sent in a picture of their utterly adorable child and would then cross their fingers that a letter would come in saying that their kid had made the cut and would appear on TV for literally hundreds of people to see and make judgements over from the comfort of their living rooms.

Needless to say, my parents sent in my picture.  And I was picked to appear.  I was just gorgeous like that.

I still remember getting all dolled up the night of the pageant (I didn't understand that the shows were taped in advance - it took me a minute to get over the fact that we were going in at night when the show aired on Saturday mornings).  My mom's side of the family was there, too - it was a big deal, you know? I remember to this day how positive I was that I was going to win.  I had a grandmother who doted on me, after all, and that sort of positive reinforcement is difficult to ignore. 

Then there were my two teenaged cousins who waited til the three of us were alone in the living room to mutter "You're not going to win, you know that, right?".  Angels.  They were just jealous that I was a pretty pretty princess and they weren't.

Moving on.

We went to the studio for the taping.  I don't remember much of it, just a blur of activity as we were told where to sit on a set of risers.  I sat next to a nice little girl and I'm pretty sure I told her I was going to win.  She still talked to me after that, though I don't know why. 

Then the pageant.  It went on and on.  We didn't have to, you know, perform or anything - though there was talent lined up for the event in the form of at least one little girl who sang a song or something.  It's a blur.  I was 4 years old - not so much with the attention span.  I was most likely concentrating on forcing myself to sit still.

Then it came time for the announcement of the winner and her court.  As each name got called, I became more excited - after all, I was going to WIN! Hadn't I been assured of my WINNING ever since the letter came in the mail telling me I'd been chosen to appear? And WIN?

Alas, my name was never called and the show came to a close.  My eyes searched the crowd for my parents' faces.  I was desperate for someone to help me understand this travesty.  Then I started crying.  Boy, did I cry.  And cry.  And...cry.  Again, I was 4 years old.  I truly believed I was going to win from the botton of my little heart.  But my heart was broken for the first time.

The much more level-headed little girl next to me stroked my arm and consoled me until my parents made their way through the audience and on to the stage.  I can only imagine how much it hurt them to see me so distraught.  See, they believed too.  They weren't the beaten-down parents of 4 that they are today.  They were still two crazy kids who really believed that their little girl was special enough to win.  Oh, youth.

For many years worth of Saturday mornings after that fateful night, we booed and hissed every time the little girl who beat me appeared on the show.  Because evidently, winning Little Miss Showcase means that you have to appear, like, every week or something and show off some stupid talent or whatever and pretty much rub it in the faces of the little girls who didn't win. 

Boo.  Hiss.

Incidentally, I just called my mom to tell her that I was writing this.  She said: "Ooooh, we were walking through the parking lot afterward and we were right behind her and her parents, and I said to Dad 'There she is' and he said 'I know!' and I wanted to run over and knock her down and take the trophy and ride off.  Here she is, a little girl, and I wanted to do that".  We both laughed (...menacingly).

Through it all, I take one small consolation: My brother's picture was sent in for Little Mr. Showcase.  But he didn't get picked to appear.

Because I'm cuter than him.


What do you think about little girls appearing in beauty pageants? I'm not talking Uncle Al here - I mean the real deal.

I'm a Weak, Weak Woman

Friends, I'm struggling.  I know that I've been lighthearted about this in the past, but I'm starting to realize that I have a real issue on my hands.

Normally, if I remove something from my life, I have no problem staying away from it. Now, food can't possibly count of course - it's not exactly something you can remove from your life and continue living. But outside of food I've been generally successful.

For example, smoking.  I didn't smoke for very long - just through college - so I know it might have been more difficult to quit had I been smoking for many years.  I remember the first few days at college, how I could instantly tell who the big kids were.  The cool kids.  They were the ones who would huddle together outside between classes, obscured by an ever-present cloud of smoke.  Smoking was where it was at, so I picked it up and yes, I did make lots of friends during those smoke breaks.  When I left college, I quit smoking.  End of story.  No trouble.

I am usually very good about being disciplined on other matters as well.  I'm up at the same time every morning without using an alarm clock. 

Okay, that's the only other thing I can think of being disciplined with.  Give me time to come up with more.

The point of all of this is: I'm struggling now.  With my Starbucks resolution.

Have I managed to keep it so far? Yes! I haven't purchased a single cup of coffee yet (in fact, it's been since before Christmas!) from Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, McDonald's...anywhere.  I'm really proud of that, because I walk right past many opportunities to give in every morning.  It would be so easy to give in and take my place in line.

I have to ask myself the real reason behind my problem with these places.  I mean, it's coffee, right? Coffee is coffee is coffee when you get right down to it.  If I need it so badly, I can make a free cup at work.  No biggie.

But it's clearly more than that.  For one thing, it plays into my penchant for instant gratification.  I want it? There it is.  I'm gonna get it.  It's a just another thing for me to waste money on.  It's something to break up the monotony of the morning, a treat which has turned into an expensive habit.

Another underlying issue is, I believe, the fact that overpriced coffee has become somewhat of a status symbol.  Hasn't it in some way? The fact that you can afford to walk around with an overpriced cup of coffee in your hands says something about you.  I wanted to be one of the Starbucks sippers on the train.  I still do. And I just made the connection between this and my college smoking - I want to be one of the cool kids. When will I ever learn that I will never be cool?

Plus...it's yummy.  I'm a food addict as it is - maybe I should change that to "yummy addict".

Regardless of the "why", some days are most definitely easier than others.  Today was not an easy day at all - but I kept on walking.  Maybe the fact that I can stay strong and stay away from what's really just a money waster can serve as inspiration in quitting some poor eating habits as well.  I'm finding that I'm way better at disciplining myself than I thought I was - it may suck at the moment, but it's not the end of the world.  I'm learning.

One day at a time, right?

Have you ever had to quit something? What's your story? Do you have any advice?

How I've Scarred Myself For Life

What's that a picture of, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya.  On Saturday night, I got a little ahead of myself while steaming rice.  Instead of using my tongs to lift the foil from the pan, I used my fingers.  Stupid, stupid.  And I got the lovely burn you see above.  Rob was sweet enough to run out and get some burn spray and gauze to wrap them - yes, I cried, but he also brought me chocolates so that made me feel better.

So it's funny that one of Mama Kat's writing prompts this week is "scarred".  Because I'm fairly sure that sucker's gonna leave a scar.

But then again, that's sorta par for the course with me.  I scar easily and happen to be insanely clumsy.  It's like the perfect storm of potential bodily damage.

Starting from the bottom up...well, there's a round scar on the big toe of my left foot.  Why no picture? Because I haven't gotten an actual pedicure since the last month that started with "A".  Moving on.  That little beauty was acquired when I was around 4 or 5 years old.  My mom let me sit on the front step with her in my bare feet.  My nemesis, Jimmy, came by with his mom.  Jimmy was taunting me and I wanted to chase after him and beat him up, but my feet were bare and it was concrete as far as the eye could see.  My mom told me to stay put while she got my shoes.  Yeah, right.  The second she was in the house I took off running.  I got maybe two houses down before I fell and somehow managed to get a tiny stone lodged in my toe.  You read that right.  The stone is gone but the scar lingers on and reminds me to always listen to my mom.

Both shins are covered in diagonal scars.  They come from falling down the back steps...twice.  Back in the day, those steps were made of the old concrete that was full of stones (are we sensing a pattern with me and concrete and stones?), and those stones left me with the little scars up and down my legs today.  Why no picture? Because they're faint and, well...I need to shave my legs.  I love y'all, but if I don't shave my legs every day for my husband...you get my point.

There's a 2-inch scar on the underside of my left arm from when I was cooking for Easter last year and was quickly reaching into a cabinet...with a very sharp cornered door.  Almost a year later, Rob still asks me from time to time where that scar comes from.  Uh, it comes from the fact that the kitchen evidently needs to be Jen-proofed.  Duh.

There's a few faint scars on my decolletage from a huge oil spatter while frying potato pancakes in a tank top.  Instant blistering.  It was monstrous.  Oh, and it was my birthday.  Happy birthday to me.

Oddly, there are no scars on my face.  Knock wood.  Knock wood.

And those are just the biggies.  The major guys.  There are a multitude of other little ones here and there.  All of them compose the road map of my life...my clumsy, clumsy life.  For better or worse.  Well, Rob doesn't seem to mind.  That's all that matters.

Do YOU have a story for every scar? Or are you lucky enough to not have as many as me? ;-)

CSN Stores Review!

I've worked with CSN Stores in the past - I had the pleasure of hosting a giveaway with them last year.  In case you're not familiar with CSN (I can't imagine that you wouldn't be, though!), they have 200+ stores and cover pretty much the entire gamut of imaginable.  Like...just about anything.

So imagine my excitement when I was contacted and asked to do a review!

The mind boggles...what should I choose? There's so much! Should I go for shoes? I could always use a new pair of shoes - maybe a cute pair of flat boots, since I still don't have any even though everyone else in the world does.  What about some new cookware - I was totally bugging over a fellow blogger's cast iron skillet today.  But I am always complaining about how I don't have enough room for my cookware as it is.  Perhaps some wall art and decor for the kitchen, since the walls are going to be pretty bare once we take off what's currently up there (another thing for the to-do list).  There really is just so much to choose from!

Whatever I decide, I'll let you know - and I'll invite you to check out my review!

Do YOU To Do?

It's come to my attention that for ages now I've been wanting to do certain things to the house and the things within it.  You know how it is.  You see something in a store or, more frequently for me, online/in a blog and think "Ahhh, that's something I need to do/have/pester my husband into making for me".  For me this is especially the case when I'm visiting crafty blogs.

I can't stand crafty blogs for two reasons: One, because they make me feel like less of a person because I haven't yet attempted a DIY version of that famous Pottery Barn mirror.  Two, because they fill my head with all sorts of ideas which will make me believe for a second or two that I could actually make happen what they've accomplished.  Then I'll remember that I'm not that handy and have no working knowledge of power tools and Modge Podge, and feel like even less of a person.

(Just kidding.  I totally dig crafty blogs and follow a ton of them, like A Soft Place to Land and Living with Lindsay and The Nester and Somewhat Simple, if only to live vicariously.  But they do make me feel like a slacker, even if they are totally inspirational.)

So, with the combined powers of crafty/decorating blogs and the fact that I have nowhere to hang my bathrobe so it just gets draped wherever it lands, I present to you:

My Household To Do List

(cue trumpets and clanging cymbals here)

This is an ongoing list which I plan to keep in order to remember just what that "A HA!" moment was all about three weeks ago when I was blog hopping and saw something that totally caught my eye and made me fantastize about just how much better my life would be if I had the same thing but which was completely forgotten about, like, 5 minutes later because I got hungry and the battle of Food I Should Eat vs. Food I Want But Shouldn't Actually Eat recommenced in my head.

This list includes such small things as buying hooks for the inside of the bedroom closet (thus clearing up the great bathrobe debacle), slightly more involved tasks such as spraypainting the little corner rack in the kitchen (currently black, want it to be white), and more time-consuming tasks like painting many of the walls in the house.  Just every little thing that crosses my mind will be written down on my list so I can keep track of the ideas I've had and the tasks which have been completed by either me or Rob.  I would hope that seeing the completed ideas/tasks will serve as inspiration to keep going.  And "Look what we made happen" will take the place of "Wouldn't it be nice if...".

So, either I'm going to ride this "New and Improved Me" thing for the rest of my life or I'm gonna burn out by the end of the month. I'm interested to see how this plays out.

How about you? Do you have a list of to-do's for chores? The house? Your relationships? Or just for yourself? If not, how do you keep track of the things you need to do?

Also! Do you have a favorite craft or decorating blog? Tell me about it!

Drunk Cooking = NO

My original intention was to write this post about me and my past shenanigans when it came to drinking, because there were a lot.  But as I paged through the misty, bourbon-infused memories, one particularly unhappy memory popped up which had nothing to do with my own drinking.

#3 - Drunk

At the time of this incident, I was college and living in an apartment with two other girls.  We hadn't been close friends prior to moving in together - it was more a matter of convenience, as I needed a place to stay when my original plans fell through.  Still, they were friendly girls and I knew them fairly well (we were all Theatre students and in a program like that, you can't help but get to know each other - I think I had seen them both naked at this point, in fact).

All along, I knew that S was a big drinker.  It was a fact which we all were pretty much aware of.  She would come to cast parties and drink everyone else's liquor.  There were so many people milling around that no one was paying attention, until folks went to pick up their bottles from the kitchen shelf at the end of the night and noticed that there was less then there should have been.  They'd compare notes - after all, almost everyone brought something for themselves, so there was no need to drink anyone else's unless it was offered.  Except for S.

At first we thought that since she was working at a restaurant & bar at the time, she may have already been halfway drunk when she arrived.  Plus, she was a tiny little thing - a little over 5 feet tall, pretty thin.  It wouldn't take much to knock her over. 

By the time we were living together I knew this wasn't just a matter of a tiny girl not knowing her limit.  Looking back, though, it was nothing bigger than an annoyance at the time for my other roommate and me.  She just came off as a stereotypical college student who drank too much.

Then came the night of my birthday party.  A bunch of friends came over after hanging out at a kareoke bar and we did super awesome exciting things like play board games.  We were animals, I tell you.  And several people brought, you guessed it, a bottle of their favorite drink.  At the end of the night those bottles were still sitting there on the kitchen counter...either as a gift or forgotten.  I fell asleep watching a movie on the couch.

An hour or so later, I woke up and smelled something burning.  We had a glass door leading out to a balcony and in its reflection I saw S slumped on the kitchen floor.  I went to the kitchen and found that she had been drinking while I was asleep and had gotten the great idea to make nachos in the oven.  At 500 degrees.  Then she threw up all over the kitchen.

Immediately I turned off the oven and yanked the stinking, smouldering pile of chips, cheese and beans out of there.  Then I turned to her, where she was now half-conscious on the floor.  I was so angry with her.  The months of not being able to keep a bottle of booze in the apartment for longer than a few days...the fact that she was always needing rides home from male coworkers who would spend the night and occasionally lose their way and end up in my room...it all came to a head that that moment.  Our other roommate wasn't home and if I had gone to bed in my room instead of falling asleep the way I did? I don't even wanna think about it.  Plus the kitchen was an absolute wreck of food and spilled liquor and vomit. 

I was furious, but she wasn't hearing me, of course.  She was just telling me how much she'd wanted nachos and how they were ruined now and did I want a drink? And my anger disappeared, to be replaced with sadness.  It was such a pitiful situation.  Here she was, a bright, bubbly girl...reduced to this slurring mess with puke on her shirt.

I wound up having to pick her up and carry her to bed.  I took the ruined cookie sheet with its "nachos" out to the balcony and cleaned the kitchen, all the while alternately cursing her and feeling sorry for her.  I just couldn't believe the situation.  Things never got that bad afterwards - I don't know if she remembered any of it or not, but I never had to deal with one of her coworkers in the middle of the night again.

It's years later and I know that I'll never forget how sad the sight of her on that kitchen floor made me.  I moved out several months later and we fell out of touch.  She's doing fine now, or so I've heard from friends.  I really hope so.

Lack of Technology = Unnecessary Drama

I had a moment today on the train when my iPod played several 80's songs in a row.  "Lost In Your Eyes", "Take On Me", "Eternal Flame".  I remarked on Twitter that it was as if my iPod had gone back in time, but wouldn't that be weird - an iPod in the 80's.

I then remembered watching "The Great Outdoors" last week with Rob, and how he made a comment about how much easier things would have gone for the son in the movie if there had been cell phones in use back then - he could have texted his girlfriend and let her know he was running late, instead of her thinking he'd stood her up.  But no.  Lack of technology = unnecessary drama.

It's weird, thinking back to a time when there weren't cell phones and iPods.  It wasn't all that long ago.  To talk to your friends, you had to pick up the house phone and then get yelled at for tying up the line.  If I had a nickel for every time my Dad made the "wrap it up" signal (consisting of making an exaggerated circular motion with his hand while wearing an exasperated expression on his face, regardless of how long you'd been on the phone)...well, I'd be knee-deep in nickels, that's what.  And there's the time my brother was getting on my case and being obnoxious because he wanted to get on the phone, to the point where I snapped and whacked him on the arm with the receiver (of course he cried about it like I'd broken his arm).  Again, drama which could have been avoided had we all had cells.

Think about the crap that could have been avoided in films if only there were cell phones.  "An Affair to Remember" may have ended a lot less tearfully if only Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr had been able to send a quick text or voicemail (but then Kleenex sales would suffer).

And historically? Forget it.  Think of the rest poor Paul Revere's horse (and backside, let's be honest) would have gotten if he could have sent a mass text, tweet or status update on Facebook about the British coming. 

Which sorta reminds me of something my brother and I laughed about one night over the summer.  We were at the library and there was a portrait on the wall of Abraham Lincoln wearing a leather jacket.  We got on the topic of Lincoln's Facebook updates if Facebook existed back then.  "Can't wait for 'Our American Cousin' tonight @ Ford Theater - see you there!" - and then, underneath,  "J.W. Booth Likes This".

And don't even get me started on visiting the library and making 5 cent copies of encyclopedia articles for school reports.  Oh my God.  Kids have it so easy.  I hate them.

In closing, although I believe that technology will in fact someday be the cause of our demise (see: Skynet, which is becoming more and more likely with each passing decade...I wonder if James Cameron had any idea how close to the mark he'd come), I also believe that it clears up all the stupid misunderstandings and frustration which used to litter our lives before it.  So now we have all this extra time. 

To spend on Twitter.

This Is What Happens When I Try At Life

As is usually the case, the new year has filled me with all sorts of ideas.

Or rather, the impending new year filled me with all sorts of ideas last month.

Either way, stuff's happening.  Good stuff.

This weekend, Rob and I are going to move me over to my new Wordpress site! Yippee! (I say that now - who knows how it will actually turn out or how close either of us will come to murder or computer carnage once it's all said and done.)  I'm so excited about it, and I love him for all the time and effort he's put into this design.  So the new domain will *hopefully* go live next week after tweakage.  I can't wait!


After the new site is a go and all is working well, I'll be kicking off a new series.  The idea for this new series came into being as a result of my brainstorming over how I could try to add something to the blogsphere.  After all, it's important to offer something to readers besides tales of my social ineptness and how much I like to cook and eat yummy things. 

Then later that afternoon I happened to overhear a conversation in my office regarding one coworker's inability (unwillingness?) to cook.  She claimed that she relied a lot on takeout and frozen entrees since she had never taken the time to learn to cook.

And it hit me.  How many people really don't know how to cook? And I don't mean fancy stuff - I mean the basics.  Roasting a chicken.  Cooking fluffy rice.  And then on to slightly more challenging/less practiced stuff like baking homemade bread (which is a totally worthwhile endeavor, trust me if you haven't tried it yourself).  I think it's easy to take for granted this knowledge if, like me, you find yourself hungry to learn everything you can.  I mean, I was watching my mom make dinner every night for years - I would just stand there and watch her and she would ask me why (like in a "Why are you staring at me" sort of way.  Just kidding.  Maybe).  Other kids were probably spending their time doing kid things.  I was buying my mom a spice rack for Christmas which I used more than she did.

So starting this month (date still TBD based upon the process of launching the new site), I'll be offering a weekly series called Cooking Basics.  In this series you'll see simple, basic techniques and recipes which can help any home cook step up their game a little bit.  For instance, I'll explain a basic technique (for instance, a roux), then take it a step further if possible (bechamel sauce), then use it in a dish (like lasagna).  And of course I would love as much feedback as possible, not to mention ideas for future entries.

I'll be giving more information on this as the launch grows closer.  I'm really excited about it and I hope you will be as well!


I'm really thrilled that Rob had the great idea for me to buy an inexpensive, portable mini studio to take my pictures with - I had thought about building a light box but of course he's much more cut-to-the-chase than I am.  That should be coming in tomorrow so I'll soon be taking much prettier shots!


Also, I have a new gig in the works! I'm still waiting for the odds and ends to be ironed out, but once they are I'll be starting a paid writing job at a really cool website.  Stay tuned for more details on that!


Oh, and in case you were wondering: The cooking will continue.  I know I haven't posted any new recipes on here in a while, mainly because we've been existing solely on holiday leftovers and pasta for the past couple of weeks (true story).  This weekend, though, I'll be making my faaaaavorite Indian dish of all time (incidentally, one of only two or three Indian dishes I've ever eaten).  So get your salivary glands ready for that!


How about YOU? Any big changes happening as a result of the new year?

Cultivating Drive

My friend Alicia over at A Beautiful Mess is, as always, a source of great inspiration.  She was inspired to focus on just one word which she will then use in as many aspects of her life as possible.  Her word is "simplicity".  I think that's a great word - too much of life is full of stuff, of things to do, of self-imposed burdens.  We probably all need to set a burden or two down and live a bit more simply.

So here I am, two days into a brand-spanking new year, wondering if I should pick a word and what that word should be.

But here's the rub, friends.  I can't focus on just one word.  It's too much for me.  There are so many areas of my life which need help.  At least, that's how it seems from my point of view.  My health, my finances, my goals.  Not to mention the bed that never gets made, the laundry that piles up on the bedroom floor, the overflowing kitchen cabinets that don't quite close, the kitchen drawers which don't open without some effort because they too are overflowing with nonsense.  I feel completely unfulfilled in my job.  I know that I have talents which are going unused or underused as a result of my insecurity, combined with a more-than-healthy dose of laziness.

All of this thinking over the muddled and criss-crossed roads which compose my life has led me to create a visual depiction of the mess in my head:

Yeah.  It all boils down to laziness.

So I went on the interwebs and looked up the opposite of laziness.  The word which speaks most clearly to me is:

DRIVE

Drive is the one quality I'm lacking most, and always have.  For as long as I can remember I've envied driven people and wondered what they had and how I could attain it.  Drive is what gets stuff done.  It's what makes a goal achievable.  And it's not something I've ever recognized in myself.


My word for 2011 is drive.  It's finding the strength and sticktoitiveness within myself to move forward in all aspects of my life.  And in a funny coincidence, drive can be taken literally as well, since I'm still struggling with my fear of driving - yet another hurdle to overcome this year.


But...is drive something you can cultivate? A habit which can be developed? Or is it something you have to be born with and are basically SOL if you weren't?

What do you think? Are you a driven person by nature, or is it something you have to work on? Is there any hope for me?

New Year, New Resolutions

Here we are.  Just another New Year's Eve.

This is a day when many people, myself included, sit back and think on all of the hopes and dreams of last year...and focus on the unrealized ones.  I mean, think about it.  That's all a resolution is: A way to make next year better than this year.  And it's all too easy to reflect on how the past year just didn't measure up.

I know that good things happened this year.  Another great vacation.  The ability to buy a new car when the old one went kaput.  Continued employment.  The continued health of my loved ones.  

And then there's the things that happened in the day-to-day.  A special dinner prepared for me after a long, hard commute.  The fun of hosting this year's holidays and being able to spend time with my family.  Waking up this morning, with a full To Do list before our party tonight, to find that *someone* completed half of those tasks for me while I was sleeping.

So here I sit, at my kitchen table, my mind a-buzz with possibility for 2011.

I wonder why it takes the changing of a year for folks to want to make a change in their lives.  Why not every day? I suppose it's easier to look ahead and think of the year as a whole, rather than the 365 days in which choices have to be made.  Choices like sticking to that exercise routine...eating this, not that...spending a bit of down time catching up with friends or reconnecting with a spouse or significant other...saying no to that impulse purchase.

MY resolution this year is simply this: To look at each day as a new opportunity to create joy, health, love, beauty and wealth in my life - and making the necessary choices each day.  To not forget my goals from day-to-day...and if I ever do, to pick right back up the next morning.

How about you? Do you make resolutions? If so, what are you resolving this year?

I hope that all of your wishes for 2011 come true!