Lessons in Being Perfect

Clearly, I’ve been on a “blogging break” for a while (aka: the entire month of March).  Some of it was just happenstance (as in: I’ve been swamped at work and can’t write over lunch, or I’ve been overwhelmed at home with dog-drama [story for another day] and I’m just too exhausted to write at the end of the day).

But, most of my blogging hiatus has been self-imposed because (honestly) I just haven’t felt like I’ve had anything worthy to share.

I started the blog (in earnest) a year ago when I was still crawling my way out of a dark depression – the catalyst of which was the death of my Grammie a year earlier – but, actually, the depression had been gnawing at me on and off for the better part of a decade.  I saw blogging as a way to write through my emotions while simultaneously attempting to sharpen my skills, develop my voice, and strengthen my internet-footprint as I grow in my career.

A few months ago, I started having mixed feelings about my little plan.  I began to wonder what the point was to all of this: the hits that wordpress tracks on my blog sometimes make me think “who the heck is reading this?  Who is looking at pictures of my bathroom?”  I sometimes ponder if I’m over-sharing – and if I’m really writing honestly, or if I’m still trying as hard to be perfect as I did in high school.

Then, this week a lot of really poignant, interesting posts have been popping up in my news feed.  Like this from Relevant Magazine.  And this from my favorite foodie and new-mommy blogger, Lo.  And this sweet gem from my renewed friend, Becca. 

Thanks to the internet (and more specifically social media & blogs) I now know:

• how to bake better,
• cook more creatively,
• create the perfect smokey-eye look for day time use.
• I can stay connected with family and friends no matter how far away they roam,
• I can even make new friends that I’ve never even met in person.
• I can poll my news feed instantaneously for tips and tricks on how to teach my dog that I’m the alpha,
• and I can hear about breaking news before the TV ever tells me what’s happening.

The internet is amazing.

Because of the internet, I also know:

• that if I pose in a picture I better have my hand strategically positioned on my hip to create the most flattering figure,
• and it better be posted through the “sierra” filter because that’s what hides my acne the best.
• I also know that I will never make enough money to afford the beautiful furnishings I see in many of my friends homes, let alone ever be able to be a stay at home mom.
• I’m reminded ever day that despite my best efforts, I’m not pregnant… not a mom.
• And it’s probably because I don’t do crossfit or eat paleo.
• I’m reminded every day how much I miss my friends and wish that I had friends that lived closer.
• I’m bombarded with messages that tell me if I support (or oppose) the 2nd amendment I’m evil (either way),
• and if I change my profile picture I’m a heretic (or if I don’t change it I’m a bigot).
• I get ton’s of likes on funny posts or pretty pictures I’ve painstaking positioned and edited of food or my dog,
• and I get a little let down if I log into facebook and I don’t have a new red dot in the upper left-hand corner to let me know someone, somewhere has validated something I’ve overshared about my life.

The internet is Dante’s Inferno playing out in real-time.

So, I’ve questioned what the purpose of the blog should be a lot lately.  Am I trying to fit some mold that I’m not even sure I want to fit?  Am I sharing too much for the stalkers and trolls?  Maybe someone out there is feeling the same way I am and needs to see what I’ve written?  Maybe that someone is me?

Lesson learned: I’m not sure what the future is of this blog, but I do know it’s far from perfect.

Lessons in the Terrible Twos

It’s hard to believe but in just two short days, it will be two years since Grammie passed away.

Do you ever type or say a word enough that it just stops sounding like a word at all?  Two.  Two.  Two.  Two.  Two.  Two.

In the time she’s passed I’ve had two Easters, two Birthdays, two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, two Monopoly-less New Years Eves, and too many tears and too many whispers of “I miss you” and too many weak moments to count.

There is something really momentous about the two-year mark in any process, in my opinion.  Once you hit year-two in marriage, you’re not really newlyweds – you’re just “Mr. & Mrs. What the heck do we do now?”.  And when you hit two years in a new job you’re no longer the newbie, you’re “Samantha So-and-So and they gave you a pass at first because you were green, but now you have to start living up to the expectations everyone has for you.”  I’ll be hitting those two-year milestones later in 2013 – and I’m sure each will be met with their own unique anxiety, but for now… I’m two days away from two years without my grandmother.

I think about the things I’ve done in the past two years since she’s been gone.  I feel like a completely different person.   I have a new name, a new job, and a new degree.  But there are other, less tangible things that have happened in the past two years.  I feel like I’ve come through the other side of some big Broadway musical – full of drama, creativity, and poignant one-line zingers – and now I’m singing the life-affirming, uplifting, inspirational final number, arms outstretched, vulnerable to those that choose to buy a ticket to my show.  And like the magnificent tragedy that befell Johnathan Larson in “RENT” – I also have this sense that Grammie was such an instrumental composer in this spectacular moment of my performance, and she isn’t here to see it through.

Of course, I believe in some way she knows, she’s here.  But… it isn’t good enough.

And here I am, having a tantrum in my terrible twos of grief.  I so badly want to just squeeze my eyes shut, shake my fists, scream as loud as can and be rewarded by God saying… “okay, okay, be quiet – you can have her back!”  But God doesn’t do give-backs like that, and I have to resign to my memories and my dreams and my faith that someday I’ll see her again.

I like to imagine that one day (hopefully many, many years from now) – I’ll walk into a clean, cozy kitchen full of perfectly dusted trinkets and heirlooms and find her sitting at the table with two fancy crystal goblets filled with tapioca pudding for us to share.  And I’ll get to tell her all about MY grandchildren and she can finally say to me: “Sammie, now you truly know how much I love you.”

But… I think on some level… I already know.

Lesson learned: Grief is a process.  Some days it’s easy.  Some days it’s hard.  Some days it’s really REALLY hard.  But, like a toddler going through their terrible twos, eventually you’ll learn how to handle, process, and live with a piece of your heart forever missing.  At least, this is what I keep telling myself.

Lessons for Valentine’s Day

I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day.  Let me just get that out of the way.

I started hating it in middle school, when the mandatory “everyone gets a card at the classroom party” rule ended and my brown paper bag decorated in pink, red, and purple hearts suddenly went to pleasantly full to shockingly empty.  I would spend a ridiculous amount of time at the local supermarket pouring over which theme I would select this year (Lisa Frank, Power Rangers, Kitties), then an equally lengthy amount of time addressing each one, only to find that my efforts were never matched or reciprocated.  The seed of Valentine’s hate was planted.

Flash forward to High School where the *insert school club here* would sell *insert valentine related paraphernalia here*  to be delivered during 7th period by interrupting the class and announcing to everyone around you how incredibly single and hopelessly unpopular you were.  I cringe every time in “Mean Girls” when I hear the words: “and none for Gretchen Wieners!”   The Valentine’s hatred grows.

Move on to College.  I had a core group of friends that sustained me through my single-dom.  And I tried to not let the lonely-February blues let me down.  As I entered my senior year of college, I thought that perhaps the Valentine’s Hatred Plant was finally dying… then on February 13, 2006 my Papa (Grammie’s Husband) had a massive stroke.  He was in intensive care overnight and on February 14 – Valentine’s Day – he died.

All of a sudden, my disdain for the date transferred from that of a silly, bitter, single girl to someone with real, tangible, unmeasurable grief.  Living with Grammie those five years after I graduated made the grief that much more palpable.  I was reminded, daily, for five years of my Papa – and every February 14th his death and the grief would hit me all over again – I could never get away from it.

It probably made things easier on DB in that he didn’t have to try as hard as other boyfriends did – how strange to have a girlfriend who didn’t like Valentine’s Day!  But, last year – our fist married year – he was sweet.  I didn’t live on Weymouth Road anymore and I had a little glimpse of what Valentine’s could mean to someone in love.  And my grief for Papa has subsided – exchanged with grief for Grammie – but also with a calm understanding that love never lessens, it just changes… and even grows.

Fast forward to this year… and for the first time since I was probably 11 years old, I am actually excited for Valentine’s Day.  I will wear the gold heart necklace Papa brought be from a trip to Wyoming one year – a  simple gesture that meant so much from a roughneck cowboy who tended to play the mushy stuff close to the vest.  I will open up my little hatbox that I keep special things in – and read the card I swiped from Grammie’s box when her memory started to fail: the last Valentine’s card Papa gave her before he died.   I will read the letter she wrote to me that I received the day before he died – and for a brief moment I’ll forget they’re gone and just bask in the amazing love I was so lucky and fortunate to experience.

And tomorrow night – I’m looking forward to spending the evening with my husband and my puppy and simply enjoying this moment and time in my life.  You go, Glen Coco!

Lesson learned: The plant that was full of hate for this day transformed.  Love grows.  It changes.  It encompasses many forms.  Love can be for a spouse…. a pet… a parent… a friend… even someone who is no longer here.

Lessons from Jewel

When I was 17, my life was comprised of mainly the following (not necessarily in this order):

• Angst
• Unrequited “love”
• Furious scribbling in blank, lined journals in glitter gel pen ink
• Lots of marching band
• Lots of celexa
• And lots and lots and lots of Jewel

Basically, I was your typical 17-year-old girl at the turn of the century (I know that sounds really weird, but it is technically true).  There was no facebook, no internet community, no wordpress – no electronic outlet for the emotions a young girl.

But there was Jewel.

Something about Jewel’s slightly nasal soprano tone sweeping over the acoustic guitar was practically luscious to a 17 year old girl in 2001.  Her lyrics wreaked of empowerment, disappointment, longing, and yes… angst.  If you had to turn my 17th year into a movie I’m pretty sure it would be called “Angst,” would star a slightly pudgy Sarah Michelle Gellar, and the soundtrack would be nothing but Jewel… and it would be really freaking boring.

As I grew up, I sort of outgrew Jewel.  I haven’t listened those CDs in years.  But for some reason this afternoon I had one song in particular in my head:

Listening to a song like this with new ears, a new mind, really as a new person is really strange.

The song is the same… but I hear it differently.

Maybe it’s because my love is no longer unrequited, or that I’m medication free, or that I blog on a screen instead of with glitter pen, or because I don’t really get too many visits from my old pal, angst, anymore… but all I hear is an annoying girl whining about some guy who did her wrong.  Get over it and find someone who treats you better.

And just like that, I’ve realized that I’m way closer to 30 than 20 and I actually have my sh*t together.  I really feel like I own my emotions and who I am in this world.  Not every day is a good day, but this is a good life – and I can’t remember the last time my old friend angst paid me a visit.

Lesson learned: Life changes – but Jewel can still empower you.

Lessons in Reducing

2013.  Here I am, two days in, back in the office, missing my Hollie Berry (and Davey Boy), and trying to focus on the mountains of things the new year has in store for my professional life.

However, I need to get one thing written down before the clock ticks any further into 2013… the resolution. (Insert the dramatic DUN DUN DUN music here.)

Resolutions by nature tend to be overwhelming, unattainable, and basically just big lessons in torture for me – so I’m heading in another direction this year.  I’ve taken a page out of college-acquaintance-turned-bloggosphere-phenom: Becca.  In a recent post, Becca recapped her 2012 “One Word Resolution.”  The one word resolution fad is not designed for failure, but rather: inspiration.  To inspire a year of moments around that one word, little moments that can add up to big results come December 31st.

And so, I added my name to the one word list – and also, my word:

Reduce.

(Or maybe it should be formatted as: reduce.)

It’s no secret that I had an ulterior motive when I joined WW one year ago.  Sure, I wanted to lose those pounds that had crept on over the past 10 years… but I never was a skinny mini to begin with… My desire to be at a healthier BMI had less to do with vanity and more to do with fertility.  To be a smaller version of myself meant not only better health, but a better chance of seeing a plus sign in the window of a Clear Blue Easy test down the road.  The journey so far in weight loss has been slow, tediously slow, slower than it should or could be, just… slow.  But it’s going.  And of course the word “reduce” could be taken at face-value in terms of reducing the size of my waist and jeans.

But then I started thinking about other things I do in excess… and all of a sudden I realized how much I could actually reduce in my life.

Reduce:

• My size.
• My spending.
• My carbon footprint.
• My stressing.
• My complaining.
• My worrying.
• My excuses.
• My bad habits: snacking, oversleeping, vegging, procrastinating…
• My fears.
• My grief.
• My shoud’ve, could’ve, would’ve’s…
• My late nights at work.
• My wastefulness.

I will be 29 this year.  I’ve got years ahead of me, I know.  But they seem to be coming at me faster than the years’ before.  I am young, but I’m not a kid anymore.  Life isn’t a dress rehearsal, there is no practice.  This is it.  This is the only life, the only body, the only time I will be on this planet.  My faith assures me that there is life after death, but I don’t want to waste that time before I get to heaven.  I spend too much of my life waiting for the right time or the right chance – but there is no right time or right chance.  This is it.  Don’t waste it.  Reduce the waste.  Reduce the things that weigh me down literally and figuratively.

It won’t be easy and I’m sure I’ll screw up a lot.  But if I can keep my one word as inspiration throughout 2013, maybe in some small ways I will start to reduce.  And maybe, just maybe, by December 31st I will have realized how much I’ve gained.  Be it in a plus sign, a fat belly for the right reason, or just a sense of accomplishment of all I’ve lost (and gained).

Lesson learned: Sometimes to gain, you need to reduce.

Lessons from Christmas Vacation

I hadn’t had a real Christmas vacation in a few years – work and Grammie and whatever else kept me from really cutting off from the rest of the work-related world in the past.  But I am eight days into a 10-day hiatus from e-mail, spreadsheets, tweets, vendor selection, strategic planning, and all that other stuff that awaits me on Wednesday.  And I’ve learned a few things along the way…

1. The B.R.A.T. diet doesn’t mean actual diet. Evidently just because you get the influenza vaccination doesn’t mean you’re safe from it’s nasty cousin: stomach flu.  The bug has been making it’s way around my family, from my Aunt to my dad on Christmas Eve, to myself on the Thursday night after Christmas, to DB the Friday morning after Christmas and apparently elsewhere afterwards. And evidently, I am the only person on this planet to GAIN weight during the stomach flu… or maybe it was the Christmas Cheer prior to the flu… but whatever it is, my jeans are a wee bit snugger and those WW meetings are calling my name.  PS: the B.R.A.T. diet of banana, rice, applesauce, toast is lame – even though I love each of those things on their own, when it’s all you eat for 72 hours, I repeat: it’s lame.
2. I found another use for Egg Nog: pancakes. Before the Stomach Flu hit us, we enjoyed a lovely brunch of the richest pancakes I’ve ever had – I could only eat one!  Who eats one pancake?!  (Actually… in hindsight, this was probably a warning sign of the impending flu monster.)  Recipe below.
3. Oldies can be goodies.  I’ve made the same thing the past few years at the families annual Christmas Eve get-together: a Christmas Trifle.  I know, I know, I’ve got a thing for Trifles.  I found this one when I use to subscribe to Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food magazine. It is so so simple, so Christmas-y, and so very yummy.  I just can’t think of anything better to make, so I keep making this and it keeps getting eaten, so it must be good.  And this is coming from a girl who’s afraid of baking, so you know it must be an easy dessert! Recipe below, too.
4. I need to chill out.  I had been stressing for weeks about DB’s co-workers coming over the first Friday night of break for their Christmas party.  How was I going to fit everyone in our little house?  What would I make them?  What should I get to drink?  Would they like our house (aka: me)?  Well, a snow squall, long drive, and tough economy for teachers dropped the number of guests from a potential 30 to a manageable 12.  My calm, understanding, patient husband borrowed, moved, and organized our basement for overflow.  Stancato’s helped us out by giving me a break in the kitchen.  And that great dollar store Deal$ provided me with the best $3 I ever spent on an unbelievably delicious peppermint martini mix that knocked everyone’s socks off (mental note: get more of that stuff).  And everyone had a great time – including me.

But the best lesson that came from Christmas Vacation came with four legs, a curly tail and big floppy ears.

On the Saturday before Christmas, DB and I went on a search for a new resident to join us at the corner of Wright & Lenwood.  We started at a couple nearby shelters with no success.  So we decided on a whim to travel out west a bit to a great shelter that was a little bit pricier, but had a great reputation.

There, among crates and crates of sad-break-your-heart-puppy-dog eyes we saw two little ladies. We brought both sisters out to play… one ignored us completely, but the second seemed to tell us right away: “hey, I’m your puppy!”  And so Miss Prudence came home with us and soon became Miss Hollie Berry… our Christmas puppy.

And when you’re the sort of girl who grew up with cats instead of canines – you have a lot to learn – but in just over a week, Miss Hollie Berry has already been teaching me some lessons:

1. Crate training is hard.
2. A great vet is awesome and makes crate training way better all of a sudden.
3. A cheap-o stuffed animal is a great “lovey” for a puppy dog, and puppies need loveys just as much as babies, sometimes.
4. Yogurt is good for dogs when they have the runs.
5. Dog farts are probably the nastiest things I’ve ever smelled.
6. I’m going to be forced to exercise way more with this pooch – waking her a mile every night to get her wore out for a good night of sleep.
7. My husband is an amazing puppy daddy.
8. Shelter puppies are the most loving, cuddly, sweet dogs ever – or maybe it’s just mine.
9. Puppy mange is normal, and there is such a thing as “Rogaine” for dogs – and mine is on it for 30 days to get her coat nice and fluffy.
10. I’m totally smitten, and absolutely going to be that crazy “dog mom.”

Helping daddy shovel snow.

Sweet baby girl.

So in love already.

Man and his grandpup enjoying a Christmas nap…

Cuddling with the lovey.

Going from being a cat person to a dog person hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be – it’s an adjustment, but an easy one with such a sweet little love coming into our life.  We watched “Lady and the Tramp” the other night when it was on DisneyJr. Channel (don’t laugh) and it just mimicked our life at this moment perfectly.

There is such a natural order to our life it seems almost as if it has been scripted in some divine way (although I’m fairly certain it HAS been by God).   Throughout most of my youth, adolescence, and young adulthood I was so confused, hurt, and even angry at God at times about why everything seemed to be going so slowly.  Why was I such a late bloomer?  Why were the boys in my high school more interested in other girls than me?  Why did I go through four years of college without falling in love or having a real date or even really finding my confidence with men?  Why did I stay at home with my Grandma at night in my early twenties instead of hitting the bar scene and making new friends?

Now, I’m starting to realize why it took so long for all of those things to happen.  There was someone out there who was wondering why everything was taking so long for him too.  And there was someone out there who would like that I stayed home with Grammie on Saturday nights instead of bar hopping.  And there was someone who was just as weird and awkward and old-fashioned as I was and would be happy to experience everything new together.  And there would be someone who would love me more than I thought was ever possible – and in turn, that I could love back in a way I didn’t know I was capable of.

And then everything all of a sudden would move in sequence and very fast.  Love.  Marriage.  Home.  Dog.  (And that’s it for now – this isn’t a surprise ending post, I promise.  But I am ready, willing, and cheerfully waiting for whatever the grand script-writer has in store for us next, whenever that may come.)

It may seem a little silly to say a dog has taught me all of that, and maybe it isn’t really Hollie completely, but this Christmas vacation has been a welcome respite from the daily grind and allowed me to take stock, look forward to the year to come, and enjoy all the sweet cuddles along the way.

Lesson learned: Save enough vacation days for another Christmas Vacation next year – this has been great!

Egg Nog Pancakes
(Adapted from Taste of Home)

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 4 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg, optional
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1-1/2 cups eggnog (commercially prepared)
  
• 2 tablespoons butter, melted

• In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg if desired. In a small bowl, whisk the eggs, eggnog and butter; stir into dry ingredients just until moistened.
• Pour batter by 1/4 cupfuls onto a lightly greased hot griddle. Turn when bubbles form on top; cook until second side is golden brown. Yield: 1 dozen.
• My notes: this makes a extremely THICK batter – I added a couple splashes of 1% milk to help spread out more evenly on the griddle.  Your pancakes will be really really thick and very rich.  I didn’t even put syrup on them – just a sprinkle of powdered sugar.  I could only eat one it was rich – they actually kept fairly well in the fridge for one day and we ate the rest the next morning heated up slightly in the microwave – not as good as fresh, but still edible.

Cranberry Trifle
(From Martha Stewart Everyday Food)

• 2 bags (12 ounces each) cranberries, fresh or frozen
• 2 1/4 cups granulated sugar
• 2 tablespoons finely grated peeled fresh ginger
• 1 bar (8 ounces) cream cheese, room temperature
• 1/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 2 homemade or store-bought all-butter pound cakes (12 ounces each), cut into 3/4-inch-thick slices
• Candied Orange Zest, for garnish (optional)

1. In a medium saucepan, combine cranberries, 2 cups granulated sugar, ginger, and 2 cups water. Bring to a simmer over medium; cook until cranberries begin to burst, 8 to 10 minutes. Let compote cool completely.
2. Make cream filling: Using an electric mixer, beat cream cheese, brown sugar, remaining cup granulated sugar, and vanilla on high until well combined. With mixer on medium, gradually add heavy cream; continue beating until soft peaks form.
3. Arrange 1/3 of cake in a 3-quart serving dish. Spoon 1/3 of compote over cake; spread to sides of dish. Dollop 1/3 of cream filling over compote; spread to sides of dish. Repeat twice, ending with cream filling. Cover; refrigerate at least 2 hours (or up to 1 day). Garnish with Candied Orange Zest, if desired.
4. In a medium saucepan, bring 1/2 cup and 1/2 cup to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar. Add (peeled into long strips with a vegetable peeler); simmer, swirling occasionally, until zest is tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain, and transfer to a plate. Dredge zest in sugar, and thinly slice.

Notes: The orange zest, is the hardest part about this dessert – and is totally worth it – it really makes the dish come together, I top the entire trifle with this so every scoop can have a few slices.  Make sure you take the time to completely cool the cranberry compote before adding to the trifle – otherwise it will get too soggy.  I use vanilla pound cake from my grocery bakery – adds a nice sweetness, it would probably taste good with lemon, too.  This recipe always yields a little more than will fit in a normal trifle dish for me – but I just make a couple extra little dishes of the layers for me and DB to enjoy because it is THAT good.

Lessons in Gaudete

In the aftermath of unspeakable, unimaginable, unfathomable tragedy – where things like this break my heart, cause me worry for my teacher-husband, and anger me about the broken world we live in – it may seem strange to focus on rejoicing. But today is Gaudete Sunday, and by its very definition we are instructed to “Rejoice in the lord always.“

Growing up Methodist, most Catholic traditions are new and unaccustomed to me – but advent isn’t.  The third week of advent was greeted at Homerville United Methodist’s Sunday service with a cheerful pink candle, a chorus of favorite carols, yet another Russell-Stover chocolate treat hidden behind a cardboard calendar door, and the ever-growing promise that Christmas day was nearly here.  It wasn’t until I was older that I learned of the word “Gaudete” and it’s beautiful message: “Rejoice!  Don’t loose hope!  The promised one is nearly, here!” But, somehow I still got the meaning as a child.

At mass this weekend, we listened to carefully spoken readings from Zephaniah, Philippians, and Luke. They each shared a message of joy, hopefulness, gladness, and the promise of the one to come. Each message was given originally in dark times – days of violence, persecution, pain, suffering – yet there was still reason to celebrate 2,000 years ago.

Today, this day, is a dark day.  I grieve with a deepness I didn’t think was capable for strangers.  There is a highly acclaimed episode of “The West Wing” in which the president’s character is speaking after a pipe-bomb explodes at a college – he exclaims “the streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight.”  I’ve been thinking about that line a lot in the past 48 hours.

And yet, I also think of Paul’s letter to the Philippians:

Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice! Your kindness should be known to all. The Lord is near. Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

There is a battle raging in our world, in our hearts, in our lives – there is evil, and pain, and too many questions that go unanswered – but the victory is already won, and we still can practice Gaudete beyond the third Sunday in advent.  Every day, in every moment, find cause to rejoice, to celebrate, to love, to hope.  Find it in the comfort of a friend, a smile from a stranger, in an unexpected warm day in December, in a lazy Sunday, in a Apple German Pancake, in lighting a pink candle at brunch, in the deep recesses of your own heart.

Find it in a carol that always resonated but now holds an even truer meaning:

Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, our Wisdom from on high,
Who ordered all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, oh, come, our Lord of might,
Who to your tribes on Sinai’s height
In ancient times gave holy law,
In cloud and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come O Rod of Jesse’s stem,
From ev’ry foe deliver them
That trust your mighty pow’r to save;
Bring them in vict’ry through the grave.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, O Key of David, come,
And open wide our heav’nly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Lesson learned: always, always, always, Rejoice!

Apple German Pancake(Adapted from: Unsophisticook)

Batter:

• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 cup milk – I used 1%
• 1/2 cup flour
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon salt – I used sea salt

Apples:

• 2 apples — peeled, cored, and sliced – the recipe called for “SweeTango or Granny Smith” – but I only had Macintosh on hand, probably would have been a bit better with a tarter apple.
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 4 tablespoons brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Optional:

• confectioner’s sugar

Instructions:

1. Preheat the over to 375 degrees.
2. Add eggs, milk, flour, sugar, vanilla and salt to a blender and puree. You can refrigerate the batter overnight if desired.
3. Melt butter in a cast iron or oven-safe nonstick skillet over medium-high heat, making sure to coat sides of skillet.
4. Add apples to skillet, along with brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon juice. Cook for about 10 minutes until tender.
5. Pour batter over cooked apples and bake in the oven until cooked through and golden brown, about 25 minutes.
6. Sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar if desired. Slice into wedges to serve.

Lessons in Christmas Cheer

This past Sunday was my mother’s birthday.  DB and I traveled out to the country on Saturday night to spend the weekend with my parents.  While we gave my mom a few little gifts, the main thing she wanted was time together.  Time to experience  new things as a family (which we did on Sunday as we traveled to the new casino in Toledo and ended up leaving with even wallets and fuller tummies thanks to their buffet), and time to celebrate time-honored traditions.

Which we did in the form of Chicken Paprikash with the proper shade of pink sauce I remembered thanks to dad… The secret is to remove the chicken after cooking, then make the sauce separate and add the chicken back in!  Confused?  See here…

The right shade.

And all the traditional nooks and crannies that turn my parents home into a flood of Christmas memories.

Grammie’s Nativity

Downstairs tree.

 

Tree of only Santa ornaments (plus an angel).

 

And I was overwhelmed with emotions and memories and feelings and thoughts and ideas.  What is it about Christmastime that makes you so lonely for something you can’t even quite explain?  It is more than a sense of grief and missing my grandparents.  It is a sense of missing an entire piece of my past, my history, myself.  DB and I have tried very hard this year not to get caught up in the rat-race of Christmas.  We focus more on the season of Advent than the idea of presents and TV specials.  While, those things are fun and nice traditions – I’m really trying to get to the root of what made December 24 and 25 the most magical, holy, amazing days in the eyes of my 10-year old self.

It is more than presents and a promise of snow, flying reindeer, and some days off of school.  And maybe while my 10-year old self didn’t quite grasp the whole message of Advent, I certainly understood the feeling and the sentiment behind this time of the year.

I think when you’re in your late twenties, married without children – it is a weird time for Christmas. You’ve lost that innocence you had in your youth – even if you hadn’t tried to in the first place.  You work hard in a job that you’re still trying to get the hang of, so any time off feels wasteful and irresponsible.  The presents you want aren’t toys, they’re boring things: furniture, window treatments, kitchen gadgets (well, that can be a toy, too).  You find yourself watching “Home Alone” and all you do is point out how improbable these scenarios are and how that kid should have died nine times before his mom came home.  People you loved are farther away, or have departed this earth all together.  Christmas… is different.

So I’m trying to view Christmas – in my late twenties, married, no kids – with fresh eyes.

It is spending time with my mother, my father, my husband, my loved ones.  It is understanding fully and faithfully that “the word was made flesh and dwelt among us.”  It is remembering the twinkle in Grammie’s eye as I tried to rip open a present with a ribbon tied too, too tight after a meal so delicious that your pants were now too, too tight, as well.  It is hanging onto those moments, no matter how brief, and memories, no matter how faint, and allowing them to fill up all the holes and gaps that have ravaged my heart these past few years.  It is also discovering new ways to enjoy Christmas treats in a WW friendly way.

Lesson learned: Christmas Cheer can still be found if you know where to look.

Pies in a Blanket

• 1 ready made pie crust (like Pillsbury)
• 1 granny smith apple (or similar) sliced 8 ways (I used one of those nifty apple slicers)
• 3 tsp each of of brown and white sugar
• 1 tsp each of: cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice
• 1-2 tsp of melted butter

• On a floured surface – use a rolling pin to roll pie crust out a bit more in a square shape (or close enough)
• Brush entire crust with melted butter – saving some for later
• Spread even layer of brown sugar and spices on crust, may need a little more sugar depending on how big you roll it out
• Using a pizza slicer, cut crust into 8 even strips
• Starting at one end, roll apple slice up in pie crust – just as you would a “pig in a blanket” – (note: I did not peel apple, I like the skin – it was a little harder to eat this way however – you can peel if you like)
• Place evenly on baking sheet – brush each top with remaining butter and sprinkle with a little more white sugar and cinnamon
• Bake at 425 degrees for 13 min or until golden brown and apples are easily pierced with a knife
• Serve warm with some whipped cream (made mine from scratch – but whatever you have on hand will work).
• Each roll is like 4-5 points depending on its size and how much sugar you actually use – in hindsight, I probably could have forgone the brown sugar, but why? – 4-5 points each is a lot when you have two, but still not as much as a whole slice of pie.

Lessons in getting back on the Wagon

Well – after last week’s post… I’ve had some luck in getting back upon that proverbial wagon.  I guess I’m not fully back on and buckled in, but I at least am dragging behind it holding on for dear life.  I’ve lost over half the Thanksgiving-weight I slipped up with and am on track to get back down to my pre-turkey-day weight by next week’s WW meeting.  Then I hope to simply maintain through New Years.

Holidays are hard.  Especially for a foodie, home-chef, lover of flavor gal like me.  Healthy food can be delicious, of course.  But Christmastime is a never-ending feast of butter, flaky pastries, peppermint sticks, creamy egg nog, roast beasts of every sort, butter, caramels and chocolates galore, butter, pierogi on Christmas eve, butter, butter, and butter.  I keep thinking if I just write and say the word “butter” enough it will eventually lose it’s power over me… so far it’s not working.

So, my new WW leader of my new WW meeting location had a great suggestion last week.  If you have six or less parties slated in December… Enjoy them.  Don’t let the stress of food make you miserable.  Don’t over indulge, but don’t deprive.  But on the other non-party days of the month, stick to the plan as hard as you can.

Last night – I got back in the pool after an all too long hiatus.   Then I made a healthy sans-butter meal that was as delicious as it was nutritious.

Blackened Talapia with Warm Pineapple-Orange “Salsa”

• 4 Talapia fillets – these were apx. 2-3 oz each – not giant.
• On a non-stick baking pan (I often use a silicone mat as well) top fish with a generous amount of “blackening blend” or similar type seasoning – found at any grocery store (may also be called, Cajun, seafood, etc. – if you can’t find a mix of: paprika, cyan pepper, garlic, ginger, s&p should work well – easy on the heat!)
• Bake at 375 for 7-12 min – until cooked through

• In a large skillet, use a small amount of olive oil (I actually have a “mister” and just used enough to coat the pan) over medium heat
• Satay 1/2 a large yellow onion and 3-4 garlic cloves (chopped),  s&p to taste, until  it just starts to brown a bit and caramelize
• De-glaze with a turn of the pan or two of red wine vinegar
• Add 1 cup chopped pineapple – I cheated here and used frozen because I didn’t buy a pineapple this week – I keep frozen fruit for smoothies and it seemed to do ok.  Fresh is always best.  Frozen is second.  Canned is gross (in my opinion)
• Peel, and chop, and add a medium orange
• Add in one tsp of orange marmalade to help make it more “saucy” – if you don’t have this on hand, honey should do the trick, too
• Add a small amount of your favorite hot-sauce to kick it up if you dare

• Serve over brown rice.
• Serves 2 (two filets each – DB gets the bigger ones and more rice/salsa.)
• This whole meal was 8 points.  Not bad for a dinner.  I had enough to spare for a big bowl of air-popped popcorn at the end of the night… drizzled with a little butter.

Lesson learned: Getting back on the wagon is hard, but I can do it.  God… I still love butter.

 

Lessons in being the Hostess with the Mostest

When we bought our house a few months ago I wasn’t sure what colors I would paint the rooms, how we would decorate, or how I would grow a green thumb to tend to the yard… but I did know I wanted to be a rockin’ hostess.  I’ve had a couple opportunities already to practice… small get-togethers, dinners, then Thanksgiving.

But tonight was the first real party.   An ugly party.

An ugly sweater party, that is.  Comprised of goodwill finds, a really epic piece I found online for DB, a yummy pot-luck spread, yankee-swap involving awesome board games, and five girlfriends reunited to reminisce about college days gone by, celebrating exciting things on the horizon, and enjoying the first time together since exactly one year earlier.

These girls make up many of the friends I blogged about in what has been my most-viewed post to date.

But this post isn’t about them – as as there are now little ones involved in the group pics, I won’t post them here.  But it was a lovely night, and I tried my best to be the hostess with the mostest.

The Spread and Homemade Advent Wreath to kick off the season.

My tree that I am completely obsessed about…

Ok – one personal pic. While my sweater is pretty ugly, DB’s is just epic.

Lesson learned:  Old friends are amazing, no matter how our lives change and grow, when we get together it still feels like 2005 and I love that.  And, as far as my hosting skills go… I’m just getting started.

Warm Apple Cider

• 1 gallon of apple cider – store bought (My crock pot didn’t quite take the whole gallon)
• 1 apple of your choice, chopped into several pieces, core discarded
• 3 cinnamon sticks
• Handful of allspice berries
• 1 orange pierced with about a dozen cloves
• Set crock pot on high for 1-2 hours, reduce to low/warm and serve (you can add rum or another booze of your choosing if desired)

Holiday Trifle
(In honor of our love of “Friends” and adapted from “Taste of Home“)

• 1 box of gingerbread cake mix
• 1 egg
• 2 boxes of instant butterscotch pudding (the original called for 4 1-oz. packages, but I couldn’t find any that small)
• Milk
• 1 can of pumpkin (like the kind you’d make pumpkin pie with)
• 1 tsp. ground cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp. each: ginger, allspice, nutmeg
• Cool Whip (I could have been better and made my own whipped cream, but I was lazy…)

• Make gingerbread cake according to directions (normally 1-1/4 cup water and 1 egg) – bake in square baking dish and cool on wire rack when finished
• Crumble cake and set aside
• Make butterscotch pudding according to directions (usually 1-2 cups of milk per package)
• Whisk pumpkin puree into pudding
• Add spices to pudding mixture
• Layer gingerbread, pudding, and cool whip by alternating wet layers with a layer of cake crumbles
• Top with a few leftover cake crumbles
• Refrigerate or serve immediately