long overdue

Okay.  Time to get real.  Honesty is the best policy, so I will say it:  I have been avoiding my blog.

The problem is not that I don't have a lot to talk about - I DO!  That is actually the source of my avoidance.  So much has been happening since my last post that I kind of had a mini-meltdown because I didn't know how to organize all my thoughts.  So I have been thinking.  (And trying to organize, simultaneously, obviously.)

 I came to this conclusion:  what do I love to do when I have a lot of ideas?  Answer: make a list.  Really, I love lists (and Post-It Notes).  Sometimes I put stuff on a list that I have already done in order to mark it off...yeah.  It's kind of an illness.  But let's look at the bright side.  I am super-organized.  So here we go:

Warning: This post is going to get very list-y.  And that includes bulleted points.  

1.  Thanksgiving

• Yes, Thanksgiving was a while ago.  Yes, everyone is in super-Christmas mode.  But I have some good things I need to say about it!  So think turkey and pilgrim thoughts and suck it up.

• For the last few years, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving has been the day for my Grandma Terri and I to roll up our sleeves, put on some Frank Sinatra, and start cooking a wonderful Thanksgiving meal together for the next day's feast.  

• It never ceases to amaze me what an incredible cook she is.  Nothing is EVER measured - and from my previous post, you know how OCD I am in the kitchen - but when it comes to Grandma Terri, I don't question her ways.  The perk of actually letting someone else be in charge?  Secret recipes.  Let's just say, over the course of about 4 hours of cooking, the phrase "Don't tell anyone about this!" was thrown out about 3 different times.  I could tell you...but then I would have to kill you.  

• To wrap up my thoughts on Thanksgiving, I will end with an anecdote.  As I was leaving school to start my mini-vacation, I asked a friend what her and her husband were doing for the holiday.  Her response: "You know, we probably won't even cook a turkey.  I feel like we should probably be giving thanks every day of the year - not just one day."  Now, I can't say I agree about the turkey (I LOVE Thanksgiving food.)  But, what she said really made me stop and think about how many opportunities I am missing to be thankful for all of the blessings in my life.  It was a good refresher on what the Holidays are really about - giving thanks!  So, thank-you, Thanksgiving.  What a perfect holiday to precede the craziness of Christmas and New Year's - one to remind us of what we already have and to be thankful for the people that we complain about being forced to spend time with...you know, the people that love us no matter what we do.  I think that's pretty great.

Next on the list:  It's time for an update!  The Great Cooking Adventure is underway and going extremely well!  So far, I have embarked on two cooking journeys.  One will be discussed following this rambling paragraph and the other will be saved for a separate post, because it needs a place of distinction.  

2.  My Great Holiday Cooking Adventure, Part I

• I was really on the fence about where to start with my Holiday Homage to some of my favorite women.  I knew that one of the recipes was always made on Thanksgiving, so I at least had one constant, but other than that, I was lost.  Fortunately, these situations have a way of working themselves out.  

• I mulled it over, I vowed to not think about it, I didn't think about it, I thought about it...I could go on.  I won't.  In the end, I started with the present before heading into the past: I started with a woman that supports me, inspires me, and loves me every single day - my Grandma Terri!  I thought that cooking a meal, in its entirety, was the perfect way to start my adventure before breaking off into single dishes.  It made it extra special that the woman I was honoring with cooking was actually cooking right beside me!

Our food prep consisted of: Turkey, Dressing, Mashed Potatoes, and Sweet Potatoes...the following photos consist of me snapping shots of random things between being bossed around...(Love you, Grandma!)

The Bird.

Yes, I cut all the bread.

What an artsy photo of potatoes!

Yes, I peeled all of these...As you can see, I was doing the grunt work.

YUM!

• I think it was a nice way to start.  Also, it saved me some heartache that I am sure I will suffer later on in this adventure: I had the woman who knew the recipe by heart directing me.  No miffed measurements or forgotten ingredients here!  The next installments of The Great Cooking Adventure will come with some coveted recipes...but for Part I, I was sworn to some secrecy.  And let's face it, I am sure my other favorite women would be giving me a little mischievous smile as they told me "Don't tell anyone!" and making me promise to keep my trap shut as they showed me some of their signature dishes, but since they are no longer here to defend themselves, I think it is safe to spread the love.  That is how they would want it to be anyway - I'm sure of it.

Whew!

Well, I don't know about you, but after all that bulleting I feel like a new woman.  I have to admit, cowering in the corner was no way to handle my abundance of info that I wanted to share...Lesson learned.

The next installment of my Great Cooking Adventure will be coming much sooner than later, I promise!  And, just to give you a little taste (pun intended) of what to look forward to, I will let you in on the delicious next dish...drumroll, please... My Great Grandma Polly's Noodles!  A staple at every Thanksgiving and the perfect lunch on a cloudy, cold day.  Warm, comforting, and full of love.

time for an adventure

Look alive, people.  It's official.  The Holiday Season is upon us.

Early this week, I was surfing through the radio stations in my car.  Imagine my horror when my favorite oldies station was blasting Christmas tunes.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Imagine my horror.

Surprise, surprise: I'm a traditionalist.  

• On October 5th, we get out the Halloween decorations. (October 4th is my birthday, and it will NOT be upstaged by anything, including themed decorations).  

• On November 1st, the Thanksgiving decorations go up.  

• And finally, on November 30th, the glory that is the Christmas tree is brought out and given a place of honor in the living room.

I just think that each holiday should be given its due - they have been bringing us joy for quite a long time now - and celebrated for the correct amount of time.  I guess an appropriate amount of overlap is okay, after all, not everyone can be such a stickler like I am.  But can we stop starting the Christmas tunes before we can even enjoy Thanksgiving?

Aside from the complaining (I'm pretty much a professional), I eat the holiday cheese-whiz up with a spoon.  (Pun intended.)  I am all about the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, Meet Me In Saint Louis on TV, the campy and wonderful Christmas songs, twinkle lights, cookies...you get the point.  Anything that symbolizes the togetherness and fun and overindulgence of the holidays: give it my number.  I'll answer.

About two weeks ago, I was reminiscing with my mom and dad about our great-grandmas and great-aunts that have passed away and all the joy they had brought to every holiday gathering.  The joy they brought included some of the following:  the best caramel corn you have ever tasted, coconut creme pie, old-fashion egg noodles, mac and cheese, etc.

With my mouth watering, the lightbulb went off in my head:  how fun would it be to roll up my sleeves and tackle a "cooking homage" for all of the women who have inspired me to be the best woman I can be?

So, this holiday season, it is all about the retro, love-filled recipes of my elders.  It's going to fun.  It's going to be tough.  It's going to be emotional.  But most of all, like the holidays, it's going to be magical.

Stay tuned for stories and recipes from my Great Holiday Cooking Adventure!

worst parade ever

I had to repeat this little saying a couple of times in my mind at about 4:30 a.m. on Sunday morning when my alarm went off.  No one should ever be awake at that God-forsaken time of day.  I slipped on my running gear, put on a few layers of waterproof mascara and lumbered down to our kitchen to sounds of the toaster and coffee maker and excited voices.  We were about to do what we had thought was impossible all but 6 months ago: run a Half Marathon.  

Over the summer, I had convinced two of my girl friends that they could run jog a Half Marathon with my family, my running club, and I.  At first, they were resistant to the idea.  "That will never happen," and "Are you crazy?" were just a couple of the phrases thrown around when I brought up the idea.  After I brought out the big guns though (AKA: My mom and Youtube montages of Half Marathon Races) they bought in.  Thus began our uphill battle of training to endure 13.1 miles.    

When you have a pretty serious deadline, somehow the time seems to completely fly by, all while laughing in your face and taunting you: "Are you sure you are ready?  The Half is only three months away..."  I have to admit, even though I had done this before, (it was two years ago and I was in much better shape) I still had that internal battle of "Can I really get this done?"

Lucky for me, I had an amazing support team.  My family was training, my running group was training, and my two girls were training - it was hard to give up with all that hard work going on around me!  After logging many miles, race day arrived much sooner than anyone anticipated.

So, at 7:30 a.m., with my favorite running gear on and my two friends, I lined up with 21,000 other runners and anxiously awaited the starting gun.  

It was a beautiful run - rock bands every mile or so, pretty little neighborhoods with spectators cheering us on, and some hilarious signs to keep us going.  My personal favorite: "This is the WORST parade EVER."  So. True.

To summarize the 13.1 miles covered:  It was every bit as tough as we thought it would be.  But we got it done.  It was impossible...until we went and ran it.  Crossing the finish line was such a sweet ending to an incredible day - hand in hand, smiles on our faces, and victory in our hearts.

After a lot of hard work - sweat, tears, lost toenails - I think we all got a little bit of running fever.  Example: I am already researching future Half Marathons that I can sign up for...?  Who am I?  It just goes to show - we all thought runners were crazy, and then we started ourselves.  It resulted in quite the case of running fever, which, by the way, is totally contagious.  

Yeah...My dad and two crazy runners from the running group ran the full marathon...not quite sure I can really fathom that quite yet...

magical

It has been one of those weeks.  Lots to do, not a lot of (free) time.  And as a result, my creative juices were not flowing in the least.  As made obvious by this recipe I am about to share.

What it lacks in creativity though, it completely makes up for in pure magic.  Like, mind-blowing magic.

When I was young and naive, I loved watching the cheesy Magic Show Specials that came on.  You know what I'm talking about - the David Copperfield specials.  With him getting hand-cuffed and straight-jacketed and locked in a car and the car getting put through the big car-grinder thing.  Just when the car would nose into the grinder, it would cut to a commercial.  Riveting.  Then it would come back on and he would magically escape at the last minute.  I ate this stuff up with a spoon.  Another one of my personal favs:  the love-story-slash-magic-trick where he would quasi-dance with his assistant to bad 80's music and then strap her onto a table and cut her in half with a huge rotating blade.  Awesome.

I was/am easily amused.  Sometimes all it takes it a little bit of 80's music and magic.  Other times, I am good with Almond Butter.  Which is what I made this week.  And it only takes one ingredient and about 16 minutes.  Really.  This isn't a joke.

For this next fact, you should probably sit down: Almond Butter at the store can cost anywhere from $10.00 to $50.00 (for real, I looked it up).  For 12 ounces.  This recipe costs less than 5 bucks.  You are welcome.

Here is the disclaimer - because, let's face it, something this easy and cost efficient has to have some kind of con, right?  Patience.  You're gonna need it.  16 minutes sounds tame enough, but after about 10 minutes I started to get kind of paranoid.  What if my almonds were bad?  What if I was doing this wrong?  Should I add some oil?  The answer: The almonds were fine, I was doing it right, and no extra oil is needed.  I promise!  Out of nowhere the ball of weird almond dough/paste completely transformed into a creamy butter - almost instantly.  It took it about 12 minutes to get there, and then I added about four more minutes for a nicer consistency.  You just have to ride it out...it is worth it.  Plus it is such a cool trick - "Watch me make smooth creamy spread out of nothing but dry almonds!"

I enjoyed this for breakfast on toast with a drizzle of honey - yum.  It would be awesome on some apple slices too.

This was just what my less-than-great week needed.  Something magical.  And lucky for you, I am a magician not afraid to give away my secrets.

Almond Butter

1 cup almonds

1.  Put almonds in food processor and pulse until almonds are finely chopped.  They will look like this:

                         

2.  Continue to pulse...this will take a lot more patience than you think...after a couple of minutes it will look like this:

3.  Keep going!  It will start to look like this:

4.  The almonds will form into a ball that looks suspiciously like Play-Doh...don't let this fool you.  Keep going, you are almost there.

5.  Finally it starts to look like an actual spread...keep going a few more minutes.

6.  TA-DAAA!  Pretty good magic trick, huh?

falling into football

I would be lying if I said I didn't totally geek out for Fall.  I usually geek out for the start of every season - it's always so great in the beginning - but something about Fall just makes me a little extra giddy.  For instance, it is the most perfect hair weather that I could ask for.  No fighting frizz, just enjoying the low humidity.  And as much as I love summer, I start sweating at just the thought of being hot.  It's nice to wear jeans and still be a little cool.  Preferable, in fact.  But one of my favorite things about Fall is the start of football.

I am a huge football fan.  Like, dorky huge.  I convinced my mom to drop an extra chunk of change so that we could have the NFL network.  That may seem like a waste to some people - who is going to have time to watch every single football game on Sunday?  The answer: Me.  Yes, last Sunday I sat in front of the TV flipping between 6 games at a time.  It was wonderful.  I also convinced my dad to buy me extra-dorky fake yellow and red flags like the referees and coaches throw during the game.

The yellow flags are wielded by referees and signal a foul on the play.  The red flags are wielded by coaches and are used to challenge a call made my the referees.  Basically the flags facilitate an argument between the refs and coaches - and let's face it, isn't that half the fun?  So not only did I sit in front of the TV watching 6 games simultaneously, I also threw a flag (color-coded to whatever call was being made) at the TV whenever a flag was thrown in the game.  If I was even a second late on the throw, my dad would shake his head and laugh.  "You aren't quite in midseason form yet, Al," he would joke.

My red and yellow flags - in all their glory!

I admit, I can get pretty riled up when it comes to football.  Like yelling-at-the-TV, getting-looks-from-my-mom-for-inappropriate-language riled up.  So it's a good thing that with football season comes football snacks.  A girl's got to keep her stamina up for all that game time yelling...er, game time watching.  Last Sunday, it was cheesy mushroom and sausage dip, hot wings, chips - basically anything unhealthy.  So, I thought my contribution for the football "tailgating" would be one of my favorites, and healthy to boot: Roasted Red Pepper Hummus.

Weirdly enough, for being such an OCD chef-of-sorts, I never measure anything when I make this hummus!  I just throw in the basics and taste it until I got it how I want it (totally win-win).  So have fun with this recipe: it is fool proof!  A little hint: you will need more salt and spices than you think.  Chickpeas are a lot like potatoes - they are a great base but need some seasoning up!

 This hummus is great with pita chips, baby carrots, and even spread on sandwiches instead of mayo!  Simple, tasty, and quick (and somewhat healthy) - what could be better to whip up on Football Sundays?

The base: chickpeas

Not the most visually appealing, but darn tasty!

Roasted Red Pepper Hummus

1 can of chickpeas, drained
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons Tahini Paste
1/2 of a lemon, juiced
4-6 slices of roasted red pepper
1 teaspoon of chopped garlic
1-2 teaspoons of oregano
1 teaspoon of cumin
Salt and Pepper, to taste

1.  Blend chickpeas, olive oil, Tahini Paste, and spices in food processor until smooth.

2.  Add lemon juice and roasted red peppers, blend until smooth.

perfectly imperfect

I hate the dentist.  I wrinkle my nose at the smell.  I avoid the mirrors because of the horrendous lighting.  I hate the dentist more than I hate a full body sunburn that inhibits sleep - and you don't mess with my eight hour sleep minimum.  But at least I get a tan out of the sunburn deal.  Long story short: I avoid the place like the plague.  I have conveniently "forgot" about appointments so many times that my mother now schedules them for me and drives me there against my will.

Since last week I have been looking with complete disdain upon our family calendar with "Alex, Dentist" in black ink on September 8th.  Since three days ago, thanks to my kind brother, I have been nursing a head cold.  And last night, I decided to take a stand against the cruel and unusual punishment of a combination dental-exam-with-a-head-cold.

I rallied the troops of Grandma and Dad with my sniffles and "sad eyes" and convinced them of the pure horror of laying in a dental chair with a stopped-up nose while trying to hold a conversation with the Doctor while his hand was holding my tongue.  One word: unsavory.  My mom looked on with a smile as I was giving a (convincing) speech over dinner.

"Fine, we will cancel your appointment and you don't have to go ever again," she said to me.  She knows that this is NOT an empty threat - the only thing worse than going to the dentist would be for all of my teeth to rot and fall out.  Which, being the rational person I am, is what I imagine would happen to people who stop going to their dental exams.

So I went.  Not kicking and screaming, but somewhat resigned to the gritty mint tooth paste and lectures about flossing.  I sat in the waiting room with my mom, watching the TV slide show of dental procedures, leafing through the National Geographics from 1998, and doing a combination of a cough and sigh that I thought sounded pathetic (which is what I was going for).

Ten minutes later, I was belly up on a dental chair, squinting at the overhead lights.  To my horror, my foot started keeping the beat of the Smooth Listening station that was being piped into the office.  Ironically, "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain, a mushy song about love that has been a Prom theme song for about every school in America, was followed by "Love Is A Battlefield"by Pat Benatar, which was my personal theme song for the whole of my junior year (boys suck).

After being scraped, shined, and rinsed, I was on my way towards freedom.  Or so I thought.  I forgot that it wouldn't be a trip to the dentist without the lectures about flossing (which I had escaped due to my diligent flossing habits) and braces.

I don't have perfect teeth.  Shocker.  And ever since I have been eleven years old, my dentist has been itching to get me wired up.  I can't blame him - I am somewhat of a perfectionist myself.  But since the first talk of braces, I have started to learn that it isn't always about perfection.  Sometimes its about accepting what you got - and owning it!  So I smiled and pretended to listen to his talk of the new versions they have and the pricing options available.  I didn't feel the least bit self conscious about my one crooked tooth as I smiled at the receptionist and grabbed a sugar-free sucker.  After all, sometimes its kind of nice to be perfectly imperfect.  Plus, I had a whole nine more months until my next dental exam.

My reward for surviving - a free molar-shaped and sugar-free sucker. 

gooey goodness

I have to be honest, I have celebrated countless holidays and enjoyed school being closed, but about 98% of the time, I have no idea why we are celebrating.  Labor Day being no different than the rest, I was feeling a little guilty so I broke down and looked up the origin.  It was short and sweet: Labor Day became a federal holiday in 1894 and was created to pay tribute to the many achievements and contributions of the American Worker.  That's pretty much it in a nutshell.  For me, Labor Day has so many more meanings and memories and has cemented itself as the last summer weekend of sorts.  

Every Labor Day weekend (as with most holiday weekends) my grandma goes to work and makes us a meal that could "feed Cox's army" as she always says.  I don't know who Cox is, but I am not sure his army could handle the abundance of grilled meat, salads, potatoes, vegetables, breads, and most of all deserts.  My grandma cooks for about 5-8 people by making servings for about 20.  I am not complaining one bit - I alone usually eat enough for about three people!  And no matter how full we are - I usually end up groaning on the floor in a fetal position - everyone always has room for desert.  

My grandma has been pumping me up for a whole week about this year's desert selection: Gooey Butter Cake.  Weirdly, I was not really that excited about it (Give me chocolate any day!).  But when I saw this cake...and then tasted this cake...I was one happy camper.  The Gooey Butter cake is 100% Midwestern America.  You can't get this stuff anywhere but here, and I know plenty of people who would go to some extreme lengths to get it.  I'm not sure why I never "got it" before today, but for some reason a light went on in my head - maybe it was the sugar-induced coma that I was slipping into?  No matter what the reason, it was one decadent experience.  And to add to the fun, the recipe came out of an old school Catholic Church Cookbook - straight from the Hill in Saint Louis.  My dad and I read through the book trying to pronounce the awesome/hilarious Italian names while we gobbled up the cake - just to give you an idea: Alline Finocchiaro had great recipes for Tiramisu, Sicilian Steak, and Zesty Potato Salad.  

Overall, this cake is the perfect end-of-summer combo of chewy crust with a gooey, sweet center.  Plus, I am a sucker for anything with a sprinkle of powdered sugar.  Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and you have yourself pure summer Americana.  Yum!

Gooey Butter Cake

Adapted from "A Taste of the Hill Cookbook"

1 box yellow cake mix
1 stick of butter, melted
3/4 - 1 box of powdered sugar (reserve approximately 1/4 cup to sprinkle over top of cake)
3 eggs
1 package of cream cheese
1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Mix cake mix, 1 egg, melted butter.  Pat into bottom of un-greased 9 x 13-inch glass baking dish.

2. Mix powdered sugar, 2 eggs, cream cheese, and vanilla.  Stir until well mixed and then pour over the top of cake mixture, making sure that the cream cheese mixture covers the edges.

3. Bake at 350 degrees, for approximately 45 minutes.  Sprinkle with remaining powdered sugar and cool.

fudge-pops

The Schwann's man rang our doorbell today.  My mom had left for a seminar, my brother had band practice,  and my dad and I were home alone - which just spells trouble.  We saw the butter-yellow truck pull into our cul-de-sac and did a mad dash around the house in desperate search of the Schwann's order book to pick out some things that we didn't need.  We ruffled through piles of mail, newspapers, and random recipes but struck out.  Fortunately for us, we knew we had little use for the frozen chicken nuggets and ready-made lasagna.  We knew exactly where to zone in: Ice Cream.

After a very informative conversation with Mr. Schwann's Delivery Man ("The double chocolate peanut butter is my personal favorite."), we decided on not one, but three (three!!) delectable flavors.  Raspberry Rumble, Mint Chocolate Chip, and a total blast from my past: Fudge-Pops.

Since my birth, I have been fortunate to have a multitude of grandmas, great-grandmas, and great-aunts that have baby-sat, spoiled, and just generally taken care of me when needed.  I have many a memory revolving around my Great Grandma Emma and the refrigerator in her garage.  Every time I would visit, we would make a trip to her fridge.  When I opened the freezer-side door, it was almost like I could hear angels singing - top to bottom, there were popsicles, cartons of ice cream, Klondike bars, and my favorite: Fudge-Pops!  I would stick my head in the freezer, feeling the contrast of the hot summer and cold, frosty air, and come out with a delicious prize.  I couldn't wait to take the five steps to get inside the house and instead ripped open the fudge pop and chowed down.  The melty fudge would drip down my hands and I would finish with a brain freeze and a feeling of pure joy.

Today, waiting for the Delivery Man to walk to the truck and walk back with the fudge-pops in hand, I felt like the 8 year old version of myself again.  As soon as the door shut and the icy box was safe in my dad's hands, we both ran to the kitchen (chanting "Fudge-Pops!!"), ripped into the box and pulled out a pop.  We stood there, grinning like idiots, passing one perfectly frozen pop between us.  We scrunched our faces as the Fudge-Pop made our teeth tingle and giggled when our lips stuck to the white, extra-frozen parts.  It was just fun, standing there, eating desert before dinner.  We are such rebels.

It is moments like this one that bring a smile to my face for weeks.  And I am thankful that my dad teaches me life lessons almost every day - without even realizing it.  Today, it was a lesson about what life is really all about:  Enjoying it!  Spend time with people that you love and people that make you smile.  Do things that make you happy.  Eat dessert first.  Make memories.

My dad and I - just a few years back.

half the battle

 Today's post is dedicated to my mom. If I had a penny for every time she has told me: "Half the battle is just showing up," I would be a rich woman. Actually, since it's just a penny we're talking about here, it would probably be more upper-middle class woman. But you get the idea.

The thing about it though, is that it's so true:

Last weekend, I ran in a 5K with a group of amateur runners - mostly including my parents and their friends (cool, I know) - along with about 500 of my closest friends.  It was called the Hecker Tiki Trot and it was absolutely the most unique race I have ever run in.  Completely opposite from most racing events, the Tiki Trot started at 8pm instead of the usual, crack-of-dawn morning races.  Also setting it apart, and keeping people from smacking into each other, were the hundreds of tiki torches lining both sides of the dark country roads during the 3.1 mile event.  It was gorgeous, and totally worth a visit if you haven't been.  (They even have a Facebook group with some pictures and all the info!)

I have been running off and on (mostly off) since my Freshman year in high school.  Since last January, when my mom talked me into signing up for a Half Marathon, I have gotten a lot more serious about the whole running thing...which is really only half serious compared to most runners.  Anyway, I had worked up to my longest run being about 8 miles, so I got a little cocky and thought this 5K was going to be a nice and easy run followed by a possible corn dog from one of the food stands.  Boy, was I wrong.

Strangely, I have a little bit of a competitive streak that only comes out during board games (I cheated at Candy Land when I was 4 - sorry, Grandma) and racing events.  I must have been born with the board game thing, but the racing thing was hard-wired into my brain during my senior year Cross Country season.  I wasn't that great time-wise, but I killed myself during every race to try and get a personal best.

Although I have tried to forget that compulsion to run as fast as I can for as long as I can, it seems to pop up at inopportune times: when the buzzer sounded and the couple hundred people in front of me and behind me started running like bats out of hell, I told myself that I was just going to stay with the group, keep a slower pace, and finish strong.  Then out of nowhere I got a little fire in my belly and I started passing people.  Why I can't push myself like that in a practice run, I will never know (but it might have had something to do with the thoughts of a corn dog at the finish line).  I felt good - going much faster than my long runs and gaining confidence with each stride and each person passed.  After the first two miles though, I hit a very hard brick wall.

The last mile was me holding on and limp-jogging while making over-dramatic breathing sounds.  Not fun at the time, but kind of funny now.  I crossed the finish line, with my mom - God bless her for talking me through that last bit, and with a time of 30:24.  Not horrible, but not my best time and not really competitive.  Needless to say, I was exhausted and mad at myself for going out without a plan.  And to top everything off, they only had burgers.  I really wanted that corn dog - it was half the reason I even ran!

After grabbing a bite, we headed home, me in the back of the van doing what I do best - pouting.

A few days later, the race results were up online.  I am not as interested in seeing the winning times as my mom and dad are - I don't want to know how much faster everyone else is.  But as we were scrolling down the page, we stopped on the Women's 20-24 age group.  I read the results and blinked a few times.  I HAD FINISHED IN SECOND PLACE FOR MY AGE GROUP.  At first I felt a little silly for all that pouting I had done.  But then I got over it and smiled for about ten minutes straight.  And when my medal came in the mail a few days later, I wore it around and pranced about the house like some sort of Olympic Gold Medalist.

"See," my mom said, "Half the battle was just showing up.  You can't win if you don't show up."

Showing up at that race, with the temperature a balmy 90 degrees and the humidity skyrocketing, the last thing I thought I could do was actually place.  Little did I know, I had the confidence of someone much wiser than me on my side.

She knew, half the battle was just showing up.  You never know what might happen unless you do.

      

ocd and pumpkin scones

My brother knows how to work the system.  Yesterday, I needed to take his picture for one of my school projects and he would only oblige under one condition: scones.  To be honest, I wasn't too bummed out at having to agree to this trade, because for me, it was totally win-win.  I get homework done and I get some tasty scones.

I love to cook and bake, but me in the kitchen is like a scene from an SNL skit called the Anal Retentive Chef.  It is old-school Saturday Night Live, with Phil Hartman as the host of a cooking show who likes everything to be just right.  As he is about to prepare a pepper steak, he gets caught up in a number of things: the chopped pepper not being in uniform cubes, water on the counter, the stove being dirty. (It is hilarious and if you haven't seen it, here is the video)

Although I am not that intense (my mother might argue), I do sometimes have a problem with being a little bit of a control freak and a perfectionist when it comes to cooking...but I am working hard to accept imperfection as an excuse to make those chocolate chip cookies/scones/dinner rolls again, and keep making them until they are just right.

And now, without further ado, onto the scones!  There was no particular flavor that was requested when the order was put in, and after deciding to try something new instead of the ever-fabulous chocolate chip buttermilk variety, I was excited to expand my horizons.  I LOVE baking with pumpkin - it makes everything stay so wonderful and moist - so I decided a fall spin on some scones would go over well.  So here they are: Pumpkin Spice Scones.  Enjoy!!

Pumpkin Spice Scones

Recipe adapted from Brown Eyed Baker 

For the Scones:
2 cups all-purpose flour
7 Tablespoons granulated sugar
1 Tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 heaping teaspoon of pumpkin pie spice
6 Tablespoons COLD butter (cubed)
½ cup canned pumpkin
3 Tablespoons half-and-half
1 large egg

For the Spice Glaze:
1 cup powdered sugar
4-5 teaspoons milk
A few dashes of pumpkin pie spice (to taste)

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.

2. Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and pumpkin pie spice in a large bowl. Use a fork to cut the butter into the dry ingredients until mixture is crumbly and no chunks of butter are obvious; set aside.

3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, half-and-half and egg. Fold wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and form the dough into a ball.  Don't work the dough too much - it will make your scones tough!! Separate dough into three sections.  Take one section at a time and pat out onto a lightly floured surface.  Pat the dough into a 1 inch thick circle.  Cut circle in half with a knife/pizza cutter/dough divider and then cut half circles into triangular pieces. Place on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 7-8 minutes, or until light brown. Place on wire rack to cool.

4. To make the spice glaze, mix the powdered sugar and milk together until smooth. Add the pumpkin pie spice and combine.  When scones are cool, use a brush to spread glaze over the top of each scone.

the heart wants

This picture has become my answer of choice for many questions.  For instance, "Why did I eat a Hershey Bar today after a very nutritious breakfast of left-over pizza? The answer: The stomach heart wants what the stomach heart wants.

After pondering over this bit of wisdom, I started to get some frightening (or brilliant?) ideas.  Example:  My heart needs exercise...but is that what it wants?  Or: My heart probably needs a low-fat, healthy diet...but I can guarantee you that is definitely NOT what it wants.  

Need and Want.  Two four-letter words.  Two very different meanings.  As I get older, the lines between needing and wanting have become much less blurry.  But actually acknowledging that I only want those new teal pastel pumps and not that I literally have no other shoes to wear unless I bought the teal pastel pumps is where the lines start to blur.

I can easily name five things that I want right now that I don't need.  Or I can remember a moment when I wanted something so bad that all I could think about was that slice of cake/that dress/that running gear until I thought I was going to go crazy without it.  And then a day passed.  Two days passed.  I forgot all about the cake/dress/running gear.  Because it was a want.  Not a need. 

Although my heart (and head) has had its fair share of wants, the things that really feed it and make it grow are the needs - the things that are a little more challenging to obtain.  My heart needs love.  My heart needs patience.  My heart needs thoughtfulness.  My heart needs comfort.  My heart needs laughter.

What can I say?  The heart needs what the heart needs.