Chirky

After my husband and daughter, there are few things I love on earth more than food, in all its myriad forms: wandering grocery store aisles, discovering new eateries, spending time in my own kitchen. (And then, afterward, there are few things I love less than spending time cleaning in my own kitchen.) Baking and cookie are a labor of love for me, passed down through the generations.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions was baking cookies with my mother and grandmother, every kind of cookie you can imagine. My grandmother would have Tupperware after Tupperware piled high on her kitchen table, and when she ran out of room there, the containers of cookies would spill onto nearby chairs, counters, and the top of a nearby chest. It was insane, the number of cookies my mother and grandmother produced. In the thousands, I am sure. (And I say mother and grandmother, because most of my memories in the kitchen with them were when I was quite young; I did help some, but I did more cookie decorating and cookie eating than anything else. And it’s not even like I could get in trouble for sneaking a sweet here and there, because there were still so many left!)

But this recipe, Norwegian Delicacies, did not come from my given family. It came from my chosen family. I had never really had anything quite like it — maybe a cross between a sugared shortbread and a crescent cookie (some call them Mexican Wedding), but with the faintest hint of coconut. My mother-in-law (Hi, Mom!) has been making Norwegian Delicacies for more than fifty years. Though her own grandmother was from Norway, this recipe actually came from a Norwegian friend. Curious, as she pointed out, considering coconut isn’t exactly local produce in Norway.

I’ve made these cookies with my mother-in-law once, but I’ve eaten them on more than one occasion, and every single time it takes all the restraint in my body not to eat the entire batch. They’re crispy, light, sweet, and delicate, and if you catch them right out of the oven, they're slightly chewy in the center.

When I signed up for The Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, I spent a lot of time mulling over which cookie to make. I wanted something unique, but also hardy enough to travel through the mail, and the more the idea tumbled around in my mind, I realized I knew exactly what I wanted to share with others, and with you. I hope you’ll find them as irresistible as I do.

NORWEGIAN DELICACIES
(Recipe from Sue Ferris, gratefully posted here with permission)

INGREDIENTS
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup original Crisco
2 cups sugar
1 cup finely grated coconut
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
3 cups sifted flour
- - -
2 cups powdered sugar

INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat your oven to 350.
1. Mix the first seven ingredients until thoroughly combined.
2. Form into 1” balls and flatten slightly.
3. Bake at 350 until light yellow and just barely golden around the edges, about 8 to 10 minutes.
4. Allow to cool 1-2 minutes on the baking sheet, then roll in powdered sugar while warm.
5. Set on a wire rack until completely cooled.

Yield: Approximately five dozen cookies.

The Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap
If you want to play along next year, sign up for the swap.

Thank you so much to MY Secret Cookie Swappers! For the past two or three weeks, I've been sampling goodies from Alaska, New York, and Tennessee! You can read all about the delicious cookies I received here:

• Chocolate Dipped Coconut Macaroons (with milk chocolate bases!) from A Taste of Alaska


• Chocolate Crack Cookies (with amaretto-soaked cherries!) from Vaikai ir Vanile


• Cowboy Cookies from Fashioned By Grace (Happily, Jessica from Fashioned by Grace has pictures of all three of these cookies on her site!)

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A few weeks ago, we found a field of bluebonnets near our home. A massive field of blue bonnets, about the size of ten football fields. In Texas, the Bluebonnet is the state flower. If you have children, it's sort of required that you take pictures of your offspring in such a field. And so we did, happily.

I know I'm biased, but I happen to think this little girl is the most precious, beautiful little girl EVER.

I loved watching her run through the flowers, squatting down to pick a few (Illegal in Texas! Don't tell!), and holding them up to her nose to SNIFF! SNIFF!

I never knew that one tiny little human could bring so much joy and love and FEELING into my life. I hear people say: "I don't remember my life before I had kids." That's not true for me. I remember my life well. I remember flying without a squirmy toddler on my lap, I remember running to the grocery store or to meet up with friends without worrying about nap schedules or whether I'd need to get a babysitter. I remember working an entire day without one single interruption, if I so chose. I remember movie marathons with Roger, just because we could. Life before having a child was a lot more convenient. But it was also a lot less full - I just didn't realize it at the time.

I can remember my life before I had a child, but I don't want to remember my life before Rayah. She is, magnificently, curiously, awesomely, our entire world right now.

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Family and friends regularly ask me how I'm liking cloth diapering, and this is what I have to say: I love it. I love, love, love it. What we're doing is great for our daughter, great for our budget, and great for the environment. And that's what is important to me, in that order. While we haven't always cloth diapered, we did always intend to.

As a brand new mom, I asked myself three questions anytime Rayah cried:

-is she hungry?
-is she tired?
-is she wet?

That is all my brain could muster on two hours of sleep. And really, I didn't even have to ask the third one because Pampers took care of it for me. How smart are they?! When Rayah was a newborn, the hospital gave us several packs of Pampers Swaddlers Sensitive with a WETNESS INDICATOR. Which was awesome, because anytime we wondered whether her diaper was wet or dirty, there was a little line that turned from yellow to blue. We didn't even have to take her diaper off to know its status. And anytime we saw a blue line, we were all over changing that diaper. In the first week or two of her life, Rayah went through about 20 diapers each day. (I'll admit, we might be a little OCD. Mah bebe with a wet diaper? NEVER!) Even with all the hospital gave us, we spent a lot of money on diapers those first many weeks. True story.

But we had our cloth diapers waiting in the wings. While I was still pregnant, I researched cloth diaper types, and finally settled on what I thought would be the best for our family: Bum Genius one-sizes (it turned out we were right - I love this diaper!). Basically, it's a diaper you buy once and it grows with the baby, from seven to 35 pounds. (Though see for yourself: I have photographic evidence that they threatened to swallow Rayah whole until she was about 10-12 pounds.) They have little snaps that adjust to fit (shown here on the smallest setting), and come in a variety of colors (though I do wish there were more, like red and teal and purple, or maybe fun prints).

Each week I would put one of her cloth diapers on her to see if they fit yet. By eight weeks, her thighs had finally chunked up enough for the leg casings to fit properly without worrying about any leakage. For nearly five months now, she's been wearing cloth diapers. At this point, the cloth diapers have more than paid for themselves. We're probably even making money off of them.

I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't want to wash diapers every day, or even every other day. I am a full time mom AND I work full time. I just don't have time for loads and loads of laundry. So we bought more than average and wash them every three or four days. (Uhhh, this may change as Rayah eats more solids. I am aware of that. I am also afraid of that.) Rayah and I do the laundry together, pulling the diapers apart and throwing them in the washing machine. (She LOVES watching clothes tumble around in the washer and dryer!) And now that the weather is warming up, she's helping me lay them out in the sun to dry, too. Such a good little helper!

I know it's not for everyone, but I love cloth diapering. The mom in me loves that Rayah has natural fibers against her skin. The fashionista in me loves color-coordinating her diapers with her outfits. The budgeter in me loves that I'm saving hundreds (in the long-term: thousands) of dollars by not purchasing disposables. The greenie in me is proud that I'm not dumping a ton (literally: each disposable-diapered baby contributes one ton worth of diapers) in our already maxed-out landfills. I'd say it's a win-win all around!

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Two weekends ago I spent my time re-creating barnyard confections, and this past weekend I spent my weekend crafting an erupting volcano surrounded by steaming lava and primitive species. That's right - my niece and nephew were born a week apart from each other, which makes for me a very busy month. (Note to self: when giving birth to my own children, steer clear of September.)

My nephew, Chase, is at an age where he likes to pick out everything himself (though, honestly, he's been at that age for quite some time). He has his favorite toys, he prefers certain activities, he chooses his own clothes. So it didn't surprise me when he wanted to discuss what type of cake he wanted for his birthday. His FIFTH birthday. We talked about monsters and whales and music, we filtered through snakes and pyramids and treasure chests. And in the end, we settled on a volcano.

A volcano surrounded by an ocean. A volcano surrounded by an ocean inhabited with sharks. A volcano surrounded by ocean inhabited with sharks, and dinosaurs prancing in the volcano's lava. For good measure. And the lava erupting from the mouth of the volcano? Well, that was just for fun.

Click on image to enlarge.

How I did it:

THE OCEAN
The oceanic base is made of an ultra-moist french vanilla cake. I drizzled semi-tinted confection-buttercream on top, for the appearance of a waterfall. It was the easiest part of the cake.

THE VOLCANO
The volcano was created from my go-to chocolate cake, a recipe that requires things like powdered pudding mix AND Ghiradelli chocolate chips, and this cake is divine on its own. It is moist and rich, but not too dense, and it's impossible to eat only one piece. (I know, I've tried. I fail every time.) The volcano is made of three layers: the base (an eight-inch bundt), the middle section (a 5-inch cake) and a cupcake (2.5-inches in diameter). I drizzled a milk-chocolate buttercream over the volcano, careful to cover it fully without pooling it too far into the ocean. And then, after all of that, I added crushed Oreo cookies to give the cake the dimension of dirt.

THE LAVA
I whipped up red- and orange-tinted confection buttercream icing for the lava spilling down the sides of the volcano, which I drizzled in thin ribbons with a knife. The day before, I had melted orange and cherry lifesavers over medium-low heat and spooned them onto foil in haphazard formations. (This can be done up to one week ahead and stored in an airtight container. Note: they break easily, so make a lot of them.) After randomly inserting the hard-candy lava around the crest of the volcano, I sprinkled the volcano center with shimmering, edible red glitter.

Click on image to enlarge.

We placed the sharks and dinosaurs on the cake, et voila! Finished! If we could have done anything differently, I would have waited until we arrived at our destination to insert the hard candy lava. By the time we got to the party, the lava shooting out of the cake had fallen waywardly in some places, and was a bit sunken in others. Still, the kids loved it. (So did the parents, though I refused to admit exactly how much sugar and butter their children were ingesting. I mean, isn't that what birthday parties are for?)

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One of my favorite things about being an aunt - perhaps even my right of passage - is that I can spoil my niece and nephew and then give them back to their respective parents. And that is why this weekend was so much fun. It was my niece's second birthday, which meant that in the two days leading up to her party, I was in my kitchen baking and baking and baking, and then whipping and whipping and whipping, and then mixing icing colors until they were just so. I love baking birthday cakes for my family and friends, but not quite so much as I love their reactions when they see the sweets.

Annabel's birthday party was barnyard themed - totally appropriate since my brother and sister-in-law live in the country - complete with tractors, hay bales, barbeque, the classic pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, red handkerchiefs and farm animal-iced sugar cookies. Taking it a step further, Roger and I made (not one, but two) themed cakes to feed the crowd.

The first cake, a piglet, was crafted from a homemade vanilla wedding cake with swiss buttercream icing and filling.

Click on image to enlarge.

Both cakes were built on a double-layer filled base with a six-inch domed cake for the head. The pig's snout and feet are each one cupcake, and the ears are one-half cupcake each. The tail is made from a strawberry licorice pinwheel (the rest of which I devoured). Grapefruit candies gave the ears a little more dimension (sadly, I didn't sample these). The eyes were made from blackberry candies (one of my husband's favorite candies, I wonder who picked out those?), with banana-shaped hot pink eyelashes. (Runts candies, which tasted like banana even though they were pink. Which was sort of weird to me, but I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe strawberry-banana?) The nostrils were Reese's Pieces (chocolate + peanut butter = yum) and the hooves were chocolate-covered mini Oreos (I think I officially got off my diet after all the "sampling" I did while making these cakes).

The second cake, a lamb, I made from a not-overly-chocolatey chocolate buttermilk cake and chocolate-overdose buttercream icing (which, together, were a perfectly balanced combination, though I think the marshmallows and chocolate chips really took the cake over the top).

Click on image to enlarge.

The sheep was relatively easy just because it didn't matter what the icing looked like since it would all be covered. I smoothed the chocolate-overdose buttercream icing across each layer, then Roger and I set to work applying marshmallow after marshmallow after marshmallow, OMG am I still putting marshmallows on this thing? Yes, yes I was. We took great care to place the marshmallows haphazardly - some standing on end, some horizontal, some vertical - to give it the effect of fluffy wool. The face, ears and feet were covered in chocolate chips. The face was created from blackberry candied eyes and a nonpareil nose. The hooves were chocolate-covered mini Oreos, just like the pig cake.

Both farm-themed cakes were a hit. Roger asked guests whether they would like mutton or pork, and I countered with dark meat or white meat. Get it? A little black sheep and the other white meat?

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Visiting a city like Washington, D.C., where so much of our nation’s history has been determined, we figured there would be lots to do. We knew we wouldn’t have enough time to call on even a quarter of the places on our list. We already planned on several more trips, over several more years, so we could take it all in.

But we didn’t know we would be so charmed by the city and each of its micro-burbs, like Georgetown and Adams Morgan and Dupont Circle. We hadn’t planned on adding Washington, D.C. to the ever-growing list of Places We Would Consider Moving To. We didn’t know we’d be so enamored by how clean the subway system was.

I didn’t realize how patriotic I would feel, how my chest would swell with pride knowing that I was examining the very artifacts and statuesque faces that set our country’s freedom into motion.

We spent a morning in the Holocaust Museum. My second visit was just as somber as my first.

We hopped on a Tourmobile and visited the Jefferson and Lincoln monuments, re-enacting the post-Vietnam scene from Forrest Gump (but without wading through the reflecting pool), calling out Jeeennnnaaayyyyyyy!

We stood quietly during the changing of the guard at Arlington Cemetery, and I was struck with respect for these men who have the honor of guarding the Unknown Soldier’s tomb.

We walked along the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, looking for the names of those who served alongside my father.

We strolled the perimeter of the White House, peering through bars and wondering whether the President ever got annoyed by the throngs of people. I mean, I would if thousands of people stood outside my home each day.

We drove along Embassy Row, marveling at the differences between each country’s embassy. We wondered whether each country buys the land and building, or if the United States gives the building to that country’s ambassador. We never found out.

We were stunned by the architecture of the Washington National Cathedral, gleaming white with grotesques and gargoyles standing at attention. The choir practiced as we wandered, making the cathedral even more angelic. We toured the building, and while we were in the sanctuary our guide audibly gasped and in a hushed voice, said Oh my goodness. Everyone look up at the rose window right now.

We obeyed, slowly turning around, uncertain what would greet us. A bright light, brighter than the sun filtering through the stained glass, glinted down. As we moved around the room, the light turned from the brightest white to a royal blue to a deep purple.

The man who made this window loved his wife dearly. She died while he was constructing the design, at exactly 5:25. Distraught, and wanting to memorialize her, he placed this special glass in the window. The glass was situated in the lower right corner, just where the 5:25 index is on a clock. This is only the second time in eight years I have seen it glowing. The sun has to hit it just right, and you have be standing in just the right place at just the right time, to catch a glimpse of it. That moment was one of the most memorable of our trip.

Without question, though, what I reminisce upon most tenaciously were the bikers. The Rolling Thunder motorcycle group came from all over the nation – a local told us they saw license plates from as far away as Alaska – to take part in an annual ride in memory of fallen comrades. What started as a salute to Vietnam soldiers now encompasses other wars, like those in Desert Storm and Iraq.

About 100,000 Harleys infiltrated the streets of Washington, D.C., and on Sunday morning they rode. They rode with American flags trailing behind their motorcycles, they rode with POW and MIA flags fluttering in the wind. They rode with pride, with the memory of their brothers. They circumnavigated the Mall, thousands and thousands and thousands of them, the noise from their pipes bone-rattling loud, and I couldn’t NOT cheer.

image © Matthew Whatley, used with permission

I cheered in memory of my own father, remembering the stories he told me about the unwelcome retaliation he received for being a soldier. How he, as a Navy SEAL, returned home to endure people spitting on him as he walked through the airport in his fatigues. I cheered because these are people who served our country so long ago, who fought so that I, and so that others I do not even know, could have freedom. They fought so that others might not live under oppression. They fought, and they deserve our respect.

I did not know that I would stand in the road, so close that my hair would whip around my face, and shed tears with each passing veteran.

But I did, unashamed.

(The entire set is available on Flickr.)

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We have a tiny aisle from our front door, through our living room and into our bedroom. We also have access to the kitchen, though there's little food to speak of.

The move (well, the packing) is in progress, and I never knew our tiny apartment would hold more than 100 boxes worth of stuff (which is all well-documented on my Very Important Master List).

AND WE'RE NOT EVEN FINISHED PACKING YET. (Perspective: the official move begins at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow.)

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Since closing on our first home this week, my emotions have run a broad spectrum:

PEACEFUL (When signing the paperwork.)

ENTERTAINED (While keeping a tally of how many times we signed our names - 34 each)

RELIEVED (When realizing the search was FINALLY OVER!)

EXCITED (When shopping for supplies at Home Depot.)

ANXIOUS (When our bill was totaled at Home Depot.)

INTRIGUED (When Roger installed our new lock. How do guys inherently know how to do these things?)

DEFEATED (When a ladder collapsed while I was standing on it.)

FRUSTRATED (While trying to figure out how to redesign the kitchen/pantry/laundry room/family room section of the house so it flows better, and then realizing that it's wasn't that my solutions wouldn't work, it was just that I had no solutions to begin with.)

DELIGHTED (Upon finding a 100% wind power electricity plan that boasted a fairly low fixed rate and allows us to earn American Airlines miles.)

GIDDY (When I laid eyes on my key to our new home: It's black, with hot pink hearts and rhinestones. Every time I think about my new key, little butterflies swoon in my chest - I never knew that buying a piece of metal would make me feel like I was falling in love all over again.)

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For at least a year now, Holly has been lauding her favorite lip gloss: CoverGirl LipSlicks in "Daring." She has written blogs about it and, when one sees a picture of her, is frequently asked about what type of gloss she's wearing. And every single time, it's the same lip gloss. It's the perfect shade, she says. And it seems everyone agrees with her.

Which is why I ducked into CVS to buy the gloss this morning on my way to work.

Now, let me say this: when I first saw it on the shelf, I thought it looked too dark. This can't be right, I thought, and then quickly reminded myself of how highly it has been recommended. So I grabbed one. Okay, fine, I grabbed two, but it's only because they are currently on sale BUY ONE GET ONE HALF-OFF. It was on faith, you see, that I bought two even though I was kind of worried that it was too dark for me and that it wouldn't be moisturizing enough.

I tore open the package as soon as I climbed back in my car, tilted the mirror toward myself, and swiped the stick over my lips.

I swear to you, my lips have never looked (or felt) so good. Things I love about CoverGirl LipSlick in "Daring":

1. Perfectly sheer
2. And yet, perfectly tinted
3. Moisturizing, like lip balm!
4. But not in a gloppy or waxy way
5. Only $4
6. But currently on sale, which means I paid only $3

To top it off, someone in the elevator asked me -- not five minutes later! -- what kind of lip gloss I was wearing. (And I think one man might have even winked at me.)

This lip gloss, it has magical powers. Had I only realized that the first time she mentioned it, I might have been Daring enough to buy the LipSlick sooner.

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Roger and I usually don’t make a big fuss about Valentine’s Day. We keep it low-key with dinner at home, something a little nicer than we generally eat, and we just spend time together. I love it so much more than going out to eat or to some sort of performance, or whatever it is that other people do on Valentine’s Day, because in general I think the holiday is just too commercialized. There’s too much pressure on guys to do something special for that one day, which I think is lame. Guys should do something special because they want to, not because they feel obligated by society. And since Roger does special things for me so frequently throughout the year, Valentine’s Day is really just like any other day. Except with more dishes for me to wash.

During lunch on February 14th, I got a wild hair and decided to make chocolate-covered strawberries. Blame that ad I saw in AmericanWay magazine, if you’d like. Here’s how I did it:

I dropped off some of the chocolate-covered berries at Roger’s office for a sweet after-lunch surprise, and took the remaining strawberries to share with my co-workers.

They’re best to eat the day they’re made. This isn’t usually a problem, since the strawberries don’t last long.

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(Click for larger image)

Roger gave me this card at midnight the morning of Valentine's Day, because he couldn't stand the thought of having something for me and not sharing it. We're kind of like that, generally unable to hold back surprises, because we're just so excited to give them to each other.

I love 3D cards, and I love glitter, and with all the elements of this particular card, it's absolutely perfect.

I'm not so much of a bath-taker, except when I'm relaxing. I can spend hours in the tub, bubbles and all, reading a book or flipping through magazines.

I've even been known to fall asleep soaking in the bath. It's because I'm hardcore like that.

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Last night Roger and I hosted our Fourth Annual New Year’s Eve Dinner Party. We started at 8:30 p.m., but should have begun so, so, so much earlier. Enough time with good friends is never enough.

We ate. (Menu for the evening: Chicken Saltimbocca, Warm Spinach Salad with Pine Nuts & Prosciutto, and Green Beans with Lemon-Ginger Butter. Dessert: Caramel Toffee Crunch Cheesecake and Chocolate-covered Oreo Truffles. My thighs are only slightly larger than yesterday, but that’s what we have New Year’s Resolutions for, right?)

We drank. (Roger made me a killer Cosmo. I tried to re-create it again for myself, from the same recipe, and it was a disaster. A vodka disaster. So I kept adding cranberry juice, to no avail. And that’s when I started pouring cherry juice into it. It wasn’t bad after the cherry juice -- of course, almost nothing can be bad after adding cherry juice -- but then again I don’t think it was a Cosmo after that, either.)

We were merry. (For Christmas, Roger gave me a digital camcorder. If only I could figure out how to upload and edit videos, you could be merry with us. The laughter, the cigars, the food, the games (a new fave: Loaded Questions). I hope your New Year’s Eve celebration was every bit as lively and fun as ours.)

And to you, a toast to you, Internet (with the cherry-infused Cosmo that I made myself, rimmed in yellow and red sugars):

May this new year bring you closer to those you love; may this new year give you all of the good things and only enough of the rest to remind you how good things really are.

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Both Julianna and CPAMom tagged me to complete a meme called "6 Weird Things About You."

If they really knew me, though, they'd know that there are WAY more than just six things, and that I couldn't narrow it down to that small of a number.

Then again, maybe they do know me, because if I had to choose 60 weird things, I'd give up before I began because all the work involved to list all of those.

They'd also know that the title "6 Weird Things About You," rather than "Six Weird Things About You," would drive me crazy.

Or, come to think of it, maybe that's why they tagged me. Just to drive me crazy.

Still, I'm feeling a bit rebellious today, which is why I'm staunchly refusing to take part in this meme as currently enforced: "Each player of this game starts with the "6 Weird Things about You." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their comments and tell them to read your blog."

Naturally, I'm making up my own rules. Since I can't narrow my own weirdness to only six facets of my personality, and because I didn't think it'd be fair to out Roger without roasting myself also, I’m treating you to SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT OUR HOME.

Continue reading "Weird Things: A Photoblog" »

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Evidence that leaves in Dallas change directly from green to brown.

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I think Roger has begun eating grapenuts cereal just to spite me. He went to the store, found the healthiest cereal possible, and eats a bowl whenever I eat ice cream.

I thought a good solution to the problem would be just to sprinkle a few grapenuts on my slow-churned chocolate ice cream with fudge sauce.

The grapenuts were so crunchy they nearly chipped a tooth, but weren't alltogether horrible when paired with my dessert.

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Never one to pass up the opportunity to join another group, even when I don't have time or access (at work) to Social Networking tools like Flickr, I give you NoBloShoeMo. 30 entire days of blogging my shoes.

Click HERE to see the NoBloShoeMo photo pool on Flickr.
Click HERE to email me if you'd like to be a member of the pool. (Or, just leave a comment asking for an invite.)

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Qiao Yubo, who is pregnant with at least five babies, walks with her husband, right, in Songyuan, in China's northeast Jilin province, Sunday, June 11, 2006.

Qiao, who is 1.67 meters (nearly 5'5") tall, has a waistline measurement of 1.75 meters (nearly 5' 7.5"), five months into her pregnancy.

Qiao's excessive bulk is causing difficulties in getting around (you're not kidding), with taxi drivers too afraid to take her in their cars. Her clothing is all custom-made and she eats up to seven meals a day. (AP Photo/EyePress)

UPDATE: It was later announced that this story was a hoax. Qiao's made up the story after suffereing two miscarriages and each day stuffed quilts and blankets inside her clothing.

(Italics my own)

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Each time I stretch my arms, or scratch my back, or move my bra strap back into place, my sunburn rears its ugly head. I am constantly under the assumption that the fact that I don't have fair skin means I am invincible to the sun. Every summer I am proven wrong by the pounding rays and ridiculous triple-degree heat in Texas. I am surprised I don't have cantaloupe-sized tumors growing off of my cheek bones or clavicles.

This weekend Roger and I went fishing at the lake, and for several hours the biggest thing we caught was my Dad, who had leapt into the water after his rod and reel fell off the side of the boat. Dad was giddy when he retrieved his prize, and had I paid the price of Manolo Blahniks for my fishing pole, I would have been giddy, too.

The thing about fishing is that it's a very fickle sport. You can't generally control whether a fish will bite your lure, and if it does, you don't always catch it. For me, at least, it generally gets away, and as the day wears the size of the fish on my pole generally grows larger and larger. I suspect that's true about most fisherman. Which is why, when I actually caught a fish (I caught a fish!), it was necessary for me to document the event.

That fish? Totally bigger than it looks on camera. In fact, by the time I got back to Dallas it was 30 inches long. Or so I told my family.

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Chase: "Why are they chirping?"

Jes: "Because they're hungry."

Chase: "Can I go into the bushes again and look at them?"

Jes: "No, because their mommy will be feeding them soon, and if we're there, she might be afraid of us."

Chase: "Oh."

Jes: "Chase, when the Mommy Bird feeds the baby birds, she regurgitates the food and spits it into their mouths."
(Pause, realize that Chase doesn't know what the word "regurgitation" means.)
"That means that the Mommy Bird eats, and then chews the food and swallows it, and then she throws it up again and the baby birds eat the Mommy Bird's vomit."

Deb (my sister and Chase's mom): "Jessica. My child did not need to hear that."

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I am participating in a self-portrait challenge in an effort to document more of who I am. I've realized that I hide behind a mask of what I think others want to see. In an effort to dissolve that tendency, some things may be a little different around here.

If you are a new reader, I've introduced myself before, here and here.

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I love your eyes. I love how expressive they are. I love the perfect shade of blue with flecks of green and hazel. I love your tender, perfect skin that has not yet been marred with age. I love your eyelashes! Do you know that when you are older, girls will swoon over you, and wish that they had your lashes? I know this because I wish that they were mine.

Continue reading "Expressive Eyes" »

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Is it so wrong that I arrived at work at 6:30am this morning, already wishing it was Friday night again?

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That string makes me want to vomit.

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10. Street sweepers! They were golf-cart sized vehicles, with a ten-foot long, 12-inch diameter vacuum hose dangling off to the side. One drove past us on the street, and when we saw it, we stopped and stared, having never seen a riding vacuum cleaner before. We watched as the driver maneuvered the hose to pick up random pieces of trash on the street and the sidewalk, so dumbfounded by its presence that we forgot to take a picture. Believe me though, it was awesome.

(Stock photography)

9. The women have fun colored coats. I actually made it a game with Roger to point out every interesting color and pattern that we saw: fuschia, turquoise, lime green, lime green and cream hounds tooth, pale yellow, cyan, hot pink...and they didn't look like coats that some people buy in off-colors just because they were cheaper. They were actually stylish AND cute! If I ever move to a colder climate, I'm going to need a separate budget category for such coats. As it is right now, I think I own two: one black and one brown. There's not much of a market for wool in Texas.

8. The city was rich in culture, the arts and history. (Particularly compared to Dallas, which is the equivalent of a flat slab of concrete.) The colonial architecture was absolutely beautiful!

(This isn't like the buildings in Dallas that they build new to look old. It really was built a century ago. Or more. Come to think of it, I really don't know when it was built. I just thought it was pretty.)

7. Fresh fruit sold on the street! And flowers! I felt SO European. Except I've never been to Europe, so perhaps I felt SO other country-ish.

6. Public transportation: cheap, safe, and entertaining. Not only did I have a legitimate excuse to take part in one of my favorite pastimes, staring at people, but I read great advertising while waiting for the red line:

5. The homeless people were so friendly. And clean. And I wasn't scared of them, like I am in Dallas, mostly because they didn't lurch toward me and gnarl their teeth.

4. Fire escapes! I have never seen a fire escape in person before, and I was so thrilled to see my first one that I took a picture of it:

(Me, upon seeing the first one: "Look, Roger, look! A fire escape! Like in the movies!" Subsequently, I also pointed out every other fire escape I saw, just because it was a fire escape. We don't have these in Dallas. We just let people burn.)

3. I felt my intelligence increase by at least 10 degrees just because I was in the city. When Roger and I walked around Harvard, I felt maybe 20 degrees more intelligent. Roger and I both bought books from the Harvard Book Store. I chose a science-esque book, and finished reading it within three days of coming home. You can expect me to start sharing random excerpts soon.

2. All the women have thin legs. I believe this is directly related to reason number one.

1. I was able to walk nearly everywhere I went! (This is good, since I don't like to drive.)

(Roger on the Freedom Trail: Notice the stylish headphone guides we wore, which screamed, "I AM A TOURIST! MUG ME!" Fortunately, we weren't mugged.)

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