Last Friday, to celebrate the end of the semester and a god-awful academic year, Gregg and I ate pizza at my favorite restaurant and then watched Bridesmaids in the theater.
Ahead of us, a row of female friends in their mid-late 40s munched popcorn and shared laughs before the movie began. Their talk had that familiar flow of light gossip and quotidian detail. I smiled, and felt sad. I missed my female friends.
The movie began, and I was sucked into the story until it ended--minus one disgusting scene of physical comedy and bodily eruptions. The film hits so many notes spot-on--the lethargy of hitting almost rock bottom (and then hitting said bottom), the act of putting on a happy, supportive face when someone you love is getting all that you don't have, the competition between women for friends and closeness and status, and the sadness of moving on different tracks than your once closest friends.
When we left the theater, I thought of a column my friend N had written, in which she described the particular forms of female-female bullying. Those nearly imperceptible slights, those carefully aimed barbs, those manipulations of emotions. N offered up as an alternative the practice of the female vampire bats, who adopt and feed young females outside of their natal groups when they're on their own. This supportive systems helps all the female vampire bats thrive.
I thought of this juxtaposition in the film--the movement between competition and collaboration.
And I thought that so much of this has to do with removing the "frames" from our lives and being honest. So often we share the framed photo version of our lives with others, when under the surface there's a mess of anxiety, uncertainty, messiness, hope, love, disappointment, disconnect. Though our lives may be on different tracks, I'm fairly certain we have similar core concerns about our very existence.
I cried during the movie because I could relate to the characters, and mostly to the sense of loss and feeling of sorrow that comes from growing apart from your closest female friends. Though I am friends with amazing women, of many ages and stages of life, many of them are scattered around the country and keeping in touch seems to ebb and flow. Our lives change and we seem strange to one another. Emails can't convey the depth of a late night chat over a bowl of Doritos and bottle of wine. Phone calls are difficult to arrange around busy work and family schedules. Even face to face visits are challenging, as we spend so much time within that framed photo.
And so much is lost, then.
I long to talk about loneliness and disappointment, about joy and dreams, about aging bodies and anxious minds. About relationships and kids and parents and friends and work and weight and spirit and food and ...
...about finding ourselves again through friendship. I want to nourish and nurture one another like the female vampire bats. And to reject those framed photos and revel in the surprise snapshots that capture a moment--mussed hair, spinach-flecked teeth, smudged mascara, exposed tummy, tired exhilaration: real.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
daily bliss: delayed gratification or scientific research
A year or two ago, all my baking blogging buddies were in a chocolate chip cookie frenzy. The New York Times recipe was the hip version to make.
Not always a trendsetter, but often a trendfollower, I finally made the recipe.
Now, the secret to this recipe is curing the dough for 24-36 hours in the refrigerator. (the high quality chocolate and sea salt sprinkle help, too).
This is a fantastic lesson in patience. A great practice of delayed gratification.
OR, a delicious scientific research project.
Let's say you want to make the cookies after they chill for 6-8 hours. Maybe bake two cookies, one for you and your co-taster. Verdict: yummy.
Then, you wait the requisite 24 hours. You bake four cookies, each eating one. Verdict: delicious.
And, on a cool, wet Wednesday morning, you bake five more. Verdict: yummy, delicious, and satisfying.
These cookies baked flat and tender crisp, the rich chocolate melting and hardening into pockets of messy goodness. They're a lovely counterpoint to my favorite "Mrs. Field's" cookies that bake up taller, thicker, and more solid. The sea salt is a perfect garnish. I even used part whole wheat flour, which was undetectable (and makes these cookies a health food, yes?).
Monday, May 23, 2011
daily bliss: spring awakening
Yesterday afternoon I curled on the couch with a stack of cookbooks, flipping through asparagus recipes and cold salads and then the rest of The New York Times Cookbook, suddenly hungry for everything.
"What are you looking for?" Gregg wondered, as he watched Finding Forrester.
"Oh, salads, asparagus, you know."
But really, I was looking for my hunger, my craving, my passion, my self.
And I could feel it in those pages, but more so in the simple act of browsing through recipes without a clear purpose other than interest, inspiration, and possibility.
***
This morning I walked along the lake, buffeted by brisk winds--the kind that whip up waves as they blow warm air across Lake Michigan's chilly expanse. I pushed up my sweatshirt sleeves and removed my fleece headband. Even as daffodils dot swaths of grass, I still dread the possibility of heavy, wet snowflakes.
The winter was long, precipitous, and mostly, hard.
Between increased responsibility and stress at work, political turmoil involving said work, minor medical issues, ailing family members, and my usual seasonal affective disorder, this winter replaced my passion and bliss with incessant anxiety and low level depression. I was functional, going to work, connecting to a small circle of family and friends, cooking and eating meals. I was not, however, thriving. My creativity and passion plummeted. My activity decreased; my weight increased. Bereft in April, I wondered where I was, who I was.
***
And so today, I slept late. I ate light. I walked long. I engaged my senses: damp marine scent, chipper bird song, the light touch of my hair blowing on my face, the sweetness of last summer's strawberries in a smoothie, the cycles of sun and clouds against grey and blue sky. Mostly, I sensed the feeling of recovery.
As I walked the familiar trail, I found these words to share this story, a common one, I'm sure, but one that needs telling just the same. How bliss can disappear when we forget the greater sacredness above the daily tumult. How fear can overwhelm when we forget that life's beauty is in its transience. How love and quiet and solitude and compassion and companionship and music and ritual and incense and movement and kindness can lead us back to our bliss, back to ourselves, and then, back, more fully, to the world.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
daily bliss: happy spring, happy easter
Happy sunny morning
Happy spring awakening
Happy renewal
Happy. Happy. Happy.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
daily bliss: bubble therapy
Sometimes, it's as simple as this:
a deep tub, rumbling and roiling, smelling of lavender, puckering my hands and feet.
a tall flute, filling and fizzing, light pink and ever so slightly sweet.
a wedge of deepest, darkest chocolate stout cake.
a thick novel.
empty pages.
fast pens.
quiet.
ahh.
a deep tub, rumbling and roiling, smelling of lavender, puckering my hands and feet.
a tall flute, filling and fizzing, light pink and ever so slightly sweet.
a wedge of deepest, darkest chocolate stout cake.
a thick novel.
empty pages.
fast pens.
quiet.
ahh.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
twd: pecan powder puffs
When I lived in Alabama, Aunt S would send me a care package right before Christmas. In that package: a ziploc bag filled with Mexican wedding cookies. I would sit in my apartment, looking out at a blue, warm-ish December day, and dream of snow, and home, and family with each taste.
Dorie's version skips the chocolate kiss in the center, is light on sugar, and heavy on pecans. I made my cookies diminuitive, and keep popping them in my mouth on each pass through the kitchen.
These cookies bring a smile to my face, and make me think of fun times with Aunt S, who has a great sense of humor (she has to--she has three now grown sons!).
And, they make me think of Grandma C, who sent me a bag of pecans from boomland, an all-purpose fireworks and gas and pecan store in Missouri. She picks up a few bags each time she and Grandpa drive from Michigan to Arkansas to visit our kin, and we munch away for weeks afterwards.
I can't wait for summertime to eat pecans and sip wine and sit by the pool and catch up with my Michigan kin.
For now, though, I have a small pile of buttery, nutty, sugary goodness.
[note: i've been absent from TWD, mired in a difficult winter and too many responsibilities at work all while being vilified by many as a "lazy state employee." my return is less than triumphant, because, um, i'm a week behind in my recipe. please forgive me! and please enjoy these cookies just the same. they were selected by Tianne, of the awesomely named Buttercream Barbie blog.]
Monday, March 07, 2011
daily bliss: baking away the blues
So sporadic.
My words have failed me these last tumultuous weeks. As have my other coping strategies: yoga, walking, journaling, listening to classical music, chatting with friends, baking treats, cooking elaborate meals, reading for fun.
These strategies failed mostly because I stopped using them, instead obsessively reading the news, venting with friends, and curling up into a tight ball of sleep every night.
Last Tuesday night was a particular low point, when I questioned my educational path and my unfailing belief in education as empowering. Why had I worked so hard in school? Why had I lived seven years away from my home region? Why had I loved the reading and writing and research so much that I spent 12 years earning three degrees and spending much money (mine, my parents', and governmental loans) as well as delayed my entry into the workforce for this?
This: constant stream of devaluation by those currently in power in this, my adopted state on the west side of Lake Michigan.
I could launch into a political rant about the misconceptions about educator lives and work and pay.
I'm tempted.
I trust that readers who care will ask, or will do real research and find out facts.
Rather, I'd like to share with you 16 dozen cookies and a loaf of banana bread.
***
Two weekends ago, I declared a baking blitz "cookiepalooza" and urged others to join. We would shower the campus with homemade cookies to lighten spirits and bring a touch of sweetness to the overall gloom. Students and colleagues alike baked along, and cookies graced desks and tummies across campus.
I felt warm, happy, and delighted at the power of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs to work such transformation.
Then Tuesday hit, with the aforementioned despair.
On Wednesday morning, while working on some important emails and phone calls in my office, sunlight streaming in, and soft music playing, my vision started going wonky. Letters were missing chunks, and a strange shape, made of light, filled my left eye.
I turned to two dear friends and colleagues, who comforted me, reassured me that I was probably having a visual aura typical of migraines and not the stroke that I feared, and drove me to the emergency room, where my friend R held my hand and waited the hour and a half it took for me to be seen, diagnosed with a migraine, injected with imitrex, and sent on my way to rest and sleep without any visual or auditory stimuli.
As I rested on the couch that afternoon, I felt the stress and tension of the past weeks slowly melting away. I accepted my enforced rest. And I realized that I needed to change my approach to these tough times if I'm going to survive them with my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health intact.
My coping strategies are no longer optional additions to my days. They are essential. They are about valuing and honoring myself. They are about thriving in the face of adversity. They are about staying compassionate and generous when the world suggests competition and scarcity.
They are about love.
And so, today, I practiced yoga. I walked in the brisk half-sunshine. I put in eight hours of work. I came home, turned on the oven, and started to bake:
A loaf of my favorite banana bread, studded with toasted walnuts and redolent of vanilla.
I selected the slim, deep bread pan my blogging friend (and migraine sympathizer) N sent me a month ago.
I mashed the roasted bananas, and stirred the dough, thinking of gratitude, and looking forward to tomorrow morning when I will bring half of this hefty loaf to R, as a thank you for being a friend who was there when I needed help and reassurance.
***
The world is full of love and beauty, always.
The human spirit contains multitudes.
Kindness and generosity are transformative.
And, yes, I believe these statements, from the very core of my being. It is only when I forget that I descend into the darkness that others try to fling over the world.
Not my world.
It sparkles; it shines.
It radiates love hope possibility.
And sweet treats from my kitchen, to your heart.
Namaste, my friends.
My words have failed me these last tumultuous weeks. As have my other coping strategies: yoga, walking, journaling, listening to classical music, chatting with friends, baking treats, cooking elaborate meals, reading for fun.
These strategies failed mostly because I stopped using them, instead obsessively reading the news, venting with friends, and curling up into a tight ball of sleep every night.
Last Tuesday night was a particular low point, when I questioned my educational path and my unfailing belief in education as empowering. Why had I worked so hard in school? Why had I lived seven years away from my home region? Why had I loved the reading and writing and research so much that I spent 12 years earning three degrees and spending much money (mine, my parents', and governmental loans) as well as delayed my entry into the workforce for this?
This: constant stream of devaluation by those currently in power in this, my adopted state on the west side of Lake Michigan.
I could launch into a political rant about the misconceptions about educator lives and work and pay.
I'm tempted.
I trust that readers who care will ask, or will do real research and find out facts.
Rather, I'd like to share with you 16 dozen cookies and a loaf of banana bread.
***
Two weekends ago, I declared a baking blitz "cookiepalooza" and urged others to join. We would shower the campus with homemade cookies to lighten spirits and bring a touch of sweetness to the overall gloom. Students and colleagues alike baked along, and cookies graced desks and tummies across campus.
I felt warm, happy, and delighted at the power of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs to work such transformation.
Then Tuesday hit, with the aforementioned despair.
On Wednesday morning, while working on some important emails and phone calls in my office, sunlight streaming in, and soft music playing, my vision started going wonky. Letters were missing chunks, and a strange shape, made of light, filled my left eye.
I turned to two dear friends and colleagues, who comforted me, reassured me that I was probably having a visual aura typical of migraines and not the stroke that I feared, and drove me to the emergency room, where my friend R held my hand and waited the hour and a half it took for me to be seen, diagnosed with a migraine, injected with imitrex, and sent on my way to rest and sleep without any visual or auditory stimuli.
As I rested on the couch that afternoon, I felt the stress and tension of the past weeks slowly melting away. I accepted my enforced rest. And I realized that I needed to change my approach to these tough times if I'm going to survive them with my physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health intact.
My coping strategies are no longer optional additions to my days. They are essential. They are about valuing and honoring myself. They are about thriving in the face of adversity. They are about staying compassionate and generous when the world suggests competition and scarcity.
They are about love.
And so, today, I practiced yoga. I walked in the brisk half-sunshine. I put in eight hours of work. I came home, turned on the oven, and started to bake:
A loaf of my favorite banana bread, studded with toasted walnuts and redolent of vanilla.
I selected the slim, deep bread pan my blogging friend (and migraine sympathizer) N sent me a month ago.
I mashed the roasted bananas, and stirred the dough, thinking of gratitude, and looking forward to tomorrow morning when I will bring half of this hefty loaf to R, as a thank you for being a friend who was there when I needed help and reassurance.
***
The world is full of love and beauty, always.
The human spirit contains multitudes.
Kindness and generosity are transformative.
And, yes, I believe these statements, from the very core of my being. It is only when I forget that I descend into the darkness that others try to fling over the world.
Not my world.
It sparkles; it shines.
It radiates love hope possibility.
And sweet treats from my kitchen, to your heart.
Namaste, my friends.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
daily bliss: courage
madison, wisconsin
19 february 2011
As the wind whirls whiteness outside—another winter storm—and as my throat scratches inside—another winter cold—I muse on different forms of courage.
The courage of a student, out of school for more than a decade, GED in hand, ready to earn a college degree.
The courage of young moms in my classes, many of them single, supporting their kids and themselves, excelling at every assignment, and dedicated to providing their families with high quality food and education on a limited budget.
The courage of everyday women and men, who dedicate their lives to serving the public in high profile—public safety, education—and invisible—snow plow drivers, custodians—positions.
The courage of these same people who risk their livelihood in and out of their professions, standing up for others and for themselves.
The courage of 14 elected officials who recognize that doing your job means that sometimes you're not where you're "supposed to be."
The courage of people to travel from around the state, the region, the country, the continent, to peacefully protest and stand up for the very essence of human rights.
***
When I was a young, unsure teenager in high school, so desperately seeking to fit in, I wished my dad would wear any other coat than his shiny blue one with the union insignia emblazoned on back. My friends' fathers were managers and principals and engineers. My dad was a blue collar worker and a union rep.
Ironically, the farther I traveled through the educational system, the closer I came to truly embracing my parents' values of supporting and celebrating the working people: education as liberation from wrongful aspiration.
Today, my dad advocates for working people every day.
Today, I work diligently to provide my students—many of them first generation college students from working class backgrounds, like me—the education they need to gain entry in the middle class.
Today, I realize that my education and training as an educator, has given me the courage to tell the truth and take a stand for causes I believe in: worker's rights. Women's rights. Human rights. Equality. Social justice.
Beyond that, though, I remember the basic lessons from my parents about the value of all laborers, those with and without degrees. Education does not only come from sitting in classrooms and reading books (as I once believed). It comes from questioning. From observing. From considering possibilities. From being in the thick of things.
And, as I tell my students, deciding what you believe.
Yesterday I stood, marched, and chanted with 68,000 other Americans engaging their first amendment rights.
Today, I stand with my dad as he wears that union jacket (metaphorically, as he's a state away). I would wear the jacket myself.
Tomorrow, I stand with and for my students. All of my students, regardless of what they believe.
madison, wisconsin
19 february 2011
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
not my season/waiting for my season
By the end of class, I could feel my breath and attention flowing more smoothly through my whole being, but residual tension remained. As I walked around the indoor track, glimpsing towering snow piles and frigid sunshine, I longed for a warmer season.
I feel like a flower bud, tightly folded against the elements, waiting for warmth, sunshine, and gentle rain to coax my petals open. One of my favorite quotes, shared with me years ago by a dear friend came to mind: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom," Anaïs Nin.
And yet, not.
Now is not, it seems, the time to blossom.
Now is the time to sink in, to grapple with those cold spaces and darknesses, those encounters that leave me feeling like an awkward, shy, unliked seventh grade girl again. To take the measure of my incessant worries and fears. To approach these moments and anxieties and vulnerabilities and calculate their true size. To come to that clean, pure, shining place within where I can believe, wholeheartedly, in the magnificence of life. Of my life.
Of me.
And then, come Spring, to unfurl.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
twd: nutty-chocolatey-swirly-sour cream bundt cake
These winter days—either brilliantly sunny and frigidly cold, or shades of white and grey and slightly warmer—dull the soul.
This nutty-chocolatey-swirly-sour cream bundt cake revives it.
As I sat at work today, the first day of Spring Semester classes, I watched heavy, melting snow slide off the roof and add to the growing pile outside my window obstructing my view. It's all sky, bare tree branches, and parking lot light posts from where I sit.
Imagine the comfort this fragrant, rich, hearty cake provided at 1:00, with a cup of vanilla green tea, and the Neko Case pandora station playing.
Bliss.
***
This cake baked easily for me. I used my rose shaped bundt pan, and remembered to adjust the oven heat down 25 degrees since the pan is so dark. Between the non-stick surface and my careful buttering and flouring, the surface was slick and the cake unmolded beautifully. Gregg and I have been chipping away at the cake since I baked on Saturday, and we shared a few wedges with his parents on Sunday, after watching the Green Bay Packers defeat the Chicago Bears and clinch their Superbowl spot. (I'm really a Detroit Lions fan, but will need a few more years to see them in the playoffs, so I'm forced to cheer for GB and that cute Aaron Rodgers:)) It was perfect with a cup of coffee at the end of an exciting game.
***
Jennifer, of the blog Cooking for Comfort, selected this recipe. Visit her blog for the recipe, and check out the Tuesdays with Dorie website to see who else baked this week.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
100 words: you can do anything!
I'm participating in a weekly writing challenge: 100 words. Each week, Velvet Verbosity posts a prompt, and participants write 100 words, in any form, that evoke the word. This week's word: credentials.
You Can Do Anything!
“Welcome to freshmen writing,” she said, standing behind the oak lectern. “I’m going to take attendance, and then we’re going over the syllabus,” she glanced down at her notes. Make a joke. “I won’t make you write just yet.” Her eyes peered over the tops of her faux tortoiseshell glasses. A few smiles, no laughs. Try harder. “So, please tell me what you want to be called. You can even make up a name! I did!” And credentials, too. Laughter, finally. A Master’s in positive psychology easily became one in English. “Now, take out your pencils and write,” she smiled.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
twd: lemon (poppyseed) muffins
A crystalline winter night, with piles of freshly fallen and plowed snow lining the roads. Stars illuminate a blueblack sky, and the temperature plummets. Gregg and I drive home with the taste of citrus in our mouths: lemon pie with towering meringue, margarita tea cookies, and glasses of viognier. I clasp a small pie pumpkin, crudely halved (to check the integrity of its innards), on my lap. My coat pockets bulge with small heads and miscellaneous cloves of Roja garlic. Two dozen farm fresh eggs nestle on the floorboard.
We just enjoyed an impromptu visit with friends T and J. A quick succession of stories, video clips, book and movie synopsis filled a few hours on this stark winter's night.
And now, I suppose, I must talk about these muffins. Readers, I didn't bake them long enough. They're pale and rather doughy. They're missing poppyseeds (mine smelled rancid) and slicked with just a hint of glaze. But! I used a fragrant, floral meyer lemon in place of traditional lemon, which alters the flavor somewhat. Gregg quite likes them. I think they're okay, but my execution could've been much better.
Still, there's something about citrus these days—a form of sunshine and warmth—that fortifies the soul. A ruby red grapefruit, which cuts through the muddledness with alacrity. The sweetness of a navel orange, or, better yet, a cara cara, tasting like summer fun.
These moments bring me out-of-season and bring me joy.
Just like eating pie and drinking wine with friends, on a cold January night.
***
Betsy, of the blog A Cup of Sweetness, selected this recipe for the Tuesdays with Dorie (TWD) baking group. Check out her blog, and the TWD website for more muffins.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
twd: rewind: pecan sticky buns
Last week I had an ambitious thought: make a pan of homemade sweet rolls, likely the cinnamon variety, for Christmas morning breakfast. For many years, my dad created a mock cinnamon roll, using a recipe he learned in boy scouts, which involved dropping bits of butter and a shower of brown sugar into a cake pan, and topping it with a package of canned biscuits--the kind that pop! out of the package when you start unrolling it--and baking them to golden perfection. Since we've stopped making these, there's limited sweetness on our holiday table, and I was determined to rectify such a sad situation.
We always have a banket wreath from the local Dutch bakery; banket is a flaky pastry filled with sweet almond paste. This year Gregg and I made homemade banket to taste test alongside the bakery version; while we liked out pastry better (Gregg was in charge of that step), the bakery filling topped ours in taste and texture.
As I graded student exams on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it became clear that time was limited and my cinnamon roll dreams would not come to pass.
My apologies to the non-banket eaters (Mom and L), who feasted on cheese, bread, fruit, coffee, and mimosas alone.
As I settled back into home after a whirlwind trip to Michigan for the holiday weekend, I remembered that this week's TWD selection was a rewind. I paged through Baking: From My Home to Yours and soon was smitten with a photo of lush cinnamon, glossy pecans, and viscous caramel.
A week too late.
I made them anyway.
And, starting homemade brioche on Tuesday morning for a Tuesday blog post?
A day too late.
I beg forgiveness from all involved.
And I raise a petite, perfect roll in your honor.
Sweet and spicy and crunchy and soft and utterly delicious.
I have half a recipe of brioche dough tucked into the freezer, and promise to share next time.
Happy belated holidays, and happy belated TWD blogging.
We always have a banket wreath from the local Dutch bakery; banket is a flaky pastry filled with sweet almond paste. This year Gregg and I made homemade banket to taste test alongside the bakery version; while we liked out pastry better (Gregg was in charge of that step), the bakery filling topped ours in taste and texture.
As I graded student exams on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it became clear that time was limited and my cinnamon roll dreams would not come to pass.
My apologies to the non-banket eaters (Mom and L), who feasted on cheese, bread, fruit, coffee, and mimosas alone.
As I settled back into home after a whirlwind trip to Michigan for the holiday weekend, I remembered that this week's TWD selection was a rewind. I paged through Baking: From My Home to Yours and soon was smitten with a photo of lush cinnamon, glossy pecans, and viscous caramel.
A week too late.
I made them anyway.
And, starting homemade brioche on Tuesday morning for a Tuesday blog post?
A day too late.
I beg forgiveness from all involved.
And I raise a petite, perfect roll in your honor.
Sweet and spicy and crunchy and soft and utterly delicious.
I have half a recipe of brioche dough tucked into the freezer, and promise to share next time.
Happy belated holidays, and happy belated TWD blogging.
Monday, December 27, 2010
happy holidays
Traditions: holiday hijinks. banket wreaths from the local dutch bakery. waking my brother up on christmas morning. christmas eve cocktails, family gathering, and late night pizza. christmas morning european style breakfast with mimosas and fromage de noel (gratte paille from france via zingermans). bubbly with mom and aunt s. and grandma on christmas afternoon.
Change: integrating gregg into our traditions. christmas evening at home, cooking a gourmet meal and playing raucous uno. pre-christmas gathering with gregg's family.
Joy: laughter of dear friends and family. waking up next to gregg on christmas morning. sharing a long weekend with my family. roadtripping with gregg. a giant bottle of rombauer zinfandel.
Sadness: realizing Grandpa V's health is declining.
Christmas 2010: smiles and tears. new and old. wishing, as always, for ever more time.
Determined—afresh, anew—to live fully in 2011.
Change: integrating gregg into our traditions. christmas evening at home, cooking a gourmet meal and playing raucous uno. pre-christmas gathering with gregg's family.
Joy: laughter of dear friends and family. waking up next to gregg on christmas morning. sharing a long weekend with my family. roadtripping with gregg. a giant bottle of rombauer zinfandel.
Sadness: realizing Grandpa V's health is declining.
Christmas 2010: smiles and tears. new and old. wishing, as always, for ever more time.
Determined—afresh, anew—to live fully in 2011.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)