Archive for the 'Uniquely Me' Category
July 6, 2010 @ 6:28 am | Filed under: Food and Drink,The Fit Life,Uniquely Me
- 8 oz whole wheat short tube-shaped pasta
- 1 sweet red bell pepper
- 1 yellow bell pepper
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 1 lemon
- 1 tsp dried oregano
- 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
- 3 Weight Watcher mozarella string cheese sticks
- 1/2 lb cleaned, cooked shrimp
Preheat broiler. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook pasta according to package directions; drain. Rinse pasta with cold water; drain again and set aside.
Meanwhile, place the bell peppers cut-side down on a foil-lined broiler pan and broil until charred, 7 – 8 minutes. Transfer peppers to a bowl, cover and set aside about 5 minutes until cool enough to handle.
Marinate shrimp in 1 tbsp olive oil, 3/4 tbsp balsamic vinegar, 1/8 cup water, and 1/2 tsp. desired herbs & garlic. Place all in zip-lock bag, massage well, and then chill in refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.
Peel the roasted peppers and slice into strips; transfer to a large bowl. Chop mozarella into bite size pieces. Mix the pepper strips with the mozarella, basil, pasta, 1 tsp salt, and pepper to taste; toss.
In a small bowl, prepare salad dressing by mixing together oil, lemon juice, oregano, salt, black pepper and garlic.
Pour dressing over pasta and vegetables and toss thoroughly to coat. Add marinated shrimp. Cover and chill about 2 hours.
Yields about 1 cup per serving.
Light, healthy, delicious!!!
healthy recipes, Tasty Tuesdays
July 1, 2010 @ 6:54 am | Filed under: It's a Girl Thing,Uniquely Me
Rainy days have a certain kind of magic.
I’m quite certain of it, because when the rain starts to fall, these little things begin to happen inside of me. Little moments. Bursts of productivity, interrupted often with sentimental thoughts. Stopping and seeing the moment for what it really is.
Pausing and remembering what really was.
This went on throughout the afternoon and then came the really good…the hardest rain…and the most precious moments of my day.
I escaped the confines of the four walls, easing onto the highway with all the other rain-soaked commuters. I left in plenty of time to make it with ease to church, stopping first to run a couple of the briefest errands on the way.
At the first store the rain was just cascading in torrents and – wouldn’t you know it - the umbrella did the unruly umbrella thing and popped two spokes. Leaving me soaked and more than just a bit wind-blown in a parking lot full of distracted, hurried shoppers.
Finally inside, I remained stuck, banished by the rain to my quaint little spot, so I meandered the aisles and waited for my best chance for an exit. I fingered exquisite pieces of merchandise I would not ordinarily look at twice, and took the time to stop and purchase a warm cup of coffee.
Back in the car, premature darkness hovered, and the insistant pounding of the rain turned me back towards home…finally, home…where it continued to rain, dimming the house into a cozy place where I changed into dry, warmer clothes and then curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea.
Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d type in the middle of summer in Texas!
I lit a candle , sipped tea, and lazily flipped through picture albums, and it hit me.
Rain or shine…I am content.
That is a very good feeling.
June 29, 2010 @ 9:28 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine,Uniquely Me
Eight years ago today I became a Nana, and it’s all due to this amazing, talented, beautiful boy that I am privileged enough to call my grandson.
When I married an older man I embraced his life as well. The term “step-mom” has always felt a bit awkward to me considering that Amy has the most amazing mom and has no need for another, step or otherwise.
Instead I’ve tried to be the best friend and confidante that I can be and the relationship we’ve cultivated over the past decade is one of deep trust and sound friendship. I treasure my place in this family.
The day Carter was born eight years ago was one of the most special days ever. To watch the man I love watch his daughter become a mother for the first time was simply magical.
I may have had friends to laugh and question how I felt about becoming a grandparent at the crazy age of 34, but the day Carter uttered “Nana” for the first time I’m pretty sure my heart did a complete cartwheel. Something it’s continued to do through the years as he’s grown.
There will be other grandchildren…but forever and always Carter B will be the first to have dubbed me Nana – a title I bear with pride and joy!
I cherish the times we’ve spent just being together, like this one. And when Carter B shares a bit of his thoughts with me…well, I melt completely. He has my heart. I appreciate how our family just works.
So this morning this proud Nana is sending out a great big “Happy Birthday!” to our grandson! We love you, Buddy!
June 28, 2010 @ 6:13 am | Filed under: Soul Food,The Solid Rock,Uniquely Me
I try to write down my day’s agenda early in the morning, before anything can possibly happen to alter… The Plan. I do love a good plan, and when it comes together all smooth and delightful, well – that is one good feeling!
It throws me off to have it wrecked before midmorning. So the past week has been a challenge in flexibility and in “going with the flow.”
All of which is good for the soul.
Or it at least sounds as though it should be good for the soul anyway.
Instead of doing a load of whites on Monday, towels on Tuesdays, spending 3-4 hours writing each morning, I’ve been learning the art of simply sitting. Sometimes I sit and wait for my grandfather to eat. Sometimes I wait for him to finish a story. Sometimes I wait for him to wake up. Sometimes I wait for him to walk with slow, halting steps across the room.
And sometimes I wait for nothing more than another moment to learn a little more about this man who loves me so much.
Although this might not be the week to ask him just how much he loves me. I’m the one asking him multiple times a day if he’s drinking enough water, or if he’s hungry. I’m the one handing out medicine and cautioning him to use his walker and that I think it’s time to take a breathing treatment.
But I’m also the one on the receiving end of some really great stories and the one who’s caught a twinkle in his eye a time or two. I’m the one who’s seen frustration, anger, and sadness – manifested by unshed tears- all swiped away hurriedly by shaking, wrinkled hands, and this completely melts me.
These days don’t call for The Plan or any plan. These days ask simply for acceptance. For each moment to be acknowledged and embraced because it exists and it is important.
Not all days work out according to The Plan, and perhaps that’s what makes each morning’s new mercies even better.
daily agendas, living simply, plans
June 24, 2010 @ 7:35 am | Filed under: Soul Food,Uniquely Me
We’re on the brink of another sacred weekend, those all-too-precious 48 hours of togetherness, and it’s always a lovely feeling. On Friday nights, an aura enters our home – and although I’ve never quite been able to put a name to it, I think it’s just an extra dose of love.
We hoard our weekends like little treasures, and while sometimes I think we should be making efforts to visit interesting places or socialize more with friends, the truth is that home is our favorite place to spend time. And when we’re both there…it’s pure perfection.
I have all these dreams of making home the best place possible on this earth. Like citrusy-smelling candles and open windows in the springtime and soft music, dim lights, and living room picnics on long winter evenings.
Home is where you hang your heart. Where it goes to seek refuge from the beating it may take from the outside world during the week. Where it finds solace from the winds of adversity.
And where it recharges so that – when it emerges from the walls of home again – it is able to operate at full capacity, giving and caring for all the duties and responsibilites that make up a productive life.
So home is not confined to a house, to a building with four walls and a roof. Instead home is where the heart is. With the people we love and the ones who love us back.
I’m not “at home” this week, nor will I be this weekend.
And yet my heart is preparing for another sacred weekend anyway. Because it doesn’t matter where we are, or who we’re with, my heart is most at home when the work week comes to an end and MJ’s week on the road comes to a close.
We won’t be in the place we’ve lovingly turned into a home that we adore this weekend, and instead he’ll join me here at my parents’. Where he’ll help me prepare meals, spend long amounts of time in conversation with my grandfather, and more than likely feel less than comfortable sleeping in a bed that is not his own. And yet…
…our hearts will be at home.
June 16, 2010 @ 9:26 am | Filed under: Uniquely Me
“I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’,
Lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s worth makin’” ~ Lee Ann Womack
When you love someone you want to wrap them up, protect them, keep them safe from all the junk life has a way of throwing at them.
Deep, fierce love is like that.
That’s the kind of love I have for this girl.
She’s the child who – overnight – turned me into an aunt, a role accompanied by a whole new capacity to love and care than what I’d ever anticpated possible from me.
Madie is growing up.
No longer the “little” girl, she is now a lanky little willow of a ten-year-old who is giving us glimpses into the remarkable young lady she will one day be.
But growing up has its share of hurdles, challenges, and – let’s face it – hurts.
It’s the way we face those roadblocks that determines our future path. Sometimes people run headfirst, unsuspecting, into one of these challenges and then spend months, if not years, in hiding.
Because to love - to care, to give of yourself – almost always means that at some point you will hurt.
And then sometimes, when we see someone we love with this kind of fierceness face this kind of hurt, we want nothing more than to cocoon them from future harm. We want to wisk them away to a place of safety, a place where we can watch them, feel them, know they are okay.
But who can dance when stifled?
And isn’t life really all about dancing your way through it? Through the laughter, the fun, the glorious. And then finding ways to dance away from fears, bad dreams, and burst bubbles.
Heroes come in many shapes, sizes, and ages.
This past week we had a glimpse of a little ten-year-old heroine.
She was a friend in a scary situation. She exhibited love, care, and forgiveness.
She’s a dancer.
I pray she always finds the dance.
June 12, 2010 @ 9:40 pm | Filed under: Pure Sunshine,Soul Food,The Solid Rock,Uniquely Me
“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” ~Dr. Seuss
It was Tuesday night and my deadline was today at noon.
I’d already typed in a zillion-and-one different thoughts over the course of the day, only to go back later and delete them all. I stared a blank computer screen and tried to focus.
No, this wasn’t for a story idea. Or an article for a magazine. Or even a blog post for Faith Lifts.
What held me in the throes of agony was a speech.
In just four short days I would stand before the 2010 graduating class of NCCA and tell them -
Tell them what?
It wasn’t that I didn’t have ideas. Oh no! It was more like I had too many.
How do you stand before a group of excited kids and try to impart a bit of the knowledge and wisdom you’ve gleaned along the way? Can that kind of advice/revelation/sharing really be done in a fifteen minute speech?
I finally decided that I wasn’t going to find the answer that day. So I went to bed.
And, as I do every night before I drift off, I deliberately shut out all the other things in my head and on my heart. I turned them all over to Him and began to relax as the stresses of the day slipped off my shoulders.
My last thought as I went to sleep was that I wished I could share this with the graduates.
The next day I knew what to say.
Life is either simply complex or complexly simple. I like to think it’s the latter.
And so this afternoon I stood behind the podium, looked into the eyes of the graduates, and said this:
“ I would ask of you today that you always listen for One certain voice. As you move forward into your college years, your careers, or your ministries, you’ll hear a lot of different voices.
Voices that will vie for your time, your energy, and your loyalty. At the end of the day – as your head touches your pillow and your eyes close in exhaustion – there is only ONE voice that truly matters.
If you can keep the voice of God as your focus in the big middle of everything else you have going on, your life will be a very simple, very happy, very productive one.”
It’s a lesson well learned.
It really is that simple.
commencement speech, graduation, life lessons
March 10, 2010 @ 7:09 am | Filed under: Uniquely Me
Funny thing about letting go.
Saying that you’re letting go is assuming you had a hold of it in the first place. In truth, you once had it…but had it because it wanted to be there. Slowly…Surely…. we lose focus of what made us want it in the first place and our grip begins to tighten. Fear stiffens our fingers and we grab at it, corner it, hold it down, poke it back into place, tear it apart into smaller, more ’manageable’ pieces…or simply break it down, thus destroying the beauty that began it. Believe me, I know.
I’ve done this… and will not do it again. Something precious was in my hands and fear gripped my heart, and in a typical reflex reaction, my hands became a vise. And now, my hands are tied, and my head is speaking to my heart. Non-action brings action – not your actions or reactions – but it allows other actions take their proper place.
Quiet hands, open heart, observant head…all watching for the moment I can trust my hands again. Trust them to stay open…and next time I am blessed to have them filled…keep them open and let it be.
September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me
So here’s the deal.
I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.
Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)
I could go on and on…
The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.
Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…
Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…
And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.
The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.
Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!
_________________________________
The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.
Homemade pickles.
If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.
Other times, she’d make…pickles.
There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?
I still don’t eat pickles.
The memories of those pickle-making summers, however, have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.
Not the pickles again!
Family, summertime memories, writing
September 14, 2009 @ 2:21 pm | Filed under: Uniquely Me
“Openness serves as a bridge to the world of others. It enables us to get involved with others, to understand the thoughts of others, to feel what others are feeling. In other words, if we’re open, we’re able to enter the existential world of others even if at times we can’t identify with someone’s particular world.” –Brennan Manning, The Wisdom of Tenderness
_______________________
There are so many days lately that I find myself craving more time. I fight resentment over the fact that – though writing is my calling – I have so little precious time to devote to it.
I know I am where I am supposed to be right now. I am truly thankful each and every day that I have no doubt about that. But my heart very often leans toward the words that seem to always lie in the recesses of my heart and mind, just waiting for me to mine them and spin them into gold threads for a future story.
Always the stories are there.
Always they call to me in the deep of the night and in the first whispers of morning.
I pray that they not lose patience with me, that these words will find a nest within my soul and cradle there until there moment in the sun.
Openness.
That’s what I endeavor to achieve right now.
