Seems I skipped a couple of months...

This post is so overdue.

I know it seemed as though I would never blog again. I do have a handful of excuses: I started a new job, which brought new challenges and more than a little bit of stress. In October we flew home to Alabama to attend Alissa and Tyler’s wedding reception. And we moved to a new rental house the beginning of November.

Oh, and there’s this:


No, that is not a beer gut. If you are skeptical, here is a picture at 9 weeks along to compare:



It is a little ironic that I haven’t felt the urgency to write about my pregnancy until now. Because if you got ahold of my journal, you would see that wanting to start a family has been a central theme for the last 3 years. (That, along with suffering, I mean struggling, through PT school.) I think the reason I haven’t sat down to write my thoughts and feelings about having this fetus set up shop in my uterus is because I still can’t believe that THERE IS A HUMAN IN MY UTERUS. I mean, really. How weird is that? Now I know that pregnancy and birth is the most natural thing in the world, hundreds of millions of women have done it. But when it happens to you it is the most crazy thing. If any woman out there denies this, they are either lying or have some major funky things going on in their body when they’re not pregnant. For instance, as we speak, I feel an alien doing somersaults inside my abdomen. And no, it’s not just the spicy chili I ate for dinner.

It’s no secret that we having been trying for a baby for awhile. Every single time one of my friends announced their pregnancy, my heart broke a little bit, because it just didn’t seem like it was ever going to happen for us. I had really started thinking about adoption, which I still want to consider later. I knew deep in my soul that God’s timing is perfect, and that He meant for me to be a mother. But my patience was really starting to wear. I knew that even adoption could take months or years, and this lady wasn’t getting any younger. So I decided if I didn’t conceive by the end of the year, I would make an appointment with a fertility specialist.

Then, the most glorious and terrifying thing happened. I will remember that day forever, because it seemed to begin as such a random day, the eve of our 7th wedding anniversary. I got a text first thing in the morning from my friend Megan, about a rental house that was becoming available. After going to look at the house, falling in love with it because 1.) there was no jank fish aquarium in the living room and 2.) the kitchen was bigger than a walk-in closet, I went to the drug store to pick up a prescription for Chris. I was on cloud nine because I had just that week been offered a job at the hospital, and now we had a place to live that was the same amount of rent but 100% nicer. So I picked up a pregnancy test, with the feeling that if it was negative, which I expected it to be since I had zero pregnancy symptoms, I would be okay. It wouldn’t be the heart-dropping disappointment that it had been for the last several months.

So imagine my shock when I peed on that stick and it was immediately a big fat plus sign? To say that I was elated….well I was too in shock to feel any other emotion. I was whatever you can call pacing around the house saying “Holy shit” over and over to no one but a very confused white German shepherd. Poor Virginia.

So, long story short, good things can come in threes, too. And of course now that I’m over the shock I could not be more excited about this new stage of our lives. It was so amazing to get to tell my husband that we were expecting, right before we celebrated 7 years of marriage. Now, looking back, I am so thankful we’ve had this long to build our relationship into something that I’m confident will survive the stresses of parenthood.

I’m one happy mama-to-be. And a very thankful one.

-Katy

Change

Why is it that when you break up with someone, move, or change jobs, you always remember the good times instead of the bad? Or maybe it’s just me? It could be the uncertainty of what I’m moving to that is the cause for this phenomenon. I have spent the last nine months caring for the elderly at a skilled nursing facility, my first job out of PT school. Tomorrow I begin work at the local hospital, in an outpatient orthopedic setting. While there are parts of the job I definitely will not miss, I am feeling a little conflicted about leaving behind the relationships I formed with my amazing co-workers and my patients at the Care Center.

Perhaps the thing that is hardest to say goodbye to is the incredible resource of wisdom I found in my patients. I had the honor of conversing with people who have lived for over a hundred years, and still maintain fulfilling lives. Some of my patients have lived in this area for 50 years or more, and started a ranch from scratch after honeymooning with their sweetheart in the back country of Yosemite. I’ve worked with authentic cowboys, one in particular that never wore anything other than boots on his feet and he was well in his 90’s. It was always interesting to me to hear how my patients got here to this remote valley, between the Eastern Sierras and the White Mountains. One told me “I grew up in Long Beach, but my mother moved my sisters and I here to keep us away from the boys.” She lived the rest of her teenage years on a ranch, and then never left.

I witnessed marriages that are over 60 years old, yet still have the spark of a new courtship. I saw pain of grown children when their parents could no longer take care of themselves and hard decisions had to be made. I heard about living through the Great Depression, stories from a prison and WW2 nurse, and how one of my patients left the convent to pursue a career as a blues singer in Vegas.

Some of my patients couldn’t tell me their stories. They were long forgotten, locked too tight in part of their brain they could no longer access. Those patients could make my day with just a glimmer of recognition in their eyes.

I thrived on the determination of our short-term rehab patients, who were anxious to get back up and running after their total joint replacement; some still live alone despite being in their 80’s and 90’s. Lots of lessons were learned from my patients, but perhaps the most important was that the will of the spirit makes the difference between can and cannot.

I recently asked one 100 year old how he managed to live so long. “You got to keep it interesting,” he replied.

Now, that’s something to live by.

-Katy

By My Side

I don’t want to ignore that I left a teaser in my last post. But the thing is, the “very important post” turned into an important realization for me, but probably not very interesting material to anyone else. So I promise, promise I’ll address it later. For now, I have an anniversary post to write.

Tomorrow Chris and I celebrate seven years of marriage. I think it took us this long to get really good at this marriage thing, but I definitely have treasured the process. The seventh year of our union was definitely the most stressed….it began one year ago with me in Alabama starting my last clinical rotation, and Chris in California working. We were apart three more months and it was so difficult, but living without each other did make us appreciate each other more. Then in December I took a leap of faith and followed my husband across the country to a town of 3500 people that not many people have ever heard of. I shouldn’t have doubted him at all; this place is our paradise.

I look back at our wedding day and I know I was a naïve young girl in love. As much as I didn’t want to admit it then, I did have a lot of romanticized ideas about what marriage was supposed to be. What I didn’t realize then was that it would be the hard times, the ones that weren’t all roses and rainbows, that would end up making our relationship so precious.

Chris, you truly are the man I am meant to love. I could not imagine a better partner. Thank you for choosing me for this journey; I will follow you anywhere, anytime.

“Don’t you get ahead of me;
And I won’t leave you behind”
-Ben Harper, By My Side

Things to come

I have always been a procrastinator. So therefore I still haven’t completely unpacked from our move, I let my trash overflow before I take it out, and I borrowed the book “The War of Art” (a book about procrastination) for about 6 months from a friend and never read it. Just didn’t get around to it.

In other words, I have a very important post to write, but more pressing matters have gotten in the way. (Like the finale of the Bachelorette, surfing the internet, and enjoying the great outdoors.) So stay tuned!

Also, wishing Alissa and Tyler a safe trip home!

Chicago

Chris and I are no strangers to traveling. We packed up and moved across the country for goodness sake, twice. We learned some valuable lessons on this last trip to Chicago for my cousin Matt’s wedding. I thought these lessons might be helpful to share, in case you find yourself planning a trip.

1. If you are like me and have become accustomed to driving in a town where traffic laws are mostly abided by, and the speed limit is below 45 for the majority of the city limits, you may not want to rent a car and drive in the city. If you do, chances are you will utilize your horn more than ever before and get completely flustered by unorthodox (and dangerous!) traffic maneuvers that city folk are completely used to, therefore calling yourself out as a tourist.
2. Try all forms of public transportation, at least once. Our last day in the city we rode the train into downtown, took a water taxi to Navy Pier, a cab to the sushi restaurant, and a trolley back to Union Station. It’s much easier to sightsee when you are not focused on navigating through unfamiliar territory.
3. Just because you exercise semi-regularly, do not fool yourself that you are in good enough shape to throw down on the dance floor at your cousin’s reception without some repercussions.
4. Wear sensible shoes. Our plan on Sunday was to drive into the city, park, and spend the day at the Art Institute. Which was a great plan until we walked 10 blocks in the opposite direction, retraced our steps, found the Art Institute, realized we needed a smoothie from Jamba Juice, walked back 4 blocks or so to find one, then traipsed all over the museum for 4 hours. I thought that flip-flops were sensible shoes, but was sorely mistaken.
5. Purchase a map. (see number 4)
6. Bring an umbrella. Just because you live in the desert and never see rain doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen anywhere else.
7. Do not assume you will be able to sleep on the plane, and therefore plan ridiculous times to travel. You may be seated next to a very nice woman that decides to slam Coronas at 7 am and yell “Hey, Toots!” every five minutes at her niece seated in the next row.
8. Take a good camera, even if you have to borrow it. We wished we had something other than our cell phones to take pictures with the whole trip. I’ll post some pictures here so you can wish we did, too.
9. Be nice to your spouse, even if you’ve been up for 20 hours, are lost in the suburbs of Chicago at 2 am, and don’t have any change for the toll road. Eventually you will find your way to the hotel.

Overall our trip was great. We spend quality time with family we don’t get to see too often, and the wedding was perfect. I’ve never seen my cousin so happy, and that was definitely worth all the travel woes in the world.


Michigan Avenue



Navy Pier



-Katy

Putting On My Apron

Recently Chris and I determined that despite the hassle, cooking was way better than Subway for the third time in a week, or spending money on an over-priced restaurant. Our town has some tasty restaurants for a community so small, but only a handful. So if you’re eating out several times in a week, the same fare gets pretty old.

So I have re-opened the kitchen, officially. Chris is a happy man again.

Here is a tasty recipe I adapted from Terry Stirling’s pasta dish, found on www.allreceipes.com. If you haven’t discovered this website, I definitely recommend it.

Death By Garlic

½ cup olive oil
10 cloves garlic, minced
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon crushed red pepper
3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley (I used dried parsley, and it turned out just fine)
1 pound dry bowtie pasta
1/3 cup grated Romano or parmesan cheese
2-3 large chicken breasts
Cherry tomatoes, halved

1. Cook pasta and set aside
2. Cut chicken into small pieces and cook in a pan in oil. When the chicken is almost cooked, add garlic and brown, then add parsley and spices and remove from heat.
3. Toss pasta with chicken and add cheese and tomatoes.

Besides cooking, we’ve been trying to organize our house now that Chris has brought all our furniture for our house in Birmingham. So far I’ve got one room full of boxes full of stuff I don’t know what to do with. I don’t understand how we ended up with SO MUCH STUFF. Obviously we don’t need it all, since we’ve lived without it for 6 months. Our good friends Ryan and Tyler braved the long trip via U-Haul with Chris. It was so awesome to have them visiting in Bishop for several days; they were our first guests since we moved out here. We went for a strenuous hike at Yosemite on Mist Trail up to Vernal and Nevada falls, along with my friend Crystal and her family on vacation from Houston. I wish our camera wasn’t broken; it was so beautiful.

I am going to get my driver’s license renewed tomorrow, and be issued a California license. I guess it’s official; I’m no longer an Alabamian. But considering every time I open my mouth I get “Where are you from?” I don’t think I’ll shed my Southern roots too soon.

-Katy

How Great Thou Art

The church we’ve been attending has a wonderful worship program, with a complete band and mostly contemporary music. However, this morning we sang this familiar hymn and it was so beautiful and touching to me. For the first time I really listened to the words and they were very powerful to me today; perhaps because I’ve been spending so much time in nature lately. When I went home and looked up the lyrics to post here, I found out that it is based on a poem written by a Swedish man name Carl Gustav Boberg in 1885, and the melody is a Swedish folk song. I guess it was my Swedish roots coming to surface.
At any rate, I’m so, so blessed. We all are.

O Lord my God,
When I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds
Thy Hands have made;
I see the stars,
I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout
The universe displayed.

Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art!

When through the woods,
And forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds
Sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down,
From lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook,
And feel the gentle breeze.

Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art!

And when I think, that God,
His Son not sparing;
Sent him to die,
I scarce can take it in;
That on the Cross,
My burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died
To take away my sin.

Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art.
Then sings my soul,
My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art!

When Christ shall come,
With shout of acclamation,
And take me home,
What joy shall fill my heart.
Then I shall bow,
In humble adoration,
And then proclaim:
"My God, how great Thou art!"

-Katy

Officially Thirty-Something

This month I turned the big 3-1. The best thing about getting older (besides the alternative) is that I share this birthday month with four other June babies; wonderful, special people who have been very influential in my life: Elaine, Crystal, Rusty, and Kim.

I met Elaine the summer I turned 22, a naive and impressionable new Auburn grad starting my first job. Elaine was a nurse in the child and adolescent psychiatric unit that became my first bullet point on my resume. But because of Elaine, and other wise and caring co-workers, I got so much more from the three years I worked as a mental health associate. The job itself taught me so much about myself; Elaine taught me about the kind of person I want to be. Always calm under stress (and believe me, in a locked psychiatric unit, there was stress) she was an example of how to handle life’s changes, and the struggles of parenthood and marriage, with grace and patience. She was there to guide me and cheer me on through the biggest milestones of my life, including planning a wedding and embarking on a marriage as a clueless 24 year old. All the while offering her support and wisdom. Thank you, Elaine, for staying up all night making silk roses for my wedding, listening to me agonize over whether he was going to ever pop the question, and hosting me for American Idol when I didn’t have cable. And thank you for showing me what it means to be steadfast; a woman who fulfills many roles, and gives so much to those around her.

Crystal and I shared a boyfriend in the fifth grade. Perhaps that’s why we didn’t really hit it off until junior high, when our parents decided to enroll us in a Taekwondo class along with my best friend Michelle and Crystal’s BFF, Kristi. Before long we were skipping class to eat Dairy Queen in our karate uniforms and by high school were passing constant notes about boys and weekend plans. (I don’t know how I have a high school diploma, much less doctorate, btw.) Crystal and I dated the same boys, but what really bonded us for life was the loss of Kristi in a tragic car accident at the end of our freshman year. We had never known loss before; and at the tender age of 15 we only had each other and mutual friends to make sense out of it. I know neither of us can have a big life experience without thinking about what if Kristi hadn’t taken her mother’s car out that night. It is amazing to see someone you knew as a shy kid become a successful career person, a wife, and a mother. Without a doubt she will be a success at whatever she does. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your life, Crystal, despite the distance between us. I can’t wait to see you soon!


Oh, Rusty, what can I say about him! For his last birthday, I sent him a list of all the things I love about him. I can’t imagine anyone NOT loving this man, and I have had the joy of knowing him since kindergarten! Rusty and I grew up a block away from each other, and many pre-driver’s license nights were spend carousing the neighborhood by moonlight, toilet-papering houses, smoking cigarettes (okay, Mom, I admit it) or just feeling rebellious. Like another big brother, I looked to Rusty for approval on the boys I dated, the clothes I wore (so maybe on SOME level I knew he was gay), and of course my soccer skills As hopeless as I was on the soccer field, he was the first to cheer me on. Along with Tommy and Eliza, our little neighborhood clan took on the world as we knew it. What would I give to go back to the creek and revisit one of those careless summer days. Rusty and I celebrated our high school and college graduations together; he spoke at my wedding and I hope to speak at his (or maybe just stand beside him in a badass couture gown, courtesy of Celestino). I love you Rusty, and love how our friendship never feels worn out or outgrown, but worn-in like a favorite t-shirt I’ll never throw out.


Last but not least, Kim was introduced into our circle of friends when she was one of my BFF’s potluck suitemate their freshmen year at Auburn. At first Kim was the quiet one, the laid-back almost pushover of the group. And then she blossomed into anything but. We lived together for two years in college and despite being exactly one year and a day apart, Kim and I couldn’t be more opposite. Despite fistfights from pushing each other buttons, we always had each other’s backs. Kim has lots of qualities I wish I had (first of all, she has the most awesome hair); her lack of inhibition, her athleticism, her generosity to a fault. Even though we don’t talk much, I know she still has my back. I certainly have hers. Happy birthday, my friend!

Diagnosis: Too Many Chimichangas

Apologies to my faithful followers for not posting in over month. I’ve thought about doing it. Even put it on my to-do list. However, as my to-do list gets longer, my motivation decreases. It’s the nature of an inverse relationship. When I have more crap to do, my willpower wanes.

I’ve also come down with a horrible case of the blahs. It must have come on slow, because I didn’t realize I was sick until it was weeks since I grocery shopped, I forgot all about my recent obsession with “Dexter”, and my snooze button was getting more action than I was. I haven’t quilted in weeks, let the housework go (well…that’s not very abnormal, let’s be honest), barely read anything more than a People magazine, and sat on my behind every waking moment outside of work, staring at the television. Blah, blah, blah. If you haven’t gotten a phone call from me in the past month, obviously you haven’t missed anything.

I don’t think I’m depressed. I think that working really hard and not taking care of my body the way I should has just caught up with me. For one, I know that I walk the halls countless times, lift patients, and exercise my writing hand for 8+ hours a day. But as my husband points out, this is not real exercise. To which I reply, if only in my head, “Who is it, dear, that has a DOCTORATE in exercise?”

But doggonit, he’s right.

So, there’s that. And the fact that fast food has stealthily crept back in to my diet (Damn you, taco bell!), especially when I’m in a hurry on my lunch break. And if it’s not the drive thru, it’s meals straight out of the freezer or my new fave from a local Mexican restaurant, a carne-asada chimichanga with rice and beans. Obviously, I have to make some changes. No excuses! As of today, I’m making a change, to cure my blahs.

Right after I eat this Snickers ice cream bar.

-Katy

Spring

I hate that I wait so long to update that I have to address several random topics in one post. I’ll just mention the cutest first:

Introducing my brand-new (and first) nephew, Liam! At ten pounds even, he already has fat rolls! I don’t know where my sis-in-law stands on the issue, but by the looks of him I think he probably had a couple of burritos in there. Maybe even some full-flavored cold ones. Congrats, Eric and Marian, on becoming a party of five!

Chris and I have been suffering through another one of his long stretches of twelve-hour shifts. It wouldn’t be that bad if we weren’t on totally different work schedules. I guess I should count my blessings; at least we aren’t on other end of the country from each other. We’ve been spoiled by all the time outdoors that we’ve had together recently. The weather is warming up (with the exception of this weekend) which means bike rides, grilling out, and more climbing. And we’ve been attending a church that we enjoy. Our lives have been blessed a hundred times over in the almost nine years we’ve been together. Sometimes I wonder how it could get better than this.

A small tribulation: we have mice. Thus, no recipe tonight, people. My culinary skills haven’t surpassed jambalaya from the box in weeks. Just knowing what could have been scurrying around my cooking space….my heart’s just not in it. For a long time, I’d say since I started PT school, cooking was my only hobby. I didn’t have much time to devote to anything else but studying, but we had to eat, right? I tried dozens of new recipes in the three years of PT school. I don’t know if I got burned out or if the mice sealed the deal, but getting creative in the kitchen doesn’t light my fire like it used to. I’m hoping when this whole pest issue is resolved my desire to cook will be re-kindled. Meanwhile I’m channeling all my domestic urges into quilting. Here’s another sneak peak of the quilt top I’ve been working on:

(Aren't peonies the most flamboyant flowers ever? Love them!)
I’m halfway done machine-piecing the top. I can’t look at these fabrics without falling more in love with them. And I can’t wait to see the finished project, and even more see how it looks after it’s been washed a dozen times and worn in. I honestly don’t know where my recent obsession with quilts has come from. I didn’t grow up snoozing under passed-down quilts, though I wish I had. In fact, my grandmother is working on finishing her first quilt as we speak, at 88 years old. She taught me to hand sew when I was eight, and it’s always been an activity that is very calming to me. Just the thought that my finished project may be something that is loved and treasured makes the hours put into it so worth it. Even if it doesn’t turn out perfect.

Lastly, everyone who knows me knows I have some issues with our current habitat. I won’t get into that here. But one day last week as I was coming home from work a flash of yellow caught my eye:

And in the back, almost hiding was another silver lining to the storm cloud that has been the saga of our poorly maintained abode:

Maybe this old house ain't so bad, afterall.
-Katy

What I had for dinner tonight

I know in honor of Mother’s Day I should write a heartfelt tribute to the best mom ever, Susie. A good daughter would. But considering just perusing the card section for a card almost had me in tears, I don’t think I can muster it. So, I love you Mom, and I miss you. That’s all I got for now.

Sniff-sniff.

Ever since we tried it, Chris and I have had the climbing bug. Here are some more photos taken at the Happy’s, a boulder field just a couple miles away from where we live.





You probably can’t tell, but Chris is still sporting a “crust-ache” from the White Trash themed party we had thrown the night before for our friend Jeff’s 30th birthday. Here we are in all our trashy glory:


The photo doesn’t do my costume justice; I wore a terry cloth onesie, meant to be a swimsuit cover-up, paired with the Britney Spears staple: Ugg boots. (I do love my Uggs in the real world, especially since the winter here is a bit colder than my Alabama blood is used to.)

In the last few weeks I’ve also been devoting time to one of my safer hobbies, quilting. I made my first quilt almost 6 years ago when my first niece, Stella, was born. Now I have four nieces, and a nephew due to make his appearance later this week. Needless to say, I have some major catching up to do now that I have more time. I’m attempting a harder pattern this time, suggested to me by one of my elderly patients. I ordered all the fabrics online, but ended up cutting a whole fabric’s worth of strips too narrow, so had to get a new fabric at the local quilt store. And I think I found the perfect one. Here is my first row that I’ve finished piecing. Chris just loves the kitchen table being filled with sewing supplies!


And the sweet angel that will hopefully be cuddling up with her new quilt soon:


If any of my loyal followers has been disappointed at the lack of recipes recently, I apologize. As I adjust to working full-time, my kitchen has been all but closed. Here’s what I whipped up tonight, and it just satisfied my longing for some Waffle House:

One helping of Smart Potatoes hashbrowns, cooked according to directions
Topped with a slice of cheddar cheese
I melted the cheese by pouring some hot chili, homemade by my neighbor, over the top
One dollop of sour cream

Good thing my cholesterol levels came back okay!

-Katy

Mom, you should probably close your eyes....

Ever since we moved to this area, everyone we meet asks us if we rock climb. That is because this is perhaps one of the best places to climb in the country, and it draws climbers from all over. We may not have a Wal-mart, or a shopping mall, but we have a climber’s paradise less than ten minutes from our back door. But to a girl like me that’s scared of heights and loves some Anthropologie, that didn’t mean much.

Rock climbing has NEVER been on my to-do list. Rather, it was on my list of things that I could definitely, without a doubt, die without having any regrets that I didn’t try it. Right up there with eat a chocolate-covered grasshopper. Or have sex in an airplane. (Really, how do people do that?) Not that I don’t think rock climbing would be really cool-it’s just that peeing my pants while hanging from a rope didn’t seem like a fun way to spend my free time. No offense to those of you who get your kicks that way. Plus, I save the daredevil hobbies for my husband. He’s the one that survived a small plane crash.

So, on Friday when my boss Lisa invited us to go climbing with her and her husband, there must have been someone else inhabiting my body. Perhaps I hadn’t had enough coffee yet. Because I said yes. And then spent the next two days trying to figure out how to get out of it. I thought we were going bouldering, and the boulders I’ve seen in Alabama, they’re not that big. But no, this was the real deal, with ropes and everything.

And….I did not pee on myself! Or anyone below me!

I’m still trying to find the words to describe the experience. Hanging several dozen feet above ground was definitely outside of my comfort zone; yet once I concentrated on just finding the next foot and hand hold and just getting myself UP, it was like I forgot that the ground below was getting more distant with every move. And on my second climb, I got just a few feet from the top anchor. Yeah, I admit it-I felt like a bad-ass. I should tattoo it on each cheek: B-A-D A-S-S. And I’m not talking about my face.

But I’m going to go a step further and go all ‘rap artist accepting a VMA’ and give the honor to God. Because when I was getting nervous that I was clutching the side of a cliff, alone, I thought of a verse I had read the previous week:

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” -2 Timothy 1:7 KJV

All I could think of was that the fear I was feeling (okay, more like utter terror) was not an emotion made by God; He fills us up to feel loved, comforted, even powerful. But not fearful. That comes from somewhere else. And I can’t, won’t live my life giving up to fear.

I know the next time I climb (there will be a next time; I’m hooked!) I’ll be nervous. But hopefully, somewhere between the ground and the sky, I can find a place of peace.

Sweet Home Alabama

We just returned from a week’s trip to Alabama. Well, technically we were in Alabama about five days, with 2 days of travel. (This whole not living close to a large airport thing is quite inconvenient.) During our stay we attended a good friend’s wedding and another’s reception, since they were on the same evening; saw both sides of the family, and spent time with as many friends as we could fit in. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see everyone, and of course the trip was way too short. We were reminded of everything we left behind; but also all the things we were happy to say goodbye to again; number one: the Birmingham traffic! I know it’s no Atlanta or NYC, but we now live in a town about 2.5 square miles in size and a speed limit of 25 mph on most streets. We can walk anywhere here in less time than it takes to drive out of our neighborhood in Birmingham! We felt like we literally spent most of our vacation in the rental car. It really is a totally different kind of life when you live in a small town.

Despite the things we don’t miss about Alabama, saying goodbye to the South and the friends and family we have there was really hard, for me at least. Chris had such a panicked look on his face when I started sobbing on the plane on the way back. I composed myself, thankfully, and was able to enjoy the rest of the ride back thinking about returning to the home we’ve made, and the Virginia dog that was there waiting for us.

I got to see my best friend Anna and her almost 4 year old Ava, the little dancing queen:


Also, two of my classmates have had babies since we graduated, and I got to meet their little boys as well. Here’s Julianne with little Jeremiah:


And Courtney with Stryker, who wasn’t feeling the photo op:



Chris and I spent the night in Vegas before we flew out. We had never spent any significant time there, and I was in awe at the décor in the casinos and hotels. We ate at one of Emeril’s restaurants, Table 10, and definitely recommend it. I could have explored in the Bellagio forever, it was definitely my favorite, but we were trying to hit as many places as we could in one evening.

The blown glass ceiling at the Bellagio:


The indoor garden:




Inside the Venetian:


Outside the Venetian:


View of the strip:


Me and my man:




We were sort of amazed by all the families with small children out at midnight in Vegas, with call-girl cards littering the ground and all. Oh, well. I guess you can take the girl out of the bible-belt...

Case of the Mondays

Why does Monday get such a bad rap? I’ve been dreading Monday every weekend for the last 20 or so years of my life. Even now, when I work Saturdays so I have most Mondays off, I still have a hard time with the day. Maybe I should start scheduling all the fun things in life on Monday, like getting my hair done or going on an out of town shopping trip. Now that its Monday evening and my weekend is officially over, sigh, Tuesday seems just as ominous.

So here is a list of good things that happened on this Monday, just for the heck of it.
1. I got my temporary PT license renewed, not a day too soon. It expires tomorrow, and by the grace of God someone actually answered the phone at the PT board of CA. Now if the FBI will just figure out I’m not an ex-con, I may get my permanent license in the next month or so.
2. I learned that the bushes along the side of our house and in the back are indeed rose bushes. I can’t wait to see what color they are when they bloom. I know that I’ve had some major issues with this house (see last post) but at least there will be roses!
3. I got a handle on the ant situation in our kitchen-I think. Woke up this morning to armies of ants crawling on our counter tops and around the sink. But I’ve been vigilant with the ant spray, vinegar water, and baby powder around the back door, so hopefully I’ve won the war. Now if I get up tomorrow and they’re back, I will be cursing myself for speaking too soon.
4. I’ve been training for the last two weeks for the Rock-n-roll half-marathon in San Diego on June 6th. It’s been slow going because I haven’t really ran since the Vulcan 10K in November. But today I made it over 23 minutes without stopping to walk. I know I have a long way to go, but it’s a start.
5. I saw a baby owl in our front yard. It was about 6 inches tall and just sat there and looked at me for a moment before flying away. (Okay, that happened last week, but it was too cute not to mention.)

I finished off the last of this yummy soup that my sister-in-law gave me the recipe for. It is super easy, and low fat. Hope you get a chance to make it before the weather gets too warm!

Italian Sausage Soup (from Cooking Light magazine)

This soup has that simmered-all-day flavor but takes just minutes to prepare. Serve it with hot crusty bread.
Yield: 4 servings (serving size: 1 1/3 cups soup, 1 1/2 teaspoons cheese, and 1 1/2 teaspoons basil)
Ingredients:
* 8 ounces hot or sweet turkey Italian sausage
* 2 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
* 1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes with basil, garlic, and oregano
* 1/2 cup uncooked small shell pasta
* 2 cups bagged baby spinach leaves
* 2 tablespoons grated fresh Parmesan or Romano cheese
* 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
Preparation:
Heat a large saucepan over medium heat. Remove casings from sausage. Add sausage to pan, and cook about 5 minutes or until browned, stirring to crumble. Drain; return to pan.

Add broth, tomatoes, and pasta to pan, and bring to a boil over high heat. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes or until pasta is done. Remove from heat; stir in spinach until wilted. Sprinkle each serving with cheese and basil.

Dressing Our Nest

I preface this post by saying I am grateful to have a roof over our heads and a place to come home to when we’ve had a long day. But our rental house has its imperfections, to say the least.

Chris had to find us a suitable place to rent before I moved out to CA; he had been staying with a friend, and we needed a place that allowed pets; this one in particular:

With this being such a dog-friendly town, we didn’t imagine it to be such a large feat. Everyone has dogs here; they are welcome in the local coffee shop, I see them tied up outside the library, or being let off leash to run on the Dept. of Water and Power land. Yet no one wants to rent to you if you have a dog.

So we were very limited in our housing prospects, because there wasn’t any way we were going to leave Virginia behind. Chris found and immediately signed a 12-month lease for a 2100 square foot house within walking distance of both our jobs. Which if you only take location into account, was perfect.

The first time I saw the house and peeked through windows I was excited. The second time when we actually went inside and had a tour, I cried. Now granted, I was emotional and homesick. But we had lived in some not so nice places before, and this 1940’s home sat at the bottom of the spectrum. Here’s a summary of why:

1.) The extra large living space (how exactly do you make one living room out of space for two?) boasted a 10 ft long built in aquarium. With fake fish hanging in it. Apparently the owner who had built it hadn’t sealed it correctly, so it wasn’t even functional.
2.) The kitchen, normally my favorite room in any house, has shoddy carpentry with cabinets that won’t close. The wooden molding around the tile countertops doesn’t meet up correctly, with cracks between the wood and the tile, just asking for bits of food and germs to deposit there. The drawers have cracks between the face and the bottom, so when you open them you can see straight through them down to the floor. What DIY class did this guy go to, we ask ourselves on a daily basis. And don’t even get me started on the dishwasher. You couldn’t pay me to open that thing up. (But sometimes we dare unsuspecting dinner guests to!)
3.) I don’t know if it’s a California thing, or a 1960’s thing, but mirrors are utilized throughout the house as a means of décor. When I say there are a lot of mirrors, I mean it. The non-working aquarium, for instance, is surrounded by two walls of gold edged, you guessed it, mirrors. There are also mirrors in the dining area, our bedroom, and the guest room; this guy really liked some mirrors. And considering he had a fit when the carpet installers covered all the gold-patterned linoleum up, imagine what suggesting some of the mirrors come down would do.

Needless to say, it has taken some work to make this place a little more aesthetically pleasing. And since we left all our furniture and decorative items in Alabama, the task has been even more of a challenge. We have a lot of second hand furniture at the moment, most of which doesn’t really match or have a decorative scheme, but hey, how can you compete with a 10 ft aquarium? But yesterday I hit the gold mine, racking up on some used furniture and artwork from my friend’s garage sale inventory. Now we actually have bedroom furniture other than just a bed:

and our fireplace went from this

to this:

Now when I’m in the kitchen I don’t focus on this

or this

I focus on this

and this


I plan to make some curtains for the kitchen and bedroom window along with replacing the cabinet knobs, so I’ll put before and after pictures up of that soon. Meanwhile, here is a recipe for soup that I made a couple of nights ago that was easy and delicious, and of course had the essential ingredient, cheese. It’s adapted from a recipe that I got it from my BFF Anna, who had the same appreciation for cheese as me. One of the many reasons I love her!

Broccoli Cheese Soup
(adapted from a recipe on emealz.com)

2 bags 16oz. frozen broccoli
2 cans low fat/low sodium chicken broth
1 can rotel tomatoes (do not use hot rotel!)
Two cups cut up rotisserie chicken

Dump all this in a large pot and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and keep at a low boil for 10 minutes.

Cube 10 oz. Velveeta light and add a few pieces at a time to pot until it’s all melted. Sooooo delicious.

However, I still do not know what to do about this:


Any ideas?

It's a Bloggy-Blog World

I'm the first to admit, I'm way new at this game. I would love to be the kind of person who enjoyed doing lots of research before venturing on a new hobby, but the fact is, I hate research. I wanted to start a blog for a couple reasons: 1.) to keep my family and friends in Alabama up to date on what's going on in our lives, and 2.) have some sort of creative outlet. Yeah, it would be so nice to have a mega-successful blog that paid my bills every month and earned me celebrity status like www.dooce.com. But I don't think that is the reality for someone who has zero experience in web design and no children to buy me mommy-blogger status.

So, I'm slowly figuring out things like how to add photos, links, and try and make my page pleasing to the eye. But the thing I'm still totally in the dark with is blogging etiquette. I think I have a hard time with the fact that most of the blogs I follow are written by perfect strangers. No, I'm not on the internet at all hours of the night seeing whose unsuspecting blog I can stalk next. Usually I find them through friends and family members' links. I just wonder; what is the protocol for putting links to these said blogs, whose authors don't know me from the barrista at Starbucks, on my blog? I for one, would love to know that someone other than my mama and my best friend is interested enough to read my blog on a regular basis. But is it rude to link without asking? The Southern girl in me wants to know.

On this same line, one of my favorite bloggers took a 6 month break and will be launching her new blog on March 22. She is an artist in the Atlanta area, and an incredible interior designer, I must say. And for the record, my brother and sister-in-law actually know her. So there. Here's the link: http://thepaintedhouse.blogspot.com

Another issue is one of a more personal nature, one that I'm trying to hash out on my own. How revealing do I really want to be? I've written blog posts in the past month that I've got sitting on my desktop, in limbo. I'm just not sure how much I want to open up, whether I've got 5 readers or 500. On one hand it could be cathartic; on the other, what if my husband's grandmother starts reading my ranting about our latest fight, (or gasp, the sex!)-she is my friend on facebook, afterall!

Any advice from fellow bloggers?

Beaches, Baby Seals, and Cheddar Cheese Beer Fondue

Okay, not doing so well on blogging regularly. Now that two of my major distracters are gone: studying for boards and “The Bachelor”, maybe I will do better.

A couple of weeks ago Chris and I traveled 6 hours to Del Mar, just north of San Diego, to see my favorite aunt and meet her fiancé. Carol married my dear Uncle Mike not long before I was born, and ever since has been one of the closest family members outside my immediate family, despite residing in Minnesota. Carol has always been fun; however, it was not until my adulthood, or perhaps since Mike’s death seven years ago that I have gotten to appreciate her as a friend and confidant. And though everyone in my family has gotten to meet her fiancé Scott, Chris and I had not had the pleasure until this visit. He had the same ability as Carol to put you at ease and make you feel completely at home. Needless to say, they were wonderful hosts and we had the best time. I also got to hang out with my cousin Laura, who at 23 years old, reminds me a whole lot of myself 7 years ago. She is in that limbo time between college and graduate school, trying to decide exactly what she wants out of this life and whom she may want to share it with. At the same time, and in spite of some of the familial anxieties that we share, she does some pretty amazing things-aerial dance, for instance; and performing with one of her gifts we do not share, a beautiful singing voice.

How blessed am I to have such awesome people in my life; and to be related to them, at that! I know not everyone is able to cut loose and have fun with family, and I’m thankful that I have that kind of family.

Our weekend in Del Mar just happened to coincide with the seven year anniversary of Mike’s death, so you can imagine it was an emotionally loaded time. I think of Mike often, and mourn his loss from this world as well as the fact that my husband never got to meet him. But I can only imagine what his absence has done to his immediate family’s life. We shared our favorite jokes that Mike told over and over with such animation over fishbowl margaritas. And I was in awe of Scott’s grace in sharing these moments of remembrance, us toasting and mourning (yeah, we are a weird family) someone that sat in his place. He just took it in stride as if he had also lost a dear, dear friend. It definitely showed me his character. Needless to say, Scott scored big with us!

While we were in Del Mar, we collected stones from the beach, toured La Jolla and saw the seals at the cove, went to the lighthouse at Point Loma, and watched the sun set from Mount Helix. We also enjoyed Carol’s fabulous cheese fondue, which I am including for my recipe of the day. Beer + cheese= my favorite meal. Enjoy!

Cheddar Cheese Beer Fondue
(Adapted from a recipe found in The Fondue Cookbook )

¼ c. butter (about 2 T.)
¼ c. flour
Scant ½ t. Accent (MSG)
¼ t. salt
¼ t. dry mustard
12 oz beer (nothing too dark or heavy; PBR works well)
1 ½ t. Worcestershire sauce
1/2 lb. cheddar cheese

Melt butter in heavy saucepan and whisk in flour. Stir in Accent, salt, and dry mustard. Gradually add beer, whisking each addition of beer until incorporated and thickened. When all beer is incorporated, add Worcestershire sauce and start adding cheese, an ounce or 2 at a time and stir until each addition is melted. Serve with bite sized chunks of bread; suggestions: baguette and caraway rye.

Kindness of Strangers (and neighbors)

Since moving to California, Chris and I have been blessed with many small kindnesses from strangers. I say ‘small’ because it may have seemed insignificant to the bestower, but to us has made a world of difference. In a town of 3,500 people it is probably easy to spot the newcomers, and though we are used to a big city, a small community can seem large when you know only a handful of people. It is amazing how welcome we have felt in such a small amount of time. From one of Chris’ co-workers bringing us a Christmas tree when otherwise we would have had none, to a woman I have never met two houses down baking us a casserole. And her timing couldn’t have been more perfect-it showed up after one of our first P90X workouts. (I’ll save how much I detest that Tony guy for another post.)

So I’ve spent the good part of the afternoon baking cookies for the sweet casserole lady, and since I started this blog on a food note, I decided to include my recipe. These cookies are oh so divine, and I got the recipe from my oldest brother, Eric. Ever since he baked us a batch on one our visits to the Blue Ridge Mountains, we have requested them ever time. This is usually after a couple of post-meal beverages, which is probably why he always obliges. I’m not sure where he got it, so forgive me if I don’t give credit to the sent from heaven god or goddess that developed it.

Peanut Butter Cookies (with Hershey kisses on top)

½ cup butter (1 stick)
½ cup white sugar
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup peanut butter
1 egg
¾ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 ¼ cup flour
¼ teas. Salt

Mix sugar, butter, and PB in bowl. Add egg. Stir in other ingredients. Form dough into small balls and put on cookie sheet. Press down balls with back of fork (use a little flour and the dough won’t stick to the fork).

Bake at 350 for about 10-12 minutes. Immediately put a Hershey kiss in the center of each cookie.

Try to eat just one. I dare you.

The Big Cheese

So. Here it is. This posting has been on my to-do list ever since I decided to start a blog; it was just missing one essential element-a subject. And since this is my first post, well it comes with certain baggage attached to it. I mean, this one post could determine if you, my reader (here's hoping I have at least one) ever returns to my page. I have to make it worth your while, spark your interest so to speak.

But what to write about? What about my life is that interesting? You really want to keep reading now, don't you? But seriously. I am a thirty-year old who lives and works like the rest of us, just trying to stay up late enough to catch Conan while he still hosts the Tonight Show. I have a dog. My husband and I are still pleasant to one another, no drama there. This doesn't qualify as a Mommy-blog, because I have no kids. I don't have any expert advice to offer on gardening, house-keeping, or what movie to rent on Friday night.

But I do like to eat.

My wise friend Sally says that to make a blog interesting you don't necessarily have to be good at something, you just have to be passionate about it. You have to love it so much that you want to write about it on a regular basis.

I'm passionate about food. And good at eating it. That automatically puts me a step ahead, right?

So, since this is my first post, and shouldn't my first post tell you something about who I am, I decided to tell you about my favorite food. This is my cheese post.

Now, I understand that cheese may be the detriment of some. All you lactose intolerant folks out there, I applaud you. Because I cannot imagine my life without cheese. I may could go vegetarian someday. But vegan-no way, no how. I simply have not met a cheese I didn't like. There are cheeses out there that have not touched my palate, but chances are I'll like them. In fact, I think it's high time for me to expand my horizons and try some new ones. Maybe that will be post #2.

I am in no way a cheese connoisseur, if there were such a thing. I just met the sweet goodness of feta a mere 3 years ago. A big block of Velveeta is in my fridge as we speak. I will even have some string cheese on occasion; and I have to admit, when I see a can of spray cheese on tv my mouth waters a little bit. But I draw the line at parmesan in a can. If you take anything from my blog, take this: put fresh parmesan that you grate on your next spagetti dish and you will never go back. Seriously. Delicious. Chris and I could be poor and living on food stamps, and we'd have a block of parmesan in our fridge. It is that good. And necessary.

I am a woman of faith and I love my husband; so I'm not saying cheese is a substitute for either; but when you've had a bad day I don't know what can heal your ails better than a bowl of hot cheese dip with some salsa on the side. And maybe a margarita. But with or without tequila, cheese can soothe the soul.

-Katy