Love Me Challenge; Day 3, Words that describes YOU

Today I feel positively effervescent!

adjective

1. effervescing; bubbling.

2. vivacious; gay; lively; sparkling.

I've been speaking positively about myself

by saying this sentence out loud with

a new, happy adjective everyday.

This wonderful list sits in my planner and I go down 

the list and of new happy word each day.

Read more about why you should be more
mindful of our words and stay positively INSPIRED.

I just came across this photo of a Young Women
activity that reminded me of personal descriptive words.

The individual would sit and the others would

write descriptive words about us.

There were a few "inside jokes"
but I was reminded of
the characteristics that people value 
in me.    

Love Me Challenge; Day 2, A photo of you

C, can you pick a photo
where you think I am beautiful?

"Oh, I like this one!"

Why do you think I am beautiful in this photo?

"It just has you.  And us! And you look happy! 
And that must be a tear of joy in my eye! " 

"Love Me" Challenge

My insecurities are getting to the best of me. I complain everyday about my mommy tummy. Everyday. Single. Day. I'm sure my husband is exhausted. I don't want my kids to have a disdain for their body so why am I doing it towards mine. I appreciate and love the kids that were formed in this belly of mine. But the struggle is real. I wanted to find a "love me" challenge and I came across this past February challenge via Pinterest. Taking on the challenge TODAY.

So, WHY ARE YOU DOING LOVE ME?

I want to value and appreciate who I am from within. I want to learn to love the inner beauty of me more than the elements of physical beauty. The most genuine and sincere hearts are the truly the hearts of some individuals that just shine! I feel like I let my physical beauty shine more than my heart. 

I didn't like this photo because my first thought was, "I hate how big my arms look. The fat side of my face! Why do I wear t-shirts?!" I'm posting it because my son doesn't care what I looked like. He loves me regardless of what I think my flaws are. He thinks I am awesome because I wore a Star Wars t-shirt. We were at Disneyworld and I was worrying about how I looked. My husband has this as his screensaver on his phone. My son and husband loved this moment so why can't I.

Illustrated Faith

As I approach my 30th birthday in six months (yes, I'm counting down), I thought about how I wanted to celebrated the last year of my 20's. I thought of doing a "Random Act of Kindness" mission or writing a letter about my 20's and what I learned in my youth. But I believe the Spirit guided me and has prompted me read my scriptures more. Because isn't that where all kindness begins?

I have never been the best scriptorian ever. I love the teaching and gospels of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints! But I prefer listening to hours of conference talks by our modern day prophets or watching mormon messages videos or listening to LDS hymns or streaming Mormon channel... you get the point.

Some different ways I have studied the scriptures:

- During our first few years of marraige, my husband and I enrolled in an institute class as a young married couple to learn the Book of Mormon. I remembering grumbling some nights about it, but I understand that there was accountability for us. We would send our responses to a local seminary institute teacher every other night and he would respond back. He was impressed that we wanted to take these classes. He rarely saw couples taking classes.

- The Book of Mormon institute manual  has been a great friend.

- The last two years, I heavily relied on the Red Headed Hostesses website. If you have never used her website, it is absolutely wonderful. I would use a lot of her visuals for Young Women lessons. Right now, I'm have been working on the "Come Unto Christ" workbook that came out in 2014.

MY SCRIPTURE MISSION

"You are loved" by Tiffany Zajas

After browsing some Project Life ideas, I came across "Illustrated Faith" started up by Shanna Noel and other blogging creative gurus and I knew this was how I wanted to study scriptures! I knew I needed to find scriputres that I allowed me to journal and write my faith in the margines.

I have searched high and low for a wide margin Book of Mormon. I came across this download by Brad Jackman. I uploaded it to my USB and took it to the printers and the price was going to be $80 bucks. Yikes! Then I thought I would print the pages on my printer and illustrate the pages a few pages at a time. Yeah, my printer settings are not nice.

Then we moved.

Last week, we had a lesson in Relief Society about the blessings of the scriptures. It inspired me to pursue the need for a wide margin Book of Mormon.

Grace by Shanna Noel

 Alas, I came across lulu's printing website and made a book which cost me $20 versus $80. I uploaded Brad Jackman's wide margin PDF and picked and choose the cover. I can't wait for the book to get here for me to work on. I look forward to doing this with the other standard works as well.

In the meantime, I have downloaded David J. Ridges scriptures made easier to help me understand my scriptures more. I still plan on highlighting and using my personal scriptures as well. I have added tabs to my personal scriptures by using some washi fabric tape (the picture above). The last time I updated those tabs, I was in high school and used clear tape. I'm also excited to CREATE something for Him, about Him, and that generates my love for HIM!

Anyways, I'm sorry for the long details. I'm just ecstatic everything has come into place about how to go about studying scriptures for me. I will do my best to share my "illustrated faith" in the days or months to come.

How do you study the scriptures? Please feel to share.

Plug in "illustrated faith" in Pinterest and you will see some amazing scripture testimony!

Celebrating 2014

Celebrating 2014

I ran a color run. I have always wanted to do one.

We bought our first HOME!

The husband became a Navy officer.

We visited Austin and San Antonio.

I started a new waitressing job 

and had many late night karoake sesh 

with co-workers (Peggy Lee and 

Nancy Sinatra are my favorites).

Aunt K moved in with us (and moved out

in December).

C was in the local production of

the Nutcracker. 

D started Kindergarten.

I decided an A-line cut is the hairstyle for me.

Pixie cut was too short. Lesson learned.

I decided to withdraw from my academic studies

to take care of the needs of our family.

Again, pending. Sigh.

We endured a long three months without B.

Boy, this was hard for me!

I am the 1st counselor in the Young Women's

Presidency. So many spiritual moments with

amazing Young Women.

BUT 2015 already feels good!

I started painting with water colors.

My Project Life album for 2013 & 2014 

is almost done.

Organized my bathroom and kitchen 

drawers. Every single one of those drawers
are organized.

Two more moves in the 2015 year.

B will be home mid-January!

Flight 285

I flew back home alone. No children. No husband. The humming of the plane was a hymn. I wasn't squished between two hurly men. The women in front of me were reading their kindles, and the glare bounced off the anime drawings of the gentlemen sitting on the side aisle. It was the first time I flipped through a fashion magazine in years.

I laughed as the co-pilot sang Lady Gaga. He talked about teriyaki chicken, and Star Wars. He called the stewardess Yoda, and the pilot Obi One Kenobi. 

I played with the window pane, adjusting, pushing, sliding the sliding pane, up and down, up and down.  There was uneasiness to my gestures. My motherly instincts were not there to shush at kids, or discuss tomorrows details with my husband. 

I thought about the two weeks I just experienced; my grandfather's funeral, my grandmother's pink polka-dotted pajamas, my husband swimming with his cellphone, my new niece, the bickering, the lonely desert, and the earth toned colors of the Wasatch mountain range (I've missed so much). 

Sheer madness. I say this with a grin on my face.

A Woman's Tale

My cardigan clip arrived in the mail today, carefully coiled inside a trinket-sized bag folded inside brown parcel paper. The idea of a cardigan clip seems practical to me, as someone whose first default is to wear a cardigan over everything (even against the hot and humidity of the South), the justification to have an adornment is sound.

The tale isn't in the accessory though. The tale comes in wanting to know more about the women or woman who wore it. How intricate is her story? Was she the femme fatale of her time?

She must have wore gold-tipped, horned rimmed glasses, and bold sheath dresses.

She dog-eared pages of magazine stories on large rivers (Mekong, Delta, The Nile), because the disagreement of a river's scale was uncertain, and the wonderment thrilled her.

To her, cinderblock was a color.

She had intentions to write haikus, but her form always ended in epigrams.

Her mother wasn't her only hero. She respected, Jeanette Rankin, despite the angry crowds, who booed her out of the Montana Republican office.

When frustrations wreaked havoc, she saddled up, Hernando, her Kentucky Mountain saddle horse, and rode off just before the bleak of the rusted horizon disappeared into darkness.

Just imagine. Her tale.

Gushing

We cut into our first watermelon for the season, and the sought-after-child emotions gushed. Such a nonsensical emotion to pour over while cutting watermelon, but the childhood memories poured, mostly of my father's garden, and our old house, the 2 bedroom house I grew up in when we were the hellions of our neighborhood. We jumped off rooftops, set fires, had lice, played in the gutters, or simple put, exploitative with no bounds.

I decided on a pack of mini, cheap spiral notepads found in the $2 bin, and black .7 bic rolling pins. I can jot, and rip out as needed. The pens bleed out. I hate it, but they will do. Moleskins are useless to me, as they force me to think I need to write something profound. Remember, "I am free to write the worst junk in the world." Just write what is running through you.

I was craving brownies, the overly fudge-y, gooey, 2 cups-of-sugar-kind of brownies. I headed to the kitchen, nothing was going to stop me. I was going to deliver on my cravings.

Instead of purchasing the used texts I needed, I rummaged through the English Criticism section, and bought the pocket size edition of Writing Down The Bones. To this day, I still keep it in my bag, and refer to it often.

Write every day. Every. Single. Day. Stop thinking that you need to fulfill an ideal. You don't. Open and trust yourself in the process. 

Writing Down The Bones
Full Moon Brownies

Talking Oaks

It's not as if I revere you, I do, in fact, maybe too much. When we drive into Olde Town, I see you as my alma mater with a wide-embrace, arms extending, and your wide-gap smile. You are silly, you know. That Spanish-moss, uncombed, and whittling hair speaks of your age. Also, of truth, of affliction, in experiencing beauty, and all.

Thinking this. Knowing this. Brings tears to my eyes. I must be similar to that boy and his tree. The one who just kept on taking, and taking? His story is famous. Do you know of that Giving Tree? Do I take you for granted? No, no, no, I am not like him. I celebrate you in decorum. Yes, in de-co-rum.

NYPL Digital Gallery

Currently...

Seeing: Four key lime pies (to be given tomorrow).

Hearing: The ceiling fan.

Tasting: Buttery popcorn.

Feeling: Overwhelmed.

Smelling: Humidity.


*Inspired by this post from Abby Try Again

Free To Veer and Wander

"The writer, unlike his non-writing adult friend, has no predisposed outlook; he seldom observes deliberately. He sees what he did not intend to see; he remembers what does not seem wholly possible. Inattentive learner in the schoolroom of life, he keeps some faculty free to veer and wander. His is the roving eye."

A scribbled quote, stuck in-between the pages of a pending novel. It seems to be the week of zealous reading, and ginger-lemonade sipping. I seem to be stuck in a an English-Romantic state of mind.

Currently reading this. To see the movie adaptation.
Relying on this breakfast.
And, gathering a new reading list.

This new conception of a new Spring is alluring. The birds have been very celebratory. Mr. Gee has been moved back into the children's pool. And, the last frost is quickly approaching.

What new things await you, as Spring begins to come about?

"Strawberry Moon"

Super Moon, 8:17 p.m. Downtown Helen, Georgia

I sat on a swinging, green park bench, whilst watching the son in bouncing characters set on elastic springs. The husband's silhouette was carrying her on his back, as she hurled her legs in pendulum motion, mimicking monkey shrills across the bars.

The park was settled on a hill, which rose above the German architecture facade, covered by hugging blossoms. Spring was here. The night's warmth and sensory filled my body in complete unison. There was a slow-motion-moving-action picture taking place before me, blurry in all forms. My eyes might have looked glazed against the moonshine. My body must have been in standstill. My frame aligned with gravity against the green steel with my thoughts running (as they always do).

The moon was rotund, larger than usual, and glowing. The intrinsic lines of the familiar:

"The blossoms fell down like white feathers,
the grass was as warm as a bed, and the young man
full of promises, and the face of the moon
a white fire."

The ambivalence of those women reminded me contradictions occur daily. Moments are fleeting. Life is simultaneous. The equivalent of sorrow and joy must coexist.

A Professed Love For Southern Cooking

I'm a better writer than a friend. A better recluse than socialite. I can articulate conversations in my head, but trepidation fills my voice when I speak. In the midst of child-bearing, I, somehow, lost my ability to interact, became socially innate, overly sensitive, and awkward. In return, my child-like ambition returned alongside scribbling out of lines, PBJ's, bed head, jumping in puddles, forgiveness, being humbled and having the ability to speak in tongues.

Food in-a-way is reconnecting me to people. Using food as a third-party in my relationship with others is an easy icebreaker. I love putting my heart in soul in a meal, and sharing it. It's easier to say, "Thanks, neighbor," when I have a batch of cookies in my hand, or "I appreciate your help," with a loaf of bread.

Yesterday, I didn't feel inspired to exercises at the local Y. I sat in the foyer of the gym, sitting in a pink-cushioned chair browsing through the Lee's Brothers cookbook, while my children played in the daycare, and the husband ran his mile(s). I just wanted to read, to browse, to jot, and get lost in a cookbook or two. In the hour-or-so of waiting, I had become a part of three, separate conversations centered around Southern cooking.

The first gentlemen was in his late 60's, an elderly man with maroon, colored mesh shorts, and a white shirt with a Junior League emblem. In passing, he saw I was reading:

"You readin' at the gym."

"Yes, sir," as I looked up sheepishly, "Well, I should be studying, but I'm reading a cookbook."

"Oh, you like to cook, huh? You have kids, m'am."

"Yes, Sir, I have two children."

"Aw. I see. I see. You need to cook well for those children."

"Yes, I am trying to be better."

The conversation concluded with the man explaining how important it was for me to preserve my time in the kitchen as tradition, to see it as a sacred thing, to teach, to eat, to savour the food, and more importantly, to let my kids be around it.

He ended with a "God bless you."

Within a few minutes of the first man leaving, a man in his late forties, over-sized yellow shirt, and black running shorts approach.

"What cookbook is that?"

"The Lee Brother's, cooks from Charleston, South Carolina."

"Hmmm, I never heard of them."

"Oh." [What do you say after that?]

"They use a fresh approach to Southern cooking." [The only thing I could think of]

"Well, I'm working on a cookbook. Straight-up Georgia Southern cooking."

"Oh, can you tell me the difference?"

"I'm not going to have any of that fresh cooking," he joked.

"God bless, m'am."

And right after, a woman in her late 50's and a cat shirt, sat next to me...

"Are you here with someone?"

"Yes, my husband and two children."

"You didn't feel like exercising."

"No, m'am, I wanted to read."

"A cookbook? Bless your heart, dear."

"What kind of cookbook?"

"The Lee's Brothers from Charleston, South Carolina."

"I think I might have heard of those two. Now, 'ain't that neat."

"Be good to 'dem kids, dear."

Her husband approached, and she walked off.

-----

When I came to Georgia, I had a snubbed, flared nose, and haughty attitude. I made the assumption that Southern cooking didn't apply to us. I was wrong. I was ignorant. It has everything to do with me, with my family, with my children. The history of Southern cooking is extensive, long, enduring, and described as "one of great cataclysm, and change," by the Lee Brothers. The arrival of the English, Irish, Scots, Portuguese, French, Germans, and enslaved Africans are among the few who brought their methods of cooking to this region.

I am learning to respect regional cooking. While there are many meat-centric dishes, there are many things that I have loved, and have integrated in our everyday cooking with items such as collards, kale, cornmeal, and buttermilk. And, after reading, the Lee Brother's cookbook, these dishes can evolve, and be fresh, and new.

I love the hearing the 'yes, sirs' and 'yes, m'ams.' All said with a harboring, and strong accent, always ending with a "God bless" and polite "thank yous." I loving being a part of it. I really do.

Jane's Ginger Tea

  

On boot-wearing, cold, rustic days like these, my hands have been finding warmth around the ceramic, white of tea cups.  And, when I go to make a cup of herbal tea, I find myself thinking of Grandma Jane, and her ginger tea.

During a brief holiday, I was congested, puffy-eyed, and miserable from a 6 hour drive from Utah into Las Vegas. As I stepped in the door, Grandma Jane's [motherly] instincts went into high gear, and she handed me a cup of sweet,  peppery tea, "This is going to help you. Drink slowly. Now."

She was adamant about finishing the tea. She sat across me, waiting, patiently, ensuring me this was going to help. I forgot about how miserable I felt, and I remember sipping quietly. There was a quiet ambiance in the room, and of course, my grandma's hazy, silhouette in the foreground.

I love a warm, fluid, cup of herbal tea. While I don't drink caffiene, a gleaming sprig of mint, or a teaspoon of mild honey-flowery chamomille, or shavings of ginger root is perfect for me. Cleaned, scrubbed, citrus rinds are a lovely adaptation, if I want adventure.

My children had an intense game of ABC match up going on, while I was in the kitchen making tea. I came to sit down on the couch, and they quickly glanced up. Instantly, "T-t-t, I want Teee," I found myself blowing, sipping, slurping, and feeding them by the spoon. Two ounces last only for so long.

I went back to the kitchen, and poured three more cups.

And, than, there's that sound of tea, I love...

The sound of sipping. The cool blowing from the roof of your mouth to ensure hotness. The ting of the spoon as it hits the cup. [The sound comes when making hot chocolate too.]

Family recipes are always composed of wonderful reveries. Somewhere in-between the reminiscing past, and present day round-table, there is an affluent, flowing story.

I have the option to add my own details, if I choose not to, the history can dissolve.

I don't want that.

--------------------------

Grandma Jane's Ginger Tea

boiling water
shavings of fresh ginger root
agave nectar or honey for sweetening

Place shavings in cup. Pour boiling water into cup. Let stand for 5-10 minutes, dependent on how strong you want the flavor. Add agave nector or honey to your own liking.

Coconut Rice Soup

Homemade cooking. I miss it. I want it. I long it.  I cook now for my kids, per se, but I miss the flavor profiles of my mother's kitchen.

My current cooking repertoire is a folder bustling with modern recipes I've ripped out from popular magazines, cuneiform-like scribbled notes on post it notes, and margins. And, the cookbooks that line the kitchen shelf holds true to words such as "vegetarian" "organic" "whole foods"... Healthy they may be, but the personal history, stories, and associations are lacking. Missing love.

My mother never used a recipe. Never. She made use of what was in her kitchen, and my dad's bustling garden. She made a once-a-week trip grocery store, if necessary. Every three to sixth months we would make a drive to Salt Lake City and into West Valley and buy fine Asian ingredients. A mother who was always slurping broth, a mother crouched on the floor, sitting with legs always crossed; licking, chopping, mincing, dicing, scooping, fine tuning with the spices on the counter.

[Like mother, like daughter: mother's slurping mode.]

My brother and sister can agree there might have been some unusual hygiene practices or lack thereof, but maybe my stomach became stronger by it, and we lived through it.

This is me—going back—and working on collecting those recipes, those memories, and more importantly, writing about it. Hello to the stories ahead; tales of of fermented fish sauce, the taste of pucker-punch green ripe papaya salad, the tripe-laden Pho, sounds of mortar crunching—oh, the stories to come.

Of course, there will be Vegetarian fine tuning and tweaking of the recipes I hope to gather. My mother's cooking exist by ritual. Anything written is non-existant. Getting past the language barrier, and the puzzlement on my mother's face will be problematic. I hope to explain that later. My mother is fluent in Cambodian, and has broken English. I am fluent in English, and speak broken Cambodian. You see.

With this new year, I knew breakfast needed to be better. Given on gym days, I have a tendency to pour yogurt into a jar with granola, hand two baggies to the kids (with store bought cereal), and we wait in front of the gym scarfing, ahem, eating. It needs to better than that.

This morning, I saw inspiration on the counter. No, not a coconut, but a ripened papaya, predominately yellow, no black spots or bruises screaming, "USE ME! USE ME!" I had no clue how to use it. I have never worked with a ripened papaya, or even ate a ripen papaya, until just a week ago. Booker thought it was interesting, being that it is highly used in Asian cuisine. During my childhood, the papaya was eaten raw, in it's greenest from. My mother would make a papaya salad (fish paste, tomatoes, lime, fish sauce), and that's how I always envisioned a papaya. 

On to breakfast: I knew I had to make coconut rice soup. A flavour profile of coconut milk, rice, and papaya would be perfect. It's what I had in the pantry. 

*EASY COCONUT RICE SOUP w/ PAPAYA

2 cups of cooked jasmine rice (uncooked rice is preferred for a creamy texture, but I had some extra from a previous dish)

1 can of light coconut milk

1/4 cup of sugar

1/4 cup of unsweetened coconut flakes

1 tsp of vanilla extract

pinch of ginger and/or nutmeg (optional, but I love it)

Combine coconut milk and sugar into saucepan. Let sugar dissolve. Add cooked jasmine rice. Let cook for 10+ minutes, or until the rice heats through. Add vanilla extract when done. Add sliced papaya on top or other tropical fruits (we love pineapple).

This can be made with uncooked rice. This will create a creamier texture. Make sure to use two cans of coconut milk. Bring to a gentle boil, reduce the heat and then simmer gently for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

*Updated: Some changes I have made on the recipe to make it healthier.

2 cups of brown rice or, for a nuttier texture use wild rice
1 tablespoon of black & white sesame seeds
1/2 cup agave nectar or 1/4 cup raw sugar
1 can (16 oz) of light coconut milk
1/4 cup of unsweetened coconut flakes
1/2 cup of fruit of juice (pineapple, passion fruit, ripe papaya)
1 tsp of vanilla extract
raw cashews, if you want

Use directions from original recipe.

Apple & Pear

As serendipity would have it, three friends have invited me to do some personal foraging.

1. What's your all time favorite song and why? This changes from day to day. Last week, I told my husband "Don't Take Your Guns To Town" and "A Boy Name Sue" by Johnny Cash. When I want to belt in the shower, respectively Aretha Franklin. Yesterday, "If You Could High To Kolob", and I have a crush on William Elliot Whitmore's voice. I'm a genre jumper. 

2.What was the most memorable part of your wedding day and/or first date if your not married yet? The first time I saw us in white together, and we had our first couple's dance. He wore a white tux, and I wore my white dress - the music and our dancing feet voided the rest. Our bit of heaven or something like it.

3.What do you want to be when you grow up? If I wasn't a mom, a director for a non-profit organization, philanthrophist, teacher, writer, master gardener, honorary homechef, or a creative/marketing director... A combinations of any of these would be ideal.

4.Why do you blog? I blog to document my life, my family's passions, our endeavours, to find a connection with people, and understand myself through the process. 

5. What's your favorite attribute about yourself and why? Creativity, it allows me to see things from a different perspective, and push limits of what is expected. It does make me super critical of what I do, and when something doesn't go accordingly - I'm crushed. I need the intrinsic motivation to be a better thinker, and of course, a better person, a key to my life-long learning.

6. What's on your Christmas list this year? A sewing machine, or a bread machine, or a macro lense. 

7. What's your "signature drink"? For the season, Martinellis's sparkling apple & pear, I'm obsessed. 

Tag: Brianna, Tiffany C, Dawny, Amanda, & Rachel C

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees 
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body 
love what it loves. 
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 
Meanwhile the world goes on. 
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 
are moving across the landscapes, 
over the prairies and the deep trees, 
the mountains and the rivers. 
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 
are heading home again. 
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 
the world offers itself to your imagination, 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place 
in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver

"Tell me about your despair, and I will tell you mine," a sentence that seems to beckon me. I'm finding that this photo is befitting to the circumstance; breathing, and being a bit more brave.  

Spaces

I'm finding that I am drawn to people's spaces, portraits of knick knacks, and food. There is a shared intimacy of joy, comfort, in knowing your surroundings, and eating what you love.

I'm going to make my home a place of being, instead of finding errors for perfection. 

I'm going back to the simplicity of blogging, expect less of the excessive. 

I need to put my writing demeanor back on and focus, focus, focus. 

"Loves means to look at yourself..."

Allow me to tip my hat- to my own doubt, a never-ending-constant, and to my own distant past, good bye 20 pounds!

I am in a celebratory mood this week. I've reached my 20 pound loss goal, and am quite ecstatic. Losing weight, ah yes, the never ending pursuit of my own disdain. Extreme diets have never succeeded with me, and upon choosing what route I would go in January, I decided to work on a sensible pursuit with the basics; total strength (2 to 3 times a week), cardio(1-3 times a week), and healthy eating habits. 

My BMI officially puts me in the normal category, which is fantastic since I gained a considerable amount with the two pregnancies. The Steve Ward method help me track my weight goals, and kept me inspired each day. It was better to see that I was losing weight on the chart, even if it didn't show in the waistline. 

I still have a 10 pounds to go. I will be at weight that is much better than I was in my teens. I'm 110 percent satisfied with where I have come. 

"Love means to look at yourself

The Way one looks at distant things..."

Octoberfest

October means orange comes in many shades.

Pumpkin adoration.

Enjoying the company of our less-than-ordinary friends.

Fall crafting.

Cutting Halloween shapes out of tortilla chips.

[And] the many books to-be-read (the husband's current queue).