January made five.

Five years ago I sat on my couch when the phone rang. It was a call with big news. With news that would change my life forever. A call I will never forget. A call that wasn’t even for me. It was the call that diagnosed me with celiac disease.

My heart leapt that day. Full, big, and joyous. I was given the chance to live. To love. To have health. The fullness of that excitement still bubbles up through my chest and across my face in glowing smiles. It was the start of so many dreams and moments.

Last year, with a body whose strength I could count on, I leapt again on that day. I flew to Europe, and started a multitude adventures. This January 30^th was something else entirely. It was a day, like so many in my life right now. It was filled with laughter, friends, and conversations. There was good news from great friends, in addition to a full day of lectures and tutorials. There were classes that I’m enthralled with, and those lovely in-between class moments when we come together as a cohort, where friendships are made. There was an abundance of high-fives. The quiet and simplicity, that’s what reminded me how lucky I am.

Gluten is a word I utter, or at least think about every day. It’s part of the course. It’s what I’m always searching for while I read a label. It’s what comes up when a friend offers a cookie or whatever food they happen to be sharing. It’s a necessary part, but it’s not the only part. In high school, I was so incredibly joyous of being gluten-free. While that’s not untrue today, I find that being away from home, people point it out more. At home, mom fed me. She made sure that I was eating balanced and fully. Here, that’s my job. I see it more. Nearly everyone says that it must be hard. It never has been, but now it’s slightly tinged. As if each person insinuating that it’s bad, sad or unfortunate, brings some of that to me. I don’t have the shining ease of home here. That broke me down a little bit. It pushed some negativity onto my plate each day. I became tired of defending that I’m not missing out. In turn, I let myself miss out. I stopped really trying with my food. I just pieced together meals. I made toast. I lost some of that joy from making and caring for myself through food.

This week has been different. I’ve not worried about the dishes I make, I’ve just made food. Good food. Nourishing food. Food that leaves me content and food with all the nutrients I need. I’d fallen into the excuse that I only really give an effort when I’m cooking for someone else. But I count, too.

Maybe it’s that diagnosis anniversary, and maybe it’s the love and effort I associate with February and Valentine’s Day. Either way, something’s clicked. With this month of love, empathy, and joy, it’s so important to give to those you love. Including (and perhaps especially) yourself.

Some days it takes a nudge from mom – make the meal, you’ll feel better for it. Some days it takes having nothing but whole, unprepared food in the fridge. Nothing that will be ready in five. Some days good food can be a perfect reason to take a break from homework. Some days it’s a photo. Some days it’s a friend. Some days it’s nothing but the knowledge that a solid meal does make a difference.

In the past five years, my life has been incredibly food-centric, save for the past few months. I’m a happier, fuller person when I’m well fed. Sometimes I just need a little reminder as to what matters most.

How do you feed yourself, and what do you do to take care of those you love?

xoxo
Lauren

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It’s been awhile. Well, that’s a mighty understatement, but my life has moved away from this space bit by bit. Or rather, the longer I’ve not posted, the harder it’s become to post.

I started writing here at fifteen, headstrong, full of energy with nowhere to let it out as my body was slowed by illness. Yet, in this last year, I’ve had places to put that energy. I flew across an ocean and took my first steps out on my own. I travelled through Europe and lived alone in a tiny apartment in the French Alps. Then, I came home and fell in love all over again with Alberta, BC, and the Rockies that are at my core. Summer was a whirl of joy, friends, baseball, kids, travel, and work. Before I knew it, I was moving cross-country to start university. Now, I have a semester of Engineering under my belt, and am thoroughly excited for the next one.

This is the season for reflection, so I took some time looking back at 2012. The year I leapt. What an incredible leap year it was.

If you hover over the photos, some tell more tidbits.

January.

I finished up classes, said goodbye to Calgary, and hopped on a plane set for Europe.

February.

We spent a day or two in Geneva, before making our way to Annecy. It was a bitingly cold day, but exploring a little bit of that city was marvelous.

I got settled, and fell for that sweet town. I lived in the old town, in a little studio apartment. The stone stairs I climbed each day had held up that place for hundreds of years. Annecy was a wonderful mosaic of old and new, in that unmistakable way that europe takes old and fits the new around it.

March.

I started to explore the area a bit more. Guided tours with my language school, and ventures on our own. History in each step.

To Chambéry, to Lyon.

Annecy’s Venetian Carnival brought incredible costumes and crowds with cameras. It was a treat to see the town in the spotlight. I missed the summer crowds, so this was fun. That said, I was grateful to be able to get to know the place at an off-peak time. By May, it was bustling all the more.

We hiked. We laughed. We explored.

April.

I spent Easter weekend at Vimy, remembering and honouring those Canadians who fought 95 years earlier. An experience I will never forget.

I celebrated my nineteenth birthday with friends from all over the world. They treated me to each of the songs they sing for birthdays in their countries. Mostly, they were to the tune of “happy birthday” that I know so well, but the Swedish one was it’s own thing entirely!

May.

Traveling to the Netherlands, I spent Liberation Day with a dear friend. She shared her homeland, and I left a piece of my heart in that beautifully bike-friendly country.

May meant saying adieu to Annecy. Until we meet again, my fair friend.

With 10 free days, I traveled around France. I happened upon delightful graffiti in Lyon, and played with film as my friend and I explored that city with disposable cameras.

I met a 103 year old man, as I sat quietly on a park bench in Beaune. He kept repeating: “Enjoy your youth“. It was a conversation I won’t soon forget.

I stayed with a friend, where our common language was French. Occasionally, we limboed through our conversations, but mostly it was a joy. One afternoon, we caught a city bus to Germany.

On the last day of May, I flew home. Full of stories, craving my own bed and hugs from my family.

June.

Baseball. I photographed my brother’s games. Thousands upon thousands of photos, wherein I fell for the game. When the season finished, I dearly missed the whirl of my shutter as I captured each play.

Old friends and roadtrips. Bubbles and twirls. Quiet moments and bursting laughter.

July.

Baseball. Baseball. Baseball. (With extra baseball on the side.)

Quick trips to visit friends I’ve made through this space. Lunches at exquisite Seattle haunts, ice cream at local gems, and many more meals full of delight.

August.

These boys. Making sure they didn’t get into too much trouble throughout the summer.

September.

Moving East. Starting University. Orientation week, filled with new friends, the unexpected, and much excitement. Diving into Engineering.

October.

Thanksgiving, with family. The flame of fall as it spreads through all of the trees, like wind.

Midterms. Round One.

November.

So many mornings, I watched the sunrise through my window.

Some days, I even caught the sunset over campus.

December.

Finals. Finals. Finals.

The occasional whisper of snow, whisked away within a day or two.

—

Now, I’m home again. To savour my winter wonderland, spend time with those I love, and decompress before next semester kicks off with a bang. Thank you for the laughs, for the sights, and for the friends, 2012. I’m looking forward to what your friend 2013 has in store.

Merry, merry to you and yours.

xoxo
Lauren

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I’ve tried to start this post about eight different ways. Each time, the vastness of these past four months overwhelms me, leaving me with just a few misplaced sentences. Stories peak up with each idea, as each day held so many stories. I guess that’s what happens when you change your environment in such an extreme way: you’re left with buckets of stories, but nowhere to start. So, let me start small.

A year ago, it became clear that I would have a handful of free months. Months without school, between high-school courses and University commencing. After contemplating a massive road-trip across North America and other random momentary ideas, I decided upon France. Each month, another detail would become clearer. Language school. Four months. The Alps. Annecy. An apartment. My visa.

Then, tout à coup, I was there: living by myself in a small French city, and I couldn’t have been happier.

It went by in the blink of an eye. The most ridiculous, incredible, memory-packed, joyous blink of an eye I’ve experienced. Each day had moments that now burst out in flashes. Sometimes it’s the urge à parler en français. Perhaps it’s talking to a friend and searching for that one memory that will satisfy their curiosity about my time away. That one memory doesn’t exist. One leads to another which leads to a person which leads to second-hand stories about their adventures, which leads to something else we did. It’s a tumble. An intricate web of moments; it’s life.

I made this photo in my last few weeks. The morning haze, en route to school as the sun prepared for a beautiful warm day. Slowly, those cobblestone-lined roads and clear canals became familiar. In sputtering rain, covered in slick frost, with the sun beating down and under the stars. Home, away from home.

That market. Dear me, I fell for it. I loved seeing familiar faces, finding the seasons change through all of the produce, and watching the streets turn into my favourite place to shop, week after week.

One day, I walked with a friend through some of the little towns nearby. We passed by this little ferme, and those generously in bloom flowers. My stay in the Alps was filled with flowers. I lived in a ville fleurie, and each month brought out more buds and blooms.

Living by the water. Well, a huge lake. A new thing for this prairie-mountain girl. I loved it. Especially since the lake was surrounded by mountains. The Alps, even.

There is so much history. Yet, it’s unmistakably alive. There is newness and ideas and change, of course, amid buildings that have stood for centuries. Sometimes, moments seemed timeless. With these ancient buildings, il y a certaines choses that could have happened during époques differentes. That’s the beauty of exploring a place so far from home; sometimes you find little windows into history, and into possibility, through tradition.

xoxo
Lauren

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Eighteen was healthy. Maybe that seems like an odd declaration to start this off, but for anyone who has dealt with illness for years, that statement is the dream. Eighteen was the first year since I fell ill at thirteen that I haven’t been ill. I’ve caught the odd cold, but that’s it. Colds. Just like anyone else. Needless to say, Eighteen was a good year. It was also the one of most change and most life of my teenage years thus far.

I graduated. I took the courses that illness made me miss. I got my driver’s license. I worked. I moved to France. I started living on my own. I met so many incredible people. I saw so many incredible things.

Today, I turn Nineteen. That last teenage year is upon me. It starts in the French Alps, surrounded by friends from all over the world, and will carry so much joy. Of that, I am sure. It’ll bring University, a new city, and so much new knowledge and new people. I’m excited to claim Nineteen as my own.

And, as always, the 20th of April also marks the anniversary of this site. Today, it’s four years old. Four! Have I really been doing this that long? Dear me. I love how much it’s evolved over the years. And once I get back to Canada, I’m looking forward to sharing more recipes and goodness like that. For now, all I can give is the odd snippet of life here.

The past few weeks, I’ve found myself writing down things I’ve learned and been reminded of. While in France, and over this past year. So, here we go. Eighteen, thank you. Nineteen, let’s do this.

Nineteen, I’m looking forward to dancing with you, to printing a whole bunch of the photos I make with you, to laughing, to breathing, loving and learning. To traveling and stumbling. To reading and watching. To more French, both here and home. To reunions and new friends. To dreams and the unknown.

All my love.

xox
Lauren

PS- I was on Teen Vogue a few weeks back. Definitely a cool moment in Eighteen.

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This is something I needed to write. Something I needed to share. With eagerness, a need for it to be out there: to declare the remembrance, to express gratitude, and to send love home. Consider it an open letter, and a whole lot of love.

I feel the pull in my chest. That yank which changes how you look at the world. The one that makes you grateful, sad, and joyous. This past weekend was a profound one. I know that my words here will never do it justice, but I can try. I can show you a touch of what I saw, as I filled my memory card to the brim.

This past Monday was the 95th anniversary of Vimy Ridge. It was an important battle for the Canadians in the First World War. It was the first time all the Canadian troops had worked together, giving us a reputation as soldiers not to be messed with. It was “the birth of a nation”. So many died there, fighting for it, for us. Walking through the battlefields, up to the Canadian monument, through the cemeteries, you could feel the power of that war nearly a century later. It’s not something we can dare forget.

My uncle had mentioned that he was going to be in Vimy, for the memorial. It took all of two seconds to know that I had to go: to see him, but also to see this essential piece of Canadian history. Now, I know it was so much more. It was some of the best conversations I’ve had in a long time. It was great Canadian music (played by truly wonderful people). It was heartbreaking. It was beautiful. It is one of the weekends that I will never forget, for all of that and the tug in my chest.

It wasn’t hard to tear up, even knowing that what I saw wasn’t even the half of it. 95 years has masked so much of the death and destruction, but all that valour and emotion is still there. It’s in the air, and didn’t take long to hit home. I’m still processing so much of it, and I’m sure I will be for awhile. Thank goodness the weekend ended with a concert. It lifted spirits, showcased talent, and brought us all together.

Thank you Hugh, John, Geoffrey, Vince, Tobin, Merm, Chris, Matthew, Keith, Sarah, Tim, Kinley, Phil, Emmet, Adam, Josh, Romesh, Katie, Mr. Johnston, everyone at EF, the Easter bunnies, Arras, Lievin, Vimy, all the Veterans, and everyone else whose path I crossed this weekend. I know I’m missing so many names, but thank you all. You’ve left an impression.

Even sculptures on the monument were weeping. Drops fell from the sky, and we each wandered in our own way, reading the names of those without a gravestone. So many names carved into the stone. Lines of last names. Of my last name, and names of those I love. There was even an L. McMillan. It doesn’t hit closer to home than that.

How does one put into words a cemetery? So many lives, so many stories. Pleas on tombstones from mothers. Stones without a name, regiment or anything to say who they were. Boys buried under my feet, even younger that I.

The landscape had such charge. Unnatural, with craters everywhere. You could imagine the war’s destruction, while also not having a clue of what it entailed. The ground which still holds unexploded munitions, that must be taken away with the freezing and thawing each year.

The trenches. Where so many soldiers would have worked. Where my great-grandfather likely put his master builder skillset to work. Where there would have been order, valour, and chaos.

Some of the heavy stuff was broken up by walks. Getting lost in Arras, stumbling upon randomness and beauty. J’ai trouvé architecture surprisingly different from what I see each day in the Alps. J’ai aussi parlé plus d’anglais que tous les autres week-ends en France.

Hey Rosetta! Kind, wonderful people playing great music, and putting on a marvelous show.

Spirit of the West. Fabulous music played and performed by kind, wonderful people.

There you have it. Some snippets from this weekend. Add a mini Easter egg hunt, a handful of fantastic meals, and great conversations, you have a trip unlike anything I’ve experienced thus far. Merci à tout le monde qui était là. I hope that our paths cross again sometime soon.

xoxo
Lauren

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While wandering through town at sunset, I was struck by the need to write. To check in, here. To say hello, and that everything is splendid. Every other trip I’ve written about in this space has been short: a few days, or my first time in Europe- for three weeks. But this isn’t just a trip. It’s an adventure. I’ve been here, studying French in the French Alps for just shy of a month. I have a routine. I’m in tune with the rhythm of this place (more or less!). Most of all, I feel completely at peace.

There has been good, bad and wonderful while I’ve been here. The bad is short, but made me realize the distance from home fairly suddenly, when my cat was hit by a car. When I read those words, my heart fell. My eyes flooded, and before long, I was wandering to a new friend’s apartment searching for a hug. Boy, I miss that girl. She always knew how to make me smile. I love you, Magic.

Besides a touch of altitude sickness, everything else has been great. My classes can be tough, but I’m adoring this struggle. I’m relishing in those awkward moments where I search for a word, or do charades to explain what I’m trying to say. It feels right. I don’t think I’ve ever loved making mistakes as I do here. Tripping over my words, stumbling. Français is my job, currently. Even with my incredibly limited vocabulary and basic français, it’s magic. Everyday, I hear more. I understand even just one more word, one more turn of phrase.

By no means do I expect to be fluent, but I’m slowly becoming comfortable with the language. Comfortable with buying groceries, asking for vegetables at the market, and communicating with those around me, in this foreign tongue.

So often, I find myself walking. Sometimes, it’s en route to school. Others, I let my feet guide me and my eyes wander. I marvel at the cobblestones or the mountains as they turn pink at sunset. Every time, I see something new. Just the other day, I realized I have at least 3 chocolatiers within a two-minute walk of my front door, and that I haven’t set foot in any of them. That’s something I need to remedy soon.

Speaking of chocolate, one of my weekends here, I popped up to Switzerland. I’m still in disbelief that the phrase Switzerland for the weekend can be part of my life for a little while. Anyways, I went to visit Jenn. My darling friend, who lives with her husband Ryan en Suisse. Oui! C’est vrai! (Ahem. Sorry. We’ve been doing affirmations in class.)

We spent the weekend wandering through markets and visiting Chateau de Chillon, while not cooking and eating. We ate so well that weekend. From divine macarons and a selection of exquisite chocolate to homemade tomato sauce and incredible pancakes. Flavour, in each bite. My belly was happy, and my heart was full of beautiful scenes and great conversation. Thank you, Jenn and Ryan, for that weekend.

It’s funny. As much as I have so much to say, I’m also just starting to experience it all. I don’t know where to start. The biggest tales are still unfolding, memories yet to be lived. Right now, it’s the moments that shine through.

When a man stopped me in the street, asking about a bus, and I could answer him. I could speak to him, and even though I got one or two things confused, I answered all of his questions. He did say “thank you” rather than «merci», but that in itself was kind. He let me speak en français, even with my glaringly anglophone accent.

The jeune garçon, zipping by on his scooter, saying “Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” Even the French folks ahead of me were surprised, joking about getting the door.

When l’homme qui m’a vendu la fromage sold me exactly €10,00 worth of cheese. Speaking of cheese, all of the dairy is seriously good here. Like… totally. And all of a sudden I sound like an awkward teenager (well…. I am. A bit. Okay, more than a bit. Okay, I’m going to stop talking now. Okay, like yeah. Like totally.) That’s how good the dairy is. It makes me lose my real words. Don’t even get me started on the yaourt. I’m mildly obsessed. Scratch the mild. I’m obsessed. Especially yaourt nature avec confiture myrtilles sauvages stirred in. Yes. Oui. Get on that.

Skiing in -25°C in the Alps. Each time the chairlift pulled us over a peak, we had another sunrise. I must have seen 5 sunrises that day. I was spoiled, even if I was frozen to the bone. Not to mention, with ice crystals in the air, we skied through a few clouds of glitter. The whole world was sparkly. It’s hard not to romanticize a glittery world, where the Alps are every direction you look, raw and strong as they cut into the sky.

In stark contrast, skiing this past weekend meant taking off excess layers, and a few moments of reclining on chaises soaking up the sun before continuing our run. Besides the altitude sickness I got from the 2000+ meter change through the day, it was beautiful.

With that, I’m here. Ma vie en France has just begun. I flew out here on January 30th: the day that marked four years since my celiac diagnosis. Four years since my life changed in a huge way, allowing the possibility of health. This past 30 janvier, I changed my life in a huge way. Both of those changes have been huge, incredibly fulfilling ones. I’m grateful for both the one that was handed to me, and this one, that I chose and chased.

Dream big. Happy Leap Day, my friends.

xoxo
Lauren

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A week from now, I’ll be settling into my apartment. My apartment in France. Oh goodness, those words sounds like such a far-off dream. The truth is that they are. I’ve spent so much of my teenagehood battling illness, where travel and living abroad was the sort of thing that lit up my dreams. When presented with months in-between school, I researched and looked. I found a school. I found somewhere to learn French. I convinced my parents and worked up the money. Rather than just the high-school level that I completed two years ago, this will be full immersion. While I don’t expect fluency, I can’t wait to dive in.

Long before it began, I dedicated 2012 as a year of chasing dreams. A year filled with growth, the unexpected and joy. I’m so thrilled to have that be coming true, even slightly. Soon, I set off for four months in France. Living in the Alps, surrounded by French. Rather than resolutions, I have my word for this year. Leap.

Leap into the unknown. Leap into my dreams. Leap in, giving all that I have. Leap. Such a simple word, but with so much charge behind it. I think I’m ready, but I know that leaping will be tough at times. It will be scary and uncomfortable, but I will come through it stronger. It will also be invigorating and joy-filled. So, with that, I leap.

I don’t believe I’ll have much internet access while over there, but I’m sure I’ll send tweets and instagrams (I’m @laurenmcmillan on IG) here and there. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to find an internet cafe every so often to share some of my life over there with you, in this space. Let me apologize in advance for my lack of email replies surely to happen from now through June.

Before I say à bientôt, here are some snippets of my life lately. In between all of the random compiling, the room-cleaning, the studying (with final exams being 3 and 4 days before I fly- eep!), and the constant realizing that I leave for four months in France in just a few days, I haven’t had much time to create in the kitchen. Instead, I’ve been packing and soaking up the world around me. This is some of what I’ve seen, of what I’ll miss about home.

(Yes, I’m a little bit in love with instagram right now.)

Skiing on New Year’s Eve, with friends. The mountains always make my heart full of wonder. I’m so thrilled I’ll get to explore another set soon.

I adore writing letters and cards.

And sending them, of course. (Both the sending and writing are not things I plan on giving up. If anything, much the opposite.)

It had been ages since I went to a hockey game. This one had us on the edge of our seats until the last second. No question, it’s the best sort to attend. (And the home team won! Which made for that much more excitement.)

Flags, all set to sew on my things. (Note to self: after exams, get on that!)

Happy things. Favourites, all around.

Brunch with best friends. Birthday Celebrations. Love. Joy. Laughter. All the best things.

The sunrise. Such a beautiful thing to see, no matter where you are. This one was en-route to see a darling friend. I’m not loving having to say goodbye to friends, but I’m grateful to see some of them before I go!

One thing I won’t miss is the massive studying, which I must get back to.

The chocolate though, I’m not letting go of that. Why would I do that? Chocolate is good for the soul.

So, that’s what’s up with me. I keep doing a double-take at the date, constantly in awe that this is all happening. If you’ve got any suggestions for being gluten-free in France, traveling, or with anything else, I’d love to hear. Thank you for being here.

xoxo
Lauren

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A new year. I love the freshness of it. The idea that anything can happen. The blank page, unmarked by triumphs or failures, only plans and dreams. 2012 is destined to be a year distinctly unlike any I’ve experienced thus far. Big plans, full of space to wander and make mistakes and feel joy are outlined. (I’ll tell you about them soon. Promise!)

We may only be five days in, but I’m smitten. The days have been slow. Pajama-clad mornings, days absorbed in books, with scones. Thrown together, pulled from the oven, enjoyed with some tea and a book.

I’ve also spent a little time reflecting. 2010 was a year marked by illness. 2011 became a year where health flourished. I’m so grateful that I can say that. 2011 was the year I graduated. It was a year where I finally got to meet so many of the friends I’ve made through this space. It was a year of great joy. The biggest illnesses were colds and mild flus (none of that head cold-sinus infection-flu trifecta of 2010, or pneumonia-snowball of 2007. Phew.). This past semester, I’ve missed only 2 days. Two! Compared with the 3-1/2 months I missed last fall, this is heaven. I’m still flabbergasted that it was just two days this semester. A yucky little flu, stealing a few days. No lingering. That’s what I wish for you all. No lingering illnesses. That, and days filled with laughter and great joy.

I know I waxed on about it last year, but the scale? It’s really really great. Changed how I bake. All you need is a spoon to measure out flours. That means that all you have to wash is one spoon. How great is that?!

Oh, butter. You’re pretty darn awesome too.

Using a glass to cut out biscuits or scones always makes me think of my Great-Aunt. We used to make her biscuit recipe all the time, pre-celiac. There was no better way to cut them out than with a glass. Especially one that’s been lightly dipped in flour (I used sweet rice).

We had a little bit of half & half in the fridge, so I brushed the tops with it. I don’t know if it makes much difference, but I love the decidedly whiteness of it. It’s bright, with fat and flavour.

Currants are quite lovely. They give the effect of dried fruit without being overpowering. They become a note or addition, not the entire focus.

Don’t forget to write messages in the flour. It’s an important part of this recipe (not really, but it sure is fun!). Happy 2012!

And there we have it. Currant Scones, with tea. A lovely way to welcome this great new year, and say goodbye to the last. 2011, I’m honoured to have known you. 2012, I’m so ready to make you sensational.

xoxo
Lauren

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I’m kind of in disbelief that there are only a few short sleeps until 2011 is over. It’s been quite the year. These past few months have raced by at lightning speed, with work and excitement flooding the days. Right now, I’m sitting in my living room, with family. We’re all scattered on our various implements and gifts, in that post-Christmas joyfulness. Books, games, movies, and a little writing, here. Every time I’ve sat down to write in the past while, it’s been with a pre-defined purpose. Something that will be marked, graded, sent off to be analyzed by someone wiser than I. Although my final exams aren’t yet upon me, that time where I melt into the computer and pour out an essay that’s been simmering in the back of my head for awhile, that time has been postponed. Repeatedly put off while I write something I’m required to, or study quarks and organic chemistry (but don’t you dare get me wrong- I adore all of the science. It’s utterly enthralling. I can’t wait to learn more and more of it). Now, though, is time for rest and reconnection.

Boxing Day has always been one of those grand yet quiet days for me. Either a day in transit as we recuperate from the festivities of Christmas, or a day like this one. Waking up slowly, skiing, lazing about, with a hearty dash of loving food.

This time of year is one of sharing. Of giving. Of celebrating and loving. These marshmallows? I’ve been sharing them all about. Bags to friends, here and there. Spreading some holiday cheer, all around. Most of all, I’ve been dropping them into hot chocolate. I love to curl up with a cup while decompressing after the day, or while chatting with friends.

To make this recipe even better, it came from my dear friend Aimée, who writes both Simple Bites and Under the High Chair. When I visited her over the summer, she gave me one of my first tastes of homemade marshmallows. Cinnamon and vanilla ones, if I remember correctly. Heaven. I’ve played around with a few different recipes as of late. The vanilla bean ones from Ashley at Not Without Salt are sublime as well. In the spirit of the season though, here is my ever-so-slightly adapted recipe for peppermint marshmallows. If you’ve never had homemade marshmallows, I dare you to make some to ring in the new year, no matter what recipe you use. They’re positively magnificent, and incredibly easy. The only scary part is boiling the sugar. Aside from that, your mixer does all the work. Then, you have marshmallows that you can share with friends, who will be amazed that you! made! these!

Soft, pillowy and collecting light. That crisp winter morning light is such a treat. Especially on days where I can watch it stream in, rather than being out the door before the first ray of sunlight makes its appearance.

After ensuring the top was coated with enough icing sugar, I flipped it over and covered the rest. With candy recipes, you just have to make sure to read the instructions. Make sure to follow them. I know that sounds obvious, and it is. Candy recipes are often simpler than we build them up to be (or at least that’s true for how they’ve been built up in my head!), so read and conquer. You can do it.

On the morning I was cutting these marshmallows, my friend Kate came over (Hi Kate!). I met her through this space. We baked together. One holiday recipe from my family (cookies!) and one from hers. She shared this spectacular bark, a chocolate-laden pistachio bark. Oh my. When my brother found it in the freezer (where it’s stored), he told me to get the recipe. He said he wanted to make it. That’s big, really big. This bark is so incredibly good. Go see Kate for the recipe. I have no doubt that it’ll be popping up in my house sometime soon.

No matter what, marshmallows are a fun thing to throw together. Taste some homemade marshmallows soon, if you haven’t already.

I hope you’re all enjoying the holiday season and copious amounts of hot chocolate! I can’t wait to see what marvelous things 2012 will bring to all of us. I’m positive it’s going to be a phenomenal year, just as 2011 has been. Wishing merry merry, happy happy days to all of you!

xoxo
Lauren

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Falling back is one of those little gifts. We get one extra hour. I suppose it was loaned to us from the spring, but I’m taking it. I woke up before the sun today. My body said it was later than normal, but it was still earlier than I expected to wake. I didn’t grab my phone the moment I got up. Instead, I went to the spot I left my book. I’m in a book phase. I’m in a driving phase. I’m in a dreaming phase. None of these are really phases- but when I’ve fallen really ill or allowed busyness to fill up every moment, I become short-sighted. I forget about the stacks of books I want to read. I don’t write, bake, and only take the odd photo. I lose that part of myself that I need to live, not just survive. The part that makes me so quirkily me.

I finished that book, and have been keeping one in my bag, with me, wherever I go. Marveling at characters, at stories, at possibilities. I’m about to pick up a book my friend A’s mom handed me, after I handed her these cookies. These incredibly simple, marvelous cookies. The cookies based off of A’s grandmother’s recipe- a recipe I found nestled in one of my family cookbooks, handwritten by A’s mom, years and years ago. Searching for a good, old, family-tested oatmeal cookie recipe, I knew I had to adapt it. Nothing major, just to make it gluten-free.

They’re good cookies. Time-tested. After making them, I came across another recipe for oatmeal cookies- almost identical to A’s grandma’s, using all the same principles. These are cookies you could double, and make a date spread to sandwich between two of them, as A’s grandma’s recipe suggested. This time, all I was searching for was a marvelous, simple oatmeal cookie recipe. An oatmeal cookie recipe to celebrate and savour gorgeous gluten-free rolled oats. That’s exactly what it was: a celebration of oats and of oatmeal cookies. The best way I know (along with a few bowls of my favourite soup and a good book) to welcome winter.

Oh, I love this dough. Especially since you can eat it, licking the bowl and all, without feeling the least bit guilty. Or at least not guilty about eating any raw eggs!

I love the “walnut-sized” description. It’s exactly the size you want. A little bigger than a tablespoon, but not too much more. A walnut-sized ball.

Then, simply squish the cookie dough balls down to make your cookies.

They don’t spread much as they bake. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t fun to watch while baking. Especially as the scent of oatmeal cookies starts to spread through the house, it’s hard not to be drawn to the kitchen.

Et voila. Oatmeal cookies. Perfect alongside a cup of tea and a good book.

What are you reading these days? I’m always looking for good books, especially recommended reads!

xoxo
Lauren

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