stephrabjous

Lull has sprung

2015-03-14T21:37:00.000-04:00

Throughout college and later high school, it was often difficult to find motivation in the weeks leading up to spring break. Perhaps you can sympathize? Any snow/ice days out of school served as relentless teases of the temporary freedom to come. As that glorious week approached, my productivity waned, my energy collapsed, my distractions multiplied. Apathy reared its ugly head, and all usefulness seeped out of body.

But once break hit.. SWEET GLORY.
Sleeping in.
Justified Netflix binging.
Yummy foods.
TIME.

So much amazing time for trips or couches or hiking or craziness or laziness or whatever. Even last year when I spent a good portion of the break pounding out my honors thesis, having just a couple of days on the Outer Banks with Bryan were life-giving in a way even extended weekends rarely are.

Sometime last fall it hit me that adult life generally doesn't include that fantastic period of time. How utterly dreadful it is to grow up.

Despite the lack of impending collegiate vacation, I've experienced a similar sense of lethargy in the past few days. It's as if my body has been programmed over the past five years (or I suppose 18 if you count pre-college) to anticipate, expect, and almost depend on the release of spring break. Frequently I've been checking my Google calendar and countdown app to view the days left until my short trip to Arkansas. It's become my fill-in spring break, and it's doing a lot to help me push through pre-break purgatory.

I'm torn between feeling like a slave to this gift of a pattern and delighted that it still has presence in my life. The season of meh is strong enough that I don't care enough to figure out more feelings on this, but not strong enough that I'm not doing laundry or anything. Its probably fine.

LAMBDA days until I get to Arkansas.

(^That was absolutely not planned on the scheduling of this blog. But it makes me exceedingly happy.)

T-minus 40ish years until I'm a millionaire.

2015-03-06T14:00:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a conversation with a friend about financial matters. He explained things about mutual funds, options, puts and calls, etc. I just opened a Roth IRA (like a proper adult!), and I sought his knowledge because he's been trading for some time now. The conversation was quite informational, but also overwhelming. We barely scratched the surface of it all, and the vocab list rivaled that of the Episcopal Church's.

[Sidenote: I'm gaining in my Episcosavvyness. I know where the sacristy is.]

By the end I concluded that the stock market sounds like an ultra-calculated casino. I may come from a gambling family, but my retirement fund is too fresh and small to toss around at the moment.

All trading aside, a Roth IRA has been something I've been thinking/researching about for months. According to this guy on Quora, it's the best way to get rich:

I'm not super interested in actually becoming a millionaire, but if it's that easy to have some late-in-life assurance for myself and my family, why the heck not?

There isn't an age limit on opening this account, so you should basically do it as soon as you have income, even if it isn't much. Compound interest is where it's at.

Who knows, maybe I'll get brave and start trading in a few years. For now, mahjong gambling at home on Christmas sounds much more appealing.

All around [a poem]

2015-02-28T23:48:00.001-05:00

In the news

it daily reigns

as head counts and headlines,

as fact and horror.

Casual mentions transform

entire lives into fleeting radio waves.

In my dreams

the impossible manifests

as partially-laden buses careens into the ocean

jarring me awake in a sweat.

I wake surrounded by a darkness

more felt than seen.

In our neighborhood

we give thanks for the life of

and pass the dingy emptiness

of a porch no longer used.

The shadow of souls I never knew

nest mysteriously in the crevices of my brain.

In the stories

my girls share

details draped in nonchalance

as they speak of guns and jail.

The 12-year-old begged to go to the party

where her cousin shot that man.

In our futures

it is coming

for heavy-laden and free alike

to relieve this exhausted flesh.

I fight to live in the here and now

while it preys relentlessly on my mind.

Homemade Savory Non-Cinnamon Rolls [chicken/bacon/veggie]

2015-02-21T23:59:00.002-05:00

I'm so thankful to live in this internet-laden age; the ideas — and more importantly the recipes — of the world are at my fingertips! No sense in letting that blessing go to waste. Though I'm a not at all a strict recipe follower, but I routinely check out cooking blogs for inspiration and methodology. I am somewhat choosy about them; a blog really has to earn my trust. Some of my go-to sites are The Kitchn, Nourished Kitchen (though mostly I have to just dream of when I can buy better/fancier ingredients) Smitten Kitchen (wow I like a lot of kitchens), very occasionally Sally's Baking Addiction, anything at all in the world by Alton Brown, and most frequently as of late, The Pioneer Woman.

Her show isn't my favorite, but her blog is always on point. Ree Drummond is clever, sassy, and takes lovely photographs of each step of her processes. Her recipes never fail me, and even when they do, the mess-ups are delectable. One time I decided to make her corn chowder when Bryan was really sick. The picture part of the blog had a slightly different description than the printable version's description at the bottom, and I didn't notice the amount of chipotle peppers listed in the ingredients list. So, I dumped the entire 4 oz. can in the pot when it called for 2–3 peppers... I realized the mistake after a few minutes and fished them out, but the spicy adobo sauce was already integrated. It caused some anxiety, but the soup was still good. SPICY, but good. We evened it out a bit by adding some white rice in our individual bowls. Bryan loved it. Plus it helped to clear his sinuses! He has since insisted that I mess up the recipe every time.

But let's get on to the meat of this post. (MEAT, get it?! BECAUSE THESE ARE MEAT-FILLED)

front: the almost realized state; back: cheesy nirvana end goal

Over Christmas break, I finally delved into a region of Pioneer Woman's world that I had both desired and feared: sweet rolls. I had heard grand things about the recipe, so I made sure to prepare well by reading the recipe and the helpful hints blog multiple times in the days approaching Bake Day. My first attempt was at Bryan's mom's house, and she was super helpful in the lengthy process. They were a smash! So I decided to make a batch for my family as well, just a few days later. Along with the original cinnamon rolls, I made the caramel apple version. SO GOOD. My sweet and delusional betrothed stated "I don't like cinnamon rolls that much." before these events and changed his tune shortly (immediately) thereafter.

Basically, go make those rolls. Any of them. All of them. They aren't very difficult.

While pondering what to make over the weekend I'd be visiting Bryan for our combo anniversary/Valentine's/his birthday crammed celebration(s), I thought fondly of our fairly recent holiday roll endeavor. Perhaps a chocolate variety was in order, or maybe something with fresh fruit. (Side note: I made both of those varieties over the weekend as well; improvised a bit with a dark hot chocolate cream cheese icing for the chocolate pecan one.) I also thought about Bryan's sad kitchen — severely lacking in pots/pans/mixing bowls and often in worthwhile food at large. When I visit, I tend to fill the freezer with chicken spaghetti or something so that edible options are at least accessible. But alas, my thoughts were on a roll (heh heh), so the thing that occurred to me was a savory version of Pioneer Woman's tried and true sweet rolls.

A THING THAT HAS NEVER BEEN ATTEMPTED.

or a thing that I didn't look hard enough on the internet to find

Either way, I was excited. And Bryan was too, both for the rolls and for the chance to be my food photographer. And an exciting role if you're a film guy.

Ok I'll stop with the puns. Maybe..

Chicken Bacon Veggie Rolls

Hardware

- big pot or large dutch oven (for dough)
- large skillet
- medium saucepan
- rolling pin
- 4–5 nine inch round pans or pans of equal capacity

Ingredients

Dough (adapted from Pioneer Woman's sweet roll base; THIS IS A HALF BATCH)
- 1 pint Whole Milk
- ½ cup Vegetable Oil
- (scant) ½ cup Sugar (mixing brown and white is groovy, and ⅓+ish cup would probably be fine)
- 1 package Active Dry Yeast, 0.25 Ounce Packets
- 4 cups (Plus ½ Cup Extra, Reserved) All-purpose Flour (using half whole wheat might work?)
- ½ teaspoon (heaping) Baking Powder
- ½ teaspoon (scant) Baking Soda
- ½ Tablespoon (heaping) Salt
Filling
- ½ or more of a (16 oz.) package of bacon, cooked to crispy and grease reserved
- 2 medium/largeish onions, chopped (I used sweet yellow, but whatever tickles your goat is fine)
- 1 red bell pepper, chopped
- 1 green bell pepper, chopped
- 2–3 cloves of garlic, minced
- 1½ or 2 cooked chicken breasts, chopped into small cubes or shredded
- Spices (totally customizable by you; mine are listed below)
- (optional) Hot sauce
- 5–8 Tablespoons of oil/fat of choice (I used a butter and coconut oil combo; at least some butter is highly recommended)
- (optional) shredded cheese of some variety (I forgot this on this batch but want to add next time)
Cheesy garlic sauce
- 3–4 Tablespoons butter
- 2–3 cloves of garlic, minced
- 1 to 1-½ cups shredded melty cheese of choice (I used monterey jack)
- 3–4 Tablespoons cream cheese, softened
- 1ish(?) cup of milk (whatever kind; from a cow is suggested)
- Spices (homemade taco seasoning is suggested and I'm obsessed with this spice mix recipe from this crunchwrap supreme taco sauce, but a garlic/paprika/cayenne/cumin/pepper/salt combo would be fine)
- (optional) Tabasco Chipotle or other hot sauce

Step 1: Prepare the dough.

I don't have pictures of this part, but Pioneer Woman has many. I prepared the dough base like hers BUT I lessened the sugar and included a little brown sugar because I'm a rebel. Then I refrigerated the dough for a while, as she suggests but often does not do in her recipe. I made a half batch for the savory rolls.

Step 2: Prepare the filling.

I highly recommend having all your ingredients chopped and ready before adding to the pan, or recruit a darling assistant and tell him/her that licking the garlic cheese sauce pan is payment.

I chopped all the garlic I needed for both the filling and the sauce, all in all about 5 cloves.

I would actually cut the chicken into smaller pieces. Shredding would be good.

Start by warming some of that delectable leftover bacon grease in a nice large skillet over medium high heat. Throw in the onions and both peppers for a few minutes to get going and begin to soften, then add the garlic.

Let this cook long enough to thoroughly soften the veggies but not caramelize or obliterate anything. Stir occasionally for the first bit, and add some salt. If you wish to take a brief repose in this process, turn the burner down to just below medium and cover the pan for a few minutes. Then stir some more and add the chicken.

The chicken I used was rather dry, so I thought now was a good time to add a little extra flavor and moisture. AKA, bacon grease. Maybe about a tablespoon? I don't know; I mostly don't measure.

Tasty, artery-clogging bacon grease. USE SPARINGLY, FOLKS. Seriously. I mean it. Then, spice it up so the flavors can mingle and tingle for a while.

Bryan said I should use gifs because it would help to one-up Pioneer Woman. Also because he took so many (awesome!) pictures.

Then he got all artsy and took all the spices away to do this.

While the chicken, veggies, and spices get to know each other for a bit, prep the bacon for incorporation. I like to always put my just-out-of-the-pan bacon on a paper towel to drain off just a bit of the grease. If you've done the same, it's a snap to pick up the paper towel(s), quickly crush the bacon into smallish bits, then dump into the pan.

Give it all a big stir, then taste.

What a well-represented bite.

Spice to your liking; it will probably need it. Then turn the burner off and move the pan if you're using an induction cooktop. Cooling at least a little before adding to the dough is important. Now is probably a good time to heat the oven up to 375.

Step 3: Roll the dough.

Time to give your dough a little lovin'. MAKE SURE you flour the rolling surface VERY WELL. Tears in the dough are a source of unreasonable anxiety in my life.

Why hello, my puffed up pretty.

I suggest starting the dough in a somewhat flattened log form before hitting it with a rolling pin. It's going to be pretty large and super long, and a thick middle is no good.

I should mention that my beloved betrothed bought both a big (extremely cheap) pot and a rolling pin to help make this all happen. What a gem.

While you're rolling, go ahead and put an oil of choice into a pan over low heat. I used butter and coconut oil, but just butter would be fine. I thought about adding a bit of bacon grease but I really just had to draw a line somewhere on the heavy animal fat use. I used about 3 Tbs. each of butter and coconut oil. Pioneer Woman uses about a whole stick of butter here, but with the savory ingredients coming instead of sprinkled sugar, I thought less would be fine. And it was.

Melt a little extra butter at this point — maybe a tablespoon or so — for greasing the pans. Swoosh that around and make sure the bottoms are all covered. Modesty is imperative. Just like in the school systems.

My half batch made 5 pans, but 4 might have worked.

Sometimes while rolling our dough in an oversized hoodie, your sleeve can fall tragically and ya gotta reach out to your cameraperson/fiancé to help push it back because floury hands are super inconvenient. Just uh, watch out for that.

Once it's nice and even and big, carefully pour your melted oil(s) onto the dough. Spread it around nice and evenly all over.

Hands are best for this job.

Once you've got the oil all spread out, pause and behold the glory.

Step 4: Add the filling.

Spread out all the filling across the dough. Make sure it's evenly spread, and make sure that you get the left and ride end sections covered. It would be tragic to have empty end pieces. I forgot to add shredded cheese in this particular batch, but I intended to and it would be great. Blindly recommending it to you!

So large and tasty-looking.

Now it's time to roll. Start at one end and curl it up carefully, moving across like an old school typewriter or how cartoon characters always eat ears of corn.

Once it's nice and rolled, fold up the far end and pinch to seal.

Step 5: Slice, place, and bake.

Roll the whole thing over atop the newly pinched seal to prevent a seam disaster. Then, take a sharp knife and cut the rolls; do whatever size makes your spirit sing. I would suggest under an inch per roll because they will be getting a second rise.

Place these lovelies into those greased pans with some room in between.

Then, cover your pans with clean towels and set in a warmish place for about 20 minutes or so. They should rise and look even more tantalizing.

Ooh baby. You so raw.

After the second rise, pop those suckers into the oven. I set my original time for 17 minutes, but I ended up adding another 8–10 because the oven cooks unevenly. Huzzah for cheap apartments. Try 16–18 minutes to start and then start checking on it every 3–5.

Step 6: Get saucy.

While they are cooking, you can prepare the cheese sauce.

Start by melting the butter over medium heat. Add the garlic and slightly die of the goodness of that smell. Then turn the heat down to avoid crisping the garlic. Add the softened cream cheese and a bit of milk; stir until mostly incorporated, then add the cheese. It will probably clump up, but persevere in your stirring. Add milk to it slowly to thin the mixture and spread out the hunk of melty cheese. Add in some homemade amazing taco seasoning or a mix of some spices, maybe a tablespoon or so. I also added some additional garlic powder and a bit more of cumin in unknown quantities. (Like I mentioned before, I cook instinct, not with measuring devices.) If you're feeling spicy — and I hope you are — add some hot sauce. I highly recommend using tabasco Chipotle for a little smokiness. Stir stir stir over medium low heat and adjust with milk until the consistency is pourable but not runny. Keep on low until the rolls are done.

Step 7: Finish the job.

When those beauties are a nice golden brown on top, they are ready. Pull them out of the oven and immediately add the sauce while the rolls are hot.

Make sure to spread the cheese so that it's in every nook and cranny of the rolls. Get it in there around the edges, all up in those rolls' businesses. Delight in that garlicy goodness.

Let them cool a little before digging in, or don't. These freeze really well, so that's an option if you don't want to share.

Big shoutout to Bryan Campbell for being an on-point, albeit excessive, cameraman.

Monastic fun times

2015-02-14T22:42:00.000-05:00

My blog for the week is actually posted on our Grace-on-the-Hill page. It's about silence again and about chilling (literally; Boston was freaking ridiculously cold) with some monks.

We didn't insta much because monastery. Now go follow us: @goth_esc

Check that post out here!

[Both of those links are the same. Sorry if that's deceiving. I just really want you to click to it.]

Silence, perturbed.

2015-02-04T23:50:00.001-05:00

Do me a favor. After you finish this paragraph, take a moment to close your laptop, or switch your phone to airplane mode, or walk away from a desktop, or any other tactics necessary to get away from technology and other hubbub. Before you shut it all down, make a mental note of the time. Then, sit in silence and stillness, eyes either closed or open, for at least a few minutes. Then come back.

...

Seriously!
Do it.
Please?

...

How long did you make it before turning back to your screen? Two minutes? Four? Eleven? (I'm honestly interested to know so feel free to comment or message me if you want.)

What drew you back here and away from the stillness in that period? (If you did it... you sneaky [and very few] readers...) My guess is the common response of "I don't have time for that" or the "MUST. TOUCH. PHONE." compulsion. Waiting on a message? Checking social media? Yearning for the various connections afforded us by the wonder of the World Wide Web?

I get those feels.

We act like time is this precious commodity, so rare and so sought after. Yet those few and far between moments of just silence can seemingly stretch out for days. It can feel like time has morphed into crazy dream world nonsense, where nothing is logical and keeping track is fruitless. Or maybe it does turn into actual dream time because we're so unused to a lack of things that our bodes respond by fleeing to sleep.

I *really* get that one..

I've been observing my own reaction to silence in the past several days. It's been an adventure. Those times of silence are pregnant, extremely so in fact, ready to pop at any second with the words and songs and thoughts bubbling within. Sometime it's cool to have all that going on and to attend to it in a meaningful way within a time of silence. Other times (more often as of late), I find it super disappointing to have a million things running and bouncing through the not-too-creepy funhouse of my mind.

My to-dos pop up unbidden and with force. I think through and ponder the plan for things as small as how I'll prepare breakfast tomorrow. Constantly I weigh the importance of various tasks to figure out which to drop and which to accomplish, because the list never ends and the chaos only kind of wanes. It's as if some sweaty, maniacal, green-visored little dude is sitting in my prefrontal cortex and cluttering the place with an infinite roll of accomplishment aspirations.

In my silence, even without all the lists there is always music. I am convinced I have a tendency/condition thing called Perpetual Music Track — basically I have a song in my head at all times. That constant Involuntary Musical Imagery (INMI) switches quickly and sometimes violently, and the worst is when songs stack and meld into one another in unpleasant ways. I might be able to block out the running to-dos, but my INMI is relentless. After writing my thesis on the topic, I have been hyperaware of these pervasive occurrences. Since starting this blog my mind has cycled rapidly through 2–3 church chants/hymns, a couple of Zumba songs, and an Advent carol. The warm-up song from tonight's Zumba class is now weirdly layering with "People Look East" (the Advent carol) and it's a jarring combo.

Starting to grasp my struggle?

Back at UofA, one of my favorite yoga instructors would occasionally pause at the start of class for everyone to gather a personal point of focus for the class. It would be the center thought of the practice, and as often as we could remember we were to draw our minds back to that meditation. With that, I was somewhat successful. But really, that is not the same thing as experiencing silence in its heavy and awkward fullness.

On Monday evening, I attended a chant prayer service with a roomie, the one I mentioned not too long ago who is obsessed with women's professional tennis. It was a peaceful and beautiful service with people from various religious backgrounds and experience. I'm a sucker for a good chant, so I really liked it. One part of the program was to sit in silence. I haven't a clue how long we sat there; I spent part of the time praying, part of it thinking, and the last bit was a spaced out experience I can't really articulate and what could have been the beginning stages of falling asleep (but likely not because I felt very alert and not guilty once the silence ended). As we were leaving Richmond Hill, P (my roomie) asked how I felt about the period of silence. He explained that he generally likes silence, but that after a point found it "really uncomfortable".

I wasn't able to communicate it at the time, but what bothered me more than the awkwardness was my brain's hyperactive whatnots. Beyond the centering peace of praying, my thoughts took off in every direction. The list maker little guy was beating at the glass doors, both chubby hands packed full with intimidating lists, so I tried to draw my thoughts to my surroundings and the present. It was rather difficult.

Silence isn't easy. It's an anxious beast, tamed by some and ferocious to many.

It's also not a necessary or valued practice in our super connected, high tech lives. Lately, I've taken to seeking it in various ways. Perhaps I'll even utilize it as offense like my journalism degree roomie (K) taught me! (Apparently people will keep talking if you're silent for long enough. They too can't handle the awkward.)

We are about to leave for a GotH retreat in snow-covered Boston to — surprise — chill with monks (or whatever the Episcopalian equivalent is). I'm pumped for the trip and for time out of the grind, and super thrilled for an opportunity to attend to my silence and hopefully to hone my focus during stillness. Perhaps a few days at a monastery can develop my thoughts on this matter.

"Silence is a true friend who never betrays." — Confucius

So ready to become better acquainted with this pal.

Stunning Saturday

2015-01-31T23:59:00.002-05:00

Today was marvelous.

It began with an attempt at a long night of sleep, something I could always use. It wasn't as lengthy as hoped, but restful enough with a bed time just at midnight. I woke up and worked on a blog post I intended to use this week. (It'll be utilized at some point... Probably.) After an hour or so, I woke up Bryan and proceeded to make us both a delicious cup of butter/coconut oil coffee. (Don't knock it 'til ya try it; it's freaking off the chain AND is super filling.) I'm always pleased to share my weird food and beverages with anyone who tolerates me.

After chilling for a while then getting ready, we went to Willow Lawn for a light but filling lunch at Zoë's Kitchen. The goal was to get just the food we'd eat, but even a Greek salad was too hefty for conquering. (That failed goal turned into leftovers to be enjoyed in the late afternoon and on.) Target was next, and we spent over an hour exploring the store and scanning for our newly made (and soon to be heavily adjusted) wedding registry. The adventure allowed us to really picture our next few years. We'll start our united life with whatever delights and necessities our loved ones gift us in the coming months, and I think that's seriously cool community support. What an awesome thing to feel so (potentially? since we don't know if we'll get really anything?) loved and supported! We stopped at Kroger for potluck contribution supplies, then went to Ellwood Thompson's for a Barefoot Bucha fill up. At home we had some time to prep the food for later cooking, read, and listen to chill music.

For dinner, my mentor and her husband graciously hosted us for some super tasty burritos before we ventured to the north side for some DANCIN'. Music ranged through a few decades but the bulk of it was form the 1970s. The style and movements were unfamiliar to our 90s babies' bodies, but it didn't matter. I just went with the flow and copied people, and Bryan just moves in the same amount of awkward no matter the type of music or situation. Even with his lack of attention to the actual beat, dancing with my betrothed was a hella fun way to spend my evening while meeting my step count goal. Drink tickets came with our entry, but since Bryan doesn't enjoy alcohol, we ended up getting 7 drinks instead of 4; all but 5 were Northern Neck ginger ale (a Bry fave) and 2 were some dang tasty pinot noir (a Steph delight). Throughout the evening we had wonderful talks with Karen & Jim who not only fed us but bought us tickets to the dance.

Once home, we (predominantly Bryan) began cooking our stuffed mushrooms for tomorrow's fellowship lunch. I frantically grabbed my computer and started recording this gem of day.

None of our undertakings were monumental, yet throughout the day one of would comment on how great everything seemed at that (and all) moments. It was simple, average, and potentially boring. Despite that, it was a sunny, glorious, busy, praise-worthy Saturday I needed to record. The time spent together doing normal tasks was wonderful. It makes me really appreciate the value in a lifelong partner, a person who can turn the mundane into joy with the elementary addition of presence.

I so look forward to our seemingly far away future days like this one. Spent simply but together, they are little nuggets of rejuvenation for me, and I believe they at least somewhat are for my severely introverted fiancé.

What a wondrous time we have and hopefully we be given.

Menstrualightenment [part 1]: An introduction

2015-01-24T23:37:00.001-05:00

The Australian Open began this past Monday, on January 19. I'm not a huge tennis fan, but I was made acutely aware of the event by a housemate of mine who not only has a special tennis mug he only uses during tournaments, but also woke up at 3:45 AM to watch a match about which he was particularly excited.

I haven't kept up with (and don't care anything about) its winners or losers, but one media post caught my attention. A top British player was knocked out early on, and her statement about "girl things" sparked a load of internet chatter about monthly cycles and their impact on pro athletes.

The Guardian posted a rant-y and wonderful article about these issues with concerning female athletes and women at large, and I really appreciated it. It led me to several other awesome pages, and it really fed into my menstruation zeal.

As of late, I've done quite a bit of thinking on and talking about those inevitable monthly (or quarterly) crimson delights (or terrors). Towards the end of 2014, I decided to make the switch to reusable menstrual products, a choice that has elicited a range of response from those I know and love. It's a change I have enjoyed and heartily encourage, despite the occasional challenges. I've had to attend to my body and its systems, and I've become more comfortable embracing the nature of my creation. Plus there's the incomparable joy of saving many items from a landfill.

It's not always been a topic of enjoyment. I remember learning all about the reproductive system in a 5th grade girl scout seminar. A nurse came in, presented a slide show on the impending changes (doom) within us all, and gave us git bags filled with pads, tampons, chocolate, and info booklets. I was incredibly curious, and read the little books cover to cover almost immediately. And then again. After that, I felt well prepared to come into true womanhood. I remember spending a whole weekend just lying on my bedroom floor, awaiting my period. At some point it became clear that my desire wouldn't beckon my uterus lining forth.

Later in adolescence, periods were not so exciting — a burden at best, a misery at worst. My high school friends and I came up with a code for pads and tampons so we needn't utter the words amidst the listening ears of other students.

"I need some money."

"Dollars or coins?"

"Coins."

*tampon discreetly transfered*

It wasn't a great code, as we would frequently borrow actual money from one another and have to get clarification every time. But it worked. So went our casual embodiment of the unnecessary shame of our female forms.

Even before my menstrualightenment, I saw the small positives. That whole continuing the species is kind of cool. Additionally, periods can be a unifying way to serve your fellow woman. All have known the horror of being ill-prepared, and all have lent whatever they have to a sister in need. I've taken a tampon from a complete stranger at least a couple of times; I don't think it's too weird. We have an unspoken code, and every gal has every other's back. (Or vagina, more accurately.)

Sadly, more frequently than support through communal pads, we have ubiquitously shared a sense of embarrassment. The not-always-so-smooth slip to the bathroom, bag in tow or pocket bulging with supplies. The sitting out at the water park or absence from pool parties at young ages. The particular and unfortunate smell of a bathroom stall. I remember as a middle schooler thinking how OBVIOUS it was that I was on the rag since I otherwise rarely went to the bathroom, and I very inconsistently carried a purse.

We ladies speak of our necessary and beautiful bodily functions in hushed voices, sharing a bar of chocolate and complaining of our individual side effects.

Why is the topic of menstruation so difficult for our society? Some may argue it's the blood, but we seem to be pretty fine with common band aid situations, save a few phobics, and last time I checked, menstruating women don't exactly splatter about their deep red goodness with each step they take during those 4–7 days of every month.

To speak of our menstrual lives should not require immense courage, nor should it bring about faces and sighs of disgust. A mention of side effects shouldn't make the athletic world blow up with alarm.

I am anti-period-negativity. We ought to embrace it. Perhaps not all can adore it; some go through a lot of mental and bodily struggles. But at very least we must work to destroy the shame and enable other ladies to love and serve their bodies well. How lovely it would be for the topic of menses to be as normal and straightforward as it is for us to experience it.

This is just an introduction to what will likely be several blogs riding the crimson tide. My thoughts are numerous and scattered right now; I apologize for the lack of good flow. But you're welcome for all the period euphemisms.

The dot deserves attention. I'm happy to give it.

Stuff, beans, and magic joy.

2015-01-13T23:49:00.000-05:00

It's just week two of 2015, and already I've silently and audibly lamented my uninteresting existence. I have this desire to express, to have discipline in this uncomfortable but healthy way; yet still I bumble about and think only about how I have no thoughts.

Sometimes it might not be all about thoughts. (Frankly, I doubt my thoughts are really worthy to hang in this intense blogging world..) Sometimes there are just things. Things and occurrences and moments and stuff, and perhaps sometimes those are enough.

For example, today. Today was ordinary and magical.

[The beans pictured may or may not be magical.]

The ordinary: I went to work, then Zumba, made dinner, talked to my roomies, procrastinated laundry, and on got on my computer.

The magical: Throughout the morning I was impressed and thankful for my (brand new) co-educators. They care, teach well, and are patient with the kids. They make work fun and make the time pass swiftly, even on a morning when we had 30 entire extra minutes to use. After the in-class "field" trip, I went to a local coffee place and treated myself to TWO beverages over the course of several productive hours. Though the barista insulted me by condescendingly explaining a macchiato — I freakin' know what a macchiato italiano is, lady — the treat of delicious caffeine was working overtime on my happy-making neurotransmitters. Lesson planning went well (at long last), and I feel less nervous about sharing my ideas on Thursday. After work I went to Zumba and had a BLAST, moving like a fool, in pleasantly disguised exercise. At home, Kate sat in the kitchen floor and chatted as I stirred and adjusted a very non-reciped many bean veggie soup. We two opposite yet harmonious souls independently instagrammed the same picture today. James joined us after a time, and praised my impromptu and uncertain soup concoction. Carolyn shared of her life and spiritual journey at house prayer. Soon after, James and I waltzed in the hallway, simply because we learned he had gone to cotillion (mega lawl).

Did that magical sound ordinary? Perhaps it is, written hastily like that. Most magic happens in the cracks, in those minuscule spaces between letters in a word.

Magic, expanded: This morning, a sweet little girl gave me a hug before we left the classroom. Before that, I watched the amazement slowly spread across several third graders' faces as they realized we were talking about feces. Tonight's soup came together without assistance from a broth, stock, or tamarind mix, and somehow was super tasty (despite the use of questionable celery and seemingly dusty beans). I was accidentally Zumba-ing in the kitchen while cleaning up, and Melissa spotted me from the hallway, busting up laughing. In a rare and glorious fashion, all 6 GotHs gathered in our small room this evening.

I love those common, marvelous times. Those spaces throughout the day don't demand attention; they tend to casually and quickly pass. Those teeny, quiet periods are chock-full of true joy. I occasionally fear being desensitized to these good and worthwhile happenings.

Lord help me to be savvy in this practice of magical mini-joys. Let them abound as I seek them and try to see You in them.

Seeking simplicity.

2015-01-06T21:46:00.000-05:00

Post-undergrad and pre-established-life is an odd and wondrous time.

I'm living in Richmond, VA with incredible co-interns, working for a non-profit whose mission I fully support, and doing life without reference to academics for the first time since age 5.

Despite the marvel of now, the world seems far more fascinated by what's coming/the end goal/the five year plan. But hey there world — just one hot second. I'm alive now and doing things, things that definitely matter.

This stage of life is marked by some serious pressure to sift through the complexity of the future. This occasionally comes at the cost of the present. We young whippersnappers are expected to pro/con all our options and have thoughtful answers for every grandma, uncle, and passerby that demands the storyboard of our lives.

That's a bit complicated. It's complicated even though I can finally articulate a rough idea of my next five years! I say it, the same blurb time and time again, but I can't and won't guarantee that any of it will come to fruition. And that's super OK by me.

As I turn the corner and face 2015, I want to focus more on this living thing. I'd like to strip away that which hinders and have a clear vision for what's here in this moment. Constant planning and nonsense can (and does) seriously convolute the now. I'm tired of missing out on the beauty before me while constantly jumping up to peek over the wall of tomorrow.

There is wonder in today. There is meaning in simplicity. There is purpose in the mundane.

Our constantly stimulated lives cause us to forget these truths. I'm up there with the best of them — Instagramming, Facebooking, emailing, texting, blah blah blah. Yet when I pay attention, I can truly delight in stunning, simple moments. My Amélie moments.

The feeling of swishing my hand around while rinsing rice in warm water.

The sound of straightening a stack of addressed and stamped envelopes.

The taste of brilliantly repurposed leftovers.

The sight of carefully made latte art.

I shall seek a simpler, slower pace this year. I'll read for pleasure and write and snail mail and blog and craft and cook. I'll do those glorious things I miss and love, things my tortuous lifestyle has pushed out of view in the past many years. I'll work in random GRE vocabulary because I'm throwing down (standardized test style) in a few months. I shall seek joy and find it, because joy is good like that.

I'm pumped about it all, and you should be too. Living is too marvelous to not be totally stoked most of the time.

Summer 2014 (to a point)

2014-08-05T02:38:00.001-04:00

I'll skip the sad apologies that generally accompany the blog following a many month break, and I'll for SURE forgo those promises to blog more. (Though in truth I truly feel my blogging will have a chance to increase in non-college life.) Those previous claims were full of silly words from a sillier undergrad who consistently filled her every waking moment with activities in various amounts of nonsense. Let the general public know (oh ye 3-5 actual readers of my blog) that last spring I was pretty darn absorbed in killing my thesis so.... haters gon' hate.

As a brief overview of last spring: thesis thesis thesis class thesis thesis springbreak thesis thesis thesis class thesis defense graduation

That ought to cover it. Now to a more interesting time of year! Summer!

Post-graduation I crashed and I crashed HARD. I slept a lot, watched copious amounts of television, played tons of Minecraft and board games, and ate tasty Fayettefoods. It. Was. Marvelous. That lasted for a couple of lazy weeks. Throughout the whole summer I kept up my weekly babysitting gig, which gave me a reason to shower. Once the lazy period tapered off, Bryan and I began our many travels. (Families, weddings, etc.) Lots of road time and reading Harry Potter and John Green out loud. In mid-summer I held some chess lessons for several children ages 6–8, and it was a blast. I loved having an excuse to completely nerd out over chess strategies. Near the end of June, Bryan departed with many of my larger possessions in tow, and so ended all Fay bike trail adventures. I had another week to wrap up life in my beautiful city, and it was packed to the brim of hanging out with many people I love so dearly. After a challenging packing/cleaning period, I was out and back on the road

The Nomad Portion of the summer was comprised of visits to Shawnee, Norman, Tyler, Fort Worth, and Austin. I slept on many different surfaces and had some grand adventures. I highly recommend stand up paddle boarding to anyone given the opportunity; it's precisely what it sounds like. A very many tasty foods occurred along with more people I love so dearly. Then I went back to Fayettechill for a final night and final goodbyes.

During one of my last drives in town, I had a striking and emotional realization. A home is not a place in which one history, friends, a bunch of experiences, or even family. Home is where one has true belonging. I suddenly a experienced a surprising flood of existentialism, then immediately burst into tears. it was as if Google Earth was zooming quickly down to the pinpoint of my position, but strikingly my label flag in 1431 W. Junction said "Permanently closed".

I will skip the next couple of glorious weeks of DLA, but hopefully I can insert a blog of remembrance at a later time. It was classically delightful.

After nerd camp, I had about two-and-a-half days to crash before leaving for South Korea, which basically catches my blog to the present. My Korean thoughts are many, and I will immediately begin the draft to a blog from abroad.

Until then, I'll be Korea-ing pretty hard.

안녕히계세요!

Italian Food Blog: Sundried Tomato Risotto

2013-12-11T03:38:00.000-05:00

This is Pioneer Woman's recipe, and everything of hers that I have ever made has been phenomenal. I believe this makes up for the lack of authenticity. It is an assignment for my Italian conversation class. 'Twas quite definitely the most delicious assignment of my life.

Apologies if this Americanized version is offensive to actual Italians. If I am able to move there next year, I promise to reblog a legitimate risotto recipe in both languages.

Ingredienti:

4 cucchiai burro
2 cucchiai olio d'oliva
1/2 grande cipolla gialla, spezzettato
3 spicchi di aglio, spezzettato
2 tazze di riso arborio
8 interi pomodori essiccato al sole sott'olio, scolato e tritato
1 tazza vino bianco
7 tazza brodo di pollo (low sodio = importante)
1 tazza parmigiano reggiano, grattugiato fresco
1/4 tazza panna da montare
sale
pepe
basilico fresco

colori: voi & tu

Riscaldate il brodo in una pentola o nel microonde e mettete di lato. Tritate la cipolla e l'aglio.

Riscalda il brodo in una pentola o nel microonde e metti di lato. Trita la cipolla e l'aglio.

La ricetta dice 4 spicchi d'aglio, ma uso più sempre. L'aglio si tiene giovane, virile, e bello/a. Forse...?

Riscaldate il burro e l'olio in una pentola capiente a fuoco medio.

Riscalda il burro e l'olio in una pentola capiente a fuoco medio.

Aggiungete le cipolle e l'aglio; cuocete per 3–4 minuti.

Aggiungi le cipolle e l'aglio; cuoci per 3–4 minuti.

Riso arborio è una varietà italiana di riso. Prende il nome dalla città di Arborio dove è coltivato. A cottura ultimata, i chicchi sono arrotondati, fermi e cremosi, grazie all'elevata quantità di amilopectina.

Aggiungete il riso secco nella pentola e mescolate fino a quando rivestito, circa 3 minuti.

Aggiungi il riso secco nella pentola e mescola fino a quando rivestito, circa 3 minuti.

Versate il vino bianco. Utilizate un vino secco.
Versa il vino bianco. Utiliza un vino secco.

Ho usato Chardonnay.

Mescolate e cuocere a fuoco medio-basso fino a quando la maggior parte del liquido è assorbito.
Mescola e cuoci a fuoco medio-basso fino a quando la maggior parte del liquido è assorbito.

Tritate i pomodori essiccato al sole.

Trita i pomodori essiccato al sole.

(Ho dovuto cambiare a un coltello migliore.)

Aggiungete i pomodori e mescolate.

Aggiungi i pomodori e mescola.

Quindi cominciate ad aggiungere il brodo, una tazza alla volta. Mescolate delicatamente mentre il riso assorbe il liquido ogni volta. Ripetete questa operazione fino a quando il riso è finito.

Quindi comincia ad aggiungere il brodo, una tazza alla volta. Mescola delicatamente mentre il riso assorbe il liquido ogni volta. Ripeti questa operazione fino a quando il riso è finito.

Generalmente, ci vogliono circa 6 a 8 tazze di brodo. Il riso non deve essere soffice totalmente, ma anche non croccante affato.

Questo procedimento può durare 45 minuto a un'ora.

Grattugiate il parmigiano reggiano.
Grattugia il parmigiano reggiano.

Togliete dal fuoco, poi aggiungete il formaggio e la panna.

Togli dal fuoco, poi aggiungi il formaggio e la panna.

Adattate di sale e pepe a piacere. Aggiungete il basico, se vi piace.

Adatta di sale e pepe a piacere. Aggiungi il basico, se vi piace.

Mangiate e vi divertite!

Mangia e ti diverti!

Fruit heads, veggie tails

2013-10-31T00:13:00.001-04:00

Yeah. We fresh.

Halloween is a chance to be a bit ridiculous. But, some of us live in a near constant state of ridiculous, so this holiday just levels the playing field.

What do you call two banana peels? A pair of slippers!

On what do chickens grow? Eggplants!

Kudos to whoever actually watches all of these.

Happy Halloween!

Time is an illusion.

2013-09-12T00:59:00.002-04:00

.... Lunchtime doubly so. - Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

This year is packed to the max. The penultimate has passed, and now all gears must run in overdrive. People who started college with me are now in the real world, in grad school, in careers, in Germany, etc. and whatnot and so forth. Meanwhile, I plow forward here in beautiful Fayetteville with a hazy future and a to-do list that could crush a toddler.

Yet, I have peace.

So much peace. The real kind. Tranquility in excess, I'd say, and I haven't even made it to yoga class. The Lord has been so good to calm my ragged mind and soothe my perfectly-capable-of-being-ridiculously-anxious soul.

I find it difficult to be worried in a hammock, similarly to how I believe it impossible to play a ukulele and be sad. Consider Tiny Tim, for crying out loud!

Time has been quite an intriguing commodity in my life. Some hours stretch out their legs and trample all over my ability to resist checking my watch, others pass too quickly to be noticed. Days and weeks breeze by, but the month is never-ending. I count down the days until fall break with an iPhone app with seemingly static numbers, yet deadlines approach with unceasing ferocity.

So it goes. And goes. And goes. And goes some more.

But someday the going will grow bored of my bubble of insanity. It will leave me for a spell, and I shall gaily contemplate the stillness around me with utmost admiration.

Until then, andiamo.

Andi-freakin-amo.

Age and its consequences.

2013-08-12T23:17:00.001-04:00

As of late, particularly with graduations and summer weddings, my friends have frequently remarked on our age. We say we feel "old" and our teachers, parents, and everyone laugh hysterically. We selfie-obsessed millennials have less than a quarter century under our tackily rhinestoned belts and think that we've attained some semblance of wisdom via Twitter or an inspirational Tumblr.

I get it. We aren't ancient or anything.

But cut us some slack; it's something when 20+ Facebook friends get engaged over Christmas break and besties from high school have weddings and children. It may be a natural something, but it can be shocking.

In high school, we're all on some similar level. No one really knows what the hell is going on, and those of us who momentarily think we do are wrong. We have the same classes and see the same people. In college, it changes. Diversity flourishes; we are forced to make definitive choices on the daily. Some don't even do the college thing and instead dive directly into life. When I went home in May, I ran into several classmates (class of '09) with 2 or more children. Good for them, but I couldn't even fathom having a family at this point.

Those differences aren't negative, but rather something beautiful. We're blessed to have the opportunity to choose. Many people in many places simply don't; I acknowledge that.

Regardless, time has passed. In my older age, some things have definitively changed.

I'm more calm.
Laugh as you might, but this is the truth. Though it was truly a different lifetime, I can still remember my spastic high school self. That more high-strung and dramatic version of me would not be handling all that goes on now very well.

Introversion has increased.
I really ought to redo the Myers-Briggs. When I took it at DLA back in 2007, I was wayyyyy on the extrovert side. I still am on that half, but certainly far closer to the middle. I enjoy my lonely time. My room is a haven. I don't constantly search for companions.

Far away future things seem plausible.
Marriage. Kids. Career. Health insurance. House payment. All these things that seem so adult will potentially start happening in the next 3-7 years. Wut.

I've finally accepted moving as a part of life.
When I was a kid, I cried when my parents wanted to build a new house and move. I refused to accept a change of home. Now, I'm semi-eager to find new digs in the coming years. It'll be great to live in other parts of the country and see how life is there. Nothing will lessen my dread of packing/moving, but the nesting/settling process that follows will be fun.

There's only hope.
The biggest change in my life from my former self is Jesus. Knowing Him has altered the fibers of my very weird being, and the repercussions reverberate though every moment of every day. I'm changed because it's no longer me me me, but the singular and glorious Him. I still fret and I still get down, but at the end of it, I'm not in control and I trust the One who is. So it's all good. It's all hope.

When I'm actually old, I'm fairly certain I'll be cool (or whatever lingo means "hip" in 50 years). I look forward to the prospect of being a grandma.. one who pranks her grandkids and destroys them at all games, but has the most delicious homemade snacks to help soothe their crying afterwards. The thought of tending a garden and playing Pinochle and Catan with other white-haired friends is exciting.

I hope the internet doesn't explode before then so I can look back at this blog and see my feelings as a bright-eyed, vivacious 22-year-old. I'm not full of catchy wit or artistic stories. I don't take mind-blowing photographs or post my own recipes (though someday that recipe thing will be real). But yet I'm here, pounding away at my recently coffee-soaked keyboard to bang out words that maybe 3 people will read.

But you know, that's alright. There are worse things than blogging mediocrity.
Someday, something nice might spring into type from my sandpaper fingers. Hopefully this silly site will catch it.

For now: Life is good.
That's worth recording.

Proof of consciousness.

2013-04-05T03:05:00.003-04:00

My last blog was back in September. A crying shame, though my eyes are no excess degree of wet.

I have had many interesting, clever, and potentially captivating ideas for posts. Yet, blog I have not. My empty promises to publish leave me melancholy, trapped within a guilty shell. The walls of this prison are white with nothing but a flashing curser silently screaming the dismal truth of my rut. At the mere view of the Blogger icon, my fingers curl back, laden with anxiety, unprepared to fight through the jungle of self-prepared humiliation.

Why does this happen? This perpetuating, woeful cycle of failure. At first, it's just an innocently missed pledge to write. The next week the weight of procrastination makes it more difficult to start, and the following week is practically a joke. Eventually I begin to hope that everyone had forgotten any comment made on social media about blogging. In extreme bouts of guilt I momentarily wish they forget I have one at all...

What's the hold up?

Sometimes I claim I'm just too much of a perfectionist about it.

That's not entirely true. Usually words spurt out of me like puss from a ripened pimple, splattering onto the page with a great and brutish force. I often edit for a while to save embarrassment created by great haste and the speed of fiercely passionate typing.

Sometimes I think I'm not inspired.

But that's mostly code for my absentminded laziness. My to-do list gains momentum and intimidation factor, and I reason that my time cannot be spared for trivial self-expression. Plus, I strive to imitate He who created all, so within me there is generally something trying to bust its way out.

Sometimes I feel I have someone to impress.

And that's just stupid. My identity is not housed beneath the fonts of this page nor is my value calculated by the +1s, likes, or retweets I may (but generally do not) receive.

So what then is this curse? Why is it powerful? What/Who is its source?

My guess is that the source's got two thumbs and the password to edit the words you're currently reading.

Pride clogs the pores of creativity. Sloth binds the energy of fingers. Wrath draws the eyelids shut in sheer indignation. These deadly sins creep into my brain folds, preventing the needed escape of thoughts.

Blogs are glorified thoughts. Choose a classy theme and snap some high res photos, and the internet might call you a pro. I know mine is not tremendously consistant or detailed, but I'm quite thankful for the ones I took the time to compose. These blogs may not dazzle, and they certainly don't make the boys swoon. This page might vanish in some post-apocalyptic crash of the web. My posts are just sentences, composed somewhat quirkily for hardly any purpose at all. These words are an escape route for consciousness, proof that neurons are firing and that life persists.

And what a persistent life I lead. Since my last blog...

I marched with some dear senior friends at their last performance with the Razorback Marching Band.

I spent time with precious family and friends over the holidays.

I brunched with a bestie. (WHO GOT A FULBRIGHT AND IS MOVING TO GERMANY!)

I participated in a swanky rave dance party on a moving charter bus. Crowd surfing may or may not have also occurred.

I was massively blessed by an amazing visit from my high school band director (and honorary father) at our first spring concert.

I met someone who is an entirely graceful loser at chess (and all other games).

I organized a surprise double half-birthday party for some presh roomies.

I mailed it, jailed it, bailed it, flailed it, trailed it, quailed it, WAILED it, and totally snailed it with the most fabulous small group in all the land. We walked like trustworthy people and ripped everything within reach.

These still firing neurons give me a ridiculous appreciation for this time. For this silly blog. For the opportunity to share, write, pray, think, do, praise, move, shake, produce. For you, in this merciful reading of my nearly aimless expulsion of type. There is no reason to let the shadow of my own doubt darken the doorways to what could, and often should, be.

Here's to being less of a weirdo about planning and executing my blogposts.
Here's to a future of confidence and remembrance.
Here's to life.

And I don't know much, but I do know this

With a golden heart comes a rebel fist

But I can't help agreeing with those that would not quit.

Sunsets, proclamations, and my attempt at art.

2012-09-24T22:56:00.000-04:00

God woke me up this morning, quite decidedly. I fell asleep reading a textbook, and though I set an alarm, I didn't set the other three I always set on my phone. My real alarm is far too easy to silence, as a slight touch will shush its blaring beeps.

And yet I was gently awoken by the Father a few minutes before 8 (about 30 minutes later than I planned). I got up without sleepy haze and got ready quite normally. I was able to fill my water bottle and grab breakfast/snacks to go. I found a parking spot not too far from the first Route 56 bus stop on the lot, and the bus pulled up just as I was walking there. I made it to class with about two minutes to spare.

And I praised my Lord for caring for me in even the smallest, most unnecessary ways.

A life with trust in the Creator is so, so much less chaotic. And though I'm definitely bad at this trust, He teaches me amidst my everyday chaos. And to top, He paints it with beauty.

Per esempio, when I am in a hurry to make a meeting and get somewhere, and I run out of my condo with a full, buzzing mind of to-do's, and THIS is what greets me:

Or when I'm in a massive hurry to get from Rogers to Fayetteville on Thursdays to be a bit less late to chapter, and I glance to the right and encounter a brilliant sunset, just chilling there in sight of 540.

It may have been only slightly hazardous to take this while driving...

We worry. We stress. We overanalyze. We pity party. We freak.

Every good gift, every perfect gift, comes from above. These gifts come down from the Father, the creator of the heavenly lights, in whose character there is no change at all. - James 1:17

And through it all, our Lord who loves us through our insanity is solid, unchanging, and beautiful. So very breath-snatchingly beautiful.

Admittedly, He calls me beautiful too. And further admittedly, I have a seriously difficult time swallowing that Truth. The human in me does not want to hear it. But I suppose if He cares enough to make a common stretch of sky into something so glorious, He has something in store for me. Something...

Last week the lady who did my hair asked what I wanted to do for a career. When I said I don't have life plans, she commented on my collectedness. I told her "I figure God has pretty good plans. That or I'll just die." She found that particularly hilarious.

I'm humbled by the sky. I'm amazed at its vibrance at dusk or dawn and the array of colors, the grandeur of billowing columns of cloud, the brevity of its remarkable displays. Yes yes yes, I understand it's all science and physics and light refraction and the atmosphere and all that nonsense. I do go to college for the edjahmahkashun. But all the textbooks in the world couldn't inspire this praise within me. Those cold, hard facts don't fill me with joy. An argument in perfect Chicago style could not bolster me up to face the challenges of this world.

paint + sharpie on canvas, September 2012

Yet again, I must end this blog with deep gratitude. I'm blessed beyond all comprehension; what more shall I say?

European travels, continued.

2012-06-29T21:01:00.000-04:00

If I had to concisely sum up my European adventure thus far, I would use 2 words:
novel beauty.

It's novel to me at least. I honestly don't understand how these people take this day in and day out.. To stare out across the Apennines or the Alps or the rolling, gentle countryside with farms plotted brilliantly onto the sides of steep hills - and to somehow not go mad from its grandeur? Do they become numb to all this glorious creation? How could they stand to stop marveling at the Gothic elegance of the duomo in Milano or the incredible panorama of medieval Gubbio? (or Siena or Florence or most other Italian cities, for that matter..)

I know it's easy to jump the assumption that I have simply become numb to the beauty in my own home. But that's not completely true. I may not be working to keep my jaw up every moment of every day, but I still praise G-d for the intense beauty of the Arkansan landscape around the Ozark mountains on my drives home from Fayetteville. Or the gorgeous view when driving south on 540 when the leaves begin to change. Or climbing dad's ridiculous tower atop the knob and seeing the curve of the horizon. Or taking the bike trail in Fayetteville.

The European beauty here is.... Different. Very different. Age has a lot to do with it. I've walked the same uneven, narrow streets as Saint Anthony and Marinetti and Puccini and Mussolini and Caesar. Back at home I've done that with... Bill Clinton? And I'm not such a nostalgic Pastist to freak out over that, but it is something I consider. The times and events that these walls and streets have seen are so very different than those of infant America's. Those times have added something to those less-than-straight walls. Yes age. Yes wear. But also yes to a character incomparable to any American dream home.

I think back to Urbania, la casa mia nell'Italia. Those streets... Their beauty. I remember them well. I walked them daily, felt the cobblestone beneath my shoes, admired the pattern that took great care to construct. In some areas, the grass grows between them. Freely; not exterminated with some chemical to keep some austere evenness. What have those streets seen? Wars, sickness, death. Joy, love, flowers. Beautiful, beautiful flowers...

I do miss my Italia. That's not to say the rest of this journey hasn't had its surprising helpings of beauty. On the way to dinner in Switzerland the other night, we pulled over to get a good view of the snow-covered Alps. It was a moment I couldn't capture with my little camera, but it's one burned into my brain. Their grandeur, their crispness, even on a sunless, gray day. Admittedly, that was just one of many moments in which His glory shone through creation in a way that overtook me. It grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, seizing my attention and screaming at me the wondrous, creative nature of the King Who has and is my life.

It was like seeing the clouds seemingly yards above my head in atop the Apennines,

like seeing the view of a whole city from above,

like inhaling the clear, Italian mountain air and wondering why I'm here...

At some point during a long train ride, the Lord taught me to stop questioning, start praising, and enjoy. So I am. To Him goes the glory. To Him goes my heart. To Him goes all thanks and eternal thanks dipped in reverence and awe. What else shall I give? My life, my love, my heart, my gratitude, and now this time. This solitary, blessed time in motion, hopping between countries and viewing His handiwork in a novel, beautiful way.

The terms 'novel' and 'beauty' cannot be separated and still properly describe this experience. Where I've been is CERTAINLY not new, and pretty places exist on every continent. But for me, this experience has been beautiful in an original, soul-shocking way. The novel portion is mine; the beauty portion is His.

For now I'll happily take a serving of both.

Grazie; danke; thanks.

A long overdue update d'Italia

2012-06-21T08:06:00.002-04:00

On a planet at which a day consists of 100 hours instead of 24, I would have blogged regularly in real time about my incredible journeys. Alas, this is not the case.

Ma - buona fortuna! Non ho dimenticato tutto.

My three weeks in Urbania certainly deserves detailed recount, but that could fill a week of intense blogging. Glimpses of Urbania will undoubtedly pop up in my posts; those people and that town is dear to me.

Per esempio: I remember one of my first couple of days there. I had a moment (one of many really) of a certain variety I call ‘crispness’. Vision legitimately seems better; the air is clear; the edges of trees and signs are sharp; surrounding sounds are not muffled. A sort of "ah ha" weird experiential thing. I can't control it, but for it I am ever-appreciative. Those times allow me to soak it all in: the shapes, smells, sounds, shades of pink and gray and blue in the cool and calm dusk on my walk home. I saw people sitting and sipping vino o caffé. Others were heading home too. I could hear talking near the doors of some places. Some sat out on their porches and just watched, sitting with their dogs. No one really ever seemed to be in a hurry there, at least not in the early evening.

The weather was fabulous; I was actually cold the first few nights and had to learn the word for blanket (coperta). I think the first word I recall learning with my host family was spazzatura (trash can). There are a ton of useful words that fall through the cracks of class Italian. But also, a bunch of vocabulary I thought was way beyond me or not useful came in handy so many times. I was able to discuss social and economic issues with Armando the bus/taxi driver. He was one of my favorite people. The guy freaking punked me in italiano about seeing a golden eagle during one of our bird walks.

Allora, I have now graduated from buses to trains in my travels. I'm finally starting to get the hang of it! 3 trains later...

I love utilizing the rail system, but the stations are stressful. The trains are peace, contemplation, scenery, (for the most part) security. The stations have beggars, confusion, rush, odor, (at least the feeing of) danger. These two are separated by a mere staircase, or sometimes no more than a threshold. But at the end of the ride you are forced to re-enter the chaos. You must pass through; there is no alternative way out. And then a different type of confusion hits. I entered Pisa a few days ago with just a few lines of directions on a screenshot of an email on how to find my hotel. There's no getting lost in this type of travel; you start lost and move toward understanding, or you fumble around clumsily with hopes of good luck.

How odd that is. To begin in a solitary, lost state of being. We come into life without a clue, helpless, tiny. But not lost, for at birth, there is no hurry to understand. Our surroundings are unimportant and there is nowhere to be. Some cases are more unfortunate, but for the most part, someone or many people are present right at the start to assure our well being. In traveling solo (sola in italiano), I have no human caregivers, no people hovering to attend to my every need. I have an overly heavy suitcase, a bit of money, a small understanding of italiano, and a wee bit of courage.

Sometimes, I'm given a map. How empowering that semi-glossy foldout can be! It’s the same when I find the dot signifying my current position on a big public map, especially after wandering around a city. With a map I sometimes gain renewed confidence. This from just an idea of location!

How important is location? Does it define us? Constrain us? Is it exhilarating or terrifying to lose your sense of it? Or both?

My current location?

I'd say motion.

Locomotion? Locomotive?

Train? Training?

Training for what?

It’s a bizarre feeling to have (practically) no responsibility, no schedule, and nowhere to be. If I attempt to think back to the last time that happened... I enter time warp.

Before this there was Urbania: amazing, but busy with school and trips.

Before Urbania: home, but also moving out of my apt, packing, and seeing lots of family.

Before Salem/Fay: school and Ozone and Ozone and school. Even Christmas break was highly structured due to familial obligations, Hogwild, and Ozone whatnots.

Before junior year: camp, all summer except 2 weeks spent at national convention in CO.

Before that (2011) summer: school and band and school and school. Limited Christmas break freedom due to traveling and such.

Before sophomore year: Camp all summer except for a weekend spent in KY and a bit over a week in Salem cramming in every ounce of family time, cleaning, packing.

Before that (2010) summer: school and school and band and school. I don’t even remember Christmas break for freshman year... So perhaps I had time then.

Before freshman year: INSANE summer of DLA, LIT-ing, CA for national FBLA competition, and prepping for college.

Before that (2009) summer: the non-stop jam-packed schedule of high school with band and clubs and schoolwork and several sports.

So.... yeah. It’s been a while.

I wander down the streets of these gorgeous Italian cities with very little, if any, aim.

I don’t have anyone for conversation. And it’s been sweet.

I can choose to get by on loneliness, or I can rejoice in intimacy with the Spirit, One that will never abandon me. One that has no language barriers. One that loves more than I can comprehend.

For now, I have no hope of human companionship for a few glorious days.

So I will continue to wander, continue to pray, and continue to praise Him for all.

Italia cominca!

2012-06-02T11:57:00.001-04:00

Written May 29, 2012 (delay posting; forgive me)

a view of Urbania

A new experience is like having a child.

It’s simultaneously

challenging,

invigorating,

exhausting,

totally worth it.

Babies may cry constantly and do nothing but eat and poop, but they are beautiful. A baby is life at its most delicate and gentile state; a baby is a novel soul and a needy body. One must nurture it, attend to it, appreciate it, and at utmost - love it.

The above mentioned at least somewhat approximates my feelings on new experiences. I’m smack dab in the middle of what is arguably my biggest so far, and it’s incredible.

No, it isn’t mind-blowingly awesome just because it’s Italia. Sheesh, what a copout, amiright? Sure, people do come here for the good times, ridiculous food, and fine yet affordable wine at literally every caffè (which is synonymous with bar, but not in a raunchy American way). This time is awesome because it’s a departure from norm. Many people that know me have heard me say “I believe in drastic change.” It’s healthy to be ripped out of comfort and routine and monotony and safety; it’s glorious to depend fully on the Father in times of complete uncertainty and lostness. It’s certainly not an easy endeavor, but it pays dividends.

For me? Sì, sono in Italia!

I am living with a tremendously nice host family, signori Lucerna. I have my own tiny apartment thing separate but connected to the family; I have a kitchen(non-working sadly)/living room open area, a small bathroom, and a bedroom. It’s simple and presh beyond belief. The family speaks very little English, which is excellent for me!

Since I don’t live with other students, lack interwebz, and have yet to acquire a communication device, I am alone quite a bit when not in class. The Millikin people are very cool, and it would be sweet to get to know them better. But alone is good too. It’s another departure from my traditional over-connected, over-socially saturated lifestyle. America also moves so quickly. Things here are in a slower fashion; people go for relaxing strolls (“fare due [o quattro] passi” is the colloquial term), and old retired men hang out at the town center for many hours a day. It’s really awesome. I can feel myself take on their mentality. I find myself eating slower, basking in the natural beauty of the countryside, sitting in purposeful silence for contemplation and reading. These sadly get largely overlooked during my crazy American schedule.

The classes I’m taking are fantastic. Today we went on a seriously impressively gorgeous 3-hour hike to look for birds and experience Italian nature for the Biology of Birds class. I took so many pictures, but none of them do the place justice. That kind of beauty cannot be captured, simple as that. My Italian conversation private lessons are somewhat challenging but so applicable. My Futurism, Fascism, and 20th Century Electro-Acoustic Music class is one of the most interesting courses I’ve taken so far. We are going to build some legit noisemakers and perform in their style at the end.

another view of Urbania

UPDATE --> June 2, 2012

I have since found interwebz for home, which is convenient, and acquired a cheap cell phone. Want to text me? Facile! Tweet at me: @stephmac19

I have gone on another glorious nature walk with my bird class and will post pics to Facebook soon. Soooooo much beauty here. I think I might drown in it.

Oh, and gelato is as good as everyone says.

Let the summer blogging begin.

2012-05-20T05:42:00.000-04:00

On May 3, my last class of my junior year ended and I attended my last Ozone as intern.
On May 10, I completed my last final and jury.

On May 12, commencement band ended in the afternoon.

On May 19, I left my apartment at Woodway for the last time.

Each event brought a sense of completion, an end point, a tiny finale. Each was preceded by work, time, effort, joy, sweat, diligence, blood, stress.

A semester of class and hanging with Rogers kids.

Study guides, cramming, practicing.

Rehearsal rehearsal rehearsal.

Packing, cleaning, organizing.

Yet they weren't ends.

Nothing ever ends. School bled seamlessly into summer. I glided from textbooks to snowcones without missing a beat. It's a blessing and a curse, and it's a pattern to which I am well-accustomed. Since about the 6th grade, my summers have gotten progressively more full. More busy. More awesome.

One would think that at a point, the awesome must abate. I'm sure there's some technical economics mumbo jumbo to describe that principle, but that's out of my league. The years cannot continually produce more incredible experiences.

Yet so far they have.

Summer is more beautiful than I remember. Schoolwork must have been clouding my sight; I'm pretty sure it didn't just turn incredible when I gained free time. Since finals concluded, I feel I can see rightly; the sky is crisper, brighter. As I drive, I'm completely distracted by how gorgeous Arkansas summer really is. Some are too turned off by the sweltering heat and sometimes preposterous humidity, but I love it. I love those days of feeling the thick air like a blanket, the cleansing sweat, the satisfaction of cold water. I love the heat and I love the opportunity to experience air conditioning. Perhaps I just love contrast.

Contrast is lovely. I often up the contrast on my photos, sometimes to balance and sometimes because I just prefer it that way. There's contrast in summer dusk. It's so interesting that colors become more vivd right before it all fades to blackness. At the right time of day, the light this time of year seems richer, more saturated, and the resulting glow of dusk light playing on the hilly landscape is positively frabjous. Yesterday as I traveled home, I was seriously taken aback. Creation declares His goodness, and now louder than ever. Or perhaps it depends on how closely one listens.

I do pray this is a summer of listening. I'll have more solitude than usual, and I look forward to that time being rich and glorious. I'm excited for Europe, though not quite prepared. I'll be blogging regularly, so for you 3.5 people who read this, check back often!

Your glory is so beautiful.

I fall onto my knees in awe.

And the heartbeat of my life

Is to worship in Your Light...

RMB: Ridiculous Meme Blog

2012-02-10T20:45:00.004-05:00

I had a stroke of inspiration today while perusing the UARK Memes page on Facebook with Ed and Josh. Most are misused memes or just not funny. Some are pretty clever, but it's definitely a minority. We thought we could do a better job of producing homemade memes...

So obviously I made them on about the Razorback Marching Band.
If you have other caption ideas, comment on this post or email me.
There are more to come....

Enjoy. : ]

I would love feedback! Thanks for checking these out.

Sometimes I wear my rainboots when it's sunny.

2012-02-03T01:33:00.002-05:00

Or perhaps I wear them to slosh about in puddles of my own tears.

I jest; I jest.....

I did look at the weather at some point VERY early in the morning after a study cram session and saw rain coming. Maybe that was for Friday. Oops.

My rainboots certainly are quite darling. They are a shade of Chelsea (Burris) green and of high quality. I didn't think I would particularly like short rainboots, but these are delightfully legitimate and I recommend them highly. The color on Amazon is NOT at all the color of the boots.

This is more like it.

There were no puddles for my well-engineered rain garb today. The sun shone; the wind blew; the world kept turning with little regard paid to any unseen, unmentioned sturm und drang.

It's not just you German-loving/speaking folks who can throw out fancy foreign terms. Music history, ftw.
*if I could frat snap I would*

Speaking of music history - I enjoy color coding things.

Above is a picture of my listening study guide for MUHS with decades similarly colored. Highlighted in rainbow order of course. I'm a highly visual learner, and I tend to capitalize on that. Additionally, putting things in rainbow order really toasts my bread.

Toast > bread.

Unless it's fancy or delicate bread, in which case toasting could end in disaster or a destruction of intricate flavor layering.

I am highly interested in baking my own bread. Or biscuits. Or scones.

NO I got it - SOFT PRETZELS.

Oh, I do enjoy a good soft pretzel. I even delight heartily in boring small crunchy snack pretzels. I pick the salt off though. Why aren't saltless pretzels readily available yet? They are relatively healthy snacks except for the excess sodium. I believe things are generally better with less salt.

Tears are salty too, but I have not the power to separate bits of NaCl from them. With less salt, I believe even tears could be improved, albeit it just slightly.

Sodium is terribly unhealthy is great quantities, you know.

Tears in great quantities can really make you think.

FUN FACT: Did you know that emotional tears have a different chemical composition than that of those that lubricate our eyes or help flush out irritant substances?

Yup. Pretty cool, and I don't even care about science that much! You can read up about it on wiki.

Excess crying is also particularly annoying when wearing glasses. It's kinda similar to when it rains and you suddenly wish little baby windshield wipers would appear on the front of your glasses...

Take this guy. He's cool, collected, and not a bit worried about impaired vision due to rain. What a boss.

Or this guy. He's super pumped about those sweet sweet wipers. If only we could all be so frabjous.

We could even just kick it like this hipster. He's probably jamming to something really obscure.

Point is, wiper shade are a worthwhile venture, as demonstrated effectively by the above fine men. Now, if we're talking tear wipers, it gets more complicated. You have to worry about taking out an eyelash with each wiper mishap or the possibility of sticking your eye if hit with a large blunt object right in the socket. It is an altogether inconvenient venture; I do not recommend it.

The problem you face in the absence of a tear-wiper is the inevitable forward splash in any event of substantial tear production. These tend to dry quickly and leave an unfortunate stubborn residue on the inside of glasses. Silly salt and protein.

Upon this most unfortunate event, your vision can be blurred. The tears form a translucent, gray skin squarely blocking once pristine vision. The weirdest part is the delay in noticing the blockage. You can go on hours with the gunk on the lenses, too busy with the bustle of life to notice. True view is distorted; suddenly you cannot feel right in your own world. There is too much gray, causing distress and initiating a creeping numbness. The sun shines a shade dimmer, and the clouds move more ominously. Hope fades, and somewhere in the world, a small innocent bunny stops hopping.

Then suddenly in a moment of grace, He allows the unattractive grayish blobs to snap into view. In actuality, the distraction was mere product of excess, unhindered sorrow. Yes, things happen from time to time. Grief is an occasionally appropriate and widely accepted emotion. The real question lies in the following resolution. From where does it come? From whom? From what?

If distracted by the very output of our sorrow, how shall we seek proper comfort? If the grayness of my tear stains make the world a sadder place, in turn heightening my sadness, what ends the cycle? Is my crushed spirit a mere source of shame? Are my tears little more than weakness in liquid form?

Certainly not. Even Jesus wept.

My weaksauce body tends to fail. I get sick; I miscalculate and eat it on a sidewalk; my heart weighs heavy with burden; often my mind goes a bit nuts. I get dramatic or emotional or sensitive or irritated. I don't always say the best or right things at the right times. That is what it is.

Alas, when I fail, my strength must come from the right place. I pray I someday understand an inkling of the extent of Him being my portion.

It's OK to weep sometimes. The tears don't last forever. The stains on glasses are easily removed with a dab of spit. See clearly again, take a breath, keep calm, and carry on. It can really feel good to have a release, a source of output of feelings too lofty to handle. What better time to practice reliance on something far greater. When the sturm und drang of life grow heavy, don't dare to bear it alone.

Even in a barren, lonely landscape of concrete, dirt, and trees, and academia...

When it is far from practical...

When little more is gained than marginal happiness from sheer cuteness...

When you relate to Alice swimming in her tears...

When the ground is hard and dry and every last pothole on campus holds little more than air and dust...

It's OK to wear rainboots on a sunny day.

Keep on the sunny side, right?

Always on the sunny side. That's what I say.

NOW INTRODUCING, for your viewing & potentially eventually listening pleasure...

2012-01-28T01:17:00.001-05:00

the KINSEY GRACE REVIVAL BAND

You've probably never heard of us....

But you definitely want to.

Influences: Gungor, Sufjan Stevens (but not Age of Adz), Vampire Weekend, Streetlight Manifesto, mewithoutYou, Freelance Whales, NEEDTOBREATHE, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes, Page CXVI, Tally Hall, Regina Spektor, The Avett Brothers, Charlie Chaplin, Mario Kart Love Song (the song, not a band), Noah and the Whale, All Sons & Daughters, Ella Fitzgerald, Trololololol guy, Vocal Spectrum, The Civil Wars, The Carpenters, Rick Astley, Gregorian chant (the type of music, not the band), The Weepies, Brooke Fraser, Mozart, Bon Iver, She & Him, Matt & Kim, Lecrae, Nyan Cat, Sixpence None The Richer, Mumford and Sons, Nickel Creek, Straight No Chaser, John Denver & The Muppets, Jenny & Tyler, Andrew Bird, Ingrid Michaelson, Cake, old Disney movies (the movies, not a band), The Partridge Family, The Addams Family, Rocky Votolato, Haydn, Slow Club, David Crowder Band, Ben Folds, Anais Mitchell, Brett Dennen, Billy Holiday, David Bazan/Pedro the Lion, The Marvelous Breadfish, Harry Connick Jr., Julia Nunes, Iron & Wine, Matisyahu, The Beatles, Jesus (the Savior, not a band)

Namesake: Meet Kinsey Grace! [last name: Wallace]
Purdy, ain't sheh?

In actuality, her name is complete happenstance. Her parents just picked random letters! It works for some. The band is not named after her.

Anyway, on our EPIC road trip of spring break 2011 [see pics HERE! And again right HERE!!] we stopped in Kinsey, TX to delight in organic falafel and meet the ambassador of Rottnest Island. As we were driving out of town, we noticed a cardboard sign pointing down a desolate gravel road. It read "GRACE REVIVAL - live music!" and on a whim, we took the fated turn down the road. We parked the small red car out with the others in a field, and followed the roadside lanterns about 200 yards. Under a massive yellowed canvas tent was a most glorious sight. Surrounded by candles and an attentive, reverent crowd, the small band sang in glorious harmony as a lone mandolin plucked out a simple yet compelling countermelody. The specific hymn escapes me, but so much is still so clear. As we slowly approached the back of the large tent, the smell of spring at dusk settled around. I stood amazed beside my friends, afraid to blink or make a sound in fear of it disappearing as a dream. The band finished the second verse and the whole group joined in for a chorus. An acoustic guitar and a cello began to sound from the stage, and our captivation deepened. We joined in, melding in the smooth, praise-filled melody. Even the grasshoppers joined in worship. The tent seemed to sway with emotion as those within were consumed with thanks, fellowship, and His glory. Love soared straight through that yellowed, tattered canvas and up and beyond. The hymn decrescendoed gently and ended with just those on stage humming with the mandolin. After a small sigh and a smile, the band picked up their array of instruments and started in on a quick-paced tune. It was a giddy folk tune, catchy and fun and completely unfamiliar. We went to find seats near the back, but were grabbed by strangers and thrown into a clapping, dancing circle of joyous people. After a few wonderful tunes proclaiming the beauty of Light and unending joy, the cellist grabbed Kinsey's hand and drug her on stage. She handed her a triangle. The guy on fiddle came to me, Josh, and Ed. He smiled a huge smile and corralled us on stage. We were handed random percussion instruments and the band played a medium tempo song. In the euphoria, our nerves were consumed and we simply played from the heart. It honestly wasn't that good, but it didn't matter. After the hilarious experience, the fiddle guy led the 4 of us off stage and told us how thankful he was for our good attitudes and high sprits. We stayed into the night, praising in hymns or fast folk jams and chatting with all and being amazed. We had somehow found an improbable pocket of wonder; this was no longer Texas or a world we knew. As we drove away hours later, we had little to say. Each of us had plenty to contemplate in our own heads and hearts. We were simply overcome with Awesome.

Soon after we formed the Kinsey Grace Revival Band. An EP is in the works, and the picture below is our potential album art. Stay tuned. : ]

Therefore, since we receive a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable service with reverence and awe; for our God is a consuming fire. - Hebrews 12:28-29

Alot no have time for this.

2012-01-27T02:23:00.005-05:00

Alas, it's late and I have reading yet to do. E dovrò finire i miei compiti italiani!!!

For your enjoyment, here are 2 pictures I took on my phone since school started back up. To understand the first one you'll have to click HERE and read this. Surrriously, do it now; you'll never regret it. Then the pic might at least make you chortle.

This is from the first lecture in Honors Physics and Human Affairs. My notes are little messy/frazzled... But I was so bored in the lecture it was a bit hard to stay fully awake. Cue atrocious handwriting. [I apologize for the highly inaccurate Alot. Drawing is not exactly a gift of mine.]

This next one is a slyly taken one of my Physics-n-HA lab TA. He's an interesting fellow... Jeans, Super Mario light yellow shirt, a denim jacket a different color from the jeans and a bit too short, black dress shoes with no socks, and a dab of fingernail polish on every fingernail. Yeah... His hair could belong to a girl. I wouldn't call him precisely pleasant, but he's nice and helpful enough. It will certainly be an interesting semester in there.

Creeper pic FTW.

"If you don't pay attention and if your imagination isn't pretty much engaged, you're going to miss things and you're going to miss opportunities for it to be as compelling and as creepy as it can be." - Bruce Greenwood

.... or miss how creepy I can be...........