Yesterday I made a big pot of spaghetti, garlic bread, salad, and brown butter blondies. The week before I made enchiladas, chipoltle style rice, beans, and chocolate chip banana bread. The list could keep going, because I LOVE to cook. I love the way everyone gets excited when they can smell it, the way food makes a place feel more like home, how all the spices, though I don't often times measure, somehow turn into an exceptional blend of flavor that makes what was once tomato sauce hearty and fragrant. Cooking momentarily consumes me, that of course is before I consume it; something about it shuts out the busyness and takes me into a place of peaceful productivity. I love cooking for the holiday's with special recipes, the recipes of friends long after I've seen them, or for some, long after they have even been in my life. There's something so reliable about that favorite biscuit recipe, or Grandma's lemon pancakes. And, of course, I add my own flair to each recipe, trying to mold it to my own. Naturally, there are the cooking disasters, the bread that needs to be scraped of burnt char and the pancake that tastes like butter masked baking soda, but the disasters are overshadowed by the victories -- the victories, yes, they are far better than any individual victory because you can see the contentment on people's faces as they're eating something that has been prepared for them. It is a simple, yet profound satisfaction to know that your food has brought together family, whether it's family by blood or by spirit, and in that there are laughs, and honesty, and sharing, and rest; this is the cooks reward.

Below:

The house of my dreams ...


(Images from the movie,"Stepmom." The house is located in, I believe, Upstate New York.)

You've probably heard it time and again, "think before you speak." It's not that novel, I mean, obviously you're going to think before words exit your mouth -- it's physiologically necessary. But obviously that's not what it really means.

I've never been an angry person, I mean, common, I certainly don't have the physical means to be angry, and personality-wise I am afraid to be vulnerable or "off the handle" enough with most people to even show a hint of anger. It's not that I bottle things inside if I'm upset, I confront them, even if it's with dragging feet, but for the most part, I think I'm easy going with most people. I recently realized something, though: sometimes I feel downright angry. Now, anger in itself isn't bad, I mean, it's good to recognize when something is unjust or manipulative and to keep your boundaries, protecting yourself. Yet what about anger in everyday conversations? What about anger -- that realness of negative emotion, shown to the people you're closest to. I mean most people don't get angry at their grocer, or the guy down the street. And on a deeper level, most people don't even express anger to the general circle of their relatives or friends. But most people have been openly angry at their best friend, their spouse, parents, or someone significantly close in their life. Why is this? It's there because those relationships are real, they're important, and they're safe enough to be vulnerable and open. However, is anger really the right way?

As I had said before, unless someone does something unjust or manipulative to you, is anger the right way of expressing yourself? Probably not, actually, it can be the worst way. Yet it's not that simple. I mean, feeling as though injustice or manipulation or something boundary shattering is taking place is all a matter of perspective. Classic example (sort of classic): in Father of the Bride (Part I, if you'd like to know specifics), Annie's fiance, Brian, decides to get her a blender as a wedding gift. This gift, which to me would have been slightly dull, but extremely useful and appreciated, was a statement to her that screamed 1950's housewife. To her it was downright manipulative and a slight injustice, but honestly, to me she was overreacting. In all reality though, who cares what I think, that's how she felt, to her it was valid, and therefore she was angry. Because she was close enough to Brian she was able to express this frustration, instead of bottling her negative emotion inside, and in the end this made them stronger. Or, at the very least, they pulled through it in less than eight hours and then resumed to happy. In a sense, her frustration was good, because it demonstrated that their relationship was safe enough to share unhappiness, and in the end, it taught her that Brian was not trying to manipulate her, but he just wanted to give her a useful gift (for the milkshakes she likes). However, did she really have to throw such a fit ... call the wedding off, have to have her father intervene to patch things back up? No.

What I've learned about anger, which is hard to do when you feel as though injustice has befallen upon you, is to stop, think, and then speak. Sometimes the stopping or the thinking takes a little time, but it's neccessary because once you say the angry words, they're out, they hurt, and they can't be taken back (though you can appologize, of course). What I'm trying to come to peace with, is that it's ok -- normal -- to feel angry, but the true test is how you handle that feeling. The key is to ask yourself what the person is really saying, then ask yourself what's really bothering you. Often times you'll find you might not even be angry, or it might not even be about that person, but it could be another feeling, like stress or fear, overtaking the moment; because we all get frustrated, it's something worth asking yourself.

Last night I saw an outdoor showing of Casablanca at Chapman University. They are doing a black and white movie series where they basically put an old, acclaimed movie on the screen (black and white as previous mentioned), pop some movie theater-esk popcorn, put out some store bought cookies, lemonade, and ice water, and people convene on blankets and lawn chairs at 8 p.m. on Friday night. Did I mention it's free? Yes, well that does add a certain charm to it.

It was the perfect evening, not too hot, not too cold, with a calm breeze floating all around. I had forgotten how: 1) confusing Casablanca can be, and 2.) once you get all the details how crazy good it really is. I mean that movie is truly an epic. And I'm a fan of anything epic-related.

What I thought was interesting was how the theme song for the movie, "As Time Goes By," talked about how the world will always welcome lovers ... how falling in love, though good and right, is always in some sense, the "same old story," time does not change love. This was an interesting theme song for the movie because Casablanca was sort of a place where time stood stagnant, a place where there was little certainty in anything, and amidst a war, which Igrid Bergman mournfully claimed to hate, there was little good. Yet there was that simple, time-tested, age-old thing called love, and that seemed to be the film's redeaming color. It was love that saved the couple in the game of roulett, love that ended up getting Ingrid and her husband on a plane out of there, love that, somehow, despite it's painstaken and jiltish ways, seemed to redeam Rick into wanting to vacation from Casablanca in the end, and love, even the influence of it, seemed to soften the bad guy. It seems that despite all the war and agnoy, that "same old story love" still rang true. I suppose the song was fitting then.

If you haven't seen it, or it has been awhile, I'd recommend watching it.