I'm trying to be productive since I have started my summer break but so far I haven't been exactly successful. While I'm still working, it's only twenty hours a week, so I'm hoping to accomplish a lot in my down time. Today I have spent the majority of the morning watching the hilarious British comedy, "Keeping Up Appearances", cleaned my room, and have fed myself two meals. I anticipate big things to come in the afternoon.

Pride rears its ugly head ... I guess that can be true for me. I quarreled with a friend a long time ago. I don't even remember why; or if there was a reason why it now seems irrelevant. And regardless of how irrelevant the argument seems, or how insignificant that memory really is, people, in this case me, let pride run the show. "They should call me first" I think. "I don't need a friend like that!" "Whatever, they're just being sensitive." But excuses like that don't work: they don't work in friendships, or family, or marriages. Can you imagine if you and your spouse were upset with each other and you thought, "I don't need a husband like him!" That probably explains the American divorce rate ...

My prideful outlook on relationships is not only cultural, it's human. The old phrase "pride comes before the fall" is probably as true of a phrase that can be said, and of course in the Bible we are warned about pride -- but most of us just think, that's not me!

Sometimes it's hard to play "peacemaker", but I would imagine it is a lot more difficult to carry around the burden of anger for the rest of your days. I haven't talked to a friend for a year and a half -- a best friend -- because of some reason that I don't even know, and I said I'm sorry today and it was hard because part of me just thought maybe they should have said sorry, after all, I don't even know what I did. But I'll be honest with you, I feel better. Humility feels better than pride.

I just keep thinking about the sermon I heard on Easter, and thinking, if God can raise Jesus from the dead, then he can bring anything back to life. It's a nice thing for anyone to think about on this cloudy Monday.

Spring is in the air and I find myself wishing I lived someplace where I could grow a garden. I haven't had much gardening experience, aside from picking strawberries in my mom's garden, but what more experience do you really need? No, really, to be less humble I have dug a hole with a shovel, put in a plant, and mounded the dirt all around it ...

I just hope I will be good at gardening ...

Over the course of the year I have had a beautiful flower (though the name escapes me!), Heather, and Rosemary. They have all died. But can you blame them? I wouldn't want to live in an apartment either if I had roots. I even sang to my flower, but it just made it die faster (no jokes, please) ...

What I'm getting at, in a very round about way, is that, regardless of my current gardening limitations, spring is in the air. The smell of flowers (hay fever for some) is mixed in the breeze and I find myself more interested in walking around the block than in studying. Which brings me to my next point: school.

You should be delighted to be informed that in two and a half weeks I will be on summer break. Summer break in April you might say. Yes, yes, it is a bit early, but the "kicker" is that my final phase of the program is two quarters of student teaching, and after careful thought and prayer I have decided this will be better done in September. My reasoning is work/money-related, as well as the need I really have for a long summer break. This really affects little in the long run. Instead of achieving my Master's and credential by the end of November 2010, it will be by the middle of February 2011 -- a mere two and a half month difference! And while I would like to be done sooner, for many reasons I am confident extending it a couple extra months is best. This has really been on my mind, so making this decision is really a blessing.

I look forward to the long summer and what the break will bring. I have been so engrossed in doing well in school that I feel I have not breathed properly since September. Not to mention the new opportunities a break will bring. I'm excited to start volunteering for a really cool low-income after school program in Santa Ana, writing, and start subbing in schools on my days off from Mariners. Maybe a vacation, too. Wooohhoooo to breaks!

When life is busy, and time is minimal, I find an excellent pastime to be: The Onion. Anyone with me? Whether it's the very sight of Hilary Clinton offending Pakistan, Obama lip syncing his speeches, or, my personal favorite, the Ford Taurus -- it brightens my day. Hope this adds a little flair to yours --

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/ford_unveils_new_car_for_cash

I was in a group of about five adults and the prompt for the question was: How do you see yourself as different from how you were in high school? Now for me, being one of the youngest at my workplace, high school really wasn't too long ago. But for many of them this question required a lot of reflection. They each answered, all of them reiterating the same thing: "I was SO idealistic then. I thought I could do anything." I listened, a little confused. They were saying this as though it was a bad thing. Actually, as the conversation unfolded I came to find that's exactly what they meant.

What's wrong with being idealistic about the future, thinking you can accomplish everything? Sure, you can run the risk of being too prideful or loose touch with reality, but hopes and dreams and beliefs -- now isn't that what makes life exciting? You see, the worst thing that can happen is you fail. That's right: you fail. But if you believe that God has a plan -- which I do -- then who cares about failure? At least you tried. It's not to say that I want to go accomplish a task, like say, a marathon with no training (then you fail and die). However, what if you do run a marathon ... try to run a marathon (training and all) ... and you just can't finish. OH WELL. Personally, at eight-eight-years of age, when I'm sitting in my rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and a far away look in my eye, I'll feel satisfied, not because I succeed, but because I TRIED MY BEST.

I'm sitting here avoiding my "to do" list gazing around my room, feeling the soothing peace that comes from within, the first sparks of tiredness from the early winter evening, and a tinge of anxiety from any thought related to academia or work. I had lunch with friends this afternoon, but with my friends long gone, my roommate off in some unknown place, and Eric out of town on business, I am very much alone. It is the first Friday I have been alone in quite sometime, but it's not so bad, it's actually kind of nice tonight.

There is only a brief lull before the phone will ring again, before I will feel the urge to move for something -- the tv, the refrigerator ...

These quiet moments are the ones when a hot cup of tea is nice, with a blanket to snuggle up to, a book to read, and music in the background. But sometimes these quiet moments are better filled with nothing. I find myself so, well, hyper, that I am actually uncomfortable in a moment where I can stop. Where I can rest. Where nothing is expected of me. It is like the itch to speak that I develop when there's ten seconds of silence in a conversation with someone (perhaps even five). It is so hard for me to slow down until my head hits the pillow. Even then I find myself thinking of the silliest of intricacies: I never called that person, my clothes are still at the dry cleaners, do I have anything left in the fridge to pack a lunch tomorrow, I wonder how late it is now ...

It's hard to find peace in our lives. It's hard to find rest.

God promises us peace, telling us to cast our burden's on him. He also states "All who come to me, I will give you rest." I've read those words before, carved in peaces of wood that look like they were crafted in a booth at a snazzy state fair. I've seen the words printed neatly on late-eighties styled plaques that hang on people's walls. The words make me think of an image of Jesus seated neatly and stately, a halo around his head, children looking at him in awestruck-wonder. But have I believed those words for more than a day, or even an hour? Have I lived as though those words are true? I can honestly say I need those words, I have needed them all along; all I had to do was ask and believe. God wants to give us rest. He wants to take our burdens. It's that simple. It's that good.

People would describe me as introspective. Or, at least, they have. I have been claimed in other phrases as well: passionate, soulful, whimsical, perfectionist, worrier, detail-oriented, not detail-oriented, bad at math, bad at spelling, good at writing, better at broadcast journalism than print, an excellent poet, a horrible cook, the best of cooks, a runner, athletic, about as far from athletic as anyone can be, funny, weird, dull, perky, deep, shallow, depressive, giddy, loving, sweet, shy, loud, purposeful, strange, exhausting, inspiring, encouraging, dramatic. The list could go on, and as you can see, the list is one exhaustive paradox. But the list is not me.

I sit and read literature infused with educational injustice. The author tells me about Bobby (who's name is probably not, and never even will be Bobby), and how Bobby goes to school every day without breakfast. He qualifies for free lunch, but the bus he takes is perpetually late. His free breakfast is perpetually missed. Bobby lives in a shanty of a house with a mom -- no dad -- several siblings, and a less than clean environment, with a toilet that they can't even afford to repair. It's the story of his mother working two jobs to survive, and Bobby left with no supervision. It's the story I've read time again. The only difference is the name.

Teachers have power, more power than you might think. They can motivate and inspire, but they can also reduce and belittle. Perhaps a glace at the, er, timeless (?) statement, "with great power comes great responsibility" sums up the power of a teacher. The power to form and help, not only students like Bobby, but every student. After all, these kids will be the kids who are our doctors and nurses when we're old and in the hospital. They are the future politicians and businessmen. But is it fair that some kids don't have the privileges at home for enough food or a quiet place to sleep (if those can even be considered privileges rather than rights). These kids who are oftentimes parent-less because their parents have to choose work over them -- not because they want to -- but because they don't have a choice. Is it fair that these kids are often labeled at school as not AP-level, always tired, rude, disruptive, little potential. Is it even a teacher's job to label?

Clearly, it's not only these kids who come to the classroom covered with labels that coat their identity. We all cover ourselves with labels. And though it's good to have a definition of self, to know your strengths and weaknesses, it is equally essential that we recognize these labels don't have to be stagnant. Anyone can learn -- anyone can improve.

As for me, I'd rather be label-free. No strings attached to always being good at something, no pressure to not fail, no embarrassment for being seen as bad at something, no opinion before I have a chance to prove myself. My identity, my hope, lies in Christ. And though that may give fruit to attributes akin to kindness, love, and encouragement. Though my humanity may give way to flaws of pride, anger, and bitterness. None of those things can consume me. They are not my anchor.

Should Bobby's victimization of circumstance spiral him into a position that makes him believe he is less than? How can I, as a teacher, let students know that God does not see us as labels, he does not give us worth and merit from what we do? How can I let them know that he chooses us? And he is our identity.

Today is not the best of days. I have a stomach ache, had to eat oatmeal for two meals (which could be contributing to the stomach ache), and ended up having to squeeze in my online class while at work and all the class could hear was a screaming child -- compliments of my end of the speaker. I'm looking at my life and all I can think of is a person with their shirt stuck in a tire and the wheel is spinning them round and round. I know, far too graphic.

It's just that, as much as I want to be able to do it all, I don't feel like I can. My classes are way more intense this quarter, I now have to conduct student observations, and then there's still work. Though I'd like to quit work for two months, then resume, that's not really possible when someone needs to be doing my job. I could take one class now, then the other through mid-June (to lighten the load), but that just extends the schoolwork for three extra months.

So there it is. I don't know what to do; I don't know what decision to make. I pray about it, but I hear nothing ... well, nothing in the sense of an answer that I would be looking for. But then again, God often answers our prayers in different ways than we think.

Maybe this is my answer ...

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary

and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.

The holiday's have ended and I feel an extreme lull. Perhaps if I could enter the bandwagon of New Year's optimism then I would feel more zeal for life. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I am depressed about life, it's just a let down -- that's all.

It doesn't help that the post-Christmas drag seems eminent everywhere I go. At work, no one really wanted to talk to anyone. There were few, "How was your holiday," or "I'm ready for the New Year!" Just quiet and occasional grumbles related to Christmas colds and other such ailments. I, too, joined them, wallowing in the pity of my cold, beginning my work for the New Year at a snail-like pace. But then Friday will come, and a weekend will soon pass, back to Monday, and after doing this once or twice, the idea of New Years and Christmas will be a vague vision of the past.

I still have my tree up, its branches look faded and brittle. And the wreathes hanging about my home look like something Smoky the Bear would frown on with disdain. I suppose before I create a fire I better discard these. But really and truly, I think I just need perspective. Something to look ahead to, and perhaps even more than something to look ahead to, but something to look forward to. I'm so future orientated that future plans always motivate me. Though I can't say that it helps that my future plans seemed layered in school, work, and duty. I guess that there lies my problem: only focusing on that aspect of my life ... and making it sound so dull at that.

In a way the new year is an opportunity. Sure, it's just a new month, and there are no real life changing events taking place at the moment; however, the new year is a starting point for fresh plans; a perspective that is far more appealing than leftover Christmas duties. It will be a year full of life, which is something I love, there will be birthday's and holidays, good days and bad days, learning, and even -- change. Yet perhaps the perspective that I can hold onto is that unlike the fast-paced, fly by your seat holidays (that I happen to so love) there will be peace. True in Southern-California we have no peace of snowfall and cold months with cozy fires, but we still have the long month of January and the faithful following months of February and March that give us rest after the chaos of the holidays, the excitement of the Spring and Summer, and the freshness of Fall.

Can't we find purpose in the peace of this oftentimes "too slow for our busy lives" season? While some may be thinking, "there is no rest for me amidst taxes or snow flurries," and maybe I can't relate to whatever the busyness of this season may bring for you. But I do think that most can agree that this season is naturally filled with less season-related flair. And maybe, for the sake of perspective ... and enjoyment, rather than seeing this season as a let down, we can count it as a blessing.

Happy New Year!

I have been sitting in silence for the past forty-five minutes extremely disoriented. After two wedges of this gingerbread-cake-type-thing I made, and the afore mentioned silence, I have finally regained enough composure to write --

Word of advice: avoid the mall at all costs for the next three days.

I got up at ten of eight, which could be considered sleeping in. As usual, I awoke in somewhat of a frenzy; I do that often. It's as though I wake and suddenly realize all the interesting things there are to, attempting to jolt myself out of sleep in seconds. Usually this is not as graceful as it sounds.

After completing a huge vat of plain yogurt with honey and apple spice tea with egg nog (in lo of the the Christmas spirit), I put in Julie and Julia, to settle down for some quality background noise while I began my homework. Following this I scrubbed the kitchen floor and worked my hands (literally) dry in the kitchen, trying to get it to my level of sanitary, but even with Christmas music on, my cleaning flair bunt out after a couple hours (which isn't too bad, I suppose). Feeling productive, feeling good ... about myself ... about my morning ... about the impending holiday. But, oh, then it happened --

A knock at the door (never good when you're indesposed). Let me define indesposed: loose tee-shirt, pj pants, wild-child hair, and well ... I'll stop there. I ran to cover up with a sweatshirt and opened the door to see a lovely boquet of Christmas flowers. "My" I thought. "Flowers for meee, you shouldn't have!" Well, they didn't. The man at the door told me to hold onto them for my neighbor who at the time wasn't home. Yes, if you're wondering, I said it: "I was hoping those were for me." Perhaps had a looked less like a creature and more like a lady he might have had pity, but he just said sorry and left.

Oh well, who needs Christmas roses?

I just finished doing what my Educational Psychology book would refer to as, self regulating. I wrote a list that covered everything I need to accomplish between now and Friday, bullet pointing everything short of this blog. Though I have to admit, accomplishing my list is pretty refreshing. While the completing the list feels Merry and bright, the tasks in themselves are quite the opposite. Personally, I would prefer a list that read:

-Go buy the Steve Madden boots you cannot afford
-Eat lot's of holiday treats!
-Lay around as much as possible
-Buy a plane ticket to Korea (even if it's 2,500 dollars)
-Take a bubble bath

... Well, you get the point. But (aside from buying the boots ... and maybe Korea ... OK, and the bubble bath) the list would not lead to a very fulfilling life. So, I remain a slave to my current master of discipline: the list.

I don't want to feel dread about the week, or section it off in cookie-cutter days, I want to enjoy the here and now, especially this Christmas season. It's just that this week is especially difficult. Mainly because Eric is on a business trip and I miss his company terribly when he's gone. I used to be (pre-boyfriend days) good at being alone, but once you've experienced the wonder of being with that special someone, it is hard to go back. Normally, this would be a good way to feel, but not this week.

I suppose I can look at the bright side (as opposed to the what, the dark side?) I have a place to live, a room to decorate, and in a week I'll be singing "Fa-la-la-la-la" as Christmas will only be a few days away! I don't care if it's silly, even at 22 I am giddy about Christmas.

So, here's to a week of (fun) lists!

Until tomorrow --

Sail away, sail away, sail away ...

So in the last twenty-four hours I have constructed the brilliant idea of going to Korea (or Thailand) in two weeks. You might be wondering how this came about?

It all started a couple weeks ago when I found out I got the last week in December off -- not just off, but paid and off. It's something Mariner's Church does for its employees. I also found out that I was out of school that whole week. The wheels in my head began to turn: Who can I visit? Where? How? But I talked myself out of my silly notions and concluded that I would use that time to study for the CSET.

Of course, this all changed yesterday when I found out I had the Sunday prior to that week off. Something that only happens three times a year. This, of course, led me to the belief that I had to go somewhere. It is my duty; I owe it to myself ... to my youth, to my unmarried life. And since three of my friends are in Korea -- Wallah!

After finding a flight for 600 dollars I was making travel arrangements in my head. Hopes were thwarted when I found out two of my friends were going to be in Thailand that week, but this was quickly remedied upon the new realization that I could go to Thailand. Ocean, jungle, beaches: better. But let me tell you, this excitement died a pitiful death, as both Wholesale Flights and ASAP Flights told me that the cost was really about 2, 000 for the dates I wanted. I still am confused why they so terribly misrepresented themselves. I guess Christmas is popular when it comes to trips to Southeast Asia. Go figure.

What's a girl to do? The world at my fingertips, adventure in my soul (or in this case, Seoul), and no where to go?

Until tomorrow --

I am so tired I can hardly function, but I made a silly promise to myself to blog every day or so, and while I could break the promise, seeing that the only person I'd be letting down is myself, or I could just skip a day, at this point in the game -- one day after I said I'd blog daily -- it would be bad form.

My thoughts tonight are on sleep. Why does not enough sleep make it hard to think? It also makes me grumpy. And restless. I really should get enough sleep.

I don't sleep well, though, I really don't. I toss and I turn for nearly an hour before I fall asleep and I wake up with the roosters. 8 a.m. is a serious sleep-in day for me. Oh, boy! What does this mean? I can see it now, 60-years-old and awake at 4:30 every day. But getting up early can keep a person young. It is a discipline, for one. It shows, or at least assumes, some sort of enthusiasm and zeal for life. And, it's pretty in-tune with society, seeing that businesses generally wake-up early, and successful adults don't usually lollygag in bed.

But, I'm done thinking about sleep. I'm ready to actually partake in it.

Hopefully my post tomorrow will be more thrilling than mumbles on sleep. But I cannot make any guarantees.

Until tomorrow --

I have decided to blog everyday. Yes, this goal sounds lofty, considering my last post was in October and it is now December, but I have very good intentions. While the challenge to myself is to blog daily, if I miss a day I won't really mind (but if I miss two ...), and if I'm on vacation then I am off the hook. Aside from that, here's to starting off the new year early with daily blogging!

Post I

I love to grocery shop. I know I've mentioned it before, but it really does get me that excited. I'm sitting here, in a home that is icy cold, drinking hot chocolate with a snuggly blanket and feeling excitement that I get to grocery shop. Grocery shopping is a very big deal for me. First, I allot a budget for myself to spend at the store, then I think through meals, ingredients I will need, sometimes I even make lists that I rarely use. When I'm there I almost always try to fit flowers into my budget (probably not the best habit), and I find myself excited by things like berry flavored sparkling water for 99 cents or food samples that leave a fragrance to, or not, be desired (depending on the sample that day). The other day I got enough cilantro to open my own Mexican restruant for 50 cents, naturally, this was exciting. I've had better cilantro, though ...

Either way, today is grocery day! (Don't worry, I don't shop on the exact same day every week). Now, if only I didn't have a ton of reading for my 1:30 class and two hours of work to fit in. That's the problem with grocery day, there's rarely time.

Because I'm always looking for good recipes, let me know if you have any!

Until tomorrow --

There's really nothing like something hot to drink. When I wake up, no matter the weather, a hot drink sounds appealing. At night, when the sun has set and the house is quieting down, that same idea comes into my mind. The only problem is: caffeine.

Coffee makes me so jittery that I can feel my heart almost bursting through my chest. On the outside I'll smile at coworkers, friends, really whoever I'm around, pretending I'm not effected, but they know it. They can tell. My eyes get bigger, and at least one leg has to move up and down, I sigh a lot, because caffeine sets anxiety in which makes it hard to breathe. Then there's the talking, when I have caffeine I can't stop. Anyone who knows me well knows that these times are scary ... or annoying. Yet time after time, I always consider coffee in the morning.

You are probably wondering: has she tried decaf? I have, yes, don't worry. But it has the same effect, though fortunately a much lesser degree of it. And while I only try to drink decaf coffee, and only decaf coffee on super early mornings or special occasions, I still can feel that it probably isn't the best tonic to start my day.

I do much better with tea. Not all tea, mind you. The black teas, though they are probably the favorite, have a similar effect (perhaps slightly better, depending upon how European the blend is). But what am I to do, drink herbal tea every single morning? I mean, herbal blends are prefect for nighttime but the morning too? It's a thought. Right now I'm drinking French Vanilla tea, and so far I feel a jolt, but nothing to write home about.

So here's to drinking to my idea of glorious mornings and cozy hot drinks! Even if in reality it makes me revved up like one of those power boats that has their engine shinning for the whole world to see, I still find the thought of it -- and of course the process of drinking it -- more than enjoyable.

Well, three weeks into school, five weeks into work, and I'm already hyperventilating. When I get stressed, which unfortunately has always been something that I'm prone to, I have a hard time catching my breath. No, there are no ridiculous small paper bags involved, though to be honest, one might help. Just deep labored breaths that turn out to be shallow sips of air. I get these weird knots in my neck; weird because they are so hard that I would almost bet it's new bone growth, and I start feeling overwhelmed by even the smallest of things like, "what am I going to have for dinner." It's interesting because I like to be busy, anyone who knows me well, would probably say I thrive off of some level of busy. But, like anyone, I fizzle when I've reached my limit. One thing's for sure: I am definitely being stretched. Here are somethings I've learned about myself recently:

- I can handle a full plate, but not a stuffed plate (there is a difference).
- I need time to be alone and think during the day.
- If I go weeks without exercising I become significantly moody.
- There's an ugly element that comes with school, almost a selfish entitlement of "I need to do this now," and it can quickly make a person neglect relationships.
- Even if you have a lot to do, it's ok to do nothing, actually, sometimes it's the best thing.
- I really like school, and I really like being busy (note, I said "busy," not "swamped").
- God's in control (I've known this, but it's amazing how often I seem to forget it).

There's no place like living out of your suitcase ?

Lately I have been busy -- not just busy -- zapped. I went from a nothing that was such a lack of something that you could reread this sentence five -- ten -- twenty -- who cares! -- times and not feel guilty because you have all the time in the world on your hands. But now, it's quite the opposite. The fact that I'm even writing this blog feels decadent. If time were a meal, this would definitely be in the dessert category (see my jokes are even getting weirder).

I like being busy -- I do -- perhaps, in many ways, I love being busy. And I went into this Fall with a "Carpe Diem" attitude, however, like I said, I'm zapped. How quickly I forgot the time it takes to do school. The labor one puts into a paper, the agony one using when scrutinizing over the syllubus, it can be all consuming. Then starting my new job (which is a HUGE blessing) is still time consuming, even if it's a good thing. But both those things have not been my real challenge. My real challenge rests in the fact that I have been living out of a suitcase -- this lifestyle can quickly make a person "zapped." Actually, I am quite astonished I have fought it out this long.

While I am forever thankful for the families that have let me stay with them, and know in many ways I'll look back with fondness (?) on this vagabound -esk living situation, I want a home. I want a place where I can put my groceries and clothes, I want to light scented candels, and complain about how "I really need to clean the floors or dust the cabnets." I want my nest, that's safe, and warm, and well-earned. Even if it takes over half my paycheck to live there, I have decided that a woman needs some place to, as Eric's mom says, "hang her hat." Though I don't have a hat, I have shoes, and I would like a place for them.

I know God will provide, and like I said, I'm thankful I've been able to save money, and blown away by the generousity of others who have reached out to me. But I think I'm ready to "go home." :)

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.)