Showing posts with label beautiful. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beautiful. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
cooking up friendship
How do you solve the problem of lives that never seem to intersect? Dinner.
She still lives in Bethesda, but works Downtown at Children's Hospital. I work in Silver Spring but live downtown. She goes to Baltimore on the weekends to visit her boyfriend of three (almost four, right?) years who is still at UMBC. And I, well, I'm generally everywhere on the weekends.
We realized one afternoon in the summer before I moved that unless we came up with a standing date in the middle of the week, we'd never see each other.
Enter: Wednesday Night Dinner.
We meet at my place (it's on her way home) and cook ourselves a fabulous meal (sometimes, we've only had one disaster), complete with wine, beer or a stiffer drink if the work week's calling for it. And we talk as we cook. It's girl time. It's cheap. And it's wonderful.
About two months into it we instated the 1-new thing rule. We must cook one new thing every meal. It can be something we've had before, it can even be an old family recipe, but we cannot have ever made it ourselves. So now, about 7 months later, we're really becoming chefs. We even grilled for the first time last week. A huge accomplishment for someone who's only ever watched her dad grill (me) and someone who grew up a vegetarian (her). They say you should do one thing a day that scares you, well, we do one thing a week. And it's not scary because we have each other.
A quick list of successes:
I've realized as I get older that when you're not seeing your friends every day at school, maintaining friendships, particularly really close, meaningful friendships, becomes harder and harder. It takes effort and time, and in our case, it takes lots of olive oil.
She and I are thinking about starting a blog about our dinners ... complete with recipes and photos and stories ... so stay tuned!
She still lives in Bethesda, but works Downtown at Children's Hospital. I work in Silver Spring but live downtown. She goes to Baltimore on the weekends to visit her boyfriend of three (almost four, right?) years who is still at UMBC. And I, well, I'm generally everywhere on the weekends.
We realized one afternoon in the summer before I moved that unless we came up with a standing date in the middle of the week, we'd never see each other.
Enter: Wednesday Night Dinner.
We meet at my place (it's on her way home) and cook ourselves a fabulous meal (sometimes, we've only had one disaster), complete with wine, beer or a stiffer drink if the work week's calling for it. And we talk as we cook. It's girl time. It's cheap. And it's wonderful.
About two months into it we instated the 1-new thing rule. We must cook one new thing every meal. It can be something we've had before, it can even be an old family recipe, but we cannot have ever made it ourselves. So now, about 7 months later, we're really becoming chefs. We even grilled for the first time last week. A huge accomplishment for someone who's only ever watched her dad grill (me) and someone who grew up a vegetarian (her). They say you should do one thing a day that scares you, well, we do one thing a week. And it's not scary because we have each other.
A quick list of successes:
- Shrimp curry
- Fattoush salad, kafta and tzatziki sauce with home-made pita chips
- Lettuce wraps P.F. Chang-style
- Pad Thai
- Roasted asparagus with creamy mustard chicken with grapes
- Chicken with balsamic glaze
- Shrimp scampi
I've realized as I get older that when you're not seeing your friends every day at school, maintaining friendships, particularly really close, meaningful friendships, becomes harder and harder. It takes effort and time, and in our case, it takes lots of olive oil.
She and I are thinking about starting a blog about our dinners ... complete with recipes and photos and stories ... so stay tuned!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
gratitude
In the vein of http://1000awesomethings.com/ and Mama Cass's Gushing with Gratitude, here are the 10 things I'm thankful for this week. I encourage everyone to participate in the practice of saying thank you (it doesn't really matter to whom you say it -- just projecting it is a good thing), because I've realized that even when you feel like you're living in a land of suck, there are always things, no matter how small (and some of mine are small), that make the world a better place.
Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:
10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.
09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.
08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.
07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!
06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).
05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.
04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.
03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.
02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.
01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.
Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:
10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.
09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.
08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.
07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!
06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).
05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.
04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.
03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.
02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.
01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
first of the lasts
Since I can remember, the first day of school has always been accompanied with excitement and a little anxiety -- Will my teacher be nice? Will I know people in my class? What if I forget my schedule or get lost?
But this first day of school is particularly jarring: Tomorrow is the last first day of school I will ever have.
I love school, I always have. I'm a good student, call me a priss, a goody-goody, whatever. But I like to learn. I like the process of school, I like the adrenaline you get when you take a test, and then again when it's being handed back by the teacher. I like going home and talking about the things you learned, the things that blow your mind because you could have never imagined that they were true. I like buying school supplies, I love the smell of fresh notebook paper and I think I'm vaguely obsessive when it comes to buying day planners.
But never again. Not unless I go to grad school, which won't be happening any time soon. And not until my children, should I have them, pack up their backpacks and head to school will that first day of class be important again.
I've been trying not to think a lot about the number of lasts that are about to start cascading down on my life. It seems so incredible that I'm here, finally, staring at only four months left in a place I've called home for four years. A place where I've both found and lost any number of things, clothing, friends, love, my sense of self.
I often like to think about the road not taken, about the way things could have ended up but didn't. What if I had gone to Boston University like I so desperately wanted to? What if I had never met Olivia, Mandy, Ryan, Bryan, Colleen, Kiersten and all of the other people I see as so necessary to my life, that I love so deeply. What if I had chosen differently?
One thing is for sure, regardless of where I was, I'd probably still be feeling this same ache, knowing that goodbyes are coming. Lasts are inevitable. But so are beginnings. I've never been good with change -- McKenzie always says we're ducks in a row kind of girls -- we like everything in order. I like to know where I'm going, how I'm going to get there and what it'll look like when I finally arrive. But life's not like that. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what I'm doing. And it's scary. But I sort of like it.
My professor over this past winter term (my last winter term) told us every so often to buckle our seatbelts, grab the oxygen if needed and prepare for a bumpy ride.
It's going to be a bumpy few months, but I think it's going to be ride of a lifetime.
...Anyone know where I can get an oxygen tank to have on hand?
But this first day of school is particularly jarring: Tomorrow is the last first day of school I will ever have.
I love school, I always have. I'm a good student, call me a priss, a goody-goody, whatever. But I like to learn. I like the process of school, I like the adrenaline you get when you take a test, and then again when it's being handed back by the teacher. I like going home and talking about the things you learned, the things that blow your mind because you could have never imagined that they were true. I like buying school supplies, I love the smell of fresh notebook paper and I think I'm vaguely obsessive when it comes to buying day planners.
But never again. Not unless I go to grad school, which won't be happening any time soon. And not until my children, should I have them, pack up their backpacks and head to school will that first day of class be important again.
I've been trying not to think a lot about the number of lasts that are about to start cascading down on my life. It seems so incredible that I'm here, finally, staring at only four months left in a place I've called home for four years. A place where I've both found and lost any number of things, clothing, friends, love, my sense of self.
I often like to think about the road not taken, about the way things could have ended up but didn't. What if I had gone to Boston University like I so desperately wanted to? What if I had never met Olivia, Mandy, Ryan, Bryan, Colleen, Kiersten and all of the other people I see as so necessary to my life, that I love so deeply. What if I had chosen differently?
One thing is for sure, regardless of where I was, I'd probably still be feeling this same ache, knowing that goodbyes are coming. Lasts are inevitable. But so are beginnings. I've never been good with change -- McKenzie always says we're ducks in a row kind of girls -- we like everything in order. I like to know where I'm going, how I'm going to get there and what it'll look like when I finally arrive. But life's not like that. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what I'm doing. And it's scary. But I sort of like it.
My professor over this past winter term (my last winter term) told us every so often to buckle our seatbelts, grab the oxygen if needed and prepare for a bumpy ride.
It's going to be a bumpy few months, but I think it's going to be ride of a lifetime.
...Anyone know where I can get an oxygen tank to have on hand?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
life is beautiful, swanson
My senior year of high school I had an amazing teacher for an ancient Mediterranean civilizations class and Medieval history. His name was Mr. Baxter. A tall, heavy-set black man, his voice boomed when he called us by our last names. His podium was painted with camouflage and he had a riding crop that he'd use to emphasize points about cathedral building, Piltdown Man and Gregorian chants.
His classroom ceiling was covered with flags, his walls covered in maps and images of his travels. Some how he'd managed to get framed paintings to hang on the cinder blocks. You were always "Private," or "Comrade Swanson," or just "Swanson." No one had a first name. And everyone loved him.
Most classes in high school are fairly forgettable, you may remember the teacher, you may not. And most of the time, you definitely don't remember what you learned. I have about four teachers from high school whose lessons have stuck with me, whose voices I can still hear in my head and whose mentoring I pray I never forget. Baxter's voice is in my head in certain instances when I'm doing certain things, when I have to recall random European historical facts. But I hear it most of all when I wear a certain sweatshirt.
I'm wearing that sweatshirt today. It's light weight, so only for certain weather. Today seemed right, I guess.
It's funny how things just dawn on you. You forget about them until all of a sudden it makes its rounds in your brain and comes back.
My sweatshirt is silk-screened and it says "Life is beautiful," on the front.
In my head I can see myself. I am 18 years old, standing next to his desk about to ask about a paper. I can see him look at me, directly in the eyes, and say in his clear but weathered voice, "Life is beautiful, Swanson."
And then he smiled that smile that stretched from ear to ear, he always knew when he was being profound and knew that you knew it too.
I think few of us ever get to meet someone who is truly wise. He was wise. And he was right, for all the disaster and chaos that prevails most of the the time, through all that, life is beautiful.
His classroom ceiling was covered with flags, his walls covered in maps and images of his travels. Some how he'd managed to get framed paintings to hang on the cinder blocks. You were always "Private," or "Comrade Swanson," or just "Swanson." No one had a first name. And everyone loved him.
Most classes in high school are fairly forgettable, you may remember the teacher, you may not. And most of the time, you definitely don't remember what you learned. I have about four teachers from high school whose lessons have stuck with me, whose voices I can still hear in my head and whose mentoring I pray I never forget. Baxter's voice is in my head in certain instances when I'm doing certain things, when I have to recall random European historical facts. But I hear it most of all when I wear a certain sweatshirt.
I'm wearing that sweatshirt today. It's light weight, so only for certain weather. Today seemed right, I guess.
It's funny how things just dawn on you. You forget about them until all of a sudden it makes its rounds in your brain and comes back.
My sweatshirt is silk-screened and it says "Life is beautiful," on the front.
In my head I can see myself. I am 18 years old, standing next to his desk about to ask about a paper. I can see him look at me, directly in the eyes, and say in his clear but weathered voice, "Life is beautiful, Swanson."
And then he smiled that smile that stretched from ear to ear, he always knew when he was being profound and knew that you knew it too.
I think few of us ever get to meet someone who is truly wise. He was wise. And he was right, for all the disaster and chaos that prevails most of the the time, through all that, life is beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
