Oh C'monnnnn.

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A dash of ambition...

I prepared the entire Thanksgiving feast this year for my family. I know what you're thinking. Isn't this the Erin that subsisted solely off of mac n' cheese, special k, and takeout during college? The same Erin that was terrified at the sight of uncooked chicken until a few short years ago? And yes, you are correct. My mother (who, by they way, is the oldest of seven children and has always held a not so secret grudge against me for my lack of cooking, sewing, and other domestic skills) has been threatening me for years with the prospect of taking the lead on this most important culinary day. And this year, I was ready.

I am, by no means, an excellent cook. But I began preparing for the big day weeks in advance, planning my menu, scheduling dishes that could be made in advance. The preparing began on Monday last week with the baking of pumpkin bread and continued through Thursday, the day when roasting, mashing, stuffing, peeling, chopping, and simmering took up a solid 8 hours(!) of my day. And by 5:00, the 26 pounder came out of the oven, and dinner was served.



I didn't get pictures of all my tasty sides (like this butternut squash soup- SO delicious), and they didn't stick around for long after we sat down, but I did snag a look at my maple sweet potatoes and green bean casserole. The meal was lovely, and I was asleep by 9 pm, full, exhausted and a little bit proud that a frozen pizza kind of girl can evolve so much in just one short year.

Important lessons my mother wanted me to learn from this experience: that she is a saint for having made Thanksgiving dinner for our family for over 25 years; that we all owe her for the rest of our lives; and that her methods of cooking are the best ever employed.

Lessons I learned all on my own: I will never marry a man/have children that don't help me cook (they don't peel potatoes, they don't eat potatoes); cooking is WORK and you shouldn't have to clean up (luckily my lovely father already knows this); spending all day working with your hands, not listening to tv or answering your phone, and actually having a real conversation with your extremely wise mother is a beautiful way to spend the holiday.

Catching up

I do believe I missed September. The same sad post sitting at the top of the page for far too long. Let's fix that.

It's funny (or bizarre) how the universe takes so much time barely nudging you to do anything greater, become anything greater, and then SMACK out of the blue, in the least subtle way possible, it provides an obvious and clear path that moments before was completely shrouded. And my restless self jumps all over this exciting realization. Story of my life. Make a big change, adjust to said change, be comfortable and happy, become restless for next big change. Repeat as necessary.

I got a bit of my restlessness out a few weeks ago when I, along with my lovely parents, ventured to California, where I had never been before. I've got a lot of country to see in between here and there, but it was a good start to exploring this big ol' land. We went to San Francisco first.

We hiked through quiet redwoods as the morning fog lifted, saw and heard the loud sea lions at Pier 39 (the whole time I couldn't get Feist's "Sea Lion Woman" song out of my head), explored both the deep hills of the city and the calm Marin headlands, ate absolutely fantastic food, and generally enjoyed ourselves. We stayed at Old St. Mary's, California's first cathedral, where my mother's best friend is the pastor. The part of me that feels a bit bad about not attending Mass as regularly as I used to (damn Catholic guilt!) was concerned with this idea, but they have an entire hotel-like setup for guests, and were such funny, kind, witty men that I quite enjoyed it. And being so close to church bells, so close to a sacred space stirred up something that can wait until another post.

After a few days in the city, we rode to Napa to meet up with family for the wedding that occured that weekend. Wine tastings, beautiful weather, dancing, lovely new friends and spending time with family are five things very much my style. It was incredible. And very very easy to forget that a completely different, and much more responsible life awaited my return.

Traveling normally settles my restless feet for awhile, but now I find that I'm even more restless, or perhaps just ready. Ready for the next step. For so long my focus has been on the present, on being happy being exactly where I am, regardless of what will happen eventually. Now I'm beginning to feel the shift to what's coming next. No drastic moves in the immediate future, but still it seems the restlessness has settled in for good. At least until the next big change occurs.

There is only one man in the world allowed to take care of me.

I have a pretty good track record with males in my life. And I think my luck, or good judge of character, can be traced back to the very first male in my life- my father. This is a man who laughed instead of getting angry when my brother and I accidentally set the toaster on fire. A funny man with leathery skin that smelled like summer after he would mow our lawn. A man who taught me to make the gooiest grilled cheese sandwiches, the value of working hard, and the art of asking for help. Financial adviser, roadside assistance operator, and giver of honest hugs.

I was able to be home on the day we are told to honor and recognize all the father figures in our lives. We celebrated with church, a trip to Best Buy (how cliché) and arguing over who would fill my car with gas (I lost...surprise surprise. I'm a spoiled girl, but at least I know I'm spoiled, right?)

I was also home long enough to scrounge up these gems of us in all our 80s glory.

A Good Night.

I found a mountain coffee shop in the middle of the city.

Following crafty signs up creaky wooden steps, the smell of coffee and sound of guitars floats down from the warm shop. I am given a chipped mug and told the internet password is Revolution. I can tell the workers love telling people that. I find my way next to a cold window and set up my area across from a hippie family of four. The mother spends her time gazing at her beautiful girls and knitting...a scarf? a sweater? The father tirelessly draws with the girls, himself as genuinely amused as they are. He laughs loudly and often. I haven't seen a family this happy since the Italian mothers doted on their bambinos near the gray water.

As they get up to leave, the father begins to show fatigue. Yawning through his smile. What a blessing to see God's idea of family in such a real way.

It's a good night to be alone. It's a good night to not make conversation, with close friends or strangers. It's a good night to absorb and make myself another cup of coffee.