Lull has sprung

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.

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]

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]

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.