It's no secret I like to bake. And for the last few years, it's been about cupcakes.

Cake can be tricky, but there's a few things that make a really big difference. 

Like making sure butter, eggs, and milk are room temp. 

Sifting the dry ingredients, and using high quality vanilla extract. 

Oh vanilla extract, how I love thee.  

And the best deal in the world is found at Hobby Lobby. 

I usually get a 4 oz bottle for around $5, after coupon. That is a really great deal, but this year, we found a 9 oz bottle that ended up being $6, after coupon. That's enough to make my day. I even texted a few friends to boast about my find. Nerd, much? Yes I am.

I always make my buttercream frosting with 2 sticks of unsalted butter and a pound of sifted powdered sugar. 

At the end of mixing time, I put a splash of milk, a few tsp of vanilla, a few drops of both almond and butter extract.  The smell is heavenly. In fact, I'm pretty sure actual heaven will smell like almond extract and new baby. The sweetest smells I know.  Getting your icing to the correct consistency takes practice. Always beat it for a little longer than you think it needs; this will make it smooth and creamy. If it's too thin, add more sifted sugar, if it's too thick, add another splash of milk. If you still have questions, call me.  

As far as cake goes, I've narrowed it down to two perfect recipes. I admire bakers who go for creative themes, but chocolate and vanilla is all I need. Oh, and the occasional batch of champagne ones for special occasions.
For the chocolate, the best cocoa to use is hershey's special dark.
The texture of this cake is amazing, y'all. You will not be disappointed. Thank you, Real Simple for being awesome.

I always make minis and I always half the recipes, so I don't end up with 1000 cupcakes, and I always give most of them away. 

Here's to a new year with plenty of occasions to bake.

Remembering

Tonight, I lit a candle for Eric. 

My list-topper for favorite friend. 

He left us too soon and I miss him so much. 

As I sat and watched the flame twinkle, I wondered how many times he made me laugh. A thousand? A million? I still laugh thinking of him, but it's usually chased by a tear, or vice-versa. 

This is all I really have to say, it just wouldn't have felt right to let the day pass without a tribute to my friend. 

And in honor of him, I'd like to wish you a happy non-denominational-wintertime holiday. (This was his answer to retail establishments keeping Christmas all-encompassing.)

Always show love, 

-me 

thanksgivings past

I've been busy the last few days planning, shopping, and obsessing over Thanksgiving. What is it about cooking a bird that's approximately the size of a human torso that evokes anxiety?

When I feel my anxiety rising, I just figure I'm channelling my Memaw. She was a ball of nerves in the kitchen, but she was also the best cook in the world.
She attempted to combat the nerves with bottomless champagne flutes and Virginia slims cigarettes, but regardless, there was always a moment when the sh*t hit the fan.
It was the height of emotion, when everything was almost done, yet needed its final touches all at the same time. The moment that separates culinary perfection from an over-cooked, dry flop of a meal.
The moment she banished everyone from the kitchen and scolded anyone who was irritating her. She was the commander and chief of that kitchen, no qualms about it. This would often result in tears from unsuspecting plus-ones, but you couldn't blame her. She was creating a meal that was impossibly delicious. And in those final moments, she always won the battle. Always.
Then we all sat around the table and basked in the glow of candlelight, and of her.

The last Thanksgiving I had with Memaw was in 1999. I was 8 months pregnant with Abraham. I miss her so, so much. This Thanksgiving meets me with this familiar dread of missing her and old traditions. Reminding myself to release certain expectations and embrace what I have. I'm proud of whatever parts of her I can channel, even if it is just shoddy nerves, I'll take what I can get because she is absolutely my hero.

Tomorrow, I'll raise my glass to her and whisper my gratitude for all those perfect Thanksgivings in her kitchen.

As the sun sets on this day, October 19, 2013, my heart is full of emotions.

It's been a week of highs and lows. A 70th birthday celebration for my dad, a close friend had a miscarriage, so much school work, 2 major tests (that I did well on!) Carlos sister came for a visit,
Alexandria's 1st homecoming dance tonight, and it's also Matthew's 11th birthday.

11 years ago I was in my bed, holding a (not-so-tiny) tiny baby. Tonight, scenes from that day run through my mind like an old movie reel spinning. I miss that day, I miss that baby. But I love the big kid he's become.

And yesterday, I thought my head might explode when Alexandria begged me to return the original homecoming dress we had purchased for a new one she liked better. Shopping was the last thing I wanted to do. We had family coming over, and every minute we tarried put us closer to horrific rush-hour traffic. She needed a new dress, she had no shoes, she had no accessories. And suddenly, I had no life-force left in my body. I needed to find a place where I could roll up into the fetal position and chill for a while. Teenage girls are draining!
But then I thought about all the times that I just need a little help. A little grace. Isn't it so great when someone swoops in and saves the day? I thought of my dad and mom and how they still save the day for me when I need it. It's what parents do.
In less than 30, minutes we had it all figured out. A new dress; a new lease on life.
Note to self: it's okay to say yes sometimes.

And while prepping my sweet friend's dinner, my heart was just broken for her. But it seemed that making soup was a direct line to the holy spirit. In those simmering smells came the sweetest relief. By taking care of her, I was taking care of myself. And I realized just how much of an honor it is to nurture others.

Today I walked by a group of nursing students outside the library. They were wearing their scrubs and talking shop. I got so heart-poundy! Like they were celebrities or something. That's going to be me, y'all.  **squeal**

So as I close the door on the last seven days, I feel enormous gratitude for each of these heightened emotions.

Bittersweet that my baby is so big already.
Pride over my beautiful daughter.
Heartbreak over a loss.
Excitement for my future.

It all swirled around me like a funnel cloud, knocking over some walls, busting out some windows.
And I have this new light, fresh breeze.

Most of all, I have this hope as an anchor for my soul.

joy drops.

Today was the first day of fall term. sigh.
My 8th term; feels like 80.
To say the novelty of college has worn off is an understatement.
I walked onto campus feeling more like I was going for a root-canal than for anything good or praiseworthy.
If you're an arrested development fan, (new episodes made me sad) then you'll understand what I mean when I say the charlie brown music was playing and my head was hanging low.
I whispered a quick prayer asking for the Lord to give joy while I finish what I started.
And for a vision into the future because I keep forgetting why I'm doing this.
I keep forgetting that one day it'll be done and I'll be a nurse.

A few minutes later, I'm sitting in my anatomy&physiology II class getting the normal first day talk about expectations and responsibility. Professor O.is my favorite professor, ever.
I listen to her talk and I wonder if I'll ever be as knowledgeable about anything as she is.
Although I have stumped her on a few questions; she's a smart cookie.
Anyway, she started talking about how we don't become nurses on the day they hand us the certificate.  The certificate just makes it official after the work is complete. We're doing the work now, so we're nurses now and we need to start thinking and acting like it. Then she said, (and she might as well have mentioned my name because it felt so personal) "You guys are almost there, it's almost time to start the nursing program." I started believing it.
So I'm sitting there with water coming out of my eyes and joy filling my heart.

I cannot tell you what a relief it was for me. Because the problem, and the cause of the peanuts music playing in my head, was that I've been in school for over 2 years and I don't feel like anything. All this work and nothing.
Truth is, I never believed I would actually reach the first goal of getting my pre-reqs until today. And when I stared believing, I got a joy drop.

At work, we're teaching the kids about the fruits of the spirit. On Sunday, we talked about joy and how it comes from believing God's promises are true.

Believing comes first; joy comes second.  I get it now.

Cathedral

 

My sweetest moments with God happen when I'm just driving home and see a sunset like this one. 

Or if I walk into my foyer at the perfect time and it's set aglow by twilight. I feel like I could explode just from the beauty of it all. 

It's church for me. 

He is the sunset on the water.

He is the song at twilight's glow. 

He is the morning whispers; his breath casting shadows.

In the tiny drops of dew, in the mighty rushing waters, in the ripples of the tide, 

he is speaking. 

-me 

Ways of being

The last several months, I've been experiencing some growing pains. Most days have left me as a human puddle of emotion; explaining to Carlos that I just can't do it ALL anymore. And by ALL, I mean school, work, pets, house, kids, etc.  Just everything. 

Carlos is probably the best person in the world to fall apart around. He's a safe place, he's the very definition of compassion, and he's hilarious. Which matters because laughter is the best medicine.  Anyway, Carlos is amazing and I don't deserve him. 

I digress. 

So basically, I've been a hot mess. And asking God to show me what to do. And by asking, I mean begging.

Here's the deal, everything I hear back starts with BE instead of DO. 

Yup, it's all about being. 

Being pure of negative thoughts and words. Being sweet. Being strong. Being diligent. Being patient. 

So often we want a change, or a solution, or immediate results. We want to DO something to make things better. And while getting a degree is definitely doing something, there's no part of it that's fast or easy, so meanwhile, you've got to find ways to cope. You have to figure how to function while your whole life is on hold yet going strong at the same time. 

The only way I've half-way figured it out is to be patient. I mean really be patient in the depths of my heart, a total surrender to this season. Because its going to take a long time and its going to be hard. I just have to trust that it's also going to be worth it. 

Perhaps what I've realized is while I'm getting my degree in nursing, I'm also getting my degree in patience. I happen to think they're equally valuable, and equally challenging. 

And I've learned I need to be intentional in both being and doing.  

Until next time,  I'm patiently yours 

~ ht

Till there was you.

Today, I was sitting in the courtyard at college when a huge group of people, (I found out later they were the choir) started gathering and lining up. When they first started singing (the very same moment I figured out they were a choir.) I braced myself for some low quality dorky-ness. 12 seconds later, I had tears in my eyes from the sheer beauty of the voices and harmony.

I'm getting old.

I knew the song well- till there was you, from the music man. I probably saw that movie one hundred times as a kid.
I was completely obsessed with Marian the librarian. A few years ago, I learned that Marian was actually several months pregnant during the filming and they squeezed her belly with a girdle. Nice, huh?

Hearing that song was the most uplifting part of my day.
My eyes are welling up now just thinking about it.
I need more of those moments in my life.

Till There Was You
-from The Music Man

There were bells on the hill
But I never heard them ringing,
No, I never heard them at all
Till there was you.

There were birds in the sky,
But I never saw them winging,
No, I never saw them at all
Till there was you.

And there was music,
And there were wonderful roses,
They tell me,
In sweet fragrant meadows of dawn, and dew.

There was love all around
But I never heard it singing
No, I never heard it at all
Till there was you.

I break for BONO.

Well, It's spring break.

sigh.

A week off from classes may save me from an emotional breakdown.
Time will be the tell on that one.
I'm so tired of writing about college like it's the only thing going on in my life.
Because it isn't.

The other day, I listened to Rattle and Hum in the car.
Every time I listen to that record, it ignites something in me.
A brief back story, Rattle and Hum was not only a record, it was documentary movie
about U2 that came out in the late 80's.
I remember it being my first real exposure to BONO and the boys and I was, to say the least, spellbound.
Around that same time, my older brother started driving us siblings to school.
He was and insane driver and an avid U2 fan.
Everyday it was the same, U2.
The Joshua Tree, Rattle and Hum, The Unforgettable Fire.
I remember having those songs in my head (and heart) all the time.
We weren't allowed to talk in the car; if we did, he'd only turn the music up louder.
So I just listened; while holding on for dear life.
The early records were kind of angry, war protesting, anti-poverty.
Bono used his platform to expose injustices, corruption, and to speak up for equal rights.
And even at the ripe-old-age of 14, I got it.
I got BONO.

Fast forward a few decades and when I listen to those records, especially Rattle and Hum, I remember who I really am. You know, deep down inside.
I'm a fighter. I'm an advocate. And I believe in love.

The thing about getting older is that we change.
Different experiances shape us and we alter ourselves.
Sometimes in good ways, sometimes in not so good ways.
One thing I've realized lately is I've turned into a wuss.
You see, all my life, people told me they didn't know how to take me.
People thought I was intimidating and too honest.
So I changed.
But in my attempt to soften the edges, I lost something important.
A lost a little too much of my fight.
And now I need it back because I really don't believe in myself at all.
I find myself asking for permission to be me.
I find myself cowering when I should take the lead.
And you know what?  I'm done with that.

I have Rattle and Hum to thank for my internal revival.
I'm not saying I won't backslide and ever question myself again.
But when I hear BONO doing what he does best, it brings out the fighter in me.
His gift is to melt defenses while simultaneously getting his point across.
He has this list of what's important to him, and he just fights for it.
And he doesn't apologize because he doesn't need to.

I think to myself, I can do that, too.
I can raise my kids,
And love my husband.
And work 30 hours a week.
And go to class.
And be grumpy sometimes.
And clean my house.
And do my homework.
And laugh with my friends.
And be unorganized.
And stand up for what is right.
And make a difference.

Same song, different lyrics.
Im writing my own story, BONO style.

I've been wanting to sit and write for so long now. Maybe get a nice iced coffee and sit on the front stoop with my laptop.
The problem is, my studies have basically catapulted me into mad-scientist status. I walk around with anatomy terms and algebraic formulas swirling in my head, and it hasn't left room for much else.
I miss writing though, I miss free time.

Today, I was clearing a desk of miscellaneous papers when I saw my 20 year reunion invitation laying there. I have no plans to attend, just so we're clear on that.
But 20 years? Time goes so quickly, and slowly at the same time.

I'm not going to lie, I've thought of quitting school.
I just can't quit, though.
If I do by best and fail, that'll be different.
All I have to give is my best.
If I end up succeeding, I'll be more surprised than anyone (In a good way.)

But like I always say, there's only one to find out, and it's to proceed.

A few months ago, I wrote about my uncle, David.
Shortly after that, he fell ill.
His lungs were failing; he was wracked with infection.
I never had the guts to go see him in the hospital. I'm a wimp, really.
It broke my heart enough to see him walking down the street, and how much he'd aged, and how little I knew him. I just couldn't bring myself to go see him. It seems silly, but I just couldn't do it.

On thanksgiving day, my mom was down for a visit. She had seen David the day before and was showing us some pictures. She was marveling at how much he's improved since he was transferred to a rehab facility. Alexandria saw the picture and her eyes filled with tears. She hyperventilated, the way she does she she sees a bunny or something else that melts her heart. She announced that he was adorable and she wanted to meet him, and that he looked like Bob Dylan (she's obsessed.) She just fell in love with that picture of her great-uncle, who I call the original hipster. Alexandria has always been braver than me, and occasionally it challenges me. With every bit of dread in my soul, I agreed to go.

Once we were there, I had no idea why I waited so long. He greeted us, and scarfed down the piece of pumpkin pie we brought him. He apologized for eating in front of us (heart melt.) He was asking my mom what had happened to him; he was trying to piece together the last few months.
Everything he said was so adorable to me. It's this strange mix of insanity and sincerity that equals this beautiful vulnerability. We talked for a while and then he asked for someone to please bring him some shampoo. I could tell how badly he wanted to wash his hair, and strangely, in that moment, I realized how alike we are.  If there's one thing I hate, it's the minute I've gone too long without washing my hair. There's basic human needs that bind us together, like a clean scalp; even more, we share the same blood.

Something happened in my heart during that visit. The only way I can describe it is a renewed love. For him, for family, for the process of taking care of one another.

Sadly, he's taken a turn for the worse and is now in hospice care. I've been at his bedside, and I'll return again later today. It's an honor to be there and help in any way I can. He's barely hanging on, but you can feel that he is a fighter and he incredibly, incredibly strong. I am in awe of him and of my uncle Brad, aunt Kacie, and my mother. They're all doing what they can for their beloved brother.
When it all comes down, love is everything we need.

Like a river to a raindrop, I lost a friend.

 HBD, Eric.  I miss you.