the pampered chef.

Cooking. The years old ritual of taking stock items like vegetables, spices, meats, and liquids and combining them together to form a meal. A meal which not only satisfies the singular reason of filling hunger but one that also satisfies the taste buds. Yes, those creepy little [sometimes] white bulbs on our tongues. A meal inspires stomach and heart; two very dear organs.

I must say, I am double majoring in English and Education, as well as earning my Mrs. Degree from the wonderful school of OBU [formerly, Oklahoma Baptist University; currently, Oklahoma Bridal University]. I've been failing miserably in this department, but it's not from lack of trying. So over break I've decided to try my hand at legitimately cooking for my family. And boy have I cooked. Since last Thursday night, I've been cooking just about every dinner, or at least helping in some shape or another. It amazes me how seemingly simple ingredients, that of the ones that were in tonight's Italian Wedding soup, can make an intricate, complex, stimulating meal. It's quite fantastic. For instance, I don't know how many meals I've started with butter or EVOO and onions. I suppose it's like everything else in our lives: there are basic building blocks.

Tonight, as I mentioned, I cooked Italian Wedding soup. It's amazing. You start with homemade chicken broth, cook some onions, celery and carrots, add some homemade chicken meatballs, some spinach, some noodles, some dill... Shoot. It's like heaven in a pot. Yes, you may quote me. And as I was cooking, I was thinking... I was thinking about how fun it is, yes, but about how one day, I'll get to do this for my own family. Not just my mom, dad, bro, sis... etc. but my VERY OWN family. I started to get a little teary at that, and perhaps it was the onions that were still sitting on the cutting board [I'm not exactly sure]. However, the thought of being almost 20, two decades old, and within the next decade having a family to take care of both frightened me and excited me all at the same time. I'm quite anxious for it, and yet: I'm pretty darn content with what's going on right now, there are so many more practice meals to cook before then!

To continue my obsession with cooking, my mother and I attended a Pampered Chef party at my neighbors house [a graduate of OBU] which was conducted by a very fantastic woman I worked with during JuCo [I want to be her when I grow up; she has the Teacher Voice. I love it.]. There was stoneware, sharp German knives, a fancy chopper that looked perfect for post-essay exam days, some nifty measuring cups [because as we all know, I'm a virgin and can't measure. That my dear readers is another blog...], and there were dozens and dozens of miscellaneous pots and pans that were practically begging me to be taken home... However, I am a poor college student with no kitchen. So it was a hands down no that I could have none of the items. As I felt the heavy, weighted, German steel Santoku knife, I knew this was my calling. Cooking, yes, cooking will one day be an even bigger part of me. I've watched my mom, a house-wife, cook for years and years and she's a pro. She's no Iron Chef, but she's a Mom: that makes her ten times better than anything. She loves what she does, she loves to make us happy and to cook us new dishes. I want to be that one day. I want to be the mom who joyously chops up slimy chicken for a scrumptious, yet kid-friendly and all-time favorite, meal of homemade fried chicken and mashers. I want to bravely try Beef Bourguignon, I want to experiment with a new dessert. I want to make people happy with these creations. I want to present a good meal to those I love.

I have a feeling that as a wife, my husband will not have to worry about my scrapbooking or stamping obsession. However, he may have to restrain me from [other than books of all kinds] cooking supplies and cookbooks. I'll want to be a pampered chef for sure.

let's argue this out.

Sometimes, a hug and a long talk in a moving vehicle do the soul well. They do it very well indeed...

As the temperature beins to drop as I write this from my green chair, I can feel things start to build up. Perhaps it's the barometric pressure I'm feeling on my sinuses, or it's the swelling of my soul in my chest. The latter might be a bit dramatic... but I'm feeling it. School approacheth in less than two weeks. I'm ready to get back. Ready to take a Senior level class, ready to get Blitz Week projects underway, ready to see my friends... I'm ready.

But there are a few things I'm not ready for. I've got some things to figuratively duct tape when I get back. Some relationships need a bit of super glue, a little love, and a lot of prayer. I want to yell and I want to lash out, rationally but not irrationally. I want to be free from the metaphorical fat that's been growing around my heart (yes, I was just watching Dr. Oz not two seconds ago...).

In the words of the Beatles, Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting my friends.

dirty snow.

Winter. Such a fabulous time of year. There are cold temperatures, little to no wildlife, and snow. Ah, snow. It is a thing of beauty. The little icy wonders float down to this impure world and stick to the frozen ground. More and more pour from heaven. One by one. And then they accumulate upon the tundra, making everything frozen in time, quiet in the still vastness of... snow. More than 6 inches of the beautiful heaven-fluff is preferred, but really any measurable amount of the beautfulness is amazing.

Snow has been quite abundant for the midwest this winter. And I've loved every minute of it! [except for the minutes that I didn't get to go visit School because of the snow and cold weather... but I'm not bitter]. The temperatures have been far, far below freezing and so the snow has stayed. The first snow was slightly before Christmas, and now on the 11th of January in the year of our Lord 2010, it's finally starting to melt. I am not happy about this, but I'm not unhappy about it either. There comes a time when winter needs to man up and be spring already. I will miss the snow and it's frozen goodness, and I'll even miss the ice and it's slippery disposition. But there is a side to snow I will not miss...

One cannot blame snow for its ugly side, no, it's merely a fact of life. The snow falls pure and white from the sky, it settles on the ground, and then it turns black from the salt and dust and tire dirt that lays on the road. It's disgusting, it smells bad, and it's just not pretty! It drives me nuts! Here are fairytale like houses covered in blankets of snow, all tucked in for winter. And then there is the ugly road in front of it, with charcoal gray splatters of ICK. It's gross. It makes me feel slummy and dirty and I just want to take a shower afterwards.

And then I thought about it... How much of life do we blanket in a facade of beauty? We plaster on a smile, and it's pretty and our teeth are white but really: it's cold and emotionless. Underneith the snow is that same dirt that shows up on the sides of the roads, only we don't see it because it's all covered up. The unhappiness, the pain, the bad-things are covered up, but that doesn't mean they don't still exist. The world is very much like those sooty drifts, it's just more noticeable when you try to cover them up! However, there's hope; in the words of Matthew Theissen, the end of winter makes way for spring.

I spoke to a friend about winter today. He said that he would rather be in summer weather but he likes winter clothes. He then came to the conclusion that either way, we're just trying to be warm so why not stick with summer? Why not stick with the truth? Why not stick with the state of being in which everything becomes clear? I deeply appreciate snow, I deeply appreciate cold, but at the end of the day I want real. I want to see the world just how it is, not blanketed with fakeness. If that means sunshine and Cherry Tree blossoms and swimming suits [the article of clothing I live in during the summer] so be it! I'd rather have warmth.

No dirty snow, just a dirty world.

the green chair

The irony. The irony of a 50s era piece of furniture. It formerly belonged to my grandparents on my dad's side [such strange people, but that's a different blog]. It was a formerly ugly, horse-hair padded chair. The back hits my 5' 8" frame around my lower sholder blades, and the butt-cushion fits easily behind my knees. The arms are wide and long. They've held many a cup of coffee or sweet tea along with a book or two and a journal. It's like having to side tables attached to the chair, only they're the same color as the rest of the chair!



But back to the color... It used to be a kelly green cotton with a light brown vine that crawled all over. Along the vine were tiny yellow and red flowers, characteristic of the fifties. Years of sitting had made it soft and a bit slouchy, however, it was the kind of slouchy and made-to-fit type of worn that made it... amazing. It was like sitting in someone's lap, someone you love. It's not the orthodox choice for a chair but it's a place you CHOOSE to sit. And then, despite your lovers knobby knees or bony thighs, it's the place you WANT to sit. The place you belong. This chair was that, only, you can't be in love with a chair like that, or at least... you shouldn't be.



The plush chair took some changes when it changed hands. My parents recieved it as a wedding gift from my grandparents. Yes, a used set of furniture from a house that smells like moth balls! But I suppose that when you're in need of furniture... you take what is given to you! Since being with my parents, the Green Chair has had two covers, one of which was a French blue with two large bows. At one point, my mother took on the admirable task of recovering it! Although it was a great job, the fabric was a hideous thick and scratchy large blue gingham. Not the chairs most beautiful look...



But today, today I sit upon a work of art. The matching couch that also resides in my room is a deep brown canvas, which goes amazing with the beige walls and green accents all around the room. The green in my room... O, the green... Green is a fickle color. It can be classy and bright, or it can be late 90s Victorian-inspired Home Interiors or it can be bright, annoying, and loud lime green [as was the color of the walls of my 70s flower child inspired room of my early teens... don't judge! We all went through that period...]. But alas, the green in my room is the happy medium. It is a spring shade or sage that is bright, but dusty, flamboyant but subdued. It's what I would call... Martha Stewart Green. And now you all know exactly what it looks like. The green is everywhere: on the handles on the Rubbermaid boxes that hold my sports equipment, the trunk my mom took to Mizzou with her, the antique lamp I bought at a garage sale, the accent pictures hanging above my bed, and even the 3-ring notebooks from last semester that are sitting on the arm of the couch. It's everwhere! But the Martha Stewart Green, which immediately makes me want to make useless greeting cards from scratch, "grows" from the bedspread. Green vines grow from the foot of the bed and on the pillow shams. It's everywhere. But mostly, I sit upon the coolest green thing in the room.



The deep, orangey Martha green has a checkerboard batter of leaves. Within the squares that are outlined by these leaves are mini green flowers. Within those flowers are either golden yellow or peachy-orange dots of color. It has this vintage feel, even though I know for a fact that the fabric is new but the chair is old. This chair, o, this chair... it's perfect for sitting up straight in. You feel really tall and almost like you're a movie star from the olden days. Like you're... Grace Kelly, Betty Davis, Doris Day, or my personal favorite: Audrey Hepburn. The had incredible posture and poise. Such grace... But not only is this chair "formal" it is totally and definitely casual as well. Slouching, lounging, legs indian-style, feet up in the chair, half laying in it half sitting in it... anything goes. It's larger than most chairs which makes it almost in its own category!

At the end of this you may be saying "Uh, it's a chair. Just a chair." But it's not. It's something so much more. It's generations of relaxation and contemplation, it's a statement of vintage decor within my room, it's a station of comfort and creativity for this lone college student blogger. What it inspires in me is the exploitation of outlook on every day life. There are random things in life that we overlook, things like watching a movie with your best friends and having an epiphany about relationships, or packing your new backpack with books for class, or cleaning your room and discovering that spider ring you got from your first boy-girl dance party in the 8th grade... There are stories we overlook. Stories that make life... LIFE. And some of these stories, well they need to be written down from the comfort of an Old Green Chair.