My Gnocchi Story

Once upon a Thursday morning, Martha Stewart had a guest chef named Lidia who happens to hail from my grandmother's home town of Trieste, Italy. Chef Lidia is now famous for her northern Italian cuisine, has a few fine dining restaurants, several cookbooks, and a line of boxed pasta that she was plugging during her appearance with Martha.

 On Thursday, Lidia was making--perhaps my very favorite meal, or definitely in the top 2 or 3--GNOCCHI. Light, delicate potato pasta pillows in a bed of homemade marinara. I have my own biological link to the dish, even though I've never made it to Trieste. I feel connected to it, but I rarely make it because it is complicated and messy. It looked so good on TV and I knew it would inevitably end up on our dining table within a few days.

Baking the potatoes, peeling them, RICING them--Michael did help me with that, hand mixing the dough, forming each individual gnocchi, boiling them, and sinking them into my homemade marinara...it is all a spiritual process made completely out of love.

 Aren't they pretty?

 Contrasting Cuisine: Boyardee VS homemade gnocchi goodness

 All plated...bowled...up. A dinner masterpiece.

  I hang my head in disgust, though, because my boys won't have anything to do with it. I'm not about to make them eat it because each little piece is hand made with love, and if they aren't going to love it back, it's going in MY mouth. Nick and I can easily snarf down a husky bowl or two. This last picture is a crying shame of a meal: Chef Boyardee meat ravioli...an embarrassment to Lidia, I am sure. It's the boys' consolation prize of a dinner. Ekk ekk ekk. 

The gnocchi was divine. It was a beautiful experience. My kitchen is a wreck, but I ate so much that the clean up will just have to wait a while. 

Penn State Thoughts

Information is swirling today about the NCAA sanctions against Penn State in the aftershocks of the Sandusky fiasco. Granted I'm not there, and absolutely do NOT know everything that is going on, but based upon what I DO know, I'm mad.
I do not like that the student athletes will suffer the consequences of those who did so much damage to the program already. How is that an effective form of discipline and punishment? What did THEY have to do with this? All the student athletes did was dream, work, and train to gain entrance into a fine athletic program. They've attended football camps, countless practices, have refined their skills and talents, and have probably been scuffed up along the way, and now they have been potentially trapped into a dead end program that is going to be heavily punished?
I think about my own dad. I cannot imagine how much practice hours, sweat, and determination went into his own football years and a young kid. It was because of that hard work he earned a scholarship to college. It was because of that scholarship that he came out of a house of 12 with a college degree. The rest is history. What if he would've gotten to UTEP in the late-summer of 1974 and officials shut down the program? What if his scholarship was yanked--not due to misbehavior or wrongdoing on HIS part, but to something (disturbing and severe) one of the assistant coaches did? How are any of Sandusky's crimes remotely related to the new coaching staff, the new university administration, and the student athletes? Sandusky is sick, guilty, and a true predator. He (and whomever truly knew about the abuse) deserves whatever punishment is coming to him. The students DO NOT. Again, I don't pretend to know everything about the case, but I just hope that wise decisions prevail when the dust settles.
What if such a student athlete were my own son? I hope the NCAA is thinking more about the student athletes and the effects of the sanctions of an entire town, and not just about what looks good on paper. There's so much more than that.

One Year in Waco

Today, one year ago, was moving day.  The truck came right on schedule and a few burly men did the work of an army: they hauled and loaded our things into a truck.  That truck held all of our stuff. They loaded up the house, then moved on to loading up our storage room. We spent a good 3 months packing and taking loads of boxes and other things to that storage room. They unloaded it in like 30 minutes. I felt a little inferior!
Since the movers would rest (they certainly deserved it) and would make the trip the next day, Nick, Nathan, and I left. I know I was teary eyed as I drove my van out of the city, but not too much honestly: I had cried so much leading up to that day and I think I was simply out of tears.
I hated to leave Houston. I truly did. I knew we would have a good life in Waco. I knew I would MAKE a good life in Waco, but it was just plain hard to leave. Everything that was familiar--home, people, back roads that I knew like the back of my hand--was going to change.
The moving came and went. The grand towers of boxes dwindled and dwindled until we actually had a front living room and not a giant staging area for the Great Unpacking Adventure. We jumped into home improvement projects even before we moved in. Rooms were painted, giving a clear stamp that new occupants had arrived. We set up things, arranged, REarranged, bought things, and made many changes. We have moved so many times that many things just have their place, whatever home we are in.
In the months since the move, we have done well, I think. I've felt along the way that I will never get tired of visiting Houston, but I am wholeheartedly content when it is time to return to Waco. It feels like home. I have worked hard to make it comfortable and I am proud of the work so far.

I feel so fortunate that we have met so many sweet, sweet people here. The boys had a super easy transition at their school thanks to loving teachers who welcomed them so kindly. I worried so much about that. We have neighbor friends. I have volunteer friends. Mom friends at the school. We've made numerous connections here and that feels good. I can go to the grocery store and see people I know now! I felt so isolated at first. All of this in one year. I feel that it has been a year of accomplishments. I am grateful that we gracefully made it through so many changes. 

Thirteenth Wedding Anniversary

Our wedding invitation is special and unique.  My aunt Renee painted the border on a large scale, maybe 11X14, and then we took the painting to a print shop that turned it into an invitation format. It has always been very special to me.  Every time I look at it, it reminds me of the wedding of course, but I also think of Renee and how kind it was of her to create such a beautiful memento. 

 Here we are practicing at the rehearsal.  I loved that dress.  I loved how I put those ribbons together for the bouquet.  I loved how long I had grown my hair.  Ironically, I spent a long time growing out my hair just to pull it back for the wedding.  Goofy.  I think I pulled it back because we chose JUNE for a wedding.  June wedding + Houston = HOT!  I think we look particularly young in this picture!

 Here we had only been married less than 5 minutes. 

 Cutting our delicious cakes!

Changed and ready for our exit.  I loved that dress too!  

I can close my eyes and relive that day.  I spent 9 months planning that wedding.  Well, many many years planning it actually!  My mom and I corresponded long distance since we lived in Lubbock, coordinating every minute aspect of it.  The cakes, favors, clothing, food, schedule, decorations, flowers, and the honeymoon to Maine: everything about the event was perfect. I love the fact that we married young. I love that it felt perfectly comfortable and perfectly right. Life has taken us down many twisting paths since June 12, 1999. Thirteen years later, we celebrate our past and look forward to many more years together.  Happy anniversary, Nick! 

The Story of a Peach

 From Fredericksburg, with love: we bought a crate of glorious peaches while traveling through Fredericksburg the other day.  The peach is our consolation prize for withstanding the Texas heat of summer. So far my mom turned some into homemade peach jam, and tonight I wrestled over a dozen of them into a peach cobbler.  Oh dear, it was delicious. 

May 2012

Lucky winner of 1,826 M&Ms

Nathan as Leonardo da Vinci

Walking into the kinder graduation

Michael and his sweet teacher

New office waiting room furniture

New office waiting room furniture

Michael and his teacher

Erika, Nina, Autumn, and Me

shower decorations

Shower cupcakes from SugarFix in Waco

It has been a great month!  The boys finished up school with the usual whirlwind, hustle-bustle of May, except this time I did not have my own pressing issues of finishing up MY school year, too! 
Saturday, my cousins and I hosted a graduation shower for our other cousin Autumn.  We each had graduation tea parties when we were graduating from high school, and I am so glad that we rendezvoused to do it again.  During the whole shower, I couldn't help but remember the day she was born, the times I picked her up from her day school as a baby, and going with her mom to take her to her first day of kindergarten, and realizing that those days just didn't feel like they were that long ago.  The icing on the cake is that she will now be a fellow Red Raider!  How cool is that!?  She will even live in my old dorm building!  I'm just so proud of her and hope she enjoys Tech as much as I did.

Love Me More than Pudding

Today was my last seasonal day of volunteering as the boys will be finished with school next week and I will get to have them all to myself for two months.  I had the most delightful conversation with a patient today.  She was engaging and inspiring.  Late in the conversation, she just stopped, looked me in the eyes and said that my husband must love me.  She was serious.  She squinted afterwards and nodded her head, validating that she felt her comment was important.  She said he ought to love me more than pudding.  Something that is sweet, creamy, consistent, and an indulgence—pudding is all of those things.  It’s really a prophetic metaphor, loving someone more than pudding.  I could’ve visited hours with her.  She was funny, witty, and wise.  While her assisted living friends have decorative wreaths on their doors, she has a pink flamingo!  She said the secret to a successful marriage is to always let the husband speak the last words: yes ma’am.  Those words are the last two words.  She was married 64 years to her husband when he died, so I guess she has some credibility!  She even sang to me: “You've got to give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little.  That's the story of, that's the glory of love.”  What a neat lady.  I felt like I had known her for years by the time I left.