I miss bread.

I know it doesn't look like much, just a tupperware container of flour. But it was hard won. (Do you SEE the amount of flour on the toaster?!?)

This evening I started the process of making my first loaves of gluten free bread. I only got so far as the flour mix, which actually led to my first opportunity to use the food processor I bought on super-sale earlier this year. The food processor bit went well; it wasn't until I put the different flours in a bowl and tried that ever-so-complicated trick of stirring, you know, with a spoon that I got it all over the counter, the toaster and myself.

I'm pretty sure there's flour on Olivia as well.

Seeing as it is already after 9:00, I now have a kitchen to clean and I wanted to go to bed early I am going to put off the rest of the baking until tomorrow. But I am excited. Thrilled. Drooling already.

I miss bread you see. I recently decided that going gluten free (following the example of several women already in my family), might help me clear up some nagging gastrointestinal issues that my doctor's suggestion was to 'live with'. And so far it's been okay. Except bread.

I have always loved bread. Rolls. Big crusty french loaves. Pastries. Bagels. Any and all forms of bread. Stuffed full of warm meat and a thin swipe of spicy mustard. Or cold cuts and an all-too-generous layer of rich mayo. Or just a touch warm with a small bit of butter and dripping with sweet honey.

Sigh.

I miss it. And even though I know that gluten free bread won't be the 'same', I don't care. A substitute will still be lovely.

So tonight I pulled out all of the flours that my dear husband brought me from the specialty food store and the food processor and a large bowl and mixed together the flour mix. I hope tomorrow to be able to pop out two full-grown loaves of warm bread and make a sandwich. I'm not the best in the kitchen but... I certainly hope I can figure this out.

I'll let you know what happens.

O Captain! My Captain!

I spent my past two mornings teaching a professional training session with one of the partner's from my office. I was very nervous before-hand, spent a lot of time preparing and then really enjoyed the actual teaching - answering questions, providing practical tools and hearing that the attendees felt they had actually received something of genuine value from what we said.

It got me thinking. Thinking about all of those professors, teachers, trainers that I've had over the years that really left an impression. Mr. Curl in 7th grade (I'm pretty sure I still have his English Grammar packets!), Mrs. Cooke in high school, Dr. Velie in college (who's graduate school recommendation letter sits framed on my desk and I imagine always will). After these two days, I have a new appreciation for how difficult it really must be to make that impression on someone. Much less more than one someone.

I would love to be able to do that. I like to teach people, to help people take things they don't understand and conquer them and use them to their own advantage. Today wasn't really a situation where I could make some sort of significant impression - a training about how to prepare for an audit just isn't going to be that profound. But it made me realize that I would love to be in a position that would give me that opportunity to really make a positive impact on someone.

It also made me realize that I should probably drop all of those teachers a thank you note. This stuff they do - it's harder than they make it look!

Life Lessons

I've been pondering this choice for over a year. Wondering how I would feel once I had a tattoo. Going back and forth between worrying what people might think and thinking to myself 'Who cares what people might think?!?'

The one thing that never really waivered - was where or what the tattoo would be. There were a few maybes - what would the words look like? (Font is important.) Would I add a small swallow curving around the edges? (Only if it won't detract from the words - the words are most important.) But despite the maybes, the message - the message always stayed the same.

Of all the life lessons I've had to learn in recent years - this is one that has repeated itself over and over. (Ad nauseum.) It's the one I struggle with the most.

Let go.

I'm a worrier. An anal-retentive control freak. I get very anxious about details and logistics and little nitty gritty questions about the whats and hows. I get all wound up over things completely out of my control and do everything I can to keep those things to a minimum.

What I've been trying, for ages, to get myself to realize is that there's really not that much I can do about... well... most anything and life is at it's best when I just let go. It's not in my nature and I need constant reminding and thus the tattoo - a (quite literally) constant - permanent - reminder to let go.

I'm trying to be better to myself lately. Letting myself stumble. Mess up. Be sad. Make big decisions. Far too often in my life I have kept myself in a box all sealed up with packing tape and padded with bubble wrap. But what I've realized is that doesn't mean I have fewer scars - it just means that fewer of my scars have been of my own choosing.

This small section of skin stained with ink is, actually, a scar - not only by choice but of my own design. And I'm proud of it. It means a lot to me. To me, it is a statement about me being true to myself. In two words, just one short sentence, I say more to myself than just let go.

A lot more.

Too Short

I had, yet another, reminder today that life can be, all too unexpectedly, too short. As many of you might remember, I previously accepted a challenge to participate in a marathon relay team this past weekend. Well, my team fell apart for a variety of unable-to-run reasons and so I spent the weekend in Dallas with my family instead. When I got to work this morning, I learned that one of the members of my team from last year's relay had decided to run the half marathon.

And died doing it.

I still haven't processed it. I didn't know him well (he was friends with the organizer of last year's team) but I remember arriving at the exchange point last year and, sweating profusely, handing him the timing chip. I remember watching him run off and learning later that he finished his leg at some impressive negative splits - making up a lot of the time I had lost on my oh-so-slow short leg.

And now he's gone.

Apparently, what I've been told, is that he suffered a heart attack and, despite the best efforts of other runners and the course emergency responders, died right there on the course.

Twenty-seven years old. Younger (and healthier) than me. Gone in an instant.

I think it should be a reminder (as so many such things are) to all of us. Don't take a single moment for granted. Don't be afraid to reach out and take hold of those things that you so desperately want for yourself. You just never know, no matter what you might think, how much time you truly have left.

As Dave Matthews says, 'the future is no place to place our better days.' You don't know what your future holds - none of us do. So take full advantage of your present - it may be all you have.

In memory of Marcus, today, I intend to take advantage of my present. I intend to do something that's been on my list for a while now. I'll share it with you soon but I wanted to take this moment to encourage all of you to do the same.

In memory of Marcus.

On a Lighter Note

(How much lighter? Well, the originally-planned title for this post was 'Food Porn'.)

It's been difficult for me to figure out a transition from my last post about Daly-pup because, to be honest, I have not made that transition yet in my daily life. So I figured what I would do today is something that Melody suggested - I will focus on things that I think he would have enjoyed and tell you about those things.

So I'm going to tell you, just like I promised, about the food in Seattle.

First of all, I should warn you, I loved every morsel I ate in Seattle. Every. Single. Bite. So pardon me if this post ends up being long-winded but there's just... there's just so much to say...

And I'm going to start with doughnuts.

Colin and I walked into Top Pot Doughnuts our first morning in Seattle (and our third). I had seen a piece on Top Pot on the Travel Channel (the show Breakfast Paradise always makes me want doughnuts) and it was one of the places I knew I had to visit while we were in town. We stood in a long line that wound around in the tight space, finally arrived at the counter with wide eyes and growling stomachs and promptly ordered more doughnuts than a family of five could eat.

As husbands and wives are wont to do, we disagree on the matter but I think, without a doubt, the original glazed were the best doughnuts I've ever eaten. They are large and doughy (my favorite) and not over-glazed so they aren't too sugary sweet. (Darn you Top Pot for not delivering your yummy goodness via FedEx! Silly quality concerns - I'd take a day-old Top Pot over no Top Pot any day!)

We also had doughnuts two other times in Seattle at Tom Douglas’ restaurant Lola. We ventured down to Lola for dessert after eating at another Tom Douglas hot-spot, Serious Pie (more on that in a moment) on a Food Network suggestion (remind me to drop Giada a doughnut-themed thank you card). Lola has this dessert – it’s a paper bag of warm, hot, light doughnuts that you shake vigorously to coat them all over with a cinnamon sugar mixture. They come with these little containers of a creamy mascarpone and a warm huckleberry jam and the warm cinnamon sugar dough with the slight tang in the jam and the creamy mascarpone is just this incredible texture/taste combination that confuses you and makes you happy in one bite.

The first night we had these – we were going to get them to go because there was a long wait for a table. They handed us our order, however, and we instantly commandeered seats in the bar near a window and finished off the entire to-go setup in no time. Two days later – we were back.

Colin is still craving them.

Both nights we had Lola’s for dessert, we had dinner first at Serious Pie, just down the street. We originally went there (again on a Food Network tip) so that I could taste the goodness of a Yukon Gold Potato Pizza. Well, to be quite honest, that pizza was over-salted and I enjoyed the piece of Colin’s tomato and mozzarella far more and when we went back the second time we ordered two of those (and promptly ate them both).

It was not all doughy repeats, however, as we also had stops at the Space Needle (spectacular view, mediocre food) and Pike Place Market (chowder, macaroni and cheese and dried cherries, oh my).

We also went to a small burger joint, Red Mill Burgers. This was a Man vs. Food pick-up and from the moment we opened the door and stepped in – I knew it’d be good. A juicy burger on a warm bun with Red Mill sauce, Tillamook cheddar and fresh lettuce and tomatoes… please sir, may I have another?

But I think one of the things I was most impressed with in Seattle was the fresh fruit. This may seem small and silly to some but I can’t even begin to describe the fruit I picked up one day at Pike’s Place. Apples and pears that were so big to eat them fresh out of my hand was almost difficult and grapes that exploded with so much juice when I bit down that I sighed in contentment and was full for hours. I would give anything to find that quality of fruit here closer to home.

Luckily some of the food I loved in Seattle I can get shipped straight to my door – Beecher’s handmade cheeses, Chukar Farm’s dried cherries and berry mixes and even smoked salmon from the notorious stand where they throw the fish. I am currently anxiously awaiting the arrival of a birthday box from Chukar Farm’s and wish only that I could order Top Pot, Red Mill and fresh fruit the same way.

Just means I have to go back and continue to eat my way across Washington state. At the earliest opportunity. If anyone wants to do me the favor of dropping hints to my loving husband, I'd be oh-so-appreciative...

A Daly-Shaped Hole

This idea comes from a Salman Rushdie book where he talks about a 'God-shaped hole' that appeared after he lost his faith. He says that when you lose someone, they leave behind a hole shaped like themselves. It's a hole that you cannot fill, because no one else will fit in it but that person that you lost.

Today, I suffer from a Daly-shaped hole.

Colin and I lost our puppy this weekend. After four years of loving him, we are having to figure out how to let him go and I have gained a new understanding of the truth in this Rushdie idea. I miss my pup. I miss his kisses and his own variety of 'hugs' and the way he would celebrate small things like new toys or tiny pieces of cheese with his whole body wriggling in excitement. And no matter how I try to comfort myself, it doesn't quite work - because what I miss, I cannot have. Because Daly, Daly is what I miss.

I've been sad the past few days because I miss my dog. I wish he could be here. But last night, I had a dream about him and I'm doing my best to let that dream make me feel better.

Normally I wouldn't tell you about a dream because I realize it seems weird and because normally I have nightmares and those aren't worth sharing. But this dream was special.

I was outside, with Colin. We were standing on one side of what seemed like a thin wall, like one of those smokey glass walls where you can mostly see what's on the other side but not quite. I was sad, thinking about Daly, and then I saw something moving on the other side of the wall. It was Daly - running around, sniffing and generally being deliriously happy about finding himself outside on a beautiful day.

And I thought to my dream-self, "Here I am, so sad, and there he is, just on the other side of the veil - so happy. How funny we humans are that we mourn what others celebrate."

Then I woke up. At 4am, I looked at the clock and sighed.

A strange dream, but it brought me comfort to think that Daly is there, just on the other side of a veil that I cannot pull back, and he is happy.

I miss him for myself. But I rejoice in the idea that he is settling in to a new home and it is sunny there and he is allowed to run and jump and play and kiss and love. And he is waiting for us.

Someday that Daly-shaped hole will be filled again. I will scratch behind his ears and lay my head aginst his back and feel whole. Today, all I can do, is look forward to that day.

First of Many

You're probably going to have to suffer through a whole string of Seattle posts so please bear with me while I tell you all about how wonderful it is and how you should take your first chance to go there. But for a first pass, I'll just tell my story in pictures.

Now, worry not my curious fellow eaters - an entire future post will be dedicated to the fabulous food finds - complete with pictures (some of empty plates because, you know, I just couldn't make myself wait long enough to pull out the camera). But for now, know that we had a wonderful time and it is quite possible that this Emerald City is MY Emerald City. The one that lies at the end of my personal yellow brick road...