when life gives you strawberries...

last week wednesday, one of the staffers here received a donation of flat upon flat of strawberries. with over eight pounds of strawberries, what is one to do? make jam, of course. so, as a family, we set about doing just that. fruit, sugar, lemon juice, and pectin? check. sterilized jars? check. lids on tight? check. then all we could do was sit back and wait for it to gel. as my mom and i watched "so you think you can dance" in the living room, we began to hear the tinkling pops of the lids sealing down on all the jars.

earlier that day, i was thinking back to one of my favorite books, animal, vegetable, miracle by barbara kingsolver, and the inspiration that it was for me to embrace real food, and make a commitment to extend those values important to me down to the foods i choose to eat. last winter, it was rather difficult, and on a tight college budget, it's hard to reconcile spending a few dollars more on locally-grown knobbly root vegetables, when all i really wanted was a huge spinach salad. compromises were made, and i found new joy in sweet potatoes, squashes, and onions.

part of my plans for moving into my grand new life included getting a bread machine, food dehydrator, and a huge pot. armed with these things, and an avid frequenter of the farmers' markets that promised to abound in southern california, i would enjoy local food, befriend local farmers, and move my diet to a more sustainable bent. visions of making dried fruit and dried tomatoes, canning huge jars of tomato sauce, freezing parboiled produce, and enjoying it all with fresh bread every week.

some of those dreams, like others, i've had to lay aside for the time being. fortunately, i live in the heart of east texas farming country, and although no trendy farm stands dot the road like they do in new england, plenty of folks have booths up in their lawns, vending the fruits of their backyard labors. our garden is overflowing with zucchini, tomatoes, and formerly green beans (the heat finally got to them), and as we begin turning things over, i'm pushing my parents toward a fall garden with potatoes, onions, and winter squash.

granted, i am far from being a home-grown food expert - our strawberry jam never quite gelled. it still has that bright summer strawberry taste, but we'll have to settle for a thin strawberry spread. my handful of experiences with gardening aren't much to go on, when i think of it, but i am excited for the adventure of learning more, of spending some quality time with my dirt, wherever i am, to learn about its needs, cultivate its health, and support the growth of food for me, and of course for others. because, in the end, what i'm most looking forward to is having friends and neighbors over, feeding them with the food of my garden, and celebrating the goodness of this life.

strawberry spread, anyone?

life lessons in sunset with bob dylan

i must say, nothing more particularly puts me in the mood to write on my blog than a sunset. tonight, as i was driving back to my new residence after a lovely dinner at home, the big, fat, texas sun was setting directly behind me - not the fiery red that speaks to the immense heat we have been getting recently, but the soft orange glow behind and dusky grey-blue of twilight ahead. another day done.

one particularly great thing about inheriting your brother's car while he is away is that the driver's armrest storage bin comes loaded with awesome music. when you're in a music funk as i currently am (feeling like i'm listening to the same ten songs over and over again), it's such a treat to pop a random, unmarked disc into the dash and wait in that delicious anticipation of what will come. not all of it i love, but one treasure i discovered just this evening is the bob dylan greatest hits collection he had stashed there.

rolling down my windows, celebrating the breaking of the heat, watching the purple sky creep from in front of me to behind, and listening to "blowing in the wind," i was very happy. so happy in fact that the first thing i had to do is grab my computer, brew a quick pot of tea, and come sit outside in the rocking chair to write this down....

and be met by ravenous mosquitoes. let's just say i'm going inside fairly shortly.

isn't it funny how life moves in such predictable ups and downs? nothing is really as romantic as "they" would make it out to be, and the perfect moments have to be ended sooner or later. but still, i'll take the mosquitoes if that means i get a few more perfect sunsets.

balloons'll be glowing...

how do you begin to describe the bewitching simplicity of light and air and color? despite the oppressive heat that has settled on and around east texas, my family packed into our car yesterday afternoon and headed over to longview for the great texas balloon race. ever since we moved to the area six years ago, i've seen images on the local news of these great blobs of hot air bobbing about in the clear blue sky or glowing like a series of giant night lights in the dark. i've wanted to go for some time, but this year - being back at home for summer for the first time since i left for college - we actually went.

after a bit of an adventure getting to the grounds, sorting out the lay of the land, and grabbing a mint limeade, we settled on a bit of grass not too far from where the trucks and gondolas were assembled. country western music wafted through the late summer heat, and i enjoyed some top notch people-watching before the first sign of movement drew our attention to the field. directly in front of us, a balloon crew began to spread out a giant mass of fabric. it looked as though several pots of bright paint had been dumped on the dry, browning grass.

before we knew it, one and then two balloons slowly filled with air, the sound of their burners overtaking the twangy guitar. if i could put into words how absolutely breathtaking it was to watch this billowing mass of colored silk not only take shape against the setting sun but then rise into the sky, drifting away on an unseen wind. so utterly simple and yet so utterly full of mystery.

but as the sun began to set, any sense of exhileration from the previous display was overwhelmed by the unimaginable. as night fell, and darkness took over, countless balloons, in huge long rows, began to fill. the orbs of color, beautiful enough in the daylight, were unsurpassingly magical at night. i've included a picture, taken by someone else, because there are absolutely no way of describing it all.


walking amidst them, as they twinkled on and off, i was overtaken by an indescribable feeling. the closest thing i can tie it to is bliss. absolute utter peace borne out of true pleasure and all-encompassing awe. i felt like a child again, caught up in the wonder of the unimaginable made real right before my eyes.

lord knows where i will be this time next year, but i'm crossing my fingers to make my way back to the east texas regional airport and the balloons that have stolen my heart and imagination.

joy: lost and found

i remember watching the movie hook as a kid. it was one of about 200 or so titles that the caribbean mercy had accumulated over the years from various donations. in nine years of sailing, we cycled through a lot of them.

one of the characters in the movie, a lost boy - and of course i can't remember his name - had lost his marbles. i'm sure if i watched it again now, i'd pick up on the irony that such a predicament was supposed to cast over his character, but as a child, i just remember feeling really sorry that he had lost his favorite toys. the scene where he finally gets them back was one of my favorites, that and when julia roberts as tinkerbell (who would have pegged that one?) gives robin williams as peter pan a good talking to or the imaginary food fight turned real.

in any case, i've felt a bit like that lost boy these past few weeks. the process of adjusting to this new in-between i find myself in was interrupted by a wonderful ten days spent in seattle with some of my closest friends from college. while enitrely blissful, i wrapped myself in the ignorance of how challenging this change might be for me, weaving a delightful cocoon that blocked the hurt and disappointment from my emotional field.

coming back to texas, it was a whirlwind of a few days before i found myself sitting in this office with an entirely new set of day-to-day responsibilities and realities. instead of falling into step alongside other new nurses eager to start their own careers, with the impossible dynamism of youth, my colleagues are much different. caught between high school students working the coffee shop counter as a summer job and the older professionals who fill the ranks of finance and accounting. instead of dealing with patients, i deal with hotel guests and hungry customers.

somewhere in there, i got bogged down. somewhere in there, i lost my marbles. i lost my joy. more deeply, i lost the ability to see potential in my new coworkers as peers, worthy of an honest conversation and a level of friendship. i was so busy looking back on the life i thought i would be leading right about now that i lost sight of people like janet and joyce - beautiful older women who work happily to serve those around them. i lost my vision for their inspiration, their example, and the (many) lessons i could learn from them and others like them.

i don't begin to profess that i have "found my marbles." at least not fully. i'm beginning to see that they were lost, and they are worth the effort of finding. there will still be days when i am frustrated, overwhelmed, and absolutely ready to throw in the towel. but i'm beginning to realize also that perhaps this is my life. it's time to live it.