Sweater Weather and Soul Aches.

Lately the weather has been dark, rainy, and cool. Days like this, at this time of year, bring out the worst in me. But the last couple of weeks have been more challenging than ever. The shift in the light and season means we are nearing the first Thanksgiving and Christmas I will have to spend without my grandfather. It reminds me of a time when I lived in the bedroom next to his, the event that caused me to move in with him, and the many year long spiritual journey I began. I have been reliving so many emotions and memories. It is making my soul ache.

It is a feeling much different from heartache, yet they are one in the same. When your soul cries out, it rattles your entire being. Your very foundation begins to crack. You shake and blow in the wind The rain pelts your skin harder than it ever has before. Eventually the storm settles. But before it does, you to start to question everything you've known to be fact, believed, and thought. Your grief is all consuming. But somehow you find a way to place one foot in front of the other and continue on.

In a word, it is strange.

I feel guilt as well. At a point in time, why didn't I take more control over my life? Why should I be wracked with grief now, when I am so blessed? When I am able to care for my child in our home full time, why should I hurt so? Am I just being selfish? Or do most people go through this period in their lives?

Many times in the day I find my mind wandering back to the day that lead to living with my grandfather. That memory does not hurt anymore. But the feelings and thoughts I had after that day, when I remember them, it is like I am having to shovel through all of that again. I was so alone, confused, and heartbroken. It was a very dark time in my life. I took that time with Grandpa and my self exploration for granted.

That time my was my rock bottom. So I climbed up and worked on myself. I am still diligently climbing and working. This is work that will never be finished, I know.

Those dark days lessened and lead into a warm spring. Four years later that same type of warm spring ended before it even began, and my world grew a little darker. Grandpa died, and now here I am. I am questioning if I had ever truly healed, if I had made any tangible progress, or if time, people walking in and out of my life, and the birth of a beautiful daughter distracted me and masked my struggle. Now, am I building on to my personal hell by drudging up all of these old feelings? How am I supposed to navigate this holiday season without the man who helped me push through before? Am I just hurting myself more by constantly reminding myself that Grandpa is gone? Why am I feeling and remembering so many horrific things, when I should be over that and working towards ending my grieving period over Grandpa's passing?

I have so many questions locked away. I need answers. But this moment in time, this soul aching, it is not that simple. These questions do not have answers. Sometimes we reach an area in our path that "just is". It just exists. It changes what is and what will be and what was. But it is nothing necessarily profound. Not everything happens for one distinct reason. Often times there are many reasons.

I am finding this time in my life is less dark than it is a shade of grey. A transition period, I would assume. But it is difficult, nonetheless. It almost appears that my soul is trying to purge itself of all the baggage I have carried around. As if it is trying to start fresh after suffering such a great loss. And though I struggle, I know I will come out on the other side of this. I have no other option but to go on. Life does not stop here. I have so many things to live for. So many blessings to count. So much of my story is still yet to be written.

So this grey, this in between, maybe it is this way because I know I am moving on. Because I have the answers I am searching for somewhere in my heart. Maybe it is that my grandfather's passing severs all the ties to that period in my life. If any or all of these thoughts are the case, then I know, soon I will be able to start again. To open my eyes to blank pages to fill. To continue on.

9/11

About this time of day 14 years ago, I sat at a desk in Mrs. Holt's 5th grade class. I believe we were working on some reading assignment. It was peaceful in there. Cold, like always, but quiet. A typical day in Mayes County.

But then something happened. One of my classmates came hustling down the hall. We could hear him running. We just assumed he was playing around. When he flung that classroom door open, all color drained from his face despite running across the elementary campus, we knew something wasn't right.

Just a few years early we had a gun threat come across our school. They locked us down in the middle of a lower elementary presentation. A class that held maybe 20 kids on a bad day, was packed wall to wall. Our entire grade was in that class room. The teachers did their very best to pretend like nothing was happening. But we all knew.

And the same was true for this day as well. We all knew what was about to come out of his mouth. My desk was in the front row, closest to the door. So I had a good view of what happened next.

Time stopped. Mrs. Holt stood up from her desk in slow motion. She grabbed her keys. The noise they made in her hand was louder than any deafening silence I have experienced since. She started towards the door. One step. Two. Three. And then the boy shouted "There's been some kind of bombing.".

The room shook with fear. She halted. He just stood there, in the doorway. The teacher staring him blankly in face. It felt like years passed before he explained what he had heard, and where he heard it.

And then, as if nothing happened, the day went back to normal. We continued learning. We ate lunch. We played in the grass during recess. But every adult or older child had worry behind their eyes. When I got home, I am certain my mother explained the day's events as best as she could. But a terrorist attack is not something my young mind could really grasp. Which is strange, for a person living in a state bombed by our own people.

Days and months passed. The radio blasted many amazing patriotic songs. We wore God Bless America shirts more often. The TV showed images of the rubble, of families ripped apart by grief, of workers in rescue and recovery efforts. And my mind still did not understand what 9/11 truly meant to our America.

Flash forward a hand full of years, I stood in an American cemetery, on foreign soil. And it hit me. I looked out over this beautiful resting place for so many who gave their lives to the cause during a World War, and I understood what had happened back home.

Our great nation was threatened. Innocent lives were lost in so many ways. Patriotism burned brightly in the hearts of our citizens. We went to war. We would forgive, maybe, but we would never forget the trespasses against our people.

Today, though it is somber, and the soul of each citizen heavy, it is a beautiful day. We are here in our great nation. We are free. And we will never forget.

Good Morning.

The sun has yet to peak through the trees, but my alarm still sounds. The patterning of little feet against a crib wall, and the snorts and snuffs of a guard dog entertaining his charge wake me from my slumber. A smile spreads across my face. It is a good morning.

Off to the kitchen in a bleary eyed shuffle. A breakfast of pancakes and coffee to be made. Cheerful, toothy grins, tiny hands clapping, and grunts of appreciation fill the room with warmth and love. It is a good morning.

The sun greets us through the bay window. He is behind, as the day has already begun. But we still thank the Lord for the sun's appearance, for the blessings our day will bring. It is a good morning.

I'm Becoming A Foodie...

Yep, that's right. I'm becoming a foodie. My waistline is not okay with this. Lately I've been whipping up all kinds of delicious dinners and lunches because I discovered Ree Drummond. Darn her. Why does she have to be so inspirational and relate-able?!

Anywho, like I was saying, I've been cooking a lot. Yesterday I made a strawberry cobbler, and a lasagna. The cobbler was whatever is less than sub par, but my lasagna was totes amazeballs. So I thought I'd share what I did. I didn't really follow any recipe or direction, and I had never made one before. But I had a general idea of what to do. I mean if you eat a lasagna once, you kind of instinctually know how to make it.

Is instinctually a word? It is now.

Sorry I don't have any pictures. I have no idea how to add them to my blog. Which is embarrassing, but eventually I'll get around to figuring the mechanics of this the host out. I am really ramble-y today...too much coffee...

So, anyway, here's what I did:

I browned two pounds of hamburger meat (we like super meaty sauce), making sure to get it chopped up in to teeny tiny clumps, and threw in some Italian seasoning while it was in the skillet. Once done, I drained it, slightly rinsed it, and lightly seasoned the meat. Then I tossed it in a bowl with one 26oz container of plain old red pasta sauce.

I then mixed about half of a 30oz container of ricotta cheese with about a fourth of a cup of parmesan and roughly a cup mozzarella, and two eggs. I just used pre-grated Walmart brand cheese, but freshly grated would be fun. I mixed/whipped that with a whisk until well combined.

Next I layered like a cup and a fourth or so of meat sauce on the bottom of a Pyrex dish (I don't really know how big it is. So use your best judgement on how big of a pan you need.). I dropped in enough pasta to cover the meat sauce as completely as possible, and evenly covered that with the ricotta mixture, not necessarily in a thin layer, but it wasn't really thick either. Then I repeated the process one more time with the meat sauce first, then pasta, then cheese.

At then end I slopped on some more meat sauce and drowned that with what cheese mix was left, covered the dish tightly with a double layer of foil, and threw it in a 350 F oven for about an hour. Just until the whole thing was fork tinder.

Now that I've tasted the fruits of my kitchen labor, I would probably add the other half of that ricotta to my meat sauce. We love cheese in my house, and the meat just seemed to be lacking. And to make your life much easier, I suggest using oven ready pasta. That's what I did. Because I don't have a pot big enough to boil the stuff in.

Now that I've shared my 'Sagna guidlines with you, I think I'll go enjoy some left overs. I'm hungry, and there is a ton left to eat!

The Bathroom Sink.

Recently I discovered a few lines of a song that truly spoke to me. While it is not an uncommon occurrence for a song to touch my heart, this one in particular made me question myself and my relationships. We all know music evokes emotions and memories. But should a handle full of words make you question your life?

"It's amazin', the amount of rejection
That I see in my reflection
And I can't get out of the way
I'm lookin' forward to the girl I wanna be
But regret has got a way of starin' me right in the face
So I try not to waste too much time
At the bathroom sink."

Powerful stuff, huh?

Sounds like she wants a change. She hates the world she lives in, yet fears what regret might follow if she were to give it all up and start fresh.

There must be something or someone toxic in her life?

So why and how am I moved in such a way, by this small phrase?

I don't want to lay blame, so I won't. But I will say there were, and are a few toxic people who I let poison my life. And for what? So I can stare at myself in the mirror some more and think about how awful of a person I am, because they said so?

There have been many days I have wished I could just cut ties without regret or messy endings, but that is not how life works, most of the time. We let people into our hearts, sometimes they make a wonderful impact on our lives, sometimes they slowly destroy our sense of self. Sometimes they are the ones who are closest to you, and sometimes they are people you hardly know.

These lyrics really hit me in the gut. And this is just my take based on the song in its entirety. The song is "Bathroom Sink"-Miranda Lambert, incase you're interested in giving it a listen. Maybe you'll listen to the song and hear a different story, maybe not. But my point is, at the end of the day we all have some venomous entity in our lives that must be squelched or claimed a necessary evil. It is not always easy to see what it is. So be mindful of what and who you let in, and what or who you cut out.

Home.

Tonight my soul is aching to move back home. I don't mean like moving in with my mom home, I mean moving back to the country. To that quiet little northern Mayes County section.

You see, now that I'm a parent, I keep thinking of how I want my daughter to grow up. And I desperately wish she could grow up in her grandparents' milk barn, like I did.

I want to give my baby the romanticized rural Oklahoma childhood that I lived.

I think about how my heart would be so full, living the other end of that childhood. And it makes me miss home that much more. But, I don't foresee my mother becoming a dairy farmer and hiring me as a farm hand anytime soon. And I don't know if or when an opportunity to build a life out there would arise.

It's not so much the milking I miss, or the farming, but the smell of hay season (which is ending right about now), the strangely comforting sounds of calves bawling and coyotes howling at night during the spring, the sound of the wind against the corners of a house on an open plain when winter hits, the heat that is so hot you feel as though you could fry bacon on your front porch come the middle of August.

I like our neighborhood, don't get me wrong. It is quiet enough that you can hear crickets and frogs at night, the traffic is minimal, most of our neighbors are nice, and we're just far enough outside city limits that there aren't many sirens or bright lights. But I can't help reminiscing about the echo of a night train four miles down the hill at midnight, a sunrise whose view isn't hindered by trees and buildings.

I can't help wishing Robbie Jo could have a huge yard to play in, a few trees to climb, and an old creek to wade across, just to sit on the bank and count all the turtles that pop their little heads out of the muddy water. She would enjoy those things if I gave them to her. She would cherish memories of tractor rides and hard work if I could provide those too. She would love to live a life like I had as a kid.

Maybe one day I will be able to give her all of those things, and more. Maybe she will write home saying how she misses the sounds, the smell, and the feel of her childhood. Maybe she will talk about the red dirt from our road, how it is in her veins and how it calls her back to a place of simplicity and easy living. And maybe I can give myself what my heart longs for most.

Adventures In My Kitchen.

Hello there! It's been six months and two days since my last post. Sorry about that.

Life was really sucky for about five of those six months. But last month I decided to stop wallowing in my self pity and loathing, and return to the land of the living. So here I am, living. By living I mean watching lots of RHOC, Total Divas, Dance Moms, and of course Disney Channel. I LOVE Disney Channel. It's great!

Oh and I've been cooking a lot. I've never particularly liked cooking but the baby finally started eating table food so I had to start making a variety of noms of us. And oddly enough, I've found I actually enjoy it now. Most of the meals I've made have been crock pot meals. But hey, I'm still counting that as cooking.

I made Robbie Jo's first birthday cake. Her party theme was "All American". It was only fitting she have an American flag cake, which was only slightly disastrous. The cake was a delicious vanilla red/white/blue layer cake. But the icing turned out horrible. I saw this cool "tie dye" icing on pinterest. You can just imagine the horror. My red, white, and blue tie dye turned into a star spangled mess. But it ate all the same and I enjoyed making it so whatevs.

Then this morning while watching The Pioneer Woman and contemplating whether Ree Drummond's name was Ree or Bree Drummond, because for the life of me I couldn't remember, I wondered if maybe I'd start cooking and blogging about it. Then Trisha Yearwood's show came on and I was inspired. Her show sucks, but she made a bad as pot pie and I thought "Well hell I can make that". So I did. And now I'm telling you about it.

I Googled Trisha's recipe and sort of followed it. She used an insane amount of butter, and her crust recipe yields more than I needed . So I used her recipe as a guideline.

I started out with 5 boneless/skinless/trimmed chicken breasts, dropped them in a pan with some cool water and a little salt, brought them to a boil, then turned the heat down to a little more than a simmer. Then I peeled and chunked up some petite red potatoes. Again, cold water and salt, boiled, reduced heat. Once the potatoes and chicken were done I removed them from their liquids. I saved the chicken stock, and then diced up the chicken. I just set the potatoes aside for a bit to cool.

The hard part was next. Making the filling is a pain in hind quarters. Her recipe calls for carrots, celery, potatoes, and onions but I just used a bag of frozen country medley veggies (green beans, corn, peas, carrots). I sauted the veggies with some butter, creole seasoning, black pepper, onion powder, a little garlic powder, and a dash of salt. When that was good I added about half a cup of flour and a little more butter and stirred that around until it got paste like or "became a roux" as Mrs. Yearwood Brooks called it on the tube. Then I splashed in some milk and some of the chicken stock until I got the consistency I wanted, almost like thick breakfast gravy. Next I threw in the chicken and mixed it all up.

I greased a couple of baking pans, layered the taters, then the filling and set it aside so I could make my crust. I kind of flubbed up here. I wasn't using my head, and didn't grab self rising flour, and I didn't think to add a leavening agent. As a result my crust was a little on the dense side once it was done, but it was more like the crust of a pot pie should be and less biscuity. I did followed Trisha's crust recipe though, 2 sticks of butter (which is like 16 tablespoons of heart attack btw), 2 cups of butter milk, 2 cups of flour, a teaspoon of black pepper, whisked until smooth. It was too much buttermilk for my taste, so next time I'll do some regular milk, self rising flour, and some crisco. Hopefully it will taste better. I poured the crust over the top of the pie filling and baked until relatively brown, and not doughy.

Now I am devouring the fruits of my labor. My kid of course is crying about having to try something new and only eating the chicken out of it. The dog seems to like what Robbie throws on the floor though. So I'd say dinner is a success. Let me know if you enjoyed this and would like to see more. Thanks for reading!!

Johnny Pop and the Rough Draft.

Lately I've been working on a short story about a tractor my grandfather used to have. The story is more about the joy rides we took it on, but it's titled after the model of the tractor. This sounds a little ridiculous, but once the story is finished it will be a good read. Writing this thing has made me realize just how hard it is to write an actual story. 

I mean, it is really freaking hard to convey the image that is in my head just on this blog, let alone trying to make an actual memory into a story.  It's been pretty stressful because I'd like to do a whole series of memory stories. They're just so hard to write. 

I really want to post this story, so I've decided to give you my rough draft. And when I say rough draft I mean, rougher than a cob rough draft. I kept every one's names instead of changing them, and there are some parts missing in the middle. I just haven't figured out what to put in yet. Anyway enough chatter.

Here it goes, I hope you enjoy this memory as much I as do.

Robert climbed up that old John Deere. He was a farmer, with a great appreciation for old tractors. Not just because of their handiness in his trade, but for the growth of industrial machines over the years.

The machinery groaned and sputtered as it came to life. "I'm gonna take this ol' Johnny Pop for a spin, Mom." he hollered to his wife, Mabel. "Take Alex with you why don't you." she yelled, waving him on as he crept down the lane, tractor popping all the way.

About a quarter mile down the road Robert's granddaughter lived, and he often stopped  by to see if she would go for a ride with him. Pop, pop, pop. The tractor slowed to a stop in front of the granddaughter's house.

"Mama! Grandpa is here! I'll be back!" The glass door slamming behind her, Alex bolted across the yard and scrambled up onto the tractor. Without a word, they were off.

The knobby tires stirred up red dust as they chugged around the section. There were no words needed for the old man and the girl. They only had to enjoy the ride and the land surrounding them, taking in the beauty of Eastern Oklahoma in the early evening hours.

The sun began to set over the country side as the two made their way home. Robert dropped Alex off at the edge of her drive. She waved good bye as he puttered away.

"How was your ride Dad?" Mabel asked when he walked in the back door. he just smiled. He would always enjoy those evening drives with his granddaughter on that old Johnny Pop.