A fickle machine

So now that I've come clean about my dream, I am forcing myself to be more adventurous with my camera. And I have to say that the more I learn about this machine, I find myself both in awe and utter frustration. What a complex and fickle machine it is. At the moment, I feel it has the upper hand in our relationship.

But I have sat my camera down and explained to it in no uncertain terms that I will be the boss. Sure there are many mysteries that it beholds at this point. Sure, I'll admit that when I go to upload my photos onto my computer I am baffled at the small amount of pictures that turn out. I am glad I have the discretion to post only those photos that do turn out...if only you saw the ones that don't! It feels like my dirty little photography secret. Can any other photographers relate or is it just me?

I see taking a class and joining a meet up group somewhere very near in my future. Either way, I have told the camera that I WILL arise victorious. Just maybe not today.

(The above photo was taken a few weeks ago at Barnes and Noble as I attempted to read about my camera in the Nikon manual. See? I'm really trying!)

Holiday letdown

Hi, my name is Alina, and I'm an overexpecter (a helpful new phrase I'm coining). Yup. It's a problem of pathological proportions in my life. I look forward to big occasions and ponder on the good times to be had. I envision the grand entrance, the witty conversation, the warm and fuzzy feelings, and the fabulous food. Before I know it, I've envisioned something so glossy and tantalizing that only Spielberg could deliver such results on the big screen. And I don't know about you but the holidays are never a blockbuster movie. No offense, family.

It's not that the holidays are ever bad, per se. They are usually quite full of blessings, good conversations, and all around pleasant memories with my loved ones. No, the problem lies in my expectations. They are always, without fail, unceasingly, kicked into overdrive whenever I approach the holidays, or any good thing, for that matter. If they made a medicine for this, I'd have an I.V. hooked up to me 24/7 (except you would never know it because I would have some sort of cool contraption where I could keep it disguised in a purse and it would look especially fabulous and unique).

Today I wrestled with the demons of high expectations. On multiple occasions. Karis woke up sick. Not her usual self--energetic and abounding with joy. First, this disturbed my plans for the day. Secondly, I thought ahead to Thanksgiving Day. Would she be sick Thursday? Would I have to stay home and miss all the festivities? Would Karis not get to play with her cousins and take pictures in their matching holiday shirts? (Don't judge. It's goofy but adorable, trust me.)

I began to panic as all the expectations I had building for over a month began to crumble. Would I get sick? This thought brings with it a whole slew of memories through the years where I have gotten sick, a few times deathly sick, during vacations. For as long as I could remember I would anticipate vacation so intensely that I would wind up getting sick and therefore not be able to enjoy the fun. Disney World, Ecuador, Colorado, California, Palm Coast (just to name a few). But sometimes those illnesses were completely random. They happened to catch me off guard and knock me down right at the eve of a vacation. Cruel fate or God's way of breaking those vices of over expectation? I don't know.

But I do know this. When tonight's schedule didn't go as planned and when the delicious dinner I planned turned into mediocre grits and eggs, I fought hard against the disappointment. And when Matt suggested I be flexible, I certainly thought, "That's ridiculous. I'm VERY flexible." I think, in light of today's ongoing battles, I have merely skimmed the surface of my inflexibility. With this holiday upon us, the one that takes the unassuming virtue of gratefulness and sets it center stage, I am reminded that gratefulness takes whatever comes and says, simply, "Thank you."

Downtown

The autumn produce bowl: restocked, thanks to today's trip to the farmer's market.

I am a city mouse. No two ways about it. I love having neighbors, shopping options, and new places to explore. I even like the noise, perhaps because it is a result of the bustle. And I like bustle.

When we lived in St. Louis, I had a list of favorite places I would frequent [sushi restaurant, discount jewelry store, Vietnamese restaurant, creperie]. Nearly every time I went to these places, I said out loud, if not at least to myself, "This is what I love about the city--options." The city is where the opportunities abound. I know that with the advent of roads and transportation you can get almost anything you need in the suburbs or the country. But I guess I am a little bit picky on this subject...I'd rather go straight to the source.

We've been living in Jacksonville city for almost 3 months now, and I had yet to discover some of my own city gems. Jacksonville is different than other big cities I know...more spread out and very large in land mass. Other than the local goodwill down the road, I didn't have anything to brag about. That all changed this week.

Tuesday, November 18 marks the day that I had the best sandwich in my life. Now, I am aware of the enormity of this statement. I am, afterall, American. This fact single handedly ensures my sandwich eating expertise. I am still standing by my statement.

The story: I went with some friends to a little place I had heard of for a while now. It is a little French restaurant called The French Pantry. It was nothing short of INCREDIBLE. I had a chicken ciabatta sandwich, and every part of it, from the grilled chicken with the skin on, sundried tomato aoli, fresh greens, and fresh homemade bread, made this the BEST SANDWICH in my life. Oh, did I already say that? They also have incredible cakes and breads, and when you dine in you have to share a table with whomever was standing in line with you. Kind of European style. And the kicker? The place is a mere 4 minute drive from my house. A city gem, to be sure.

My second city score I found today. A friend and her daughter joined Karis and I at the main library downtown. We had heard tale that it had an awesome children's library. It was FABULOUS. 300,000 sq. ft. building. 4 stories. 15 foot Christmas trees all over every floor, each decorated in the theme of a different book. They had a huge children's section with multiple copies of all the books I was looking for (proves my point that when you go straight to the city source you find everything you are looking for). They hosted a morning full of story time, arts and crafts, dancing, and singing. And most of these activities were geared for my young toddler's age. I feel like I have a crush. A library crush.

Afterwards, we ambled outside to the park where there was a farmer's market taking place. We each bought some of the season's bounty at a decent price. It was a very small market, and we were told there is a better one just down the street. I think we'll check it out soon.

These were good finds. They were good for my future here. I am still in the "get to know you" phase of living here, and I am glad I have found some city jewels to enjoy.

Acorn love and a dream

(Top photo: I gathered these acorns while on a walk with my daughter. We both fell in love with how tiny they were and how they each have an adorable winter "hat"). ***Update: Yes, I am loving this photo so much that I am using it for the header, at least through the winter months.***

You guys may have noticed a little change here in my blog as of late. For you regular readers who have stopped in for your once a month visit, you have probably been shocked to find there were multiple posts waiting for you. In short, I don't exactly know what has happened. I think all the recent transitions in our lives have brought the winds of change blowing through this blog. And I like it. Better yet, I love it. I simply love writing and taking pictures. A blog is an unlikely salve for my soul.

Something happened to me last month. You see, I sat down to write my typical post. Except, instead of sugar-coating what was going on in our lives, I was honest. Raw, in fact. I am sure I offended. Out of the rubble of my depression and struggles came a little sapling of passion: writing and photography. Thus began a series of posts. I found that after every post I wrote I felt more inspired than before. The inspiration really helped pull me out of this difficult season. And I have reconnected with my love (and need) to write, something I had buried since college.

I have a dream to write and take photographs professionally (or should I say "quasi" professionally). The passion is stirring, and I am not sure what the steps are to get there. But I'll have you know I am working on it. There are a few things motivating me right now. First of all, a few friends have embarked upon their own personal creative ventures, and I am inspired by their guts and hard work (Thanks Mary and Jenny!). I am also haunted by the fear that I will reach the youthful age of 75 and think to myself, "I would have loved to have been a writer" or "I would have made a great photographer." So a little fear mixed in with inspiration and a heavy dose of passion are driving me.

I really debated sharing this. I know it may sound presumptuous. Perhaps it could set me up for disappointing myself. But it's what I am walking through right now, and, well, I tend to write about those parts of my journey that move me. And in order to be moved into action, I have broken down this big goal into 3 smaller ones, mostly related to networking. I have also shared my passion with friends who are excited and have promised to hold me to my goals and keep me excited about the dream. And now...I have just 46 years to accomplish this goal before I reach my self-imposed deadline.

A Tale of 4 Chairs

I love making old things new. There is a deep, abiding comfort in redeeming something. The life of Jesus was all about a redemption project. I've concluded that it is simply gratifying to restore something to its original luster, the beauty it was originally created to display.

My sister-in-law and her mother are excellent at redeeming things. They see the hidden value under the chipping layers of paint and gaudy 80's fabric. But me? I profess to be able to do it. I look at something and with the arrogance of a school girl, I flip my hair nonchalantly and proclaim with utter confidence, 'I'll just paint it. No problem.' But on the inside I am the shy school girl hiding in the back of the class, petrified that the teacher is actually going to call on her. The confident school girl always beats out the shy one when I am in the store contemplating buying something tattered but promising. It is when I get home that I face the demons of inexperience, lack of know-how, and inadequate funds to support my new 'redemption' project.

Furnishing our little home has been a priority for me over the last few months. We sold most of our furniture before leaving California. It didn't make sense to lug it across country, rent a large truck to carry it all, and risk having it ruined by the 3000+ mile trip from sea to shining sea.

So, we sold everything except the beds. Every. Last. Bit. Of. It.

Once we landed in our own home, we began to unpack and take inventory of the empty corners and bare rooms. Eating on the floor got old really quickly. Thus commenced the searching process. I became a religious lurker of the local Goodwill and Craigslist.

Slowly but surely the home began to take shape. The living room was filling out nicely. I had a dining room table but no chairs. And I was kind of picky about what I wanted. I was about ready to throw in the towel and give up when my mom came to visit.

I remember the day I first met them. It was a hot, sunny day in October. My mom and I were on a mission to find my dining room chairs and some patio furniture. We strolled casually into the Goodwill a couple miles from my home. This place is a virtual treasure trove. And this day did not disappoint.

Sitting there awkwardly were four white chairs, each facing a different direction as if they'd lost their way and each was trying to figure out which direction to take home. As I neared them I noticed they were the exact style I had been envisioning...rustic, farmhouse style, spindle-back chairs. Slapped haphazardly on one of them was a sign reading '4 chairs for 25.99'. Looking closer I could almost detect a shade of pink as they blushed in embarrassment from being sold for so little. I stepped up to them, bent down, and in a hushed whisper, with a satisfied grin I told them they were coming home with me.

They were instantly white again, I swear.

My mother and I quickly rounded up these four chairs, a few outdoor pieces of furniture, and a slew of lamps. Ecstatic from our finds, we shoved it all into her hatchback and headed home, our hands out the window, singing a gleeful song about our good(will) fortune. I may have even heard humming from the rear.

From that point on, the story is rather drab. Or at least predictable to anybody who has ever done this 'makeover' type of thing. Chairs sanded. Paint purchased. Paint applied. Paint not quite right and returned for a different type. Second purchase is much better. Paint goes on in layers. Much time elapses between coats. Long story short...it has been three months and all the chairs are complete, as of last week. Well, actually two chairs need one more coat. It will happen, some day.

They do look lovely, in case you were wondering. Instead of begging, Somebody please take us home!, these chairs proudly proclaim, Take a seat and stay a while. Enjoy a savory meal. Talk about love and life. I am a rustic farmhouse chair. It is my duty to serve you.

Sure, the work was considerable, and the cost was steep for my budget. But when I look at these ladies, I know it was all worth it. They are black and beautiful. Not a trace of pink, I promise.

Noteworthy

#1. This weekend was glorious. Simply wonderful. It was the first weekend following Matt's successful passing of EMT school. We spent the whole weekend together. I remembered all the things I love about him. We laughed like we were so accustomed to before the stress of the last 3 months hit us. I'll remember this weekend for a long time.

#2. My terribly, horrible, no-good habit of dressing like a beggar (previously mentioned here) while in the privacy of my own home may have been defeated this week. I found some new pants at Target this week. They are all at once comfortable, good for sleeping in, and black (so fairly unhomeless in appearance). I am making strides, although I think Matt won't believe I am thoroughly cured of my bad habits until I actually throw away all the old t-shirts and saggy pants. (Please, don't make me!)

#3. Saturday afternoon we went shopping around town. As I perused through the aisles gathering well needed supplies for our fridge and home, helping myself to the free samples at the end of every aisle, listening to the holiday music overhead, and glancing at the colorful Christmas decorations, I fully understood how shopping can become like medicine or therapy or relationships. I just felt warm inside. I am glad I don't shop often.

#4. Last week I introduced my good friend to the wide world of Penzey's spices. I lived within walking distance of a store in St. Louis. I was thoroughly overjoyed to find out that this chain, which is almost exclusively limited to the midwest region of the US, has one store in Florida. And merely a 20 minute drive from my house! My friend was polite and smiled as I giddily babbled on about the spices, where they are from, and what I love to do with them. I knew we'd hit a milestone in our friendship as she watched me obsess in my adult version of a candy store. I think we're still friends. We have plans tomorrow...here's to hoping she shows up.

#5. I am making this recipe that I saw in an episode of the Martha Stewart show last week. When I saw Martha make it, I figured it would be delicious. But the smells coming from the oven tell me this dish might surpass "delicious." That is, if I don't mess it up between now and dinnertime.

#6. Sometimes I think parenting exists in a time warp. It seems like one day I am standing in my friend's bathroom staring at the little pregnancy stick and thinking to myself, "Can this faint little pink line really mean I am going to have a baby?!" Then, what feels like the very next day, my daughter is sitting on our doorstep making adorable faces as I snap her picture. Other than some crazy, secret, time-warp conspiracy, what other explanation could there be?

Carrot soup

I think I may be a liar. At the very least, I have misled you. You see, when I created my header for this blog I tried to think of a short blurb about the things I am passionate about and would thereby be writing about. "Friends, Family, Photography, Food" made the final cut. So, let's see here. Friends...check. Family...check, check. Photography...(clearly) check, check, check. Food...flatline. I've got nothing. Well, not completely nothing. There were the roasted vegetables and the fruit salad. But they were a.long.time.ago. And if it counts, there were the posts about events revolving around food. On second thought...nah, those don't count! So in all fairness to food, it hasn't gotten a good showing here. I thought I'd live up to my promise today.

Truth be told, I LOVE cooking. I do it nearly every night. I often cook new recipes, sometimes 3 new ones a week. I follow food blogs. I bake. Evidence is clear: I love to cook. So amidst all this avid cooking, what is so bold as to break my culinary blogging silence? Cream of carrot soup. I first was introduced to this recipe by my friend when we were living in New Orleans. I told her one day I wanted to make a gourmet meal together. She whipped up this little dish with some homemade bread...I was smitten! Sitting on her front porch in New Orleans, talking about life, probably sweating profusely...a great memory. But this is decidedly a post about food and not friends, so I digress.

I have since made this soup a number of times, and every time I do I am more smitten with it every time. It calls for a splash of orange juice and some grated ginger which give it such a fresh and bright flavor. A little curry gives it some spice, and the mellow, sweet, earthiness of the carrots makes this an altogether savory soup. Another friend blogged about a similar version of this soup on the very day I made mine. She very accurately stated, "It's too good not to share." And I agree.

I served this twice. The first time I had the grandmothers and great grandmothers over for brunch. Served with a delicious chicken salad, the meal was quite nearly my idea of a perfect lunch. The next day I warmed it up and ate it with a slice of toasted whole wheat bread topped with a few slices of sharp cheddar cheese. Heavenly, even the next day!

Cream of Carrot Soup

from the Joy of Cooking

Heat in a soup pot over medium-low heat until the butter is melted:
1/4 cup water or stock
1 tablespoon unsalted butter (optional)

Add and cook, covered, stirring occasionally, until tender but not browned, 5 to 10 minutes:
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon minced peeled fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon curry powder

Stir in:
4 cups chicken stock
1 cup fresh orange juice
1.5 pounds peeled, coarsely chopped carrots

Simmer for 15 minutes. Puree the soup using a hand held blender or very carefully in batches in your traditional blender.

Add 1/4 to 1/2 cup heavy cream or half-and-half.

Salt and pepper to taste.
Simmer briefly and ladle into bowls and serve.

I actually think this was a little too sweet so next time I would reduce the orange juice to 1/2 cup and increase chicken stock to 4.5 cups.

This is an excellent fall or holiday soup. It would be a delicious first course for a Thanksgiving feast. Enjoy!

Preparing for the next season

A few days ago I put in my cd player Vince Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas. I love that album. So simple. Jazzy piano numbers make you feel like you are standing right outside of FAO Shwartz in New York City on Christmas Eve. At least that is where it transports me. I know it is kind of early for this sort of behavior (unless you are a department store or Walmart). But I think I figured out where this bizarre behavior came from. You see, I think Halloween sneaked up on me. What with it being summer here until about 2 weeks ago, I kind of missed the "autumn" train. I saw the pumpkins for sale at the grocery store, and for a month I walked past them thinking, "I'm gonna get me one of those...next time."

And then October 29 rolled around.

I panicked. I had forgotten about that pumpkin. Eeck. Somehow that translated into, "Let's get prepared for Christmas so that doesn't pass us by." In went the Charlie Brown cd. Off went Karis and I to the library to pick out some autumn themed books. We also went to Walmart to pick out that pumpkin, but it was a meager showing. Three sad, small, disfigured options. Instead I opted for some cute little baby squash (or gourds?). And to satisfy that pumpkin craving, I made some pumpkin bread. Delicious, thank you for asking.

I love the seasons. I think they are an outdoor clock, of sorts. A beautiful, living calendar. I think I often enjoy the seasons as they are exiting, and I want to change that. I want to enjoy them as they enter, stay, and leave. I've thought about a few ways to accomplish that.

I'm thinking about putting up a bulletin board to hang little reminders of the season we are currently in. Even something as simple as "Happy Spring" would remind me to look out and enjoy the signs of the season. I am also going to try to cook more seasonally by shopping at my farmers market. Cooking with the harvest of the season. There are a few markets I want to check out. I'll let you know how that one goes.

My last endeavor will be to read books to Karis about the seasons. She is shaping up to be a very curious child (much like her momma). Exploring the outdoors, reading seasonal books from the library, crafts (when old enough) to celebrate the outdoors. These are a few of the commitments I am hereby making to ensure I don't experience another October 29 panic. (Yes, I know. This is also the date of "Black Tuesday", the day in 1929 when the stock market crashed. My panic is benign compared to that.)

I present to you the cutest, most adorable and crankiest little ladybug around. Here she is looking like a "superhero ladybug." I guess she had a little bit of costume identity confusion!