The Station. A Happy Day.

Posted in Green Cove, life by

Welcome to my 200th post, completely unintentionally!

Sometimes I think I only post about anxious, stressful, crazy days. Just because I think it’s nice to know you’re not alone in those days, in those feelings. But then I find myself not wanting to share the good days, the ones that are good for no reason other than just … waking up on the right side of the bed. Those days when no one can really get under your skin, where everything that could be annoying is just funny. Zen days when you find perfect peace in shavasana, in relaxation, at the end of yoga.

This evening I’m remembering to relish the happy day, the good run, the expansive quietness, the soft, lyrical music.

There’s this poem, long quote, short essay that I’ve been meaning to share really for a long time. It’s called The Station. One of my fellow lineheads, counselor, that summer gave this to me and a few other women she had worked with. That summer I was at a station—a really good, full, happy moment in my life. Sometimes I think about this piece, during good moments, on good days, during good months, and I am sure that there are lots of stations that we hit as we travel through life, where everything feels … right.

I try to remind myself to not rush through each station, because who knows how long I’ll be stopped there before I start up moving through life again.

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Race Recap: Lakefront Discovery 15K

Posted in mini trips, politics, running by

First of all, I’m just going to say please go vote tomorrow. Take advantage of the awesome privilege we have by just living in this country. And then, at the end of the day, remember this that my yoga instructor said today during class … The sun will rise and set on Wednesday no matter what happens politically or who wins. We’ll still go on living, getting up, eating, running, being friends with those who have different opinions than us. And, on Wednesday we can look forward to mailboxes and tvs vacant of political ads!

OK, so I promised a race recap in my last post. Two weekends ago, October 27, I headed up to Milwaukee to spend the weekend with my friend Heather and run the Lakefront Discovery 15K. Being near Halloween, costumes were highly suggested. Heather and I are not ones to shy away from acting a fool. We dressed up as a barmaid and a fairy princess (I swore the wings would help me run faster).

Barmaids and fairy princesses know how to run.

We snapped this picture post-race at the Milwaukee Ale House after party. Free beer? OK!

Before we celebrated though, we actually had to run. Ridiculous, I know. So we parked, stretched, and peed. I was convinced I needed to pee again. I’m a nervous peer before races. Now you know all about me peeing habits. Lucky you! We found a few of our Ragnar Dairy Queen teammates before the race began. (Running is like a little community! It’s making my world feel smaller!) The route started at the Italian Community Center and ran along Lake Michigan. I actually took the below picture around mile two while I was running!

Lake Michigan as seem from the Lakefront Discovery 15K in Milwaukee.

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Cranberry Pear Pie

Posted in autumn, baked, food, holidays, mini trips by

Do you ever feel like you’re going to lose it? If the dog puts her head sweetly on my leg one more time and looks at me with those puppy dog eyes. If the cat utters another single meow as she begs me to toss her duck tape football toy. If one more car drives by my house TOO LOUDLY. If one more part of my body, my leg, ear, arm, anything, itches. If one more insignificant item drops to the ground, and I am forced to bend down and pick it up. I swear to God I will explode.

I may or may not be on my period.

I may or may not be perpetuating that stereotype that women go crazy on their periods.

Dudes, this does not give you the green light to throw a girl’s period/pms in her face when she’s being “weird.” This is called a double standard. It’s cool.

It’s days like this that I should not have jars of Nutella in my house. Or half of a pie. But I’m so glad I have half of a pie in my house for two reasons. One, it’s a damn good pie, and I love a damn good pie. Two, it was a result of a damn good weekend.

My trips this fall seem to be coming at just the right times, just when I need distraction the most, when I’m getting too caught up in my own weird head. This past weekend I drove up to Milwaukee with the dog to do the Lakefront Discovery 15K with my friend Heather. More on the race in a later post.

Car rides with Mir.

Before my arrival in Milwaukee, Heather alerted me of a pie crust she had made that was waiting for me in her freezer. We had plans to fill it with nutella (that pesky condiment again), apples, and cherries, but somewhere between the free post-race beers, the dude in pink and purple spandex, the guy painted blue, and lunch at a lovely local restaurant called Cafe Benelux we changed our minds…cranberry pear would be a much better filling.

We didn’t start the pie until around 9 p.m., and if you know a thing or two about pie making, you know a pie takes about an hour to cook, and then has to cool. Completely. Like it’ll tempt you on the counter for another hour as the filling continues to thicken. So we didn’t actually eat any until breakfast the next morning. But let me just say that when we did….mmmmm.

This pie should probably end up on your Thanksgiving table. Who wants traditional apple or pumpkin anyway? Or it could just end up on your Wednesday night table. But you should really make it ASAP while the pears are in season. And, lucky you, fresh cranberries should be appearing in groceries soon in preparation for the holidays. If they aren’t freshly around though, just check your freezer section.

This pie is sweet and fresh from the pears and perfectly tart from the cranberries with just a touch of spice from the cinnamon. It’s this perfect combination. If, however, you do not like a tart pie, you can add more sugar. I just happen to like my pies kind of slutty.

You have all sorts of crust options! It’s really exciting. You have my personal favorite, a vodka lard/butter pie crust, a non-vodka butter and crisco crust, or an all butter vodka crust. Feel free to use all butter in that non-vodka crust if that’s your thing. Just sub the crisco with the same amount of ice cold cubed butter. Heather and I made this pie with a crumble topping. It’s way yummy. You can totes make this a double crust pie if you heart desires though.

So let’s make a pie, bitches, and get out of our heads!

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Race Recap: Wine at the Line 5 Mile

Posted in autumn, friends, running by

Fall is officially upon us here in Indianapolis. This is my favorite time of year. I never get tired of the crisp blue skies and the bright trees. Plus, fall makes for perfect running temperature. After what seems like months of summer, the relief of not sweating and feeling as though I may suffocate from heat and humidity is so welcome. This fall also marked the beginning of running for me again. I took the entire summer off due to a pretty badly sprained ankle, and set the beginning of August as my official start to run date.

I signed up for Wine at the Line, a 5 mile race just south of Indianapolis at Mallow Run Winery with four of my former co-workers. Michael and I did this race last year. It involves a scenic 5K or 5 mile run through some farms around the winery, and lots of free wine after the race. The whole afternoon is very relaxed, and the course really isn’t incredibly challenging.

So, now the question: how to get back into shape after taking three months off due to an injury? I didn’t want to rush back into running and just pound my poor ankle, but I wanted to be in good condition come October 6. Ashely who writes at (Neve)Homemaker, one of my favorite running/food blogs, had mentioned Hal Higdon’s training programs before, so that’s where I turned. I followed his intermediate 8K plan. Three days of the week I would run at a nice easy pace, one day I did a long run, and one day was a tempo run or interval training. Perfect to slowly bring me to racing shape.

When it comes down to it, coming back from an injury has really taught me to listen to my body. Taking a day off if my ankle hurts is OK, cutting back on mileage is OK, and so is pushing myself extra on a day I feel awesome.

So, Wine at the Line.

This is my friend Heather on the left. She is a beast. You don’t believe me, do you? It’s the crown, I know. Or the friendly smile.

This girl runs like a gazelle, and damn if she doesn’t make it look easy. We started the 5 miles together, and for a bit I ran ahead. Then Heather passed me, and then I lost sight of her crown. (We ran in our crowns.) But you know what? I crossed the finish line and she didn’t tell me her time. She didn’t ask my time. We congratulated each other and discussed running with crowns. We talked about work. I could take a lesson from Heather. I could be less competitive, not obsessively check my pace every half mile, and remember that I run because I love it, the rush of feeling like I’m cruising, the road passing under my feet.

By the way, the crowns, the cow get up? We’re two members of the Dairy Queens—only the best Chicago Ragnar team ever.

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Oh, and my results? 42.55, a new PR at this distance. Fourteenth in my age group. And I was right on my goal of 8:30 minute miles. I’m proud.

Sweet Sweet(Vegan)Dulce De Leche

Posted in autumn, food, Lola, Mira by

Some things go together. They just do. Peanut butter and chocolate. Miras and Lolas. Summer and sitting on blankets listening to outdoor concerts. Yoga and twisty poses and tears. (This happened last night, it did. I’d heard of people crying in yoga, and tonight I was one of them. Thank God it was  hot yoga and my tears were indistinguishable from the sweat pouring down my face.) Winter and furry boots. Cold mornings and hot coffee. Apples and caramel.

Apples and caramel. Mmmm. That’s fall, right? I remember going to the Feast of the Hunters Moon as a kid in the fall and eating caramel apples. I always had a really hard time taking that initial bite. The caramel coating the apple the way it did made the whole situation very sticky and overwhelming. But I loved that combo. I still do. The tart juiciness of the apple and the sweet sticky caramel.

I love caramel in general. (Are you counting how many times I say caramel in this post?) I could eat it straight out of a jar with a spoon. And recently I did just that standing over my kitchen sink, completely shamelessly. See, until recently I had battled with caramel and never won. Regular caramel is more or less sugar with some water that’s heated up til it’s liquified and crystalized. I could never pull the sugar and water comob from the heat fast enough. Nobody likes burnt caramel. Trust me.

Dulce de leche is traditionally sweetened milk and sugar heated up. It’s like a super creamy awesome caramel. Plus, if you cook it a little longer, you end up with chewy caramel candies. Oh heaven. I was ready to conquer this bitch.

Oh wait. I’m lactose intolerant. Bring in the sad trombones. Waah waah.

NBD. Google to the rescue. Found: One awesome, amazing, easy recipe for dulce de leche WITH BOURBON (extra bonus!) that your friends probably won’t even realize is vegan. Result: Jar of sweet goodness to spread on bread, apples, and baked goods … that is if you can actually stop eating it straight from the jar.

The trick with this recipe comes in the cooking time after  you add the salt and confectioners sugar. (That’s powdered sugar, FYI. Make the mistake of using regular sugar instead of confectioners sugar once, and you won’t make it again. Swear.) If you want the dulce de leche to be a smooth pourable sauce consistency, cook it for less time here, about 10 minutes. If you want more of a candy consistency, cook for 15 to 20 minutes.

Oh yeah, and use a bigger pan than you think you’ll need. You don’t want this business boiling over and into your burner. This will only cause fires the next morning when you make your oatmeal.

So, let’s go! Indulge in fall-time combinations!

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That Really Deep Hole That’s Filled With Apple Crisp

Posted in autumn, babies, food, relationships, the blues by

Yesterday was hard. The first week Michael was gone was hard. I cried a lot. It was kind of like going through a break up all over again, but this time I had a kind and wonderful supportive boy to comfort me, instead of one to feed me crap lines like “this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” (What’s up with that anyway? I heard someone say that on TV, ahem Dawson’s Creek, today, and thought why do people say that? If this was really the hardest thing you’d ever done, would you be doing it?) So I sat around feeling sad for a week.

Then things got better. They just…did. Nothing in my life changed. Mike is still in another country. I’m still here, my life sort of on hold, sharing my bed with two girls (sexy, no?).But things got better.

Then yesterday hit. Like a fucking bag of bricks.

Yesterday the Jew in me welcomed the new year. Shana Tova! This year for the first time the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah were filled with anticipation, the kind you feel before Christmas. I think this has to do with the fact that I work at a Jewish organization now. The office was filled with people wishing each other Shana Tova, discussing holiday plans and meals, and talking about what they would do with their two days off. That’s right, I didn’t work yesterday or today. I couldn’t wait to spend the days contemplating the last year and looking forward to the new one. But then I spent Monday alone. Which would have been fine, but alone means lonely these days, too. And what with the holiday and all and the condescending little prick of a college “super senior” who sat down next to me at services, I just couldn’t handle the aloneness.

Now, I am not even here to complain. Guys, I’ve got it damn good. I don’t have to hide my religion, I get to celebrate it freely. I have a loving and loyal boyfriend who, despite living far away, gives me confidence in our relationship every day. I just. Fell. Into one of those huge holes, the kind where the bottom is really far away from the top, even though you can see the top, the bright blue sky, clearly. You just cannot climb out of that damn hole.

So you sit in there at the bottom and you wallow. Oh man, does wallowing feel good sometimes, right? And you wonder how you are a functioning adult and how you manage to get out of bed in the morning. And then you move to the wallowing part where you wonder why you don’t have kids yet. And just because you haven’t been having unprotected sex and pumping small humans out of your vagina doesn’t mean you haven’t been busy. And then you imagine what you’ll say next time someone asks you, “So what’s new? How’s it going” You’ll say, “well, i got out of bed today, and i’m much more self-aware, and i haven’t cried yet today,” or something equally brutally honest like that.

So whatever. I had the world’s saddest wallow-fest at the bottom of a big hole. The end only came after I had sat in the bathroom and cried, big hysterical ridiculous gaspy cries, for 15 minutes. Then I was suddenly near the top of the hole. Sometimes it just takes a good cry, right?

Sometimes it takes a good cry and a good apple crisp.

I haven’t indulged in making baked goods in awhile. Trying to, you know, keep that cholesterol down by avoiding butter. But suddenly I just had to. I turned to my Joy the Baker Cookbook, the chapter called “i need a hug, or a brownie. maybe both.”  I have this bowl overflowing with apples from the farmer’s market. Lola Kitty was suspicious at first.

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Then I turned the apples into an amazing crisp. Lola Kitty approved.

This crisp is more or less like an apple pie without the slightly time-consuming crust. (Even I will admit that a crust can be a hassle when all you want is some buttery comfort.) It bakes up nice and cinnamon and sugary with a crispy, slightly oaty topping. And it’s called “man bait” apple crisp. And as I stood in my kitchen blending butter, flour, and sugars together with my hands, I sighed. This is right. This feels so good. Thank God for butter and sugar.

So, maybe you’re in a hole. Maybe you need to catch yourself a man. Maybe you have too many apples from the farmer’s market. Make this dang apple crisp. And watch Joy make it in St. Louis in this video JTB apple crisp.

Things get a little weird. Obvs. We’re talking about Joy. Though she does have the talk show host “sewn up” …. and there’s even a Ghost reenactment. This is why I love Joy. She’s hilarious and weird and normal and lovely, and that’s how she is in real life. I met her.

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This or That … Chocolate(vegan) Cupcakes

Posted in food, life, Mira, vegetarian by

This is a face I am certain about. This Mira, I know, it’s an easy decision. I don’t waver. It’s never, “Should I love this dog or not?” It probably has something to do with those ridiculous eyes.

With most everything else in life I am a very indecisive person. I sit on the fence a lot. Doesn’t that sound painful? Who even came up with that phrase? I want to be more decisive just so I don’t have a fence up my butt.

Anyway.

I like to have things both ways, because most of the time I can’t decide which way is best, tastiest, most advantageous. For instance, would I want to make my home in the city or the country?

Right now my home is in the city. I’m 10-15 minutes from great restaurants, a grocery, the cleaners, parks and museums, the highway … When I say I’m going to run to the store, I mean I will be there and back within twenty minutes if I know exactly what I want (which, let’s be honest, rarely happens). I can ride my bike to the farmers market.

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I love living in a neighborhood. It’s got character. I smile at people as I walk the dog along the tree-lined sidewalk. We gossip about the yard work the couple up the street is doing, and we curse the damn lady who walks her dog without a leash.

At the same time, I crave long and quiet roads, houses with huge yards, big inky black night skies filled with endless stars. I think this side of me stems from camp in the mountains tucked away in a stoplight-less town of Tuxedo. I want to sit in my house with the windows open and not hear cars drive by. I want to not have to close my curtains at night to block out the street lights.

Biking north of the city with friends.

This or that?

I’d like to be a vegetarian, to make that commitment, that decision. I don’t love meat (besides bacon, oh dear God), and I am sure OK with eating lots of vegetarian foods, such as tofu, beans, lentils, and vegetables. I just can’t make the decision. Because what if it’s wrong? What if one day I want a burger? What if one day I want to run to the grocery five minutes away to get a pound of chicken salad? (I may or may not have done that this weekend.) So I go back and forth. I rarely cook meat in the house. Chicken or fish, the occasional beef. I only buy meat when I know how and where it’s been raised. Then I feel better about eating it. Always in moderation. Does that make me a semi-vegetarian?

This or that?

If making decisions was as easy as eating these chocolate(vegan) cupcakes, then I’d have bought a house somewhere totes rad and would be a super vegetarian.

Yeah, they’re vegan. That means no eggs, no butter, no  milk. That means in my mind kinda healthier. That means in my mind that I am being a vegan for the two minutes it takes me to eat one of these. So I feel good. Like I’ve made a good decision.

Now, don’t expect these cupcakes to taste like regular chocolate cupcakes. They don’t quite. The texture is all around different, and that’s not a bad thing. They’ll stay tasty and edible for a week before they start to dry out/get weird. And they have a secret ingredient in them—avocado! I’ve made them a couple of times for audiences of mixed varieties, and everyone has enjoyed them.

My advice? Make the decision to make these for the vegan in your life who can commit to a lifestyle, the on-the-fencer who wishes she could commit to a meatless life, and the lover of all things non-alternative who you think should branch out. They’ll all love these cupcakes.

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Worrying.

Posted in life by

I’ve always been a worrier. I think it runs in my family. During my camp counselor years I drove down to North Carolina each summer by myself. My mom, the never-ending worrier, made me call her every hour. My dad, he calls himself a Jewish mother. Jewish mothers stereotypically worry. A lot.

Worrying can vary. It can be picturing the worst thing that could happen. The dog unexpectedly jumping into the road and getting hit by a car. The house catching on fire. Planes with loved ones aboard crashing. (When Michael went to Sweden in June I stayed up all night following his plane on my Kayak flight tracker app. The plane stopped moving around Greenland. Let’s not talk about what went through my brain. Turns out Kayak won’t track planes in international waters.)

Worrying can also manifest itself in anxiety, in panic attacks. These can pop up at any time. Small and insignificant things can turn into huge chest-tightening, breath-shortening, mind-overtaking worries. They whirl around in your head until you are convinced they will cause the destruction of the world, until you are worked up into such a state that it takes a miracle to bring you down.

Notice something? These worries, they’re not real. I mean, they’re real, but not to the monumental state I make them. I’m really good at making my worries into mountains. You know what made me realize this? A silly sign on Pinterest.

 

I don’t want the things that I worry about to come true. I don’t want to worry. So why do I? No one in their right mind would pray for something they don’t want. So why do I blow my worries out of proportion? Next time I start to worry I’m going to remind myself of this poster, and I’m going to pray for something I do want instead of worrying for something I hope to never happen.

Love.

Posted in music, relationships by

 

I’m certainly no expert on love. Who is, really? I do know what not love is, the platonic variety and the passionate lustful variety. Maybe you don’t know what love is until you thought you had it and then you realize you were wrong wrong wrong. Love does not betray you.

It sets you free!

Those Mumford and Sons, they know, I think. Their music sets me free, so I suppose I love them, right? Yes.

They totes inspire me, and as such, I like their new single. “I Will Wait.” I sure will wait, I’ll wait for you. Hey, that’s what love is!

 

Fun.

Posted in music, summer by

We Are Young, Fun. You’ve probably heard this song if you’ve had the radio on for more than five minutes this summer. It’s gotten so much air time that I dare say it’s been over-played. But that doesn’t stop me from singing at the top of my lungs every time I hear it, or even purposefully looking it up on YouTube on my drive home so I can rock with the windows open.

This song beeped onto my radar awhile ago actually. Maybe like late fall of last year. I was immediately struck by how the chorus sounds like an anthem, this wild declaration, “Toniiiiiight, we are young. So let’s set the world on fire, we can burn brighter than the sun!” Can’t you just hear bars full of college students joining in song together, their Bud Lights raised in the air? I make Fun., but like I said, I love it.

In case you’ve been under a rock for the last few months (it’s OK, don’t feel ashamed, sometimes I, too, live under a rock called I hate the radio and pop music.), here’s the video, which actually really makes me uncomfortable. Why is everything in slow motion?!

Then one day, I branched out from this one song. I typed Fun. into Spotify and lo and behold! This band has two albums! And they’re all bright and fun and poppy without being annoying. They lyrics actually say something. I can listen to these songs over and over. Let’s not even talk about what happens when you create a Pandora station based on Fun.

One of my faves from their album Aim and Ignite is Light a Roman Candle With Me. It’s sweet, and when I first heard it, I pictured a couple walking down a grassy lane, hands entwined, arms swinging. Upon closer listen I realized it wasn’t this idealistic song, much more realistic in fact. Give the two of us, give this thing, a chance, and maybe it’ll work out. You never know until you light the roman candle and let it fly.

Listen to some Fun. this weekend. It’d go well with cookouts, day or night drinking, dancing in the kitchen, bike riding, state fair going, summertiming in general.