Wednesday, April 25, 2012

I LOVE getting comments.  Love it.
I have been dubbed a praise whore, a characterization of me I welcome lovingly.
For whatever reason, I'm sure a good hour on a leather couch below floor to ceiling windows,
a psychologist rapping his pen against his gargantuan binder of my life,
would say I have issues.
Issues that stem from childhood, not enough of something, too much of another. . .
Whatever.  Who doesn't like being told they're awesome?  Fantastic?
How invigorating and exciting can it be sometimes to get a comment, or a 'like' on your FB page, or a new 'friend'?  It FUELS us some days.
Keeping us ever at the mercy of our news feed, twitter accounts, emails.
GEEZ!  Our childrens' lives THRIVE on those messages.  Every day!
"Good Job!  Nice Work!  Way to go!  Oh my gosh, honey, I'm SO impressed!"
It's like a big, fat hug to their little ego's every time.
Well?  Ours too!
Those kind words encourage, motivate and propel you to keep kickin' out more of the same, to get better and try harder.
So, to those who leave comments on my blog?
All two of you?  Thank you.  I love it.
And honestly, it's not 'praise' I'm looking for, 
it's connection.
I love people.  Have you heard?:)  And connecting to them.
Even if we're ends-of-the-earth opposites, there's SO much to be learned from each others' stories.
My blog, although started as my own personal leather couch (rather than rambling to a shrink,)
was started to sort things out, and yes, occasionally plug for my biz.
But it is also MY story.  One that very openly shares where I'm at in my life as a mother, a wife, a woman yearning for more.
So, that being said, comment away.  Please.
(And if you can't leave one here. . .think there's been issues with that, leave one on FB.) 
I LOVE knowing that what I write, no matter how personal or totally obnoxious,
is relateable.  Or at least thought-provoking.  Maybe even inspiring and enlightening!
But I'll gladly settle for reaffirming.  Reaffirming YOUR life story,
that although we're all VERY different, we're all connected.

It is spring, after all.  A time for rejuvenation.  Out with the old, in with the. . .well, improved.
In Minnesota, 'tis the season for the sweet, smelling lilacs,
rain. . .some more rain, temperatures trying to sort out what season they want, as we swap out the already-worn flip flops for snow boots and jackets we hastily put away.  (Damn you, April Snow.)
Apple blossoms,
the time of year where even dandelion bouquets become magical.
rhubarb crisp. . .
As I sauntered (o.k.  schlepped,) by the fresh stalks of rhubarb at the grocery store, I proclaimed, "And I WILL MAKE RHUBARB CRISP!"  (Oh.  And then take pictures and blog about it.)
Not just any.  My girl.  Ina.  Who, if you've been reading, must know I have a mild infatuation with.  I try to keep it under wraps, in the off chance I get to meet her someday, so she won't recognize me as her crazy stalker from MN.  But who's home in the Hampton's I dream of visiting and inviting myself in to, only to arrive and put Jeffrey in a headlock and snuggle on the couch with Ina, our hands warmed by her coffee mugs, her homemade rhubarb crisp baking in the oven.  Aaaahhh....
 Anywho, rhubarb crisp.  Kinda' tasting like Fall, but so ready for summer.
 Stir that stuff.
(4 C 1" diced rhubarb, 4 C halved strawberries, 3/4 C sugar, 1 1/2 tsp orange zest, 1 Tbs cornstarch dissolved in 1/2 C fresh squeezed OJ.  Put in to 8X11 baking dish.)
 Sure.  Go ahead.  Sniff the orange.
Write down some scribbles and pretend you're writing real words.
(Of course, before you paddle 1 C flour, 1/2 C sugar, 1/2 C brown sugar, 1/2 tsp kosher salt and 1 C GOOD oatmeal.  Not instant stuff.  Mixing on low, add 1 1/2 sticks cold, unsalted, diced butter until it becomes crumbles.  Sprinkle that nonsense all over fruit.
Bake 350 for an hour until bubbling.
Wait. . .
 Wait for it. . .
She doesn't look like much, but oh my. . .
Throw some vanilla bean on that, and it's a party in your mouth.
With soothing rhubarb in your tummy,
a sigh of happiness and all that spring is,
Lazy little bodies who's clocks (thank you, Jesus,) have finally readjusted,
for the late summer nights outside, slow sleepy mornings in.
Breakfast in front of the t.v. because. . .why not?
(Practicing for summer.)
Dancin' in the street.
Growing up.
Kicking those training wheels to the curb for more freedom.
As we kill off the remaining legs of the nasty cold virus that's been hanging around,
with Ina's homemade chicken soup. . .and beer.
 we eagerly await summer.
 Charlie eagerly awaits a bath and a bowl of something else.

(Thank you Kelly Z., Sherry for your recent comments.  P.S.  Kelly, it wasn't Charlie.  And to Janay, if you're still reading, thank you for the coolest email I've ever gotten!  Hope you're not getting bored.:)


Kim said...

I read your latest blog at work this morning. I always throw my ear buds in because your music always inspires me or makes me find a new music love (bon iver!!!) so it is a slow day and I keep listening as I answer about 500 emails and "hallelujah" by JT and friends comes on. That song takes my breath away--makes me cry, haunts me and a million other emotions all at once. I can't put my finger on it, but whenever I hear it I completely shut down and have to listen and listen and listen. Three times in a row. thanks :)

Unknown said...

Hoping this will FUEL you. I love your blog. I'm a regular visitor. Great work as always :)

Unknown said...

Hey I'm Katie, I found your blog by accident! But I love it your blog reminds me of my family( I have a little brother and our family is never bored lol)!That rhubarb crisp I think I might make it myself!!

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