A personal advent season. [Part 1]

Although Advent hasn't technically started yet (though it's really close!), it seems as though God has already begun preparing my heart for the season.

My family celebrated Advent with our own little family traditions every year.  Every night for dinner in the month of December we'd play a Christmas CD from our collection, light a purple or pink Advent candle representing each week of Advent, and then listened to my dad read a little devotional about some aspect of your typical Christian Christmas story - something about Mary and Joseph, or the angels, or the shepherds, etc.  It was probably our most consistent family tradition and was always one of my favorites as it helped me anticipate the coming of Christ by focusing on the true meaning of Christmas beyond the presents and cards and such.

But this year, I've begun to see how the season of Advent is so much more than the star of Bethlehem, King Herod, the wise men, and baby Jesus in a manger.

The wheels started turning when the pastor of my church here in Rochester off-handedly shared during a conversation around Advent in adult Christian Ed that a typical sermon topic preachers would speak on for the first week of Advent would be an eschatological message.

I did a double-take because that was certainly not true of my experience thus far.  A message on the end times during Advent?  It made no sense to me.  But as our church was finishing up the book of 2 Kings, the more we started to connect the dots, and the more I started to understand.

Our church spent the whole year going through 1 & 2 Kings.  One of the things I like and appreciate about our church is the approach of how we journey through the Bible.  On a typical Sunday after worship service, we'll spend an hour (called Adult Christian Ed) digging into next week's passage and discussing our observations and questions as a group.  At the end of Christian Ed, our pastor encourages us to use that same passage we just discussed in our devotional time throughout the week - reading through it several more times, memorizing a verse or two, praying through it, etc., so that we can go deeper into the passage and see what God may bring to the surface for us as individuals.  Then our pastor preaches on the passage the following Sunday.

So as you can imagine, we've spent a whole lot of time learning about the many kings of Israel and Judah, and by connecting one passage after another, I've gained a broader understanding of the history, the decisions kings made, the circumstances around those decisions, the consequences of their leadership, and the people with whom God made covenant promises.  We've made connections to the books of the prophets of their time, as well as the New Testament, tried to understand how the people receiving these words at the time would hear them, and scratched the surface of how these things could possibly tie to us today.

Obviously, to go into all the things I've been learning, it would take a lot more than one blog post.  So I'll just share a little bit about the end of 2 Kings:  everything is a mess.  The northern kingdom has already fallen, and people of the southern kingdom of Judah finally collapse under the Babylonian rule or flee to Egypt - the land God had promised to His people seems to be lost forever, and God does not even make an appearance in the passage.  There's this sense of great depression, loss, disappointment, and sadness.

But, at the same time, it's not exactly where 2 Kings ends.  In the midst of death and destruction, it ends with the release and survival of Jehoiachin, previous King of Judah.  But he's not just any king - he carries on the line of King David, the same line from which Jesus is eventually born many years later.

Making some of those connections have given me a deeper understanding of the season of Advent.  Sure, Mary and Joseph's stories are important, of course, but the anticipation of the coming of Jesus doesn't stem out of this great period of happiness or assurance.  Instead, Advent is during a great period of darkness,  silence, and uncertainty; a season of desperately holding on to the Hope that is to come when it seems easier to give in to hopelessness.

More on this in another post.

Desert ground.

I've learned many important things about marriage before I actually got married.  One of those things was that getting married doesn't erase the loneliness in your life.  It makes sense - the marriage of two people means the marriage of two sinful people who live in a sinful world.  And while Jesus is our ultimate source of comfort and joy, it doesn't mean you won't ever feel lonely.

This year was a pretty rough one, in that every area of my life was in transition, change, and in some cases, chaos.  But in the invisible and subtle ways that God often works, He pulled me through.  I don't really know how He did (though I'm pretty sure having Nathan in my life had something to do with it), and I'm still having trouble connecting with God and experiencing His presence in my life this year, but I feel like the storm has passed for the time being.  It still has its effects, but that's a whole different story.

Though, as I've been reflecting on my lack of best friends, mourning the loss of community, and chewing through the time and effort it takes to build a new one, I think I'm beginning to feel a sense of loneliness sink in for the first time.  I think part of what evoked it is from the fact that I'm in NYC without Pam or my dad around, and Nathan is away hiking the Appalachian Trail for a few days in radio silence.  Some of it just comes out of the basic desire for someone to take initiative with me - to be excited that I was in NYC and express desire to spend time with me without me having to fish for it.

From there, my loneliness manifests itself just from thinking - wondering whether or not I make some difference in the world and if I really matter to people besides those who are kind of obligated to love me (aka, my family and Nathan).   Or what my life would look like if I didn't work for InterVarsity, having some pretty stellar colleagues who are there for me simply through the circumstances that we work together.  Even though in movies it's always inspiring and sweet when something tragic happens to someone and they discover all of these people who come flocking to them with encouragement and support, I don't want to wait for something tragic to happen to me to find out who really cares.

It sounds pretty emo when I read that.  But I think it feels like because I've moved out of Rochester, I've moved out of people's lives.  It feels like it has caused a chasm in physical distance and relational distance, and no one really wants to make the effort to reach across it, even just to meet me halfway.  There's this hunger in me to go deeper with others; not necessarily to debate things like political views, theological beliefs, or the weaknesses of this generation; but instead to listen to others' struggles, character flaws, or mistakes, and to be able to share mine.  I want to be one of the first ones they think of to share some joyful piece of news, and vice versa; simply so that we could be there for each other.  

My first Easter as a married woman.

We celebrated Easter in Binghamton, work has been kicking our butts, and I've got that "Ho Hey" song stuck in my head.  Okay, that last one was more of a random, unimportant thought to share.  Still, there are a lot of thoughts to unpack, but since I'm a big fan of linear thinking, we'll go in the order I've said them.

Nathan and I did indeed celebrate our first Easter as a married couple in our alma mater town.  Most of our friends there assumed we were on our way down to NYC or were passing through Binghamton on our return home to Rochester.  But neither were true.  The original plan was always Rochester-to-Binghamton, Binghamton-back-to-Rochester.  

Ironically, Easter was never a big thing to celebrate in my community growing up.  I say, 'ironically,' because as Christians, it should be one of our biggest celebrations of the year.  Very arguably bigger than Christmas.  It's the day we recognize Jesus's power to conquer death, the penalty he took on himself though we deserved it.  Declaring, "Christ is risen!" and, "Alleluia!" doesn't even seem to capture the magnitude of awe for what Christ has done.

But I don't have many childhood memories of making Easter a big deal.  My family didn't get together to have a special meal, and my church would maybe sing some special songs and put white, smelly lilies at the foot of the sanctuary podium.  Besides those few things and my Sunday School teacher saying, "Happy Resurrection Sunday!" to everyone he passed by, Easter more often than not didn't feel very different from any other Sunday.  And it's only within the past several years where I actually began to care enough to notice and grew a desire to do something about it.  

Now, even though I come from an Asian American Christian background/community, I can't assume or blatantly generalize that we're not joyful or that the way we express it is simply wrong (I can rant about the ideas I have for ways the Asian American Christian community could celebrate Easter in a special way without losing or diminishing our Asian American culture, but that's a post I've already done somewhat and can continue at another time).  Instead, my desire comes from a place of wanting to partake in a corporate celebration that expresses deep, gracious joy in a way that's special from ordinary days but isn't so completely different that it distracts me from the true focus. 

Visiting Binghamton was a great opportunity to fulfill this desire.  Last year, Nathan attended the Anglican Church of the Good Shepherd's (a church we've been to several times because some of our friends go there) Easter Vigil and Sunday Easter Service and joined the MacQuarrie family (InterVarsity volunteers) Easter dinner as well.  Nathan's love and appreciation of worship through liturgy (as well as the pastor's teaching), and the notorious chaos of the MacQuarrie family get-togethers had won him over so much that he asked me if we could go back this year.  Although my introverted side of me cringed a little, the idea of visiting friends and celebrating Easter in a new way immediately outweighed any of my hesitations.    

There are so many thoughts I could share from this great weekend (though it had its hiccups as well), but since it's the end of Easter weekend I'll share one thing that struck me during the Easter service sermon:

I am like the women who went to Jesus' tomb with embalming spices.  Like them, I have been following Jesus for a long time.  Like them, I know His promises in my head.  And I've tried and tried and tried to jump-start this knowledge as felt reality.  But this year it's been hard to feel His presence.  And as this year has gone on, it has gotten harder to believe His promises.  As I said earlier, ministry work has been kicking my butt - and when your husband's ministry work is also kicking his butt, and you're adjusting to married life with someone who's almost your complete opposite while also trying to develop solid community from scratch in the post-grad world, it can take a toll on your already waning relationship with Jesus.  I began to mourn the loss of my relationship with Jesus the way the women were convinced Jesus was not coming back. 

But today, while there was no bursting whoop-de-doo moment or tear-jerking movement, Jesus has reminded me of His hope.  I was faced with the reality that Jesus' promises are not grounded in the strength of my emotive will.  Today, Jesus has filled my empty heart with true joy despite my circumstances.  And though I've heard the Easter story over and over again many times, today Jesus gave me a fresh glimpse of the fullness of his conquer over the grave.  Alleluia, alleluia!

With Barb MacQuarrie's, "Once you have a seat at our table, there'll always be a seat for you," comment, it looks like Nathan and I have a new Easter celebration tradition to partake in that I will certainly look forward to each year.

Family shenanigans.

Ever since my time in college, spending time with my family sometimes made me feel out of place.  In college, time passed, and I changed immensely.  With my family, though, time passed and things either didn't change or changed very, very slowly - including the way my family viewed who I am.  More often than not, I've had a difficult time trying to reconcile who I was and who I was becoming.  It often felt like when I left for college I had begun to grow out of my shell, but every time I came back home I had to squish myself back into the old shell I had outgrown...and no one would seem to notice or treat me otherwise.  It's not meant to be an entirely negative thing - it's not like I felt neglected or unloved, or anything.  Just a little out of place, awkward, or not really knowing how to navigate the space anymore.

But having my family visit me and Nathan in Rochester this past weekend was extremely refreshing.  And I think a big reason for that is because it felt like I wasn't just introducing my family to my new home and new life, but I was introducing my family to my new shell.  This is who I am becoming.  Welcome to the space of new life I've been creating for a while now.  Here's a taste of what I value, what I enjoy, what decisions I've made and why.  What God's been doing in me.

And it was exciting because they seemed to like it all.  We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit!  We talked about life, we were silly, we ate good food and had a lot of fun.  I got to show them where I work, where I like to eat, where we live.  Maybe it was exciting because I somehow felt that if they liked Rochester, then it was them saying they liked and accepted the new me I was becoming.

Of course, there are still things we're learning about our new family dynamics of me no longer living in their house, being married, and having a whole different kind of life.  There definitely were some minor tensions from time to time.  But considering the relational turmoil we've undergone this past year, it's a beautiful new beginning that makes me rather happy.  I know it'll take time for things between us to continue new growth, but seeing the hope I was hanging on to actually come to life is enough to keep me content for a while.

Christmas cheer.

There were a few years when I was little, when my dad would use these pre-made paper links to celebrate Advent with me and my family.  Each night in December after dinner, we'd read the little blurb about an aspect of the Christmas story on one side of the paper strip and then would do the word puzzle together on the back side before my dad would lick the adhesive end to add to our paper chain that we hung on our real Christmas tree.  I absolutely loved that tradition of Advent celebration, but we only did it for a few years (I think the company where my dad ordered the paper strips from stopped making them) and Christmas just hasn't been the same for me since then.  We'd still light our Advent candles each day, adding a new one for each week, and my dad would go through some Advent booklet, but I longed for something more creative and exciting and fun.

Even though I do think the materialistic hubbub, shopping dash and overly-done crazy Christmas stuff can be a bit over-the-top and isn't the real meaning of Christmas, I still love the Christmas season and the things that come with it.  I love the decorating process, real Christmas trees, 24-7 Christmas music radio stations, and learning about people's quirky family traditions while enjoying my own.

This is the first year I won't be spending Christmas with my family.  This is also the first year where I felt like I had a chance to really be free in getting my creative juices flowing to start my own quirky family traditions, go all out with Christmas decorations, and celebrate the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ in creative ways.  But November was quite a crazy month of emotional roller coasters, which made focusing on preparing for Christmas season the last thing on my mind.  And with so much traveling and planning for work these past few weeks, the most I've done this season is put up a Christmas wreath on our apartment door, set up a nice nativity scene on our windowsill, and sometimes listen to Christmas music on Pandora all day.  Nathan and I thought it would be silly to get a real Christmas tree since we wouldn't be home for most of the month.  Things went by too fast for me to think about sending any Christmas cards or gifts for friends, family and co-workers, and I haven't even baked anything.

Thinking and lamenting over how I haven't done anything for Christmas has got me thinking of some ideas for next year.  For example, we don't have many Christmas decorations (though we did get some as wedding gifts from some pretty brilliant friends!), but I was thinking maybe there would be some after-Christmas sales that Nathan and I could catch (hopefully there will still be sales after Urbana!).  Also, I got this other idea (initially as a joke) for if I know Nathan and I will be traveling a lot during December for work and visiting  family next year, maybe we can get one of those little Charlie-Brown-Christmas type Christmas trees to keep when we're home and to bring with us when we're traveling.  Portable Christmas tree?  That'd be a quirky tradition :)

Anyway, sorry about the lack of spreading Christmas cheer from the Bixlers.  Hopefully we'll be in a better place to do so next year!

I've forgotten how to make friends.

There are not many things I expected or clearly wanted in a "potential husband."  I didn't create this customized soul mate for myself in my head because I knew "the one" didn't exist.  However, one of the few things I whole-heartedly (and still do) believed was that it was possible and it was okay to want my husband to be my best friend.  And friendships don't just pop out of nowhere - they need to grow and mature if you nourish them and let them go through trials.  That's how I concluded that if I were to enter a dating relationship (which, from my perspective, is for the purpose of working towards marriage), it would stem out of a solid and somewhat deep friendship I had with a brother in Christ.

And that's exactly what happened.  But I think Nathan and I did a pretty good job making it clear while we were dating that we weren't going to be each other's entire world.  We knew our significant other wasn't going to fill our emptiness, meet our every need, or make us never feel lonely again.  Other people are very important to me.  Friends and those in need were my top priority for most of my life, and a boy wasn't going to come in and mess that up. I've always needed and wanted different circles of friends, and because of this, I knew that that aspect of moving to Rochester was going to be difficult and that being married wouldn't be enough.

I don't have any friends here.  I'd like to make some.  The only problem is, I've practically forgotten how to make friends.  During my college years I was more often than not surrounded by people I knew, and even if there were new friends to be made, I made them together with my home base of friends there with me.  Nowadays I get shy or just don't open up as easily or quickly because it feels so new.  And I don't have a solid base of friends to retreat to when new relationships don't quite hit it off the way I'd hoped.

This old feeling has returned where I feel like I'm barely hanging on to my relationships from back home.  Ever since my college years I've always found it very difficult for me to develop my relationships with those who weren't within my immediately community.  It becomes a nasty tug-of-war within myself because it takes a lot of work to develop my immediate community around me, and it takes a lot of work to develop the community I grew up with, and finding a balance is like walking through some thick, pitch-dark woods without a flashlight or anything else to survive the night with.

I want my friends and family back home to know how important they are to me and how much I want to be there for them, but I know that I can't be there for them the same way I could if I was living near them.  Maybe it's been like this for a while or it's a long time coming, but the reality that I'm not going to be the first person anyone would call for help or advice has been sinking in.  No one's going to expect me to comfort them through this difficult time they're going through and ask me to pray for them right now.  I'm not going to be asked for my opinion about which color to paint their room or if they could borrow one of my dresses.  No one's going to say, "I'm so glad you picked up your phone because I really needed to talk to you."  I'm not going to be at the forefront of people's minds because the reality is that people are busy, I'm not in a dire situation (like a soldier or missionary serving overseas), and I'm not by myself.  I'm married now.

Well, I got what I asked for: my husband is my best friend.  It just never sunk in as to how, after gaining this best friend of a husband, moving to Rochester would be at the cost of so many other relationships.  The rubber has begun to meet the road where I'm working through the losses of stepping out of a community that has loved me, encouraged me, and supported me for many, many years. 

I've been thinking and blogging a lot lately about the concept of living a good story.  And as I wrestle within the tensions of moving to the fringe of one community and what it means to move deeper into another, it forces me to think about the God I serve - the God who calls us to develop and steward community as we go to the places God leads us.  The move to Rochester is a threshold I'm forced to make a decision about:  I can either constantly look back over my shoulder at what could've or should've been, or I can look forward to the opportunities I have before me to live a better story.  So I'm choosing to embrace the new stories and relationships God invites me to participate in and I'm looking forward to sharing these stories with those in both the community of my past and the community of my future.

The origins of a writer.

In the middle of the week of NYCUP's Spring Break Plunge, we watched the documentary Waiting For Superman, which talked about the brokenness of the education system by following the stories of a few children trying to get into charter schools.  I was excited to watch it because it's one of Pam's favorite documentaries and she has been encouraging me to watch it for a few years now.  I was surprised to find that it was actually pretty similar to The Lottery, a documentary on the education that we had watched at last year's NYCUP.  But one of the things I appreciated the most about Waiting For Superman were the little animations that visually further explained the breadth and depth of the systems and concepts.

By the end of the film I was shaken.  What in great heavens could I possibly do to be a part of restoring this extremely broken system?  The issues were so complex and so deeply ingrained in our nation that it seemed impossible to tackle or even make a dent.

But as these question marks of anxiety and worry swirled in my mind, Jonathan Walton called us to a time of prayer.  He reminded us that our God is bigger than this vast issue - He is sovereign.  Jon called us to pray and praise God for the ways we had been blessed - for the people who invested in our education, for those who made sacrifices on our behalf and those who believed in us.

My mind was blown by the deeper understanding of how great our God really is.  This issue was no surprise to our mighty Lord.

So as we started praying, I started counting some of the many ways God had blessed me over the years.  I realized how I managed to have such a good slate of teachers growing up, but as we prayed I focused particularly on one teacher and my parents.

A note I wrote to myself at the beginning of 5th grade.

Even though have many reasons to be grateful for my parents, I thanked God specifically for parents that really taught me to think outside the box and strive to go beyond what's expected of me.  Bringing me up that way really set a foundation for my inclination towards creative problem solving, crafty projects, optimistic/hopeful outlook on life, and encouragement towards others to do the same.

I give credit to them for instilling that in me in such a way that gave birth to my love of creative writing.  You know how in elementary school you'd get a list of spelling words and for homework you'd have to make sentences out of each of them?  I think I didn't really enjoy the assignment because it seemed boring.  A single sentence doesn't tell all that much.

My first recorded story made out of spelling words.  What a terrible story. ..and terrible grammar.

I don't know where the idea exactly came from, but one day in the fifth grade (I guess, since I don't have any previous record) I decided it would be more fun to write a story out of my spelling words.  It was obviously a little harder because now not only did I have to come up with one sentence, but I had to come up with extras in order to put the sentences together to make sense and flow together in a story structure (not that I necessarily consciously thought about these difficult factors).

All right, there's some improvement here.

I don't know if I asked my teacher for permission or I just did it and continued doing it ever since she approved it.  There were definitely a few times where I was too lazy and just wrote single sentences.  But for the most part my spelling notebook was filled with random stories built with spelling words as the blocks.  I think this was around the time where I started gaining more interest in not just reading stories, but creating my own...and not because it was some homework assignment.

Look at that, I wrote a terrible poem with my spelling words!

Even though I had all really great elementary teachers, I particularly praised God for my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Hamilton (I wrote a previous blog post about her here), simply because of the influence and impression she made in my life.  She was a tough teacher that clearly loved her students believed the very best in each of them.  She taught us how to take notes in a lecture setting (she literally read history textbooks to us and we had to take notes on everything because she would give us a quiz on it afterwards), taught us about the life cycle of a fruit fly, gave us 20 pages of math homework nearly every day, and made us memorize poems and recite them to her for a grade - even on the bus on our field trips.

A stanza from one of my favorite poems I had to memorize in the 4th grade -
I actually turned the first stanza  into a fun song to help me memorize it...
I still remember the tune!

When I was moving all of my stuff to Binghamton last summer, I found that I still had about 1/2 (maybe a little less) of the poems I had to recite in the 4th grade.  I'm really glad I found them but wonder where the other ones went.  But every time I look at these I think about how much Mrs. Hamilton believed in me and sacrificed her time to continue developing me and other students.  She gave up her lunch time to give us "advanced readers" more experience in reading books of a higher reading level.  It's where I fell in love with Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables when we read with the girls and read The Hobbit when we joined with the boys while we ate the mini chocolate bars she'd hand out before we got started.  It was definitely my favorite part of the day.

From my elementary school autograph book

I really believe Mrs. Hamilton inspired me and shaped my character at such a young age of my life that many of those things have become a part of who I am.  I probably should give her credit along with my parents for laying the foundations and tilling the soil of my love for writing and desire to create characters, worlds, and stories that people would be inspired to be a part of as they read.

I want all kids to have a chance of having good teachers like Mrs. Hamilton.  Where would we be without them?  I praise God so much for the wonderful education I've been given.  Our God is truly a great God.

My carpe diem disposition (Part Two).

Here are some of the ways this disposition plays out.

So at first this may sound a little morbid, but I actively try to be keenly aware that I may die today or tomorrow...in as healthy a way as I possibly can with the Spirit's guidance.  In many ways (though not always) I let it shape my decisions, my attitudes, and how I treat other people.  And like all disciplines, it's a process of progress that starts somewhere.

Sometimes when I get into a car (especially as a driver), or onto a plane, or cross a street, or walk into a building, or have a conversation with people, I ask myself, "If I were to die in an accident, or someone attacked me, or whatever natural circumstances happened that I would die right now/today/tomorrow, would I be able to stand before God and that to the best of my knowledge and control, say to Him that I have been obedient and faithful?  Would I be satisfied with the general direction of my life in big-picture ways and the way I'm responding in day-to-day situations?"*

It doesn't mean I let worry, anxiety, or fear of dying take over me in a way that drives me to a kind of behavior that does everything in my power to avoid the chance of death (i.e. staying home all the time instead of going out, not learning to drive, not traveling).  Nor does it mean I push hard to live a life of ultimate dreams and perfection every single day because I'm messed up, people are messed up, and the world is messed up.  I think both of those mentalities come from a sense of unreasonable pride and control that dismisses trust in God's sovereignty or the depth of God's grace.

There isn't a higher standard to live by but rather a different perspective to live by - I don't live as though I've got all the time in the world or that I have to have complete control over everyone and everything.  I have the freedom to get angry or upset or frustrated or stressed at someone or some situation, but I train myself to keep in mind the brevity of life, which reminds me not to develop bitterness in my heart, to address those conflicts (as small or large as they may be) without putting it off or avoiding them, and to extend and receive forgiveness and love.

And one more thing I've been reminded of recently that compounds this disposition is that as Christians, we are called to live faithfully, not "successfully" to Him.  We are not defined by our achievements or failures.  God's love, grace and mercy are not earned or changed by our efforts or what we produce.

Greg Jao came to speak a few weeks ago and he posed the question, "Would you rather your daughter live scared or scarred?"  And though I grew up in an environment and have a personality that is predisposed to live a scared life for myself and for my loved ones, I am choosing to live a life that may be scarred from the falls of taking risks.  It's not easy and I don't always joyfully choose it, but with God's help I desire to make the most of the opportunity I've been given to live another day.

*Footnote:  I don't really know how to phrase this question well.  On the one hand, I don't want to say, "Would I be satisfied with the way I lived out my life?" because I knew that I am an imperfect being living in an imperfect world I would never be fully satisfied with the way I lived out my life.  On the other hand I also don't want to say, "Would I be satisfied with the way I was striving to live out my life?" because it gives the sense that I was only trying or  dreaming but not really acting upon those things as if they were or could be the reality.  At the same time, there's also this complicated concept of "control" and how much control I have on my life and God has on my life in big things and small things, and where all those unknown factors come into play.  So really, that question is somewhere in the middle.  I just don't know how to phrase it well.

My carpe diem disposition (Part One).

So here it is:

Why should we have to wait for tragedy to strike too close to home before we're driven to live the life we would live if it was our last day on earth?

I've read enough of the Bible, have seen enough movies and tv shows and heard enough stories from strangers,  friends, and watching or reading the news to know that life is short.  As someone not directly connected to those stories or situations, we may respond with a moment of shock or horror, but I think to a certain extent we've become desensitized to this reality - especially for those of us, like myself, who tend to be pretty removed from these situations.

I don't know what it feels like to lose a loved one.  I can guess, I can imagine, I can try, but I honestly cannot deeply identify.  Emotionally I've lost some dear friends whose friendships I've cared deeply about, but it's a very different kind of experience.  In fact, the worst thing I could probably say to someone who lost a loved one is to say, "I totally understand," because that's a lie, and more often than not (though I can't assume everyone) people, especially if they're in a vulnerable and sensitive situations, do not appreciate being lied to.

Now, I'm not as well-read of a writer as people think I am (because of the assumptions associated with being a previous English major with a Creative Writing concentration and my general enjoyment of reading), and I'm not chock full of a ton of life experiences, but from my general (very general, I must emphasize) sense of the world, death changes the lives of those he or she had been connected to.  Whether people's lives were touched negatively or positively (and sometimes neutrally), they are changed when someone who was connected (even if only by a thread) their life is suddenly gone.

Often a basic storyline provides the sense that at first glance, death smothers the chance of hope.  It's often why I believe there's a sense of regret or guilt or sadness or anger from the one(s) still living - because they weren't satisfied with the way things were and now there is absolutely no chance for it to change.

But then the journey towards the climax and resolution of the story begins to unfold the truth that the character somehow does change - it may be a positive change or negative change, big or small, but it happens - and it happens in a way that makes one wonder if it would have happened if that death had not taken place.

The inspiring stories inspire us because of the positive impact they have and positive change they bring as a result of someone's life and death.  For some it is a life-changing inspiration, but for many of us it's a short boost of bliss to get us through another day.

So I've wrestled with this before and thought, "Well, I'm someone who keeps jumping on the bandwagon of bliss and then jumps off when life gets tough or the daily grind makes me forget.  Would my life look different if I knew I or someone I loved dearly was going to die today or tomorrow?  Heck yes.  My life would probably look better, in fact."

And then I'd ask myself, "Well, why should I have to wait until I or someone I care about comes close to death before I am driven to live the life I believe I want/should/need to live?"  It seemed like to me, the fact of the reality is that we come close to death everyday.  It's actually a miracle we get to wake up the next morning.

I heard this once (though I think worded a little differently):  we often ask God why people had to die, but we should really be praising God for His mercy and grace to let us live!  Think about these familiar lyrics:  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!  God is sovereign - He ultimately decides what to give and take away.

This is why uncovering my duplicity became so important to me and why I desire (though it doesn't always play out) to live an authentic life full of integrity and risks worthy to be taken.  In order to fight the disparity of saying I believe something and then not acting upon it, I've slowly been disciplining myself to undergo a lifestyle that reflects the life I would pursue if I had very little time left.  That discipline is why I wrestle with moving past my fears and strive, as difficult as it may be, not to be paralyzed by them.

I've shown this in a previous blog post (a LONG time ago), but I thought it was applicable enough to this particular post.

From cake rant to cake respect.

I must say, it is a rare occasion when I make a cake.  I enjoy baking in general, but I usually fall into the cookies-and-brownies category rather than the cake or cupcake one.  I think it's mainly because of the kind of persona I feel like they give off:  with most cakes and cupcakes, it's all about the decorations - frosting, candy, colors, you name it.  Not that I'm saying most cakes and cupcakes taste bad, but it feels like the pomp and circumstance is naturally more about the outside looks rather than the taste.  I enjoy the natural beauty of the way baked goods have built-in chewiness, crunchiness, or melt-in-your-mouth textures you experience when they come warm out of the oven.

Plus, with cupcakes, they're such fussy treats to eat (unless of course, you do it the Tuttle way).  And with cakes, I just personally have not found many cakes that I enjoy eating.  I do like cakes from Wegmans, but even with those maybe it's the naturally spongy and airy texture of cakes and their thick, heavy, frosting partners-in-crime that frustrate me.  And sometimes, cakes tend to be dry and the frosting is so overdone to try to make up for it that it makes you feel gross after you eat it...if you even get that far.  It's just likely that the dessert will look so delicious and pretty but when you bite into it, you're just disappointed every time.      

But I'm not a cake hater, I promise.  Here, I'll show you.

Chocolate ganache

Traditionally, in my family, someone (when we were younger, my mom; when we got older, Pam) would bake a chocolate frosted two-layered cake for us to celebrate my dad's birthday.  I think more often than not it's been the same recipe from a Hershey's cookbook that has a little coffee zing to it that's really good.  Nothing wrong with it.

But this year, probably because everyone in my family is working now and I happened to be in NYC for my dad's birthday, everyone had a part in putting together something for my dad's birthday and I was put in charge of the cake.    No problem, I thought to myself, I could spare a couple of hours.  And come on, it's my dad's birthday - how often have I had the chance to bake his wonderful cake?

So in choosing what kind of cake to make, I decided to deviate from tradition - but only a little bit.  I decided to attempt a two-layer chocolate cake, but since I knew my dad loved raspberry chocolate cakes, I'd do something along those lines.  I scoured our family recipes books and the world wide web for a simple chocolate raspberry cake recipe, but there wasn't any that really struck me as worthy to be baked.

Hooray for learning tricks from the internet!

So I decided to do what I've been more accustomed to doing ever since I moved into my apartment:  I improvised.  I don't improvise everything, but there will be a few things here and there that I'll do differently when I cook or bake, sometimes depending on how lazy I am, or what ingredients I'll have on hand.

This time, I decided to take a chocolate ganache cake recipe that I had tried last summer and was a huge hit, and adapted it.  I doubled the recipe and put the batter into two round cake pans instead of square pans, and bought a jar of raspberry preserves as a layer in the middle.  Then I made the chocolate ganache as the chocolate frosting.

Little did I know I was in for a quite a ride.  Part of the reason is just because that's how the cake-making process goes, but part of it is just because making this cake brought out a little of my perfectionist personality in me.

This is a cake you'd love to eat the scrapings of

For one, I didn't spray the cake pans with a cooking spray.  The pans seemed to be pretty non-stick, and I think (if my memory serves me right, although you and I know it often does not) the recipe said not to do so, so I figured I'd trust the recipe people.  But as a result, when I took the cakes out of the oven, I couldn't get them out of the pan.  And of course, with cakes, they need to come out cleanly, so I was obviously very worried when they didn't even budge.

No one was home (except my dad, go figure) and after coming up empty from scanning my memory files for any tips or tricks my mom might have taught me in the past, I turned to the one who always helps us during times likes these:  Google.  I googled something about cakes stuck in cake pans, but for the most part I came up with people saying things like, "line the cake pan with parchment paper," or, "make sure you butter the cake pan so that the cake comes out clean!" where I in turn said, "Hey, Google, I obviously wasn't smart enough to do this stuff in advance, so where are the answers for the people in a pickle that they can't go back and re-do?"

Frost yourselves! (Guess what movie I'm quoting from?)

Thankfully, Google came to the rescue.  Actually, it might have been Yahoo! Answers that saved the day - I don't really remember.  Some guy suggested holding the cake pans over and open flame of a stove for about 15-30 seconds and repeating that process until the cake comes out.  I decided to try it and at first it didn't seem to be working, but after I did it a number of times, it actually worked!  Well, for the most part.  I tried to show in the second set of pictures (above) that the first cake actually tore a little.  But that was because it was my attempt to get the cake out before trying this new method.  I was SO happy it worked though.

Then came the ganache and decorating stage.  Another big boo-boo I made was funky - when I melted the chocolate into the heavy cream for the ganache, I realized the mixture was super lumpy.  Then I realized I had used buttermilk instead of heavy cream.  Wa-wa.  I had to chop new chocolate and start the whole process again to get it right.

I love this chocolate cake recipe - the cake is so moist!  It's so moist and totally delicious on its own (without the ganache frosting) that I used the cake scrapings from the pan as crumb decorations for the top of the cake.  Waste not, want not, right?  I thought the crumbs would add a nice textured look to the smooth ganache frosting.

Chocolate ganache raspberry cake with cookies & cream ice cream
and a dollop of whipped cream

After adding the pecan halves and pretzel squares as decoration, I realized it the cake would've looked more "professional" and classy without them, whereas with them on there it looked more home-made-y...like a little kid added them.  But I liked the concept of the added crunch and sweet-and-salty flavor, so I said 'whatever' and moved on.

All in all, I had a ton of fun making this cake.  However, I was SO TIRED.  It took me a total of about six hours from start to finish to make this cake.  My feet were so weary it felt like I could hear them wheezing, "Please, put us our of our misery!"  I apologized for standing on them all afternoon and suddenly gained a ton of respect for those who make cakes a hundred times better than this and do it everyday...or even just for fun.  I knew it was hard work, but golly, that was a bit much and a bit too tedious for my kind of baking hobby.  Kudos to the professionals.

And so ends my rant and respect for cakes.  I wonder how I'd feel about pies - I've never made one before.    Or tarts.  Oh, and one of the things on my baking bucket list is to make a cheesecake.  Those seem rather difficult, so I'm scared to try.  And no, I do not have an actual baking bucket list.

My one night of the blues.

I have four godsisters and one godbrother, a godmother and a godfather.

Okay, they're not really my godfamily anymore because I'm over 18 and technically an adult and so if my parents suddenly died (which God has been pretty merciful about so far), I obviously wouldn't need to be handed over to anyone to be looked after.  But I still consider them my family even though we don't talk or interact as much as we used to because I know they do still love me and would take care of me if I needed any help.  It also helps that our parents still have very strong ties and connections with each other.

I bring them up because I was thinking about some periods of time when most of us did spend a lot of time together.  For me I think it's where some of our family kind of dynamics really took root (well, at least me for me, it did - I can't speak on behalf of the rest of my sisters).  Every summer when I was younger my family and I would lead a team out to Arizona to the Navajo Reservation to host a Vacation Bible School for the kids and adults in the area.  We would go with different teams of people each year, all from different churches in the NYC/LI/NJ area, and there were a number of years where different members of my godfamily would come and join the team.

Since my older sisters and I were so young (elementary/middle school age) at the time, we learned a lot from our godsiblings (but especially my godsisters) who were much older than us.  I looked up to them so much.  They took care of me, gave me attention (which, as the youngest, I loved, of course), and taught me things I never knew how to do (I think Jess, the oldest, might have taught me how to braid and french braid hair - I'm not quite sure, but I definitely know I asked her to braid my hair a lot during those summers because I liked it so much).  I can remember significant moments where I was reprimanded by my godmother (I was so scared of her), and felt embarrassed by my godsiblings when I said something or did something to cause myself to blush or want to run away.  Great family stuff.  We bonded like there was no tomorrow.

I'm not being sarcastic, I promise.  I absolutely loved spending time with them.  We were out in Arizona for a good ten days.  And so, here's why I'm telling you the truth that I really bonded with them: on the night we'd get  back from Arizona (and only during the years that my godsisters were definitely there), after I'd get into bed because I was supposed to go to sleep, I would cry.  And believe me, I tried to stop myself.  Even though I was little I hated how sensitive I was and didn't like it when I cried, and it seemed embarrassing especially since I shared a room with my two sisters and couldn't really muffle the sound.

I remember being so embarrassed, too, when my parents finally came in and asked what was wrong because they heard me crying from down the hall - only for me to tell them that I missed my godsisters so much after not being around them for several hours.  You see, we had returned to NYC before dinnertime, and so I had just seen them several hours prior (do you see why I felt so embarrassed?).  I hadn't even gone a full day or even half a day before I started intensely missing them.  Their active presence in my daily life for ten straight days had such an impact on me that I couldn't help but feel some kind of vacuum from spending a night without them.  Ten days.  It was not even two weeks and yet I had such a strong connection to them that it seemed wrong (and completely silly) to suddenly have to depart from them.

Here's why I bring this up, though.  That experience came to mind recently because it's as close as it gets (especially as old as I am) to what I experienced last week coming back to my apartment in Binghamton from my mid-west and NYC Christmas adventures.

That's all I have to say.

Today, like many days.

It's not my birthday.  It's not Christmas.  It's not the weekend.  I haven't been physically or emotionally hurt.  No one sent me any random cards, letters or packages in the mail.  No one gave me flowers.  No one treated me to a meal.  I'm pretty sure someone has prayed for me today even if they didn't tell me they did.  Even if no one did, it wouldn't matter.  I'm not fishing for compliments.  I don't feel lonely.  I don't feel overwhelmed.  I don't feel like I'm missing out on something in life.  I haven't had a deep, thought-provoking conversation.  I don't think I've necessarily grown closer to anyone or further away from those already close to me.  No one gave me extra spending money.  No one gave an anonymous large donation to my ministry.  No one has given me an encouraging word.  No one offered me a ride to places I need to go.  No one gave me advice.  I'm not sick.  I'm not depressed.  I'm not apathetic.  I care - about people, about strangers, about issues, about myself, about my responsibilities.  No one has poured out their heart to me.  No one has asked how I'm doing and genuinely cared about the answer.  No one has entrusted me with a secret.  I've ruined my own surprises for the week, but I'm not upset about it...anymore.  I spent more money than I would have liked this month.  I don't feel pressured by anyone.  I don't feel constrained or restricted or bound to someone else's expectations. It's beautiful outside, but even if it wasn't, it wouldn't matter.  I'm not having a good hair day, but it's not a bad hair day either.  No one switched around their schedule for me.  No one went out of their way to do something for me.  No one has gone out of their way to reach me.  No one told me they needed me.  No one asked for my help.  No one wrote on my Facebook wall, commented on my photos, or liked my Facebook status.  No one told me they read my blog.  No one texted me.  No one told me they thought of me when they heard this song or read this book or talked to this person.  I don't feel beautiful but I don't feel ugly.  I don't feel like a failure.  I've been working hard but I don't feel like I've been working hard enough.  I feel lazy.  I feel productive.  I feel accomplished and I feel like there's much more to get done.  I'm not looking for someone's approval.  I don't need a hug, but they are welcomed.  I'm not settling.  I am not satisfied with the way the world is.  I am serving my family and my friends as best as I humanly can.  I hope for the best and plan for the worst.  I have many questions without answers but I'm okay with never knowing them.  No one has showered me with compliments.  No one has recommended the perfect outfit for me.  No one has broken my heart.  No one has played with my heart.  No one left me post-its with nice notes written on it.  No one showed up on my doorstep unexpectedly.  I'm not looking for attention from strangers, from men, from my friends or my family.  I didn't have a spectacular bonding experience with anyone.  There's a pimple on my forehead that won't go away.  I'm not fond of rejection, but I'm not fearful of it.  I'm more open to fast changes in life than I would have been five years ago.  I believe in the little things and appreciate the big things.  I haven't worked on a song in so long or written a blog post in a few days.  I'm not famous and don't really strive to be.  I don't need fans or popularity.  I don't need people to follow me on Twitter or this blog.  I don't have a routine or a lot of structure right now, but my life does not depend on it.                                

No one told me how much they like me.            
No one told me they love me or "showed" me how much they love me.

But I don't need to hear it or see it everyday.
I know that who I am with others is aligned with who I am when I'm by myself.
I know I don't need to carry my burdens on my own shoulders and that I am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses ready to share those burdens with me.

I know I am loved and that people care deeply about me.
And today, on a boring, ordinary, lovely Tuesday, I feel completely loved.

Graham cracker frenzy.

Okay, do you see these cookies?  They were my first attempt at making a cookie called, "Everything but the kitchen sink."  They're called that because, well, you can put a whole lot of stuff in them and it doesn't really matter what it is.

The problem that occurred, though, is that I think I over-mixed the butter and sugar so that the cookies came out super flat.  And they were so flat that I had a terrible time trying to lift them off of the baking sheets - they just crumbled apart no matter how careful you tried to be.

They are the failed kitchen sink cookies.  They still tasted good, but they just...weren't cookies.  My family didn't like them.  Nathan begged to differ, though.  He loved them.   

Failure kitchen sink cookies - chocolate chips, walnuts, coconut, cinnamon

Anyway, I decided to try and redeem myself because I love the concept of these cookies.  I took another recipe (from joyofbaking - I'm telling you that website is absolutely wonderful) and tried it out, adding my own little random ingredient...graham crackers.  I added the graham crackers to the kitchen sink cookies because, well, I mind as well since they were being used already for the million other things I was baking.  And hooray, they turned out to be awesome!  Well, you were at least able to hold them in your hands without them falling apart.  I'd deem that a winner.

Winner kitchen sink cookies - chocolate chips, coconut, walnuts, toasted pecans & graham cracker chunks

So in reality, I was baking three things at once:  I was making a second batch of s'more granola bars (these were the batch I made for Libby), along with four and a half dozen kitchen sink cookies and the nanaimo bars, which are documented below.

Please don't ask me to pronounce these nanaimo bars.  I have enough trouble saying it myself.  They're Canadian, I believe.  I just saw them on the joyofbaking website while I was browsing around and their layers intrigued me, so I've been wanting to make them ever since I saw them.

They were added to my bucket list of things to bake (this doesn't really exist - it's just a mental list of things I'd want to try baking one day in my life), thinking I would make them some time in the future, especially since the custard layer required an odd ingredient like pudding or custard powder, of which I've never really worked with before.  But lo and behold, one day there was a brand new can of custard powder sitting on our kitchen table.

Nanaimo bars

My mom so happened to buy it (actually, I don't know what she really bought it for; I never asked) on some random day.  But I didn't put two and two together until a few days later when I was brainstorming what to bake next and saw those nanaimo bars.  As I glanced through the ingredients, I spotted the custard powder and realized I had recently seen a can of it in our kitchen.  I called my mom up to ask if I could use it, and she said, "Sure!"

I was able to make all three baked goods at the same time because after I'd make one layer of the nanaimo bars, I'd have to stick them in the fridge to chill and then scoop kitchen sink cookies onto baking sheets, and while I'd stick those in the oven, I'd prep all the ingredients that needed to go into the s'more granola bars and then pull out the fresh-baked cookies, make the next layer of the nanaimo bars while the cookies cooled, stick that back in the refrigerator, and then work on the next batch of cookies or work on the s'more granola bars.  

The kitchen was hopping, I must say.  It was quite a rhythm I had gotten into.

Well, the only thing that bothered me about making these bars was that when I poured the melted chocolate onto the custard layer, I think it melted the custard a little so that the bar ended up being not very sturdy.  

And, it's interesting because...I don't think I'd make them again.  I mean, they're easy to make and they taste okay-ish, but they're super sweet (which, I know, is usually awesome because I love sweets), and I feel like they wouldn't be a winner with the majority.  

Hahaha I was just thinking of an analogy and I'd hate to compare it to this, but they're kind of...like people.  They remind me of snobby, materialistic rich girls that wear too much make-up and heels the size of two pencils stacked on top of each other, that expect to be treated like spoiled princesses.  It's as if the nanaimo bars act like they're so special because they've got special ingredients and have specific instructions that no other baked good requires.  They're really high maintenance (you can't keep them out for too long because they'll get melty so you have to keep them in the fridge), they expect the world to drop at their feet when really, who's ever heard of a nanaimo bar?  And they're sweet, but they're too sweet, so they're sappy and not enjoyable to be around -- I mean...eat.

Wow, I'm giving my baked goods their own personalities.  I spend way too much alone time with my oven.

Last of my summer food endeavors.

As summer has drawn to a close (not officially, but you know), my journey as someone practicing her survival skills of learning how to "fish" has not.

Grilling chicken on my mom's George Foreman grill

George Foreman grills always remind me of Ali, my apartment housemate from when I stayed in Binghamton for the summer of 2009.  She loves her George Foreman grill.  We'd make dinner together using that thing quite often.

My mom asked me to make this chicken - it was super easy.  Just mix in some ingredients for the sauce for the chicken to marinade in for a few hours, and then pop 'em on the grill for about 3 minutes each side.

I made some string beans and rice to go with it, and since I'm not a huge fan of eating or making a salad (for some reason I really dread the idea of putting together a salad, even though it's super easy and you can get really creative with them), my mom had some extra tomatoes and cucumber slices leftover that we used as an almost-caprese (there's supposed to be slices of mozzarella cheese instead of cucumbers) instead of a regular lettuce salad.

Love it - super simple, good flavors, super quick.  Too bad I don't actually own a George Foreman grill to make food with.
   

Chocolate caramel cookies for my favorite driving teacher

These cookies were definitely an endeavor - I had never made any cookies with a filling before, nor have I ever baked with caramel.  But I've been meaning to bake something for my awesome friend Michelle, who, besides being super wonderful and super talented in general, also allowed me to have her as the first person to ever teach me to drive.

It's a cool recipe - you mix walnuts into the batter and refrigerate it before covering a caramel candy into a ball of dough.  I actually made a mistake and found that I was supposed to buy chocolate covered caramel candies instead of plain old caramel candies, so I was worried it was going to mess things up.  Michelle loves caramel!  But alas, it was too late and so I figured I'd try it and see if they'd make any big difference.

The first batch of cookies ended up giving a sticky birth to the caramels out of the bottom of the cookies, so I cut the caramel pieces in half and tried to do a better job of covering the caramels and that seemed to work a little better for the last few batches.  I think they turned out pretty well!

Unfortunately I made these cookies the weekend big, fat, Hurricane Irene came through town, scaring the heck out of NYC and NJ.  I took a risk of baking during the brink of the storm, using the oven with the chance that the power could go out, but they survived, so I feel like I should actually call these babies hurricane cookies.

And since I was moving just after the storm hit, I didn't get to send these out to her until a few days after I'd made them.  Sorry they weren't as fresh as they could've been, Michelle!  

Irish soda bread for my 'last meal' at home

I love my mom's corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and soda bread dinners that we usually have every year on St. Patrick's Day.  She decided to make it this past weekend, though, thinking that since I wouldn't be around, we'd share our St. Patrick's meal together before I left.  She asked me, though, to make the soda bread.  And I told her it was my honor and pleasure :]

I actually made soda bread for the first time up at Binghamton last semester during my senior year.  It was made with whole wheat flour, though...so cool.  I didn't use whole wheat flour for this loaf, though.  So I think it's called soda bread because when you make the dough, you add baking soda to the flour mixture so that it reacts with the ingredients and bubbles before adding it to the rest of the ingredients.  So cool.

Also, while this was baking I was watching Gilmore Girls with Pam and about 30 minutes into the episode I jump out of her bed saying, "Oh no, oh no, oh no!  I forgot to scour the bread!" panicking to my mom, hoping the soda bread would turn out all right.  In a teasing tone my mom said, "Oh no, you forgot to let the Devil out!"

As you can see from the picture, the soda bread turned out all right.  My mom thinks I probably should have baked it a few minutes longer so it's a little firmer, but other than that, it was pretty delightful.  I would have included a picture of my full St. Patrick's Day last supper, but I didn't arrange the plate in a way that looked appealing at all, so I decided to leave it out.  Maybe next time I'll share a picture of my own St. Patrick's Day meal!

In case you couldn't tell, the experimenting won't stop here.  It's been a good summer and I'm looking forward to cooking more!

More summer food endeavors.

There are some food pics I haven't posted from earlier this summer, and since I recently baked a successful chocolate cake, thought I'd update with these:

Earlier this summer I made these pumpkin cookies and brought some when I went on a picnic adventure with Will, Kat and Nathan.  I also gave some to Thomas for his birthday that we went to celebrate later that day.  People always say baking pumpkin-flavored things is good for the autumn season, but who says you can't have any during the summer?  It's like eating ice cream in the winter time :]

Pumpkin iced cookies

Earlier in July I went to visit Grace Faith Church in Chinatown because I was sharing about my ministry with InterVarsity and inviting people from that church to partner with me.  I hosted a little info table afterwards and offered these madeleine cookies that I made especially for them.  These brought back memories for a lot of them as they remembered my mom used to love baking these beauties all the time.  I love baking these - they're simple but tasty and great to give out - they're my default go-to cookies when I know someone may be allergic to something else I'd normally bake.

Madeleine cookies

I cooked spaghetti one night for dinner a couple of weeks ago.  I had a recipe for a simple marinara sauce my mom got from my pastor (who's Italian and makes his own "gravy" all the time) and decided to throw in some veggies because they're delicious and nutritious.  It was a little frustrating that day, as it was one of those super humid/hot summer days and my mom had told me that adding the veggies would make the sauce longer to cook.  I tend to get crabby/flustered/impatient on particularly hot days :\  The spaghetti turned out okay, though!  One of my favorites :]

Mmm spaghetti!

Since we have had a number of hot & humid days, some black outs, and with me in and out of the house, I haven't really been able to bake or cook much until recently.  During most of that time, most of my family and close friends have been away, and since some of them have returned, we got together for our usual dinner & sharing pictures night.  Usually it's for my dad and whoever else from my family returns from the AZ short-term missions trip, but this summer the Yees also returned from their trip to Spain, with Kenzie returning from studying abroad there.  

Making chocolate ganache

Since the weather has been better and we were having dinner together, it was the perfect excuse to get baking.  I asked for special requests, and with Auntie Di saying anything chocolate and Kenzie suggesting a chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, that's exactly what I made.  I pulled a recipe that I had seen on the Joy of Baking website, which I love using the recipes from, and put myself to work.  I had to make a trip to Waldbaum's for heavy cream and when I got home and found our new-ish bag of flour infested with little bugs, my dad also went out to get a new bag of flour.

Chocolate cake with chocolate ganache really hit the spot

I actually thought I had maybe made the ganache wrong, but I kept stirring and stirring and soon it came out to the consistency it needed to be.  And do you like the little topper I made to celebrate everyone's homecoming?

I told him he wouldn't be sorry, and he wasn't!  The cake was a hit, so I definitely think the recipe is a keeper :]

Chicken Salad ftw.

I'm no Thomas, but I can see why it's fun to try and take pictures of the food I make.

It's nice seeing how much my mom cares about me by preparing me for when I move out of the house at the end of the summer.  She's accepting the reality without clinging to me because she acknowledges that she is a momma bird that needs to let her baby fly.  There's no irrational denial, no passivity or roundabout ways of showing me she loves me and doesn't want me to leave - just facing the facts, verbally and clearly expressing how much she's going to miss me and preparing me to be on my own in a practical manner.  She has been making a list of things I'll probably need for the apartment, asking me about how I feel, and doesn't do anything incessantly or excessively that would make me want to bang my head against a wall.  She makes herself available to answer my questions and feed my ongoing curiosity about life.  It's nice.  

One of the best ways she does this is by teaching me things about food.  It's her specialty and the heart of her soul, so when she randomly asks me to make dinner or walks into my room to tell me she's making something, I've learned to hop on the opportunity train to take a ride through her world.  It's thanks to her that I have my love of baking and showing my love for people with food and welcoming people into my home.

Today, we tackled chicken salad.  

This was definitely good for me to learn because I'm not a) I'm not a fan of making my own sandwiches, and b) I'm not a big fan of cold cuts.  I wouldn't say I don't like them, but I'd definitely choose other sandwich stuffers like peanut butter with banana slices, hummus and cucumbers, and chicken/egg/tuna salads before choosing cold cuts.  I'm a girl that likes chunky foods and likes to have a snap or crunch when I bite into a sandwich.  I wouldn't choose chicken salad all the time, every time, though, because it's not the healthiest choice in the world.  In any case, I thought it would be good to learn how to make this. 

My mom taught me how to bone a rotisserie chicken, properly boil an egg, and the basic ingredients for making her chicken salad.  There were optional items, but I threw in what was available in our house.  

Boning a chicken.

Chicken, pecans, craisins, scallions, celery, red onion.

Totally love the craisins.

Don't forget the boiled egg!

Add the mayonnaise, relish, salt and pepper to taste.

Mix it all together and voila!

And guess what?  I did it without a recipe or measurements!

My mom also gave me the recipe for her awesome homemade lemonade and after she taught me how to make the chicken salad she told me one thing she wanted to do before I moved out was make a copy of a bunch of her recipes so I could take them with me.

I told her that that sounded like a great idea and that I was already putting together a recipe book :]