tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25883579440711949832024-03-04T20:46:38.736-08:00surreptitiously cinnamonbecca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-27923225853016601502014-12-04T11:32:00.000-08:002014-12-04T11:39:15.186-08:00Aslan and Advent<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
As a child I watched The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe probably a billion times (the BBC version aka the only version). I loved the story and the landscapes and the lamppost. I grew up in Los Angeles and we were definitely lacking the snowy, wooded, lamppost aesthetic. I desperately wanted Father Christmas to bring me the little vial of fire flower medicine that he bestows on Lucy and I spent a ridiculous amount of time pretending it was winter and I was hidden with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their little house. It didn't matter that it was 85 degrees outside and the palm trees were blowing in the warm Santa Ana winds, I was deep in the winter of Narnia awaiting Aslan. <u></u></div>
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It escaped me until a later age that this story has clear parallels with the Christian narrative. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Narnia is stuck in an eternal winter (with no Christmas!) and then Aslan comes, with the help of four human children from another realm, to breathe life back into Narnia and rewrite the laws of the land through a sacrifice of his own life, which is then redeemed. I’m sure my parents mentioned it, but the idea that Aslan is Jesus didn’t really hold muster as a concept when there were lampposts and fawns and sleighs to daydream about. That was an idea that took hold in later years. Honestly, when I first fully recognized the direct link between the Christian story and C.S. Lewis' classic I was kind of bummed. I thought it somehow made the story less interesting and less relatable for my friends who did not grow up in Christian families. I thought it made this very dear story to me something that was mockable. I wanted Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe to be edgier. Clearly, spiritual immaturity was a theme in my life. </div>
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I started thinking about rewatching the movie today, as I always do around the Christmas season,and the image of Aslan hit me in a new way, much to the chagrin of my oh so edgy younger self. I think what bothered me, and honestly has bothered me about the overall Christian narrative is that the story of Jesus coming to model a new way and then dying so that we can have new life is kind of a hard story to swallow. Jesus' teachings are profound, his way of living inspiring, but the whole "I came to bring you new life through my death and Resurrection" has often left me feeling a little bit embarrassed about my faith tradition. It's not easy to explain to other people. It's not easy to explain to myself. This particular teaching when taken out of its proper context has been used to spiritually abuse people and make them feel less whole rather than healed. It's a tricky theology. </div>
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So today as I thought about watching one of my old faithful Christmas movie classics I was surprised when I realized the story of Aslan is the story of Advent. Advent is the season of the Christian calendar that we're in right now. It's the season where we await and prepare our hearts and our lives for Jesus, new life. Not surprisingly, in younger years, I was also a little embarrassed about the idea of Advent. I would think, "Historically Jesus wasn't even born in December. I love Christmas, but really? Gawh, how do I explain Christianity to a scientific world (because clearly that's my role...translator of Christianity?!)" </div>
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I now think Advent is beautiful. I think it serves a really critical function in reminding us of how we take new life into ourselves. Communion does this same thing. The story is Narnia is about how all the creatures faithfully awaited new life and they participated in this season of waiting by readying themselves to step into something new. It wasn't just a story of delightful creatures in a delightful land triumphing over something. It was the story that we as humans, in my mind, all experience regardless of whether or not we are Christians. We await growth, we await something new (like the birth of a child, or the start of a new job or career, or a new city, or a healing) and we participate in that season of waiting. We, ideally, prepare ourselves. We find value in the gift in part because we've been waiting for it and we've been part of ushering it in. </div>
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The Narnia story and the Christian story don't make sense to me or many people when taken outside of the context of how rebirth actually happens in each of our lives. It's this idea that someone died for your sins and thus you must repent. I don't think that's believable or reassuring for many. As a theology on a macro-level it has many holes, but as a lived reality it's pretty profound. This year I have been moving out of some unhelpful ways of thinking that I've picked up along the way on this little life journey of mine. This is pretty par for the course human stuff. We miss the mark in our thinking or behavior, in my mind that is what sin is, missing the mark. The mark is the central way we wish to live and show up in this world. We realize we'd like to let a paradigm of thought go and we surrender to that process and begin rewriting the way we think. However, the actual daily process of this can be arduous. It can feel like a bit of a death as we clear room for a new way of thinking. This is where the Aslan journey, the Christian journey is most visceral for me. It's in the recognition that all of our lives are framed by journeys of preparation, surrender, and then acceptance and/or celebration when the new, awaited gift, fully takes root. It's in the recognition, that I for one, need new life, again and again. </div>
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So as we embark into the Advent season, this Christmas season, and I wax melodramatic about my particular journey with Aslan and God, I feel very grateful for the story of Narnia. I feel very grateful for the Christian narrative in so much as it mirrors and facilitates the very vital act in my life of growth. So although I will always be pretty romantic about the whole Narnia aesthetic, I now, decades after I was first introduced to this magical world of talking beasts and kings and queens and nymphs and fawns, actually have a felt experience of the spiritual expression that is Narnia. </div>
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So enjoy your holidays, have some tea. Pet some lions. Ride in a sleigh. Maybe Father Christmas will pay you a visit. </div>
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becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-63966640033690565262014-07-01T17:54:00.001-07:002014-07-01T18:21:28.384-07:00World Cups and WonderingsToday the USA played Belgium in the World Cup. It was a close game. Honestly, the US played really hard and really well. We made a few mistakes, yes, but on the whole it was a strong game. After the game ended people sighed with anguish, UGH, why did we not win? I've been thinking a lot about this question. Who are we when we're not winning, or feel we are not winning? What is our value?<br />
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I've been thinking about this because over the past few months I've been in a season of introspection. I've been thinking about who I've been in the years leading up to now and who I would like to be. I've been wondering what career path to take. Those of you who know me know that I've been doing an ever so delicate dance between a few fields for a few years. I've experienced a lot of frustration and shame as I've waited and waded through "what I should be when I grow up". I've wondered in my darkest moments if the worst things I've done and said are keeping me from my ideal career. I've feared that maybe I don't "deserve" a clear calling. I've wanted to "know". I feel like I'm not winning when I'm questioning. It's as if questioning is seen, in my own brain, as a limited space. It's seen as the weak (wo)man's no.<br />
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All this wondering has led me to ask the all important question, "Do you need to know?" I think that within our North American cultural context we are called into "knowing". We do not wish to take risks without this "knowing". We want guarantees to success, of happiness, or "rightness". I wonder though if this way of seeking leads us into unhappiness, indecisiveness, and ultimately into a place of diminished compassion and faith in others and ourselves.<br />
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I guess I want to reflect on a concept that Mike, dear Mike, and I were discussing and he wrote about recently, ABIDING. When we are constantly seeking "rightness", perfection, and guarantees we rob ourselves of the virtue of abiding. Abiding is patience, abiding is peace, abiding is trusting in the day to day. Abiding is believing that we are okay and more than okay. Abiding is simply living.<br />
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So as I reflect on the USA's loss to Belgium, I find myself imbued with an unusual patriotism. I remind myself that I, like the USA team have worked hard, have made big and small mistakes, have showed up, have a history and have a future. I am by no means perfect. I could be thinner, or heavier? I could be more prosperous. I could have had more integrity. I could have weathered pain more honestly. And yet, here I stand (sit) perfectly me, beautifully flawed. Winning is not the goal per se. My identity is founded in the day to day. It's founded in the way in which I love those closest to me. It's founded in my compassion. It's founded in my trust, in people, in the past (my wild, wild past), in the future, and in myself.<br />
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I'm realizing that, paradoxically, the best way to move into our future is to surrender. It's to show up and surrender. To be peaceful is to be in rightness.<br />
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So today I do not mourn the USA's loss, or my own path, or the paths of those around me. I am grateful for the opportunity to show up, to play, to fuck things up, to heal things, to score some goals, to let some go, and ultimately to sit back, have a beer, and marvel at it all.<br />
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<br />becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-51595576450707431762014-03-16T14:57:00.001-07:002014-03-16T21:12:24.040-07:00On Money, Debt, Poor Choices, and the Parts of Ourselves We Wish Would Go Away<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have hesitated to write about this topic before because it is so taboo, or rather because I have so much shame around it. I am someone who has always had a job and worked hard at my jobs. I believe in work and being generous and I believe that money is not everything.<br />
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I work with people experiencing homelessness and I have preached so many times how important it is to remember that our identities are not wrapped up in our money, either our possession of it or lack of it. I believe this completely. And yet money, in this world, does matter. It matters that we be able to pay for the things we have and pay back our loans. It matters in terms of eating and being stable. </div>
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I went to a college that I could not afford. It was the most transformative, amazing experience for me, but none the less I could not afford it, which was not a reality I was in touch with at the time. My parents have given, and continue to give, me so many amazing gifts, both emotional and monetary (I have an amazingly supportive family who have repeatedly gone above and beyond for me), but they were not able to pay the family portion of the tuition. I still went to the school. I could have chosen to transfer, but I didn't. The jury is out on whether or not this was a good choice. I'm not quite sure how I slid through frankly. A lot of kind people in the registrar's office would lift the hold so I could register for classes. I would pay just enough to get my grades processed. It's actually kind of amazing. I so much wanted to be in school there. I so much wanted that education, even though I had no idea at the time what an unwise financial choice it was. A few people really understood how tight it was for me, but I did not process the amount of stress placed on me during this time. I would often fall asleep worrying about whether or not I would be able to pay for classes. I would have nightmares about the campus police walking into my classes and escorting me out, alerting all my fellow classmates that I did not belong there, that I shouldn't have been getting that education and experience. </div>
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Needless to say during this time I got incredibly good at repressing thoughts about financial woes because it was the only way to emotionally function. I am someone who is decidedly overly sensitive and so the idea that I was "not doing what I was supposed to be doing" really undid me. It undoes me. By the time I finished my classes needed to graduate I had a lot of direct debt to my school, not just loan debt, which is a really unusual thing. I got to walk with my classmates and I finished my classes, but I did not receive my diploma for years after. I have a lot of compassion for younger me. I wish I could go back and counsel her and console her. </div>
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So much of the fear I associated with money and financial decisions has really plagued my life as a 20 something. I decided to go into a field where I have had incredible jobs, but they are not the most lucrative financially (although I feel incredibly gifted to be able to be employed doing work that is meaningful to me and provides for my needs). I have struggled to make my payments. I have made mistakes. I have struggled to face my financial fears, which of course has made my financial situation all that more stressful. I do not want to look at the whole financial picture for fear of what it will tell me about how long it will take to attain certain goals that I have, like graduate school, that I have put off for years due in large part to cost and not having the financial background where I would be able to get comprehensive enough loans to pay for it. </div>
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My dreams of my college security officers escorting me out of class have transferred into dreams of me being arrested by the police and taken to jail because of my debt. I clearly read too much historical fiction as a child, as the idea of debtors prisons seem realistic to me. </div>
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This year I have been really trying to face it all head on, which is liberating, but if I'm going to be really honest, is also incredibly scary. It makes me sad to see how my financial choices have been so governed by fear. It is hard to look at this part of myself and feel that I'm a person of value. It's an area where I can easily be very cruel to myself, feeling like I have failed, and continue to fail, majorly. It is hard to face financial struggle. It scares me mightily. It makes me question fundamental truths that I believe about myself, that I am good, and smart, and kind. </div>
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The purpose of this post is not merely to bum you all out to no end, but it is to be radically honest about an area of my life that I feel great shame around. I used to think that it was a wee bit tacky to disclose so much on a blog, but I think I've moved beyond that. I really want to write this down because it feels less heavy when I do. I want to be honest because I believe when we bring things into the light they can start being healed. I also believe that there may be other people out there in my world who are facing similar fears, realities, and paths. I know for some people money issues seem so silly, so mundane, so irresponsible, but for many of us it's our main area of growth. </div>
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So I am writing this as the first of many posts about my movement from of a place of fear and denial around money into a place of clarity, bravery, and responsibility. I am committing to posting at least once a week about this little journey of mine. I'm hoping that writing about it can serve as a way to stay accountable, to be honest with myself and others, and to open space for other people in my life to maybe be honest about things that are plaguing them, but they feel too ashamed to name. </div>
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becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-30695119605672430032014-03-08T22:09:00.002-08:002014-03-08T23:37:17.173-08:00On Loving Women, Not Being Thin, And International Women's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy International Women's Day World! I love this day. In the past I've hosted parties for International Women's Day and I'm thinking of reviving the tradition. I value this day so much because I've been gifted to have the most incredible women placed in my life. They have shown me the heart of resilience, beauty, joy, and spunk. My mother is particularly notable to me whenever I think about women who inspire me, or really anyone who inspires me. She has demonstrated to me every day of my life what it means to love without condition, to meet each day with a sense of purpose, and she has instilled in me a deep well of self worth. My mother's love for me is a truth beacon.<br />
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So every International Women's Day, in addition to celebrating all the incredible women that have been, are, and will be, I think about an issue that women are disproportionately facing in our country and/or world. This March 8th, I found myself thinking about weight and beauty standards. Men certainly also face pressures around body presentation, but ridiculous standards of beauty seem to plague us ladies. Standards of beauty certainly vary significantly around the world and in this post I'm focusing primarily on North American standards of beauty relating to weight.<br />
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I was thinking about my own relationship with weight and beauty tonight. I am not a thin woman. I have never been a thin woman. Even at my lowest weight, I am someone with curves. I have broad shoulders and hips and no matter how fit I am I still carry fat. I sometimes wonder if I hail from more Nordic lands than I know about. I am deeply gifted at storing fat. With the exception of snow driving, I weather winter very well.<br />
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I feel very fortunate to have had a mother who focused more on the beauty of one's character and spirit than on cultural norms of beauty. I am fortunate to have been a strange child, channeling the great women leaders throughout history while playing dress up. It was a gift to grow up in a community where thinness was not paramount and around people in spiritual practice who saw beauty in all life. Being on swim and waterpolo teams trained my mind to believe my body was good and strong. When you spend the vast majority of your time in a bathing suit around other people in bathing suits the small vanities tend to fade. No one cares about the stretch mark, or the bit of fat, or the awkward tan. Living in a college co-op, which drew people to it that had a propensity for the nude, further solidified for me that bodies of all shapes and colors are really remarkable and that nudity is not always sexual. My body could be many things; it is many things. I have amazing friends who do not spend all their waking hours consumed by the fire breathing media dragon's non-truth:<br />
that to be beautiful you must be thin, and have flawless skin, and be within a certain skin color palette, and have curves in only the right places. I have a partner who loves me and does brave and amazing work around asking himself and other men to really confront what many cultural outlets have taught them about what makes women beautiful.<br />
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All this to say, I am one of the non-thin women who is really lucky. I cannot imagine how challenging not being thin as a woman in a mainstream North American context would be without a lot of the fortifying influences that I have had. And even with all of my life giving, truth telling influences, as a women who has always "struggled with weight" (such a strange phrase right...I don't really struggle with weight, in fact I put it on really easily) sometimes the non-truth telling fire breathing dragon perches in my head. I begin the insidious internal dance around my weight. The questions start coming up, "Are you working out for health or weight? Is it okay if it's for weight? If it's for weight does that somehow betray your ideal of beauty in all people? Why does weight matter so much? Why do I really love what I see in the mirror, but worry that others may find me lacking? Why does no one ever ask, 'Have you gained weight because you're looking really good?'? Have painful relational things in my life been related to my image?" Basically I begin the downward spiral into, as Ann with an E would say, the depths of despair. I just really begin losing faith in humanity and then in myself for allowing myself to spend even a minute on a topic so insipid and unhelpful. I'd like to think that I have better things to think about and do in my life and I'm right, I do. However, it does not mean that the very unhealthy and pervasive culture messages around thinness do not take their tole and require attention.<br />
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The reality is that being heavy in mainstream North American culture is stigmatized and this stigma, I believe, is the most acutely experienced in women. I have had men I respect deeply admit that they feel they are really open about the appearances of the women they date, with the exception of weight. They do not think they could date someone heavy. These men are brave and I admire them for being so forthright about this, but it's pretty heartbreaking. I cannot count the number of stories women, who have been told they are heavy and or believe themselves to be heavy, have told me about how they have been treated poorly on dating websites, on dates, in the workplace, in their families, and even at doctor's offices. Because of their weight, their bodies somehow become a valid and appropriate topic for conversation and critique.<br />
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There are multiple studies, focused in North America, that illustrate that women who are perceived as heavy face barriers in the workplace as well as in their dating lives. Now thinness is not the paramount of beauty worldwide and I think it's important to note that thin women in many cultural contexts are treated as less desirable, much like heavier woman are treated in the United States. This post is discussing heavier women in the United States, but points to the larger global issue of how women's bodies are culturally co-opted and forced to fit into beauty standards that separate us from each other, making some women part of the "in" group and some women part of the "out" group, which of course can leave all of us with a diminished sense of self worth and a compromised sense of sisterhood. It's also critical to note that this standard of thinness also creates a culture of discontent and body cruelty for women who would not, by others, be considered heavy. This beauty standard harms us all.<br />
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As I reflect on the issues of weight in the light of International Women's Day, I cannot help but offer a genuine prayer and call for each of us, whether we are the women or men who are on the heavier end of the spectrum, the man or woman who loves someone who is not thin, the person, whether woman or man, who finds themselves in judgement or revulsion over heavier bodies, or the person who is secretly attracted to people with heavier frames, but is too ashamed to admit it, to work daily to bring forth a paradigm shift when it comes to standards of beauty and desirability that separate us from each other and from ourselves. The reality is that heavier bodies are beautiful too and not just for the sake of being politically correct. Heavier bodies are truly beautiful, just like thin bodies. We interface with the world through our bodies, we are integrally intertwined with our bodies. They are desirable. They are valuable. Most importantly they belong to fellow human beings who have bright minds, big hopes, deep hurts, and a desire for connection. Even when I have my depths of despair moments around the culture of weight in this country and my place in it, I know on a pretty profound level that my body, in all its sizes, is a tremendous gift and that it is a thing of beauty, as I am a thing of beauty. Sadly, I do not think that all women (people) know this.<br />
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On this International Women's Day let's treat all women's bodies with respect. Let's do the hard internal and societal work to really understand what it is to love ourselves and others and get out from under this oppressive standard of beauty.<br />
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<br />becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-77915509794001148992012-11-05T10:55:00.000-08:002012-11-05T10:57:42.254-08:00The Vote: Suffrage, Girldolls, Angst, Tina Fey, 2012.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suffragettes don't let other suffragettes brush their teeth alone.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was a little girl I lived in three worlds: the world around me, the world of my books, and the imagined realm, which was a space made up of the first two worlds. I had this costume box, which was supplied for me by my mother. I could often be found wearing hodge podge silk pieces, plastic jewelry and strange shoes that didn't fit my feet. Little scarves wrapped around my extremities transported me back in time. I traveled back with my dolls. They became the characters in the books I was reading. They became the made up heroines of my play and they became the great historical women that I was learning about at home and in school. We traveled as a pack and I, like any lover of stories, recorded our thoughts in these tiny doll sized journals that my mother had purchased for our adventures. I lived many mini-lives before the age of ten. I was, clearly, a very odd child. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently I was sorting through childhood knick knacks and I found a bag full of these itsy bitsy journals. The pages were so small that I could only fit a few words on each page as I still had large child scrawl. As I flipped through the pages, something stood out to me. I had taken up twenty two pages to write: "Amy (name of beloved girl doll with no hair), today women got the right to vote. They were hungry then they won. There are sad things still but everything is changed forever." I am imagining that I wrote this because I had just read, or had read to me, a story about women's suffrage in the United States. I'm imagining that I didn't fully understand the whole story and yet there is no other topic that got as much page space in all of my doll sized journals. There is nothing else that warranted such an epic, twenty-two page, entry. My little child brain knew, even then, the value of that particular history. It was clear that getting the vote meant something, something I was too young to fully understand, yet something awe inspiring. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have not always carried over this inherent understanding of what a gift it is to have a vote. I have not always maintained the level of awe that I first had when I learned about the fight for suffrage. When I was a teenager I still lived in a fantasy world, but I had discovered sarcasm and the ever so ineffable and cool culture of "not caring". Although I generally did not live in the space of believing that nothing mattered, I said something that to this day shames me to the core. It was something that I didn't mean. It was something I said because I'd heard it said and I thought that perhaps it was dark and poetic. I was talking to one of the women who lived next-door to me about politics. It was not presidential election year, but we were discussing who we thought would be president next. She asked me if I was excited to be old enough to vote in the next election. She asked this question so earnestly and I answered in such a glib way that it still makes me almost cry when I think of how insensitively and how arrogantly I responded. I said something like, "You know none of that matters. Nothing in the system matters. I am not even going to vote. Every candidate is only a puppet. They don't do anything." It was so out of character, as if I was playing a character in one of my elaborate fantasies. She looked at me with sadness and compassion probably knowing that I was speaking from a place of teenage angst and said, "Guerita (childhood nickname), you get to vote and so many of us don't, please don't waste the thing you have been given." I grew up in Los Angeles, in a neighborhood were many people did not have papers. My comment, although speaking to a few true things, in any space would have been ill informed and smug, but in the context of my home was downright ugly. I had a physical sensation that I imagine to be similar to a hot flash. I had, for a moment, lost the understanding that people fought for my right to particate in our governmental process and that it is my privilege to be able to have a voice, even in a system is deeply corrupted. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Over the past few months I've had countless conversations about the election with various friends. Some are voting for Romney and many are voting for Obama. I'm imagining some will get to the polls and in a fit of disillusioned creativity cast a vote for Tina Fey or, horror of all horrors, Honey Boo Boo. A common thread in the conversations I've had are that people feel disenchanted with the process. I've had a hand full of friends speak about voting as if it is as pivotal to survival as breathing, but I've had just as many, if not more, people say that they aren't sure they are going to vote because in the end none of it matters as the candidates are the same and it is only a process that divides people by creating single issue voters. Neither candidate is good. Neither candidate will save us. I have not always known how to directly respond to these comments because to a degree I agree that without campaign finance reform and voting practice reform candidates are mouth pieces for corporations and all voters do not have equal access to the polls. The candidates do not stand fully for the issues and platforms that we, no matter what side of the political spectrum we fall on, subscribe to. They are not perfect representations so it is all ruined. I have always railed against the if it's not perfect it's ruined doctrine. I think that all of these points are valid. I become more than a little angry thinking about how many people who go out to vote will not be able to stand in line and wait for their turn because the lines are so long, and the process so inefficient, that they'll leave without voting lest they lose their job or show up late to pick up their children from day care. Or perhaps there will not be chairs for people who are ill to sit in while they wait and they will not have their vote counted. There are countless issues with our political system. I could spend my entire lifetime listing them. There are a lot of reasons to believe that ones' vote doesn't matter. If you're from a state that always goes for the party you vote for maybe you feel like it's a drop in the bucket. The weight of our vote is different depending on what state and district we vote in. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet in the face of all of these depressing realities that mar the once bright shiny face of suffrage that my child mind so loved, there is the reality that if we have the right to vote and the ability to vote it is a gift as much as it is a right for us to go out and participate in our government because whether or not we acknowledge it fully all branches of our government impact our lives. The act of voting matters and who we are voting for matters. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is no surprise to anyone that knows me that I am voting for Obama. This is not because I see him as perfect and Romney as evil. It is not because I believe that the democrats will save us all and the republicans will signal our collective demise. This is a human system that the candidates are operating in. They are both flawed. They are both gifted. I am voting this way because in the face of the disappointments in the past four years, I have been moved by Obama's administration. Our government has expanded the rights of people in this country in numerous ways. We are moving towards a greener, if not yet green, economy. For all of its flaws, we have passed a measure of universal healthcare. This is no small thing. Healthcare is a human right. One only needs to have one episode, or have a loved one have an episode, of illness to recognize this. Moreover I want Obama to be appointing justices to the highest courts. This is an administration that to the degree it can recognizes and supports the progression of human rights in our country. I cannot vote against it because it is because of people who have subscribed to the belief that access to rights needs to be increased for all people that I, as a woman, get to cast a vote at all. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have had many friends say that they are voting for Obama for "x" reason (insert gay marriage rights, dream act, Obama's view that women belong in the realm outside Lisa Frank's canvas of choice, foreign policy, etc...) and have had a number of friends say that they are voting for Romney for "y" reason (almost universally the answer has been due to his fiscal policy, abortion beliefs, or gay marriage doctrine). Although it is so natural to vote this way because as people we have issues that impact us more than others, I keep reminding myself in my own voting process that even though I might be voting for a few issues I really am voting for the whole package. I do not just get to vote for Obama because his administration increased access to healthcare, has created funding for alternative energy sources, publicly supported gay marriage, and will probably support justices whose rulings I agree with. When I am voting for him I am also voting for some of his foreign and domestic policies that I disagree with heartily. I have to decide if it is worth it to vote for him. In the same vein when someone tells me that they are voting for Romney for fiscal reasons I see that it is probably true. They probably are voting because they believe his economic plan to be more sound and they align themselves with conservative fiscal policies and yet they are not just voting for Romney's fiscal policies. They are also voting for a candidate that has made his point perfectly plain that he will be working to overturn women's healthcare rights, universal healthcare rights, and will stop the progression of the rights that accompany marriage for gay couples. It's all so frustrating and complicated. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is not a necessity to vote and there are many good reasons that a good many people are not voting. Yet I think that voting when we have the right and access to vote can be an act of integrity as we are honoring the voice that has been given to us, generally by the hard work of people who came before us who believed themselves and all the people following them worthy of suffrage. In the same vein I believe it to be an act of integrity to go to the polls or the mail in ballot fully aware of the package that we are voting for, knowing that when we cast our vote for Romney or Obama, or the other candidates whose names are not branded onto our brains by the incessant commercials that have been running non-stop for months, we are casting a vote for all the things their platform stands for. We may not believe in every position, but we are voting for it. I think that, at least when I, face this reality I recognize more fully that my vote does matter.I am prioritizing certain issues, paths, and legislative ideologies. In the same vein I am sacrificing other things that matter to me. It is hard to live in a state of disconnected angst about the political system when I think about how when we truly vote in a conscientious way we must put our beliefs on the line and make decisions that may seem small, but in actuality are very big. The act of voting can and perhaps should be our way of stating what matters to us most and what we are willing to sacrifice. It forces us to say something about ourselves. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This entry has rambled. I have talked about dolls, doll journals, smug teenage angst, suffrage, and my soapbox. The main point of all these musings is this: I feel incredibly fortunate to have the right to vote. I believe that as important as it is to recognize the power of suffrage it is equally important to recognize that who we vote for matters and moreover that we are voting for them and their platform as a package. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrote to my bald girldoll Amy so many years ago that there are still sad things, but that everything is changed forever. As an adult voter I now lack the bright eyed idealism of my childhood self running about in silk skirts pretending that I was part of the women's suffrage movement. I still maintain though that suffrage can and does change most everything. That change may not be as shiny as I, or we, would like it to be. It is marred by political games, but the change we can enact with our votes is real and it is deep. </span></div>
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becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-80681203454804766802012-08-08T22:11:00.000-07:002012-08-08T22:49:00.068-07:00The Ineffable Voodoo Glue<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-wux0FHQGawL5DK8Vts1q8EZP3DlVXuUiHyoMBVX7wXgPmg_3fZuwOoCY2R64bgXWoLcDgKFo5c_yePZ6sOKCvUZ5Nn4GCy9O0CNF6SSfFjQ4rd1smxL9YwwhHKhLfsH-LC_HnOaNH-n/s1600/DSCF4806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-wux0FHQGawL5DK8Vts1q8EZP3DlVXuUiHyoMBVX7wXgPmg_3fZuwOoCY2R64bgXWoLcDgKFo5c_yePZ6sOKCvUZ5Nn4GCy9O0CNF6SSfFjQ4rd1smxL9YwwhHKhLfsH-LC_HnOaNH-n/s320/DSCF4806.JPG" width="240" /></a>
Over the past week I've been reminded that I am hopelessly and I believe lastingly in love. The love I'm speaking of is not a romantic love, or at least it is not romantic love anymore. This week a very dear friend got married in the mountains of Colorado. A large group of our friends piled into planes, cars, tents, cabins, and bathing suits and made a raucous nuptial pilgrimage to the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs. Although we have had smaller reunions with specific people in this group, it has been years since all of us have been in the same place at the same time.<br />
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It was wonderful and overwhelming. It was surreal. It felt at once that no time had passed and that we had each lived a mini-life since last congregated. It felt like we are all growing into the people we are supposed to be. It filled my heart up and made me proud to know such wonderful people who I could converse with endlessly.
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During college I remember a night where most of the people present at the wedding were at a party together dancing, talking, and wearing the ridiculous outfits that visually marked my collegiate experience. I recall a self-indulgent thought that night where I wanted that moment and these friendships to be frozen in time, exactly as they were. I was on a fire escape over a citrus tree. I looked up at the hazy rainbow that sometimes circles the moon in Northern California and thought, "Damn this is the life." I wanted to preserve the feeling of absolute unity. It all seemed so "written" in the stars, as if we all deserved to feel the way we were feeling that night for all time, amen.<br />
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Our friendships have not remained the same. In addition to all the joys,hopes, and accomplishments we have had individually and collectively there has been a lot of loss. We have lost people, we have lost love, we have been asked to move romantic relationships into platonic ones, we have forged new romances, we have wrestled with our career paths, we have made impossible moves, we have questioned our choices, we have been brave, we have come face to face with the recession, and we have been asked to find forgiveness for ourselves, others, and even each other. My fleeting, well intentioned, and naive hope that all would remain the same could never be true. I'm glad for that.<br />
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The joy of college friendship feels inevitable. Coming back to these friends a few years out now feels like a gift. We no longer share all our space and every thought with each other. The ability to live separate lives and then reunite with a genuine appreciation, warmth, and love for each other speaks to a deep bond, a true delight in each other, and growth. Within this group I see some of the best things about community and individuals.
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Thank goodness relationships are not stagnant. We grow, redefine, and forge newfound closenesses. I should not be surprised to be feeling this way after my friends' wedding. They are genuine, kind, smart, hilarious, and community oriented people. They will be great partners for each other. They are the best of people so it makes sense that at their wedding gathering we would have such a gratifying reunion full of old love, new stories, and the ineffable voodoo glue that is made out of time, shared histories and hopes, and the subtle work we do in our own lives to keep us open, growing, and ripe for friendship.
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I know that no matter how far friends scatter around the globe they can come back to each other changed, but still in love.
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It was a great weekend of celebrating our beautiful bride and groom. It was pure voodoo glue.
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</blockquote>becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-19802259777109660562012-04-29T22:51:00.002-07:002012-05-19T15:12:23.292-07:00A City on Fire: 20th Anniversary of the Rodney King Riots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today marks the twentieth anniversary of the Rodney King Riots. Today marks the anniversary of the day that my childhood neighborhood became a war zone in what seemed like a matter of minutes after the Los Angeles jury charged with King's case decided to acquit the four police officers that brutally beat him. Today I'm compelled to remember what the human spirit and human bodies can do to space and each other when their rights and their dignity are repeatedly compromised. Today I am reminded that cases like Rodney King's are not causes of mass rioting and violence, but rather catalysts in the context of greater oppressions.
Los Angeles, especially South Central, in the 1980s and into the 1990s was referred to by The New York Times as a war zone of international importance due to the high rates of violence and fatalities. Many factors intersected to create a space that was ripe for rioting and public uproar. The relationship was strong and growing stronger between the crack cocaine boom and the expansion of gang presence and stronghold in many of LA's low-income neighborhoods. The LA police department had a history of racial profiling and limited follow through in the neighborhoods deemed most dangerous and their presence induced fear more than safety at that time in South Central's history.
When the jury found the police officers not guilty people's anger at the verdict spread like wildfire and soon literal fires dominated the landscape of South Central, Koreatown, and other surrounding neighborhoods. Although my memories of this time are blurred in the way that a child's memories tend to be, I vividly recall the oppressive smoke that filled every street and room of our house. The palms of my hands had a layer of soot on them. I tried to lick the grime off and the taste of acid and charcoal was so overpowering that even today when I see images of riots or cities burning my mouth is filled with the memory of the ash. Stores on our block were firebombed. People took to the streets looting, screaming, burning, and raging for days. It was a riot rooted in the classicism and racism often perpetuated by governing institutions that isolate people without access to power turning them against one another in conflicts often drawn along racial lines. The police initially stayed on the Westside trying to contain the spread of the movement. For days we did not see police officers in our neighborhood. People do not often think about US cities losing rule of law, but that was precisely what happened in the days following the verdict.
On May 2nd 10,000 National Guardsmen and the entire LAPD were called into my neighborhood. Again, my memories are blurry, but I do recall the lines of armed men in combat gear. I remember being afraid of them, even at that young age understanding that they did not belong in the community and that their presence signaled danger and an escalation in violence. After that the rioting was contained. Dozens of people were dead, over a thousand seriously injured, and thousands of people's livelihoods were compromised or destroyed. It felt like everything was smoldering. I had no context for understanding tornadoes at that young age, but I now think that it was like an extended tornado full of ill intent had lingered over us for days permanently altering the landscape of our space.
Since the riots much work has been done to rebuild the community. In fact you would not know that South Central had almost burned to the ground if you saw it today. I think for the people who lived there though during that time it is something that is hard to forget. I remember the fire, the smoke, the booming, the shields, and the ascorbic taste I licked off my little chubby child hands. I remember holding my stuffed animal letting him know everything was fine, already understanding the power of reassurance when all other forms of control seem to have left the building.
Today these riots feel far away. I am in Colorado. I am no longer a child. South Central itself has in many respects been transformed. This is a simple blog post about a highly complex issue. Although this time in my life is distant from my present realities, I must honor what happened in 1992 because it was significant not only in my life, but in the lives of the people I loved most, and in the history of our country. I am reminded that when institutions do not honor the humanity of their people it is enough to create a welling of anger so great that it lights a city on fire. The memory of this time reignites a flame in me that fuels my belief that I must in all of my small everyday dealings act in a way that promotes equity, community, and the dignity of all things.
So today I want to honor the people that died and were injured in the riots and the time leading up to the riots. I also want to celebrate the people that stepped up in the wake of the chaos to make their community stronger.
Let's never forget the riots and what they have meant to so many of us.
*for some reason blogger will not allow for paragraphs in this post...hmm...becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-83152273333679063442012-04-04T22:42:00.002-07:002012-04-04T22:46:03.814-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfXdHQg1GnMK0-orv841LrHPEjy7bQU7prSI_wzVSNAG2ctfubnNl0OYLTBhAdkheJ9ErnFHRk3E_UEI8WyYTfB5i1NXwIFoTYxsC52P5QYQgIJWXhXmJeVGciGe_p5RJgEbQ4ZFrZ7Ss/s1600/cesar+chavez.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfXdHQg1GnMK0-orv841LrHPEjy7bQU7prSI_wzVSNAG2ctfubnNl0OYLTBhAdkheJ9ErnFHRk3E_UEI8WyYTfB5i1NXwIFoTYxsC52P5QYQgIJWXhXmJeVGciGe_p5RJgEbQ4ZFrZ7Ss/s320/cesar+chavez.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727788829359089266" /></a><br />hello duckies,<br /><br />hope this prayer finds you uplifted wherever you may be. it's moved me countless times in the pursuit of a life lived in contemplation, love, action, and focus on others. i am humbled and ignited by his words.<br /><br />UNITED FARM WORKERS’ PRAYER<br />written by Cesar Chavez<br /><br />Show me the suffering of the most miserable, so I may know my people’s plight.<br />Free me to pray for others, for you are present in every person.<br />Help me to take responsibility for my own life, so that I can be free at last.<br />Grant me courage to serve others, for in service there is true life.<br />Give me honesty and patience, so that I can work with other workers.<br />Bring forth song and celebration, so that the Spirit will be alive among us.<br />Let the Spirit flourish and grow, so that we will never tire of the struggle.<br />Let us remember those who have died for justice, for they have given us life.<br />Help us love even those who hate us, so we can change the world.<br />Amen.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-36795697164248425732012-03-30T22:12:00.004-07:002012-04-03T22:51:57.290-07:00Calligraphy Tattoo: Good Like Bread<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qX6wfXsOwRszRsA0j79sVXgRx3sqv3s_UaF1Fhseadpzmhu1vJ6K17SYWDa9gL0ER0yjZvi-D0rcwxKw2PQqOBClSmpFqqksrAVYbAabM2B_cyfBmTinWbNYtbCTxRFxE6X0Pq7EQQkG/s1600/tatoo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qX6wfXsOwRszRsA0j79sVXgRx3sqv3s_UaF1Fhseadpzmhu1vJ6K17SYWDa9gL0ER0yjZvi-D0rcwxKw2PQqOBClSmpFqqksrAVYbAabM2B_cyfBmTinWbNYtbCTxRFxE6X0Pq7EQQkG/s320/tatoo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727419259546458386" /></a><br /><br /><br />This is a phrase significant to a few people in my life who are significant to me. I've always loved this phrase so I finally got it in tattoo form. Good Like Bread reminds me to be nourishing and a gift to others and myself. Bread, in my world, is always a gift.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-28970672395173668002012-03-07T22:24:00.009-08:002012-03-08T00:16:42.243-08:00A Rare Tree: Thoughts on Love, Sex, Being Single, Hiding, and Valentine's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywaJo-PQERG8RLOFex852dTUwLMzWGfbf6vjN-eJYXhsVX_Q2Ebxotq9ZcNdII_VrzSLo8Zv-k9UT0hqvYbjnJ17cAlNg2Q4urHPiH6x4Oban8FXCgOf2XROd0cf7xe0y8jO464cgCty9/s1600/rare+trees.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywaJo-PQERG8RLOFex852dTUwLMzWGfbf6vjN-eJYXhsVX_Q2Ebxotq9ZcNdII_VrzSLo8Zv-k9UT0hqvYbjnJ17cAlNg2Q4urHPiH6x4Oban8FXCgOf2XROd0cf7xe0y8jO464cgCty9/s320/rare+trees.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717434580170009266" /></a><br />Hello Duckies,<br /><br />We're almost a month out from Valentine's Day and I feel the need to revisit it. I am rather juvenile in the way that I handle this holiday. Over the past few years I've believed it important to explain to others that it is not about romantic love for me when asked if I have a Valentine's date. It is about all love. It is about friendship. It really is not about romantic love. It is about reconciliation. It is really not about romantic sex. It is about the beauty of the world apart from ideas of marriage and partnership. It is about the hope found in small gaudy gestures to one's friends and family members. It is about goddamn world peace and paper doilies. I want Valentine's Day to be about anything that is not romantic love, which is odd given that I'm prone to fits of romance and poetic indulgence and often find myself in lengthy and gratifying discussions about all things relational with my nearest and dearest. <br /><br />I don't believe there is something wrong with co-opting V-Day for one's own mischief or healing apart from romance. There is something healthy to be found in this space. I wonder why though I articulate around Valentine's Day so vehemently? I hold my language and messaging around this holiday the way some people hold a banner at a protest. This day of silly cards and box of chocolate hearts means something to me as I believe it means something to many people, those that own the day and those that dismiss it with a force that can only be fueled by actual caring. Why does this day represent something significant to people?<br /><br />Many of my friends are engaged, recently married, or about to get engaged. This is beautiful. This is expensive. I had no idea that I would need a separate wedding account to finance all this wedding travel. Apart from the financial concerns there is almost nothing that makes me well up with gratitude and awe at the mystery of time more than watching the women and men who I loved from youth make life commitments to another human. These friends are stitched so tightly into my psyche that it's impossible and undesirable to measure their impact on me. There is no corner of the self that is untouched by young friendship. The time in my life when many of these friendships formed they knew me better than I knew myself. They were home. They are now building their own homes. They are now making their own commitments.<br /><br />I have joined the ranks of many 20/30 something single people (and I daresay many people in young couples feel this way as well) who are called to know themselves better than others know them. I am called into the sometimes lonely place of being a single adult navigating the day to day realities of building a life and recognizing the value in the pieces of life that require no work and are merely gifts. I am learning how to be home for myself. This does not mean that others do not frequently come to stay at this home. It does not mean that my people do not often shed light on aspects of my person that I've neglected to spend time on, but the stage of "friends melting into each other until we are one large LOVEBOT" has passed, at least for the time being.<br /><br /> My friendships now are just as deep, but they carry a layer of humility and recognition that we are all walking our own path and that no one else can walk it for us. These friendships acknowledge inadequacies, fears, and the pervasive truth that no one person can entirely fill up another person's flask. This reality of adult life as it relates to my inner being as well as my external friendships compels me to dig deeply into myself on a frequent basis, to wax philosophical to the point of annoyance, and to turn my mind off indulging in the simple pleasures of a house well kept, a glass of wine shared with a friend, a ridiculous tv show that provides the comfort of consistency, and a loaf of bread that rose properly even at altitude. I believe all this individual and group growth to be positive. There are times though in the midst of all the beauty associated with becoming an adult who is self-assured that shit gets lonely. From what I've observed in myself and my other singletons this loneliness often translates into either:<br /><br />a) a strong desire for a relationship <br /><br />b) a strong desire for a new life plan <br /><br />c) a strong desire to assert one's independence/ downplay the desire for companionship <br /><br />or d) all of the above on a semi-regular rotating basis <br /><br /><br />When I'm lonely I tend to hang out in the land of d) and for some reason Valentine's Day makes me tip into the c) realm. I've had to face, as embarrassing as it is since I fancy myself grounded to the max, that I can sometimes hide my "I really would love a partnership that involves lots of loving and laughing and hoping and sexing and sexting (maybe more sexing less sexting)" behind my admiration for other types of love. I am so busy working on being a single adult that I forget that in addition to being self-sufficient I'm also filled with desire. It is the type of desire that builds bridges between people's hearts, minds, hands, bodies, and bedrooms. This hiding does not diminish the fact that I think that we should acknowledge and lift up all forms of radical empathy, which is the stuff love is made of. I just think maybe it's time for me to be clear with myself, which I'm finding more and more can be a surprisingly daunting task. <br /><br />On Valentine's Day this year I received a letter at my workplace. A few friends also received these letters. The letters arrived together. They were powerful and full of gratitude for who we are as professionals and people. They were from a client. Mine said all sorts of lovely things. It said I was kind, but straight up about things. It said I didn't hide things that are ugly or hard, but in the face of them found beauty. It called me and my team as valuable as rare trees. That was a particularly favorite line of mine. Upon reading it again I realized that in this "love" area of my life I have not been totally upfront with myself recently. I have not been frank. I've been co-opting my own feelings and desires and hiding them behind stories that I find beautiful instead of finding beauty in what is in my heart and what is most raw during this life stage. <br /><br /><br />Maybe this year, inspired by my strange reaction to Valentine's Day and subsequent self analysis, I will work on continuing to honor and uplift the types of love that do not pivot around romantic partnership and allowing those solid examples of the human spirit to create a space for the chocolate box heart/swooney/lovey dovey/i want you now and forever/kissey/sexy/touch me/hold me/hear me/heart me brand of love. Perhaps in the coming year I will seek to not so much re-frame as to embrace. I will seek not so much to assert as to appreciate that there are as many iterations of the human heart as there are trees, each one as rare and valuable as the next.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-78911442105208323242012-02-05T19:51:00.001-08:002012-02-05T20:25:48.347-08:00The Unpleasantness of Being Brave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DMSdMrZEf0716zEQNW8ClzhxxWc40OVICzodg9wnIy4FRxsszlBgA0WwPyXT-MEZY7c_LX9Jz78hXV9g0UZhYHKRMQGWhUHJZXoJlkgg4gGxLga0YoL0GwhbN9drCljZV2ut6v8gSd9L/s1600/girl+on+board.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DMSdMrZEf0716zEQNW8ClzhxxWc40OVICzodg9wnIy4FRxsszlBgA0WwPyXT-MEZY7c_LX9Jz78hXV9g0UZhYHKRMQGWhUHJZXoJlkgg4gGxLga0YoL0GwhbN9drCljZV2ut6v8gSd9L/s320/girl+on+board.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705874119773765682" /></a><br />I learned how to swim before I could walk. Water is the most calming force in my life. When I was in second grade my class got free swim lessons. Our district secured a grant for all of us to take swim lessons and diving lessons. I was ecstatic at the prospect. I was in my element during the swimming portion of the lessons. I felt competent and committed in the way that you only can when engaged in an activity that you were made to do. Then came the diving portion of the lesson. <br /><br />This pool was Olympic regulation and the highest diving board seemed to me to be larger than any building I'd ever seen. I was selected to be the first to "dive off" the highest platform. Really what this meant is that the diving teacher would pick me up, tell me to stay straight as a pencil, and drop me into the water. I was selected because of my confidence in water. I climbed the board feeling a great sense of anticipation and excitement. Then I looked down. All of a sudden I felt Ike I was going to vomit. My body wanted to be as far away from the edge as humanly possible and as low to the ground. I knew that something major was at risk. I knew that by jumping I was risking something and it petrified me. What was interesting though was that I quickly realized that I could also not climb down the ladder without losing something. The whole class was watching and furthermore climbing down a ladder once you've realized how high you are is almost as scary as jumping off the board into the water. I had this acute sense of anger at myself for climbing onto the board thinking, "I could have just stayed on the ground where God intended me to be. I could be in the third row behind the other kids hiding out awaiting some other classmate's jump."<br /><br />The diving teacher came and took my hand and said, "You do not have to jump, but I promise you that you will be okay and you'll always remember that before anyone else you jumped off the high dive. You'll remember that you were brave. You seem brave to me." I am sure that in that moment I did not seem brave, but I took his hand and let him hoist me over the board. I hung there little legs straight as a board. Before I knew it I whizzed through the air and was in the water. The impact reddened my legs and lit up my spirit. I felt like I had done something big. I knew that I had done something for myself. The decision was two-fold. I climbed the ladder and I made the jump.<br /><br />Today I was reminded of this story. I had a conversation that has been at least a year and a half in the making. I found myself on the brink of bringing it up then would become ill. At one point I realized that I had already climbed the board. I could jump or I could do the labor intensive work of climbing down. I climbed up to the board the first time I shared something real about myself with this person. I took another step up the ladder when I began to regard their opinion highly. I took the next step when I began loving them. I realized that I've been on the board for a long time. For a moment I imagined that I might be able to climb down without anyone noticing. I no longer have a host of second graders bearing witness to my shame. I realized though that I have become my own second grade class bearing witness to myself. There is no hiding from yourself when you've decided to drop pretenses. I jumped. I brought up the dreaded topic. When I hit the water it stung and I was proud of myself for it. Who knows what will come of this recent small and specific act of abandon. What needs to unfold will. <br /><br />Today I was reminded that we are never jumping alone even when we feel alone. We always have love hoisting us over the board. There is a choice. We can decide to never climb up the ladder. We can decide to climb back down. We can jump. After quite some time of living in fear of the climb and of the jump I am pleased to share that I remembered that I climb the ladder. I was reminded that I jump.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-25348750747627797162011-11-30T16:19:00.002-08:002012-03-12T13:06:39.396-07:00to a younger woman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fYJjriOxUQaQI5dM-HhcMqkBL6JuNjZwSsnDQzv2DUQvRH7xZhy5miTL2JJvTg7Ud4fI_cKPhItFd1QWvysW-4ab4oSzpzc21ujpI9b0jNyMsypXjHAjLVAkLxdN9H03pbrcu5E05Hvk/s1600/rebecca+mustangs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fYJjriOxUQaQI5dM-HhcMqkBL6JuNjZwSsnDQzv2DUQvRH7xZhy5miTL2JJvTg7Ud4fI_cKPhItFd1QWvysW-4ab4oSzpzc21ujpI9b0jNyMsypXjHAjLVAkLxdN9H03pbrcu5E05Hvk/s320/rebecca+mustangs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680950789522559090" /></a><br />i'm home sick with strep throat and it's snowing outside. what a perfect excuse for an afternoon blog post. a letter to my 15 year old self inspired by <a href="http://therumpus.net/sections/blogs/dear-sugar/">sugar's</a> letter to her younger self.<br /><br />sweet girl,<br /><br />you are about to fall in love. relish that. your first love is a roller coaster. be an idiot. it is the first time in your life that you will be called to dig deeply into your insecurities. it is the first time you will feel you are a version of yourself apart from your family. when he says i will love you forever and then some believe him. later when then some has passed be grateful that for a time you stood under orion's starry belt and believed that you would have only one love in your life. hold that idea like an old woman holds a weathered photograph of her pregnant form. you will spend years wondering about this love and what it meant and what it means for future relationships. this is partly because you are young and naive. it is partly because you are you, uniquely designed to weigh, measure, and fortify memories. let it breathe. let to go. there is nothing wrong with the progression of the heart. be wild in your consumption of adoration.<br /><br />you will always love water even after the 6am water polo practices are only distant memories. spend as much time in the ocean as you can; you will not always live near it. don't spend too much time thinking about leaving. the sea is your first great love even proceeding the aforementioned adorable boy who will give you a bracelet among other things with your name, first and middle, engraved on it. you will return to the ocean methodically. it will be your metronome of self. sand and sea are blessings you cannot escape. <br /><br />when you walk around the park that day in july eating raspados with your ponytail askew and your shin guards flopping around your cleats walk slowly by each tree, over each uneven slab of concrete to the place where your friend stood laugh and speak loudly over the music. don't ever be drowned out by anyone's music unless of course what it has to say is more important. <br /><br />watch your brother sleep. remember everything he says. learn about joy through his reactions to the world. <br /><br />when your english teacher asks you to join the cheerleading team because they need girls with good grades it is okay to say no even though she is exquisite in your mind. you have never been nor will you ever be a cheerleader. your teacher will still become one of the most important women in your life. down the road a young woman you've poured into will put into words to you what you always wanted to say to that teacher, "thank you for knowing that who i am is infinitely more interesting than who the world suggests i should be. thank you for fighting for my mind."<br /><br />when somewhere down the road you find yourself in your first college dorm and a boy spends an hour talking to you about your hopes and dreams and how your hair really does look like light on the sea at dawn do not arrogantly presume that because you are from a rough neighborhood you have everyone's number down and he is a flirt without substance. he will later surprise you with one of the most meaningful friendships of your young life. <br /><br />keep loving on people the way you do. never doubt that wisdom. be brave in your friendships. you will be called into bravery many times in the years to come. face those times with conviction, laughter, and a belief that forgiveness is the great victor. sweet girl, forgive all the time the large and small pains. you will learn to tattoo forgiveness onto your palms everyday. your faith will run like a living red ribbon through your veins, a more glorious option than blood. do not resist any of this. <br /><br />when far down the road you realize you have lost touch with los angeles and its people, your people, do not be afraid to reach out. life is a winding river that sometimes comes full circle. do not fear the circle.<br /><br />when, in your freshman year of college, you have strep throat do not hesitate to share a room with a girl who also has strep throat on the dorm ski trip. you will lay in bed together sick and discuss jane austen. others will find it amusing and photo worthy. late at night your throat will be burning so badly you're crying and she will be equally feverish. do not be afraid to pray together. this girl will become your one of your best friends in the world. <br /><br />in a few years from now you will walk out of a friday afternoon practice with a body drained from a distance swim, eyes burning with chlorine, and mind fatigued from competition. do not forget on this day to go and visit your best friend who is not feeling well. do not forget to bring her a get well present because she loves presents. her room is a shrine to color. do not forget to brush her thick black hair so long you could live in it. do not leave the room without talking to her about your boyfriend and how she is sprung for the introverted Russian boy with an older brother so beautiful that he reminded you of snow. etch into your mind the calla lily rosary she has taken to bed with her and rests between her thumb and middle finger as she spells out all the details of how she wants to kiss the Russian. do not forget to do any of this. on monday she'll be dead. <br /><br />wear her ring everyday on your middle finger until the years and mornings spent sleeping instead of swimming have rounded you out and you must move the ring to another finger. do not fear this. do not put away the ring for the fear of the flesh. your body and soul will round with time as you move away from girl and to woman. this is natural. do not waste time or creativity on the fruitless pursuit of a perfect body. dear sweet girl, love your precious fingers.<br /><br />when you are 26 you will be showering. it will be snowing outside. you will not be living in los angeles. your breath will unfurl against the cold air. you will submerge in heat, water, and lather. this same ring will catch your hair tugging at the tangled mess of waves. you will think of your job, the time sheets unsigned, the patient returning with a question, and the coffee pot left out. you will think of the man you love as a brother, or a friend, or a lover, or something in-between. for a moment as your hair grips your ring you will think of this best friend and her long unruly mane. you will think back to when she died and you could not speak to anyone. you could only manage a shower letting the water's weight and monologue move you from one life to the next. <br /><br />sweet girl, do not forget water will always be your vector to self. <br /><br /><br /><br />photo: me at age 15 before a water polo away game with blue lipstickbecca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-88037941091875734972011-11-15T08:54:00.001-08:002011-11-15T09:00:38.777-08:00autumn list<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirA3Ta2F8kbcULzmgh-7pLYDCAMZxBjAz1dZDZGgAJieDK56-ZRR6skluXbvYwM7AWrwA9EoD9F790Ng5hjWSa3fUYrBtpgh8UGV6XMJ4OOyKbR9KpHIizuJLHMwE1px40x5e_YYVRPfX6/s1600/DSCF3187.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirA3Ta2F8kbcULzmgh-7pLYDCAMZxBjAz1dZDZGgAJieDK56-ZRR6skluXbvYwM7AWrwA9EoD9F790Ng5hjWSa3fUYrBtpgh8UGV6XMJ4OOyKbR9KpHIizuJLHMwE1px40x5e_YYVRPfX6/s320/DSCF3187.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675267477996649858" /></a><br />this fall i am:<br /><br />waiting to hear back from grad schools.<br />appreciating my new roommate.<br />loving the fall colors. <br />drinking many, many cups of coffee.<br />visiting my sf family.<br />thinking about new mexico. <br />walking my lake.<br /><br />here are a few shots of colorado fall. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXAmNaTFrb3H0aPTR4omX4yL4xXpVpD63faTm4fWjw5GZVh4r3GrCMnUl4XURpTXy-tgKbEwK-hccjPgsGfBvMe0kp6uls3qQ47Ae3f0X4EGh3S8ZvfnQzHX59cU5IZPtzbSHneOf_Hpc/s1600/DSCF3188.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXAmNaTFrb3H0aPTR4omX4yL4xXpVpD63faTm4fWjw5GZVh4r3GrCMnUl4XURpTXy-tgKbEwK-hccjPgsGfBvMe0kp6uls3qQ47Ae3f0X4EGh3S8ZvfnQzHX59cU5IZPtzbSHneOf_Hpc/s320/DSCF3188.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675267639566414738" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNDPMxJUodA6FoeyWq115ruzuVarsfX5IPYSuQzk3y19wGvkf86KgFe37GMUb7UhZlwimBy5m04i7t_OMqTLplv5a5YON5bZgGw-q-kI1yEXV7Xm1vVmlGa6CC_pYrWAkYulmEwKBatDc/s1600/DSCF3194.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNDPMxJUodA6FoeyWq115ruzuVarsfX5IPYSuQzk3y19wGvkf86KgFe37GMUb7UhZlwimBy5m04i7t_OMqTLplv5a5YON5bZgGw-q-kI1yEXV7Xm1vVmlGa6CC_pYrWAkYulmEwKBatDc/s320/DSCF3194.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675267837187372850" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_jXZ4LuhQ3dtZmXzUpjnZaRR7PWRKG4uKMD_shToGNZ0QopCqZVtmD6Y2T0OTs6qzhVrQlCzMRo3q5g9NW4RabQckKBqVFFojD3pooGaOxgdmcck7vLcsP0jdk1Oc4f_qkCTQZmIWvnN/s1600/DSCF3190.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_jXZ4LuhQ3dtZmXzUpjnZaRR7PWRKG4uKMD_shToGNZ0QopCqZVtmD6Y2T0OTs6qzhVrQlCzMRo3q5g9NW4RabQckKBqVFFojD3pooGaOxgdmcck7vLcsP0jdk1Oc4f_qkCTQZmIWvnN/s320/DSCF3190.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675268045340505266" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JivVB5lMIvLC_ZENwZLDUWtxefOrX8uSI6wPgrL0X5kTLe37NkkKLwBmpF1ThxFwvonag02I5HOM2luG3y57H7gJyCw76CyMbcgU5wz-uA8AcOEJvZTJcsA7n0AWY3lTNv1zeLvgj-kW/s1600/DSCF3199.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JivVB5lMIvLC_ZENwZLDUWtxefOrX8uSI6wPgrL0X5kTLe37NkkKLwBmpF1ThxFwvonag02I5HOM2luG3y57H7gJyCw76CyMbcgU5wz-uA8AcOEJvZTJcsA7n0AWY3lTNv1zeLvgj-kW/s320/DSCF3199.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675268287922148370" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsNYSl_vhArJqN6lpoAcaiBBRX-ft47h7itbTjdahJNKyxgwtGv4AuK5W8eAHnBVfgIZo0mWDzbGCoYez354A-cN6H1EaDqnEijTKPwD3zQyj2zbfuQ2bAXIl1Cllq4JNcs-R2dPRrjHd/s1600/DSCF3241.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsNYSl_vhArJqN6lpoAcaiBBRX-ft47h7itbTjdahJNKyxgwtGv4AuK5W8eAHnBVfgIZo0mWDzbGCoYez354A-cN6H1EaDqnEijTKPwD3zQyj2zbfuQ2bAXIl1Cllq4JNcs-R2dPRrjHd/s320/DSCF3241.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675268497459176306" /></a>becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-91623652649664205172011-10-21T22:28:00.000-07:002011-10-21T22:50:13.756-07:00holy mother of sauciness and the like<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboNi5rzGnXifdSgunQ5fLqOHPDMqIhf0SQtxlFYmvvzF5CDKtmwfp2np1qWeriEfVQaNjOO6hoIIKbwzB-hwdsUNcDLms2An0UGlGLhvtTsqJrMb-tQBK1kHPwnOWEHUMbCUCGGxiMlgm/s1600/hard+happy+sauce.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboNi5rzGnXifdSgunQ5fLqOHPDMqIhf0SQtxlFYmvvzF5CDKtmwfp2np1qWeriEfVQaNjOO6hoIIKbwzB-hwdsUNcDLms2An0UGlGLhvtTsqJrMb-tQBK1kHPwnOWEHUMbCUCGGxiMlgm/s320/hard+happy+sauce.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666188940223189458" /></a><br />that is an excessively indulgent title for a post, yet it has to be said that this is an excessively indulgent recipe. it's simple. it makes almost any pie better. it makes almost any day brighter. it makes almost any waist wider.<br /><br />this is not for the faint of heart. it is not for the feverish dieter or the concerned citizen. it's for the long days. it's for when you want to say, "honey you are so dang handsome that i've decided to pour heaven all over your food." it's that type of sauce.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjST1fh8eTFvC9NW3X773UVzczj7o_EQmC3j-SS1S8AOTv0YG4d1mbRqTAAFCVLBKwsYPlJBo7g0Uv007dTRfJvkRKO0zdT1g6VYn92HoXkq9-ULZVmg36imQdvRBPVwJmA1TEQZGTdJHD-/s1600/whiskey.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjST1fh8eTFvC9NW3X773UVzczj7o_EQmC3j-SS1S8AOTv0YG4d1mbRqTAAFCVLBKwsYPlJBo7g0Uv007dTRfJvkRKO0zdT1g6VYn92HoXkq9-ULZVmg36imQdvRBPVwJmA1TEQZGTdJHD-/s320/whiskey.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666189064239011986" /></a>Fixings:<br /><br />1 stick butter softened, but not melted <br />1 to 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar<br />2 Tbl Whiskey or Kahlua (whiskey is best unless the dessert you're heaping it on has chocolate as a primary ingredient)<br /><br />Mixings:<br />Mix the butter until it's fluffy and add the sugar slowly. Then mix in the booze. Heap on top of pie or any other food of your choosing. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6wAFK_msjylkYY4A9fboInf9tLVyLehwKfeW0-dW2Hc8RsjF87BPpMx5qa1jIzBPj71_8040DizQvEFk1fyoRN-BNJPdMBhuLG44UbQKmGLYKQ_59zvcqg0kXTAnhSlMFX9p3Vk0ZhW0/s1600/applie+pie+w+sauce.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6wAFK_msjylkYY4A9fboInf9tLVyLehwKfeW0-dW2Hc8RsjF87BPpMx5qa1jIzBPj71_8040DizQvEFk1fyoRN-BNJPdMBhuLG44UbQKmGLYKQ_59zvcqg0kXTAnhSlMFX9p3Vk0ZhW0/s320/applie+pie+w+sauce.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666189207296234002" /></a><br />It can be stored in the fridge for later indulgences. <br /><br />Thank you <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">Ree Drummond</a>!becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-10807529316127934422011-09-26T20:38:00.000-07:002011-09-26T21:22:01.008-07:00Halloween Cup 2012<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-WvUPtevJ60puz-ejdXMQBza_Yahkl1-DEFHH7T5jN6EiG9HehbS1F9PAShfmacX3Jt3JbVVyRmD6aBQcvL7vCZUJ2LhFEi2fg3TDplkxpICZsMFOza4RtIwWMCnFVaRF7fXL0AiAj5s/s1600/n205414_31158847_6692.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-WvUPtevJ60puz-ejdXMQBza_Yahkl1-DEFHH7T5jN6EiG9HehbS1F9PAShfmacX3Jt3JbVVyRmD6aBQcvL7vCZUJ2LhFEi2fg3TDplkxpICZsMFOza4RtIwWMCnFVaRF7fXL0AiAj5s/s320/n205414_31158847_6692.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656882201891734482" /></a><br />yesterday one of my closest friends in denver moved with her new hubby to the east coast. i'm happy she'll be in the fall new england glory, but i'm going to miss her a lot. at her going away sleep over she brought up a most excellent idea that i will share here as i think that many people should adopt the idea of the halloween cup. the concept and origin are listed below:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uwjXrr-Eg91apmryIC4kINTk0SMzY18k_nSmJTsQP6WoxckVYffMsVuWDOgFnYem_gLmq8B_bTpSltSyJpPv2QmLtC62S8WWImMgRIMv97aIlhwGeuZdUzYOHvXKtOyBfE1hrG_JUCps/s1600/206302_514903796503_211549_30072869_1707_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uwjXrr-Eg91apmryIC4kINTk0SMzY18k_nSmJTsQP6WoxckVYffMsVuWDOgFnYem_gLmq8B_bTpSltSyJpPv2QmLtC62S8WWImMgRIMv97aIlhwGeuZdUzYOHvXKtOyBfE1hrG_JUCps/s320/206302_514903796503_211549_30072869_1707_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656882330004280450" /></a>why: my friend for one of her going away gifts got a large trophy that reads, "best halloween costume". she loves dressing up. it was fitting and generally awesome. something has to be done with it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharR9VprGqXTdL3EGdG9TRl5JOA_vzfTHxRQAOrpYk6K9lbCNuqquxZUdU73UZxPd8U0cf0Qi6W2OTPOFB9XnAzQPGaV91pI5lpZg3wYkmD7Df-J1pT4Ka01QiQKjt8b5cS86uBybMUs5g/s1600/197363_522803176188_10705963_30026201_6128_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharR9VprGqXTdL3EGdG9TRl5JOA_vzfTHxRQAOrpYk6K9lbCNuqquxZUdU73UZxPd8U0cf0Qi6W2OTPOFB9XnAzQPGaV91pI5lpZg3wYkmD7Df-J1pT4Ka01QiQKjt8b5cS86uBybMUs5g/s320/197363_522803176188_10705963_30026201_6128_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656885890648660866" /></a>what/when: the idea is that there will be an annual get together on the weekend closest to halloween to compete for this trophy among our friends. the inaugural cup will begin in 2012. i am very excited. perhaps unreasonably excited. note the fervor with which my friends and i embrace dressing up below (and above).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7aluHadQZ_daeG-kwTsLTF0i4bHetaXfGQWhG0EvtPQvXMMl6Mkc0M6OjOIDFZFeQ9sJLylSEhOfWIKs8-jKdAwIZD5YQRHlE_g0eGhmEmYW1EVqIFkU2_4EGeY4FlImzgXIkR1PaWWa/s1600/205534_513574859703_208115_30043244_3575_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7aluHadQZ_daeG-kwTsLTF0i4bHetaXfGQWhG0EvtPQvXMMl6Mkc0M6OjOIDFZFeQ9sJLylSEhOfWIKs8-jKdAwIZD5YQRHlE_g0eGhmEmYW1EVqIFkU2_4EGeY4FlImzgXIkR1PaWWa/s320/205534_513574859703_208115_30043244_3575_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656882505154217298" /></a>where: each year the party will be thrown by the person who won the cup the year before. next year it will be at my friends house in Connecticut. then whoever wins it hosts the next party.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5HdXffOVgz2bIwbnFSqVwdjBjOytvUZ-z8VqGdmUfl0wVvvzaZL56uCgUVnGIAvfZ-RnyWJsth2W3Pa_HVxeUZfjBcU2tSzjJnDOAapQxLuutj6Np1qoYerPANhuGb-dXKuF-3HdypQJ/s1600/226627_515098795723_212564_30312502_6935_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5HdXffOVgz2bIwbnFSqVwdjBjOytvUZ-z8VqGdmUfl0wVvvzaZL56uCgUVnGIAvfZ-RnyWJsth2W3Pa_HVxeUZfjBcU2tSzjJnDOAapQxLuutj6Np1qoYerPANhuGb-dXKuF-3HdypQJ/s320/226627_515098795723_212564_30312502_6935_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656882019034882450" /></a>how: how will i contain myself until next halloween? unanswered question....<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVeqlDGK1TqiQae_UVr0k3zHc2hTuZV8eD3Ig7_OqdBckx91muNtTDxJC4QZemiMPkxSBDUD1uLQ_NVdNoogR9G3cCHkOHyj-s7CuwJHD6pJvv72hcTHwy2gpY3ehmBL6WTqt2bN8905r/s1600/n209850_32889492_4389.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVeqlDGK1TqiQae_UVr0k3zHc2hTuZV8eD3Ig7_OqdBckx91muNtTDxJC4QZemiMPkxSBDUD1uLQ_NVdNoogR9G3cCHkOHyj-s7CuwJHD6pJvv72hcTHwy2gpY3ehmBL6WTqt2bN8905r/s320/n209850_32889492_4389.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656888182956862018" /></a><br />do you have fun holiday traditions? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbok3392bevfngPvZ_jETAWhwOag-cTe15PE6tjMm1q3SVinPmilBLj8igHaNMgbJwbacjeQvS44MG6N8qXwDxlGm5pSRSG5Qpvz7QwHZvCFFLOpdsXFsMgAR8vdlnJKzJ7UBX_Oa8Wh4/s1600/225847_1037831148414_1304562665_30108542_8290758_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbok3392bevfngPvZ_jETAWhwOag-cTe15PE6tjMm1q3SVinPmilBLj8igHaNMgbJwbacjeQvS44MG6N8qXwDxlGm5pSRSG5Qpvz7QwHZvCFFLOpdsXFsMgAR8vdlnJKzJ7UBX_Oa8Wh4/s320/225847_1037831148414_1304562665_30108542_8290758_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656881815113257602" /></a><br /><br />photos: jedi ballerina and retro virus (had to be there), not quite sure...any occasion to wear that gold skirt, nymphs for beltane...yes beltane, tuesday dinner in college, rainbow bright, because it's always a good idea to dress up and sing on tables, the cook crew at sierra camp 2006.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-58346958380978793512011-09-02T21:38:00.000-07:002011-10-21T22:52:56.050-07:00love train, august 27th 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoH8sRmSpCTdzM3Nr1RuAqTdxJVtcF0BYByM3GvRLY37DOdJATpYyZ9nowWwpqcvags245DAeXsFUJE2_wp-YnrXNo6t7hyphenhyphen18-6g5-4BO4GpTWHhf5TKz_VAMHlBgg5vrx_rq1BZhpDdB/s1600/DSCF2640.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoH8sRmSpCTdzM3Nr1RuAqTdxJVtcF0BYByM3GvRLY37DOdJATpYyZ9nowWwpqcvags245DAeXsFUJE2_wp-YnrXNo6t7hyphenhyphen18-6g5-4BO4GpTWHhf5TKz_VAMHlBgg5vrx_rq1BZhpDdB/s320/DSCF2640.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647991374503615922" /></a><br />this past weekend my dear friend tamra got married to jeff. they fell in love last year in the great state of colorado. they are wonderful people and had a wonderful wedding.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXbHHAz5lhTzoYH6EiPT7lLQVT9URP3_7w1rHTK96jxbvsMNellfuQ0ZJn19shEO4Wtrbeme7x4Ni4nzC-S8mN4miYJIaqR2_OD4bfe56NLb9143gSVpvxslumYMxRlevXryupv9XbeT2/s1600/DSCF2643.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXbHHAz5lhTzoYH6EiPT7lLQVT9URP3_7w1rHTK96jxbvsMNellfuQ0ZJn19shEO4Wtrbeme7x4Ni4nzC-S8mN4miYJIaqR2_OD4bfe56NLb9143gSVpvxslumYMxRlevXryupv9XbeT2/s320/DSCF2643.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647991197243461074" /></a><br /><br />it was unique as they are unique. it was on a train in leadville, one of the highest altitude towns in the USA. we made merry in our beautiful mountains. congrats tamra and jeff; we love your love. <br /><br />some shots of the day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_tjvAf9_GRQHQ9QGTqrPb_Zb60VGiRTufvYwS8dklmyC_c-LyeqMtZwSiACPPPXD1vF1qgOHmu8EIh60ISmuKVO2PlWmKFyWfcxM0V6BvQ1L5rLW1jgOvUva8LcFFC_4Bqjv7UcjeceM/s1600/DSCF2667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_tjvAf9_GRQHQ9QGTqrPb_Zb60VGiRTufvYwS8dklmyC_c-LyeqMtZwSiACPPPXD1vF1qgOHmu8EIh60ISmuKVO2PlWmKFyWfcxM0V6BvQ1L5rLW1jgOvUva8LcFFC_4Bqjv7UcjeceM/s320/DSCF2667.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647991771821637906" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90R6btch7ajqkVOwyKLGOzU6k3wjnLEznl-EcczSJjIIsT_t6vrUrnLcNswbtn4nns4ftUPyZ3WvpwqP1PpNgwvwiE92kJ6asCvwuJV2lubvGoq091YyuoibtNygj2veKieaw2i7UaA2B/s1600/DSCF2673.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi90R6btch7ajqkVOwyKLGOzU6k3wjnLEznl-EcczSJjIIsT_t6vrUrnLcNswbtn4nns4ftUPyZ3WvpwqP1PpNgwvwiE92kJ6asCvwuJV2lubvGoq091YyuoibtNygj2veKieaw2i7UaA2B/s320/DSCF2673.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647992236923382626" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm5y4qbWEypAAoMQDn-pj4lLW0g5sAKZcpBnIN8SPaoV52AfvNY3t5y3X-EoKh4AeE-pdE70waDLISri9hT8JaGfx1T8iePVG_DCXCRPigTOzz6GZtY88PuRbnqP2MUa_5GcoX2ZPBVk3/s1600/DSCF2685.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm5y4qbWEypAAoMQDn-pj4lLW0g5sAKZcpBnIN8SPaoV52AfvNY3t5y3X-EoKh4AeE-pdE70waDLISri9hT8JaGfx1T8iePVG_DCXCRPigTOzz6GZtY88PuRbnqP2MUa_5GcoX2ZPBVk3/s320/DSCF2685.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647993089398997554" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfEX7ChUx5mZxmwr3M5_081Vpi8CukMZh-VzTP-rrOKFPSghsEqs4lDDeIKVPiP6M01QJlFpAxuO5AsSgTPoLQhkQaQKmXgnmVq4sVNzD-RkOZX8vAa26nDmkaUTDVhwazbUS2p18Kk8N/s1600/DSCF2674.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfEX7ChUx5mZxmwr3M5_081Vpi8CukMZh-VzTP-rrOKFPSghsEqs4lDDeIKVPiP6M01QJlFpAxuO5AsSgTPoLQhkQaQKmXgnmVq4sVNzD-RkOZX8vAa26nDmkaUTDVhwazbUS2p18Kk8N/s320/DSCF2674.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647992518547474546" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX0xySK9HVoWBUaHxI3jP4dHfclufIAGyaDYLTQ9YR5hGHDPvv6NgqdQl_-8kkueYnwRXc944rXEkijD-cxLtmUydUe2V5gfwpLb0nszo2HU7WsWZjFN7zO3yOrBb9EWPW9aCv4OoLv23/s1600/DSCF2647.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEX0xySK9HVoWBUaHxI3jP4dHfclufIAGyaDYLTQ9YR5hGHDPvv6NgqdQl_-8kkueYnwRXc944rXEkijD-cxLtmUydUe2V5gfwpLb0nszo2HU7WsWZjFN7zO3yOrBb9EWPW9aCv4OoLv23/s320/DSCF2647.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647992783366652594" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzOXrIYYjwp3K2JV-uGXPiPzfSw_jURo8gj8MbIW9Lz_DL1nvf2Id9sq1lL95S0RbDPp7m1BgtkTABsPutTa-pcVGEdIoR3REMIpthM3HdwDxdMSIr_3m4xGFXaP9TxTUMExzL1YTkkJ5/s1600/DSCF2686.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzOXrIYYjwp3K2JV-uGXPiPzfSw_jURo8gj8MbIW9Lz_DL1nvf2Id9sq1lL95S0RbDPp7m1BgtkTABsPutTa-pcVGEdIoR3REMIpthM3HdwDxdMSIr_3m4xGFXaP9TxTUMExzL1YTkkJ5/s320/DSCF2686.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647993359433363762" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxBF-VVDc62lRXZieWCyYpkYjDIdPWtk8ehug3qwQxER4LavKmq0I_Kc3uWbwf9UdnPfCQG3BNQ3djBp_Q0UuHpubTleY_xiHcyX2ek_nSD5-U4IDbyJXdIFTB9r34d9vyeiVVj-Hio_9/s1600/DSCF2702.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxBF-VVDc62lRXZieWCyYpkYjDIdPWtk8ehug3qwQxER4LavKmq0I_Kc3uWbwf9UdnPfCQG3BNQ3djBp_Q0UuHpubTleY_xiHcyX2ek_nSD5-U4IDbyJXdIFTB9r34d9vyeiVVj-Hio_9/s320/DSCF2702.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647993608846137970" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfCzCMMY-TaBCQt2mu4IfaCTMEkdwz3DroAthkH1_Qg-vi6b2dGAfxoopB-UZVgyvp9up69-HMsZ8Lr2Mff13YkW8c_wkLVr8bMv25mY0pvDt6OOWmTuAi9uTatIQjEPoGtqRIMeOARrx/s1600/DSCF2713.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfCzCMMY-TaBCQt2mu4IfaCTMEkdwz3DroAthkH1_Qg-vi6b2dGAfxoopB-UZVgyvp9up69-HMsZ8Lr2Mff13YkW8c_wkLVr8bMv25mY0pvDt6OOWmTuAi9uTatIQjEPoGtqRIMeOARrx/s320/DSCF2713.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647993879820009778" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjR0ioz8LWwokjd8VRN_RQMwsOyAu9cArMWrS4GisgospBtorC169bI49Jf6ZnvaHv2kKHCBy_xiGkfQTaaEJnwv7AkoUN5xMzdPTpmDFlU0yBGDtfrh5ZB3nf7hlCcTkNjDOJJ3rjKhZ/s1600/DSCF2691.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjR0ioz8LWwokjd8VRN_RQMwsOyAu9cArMWrS4GisgospBtorC169bI49Jf6ZnvaHv2kKHCBy_xiGkfQTaaEJnwv7AkoUN5xMzdPTpmDFlU0yBGDtfrh5ZB3nf7hlCcTkNjDOJJ3rjKhZ/s320/DSCF2691.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647994492176726450" /></a>becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-22735267066139038382011-04-06T17:53:00.000-07:002011-06-06T20:21:47.987-07:00patience and pork<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0XJivoUiKkkoJKuc1DVLD-Cy7KkFcxOOi4dk9eHbW3Qfhb_182r1HDOwK7qjacJgl92LctQD1L3CvYsrs7XsKtwXT9Cab3tfjr7UUyORpSPdwyj2MKYjP2lQgmrD1xXa3gwU_k2PBvTQ/s1600/pork+from+store.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0XJivoUiKkkoJKuc1DVLD-Cy7KkFcxOOi4dk9eHbW3Qfhb_182r1HDOwK7qjacJgl92LctQD1L3CvYsrs7XsKtwXT9Cab3tfjr7UUyORpSPdwyj2MKYjP2lQgmrD1xXa3gwU_k2PBvTQ/s320/pork+from+store.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592644645955480898" /></a><br />well hello blogosphere. it's been a while. perhaps we should have titled this post "naughty bloger number we're not counting anymore because it's been too many times".<br /><br />my kitchen is all a flury. upon arriving home from a dinner date with a dear friend i began preparing to make pork tenderloin in the slow cooker. there is a back story as is true with any recipe worth making. <br /><br />pork and i have a tenuous relationship. i like to think that i abhor pork. i write off my love of bacon and sausage as mere flukes. however, there is a recipe that i found recently embedded in the pages of a used book that lives on a particularly disorganized bookshelf titled "great literature" in a particularly eccentric book shop near my house. the book perported to be about the history of early denver, but was mostly about buffalo bill and the controversy over his gravesite. oh joy. <br /><br />the book's main secret was this recipe. it was written on old paper by hand and was barely legible. it called for a boiling pot, but i interpreted that to mean a slow cooker. i have set out to recreate the recipe tonight. somehow i think that when i eat it tomorrow with friends we will step into a trance like food coma portal and come to understand a world in which books about buffalo bill's gravesite are high literature. needless to say i cannot wait. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesspU-U2rn2KZjWhm448x2uDN8MA7vJpJPpW0FQ09Bh-La-M2KPmNT-Elui_9s4ZqSAptyQkIyNymI8T-ac2HNZ2gZgLY5cS9mFd071lfl6n1BWlrrZFtU_qn0EyiSvgbCFcdOP0cAvh9/s1600/pork+stewing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesspU-U2rn2KZjWhm448x2uDN8MA7vJpJPpW0FQ09Bh-La-M2KPmNT-Elui_9s4ZqSAptyQkIyNymI8T-ac2HNZ2gZgLY5cS9mFd071lfl6n1BWlrrZFtU_qn0EyiSvgbCFcdOP0cAvh9/s320/pork+stewing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592644817381256866" /></a><br /><br /><br />hopefully the slow cooker will melt the pork into submission. i do not have the patience or time for tough meat. <br /><br />i will report back tomorrow on the success of the dish and whether it is as delightful an experience as the finding of its recipe card was.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLKlri6FnBrgjL2pfveP-frE2JybdJBzB29S_MVYFFXM7LpZyBI3PciRtGjWb7KfnqCgdYjV0yGrxLtYWkS-rC1pIUiH9O7Oe7McA3oOWGvnjxkKarfYyma0o4hXkm_excs2oOZK44U1e/s1600/pork+cooked.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLKlri6FnBrgjL2pfveP-frE2JybdJBzB29S_MVYFFXM7LpZyBI3PciRtGjWb7KfnqCgdYjV0yGrxLtYWkS-rC1pIUiH9O7Oe7McA3oOWGvnjxkKarfYyma0o4hXkm_excs2oOZK44U1e/s320/pork+cooked.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592645014672646338" /></a><br /><br /><br />here's wishing you a wonderful night and one that hopefully includes old books, good friends, and a slow cooker. <br /><br />photocredit: {<a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">ree drummon</a>}becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-34889008262861694042011-02-03T18:34:00.001-08:002011-04-06T18:22:46.144-07:00for the love of elephant seals among other things<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmYwXqUV87JaixPjwqBsFit3cJiWiVV_iLKS5TEUYFChyEQYi-s6ENEp_A1uiayUj5WJRw0qZxpAsgB2rpmH4ACaIehaeY_OxR8xdCLMd2LPmd0hfmXZP_I39NfZey5KTtFcmjFFb-31G/s1600/sf+070.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmYwXqUV87JaixPjwqBsFit3cJiWiVV_iLKS5TEUYFChyEQYi-s6ENEp_A1uiayUj5WJRw0qZxpAsgB2rpmH4ACaIehaeY_OxR8xdCLMd2LPmd0hfmXZP_I39NfZey5KTtFcmjFFb-31G/s320/sf+070.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569691407678454322" /></a><br />hello duckies,<br /><br />for those of you east of the rocky mountains i hope you are staying warm and inside away from the storm. <br /><br />as anyone who has read this blog probably has gleaned: i really like ruminating on the concept of place. i love getting to know the places i'm in and exploring it's various seasonal and cultural offerings. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepT0syFWMt4aeJr9U26uWLt5y9A3HUTbM3hE8S-usyk6nHb0zIAELxZ9rFBduVUtQLZxKSrxU_iP1j9SMABXeJrtT_Fjc5kIdUCi1jMwcv6pVnxCKsDni4edUnZTqMCAh8jDxfib2pB52/s1600/sf+095.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgepT0syFWMt4aeJr9U26uWLt5y9A3HUTbM3hE8S-usyk6nHb0zIAELxZ9rFBduVUtQLZxKSrxU_iP1j9SMABXeJrtT_Fjc5kIdUCi1jMwcv6pVnxCKsDni4edUnZTqMCAh8jDxfib2pB52/s320/sf+095.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569691285921689106" /></a><br /><br />i have fallen for the city of denver and the state of colorado.this was a surprise. i came here thinking that i would enjoy it, but long constantly and consistently for california. this has pleasantly not been the case. <br /><br />however some days i really miss my first love: california. i miss the colors and sounds of la and the way that light filters in across the san francisco bay. i miss my friends and communities in ca. i miss that the worst weather i might encounter would be a 40 degree rainy day. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5Sf4HUOnjLt0-IO7ljVoqVBS7aQ-HN1VocbHb40acNxB1wwgcRpfMRsIPA1NzeuGbt6UmiePoYUkBRRa_ghAga_2e_WPFKf7E4FEA76lZZnwOp60hGhQYx5j0QFylRummjLG7mnSZoLV/s1600/sf+117.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5Sf4HUOnjLt0-IO7ljVoqVBS7aQ-HN1VocbHb40acNxB1wwgcRpfMRsIPA1NzeuGbt6UmiePoYUkBRRa_ghAga_2e_WPFKf7E4FEA76lZZnwOp60hGhQYx5j0QFylRummjLG7mnSZoLV/s320/sf+117.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569691588548729618" /></a><br /><br />maybe more than anything (after my people), i miss the ocean. i'm an ocean lady. it's just that simple. today on my drive home in the slush and snow i thought of how the oceanwould always calm my nerves. i channeled the blustery northern california beach and pressed on feeling revived. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D7HsQVmYy2dKPTw2nOUbHaN8FOd18vmvE3FxVPUsK1Ta6-7-rx0EbqbLERz6ovUWdvLoJAQUk_bh2xzTu29UiVwQhayY84EZZGkHUvGBO7NDINmP76vBVSAvBbEMz45L8Scpgt3wa2KM/s1600/robyn+danny+143.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D7HsQVmYy2dKPTw2nOUbHaN8FOd18vmvE3FxVPUsK1Ta6-7-rx0EbqbLERz6ovUWdvLoJAQUk_bh2xzTu29UiVwQhayY84EZZGkHUvGBO7NDINmP76vBVSAvBbEMz45L8Scpgt3wa2KM/s320/robyn+danny+143.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569692297172197330" /></a><br /><br />tonight i miss california something awful. i'm a touch ridiculous. it's like i'm greiving a past lover. i'm in colorado and loving it, but days like this remind me that i'm of california, made of sand, light, water, city, salt, poppies, eucalyptus, long coastal drives, and raspados...le sigh. <br /><br />in my unfolding romance with place california, you take the cake.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-25309700882612235252011-01-31T18:22:00.000-08:002011-01-31T18:31:34.900-08:00winter rising<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5Iv3HeYO7ohM_ZKisGrF9Dwnk8De9pQdmwsFrcHDua6LTomZEYrbZCaWnp3MRZWcX586DpL6HrmSOj_IsPliwjq4JjH1EfZOiLSP1cB2ZC47I41uKOHOsHJF1SV3YkgfYULFd7Nn0zow/s1600/blue+doors.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5Iv3HeYO7ohM_ZKisGrF9Dwnk8De9pQdmwsFrcHDua6LTomZEYrbZCaWnp3MRZWcX586DpL6HrmSOj_IsPliwjq4JjH1EfZOiLSP1cB2ZC47I41uKOHOsHJF1SV3YkgfYULFd7Nn0zow/s320/blue+doors.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568541728060623890" /></a><br /><br />it's snowy and very cold today. icy winds have blown in and the streets are full of urban slush. tonight i'm honoring winter by thinking about my favorite winter place: taos. isn't it beautiful?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL18sBYyj9RUaKDX3YgyWj8RhX1w-_nSYkhH7BADoGQ5rl85UtlDF7G-Qsgcve9vbiAzc090pOfhNdhq_CD6rAQqZ7rUfbhyH3V7JqmX0P9j-Vjh5aNzgABc77fyvA-gWlw8nZ_jY_AC3f/s1600/st+jeromes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL18sBYyj9RUaKDX3YgyWj8RhX1w-_nSYkhH7BADoGQ5rl85UtlDF7G-Qsgcve9vbiAzc090pOfhNdhq_CD6rAQqZ7rUfbhyH3V7JqmX0P9j-Vjh5aNzgABc77fyvA-gWlw8nZ_jY_AC3f/s320/st+jeromes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568541196474835218" /></a><br /><br />whenever i start to feel that winter is grundgy and gross i think of the magic of adobe, snow, sky, and chili.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaHnlPCzosg25fsokLToKItYayZDLADfteTANS6gEldLAaWPJFsJip00LgvZze1gpi5AQp1d5DwQrG7EgvoVaIrQWh8YIBxffd2iSizOQDmCnJ47K9dbBs42XIV0AO3HlWqhyE5x7iHID/s1600/winter+taos.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaHnlPCzosg25fsokLToKItYayZDLADfteTANS6gEldLAaWPJFsJip00LgvZze1gpi5AQp1d5DwQrG7EgvoVaIrQWh8YIBxffd2iSizOQDmCnJ47K9dbBs42XIV0AO3HlWqhyE5x7iHID/s320/winter+taos.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568541871342474322" /></a><br /><br />in honor of tonight i'm having green chilis. yum.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-36288467891251323022010-12-31T18:10:00.000-08:002010-12-31T18:25:33.042-08:00goodbye 2010, hello 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPtOV35xy0k2hT8Bn_g3GMw7dB39s2VgIRHYUEf_Faq26dQrFi91hbcXL-PjHsKnuGXb41-g7xoIv-iZ_e3ITgqC-OQXHT3vQ3zlbMijmc4HaUmA8FHX5_21tpDvuZ1QLAerGe0lyyIs5/s1600/dance+dance.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPtOV35xy0k2hT8Bn_g3GMw7dB39s2VgIRHYUEf_Faq26dQrFi91hbcXL-PjHsKnuGXb41-g7xoIv-iZ_e3ITgqC-OQXHT3vQ3zlbMijmc4HaUmA8FHX5_21tpDvuZ1QLAerGe0lyyIs5/s320/dance+dance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557035011698272658" /></a><br />"I am older than I once was, and younger than I’ll be.<br />That’s not unusual.<br />It isn’t strange,<br />after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same.<br />After changes, we are more or less the same."<br /><br />so on this very freezing new year's eve while i sit watching my stew boil and drinking my hot chocolate i am thinking about three things:<br /><br /><br />1. one of my very best friends that turned 26 today. it's amazing when you really think about it how we walk through so many different experiences and grow each year, but some things remain the same in each of us. i'm so glad for the things that remain constant in her. happy birthday valen.<br /><br />2.this past year: i could go on and on about it, but suffice it to say that it's been a year of supreme challenges, great gifts, and huge growth. the highlights have been my relationships, my growing love of colorado, my growing knowledge of and ability to work with the homeless population, and my appreciation for who i am.<br /><br />3. the coming year: i am hoping for simple things this year. i wish to openly and honesty embrace the experiences in my life; to be proactively healthy; to grow in wisdom, love, and bravery; to move closer towards grad school; to develop my pancake making skills; to move in to one of two neighborhoods in denver lined with brick homes and adorable shops; to spend significantly more time in the mountains; and lastly to ground myself daily in the life that i am blessed enough to have. yes my goals span from the mundane to the amorphous.<br /><br />2010, it's been real.<br /><br />photocredit: {Brendan McCarthy} ....photo recap of the year coming tomorrow!becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-82580381562989305482010-10-31T17:37:00.000-07:002010-10-31T18:10:33.007-07:00carmelized apple quiche, dried herbs on the line, babies at the doorhalloween.<br /><br />dried herbs,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtKUdChQED-AjqxWueVsoEdE9ZGD4lAp-RQWsEjJQ5CozdG9ISRjirvvmJvQSZs4qQcx_q0Q07Tzp6DWoEH-aba436bqBRAduyUnv5FC89HQqk14BHKm0acaYf2QsHSrtj82MfdcMcdi3/s1600/herbs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtKUdChQED-AjqxWueVsoEdE9ZGD4lAp-RQWsEjJQ5CozdG9ISRjirvvmJvQSZs4qQcx_q0Q07Tzp6DWoEH-aba436bqBRAduyUnv5FC89HQqk14BHKm0acaYf2QsHSrtj82MfdcMcdi3/s320/herbs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534382234605217458" /></a><br /><br />pumpkins,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJMEBQwmmG2C1b91UoW14y0ykk2c2xgX0MtjpuoKXhA3Hv7PaiTbqPMwm3E6YjHm9g96sPe3zbdhR2L70Ryfx183ZCdnleEP7tvCvBumcebB9WReW5TDt5ZV24mUDKSjSchZ07VkdXio5/s1600/heirloom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJMEBQwmmG2C1b91UoW14y0ykk2c2xgX0MtjpuoKXhA3Hv7PaiTbqPMwm3E6YjHm9g96sPe3zbdhR2L70Ryfx183ZCdnleEP7tvCvBumcebB9WReW5TDt5ZV24mUDKSjSchZ07VkdXio5/s320/heirloom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534377525650840306" /></a><br /><br />the scariest haunted house of all time. fortunately for me one of my best friends held my hand the whole time. wowza...my nervous system is not cut out for haunted houses.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNzBHgUkAumvKuFr2jgCLqMdoQkFhFb5ftDxXZtlkR8N9kFAwEPWGuUeKLBKYjbRITFZW9UugwVwqVkK2xcBPYGnJoofXGphFa97quGdCNFTTqhpR-05mpflhd9x6ufhjVYqWuK6L_hK8/s1600/victorian.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNzBHgUkAumvKuFr2jgCLqMdoQkFhFb5ftDxXZtlkR8N9kFAwEPWGuUeKLBKYjbRITFZW9UugwVwqVkK2xcBPYGnJoofXGphFa97quGdCNFTTqhpR-05mpflhd9x6ufhjVYqWuK6L_hK8/s320/victorian.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534378610061471874" /></a><br /><br />the denver botanical gardens,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTc5kGKiB2gJDu-MOTjBAxKb0vGjXOfoYYXuDXoAQcwPusQOQY3kttAJVcwo2TakEtMBzguqLPQPnuwQQ1n3rZHajrdhwLmPOlUcuRlqyqVsqu3-97cuzOiDcpzCi9en3z5Ie62Lc9Gf3u/s1600/botanical+gardens+fall.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTc5kGKiB2gJDu-MOTjBAxKb0vGjXOfoYYXuDXoAQcwPusQOQY3kttAJVcwo2TakEtMBzguqLPQPnuwQQ1n3rZHajrdhwLmPOlUcuRlqyqVsqu3-97cuzOiDcpzCi9en3z5Ie62Lc9Gf3u/s320/botanical+gardens+fall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534378997640168802" /></a><br /><br />ham and apple quiche,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3sY6ef57ezhmPLAveV1dVVUq7Ln7aWHZesPX_rGg_LhvbGYa3h1fWD-Nk198d8FLvpp7-aWRTzTqLvAwextKJqr8wiWkMne0ACKfjRnKVls4Hip_9ki_O0PwvJ9O4cs8MAxvB6Wi_yQ0/s1600/quiche.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3sY6ef57ezhmPLAveV1dVVUq7Ln7aWHZesPX_rGg_LhvbGYa3h1fWD-Nk198d8FLvpp7-aWRTzTqLvAwextKJqr8wiWkMne0ACKfjRnKVls4Hip_9ki_O0PwvJ9O4cs8MAxvB6Wi_yQ0/s320/quiche.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534379398587413218" /></a><br /><br />pie,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYXQUB7f6x5SztjcMhr_kzPUCTwuRclesnVb1zP33stqgNP4GgraHBFykWvzh2NzLfxYPTIUk4EmwrvbINlc_mxTwomGeX6OkBBiC-aNiGeHW9fu6z22MHEnLfk8QruGr2sNfnx2MtVPV/s1600/pumpkin+pie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYXQUB7f6x5SztjcMhr_kzPUCTwuRclesnVb1zP33stqgNP4GgraHBFykWvzh2NzLfxYPTIUk4EmwrvbINlc_mxTwomGeX6OkBBiC-aNiGeHW9fu6z22MHEnLfk8QruGr2sNfnx2MtVPV/s320/pumpkin+pie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534380135857877138" /></a><br /><br />munchkins knocking at the door,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXOtBCVmGBcp4v9zZszdLJ-uYtJmlRQC4PiSo4jKxyNpWzabTY3q5Tx73tPpplpWlvqjf_ZJkb67g-j91dPDxbQ3R_p8DUCmv7LVl1cXRp_0KYd73QJ10W6fbLUJBGN29yYlcdecQVN95/s1600/buffalo+baby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXOtBCVmGBcp4v9zZszdLJ-uYtJmlRQC4PiSo4jKxyNpWzabTY3q5Tx73tPpplpWlvqjf_ZJkb67g-j91dPDxbQ3R_p8DUCmv7LVl1cXRp_0KYd73QJ10W6fbLUJBGN29yYlcdecQVN95/s320/buffalo+baby.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534380638297078162" /></a><br /><br />and some practical magic, yes i love this movie. it's shameful and i don't care. i do not like scary witches or sprightly pastel colored witches, but i'm a sucker for the brand of witch that lives in a big old house by the ocean, is an off the book botanist, bakes big crusty loaves of bread, is clarvoyant, and drinks a little too much red wine. yes this is my type of witch and thus...practical magic.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx7VYPjIk11Kx3Dps8ZroI94DbP9LaM0Hfz-xpf31-pmATp8Q00nYy7gKvl-E1ldZHcMduGLzF63BS4gA8wrvGfArImGs-JEYgoG_QWWuRoxFh8Lvr8s3JUZ3kxKbK8WHFxEJ4hsUZ0Em/s1600/practical+magic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx7VYPjIk11Kx3Dps8ZroI94DbP9LaM0Hfz-xpf31-pmATp8Q00nYy7gKvl-E1ldZHcMduGLzF63BS4gA8wrvGfArImGs-JEYgoG_QWWuRoxFh8Lvr8s3JUZ3kxKbK8WHFxEJ4hsUZ0Em/s320/practical+magic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534381352206626802" /></a><br /><br />hope you have a lovely halloween duckies.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-79071575877198865872010-09-26T19:24:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:33:58.529-07:00West Virginia, on my mind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZM-jSr_rwr2QY6P_MSIqDfyYshXewz-ubmx3g2bqQFTAXqw9W-fTbLbmhiyzByFZCBAbXYBd0a0m-lFwmZr10zICKT5R2IFw14M1zODZO3K2YtEAV_aI3aaYTwzn_S9iNBIdLjjzGt5y/s1600/west+virginia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZM-jSr_rwr2QY6P_MSIqDfyYshXewz-ubmx3g2bqQFTAXqw9W-fTbLbmhiyzByFZCBAbXYBd0a0m-lFwmZr10zICKT5R2IFw14M1zODZO3K2YtEAV_aI3aaYTwzn_S9iNBIdLjjzGt5y/s320/west+virginia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521414706823637714" /></a><br />hi all,<br /><br />so as a disclaimer, i love sports movies. i'm not sure why, but a good sports movie gets me everytime. i'm not saying i don't love a good romantic comedy, but when i really want to indulge and need a crying night i turn on a rise from the ashes sports saga...<br /><br />tonight i watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758794/">We Are Marshall</a>. it is the story of the 1970 Marshall University Football team that died in a plane crash. needless to say, it's heartbreaking, but i found its portrayal of ptsd, community grief, and hope compelling. it is a true story and i loved it. <br /><br />there we go. i'm a sappy sports gal. it's just reality. we can't do anything about it.<br /><br />the movie made me want to visit west virginia. i forget that west virginia is called the playground of the southeast. <br /><br />i hope someday i get to revel in this southern beauty.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-34790672237783698752010-09-22T22:22:00.000-07:002010-09-22T22:40:03.257-07:00shimmer me timbers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH3Ij5PfbbLfv-IMuRWynEbc863GpRVKwFf_O4uqMYN2GKz2cN5gIH0FfKG7W2jXelhElN6jqIRYhsInrGF4pDrpXBlIIRT_5pa3brZdUlWjWUrvGXSsFsHlFTb6BOC3MJe5ZSC0ranIP/s1600/aspen+023.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH3Ij5PfbbLfv-IMuRWynEbc863GpRVKwFf_O4uqMYN2GKz2cN5gIH0FfKG7W2jXelhElN6jqIRYhsInrGF4pDrpXBlIIRT_5pa3brZdUlWjWUrvGXSsFsHlFTb6BOC3MJe5ZSC0ranIP/s320/aspen+023.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519978828537538354" /></a><br />fall is here. the aspens are turning to gold. they shimmer and quake rhythmically. it's as if all the little anxious trees shaking from fear of winter found each other and discovered some peace in their vocal harmony. it's the colorful song of autumn. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38iAm4IfURSKe_oCNbzCWy7BiOm1lF8yRaR-RXrf2agxj6jQH3wPWFIeWDPof5VGzxSL-Bf-aVhnejOhmoVb-juykhiFGMSvXeNKbj5nyOzW3ueLnCZMSXNUsnrVT7xarfZfd40NWzxJc/s1600/aspen+022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38iAm4IfURSKe_oCNbzCWy7BiOm1lF8yRaR-RXrf2agxj6jQH3wPWFIeWDPof5VGzxSL-Bf-aVhnejOhmoVb-juykhiFGMSvXeNKbj5nyOzW3ueLnCZMSXNUsnrVT7xarfZfd40NWzxJc/s320/aspen+022.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519979041923065954" /></a><br />i like to stand under the trees and imagine the world saying, "here is this gift. change seems scary and you've had so much of it this year, but look in the most transitional of seasons i'm bringing you this remarkable show of beauty." <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7G3_4cpkznrYKBkpokTA0NhJQzyEyjEua1YHq9pqwNf2510B-XWYC-e9JZY-mOQzH498-WaWUSrOEUbm_D2R87d5KRmDU9Of3GOIhY7ZCBYgjxjXtB-q-o0a1LSloZcwO12Qj4EaNQPP/s1600/aspen+058.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7G3_4cpkznrYKBkpokTA0NhJQzyEyjEua1YHq9pqwNf2510B-XWYC-e9JZY-mOQzH498-WaWUSrOEUbm_D2R87d5KRmDU9Of3GOIhY7ZCBYgjxjXtB-q-o0a1LSloZcwO12Qj4EaNQPP/s320/aspen+058.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519979316029157746" /></a><br />in our ever pivoting existence i'm glad that fall is beautiful. change makes me shake and quake like an aspen and i find an undeniable sense of community in the shared experiences of all my fellow aspen trees making their shocking and inevitable movement from one season to the next...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0y6vzqwEMuru8Isg8kFAj1RVG3VbC8BdZCVJHvCCHwkds89Jugxso3l7oqIQGlvYEIAifv25p8vZdyjUTBHvxbUYKUoUfCKi57EbzydG5Nmqz8PWy0YpJ7cRcv0sRrPjjTSBVD-XHMvBB/s1600/aspen+045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0y6vzqwEMuru8Isg8kFAj1RVG3VbC8BdZCVJHvCCHwkds89Jugxso3l7oqIQGlvYEIAifv25p8vZdyjUTBHvxbUYKUoUfCKi57EbzydG5Nmqz8PWy0YpJ7cRcv0sRrPjjTSBVD-XHMvBB/s320/aspen+045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519979518520678930" /></a><br />so good night world. here is to autumnal gold.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-72982524390346710272010-08-25T19:57:00.000-07:002010-08-25T20:01:01.926-07:00to italia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncq26pOcFgEx0o4ZNbcmKEl_lbIgwkPxi1iCVOeN5Il-hZ7S-0wKHtALaIBA-GBqs8cEdh-_HXrqE33eENbdP47rsb_bMq7-n9IBYdXBnkcrSPLRjhTeupYr5bR16YWazEDQq1Uha54xL/s1600/me+and+bryan.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncq26pOcFgEx0o4ZNbcmKEl_lbIgwkPxi1iCVOeN5Il-hZ7S-0wKHtALaIBA-GBqs8cEdh-_HXrqE33eENbdP47rsb_bMq7-n9IBYdXBnkcrSPLRjhTeupYr5bR16YWazEDQq1Uha54xL/s320/me+and+bryan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509547584099564786" /></a><br /><br />tomorrow one of my best friends embarks on his italian journey. he is attending one of the most prestigious grad schools in the US and will spend his first year in italy. here's a blog post toast to one of the better people in my world.<br /><br />toast to good food, amazing friends, language and learning, new adventures, the romans, amazing wine, and i shall revisit good food...<br /><br />and also a toast to skype and google voice thingy dingy that is coming out soon.<br /><br />we will miss you stateside, but wish you all things magical and wonderful.becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2588357944071194983.post-85814912629963167342010-08-22T14:40:00.001-07:002012-04-04T22:57:27.351-07:00in the coming years<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivio0dfHnBEP9v3QcH0tCDcRDSff3YF1ghyphenhyphenTPFAsvXnep2n8cimScUph49NTSbulu2zCLqtci5NXZPkHMT8at_GqRqYmEEJ3iP9jsOPy8c5J2DcYMNzfKan52QB8sGw4xEwd9HeS-wIJJ7/s1600/tatoo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivio0dfHnBEP9v3QcH0tCDcRDSff3YF1ghyphenhyphenTPFAsvXnep2n8cimScUph49NTSbulu2zCLqtci5NXZPkHMT8at_GqRqYmEEJ3iP9jsOPy8c5J2DcYMNzfKan52QB8sGw4xEwd9HeS-wIJJ7/s320/tatoo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727791702623656626" /></a><br /><br />get a tattoo (and i did...this is it!)<br />i hope to:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sB_XrQ532I28CAJ9AhDxBOwgOjqxXk1_POzIFBFT22fAIGkiLiKA6TvhhJddARasm5S8aT4yJBmTUm55rqoPS4gr1G9wXVoC_SRCQgRHJAhYT4rai2BCRnj58WrJmoNT38yHYRVQ9paP/s1600/greece+cup+of+jo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sB_XrQ532I28CAJ9AhDxBOwgOjqxXk1_POzIFBFT22fAIGkiLiKA6TvhhJddARasm5S8aT4yJBmTUm55rqoPS4gr1G9wXVoC_SRCQgRHJAhYT4rai2BCRnj58WrJmoNT38yHYRVQ9paP/s320/greece+cup+of+jo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508355141040690610" /></a><br /><br />visit greece,aka the motherland...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCOc1KHeJhjsSScintJCbWM6kMwTGQCiPihdMXC68suXMw3TS_UQaXh7p-Tll2Hg5nB2hu7OjNvhRaCMWjFRvLo_ebPpxIQm-2zd49QRYz0EpuZi7Fi72C6vBbz48Dn-HL_-tttqAfC4Y/s1600/cruiser.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCOc1KHeJhjsSScintJCbWM6kMwTGQCiPihdMXC68suXMw3TS_UQaXh7p-Tll2Hg5nB2hu7OjNvhRaCMWjFRvLo_ebPpxIQm-2zd49QRYz0EpuZi7Fi72C6vBbz48Dn-HL_-tttqAfC4Y/s320/cruiser.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508354939906948066" /></a><br /><br />move closer to my workplace so i can use my cruiser bike to go to work daily...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMhjBxvRKIvTuZX3DpQPsMAfdejWLcI_OTQDaCW6HGyPRsxdiEesugp15AzitCGViSOA8OcxmNlW3u1yxe5teR06_KiFsDKYspo1Bhgay0LCgUVBWMQShkTzTb6zWOQfUGHykMNZZgPpi/s1600/pregnant+belly+black+and+white.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMhjBxvRKIvTuZX3DpQPsMAfdejWLcI_OTQDaCW6HGyPRsxdiEesugp15AzitCGViSOA8OcxmNlW3u1yxe5teR06_KiFsDKYspo1Bhgay0LCgUVBWMQShkTzTb6zWOQfUGHykMNZZgPpi/s320/pregnant+belly+black+and+white.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508354640131952706" /></a><br /><br />start my graduate education...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRtg4wSoe2teefN0aqful2Vw6b-KuSMDDQcVGO4mzkeOtLi-OCK9zqn9OfE2apaJa-qIPHRAz-AmgWPuOamKBYkGoofAKv9E-8ups07jbjlzDQR7DGLjQxe4ZPAUO24oG382nR_TooaRa/s1600/swimming.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRtg4wSoe2teefN0aqful2Vw6b-KuSMDDQcVGO4mzkeOtLi-OCK9zqn9OfE2apaJa-qIPHRAz-AmgWPuOamKBYkGoofAKv9E-8ups07jbjlzDQR7DGLjQxe4ZPAUO24oG382nR_TooaRa/s320/swimming.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508355657747440754" /></a><br /><br />become a swimmer again...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cLrm3k03Qz6u8g9tNYXYrxr7nzuN0VhBsYuLqGF0nonIr0TunvFFuf9ot6uxIrhTgx3x9GqQZ8IOt1xaH0gNbhpU-84_d7lfJJ4efP_0dmcfDmF6PzynTKJ0jnYosJi5BQ-9VzsQ1sgZ/s1600/singer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cLrm3k03Qz6u8g9tNYXYrxr7nzuN0VhBsYuLqGF0nonIr0TunvFFuf9ot6uxIrhTgx3x9GqQZ8IOt1xaH0gNbhpU-84_d7lfJJ4efP_0dmcfDmF6PzynTKJ0jnYosJi5BQ-9VzsQ1sgZ/s320/singer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508354370155911618" /></a><br /><br />more fully establish becca's bitchin stitchen...<br /><br />photocredits:{<a href="http://joannagoddard.blogspot.com/">cupofjo</a>, brittany'sspainblog, midwifery}becca annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12622688166551520293noreply@blogger.com1