Simple Favorites

The simplest things are sometimes the best. At least in our memories. As a child, there were many things, of course, that seemed much more fantastic than I’d believe to be today. The size and steepness of the parking lot hill where bicycling and rollerblading took place. The great distance it was around the block. The enormous weight of fish on the end of my fishing line. And my mother’s cooking.

I’m not saying her cooking is any less than what I thought as a child – she’s still a wonderful cook. Nobody else’s food is like hers…especially her chicken and noodle casserole and apple pies. Oh, and her beef stew. And her zucchini bread. And her lasagna. And her cheesy potatoes. Actually…there’s a really long list of favorite meals. What’s interesting, though, is what I remember most as a kid.

I can recall many lunches of a particularly scrumptious pasta dish. It was so tender and buttery and oh, so good. Certainly another one of my favorites – still – even after I found out what my mom’s recipe was. She used any kind of pasta, though often small shells (I always loved that texture). She would cook it like any other, by using boiling water. Once cooked to the perfect tenderness, she would add butter and parsley. And that…was it. In my younger years, I had a dislike for most spices, which is probably why I loved this meal so much. But I have to admit, I was a little surprised to later find out its simplicity.

Another favorite meal was French toast. While the egg-dipped bread itself was always good, it was the syrup I was after. See, my mom made her own syrup. The unique thing was that it was clear – not brown like the typical maple syrup on the store shelves. It was also rather runny, but I didn’t care. It was sweet and it soaked into all the cracks and crevices of the French toast. I do remember my mom seeming to find my compliments amusing, but I didn’t know why until one day it finally registered. Her syrup only had two ingredients: water and sugar.

I have many more memories of delectable meals, but these two recipes are ones that I can still taste. My favorite flavors were the simplest – and often times still are.

I love summer rains. A cat’s purr. Warm sunshine. A crayon-colored picture from a child. A hug. A smile. All such simple things that mean so much.

Often in life, the simple things are overlooked or set aside. But sometimes the most important thing to do is stop and just take a moment to pay attention to the tiny blessings surrounding us every day. They’re there. Always. We just have to take time to see them.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment!

Grand Ol Parking Lot

Funny how perspectives change.

The house I grew up in had a nice, big yard (at least it seemed big to me at the time), that was bumped up right against the parking lot of our local grocery store. This created some definite pros and cons, although the pros were probably more aimed towards my brothers and me (being kids).

One main con was, of course, traffic. Although being in a small town, apart from a few crazy drivers, it wasn’t bad. The lights in the parking lot were sometimes annoying, and our yard would gather bits of trash from litterbugs. Oh, but the pros…

Did you know lit-up parking lots at night are the best kind of rollerblading rink? (I won’t mention the one time a car caught me by surprise… God had His eye on me.) Fun times. Another great thing is that during the winter, the grocery store’s snow had to be piled up somewhere. And being in New York, we got quite a bit of that white stuff. Guess where they piled it? Right along the back edge of our yard. Instant snow hill/fortress.  It was usually too steep for sledding, but that didn’t stop us from sliding down on our bottoms.

When my brother and I were old enough, the grocery store was one of the first places we were allowed to go alone, since it was so close to the house. What a thrill that was! And of course, the distance between the store and home was so short that precious groceries, like cranberry sherbet, didn’t have time to melt before we could eat them. Did I mention there was a video store adjoining the grocery store? Another fun spot to go and pick out that night’s movie rental.

If I were to purchase a house today, one place I would not look would be directly behind a grocery store. I’d see all the cons and would steer clear. Or perhaps…I’d let my inner child come out and I’d see all the grand possibilities. Sliding down a mountain of snow on my bottom does have appeal…

I love hearing from you. Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts!

That Place in My Soul

Remedy Drive. I thought I knew the name of the band from the radio, perhaps, but that was about all I knew. Friends were going to see them perform at a Faith and Family Night at a county fair not too far away, so that really was my motivation for going, more than the music. Of course, before going, I hit the Internet and looked up Remedy Drive on Youtube so I'd at least have an idea of what I was getting into. I liked what I heard, and figured the concert would probably be pretty good.

After seeing Remedy Drive in person, if I were asked to use only one word to describe them, I would use "passion." Wow. Much of that passion came from Dave Zach, the lead vocalist. I'd been watching him for quite a while already, as his brother was the lead for another band, Arrows and Sound. Dave had energy even when he wasn't performing. He helped Arrows and Sound set up, watched from the sidelines with his phone (he seemed to be taking pictures or videos), came onstage for a special part in one of the songs, and hung out nearby, totally enthralled with watching. I don't know what was going through his mind, but his body language suggested he enjoyed watching his brother on stage as much as he enjoyed performing. Later, his brother in Arrows and Sound barely made it through thanking Dave for being there and supporting him because he was so emotional. I felt the brotherly love was real and not just a show.

When Remedy Drive finally took the stage, it was pure energy. It was loud, and it was fun. Enthusiasm and passion overflowed from the stage and into the audience. Even after a handstand on the keyboard, jumping up onto the drum set and leaping off, Dave kept going. I was impressed with his stamina. And his message. He spoke of the mission of his heart - to chip away at child trafficking and slavery. He admitted that it wouldn't be abolished completely, but that it could be chipped away at little by little, offering hope and freedom to the oppressed. As he spoke, again, it was passion that I saw and felt.

During one song, I found myself closing my eyes and allowing my soul to be enveloped by the sheer wall of sound. It was loud. Loud enough to drown out the world. Loud enough I could feel the bass reverberating in my chest. I felt myself in a place I didn't want to leave, where nothing around me existed anymore. Even amidst that deafening bombardment of noise, there was peace. I found myself in a place I should find more often, within a world full of noise. Perhaps it is not noise to my ears, but noise to my soul. The devastation. Hurt. Hunger. Need. Chaos.

In my soul is the only One who can give me that calm. That peace. That place where only I can go to escape, rest, and accept that free gift of sanctuary. It's there because He loves me, and because my life is in His hands. Without it, without Him, I would never survive the noise of the world.

The concert was fun, made possible by good music, fantastic lemonade, great friends and soul-soothing sounds. Not getting nearly enough sleep last night after a long drive home was well worth it.

Peace in the Mortification

Lately I've heard myself saying things like, "When I was a kid," or "Years ago..." I suppose now I'm old enough to use those phrases without it seeming ridiculous to those even older than me. Of course, it also makes me feel old, but I suppose that's not going to change any time soon.

Another thing that probably won't change is feeling utterly ridiculous about certain past decisions or behaviors. Everybody looks back on at least one instance in their younger life, smacks themselves upside the head and would prefer never to be reminded of the incident. Now, I gotta say, I don't have too many instances about which I feel too stupid, but there are some. The good news is I've discovered I don't have to keep beating myself up over the past. Why? Because I've learned from it. I realize that not all people have the skill of learning from the past, but I can say with confidence that I'm at least getting better at it. And as I get better, there is peace.

A little back story... Yesterday, my office buddy and I were discussing the fact that my perceptions have changed over the last few years, and I'm able to see situations and people much differently than before. It was an area in which she knew I struggled, but she just had to sit back and wait for me to grow and learn things for myself. Thankfully, she was patient enough to wait.

Realizing how I'd perceived things several years ago, and realizing how it would appall me if I would react to situations now like I did then, I was mortified. And I even said so. My buddy's response? "But there's peace in the mortification." It sounded so funny that we laughed, and I even posted it on Twitter/Facebook, but if you look past the humor, it really is a very profound statement.

Being mortified by past actions means I've matured. I've come to the point where those things actually do mortify me. And that only proves I've grown. Knowing that brings peace of mind. It's a peace knowing that I'm still growing and learning and moving forward. We all do stupid things - it's only when we ignore them and choose not to learn from them that makes it sad.

So I guess I'm proud to say I'm mortified. Which...really sounds weird, but thankfully you've read this post and understand what I mean...I hope.

Here's to being mortified. May we all find peace in mortification, but be less mortified in the future.

Tasty Memories

Goldfish and I have a pretty good relationship. (I'm talking about the Pepperidge Farm crackers, not the actual fish, mind you.) I've been eating them for as long as I can remember. First, I've always loved cheese, and second, I've always loved a good salty/crunchy snack.

As I broke into a bag of Goldfish today, it made me think of how something as simple as a taste could bring back memories. Where was I, as a child, eating this same snack? Sunday School? VBS? At home for a special treat? It wasn't every day that I got Goldfish, so even now, when I can go out and buy them any time I want, my emotions still deem them a special food meant for special occasion. Granted, the "special" in "special occasion" has become a game of justification. It's 9:55am! That's a special number! Or it's the third of the month AND a Thursday. That's special since it doesn't happen every month. Regardless of my excuse though, Goldfish remains a favorite and special snack.

Probably, though, my most vivid memory connected with taste is when consuming Skittles or grape soda pop. Mmm. Even when typing this, my mouth is starting to water. Those two things really make a bad combo as far as sugar consumption, however, those were my usual choices when allowed to get a treat while at camp. I was pretty young, but I still remember the chewy goodness of the Skittles. The cold can in my hand and the scent of grape that hit my nostrils even before I'd taken a sip. And it went down oh-so smoothly. Today, any time I eat Skittles or splurge on grape soda pop (or dare the combination), my first thought is of camp. It's accompanied by pleasant emotions, since I enjoyed that experience.

Of course, there are negative emotions that can be connected to tastes as well. Food that has a similar taste to certain medicines will turn off many eaters, even if they're not usually picky, since the emotions connected with that flavor are negative. Or if someone ever got sick while eating a particular food (even if it wasn't caused by the food), the taste can forever turn them off.

Our minds and senses are only a few of the incredibly amazing things we've been given. It's fun to recognize their presence so they can be enjoyed all the more.

(Yes, I often tear bags down the side instead of splitting the top...)

Do you have a favorite snack that's more about the memories than the flavors? Or a snack that's kept for "special" occasions?

New Blooms, Old Memories

My African violet is blooming again. Actually, it's my grandma's violet.

Quite a few years ago, I gained an interest in starting new, baby violets by cutting off the leaf of one flower and planting it. I'd have multiple styrofoam cups with leaves sticking up out of potting soil as I waited and watched to see full plants form. I was amazed at the process.

Eventually, I wound up with too many African violets. And since my office area at work was starting to look like a greenhouse, it was time to give some of my plants away. I was quite proud of them, as I'd developed (by sheer accident) several really neat color combinations in the blooming flowers. One, in particular, turned out to be almost white with purple splotches. That's the one I decided to give to my grandma, whose own African violet had died. She cherished her new plant and cared for it daily. Every time I would visit, I'd see new blooms. My grandma loved it when it would bloom, and if the plant looked like it was in trouble, I'd come to the rescue and give it some new dirt, a little TLC, and nurse it back to health.

My grandma kept this violet up until she passed away at the nursing home. I couldn't let the flower go - not when it had been so special. So now it's back in my office at work, enjoying a window and florescent lighting. It stopped blooming for a while, but I was happy to see that it's well on its way to producing more flowers. It must be content.

Most people don't realize that I honestly don't know much about African violets. I've been told they're temperamental, so I must just have a streak of luck. (I tried growing new plants again recently and failed miserably, so I must not remember exactly what I did before.)

Regardless of whether or not I have the know-how, I'm glad that I can now look up and see my African violet...and smile as I think of my grandma.