the deliberate life

Settling In

    Many of you know that I've stepped into a very big role, with some very big shoes (or high heels), to fill. As I take steps and strive to fill those shoes, I bring with me the wisdom of my mentor, Jenny . I was fortunate to work closely with her for a few years and in the those years I was taught what it means to be a good editor, a strong leader, and frankly, a good person. Without those lessons I wouldn't be able take on this very, very important role. As I step up to the plate, I look forward with hope and humility, and look back with appreciation and absolute fondness. And as I step into this new territory, I am not alone.

The Secret Ingredient

I'm not a big fan of sweet breakfast food. You're more likely to see me enjoying a fried egg than a donut (though I'll totally eat the donut at another point in the day), and you won't see me near pancakes or waffles. French toast, however, is a different story.

Growing up my mom typically made chorizo and eggs or omelets for breakfast. On special occasions (or maybe we were just running low on eggs) she would make French toast. Instead of syrup she topped the toast with powdered sugar. And instead of cutting the bread, she simply folded the slices in half and declared them to be "French toast tacos"!

I could fill pages upon pages with my memories of my family's cooking. Meals shared together at my parents' dining room table allowed us to bond as a family. Our happiest times and some of our most difficult times occurred during mealtime. Gosh, I'd love to tell you all the stories.

This weekend I reread A Homemade Life, one of my very favorite books and was overjoyed that we had some near-stale French bread for me to use to make the French toast recipe found in there. I didn't use white bread like my mom did, and I didn't fold them in half and declare them tacos, but I made sure to add her secret ingredient: love.

Adorned with Love

When I moved into my apartment (my first very own home) I had big plans for it. It was going to be the coziest, cutest, most comfortable apartment — the apartment everyone wants to visit. And it was going to happen instantly.
            A year later, my plan is far from complete. Our couch and chair do not match. I haven’t replaced the dresser yet. The painting to go over the bed hasn’t been painted yet. And our dining room set? Still waiting for that extra coat of varnish.
            It was silly of me to think that it could go from a stark white apartment to a warm and cozy home in a year’s time. To be honest, nothing is quite how I want it yet, except our Christmas tree. Four-feet tall and adorned with black, silver, and red ornaments and most importantly ... love.

It's perfect.

Thinking Back

 

“Your sister wants a black and gray scarf,” the text message from my mom read. Overjoyed that she requested something I can actually make, I instantly added that to my holiday crafting list and forgot about it. Last night, I pulled the skeins I chose for her out of my yarn bucket, grabbed my hook, and realized I hadn’t actually planned what kind of scarf I’d be making. Does she want it striped? Long? Tassels? I answered yes to all of these questions and got to work.
            As I chained, I started thinking about my sister and all we’ve been through together. Memories of pretending we were on Kids Incorporated (I was always Renee, she was always Martika) came flooding back with each stitch. I changed colors and instantly remembered the time we dressed up our little brother in a bikini top (neon yellow Body Glove, of course) and tutu. As I continued to stitch I thought of how scared I was each time she had to be rushed to the hospital because her asthma was acting up, and I remembered thanking God the time she emerged from a horrible car accident unscathed.
           The memories came rushing in and I laughed as I thought back to when I tried to help her hide a puppy in our bedroom, and laughed even harder when I remembered my mom’s face when she opened up our door to see a tiny Pug puppy sound asleep in a wading pool in the middle of our floor. With each single and double crochet, I was filled with thoughts of her and of how entwined our lives have become.
            I know that our relationship has changed now that we are older and she has children but one thing hasn’t changed: she’s still my big sister and she’s still the prettiest, coolest, and funniest girl I’ve ever known. So I hope that when she wraps this scarf around her neck, she feels the love and memories I’ve stitched into this, and overlooks the fact that I completely disregarded her request for black and gray and went with black and purple instead.
            Once a little sister, always a little sister, right?