People

I spent a few hours the other day reading this blog about crusty punks who hungout in a certain area of New York City.

http://crustypunks.blogspot.com/

I love being let into other peoples lives and minds, learning how they view the world especially people who are vastly different than me. Just take a moment to glance at some of the stories on the crusty punks blog. Those peoples lives are vastly dissimilar to mine, but at the same time I’m so drawn to what they have to say. I’m drawn to people that have a completely different life experience than me. Generally I find that no matter what someone looks like, we still struggle with similar questions in life, and we are all trying to understand our purpose in this world.

I'm interested in people's lives. I always flip to the end of a book first to read about the author. Whenever I read those college literary zines, I always flip to the little bios about each writer. In magazines I love to read about the lives of the contributors. Sometimes I’m more attentive to those little tidbits than whatever I’m reading. I guess I’m on a search for whats real. I could be in the middle of a fiction story, or poem in one of those college literary publications, but I have to flip to the little bio of the author to remind myself about the person who wrote the story. Anything that we make or create is an outpouring of who we are in some way, that’s why when I find an artist, designer, musician, etc that I like, I want to know about their life. What causes them to create, to make, to write, to sing?

I love to people watch. I don’t get bored in public places ever because there are always so many interesting things that people do. Maybe I’m so good at it because I get paid to do it, lifeguards are after all professional people watchers (and life savers).

Maybe that’s why I like to read about peoples lives, because they are all a very specific piece of our world, they fit in in some unique way. I don’t want to be all cliché and say “Oh we are all shining stars! We are unique little puzzle pieces!” *sigh* I think those phrases are true, but we need to find a new way to express it. 

How often do you talk to people who are strikingly opposite of you? When was the last time you even learned about someone who have a completely different life and belief as you? 

Expand your world.  

Peaceful Cookbooks

When life gets crazy, when my mind is running at a million miles an hour, when the gears in my head won’t stop cranking...I simply pick up a cookbook.

If you have never experienced the calming power of a cookbook, you are missing out on an essential life experience. I prefer cookbooks with pictures, so you can unfold the story of the beautiful food you see. When I pick up a novel of recipes I immediately become intense and focused with all the frantic worrying thoughts fading away as I slowly read the tales of the cuisine. And when I say slowly, I mean a medium sized cookbook can take me about an hour to peruse. I look at the images of the final dishes on every page and try to imagine it's story, I also visualize every step of the directions to create a culinary film in my head. I make my way through page after page trying to decide what journey to take next, what path with I tread next? Desserts? Salads? Main courses?

When I finally turn over the last page, I have forgotten what was bothering me in the first place. It’s essential to have a great cookbook with plenty of pictures on hand for those times when you want to take a short journey and unfold the story of a meal. 

Salted Buttered Pasta

There's something so simple about pasta, butter, and salt. Granted it may not be the healthiest meal in the world, but sometimes I just crave something easy. The simple enjoyment of buttered noodles began during the culinary adventures of my tween years. Boxed macaroni and cheese was a mainstay of my home school lunches, and I would often make the staple to share with my sisters. One day I got the idea to taste the noodles after putting in the half a stick of butter required by the pictorial directions on the side of the box, which at one time I had memorized by heart. To my surprise, I liked the simple buttered noodles more than the cheesy final result. Through the years I would always sneak a spoonful or two of the plain noodles before ripping open the white packet of strangely neon orange colored cheese powder. 

Now I've gravitated away from the boxed macaroni, which I will indulge in every once and awhile, and moved onto great whole wheat pasta. Sometimes I will throw some pasta in a pot of boiling water not knowing what it will become and often times it will simply be paired with melted butter and a dash of salt. Ah the simple things in life....

Grandma in the flower bed

As I was walking back to my house after taking my last final on Friday morning I saw something that made me smile. On the St.Paul campus of the University of Minnesota there is beautiful landscaping. Every day I walk down concrete steps from the street and into a perfectly design green space with trees, lush grass, and blooming flowers in the warm months. Friday morning when I walked my usual route I noticed an elderly lady, dressed in a crisp camel colored pantsuit, crawling in the flower beds. Her tan sweater lay across her arm as she held up her camera lens, crouching low with her knees in the dirt to capture the beauty of that day in white tulip petals. I didn't want to stop and stare at her, but as I was walking by I slowed my pace just so I could observe her. Slowly moving from one spot to the next, she calculated the exact shot she wanted.  As I continued walking past I kept glancing back to see her make her way through the flowers. Maybe her hobby is flower photography, maybe she will put the pictures in wooden frames to remember the late spring day, or she will add them to her bathroom decor.

Like a child in a candy store admiring the vibrant sugary delights, her tender gaze caressed the tulips. Even though she was old in years she still hadn't lost that fresh fascination with the world, when everything is new, waiting to be discovered, when you still have the humility to admit that this world is so wonderful and you're only a small part of it. 

A few times this semester my roommates and I have run about the house yelling "Ice cream! Ice cream!" usually late in the evening, and on a Friday. (Well by late I mean 9:45pm) Our ice cream run consist of driving to Cub foods where we all select our flavor we are craving at the moment. Deciding on an ice cream flavor is a complicated process, chunks of stuff? no chunks? chocolate? strawberry? caramel swirls? One particular evening I was thoroughly involved in the ice cream selection process and reading about what wonders the ice cream containers held. It was not until I said, quietly to myself, "double fudge" that I realized my face was only an inch away from glass door that separated me from the creamy delights. Both my hands were also pressed onto the cold door, like how a small child looks at the monkey in the zoo behind the glass. I glanced to my right and noticed my roommates looking at me and laughing at my child-like behavior. Ice cream flavors fascinate me, the colors, the chunks of stuff they add like cookie dough and sprinkles, and the end result when you finally get to open and taste your perfectly selected treat. In that moments when I was totally engrossed in my ice cream selection I begin to act like that small unashamedly fascinated kid in the candy store without even noticing. I never want to lose that amazement for even the small things in life. 

I hope to grow up and be a grandma who crawls in the flower beds in my camel colored pantsuit.