Dear Santa,

First off, I know this is your busy day of the year. The one you have been preparing and preparing for. You may not read this letter until you return from all your giving across the world and back to the North Pole. But I wanted to send you something to read for that moment you return home, prop your feet up by the fire while snuggled in a warm comfy chair, and drink a piping-hot cup of hot cocoa.

You see Santa, this year I am not asking for anything tangible. That is in part why I am writing you late. I do not need a wrapped present under the tree (though I will admit I like them when you bring them). What I'm asking for this year is different. I'm asking this year that you send a bit of your Christmas spirit through the rest of the year to all my friends, family, and loved ones across the world, as well as their loved ones, and so on. I ask that you help guide each of us with a smile on our faces through the next 365 days to Christmas. I ask that you think of their health and spirits, and send good energy to each and everyone. I ask that you help us keep your spirit alive during the months other than December.

In other words, I guess I'm asking for a lot. For everything, you might say. But if anyone can do it, I think it would be you.

Currently, my Dad has just put on one of our favorite Christmas movies, "Miracle on 34th Street." With the sound of it playing in the background, the glowing spirit of the church service we just left, and the fading sound of the Bell Choir ringing in "Silent Night," I also want to say thank you Santa. That is my final reason for writing.

Thank you for all the memories, the stories, the lingering delight. Thank you for letting me hear the sleigh bells early last night, as one of your Merry helpers ran through the streets of my town in full Santa costume. It brought a smile to my face. Thank you for the traditions, for the cookies, for the overwhelming warmth of mulled wine and the soon to have fondue dinner. Thank you for always keeping me believing. Thank you Santa for all you do.

Safe travels Santa and Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!!

Your friend,

Denver

P.S. I know it may seem odd to dress a T-Rex in a Santa outfit, but this town wouldn't be the same if it didn't.

P.P.S. My Mom is calling and would like me to tell you, "Santa, you did a good job through all of the years. No complaints." I second this statement. We all always believe..."he does exist, he does..."

Cacophony & Chocolate

It was a cacophony of noise at the Rock tonight. My little feet went to and fro the kitchen while slinging beer and food to multiple customers. Running around straight for five hours can take a lot out of a girl. When I finally had a moment for a break, I walked outside to the calm and quite of a chilled evening and my mind went to the chocolate hiding in my purse.

1 lb of 66% Italian cocoa chips, which will be made into Raspberry Truffles, makes any girl smile.

The holidays are fast approaching, and my yearly cookie party is in only a week. With the idea that I will be able to make one recipe a day, I think I'm in steady progress of making this the easiest party thus far.

Now of course, because I've said this, I'm interested to see what hitches arise. But I think I will play it by ear. I will be that server that can take on multiple tables at once without yelling, but instead of serving I will be the baker in the kitchen, stirring and mixing, measuring and combining, and appreciating a very aromatic house.

Walking back into work, the noise was subdued. I finished working, and was able to sit with a few friends and a beer. When I got home, the chocolate bag was pulled from my purse and I took in a long whiff of its aroma. I can't wait to begin the meditative baking process tomorrow. And in my kitchen the cacophony of noise is a bit of DeVotchka playing in the background, with beaters whirling to my hearts content, and the smacking sound of my lips enjoying each and every treat I make.

.....Pause....

Winter is coming. The snow has not blanketed the ground yet, but the chill is in the air. And I will admit I'm awaiting the first large snow fall that turns everything white.

Today was one of those days.

One you just have to cherish for its grandness of simplicity.

A day that makes you pause, and think of all the amazing things that take place in a day.

I woke and began the day slow, a nice hot shower. Then I saw an amazing image a friend had taken of me (and found worthy to post to his site) on-line. It made me think how greatly talented people are.

Next, it was off to sip on a cup of joe (or as the baristas know: a small latte with almond flavouring). I relaxed with the warming beverage and read to the end of Dickens "A Christmas Carol," as I ate a cranberry scone. I continued the day sitting and talking with a new friend while I knitted away at a project.

Then on my drive home, I saw a man on the street. A man a friend had told me she had seen just days ago. He was homeless (or merely out on the street for the day), holding one of those card board signs marked in Black Sharpie ink. He was so merry as he danced to and fro with it.

It had one word: SMILE. And smile I did.

Home was a "Girls Night." Or I guess I should say, we came to see it that way.

miss georgia b. dyed my hair black, and we gossipped the time away, pizza from The Pie, and a cheesy movie, followed by more talking.

As she left, I felt chocolate was in order, so I entered the lightly biting air of near winter and walked in the quiet night streets listening to music. A song came on I couldn't quite place, and when I looked to see what it was, I laughed.

Sometimes friends you only know for a short while have sent you things you will cherish for a lifetime. I walked out of the convenience store with my chocolate, humming away to the music, and saw a woman sitting in her car and smiled to her. I walked back home listening to the song over and over again.

Sometimes we just have to pause and remember: We are all here, why not enjoy each others company, even if just for a small encounter.

SMILE everyone :)

3 Glasses In...

I preface this with saying, "I have already had three glasses of wine, and am currently working on my fourth." But really, when is a better time to write? (or not to write--that is the question?)

Friends keep asking me, why I keep defending him. The answer is quite easy: he did nothing wrong.

No obligations. My reaction is simply mine.

When so many of us are confused with the direction we're going in life, how can I fault someone for a different way of living?

Truthfully, he got the brunt of a reaction intended for someone else. But he was there, so he got the lecture.

Me and my lectures.

Lectures meant to help.

But I wonder sometimes if the lectures are for the person I give them to, or if they are for me. Besides friends asking me why I defend him, they also ask how it's possible I haven't found someone yet.

This is the tough one. Because truthfully, I don't think it's their fault.

It's mine.

As much as I don't want to say this, I think it's the most truthful writing I will place anywhere (and can only be posted because I'm three glasses in):

I don't know who I am yet.

I'm still learning. Still exploring. Testing.

As much as I say another person doesn't know what they want in life, I recognize I don't either.

So no more questions please. No more trying to figure someone else out. No more protecting me. No more. No more questions of others actions I can't answer. No more questioning me how I can see both sides (I just do).

I need to figure myself out.

No more "time" given to events/people I can't control. No more.

All I want, right now, is to recognize the gifts I've been given in life. I want to focus on how each individual has made an impact on my life. I want to focus on the future and the magic it will bring.

(oh....how I wish I had another glass of wine)  

Still Photos in Motion...

It has to start out this way.

When I was five, I remember vividly unwrapping my birthday present in bed. My parents sat on opposite sides of that twin sized mattress awaiting my delight.

And delight it was. For underneath the wrapping paper was my very first camera. A 1984 Fisher Price: deep blue, with durable black siding, and a large yellow button that let you know your shot was taken. It took 110 mm film and was topped with the gloriously large flash cube.

I've been addicted to photos ever since.

It was also the camera that taught me know matter how basic your materials, a person can capture and create amazing things.

And so, more than 25 years later, I found myself walking, finding a bench, and needing to document the emotions I couldn't control. Not having the Fisher Price Camera, I reached instead for my iPhone 3G and took a picture. The next night, I took a few more...followed by many more on many evening walks.

My Mom says I should entitle it, "Girl Waiting." I feel "Searching" is a more accurate word. For now though, I leave it untitled. Because though I have rendered this film, the creation process is never over.

4 months, a girl with an iPhone and two walking feet (typically protected by Keen): This is what I created.

(Music is from the amazing local talents of the former SLC band Gerald Music "Are We Hyphenated?"

Giggles...

So this is the conversation I had in my car tonight while driving a friend/co-worker home from an arduous evening of serving (and yes...yes I did just pull out the vocab. "arduous").

(Reaching to hold the dangling pendant from my rearview mirror)...
Fe: "This is cute, what is it?"

Me: "It's a golden snitch. Well a golden snitch missing a wing."

Fe: "I like it."

Me: "Yeah... It helps remind me that life could be worse. I mean at least I don't have Lord Voldemort chasing after me."

Fe: (Giggling) "Well that's good. You wouldn't want Voldemort chasing after you."

Me: (Laughing) "Though come to think of it, with the way things have been going with the guys I've been dating, it's like they're Voldemort in disguise."

Fe: "At least they're not trying to kill you."

Me: (Staring at the one winged Golden Snitch) "You know it's just that every now and then the scar twinges a bit."

Fe and Me: (Roaring laughter)

Yes people, I can make an analogy to Harry Potter with anything. And I must say, life is better for it!

(P.S. The Netherlands have now surpassed France in reading this blog.)

It all started with...

...a bit of bibbidi, bobbidi, boo.
I've been posting nursery rhymes on my Facebook page. (Don't ask how Disney's Cinderella started it all, I have no idea).

Who knows why, but fall seems to be the time to snuggle in ones bed, comforter close to their nose, two cats curled on opposite sides, and a story going through ones head. When I wake up, I think of the nursery rhyme that best fits my mood for the day, and I come up with status posts like this:

Tick-tock, tick-tock...the mouse ran up the clock...
Little Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey...
Baa, baa, black sheep. Have you any wool?...
Goosey, goosey, gander. Where shall I wander?...
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn. The Sheep's in the meadows, the cow's in the corn...
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

My Facebook friends must think a few bolts are loose in my head.


Most post music videos, political announcements, NPR's most current topics, or their recent photograph creations (Dave... I'm talking to you here. Love the black and white of Occupy L.A.).


And then there is me, spouting off nursery rhymes...????....???

I am a daydreamer people.
I daydream constantly.

I make up crazy stories about things I want to do in life, and hope one day I will. I hear things too (not in a crazy way--or maybe it is crazy--but anyway), clips of stories come to my brain and characters talk. I feel an urge to write them down, but I rarely want to get out of my bed, so they just simmer in my mind until I'm ready to lift the comforter and walk with them through my day.

Speaking of walking. It's fall, and that means: The Cons are on the street...

Last year I posted about these crazy shoes. And here they are out and about again. The young girl always comes back to me when I put these shoes on (remembering the three girls who made them what they are). And as they took me down a few paths last night, my mind wandered back to the nursery rhymes, but this time they were jumbled together forming their own story.

Tick-tock, tick-tock... Where shall I wander? With Little Miss Muffet, sitting on her tuffet... the mouse ran up the clock. While eating her curds and whey, Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, waiting for the leaves to fall. Take a goosey, goosey gander.... the cow's in the corn...the sheep's in the meadow and Little Boy Blue is waiting to blow his horn. Baa, baa, black sheep... your wool is strung... and for now this song has been sung.

P.S. If you as a reader make any sense out of this post, please provide me your understanding.

Packing Heat!

A few days ago, I was introduced to a well known author. It was one of those moments where I was waiting for the joke that would come from his mouth about my name (as is the typical case when people I am introduced to hear my name: "Denver... is your last name Colorado?" I can't even fake laugh to this one anymore).

But I was pleasantly surprised. This time, the gentleman looked me up and down (and not in that creepy way some men do), and he said, "Denver. That's a great name. It makes me think your packing heat." And he reached to his side, as if he had a gun in a holster.

So what's a girl to think of this statement except:

"Damn, he's right." I do pack HEAT.

The only thing is... lately I have been lying low. Hiding behind a rock, you might say waiting. Waiting because I have been doing the thing one should never do: Worry about others impressions of you.


I have been told by a few people in recent months I scare them. I have no idea how this could be. Because lets face it, being five feet tall and a girl who typically brings cupcakes or cookies to the party--I'm just not that intimidating. The only explanation I can come up with is they must think of me as a rattlesnake.

You see I do curl up real nice--passive and composed--wrapped in bright vivid colors of red, yellow, black and white. I blend well into my surrounding environment, listening quietly, anticipating.  And then the energy in my being explodes.

And I strike.

I strike with my lips, forming words on topics I enjoy, I debate (the Italian in me), I strike with my opinions and rationale.

I strike....

I can only be me... so stop running scared. Besides... I don't bite... At least not that hard.

This rattlesnake is waking, and she is packing HEAT.


P.S. Italian learned today: Io ho una problema. Non L'ho capita.

I Blame the Italian in me...

Leaving work with a whopping eight dollars, creativity was needed in how to spend my earnings.

So a walk was called for and the "whopping" eight dollars found itself spent on a tea, and an orange danish thingamabob for an older gentleman in a wheelchair, who said he had diabetes, and hadn't had a thing to eat all day. (Sadly, I couldn't afford the double mocha frappuccino he requested--but we weren't at Starbucks either).

Being asked a week ago by a friend if I was trying to get him fat, I now realize I have more of that stereotypical Italian woman flowing through my veins than I thought. Eat, eat...I say. Though instead of pasta and risotto, I pass on pastries and baked goods.

MANGIA!!!

Yep, that's me.

And then walking the streets--money spent--I sang again at the top of my lungs, viewed the beauty of hidden flowers, almost got hit by a speed demon car--child in passenger seat and the father driving had the nerve to roll down his window while turning and tell me he saw me and not to stress--I proceeded to give him a piece of my mind and then I was home.

And I realized dinner would be the same as it had been the past two nights.

A bowl of Cheerios.

I hope the guy liked the orange danish thingamabob and it didn't send him into glucose shock.

Bawk...bawk...bawk...

So got Bawked at on my evening walk.

What is "bawked" you may be asking yourself?

It is the very loud sound of a chicken (bawk...bawk...bawk) coming from a human face, sticking out of an SUV that is speeding down the street rapidly.

Now what should one's response be to this?

Mine was to jump hysteraically and exclaim, "What the **** was that for?" (Yes I know, not the most profound statement or the best reaction. I'm working on this, I have never been good at responding to bawking noises. Never learned chicken in school you see.)

Now off for a drink... to calm the nerves.

Singing and Dancing

Tonight, after a late night of work, I strolled the darkened streets of beautiful SLC.
The stars were crisp and clear in the near Fall night air.
My legs strutted their way down the hill in tall black boots (flip flops are gone sadly).
And I was walking/dancing with a hot mint tea in my hand.

I was also singing at the top of my lungs to the all powerful music of Adele (her album 21).

I find it liberating to sing into the void of the night. I may or may not be in tune, but it's the vibration of my voice echoing through the silent city streets that makes me keep moving. And then you happen to run into people and you have to ask yourself, "Do I stop singing? Or do I just belt out the lyrics louder?" I went with louder.

I have to laugh at the response people (or cats) gave as I walked past singing and dancing. Expressions of oddity take over their face. Either they look at you quizzically, thinking "that girl must be crazy." Or you see a smile come across their face. (If by chance you spot a cat, they usually just try to rub against your leg, in the hope they may be pet. And when done with that they walk away, tail in the air with not a care in the world--as cats always do.)

The person's smile makes me think, we all need to go out and sing and dance as we walk life's crazy path. Why hide your voice? Why not sing to the mountains, the trees, the cats and dogs? Why not sing for ourselves and those around us?

I can not come up with a reason people might find me crazy as I sing and dance to my own beat. (I mean lets face it: It's my own beat!!!) We should all do this. So I say to you tonight, "Go out... Sing a song... Let everyone hear your voice. Let yourself hear your voice."

I will tell you, a smile will come across your face and you will feel like skipping down the street when people laugh at you.

"I have an agenda..."

This was a statement made to me by a friend tonight, over wine and the delicious treat of wheat thins and hummus. We were talking about everything and anything really, and he discussed one of the small agendas on his list. An agenda that had the possibility to create change in a person.

As he left, I went to my computer and began watching a few shows on hulu (as is the case with my life) and afterwards I stepped outside into the soon to be Fall filled air, and I began thinking, "What is my agenda?"

We all are there, right? Wondering what our purpose is in life? (Though I will say to this, I have apparently found the individual who has--as he puts it--cracked this code (literally 50,000 lines of code) and can apparently answer the large question of: What am I doing here? Another blog to come, once I've had my reading with him). But anyhooo.... back to the agenda.

I have wanted to do many things in my life. In high school I knew I was going to be a concert promoter. In the early beginnings of college, I intended on owning my own business. I have wanted to be a baker, an actress, a photographer, a writer, an editor, an oral historian... the list goes on.

I have wanted to do...

But really, the question should be... what do I do naturally? What am I good at? What do I enjoy? What are the things that inspire? What is my agenda for change?

The answer is really quite simple when I break it down... I collect stories (memories or moments to be exact). I listen and I write them down. My agenda is collecting and sharing these stories with others.

This blog has gone through many changes from when I first started it. It has progressed from those few photographs with a sentence of explanation, to a girl who will write about anything that goes on in her day or her mind (i.e. telling people about my odd and macabre dreams). To a combination of my writing and baking skills. I use it as a way to document my thoughts, but also to work on my writing/storytelling.

Currently, I bring small snippets of daily tales that I find intriguing (or somehow connect with the odd life I find myself living). Tonight though, I would like to ask for your help with my agenda of collecting stories.

If you could ever be so kind as to leave a comment attached to this post of a story I could write about, I would be so ever grateful. I don't care if it's a memory you have with me, a story you like that I tell and for some reason I haven't posted here, or something I need to spend a bit of time doing research to write about. Whatever it might be, post it here and I will write more. I will collect more stories. I will abide by my agenda.

Moments

There are always moments. Moments you try to cling to, that you don't ever want to let go of. They're there with you always in memory, but sadly they fly by in real life. And so we attempt to cling to them--those times when you feel completely at peace, yourself--we attempt to capture every detail with our eyes, our ears, our hands.

Moments... Moments of laughter... Moments of a perfect sky blue day... Time with family... Times in a lovers arms... Times with friends... Moments... Moments that spark a light in our mind and make us remember.

Today was one of those times of remembering. It was merely a moment on my walk, and an old friend was back in my mind. I was transported back to high school with all the moments it contained. For a few years, there was one girl who traveled with me on my path, and I traveled along hers.

The moment was a flash back to sitting on the front lawn of our high school. I was picking dandelions and she was teaching me how to harmonize as we sung a Tori Amos song. Then like a dream, the moment changed and we were in my basement room, lighting candles and incense (Nag Champa or Patchouli) to take photos. We took a lot of photos. And we moved those candles over and over again.

Again a jump, and the moment of her taking care of me after a concert (and my second cigarette in life). She got me to the car and all was fine. All the moments of dancing at all the concerts we went too. The sleek black pants we wore (how I wish I could find that style again). The moments of acting on stage together, because hey lets face it, we did look a bit a like sisters (if you went with the fact we were both part Italian and had dark hair).

And then I remember that moment... that small moment, which still haunts me at times... the only time I have ever screamed out of true fear. It only lasted a short time, but I recall thinking that I never knew a sound like that would come from my voice. She was there, she was there behind me, she was there to console me afterwords. She was there.

And then high school ended and life paths changed. And 14 years later, I'm on a walk (in a city we both live in) and the moments come back to me. And so I guess I would just like to say that I remember... I remember the good times... I remember the girl who had my back... My life in high school would have been another world had she not befriended the new girl back in 9th grade... I remember the moments.

9/11--Neighbors and Cobbler

For some reason I feel as though I've accomplished something when I've baked in the day. It's not the actual baking process, it's the act of sharing.

This day, 9/11, is ingrained in the American Nation as a day of remembrance. A day of reflection. Though maybe it should also be a day of sharing.

Ten years ago today, I woke to my roommate shouting, "Manhattan is on fire!" In my groggy state of mind I asked, "Manhattan, where's Manhattan?" As the sleep rolled off, and I walked into our living room, Miss georgia b. and I sat on our futon and watched as the second plane collided into the twin towers in New York City. Our state of emotions and thoughts that day were solemn and questioning. It seemed surreal, and I am thankful that we had each other (even if we did just stare at each other in disbelief).

This week, I have been listening to the amazing stories collected, and animated, by StoryCorps. I find it amazing how a three minute story is able to bring such overwhelming emotion, and connection, to a person.

In the spirit of connecting, my neighbors organized a neighborhood BBQ tonight. So on the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, I spent the day baking cobbler, and sharing with my neighbors. It wasn't just food, but finding out each others names, talking about what we do with our lives, laughing, and the great experience of being with others. Living.

I found it fitting. If 9/11 taught us anything, it's that life is precious. We should share together always. And we should appreciate the times we have with each other. Whether family, friend, neighbor, or stranger on the street take the time to notice the people near you, and smile for what you have.

Peach and Rhubarb Cobbler

1 c. sugar

5 t. corn starch

2 T. orange liquor or orange juice

3 c. cut rhubarb

5 large peaches (sliced and cut in half)

1 c. flour

2 T. sugar

1 1/2 t. baking powder

1/4 cup butter

1 egg

2 T. milk

Preheat oven to 375*. In a large sauce pan, on stove top, add sugar, corn starch, and orange liquor (or juice). Mix together lightly over medium heat. Add cut rhubarb and stir until bubbling. Add peaches and stir. Allow to bubble and thicken. Take off heat

Mix together flour, sugar, baking powder. Cut butter into flour mixture until it looks like coarse crumbs.  Stir together egg and milk. Add to flour mixture and stir until formed together. Knead slightly with hands until all ingredients come together.

Place fruit mixture into a 9x13 glass dish. Crumble crust on top of fruit until covered. Place dish on a cookie sheet (in case the fruit bubbles over) and cook for 30 minutes.

To top it off, a bit of vanilla bean ice cream doesn't hurt.

Hope you enjoy sharing with your friends.

Something you don't know about me...

So here's something most people don't know about me: I love modern Kung Fu movies. Yep... give me Jackie Chan or Jet Li and I will be fixed to a screen. Entertained for a few hours+, because I can watch their movies over and over again.

I don't know what it is about Kung Fu? Maybe it's that it seems like an intricate dance or possibly it's that good always prevails in these movies (my favorite story line). Actually, it's probably more the deleted scenes at the end of the reel. I mean really who can resist such action and skill from the human body, and then bloopers to boot? :)

Anyway, I spent my night watching both Jackie Chan and Jet Li in the movie Forbidden Kingdom tonight. As I was watching, I thought to myself, "how cool would it be to really master Kung Fu?" Then I thought of all the work it would take and how my time is already consumed. So then I thought, maybe I could just become animated and be the Kung Fu Panda instead.

Wish they had blooper scenes in Kung Fu Panda...

Like I said, I love modern Kung Fu movies and most people don't know this about me.

A Slippery Slope

Oh yeah... This girl went to Raging Waters this overcast Labor Day. I spent my time with work friends, braving the rickety wooden steps, and splashing my way down plastic tubes that are colored bright orange, green, blue, and purple. (As one friend told me, go purple or go home.)

But as my body was pushed down each lively tube to a splash down of water, I began thinking: "I'm riding a slippery slope in life."

Things are going really well at the moment, don't get me wrong. But my dreams are beginning to tell me things. Most of which I don't understand. But subconsciously I am (apparently) trying to deal with a lot. And if I've learned anything in life, the one I hold to is, sometimes you need to ask for help to clarify what's going on. So here are my odd dreams, and I ask for help from you to decipher them.

1. Lady Gaga

First let me tell you, I know very little about Lady Gaga. I know she judged on So You Think You Can Dance and I've seen one of her music videos. So I find it odd, with the little I know about her, that she made it into my dream. Anyhow here I go with what happened.

I was on a hill, there were different buildings around. Lady Gaga appears and she is in a disguise, blond shoulder length wig and regular clothing--white t-shirt and jeans. She is pushing a shopping cart that contains an air-conditioning unit in it. Trying to find her a hotel where she won't be recognized we begin pushing the cart (full of AC unit) up the grassy hill. We get to the first hotel, but they recognize Lady Gaga so we retreat and find ourselves in a different hotel. Here we seek refuge. Lady Gaga installs the AC unit and all is fine until someone begins banging on the door shouting, "We know she's in there."

Then my mind jumps to the next dream.

2. Mouth

This one is short, but a bit disgusting so pass it if you'd like.

I'm sitting on my bed in my room, I begin coughing and this vile slimy substance (formed like a long rope) is coming from my mouth. I begin choking, so I grab at this slimy rope and begin pulling and I feel it moving out of my esophagus.

Which then moves to...

3. Thigh Wound

Now here's the kicker. Again, a warning this one is a bit macabre.

So I'm at a guys house that I dated for awhile. He is in his living room talking to his friends, I'm in his room laying on his bed with a sheet wrapped around me. I'm staring down at my thigh and there is a large bloody hole in its center. I keep looking down at my thigh thinking, "I should probably have this looked at," while the guy is laughing with his friends in the other room. I wait awhile before I make up my mind (I don't want to disturb the conversation with his friends). Finally, I get up and walk into the living room with the sheet wrapped around me and look at the guy and say, "Hey, I think I need to go to the hospital and have this looked at." He stops talking to his friends and looks and me frustrated and says, "Is it your thigh again." I say, "Yeah,"surprised because apparently this has happened before. He shakes his head, places his hand inside my wound and pulls out a pouch of congealed blood, and whatever else, and throws it to the side. My thigh heals, all that is left of the gaping wound is a bit of dried blood and he shakes his head and says, "You really need to stop freaking out about that." I say, "Sorry, I guess I'm just being stupid," and he begins talking to his friends while I just stand there wrapped in a bed sheet.

Then I wake up.

I have no idea what these dreams are trying to tell me. Any insights would be greatly appreciated. Hoping for better dreams tonight, and no more slippery slopes.

Transition

So July (as you know, if you've been reading my blogs), was a bit of a fog. I remember bits and pieces of it. August was my recoup time. Getting your body and mind to overcome the effects of depression (and whatever else it was in July/June/late May), is never an easy task.

But right now, September, seems to be a time for transition and reflection. I don't know why I keep having flash backs to my youth, but I do. Memories are floating into my mind. Little clips and images from a disconnected film reel that is my life.

Like a moment in Olympia were I was sitting at our table and I was watching my Mom make jam. She had dark hair then, with lots of wavy bouncy curls. Just a glimpse and the memory of thinking I was excited.

Or a time out with my Dad. We either lived in Tumwater or Olympia (and now that I'm older I realize these two places are closely connected), we were out in the forest--probably not to far from the city--and there was a tree trunk, hiding behind it was a porcupine my Dad was pointing to.

I remember the holy tree in our yard. The hollow inside that was used by my sister and her friend as a secret fort, I wasn't allowed in.

I remember playing red light green light, as my friends and I raced to get to the Red Subaru my parents had parked in the driveway (interesting note: that car took my family on over 10 years of family trips, and transported two rabbits from Logan to Vernal Utah).

I remember a trip to the Seattle Zoo with my Dad. Hanging out in a tree, brown bag lunch with the class, and falling asleep in my Dad's lap on the bus ride home.

There are more memories, all very early, all streaming back to me in vivid color this September. Maybe my mind is trying to let me know I have always been in transition. That no matter the time or my age, I was always progressing, seeing things a new, and moving forward to experience all the things people have to share with me. And now I want to share with people too. (Though I doubt I would have been willing to share that lollipop. And who thought the red socks matched the purple dress?)

Oregon Pops

In April I had the great experience of traveling to Oregon with my Dad. A week long trip of seeing and listening. Finally, tonight I put a small film together documenting a clips of our4 trip. It took the inspiration of listening to Monsters of Folk to put it together.

Hope you enjoy.

Banter, Banter, Chatter, Chatter

So when I opened up my computer today, there was a fluorescent orange sticky note stuck on the inside recalling me to my night last night. Two sentences are written on this sticky note.

1. Who in the France is reading this blog!?!!??

I recall meaning this literally. My blogger stats are showing me France is fast approaching the states in readership. Next to France. I have to ask, Who in the Netherlands is reading this blog!?!!?? Because yes, the Netherlands are on France's tail. This to me is fascinating. I love to travel, and to think there are people in different countries, I one day hope to visit, may be reading my words just makes me want to travel more.

That being said. I really would like to know who is reading this blog. I have three lovely faces showing they follow my writing, but I'd love to see more. And also feel free to comment on the posts (even the ones where you think I'm insane).

Back to the sticky note. The last sentence written.

2. I eat peanuts!!

Yep people, this was my great insight last night. I eat peanuts.

Now I think I know why I wrote this down. Or at least I can assume the thought process behind it. You see, a lot of people lately are telling me they don't recognize me. (Yes, yes, I've lost a bit of weight...but unrecognizable I don't think so.)

The issue is, I suck at taking compliments. I'm working on this. (I have a pact with a friend to do the same.) As such, a lot of thank yous are escaping my mouth. Though telling someone "Thank You" when they say they don't recognize you, seems a bit out of place. But whatever, I'm trying right?

Of course the next thing they ask, "What are you doing?"--Meaning how have you lost so much weight and what is your secret--or more to the point--what's your dark little secret behind all this.

Without going into to much detail (on the dark side that is) let me speak plain here. I swim, I walk, I run my butt off at work carrying trays filled with food to tables, I dance in my room to lively music (this has been made much easier now that I have no carpet and hardwood floors in its place), and well I eat peanuts. And, NO, I'm not being paid by peanut organizations to write this.

Anyways, that's it. The story of the sticky note. The two sentences, and the rational behind them. That's my story... morning glory.

Trees grow

I attempted to watch the trees grow tonight. Maybe I'm not in the right mind set, but all they did was breath with the tiny amount of wind on the air.

So light and at ease.

On my evening walk, I took a detour. A detour I don't know will be beneficial or destructive. Currently, it feels like life is playing in frames, missing that small 1/2 second which fills the void, making everything play in unison.

But I tried to watch the trees grow. See how their orchestra plays. Still the stairs and archways seemed so far away. I made it to my bench mark (tripping only twice) and all seemed at peace.

Peace. This a word I haven't felt in myself for sometime now. Yet, it is beginning to resonate strong. I hope it continues. I hope the leaves and limbs will sing their song, and let me listen.

And if anything, I will always follow the path of my feet. For they know how to guide me throughout all of life's elaborate webs.

Ask for Rain

I asked for rain tonight
Mother nature listened
I glided my hand through the driver's side window
Wind passing through my finger tips
Droplets gliding across my skin
As my body swayed to the music 
The darkened sky illuminated 
In glowing twilight blue
Thunder banged and crashed against the stars
Still dancing
Beat by beat in the silent streets
Thinking of all those times gone by
With every speck of precipitation
A rumbling of dreams, desires
Still driving
Still dancing
Still living

Dating Do and Don't

So people keep telling me I need to get back into the "GAME." This game they are talking about is the weird and intricate world of--drum roll please--

DATING. 

I am not really a "GAME" player. Any one of my friends could tell you I'm oblivious to almost all attempts by men to "hit" on me. And even when the slight chance arrives that I do catch on, I have a hard time figuring out where to go from there.

That being said, here are a few things I've learned recently in my attempt to play the game. Men you should listen up, because if you are one of those guys out there looking for a girl that will treat you right (or at least you could see where things go) here are a few things not to do on those first dates:

1: Don't save the $5.00 by not paying for the coffee or beer she will be drinking.
A girl has agreed to spend some of her precious time to get to know you, the least you can do is pay for her drink. If she offers to pay, still buy it for her anyway. We women like being independent, but we also highly admire a gentleman.

2. Don't ask a girl why she dyes her hair.
As a friend at work said, everyone is doing it. Who cares we dye our hair? We just do. And a little heads up, we try to make it look like we don't so please don't throw that in our face.

3. Don't tell the girl to relax.
If the girl looks anxious or seems to have a wall up, there is probably a reason. And that reason might not have so much to do with us, but more how you are making us feel. Ease up and let the date go how it goes.

4. Don't tell a girl she should smile more.
Again, there is probably a reason the girl isn't smiling.

5. this is the big one:

DON'T EVER TAKE AWAY THE ENJOYMENT OF A FIRST KISS!!!!!!!

If you have to make a girl kiss you (i.e. telling her, "Come on, just give me a kiss."), then you loose the game. Let this happen naturally. When both people can't resist any longer. It's so much better. Plus, if you do wait, then you don't have the girl calling you a jack*** under her breath as she walks away.

So yeah. The "GAME." I'm attempting to learn the rules, but I'm finding there are so many, and not everyone plays by the rules. To Date or not to Date, that is the question.

Optimism and Understanding:Chocolate and Rhubarb

Sometimes you just need to put things out in the Universe.

Take for example my evening tonight:

On my lovely evening stroll, I stopped off at my benchmark-of-transition and meditated a bit. As I began the trek up hill, I said to the world, "I'm lonely." Within a half hour of being home, and doing nothing productive on the computer, my phone buzzed to let me know someone was texting me, but it wasn't just anyone. It was my long lost, distillin' crazy, former roommate, Brendan.

Seattle 2008

I haven't seen Brendan in about four months--both of our schedules busy, and he living in a different city than me. But there he was, in front of my house. The universe listened, and I had a friend to share this wonderfully sweet summer evening with.

Thankfully, I was a prepared hostess with cake for the offering.

Chocolate Rhubarb Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

Cake Ingredients:

2 c. flour

1 1/2 c. sugar

2/3 c. shortening

2 eggs (beaten)

2/3 tsp. salt

1/2 c. cocoa

1 tsp. baking soda

1 c. buttermilk

1 c. boiling water

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla

2 cups chopped Rhubarb (dusted with brown sugar and 1 T flour)

1 cup chopped chocolate (chips could work too)

Mix all cake ingredients until well blended. Add Rhubarb and stir. Add chocolate and stir. Place in greased cake pans (1 9x13 or 2 9x9). Bake at 350* for 35 minutes or until stick comes out clean.

Cream Cheese Frosting:

4 oz butter

8 oz cream cheese

2 c. powdered sugar

1 t. vanilla

Cream together butter and cream cheese. Mix on low, one cup of sugar at a time. Blend in vanilla.

Enjoy with a long lost friend!!!!

A slight change...

... so in my attempt to organize my life--and everything within it--this blog has received a bit of an update. I mean come on, who could resist the new title, Banter Batter: And Other Sass I've Baked.

I admit, I was not the creative one who came up with it--I'm awful at titles. But a friend threw it my way after dealing with my joshing (Ode to the Thesaurus for that one).

As I love a good quip and I love to bake, it seemed only appropriate the posts from my blog formally titled D.dot's kitchen should be merged with all the sweet cheek I present here. So now you will find labels to your right. If you are looking for recipes just click on one of the food words.  Somehow everything else will fall into place.

Coffee and Conversation

.... So today--as is my typical routine--I headed to the coffee shop to sit on my computer and get some work done. Only to find, that this day it seemed people just wanted to talk with me. Maybe it was my decision to wear a cute red dress and put my hair up in playful fun?

Whatever it was, I had a full conversation with a girl who asked to share my table. We sat for an hour talked about random life stuff. I learned about her boyfriend and her endeavors to find work in phlebotomy and she listened to my retelling of my earliest childhood memory (watching the "King and I" with Yul Brynner) and my philosophy that the more education you receive, the more you realize there is a lot you don't know.

After she left, I set to work and after about a half hour (yes I can sit and sit, and sip and sip at a coffee shop for long hours) a gentleman began talking with me, asking what I was researching and if I was in school. You know all the basic questions without the invitation for a date. I find it funny that if you are on your computer at a coffee shop everyone assumes you are studying for school.

But the point of this story--at least I hope I have a point--is that it was nice to talk with strangers. For some reason we pack ourselves into our little bubbles and try to hide from conversation. When the truth is, conversation is human nourishment, it's education and awareness, it's our nature. And every now and then a stranger can realize all you need is a "Hello" with your coffee.

So I send a thank you to Annalynn and Tony today. :)

Dusk to Twilight

The conductor steps upon the podium, raises the baton, and taps upon the music stand to get the orchestra's attention. Only the conductor finds as each musician turns, they have the conductors face. More than this each player is the conductor, and the violins, violas, cellos, and basses have all been playing out of tune, off timing, and with no lead.

I bring this image up because it was what came to mind when I began to get my sanity back.

For those of you who know me, you know I haven't quite been myself. I however only recognized my personality had changed last month. I placed my mood on a few events, but the reality was that depression had been creeping in on me for a few months without my knowledge.

My depression hit a high low a few weeks ago, when I found myself on my evening walk, crying in uncontrollable sobs for reasons I couldn't fathom.  I forced myself to a bench and sat, reflecting. I realized I had been wearing many faces, all the same, and yet each playing to different tunes. They were out of sync. And my focus was waning. So of course--me being me--I decided to document it.

When I arrived home and went to bed, I realized I wasn't conducting my life. I was instead allowing the orchestra to play without my lead. It was time to take my baton and get all the musicians attention and lead myself on the song that is my life.

Somehow, this idea awoke the changes I have made, which have thankfully allowed the light to turn back on, focus has been regained, and you will find me dancing, instead of crying, upon my evening walks. But of course--me being me--I keep documenting myself and that bench mark. It reminds me that no matter how heavy the depression, I am the conductor.




Currently walking to the songs:

How it Ends-- DeVotchka

553 W Elm Street, Logan Illinois Snow-- Max Richter

Living Room-- Tegan&Sara

Dog Days Are Over-- Florence & The Machine

Heart Break...

I would like to be able to write this in some eloquent fashion, but the truth is....
Being heart broken SUCKS!!!!

It just sucks, there is no other word for it. It sucks the energy from you, it sucks away your appetite, and it just plain sucks. But what I'd like to know, is why, when heart break arrives, does it make you do ridiculously foolish things?

Take for example my past two weeks. After having my heart stomped on...(this may be a bit of an exaggeration)... I have begun doing things that are out of my character. One, went on a few dates within the past two weeks, thinking it would make me feel better, and all it did was make me think.... "where do these men come from." The day after being heart broken, I was on a band wagon of becoming the person I want to be (or think I am, or am, I don't know), so I finally submitted my picture book to four publishers. This was a good thing, but now I am in the long waiting process of possibly not hearing for not only the boy that broke my heart, but also the publishing houses that may or may not read my writing. I hate waiting. I'm not patient (as I have said once, or twice, or maybe three times before).

Being heart broken has also made me feel as though I need to be continually active. As such, I had a night of drinking and singing to the tree that resides in my front yard. I at least recognized it wouldn't sing back (I mean it is a tree people), but none the less, it made me feel a bit better to be out of myself and releasing all my vocal cries to an object that couldn't talk back, but could only listen. I can't rest and as such, instead of punching the walls around me, I decided ripping out the carpet in my bedroom was a better option. This, though, has left me with 3/4 of a hard wood floor (that needs repair) and a 1/4 of remaining disgusting carpet on the floor because I'm too tired to take the rest out.

Being heart broken makes you take long walks listening to your iPod and singing at the top of your lungs not caring who hears. It makes you recognize how many couples are out there, how many love songs are on the radio, love stories on T.V., in the movies, and that love never really is like that in real life.

But most importantly, being heart broken makes you think about all the good times you had, and how you were willing to open up, and how you want to have that feeling again.

The floor will be repaired, the drinking and signing to trees will stop, maybe I will hear back from the publishers--that would be cool--and you know what, if I keep dating maybe I'll be able to open up again and do this all over again. (Though next time, I'll have to find a different rug to tear apart).

So again I will say, "Being heart broke sucks."

Doors

I have always been fascinated with doors. They are one of those things that for some reason inspire me. I continually think, "what adventure awaits behind that door?" All you have to do is turn a handle, push or pull a latch, and presto a new image is before you.

As of late, I have been trying to open the figurative doors around me. Some have opened easily, some have slammed in my face, others have been locked and I'm awaiting their key, and a few I have snuck through. The point is: I'm fascinated with doors and want to experience as many adventures as I can.

Internet you Stalk me!!!!!

Last night, I came home from a wonderful celebration and began doing my thing on the Internet. You know the usual, checking Facebook, banking stuff, examining stats and such, only to find that a high number of people seemed to have viewed my blogs.

Typically, I would not find this strange, but as I haven't posted anything for some time it was a bit peculiar. Adding to this, someone posted a comment with a link that they thought someone was looking for me.

Someone was an understatement. Multiple people were on my track for a day. Apparently, the Internet stalking all began with this lovely image here. A person--I seem to not know--posted the image/story above (on Imgur) and asked for help to find this girl (who it seems the Internet world decided was me). What followed was massive posting on the internet last night. 730 comments later on Reddit, and apparently I was considered found (I must say, I didn't realize I was lost to begin with).

At first, I found this a bit creepy. Then I thought about it, and realized, "Hey, it's an Internet world out there, you better get used to it, and figure out how to use this technology before you get left behind." Adding to that, I kind of find the whole thing intriguing. As a folklorist, the whole exchange of communication between people who don't know each other, possibly, is... well... mind boggling. Furthermore, how cute is it that a guy posts an image/story to find a girl. (Yes, I'm a romantic at heart. It's a curse and a blessing).

As to the Internet Stalkers who found me through Facebook. As far as I know, I have never been in ChatRoulette (if that is a web site), I could envision myself trying on mustache disguises for fun (but have not done so as of late), and I only know relatives in North Carolina--and lets face it, that would just be wrong. So in the end, I hope you had fun reading a few posts on your way to finding a girl that was never lost to begin with.

Oh Maxine

Last year I had the blessing, and luxury, to meet one of the most amazing women. When I met her, Maxine was 98 years old, strong, out spoken, and willing to share her laughter and story with me. I find it a connecting force when the barrier of age can be broken by listening. Maxine's story had its trials and tribulations, but she always focused on the good in life (wether it be the birds out her window, her caring neighbors, family, or Jazz basketball) and what she could do with her life. And she did many things. It was an honor to listen to her tell tales of growing up in a time when women didn't have the rights granted to us today. To hear how she helped mold education in this state. It was eye opening to my own life to hear how this women took life by the horns and did what she wanted to do (PhD at age 65). And it was warming to know that instead of focusing on all the hardships, in her later years she really wanted to talk about all the fun and the people that had been so kind to her.

I hope I find my perseverance and attitude as heartfelt and open as hers was.

Yesterday, I received notice Maxine passed away, almost one month before her 100th birthday. Today I find my thoughts on the time we were able to share together sitting on her couch in her living room looking out that big window, her story, and her personality, her smile, and how quickly a person can touch your heart. I hope she has grown wings, taken flight, and is now back with her parents, husbands, and son. To her I say, "Thanks for sharing your story."

What I've Learned About Myself...

... in the two weeks that lead up to "THE IDES OF MARCH!!!"

O.k. so the exclamations were used for dramatic effect. And though I am no soothsayer, I feel as though anyone who says "Ides of March" should do it with gusto.

Anyway... in this post, I would like to discuss a few words that apparently describe myself.

"Chatterbox"

This word was provided by friends. They said the one word that came to mind when they thought of me was: chatterbox. I am not wholly sure how this came about, seeing as I find myself to be a very quiet and shy person. Obviously, my interpretation is incorrect, because when I began to defend myself I realized, a whole slew of words were escaping my tongue, and said friends could not get a word in edge wise.

"Worrywart"

This is the one word I feel best describes me.

I am not a patient person (I don't like waiting, I like acting), and I see in no way how patience is a virtue (it seems like procrastination to me). Without patience though, a person can constantly find themselves worrying about things (i.e. money, career, relationships, family: you get the idea). It's a control issue. And patience (I must sadly say), I am doomed to learn over and over again.  But while I work on patience, I was told my mom is working on her "humility." Maybe one day there will be a story written on when Patience and Humility get together (I'm still waiting for that narrative :)).

"Gryffindork"

This incorporates both "chatterbox," "worrywart," and my nerdy-ness.

May I just say, "There is nothing anyone can do about this!" I seem doomed to talk about Harry Potter for the rest of my life. And to those people who are so kind to deal with me on a daily-basis, may I request, please be patient with me (for I know you all carry patience unlike myself). I promise to bake you cookies every now and then. You can even request a cake when I go on for hours, but please don't abandon this "chatterbox" of a "worrywart" just because I'm a "Gryffindork." (And please, oh please, don't end me like Julius Caesar).

Beware the Ides of March!

Walking Life's Path

So tonight, I decided to do something a bit different with all those random videos I tend to take while on vacation. Hope you enjoy!

Music taken from Tom Hagerman's CD.

Dreams, Fears, and a Girl's Desire

This year, Phil the Groundhog popped his head out to the light on February 2 and did not run in fear of his shadow, marking an early spring. This small act of stepping forth to confront ones fears made me realize, maybe I should take note and crush the ever "creeping shadow" that grows each year in my life come February.

I am of course talking about, the dreaded "pink aisle" (see Feb. post in 2010), in which I found myself reluctantly the other day while purchasing the ingredients for my miracle cure chicken noodle soup. Lets just put it simply: I stared at all the pink heart balloons, sniffled my stuffy nose at each of them, and resisted the urge to deflate each happy heart that relayed messages such as, "Be Mine," "Kiss Me," and "Lover Boy." Instead, I quickly shuffled my feet out of the aisle and sneezed all the way home.

A few days later, I found myself relaying a memory to a friend while we were having coffee. It was a memory of my Nonna, and I began to realize why the "pink aisle" has such an affect on me while I told it. You see, my Nonna had become sick. My Mom, myself, and a few aunts and cousins (all girls) went to see her in the hospital. She was coming out of the anesthesia when she looked at my Mom, grabbed her hand, and said, "Lori, I just want to dye my hair red, put on a red dress, and have Pino take me dancing."

She was 80 years old. And the dream in her mind was still the dream of a young woman. The dream to feel pretty and special. The dream to twirl through life with that special someone on your arm. Truly, I am beginning to realize this is the dream and desire of every girl whether they're 16, 22, 31, 60, or 80. All we want is to connect and feel special, appreciated, desirable.


Repeating the memory to my friend, I understood the "pink aisle" had become my foreboding reminder that I was the only girl who didn't get asked to the dance. And in truth, all I wanted was to dye my hair red, put on a foxy red dress, and have a special gentleman twirl me around this dance-floor we call life.

So, like Phil the groundhog, I took my first steps into the light (the modern realm of the dating world) and blocked away that ever looming shadow.

You might ask how this has found me? And I have to say, thus far it has brought smiles and laughter, and maybe, just maybe, a dance is in the cards of my future. But I can truly say, the next time I find myself in the "pink aisle,"  I will not sniffle my nose at it, but instead, buy a red heart shaped box of chocolates and eat every piece with the thought of my Nonna in a red dress, red hair, dancing with my Nonno eternally, and smile.

Utah please bring back the mini bottles...

I am asking you this as a baker, not a drunken lush. I mean please, when one goes to make a wonderful chocolate truffle cake or maybe a nice tiramisu, do I really have to buy the full bottle of alcohol when I only need 2 tablespoons.

I am not making this request because I think the bottles are cute (though they are ridiculously cute). Nor am I asking because you changed the liquor laws back to allowing 1.5 ozs of alcohol in a drink (versus the 1 oz that was allocated, which was the downfall of the mini bottle in the liquor stores). I am asking because as a baker it would be nice to save a bit of money, make a delicious treat, and have a little left over to keep me warm while that treat is baking in the oven.

So please, pretty please, with a cherry on top... Utah please bring back the mini bottles we all so love and cherish.

Yours sincerely,
D.

JUDGE ME IF YOU WANT...

but late tonight I decided to sign up for match.com.

I find this an odd thing for me to do. First lets just say, I am not a forward person. Second, I find the whole idea that a computer can match me to the perfect relationship is a bit of joke. And third, really... a guy can't just sweep me off my feet like they do in the movies--O.k. this one I know isn't realistic.

But last night as I talked with a friend I asked, "When did dating become so difficult?" And thus, midnight finds me on the computer joining a relationship dating site, scanning mens pictures, and placing them in my favorites file (this process is similar to grocery shopping, reading the ingredients of each product and placing them in your cart... only this is human beings we're talking about). It's strange how you can now find anything over the Internet.

Anyway, this was my night, judge me if you want. I sent a wink ;) and maybe I'll actually decide to pay for a months subscription--that is if I can build up the nerve.