Whipped Cream Sunset

This dessert is inspired by a Lemon Curd dessert served at the place I work at, Sunbird Kitchen in Orleans, MA. The plating is different (Sunbird serves theirs on a flat plate instead of a bowl), and whipped cream in my dish replaces the lemon curd base in theirs. The ingredient pairings are all Sunbird-inspired though. Mixed in with the whipped cream are fresh and melted frozen blueberries. I melted the frozen blueberries mainly so I could get the juice, but it also adds a fun temperature contrast. Sprinkled on top of those are crumbled lemon wafer cookies. The dish is garnished with fresh lemon zest and thyme (Sunbird uses thyme oil in their dessert). Next time I would also sprinkle coarse sea salt on top to liven it up. I finished the dish by wedging a whole lemon cookie on the side of the bowl. I learned that it's important to add the whole cookie last, or else it will soak up the blueberry juice and turn soggy and blue. Soggy and blue isn't great for initial presentation, but once the dish is served it's fun to eat the cookie last because as the cookie soaks up the juice, it looks like a sun setting over water. 

Serve with a spoon and enjoy with a "Pocket Full of Sunshine." 

Whipped Cream Sunset

• 4-5 heaping tbsp of homemade whipped cream (heavy whipping cream, vanilla and cane sugar to taste) 
• Handful of fresh blueberries
• Handful of frozen blueberries (melted in microwave for 40 seconds)
• 3-4 lemon wafer cookies (2-3 crumbled, 1 whole)
• Lemon zest
• Fresh thyme

A Satisfying Spice

Dish courtesy of Sunbird Kitchen.

Tokyo turnips with xo sauce, chili oil, toasted quinoa and nasturtium flowers. It’s like stepping into a hot bath. The chili oil burns my mouth at first, but I let it linger on my tongue. I breathe and feel my sinuses clear. The juicy Tokyo turnips give respite from the spice. I sink in deeper. The Hinona Kabu turnips taste similar to radishes, and pair well with the nasturtium flowers. They add a peppery flavor, which compliments the subtle saltiness of the xo sauce––a caramelized shellfish and meat sauce. Surprisingly the xo sauce is my favorite part of the dish. After I finish eating, I wipe my mouth. My lips feel slightly numb, but I don’t try to neutralize the spice with dairy. It’s a satisfying spice.

This summer I’m lucky to be working at Sunbird, a local café in Orleans, MA that serves intentional dishes for mindful eating––carefully selected ingredients, thoughtful preparation, and considerate presentation. The kitchen sources their ingredients from local farmers–the turnips in the above dish are from Chatham Brews Inn (CBI) Farm in Brewster–and the menu changes depending on what’s in season. Above is a new dish I tried last week, after chatting extensively with one of the chefs about the turnips and the kitchen’s plan for them. Through inquiring about, tasting, and selling the food we serve I’m learning to trust what ingredients a chef pairs together. In many of my past experiences as a customer at restaurants, I've been particular about how I want my food prepared, what ingredients can be left out, and can I please substitute this ingredient for that one? Although I would not voluntarily add chili oil to the dish, my experience with the dish wouldn’t have been the same without it.

Dish courtesy of Sunbird Kitchen.
Meatballs with harissa yogurt, ricotta salata, dill, and mint. A Moroccan-inspired dish––harissa, dill, and
mint are all common in Morocco. It's not as heavy as meatballs and marinara, and the aftertaste reminds me
of spicy chorizo sausage. The dill, meatballs, and ricotta salata compliment each other well.

Through my work at Sunbird, I'm rekindling a joyous relationship with food. I respect the entire experience of a meal, from selecting the ingredients to washing the dishes after. Inspired by my work at Sunbird, I’ve been experimenting in my own kitchen a lot this summer. Here are some highlights:

1. 

   Lettuce, garden veggie burger, crumbled smoked gouda cheese,
   cucumbers, sautéed carrots and kale, hummus, Braggs dressing.  

   Melted gouda cheese on a garden veggie or portabella burger. Just trust me.
2. Mixing fresh veggies with sautéed veggies adds interesting temperature and texture to a salad.
3. Fresh mint counterbalances spicy and fishy flavors.
4. Herbs are most flavorful when kept raw. Thank you, Sunbird Kitchen.
5. Fresh mint and dill compliment each other.
6. Pickled turnips.
7. Braggs dressing, sesame ginger tofu, and sea beans. The combination of flavors reminds me of sushi.

   

   Lettuce, sesame ginger tofu, sea beans, cucumbers, egg yolk,
   hummus, parsley, Braggs dressing. 

8. Fresh parsley on hummus. It echoes the traditional tabouli and hummus combination. This is best when hummus is the main feature of the dish––otherwise the hummus can overpower the dish.
9. Fish sauce. I've had it in three different dishes this summer: the butter turnips from Sunbird, kimchi from Sunbird, and crispy brussels sprouts from The Canteen in Provincetown. It's salty, spicy, and satisfying.
10. Poached egg whites. Smoked egg yolks. Fried eggs. Omelets. Sunny side up eggs. Scrambled eggs. I've tried them all this summer.

Lettuce, cucumbers, granny smith apple,
scrambled eggs with kale, carrots, sesame ginger tofu.

My latest creation: Brown rice toast spread with fresh avocado. Topped with two fried eggs,
sautéed mushrooms and onions, salt, pepper, and fresh rosemary. I was proud of this one.


Brown rice toast. Mango and strawberries.
Omelet with goat cheese and sautéed mushrooms, onions, and rosemary. Topped with fresh rosemary.
It's photo worthy because the omelet actually stayed intact when I flipped it. 

When I take the time to cook, arrange, eat, and reflect on my food, I'm less likely to jump for the next flavor. I sit back and appreciate what I'm tasting. I’m present. I’m satisfied.

Reasons to Celebrate

*All photos are credited to Ali Brodeur.

It was Day 2 of hiking with my friend Ali in the White Mountains. We were about an hour and a half into the hike, and were yet to see a sign for the Fishin Jimmy trail. We figured we'd have a snack at the junction, but it was taking longer to get to it than we thought, and I just thought a fallen tree was a moose. Finally I saw what I thought was the trailhead.

"Celebration junction!" I cried. It's a tradition Ali learned from her prior basketball coaches, who she hikes with a lot. Whenever you come to a junction in the path, you shout, "Celebration junction!" and click your hiking poles together or clap. It's a morale booster. It turns out, though, that what I thought was a trailhead was actually just a sign for a stream. We decided to celebrate anyway, and from that point on celebrated at every landmark we recognized from our White Mountain guide book.

Ali and I said many cheers on our hike. We toasted with brownies, PB&Js, and cinnamon raisin bagels. We took selfies at every lookout and high-fived at each summit. The hiking trip itself was a sort of junction celebration. We both just finished a successful first year at college––schools that we chose, and we're both happy with our choices.

I think about how anxious and nostalgic I was last year at this time. I still feel the nostalgia when I come home to visit, especially when I go back to see my high school's shows, but I long for my high school life less and am better able to appreciate what I had while embracing where I am now. Last summer, I celebrated my graduation from high school. This summer, I'm celebrating the present moment. There may not be a wooden sign nailed to a tree, but I'm still finding many reasons to celebrate. 

Beyond the Barricade

"Fire!" Enjolras shouts from the top of the barricade. Our final shot for freedom. After 55 nights, maybe we'll actually win this time. My foot digs into Susan's waist. Willow takes a blow to the stomach and collapses center stage. Zane leaps to catch the flag. He screams and for the last time, I stumble, flop, and drop, dead on the barricade. I channel each breath, as my director told me, and wait for Javert to hit his suicide note so I can breathe normally again.

***

This past summer, I had the honor of performing in the revival run of Les Mis at the Academy Playhouse of Performing Arts in Orleans, MA. Sixty times I have formally died on the barricade (four times in my high school production of Les Mis and 56 times at the Academy), but I have spent more than 366 hours in the theatre performing the show. This doesn't include the time I spent outside of rehearsal memorizing lines and music, and developing my character. It doesn't seem possible that it is over.

I think everyone in our cast was expecting our director to make some changes from last year. We certainly didn't expect to run Act I right off the bat in our first rehearsal after ten months being away from the barricade. It was a test of muscle memory at its finest. Apart from a handful of new cast members, the performance was more or less the same as last year as far as our director's artistic vision went. But the show was tighter. After 28 shows last summer, we no longer needed to worry about remembering our lines and blocking, so we could dive into the hearts of our characters.

This summer, I journaled before every performance––about the show, any pre-show anxieties I needed to flush out, dressing room observations. I also became obsessed with Yogi Throat Care. The inspirational messages on the tags were like fortune cookies. Finding out, "What will Yogi say today?" soon became a favorite part of my day. Sometimes the messages were apropos to Les Mis. Other times they were good pre-show soothers––reminders to live in the moment, be kind to myself, and breathe. I started saving the tags and taping them in my journal.

Below, I posted some highlights from the 28 shows. I picked them for their variety. As I was flipping through my notebook, I travelled back to every day of the summer: how work was that day, what I had for dinner, what backstage drama was going on. Some nights I was in a better place than others. There were times I had difficulty motivating myself to go the theatre––I was tired; I ate too much; I wasn't invited to go the beach. I hated those nights, because it made me question whether I am going into the right field of study. But then I would have the great nights, and I would remember there is nothing else that fulfills me more. I tried not to edit the journals too much to keep the heart of the moment, which is why they sometimes jump around a lot. Sometimes they're meditative rambles to myself, sometimes they're a list of observations, and other times they're more reflective. I also switch between using character names and real names, but the essence of the journals doesn't depend on knowing who these people are. Taking the time to journal helped me take stock of where I was before every show, address any obstacles that would taint my performance, and settle into my theatre zone.

Opening Night: 7/23

Opening night #2 of Les Mis at the Academy, my third opening night of Les Mis ever. Katie (the stage manager) just called ten minutes until places, which means I still have thirty minutes before I go onstage. The factory girls lace up their corsets. Marius kids around with Eponine. In about two hours she’ll die for him on the barricade. As the minutes tick by, I slowly travel to France. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your places call for the start of Act I. Break a leg,” Katie says. It’s time to push this snowball down the hill and let it roll.

Night #2: 7/24

I don’t know how Enjolras waits so long to go onstage. I’m costumed. I drank my tea. I had my cinnamon Altoid. I peed. I just want to go to France. It reminds me of the feeling before a race, except I don’t want to go onstage to get it over with. I want to go onstage because I want to be in it.  

Night #5: 7/27

“It’s strange,” I told Mom. "Normally I would be getting ready to settle in for the night, but the most energizing part of my day hasn't even begun.” While Mom curled up on the couch in her yoga pants and glasses, my face was caked with makeup. I drank tea not to settle in for the night, but to coat my throat before I performed. This is my life six nights a week for the next month. I’m so lucky.  

“Do you ever get tired of performing the same thing?” Mom asked. I would be lying if I said there are never nights I would love to stay home. There are days–many days–when I’m tired from work, my shoulders sore from yesterday’s swim, my eyes still stinging from the makeup I wiped off half-heartedly at 11:30 the night before. But it’s like exercise. Of course there are days I don’t want to do it. But I have to get out there. I have to keep myself conditioned. 

“It’s like a sport,” my high school director says. “If you don’t do it for a season, you set yourself back.” Theatre is part of my rhythm. If I go too long without it, I get antsy. So even on the nights I may not be thrilled to go to the theatre, I go––because I have to, but also because I know I’m going to feel great after it’s over. I’ll feel that natural high.  

It’s different performing a show 28 times. It’s not the same adrenaline I get from my high school performances. It feels more rhythmic. It feels more natural. Because it’s a natural part of my rhythm. I can’t live without it.  

Night #7: 7/29

"I am beautiful, I am bountiful, I am blissful." 

Thank you. Thank you Throat Care. I should wear this tea bag on a chain around my neck. Breathe the mantra during my sun salutations. Stroke it in the water. Pedal it up the the hill. Pound it on the pavement.  

Tonight I had grilled tuna, $25/lb. In about fifteen minutes I’m going to go begging on the streets. It’s not exactly method-acting, but if I were to have a last meal, grilled tuna would be a fantastic one to end with.

Night #8: 7/30

"Love is where compassion prevails and kindness rules." 

Very apropos for Les Mis. "To love another person is to see the face of God." 

Night #17: 8/10

"Let your manners speak for you."

Maybe “Let your mannerisms speak for you.” I know I sometimes give off the "stay away from me" energy. I don’t mean to, usually. And then people go away and I want them to come back, but they’ve already formed their cliques. I’m starting to miss my home friends.

Night #19: 8/12

"May this day bring you peace, tranquility and harmony."

Lots of rain tonight. Sweatpants and a baggy rain jacket. I wish I had the tighter-fitting TriFury jacket.That’s okay. I’ll just accept the bum.

Night #21: 8/14

"There is nothing more precious than self-trust."

As the revolutionary, I need to trust the cause I am fighting for. Trust it regardless of what my mom thinks, regardless of what others say. I will not throw my life away.

I dined like the bourgeois tonight––mussels and pasta with homemade tomato sauce, and garlic bread to wipe the plate. 

My hairspray exploded in my backpack. The floor reeks of hairspray. 

Crystal tries to fit her corset around Enjolras.

Night #22: 8/16

50th performance tonight––if the performance happens. Five minutes until we’re supposed to start and Jean Valjean is still in Wellfleet. There was a big accident and traffic has been backed up for hours. They’re working to get a police escort for him. I really hope the show goes on tonight because 59 shows sounds a lot lamer than 60.

Night #23: 8/17

Night #51, and I don’t want to be here. I’m tired, my throat is clogged from lunch. Our director gave a really nice speech tonight about how proud he is of us, how he knows most of us would’ve killed to be back. But I don’t feel that way tonight and I feel guilty that I feel that way. 

Channel the tension. In “At the End of the Day,” channel the tired eyes. In “Lovely Ladies,” channel the self-hatred. In “Innkeeper,” let yourself be free and don't care about what others think. In the “Beggars,” channel the anger. On the barricade, channel the tears.

Night #27: 8/22

"Life is a gift. Experience is the beauty." 

Two more shows. Enjoy them. It hasn’t sunk in that I might never perform Les Mis again. I’ve begun to take it for granted. Enjoy every moment onstage. Speak every word with honesty. Make every interaction real. Live in the moment. Be in the moment onstage. Breath. Breathe.  

Jean Valjean's wife stencils in “24601” with liquid eye liner on his chest. Fantine curls her hair; she parted her hair differently tonight. “Does it look more period?” she asks. Marius drinks his Odwalla. He has the "Original" flavor tonight. They were out of chocolate. He likes the chocolate one better because it has B6 and more protein––and it’s chocolate, so that’s nice.  

I’m actually organizing a cast breakfast at Hearth n’ Kettle. I’m organizing something social!  

Jean Valjean paces around the room, unable to sit still. I understand the feeling.   

I have a chocolate chip cookie sandwich waiting for me when I get home! I just can't think about it on the barricade. 

Closing Night: 8/23

This is it. My 60th performance. Tonight I will live the moment I wrote about in my college essay. It doesn’t seem possible that this could be my last Les Mis performance ever. It got to a point where it seemed like I would always be performing Les Mis. But tonight, for the last time, I will ascend the stairs for “At the End of the Day” and watch Cole and David do interpretive dance as Valjean sings, "What Have I Done?" 

I want to remember everything. The pain that rushes through my leg when I stomp in “At the End of the Day.” How I tuck my skirt in for "Lovely Ladies"––I need to make money on the docks somehow, and my breasts certainly don't do much for me. The creak of the stairs under my bare feet. The ratted hair that sticks in my mouth in “The Beggars,” and the indifferent faces of the audience members as I beg them for a fraction of their privileged lives. Cole’s mockery of Marius in “ABC Café.” The harmonies in “One Day More.” The cinnamon Altoid during intermission. The backstage toilet that pees out the side every time it’s flushed. The backstage "hurrahs" when the boys stampede the stage at the top of Act II. Dressing Melanie’s battle wound. Tucking up Susan after she dies. Crying after Gavroche is shot––I love the moments I can cry onstage. “Bring Him Home.” “Javert’s Suicide.” Watching Jen’s mouth in “The Wedding” to make sure we get the timing right. The blinding lights in “The Epilogue.” Holding Thea’s hand during the bows. Katie's air kiss from the sound booth as the lights fade and we head backstage to hang up our costumes––tonight for the last time. 

Last warm-ups. Last double-checking my props. Jean Valjean gave everyone a yellow rose––very apropos for his character. Melanie and Katie ordered Les Mis shortbread cookies for everyone from Thea. It’s going to feel really great eating that after the show tonight.

It did.

I already picked where I want to sign the wall. I decided to tape tonight's Yogi message on the wall next to last year's signature.

"To be calm is the highest achievement of the self." 

Enjoy tonight. “One last ride,” Thénardier says. “If I got one piece of advice from my theatre teacher in college, it was this: ‘Leave it all on the stage. No matter what’s going on in your life, leave it on the stage and hold your head up high.’”

***

Stage right, I hear Javert ascend the stairs to his death. As he hits his final suicide note, escaping a world he no longer knows, I get up to clear the barricade one last time, ready to "discover what our God in heaven has in store" beyond these crates, barrels and broken sofas. 

Salad for Breakfast?

With our lettuce and kale in full bloom, I don't want to eat anything but salad. 

I find an excuse to make a salad whenever I can, making tuna fish or grilling a veggie burger and slicing it on top. 

After a long morning of biking, swimming and running yesterday, I found myself past one o'clock and starving. But, I never like to start my day with anything but breakfast food, no matter what time I actually end up eating breakfast. But as I walked past the garden to put my bike away, I really wanted a salad.

So I compromised. 

Veggie Scramble Salad (a.k.a. "Eggs on a Bed")

Basically, toss in whatever you like with your scrambled eggs and put it all on a bed of greens. If you're curious, here's how I made mine:

1. Lightly grease a pan with olive oil and sauté baby bella mushrooms and onions.
2. While the mushrooms and onions are cooking, chop up about a quarter of a medium-sized tomato. Then, crack two eggs in a bowl, add a little water, and whisk. (My grandmother told me that a chef told her that using water instead of milk is the key to fluffy eggs.) 
3. Once the onions and mushrooms are tender, pour in the eggs. Add the chopped tomato, grated cheese (I used Trader Joe's Creamy Toscano Cheese), and kale (I recommend breaking up the leaves).
4. Add a little pepper and salt. 
5. Keep a careful eye on the eggs, using a spatula to stir often.
6. Place greens in a shallow dish and top with the veggie scramble.
7. Enjoy!

It was exactly what I was craving, and when I woke up this morning, I craved it again. It's a refreshing and protein-filled way to start the day! 

Sitting

When I woke up at 4:30 this morning to make Mom a smoothie to-go for her class at Lesley University, I hadn't planned on staying up. I went to bed at midnight, after all. But I wasn't really that tired getting up (maybe it'll hit me later) and most mornings this sumer I'll want to sleep in because I'l be out late performing Les Mis, so when Mom commented about what a nice time of day it was, I decided it might be a good idea to take advantage of the morning.

I boiled water for tea and took my laptop out at first, figuring I would continue working on my college checklist from last night. Then I realized how wasteful it would be to spend an early morning in front of a screen, especially because I would be tempted to check my Gmail and Facebook to see who had thought about me between midnight (the last time I checked them) and 4:30 in the morning. It's frustratingly satisfying to see that someone liked my picture or status on Facebook (the only e-mail I get on a regular basis is the Word of the Day, so my e-mail is rarely exciting), or that someone messaged me.  It's frustrating because I'm relying on others for self-security, and because the satisfaction wears off seconds after I click the message or little Earth icon.

Instead, I grabbed my notebook–I've been trying to get back into the habit of writing–a beach towel, my tea, and my car keys. Which brings me to the beach this morning. The sun peaked over the clouds. The waves crashed. I sipped my tea from my Krispy Kreme thermos and burned my tongue. There I sat. Sitting. Sitting. Sun. Waves. Tea. Burnt tongue. Seagulls. Sand. Yup.

I'm terrible at being still. I'm bad at even walking. It's too slow. I would rather run. It gets my heart rate up and gets me in shape. It feels purposeful. I have the annoying desire to always be productive. I always need to be doing something, for something. I'm terrible at being still because I don't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I'm not content doing things just because I feel like doing them. I need a reason. If I sleep in, it's because I should be catching up on sleep for the week. One of the reasons I'm so conscious about what I eat is because I feel like whatever I eat should benefit my body in some way.

Trust me when I say this neurosis can be extremely mentally draining. Often times I lose the spontaneity of the moment because I spend too much time planning the what and why of my day, instead of just living it.

I know it's important for me to slow down sometimes. Allow my mind to wander without justification. I need to find more moments in my life to meditate; to be at peace with myself, rather than always trying to think of how I can better myself.

Which is why it was important for me to just sit this morning. Dig my toes in the sand and let my thoughts about those s'mores and frozen yogurt and cookie from yesterday go out with the tide. Sip my tea and feel the newly risen sun on my face. Just sit.

Behind the Scenes

I park at the lodge down the street from the theatre. On average, it only takes me two tries to park now. I put my red Denison water bottle in the side pocket of my backpack, throw it on my shoulders, and warm up my voice as I walk. I know the front entrance is closer than the back door, but I always go through the backdoor. 

Anyone can use the front entrance...only the cast and crew can use the back entrance. I like to take advantage of this. 

I walk into the dressing room, find my costume hanging on the rack.

Amidst all the chaos on the counter, I find a spot to set my makeup. 

I've never had a real dressing room before. Sure, most of the lightbulbs surrounding the mirror may be burnt out, but I feel like a movie star. 

Over the course of the hour, the rest of the cast floats in. Next to the clock is Gerome the Squirrel. Apparently he has made an appearance in many Academy Playhouse productions. Fantine dedicates "I Dreamed A Dream" every night to him. 

7:15 comes around and we report to the stage for vocal warm-ups and notes. The barricade boys practice lifting Eponine after she dies, just for good measure. We review the cart crash scene to make it look like Fauchelevent actually got ran over by it, instead of casually placed underneath. The boys practice tossing the flag without hitting anyone in the audience.

7:30 now...10 minutes until pre-set for those who enter stage left. We file downstairs, chattering about how many people are in the audience, quoting Spongebob Squarepants, obsessing over Harry Potter. Thénardier grabs his pre-show Cliff bar. Everyone takes dibs on revolution cupcakes. Our costume manager glares at us from the corner, just daring us to get chocolate frosting on her King Richard's Fair costumes. 

In the past, I was always so serious about being in character from the moment I put on my costume until the moment I take it off. But with this performance, I've come to realize that it's okay to relax a little. In fact, I perform better when I do. It's also okay to bend some of the "rules." When I would perform in my school productions, the performance would take up my entire life during dress rehearsal week. I hardly talked to anyone to save my voice. I didn't eat dairy for a week (it's bad for your voice). It was the only thing on my mind all the time.

But I can't do that with 28 performances...at least not without sacrificing my sanity. I have learned how to balance a performance with my everyday life, something that is essential if I ever go on to perform professionally. Most of the adults in the cast work full-time jobs before coming to perform. Somehow they manage.

8:00 now. Our stage manager calls for "places," which means I still have about fifteen minutes until I need to go upstairs. Only now do I turn within myself and focus on my character. I touch up my makeup. Quietly keep my voice warm. Go to the bathroom. Have a mint. Drink water. Adjust my mob cap. 

8:15, I quietly ascend the dimly lit staircase to backstage, all the signatures of past performers illuminated on the cream-colored walls. At the top of the stairs, I look at the floor and think about how my character I just want to be home with my children. I think about the redundancy and misery of my everyday life. The pianist plays the familiar chords of "At the End of the Day" and on cue, I walk into a Montreuil-sur-Mer factory, ready to "graft as long as I'm able." 

This has been my night, six nights a week, since July 24th. 15 performances down...13 more to go. I have done the same thing for fifteen nights now. 

"Maybe we'll actually win the revolution today," we joke backstage.

It's crazy to think that we're counting down the performances now. I can't imagine going back to school and not performing almost every night. At least I have my school musical to keep me busy. I can't be away from the stage for too long. 

Apart from the show I performed in when I was in 5th grade––when I told my director I couldn't make dress rehearsal because of a school presentation––I have never performed on another stage before. My school stage is my home. This stage felt foreign at first. But it didn't take long for me to fall in love with it. 

Kangaroo Corn

"Knee-high by the Fourth of July," so the saying goes. By the 4th, our forty stalks of corn were right on track. 

Almost a month later now, and the corn towers over us with its feather duster tassels. 

We part the leaves to find the hidden ears. As I was preparing this post, I got to thinking why they are even called "ears of corn." I was not surprised to find that an ear of corn has nothing to do with the ears on our head. Apparently, the scientific word for an ear of corn is "inflorescence," meaning "a flowering." It makes sense, then, that when we grind this up, we get flour.*

Our friend told us that the raccoons would get to the corn before we did, but we beat them to it. Above is our first ear of corn from the garden...or should I say ears of corn. This corn had a baby corn attached, like a kangaroo with a baby in its pouch. 

We steamed the corn and we probably picked it a day too late but it didn't matter that it wasn't snappy––it was still some of the best corn I have ever had. 

Meanwhile, a sunflower grows amidst the stalks––a scarecrow ready to ward off thieving raccoons.

Do you garden? What do you grow? How has your garden been doing? Our lettuce and kale haven't been strong this year...the leaves have been small. Our beans and snap peas, meanwhile, have been growing generously. 

I hope you're all enjoying your summer!

*Note: The information about the etymology of "corn" comes from this blog: (http://ear-of-corn.blogspot.com/2011/07/why-is-ear-of-corn-called-ear-of-corn.html)

Merging In

"Just inch out into the road. Relax. Take a deep breath. Check both ways. You're clear. Drive." All my life, I have been used to "following." I question myself about everything, even when I know that I know what to do. I realized this particularly when I was learning to drive.

ME: Dad, can I go now?
DAD: Yes. The light is green. Green means "go."

ME: Mom, do I signal?
MOM: You're switching lanes. Yes, you signal.

One of the hardest things for me to learn has been merging into oncoming traffic. I second-guessed myself. I didn't trust myself to move unless someone else told me to.

As soon as I started driving by myself, that changed. Fast. The first time I drove by myself I forgot I had to drive around the rotary downtown. "You know what to do," I heard Mom say inside my head. "Think about your next move. Trust yourself."

This summer, I feel as if I've been merging into my own life. I've mused in previous posts about the newfound independence I've acquired over the past few months, between obtaining my license, traveling alone, and now as a working girl. I've found that with this independence also comes a new rhythm––my own rhythm.

In previous summers, I have followed my parents' schedule. When they swam, I swam. When they ran, I ran. When they ate, I ate. This summer, I'm not able to do this. I have my own schedule. I work during the day, I perform in a community theatre production of Les Mis at night. I have to run and swim when I have time to run and swim. Sometimes there are days I'm not able to fit in a run or a swim, because I choose to prioritize memorizing my lines, or reading, or taking the time to write. Or napping. Sometimes I need a nap.

I've also been making a lot of my own meals lately. My dinner tonight was one of my favorites so far.

I stopped by work on my way home from play rehearsal to pick up a portabella mushroom with my 20% employee discount. I brushed it with olive oil and cooked it in the oven until it was soft. Meanwhile, I sautéed kale, green beans, snap peas, zucchini, and tomatoes from our garden. When everything was cooked, I flipped the mushroom so that its belly faced up, and blanketed it with the kale leaves. Then I filled it with the other veggies. To top it off, I sprinkled grated asiago cheese over the mushroom and the plate, and added a nasturtium on the side for decoration.

After setting the table and taking many pictures, I finally sat down to eat...the food was only a little cold. 

Okay...so now you're probably thinking that I only wrote this post as a sly way of sneaking in pictures of my dinner. But I actually started the post the other night and never finished it, and when I cooked dinner tonight, I realized these pictures accompanied the post perfectly. And here's why: I'm on my own this summer more than I ever have been before. I'm starting to think more for myself. I love to be active...so I run and swim and bike, even when it's on my own. I love good food. So when I have the time, I don't just grab cereal from the cupboard or throw in a frozen pizza...I take the time to cook something for myself. 

When it comes down to it, I'm learning how to take care of myself. It has certainly been an adjustment these past few weeks...but I'm slowly releasing my foot off the break. I look both ways. And I go. 

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

This is the front of the T-shirt I got when I arrived at the Reynold's Writer's Workshop at Denison University in Granville, OH. I was dropped off this morning. For the next week, I will be immersed in one of the things I love most: writing.

I got my binder and my schedule and all the pens and stickers. I got the key to my room and I hugged goodbye and my mom closed the door and that was it. An empty dorm room with emerald and cantaloupe braided carpet; two wooden desks with cork boards and an overhead lamp; tape residue on the walls, textured from multiple repaintings; stripped navy blue mattresses atop rickety springs; white linens and a blanket; a 100% polyester ProTech Pillow, covered with breathable fabric covering.

I unpacked my suitcase and arranged my comfort food on the shelf above my desk: dried apricots, almonds and fat, unsweetened coconut flakes, two Clif bars (dark cherry almond and apricot), and two packages of Honey Nut Cheerios that I took from the hotel's continental breakfast this morning. I've learned that I need to have comfort food with me when I travel...otherwise I have a minor panic attack. Like this morning when I mildly freaked out because they didn't have the yogurt I liked...yeah, so I'm working on that with myself...

I made my bed and tried to tuck in the corners...sorry Grandma...

I arranged my favorite pillow and my childhood comforter Puff (although it has lost so many feathers by now it's more of a sheet than a comforter)...

Yes...I'm sixteen years old and still bring my Puff with me when I travel. I've given up on carrying my childhood stuffed animals Teddy and Mocha with me when I travel, although they sit propped against a pillow on my bed at home to greet me when I come back.

With everything finally settled, I jumped on the bed and listened to the sighs of the springs. I leaned my head against a former nail hole, now smoothed over with putty. I was alone. No one else from the camp had arrived yet and my mom and stepdad were on their way to the airport to fly home. It was one of those empowering moments, like when I drove by myself for the first time and I rolled the windows down and blared 102.5 on the radio. Or when I watched the sunrise over Mt. Washington. These past few months, I've gained so much independence. I'm doing the things I love and starting to figure out the person I want to be. 

So, what is it I plan to do with my one wild and precious life? I plan to make the most of it. I plan to use my life to better others. I plan to take life as it comes and let it run wild, while always keeping a watchful eye. As I write this week, nobody knows me. And that's exciting. Because I can write whatever I want without worrying about offending someone. I can be graphic. I can be specific. I can be honest. This week, I will let my writing run wild. 

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" 

Berry Tart Lemonade

Sophomore year...check. Driver's test...check. Summer, here I come!

It's amazing how you don't realize how stressful something is until it's over. As I finished my final homework assignment of the year Thursday night, I felt my body breathe a sigh of relief. But the real relief didn't come until 6:08 this morning, as I pulled out of the RMV...as a newly licensed driver. Hopefully my nights will no longer be filled with overturned vehicles and failure stamps (I actually don't even think they use those on road tests).

I took a leisurely lunch today. I had leftovers from last night's dinner––an avocado BLT flatbread with sweet potato fries. I even took the time to heat up my sandwich and fries in the oven, which is much more satisfactory than the microwave. The fries were certainly less soggy than they would've been if I microwaved them.

But the 77ºF weather and the sun made me crave something more: lemonade. But not the powdered lemonade or even the frozen lemonade; I wanted real, homemade lemonade.

Alas, I only had one and a half lemons and no lemon squeezer. I squeezed the lemons with my hands and got enough juice for one very tart sip. It was time to open the freezer, open the fridge, open all the cupboard doors, and see what I could find.

In the end, I was able to make one tall glass of something I call Berry Tart Lemonade. See the recipe below!

Berry Tart Lemonade (Makes 1 Serving)

1 1/2 lemons, squeezed
1 kiwi, peeled
1/2 cup - 1 cup of frozen berries
Honey
Lemon water (or regular water)

Microwave the frozen berries in a bowl for 90 seconds. This extracts the juices. Blend with the squeezed lemons and peeled kiwi. The lemonade will be very tart. To water it down, gradually add water. (I happened to have a pitcher of lemon water in the fridge, but plain water will do fine.) Add honey for a sweetener. Pour in a glass with ice cubes and taste summer with every sip.

I decorated the glass with a strawberry from our garden. I tried to show its better side in the earlier pictures.

I don't know if you can see it, but a lot of the pulp and seeds floated to the top, leaving the bottom a bit more tart. The separation reminded me of the science experiment with vinegar and oil.

The last thing to do before I ate was set the table. I wiped the glass table on the porch clean of pollen, set a placemat, and set the table for one. I even set out a cloth napkin. Sunscreen applied and sunglasses on, I pulled in my chair and closed my eyes as I savored the taste of summer right around the corner. 

Happy (almost) summer, everyone!