Strawberry Banana Bread-July 15, 2010

In the past few days, I've been learning as much as I can about organic living, which of course includes organic cooking. Real food, sans the processing that so much of our "food" goes through on its way to our table. Anyhow, I came across a recipe for Strawberry Bread on a fabulous site (http://heavenlyhomemakers.com) and threw in a few chocolate chips upon Laura's suggestion because I agreed with her that it sounded yummy.

Of course, in my currently non-local, non-organic kitchen, I didn't have a few of the key ingredients the original recipe called for (specifically, rapadura. I used plain old sugar instead). But, I decided that since I had comparable conventional ingredients, I could at least start experimenting. I did, however, have my trusty bag of whole wheat flour that I brought from my own kitchen when my husband and I recently moved in with my parents (another story for another day). That combined with the myriad of strawberries leftover from a big weekend birthday party provided enough of what I absolutely needed to try the recipe. In the end? It was very, very good. Delicious, even. I highly recommend it.

Next time I make it, I will make it with rapadura, if I can get my hands on any. I'm on the hunt. But I also want to try it with less fat, perhaps add some flax meal or something, and reduce the amount of cinnamon (just my own preference).

Today, inspired by the idea of strawberry bread, I came up with an idea for strawberry banana bread. I used the strawberry bread recipe as a guide, but tweaked it to my own specifications. I ran into one small snag when I was mixing up the batter, though. I didn't have any eggs. Not a single one to be found. So, I just left them out--and the result was surprisingly good.

Here's my recipe for Strawberry Banana Bread, but I'm sure I'll change it a bit and make it even more delicious (and healthy!) in the weeks to come.

Ingredients:
1 very ripe banana (largish)

1 c cut strawberries

1 ½ c whole wheat flour

½ c brown sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp salt

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp baking powder

2 T canola oil

1 ½ tsp flax seed meal (if you have it/want to use it).

Method:

Mix together dry ingredients. Set aside. Blend stawberries and banana in a food processor or blender until smooth (like a smoothie).

Add the blended fruit to the dry ingredients; then, add oil to mixture and blend well.

Pour into greased glass loaf pan (I usually just sprayed the pan with Pam); sprinkle with flax seed meal. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

The result? Ta-da! I love the texture the flax seed meal gave the top. It gave it a slight crunch, especially when toasted (which, by the way, is really good).

Ah, the simple joy of something freshly baked. I think I might be addicted to it.

2 Corinthians 8:10-July 13, 2010

"So here's what I think: The best thing you can do right now is to finish what you started last year and not let those good intentions grow stale. Your heart's been in the right place all along. You've got what it takes to finish it up, so go to it. Once the commitment is clear, you do what you can, not what you can't. The heart regulates the hands."

A Quest to Live Intentionally--July 13, 2010

On my birthday this year, I wrote out a few goals for myself, things I'd like to accomplish before I turn 30. One of the things I wrote was to be a deliberate friend. To me, being deliberate means being intentional about things, which takes effort--lots of it, really. Having intention suggests purpose, which in turn suggests planning, determination, a reason for doing something.

In friendship, particularly since life takes friends in many different directions, intentionality (is that a word?) is necessary, otherwise we can let life pass us by and we'll wake up wondering why in the world we're lonely. Or unsatisfied. Or frustrated with the people we love.

I think that there's something to be said for living intentionally, meaning living a life of purpose, spiritually, mentally, emotionally, relationally--and physically. I don't want to just slide by--not in any area of life. I don't want to sit back and consume the things the world tells me I should consume. I don't want to sit back and do life the easy way. I don't think life was meant to be easy, anyway. It's sure nice when things are easy, but I just don't think an "easy" life is equivalent to an "abundant" life. So here is the beginning of my journey toward living intentionally, toward seeking abundance in all areas of life.

Merging the New with the Old

I started a different blog over the summer, one that I was determined to keep distinctly separate from this blog because the subject matter dealt with wouldn't have anything to do with the sorts of things I ramble about on this blog. But over the months, I realized that to keep the two separate was to separate two aspects of myself. I'd rather be one jumbled mess than have a split personality, so I decided to just merge the two together.

So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to repost the things I wrote at my other blog here. I'll put the original date in the subject line just after the title of the post. No, not everything that I wrote has to do with recognizing things that are distorted and choosing to believe truth, and yet... they do, some more than others of course, but still.

In short, I began learning about the real food movement over the summer; I started uncovering the truth about the food industry and chose to take what I'd learned and 1) apply it to my own life and 2) share with others. I'm certainly not the first to do this, and I suppose I won't be the last either. And I'm not even all that great at it. I just posted my discoveries and musings (and a few recipes); I didn't dedicate myself to becoming an authority on the subject. I'm afraid I won't be the place to come to learn about the movement, but perhaps what I write here will in some small way encourage someone else to start the journey toward the truth.

Anyway, that's what the next several posts will be. And after that? It'll be back to my inconsistent ramblings. Ah, well. Perhaps 2011 is the year that I'll become consistent? One can only hope.

Clarity from a Pair of Swollen Ankles

Before I was pregnant, I hated my ankles. Loathed them. Cursed them, tried to hide them, wished I could change them (tried several times), and eventually gave up on them and resigned myself to the fact that they'd be one of my "problem areas" forever. But then they got worse. Much worse.

Pregnancy has been full of many surprises, mainly in the way my body has changed, but the one thing that caught me the most by surprise was how swollen ankles could actually make me thankful for (and actually miss) my normal, pre-pregnancy ankles.

It was hot a few weeks ago--incredibly hot--106 degrees, in fact. And no, I don't have air conditioning. To say I was miserable would be an understatement, and I know that you ladies who've been pregnant through heat waves will understand. One day, I got home from work, sat on the couch and put my feet up because they were aching after having been on them all day. When I glanced down at them, I was shocked to see they'd tripled in size. Tripled. It reminded me of the scene in Hitch when Will Smith's character has an allergic reaction to seafood and his face swells up to the point where he's virtually unrecognizable. My ankles did the same sort of thing.

When Joey got home that evening, he asked me how I was surviving the heat. All I had to do was show him my ankles--they spoke for themselves. From that moment on, I decided that I had to laugh at them (they were comical, after all), otherwise I would cry. I cried anyway, though. Those things stuck around for several days; they were there so often that they became the new normal, and I started forgetting what my normal ankles looked like.

Then one morning when I got out of bed, I looked in the mirror (as I often do), and noticed something incredible--my ankles. They were beautiful! They were slender and dainty and made my feet feel pretty again. And then a strange thought struck me: they were back to their normal selves. I hadn't had to work hard for them or put up a huge fight--nope, all I had to do was recognize the beauty that had always been there, the beauty that I failed to see before. I wished I had a short skirt and high heels that were made for 8 month pregnant ladies, but alas, I settled for my regular work pants and flats that day. And of course, when I got home, those ankles were swollen to high heaven again, and the little ankles I used to know were again obscured by the new puffier ones. But I went to sleep that night with a strange feeling--contentment with the ankles that I have. Happy that they were swollen, because had they not been, I would not have had that moment in which I realized how lovely my ankles are. And through that, I realized that my body is just that: a body. It's not my spirit, it's not my soul, it's not my intelligence and it's not my heart. Those things have remained constant even though my body has not. And while realizing that my ankles weren't half bad was a big deal for me, realizing that who I am is pretty fantastic despite how I look was even more important. Lord help me to hang on to that.

I admit that I've wavered between being angry and being resigned to the fact that my body is changing during the past few months. At the same time, though, I've been in awe of my body, realizing that it's capable of so much more than I've given it credit for in the past. I used to chastise this body of mine, I would look at it with contempt and think that I had to control every little thing in order for it to be even remotely close to being "ok." But I guess that's another story. For now, saying I'm thankful for my swollen ankles is enough. The puffiness reminds me of the truth, and the truth is that my body is just one aspect of who I am, and though it may change one way or another during different seasons of my life, the truth of who I am won't change. And I got all that from a pair of swollen ankles.

When Things Turn Upside Down

Joey's got Vertigo. It came upon him suddenly yesterday afternoon as soon as we got home from Montera Beach. It was awful to watch him spiral downward into a shell of who he normally is. Selfishly, I was upset that he "had to get this" on our Anniversary. But then, after a quick check of the spirit, I realized that we had just gotten back from a wonderful weekend full of fun anniversary stuff, and that we were, essentially, done with our celebration by the time we got home. The only thing left was to have a slice of our anniversary cake (which I had been looking forward to intensely!).

In a split second, I went from feeling frustrated with him for feeling sick to being relieved and thankful we were home before it all hit him. Then, before I knew what hit me, I was scared. Terrified. Even though Joey was pretty sure it was Vertigo, my mind played games on itself and I had big scary scenarios all lined up in my mind (like heat stroke, a brain tumor, a head injury, etc). Watching him struggle to walk just a few steps, not being able to do anything to cool our room down (it was intensely hot last night), and feeling powerless to do anything but simply tell him that I'm there if he needs anything... it made me realize how truly out of control I am over so much. And even though our first year of marriage hasn't been difficult, or perhaps because our first year has been so good, I felt in control of things. But last night I felt completely out of control. Even though my head knows that ultimately we aren't in control, I realized in a profound way last night that things can change in an instant, and our whole world can be thrown off balance.

I spent the evening watching a bad movie, eating good ice cream, and wondering what would happen next. When I finally went to bed, I watched him intensely for several minutes to make sure he was still breathing. I was afraid that something more severe was going on and that we should have rushed him to the emergency room. Instead, I had to lay there next to my husband on our first anniversary willing myself not to worry about him, but to trust that not only was Joey right, but that God was in control.

Today, he's better. Not great, but better. We were able to get him in to see a doctor first thing this morning, but she didn't do a whole lot for him, except for perhaps allay our fears that something more serious was going on. Today? Today I'm realizing that perhaps I overreact to things, even though my heart is in the right place. Having my heart in the right place doesn't really do a whole lot to help the situation except to reassure Joey that I'm here for him. Today I wonder how I'll grapple with things that are more serious. I cried last night when Joey fell asleep, not because I was upset he was sick on our anniversary, but because I was scared of the unknown. Today I realize that every day is an unknown. And adding a baby to the mix makes things even more of an unknown. Someone new to worry about, right?

But the kicker is that worrying doesn't accomplish anything. It's hard not to worry, and it's difficult to take thoughts captive and not allow our imaginations to run away with us, but seriously, it's something I am choosing to do because I cannot live life in fear. It's debilitating. Living a life of worry or fear simply isn't living.
Anyway, I think I'm starting to ramble. The good news? Joey's trying to type along with me as I write this. I think he's getting bored of laying around feeling dizzy. Or perhaps he's feeling a little bit better. I think it's a combination of both.

Happy first anniversary to us!

Stream of Consciousness

I admit it. I'm at work, and technically I should be working, except that I cannot concentrate, I'm uncomfortable, and I feel like I could fall asleep at any moment. My sinuses hurt, which is causing a nearly unbearable headache, and to make matters worse, all I want is a big, tall, icy cold Coke. The one thing that I should NOT have. Caffeine + unneccessary amounts of sugar = not the best choice for my pregnant self. What I should do is get up and get a tall glass of water, but there's a helium tank blocking the water fountain, and I don't feel up to finding another one.

Up until this point I've felt like my classes have been somewhat of an inconvenience to me. An unwanted interruption in the middle of my day that makes everything so much more stressful and busy than I'd like. Now that it's over, I feel a little sense of loss, like I'm losing something that I've invested a lot of myself in, and now I'm not sure what to do with myself. I've experienced this before--it's not new. Graduations, job changes, moves--they all bring this sense of "What now?" with them. And somehow, I always figure out what to do with myself when the next step comes.

Transitioning to part time here is a beautiful blessing that is scary and unsure. The cut in pay isn't that much, but what makes it seem more significant is the loss of medical coverage. Trying to figure out how to get coverage when you're 4 months pregnant doesn't seem smart, if you ask me. Seems like folks could deny me. Suddenly I'm worried that this decision was flippant, that I made it out of my own selfishness instead of making a logical, sound decision. But when I think about grading piles of essays, tests and homework; planning lessons; reading and lecturing on novels; and all of the administrative stuff that comes along with teaching, I know that this is a blessing. Not having to work more than 6 hours a day when our little baby arrives will be something I am utterly grateful for. Today, I'm trying to keep my eye on that truth, instead of the obstacle of needing health insurance and having to revise our budget.

Being pregnant comes with such a strange mix of emotions. One day, I'm perfectly fine, happy to be alive and secure in the knowledge that this is God's grace to my fearful heart that actually believed (however irrationally) that children would be an impossibility for me. With nothing more than my own anxiety to base that idea on, I realize now how crazy I must have sounded when I would talk about my fears. But still, being so irrational about it, and wanting it desperately, made acceptance more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. I thought I'd jump for joy, cry my eyes out, and relish the idea of being a mom-to-be. Instead, I cried a little, but mostly I shook. And I approached this pregnancy thing with an attitude of disbelief. I thought the doctors were wrong, and that I was right. That their instruments were flawed, and that my finite mind was more intuitive than they were. Even when we finally heard the heart beat, I doubted. Now that my tummy is starting to protrude and my pants don't fit without one of those belly band things, I'm starting to reconsider. And yet, I have a new fear that when they finally do the ultrasound, the baby will be a tumor that secretes hormones that make it SEEM like I'm pregnant, or that something will be wrong and the baby will be sick or disfigured. Talk about hope, eh?

Joey tells me that I can be crazy and irrational because he'll be the rational one for both of us. His belief is inspiring, comforting, and reassuring most of the time. But there are still those dark moments when I put on a smile and act like I'm secure about all this, when in reality I'm doubting something. If it's not the idea of the baby itself, then it's the idea of myself as a mother. And I know, in my rational mind, that all of it is a load of crap. But I also know that it feels very real to me, and I feel almost like I've got a split personality about all of it.

I told Christy early on that it felt like everyone was more excited about this baby than I was, and that was such a hard thing to admit because it felt like I was saying that I wasn't excited for this child, or that I didn't love it or wasn't happy about it. The good news? She absolutely understood. She had felt the same way when she was first pregnant with Brennan. After talking to her about it, I think the truth is that I feel this way because I'm the one who's carrying it all--the baby, the anxiety, the pressure, the fear...I'm the one who deals with the reality of it every single second of every single day.

But then there are those glittering moments where I see that everything is just as it should be, that this is the time I've been waiting for, praying for, yearning for. This is a dream come true. A prayer answered. And I guess in the end, that's the real truth to hold on to.