Three words

Wet Raccoon Joy

(via loveyourchaos)

Recipe joy

Because sometimes joy comes from a Sunday evening bowl of stew...

Bean and Turkey Sausage Stew

Adapted from Real Simple Magazine

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 links hot turkey sausage (chicken or pork works, too)

2 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced

1 can chicken or vegetable broth

1 can Muir Glen Fire-Roated Diced Tomatoes

1 can cannellini beans

2 big handfuls fresh spinach, chopped

Fresh ground pepper, to taste

Directions:

1. Heat oil in dutch oven/large saucepan over medium heat. Add turkey sausage and cook until brown. Stir in the garlic and saute.

2. Add broth, beans, and diced tomatoes. Bring to a boil. Reduce to simmer, and add spinach until wilted. Add pepper to taste.

3. Enjoy.

Becoming a foodie

A year ago, I would have said that grocery shopping felt akin to a trip to the laundromat or the gas station: a necessary pain in the ass. All of that changed when I moved to Austin, watched Food Inc., freaked out, and began eating organic. Enter Central Market. Despite being in a town where Whole Foods got its start, I've opted for its less intense cousin just up the street from my apartment. From the second I walked through the doors, I was hooked. Goodbye, highly processed and packaged "food". Hello, fresh and recognizable ingredients.

One of my favorite things to do on a Saturday is to wake up early and go grocery shopping. The store isn't busy yet so the samples are still filled to the brim and I can spend five minutes picking out an acorn squash without someone ramming into my cart. Even the checkout process is better. Today, Andrew and I discussed our favorite Indian recipes and he wrote a book recommendation on the back of my receipt.

I know that eating organic isn't for everyone, and I'll be the first to admit that my grocery bill is higher than before. But for me, it's worth it. I eat healthier, cook more at home, and I have an increased paranoia to finish my fruits and vegetables before they go bad.

There's just something joyful about being surrounded by colorful produce and passing a long display of freshly baked bread. And - I'll be honest - having dark chocolate espresso caramels available in the bulk section doesn't hurt, either.

Rain, I don't mind.

There is something particularly cruel about waking up to the sound of steady rain when drifting back to sleep isn't an option. In grad school, a student once asked me if class was canceled for rainstorms. I laughed in her face that day, but now, a week into mornings that begin with a string of rain-induced obscenities, I'm beginning to see her point.

Rain isn't all bad, of course. The Morton Salt Girl seems relatively content, and I'm not one to deny plants a beverage now and then. It certainly makes those running-towards-your-soulmate scenes in movies towards more dramatic when it's in the midst of a downpour.

Perhaps the most redeeming part of rainy weather, though, is thanks to my happy yellow raincoat. While it's not without its ridicule (the office manager shouted "Hey Gorton, love the fishsticks!" when I came into work this morning), my raincoat makes me not mind waiting outside for the bus on days like these when Austin turns into one enormous puddle. I am water repellent, bucko. Bring it on. And just wait 'til I get a pair of wellies... then we'll be talking some serious rainy day joy.

I'll be happy when the sun returns and I can put away my coat, but in the mean time, it's given me enough joy to prompt a rainy day photoshoot in the backyard. That's got to account for something, right?

Beautiful.

Viral joy

I spent last week in digestive misery. Food became the ultimate enemy. I tiptoed around chicken soup, I winced at a bite of toast. After trying to eat, I'd sit on my couch, awaiting my fate. Turns out, fate can be cruel. Repeatedly.

It's hard to find joy when your head's in a toilet. But here's my best shot:

joie de vivre: the stomach virus edition

joy is piling blankets so high you can barely move.

joy is bendy straws to prevent unnecessary head movement.

joy is questionable daytime programming.

joy is receiving pity phone calls.

joy is doctor-ordered popsicles.

joy is unlimited, guilt-free naps.

How's that for a silver lining?

(via loveyourchaos)

Moo.

Joy comes from buying chocolate milk. In bulk.

Sew what?

There are some things in life to which I freely admit defeat. For one, I can't wrap a gift to save my life. I use too much tape, my wrapping style always develops air pockets, and I never cut the right amount of paper, leaving slivers of the original packaging visible to the naked eye. Gift bags were invented for people like me.

I am terrible at sports. Literally every single sport you can think of, down to the sports that can be found on a "Seniors Activity List" at your nearest Assisted Living home. I could blame my genes or a sheer apathy towards competition, but whatever it is, sideline benches were invented for people like me.

Recently I've discovered something else to add to my list. Apparently, I'm down right awful at sewing. Awful. A few months back, I mended a pair of workout pants and managed to sew up the hole... granted, through a tangle of knots and too much thread... still, I considered it a victory. What once was a gaping hole of cotton/spandex blend was now sewn shut! Hurrah!

Tonight I sat down to sew a button on my winter coat. I started feeling nervous about this venture a couple of days ago when the button fell off and I chased it through the kitchen. I can do this, I not-so-confidently thought to myself. I have a masters degree! I was the editor of a literary magazine in college! What's so hard about sewing a button?

*Shakes head*

Apparently a number of things. After about 30 minutes of reasonable attempts (i.e. watching DIY videos online), I ended up calling in the big guns: my mother. She tried to explain it to me over the phone. "It's really quite simple, Lizzie... just [this is where I begin to lose track of what she's saying and ask her to start over again twice]." Annoyed that even her "Maybe if you drew a picture of my directions" exercise didn't work, I went to the fridge to get a beer.

Take two didn't fare much better. While I had somehow managed to get the button to stay, I quickly realized they weren't lining up with the machine-sewn buttons. Finally I grabbed some scissors and cut out my hard work.

My original intention for this entry was to be about the joy that comes from finishing a task, especially one that was difficult. The thrill of "I did that!" and the satisfaction of a job well done. But that wasn't the case. At all. So instead, today's joie de vivre are alteration shops.

Invented for people like me.

You know I believe and how.

Three cheers for a cover of a Beatles classic which doesn't make me want to throw things against a wall or go running towards the mute button. I dare you not to feel at least a little bit of joy with this one...

I'll be home for Christmas

Remember those kids in high school who would stare out the classroom window and wish they were just about anywhere else? I was very much one of those kids. Everything was happening some place else and growing up in small town Wisconsin, I dreamed about the day I could escape. No more knowing everyone's business, no more small town snail-like pace, no more I love hunting/fishing/sports more than my wife! bumper stickers. I couldn't wait.

Since those high school days, I've incrementally moved further and further from home; suddenly I find myself a short drive from Mexico but a long plane trip to Wisconsin. While I'm happy about the choices I've made and where I've wound up, it's funny how the place I longed to escape has become the place I excitedly return.

In a few hours, I'll be packing my bags and headed home for the first time in 7 months and I'm excited about everything: seeing my nieces and nephew, arguing with my dad over my disdain for wearing socks around the house, I might even smile when I spot the first misogynistic bumper sticker on the back of some guy's Ford.

I know the whole "home for the holidays" concept is a bit cliche, but sometimes joy works out that way. Sometimes it's all the cheese ball commercial stuff that people think about during the holidays: the crackling fires, the falling snow, sitting around with family and the people you love. It's going home. It's slowing down. It's wanting to be right where you are.

Ode to the perfect Sunday

Dear Sunday,

I used to hate you, but you already knew that. You used to represent long days of studying and writing papers, and you'd never fail to subtly remind me just how far behind I was in my studies. You were kind of a jerk to me, Sunday. But ever since we've been re-introduced as friends, I have been hopeful about our future.

Last week we sat together on the bakery's patio. You watched me read and eat a cookie; you didn't even judge me when I blatantly eavesdropped on that annoying couple's argument. You agreed with me when I concluded that Tim was being kind of a jerk and should have just went with Kelly to the concert last night.

You sat beside me on my favorite park bench where we listened to lovely, mopey music and people-watched. Thanks for not rushing me, Sunday. There were a lot of interesting characters in Shipe Park last week, weren't there?

As we walked home, you complimented me on my new shoes and agreed that kicking the freshly fallen leaves around was an appropriate thing to do in middle of the street, and was equally annoyed as I when that jerk honked at us to get out of the way.

Thanks, Sunday - our complicated relationship is officially over. Let's go steady.

Unexpected music

Today's joie de vivre: music where you least expect it.