Here comes the sun!

Springtime weather in Austin, TX feels like I'm living in a never-ending spring break. On weekend mornings, a comfortable 50 degrees and sunny, I sit by the pool behind my apartment, sip on my coffee, and read whatever novel I'm working through. Then, usually ten or fifteen minutes in, I look up from the page, glance at the chlorinated water, and think to myself, "This can't be right."

Growing up in the north when the phrase "75 degrees and sunny" was uttered out of anyone's mouth - especially my father's - the unspoken family motto was: Drop Everything and Run Outside. In Wisconsin, a 75 degree day could be followed by a light snow shower, so you better believe you'll take advantage of whatever's handed to you. Lunchtime? Bring it outside. We're probably grilling out anyway. Homework to do? We bought that picnic table for a reason, you know.

When my family went on spring break together, we rarely planned anything beyond sitting on the beach/poolside in the sun. Read. Nap. Flip over. Repeat. As I got into my teenage years, this drove me crazy, but my dad - who worked a 9-5 for 30 odd years in insurance - loved it. All that man wants to do is sit outside for a week straight in Florida. Ten months into my first job, I can kind of see where he was coming from, although I still would argue that we could at the very least thrown in a round of putt-putt once in awhile.

Weather here is a bit more predictable. Sunny. Warmish to warm. Very few clouds. When I see a 7-day forecast that looks remarkably consistent, I still shake my head. What is this? How do Austinites go about their day without dropping to their knees and and counting their blessings?

I still feel tremendous guilt if nice-weather days are not spent entirely outdoors. If I'm watching TV and the sun's still shining, I will literally hear my dad's voice in my ear, "What are you doing?!" and I'll go out and take a walk. Maybe one day I'll get used to beautiful spring weather, but I hope I don't. There's no better mindset than feeling like every day feels like one giant, sunny favor.

Practically perfect in every way.

(via loveyourchaos)

Wakey wakey!

Growing up, Sunday mornings almost always began with food. If it wasn't the smell of bacon on the frying pan that woke me up, it would be my dad ducking his head in my room in a voice both sweet and obnoxious shouting, "BREAKFAST, LB. LB. GET UP. BREAKFAST!" As a teenager, that was usually my cue to roll over and groan. And yet, once my olfactory senses were kickin', it wouldn't be long until I trudged into the kitchen to sit down for breakfast.

I loved that our family, without fail, would sit down for Sunday breakfast together. I loved the difficult decisions I faced at nine in the morning: english muffin, bagel, or toast? Honey, peanut butter, or plain? One egg or two? Milk, juice, or both? I wish all major decisions in life resulted in something so delicious.

I live alone, which means that sometimes there's just no point to certain things. There's no point to make multiple side dishes or dirty a plate when you could just eat straight from the pot. And there's certain meals that seem like too much work to even bother. Ever heard the Of Montreal song that begins "Pancakes for one are always depressing...?" Because it's true. Once in desparation I made pancakes for myself and ate them standing up in front of the stove as they finished. Are you picturing this? Depressing.

Once in awhile I put some effort towards my own little Sunday breakfast. As I make the eggs, I remember the comments my dad would make when he made ours - his apologies when the yolk would break, his insistence that he make one or two extra eggs in case someone wanted more.

My yolks always break. I rarely bother with breakfast meat and when I do, I convince myself that things like turkey bacon are as good as the real deal (and then I always realize that they aren't). Despite my poor man's version of Sunday Breakfast, it's still a lovely way to begin the day. It reminds me of home, it reminds me of family.

Some things are just worth the effort.

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...