tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-264396182024-03-14T03:24:24.938-07:00I'll Never Write a NovelThe Memoir of a Personal Essayist OR
Confessions of a Theatre WidowNoreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-55355506780358306312020-01-29T10:29:00.002-08:002020-01-29T10:36:04.761-08:00On Peace, Redemption, and Kobe<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was definitely shaken reading about Kobe Bryant’s death earlier this week. I was genuinely shocked from the very first report. Kobe was still
so young—assuredly an icon. You don’t need his last name to know who everyone
is talking about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then word broke his daughter Gigi was with him on that
helicopter that crashed. Dear Lord, the tragedy grew, and I immediately turned
to thinking of wife and mother, Vanessa. She isn’t a single-named icon to
the masses. She is a mom who will have to go on without her partner—and worse—without
her daughter. And Gigi’s sisters. Good
gracious. That’s unbearable. Truly. Those ladies all woke up the next morning morning hoping
that it was all a hellish nightmare. It wasn’t a dream, at all. The reality
moments like those are hideous.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've been working through two sets of thoughts on this tragedy: One is pretty personal
while the other is a bit broader. We’ll see how they weave themselves together
as this goes along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In times of tragedy I often tell people that I am praying
for Peace for them. I am praying hard for the Bryant family. The capital P in
Peace is important here. It’s the Peace the world cannot give. Earthly peace is
of very little use in times of tragedy, from where I sit. That kind of peace is
looking out at a calm lake or the quiet of the house when the kids fall asleep.
It isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it is a very lovely thing, that peace. But it
isn’t what is needed when your world is shaken to its core. When your breath is
ripped from you, it is the big P, Peace you need.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On January 11, 2008, I was driving to my parents’ house to
drop off my daughter so my mom could watch her. I stopped at my UPS Store
mailbox and while I was in the parking lot, my dad called. He sounded urgent
and distressed. He said, “Your mom is having another stroke.” He knew I was on
the way and thinking of what that would mean and would look like. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He’d called the ambulance and they were there. I said, “I am
on my way. I will be there in a few minutes.” He said he’d wait so he could
ride with me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember driving Bridgeport Way that day. It’s burned into
my memory. I was praying, fervently. I kept thinking that maybe Dad meant Mom
was having another seizure. She’d had a few after she’d had a stroke four years
earlier. My ability to try and craft an intellectual "out" for that conversation
with my dad was kind of amazing. But I knew. And as I crossed from 19<sup>th</sup>
Street to 27<sup>th</sup>, and almost to the shopping center where I would turn
toward my folks’ house, I was overwhelmed. I could feel a Peace about what was
to come. I began to argue with God. I did not want this Peace. I think I shouted
as I drove my red Jetta. No, not this. I begged God to take back the Peace and
give me something else instead. But, in His great and divine mercy, he kept
pressing me toward the Peace. My heart was shattered, but I had this undefinable
“thing” that I knew was with me. I am still grief-stricken and heartbroken,
even all these years later, but the Peace in that time was the greatest gift
that allowed me to stay present, then and now.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I drove up the street toward the house, I saw the
ambulance driving away. My mom was in there. And I knew it. And it was awful.
Really awful. But, I was able to pull up and get to the house where my dad was
waiting for me. He was white as a ghost. His sickness in the moment was
palpable. The air tasted of fear and grief. He got in the car with me, and my
tiny eight-month-old daughter and we made the longest drive to the hospital
ever. It was not peaceful. But the Peace was all we had.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today, I have a small sense of what it might be like at the
Bryant’s house. There is a small seven-month-old baby girl who needs her mom.
Her mom and sisters are devastated, but they all need each other. And they need
Peace, “The Peace of the Lord that surpasses all understanding.” There is no
earthly peace for them, but may they have the otherworldly Peace, at least in
bits and pieces for now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Writing this, I know that the Bryants are Catholic, like I
am. They have heard these phrases about Peace—that surpasses all understanding;
the kind the world cannot give. They hold true to a Gospel that says that we
live and serve in this life so that we may be happy with Him in the next. And
we hope we have lived a life that fulfills those promises, which brings me to
my next thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kobe Bryant was a very complicated “hero.” He is one of the all-time
great basketball players. I stopped loving NBA basketball at some point, years
ago. Don’t get me wrong, I love basketball. Give me the passion and athleticism
of high school or college hoops any day. Those folks are playing like it could
be their last game. The showbiz of NBA basketball holds very little interest
for me. That being said, I knew who Kobe was. We all did. And, in 2003, we knew
when he was accused of rape. I remember news stories about Vanessa’s new bling
because Kobe did a bad, bad thing. Even if it was consensual, though many
reports contend the contrary, his infidelity was news and Vanessa had to walk
in that. Vanessa was sometimes slighted in the press and sometimes praised. I
remember thinking, “How can people still be praising this guy?! So, he can play
basketball—so what?” These feelings about Kobe went on for years. I didn’t care
about anything else he did. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That all changed Sunday. There were so many stories being
shared about who Kobe became. He recommitted to his marriage after he and his
wife separated for a while. He began programs for youth basketball that helped
elevate people in their talents and strengths. He was a great philanthropist.
And, his love for his daughters is written in everything he does. He apparently
went to daily Mass frequently. That’s not the bare minimum stuff, that’s a man
who was committed to transformation. It hit me. Kobe’s story is the kind of
story we all love. It’s the kind of story we all need, desperately. It’s a
story of redemption. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a media writer and commentator, I am always aware of how
often the story of redemption plays out in the narratives we love. It is written
in our hearts that we can try again and hopefully be better tomorrow, or the
next day—or at some point. As St. Augustine is famously quoted as saying, “"Please
God, make me good, but not just yet.” We sometimes struggle to keep redemption on
track, but we know that in the end we want to be right with ourselves, with
others, and with God, or the Universe, or however you see it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the very famous struggles and faults that Kobe had, it
seems like he wasn’t in the “But not just yet” stage of life. He was working on
redemption in a lot of ways. Was he a flawed human being? Aren’t we all? But,
if we all could acknowledge and appreciate when people take the helm and try to
right their life, we might all actually get better. I hope no one’s story ends
at 21 or at 41. We all hope to have a long time to get it together, but nothing
is promised. As I say too often, there is no rewind button in life. We have
from this moment forward. I hope and pray that our culture opens their eyes to
the power and promise of redemption. Kobe seems like an excellent example
available to us right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In that light, a lot of people are dredging up a lot of the
worst moments of Kobe’s life—along with so many of his very best. Maybe Vanessa
is paying no mind to what anyone is saying, but just walking through her own memories
with joy and heartache. Maybe her Peace will come in knowing who Kobe was, in
who it seems he became for himself, for their family, and for the world. I pray
for her burdens of whatever she is carrying to be lifted so she can find that
true Peace in knowing that we can love and serve in this life so that we may find
an even greater share of that Peace and blissful happiness in the next.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Peace be with you all.</span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-27166157949507976842016-05-02T22:40:00.000-07:002016-05-05T10:12:18.409-07:00Per Ardua<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no idea why,
but the phrase, "Per Ardua" popped into my head at bedtime with the
kids. It had been a little bit of an emotional afternoon/evening for a variety
of reasons and getting all settled in was tricky, but we got it done. I have a
love/hate relationship with bedtime. There is a lot of magic and a lot of
drama. Kids sometimes rise to the occasion, and sometimes collapse under the
weight. Same goes for the parents.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But all through the
last of the nighttime rituals I kept thinking "Per Ardua." A phrase
hung on something from my youth. It was about more than bedtime. It was a
message. I finally sat down and as I typed it, I remembered where I know if
from, The McEntee Clan coat of arms! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;">It means,
"Through Struggle," and is often followed by the phrase, "To the
Stars" (ad astra). I thought about what my family has been through, and it
all kind of made sense. And it also reminded me of my favorite verse of the Bible,
Romans 5, an excerpt here from verses 3-5. “</span><span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Not only that, but we</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces
endurance,</span><b><sup> </sup></b>and
endurance produces character, and character produces hope,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span id="en-ESV-28037" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">and</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">hope does not put us to shame, because God's love</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who
has been given to us.</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently
wrote that I had a pretty blissful childhood. And I did. But, as in any garden,
the roses do wilt. I love my beautiful garden in all of the seasons. And I
appreciate the struggles that build from season to season. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="text"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have seen
some struggle. It has given us endurance, character, and hope. I have seen what
it is to make it through the struggle to the stars. Per Ardua.</span></span></span></div>
Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-68096868529238530942015-03-18T15:03:00.001-07:002015-03-18T15:03:29.630-07:002 X 2I just got back from a walk around my neighborhood. I live in a truly beautiful place. It was a perfect day and I came back feeling like a million bucks (side note: this is TR's current favorite phrase).<br />
<br />
This walk has prompted some wild, endorphin-induced commitment to walking two miles every day for the next two weeks, 2 X 2. I told my husband about this. He said, "I'm going to hold you to it." Then, I saw the Pioneer Woman's post about giving away a free FitBit and made my comment in <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/homeandgarden/2015/03/wednesday-fitbit-giveaway/comment-page-425/#comments" target="_blank">giveaway </a><a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/homeandgarden/2015/03/wednesday-fitbit-giveaway/comment-page-425/#comments" target="_blank">post</a> (fingers crossed) with the same proclamation.<br />
<br />
This might be an task since I don't usually even take five minutes to do my make-up on a regular basis. I am not out of shape. This is something I can accomplish if I make the time for it. Make. the. Time.<br />
<br />
So, now I am here with another claim that I will do this. Yikes. But, I have to do this. I will never run a marathon, or a half-marathon, or anything of the sort. I have bad knees, mild asthma, fibromyalgia, and, quite honestly, a general aversion to running. But, I like to walk. And I can do it. And I live in a beautiful place. Walking makes me feel good. So, it would be awesome if I actually followed through on this.<br />
<br />
See you around the neighborhood.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-82671254817034867032014-09-08T13:56:00.000-07:002014-09-08T13:56:55.101-07:00On College SelectionThe other night my family gathered together for dinner. It was awesome. The food was delicious, but to have all my siblings in one place was beyond any culinary pleasure. I love my family. In the midst of the chaos that is dinner for six siblings, spouses, and dozens of kids of the next generation, I got a chance to chat with my oldest nephew. He is 17. SEVENTEEN. I remember holding him when he was a newborn. I treasure him. Because he is a treasure. He is looking at colleges now because he is a senior in high school. Good gracious. <br />
<br />
He is a smart kid, as nice as they come, and has been raised well. He will do exceptionally well at college, no matter where he goes. We were discussing everything that goes into the process of picking a university. Location, programs, campus vibe, etc. He has visited a lot of campuses so far. He had strong impressions of the feeling he got from the people he met, and his sense for what kind of school it is. I shared with him that I never visited my university before choosing to go there. That's craziness. Bonkers. I grew up under a half hour drive from my college and I had never set foot on the campus until I had already enrolled.<br />
<br />
Who does that?<br />
<br />
What I ended up telling my awesome nephew is this: I knew I was supposed to be there. And I encouraged him to confidently decide that he knows where he is supposed to be. <br />
<br />
I am an indecisive person. Just ask my frequently annoyed husband. I mull over things far beyond their mulling point. It is hard for me to make a final choice without feeling like I have thoroughly studied all my options. Did I say thoroughly? I won't make a decision on a block of cheese at the supermarket without consulting my Just4U app, and maybe some circulars, and definitely by comparing price per pound with all the other cheeses. But I made a very expensive, life altering, incredibly important decision without every last ounce of detail on board. And I was right. I also told my nephew that if he hated where he picked, he can always switch. People do that. Successful people do that. The world is full of opportunities. <br />
<br />
I adore my college. My love for it is profound. It fully helped me realize the direction of my life. My husband and I met our first weekend on campus, and married while still students. I saw my skills and gifts blossom under the encouragement of great mentors on what is a truly beautiful campus, as it turns out. And the people, all the people, are wonderful. I am so grateful for my incredible friends made there. It is a very special place. In my current gig on the Alumni Board for the university we hear presentations from the admissions office. They talk about the importance of campus visits in student decision-making, I sometimes wonder why I am different from all those other students. And I am so happy I knew where I was headed. <br />
<br />
The same might be said for my decision to get married while in college. To be clear, I might tell my nephew he's crazy if he says he met "the one" within his first week of college. My husband and I met within the first two days at college (although we didn't actually start dating till our sophomore year). By the time we got married we had heard every question under the sun from people trying to ascertain whether we were sure we knew what we were doing. Most people thought we were crazy. And maybe we were. But I couldn't have chosen a better match, and I might not have found him if I had picked a different college. All I can say for my wishes for my nephew's college choice is I hope he isn't too far from home, but only he knows what's right for him (I have been gently trying to persuade him to pick my university). I just cling to the hope that I will get lots more times to sneak away for good conversations at family dinners. Another thing I am 100% positive of is that my nephew is a great person, the kind of guy I hope my boys grow up to be like. No additional research necessary.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://colleges.usnews.rankingsandreviews.com/img/college-photo_15809..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://colleges.usnews.rankingsandreviews.com/img/college-photo_15809..JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My campus at Pacific Lutheran University. See, beautiful.</div>
Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-38978918388852083052014-09-04T10:01:00.000-07:002014-09-04T10:02:35.336-07:00World’s Best Chocolate Chip Cookie Bars<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometimes I refer to myself as being lazy. This is not accurate. I am a hard worker. My dad once told me that he thought my husband and I were there hardest working couple he'd ever seen. At one point in college I was taking a full course load while working five jobs. Hard work does not scare me. However, I occasionally find some great shortcuts so that I can either A) enjoy life more, or B) find ways to finish one thing so I can get moving to something else. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I love to cook and bake. I am not the fastest at this. Any time I see one of those reality cooking shows where there is a time limit imposed on contestants I know, with every fiber of my being, that I could never finish on time. Some of it is economy of time. I am a clean as I go kind of person. I don't like a pile of dishes at the end and I don't like to cook in a mess. Baking is therapy for me. I like the rhythm and the product, and it makes me uneasy to feel rushed. All of this being said, I do like to keep my style rustic. I don't want to spend unnecessary time on fussing over something when my goal is mostly to make something just taste great. Simplicity is the key.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So, what if I told you that you can make fantastic, crazy-delicious chocolate chip cookies without painstaking process of scooping many mounds and without waiting to load trays in the oven? Well, perhaps born out of laziness, or the need to get to the rest of my busy life faster, I have created a recipe for Chocolate Chip Bar Cookies. Make the dough, spread it in the pan, then you bake just the one pan of cookies and you are done. I mean, these are GREAT cookies, made all the better by how simple they are. Huzzah!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">World’s Best Chocolate Chip </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cookie Bars</span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>Ingredients</em><br />1 cup oats, pulverized with a pastry cutter (or food
processor) till coarsely ground</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 1/4 cup flour</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon baking soda</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">½ teaspoon baking powder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon salt </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 cup (2 sticks) room temperature butter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1 cup brown sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">¾ cup granulated sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 eggs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2 teaspoons vanilla
extract</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">12 ounces (or 1 package) chocolate chips or chocolate chunks (I
like a mix of chocolate chips and chunks, some semi-sweet and some dark
chocolate. I feel strongly that variety is the spice of life)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>Instructions</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter 9x13 pan and set aside.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Combine dry ingredients (first five, thru salt) in a bowl.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a stand mixer, or in a bowl suited for a hand mixer,
cream together butter and sugars till creamy and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a
time. Add vanilla and combine till blended. Add in dry ingredients in 2-3
additions. Mix till combined, but not over mixed. Add chocolate chips and stir in with spatula or wooden spoon. Chill
for at least ten minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Put chilled batter in buttered 9x13 pan and bake
.for about 25-30 minutes or until lightly browned and just done in the center. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I assume this goes without saying, but you can now cut into as many squares or bars as you see fit. I suppose this could be just two bars, if you want. I won't tell.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></span><br />Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-17952990557577274972014-09-02T12:56:00.001-07:002014-09-02T13:01:02.088-07:00It's All Temporary<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">School started on Wednesday. I now have a second grader. And my biggest little man officially begins a five-day school week in Pre-K. I feel tempted to say that this, this life of kids always off to school, is how it will be now and forever. As more of my buddies head off to school it feels like this is all I will know. But, it's not, not really. The beginning of the school year is just a reminder that this is all temporary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When summer began I mused, "What am I going </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to do all day, every day, with all three kids home?" I thought, "This is going to last forever!" But, quick as a wink, summer is over, and a new school year begins. And, as it turns out, this is the only time that will be just like this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is TR's only year in Pre-K. What a year of firsts and discoveries this is. It heralds greater independence and a genuine understanding of what it is to still be little. Seeing him make his first art project with his classmates was precious and classically TR. Asked to draw a self portrait, he promptly grabbed scissors, cut off the corners of the page, squeezed out some glue, made a mini sculpture of four scraps at the center of the page, quickly colored around them, and looked on with pride. All the while, the other kids who were following the standard rules, coloring with the given colors, as per the directions, looked on with awe and surprise. My problem solver found a new, unique, inventive way to solve for the task at hand, as usual.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is G's only year in second grade, which is an incredibly special year for kids at her Catholic school. This year is filled with intellectual and monumental spiritual learning. I feel like that is a real gift to my little girl who will excel at the spiritual part, as she always does. It will motivate her at times she might struggle. I am grateful for that. She talks a lot about feeling like she is called to be a saint. We talked about this with a priest friend of ours recently. His advice to a seven-year-old for how to be a saint, "Do everything you love, just invite Jesus along." Her First Communion opens the door for her to do that in a new way, and she will love it. And I will love watching it. And it will only happen once for her first time. Then this moment will be gone, as everything is fleeting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is my special time with my two and a half year old pumpkin. Everyone calls him Barley, but he is just my baby. Barley isn't sure he wants to have all this time without his big playmates and best friends home. But a little solo time might be just what he needs as he rolls through this magical stage.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">More likely, it's just what I need. Then, this time next fall, he will start nursery school. Everyone will get dropped off at 8:20. And I have no idea what will happen next. For now, he's still all mine. For now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Summer begins and summer ends. Each school year comes and then it goes. First grade, lost teeth, first loves, heartbreaks, all here and gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few years ago I had a conversation with a mama friend in New York when we both had little kids and were pregnant again. We talked about how important it is to treasure these seasons, and also to have the perspective that it's all temporary. You aren't pregnant forever, for better and worse. Labor always end, eventually. You do not have a teeny, tiny newborn for all your days, even when it feels like it through days of lost sleep and sweet-smelling heads. You are not in the throes of potty training forever. You don't have a three-year-old forever (full disclosure, I think three is the hardest and most magical). When I meet a mama, particularly in those last days of pregnancy, I try to remind her that she will eventually have a baby in her arms and that labor is incredibly hard work, but you have to remind yourself that it WILL END. And the reward is awesome. It is purposeful. As I cross more milestones in parenthood, and in life, I keep learning this lesson. It is all temporary, and it is all the better when you live it with purpose.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The book of Ecclesiastes has a famous chapter talking about the change of seasons. It is oft quoted, inspired the song "Turn, Turn, Turn," and even people who don't read the Bible know it. It begins "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." And as it goes, there is a time to born, a time to die; A time to reap and a time to sow, and so on... There is a great payoff if you keep reading:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God."</span> </div>
<span class="text Eccl-3-13"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span class="text Eccl-3-13"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">God lasts forever, but everything else comes and goes. But to find joy, satisfaction, and purpose in each of these fleeting seasons, that is a gift. Sometimes the satisfaction may simply be knowing that the toughest of times don't last forever. And how much greater the joy is in times "to be happy and do good while we live." </span></span><br />
<span class="text Eccl-3-13"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span class="text Eccl-3-13"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course, I love that part of Life's great gifts is to eat and drink. Exactly. Here's to treasuring the things that matter and letting go of what doesn't, in this moment and all the ones to come.</span></span>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-8172813494270928502014-08-12T23:22:00.001-07:002014-08-12T23:31:32.890-07:00Chocolate Swirled Banana Bread<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I posted a photo of this banana bread on Facebook, and it turns out people wanted the recipe. So, I guess that means I should write it down. In fact, I am starting to think I should be writing a lot of recipes down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to follow recipes religiously. I never thought of myself as a creative or smart enough baker or cook to tell people how to make something delicious. But, I sort of love the things I make, and maybe others will too. I write recipes rustically, as if they are being passed to you by word of mouth, almost. I read an interesting analysis recently saying that recipes are written much more complexly and overly described than they were a generation or two ago. It was assumed that you learned to cook and bake in the shadow of a mom, a grandma, or a mentor. Now people buy beautiful cookbooks but have never cooked side by side with someone who has been standing in front of a stove for a few decades. So, now instead of a dash of this and stir till just blended you get 1 scooped and leveled off Cup plus a Tablespoon of something, or remove from oven with mitts and cool before eating. Thanks for letting me know. So much burning if I hadn't gotten a heads up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was lucky to bake by my mom's side. I don't remember studying recipes with her but I absolutely remember how she measured shortening in a Pyrex measuring cup, balancing water against the volume of Crisco being added. I know her shortbread had brown sugar despite the fact that no written recipe exists anywhere in her things left behind. I studied and tried recipes till I figured it out. But I knew where to start. She taught me all the important things, and that statement isn't limited to baking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And my start for this recipe has family ties, too. My sister Aileen shared this recipe with me. I doctored it a bit and here you have it, in my version. She's a great pal to bake side by side with. More gifts my my mom gave me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/t1.0-9/10565161_10152172220721856_3872857065900073900_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/t1.0-9/10565161_10152172220721856_3872857065900073900_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">Chocolate Swirled
Banana Bread</span></strong><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3-4 overripe bananas<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 & 1/2 C. Flour (you
can do 1/2 whole wheat for a slightly heartier texture)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">½ C Brown Sugar (you can
use less if you don't want it too sweet)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">¼ C Granulated Sugar<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 teaspoon Baking Soda<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dash of salt<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 egg<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon vanilla<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/4 C. (1/2 stick) butter,
melted<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Handful of chocolate chips of your choosing<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Preheat oven to 350
degrees F. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Mash bananas in a large
bowl. Add flour, sugar, baking soda, salt and egg.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Melt butter in
microwave, add to the bowl, and stir until just blended.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Melt a handful of
chocolate chips in the microwave or over double boiler.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. Pour half of
batter into greased loaf pan. Put ¾ of melted chocolate on top of batter. Swirl
with knife or toothpick. Pour remaining batter on top. Put last of melted
chocolate on top. Swirl with knife or toothpick. Bake for about 40 minutes, or
until a toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<!--EndFragment --><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This recipe is great for
variations. I often add a half teaspoon of cinnamon, good cocoa powder, etc.
One variation I hear is great is to omit the chocolate and sub in blueberries
and lemon juice. It also bakes well in a 9 x 9 pan and cut into squares. Enjoy!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-24078959587508971092014-04-17T12:33:00.000-07:002014-04-17T12:33:31.338-07:00On Holy ThursdayWhat would you do if you knew you only had one day left to live? This is a common philosophical, very human question people often ask. And for some reason this Holy Thursday it struck me that Holy Thursday and venturing into Good Friday, is Jesus' answer to this query. He sets an example for who we are called to be, in all the most human and truly divine ways. Part of Jesus' answer is stunningly in line with my answers. Another part is a challenge, I think, to what we think of as our time on Earth.<br />
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Now, of course, we should recall that Jesus knew he would rise from the dead. But, it is a great mystery now, as it was then, what exactly that would look like. Jesus is transformed. He is "new" in resurrection, so part of Him truly dies on the cross. He is not the same. And, thankfully, we are all not the same because of it. But the point of clarity here is that the future is unknown, but Jesus was aware that time was fleeting. Suffering and death were unavoidable. This is universal truth.<br />
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When I think about what I would do with my final hours, I am certain that I would gather everyone around a large table and have good food and drink. Honestly, this is my dream for how to spend every Thursday (or Friday or Monday or... you get the idea). It sometimes catches me off guard how very Catholic I am at my very core. It has thoroughly imbued every aspect of my life in all the best ways. But there are things that surprise me when my eyes are opened to the connections. I dream of a huge dining table to have all my loved ones over and feed them. My husband and I have always lived in small places. And I am so grateful to have a roof over my head and a cozy home that I try not to beg for more. But, I eventually dream of a home that accommodates a giant table right at the center. And, I realized while at funeral yesterday, as the priest gestured toward the altar, that I have spent so much of my life gathered at the largest table. It has been the example set so beautifully at church, and so perfectly by my Irish Catholic mom at home. I want to have the table to invite others to. And, even in my small home, I have done it. And it is what Jesus does on Holy Thursday. He invites all of His closest friends. He offers them food, drink, and Himself. Surrounded by friends and memories, Jesus begins his journey. An example I understand and gladly follow.<br />
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The challenge he sets is that, with his last moments, Jesus serves others. Jesus washes feet. He serves others at the table, not waiting to be served. He gives completely of Himself. If you knew you only had one day to live, would you spend it washing other people's feet? It is not that I do not understand it. I want to make this life one about giving back and touching lives before I move onto the next life. I hope to do this in this life anyway. But if I knew I was down to 24 hours, would I volunteer to scrub someone else's stinky toes? People often talk about their "Bucket List." How many of these lists involve an activity of that kind of profound, personal service? I challenge myself to add this if I ever get around to making a bucket list.<br />
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The last way Jesus dedicates his time in his final hours is prayer. Aren't we all called to this? Having now watched people I love spend their last weeks, days, and hours, this surprises me less than it might have when I was younger. My Dad's last hours in hospice were dedicated to calling his family around him, laughing a bit --and deep, contemplative, powerful prayer. It was a gift to witness it. He wanted to venerate the Lord without distraction. But we need no bucket list to answer this call to prayer. If you believe death is a form of transformation, as seen in Holy Week, in a funeral for a good person, the passing from one life to the next, then it is natural to see prayer as the continuum of this. Prayer is our transformation. Our ability to believe in something opens us to transformation. And we do not need to wait till our last hours to participate. Jesus isn't afraid to ask for too much or too little in prayers. We can do the same. Every day.<br />
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The question of what we will do with our final hours is common. But I think the Easter Mysteries, ask us what we will do with our life, with all of our hours? Do we connect with others? Are we looking out for the greater good? Are we nourishing our friends, ourselves, even strangers, with our days? When asked to serve, do we say "yes?" Even Jesus struggles with His grand call. We are invited to struggle and find redemption in our suffering. Every day is not Holy Thursday. But if we want to be more than our answer to a handful of hours, we can try to make each day a little more "Thursday," filled with hope, service, fellowship, discipleship, and prayer. <br />
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Christians consider themselves Easter people. We are not just the people of Christmas, or just the people of the crucifixion on Good Friday. We require those events to happen, but they are not the reason we are Christians. The joy of Christmas, its innocence and majesty, inspires us. Good Friday is a reminder of the greatest sacrifice, and the suffering we all share in our humanity. God became fully human, which essentially requires suffering. But the miracle of Easter, the Resurrection, is the ultimate definition of the divine. Without Easter we are a collection of joy and suffering without purpose. But in the Resurrection we find real, true hope. Whatever we do in our final hours is made greater by this hope. We are more than ourselves. There is a greater good, and a greater glory, made manifest by the transformation begun in earnest on Holy Thursday. So how will we spend our last hours waiting in joyful hope?Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-8233058891406373572014-04-16T14:06:00.000-07:002014-04-16T16:08:23.826-07:00what if?I say the phrase, "what if" a lot. As a rule I keep my expectations low, but dream big. Sometimes the "what ifs" are about wee steps out onto limbs I might take. Sometimes they are about amazing outcomes of far off possibilities. Today, I thought, "What if I just started blogging again?" would I share it with anyone? Would I keep doing it? Looking back at this blog it is genuinely hilarious to see my starts and stops. <br />
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I have seen a lot of "what ifs" come to fruition in the years of this blog, through our on again, off again, off again, off again, on again relationship. "What if we had kids?" "What if we moved to New York?" "What if my mom died?" "What if my dad died?" "What if I made a giant Barbie cake?" "What if I did that twice?" "What if I stopped living out my calling of being a writer?"<br />
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And finally I ask, "What if I stumble upon something worth saying here?" <br />
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What if I never write here again? It is a world full of possibilities.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-58290175997794145232010-04-26T10:14:00.000-07:002010-04-26T10:59:46.785-07:00The Cake ChallengeI was a lucky little kid. This is true on so many levels, but today's topic is birthday cakes. And I had some cool ones. My favorite, of course, was the Barbie cake. It was the coolest cake. Ever. My mom had a friend who owned a bakery. Beck's Bakery, in Fircrest, was the closest thing I have ever seen in the Tacoma area that rivals the bakeries in my neighborhood. I assume it was modeled after the East Coast awesomeness. And I know my mom loved Beck's because of it. And, Mrs. Beck loved us kids. She was an amazing gal to know as a little kid. She was so nice and sweet (no pun intended) and you always got a free cookie or something delicious out of a trip to Beck's Bakery. Oh, and, you got kick booty b-day cakes. And the Creme-De la-Creme was the doll cake. Usually* there was a whole Barbie (or Barbie knock-off) standing in a dress made out of cakie wonderfulness. C'mon, you just can't beat that. Cake and a doll?! Too cool. (I say "usually", because I distinctly recall one cake that just had a torso and head. Yikes.) <br /><br />And, now, living in bakery mecca my daughter has seen the Barbie cake and instantly recognized it's magnificence. Her first glimpse: A sight to behold rotating on a stand in the window of La Guli. She began requesting a Barbie cake at least six-months ago. And we kept saying, "for your birthday." So she began to pass by the bakery saying, "I'm going to get a Barbie cake for my birthday." We continued to agree. It never occurred to us to ask how much one would cost, we'd just enthusiastically promise Gwen the coolest birthday cake. Ever. Wanna see what they look like so you can agree? <a href="http://laguli.com/specialtycakes.aspx">Click here</a> then scroll through a couple images. If you want to see even more extraordinary images just do a google search. Ahh-mazing. <br /><br />As Little G's birthday quickly approached The Dad Guy and I decided to find out how much it would be to procure fantasy cake. Then we found out. Now, for all the work that goes into such a masterpiece, and knowing how delicious this bakery's goods are, the price is not absurd. But when you think about the fact that we aren't likely serving more that 5 people cake, it's ridiculous. $80-90+. Seriously. But no other cake will do for our girl. I think she'd genuinely wonder where her Barbie cake is if we didn't deliver on the promise we made this week (her birthday is Thursday). So, what's a family with big promises and small wallets to do? Bake your own, you say? Well, that's what we are about to do.<br /><br />I am taking on the crazy task... mission... nay, quest, of baking a Barbie cake. I am no crafter. I've got no secret cake decorating skills up my sleeve. I am just a girl, standing in front of an oven, trying to make her daughter happy. I have watched a couple tutorials on You Tube. I have selected the Belle doll to inhabit the cake. All the appropriate supplies have been obtained after stops at a lot of stores. And now, via the internets, I have announced to the public that I am reaching way beyond my capabilities to bake the improbable. I mean, I can't say it's impossible. Clearly, it's possible to do. It's just a stretch for this little lady. <br /><br />The stats:<br />Doll: Beauty and the Beast's very own Belle. Her dress just screams to be recreated in frosting, right? Plus, the one I purchases actually has her top moulded to the body.<br />Cake: Basic 1-2-3-4 Cake<br />Frosting: Cream Cheese Buttercream. I hope I bought enough yellow food coloring.<br /><br />The best skills that I bring to the project, I think, are a) my tremendous love for my daughter and my joy in her happiness; b) lots of experience eating cake (and enjoying the doll variety quite a bit); c) even more experience playing with Barbie.<br /><br />So, now you know. You are officially on the Barbie Cake Journey with me. If you have any advice or words of encouragement, please <em>do not hesitate</em> to share with me. Isn't that what the comments section is for? Now that this is public knowledge I can't really back out. You're counting on a picture, right? I guess it better look good.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-55460693346615348952010-04-15T13:10:00.000-07:002010-04-15T16:00:16.605-07:00Happy Anniversary, Broadway Show!I just want to take a moment to say congrats to my hubby's big Broadway show. When he was offered a year-long contract on the project we both thought getting to the one-year mark was a long shot. We were excited about the prospect, but reticent about this small show about a pretty messed up family making it. But, here we are. With three Tony Awards and the Pulitzer added to the legacy, it seems to have worked out A-Okay. <br /><br />We were talking the other night about how fun opening night was. It was a true highlight of our lives together. Uncomplicated joy. The show was perfection, the reviews brilliant, and the party was one for the record books. It was simply so much fun. We stayed out till the wee hours with my in-laws and loved every minute of it. There are few nights in life that can ever be so effortlessly exciting and surprising. This was one of them. I am sure there will be more opening nights in the future, but it was all new, and firsts, and amazing. I will never forget it.<br /><br />So, here's to an amazing year and to enjoying the landmarks moments in all our lives!Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-3416909641041218782010-04-13T10:43:00.001-07:002010-04-13T10:51:40.583-07:00Living the DreamWhen I was in junior high I wrote a short story in which I won the Pulitzer Prize. I can't remember all the details of the story, but it had to involve science, as I recall. It was for Mr. Williams' science class so, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">hmm</span>, not sure how all that goes together. And I think there was a beach involved. <br /><br />And, yesterday, I think I found myself remembering that story as I came as close as I think I ever will to the Pulitzer announcement directly effecting me. The Dad Guy's show won the 2010 Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Only seven other musicals have ever received the honor (can you say, "South Pacific," "A Chorus Line," "Sunday in the Park With George"!?). My mind is blown at the amazing fortune and blessing it has been to have our family involved in such a beautiful, important, moving, and <em>good</em> piece of theatre. And, now I am a little linked to that Pulitzer Prize I have dreamt about. Pretty cool, if you ask me.<br /><br />By the way, I am not sure what my hubby thinks he'll do after this. How do you top this? In G's parlance, "Oh, that's what I am talking about... I'm talking about getting a Tony award!" Goal set.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-61303814423909941522010-04-06T14:27:00.000-07:002010-04-06T15:20:10.640-07:00It's My PartyI am sick of hosting my pity party these days. The Dad Guy and I were joking that at this party there is a pile of lemons. Perhaps a guest could suggest making some lemonade. I would likely just tell them that they are just there for sucking on. Bad attitude.<br /><br />At Mass on Easter Sunday the pastor suggested something that I had been thinking about recently; that although Lent ends on Easter, the Easter season is just beginning. I didn't really do a great job of Lent this year. I was incredibly distracted, out of sorts (literally and figuratively) and hosting the aforementioned party more than I would like. I felt like I was already making enough sacrifices, so I didn't do anything "special" for Lent. It's more like I did Lent by accident. It wasn't thoughtful or purposeful and perhaps it was exactly what it should have been this year for me. But the 40 days between Easter and Ascension are a time of renewal of thoughtful engagement, and not focusing on suffering. It is a time in which Jesus fully lived and God shared the Holy Spirit with us. With the suffering going on around me, I think it's the perfect time for me to acknowledge joy and especially see the ways Jesus is risen and present in my every day. Instead of "giving something up" it can be a time to say "yes" to the world and to the risen Christ in everyone, and embrace life. It is time to be filled, on-fire with The Spirit. So, I intend to spend the next several weeks really living. So, less pity party and more party party. Today Gwen, Thomas and I went out for ice cream cones (Thomas will get his share later). It was time to enjoy the sun and have an ice cream social. And it was fun. <br /><br />Jesus was among the living and it's the least I can do to attempt to do the same.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-73401819451653008112010-04-04T17:30:00.000-07:002010-04-04T18:07:53.513-07:00Let's Try This AgainWell, clearly I am not writing a novel. Alas, I am not even writing a blog. <br /><br />Looking for focus. I am not sure what thoughts and ideas are worth posting here, but maybe if I just start writing, even if I don't know what I am going to write, I'll get some ideas.<br /><br />Here are a couple topics to muse upon...<br /><br /><strong>The Boy</strong><br />Since my last post we have added Thomas Richard to the clan. He's darling and a great baby. While staying with my dad for several weeks he frequently commented how good Thomas is. And that guy knows a little more than something about babies. More on Dad later. Thomas already sleeps and eats better than Little G did by six months I would guess, so we're on the right track. That being said, it hasn't been all wine and roses (in fact very little of either, literally). The biggest obstacle has probably been the thrush/yeast issue I have had in nursing. I you are sensitive, scroll down now. I think the nipple pain I had rivaled my challenging and painful birth. And it went on and on. And I didn't know when and if it would end. After I got through it I commented to my sister that I finally thought I was going to get to keep the nipple (half kidding/half serious) and she replied, "That's good. And I never want to hear anyone say that phrase again." The midwife actually gasped when she saw was I had going on in the nippular region. She said she'd seen a few cases that bad in her time and that <em>most</em> people through came out okay. Yikes. That's enough about boobs for now, I think.<br /><br /><strong>My Dad</strong><br />So, my dad was diagnosed with Stage IV Lung Cancer within about four weeks after I had Thomas. I want to note here that Thomas is named after both grandfathers Thomas is Louis' dad and Richard is my dad. We are blessed to have two amazing men to have our son share a name with. We couldn't ask for better. My dad is a truly amazing, funny and inspiring person. It is my honor to be his daughter. He has quietly and meaningfully touched more lives that one could even begin to count. This diagnosis has been a truly devastating blow and the prognosis is not good. We hope to have him with us for a year or two. According to "the numbers" that is very optimistic. I choose to maintain hope. Anything else is too unbearable to think. I am grateful that I got to take the kids home and to be with my dad for four weeks. There is never enough time. While on the phone with him today I thought, "Please, God, do not let this be the last time I will ever with my dad a 'Happy Easter.'" I count on having Easter 2011 with him. I believe in miracles. If I keep up this blog I suspect that there will be much more on this topic. For now, I beg you to please pray for him.<br /><br /><strong>Cooking</strong><br />Now for something completely different. I have been baking and cooking a lot lately. Not as much as I would like, mind you, but a good bit. I made coconut macaroons yesterday with The G. They are amazing. I generally cannot eat macaroons since traditional recipes call for almond extract (I mean, I could eat them, but then I would be fiercely sick). I subbed in some vanilla extract and I have no idea why anyone would want them any other way. Recipe, you say? <br /><br /><em>Coconut Vanilla Macaroons</em><br />One 14 oz. package sweetened coconut (I used Angel Flake)<br />2/3 c. sugar<br />6 tbs. flour<br />1/4 tsp. salt<br />4 egg whites<br />1 tsp. vanilla<br /><br />Mix sugar, flour and salt in a bowl. In a large bowl whip egg whites with an electric mixers till soft peaks form. Add vanilla and gently blend. Add coconut and sugar mixture by hand with the egg whites. <br /><br />Bake at 325 degrees for 15 minutes. You may need a couple extra minutes depending on your oven. I advise using a floured parchment or a silpat on your baking sheet. Check for golden brown edges. Remove promptly to a rack to cool. Let cool completely. Enjoy. Try not to eat 20.<br /><br />I've been making up recipes, trying new things and perfecting standards. I think this is a great new release for me and I look forward to lots more cooking. By the way, my Cuisinart 7-speed handmixer rocks.<br /><br />So, I think that's all a fair smattering of life today. We'll see how long it takes to come back...Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-39298667489412988762009-09-06T12:12:00.000-07:002009-09-06T13:28:18.914-07:00A Master's TouchThe sermon at Mass was great today and it really got me thinking. Bear with me. I've got a lot to say...<br /><br />Today's Gospel spoke about how Jesus was speaking to a crowd and saw a man he knew was in need. He took the man out of the large crowd and laid his hands on him. The man had been deaf and mute since birth. Jesus' touch healed the man, who went back into the crowd and was forever changed. The crowd was changed, too.<br /><br />The priest began his homily by telling a story about an estate sale where many items were spread about a room, some more alluring than others. On one table sat a violin, out of tune and covered in dust. It had a sign pricing it at just a handful of dollars. It sat and sat and sat. It was late in the day when finally a man came by and actually noticed the violin in the crowd. He gently wiped the dust away, properly tuned the strings and began playing it. In gifted hands the true value of the instrument became evident. A bidding war erupted and the violin went for thousands of dollars. Most people passed by and saw the violin for what it was in the moment, the artist saw it for what it could be. All it took was a master's touch.<br /><br />Then the priest turned the storytelling to a more personal note. He spoke about when he first entered Seminary. (Side note: I love hearing stories of priests seeking and fulfilling their vocation. It never ceases to amaze me). He spoke about how truly difficult his first year was. He'd left a loving, supportive family, tons of friends and a very active life and social scene for the unknown, reclusive, and the tremendously challenging world of the priesthood. He cried often and felt lonely. He hadn't built strong enough relationships in this new life yet to have a confidant. I think, in some ways, that is a journey many people can relate to. He struggled and persevered. Then, he got to go home for a short period. He got home and felt immediately welcomed. He sat with his mom and laid his head in her lap. And he cried. And cried. And his mom took her fingertips and began running her fingers through his hair. His soul was refreshed and he felt immediately complete. A master's touch had healed him and he was refreshed-- able to go on. He could take that touch and extend it out to others.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Aside: It's no wonder that commercials and songs use the phrase, "Reach out and touch someone," or phrases like that. Even telephone commercials talk about it. You can't literally touch someone over the phone, but we all know what they mean. When someone is really moved by something they describe it as being "touching." It's not just a physical thing.<br /></span></em><br />This is what Christians are called to do. It's what people are called to do. We are refreshed by the healing touch of the Lord who sees us not for what we are, but what we have the potential to be. In His presence we can become that. And, by being the fullest, best part of ourselves, we can share that touch with others. We must extend our hands out and touch those around us-- our spouses, our kids, our friends. And, we must pull people out of the crowd (maybe even strangers) and embrace them, too. The crowd can be noisy and confusing. We can bring clarity through a little kindness and a warm touch, can't we? Haven't you had that happen before, when someone touches your life or embraces you and it just changes everything?<br /><br />No one I know was better at this than my mom. So many people have said that she saw the best in them, and through her they became that better person. She was never hesitant to reach out her hand and touch you-- figuratively and quite literally. She would hold me and say, "You feel nice." It's significant to know that she didn't just mean, "You make <em>me </em>feel better." It was more than that. This was about <em>you</em>, not her. Having a daughter of my own now, I understand this particular feeling in a different way. Holding The Girl feels different. She feels like something else completely, almost otherworldly sometimes. I get how my mom meant this when she said this to her kids. But, beyond that she really reached out and wasn't afraid to grab you (in a good way) and embrace you-- whoever you are. And she invited the same from others just by <em>being</em>. And she made you better by seeing, <em>and feeling</em>, who you were at your best. And she healed your soul somehow, cleared out the crowd for a moment, and you could be that best version of you. No doubt she felt that God had called her forth from a different set of gifts than she had seen in herself. God laid His hands on her and made her the best she could be. I don't know that she would say that it was ultimately clarity, but she wasn't blind or deaf or mute in the world. She was a world class violin, only better.<br /><br />There is no shortage of touching in my family. I am a hugger, a hand-holder, a grabber. I come by it honestly. It's the life I have known. I really feel for the priest who spoke today about needing that touch from his mom to be whole. It's a deep part of my homesickness. I have had my sisters say to me on the phone, when we are really missing one another, "I just want to get my arms around you." That is exactly what I need. My husband does a pretty good job of it, but it's a little more of a stretch for him. He's not always the first to hug. He loves it when I reach out and pull him out of the crowd to squeeze him, or play with his hair, rub his back, hold his hand, grab his arm, slap his leg when I think something is really funny (okay maybe not that last one quite as much).<br /><br />We've certainly become a family of huggers. No icky PDA here, just people ready with a warm embrace. I don't think everyone is easily inclined to such a nature, or raised to nurture the impulse. However, I think this is something that people can learn. It's something that people yearn for, whether they know it or not. Don't you think so? Little G may not always give hugs and kisses on command, but she loves to do it when you least expect it and when you need it the most. Kids come out holding on and wanting to be held. It's hard to ever let go.<br /><br />So, I hope to nurture this in myself and others. I want to be a person who pulls people from the crowd and embraces them. I like to hold hands with my family and my friends, and I want people to be unafraid to be the best version of themselves. I want everyone to see themselves as a world class violin.<br /><br />And I just really want a hug most of the time.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-92233127154854316452009-08-29T07:33:00.000-07:002009-08-29T07:51:59.129-07:00I Hate BugsDo I live in the woods? No. No, I don't.<br /><br />Then why, oh why, do I constantly have bug bites. The poor G has three huge ones today. We tell her she can't touch them-- she can blow on them. I have one on my hand that itches so badly I think I could slather it in Benadryl all day. There was a time I literally had 20+ bites and started to put the Benadryl on, reading the package. The package says something about not using it as an all-over lotion. Well, sometimes that's what it takes...<br /><br />But, for me, the bigger deal isn't the bites. It's the bugs. Growing up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest I grew accustomed to our particular brand of creepy crawlies. Spiders the size of your fist... And, can someone explain why there are GIANT mosquito catchers/hawks at home, but I have yet to see even one in Queens. And let me tell you I could use some of those bad boys. Can you ship them? The bugs here are gross and icky and they are everywhere. They are strangers to me and I hate them. Are they what are biting me? I have no idea. Do they camp in my sink and crawl out? Just because they haven't yet doesn't mean they won't. There was some weird thing in our guest bedroom while we had guests here (sorry Beth and Megan!) and I will tell you, I have never killed a bug with a greater sense of urgency. It looked like something out of a horror movie.<br /><br />While we are successfully navigating our New York adventures, I can tell you 100% that I would be a lot happier without the small, creepy visitors lurking. I really, really hate them.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-82030142932207600532009-07-24T14:00:00.000-07:002009-07-24T14:20:12.077-07:00On a MissionSo, I am taking on a new project. I am in search of the perfect chocolate cookie recipe. Not just any "perfect" cookie, but perfect according to my husband. I've been looking for a baking quest and he gave it to me on a platter-- well more on a cookie plate. He's imagining his ideal cookie and I intend to create it. After a great deal of research it doesn't look like what he's dreaming of is out there. Yet. More on his specs later, but for now I need your input on the right baking tools. I need the perfect baking sheet. I am thinking of the jelly roll pan from Costco paired with a Silpat. Am I right? I think this is what I see my Food Network pals using. Is there something out there I have never even heard of before?<br /><br />Also, I need a hand mixer. I already have an amazing KitchenAid Mixer, lovingly packed away in storage. It won't be making the trip to NYC, so I need help finding a hand mixer and bowl combo that will do the trick. Thoughts?<br /><br />I have been inspired to take on this challenge, looking for a new accomplishment to achieve, and have been doubly inspired by some other bloggers chat on this topic. Have you seen <a href="http://www.cakespy.com/2009/07/look-to-cookie-chocolate-chip-cookie.html">CakeSpy's </a>history of the chocolate chip cookie? Hilarious and brilliant! And <a href="http://bakerella.blogspot.com/2009/07/milk-cookies.html">Bakerella's</a> take on The Cookie reminded me of many awesome days of baking cookies with my <a href="http://redmcfred.blogspot.com/">sister Kate</a>. Perfection. And in her most recent post <a href="http://zestyenterprise.com/">Zesty Jenny</a> hinted at a great recipe. Bring it on!Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-38814412478497078152009-07-21T18:05:00.000-07:002009-07-21T18:42:00.457-07:00Dreaming of the HamptonsWell, Shoot! We have been planning for the last little while about our big trip to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Hamptons</span> tomorrow. Ah, to go to the beach, see Little G play in the water, and just get away. But, it's raining. So the big cast and crew day at the producer's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hamptons</span> house is delayed. We think we'll be on for next week. Oh, fancy day at the playground of the rich and famous, why must you still be so far away?<br /><br />But, we'll make the most of it. It's been too long since The Dad Guy, The Girl (she is getting a little old to be "The Babes") and I have just hung out for the day together. I am actually really excited about it. I suspect there will be a trip to the bakery involved. Basically, I always make a trip to the bakery happen when I can. There are literally at least six ridiculously good bakeries in my neighborhood. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Zagat</span> rated, top-notch, old-school bakeries. It actually reminds me a little of being a kid when I would go to Beck's Bakery in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Fircrest</span>. Man, Adele Beck was a magician with flour, sugar and water. That place was the ultimate happy place. One bakery nearby even has a doll cake in the window-- just like my favorite birthday cake of all time. Did you ever have/see one of these? It's a Barbie wearing a dress made of cake and frosting. There is nothing dirty about it. It's so cool. Now, mine never had a Barbie in it. It was more likely a Flair Doll. I still got love for Flair. She didn't need to be Barbie. She was still an 11 1/2 inch fashion doll standing in her own right.<br /><br />All that said, I do think that many of the bakeries in Astoria are like Beck's Bakery on crack. The sheer freshly-made selection is kind of crazy.<br /><br />My daughter is learning the Way of the Pastry quickly. One day we were out strolling and she woke up from her <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">stroller</span> nap a little groggy. I looked at her and said, "How you doing Sweetie Pie?" Her eyes lit up and she looked right at me and said, "Pie!" She then insisted that we needed to go get pie. Seriously. So, off we went to Martha's Country Bakery, where I know mini pies are on the menu. I let her select. They were out of her first choice, blueberry, so we opted for apple. I thought we might split a little pie. I was wrong. That little dynamo ate the whole thing.<br /><br />Early in the process:<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361089587301211314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFQycwgCadZvOdDUre_08xQodSR0j9SMJdO6MvzL2sfYjFp8nWLqE6MxBdK4xo3guW78HUmXM2v9BD2ToUZjSQDk2q1EUi3weEv3jCKy7_55bgWBQ0be-rm0l3t-4loM7bl9b/s320/Pie_1.jpg" border="0" />As Pie Time Progressed...<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361089894095947794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oO3hdqBzViKKgAxsCCXlaaJpmQFOjubD3pydlOcVa9VpsupABeKOE1HG_Ndy7RpbdVfbA7SsVOeEH-VvWp8eAw_sQlk4a9Dsz8hViAKbVZqgSWrH-ip64EpP7-KiOY4saFrP/s320/Pie_2.jpg" border="0" />She honestly just about polished off the whole thing. I tasted a hint of almond extract in it and couldn't keep eating (little <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">allergy</span> issue). But she just kept going. That's my girl! One of her first phrases <em>was</em>, "Mama loves <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">piiiie</span>!"<br /><p>I could go on and on about bakeries and baked goods, but it was a fun little afternoon and one of the highlights of our new digs. The Girl is in a really fun phase and I want to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">eek</span> out every bit of it that I can. She's such a Daddy's girl so much of the time. He cracks her up constantly. Not surprisingly since, after all these years, he still cracks me up constantly, too. I am very blessed. Perhaps I should get a pie to celebrate.</p>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-77343121440746840742009-06-23T15:36:00.000-07:002009-06-23T15:58:14.978-07:00Off to the Park<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78tstVkGwHlq2ZfGt1MFQZMJUD7yODF8JPu0V9Hlbp4d1lF_Dqt2RRYpPxqsxBK-aC_lOsYD0sYXQTwkiGCDp1ndM43oaGvn1E_CANHYN4lzuJ5KH5aBPqrHXAxbMqEdqDs7d/s1600-h/Astoria+Park.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350659007196743618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78tstVkGwHlq2ZfGt1MFQZMJUD7yODF8JPu0V9Hlbp4d1lF_Dqt2RRYpPxqsxBK-aC_lOsYD0sYXQTwkiGCDp1ndM43oaGvn1E_CANHYN4lzuJ5KH5aBPqrHXAxbMqEdqDs7d/s320/Astoria+Park.jpg" border="0" /></a>Ahhh. At last we made it to the park today <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(Astoria Park, above. Isn't it pretty?).</em></span> The weather has been so crummy that it's been hard for Little G and me to get to the playground. It's nice that I can type the word playground, by the way. I cannot say it out loud unless I want it repeated incessantly and for my girl to stand waiting by the door. Seriously. She loves it.<br /><br /><div>So, sun is shining, and we're sick of being cooped up, so off to Astoria Park we go. This park is Ahhhhmazing. It is beautiful and huge nestled right up against the (less-scary-than-you-think) East River. The park was packed. Lots of people were sporting and picnicking on the rolling lawn, the ice cream truck sat on the street to offer treats, and the playground was bustling with happy kids. Today amongst those kids was my kid, and that made me very happy. </div><br /><div>There were lots of times I was told, "I do it by myself," which I am doing my best to get used to. And she does get around where she needs/wants to go, quite nicely. She is so her Dad's girl, independent spirit and all. But one moment she lost track of me and I could see her pause, look around and quietly begin saying, "Mommy." Then, a little louder, "Mommmmy." Then she spotted me and I got one of those big, peaceful smiles. So she does still need me. Sometimes.</div><br /><div>Tomorrow is Dad Guy's first full day off in quite some time and I think we'll try to trek back to the park. This time I think we'll grab a picnic and lounge for a bit, but it won't be long till we hear, "Playground!"</div><div> </div><div>Here she is at the new place, actually stepping back for the photo and saying, "Cheese!"<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350659599142739634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kjpFqukpPSN5t8ICIszp1lNGf0Z1PGWASEd54I9sr2e4FPlG2XO52wMGqNcQeDFJag_agB7alf7wMI9YiF9UnJUR-i5ZdEz4oSbBml-pB0KZ1YVmZBlEytGBss7dpUxoRREw/s320/GwenSaysCheese.jpg" border="0" /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">I can't decide what my favorite part of our "upscale camping" scenario I like best in this picture. Maybe it's Baby strewn about in front of the TV on the box. And, yes, Days of Our Lives is on. Days is never on, so I can't believe we captured that. After this we went into the City to meet Dad Guy.</span> <br /></em><br /></div></div><div></div>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-56547851783561865492009-06-19T20:03:00.000-07:002009-06-19T20:21:18.979-07:00A Quick Little RantJon and Kate + 8<br /><br />I am from a big family. We probably wouldn't make very good reality TV. It always struck me as odd that this was such a noteworthy thing that a family had eight kids. I know lots of families that have more. But none of them have sextuplets. And none of them seem to crave the limelight.<br /><br />Apparently the Gosselins are okay with the limelight. The limelight seems to have ruined them. But on they go right into the glow.<br /><br />In the midst of the chaos that they have born or created comes word that they have a big announcement on Monday. Rumblings are that they are separating or divorcing. They claim to be trying to find peace for both of them.<br /><br />Well, I hope that their real announcement is that they are turning off the cameras and getting family counseling. Get out of the mess created by peering eyes, tabloid stories, book signings, Today Show appearances, late night bar visits, cozy body guards, and whatever else you have made "necessary." Figure out what is really important. Find the core of who you are as a couple and as a family.<br /><br />Peace for you is secondary to peace and piece of mind for your kids. Nothing that has happened over the last several months has been positive for your kids. In fact, I would go so far as to say that everything that you are doing is terribly detrimental to your kids. Turn it around and figure out how to help your family. I am guessing calling it quits without any effort to solve your problems will teach terrible, unteachable lessons to your eight kids.<br /><br />That's right, you have eight kids that you went to endless efforts to have through fertility treatments and challenging pregnancies. Can you spend as much time and effort to help them as you took to create them? Can you find the love in one another that prompted you to want to share your love with all these kids?<br /><br />What an awful example you are teaching married couples, families, TV audiences, and most importantly your kids if you declare divorce without exhausting all possibilities of making this work. You will prove yourselves to be shallow, selfish and stupid if that's you"Big Announcement." On the other hand, if you make the announcement you are getting out of show business and getting down to the business of being a family I will cheer you on to no end, and I assure you, so will America.<br /><br />Rant over.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-56169555577282438892009-06-14T10:35:00.000-07:002009-06-14T11:45:50.949-07:00Hooray!I write to you now as a person who has attended the Tony Awards.<br /><br />It was so fun!<br /><br />It turns out that we weren't in nosebleed seats AT ALL. In fact our seats were amazing. We weren't down in the mix with all the "famous" folks, but I will say that <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001836/">Steven Weber</a> was just down ahead of us and I was sitting next to the daughter of one of the producers of "Hair." That should tell you a) we weren't far from B-listers; b) "important" people still put their kids with people like me, so it can't be so bad. We were in row N, just under the mezzanine. Wonder what that looks like? Wonder no more:<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347240158092504674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5uRd9v3eiMTuiD1RucwkmceIj23K9L9-4FpINhGAHzvMK3ByIRo-VhwKgnYQMw2bE2INpy4V5GRzuCXUzlsHOLDRcQKMhBG8SdacX3AQVrbcMaAJJ1T0NvGZLPQhEU40hkhY/s320/At+the+Tonys.jpg" border="0" /><br />This is just before all the ceremony started. I didn't want to get busted for taking photos during the show, but I am glad I caught this. I was close enough that I actually didn't even need to really watch the big screens! They were handy, especially to see the odd facial expressions of one of the "Hair" tribe members during their acceptance. I suspect the party started early for that guy. Whoa! And you know who is even more hilarious than that whacked out dude? Neil Patrick Harris! He was an amazing host. He was funny during the show and during the commercials. Love him. My hubby shook his hand during the show. So cool.<br /><br />And, yes, I saw Brett Michaels biff his face on the set. Whoops. I know they should have stopped the drop from coming in, but for Pete's sake, dude... Follow your blocking and look out for the set. My sister and I clutched one eachother's<span style="color:#ffff00;"> </span>hands and gasped when it happened. Glad he walked away with minor contusions so I can laugh about it now. That's what you get for "Rock of Love Bus."<br /><br />It was so cool to get to sit with my dad and sister during the awards, I must say. They had just seen <a href="http://nexttonormal.com/home">"The Show"</a> the day before so they were some of the biggest cheerleaders. When I talk to people who watched the awards they always say that our little show got huge cheers whenever it was announced. We were those people! That was one of the coolest things about being there, the ability to be in the room when nominees (and winners!) were announced. It reminded me how a part of this Broadway family I am blessed to be. Am I actually living this dream?! Pinch me. I laughed. I cried. A lot.<br /><br />During the ceremony, The Hubby and I texted back and forth from our seats. We could see one another when we stood up to cheer, but not so much while we were seated. But texting turned out to be a way we could wink and nudge. If you are a voyeur like me perhaps you would like to know what we said. If you are not, you can skip this part. Following along you may recognize what parts of the show we are talking about. Here are some highlights:<br /><br />Him: This is Redonk.<br /><br />Me: Right? Holy Cow! I cannot believe this is real.<br /><br />Him: That's one.<br /><br />Me: Maybe Billy isn't running away with this thing...<br /><br />Him: Grrrr!<br /><br />Me: Double grrrrr.<br /><br /><em>Later</em><br /><br />Him: Shut up!<br /><br />Me: Shut it all up!!!<br /><br /><em>Even Later</em><br /><br />Him: That was confusing. Not sure why they chose that.<br /><br />Me: Cool dancing but... huh? Doesn't make me want to see Billy.<br /><br /><em>At the After Party</em><br /><br />Me: Looouis... Where are you?<br /><br />Speaking of which, the after party was awesome. As was the pre-show. So much delicious food. I don't even know where to start. At the pre-show, I think the mini tacos were the winners. Oh, good golly, those were yummy. The post-show party highlight was probably the empanadas. Or the crab cakes. Or the mini grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. Or maybe the gelato. I could have kept eating but you eventually just have to stop. But better than the spectacular food was a chance to be at a party where people show up with their Tony Awards. I got to see a brand spankin' new, shiny, fresh Tony! So cool. And those were some happy winners. Big congrats to Tom, Brian, Alice and Michael. They were all so gracious and pleased to share their honors with everyone there. Nothing like it.<br /><br />In classic fashion, we didn't take nearly enough photos. Shocking, I know. I do have one shot of us for now. It's at the pre-show party. My dad and sister are just to my left. We were just toasting our good fortune right before we took this, so it seems like the perfect shot. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347250560197077570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAM5VGCEJ-fSfPZgIrmi5GIlvcChOPpcu5EDSyOT4I-53DP-qaaPFtKik4nla60U4xRsFdXqCd8tiZaw0W0l8XbwBgKjxGDoJN2yKCVfRQKdq7vZyA-brY79BHIy5vLLiXcmM-/s320/At+the+Tonys2.jpg" border="0" />It's not the most flattering photo of me, but I love the moment (but seriously, what's up fat arms?! My arms do not look like that.). And I love the prominent role my mom's pearls play in the picture. The beautiful clasp my dad designed for her is front and center. She would love that. And The Dad Guy is sooooo handsome. He's wearing a fancy schmancy tux that he was wardrobed in for the night. Big props to Sisley menswear. This fit amazingly, was fabulously fashionable and he's wearing blue suede shoes. Hot stuff. </p><p>I proudly tell you that I did my own hair and it wins. I got so many compliments. And my favorite comment, "Who did your hair? It looks great!" Many bobby pins and a little husbandly assistance was required, but I pulled it off. Tee hee hee. Of course, I don't really have any good photos of it. Boo.</p><p>So, enough rambling. That's the recap. I didn't even get to the knee wound I managed to collect, the crazy as heck cab rides, Little G's big night out, insane foot pain, or any number of other stories. This is just a basic document. If there is something else you are dying to know, say the word. Man, I am long-winded.</p><p>Cheers!</p>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-2836957007108592142009-06-12T06:36:00.000-07:002009-06-12T06:40:17.894-07:00We now take a break from our regularly scheduled programming...To bring you this important announcement.<br /><br />My friend <a href="http://blog.thesprouffskes.com/">Shelley</a> is missing her dog. If you live in the Rainier, WA area or know anyone who does, please keep an eye out for Viper.<br /><br />Please go to <a href="http://blog.thesprouffskes.com/">Shelley's blog</a> for more information.<br /><br />I have a deep appreciation for the love of a little dog. I am confident Viper and Mojito are kindred spirits. I really, really hope that Viper comes home safe and sound.<br /><br />Of course a Tony Awards post is in the pipeline. For now thoughts and prayers for Shelley.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-22031129620384354292009-05-30T05:27:00.001-07:002009-05-30T05:33:53.754-07:00Have you seen these?All this talk about my fabulous shoes and nothing to show for it. Until now...<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341592786203739890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuNfhsndZY2fEV0J8AUx8gR7n_zwIZ_9feQ7r1Q6f4uguz2GjBrs551Ep-mg6MfFoWCzoWcyHhUyJeEAuRH0K9HZ3_3WZ41Xmpx8PKTuSfwM5FGLcTsphyiGLcGn7JEf8oC7o/s320/coolshoes.jpg" border="0" /><br />They are even sexier when they are on a foot.* The Husband loves them a lot.</p><p>You can consider this a Tony fashion preview. More details to come.</p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>*This will likely be the first and only time that you will see me put versions of the words "foot" and "sexy" in the same sentence.</em></span></p>Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-68795843688819055242009-05-23T14:37:00.000-07:002009-05-23T18:26:33.187-07:00Tony, Toni, ToneSo, the Tony Awards are two weeks from tomorrow and I cannot believe I am going! It's kind of insane, actually. Full disclosure: I had to buy my tickets with all the plebes. And I will be sitting far away from the awesomeness, but I GET TO GO! On the other hand, The Husband's producers were generous enough to buy him what should be a lovely seat down much closer to the action. We could not afford the $700-a-pop for me to sit with him. But we will be together, sort of. I believe that Radio City Music Hall seats about 5,000 people, so there will likely be about 3,500+ people between us. But there is a pre-party and a post-party so we will certainly be together for those. Oh, and I AM GOING TO THE TONY AWARDS!<br /><br />Had we not had to shell out some legitimate cash for my seat (significantly less than Louis' locale), perhaps there would be a new dress on the horizon. But I am very blessed to have a ridiculously fabulous collection of cool dresses to choose from in my own collection, and none of them have really been viewed by NYC eyes, so I think I will be okay. I plan to throw on my Vera Wang black dress, so that ain't too shabby. It may be old enough that if anyone asks who I am wearing I can say, "Vintage Vera Wang." The shoes will be the new ones I got for opening night (more on that later). They are amazing, crazy sexy shoes by the company,"Oh, Deer." Love that name. Love the shoes even more. My darling spouse actually bought them for me for opening night. They were a good luck charm then and I hope they do the same on June 7. My other good luck charm from opening (and yet another gift from the hubby) are my new Swarovski crystal earrings. Fancy Shmancy. I don't have a ton of stuff on the East Coast at the moment, but I am lucky to have the amazing things I do.<br /><br />What's better is the other accompaniments I have for the night are the beyond compare. My sister and my dad will be joining me in the cheap seats! It seems almost too good to be true. My family means everything to me and to get to share this with them is a little bit of a miracle. They will also be seeing <a href="http://www.nexttonormal.com/">The Show </a>that weekend, making them the first of my immediate family to do so. I cannot wait to hear what I think.<br /><br />So, the awards show is being hosted by Neil Patrick Harris. You may know him as Doogie Howser, M.D., but to me he's Barney Stinson. And he sleighs me. I cannot wait to see him in action. Also in action will be my "extended family," some of the cast of "The Show." The Dad Guy isn't performing, which may be all for the best as we'll actually get to enjoy the festivities together. But Alice, Bobby and Aaron are going to kill it. It's going to blow your mind. Whoever you are reading this right now, be prepared to have your mind blown. It'll be fun to watch the an amazing show get recognized and take home some awards. At the end of the night everyone will be saying, "Billy Who?"<br /><br />So, off to figure out what jewelery to wear. And to jump up and down a little bit.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26439618.post-13512454950095655462009-05-22T18:51:00.000-07:002009-05-22T19:00:55.230-07:00Is anyone still reading this?!Apparently I was discouraged by the total lack of interest in my recent posts that I went on hiatus. I use the term "recent" loosely. It's been ages, but I am not sure anyone cares...<br /><br />So, in an effort to bring my own caring to the table I shall make a go of this again and see what happens. Too many exciting things going on to keep quiet I guess. So, I am putting a suggestions list below. And suggesting to moi that I get off my lazy a$$ and write something, anything, about any one of these topics. If you would like to chime in on what you'd like to hear most, even perhaps items left off this list, please do so.<br /><br />And now, the list...<br /><br />1. The opening of The Dad Guy's <a href="http://www.nexttonormal.com/">Broadway Show</a> and the faboo party that followed.<br />2. The Tony nomination excitement about said Broadway show.<br />3. Celebrity sightings by the husband and myself (both together and seperately).<br />4. News of our apartment hunt, apartment selection and adventures in furnishing.<br />5. Travels to and from home with a two-year-old.<br />6. Little G's second birthday party.<br />7. Highlights from my favorite TV shows. Lost finale, for instance.<br /><br />Seven is a lucky number so I will stop there.<br /><br />I will get back to this list, but for now, if you stumble upon this place, do me a favor and make a comment. <br /><br />Hiatus over.Noreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03789743655241856555noreply@blogger.com4