I was born at 12:49 am on a Thursday 23 years ago. In less than one hour, it'll be the exact moment, on a Thursday once again, 23 years later. 

I want to title this post, "On Failure," because I set a few goals to reach by my birthday and I'm not in shape enough to run three miles today and I did not blog everyday until my 23rd birthday. I did not accomplish either goal. Epic failure. But how depressing would it be to have a blog post, on my birthday, that was forevermore titled-- "On Failure"? And so I've left this post untitled, which is how I like my posts lately.

I feel like this birthday of mine plus my inability to accomplish goals calls for some sort of philosophical rambling about learning to be okay with ourselves as we are and practicing that very okay-with-ourselves thing as we grow older. Or maybe I should ramble about how these looming goals have been quite the heavy backpack-- a burden that I am, oh, so glad to be rid of. What a birthday present! I could advise that it's better not to set goals because then we wouldn't ever have to write a post on our birthdays about being out-of-shape and inconsistent.

But you know what, I'm not going to ramble about any of that. I'm just going to wish myself happy birthday and be proud that since I made those embarrassingly-lofty-for-me goals I have written more posts on this space than the rest of the year combined, times four. And I have run at least once (or twice) a week, which is huge for me.

I'm just going to write, on my birthday, how lucky I am. What a beautiful life I get to live. I'm grateful today. Grateful for a sleeping husband, a midnight telephone call from a happy-birthday-crooning sister, fresh sunflowers on the table, a box of sunburnt peaches, and few regrets. Grateful for my mom who 23 years ago today was in the final stages of labor getting ready for my debut.

And as the cherry on top of all this gratitude, I'm going to write that a bit of failure never hurt anyone, especially when life, lived simply, packs so many beautiful successes. Call it rationalization or call it truth.

Here's to birthdays and all those goals I never plan to reach.

Abundant Blessings

We hosted a family in our neighborhood for a backyard picnic last night. Everything about the evening seemed magical to me. Well, except our backyard, which is grossly neglected.The food was inspired by our pear tree, so heavy with ripe fruit. I'm wishing the night had never ended. If it were up to me, we'd still be sipping lemonade on the grass outside.

Grilled Pizzas: Margherita (garden tomatoes + basil) + Pear Gorgonzola (a copy of the old CPK version)
Dough. Pear Gorgonzola inspiration.

Cantaloupe + Blueberries + Pears (a sprig of decorative fresh rosemary to make it look fancy)

Roasted Pears with Ice Cream (When we don't have homemade, which is often, we have Tillamook ice cream. We love it. Also, I left the pears whole, carving out the seeds and core from the bottom and baking them individually in ramekins. They were darling.)

P.S. I got the grilled pizza instructions from Cook's Illustrated, which is subscription only, but the link in the post up there is the same recipe, I think.

Late last night, we sat on the couch. His head flopped straight back against the cushions, exhausted from work and a long evening of studying at the library. I was trying to finish 100 pages in a novel. I can't really complain because, goodness, how lucky am I that my homework is to read a novel? Nonetheless, I was overwhelmed, tired, trying to recover from a headache that knocked me around earlier.

We kind of complained for a bit-- discouraged, confused, burdened, stacked-up with complaints and gripes that were nothing and everything at the same time.

And then we remembered, or rather, he remembered and reminded me.  

Look how wonderful our life is. Look at this home that we share and the food that we ate this weekend. Look at the letter we got in the mail that lightened our financial load-- thank goodness. Look at us. We have jobs. You get to go to school and read novels. We don't have overwhelming debt-- yet. Look at our kitchen; we have a dishwasher. Look at our bedroom with its white quilt that you love and the basil plant in the window. Look at the pear tree, the apple tree, the cherry tree. And hey, look at me! You love me! And I love you too.

I'm grateful.

Baking cakes and making cookies. And I have the most awesome apron. I'm totally digging it.

Going south for the weekend with many writers. We'll be hiking and writing.

My brain hurts already. In a good way.

Yummy on Wednesday

I spent the entire evening after school in the kitchen. I honestly never left the kitchen except to go to the grill. I was itching to cook all day. Sure, I had plenty of homework that I could have/should have been doing. I had phone calls to make and errands to run. But they were just minor annoyances easily pushed aside because salmon was on sale, potatoes were going to go squishy in the next few days, as were the carrots and kale.

So I cooked.


Grilled Salmon with Mustard Glaze-- Dry mustard (2 tbsp) with sugar(2 tbsp) and water (2 tbsp) to make a glaze. Toss on the grill, grill both sides. Leave it longer on the filet side to get a caramely, crispy top. (Cook's Illustrated)

Baked Potatoes-- I wish I had baked them on the grill, but I used the oven. I'm regretting it now. Our house is still trying to cool off from the oven heat. I prefer crispy potato skins, so I don't wrap my potatoes in foil.

Glazed Carrots-- Boiled until nearly done in a shallow puddle of low-sodium broth. Finished with melted butter and sugar, reduced over fairly high heat. Totally wintery and totally his favorite food, so I made them despite the season.

Kale Salad-- Try and love. I'm in love with the texture of uncooked kale-- the curly edges, the near-chewiness of the leaves. This salad is so simple, yet packs a kick. Don't forget the homemade croutons. I think they make the salad (or any salad for that matter).

Fresh Peaches + Ice Cream

And is it just me, or does it seem like clean-up takes as long or longer than preparation? 

"To love what you do and feel that it matters-- how could anything be more fun?" 

Katharine Graham

While doing school this afternoon, my memory jumped to this quote that was always on my family's fridge. Placed in the upper corner by my mom, the quote was a quiet testimony of my mom's love of mothering-- and of me, of all my siblings. I knew that she loved being a mother, felt that it mattered, and even thought it was fun. To this day, thinking of the quote on the fridge makes me feel so, so important. With K. Graham's words, she made a quiet, humble statement of love. I'm so grateful for that mom of mine.

And today, while doing reading and thinking, while writing my thoughts for a class, I thought, how could anything be more fun? Someday, quiet possibly, mothering will be the absolute most fun and I will put the quote by Katharine Graham in the upper corner of my fridge to communicate softly to my children just how much I love being theirs. But until that blessed moment, I'm going to feel so grateful that I love what I do right now and I, no doubt, feel that it matters.

Summer Sleepovers

Last night, we slept outside in the backyard for the third time this month. We place old mattresses on crinkly tarps and crawl into sleeping bags on top. We extension-cord the computer, tap into a wireless network, and stream a movie out under the stars. Three times has made it tradition.

Challah French Toast for post-sleepover breakfast.

Here Comes the Bride

Little niece Gracie just played wedding. I caught the bouquet. It's my turn to walk down the hallway with the flowers.

I love getting married.

Roasted Tomato Basil Soup

I can sense myself running out of steam, ambition, drive, whatever it's called. Have you noticed it the last few days? Have you noticed how I did not write on this blog yesterday? Probably not. I'm not going to flatter myself by thinking that you're tracking every move I make on this space.

But I do want to acknowledge that I've now missed two days of blog posting. And this is in the middle of my drive to never stop blogging until the end of September. Never stop, never miss a day-- that was my goal. And though I'm imperfect, in so many ways far more serious that an inability to stick to writing on my little blog everyday, I'm going to keep trying.

I'm going to keep trying to blog everyday. And I'm going to try not to emotionalize or overanalyze, while definitely trying to exercise. I'm going to do lots of those kind of -ize, -yze, -ise things. I'd like to be better in so many ways. Like everyone, I want to say the right things at the right time and never the wrong things when there is so obviously a right thing to say. And sometimes I say the right thing at the wrong time, which can be the most serious of all the wrecks above.

And anyway, I know this philosophical rambling of faults, flaws, failings, and lofty goals is getting awfully boring. So I'll leave you with roasted tomato basil soup from garden tomatoes, because garden tomatoes cure all ailments, especially when they're roasted. (And also, that's what we had for dinner last night, and I took pictures.)