Gluten-free, Dairy-free

My poor little sister.

I've grown up eating rather strange food. I remember being  10 years old and mistaking my dad's home-grown (RAW!) komboucha for apple juice. Just a little terrifying due to the fact that my dad referred to his growing komboucha as an "animal." Now our fridge is packed with GT's bottled komboucha. Still raw, but much easier to take now that it's paired with guava, citrus, and gingerberry. You'll find soy in at least 11 different forms, herbs my dad claims are edible, items literally crawling due to the amount of fiber they contain, bottles upon bottles of Naked juices, and every dairy item you can imagine sitting opposite their soy or rice counterpart. 

My dad has been a vegetarian for the past 11 years, and spent at least 3 of them being completely vegan. My mother and I are the only "dairy-eaters" of the family. Joelle and Laura are lactose intolerant (there's our Jewish/Middle Eastern heritage for you) and my dad eats very limited amounts of dairy due to his allotted daily fat intake (there's his chronic pancreatitis for you). Thus, our fridge carries a multiplicity of items. I did not think our fridge could hold stranger, more variable items. Until now . . . 

My poor little sister. For the past two years, Laura has complained of "not feeling well" at random times. She eliminated dairy from her diet, which alleviated some of the problems. She began eating a dairy-free AND gluten-free diet two and a half weeks ago, and is now symptom free. Poor Laura. She has been living off of bananas, chicken, juice, and craisins. Until now. We are now headed full force into providing little Laura with various gluten-free options. Tapioca loaf, brown rice bread, corn cereals. The list goes on. I made soy and corn nachos for her before she left for work, and from the empty plate left in the kitchen, I think they were a hit. I'm in the process of making chocolate (gluten-free!), peanut butter, oatmeal cookies for her, without milk or butter. They'll be good . . . . I just know it.

Laura is feeling much, much better and now our fridge could be the poster-child for Marlene's, Whole Foods, MacGregor's, Tacoma Boys, and the Tacoma Farmer's Market. The only downside: I now finally have another competitive fruit eater in the house. I'm going to have to start hiding my nectarines.

Note of the Day: Walking to the 72nd street Starbucks is not the same as walking to Cafe Fiore by Kerry Park on QA.

bum.

I am currently a bum. Good? I say yes.

I found out that I don't start my job at TG until July 6th. At first I was a little bummed . . . I'm a big fan of making money. Bum-life, AKA doing whatever the heck I want, is my alternative. $2 a day for coffee, one tank of gas, my running shoes, and TIME. Time to be a bum. Like today. Woke up sleep deprived because I wanted to. Coffee, sneaked some of my dad's precious Whole Food's graham cracker cereal, and headed out the door to the Y. Saw LJ for the first time in 9 months. Made my day. For LJ, I would add an extra $5 to my daily budget to hang out with him on a Friday night. Sweated through one t-shirt. I know; gross. Home. Raided my fridge, literally tossing things into a pan as I came across them. Chicken, bell pepper, bean sprouts, green onion, peas, shredded broccoli, tomato, and cilantro. Weird? I say no. 

Now. Off to Puyallup to hang out with an old bud, spend my $2 on coffee, and try to break in some new boots I just got from Urban. UrbanXchange, that is. Went through my closets the other day and lugged down a couple bags of clothes. $70 of credit later, I'm a happy camper.

Tonight. Earning domestic points by making  lemon chiffon pie for my dad for Father's Day. Sweet? I say yes.

Note of the Day: Want to see "The Brother's Bloom" soon? Call me.

Chacos on my feet.

Chacos on my feet, timbuk2 on my back, shades on my eyes, hair down my back; looking out over Magnolia Hill. There's a beautiful spot, if you walk out of the Ashton parking lot and continue straight for about 1/2 a mile, where you can look out over Interbay, Elliot Bay, and the road that goes straigt up Magnolia Hill. I shudder to remember running up that hill 3 years ago during land training. I absolutely love this spot. I walk it everytime I go see Nicholas.

Nicholas is now a two-year old. He communicates well for using only the words "num num" (milk), "ice" (water), "mommy," "daddy," "doggie," "buh bye," and "no." He loves to sit on my lap and read Dr. Seuss, watch Curious George, and listen to me sing "Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Car." I gave him a mohawk today. After dumping his bowl of chocolate yogurt on his head, I washed out his hair and couldn't help giving him a chic style. I am not biased when I say he is one of the most prescious little kids I've seen. Maybe just a little biased . . . especially when he calls me "E." A highlight of my weekend.

Weekend(s) have seemed to daunting to me. And lonely. I went for a 5 mile run in the sun this morning, grabbed coffee with a best friend, and studied for not long enough. Still, for some reason, I've still felt so alone. I want to be home home. In my room, watching Laura text on her bed while listening to Ne-Yo. Or at the dining room table, listening to Joelle debate about theological doctrine with my mom. Or in the living room, watching my dad fall asleep in his chair with one of his Whole Foods suckers still in his mouth. Or in the backyard, by myself, listening to Ravi Shankar on the patio with patchouli incense. The summer will come soon enough, and I'll most likely find myself longing for my life back in Seattle, minus school, stress, and nights of duty.

Duty is where I'm at right now. Listening to African jimbays, eating a cranberry scone the lovely Miss Jessica Taylor made for me, and not looking forward to the 4 hours of studying that must happen. The first of my final four nights of duty in Ashton Hall. On to Emerson.

Emerson will be an adventure. One that is sure to be full of joy, stress, laughter, and tears. Joy and laughter from spending another year as a PA, surrounded by absolutely beautiful people. Stress and tears from three days of clinical a week, and fighting the fear of being a senior nursing major in the res halls. Still a little scared. But working on it.

It, turning into the studying that I must now do.

Note of the Day: If I could eat anything right now, it would be pita, hummus, falafel, and tahini sauch. Or a spicy tuna roll. Or a raspberry pear bubble tea. Or a ginormous bowl of pudding.

Hoyt.

My day has been made.

I went to bed late last night, finishing up a paper that did not want to be written. Woke up this morning at 6:30am, forced to shower in order to turn myself into a professional. Walked to class that is held far to early every Monday and Thursday. Sat in class for an hour, discussing how swine flu is not as scary as it seems and how vital our liver is (our organ of metabolism!). Had a lovely walk to the Grinder with Miss Julia Hoyt during our first 10-min break. Was given the gift of a double tall americano by my lovely friend. Then...

SPLASH.

Hoyt washed the Grinder with her coffee. With a little, "Oh," and a big splash, 12 ounces of coffee went EVERYWHERE . . .

10 minutes later, we walk back to class in the sunshine. Come to class 5 minutes late. But, never mind. Hoyt made my day by not only buying me coffee, but by spreading her coffee joy to a few others (and the floor) too . . . . here's to you, Julia Grace Henry Hoyt. From Erin Elizabeth Warren Arkin . . . .

Note of the Day: Water is better with nuun any day.

TIRED.

So so so so tired.

Early morning. Class. 8 miles. Lounging in Gwinn instead of napping. Class. Eating dinner without my staff. Getting yelled at by my staff (ha!). 3 more miles. Perfecting my swing (THANK YOU, JAMES!), lifting weights next to two 6'6" basketball players. Eating PB&J instead of sleeping. Blogging instead of sleeping.

Now . . . off to sleep.

Note of the Day: I am not a switch hitter.

Brother Lawrence

The Practice of the Presence of God

That we should establish ourselves in a sense of God's presence by continually conversing with Him.
That we should feed and nourish our souls with high notions of God, which would yield us great joy in being devoted to Him.
That we ought to quicken - i.e., to enliven - our faith. That it was lamentable we had so little; and that instead of taking faith for the rule of their conduct, men amused themselves with trivial devotions, which changed daily. That the way of faith was the spirit of the church, and that it was sufficient to bring us to a high degree of perfection.
That we ought to give ourselves up to God, with regard both to things temporal and spiritual, and seek our satisfaction only in the fufilling of His will, whether He lead us by suffering or by consolation, for all would be equal to a soul truly resigned. That there needed fidelity in those drynesses or insensibilities and irksomenesses in prayer by which God tries our love to Him.
That he was pleased when he could take up a straw from the ground for the love of God, seeking Him only, and nothing else.

Note of the Day: Cracking open the books on my bookshelf that I often skip over is perfect for a Sunday afternoon. Even so, on this Lord's Day, Palm Sunday, very relevant.

. . . . . .

Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me.