1 Part Crunchy, 2 Parts Awesome

When I lived in Nicaragua I happened upon a breakfast combination that was second to none. Since moving back to the States I've tried to find an equivalent without success. 

After many a trial, I think I may have finally discovered it's North American equal.  The recipe is below so you too can look forward to waking up.

If you do it right, your bananas should glow like mine...

 Crunchy Peanut Banana Cereal
Ingredients:
- Kellogg's Crunchy Nut: Golden Honey Nut
- Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter
- 1 Banana
- Milk


Instructions:
1. Get a big bowl.
2. Pour cereal into bowl.  Disregard any serving size instructions on the side of the box.  They are lame.
3. Take a super-duper heaping spoonful of peanut butter and mix it in with the dry cereal.  This could get messy (May be clumpy.  That is okay.).
4. Once peanut butter is mixed in, slice banana over cereal.
5. Drown everything in milk.
6. Savor every bite.

Just another reason why I love being Dutch.

If you are a fan of delicious flavor........
6. Pour half and half so that it just covers the bottom of the mug.
7. Pour in piping hot strong coffee.
8. Place Stroopwaffle on top of mug and allow the steam from the mug to soften the waffle and melt the thin layer of caramel in the middle.  
9. Enjoy.

The Devil Made Me Do It

I do not posses a lot of self-discipline.  Some of you may be wondering why I am advertising this not-very-flattering-fact on my blog, but I believe in honesty.  Self-discipline and I have never got along; speaking terms maybe, but never friends.  Self motivated exercise? Yeah right. Resisting the urge to eat dessert?  Dream on!


But there are a few occasions when I find myself in the strange state of mind where I want to go for a run.  These times are few and far between.  The last time I was suffering from this ailment I went out and bought a pair of running tights so that I could run in the snow.  See?  It really makes me do crazy things!


I found myself in this certifiable mental state yesterday morning.  I was laying in my queen size bed, underneath a down comforter, sipping on a delicious cup of joe when something sinister seized control of my body and I found myself getting out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts, strapping on my New Balance and then I proceeded to jog for about a mile and a half.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was 60 degrees and sunny outside or that I had not done any physical activity for about a month.  But lets be honest, the Devil definitely made me do it.


The absolutely crazy part of the story is that I think I enjoyed it.  I know, I know!  Please pray for me!  I am confident that this is a momentary lapse, but in light of my earlier admission of 'little-to-no-self-discipline' I fear I may again succumb to the urge to run.  I am confident that I will regain the control of my faculties eventually (if not - an intervention please!), but until then.....look for me pounding the pavement with the rest of the nuts jobs.

A normal Christmas? Overrated.

It is Christmas Eve and I am in a house that is not mine,  sitting on a bed that is not mine next to a dog that is not mine who has a very strange respiratory issue.  She sneezes inwardly and I think she is allergic to me because she does it a lot.  Very weird.  But par for the course of my life in that it is just another way in which my life is exceedingly not normal.


From Christmas to Christmas I am never quite sure where I'll be or if I'll see family.  Last year I had a Narnia-like Christmas with my parents on the frozen tundra and this year I am by myself eating left-over pizza out of some else's fridge, working my way through season 6 of the The West Wing (great show bt-dubs), listening to a dog sneeze inward (still trying to figure out how that works).  Oh, and before you think I am a super lazy, which is probably true, I did go running today.  It was horrible.  Legs cramped, side cramped, hands cramped, brain cramped, but I survived.  What will next year bring?  Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be not normal.....or at least I hope.....maybe with less cramping.


Well, Merry Christmas.  I hope those who read this are happy, well fed and coal-free in their stockings this year.  I am going to go back to The West Wing for now.  Only 1 more season to go and this is like the only endurance sport that I am good at.  And bonus - no cramping.

Pewter Cups and So Much More

aka Dr. Beverly Crusher

In my family all of us kids were given pewter cups with our names engraved on them.  I'm not sure of the significance of the pewter cup tradition or who gave me the cup.  Was it a grandparent?  Was it an aunt or uncle?  How far back does the tradition go?  All I know is that when my parents moved out of their house my cup got passed to my brother and this past Thanksgiving he told me that I either had to take it home with me or it was going to get thrown away.  So I took it.  Now it sits on a dresser in my bedroom looking old and in need of new meaning and significance.


So I did some research on the giving of pewter cups and found....nothing.  I have no idea what the significance of giving a pewter cup is, just that it "is a joyous time that merits special acknowledgment." (Or at least so says silvergallery.com.)


Tradition.


Why do we celebrate the way we do?  Why give gifts at Christmas time?  Why take the time to put ornaments on a tree?  Why hang lights and wreaths with big red bows?  Why do we sing certain songs or recite certain liturgies?  Why give pewter cups to babies? Does any of it actually mean anything?


Tradition.  Memories.


Often times we go through all the motions of the holidays hoping that we can reclaim a former joy we once had at this time of year.  Through the sights, smells and tastes of the holiday season we seek to remember that we were once happy.  We romanticize this time of year hoping that we won't have to deal with the struggles and hurts of our current situation.  We remember the ease and excitement of our childhood.  We remember the joy of good relationships.  We remember the simplicity of a time that was ignorant of the complexity of life.  Can all that be reclaimed through a simple, traditional celebration?


Tradition.  Memories.  Hope.


No, we can't relive the past, but the act of remembering should not lead us to sadness, but hope.  Remembering good times should point us forward to better times.  Remembering simplicity should help us recognize the simple joys in the midst of complexity.  Remembering the excitement of our childhood should loosen the corner of our mouths and lead us to serious smiles.


We are a people called to remember.  
Called to remember a Savior sent to save us.  
Called to remember His death.  
Called to remember His resurrection.
Called to live in that hope.


Someone, somewhere celebrated my birth by giving me a pewter cup with my name engraved on it.  They heard about my entry into this world and thought that it was "a joyous time that merited special acknowledgment."  Traditions are not meaningless unless we fail to remember the love out of which they were born and the hope which carries them on.  As we celebrate this holiday season and reflect on memories that  make us laugh or cry, look for the hope of new joys, new memories and new life.

"Dear Sweet Baby Jesus"

I think the angel is getting cold.

I went to a Christmas concert on Sunday night and sat behind some friends from school.  They have a 3 month old boy and my friend was holding him so that he peeked over her shoulder at me throughout the entire evening. 


Big brown eyes.  


Soft, dark brown hair.


And the cutest little nose you've ever seen.


I was in love.


And then he projectile vomited all over his mama.
(Don't worry, I was still in love. It was cute vomit.)


It was great to have a visual aid as I listened to music that celebrated another child.  A child who probably had big brown eyes; soft, dark brown hair; a cute little nose; and who also probably spit up all over his mama.  


A child who loved me first and loves me still.  


That is something to be celebrated this season.

Not for the squimish...

I ate a whole turkey.  I know you're impressed.

Thanksgiving is a holiday where people get together and eat too much.  My family is no exception.  This year   my oldest sister, we'll call her Riker (since she is #1) once again graciously hosted our unnaturally large brood.  We've gathered at her house for the past few years and each year we (or should I say Mom) inevitably fills the house with billows of smoke from something over cooking in the oven.  It's really not that big of deal but I think it is always a blow to the pride of the chefs (mainly Mom).  This year my brother, we'll call him Data (since he is #2), bought a deep fryer for the turkey and this year, coincidentally was the first year in a long while when the house was smokeless.  He filled the fryer with peanut oil, got it piping hot and the rest is shown below.  It felt a lot like tailgating.  

I am sure some joke could be make about how many people does it take to deep fry a turkey.  Go for it.

Poor guy.

Now he looks better.

Up close and personal with some of the best fried bird this side of KFC.

This next picture I was told by my sister, we'll call her Worf (since she is #4), looks disgusting.  That may be true, but my brother, we'll call him Geordi (since he is #3), looks pretty excited on the other side of this turkey.  And he has ever reason to be.  It smelled amazing.

Turkey ala donut.

Besides eating a really good fried turkey and taking gross pictures, I got to meet Geordi's new baby.  This new little reading rainbow fell asleep on me multiple times and unfortunately thew up on me a few more.  But I shall not be put off!  He will soon learn that I am a fabulous aunt who........never gives birthday presents and barely remembers her own name, let alone that of nephews and nieces.  Yes, sadly he will soon learn that I am bad aunt, but only by materialistic standards.  If he were to measure us on a spiritual scale, I would win hands down.  Hellllo - seminary degree.  I rest my case.

oh da cute liddle feet!

And that was the holiday in a pistachio shell.  Family, turkey, new babies, and a few other fun things thrown in for good measure. It was good, but I think Riker needs a raise so that she can buy a bigger house.  I fear we may have already outgrown that star ship.

Side note: For those of you who are wondering what is the deal with all the Star Trek Next Generation references, I will tell you.  Blogger has a feature that keeps stats on how often people look at my blog.  I was surprised at how many hits I've had in the past month and so I have decided for my safety and the safety of the people I picture and/or talk about to reference people using my special Star Trek code.  I hope you find it educational and amusing.  I do.

Spit and Shake on It

Every time I get together with my family I usually hear at some point during the week, "So you haven't posted anything on your blog recently."


Yes, yes, I know.  Hint taken.


But ever since I moved back from that far off land of Nicaragua my life has seemed boring and unblogable.  Plus I am lazy and feeling a bit empty in the creative department.  As a result of said laziness and un-creativeness, you all suffer, sitting lonely, dejected and in complete ignorance about my life.  


Okay, maybe not complete ignorance, but please allow the exaggeration for the sake of dramatic effect.


Well no more, mis amigos!  I hereby commit to updating my blog more often than before (which frankly isn't saying much) so that you can know what is going on in my seemingly unexciting existence and so that I can have a somewhat creative outlet that is not my personal sense of fashion (sorry, still bitter about this morning wardrobe fiasco).


Get ready to enjoy posts that are full of whimsical rhetoric, skillfully crafted stories, and chronic bouts of "What Am I Supposed To Be Doing With My Life!" (imagine me shouting that last line with hands raised toward heaven)


So there it is.  You have my word.  More updates.  More blogs.  More Ponchocountry.