I have described this year as a shrug. Not great, not terrible… just there. Will I remember 2018 when I’m old? Probably not. It’s one of those years that passed me by. It’s not to say that I expect every year to be monumental, but I usually have something that sticks out, making it memorable. 2018 was pleasant. Like day old pizza.

I take full responsibility for my beige colored year. I didn’t do much to push myself outside of any comfort zone. I channeled by inner dog and stuck to my routines. Long walks, long commutes, lots of time in the kitchen with a handful of trips thrown in the mix. I started off the year celebrating the love of a dear friend on a tiny island off the coast of Mexico. I spent my mornings watching whales from my balcony as I made a mental note to always be present and mindful. That lasted approximately 40 days before life got the better of me. But isn’t that always how it goes with new year’s resolutions? That’s not to say that 2018 was a waste. Years are never a waste.

I made lovely friends at my new job. I fell for unavailable men (shocking, I know). I splurged on plane tickets to see people I adore. I continued to question whether or not to move back to Texas. I watched my grandma finally get old and it broke my heart. I listened to my nephew string together sentences that made zero sense and it filled me with so much joy. I witnessed by littlest nephew develop a coy smile that will break hearts one day. I got two new tattoos (just recounted and realized I got three… whoops), I found out that my person is pregnant and I get to be an aunt 3x over. I celebrated babies, birthdays, anniversaries and new careers.

I went to see art and music and theater and reminded myself to always make time for those things. I learned the entire Hamilton soundtrack by heart. I subscribed to the newspaper and The New Yorker and bought too many books that are waiting to be read. I listened to more podcasts than I can count and forced my dogs to go on 4 hour walks so I could finish another true crime audiobook. I was complimented on my curiosity and I realized that all I want to do is learn as much as I can about everything. Someone told me I was a wonderful writer and I told him it was the nicest thing I had heard in a long time. A friend asked me what brought me real joy and my only answer was a tearful reply of, “I don’t know.”

I still have some work to do. And that’s ok. Because that’s life. And while I didn’t fully embody my 2018 intention of mindfulness and grace, I made progress, and that’s all you can hope for. As for 2019? My word is vulnerability. I still haven’t cracked that code. I know that once I do it’ll break open a lot of very big and important things for me. My other goal? Write more. I kept up a handful of penpals this year and there’s nothing quite like getting a letter in the mail. 

And if I fall back into routine and find myself swimming along like I did in 2018, I will remind myself that life isn’t always going to be exciting. I need to remember that I’m god damn lucky to have my health, my family, my friends, my dogs and my insatiable curiosity. And that should always be enough.

Oh, and here’s my top nine photos of the year. Tattoos and good people and weekend adventures. Okay, okay… I did have some fun this year.

Potato, pear and goat cheese pizza

I haven’t updated this blog in a long time and I’m realizing that the last recipe I posted was a pizza… It’s a food I like, okay? Tacos and pizza are just great ways to combine a bunch of tasty food onto a flat, round thing and shove it into your face. The weather is super gross up in the PNW, so a warm pizza was all that I craved this evening. I had pears and potatoes from my CSA so I figured I would just slap it on some dough and call it a day. And it’s fucking delicious.

• Pizza dough — I used a pre-made dough from the grocery store because I didn’t want to make my own. But if dough is your thing, have fun!
• 3 Tbsp olive oil (2 for dough, 1 for onions)
• 1 Tbsp butter
• Balsamic vinegar (to taste)
• Salt
• Pepper
• 4-5 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 onions, cut into thin strips
• 4-5 red potatoes, sliced into rounds
• 2 pears, thin slices
• 2 handfuls of shredded mozzarella (definitely didn’t measure)
• Chunk of goat cheese, crumbled (I NEVER MEASURE CHEESE, LEAVE ME ALONE)
• Spinach salad on the side so you can justify eating all the carbs and cheese

Start by roasting the potatoes. I set the oven at 400 and roasted those bad boys for 30 minutes. While they were cooking I started the onions. Add 1 tbsp of oil and 1 tbsp of butter to a pan (cast iron forever) and let it warm. Add in your onions and then let them cook. After about 10 minutes I added in the salt and continued to stir. After 20 more minutes of them browning and turning into deliciousness, I added a dash of balsamic vinaigrette and then let them cook for another 10-15 minutes.

Keep your eye on the onions (obviously) and prep your pears and cheeses. Also figure out your dough. I got the dough from Essential Bakery and it was a good choice. That stuff is delicious AND it was easy to roll out. This is more just a kudos to Essential pizza dough than a helpful tip… Sorry. 

Turn your oven up to 450 or whatever your dough requires.

I’m not a huge red sauce girl, so I just used 2 Tbsp olive oil mixed with the minced garlic and some pepper as the base for this pizza.

After the onions and potatoes are done, start layering shit on your dough. I started with the potatoes and then the onions, followed by mozzarella. Then I made a pretty pattern with the pears before topping it all off with the crumbled goat cheese.

Pop that into the oven for 10-12 minutes and then enjoy. My dogs clearly wanted a piece or two.

It has been over a year since I’ve written anything on this blog. 7ish years ago (whoa) when I started this writing project I was at a job that, while fulfilling in many ways, was oftentimes mind numbingly boring. The weekend shifts meant hours upon hours where I had to sit at a computer with nothing to do. And, because writing has always been a form of therapy, I spent my time telling the internet the ways I was getting over my broken heart and surviving my mid-20s.

In my early 30s, I’m happy to say that I’m in a place that feels right. Leaving Uber 6 months ago was a weird, hard, scary thing to do. I’ve never been good at being new at things, so leaving the comfort of a job that had become my second home was terrifying. But when a company that you’ve put on a pedestal your entire life reaches out to you with an opportunity, you’d be a fool to pass it up. I spent the last couple of months at Uber wrapping up loose ends, drinking too much alcohol, and brainstorming what my life would look like once work no longer defined me.

That’s the thing about working for a startup tech company, it becomes your identity in so many ways. Healthy? Probably not. Fun? Abso-fucking-lutely. The people I met at Uber will be lifelong friends because we went through a kind of battle together. 70 hour work weeks and wearing so many hats you’re not quite sure how to define your job isn’t for the faint of heart. But it was a job with a sense of community that I’ll most likely never find again.

Can you tell I miss them?

All of that being said, I made the right choice. When I got the call about the job at REI, I was on a beach in Hawaii. My family went to celebrate my grandpa’s life and spread his ashes in the ocean. We stayed at a little house 30 minutes outside of Honolulu, eating too much fried shrimp and shaved ice. I accepted the job while my sister and I drank pina coladas the size of our heads and bought blue friendship bracelets in the gift shop. I remember how after I said yes to the offer, I turned to give my family a thumbs up and they all let out loud “YAYS” that could be heard across the restaurant. We drank a few more pina coladas to celebrate. Because, vacation.

And now it’s been 6+ months at REI. It’s a job I knew I’d love. It’s not easy to find a company where you believe in their mission, trust their leaders, and feel valued and heard. But the first couple of months were rough. I doubted everything. Being new means: not knowing who to talk to, who to sit with, or how anyone defines success. It took me awhile, but I figured it out. I found my people. I have a group of ladies who I lunch with every day. I’m doing a good job of bringing my brain and sass to the table. Change has always been hard (shocker!), but my ambition and bullheadedness usually push me into shaking shit up. And, once I found my groove, I am loving everything about it. Most days I leave meetings reveling in the fact that my job is to create content about why being outside is the most important. Honestly… what is this life?

And while my blog game hasn’t been strong, I’ve kept up with a handful of pen pals across the world and have made my journal and banjo a constant companion. It’s been a year where I’ve kept my words (grace and mindfulness) on the tip of my tongue, picking up and keeping habits that make me a better person. Most of my free time is spent with my family, attempting to tire out my two dogs (oh yeah, I got a puppy), and binge listening to podcasts while making food. Which, if you know me, proves that no drastic changes have been made. I still find that I’m better alone, not quite knowing how to solve my deep distrust and inability to compromise. I continue to put off therapy because self care looks more like long walks and an early bedtime. I’ll get there. Eventually.

Will this post inspire me to write regularly on here? Unsure. All I know is that it’s been fun reminiscing about the big life changing things that have happened in the past year. Also, I really wanted to share the recipe for the pizza I made a couple of nights ago because it was mother fucking delicious. I had two of my best friends over. We’ve known each other since college. Since the days of hiding tequila in our dorm room hampers and dancing our faces off at Rumors every week for 80s night. While our lives have tamed a bit, we’re still each other’s people. We ate dinner and drank wine and talked about all of the things that people talk about after knowing each other for 10+ years.

I highly recommend making this pizza for people you love, eating it outside, and chatting about things that matter.

Caramelized onion, goat cheese and grilled peach pizza with a balsamic reduction

It’s getting to be peach season in Washington which means it’s time to spend all of my money at fruit stands. It also means incorporating fresh fruit into every meal, no matter what. This time around, it was on pizza. And it was a smashing success. Note: it’s hard for me to not love a recipe with caramelized onions on it, but I think this one is a crowd pleaser.

Crust:

Not going to lie, I didn’t have time to make a homemade crust so I got a frozen GF one at the store and it did the job. Make a crust however you want to make a crust. You do you. Cookie & Kate has a super good recipe if you’re looking to make your own.

Toppings:

• 3 Tbsp of olive oil, 2 for the onions, 1 for the base of the pizza
• 3 cloves of garlic, diced
• 2 white or yellow onions, chopped
• 1 tsp sugar
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 cup shredded mozzarella
• 1 cup crumbled goat cheese
• 1 peach, sliced
• 3 handfuls of arugula
• ½ cup balsamic vinaigrette
• 2 Tbsp honey

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F and then start with the onions. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil on the stove over medium heat until warm. Drop in your chopped onions and let those bad boys cook. Stir occasionally to avoid sticking and turn down the heat slightly if things start to blacken. Let the onions cook down for 10-15 minutes and then add in your salt and sugar. I also added in a dash of balsamic vinaigrette to add some moisture. Cook for another 15-20 minutes after adding in the salt and sugar until all of the onions are caramelized and so delicious smelling you want to lick the pan. Turn off the heat and set aside.

Prep the base of your pizza dough by drizzling a tablespoon of olive oil and spreading out the minced garlic across the dough. Next, throw on the mozzarella. Then it’s time for the peaches. Luckily, I have a handy cast iron grill pan which means I get those beautiful grill lines without having to fire up the BBQ. If that’s not the world you live in, you can throw them on your grill or broil them a tiny bit before arranging them on your pizza. After they’re grilled/warmed/baked to the point where they aren’t totally smooshy but not completely firm (about 3 minutes each side on a medium/high grill pan), place them on top of the mozzarella. Finish off with the crumbled goat cheese and then put it in the oven for 15-20 minutes — whatever it takes to make your crust is golden brown.

While the pizza is cooking, make your balsamic reduction. All you have to do is pour the balsamic vinegar into a pot with the honey, bring to a boil and let simmer until it’s reduces to about half of the liquid that you started with. Set it aside and let it cool slightly before pouring it on your pizza.

Once the pizza is out of the oven, top it with handfuls of arugula, drizzle on the reduction, and serve. This recipe will probably become a summer staple because who doesn’t like pizza and wine on the back patio?

Practicing self care has never come easy.

Sure, I used to do yoga every day and restrict my diet to salads, but I never did it for myself. I dedicated myself to these things because I didn’t like the way my body looked in a swimsuit, or my legs didn’t have the definition I’ve always craved.

I grew up surrounded by powerful, stubborn, beautiful women. My mom and grandma have bright smiles, kind eyes, and they’ve passed down their ability to weather any storm. They also passed down their disdain for their bodies. Recently, I was at dinner with my 83-year-old grandma. We sat on her couch as she walked me through her food journal, counting calories to ensure she stays under the recommended daily allotment. She’s mainly doing it for health reasons, but she regularly refers to the time she was 120 pounds with a wistful longing in her voice.

You can find my stunningly gorgeous grandma on a postcard they sold in the 1940s and 50s — thick red hair and a Barbie sized waist. Because of this, beauty has always been something that we’ve valued. And, as the only child, my mom got all of the attention as she was growing up. While my grandma was a wonderful mother, her blunt and sometimes callous statements made it clear that looks were important. It’s funny what gets passed from generation to generation.

Needless to say, my sister and I berate our bodies regularly. We’ll send each other text messages about how gross we feel. About how much we hate the fact that we didn’t get our mom’s slender legs. Binging on popcorn, pizza, and beer and then regretting everything about it. We take turns telling each other that we’re beautiful and amazing and perfect. We are each other’s pep talk, each other’s reminder that out bodies are able and willing to walk us up mountains and two step in dark Texas bars. And yet we both have this deep seeded feeling that our bodies are too soft, too large, too imperfect.

All of this is to say I’m trying to be better about self care. Moving slowly through my day to be more mindful about what it is my body is asking for. I’m calling it Self Care September, as I like to organize and have goals and deadlines to answer to. This month is about being kind to myself in every way imaginable. I recently had an epiphany about the way I interact with the men in my life. I woke up one morning after a date with a handsome fella to this feeling of exhaustion.

For 4 years I have played the casual fling, side chick, and secret romance because it’s all I’ve told myself I can handle. My distrust in men continues to grow instead of shrink, and nothing they say or do surprises me anymore. My sister reminded me that I’m so much more than a convenient warm body, and that I should take a break from all things men. Instead of casting my net wide, I should reel it in and be with myself, completely.

Are you tired of my very raw and emotional rant on the internet? Cool, me too.

All of this rambling is to say that September is for me. It’s for hours spent throwing tomatoes at the wall with my nephew (babies are entertained by the most curious things) and getting lost in the woods with the hound. It’s for rediscovering my cookbooks and practicing yoga on my back patio. Hopefully, with a dedicated month of healing, it will become my routine.

Check back in on me in October. Until then, here’s to slow Sunday mornings with Sam Cooke records, fresh coffee, and a homemade breakfast.

Self Care Breakfast

There is something so perfect in waking up slow and spending time in the kitchen. During the work week, I have to get up at an ungodly hour and rush through the mornings to make the 6:20am train. When the weekends roll around, it’s my time. The hound sits at the corner of the kitchen, waiting for vegetable scraps. I always start weekend mornings with Leon Bridges and an entire Chemex to myself. It’s my idea of heaven. This morning it was a veggie scramble, banana pancakes, and a fresh nectarine.

Treat yourself.

Gluten free banana pancakes 

• 2 bananas, mashed
• 2 Tbsp coconut oil, melted
• 1 Tbsp lemon juice
• 1 tsp honey
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup GF flour
• ½ tsp baking soda
• ½ tsp salt
• ½ tsp cinnamon

In a small box, stir together the bananas, oil, lemon juice, and honey. Beat in the eggs. In a separate bowl, mix together the dry ingredients. Form a well in the middle of the dry ingredients and pour in the wet ingredients. Mix together until everything is thoroughly moistened. Don’t over stir or the consistency will be off. Let the batter sit for 10 minutes (this is a good time to prep the scramble veggies). After everything has settled, heat a nonstick pan over medium heat with a small amount of coconut oil. Once warm, pour ¼ cup batter onto the pan. Let the pancake cook for about 3 minutes, until bubbles form. Flip and cook the other side for 1-2 minutes, until the pancake is golden brown on each side. Then enjoy! I had extra batter, which will keep until tomorrow. Pancakes two days in a row? Don’t mind if I do. I topped my pancakes with some butter, chopped walnuts, fresh nectarines, and a little bit of maple syrup. Delicious.

Veggie scramble

• 2 tsp coconut oil
• 1/5 red bell pepper, chopped
• 2 laciento kale leaves, chopped
• ½ cup mushrooms, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 eggs
• Salt and pepper to taste

Heat the coconut oil in a cast iron over medium heat. Once warm, add peppers and mushrooms to the oil + minced garlic. Saute for 5-7 minutes until the red peppers soften. Add in kale and saute for another 2-3 minutes. While the veggies are cooking, whisk 2 eggs with some salt and pepper. Turn the heat down to medium-low and add the eggs to the vegetables. Stir until everything is mixed and eggs are cooked. Turn down to low and eat when everything is ready.

I became a homeowner this month. I signed my name approximately 35 times, and nearly burst into tears when I pulled the keys from the mailbox. My new house comes with tired oak floors, retro countertops, and a backyard where everything feels calm.

The last two weeks I have focused on finding my rhythm in this new house. I have painted and planted and cleaned and gawked at how much my dog sheds (it’s insane.) I have found joy in picking out house plants and cleaning supplies. I hem and haw over the perfect place for my throw rugs. You know, general adult-ing.

It’s also the first time that I have felt truly settled and truly alone.

I was never a girl that dreamt about weddings or white picket fences. I spent most of my time being weird with my best friends. Choreographing dance routines in our living room and playing “office” for hours. We created HPIMHC (Harry Potter is my hero club) and BAKOA (bad ass kids of America) which basically meant we thought we owned the neighborhood and only cared about hanging out with each other. And as I transitioned into teenage years, I fell hard for boys that ignored me and ran away from boys that were kind.

Not a lot has changed.

Because of that unexplainable wall around my heart, I have found myself very much alone for the past few years. And now, I bought a house all by myself. It’s a very big life decision that I’m told you’re supposed to do with another person.

A person to help you pick out paint. A person to mow the lawn while you make a picnic on the floor.  A person to go to bed with, knowing you’ve created this little world together.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love that I am a bad ass babe who bought a house solo, and I love that I move through the world with “independent woman” stamped on my forehead. I am proud of what I’ve done and this place I get to call mine.

But as I fall into a new life in this beautiful place, I have had a lot of time to think. I spend hours painting, listening to my records and thinking about men that I so casually walked away from. I thought there was something else I needed to walk towards. Something brighter. These were men who cared. They fought for me. They were kind and thoughtful and took the time to get to know me.

These are the ones that terrify me. So I did what I’ve always done. I ran as far away from them as possible because my distrust in men is so deep that I can feel it tickling my feet. If you’re reading this and you’re one of those people, I am so, SO sorry for treating your heart like it was disposable. You deserve so much more than that. You are a light.

So, to solve for this dilemma of being scared of stability, I go for the fellas that are distant. Or cruel. Or disinterested. Or taken. I spread myself thin across multiple potentials, all of whom are unavailable or unkind. That way it’s much easier to prove my point that men are the worst while simultaneously protecting my heart.

Real talk, am I right? Fuck it. I’ve been all about vulnerability and embracing honesty these days. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that vulnerability (while mind numbingly terrifying) only brings about truth and greatness. Why not put all those feels on the internet? I’m sure there’s a person or two out there that can relate to this madness in my brain. So… this one’s for you.

I am not sure what the solution is for this situation I’ve found myself in. This new life makes me want to channel my inner nester and it makes me want to do all of this with someone important. My tiny home with big windows encourages me to open up my heart and maybe share myself with someone who deserves it.

Bottom line: I’m looking for men with big hearts and kind eyes.

Please and thank you.

Quinoa Sushi Rolls

From Oh My Veggies

Now that I’m done lamenting about being alone, I want to celebrate the fact that I’m a 10-minute walk from the cutest little farmers market in Tacoma. I’m excited to spend my Saturday mornings there, perusing new stalls and picking out the best produce. This weekend it was beets and carrots, which are two of my staples.  I’ve noticed that having this little house gives me a reason to reset and find my way back to healthy eating. These summer “sushi” rolls fit that category swimmingly, and are best enjoyed in a backyard filled with sunshine, with a lazy hound dog sleeping at your feet.

• 1 cup uncooked quinoa, rinsed well
• 1.5 cups water
• 1/4 – 1/2 cup rice vinegar
• 2 tsp honey
• 2 tsp salt
• 3 sheets Nori seaweed
• 1 ripe avocado, cut into slices
• 1/2 large cucumber, cut into matchsticks
• 1 medium beet, peeled and grated grated
• 1 large carrot, peeled
• 1/2 red bell pepper, cut into matchsticks

Add the quinoa and water to a medium saucepan set over high heat. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and cover. Simmer until the quinoa is mostly cooked through but still on the undercooked side, 20 minutes. While that’s cooking, set a small saucepan over medium heat and add the rice vinegar, honey and salt. The original recipe calls for 1/2 cup rice vinegar and it made for a very strong flavor. I would maybe cut the amount down next time. Bring  to a simmer and keep warm until the quinoa is ready. Pour the vinegar mixture into the pan with the quinoa, stir well, cover and let sit until the quinoa absorbs the liquid. Remove the quinoa from the heat and let it cool completely.

After it’s cooled, spread a spoonful of the quinoa on the Nori sheets and pack with vegetable goodness. I didn’t have the fancy bamboo mat, but I just rolled with my hands and it worked fine. I also reheat some delicious peanut sauce for the dipping, but soy sauce would be delicious too. It was filling, healthy, and delicious. What more can you ask for?

I used to live in a tiny house tucked behind a giant concrete wall. With slanted windows, gaps between the floor boards, and mosquito filled bamboo, everything was messy and perfect. I called it our home before he even saw it. I signed the lease knowing that if my heart said yes, so would his.

The first night we sat on the floor with our picnic of whiskey and hummus and we made plans. They were big. Full of each other and this new city we had decided to call home. He hung antique book covers from twine strung between the rafters. We drowned our doubt in cocktails we couldn’t afford and The National on repeat. We would shop for furniture at the Salvation Army because our wallets had stopped collecting money. We splurged on the mattress and built our world in that bed; the superman pillowcase always making itself known.

I spent my first weeks at the farm. Gathering dirt under my finger nails, I would sidestep fire ant hills and swat at the small grasshoppers that clung to my legs. The 106-degree weather was suffocating, like living inside a dryer that you couldn’t escape. I would come home smelling like sweat and sunscreen, donning tomato-red skin. Although unpaid, I was able to gather bags of produce and somehow that made life seem manageable. We weren’t sure how we’d pay rent, but hot damn, how those peppers sang.

On the first day of his new job he wore a tie. Still strangers to each other, I blushed at his broad shoulders and strong jawline. His shirt was powder blue. In that moment I felt like I had fallen into a grownup’s life. A life full of coffee on-the-go and quick kisses at the door before we headed to our respectable jobs. We fell into a routine, as people always do. He found himself in a job he hated, a town he wasn’t sure of, and a relationship neither of us knew how to navigate.

I fell in love with that city. With its warm nights and heavy air. All my jeans became cut offs as I navigated back streets on my bicycle. I fell in love with another boy, whose brain I couldn’t quite understand but I wanted to know. I outgrew the little house behind the wall, and selfishly forgot that there is always more than one heart involved. I grew roots and vines, entangled them in the humid air, and left behind things I should have remembered.

Tonight is for nostalgia. For putting on High Violet and remembering the meals we’d eat on the front porch, slapping at the mosquitos as they feasted on our ankles.

One night we went into a bar where the drinks were pretentious and the ice cubes were made “in house”, as if that’s something to brag about. It was dark and crowded and we had dressed in our finest. We pretended we had money to burn. We bought each other drinks. We felt new.

Old Fashioned

• 1 sugar cube
• 3 dashes Bitters
• club soda
• 2 ounces whiskey (rye whiskey)
• old-fashioned glass

Place the sugar cube in a glass. Wet it down with 2 or 3 dashes of bitters and a short splash of water or club soda. Crush the sugar with whatever you have that’ll get the job done. Rotate the glass so that the sugar grains and bitters give it a lining. Add a large ice cube. Pour in the rye (or bourbon). Drink slowly and enjoy.