And the day came...

...when the risk it took
to remain tight and closed in the bud
was more painful
than the risk it took to bloom.

Watch Adele's Hello

Adele will always have a special place in my heart. I had just moved to Salt Lake when 21 came out, and Jillian​ and I listened to it non-stop, first belting out Rolling in the Deep at the top of our lungs in the car after I'd picked her up from the U. It's the kind of album where you find a place in your life for each song, connecting lyrics to different people and experiences over the years. Someone Like You is for the regrets of ghosts of relationships past, while One and Only is for the hopes of relationships future. It's like a favorite book where, depending upon where you are in your life and what you're feeling, it will resonate with you in a new way. I'll be forever grateful to Jillian for being my first roommate and friend in Utah. (And shout-out to cousin Petey-Pete for inviting me up for a visit the summer before.)

Adele issued a statement a couple days ago about her new album, 25: "My last record was a break-up record, and if I had to label this one, I would call it a make-up record. Making up for lost time. Making up for everything I ever did and never did... 25 is about getting to know who I've become..."

I've learned in life that it's never too late for now. 

That there is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. 

I know that growth is painful. Change is painful. But nothing is as painful as staying stuck somewhere you don't belong. 

I can affirm that however late you think you are, however many chances you think you may have missed, however many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don't have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have NOT traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ's atonement.

And I testify that Pinterest is WHERE IT'S AT for quotes.

Sometimes in life we have to remove ourselves from everything familiar in order to become familiar with ourselves. My Danish ancestors arrived in Utah in the mid-1800s to start over; in 2010, I did the same. But, like, with a lot less hardship and fewer dangerous voyages across the sea and open prairie.

Sitting in church one day in Salt Lake is where I was struck with the thought that I'd been living in two different worlds for years, not fully committing to either and thus always feeling torn. I made the decision to be all in, to humble myself and turn to Christ, to do the work, to seek the Lord's help in fixing myself rather than struggling in vain to do it on my own. 

It's where I taught a class of second-graders who were most mostly first-generation Americans, interpreting for their parents who worked multiple jobs to give their kids a better life than they had in Bosnia, South Sudan, Iraq, and Mexico.

This is the time that I was pescetarian for two years, annoying a handful of friends and family, but at the same time helping change my perspective on our consumption of the earth's resources. And becoming sick and tired of salmon after the first year.

I ran my first half-marathon here, finding a love for running that I never had in the four years I did cross-country, where my sister was a top varsity runner while I was a middling JV athlete, sometimes diverting a practice run to the convenience store where we'd buy La Rosa bars instead. (Always coconut.) I was less about cutting my times and more about increasing my socializing. When I became a coach years later, every time an overly-chatty swimmer would sit out a drill at the other end of the lane because their shoulder hurt (LIAR!), I'd feel pangs of regret for the times I'd pulled the same nonsense on my own coaches. Sorry, Coach Jones. I'm the worst.

Utah is where I worked at Communal, where I met some of my best friends and all-around greatest people in the world, and became a sucker for the farm-to-table movement. Alice Waters forever.

It was at a BYU football game that I saw AJ again. We had been set up by our siblings, who'd been going out at the time, six months previous; first date at a Mexican restaurant and second on Valentine's Day, eating pizza and watching Election. It didn't take the first time around-I talked a lot about Ron Paul and he wouldn't stop with Chris Brown. I also ordered the shrimp quesadilla (pescetarian-see above), "the most expensive thing on the menu" (it was $12, slow your roll), which took AJ aback. The fact that this was our first date did not stop him from finishing my leftovers. 

Since 2010, I've changed my driver's license from CA to UT to VA. Come May 30th, we'll be residing in New York City for the summer while AJ interns in Midtown Manhattan. (Side note: when we found out we'd be in NYC a couple months ago, it was then that I decided my baseball loyalties would be with the Mets. So stop your "bandwagon" accusations now. Besides, I'll always bleed blue for the Dodgers. I was watching Kirk Gibson, Fernando Valenzuela, and Orel Hershiser with my dad BACK IN THE DAY. That 1988 fist pump. Relive it here.) So many choices, big and small, have brought me to where I am today, all the while preparing me for life's next great hurdle. Because with every new experience, good or bad, there are lessons to be learned and growing pains to be had. 

I know it's just a song. But hearing her words, and her voice, so much of the past five years came back to me. It has been said that "great art takes us to a place where we realize the need for another kind of language to capture the deepest realities." (The Crucible of Doubt: Reflections on the Quest for Faith, Terryl and Fiona Givens. If you are looking to explore and expand your relationship with God and one another, I IMPLORE you to read this book.) This is the art Adele gives me. 

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler!

As I am mainly Danish and English, while AJ's family hails from Germany and Wales, we don't have many celebrations or traditions tracing back through the generations that we practice. When kids come into the picture, I’ll do my research into our own backgrounds and incorporate the traditions of those countries into our lives; but until then, we've decided to celebrate holidays and rituals of others, even if it means simply making Kung Pao chicken and reading Amy Tan for the Chinese New Year. (By the way, it is on Thursday, and I'm a rooster while AJ is a rabbit. Based upon those animals, we are NOT a match, but JayZ and Beyonce are both roosters, while Blue Ivy is a rabbit, so WE WILL SEE.) I don’t look at this as cultural appropriation, but cultural APPRECIATION. It’s a great way to explore different customs and beliefs and learn more about others. So don’t come at me, HATERZ. It’s the Year of the Goat/Sheep, during which there are three lucky signs, including my Rooster. Hurrah! I’ve been advised to not sit around selfishly enjoying my good fortune, but to use it to help others, being generous with my time and attention. I should build relationships, as these very well could help me in the future. Also, serving others is important just for the sake of serving others. Obviously. (All Chinese New Year information comes from Elaine Lui of Lainey Gossip, the source for all my biased opinions regarding Tinsel Town.) But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The last time I did a themed event was years ago, in celebration of Harry Potter’s birthday on July 31st. I’m telling you, I BROUGHT THE WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA. Character costumes, homemade butterbeer, cockroach clusters, pumpkin pasties, the works. (Henceforth, Neville Longbottom will be included in Harry's party, because I NOW KNOW THE TRUTH.) 

AJ was in the Big Easy a couple weeks ago for a national baseball arbitration competition, so we are now basically experts in all things New Orleans: beignets, jazz, beads, you name it. He did Cafe DuMonde, clubs on Bourbon Street with his new Teach for America friends from the hostel, caught a Pelicans game, the works. I thought it would be fun to use the opportunity of this week to try my hand at some traditional Mardi Gras dishes while studying more in-depth the religious background of Lent. Fat Tuesday on Arlington Boulevard was a more low-key event, but a celebration nonetheless. 

Growing up, I remember my Catholic friends observing Lent, and I admired the practice of fasting and renewing their commitment to God. (I was also secretly jealous of the Confirmation process and wanted the chance to choose my own saint’s name. Something else I thought was cool? How they would cross themselves with the Father, Son, Holy Spirit. I obviously had a very immature grasp of the religion.) So as Fat Tuesday dawned in Charlottesville, freezing and snow-covered and very un-New Orleans, I hit up Chef Emeril Lagasse online for my jam-ba-laaay-uh recipe (say it in the Elaine voice from Seinfeld), which included making my own Creole seasoning.

Look at the layers, it’s like those bottles filled with multi-colored sand from childhood.  Ahhh, a simpler time. Note the peeling label on the jar. This is an eco-conscious/ultra-frugalista habit of mine in which I save any and all jars, which I then turn into storage containers. Any food AJ takes to school is usually transported in an empty sour cream or cottage cheese container, so I’m sure his classmates think he has some very interesting eating habits.

The recipe is as follows, including directions for the seasoning, courtesy of the Food Network:

CAJUN JAMBALAYA

For the King Cake I got creative, basically eschewing anything remotely close to the traditional dessert. The final result was a stack of multigrain crepes layered with a lemon glaze, topped with rainbow sprinkles because they’re my favorite on everything, with fresh whipped cream on the side. Custom calls for a tiny plastic baby nestled somewhere inside the cake, and whomever receives the bambino in their slice has the honor/duty/drag of hosting next year’s party, but I just put it on top. Because it’s creepily adorable and it was just the two of us. Also, it was conveniently acquired this past weekend during a trip to Philadelphia when my pal Kaeleigh dug it from the depths of her purse while we were sitting in the café of the Fabric Works Museum, soaking up the weird art while trying to thaw from the single-digit weather happening outside, wind chill -22. Blessed.

My two main reasons for going with the stack o’ crepes were 1) crepes cakes are so very tasty and I first encountered them at the 09.08.07 wedding of Meghan Hoetker, who does not mess around in the culinary department and had multiples of this dessert rather than the traditional wedding cake; and 2) I had the necessary ingredients on-hand and was trying to avoid going to the store, because driving a half mile was just too much to ask. (I would have been a terrible pioneer and would’ve definitely told my family to cross the plains without me. Sorry, covered-wagon ancestors, you’re the realest.)

Multigrain Crepes

½ c Trader Joe’s Multigrain pancake mix

½ c whole wheat flour

1 ¼ c water

2 eggs

2 T butter

Mix ingredients and pour into buttered skillet, just a dollop at a time-about 30 seconds on each side. Repeat and stack.

Lemon Glaze

1 ¼ c powdered sugar

3 T milk

½ c lemon juice

Whisk together and drizzle between the crepes.

Cup of heavy whipping cream, sprinkle of sugar, whip it good.  Put all over crepes…and everything.

Next time around, I’ll buy a jar of lemon curd from Trader Joe’s to layer in the crepes. I had it in my basket the last time I was there and questioned whether I would use it. Never doubt your lemon curd instincts and just do it! Trader Joe’s is heaven on earth and any inspiration received there is sent from the angels above.

Light the candelabra, drape beads around the table, and serve up your Fat Tuesday dinner.

May I also recommend Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington music in the background? 

Louis Armstrong's "Dinah"

It was AJ’s contribution, because his true calling is a DJ and he WILL take over the AUX cord and we should really look into hiring him out as a wedding singer. I’ll totally be the Drew Barrymore to his Adam Sandler. (Confession: I was obsessed with Drew back-in-the-day, cutting her pictures out of magazines-YM and Seventeen and Jane!-and even putting daisies in my hair for senior prom [theme: MARDI GRAS!], following her styling at everything in the late nineties. Photo evidence is on my Instagram. Cheers to high school in the late nineties! Preeeetty sure glitter lotion was also involved in my look.) 

The plan was to follow up the meal with a viewing of The Pelican Brief, a great New Orleans-based film, but AJ had papers and monologues to prepare and headed up to the library to do real law work; thus, I indulged in the John Grisham caper solo. It’s like we’re both in law school, amirite?! And if you haven’t seen this movie, I highly recommend it. I first fell in love with Grisham’s tales in 7th grade, when I pulled The Firm and A Time to Kill off my grandma’s bookshelves, two pieces of literature very inappropriate for a 12-year-old, but enjoyable nonetheless.

A pre-Sex and the City Cynthia Nixon to the left

So as of today, Lent (Latin: Quadragesima; English: Fortieth) is upon us and, although I’m not Catholic, I look at it as an opportunity to incorporate some of its tenets into my life. Because truth is everywhere. In modern times, observers give up an action considered to be a vice, add something that will bring them closer to God, and donate time and/or money to charitable purposes. Done, done, and done. Well, doing it.

I’ll leave you with a fun fact regarding the impact of this observance on capitalistic enterprises. Until the 1960s, practicing Catholics were not supposed to partake of meat on any Friday. Pope Paul VI loosened the rules in that decade, applying it to only Fridays of the Lenten fast, but a few years before that occurred, Lou Groen, a McDonald’s franchise owner in a predominately Catholic part of Cincinnati, was trying to find ways to drum up burger business on Fridays. The result? The Filet-O-Fish. (Source: npr.org)