Words.

I just spent the last thirty minutes reading the thoughts of my dearest friends. They're people I admire, people who say funny and profound things, people who make me feel the most myself. I throw a little party when I see a new post or even their comment on someone else's post. I'm that obsessed with their words.

I love words. I've always loved words. Ever since my mom started butchering my English papers with her merciless red pen (when I was twelve, people!), I've had an appreciation for what people write. Umm, I've never been all that interested in what they say; is that terrible? Yes. Yes, it is. Cut me some slack though - I'm working on it. Anyway, I got an English degree to feed my love. My parents spent thousands of dollars so that I could read the words of others and write about them for a grade. I adored it. Every paper. Every book. Well, except Heart of Darkness. And The Sound and the Fury. And I loathe the publisher who took a gamble on anything by James Joyce. But other than that, I loved it all. I was trained to read with a discerning eye, write with an introspective tone, and critique with grammatical perfection. Just try and misuse a semicolon; I'll come after you.

You know what stinks though? All I wanted was to be a good writer. Scratch that... a great writer. I can't tell you how many times I have sat down with a pen and legal pad ready to write the world's next American novel. This again started when I was twelve. But I never got there. I never wrote a novel. I never even got through a short story. Up until just a few minutes ago, I've called myself a failure in writing. Even in the blog world, I have freakishly high expectations of myself. If I don't make myself laugh or cry or think or act, I've failed.

Then I read the words of my friends. In these wee small hours of the morning (is 1am considered wee though? and is that even how you spell wee?), I laugh, cry, think, act. My love for words is touched by those I love. Tonight, for the first time, I realize how valuable that is. Because my words are valuable, too. They allow me to keep trying, to share more of myself, to not give up on that twelve year-old's dream. Their words give my words life because who they are enriches my life.

So thank you, friends, for feeding my soul with your stories and vulnerabilities and perfect views on the world. Perfect because they're genuinely you. And perfect because you wrote them.

Just remember - I don't like it when you talk. KIDDING.

In Good Company

A couple of days ago, I watched Masterpiece Theater's Persuasion by Jane Austen on PBS. I'm pretty tolerant of anything based on Jane's work, so my expectations weren't terribly high. It's usually all pretty good. This movie was definitely fun to watch, and I'd watch it again in a heartbeat. And because of the miracle and lifeblood that is DVR, I can. My favorite part of the movie though wasn't the story or the acting or those perfect empire waist dresses...

My favorite part of watching Persuasion was listening to my friend Kate watch Persuasion.

The dashing male lead character is named Captain Frederick Wentworth... sounds so noble. He's not supposed to be crazy hot or anything like Mr. Darcy or Frank Churchill, but he should be fairly nice to look at. Well, I think Kate thought he met the hotness quota.

The guy playing Wentworth was named Rupert Penry-Jones... sounds even more noble. Everytime he came on the screen, my friend would sigh or say under her breath (or very loudly), "Oh my goodness, he's just so beautiful!" Yes, he's cute; she's not telling a lie. But I had such a good time watching the movie, hoping that Wentworth would appear, not to move the story along but to hear what Kate would say about him.

Today's lesson learned from Austen? I recommend watching movies with friends. If I had watched it by myself, I would've enjoyed the story and moved on. Watching it with Kate gave it another dimension that brought a lot more joy than without. So grab a friend, pop some popcorn, and set your DVR for this Sunday at 9pm on PBS... Mansfield Park is on.

Risotto Therapy

You should cook risotto sometime. It does take about 45 minutes from start to finish, but standing in one place stirring for half an hour, watching rice slowly absorb the warm stock (sounds rivetting, I know), truly is so calming. Add a glass of wine, and you're in a dreamy place that only Norah Jones could enhance. So take some time to make risotto next weekend when you're not as rushed, and if you have kids, send the husband out on a pre-dinner walk with them for a little while. Pop on some Norah, pour a class of Sauvignon Blanc (you have to use it for the risotto, so you might as well drink some while the bottle's open!), take some deep breaths, and patiently stir creamy risotto. I promise... it's worth it on so many levels.

Here's a recipe if you want to give it a try. This will make two huge bowls or four regular ones.

First heat up 7 cups of chicken stock in a saucepan. That's just shy of two boxes of stock. Keep it at a low simmer while you make the risotto. Dice a small yellow or white onion into pretty small pieces, season with a pinch or two of salt and pepper, and cook it in about three tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed pot for about three minutes. Stir the onions every 45 seconds or so so they don't get too brown. Lower the heat to low, and stir in two cups of risotto (also known as arborio) rice. Stir it constantly for about two minutes, and make sure that every grain gets coated with some butter. Pour in one cup of white wine (this is when you pour yourself a glass, too), and stir for about a minute. Now comes the fun part! Get a ladle, and pour in the hot stock one ladle at a time, stirring constantly over medium-low heat. Don't pour the next ladle in until the liquid from the first has been absorbed. You basically want to see the bottom of the pan when you stir before adding anymore. So take your time with the ladles of stock. It will get creamy and translucent and decadent. Once all of the stock has been absorbed, stir in about a cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese (please... don't use the green plastic can stuff), a half a cup or a good handful of chopped Italian parsley (the curly kind doesn't have the same flavor), and the zest (the yellow part of the lemon peel - use a grater or better yet a Microplane to get it off) and juice of one lemon. Season it with a little more salt and pepper, and immediately pour into shallow bowls and serve. Risotto isn't the same if it sits, so do your best to eat it right away.

Enjoy the calming effects of risotto, friends. It's cooking therapy at its best.

They're Just Like Us

So they've canceled the Golden Globes. Well, the big ceremony at least. No dressing up, no posing with your back to the camera with the head slightly turned so as to make the waist look smaller than my knee, no schmoozing with other celebrities and pretending like you don't think Tom Cruise is crazy... none of that is happening. Instead we're getting a sixty minute news conference announcing the winners, most of whom won't be there so that they can support the writers on strike.

I must admit that I'm sad about it. I love award shows. They're the perfect combination of celebrity and list-making. The nominees, the winners, the best and worst dressed, and the hope of a show of the Top 100 Red Carpet Mishaps on E!. It's fun. Silly, but fun.

One of the reasons I dislike celebrities though is how perfect they all look all the time. I mean, PERFECT. Flawless skin, amazing proportions, and they always seem to have their own lighting crew following them around. But I recently happened upon a website (once you're there, click on portfolio) posted by my friend, Emily, that made it all better. They're not all perfect. Not even close. Just look at the pictures. (You actually have to click on and off the pictures to see the difference. And what a difference, let me tell you.)

I'm not perfect either though. Well, that's obvious, but I mean none of us are perfect... in anything. We fail all the time, even those we love more (or hope to love more) than ourselves. It's part of life, but it's in those imperfections that we realize we are absolutely nothing without Jesus. NOTHING. We're beautiful to Him, and His blood has made us righteous. So awesome. So let that be a reminder to all of you trying-to-be-perfect-people out there; no one is perfect, not even celebrities. And better yet, there's a God whose perfection is all you'll ever need.

Okay, I'm going to go back and look at how they edited out the creases on Naomi Watts' thumb.

Culinary Risks

I used my crockpot for the first time last night... yes, the first time. I made a Mexican flavored rice and beans thing that we topped with cheddar and fresh cilantro. It was pretty good. But I used a new ingredient (which I like to do as often as possible) that I thought I'd share with you... all three of you.

Chipotle in adobo. Say it with me (chi-POLT-le in uh-DO-bo).

They're smoked jalapeno peppers, and they're spicy and taste a little like barbecue sauce (hence the smoked part). I chopped one of them up and threw it in the crockpot with the chicken, black beans, rice, salsa, chopped onion, some spices, and water. The chipotle pepper gave it a nice smoky kick, and I highly suggest you try one. I also learned that when cooking with chipotles, combine it with something sweet. I didn't have anything sweet in my crockpot, and next time I'll throw in some canned tomatoes instead of salsa (didn't need the extra kick) and some frozen corn. That should be just enough sweetness to balance the smoky spice.

Here's another idea; I haven't tried it yet, so don't get mad if it isn't good. Throw the following in a gallon plastic bag: chicken breasts or thighs cut into small pieces, a chopped chipotle, the juice from a lime, a squeeze of honey, about a half a teaspoon of cumin, a quick drizzle of canola oil, and a couple pinches of salt. Squeeze out the air, seal the bag, and mush it all together. Let that hang out in the fridge for about thirty minutes. Cook the chicken over medium-high heat in a nonstick pan (the honey will be a beast to get off otherwise), stirring pretty frequently until the chicken is done. It'll probably take about four or five minutes. You can serve the chicken on some lettuce with some mild salsa and cheese or wrap it up in a flour tortilla with some lettuce, cheese, sour cream, salsa, or whatever you want. It would also probably be pretty good thrown together with some pasta, fresh tomato, and fresh cilantro.

Okay, there you go. Go grab a can of chipotle in adobo sauce. You can find a can (yes, a can) at any grocery store in the international foods aisle with the Mexican ingredients. And now that you know how to say it, asking for help won't be a problem.

Happy cooking.