1. My experience of Eric serving in Iraq made me (oddly enough) a better, more grateful American.

2. Whenever I emotionally eat, I pretend I’m someone famous.

3. People who use their creative talent to create messed up movies like SAW sadden & disgust me.

4. In order for me to pray, I have to “write” it. In church I’m sure it looks like I don’t care, cause while people are talking/singing/whatever I’m writing in a small notebook.

5. I was the first girl to play little league hockey in my hometown of Dubuque, IA.

6. I LOVE the movie “Grease 2”and know all the lyrics to the songs.

7. When I was 11 I played “Toto” in the Barn Community Theater Children’s production of “The Wizard of Oz”. At the time I thought it was so cool and that I was a star, I had a thick fuzzy costume, tons of stage time and had my own little cooler of Capri Suns backstage (directors fear of dehydration - the cowardly lion had his own too). Later on as I was going through a rough patch of puberty I realized I was playing a dog....and was embarassed for many years afterward and did not openly admit or talk about it.

8. In 6th grade I bought Chippendales playing cards from a Spencers store in the mall and my mom confiscated them, shunning me for being a degenerate.

9. I didn’t like my Dad till I was about 30 years old.

10. I kinda want to run another marathon.

11. Half the things I say aloud I wish I could take back.

12. In 1998, I had a 15 minute conversation with actor George Clooney. Just him and me. He’s a really nice guy.

13. I HATE, no....LOATHE dealing with the United States Military.

14. Within a certain circle of friends my nickname is SHREDDER.

15. I was fired twice in my lifetime. Once for not having enough computer experience, and once for being too harsh to my students. Big effing babies.

16. I know all the words to the Kenny Roger’s song, “The Gambler”.

17. In college, I attempted to be bulimic but crapped my pants on laxatives.

18. The only fan letter I ever wrote was to Wayne Gretzky. He wrote me back.

19. I attended Game 2 of the World Series between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the New York Yankees. I went for free.

20. My favorite food of all time is Chocolate Milk.

21. I didn’t vote this year. My first time ever. Neither candidate inspired me and my heart was heavy about it.

22. I never would have gotten a scuba diving license if it weren’t for Eric. I merely wanted to impress him.

23. I LOVE the card game Euchre, (typically an old German mans game) and would like to play in tournaments.

24. I hope I never see again any of my ex-boyfriends except one.

25. One "single-girl" Valentine's Day years ago, I once ate an entire roll of Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough - and got EXTREMELY SICK.

Every place has it's purpose in your life. It forms you. For me, I was born and grew up in Iowa. Three weeks after earning my BFA at Iowa State I high-tailed it to live in Phoenix, AZ. Ten years after living in Phoenix I moved to Chicago, IL. I've lived here 5 years now and do not plan to move anytime soon.

Iowa: I grew up with 2 parents that love and like each other. I got to live in a house in a neighborhood that was safe and had other kids my age to play with. We went to church on Sunday and I even attended Catholic school throughout my grammar years. The American dream.

Phoenix: I took my twenties and embarked on a life that I excitedly got to create by myself. Where in Iowa I had a vast family to associate with, here I would go it alone. I wanted that. I cheerished that. I made mistakes and had successes. I figured out who I was.

Chicago: Full circle. I found that I adored city life, yet at heart was indeed a midwestern girl. I met my husband, developed my career, tested my skills and furthered my dreams and aspirations for myself. I'm closer now to my immediate family (parents, brothers, nieces and nephews) that is continuously growing. Close enough to Iowa, yet far enough to maintain my individuality and come full circle.

Since my growing up in Iowa was not a choice I freely made, I felt this extra tug at my heart to Arizona. I choose it. Those sunsets. That food. That warm weather all seemed to suit my personality better. For the longest time, I dubbed it my "hometown".

Whenever I'd go back there, visit my dearest friends, hike Camelback Mountain, eat red chile-marinated pork burros at Los Dos Molinos or kick back with a beer and watch the vivid purple and orange sunsets....I felt like I was returning home. This latest trip was different.

Last week I took Eric with me to Phoenix so that I could visit old friends and run in the Phoenix Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon. The weather was perfect, friends were wonderful, and I even ran my best time ever: 2:30 for a half. But it was no longer home. I found myself driving past places and telling Eric stories of a life that he was utterly clueless about, and maybe he didn't even care. I'd walk past people in crowds and search for a face that I knew or knew me. Nothing. As much as the scenery was the same, it was different. I did not live there with a monorail or an expansive downtown. People actually WANT to live in Casa Grande now.

Running the half marathon, I would look on the sidelines at people with homemade signs and tee-shirts, looking for a face that was somewhat familiar. Much of our route went through the oddest and ugliest parts of town, further reminding me that I was not welcome. This is no longer my home.

Once I realized that, I felt a sad peace. My mind traced backward to my last year in Phoenix when I sensed that I didn't belong, that I stopped making roots, making plans. I stopped building my life there. When I got to Chicago, everything changed. I bloomed within myself. The next phase of my life that I was searching for surfaced. Phoenix couldn't give me that....but without those 10 years in that amazing town - I would not be who I am today.

Directly after the half-marathon, I took my husband Eric to eat at a Phoenix tradition - Honey Bear's BBQ. Their catchphrase is, "You Don't Need No Teeth To Eat Our Meat". So good. We had ribs and cowbrow beans and I drank a cold beer to wash it down. I became grateful.

Maybe I ran my best time because I wanted to get the hell out of there. Who knows. Next weekend I'm cheering loud and proud for the Arizona Cardinals in the Super Bowl. I know I have no rights to them. Growing up in Eastern Iowa you cheered for the Chicago Bears. Living in downtown Chicago now, married to a Chicago guy....I cheer for the Bears.

But you know what? Kurt Warner is from Iowa.

Thank you Phoenix, Arizona....for all you did for me. I will always love you dearly....but Chicago is my home.

Okay....Tuesday night Eric and I went to THE CADILLAC RANCH, a cowboy bar in Elgin, IL. Eric apparently went there in his single days to listen to music, enjoy the beer specials, and pick up a dance or two. The idea of going to a country bar dancing on a Tuesday night fascinated me for no other reason than this would be one of the last things on earth I would think to do.

I'm taking a chance. I'm doing something different. Seems Eric is always doing what I want and now it's time for me to "pony up". I must admit, up until this point I was absolutely LOVING the fact that he had joined my life and all it's activities. The perfect accessory.

I'm not sure I'm a person who likes change. I'm trying. Because of Eric I have a scuba license now. I've climbed to the highest point in the Smokey Mountains. I've caught a Walleye and I've Karaoked in public. Now I'm about to learn how to 2 step.....

So here I am, in my sexy purple cowgirl boots I bought 2 years ago on a wimp and have worn only once before. I have a feeling by the effort it took to put them on that taking them off is not going to be the slightest bit of fun. Walking into the place was actually quite awesome. EVERY AGE was represented. I saw the most adorable 25 year old couples dancing right alongside 85 year old couples. Everything in between. And everyone was good....damn good.

I felt this enormous desire to do well. I was setting myself up for failure.

Eric knew a few things and tried to teach me. After a little while of struggling, nice couples would come up and show us things. People who have come to The Cadillac Ranch to dance every Tuesday night for years. Eric mentioned it had been over 3 years since he had been there himself, but he remembered quite a few of the faces. They were all friendly, happy and fun. Most people seemed to know each other. Every Tuesday night was a reunion.

I tried. I tried hard. I put every once of enthusiasm into it. I didn't want to let Eric down, and I didn't want to let these people down. I felt warmly invited into a club and I had no intention of wearing out my welcome on the first day. I smiled, I paid close attention, I listened intently to everyone who approached me with advice and guidance. I sucked. Nobody cared. I was grateful.

By the end of the night, I didn't suck as bad. Eric and I had the 2 step down and another dance that was similar. It went: Right, Left, Right...walk...walk....repeat. Something like that.

It seems important to Eric that we give this a go. A regular Tuesday night "date night". Who knows? Maybe I'll even get good at it.

Okay....I SHOULD be finishing the "pro-bono" website design I promised for Friday. I SHOULD be hunting for new business in 2009. I SHOULD do the dirty dishes in the sink and SHOULD do the laundry.

We have Belgian Chocolate in our freezer.

I've had 3 pieces now. Hot cup of coffee by my side and found a bootleg copy of "Marley & Me" on the internet.

I'll get to the website.....Eric can do the dishes & the laundry.

When this chocolate melts in your mouth with just a sip of hot coffee....it's freaking great.

I'll get to the website....

Okay, so I was used to doing all the work around the house (cooking, cleaning, fixing, etc., etc.) when Eric was in Iraq. The habit is still in me to continue to "do it all", only now with Eric home....my workload feels like it's QUADRUPLED. More dirty laundry to do, more food to buy and then cook, more messes to clean, and so on. It is my own fault that I have not been asking Eric to help....but he's not been offering.

Perhaps he's just not noticing.....it's not like I'm cleaning the toilets naked with a roast beef sandwich around my neck or anything.

With this extra workload though, I feel like I'm going a bit "Chihuahua". I may snap at any moment. It's not going to be pretty.

At this same time, I'm trying to be "a good wife" and I don't want to come across nagging or demeaning to my husband that I dearly love (I have been informed in the past by my other half that I have a tendency to do that) so I sought out the internet for guidance.

The best "Google" search I found was HOW TO MOTIVATE YOUR HUSBAND. Sounded good. Lots of reference sites popped up.

I tracked down quite a few informational sites, and they all followed the same advice path: MEN deep down are BOYS. Make him feel like a hero and that above all he is needed. Be incredibly loving and empowering in every opportunity. He is the big strong husband and he is required to save the day....blah, blah, blah, etc., etc.

I'm thinking "Are you effing serious? Justing flipping do what I tell you to do and do it right now! Why do I need to kiss your ass to do something that you needed to do to begin with? Uggghh!"

The amount of coddling that these websites say needs to occur for me to get the end result I want sounds like an enormous amount of time. Time enough that I could just do the extra work myself. But I didn't want to be stuck for the next 50 years of my life doing all the work. So I tried it.

So.....I had 4 different things going on in the kitchen, and had grab the step stool to reach something in a high cabinet. I went to slide the now folded step stool in it's place (between the wall and the refrigerator) which I have done many times before.....and it wouldn't slide in easily. The mop and broom were in the way.

As a training exercise....I called Eric into the kitchen. "Honey, I have dinner going right now and it's a crucial moment, could you please come over here and slide the step stool in? It would really help me a lot." I moved on to fill the sink with dishwater, turn down the crockpot, and test the banana bread in the oven.

He grumbly pauses his Zelda Wii game, and walks into the kitchen to the stool. In the most ego-manical cocky voice he says..."Babe, come here. Come here! Geezuz THIS is what you wanted?" He takes his hand and brushes the mop and broom to the side and easily slides the step stool in. "A damn trained dolphin could do that! What the hell is wrong with you?"

MOTHEREFFER!

So, for a woman who spent much of this 2008 praying for a husband away serving in Iraq, I'm glad as hell this year is over. Glad as hell. I remember long training runs back in July along the Chicago lakefront thinking to myself how I couldn't wait for snow to be on the ground and Eric to be home safe. Now, marathon medal hanging in the next room and my husband safely sitting on the sofa next to me, I look to God and to the calendar and ponder what is next.

A long-time tradition that I've kept with myself as each new year approaches is to pray for a hint as to what this new year brings me. How to best approach it. I have to be patient and listen, but eventually God lets me know. He always keeps it to just a few words but they ring as strong and true as a church bell. And they are never wrong.

In 2006, God's answer to how would the year would be was that challenges would be faced easily and achievements would be great. They truly were. I had met Eric in the fall of 2005 and we easily feel in love and in rhythm with one another in the new year. I was on the best improv team I'd ever experienced (The Washington Generals at iO, and began my sketch comedy show GIRLY. My job was going strong and I never got so much as a sniffle. In 2007, he told me things would simply be maintained. No growth but no fallbacks. Right again.

For 2008, with my husband in Iraq and the future seemingly scary, God whispered in my frightened ear that I was due for a year that would "grow" me. I would realize more about my strength and grow more into the woman I am destined to become. Looking back, what I went through as an individual woman, wife and American - and all that means, etc., etc. He was correct again. I never wish to relive this year, yet I'm grateful for every tear and every triumph.

Now we are on the cusp of beginning 2009. The word God is giving me is "build". Build on what I learned from 2008. Don't forget an ounce of every experience from 2008 and use it to continue the path God has intended for me.

Today I pulled four gray hairs out of my head. I used to pull only one. So put away my tweezers and made a hair appointment with Susan at ULTA. No use crying about it. Seems I've traded gray hairs for not caring as much what people think. I can always color the hairs. Last year I woke up every morning and realized that I could lose everything. In truth, all of us could lose everything at anytime. I was just not able to ignore it. God reminded me and I'm stronger for it. So I'm "building" on the Leslie Link (Leslie Mitchell) that survived 2008.

I like her.....she's cool. I look forward to seeing how this all turns out.

My best to you all in 2009

Leslie

So.....I have this 3-Tier serving display/tray thingy. I was hosting a "Christmas Brunch" for my husband Eric's family. My first ever.

A few weeks earlier I even did a recommended "trial run" of my proposed breakfast just to get the kinks out. Great idea! My Egg Bake turned out perfectly, as did my cinnamon rolls. Fresh fruit to finish. Yum. Okay...

...then I got greedy. I wanted more.

So I purchased this "impress my mother-in-law"3-Tier serving display/tray thingy. I planned the following: Level #1- Sugar cookies and well-choosen, less demented Gingerbread Men. Level #2 - My cinnamon rolls. Finally, level #3 - My husband's favorite recipe of mine: Chocolate Chip Banana Bread. Okay.

We carefully left alone 3 bananas to ripen......

Curve Ball. On December 24th it seemed that we needed to make some "last minute" purchases that we weren't expecting, and it was already 3PM. I was staring at a glass bread dish with all the bannan bread mixture put together, and the timer of the oven was beeping, letting me know that the oven was properly warmed up. Crap. I need to get everything done and don't know what the heck to do.

"I'll watch it hun," my husband said. I was nervous. "Honey, this oven seems to run hotter than our last apartments, you really gotta watch it." "No problem babe."

I feel like Eric's continuous banter of huns and babes is some odd effort to re-assure me of his capabilities. "Are you sure? Can you use the toothpick?" Blah, blah, blah...every last instruction I could throw on him. "Sure, yeah, of course babe, hun, baby hun, honey babe, blah, blah, blah."

Okay.

Well....then I got greedy.

"Can you also vaccuum and windex the bathroom mirrors? And then just do a "spot check" lifting up the toilet seats and making sure they are okay?" Got my nod and my babe-hun and I jetted out the door.

Walking up the street, through the errands, dodging piles of snow and pools of melted snow and oncoming traffic primed to hit potholes full of such snow and ick and spray me, I kept saying to myself, "have faith.....have faith....." That phrase ran through my head continuously like a holiday song, staying with me till I walked into the front door of our home an hour and a half later.

I didn't even have my key out of the door......nor did I have a full 6 inches of space into the room when I smelt it.

Our home burnt down.

"The banana bread is burnt isn't it?" I ached.

His response was shocked, sweet and sincerely innocent. "Oh you smell that? Just a little."

I dragged myself to hang up my coat, then took off my wet boots. I walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

I saw a giant steaming hockey puck of what was meant to be my 3rd tier of the perfect Christmas brunch and would make my mother-in-law fall absolutely in love with me....and if not, it would be the final "yes, this is ALL homemade" response to her routine question of, "is this homemade?"

A GIANT burnt hockey puck. Still steaming.

He set the timer and let it go.....and didn't look until the beeping reminded him. He was busy cleaning. His male sniffer only detects beef, cheese and if his Crown Royal/Coke is strong enough. EFFFER.

He did a great job on the vaccuuming and the mirrors. No one complained about the toilets.

So on Christmas Day my 3-Tier serving display/tray thingy had the following: Sugar Cookies and less-demented Gingerbread Men....cinnamon rolls.....and......more cinnamon rolls.

Merry Christmas!

Okay....so I took it a step up from the Toll House Sugar Cookie bucket-o-dough to making my own dough: Gingerbread Cookie Dough. My mom's recipe. Mom warned me of the approaching dilema with these holiday goodies....

"Gingerbread dough is really sticky (molasses) so you need a lot of flour, but not a lot of flour."

What does THAT mean?

"You'll see."

Grrr....

It means there's a reason why you can't buy Toll House Gingerbread Cookie dough in a bucket.

End result...I probably used too much flour. My Gingerbread cookies are more "cakey" than the typical/traditional crunchy "coffee dunkers" of Gingerbread Men. But that was not the problem that ultimately saddened me.

It was in the decorating.

If I could have colored my cookies in Adobe Illustrator I would have been better off. As a graphic designer by trade, I LOVE having precision in my artwork.....which has fashioned me happily into an enormous creative control freak. I desperately tried to recreate the cookies I see in fancy suburban bakeries, the ones that are part of "Christmas Cookie Bouquets". Perfect Gingerbread Men with sticks up their butts and surrounded by green and red tissue paper faned out like a seasonal peacock.

In fact, I originally thought that I could just "buy" a dozen or so of THOSE cookies, and pass them off as my own. However, my character flaw of pure honesty once confronted would surface as my mother-in-law Carol would ask on Christmas Day in her sweet Tennessee accent if these were "homemade". Busted.

If you call this cheating....I did buy the cans of colored frosting with various "tips". They suck.

Frosting came out of those cans SUPER FAST....then.....SUPER SLOW....they would ultimately BURB or FART and a GIANT WAD of colored goo would shoot out when attempting a button or a smiley face. EFFFER!!!!!

And I THOUGHT I let them dry....3 hours on the rack. Isn't that enough time? Apparently not. Once stacked, they melted....no....rather FUSSED together like a pack of crayons in the back window of a car in the burning Arizona sun.

A large, circular Tupperware full of demented Gingerbread Mr. Bills.....stacked together into a sticky gay dogpile of sugary gooey crumble sits on top of my refrigerator.

Crap.

They taste okay. After all the work I put into them I honestly can't truly tell. Eric will eat anything so he is not a good judge. After all....he ate my burnt lasagna.

Hola -

This is (to date) THE GREATEST THING I'VE EVER MADE!!!!

So I am sharing with you.

Leslie's Stuffed Green Peppers

1 package ground turkey
1/2 onion
2 cups fat-free sour cream
1 cup chunky salsa
2 - 8oz cans of tomato sauce
4-6 green peppers (good size)
1 box Spanish Rice
1 tbsp garlic salt

Make the "filling"

Make the rice first....then let sit.

Brown the turkey in a good size sauce pan. Add diced onion, garlic salt and salsa.
dice the tops of the green peppers and throw that in also. Once meat is good and brown, throw in the cooked rice and simmer everything for a bit. Take off stove, once cooled, add 1 cup sour cream and one can tomato sauce. Mix all ingredients well and stuff into peppers.

mix 1 cup sour cream with last can of tomato sauce - drizzle on top on peppers before throwing in oven.

Bake 1 hour at 350 degrees....should make 4 to 6 peppers.

Delicious!

In my quest to become a good cook, I'm finding more and more that COOKING and BAKING are two incredibly separate worlds. I guess they are in the same ballpark as far as a culinary pursuit, but it's one messed up ballpark. Cooking is simmering, and slowly adding and tasting...like scoring a home run by first hitting a single, then your next at bat a double, etc., etc. It all adds up.

Baking....it's either a homerun or it's burnt to an effing crisp.

So far I burnt lasagna. Then I "underburnt" cinnamon rolls. Then with the help of my trusty crock pot I made kick ass Shepard's Pie and Chili. Last night was Stuffed Peppers. I'm feeling on a roll. However....that is "cooking".

Today in Chicago, from about 9AM on it has been snowing. Snowing well. It's 10PM now and Mr. Freezmeister is STILL committing to snowfall. I didn't work today, instead stayed in my red "Life is Good" snowman pajamas, wrote Christmas cards, wrapped Christmas presents and then dared the impossible yet what the day seemed to require.....I baked Christmas cookies.

I laid everything out like a surgeon about to operate....rolling pin, tub of sugar cookie dough, cookie cutouts of star, tree and stocking. I taped down wax paper over everything imaginable. And began rolling...

LESSON #1 - Use A LOT OF FLOUR FOR EVERYTHING.

LESSON #2 - If you roll the dough too thin you can't pick up the cookie dough cutout.

LESSON #3 - If you roll the dough thicker - you STILL CAN'T pick up the cookie dough cutout.

Eric says my stars look more like Patrick from the SpongeBob SquarePants cartoons.

LESSON #4 - The directions on the recipe for how long to bake the cookies is merely a GUIDE. DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM THE OVEN ON YOUR FIRST ATTEMPT.

So instead of the cookies taking 9-11 minutes on the recipe....in my oven they take 6 minutes. Smelly lesson to learn.

But you know, I began to get the hang of it....lots of flour, cutting them thicker. I was even getting a routine where one pan of cookies went out, the other pan went in. Patrick shaped cookies began looking like stars, and the trees looked like trees. The stockings tended to burn a little more on the edges, but I think that is the shape's flaw as opposed to my own.

And the house began to smell like Sugar Cookie. And I was (and of this writing still am) wearing red "Life is Good" snowman pajamas. And in the big window, behind my Christmas tree snow is falling.

A great frosting is simply small amounts of milk added to powdered sugar till you get the consistentcy you want. I made green and a reddish pink. I got one of those mini lazy susan of candy sprinkler containers sold specifically for Christmas. I began to groove.

And finally, I followed the best advice my mom ever gave me when it came to cooking: Clean as you go.

Afterwards....I ate just one cookie and it tasted good. In a freakish way, putting all that effort into creating and decorating them made want to eat them LESS. They are art....and if I'm going to eat them now....damn it I'm going to take the same amount of time and care.

I'm going to MAKE LOVE to this Christmas Cookie. I'm going to go Barry White on this Christmas Cookie. Cause when I bite into it and savor it's taste....it's snowing, my tree is lit up, and I have my pajamas on.

I ended the evening surprising myself by making the dough for Gingerbread Men. No pre-purchased tub of dough but my mom's own recipe. The challenge continues.