Two weeks ago a light blue postcard came into my mailbox with words in bold. The Title Nine Blowout Sale is coming to Evanston. July 16-19th. Everything 60% off. Holy shit. No way. freaking way. NO....FREAKING.....WAY. Thank you God! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Some people know Title Nine as a women’s athletic clothing company that only has store locations within the west and pacific northwest. For sure nothing east of the Mississippi River. I’ve checked. We’ve all checked. There is a small community of women who know Title Nine as so much more. You gotta understand. When their shorts say they are an 8, they are an 8. A perfect 8. Not tight in one area and loose in another. Perfect. A sports bra fits....everywhere. Every item is sporty yet feminine, breathable and washable and just....just....works. These clothes never lie to you. They do their job. Title Nine is perfection.
Up until now I would get a bi-monthly catalog. I cherished it’s arrival. Things are a bit pricey....but I’m worth it. I don’t go crazy, and I don’t buy everytime....but I want to. And now this.
I stood dazed at this beautiful light blue card.
Title Nine was coming.....coming to see me.
I planned out the upcoming event like a professional thief. Eric would have the car that day, so I planned my route via public transit.....Chicago to Evanston, the purple line train from Sedgwick to Davis stop, then the #93 Southbound bus to Dempster. I would leave by 8:30 at the latest and arrive a padded 15 minutes before the opening on the first day.
I had to be there on the first day.
I contemplated telling Eric. Contemplated telling him that I was going to openly and gleefully spend money without any forethought of anything but the beautiful running skirts and skorts and tank tops before me. Before I was married my money was my own, and I must admit I miss that. Now I have to actually think before making a purchase. I will typically chat to myself in a low-level voice, “Do I really need this? Do I really REALLY need this.” and so on. I did not want to chant on this day, but not telling him would be disrespectful. “I’m going to this sale on Thursday.” I told him. “Okay, don’t go too crazy.” He said. Awesome. To me, crazy is relative. The limit of crazy on this has much higher bar than say staying out late when you need to get up early the next day or the servings at a Chinese buffet. When Eric said “don’t go too crazy” I heard in my excited Title Nine ears....”Do whatever you want, I love you....you deserve this.”
I was on the bus. I had my backpack prepped and ready for my upcoming haul, with a list continuously running through my brain of the items I hoped for. When the bus driver announced the stop, I jumped up and clumsily ran out the side exit. Another woman did the same thing, and we nearly knocked each other down. She looked me over. “Are you going to the Title Nine sale?” she asked. I said yes and we both giggled like we were in the 2nd grade, as if we had this secret language no one else knew. She pointed out that we were dressed similar, she called us “Title Nine Girls”. As we approached the Dominicks strip mall I understood exactly what she meant. Title Nine Girls. About 50 women were surrounding the doors of this reclaimed storefront. All aged 30-50, dressed feminine-yet-casual-yet sporty. All of us were lightly tanned, hair in a messy-yet-sexy-yet-sporty ponytail. Some had that ponytail through a baseball cap. I was a lost indian that finally found her tribe.
10:00AM, doors opened. A room the size of a gymnasium with row after row of tables with boxes. Signs reading TANKS, CLASP BRAS, SPORTS BRAS, CAPRIS, BOARD SHORTS, SKIRTS & SKORTS, DRESSES, etc.,etc. Row after row. We were greeted by sales associates handing out white kitchen garbage bags. It was amazingly orderly and exciting and chaotic. Everyone was friendly. We were all a part of this exciting adventure together and it was all 60% off. With filled garbage bags we piled into a 50ft square curtained off room and tried everything on. All together. It was junior high gym class all over again. Clothes flying off and on and off again. Sales associates continuously picking up unwanted clothes and the constant polite hum of “excuse me,” “sorry,” and “that color looks good on you.”
I spent $240 dollars. I bought 1 running skirt, 1 pair of hiking shorts, 3 skorts, 4 tank tops, a pair of Keen sandals and a light blue “Life is Good” baseball cap that has a pair of running shoes on it. I put back a pair of capri pants and two tops I didn’t think I needed. I did not go crazy. I left happy.
Very happy.
The sale is still going on....at least until Sunday.
http://www.titlenine.com/jump.jsp?itemType=CATEGORY&itemID=272#blowout
Friday, July 17, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Today I turned to Eric and said, “A year ago you weren’t home.” I tend to do that a lot. “A week ago I was on vacation” or, “This time next month my period will start all over again.” Bullshit like that. That is what it is, bullshit. It’s past and future and never present. It’s the wrong way to live and I know it and I do it anyway.
But at 6:30AM this morning, I turned to Eric and said, “A year ago you weren’t home.” Instead of just being grateful to be in this wonderful moment, in his gregariously warm and loving embrace, a solid half hour before needing to leave the warmth of our bed, I let my mind travel back to last year. And when it did....when I arrived mentally to this very day and time in 2008 I found myself alone in my bed, thinking only of my future. A future filled with scenarios that escalated my fear and loneliness till I could barely breathe.
I’m so damn stupid.
I do want to always be grateful, I don’t want to turn my back. I don’t want to forget that we’re in a war in Iraq when it no longer affects me. I want to give back.
Eric and I always talked about us as a family doing more charity work. How we can give back, teach our children to give back, how we can benefit the world. We’re starting with a charity called, SALUTE, INC.
Salute, Inc. helps military families whose spouse is deployed and find themselves struggling financially. They also assist veterans returning home with disabilities. They find ways to get them whatever they need. When I first heard about this charity I was interested, when I found out the depths of what they do....I was hooked.
I can’t think of a better way to say thank you.
I’m running in August for the 2009 Chicago Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon, and trying to raise money for them. I’m asking for you to consider making a donation. No gift is too small and your donation is greatly appreciated!
Follow the link below to donate.
http://www.active.com/donate/TeamSaluteRNRchi09/lesliemitchell
For more information on SALUTE, INC.
http://www.saluteinc.org/
Leslie Mitchell
But at 6:30AM this morning, I turned to Eric and said, “A year ago you weren’t home.” Instead of just being grateful to be in this wonderful moment, in his gregariously warm and loving embrace, a solid half hour before needing to leave the warmth of our bed, I let my mind travel back to last year. And when it did....when I arrived mentally to this very day and time in 2008 I found myself alone in my bed, thinking only of my future. A future filled with scenarios that escalated my fear and loneliness till I could barely breathe.
I’m so damn stupid.
I do want to always be grateful, I don’t want to turn my back. I don’t want to forget that we’re in a war in Iraq when it no longer affects me. I want to give back.
Eric and I always talked about us as a family doing more charity work. How we can give back, teach our children to give back, how we can benefit the world. We’re starting with a charity called, SALUTE, INC.
Salute, Inc. helps military families whose spouse is deployed and find themselves struggling financially. They also assist veterans returning home with disabilities. They find ways to get them whatever they need. When I first heard about this charity I was interested, when I found out the depths of what they do....I was hooked.
I can’t think of a better way to say thank you.
I’m running in August for the 2009 Chicago Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon, and trying to raise money for them. I’m asking for you to consider making a donation. No gift is too small and your donation is greatly appreciated!
Follow the link below to donate.
http://www.active.com/donate/TeamSaluteRNRchi09/lesliemitchell
For more information on SALUTE, INC.
http://www.saluteinc.org/
Leslie Mitchell
Thursday, May 28, 2009
This year's Memorial Day will stand out for me as one of the greatest, most meaningful experiences of my life. My husband Eric, who returned home safely this past Thanksgiving from his year-long tour of duty in Iraq, was named GRAND MARSHALL of the Park Ridge Memorial Day Parade. I got to ride along beside him.
Barely over the city limits line, Park Ridge is a wonderful little Chicago suburb, and it shows. Beautiful tree-lined streets, architecturally diverse homes, a small town feel within a big city. Best of all, the most amazing people.
The parade began in a somewhat slow, surreal style with the marching of the Maine South High School Band. The VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) Color Guard Brigade presented our car, a cherry red late model Mercedes convertible. Eric was in full uniform, all of his medals and ribbons in full order colorfully displaying his own military history and achievements. As we turned the corner to begin the 4-5 mile route, I was overwhelmed with the massive amount of people. Mile after mile of men, women and children lined the street, decked out in red, white and blue....cheering and smiling and clapping with an infectious enthusiasm that had me grinning from ear to ear. Front yards were filled with homemade posters and banners, lemonade stands and "breakfast parade" parties.
Then I noticed the most amazing thing.
As parade watchers caught sight of Eric coming, they would stand up from their lawnchairs, take off their hats from atop of their heads, and clap. Clap hard. Hand-hurting hard. I watched them look him straight into his eyes and mouth the words, "thank you". Many would look him into his eyes and yell thank you aloud. Every front lawn became a standing ovation to a hero. To my husband. By being GRAND MARSHALL that day, he represented all the men in Park Ridge, Chicago, Illinois, and this country that sacrificed their lives so that ours can be better.
Once I realized the significance of this....it was all I could do to not cry. I waved and threw candy until it was gone.
Eric came home safely. But he did sacrifice his life. He sacrificed our life together. He came home safe. We were lucky.
I have always known and appreciated the true meaning of this great American holiday, but this was the first time where I got to truly "feel" it. And I am eternally grateful.
Barely over the city limits line, Park Ridge is a wonderful little Chicago suburb, and it shows. Beautiful tree-lined streets, architecturally diverse homes, a small town feel within a big city. Best of all, the most amazing people.
The parade began in a somewhat slow, surreal style with the marching of the Maine South High School Band. The VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) Color Guard Brigade presented our car, a cherry red late model Mercedes convertible. Eric was in full uniform, all of his medals and ribbons in full order colorfully displaying his own military history and achievements. As we turned the corner to begin the 4-5 mile route, I was overwhelmed with the massive amount of people. Mile after mile of men, women and children lined the street, decked out in red, white and blue....cheering and smiling and clapping with an infectious enthusiasm that had me grinning from ear to ear. Front yards were filled with homemade posters and banners, lemonade stands and "breakfast parade" parties.
Then I noticed the most amazing thing.
As parade watchers caught sight of Eric coming, they would stand up from their lawnchairs, take off their hats from atop of their heads, and clap. Clap hard. Hand-hurting hard. I watched them look him straight into his eyes and mouth the words, "thank you". Many would look him into his eyes and yell thank you aloud. Every front lawn became a standing ovation to a hero. To my husband. By being GRAND MARSHALL that day, he represented all the men in Park Ridge, Chicago, Illinois, and this country that sacrificed their lives so that ours can be better.
Once I realized the significance of this....it was all I could do to not cry. I waved and threw candy until it was gone.
Eric came home safely. But he did sacrifice his life. He sacrificed our life together. He came home safe. We were lucky.
I have always known and appreciated the true meaning of this great American holiday, but this was the first time where I got to truly "feel" it. And I am eternally grateful.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
WARNING: All that you are about to read is currently nothing more than a hypothetical rant that has been currently torturing me.
My husband Eric is looking into new job opportunities, some of which are not located in our current hometown of Chicago, IL. Although it’s not uncommon for families to move for a job, especially in an economy like this people “need to do what they need to do”. For whatever reason, in my mind I just never imagined us leaving Chicago. Deep inside the regions of my brain is this “ideal life” I had for myself and moving does not compute. What seems even more frightening is the idea of moving back to the state of my childhood, Iowa. One of the jobs Eric is considering applying for is in the town both my parents and brother’s family reside, Davenport, IA, two and a half hours away from Chicago. When Eric and I discuss our “maybes, our what ifs, and our could bes” about a moving to Iowa, we focus on the “pros” - lower cost of living, schools, family, less traffic, opportunity and security. Kids can be kids, run through backyards, go to public school for a top-quality education, and you can own a huge, beautiful home for the price of a 2-bedroom Lakeview condo. All good, if not great aspects. The only trouble is....it’s Iowa.
When I think of Iowa, I slam hard into the brick wall of my childhood. I think of this pudgy, four-eyed, awkward girl who was shadowed by her popular brothers and intense father, who didn’t seem to get anything right, and who couldn’t wait to get out. I didn’t seem to fit in Iowa. I easily faded into the background of my own life. Even now, when visiting there for a little too long, I sense myself reverting into that sad little girl. Seeking comfort in sweets, embarrassed to speak my mind in conversation, not belonging.
I left Iowa 3 weeks after graduating college and headed to the big city of Phoenix, Arizona. I bloomed. I wasn’t reminded of who I was and as such was given this free canvas to begin anew. I developed a person that wasn’t known as someone else’s daughter or sister, but carved from my experiences and challenges, ones that I took on alone and either failed or succeeded. I lived and learned there for 10 years. These last 6 years I’ve lived in Chicago, IL., and grew upon that person an even stronger one. I really like the woman I’ve become, and I don’t want to lose her. I’m nervous. Would I fall victim to Iowa? Lose my power, my strength, who I am? Could I become even more powerful, and make Iowa work for me? Turn it into the best aspects of both cities?
I do want to raise a family. I want the hustle and bustle of the city with a quiet front porch and hang my laundry on the line to dry in the summer. I want my kids to run through backyards and play street hockey without too much worry. I also wanna get good sushi when I’m in the mood and see a broadway-style play whenever I want. I adore hearing the train and yet I want my kids to catch fireflys in a jar. I do want to have a home, money in the bank, and a plan for my future. I do....I do want it all. Is that even really possible?
And of course....all of this....EVERY WORD AND THOUGHT....ALL OF IT....is hypothetical.
For now.
My husband Eric is looking into new job opportunities, some of which are not located in our current hometown of Chicago, IL. Although it’s not uncommon for families to move for a job, especially in an economy like this people “need to do what they need to do”. For whatever reason, in my mind I just never imagined us leaving Chicago. Deep inside the regions of my brain is this “ideal life” I had for myself and moving does not compute. What seems even more frightening is the idea of moving back to the state of my childhood, Iowa. One of the jobs Eric is considering applying for is in the town both my parents and brother’s family reside, Davenport, IA, two and a half hours away from Chicago. When Eric and I discuss our “maybes, our what ifs, and our could bes” about a moving to Iowa, we focus on the “pros” - lower cost of living, schools, family, less traffic, opportunity and security. Kids can be kids, run through backyards, go to public school for a top-quality education, and you can own a huge, beautiful home for the price of a 2-bedroom Lakeview condo. All good, if not great aspects. The only trouble is....it’s Iowa.
When I think of Iowa, I slam hard into the brick wall of my childhood. I think of this pudgy, four-eyed, awkward girl who was shadowed by her popular brothers and intense father, who didn’t seem to get anything right, and who couldn’t wait to get out. I didn’t seem to fit in Iowa. I easily faded into the background of my own life. Even now, when visiting there for a little too long, I sense myself reverting into that sad little girl. Seeking comfort in sweets, embarrassed to speak my mind in conversation, not belonging.
I left Iowa 3 weeks after graduating college and headed to the big city of Phoenix, Arizona. I bloomed. I wasn’t reminded of who I was and as such was given this free canvas to begin anew. I developed a person that wasn’t known as someone else’s daughter or sister, but carved from my experiences and challenges, ones that I took on alone and either failed or succeeded. I lived and learned there for 10 years. These last 6 years I’ve lived in Chicago, IL., and grew upon that person an even stronger one. I really like the woman I’ve become, and I don’t want to lose her. I’m nervous. Would I fall victim to Iowa? Lose my power, my strength, who I am? Could I become even more powerful, and make Iowa work for me? Turn it into the best aspects of both cities?
I do want to raise a family. I want the hustle and bustle of the city with a quiet front porch and hang my laundry on the line to dry in the summer. I want my kids to run through backyards and play street hockey without too much worry. I also wanna get good sushi when I’m in the mood and see a broadway-style play whenever I want. I adore hearing the train and yet I want my kids to catch fireflys in a jar. I do want to have a home, money in the bank, and a plan for my future. I do....I do want it all. Is that even really possible?
And of course....all of this....EVERY WORD AND THOUGHT....ALL OF IT....is hypothetical.
For now.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Before this year is over, I’ll be done improvising. I began in 1997 with Louis Anthony Russo and The OxyMoron’Z and I’ll hang it all up at Improv Olympic (iO) in Chicago before 2009 is done. A huge aspect of my life will be over. It’s time. The world of improvisation is an amazing drug, a gotta-have-it comedy heroin that will change your life forever. It has changed mine immensely.
Improvisation revealed to me an inner strength I had never known, lifelong friendships I deeply cherish, and opportunities that I never could have dreamt for myself. It seemed as if improv knew me better than I did....and as the years progressed my creativity soared. Everything became more vivid in general. Improvising drove my interest into writing, directing, traveling and performing in festivals. Improvisation made me a better thinker, organizer, conversationalist. I’ve been madlly in love with it, and I’ve hated it for taking over my life so fully.
In the last two years, I’ve been figuring out how to let improvisation go. It wouldn’t let me until now. Now it knows I’ll be okay. Improv knows that I’m ready for the next great things life has to offer me....a deeper delve into sketch comedy writing and performing, new interests that are nibbling at my heart, and family. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, and that’s the way that improv wants it for me. I’m eternally grateful. I fought this realization for a while, wanting to stay loyal and scared of the unknown combined. Now there is a peace. A wonderful, happy peace that now savors every moment of play until the last.This week begins the first show of my last team at Improv Olympic. It’s going to be fun. I’m lucky. I’m grateful. I’m an improviser.
Improvisation revealed to me an inner strength I had never known, lifelong friendships I deeply cherish, and opportunities that I never could have dreamt for myself. It seemed as if improv knew me better than I did....and as the years progressed my creativity soared. Everything became more vivid in general. Improvising drove my interest into writing, directing, traveling and performing in festivals. Improvisation made me a better thinker, organizer, conversationalist. I’ve been madlly in love with it, and I’ve hated it for taking over my life so fully.
In the last two years, I’ve been figuring out how to let improvisation go. It wouldn’t let me until now. Now it knows I’ll be okay. Improv knows that I’m ready for the next great things life has to offer me....a deeper delve into sketch comedy writing and performing, new interests that are nibbling at my heart, and family. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, and that’s the way that improv wants it for me. I’m eternally grateful. I fought this realization for a while, wanting to stay loyal and scared of the unknown combined. Now there is a peace. A wonderful, happy peace that now savors every moment of play until the last.This week begins the first show of my last team at Improv Olympic. It’s going to be fun. I’m lucky. I’m grateful. I’m an improviser.
Monday, February 23, 2009
(Let me just preface this note with saying that I am NOT in any way speaking about my own husband Eric. In fact, I am quite lucky.)
Over this past month I've come across quite a few men that in conversation have seemingly done their darnest to show to me their "tough side". They fit everything stereotypical of what THEY BELIEVED a REAL MAN was....and seemed quite proud of it. At first I found myself unimpressed, then sad....now...slightly angry.
Here is what my simple 3-step definition of a REAL MAN is:
1. A real man honors his wife. She should never for a second doubt that she is loved and valued.
2. A real man takes care of his children. Not only from the financial sense, but help them grow into their strength as human beings.
3. A real man praises God for his successes and prays for guidance throughout tough times.
Done.
Over this past month I've come across quite a few men that in conversation have seemingly done their darnest to show to me their "tough side". They fit everything stereotypical of what THEY BELIEVED a REAL MAN was....and seemed quite proud of it. At first I found myself unimpressed, then sad....now...slightly angry.
Here is what my simple 3-step definition of a REAL MAN is:
1. A real man honors his wife. She should never for a second doubt that she is loved and valued.
2. A real man takes care of his children. Not only from the financial sense, but help them grow into their strength as human beings.
3. A real man praises God for his successes and prays for guidance throughout tough times.
Done.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I do not understand why....I swear to God Almighty I do not understand why...but I am increasingly becoming fascinated by Pie Birds. They seem so delicate and beautiful and intimate. Warm and sweet and pleasant. They have a specific and necessary purpose, making pies turn out wonderful. That seems like an amazing task to have in life. Can you imagine if that was your end goal for your life, to provide sweet happiness? Who doesn't love pie? All this tiny creature does is make things better.
Whenever Eric and I travel together we try to find a Christmas ornament to hang on our tree. That is the only thing I collect. We currently have ornaments from Nashville, Montreal, New Orleans, Tucson and Washington D.C. After this year is over hopefully we will have ornaments from Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Malta and Seattle.
Now....I want Pie Birds. I want TONS of them. I want friends to bring me Pie Birds from their travels and I will be forever grateful. I'll replace my future emotional eating episodes with trips on Google and Etsy and search for sweet completeness in the form of a 3-inch ceramic steam pastry escaper. It's all I can do to not go online now and buy 4 & 20 of them. I want to "own" their simplistic, sweet life.
Perhaps one day I'll also bake a pie.
Whenever Eric and I travel together we try to find a Christmas ornament to hang on our tree. That is the only thing I collect. We currently have ornaments from Nashville, Montreal, New Orleans, Tucson and Washington D.C. After this year is over hopefully we will have ornaments from Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Malta and Seattle.
Now....I want Pie Birds. I want TONS of them. I want friends to bring me Pie Birds from their travels and I will be forever grateful. I'll replace my future emotional eating episodes with trips on Google and Etsy and search for sweet completeness in the form of a 3-inch ceramic steam pastry escaper. It's all I can do to not go online now and buy 4 & 20 of them. I want to "own" their simplistic, sweet life.
Perhaps one day I'll also bake a pie.
Monday, February 9, 2009
So on FACEBOOK within the "relationship status" area there is a range of various status levels one can choose.....Married, Single, Networking, In A Relationship, Divorced, blah, blah, blah. There is also one titled, "It's Complicated."
Lately.....I'm noticing various people changing their status levels from "Married" to "It's Complicated" and back again.....over and over. It's ticking me off.
My first thought/response upon seeing this was aimed directly to the person, chastising them for being a big pussy. Now I'm thinking about the title itself. One blanket statement really does sum it all up.
MARRIED.....hell yeah it's complicated. It's without question the most complicated endeavor you will ever experience. It's miserable, it's wonderful....it's nights when you are pissed off at your spouse and you long for the days when they went back to their own apartment and left you the hell alone. But you can't. You figure it out. You make things work. You talk and solve and promise and you try. You stick it out cause in this world marriage is one of the few things that isn't easy. That is what is so blessed about it. It's one of the few true things that one can EARN in this world. It's something that you build day by day by day. By giving it your all you forge your character and thus a life that you never dreamed could be so wonderful. Nothing that is worthwhile comes easy. And marriage is one of the most worthwhile things on this earth.
So stop going back and forth between MARRIED and IT'S COMPLICATED. We know it's complicated. It's also wonderful and easy and worth every ounce of blood, sweat and tears you put into it. Suck it up and work it out.
Marriage is the hardest thing one will ever do......and it's the greatest accomplishment you'll ever have.
Leslie Link-Mitchell: Status: MARRIED
Lately.....I'm noticing various people changing their status levels from "Married" to "It's Complicated" and back again.....over and over. It's ticking me off.
My first thought/response upon seeing this was aimed directly to the person, chastising them for being a big pussy. Now I'm thinking about the title itself. One blanket statement really does sum it all up.
MARRIED.....hell yeah it's complicated. It's without question the most complicated endeavor you will ever experience. It's miserable, it's wonderful....it's nights when you are pissed off at your spouse and you long for the days when they went back to their own apartment and left you the hell alone. But you can't. You figure it out. You make things work. You talk and solve and promise and you try. You stick it out cause in this world marriage is one of the few things that isn't easy. That is what is so blessed about it. It's one of the few true things that one can EARN in this world. It's something that you build day by day by day. By giving it your all you forge your character and thus a life that you never dreamed could be so wonderful. Nothing that is worthwhile comes easy. And marriage is one of the most worthwhile things on this earth.
So stop going back and forth between MARRIED and IT'S COMPLICATED. We know it's complicated. It's also wonderful and easy and worth every ounce of blood, sweat and tears you put into it. Suck it up and work it out.
Marriage is the hardest thing one will ever do......and it's the greatest accomplishment you'll ever have.
Leslie Link-Mitchell: Status: MARRIED
I did it. I fought Banana Bread and won.....I WON!!!!!!
All the burnt loaves, all the nasty smells that came out of my kitchen.....all the "raw" middle sections that wouldn't cook while everything around it blackened. Eric fought me endlessly as I would throw countless loaves into the trash and he'd reclaim them.....but this time I did it.
This recipe is healthy, delicious, moist and flavorful. It cooks all the way through!!!! I pass this recipe on to you, this cumulation of trials and errors and various gives and takes of recipes past...and enjoy it so that you do not have to suffer as I did.
Leslie’s Triumphant Banana Bread
INGREDIENTS
• 3-4 ripe bananas
• 11/2 cups whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup Raw Agave Nectar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 cup applesauce
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
DIRECTIONS
Mash up bananas and add to all ingredients
together in one bowl. Mix well. Pour into a greased & floured loaf pan.
BAKE at 325˚degree for 50 minutes. Test with toothpick. Enjoy!
SUBSTITUTION: If no Raw Agave Nectar, use 1 cup sugar and set temperature at 350˚ degrees.
All the burnt loaves, all the nasty smells that came out of my kitchen.....all the "raw" middle sections that wouldn't cook while everything around it blackened. Eric fought me endlessly as I would throw countless loaves into the trash and he'd reclaim them.....but this time I did it.
This recipe is healthy, delicious, moist and flavorful. It cooks all the way through!!!! I pass this recipe on to you, this cumulation of trials and errors and various gives and takes of recipes past...and enjoy it so that you do not have to suffer as I did.
Leslie’s Triumphant Banana Bread
INGREDIENTS
• 3-4 ripe bananas
• 11/2 cups whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup Raw Agave Nectar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 cup applesauce
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
DIRECTIONS
Mash up bananas and add to all ingredients
together in one bowl. Mix well. Pour into a greased & floured loaf pan.
BAKE at 325˚degree for 50 minutes. Test with toothpick. Enjoy!
SUBSTITUTION: If no Raw Agave Nectar, use 1 cup sugar and set temperature at 350˚ degrees.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Life has not been all that fun as of late. The economy sucks, I'm not as busy as I'd like to be, it's February in Chicago and my toes and fingers are eternally cold. I just designed my butt off for 2 days on a logo that I came to find out the client only budgeted $200 for. I'm growing more and more grumpy. Then last night I went to a memorial.
It was a memorial we all should hope for. People, people and more people busting through the seams of this funeral home on this freezing night, not a parking space for 4-6 blocks could be found. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder, and the chatter was lively. The stories told about this woman confirmed my own impressions of her: Gutsy, lively and loving. Stories ranged from the sweet and sincere angelic kind, to the downright dirty and hysterical. I could imagine her in heaven (a heaven that no doubt resembled D'Agostinos bar) with a drink in hand, loving it.
I felt good having to have met her....I felt bad for "feeling bad" the last week or so.
In my office there is a large yellow Post-it that has written my GOALS for the rest of my life. It's been here for the past 5 years. It reads.
GOALS
• Be a great writer
• Be a better runner
• Have my own family
• Design my own home
• Travel & Perform
• Learn to Snowboard
• Go Whitewater Rafting
• Visit Ireland
I laid in bed last night and my mind traced to the fact that this woman died suddenly. The way I've been acting/feeling lately, if I died tomorrow, what would be left unsaid? So....if I die today, here's how I feel about it.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME - JUST KNOW....
I'm good with it. Me and God are tight and it was my turn. I didn't get to say when I started, I don't get to say where it ends. It's really okay.
I would have liked to have done more......maybe left a few things not done, but I got to do a lot and I'm grateful. I love my job as a designer....know that I'm good at it and enjoy it. So very grateful for improvisation and comedy. It saved me at a time I needed saving and didn't know it. It taught me so much about myself and helped me grow into the person I became. I met some of my very dearest friends through improvisation and I can't imagine my life without them. My family is great, thank you to my parents for giving me a realistic-yet-loving view of marriage. Thank you for staying married for over 40 years and giving me the foundation to live solidly on this earth. Thank you for introducing religion and giving me that foundation as well. Thank you Dad for being open and growing yourself as we got older so that you could become my friend. I love my nieces and nephews and want nothing more than their dreams to come true.
When I think of friends I'm amazed. People who know how crazy I am and love me anyway. I think of times at Iowa State, Phoenix, The OxyMoron'z, The Rays, Dan Ryan's Sports Grill, Dry Heat, Chicago and Girly. I think of my brothers as adults rather than us as kids. Moments in life that created me. People I can call when I'm freaked out and can just explode onto without hestitation. People sleeping on the floor of my studio apartment in the freezing winter. When it comes to my friends I truly won the lottery.
The best is saved for last with Eric. My heart won't let me write it here.
In a world of "expanding isolation" you would think with things like MySpace, Twitter, Facebook and whatever else that we would feel more "known" in the world. Isn't that what we are all trying to do? The further away life takes us away from each other the closer we want to be. We're all shouting, screaming for people to truly give a crap about us that we write it out hoping someone reads....but in truth....I don't need everyone in the universe to know me....cause I'm not going to know you. It's those handful of people that I already know - the relationships I've already built - that I need to strengthen. I'm no doubt writing this for them.....but mostly for myself.
So right now...yes, it's effing cold outside and I wish there were more to keep me busy. I wish times weren't tough for people. I wish a lot of things really. But if I died tomorrow....all I wish is that you know I loved you.
It was a memorial we all should hope for. People, people and more people busting through the seams of this funeral home on this freezing night, not a parking space for 4-6 blocks could be found. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder, and the chatter was lively. The stories told about this woman confirmed my own impressions of her: Gutsy, lively and loving. Stories ranged from the sweet and sincere angelic kind, to the downright dirty and hysterical. I could imagine her in heaven (a heaven that no doubt resembled D'Agostinos bar) with a drink in hand, loving it.
I felt good having to have met her....I felt bad for "feeling bad" the last week or so.
In my office there is a large yellow Post-it that has written my GOALS for the rest of my life. It's been here for the past 5 years. It reads.
GOALS
• Be a great writer
• Be a better runner
• Have my own family
• Design my own home
• Travel & Perform
• Learn to Snowboard
• Go Whitewater Rafting
• Visit Ireland
I laid in bed last night and my mind traced to the fact that this woman died suddenly. The way I've been acting/feeling lately, if I died tomorrow, what would be left unsaid? So....if I die today, here's how I feel about it.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME - JUST KNOW....
I'm good with it. Me and God are tight and it was my turn. I didn't get to say when I started, I don't get to say where it ends. It's really okay.
I would have liked to have done more......maybe left a few things not done, but I got to do a lot and I'm grateful. I love my job as a designer....know that I'm good at it and enjoy it. So very grateful for improvisation and comedy. It saved me at a time I needed saving and didn't know it. It taught me so much about myself and helped me grow into the person I became. I met some of my very dearest friends through improvisation and I can't imagine my life without them. My family is great, thank you to my parents for giving me a realistic-yet-loving view of marriage. Thank you for staying married for over 40 years and giving me the foundation to live solidly on this earth. Thank you for introducing religion and giving me that foundation as well. Thank you Dad for being open and growing yourself as we got older so that you could become my friend. I love my nieces and nephews and want nothing more than their dreams to come true.
When I think of friends I'm amazed. People who know how crazy I am and love me anyway. I think of times at Iowa State, Phoenix, The OxyMoron'z, The Rays, Dan Ryan's Sports Grill, Dry Heat, Chicago and Girly. I think of my brothers as adults rather than us as kids. Moments in life that created me. People I can call when I'm freaked out and can just explode onto without hestitation. People sleeping on the floor of my studio apartment in the freezing winter. When it comes to my friends I truly won the lottery.
The best is saved for last with Eric. My heart won't let me write it here.
In a world of "expanding isolation" you would think with things like MySpace, Twitter, Facebook and whatever else that we would feel more "known" in the world. Isn't that what we are all trying to do? The further away life takes us away from each other the closer we want to be. We're all shouting, screaming for people to truly give a crap about us that we write it out hoping someone reads....but in truth....I don't need everyone in the universe to know me....cause I'm not going to know you. It's those handful of people that I already know - the relationships I've already built - that I need to strengthen. I'm no doubt writing this for them.....but mostly for myself.
So right now...yes, it's effing cold outside and I wish there were more to keep me busy. I wish times weren't tough for people. I wish a lot of things really. But if I died tomorrow....all I wish is that you know I loved you.
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