Baklava!

I discovered baklava while visiting the beautiful country of Greece after my freshman year of college. My friend Kate and I were in Athens, bone tired from an exhausting semester, but determined to explore the city. We spent our first day there trying desperately to stay awake, but failing miserably as we rode the subway around the city. However, after our first night of sleep -- which was at least 12 hours long -- we were ready to take on the city. We saw the Parthenon, observed dogs roaming the streets, ate moussaka, and then tried to find a piece of baklava. We had no luck on our own, so finally we resorted to asking perfect strangers for their help. We ended up asking a nice young woman who spoke perfect English, and she led us through dark alleys to a nice, bright bakery that we would have never discovered on our own. She did, however, correct our pronuciation of the treat -- baklaVA, not BAKlava. We each bought a piece of the sticky, nutty dessert and walked up to see Athens from rocks that were outside the main part of the city.

While on these rocks, licking our fingers as we ate our baklava, Kate observed that we were probably in a spot quite similar to the location that Paul once stood, as described in the book of Acts. We sat there, looking over the city, and flipped through our Bibles to the passage. That I was standing where Paul once stood was an amazing realization. There are Bible tours of Israel and Jerusalem, but I don't think they can quite compare to making that connection on your own.

Anyways, since that day, I've had a special affinity for baklava. I've contemplated making it, but all that phyllo dough and butter and nuts and syrup has scared me off. However, when I was shopping this morning, a Greek Orthodox Church was selling plates of baklava for a fundraiser. I was more than happy to buy five triangles, snap a picture, and recall fond memories of traveling in Greece. Someday I hope to return, husband in tow, and enjoy the sights, sounds and tastes of Greece again.

Lake Erie & An Anniversary

Dan and I have been married for 2.5 years. We dated for a year and were engaged for 9 months. All that time together means that he has spent quite a few days and nights in Fredonia, NY, my hometown. Yet somehow, he had never been to Lake Erie until two weekends ago, when we were visiting to celebrate a wedding and my mom's birthday. After cake and presents, we loaded up two cars for a visit to Point Gratiot. We (illegally) took the dogs for a walk on the beach and enjoyed the sunshine. (We justified it by observing that no one had cleaned up the park yet for the summer.)



Since we had our cameras, we stopped for a few pictures on the way back. Here's one of my mom and dad, who celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary on May 22. I am so thankful for them.

It's a Wonderful Life (and I'm not Jimmy Stewart)

Does anyone even read check this anymore? Gosh, it doesn't even really deserve to be linked to anyone else's blog -- Dan and I are not cut out to be bloggers of any repute. But in reality, the reason I haven't posted is because I keep hoping that we'll have something newsworthy to post. Mostly like a permanent job (or even two!), but that still hasn't happened. So we're still in the waiting place, hoping and praying and trying to remain positive, even when life doesn't turn out as expected.

The waiting game provides plenty of time for introspection, I've found. There have been many wonderful days since moving in with Dan's Gram, but also many stressful moments and tears of frustration. It is easy to point a finger at a specific circumstance in my life and to believe that as soon as that problem is resolved, I'll be totally content. But the problem is, human nature isn't ever content. I always want something more. When we were in Wisconsin, we wanted to be close to home. When we were in Belfast, I wanted a different job. When I was a senior in college, I wanted to be married and done with school. And the pattern continues further and further back. And you know what? I'm tired of being discontent with my life. I have a wonderful life.

So I'm choosing contentment. And I'm going to document these moments, creating a visual journal to match the written memories of this time. Here it begins.

This is from over a month ago, on a fateful day when Dan attempted to teach Lander to run alongside his bike. Lander was making good progress when suddenly his boxer-brains took over and he ran in front of the bike. His paw was hurt. (Dan felt so bad about it that he bought him a Kong and made him a Kongsicle, and Lander has been enjoying his toy ever since.) Anyways, Lander wouldn't leave his wound alone, and my husband, being the very resourceful person that he is, made him a cone out of an old Halloween bucket. I'd like to imagine that Lander was rather indignant about this, but he was probably just confused.

He has since recovered from his collar of shame, but I like to look at it every once in a while to feel intellectually superior. I'm so glad I'm not a dog.

The softer side...while up in the air.

It has been quite some time since I have last posted, so read and enjoy. I have not worked for about 5 months now. Hilary and I are what some would say, "Up in the air", and some would be correct. We don't really know what we are doing next. Hilary does have her teaching position until Mid-May, but after that we just don't know. We go to the beach in June for vacation and a wedding, have another wedding a week later, and then we are back to the grind. The grind being the unknown. It is possible to know what we will be doing when we get back from the beach, and that is in our prayers. The other day I found the pictures that you will find below and I wanted to post them...here is why.

This was an adventure.

You can just see the handle in this picture.

You can see it better in this photo, it is the small black thing above my head over my right hand.

The adventure portrayed in the photo happened probably about 9 years ago. It was the brief adventure of me going off that ropes swing. From looking at the picture, and my memory of falling, I was right about 50 feet off the water when I let go. The cliff-like shoreline is where I launched from, actually, a rickety old platform in a rickety old tree up on that cliff. I had to of stood there for 20 minutes or so, long enough to freak myself out and talk myself back into it multiple times. Long enough for many boats to show up to watch. As you can see, I did eventually step off the platform. What a rush.

This brief adventure is different than the adventure I am on now, but I am on an adventure. I don't know if it is an adventure of faith, or an adventure of economic downturn times, but whatever it is, I hope it is coming to a close. I hope that this adventure ends so that I can start a new adventure. A Donald Miller style adventure. A story with purpose. (If you aren't gettin the Donald Miller story reference, check out this.) Soon we will find out what we are doing, we just have to continue to have faith.

And a poem from my old blog while I was at Houghton, pre-marriage, pre-bachelors, pre-knowing the next step.

Waiting, thinking, praying leads me to this....

I come to this place
not knowing what to do
but I know one thing Lord
I am here because of you.

I am here up on this hill
a very quite place
searching, searching for you Lord
please show me your face.

It's here Lord, all around
Your joy, your love, your grace
I feel it Lord
as I walk a quiet pace

I lay here Lord,
the stars, the moon, the skies
I lay here Lord
search me, here my cries

I come to this place
not knowing what to do
but I know one thing Lord,
you will lead me through.

Have a great day. Create a great adventure. Drive fast. Take risks.

Reunion, Take Two

I loved Houghton College even before I went. Visiting campus with my parents to their own class reunions, attending soccer camp, and seeing my big brother shave his head as part of the men's soccer team helped me realize that Houghton was a special place. Nestled in the hills of Allegany County, it's definitely rural, but the absence of stores, malls, and even a grocery store forces the student body to bond. At least, that's how it worked for my closest college friends. An amalgamation of Highlander friendships, FYHP attendees, and roommates, we shared a special bond that grew strong and deep during our four years together. In fact, it was such a strong connection that we all felt the separation post May 2007 down to our cores. I know I was surprised to be so lonely without these women.

Despite the distance that separated us, our friendships continued to grow. We instituted a monthly email, intended to keep us from becoming Christmas-letter-only friends. It works, with some of us writing on time, some of us writing late, and some of us procrastinating for a month or two. (I fall into the last category right now.) We've also managed not one but two reunions -- more if you count the three weddings that we've shared. Not everyone has been able to make it to each of these events, but oh boy, have them been wonderful! Last February we met up in Chicago. We crowded together in a hotel, froze in the city, and made a joyful memory.
This year, spurred by the quick stateside visit of one of our (currently) international amigas, we decided to meet outside of Washington, D.C., the first weekend of February. Not to be outdone by the frigid temperatures experienced in Chicago, this trip happened to occur in the massive snowstorm that blasted the East Coast. We all managed to arrive and leave safely, including Kate and her baby daughter, who flew in from Minneapolis, MN. The feet of snow that we got ensured that we had lots of time to sit and chat, but unfortunately also mandated that we dig out our cars.
This was the Sub, part way through its unearthing. It really wasn't much fun to shovel out our cars, but fortunately, everyone pitched in (except for the baby, but I guess we can't blame her). It actually provided a decent way to work of some of the calories we ate (and ATE) during that weekend.

And although next year we vowed to meet in Vegas, this reunion proved to become another unforgettable memory. Being able to talk, eat, laugh and pray together was another reason I'm thankful for the time I spent at Houghton.

Our Gracious Host

On January 9, 2010, before 6 a.m., Dan and I bid adieu to Williams Bay, Wisconsin. The car was crammed with our earthly possessions, absolutely jam packed. The car was so full, germs had to sign up on a waiting list to get in. I had lampshades on my lamp, food at my feet, toiletries filling the empty space between my right thigh and the car door, and Dan and I both rested our elbows on the pillow that was between us. I slept as to forget how uncomfortable I was.

Anyways, we made it to Pennsylvania without incident, and after spending one night with Dan's parents, we began the arduous process of moving in. No apartment for us, not a farmhouse surrounded by cornfields: this time we are bunking with Dan's Gram, qualifying us in many ways as people hit by the recession. (There's a commercial about what people are doing to cut back: living with my parents, eating less meat, becoming a one car family. Check, check, check!) But really, we're absolutely blessed to be living with Gram, besides the obvious economical benefits.

Gram is gracious, funny, and growing older. She benefits from a little help in the kitchen and the company that we provide. She often wears a gray-purple hat, much to the family's annoyance, always offers to bring ice cream to family functions, and likes her fair share of salt on, well, everything. One day I witnessed her butter her wheat-thins; it must be a generational thing to butter one's crackers.

I'm also teaching Gram how to use the computer. We've gotten her an email account and she is beginning to get the gist of how to reply to emails. The computer is still a great mystery to her, but I'm impressed that she has the gumption to try. Today she received an e-card, much to her delight, that she chuckled at the entire time it played.

I am learning that growing old, elegantly, is a lofty goal. It takes style, a relaxed attitude, and a good bit of humor. My own grandmothers display a good bit of pizazz, and getting to know Dan's gram is another example of how aging can be beautiful. Spending time with Gram sometimes makes me roll my eyes, and other times smile so hard that my cheeks are sore. My favorite part? That she will ask Dan, when he is giving her grief, "Do you like where you're sleeping?"

And to that, I laugh and say, "Oh, Gram."

Really? Me?

Yesterday, we enjoyed an evening with Dan's parents, two grandmas, and niece and nephew. Ice cream was on the menu for dessert, and Dan plopped the cartons in front of his nephew.

"Go ahead open it up."

Vohn strains to pull the lid off the vanilla ice cream. He gives up. Dan says, "Come on! You're not getting any ice cream if you can't get the lid off."

Vohn gives Dan a disbelieving look, but decides he better pull again. I aid the three and a half year old by hold the bottom of the carton. Finally, with a smack, the lid pops off, much to Vohn's delight/surprise.

Dan hands Vohn the ice cream scoop. "Alright, get yourself some ice cream." Again, the little guy doesn't quite know if he should believe him or not. He decides that, again, Uncle Dan is not kidding, and goes to town.


Uncle Dan is crazy!



Does he know that I love ice cream?


Oh yeah... I gotta hang out with Uncle Dan more often.