a recipe calls for...

It's the eve before the eve.  This has been, as always, an overwhelming time in my life.  The holidays although a joyous occasion can also be a stressful one as well.  There is running around to get presents bought before the stroke of Christmas Eve midnight, wrapped perfectly and delivered on time.  There are birthdays to celebrate and children to spoil.  There is a Christmas countdown to keep vigil of Santa's arrival and of course the importance of remembering the true meaning of the holiday.  There is the need to keep a balance of happy all while dealing with the depression of becoming one year older (my birthday lands two days before Christmas) and the delight of not being able to fit into your clothes because you've eaten one too many cookies/cakes/chocolates/lollipops/cannoli.  All the while, I am on "vacation" while running, tending, cooking, cleaning, baking and simultaneously feeling as if I am battling a stomach virus.  The dark cloud of returning to work is looming on the horizon as well and I besides the fact that I will miss waking up with my daughter in the late morning, I actually am looking forward to being back on my teacher schedule and seeing my students.

But, I digress, the true reason I am writing this blog is all because of a recipe.

In Greek tradition, we ring in the New Year with a cake called a 'Vasilopita'.  I don't know much about its true origins or meanings and instead hold fast to the meaning it represents to me.  Every year my mother bakes a massive amount of sweet breads and pies to help ring in the New Year.  The first cake we cut is extra special because it is normally reserved for the immediate family to cut and share.  Within the cake is a hidden silver coin.  Whoever lands this coin in their slice is guaranteed to have a fantastic year.  Being that I have received this coin on several occasions, I can attest to its marvel.  I've often found that the years where I had this coin I did indeed feel 'lucky' and so, I always yearn to be the receiver of this prize.  And so, as I yearn, so do the other members of my family as well.  We all sit around eagerly watching my mother cutting into the cake, hoping and wishing that the luck falls into  our hands for the forthcoming year.

And so, here I am, on the eve of the eve.  I am now a mother myself, and a wife as well, and a happy part-time homemaker.  I decided that in addition to the wonderment of my mother's own cake, I would make my own cake to help ring in the New Year.  I haphazardly searched for a 'vasilopita' recipe on Pinterest and just clicked on the first one.  The picture was appealing enough and the recipe seemed simple enough.  I bypassed asking my mother for a recipe, because although her recipe is delicious and can be vouched for by numerous family members, I just needed to make my own cake, something that belonged to me (albeit, via a recipe I found online...).

I began to gather my ingredients and found myself rather excited to begin my project.  Suddenly, I felt a swell of pride and for lack of an accurate description, a feeling of being grown up.  I glanced quickly at the list of ingredients and smiled as I mentally checked off the ten ingredients that I knew for sure were in my cupboards.  With a pep in my step, I began to gather the first of the ingredients and read the first step off the directions: separate four eggs into a bowl.  Okay, sounded simple enough.  I began to separate the eggs and quickly realized I had only one bowl.  With one hand soaked in egg white and the other trying to rummage through my cupboard for a secondary bowl, I realized that perhaps I should have prepared myself better.  I quickly finished the task of separating the eggs and ran over to my iPad for the next direction/ingredient.  I'm not sure if it was my excitement or my overzealous need to prove that I could make my own pie, that I began to assemble my ingredients failing to pay attention to the very crucial steps needed to make a pie: beat egg whites to a creamy fluff; juice 2 oranges (thank goodness I had just bought some!); add one teaspoon of orange zest (how the heck do I "zest" an orange without a zester?!); add baking powder (got it) and baking soda (literally, just bought a new one for my fridge to stay fresh!) Suddenly, I became a pie making tornado, whipping around the kitchen searching for a whisk, tossing together flour and egg whites and preparing a bake pan (do I even have one of those???).   I grabbed a glass mixing bowl (only to see a chip on the rim) and I began to feel flustered and angry as I folded in my ingredients one at a time.  I desperately tried to ignore the small black dot that had somehow landed in my mixture as my daughter wailed in the background while my husband reprimanded her for something or other.  I continued running back and forth and searching for any available counter space to set down my tools or a mixing bowl or an orange rind. My kitchen looked like a disaster and I was inwardly scolding myself:

'Look at this! You should have read the directions thoroughly before beginning!  Always in a rush!'

'I'm sure this will taste terrible.'

'Way to start the New Year...'

And then it clicked.  I was starting the New Year.  This was more than just making a cake.  This was a symbol of creating something for my family, for our new year and I wanted to not only make it with my hands, but make it with my heart.  If I wanted something more out of this cake, this moment or even this year, I had to do something about it and I had to find it from within. So what if my bowl was chipped...or if the ingredients didn't come together as easily as I thought they should? (it leaves more of a lasting memory when you remember the blunders)  So what if an extra ingredient from which we are unsure of its origin has landed in the mix?  (maybe it will taste better)  So what if my kitchen became a mess (it's more gratifying to clean up) or if my oven doesn't work as it should and might take an hour more to cook than the recipe calls for (at least I'm guaranteed not to burn it).  Just like the snafu's of my cake, are the snafus in life.  So, maybe I could expect the forthcoming year to be less than perfect.  Perhaps I would need to clean up a few messes, multi-task a few items and fight endlessly with myself to stay calm.  But if all of my efforts produce a delicious cake, then it will be all worth it in the end.  

I set my spatula down and looked down at my bowl and smiled.  I took a deep breath and continued to fold my ingredients together.

Happy 2014.

By the time we get home...

If you want to have a happy life, you need to role play.

Let me explain myself.

Growing up, I was constantly playing make believe.  I had an imaginary friend named Lisa by the time I was 5; a full time career as an imaginary secretary/waitress/lawyer/teacher/librarian/Michael Jackson's wife whenever my favorite cousin came over to play and of course, I was well versed in the imaginary world of playing mommy to my favorite baby dolls whenever the mood struck.  As I got a little older, that sense of make believe did not go away.  I was blessed to grow up on a block full of 20 somewhat kids who shared in similar tastes as mine.  Therefore, it was not out of the ordinary to watch a musical production that we put together and performed for the neighborhood or to watch our version of American Idol before Simon Cowell even knew what a singing contest was.  I pretended to be older than I really was when I dabbled in my older sister's makeup and wore her clothes while she was at work (sorry sis) and even during school hours I always found myself drawn to the theatrical productions that were being put on.   Nothing is more exhilarating than facing an anticipating audience and giving them exact

And so, it wasn't a surprise to myself that when I finally found myself in college, I dreamed of being a theater major.  I took theater classes of all sorts and envisioned a life of an off broadway star--destitute but deliriously happy because I was practicing my craft.  Of course I woke up from this dream rather abruptly when my father assured me that I'd be broke and looking around at all of the beautiful, material things that surrounded me, I agreed that I'd rather be rich & unhappy.

So, I became a grown up.

I chose a semi-serious major and began to dream of business suits and briefcases; client lunches and expense reports.  I replaced my dreams of starring on Broadway with a corner office on Broadway (literally) and slowly but surely, the actress within me closed her eyes and went into a deep sleep.

It's been almost 13 years since I graduated college though and truth be told, I am taking the long road to telling my story or rather, sharing my advice.  

If you want to lead a happy life: role-play.

I know what most of you are assuming, and I know what many of you are secretly wishing, but I'm not talking about that type of private role-play.  I'm talking about the kind that you can do in public (or private) alone (or with the one you love).  

Last night my husband and I had an impromptu date.  We planned for a night alone (sans baby) to do some Christmas shopping.  This small step suddenly propelled us into a night of spontaneous role-play.  With just the two of us, we could roam up and down aisles freely and take a few minutes, or even twenty minutes to ponder over the purchase of something without our attention being constantly diverted by a two year old.  We picked up items and imagined a life of splurging on luxuries that we could realistically never afford.  But pretending like it was just us, gave us that ability to relax and pretend.  To cap it off, we caught a quick bite at our favorite fast food place: Chipotle.  Surrounded by a bevy of college students is what really enticed us to take our role-playing to the next level.  Via text my husband suggested that we pretend that we were college students so that we could "blend in"--and so we did.  We began to talk about the classes we would be fake registering for and the imaginary professors who gave us the most grief.  I'm not sure if anyone was paying attention to us, but we were giddy with the thought that someone could be listening and actually believing us.  And so shortly after, we found ourselves in hysterics, and became so loud and obnoxious that our role-play drowned out any of our college-age peers twerking/tweaking/miley cyrus/justin bieber/molly talk that they might have been having.

With our bellies full of good grub and aching from a good laugh, we left dinner hand in hand, our hearts suddenly feeling younger and happier.  

Of course, it only took a few minutes outside of our role-play to suddenly transform back into our old selves, as if the cold could somehow freeze away the fun.  And by the time we got home, we had returned back to being "mama" & "baba" and our college alter-egos were tucked safely away inside of our souls.  

However deep down inside though, I couldn't stop thinking about how happy it made us feel to pretend to be someone else for a little while. And that is why I shared with you the stories about growing up and pretending too.  My fondest memories growing up were always pretending or dreaming about what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Now that I'm a grown up though, why is it taboo to still pretend?  To still dream?  Why can't we role-play to give ourselves a break from the severity of our everyday lives?

So, take a moment and talk in an accent.  Throw on a different shade of lipstick and pretend you are a rockstar.  Walk down Fifth Avenue and pretend like you can afford to shop in every store you walk by (you just are choosing not to!).  Talk a walk back in time and become young again.  Become carefree again.  Become, happy. 

a new dawn...

I recently had the chance to embark on a photo sharing journey that turned into a spiritual awakening of sorts.  

 

You might be wondering, even not believing how sharing photos can elicit a spiritual awakening?  Well, I felt the same way.  I didn't think that there was any way that a simple "challenge" posted by a fellow Facebooker could have any type of impact on my life, let alone a significant one.

But it did.

And as I have come to find, it's always the little things that somehow leave the biggest footprints on this path we call life.

You see, in this modern day life, where everything is hustle and bustle and there are few moments spent on smelling the flowers, or looking at the sky, or just simply 'being' without doing anything in particular, I was forced to stop for a few moments every day and to reflect on my day.  Within that reflection, I was asked to look for a specific event that I might have otherwise overlooked.  In the beginning, it felt unnatural to stop and think.  It also felt, for lack of a better word, fake.  I had an inner dialogue running with the two parts of my soul: the innocent, world-loving hippie part and the jaded, bitter and tired part.  Initially, my jaded soul tried to prevent me from reflecting by mocking the thoughts that I wanted to share.  I would hear, "oh, how cliche!" or very simply "der!"  There were also a few instances where I thought that my jaded soul would win out the battle and I felt the need to give up.  

But, I didn't.  

I had to force myself to feel vulnerable and exposed.  I had to force myself to NOT think for once and to just FEEL.  The hippie soul wriggled her bare feet in excitement and threw flowers in anticipation of the liberation of my thoughts.  So, I closed my eyes and reflected and then began to write my feelings.  A few times I had to ignore the perpetual knocking of the door by my jaded soul, but I was successful.  I took a deep breath and hit the "post" button and what happened after that was just amazing.

That first day I  waited with baited breath for replies to my post.  I felt nervous and naked.  People were reading my writing, and well, judging me.  That couldn't be good.  What would they think?  What would they say?  I kept reassuring myself that I did the right thing and was being true to my true self.  The replies were overwhelming.  The support was endless and my nerves had dissipated.  Suddenly, I couldn't wait for the next day's assignment...

As the days progressed, I found myself eager to reflect and write.  I would often take a peek the night before and then from the moment I woke up, I would look for the moments that I needed to document: a moment of sparkle; a delicious morsel of food; a favorite place, and suddenly the mundane moments that pass us by everyday became important and meaningful.  The things I took for granted every day suddenly gained an importance. Not because the world had changed, but because I changed the way I looked at the world.

I continued to document my moments and I found myself receiving feedback and support in a way that I had not been prepared for.  A challenge that I thought would help me find special moments throughout the day was suddenly helping me find myself. 

And so, here I am restarting my blog and reigniting a passion that I have had since a little girl: to be a writer.  I'm not sure what I will write about or how often I will write, but I will write and will try my best to remind myself and all of you, to not let the little moments pass by you.  Take hold of them, because you never know where they will lead you.

xo

Penny