My Head is a Sack of Potatoes

I absolutely, positively can't concentrate at work today.

Maybe it's because I got up at 445am yesterday and am still recovering

Maybe it's because I played the Nintendo Wii (Mario Galaxy if you must know) for hours on end on Thanksgiving Day, so much that my neck hurts, my eyes hurt.

Maybe it's because it's a holiday and I have an innate sense that "there's nothing going on" and "nobody's listening".

Maybe it's because I drank wine yesterday. Hmm, yeah, that's probably it. Nothing's better than drinking red wine with Mario, and jumping from world to world, flying through the Universe, defeating mushroom enemies. Nothing's better than gathering Power Stars, getting electrocuted, falling into Black Holes. And then living to tell about it.

I'm trying to concentrate, but forget what I'm concentrating on. I start writing a story, and forget to finish it. I even forget which blog I want to read next. For now, I'll call it "Aquarius Syndrome". Aquarians are supposed to live most of their lives with their heads in the clouds. I'm glad I have something to blame my spaciness on. Thank you, coworkers, for putting up with me today.

I want to go eat some potatoes now.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We made our turkey and Thanksgiving meal last weekend, but first, we held the turkey under the faucet, gently rubbing its prickly skin, cleaning it.

"Thank you turkey," David said.

"Yup," I chimed in, "thanks for giving your life to nourish our bodies."

As an omnivore, it's important to recognize the sacrifice these animals give to provide us with sustenance. Oftentimes these creatures lead miserables lives, which can't even be called a life at all. Native Americans always thanked the animal when it died, in hopes this would release its spirit. I think of all the turkeys that are born in the United States to provide us with a Thanksgiving holiday. I wonder who these turkeys are, why their spirits chose to be born turkeys, why they had to live and die like this. I sure wouldn't want to be born a turkey, and would feel much better eating one if I knew that it got some time in the sun, to peck around the grass and really grow and enjoy life.

Every time I eat something that used to be alive, I tell it thanks. This may sound weird, but I also thank the sweet potatoes, the lettuce, the apples, the carrots. These are all gifts from the plant life that surrounds us, and even some of these plants died to nourish us. It's important to recognize how blessed we are to have all this food to enjoy and keep us healthy and strong.

I'm thankful for so many things on this holiday.

• I'm Thankful for all the friends and family I love
• I'm Thankful for shelter, the money to support myself
• I'm Thankful to live somewhere that's nonviolent
• I'm Thankful for the natural beauty that surrounds us
• I'm Thankful I have my health
• I'm Thankful I have the ability to acutely enjoy my life

That is just the beginning, I could write a thousand things here. One of the things we'd do when I was young was all hold hands around the table, and instead of saying a prayer, we'd say what we were thankful for.

It's important to recognize our gifts, and I'm glad I was taught to enjoy that as a young child. Whatever you are doing today, remember to just stop and think, breath deeply, and remember what you're thankful for.

Every Computer I Touch Turns to Stone

I wonder how people lived before computers. I'm beginning to get a notion of those prehistoric times, since my poor laptop has been in the electronics hospital for days now. I sit on the ferry, actually reading the pages of a book or magazine rather than flipping through the electronic pages of my favorite websites. It's been a bit of a relief, living an hour every day without technology staring me in the face, but it's also forced me to neglect my blog. I love spending time on the ferry reflecting about my life and my day, and writing a blog is the perfect way for me to do that. While "computer-less" on the ride home a couple days ago, I was tempted to scribble some thoughts down on the blank side of an old press-release, just to WRITE. I haven't written a story with a pen and paper for EONS, I don't know if I even remember how.

Today I decided to grab my personal laptop and bring it on the ferry. This laptop is a little bit decrepit because it doesn't work without the power cord. Bad battery, and I need a new one. Anyway, I took the computer out of my backpack, plugged it in, and tried to turn it on. It's black face just stared back at me, blank and vacant. I turned that thing over and over, making sure I had the power cord in the right h0le, but to no avail. The crazy laptop was working JUST FINE for me at home, and now when I REALLY want it, when I REALLY want to write a blog, it decides to laugh in my face and say, "See, reading a book made out of paper is good for you."

I must have some electrical field around me that scrambles any device I have in my possession. The IT guy at work just came over, and said he's been trying to reboot my poor work computer for 3 hours now. My personal computer is sitting lifeless in my backpack, in dire need of a battery-sized recuscitation. Why do I kill every computer I touch?

Anyway, I hope to get back on a blogging roll again soon, as soon as one of my TWO laptops decides to function.

Early Turkey Day!!!

I've been such a bad blogger lately. Part of the reason is that David's Dad stayed with us for about 4 nights, and we celebrated Thanksgiving over the weekend. Another reason for not blogging is that my work laptop has been on the fritz, and I haven't been able to open it on both ferry rides, when I typically post.

Thanksgiving was a blast. It was David and my first turkey, which came out just perfect. We first scrubbed it with olive oil and herbs, then put it in a pan with water, apple juice and white cooking wine. We also used a thermometer, and basted the turkey throughout.

I also made the stuffing and the gravy, and David's other family members made the mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, brussel sprouts, and butternut squash soup. All in all, it was an incredible meal, with very nice company. Never mind the foil on the table, I don't know why we didn't clear it earlier, haha.

After eating and drinking wine, we retreated to the living room to listen to music, dance and play percussion instruments. I don't have any pictures of that part of Thanksgiving, I was too busy banging on my conga drums. That is one of our favorite things to do when we entertain, is to get people to play instruments, since percussion tends to be easy. Everyone picked up a shacker, rattle, drum, or frog, and off we went! We ended up staying up until 1am, and then waking up early to eat turkey for breakfast. All and all, a very fun, and very BUSY weekend!

It's one of THOSE weeks

The flourescent light is like a wet, cold washcloth that's sticking against my neck. My entire body feels clammy, tired, and I have an extreme sensitivity to light right now. David tried to flick on our VERY bright bedroom light and I yelled "NO! not that one! The other one!" When I'm tired and feeling "blah" I like soft, yellow lights. Nothing bright, nothing overhead. David tried to appease this weird quirk of mine by putting a low-light, gray LED in the closet. It's worse. I turned it on this morning and I felt like the light was smacking me in the eyes. I ran downstairs to my favorite Tiffany-style lamp, which creates a yellow, ethereal glow like morning sun glinting through trees.

I have been tired every day this week, and unmotivated. I don't know why, either. I've been playing tennis every day, eating pretty healthily, but can't seem to sleep the night through. I'll have weird dreams and wake up suddenly, then have a hard time falling back asleep. Every morning I groan, feeling the urge to just stay home and make soup, and just linger in the perfect lighting for my state of mine. I don't like rushing out to the car, then walking down the flourescent-lit tunnel to the ferry, then getting onboard with the stench of perfume and even more ugly lights enveloping me.

I'm just in a strange state right now, and I think some other people are feeling that way to. What is it? Is it the darkness in the morning? Is it the approaching holidays? Is it the financial doom and gloom every day on the news? I just want to be in bed with a steaming hot cup of coffee, and a good book.

I admit it, I'm jumpy

Yesterday a "terrorist threat" shut down the Seattle-Bremerton ferry run for several hours. Police officers and the bomb squad searched the vessel from stern to bow, and didn't find anything, so dismissed the threat. But still, this type of thing lingers on my mind, and today my heart starting pounding onboard the Tacoma.

First of all, I saw sort of a sinister looking man walk by with a heavy bag, who moseyed down to the kitchen. He seemed to be casing the boat, looking left and right. Immediately, a woman in a ferry uniform ran past at full speed. I'm sitting near the Crew Day Room, which became a hub of activity. Ferry personnel ran in and out, the Captain called the Second Mate over the loudspeaker. For several heartwrenching seconds, I thought I'd hear an explosion come from the galley or I thought they'd tell all passengers to move to a certain part of the vessel, or that the vessel was sinking. Then I heard the captain say, "Are there any doctors onboard? Are there any doctors?" Then I knew it wasn't a threat and had nothing to do with the man who walked by, so I immediately breathed easier.

Apparently there is a man onboard who was having a seizure. I can't see him, but I can see all the crewmembers surrounding him, and a doctor who stepped forward with his bag. I think he is doing allright now because all the ferry personnel look much more relaxed.

I'm mad at myself to overreacting to seeing this "suspicious" man on the boat, but immediately following a "threat" on one of the other ferries, I'm at a heightened awareness. It's weird that my mode of public transportation is considered a terrorist target. Yes, I do think about it every so often, but have faith in law enforcement and intelligence that it won't happen.

Purrrr-fect

It's amazing how one can love a little ball of fur so much. I remember when I first saw my cat, Lexi, lying behind bars at Petsmart. She purred like a furnace and walked back and forth, pressing her body as close as she could to me within the confines of her cage. She was a bag of bones, her fur in dire need of brushing. I knew immediately she was my kitty, and I was her person. My Mom bought her for me the next day for $60 for an early birthday present.

Now my little fluffball is a very overweight 3 year old. Above is a "before" picture, before she packed on the pounds. I like to say its all fur, but both her and I know that's not the truth.

My Lexi has so much personality, and I also think she's a little slow, but I love her anyway. Here are some reasons why I like my funny cat:

1) When she wants me to wake up, she sits near my face on the bed and gently pokes her paw at me

2) Then when I open my eyes, she is staring at me intently, then meows

3) When I get home from work she rolls onto her back, exposing that lolling stomach to the sky

4) She lets me cuddle with her like a stuffed animal, and hold her feet while she sleeps

5) She's okay with herself, even though she's fat

6) Sometimes she can't figure out how to open doors with a simple head bump

7) She meows constantly, and has all types of meows and I know what they all mean

8) She gets tired of playing with her toys after two seconds, then rolls onto her back and expects me to dangle it over her head so she doesn't have to move

9) One time she got doo-doo stuck on her fur and was so scared of it she couldn't stop running around the house

10) She lets me brush her and cut all her nails without a protest

As you can see, I love this Lexi!

Adventures with Culinary Stones

I never knew the little, classy Japanese restaurant Saito's at 2nd avenue would be one of the strangest dining experiences of my life. It looked benign on the outside; David and I love Japanese food, especially Miso soup and teriyaki. What could be so STRANGE about that? We scanned the menu, and I ordered salmon terikayi and David ordered the surf and turf. It said "table-side cooking" in the description, which we both thought to mean a chef would come out with gigantic chopsticks and whip something up with blue fire a la Beni Hana. Boy were we mistaken.

We stared as the waitress brought out David's meal, which consisted of thin slices of raw meat, and raw shrimp and scallops. Next to that plate she put a very hot, VERY SMALL, rock surrounded by salt. She grasped the chopsticks with dexterous fingers, and "showed" David how to cook his own food. I'm sorry, but go to a restaurant and COOK YOUR OWN FOOD? What the heck is that all about? If we wanted to cook our own food we would have hit up the Town and Country and brought home steak and shrimp for about 1/4 the price.

Cooking on this tiny rock was NOT easy. First of all, David (obviously) isn't Japanese, and can't twirl chopsticks like the best of them. He painstakingly put a shrimp and a piece of steak on the rock, which kept falling off into the salt. Each item got so heavily coated with salt it was almost unedible. David was also VERY hungry, and had to just sit there and salivate as he WATCHED his food cooking in front of him....very slowly. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the salt. It's like punishment for not being able to use chopsticks.

"It's like if they brought you a whole pig and a spit, and put a bunch of poop in the hole beneath it," I told him, "This is completely ridiculous".

Eventually, they brought David another rock without the salt, and we sat there for another 15 minutes as he cooked the rest of his food. It didn't help that this was a fairly expensive restaurant. My salmon was "okay", but I could have cooked it better at home. Cooking on a rock was too caveman-like to make it a fine dining experience.

Maybe David and I aren't Japanese enough to enjoy a meal like this, and don't plan on EVER! going back. We got home last night after this "going out" experience, and whipped up some homemade bean burritos with jalapenos and cheese. Ahhh, now that's more like it.

Ok, I'm Obsessed

Yes, you guessed it, with Mexico. I've made my decision and it has to be Central Mexico in late January. I've asked for EIGHT DAYS off work, and including weekends, that's going to make us a long trip. We're going to fly into Mexico City, spend a day there, then catch the bus 3 hours to Queretaro (where I lived for 3 months) and stay for a day or so, then onto another bus for 1 hour to San Miguel for Allende, where we will spend the brunt of our vacation.

I have chosen to head to Mexico in the winter for a variety of reasons. It's sunny, around 70 degrees, as opposed to Europe in the winter, which is about 50 degrees and can be cloudy and rainy. I'd rather save Italy or Spain for a spring or fall vacation down the road. I'm also considering moving to San Miguel de Allende with David at some point, and want to check out the city to see if I love it as much as Queretaro. I also want to attend Spanish classes or conversation practice daily on our vacation, and take some cooking classes. San Miguel de Allende is an international city; expats from all over the world make up about 15 percent of the population, the other 85 percent is Mexican. I think it will be comfortable there for David, who doesn't speak any Spanish.

I think think the Central region of Mexico is FAR different than the beach resorts. I may be wrong, since I've never been to the beaches, but people who have tell me they are very touristy, with constant activity every day, and everyone speaks English. The culture is largely lost. Central Mexico feels more like Europe. Streets are clean and safe, the architecture is magnificent; reminiscent of Spain, and in San Miguel de Allende, of France. People smile and are very kind, and know how to party at night. Dancers fill the "Center" often referred to as the "Zocolo," or "El Jardin". Random musicians pop up on street corners. You can buy food from neighborhood vegetable stands. I just love it there, and can't wait to return to my second home.

I also can't wait to take a billion pictures and update all my blogger friends daily.

The Adventures of a Reporter

All I can think to write about is work lately, because it's been consuming my life. Yesterday I worked 11 hours covering imminent flooding in small towns along the Cascade Mountains. Yes, four hours of driving to watch a river that was about to explode, when other rivers were already bursting at the seams, sending water into roads and homes.

When I first got to Concrete, Washington, I was bummed that "nothing was going on." The city felt dead and lifeless, wispy tendrils of mist hugged the foothills. The air was damp, the river about a mile away raging and swollen, churning bits of wood and debris. As I wandered through the desolate the streets with burned out buildings just a few blocks away, I found a few people standing outside a bar smoking cigarettes. Their teeth were yellow and crooked, hair long, beards unkempt. But these were the FRIENDLIEST people I've interviewed in a long time. They smiled and told me all about their flood preparations, how they were moving things to higher ground, and worried about the Skagit River. I walked into the bar to try to find some more interviews, and was immediately tempted to sit down and drink beer and just talk all day. Luckily I avoided the impulse, it wouldn't be very "cool" to be doing live reports drunk.

I love how the people in this small town all know each other, and help each other. It really felt like a real community. When there was imminent danger, these people stuck together. I heard those words over and over again in my conversations. "People helping people." "We're there for each other." I couldn't help but feel a little bit of sadness, in a big city like Seattle you probably wouldn't hear that. And Dick at one bar wouldn't know Jane a few doors down. I feel a little more of this community on Bainbridge Island, where people say hello on the ferry, and the neighborhood barber gossips about the owner of the restaurant down the street.

I had a great time exploring the outlying communties a few hours away from Seattle. I was also surprised by the sheer number of McCain/Palin and Rossi signs. I felt like I was in a different state, it was definately a different mindset.

One thing I love about being a reporter is meeting new people. There are definately some characters in the world, and I feel blessed to have an excuse to meet them.

Drained

(photo courtesy Seattle PI) Today I had to stand along the Green River, and watch crews pull a car from the raging current with the body of a 2-year old old boy still strapped into his car seat. Reporters had been standing along the bank for hours, even sitting on muddy grass, as the muddy current curled and sneered by the still cameras. This river that has given up so many bodies. It was these eddies that filled a car as this little boy screamed and cried, frightened, locked away in a seat that was supposed to keep him safe as water choked his lungs.

I had to go live on the radio immediately after I heard the King County Sheriff spokesman deliver the news about this toddler. I heard my voice quiver as I fought back tears, but tried to stay the professional reporter. Images of this boy and the fight of his 13-year old cousin to save him flashed like movie clips in my mind. The cousin frantically rolling down windows. The cousin getting out, then taking a deep breath to plunge back into the currents to try to get to the baby, but getting swept away and drowning. No one knows where his body is. The horror of the 16-year old driver who got away safe.

I've never been at a story that affected me so much, that affected everyone there. Reporters talked in low voices with ashen faces. Sad, shiny eyes. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying and knew everyone was doing the same. We had a job to do, a story to tell. I think the overwhelming sadness of the friends and family of these two children created a blanket of anguish that settled around everyone nearby. It's hard not to cry when you see a family member sobbing her heart out only a few feet away.

When it was all said and done, I sat in my newscar to write my stories. I heard a tap on the window and looked up, seeing a family member.

"I just wanted to tell you thanks," she said quietly, her eyes bloodshot with tears and stress. I looked at her and smiled faintly, nodded.

"I wanted to thank the news media, for covering this and being so respectful of the family."

"I hope you find the 13-year old boy," I told her.

"We will, we will." Her eyes were sad but she smiled again, maybe thinking of his face.

Something to look forward to

It's about time I planned another vacation. I've taken a couple days off work here and there to go to cities within the United States, mostly to visit people. I want to be selfish now and take a vacation just for me and David. A LONG vacation, I'm thinking 10 days. And hopefully the boss-man will let me take the time off near the end of January, early February, for both of our birthdays.

One itinerary we're throwing around is to head to central Mexico where I spent 3 months in 2001. I can't believe its been so long, and I'm having this deep craving to go back to the place I call my second home. We would land in Mexico City, spend a day there, then take the bus to Queretaro, and spend a day or two, then a bus to San Miguel de Allende, and spend a week. I lived in Queretaro, but want to check out San Miguel since that might be a place David and I might like to live someday. I hear its magical place in the mountains, with lots of art and beauty.

Another place we are thinking of is Florence, Italy, but tickets there are twice as much as Mexico, so I'm not sure if we'll do that one or not. David says its the most beautiful city in the world, so that is tempting. Round trip airfare is $742 in late January, which really isn't bad for Italy. Choices, choices! I know I'll be happy anywhere I get to go.

It's so important to have something to plan and look forward to. Our last big trip was to Europe in 2006, so it will soon be almost two years since I've taken a week or more off work. I really need it. I love being a reporter, meeting new people, writing, thinking of creative ways to tell a story. But my poor brain is saying WHEN....WHEN can I just take some time to heal and refresh. I really can't wait. I'm jumping up and down inside. I'll keep you posted as to what location we choose!

On Being a News Person

Sometimes its tough being in the media. We have a habit of trivializing people's lives, turning a violent death into a "good story" or "radio magic." I recently heard the latter term after two people were killed in a wrong-way crash on I-5. I imagine police officers showing up at doorsteps, people falling to their knees, screaming in anguish as their lives are turned upside down. I picture the raw grief of family members, and wonder what the last moments of the lives of their loved ones was like. Did they know they were about to die? Did they see the ferocious headlights zooming closer in the rain? Then here we are, in the safety of the newsroom, excited by the prospect of "something happening" we can report on. Recently when a man was hit by a van and left in critical condition in West Seattle, we joked that "too bad it wasn't a bus." It would have made a better story.

I wonder what these families would think if they saw us talk about the death of their loved ones like this. I think its important to always remember the humanity, the sacredness of each human life as we tell a story. When we take the time to think, "this was a human being", the compassion shows in our voices.

But its hard to always feel sadness for every person who dies. We are confronted with so much death and destruction as journalists that sometimes its easier to joke than to recognize the loss of life.

David witnessed the loss of life one rainy evening in downtown Seattle. He was in the middle of a crosswalk when a pedestrian feet away from him was struck by a car. He saw this person go flying. He saw the paramedics try to pump the life back into this man. He saw the lone tennis shoe flung a block and a half from the scene. He saw the cops gather up this man's belongings and put them in a pink plastic bag. David always gets tremendously sad when he hears of loss of life in a car accident, or pedestrian accident. He helps me find my humanity when remembering these lives, these people just going about their business, who never knew they'd become a news story.

Beam me up

I must be on a distant land in outer space, because for the life of me, I cannot get my head out of the clouds. I desperately need to be beamed back to reality, so I can actually finish my work and go home to drink red wine and lie on the couch and ponder the future of our country.

This morning I woke up in complete confusion. Two alarms were doing off, David was shaking me and I had no idea why.

"What day is it?" I asked him drowsily, still having no clue why I had set two alarms on a Saturday morning.

"Thursday, you have to get up and go to work."

"It's only Thursday? My God." This is officially the slowest week in all of humanity.

A similar "head in the clouds" moment just happened to me at work. I came out of the bathroom and just stood there in the hall, not understanding what part of the building I was standing in. It was like I teleported from bathroom to bathroom. It was very disconcerting because I didn't remember walking all the way across the building.

This week has been an emotional roller coaster. I worked 13 hours Tuesday, and I feel like I'm recovering from a huge election day hangover, even though I never took a celebratory sip of champagne. It's like a major sugar rush, then a crash that lasts 5 days. Ohhh brain, get back down to EARTH.

God Bless America

I woke up exhausted this morning, but with a smile on my face. President Barack Obama. I turned the words around in my mouth, getting used to how they feel, knowing that this is for REAL. President Barack Obama. The man who broke all boundaries, who has the innate ability to inspire and bring people together as Americans. The man people will listen to, who can set an example to the world. I am in awe of this country, of its ability to change and overcome. I am so proud to live here, and call myself American.

I will always remember where I was when history "happened." I was in the throngs of hundreds of jubilant people in downtown Seattle, as they chanted "yes we can", running through the streets carrying Obama signs. Strangers gave each other hungs and high fives. People's voices shook as they yelled, their eyes shiny with tears. I forgot my camera this historic night, but luckily, the Seattle Times was there.

I heard the chanting from three blocks away, and when I drove my car toward the sound, 3rd avenue was flooded with people, running to Pike Place Market. I sat there through several light cycles, watching this yelling mass converge in the heart of Seattle. Police officers stood on the periphery, smiling, protecting these happy people from traffic. It felt amazing to be in the middle of this rally, to see and feel what its like when Americans come together, all races and types, all ages, celebrating one cause.

On Capitol Hill, an entire intersection was blocked. House music blasted and people sang and danced, showering each other with champagne and shooting off fireworks. People drank booze in the street, men with no shirts chest-bumped and yelled. What other election of event has made people celebrate like this? The energy was contagious, vibrant, enthusiastic, people everywhere smiling. I will remember that day forever. Yes, it's finally real. President Barack Obama, I love you!

Belly Dancing as Woman Power

Today I witnessed what would happen if women loved each other, instead of competed with one another. I learned that smiles among pre-teen girls can be genuine, and that women can be sources of great power and beauty, even at the young age of 9.

I saw twisting hands and shaking hips. I saw shoulders sway and feet pound the ground as bells shimmered and twirled. I saw tall girls, overweight girls, skinny girls, short girls. I saw girls smile and cheer each other on, no pretense, no judgement. The room was brightly lit with persian rugs on the floor, mirrors everywhere, the ceiling painted sky blue with cotton candy clouds. Throughout this room, Middle Eastern music jumped and weaved its intoxicating, foreign beats. The instructor told me belly dancing is a dance made for women, by women. It's a way for these young girls to get confidence and empower themselves, no matter their shape and size.

This was my news story today, how lucky could I be? At first, I felt so uncomfortable with all those eyes staring at me, asking these girls penetrating questions:

"What do you think of your body?"

"How do magazines influence you?"

"What's it like at school and are you pressured to diet?"

I got honest answers from these girls, their ages spread between 9 and 13. One girl's voice shook as she told me how brutal people are at school over her weight and height, but that there, at the belly dance studio, she belonged. One 9-year old who's very short for her age tells me people make fun of her all the time, and she feels bad for awhile, but decides she likes her height.

Here girls whoop and holler as they show each other belly dancing "moves". I never would have thought of belly dancing as an exercise for young girls. I thought it was meant to be "sexy", to be done "for men" but I see how empowering it is to shake that rear without thinking anyone is looking at you funny.

I felt elated after interacting with these beautiful girls. Two of them came up to me and gave me big hugs afterwards and said, "thanks." The instructor also gave me a hug. It feels so good to be included, to not worry if someone is thinking, "why is she wearing THOSE shoes," or "her hips are too big" or "her teeth are crooked." After leaving this class I felt empowered, just being in their positive energy. I hope girls like this are the future. TAKE THAT Glamour and Cosmopolitan and MTV.

When I just love the rain

I'm standing in a warm kitchen right now, smelling this amazingly intense Minestrone soup simmering on the stove, as rain slashes angrily against the window. The colors outside are muted and dark, blending together with the rain. Inside, it's bright and happy, comforting. Now the hail breaks through, the wind pounding it against the ground and walls of my house.

My favorite activity to do on a rainy day is to make soup. I'm making an Italian Minestrone, one of Giada's recipes, she is on Food Network. This minestrone is special. There is diced pancetta, tomatoes, swiss chard, a parmesan cheese rind and a fresh sprig of parmesan. I love those extra ingredients I wouldn't normally think to add to Minestrone. The smell is intoxicating, filling my small kitchen with simmering onions and garlic. I'm going to serve this soup with grated parmesan cheese, crusty bread, and a little bit of red wine on the side.

I've never seen a storm this ferocious in the Northwest. I'm so glad I love my house, it's the perfect place to be.