Today's Subject...Cheesecake

For those of you who don't know him, my dad is a man of many talents. He is smart and funny. He enjoys camping, golf, anything to do with the United States Marine Corps (once a Marine, always a Marine) and a glass of McAllen Scotch on occasion. Amongst all of his hobbies, cooking may fall into the top spot of things my dad is good at. I have learned many things from my dad as a result of his passion for the above mentioned for example, how to build a campfire using the crisscross Nicol technique, how to keep my head down during my back swing, and how to kill a man with a gum wrapper (ok that last one is a stretch, I was convinced growing up that any Marine could accomplish this at a moment’s notice). One talent I have that I can credit to my dad is making cheesecake.


When I still lived at home, not a day went by when my dad wasn’t making something in the kitchen. Everyone knew when it was cheesecake day. He would bake several at a time, for a bake sale, Christmas party, dessert for people at work or donate them for a Holiday silent auction at church. I remember walking in the front door when I got home from school. The smell of vanilla and sugar gram crackers would fill the air. The house was warm from the all-day heat of the oven it would make my glasses fog as I came in from the cold winter. He would be sitting at the kitchen table completing his New York Times Crossword in-between cheesecakes.  There was always two or three cooling by the window that was open just a crack, and at least two more in the oven.  It was certainty cheesecake day. The best part is he would always let me have the leftover homemade gram cracker crust crumbles that resided in the mixing bowl.

These memories are very valuable to me in my adult life; for it is this talent of cheesecake perfection that I strive for each time I attempt to recreate his tried and true recipe. I have to say, I am pretty good. Every once in a while I will stray from the reliable vanilla and add a dash of cinnamon or butterscotch prior to baking however nothing is as good as the original master’s.

I started making my dad’s cheesecake about 5 years ago, when my significant other informed me that this was his favorite dessert. In an attempt to win his heart through his stomach-I began the process of reaching “Dad status” in the elitism of cheesecake making community. I remember my first attempt; I followed the details on the hand written card that was stained with years of baking expertise. I thought it wouldn’t be too hard, right? Wrong. The first attempt came out looking like Cream Cheese soup, Fail. I made a second trip to the grocery store, and preparing the second attempt at vanilla perfection, I realized this was going to be an art that needed nurturing and time to develop. After all, my dad had been doing this for years, and I just a lowly student taking my first lesson. Well, I didn’t get it right the second time either as I am certain the final product wasn’t supposed to be the color of dark chocolate or have the smell of burnt hair.

So as it stands, five years later I have to say I am almost to the point of muscle memory. I have the formula memorized, the technique near flawless and the final product is boyfriend tested and approved. In lieu of gifts, I have dedicated Friday December 23^rd to making cheesecakes for each party I have to attend.  My house will be filled with the sweet smell of vanilla and sugar gram cracker crust, the kitchen will be toasty with the heat of the oven and I will most likely be doing the Daily Crossword in-between cheesecakes. Thanks Dad. You have not only taught me how to bake a killer cheesecake, but you have left me with a cherished memory (amongst many) that I hope my future children will have someday.

Today's Subject...Turning 29

Well, I will officially have to change the name of my blog to "Confessions of a 29 year old (yes still) single, white female.” For as of Friday I will no longer be 28.


I am the youngest of four siblings. The story goes that my mom and dad were tossing the idea around of having a fourth kid. One day my dad says to my mom, “You know, I think three kids is just fine. We are in a good place financially, we have a nice house, I am not sure we should have any more.” My mother burst into tears, and through her gasps for air tells my father that she is pregnant to which my dad replies, “Four is ok! We can handle four!” in his best attempts at comforting her. So there you have it, 28—no 29 years later here I am. I am sure I was planned, by at least one parent, but none of you would be reading this right now had my mom thought, “three was enough.” So what do I owe to that decision? My life, and what a great life I have.


Turning 29 has me thinking back on my 20s and what this decade has done for me; I am overwhelmed at everything I have accomplished. When I graduated High School I didn't think I was smart enough to go to college. I resorted to the local community campus to take some general education classes. Once I realized that I was actually capable of succeeding in school I made an effort to get into a state school where I flourished. I loved college!

I knew that one thing I needed to do once I graduated was to become a homeowner. This was important to me for several reasons:  

Firstly, as much as I love them, I didn’t want to live with my parents for any longer than I had to.

Secondly, homeownership is the American Dream right? I wanted something to call my own, something I could be proud of. Shortly after I got my first “Big Girl Job” I was able to save enough money for a down payment on a quaint little two bedroom townhome. Ah, at last the financial freedoms I had referred to in endless journal entries…or was it? Still at 28—I mean 29, I am nowhere close to being financially free, but I had something that was mine, no one could take it from me…except for Wells Fargo.


College Degree-Check

Townhome-Check


Now what? What’s left of my 20s but one year, and I am not sure where to go from here. I guess you could say I am lost. I have a decent career, Wells Fargo hasn’t kicked me out yet, my car runs when I can afford to fill it with gas and my family unit is tighter than ever.


I suppose I could feign for the cliché marriage and kids but isn’t that overrated? What happens to me then? The me I know now will disappear into a blur of cooking dinners, poopy diapers, projectile vomit, soccer practices and PTA meetings.


What will happen to that MBA I earned, will I be able to implement the concepts of that degree into my marriage, parenting? I can see it now, “Ok, kids I see we are having a conflict-let’s do a few case studies, read four hundred pages and write a 30 page research paper on the topic. One week from now, we will reconvene and discuss the best possible solution to who gets to ride in the front seat on Sunday.” Not quite.


I have heard several times that your 30s are better than your 20s. I hope that’s true, if it is than I have a lot to look forward to. Maybe settling down wouldn’t be so bad, to be needed by someone other than my dog might be a nice change. I guess it’s the unknown that makes turning 29 so scary. I am entering into a new decade of my life and hopefully I will find it to be one filled with more firsts, more opportunities for personal growth and a greater sense of who I am. It seems only then will I be a better person for the fictional family I have invented for my future self.


So here I come 29! I am not scared of you or the daunting number that comes after you!

Today's subject...Best Friends

There are thousands of people that we encounter throughout our lifetime. Out of those, only a few hundred make an impact. From those few hundred, only a small percentage influences us to the point where we make a change for the better in our lives. The term "Best Friend" has been used for some time now to separate those we feel adhere to the rules of regular friendship versus über friendship. My thoughts this week have been filled with the term best friend, and struggling to define this honored title.

In an effort to define what makes someone become “best” in friend status I am forced to think about my own best friends. What characteristics do they possess that granted this this distinction?

Over time I have had several best friends, when I was in kindergarten it was my neighbor’s grand-daughter, Alisha. We used to play together almost every day after school and on the weekends. I have memories of us putting pennies on the railroad tracks by her house, playing at the park down in the cul-de-sac when the firemen would come to flush out the hydrants and building snowmen in every yard on the block when the snow fell for the first time. She was my best friend because she always wanted to play, and we wanted to play the same games.

My next best friend was in elementary school, Erin. We used to roller blade in her basement, sled in her back yard, ride horses in the summer, swim in the pool, tag-a-long on cabin and boat trips and so much more. She was my best friend because she showed enthusiasm for my ideas, and we would spend hours creating new games and adventures. She listened to me complain about my petty quarrels with my sisters and any other daunting issue any 4^th grader would have.

Then in Jr. High, I made a few new best friends, Molly and Kelly. We would celebrate when a boy asked us to the dances, cry together when they decided to take another girl, create schemes and games to play on the weekend sleepovers and call the boys we crushed on to see if they thought any of us were cute. I loved these girls because at a time when I was not comfortable with myself-they still loved me for who I was and who I was turning into.

Molly held the title of best friend the longest. We really got close since were on the same dance team. We would spend every day together. Carpooling in the morning on the way to class, since now we could drive, gossiping about the girls we didn’t like. We would sneak out, stay out late and try to get as much attention as we could from the upper classmen. My High School best friend was amazing because she was kind, attentive, fun and beautiful.

In college, my best friend Jackie was funny, outgoing and was the life of the party! She taught me how to live life single girl style without giving a second thought on what other's opinions of me were. She loved me after every “what did we do last night?” morning.

Today when I reflect on all of these girls and what they had to do to earn the title of Best Friend for that time, it amazes me to think the things I loved most about them are essential to the necessary criteria for “best friend hood” in my adult life.

Now, my best friend is always open to do the same activities. She shows enthusiasm for my ideas, even the dumb ones. She listens to me complain about my petty quarrels and provides me with a voice of reason. At times when I was not comfortable with myself-she still loves me for who I am. I can tell her everything and she listens without judgment, only complete acceptance of me.

 I never really knew the amount of love and respect I have for her until this week. I had to see her lose her job after being a loyal employee. In a situation that would have forced even the most calm and collect individual to lose their cool, she maintained professionalism and dignity as she walked out of the building. She was the very definition of classy and the rawness of her absence still resonates in the air. 

So what makes a friend the best? I've realized this week that if they are a good person when no one is watching, they treat themselves and those around them with respect and the way they handle themselves when things aren’t so great. It’s those characteristics that make someone the best-the friend part... anyone can do.