This weekend was full of parties and good cheer. It started with a bang on Friday, when my friends surprised me with a birthday party!
My grandmother Mimi was known for her homemade shortbread. Unfortunately, I can’t remember ever tasting her shortbread.
Did you survive Thanksgiving? Good. Me too, barely. While in Oklahoma, I ate German chocolate cake for breakfast (more than once), overdosed on queso (entirely necessary) and cheered on the karaoke singers at a smoky Oklahoma City dive bar.
Cookie and I zoomed five hours down I-35 to Oklahoma on Monday. When I left, I was still feeling a little sour about being the only single person at last weekend’s Friendsgiving.
November is slipping through my fingers. I have been working hard and playing hard, with little down time in between.
This weekend, Cookie and I hitched a ride down to Tulsa for Friendsgiving. Four hours later, we stretched our limbs outside the car as our dear old friends came outside to greet us.
Would you look at that? I’m eating fried eggs now. That only took 27 years. In other inconsequential personal news, I’ve coaxed my African violet into blooming again.
I have Friendsgiving on my mind. Not Thanksgiving and its boring, beige, turkey-mashed-potatoes-and-gravy plates, but the boozy Thanksgiving-with-friends edition that we call Friendsgiving.
What’s your idea of heaven on earth? Not in a heavy philosophical sense, but what would your dream world look like?
On the evening of Halloween, I found myself stretching at a familiar pace during my regularly scheduled yoga class.
Mention a recipe that requires a rolling pin and I’ll probably respond with a few blinks. Tell me I have to let dough rise for an hour and I’ll probably say, “Nope, not happening.” I recently won a gorgeous new Kitchen-Aid Mixer, but it’s been hanging out in my closet next to my dirty socks ever since I made a disappointing batch of soft pretzels.
Hey guys. Shhh. Don’t be loud. There’s a baby sleeping in here. My friend asked me to come over and watch her while she runs to a doctor’s appointment.
I’ve been a total grandma lately. Case in point: I’m currently sitting in my living room under a crocheted blanket and a snoozing lap dog.
I did it. I quit my job! It’s hard to believe that the little project I named Cookie and Kate three and a half years ago has become a full-time endeavor.
Please tell me that I am not the only girl who leaves her keys in the door. Or loses her car in parking lots.
The brown armchair in my living room has become the scapegoat for everything that is wrong with my life.
I spent last week gallivanting around Denver with old friends, sharing food with fellow bloggers and admiring those Colorado clouds—clouds so fluffy and low that I wanted to reach up and run my fingers through them.
I’ve been holding out on you guys. It’s about time we talked coconut bacon. I don’t remember where I first encountered coconut bacon, but I do recall being struck by how much it tastes like real bacon.
Confession: if it weren’t for this blog, I would probably subsist on quesadillas. Anytime that inspiration and leftovers are running low, I’ll stuff a tortilla with cheese and whatever else I can scrounge up in the vegetable crisper and call it a meal.
Let?s rewind to January of this year. There is snow on the ground. I?m in Salt Lake City for a blog conference called Alt Summit.