tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44061390494795714172024-03-13T04:09:51.471-05:00 I am me.Stories from a girl learning her way through life.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.comBlogger183125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-47565169926841774602019-08-23T11:00:00.001-05:002019-08-24T11:05:32.883-05:00My New Mantra<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I struggle with speaking aloud. I feel a lot. And articulating those feelings in words that adequately </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">express the breadth and depth of my emotions rarely comes out right. I’ve been called a processor, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and I’m quiet much of the time because I am processing, attempting to translate the abstract into </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">tangible. Searching for a way to say what I feel. Never quite finding the right expression. Never quite </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">sure if my translation is correct. Or comprehensive. Or relatable. And because I fear misunderstanding, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and maybe even of being too much, I edit my words. I make them simpler and what I believe is </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">acceptable. I give you me, but not all of me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This last year I’ve worked to disallow the control trauma has had over me. The restriction it’s had on my</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">voice. Holding back is no longer serving me. I want to be authentic: not in appearance only, but wholly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">The woman who stands in her power and speaks her truth fearlessly. But I’m not without fear. I’m </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">terrified. So, like entering a cold pool, I began with dipping my toes. And when that became comfortable, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">I moved a little deeper. Just a little. Just a little more. And though I’ve made progress over this last year,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">I’m only about shin-deep. I’ve drawn The Fool and The Sacred Fool oracle card enough times to </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">recognize that this slow motion isn’t cutting it. It’s time to let go. To jump in. To be ALL IN.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I’m jumping. This is imperfect me. Me without edits. Me, with fears that don’t restrict. Me, with yellow </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">hair. Me, with braces on my teeth. Me, with a round belly. Me, who is strong. Me, who can cry. Me, with </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a wounded heart. Me, who loves fully anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This blog has been titled, “I’m Just Me” since I started it way back in 2011. It’s based on a lyric from The </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">this has been my mantra. But today I realize it’s not quite right. Because today I take umbridge with the </span></div>
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<br />Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-84939838049434759652019-05-20T12:20:00.001-05:002019-05-20T12:25:41.345-05:00Part 1.I promised my therapist that I would write this week. We agreed it wouldn't have to be anything of substance, just a practice at thinking and getting it outside of myself. I'm adept at carrying all my grief, despair, anxiety inside and showing no outward signs of the storm that rages within. It's become a joke between us, that my face always looks the same, regardless of what I'm talking about. I'm sure this is some kind of coping mechanism, of course I like to believe it's because I've learned to transcend emotion. I also like to lie to myself.<br />
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Because I can't be light, and with the straightest face I have, I'm going to address the major events in the last year that have brought me to this weird, naked, but hopeful place. I'll probably need to take some breaks. It's been a doozy. But I think it's going to get better.<br />
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Nearly a year ago, my kids were at Disney with their dad. My husband Paul and I were home alone, enjoying our quiet evening and listening to Tanis. Our puppy Finn was being a butt and started a fight with his sister Millie. Out of the blue, Paul suggested we relinquish Finn. It startled and distressed me and we had an argument. I went to bed angry. I refused to kiss him goodnight. I woke up an hour later to the dogs barking. The house lights were off, Paul's computer was on and open, and several bottles of liquor were empty on the counter. The front door was wide open and my car was gone. I checked the bank account to see if he'd gone to the store to buy more booze, but found instead that he'd donated money to two different go fund me's. It felt very off. I texted him. I called. Again and again. And then I heard sirens and knew something had happened. I quickly put on a bra and got into his car to find him. I made it down my street when a police car pulled up. We both got out. "I'm looking for my husband." "There's been an accident."<br />
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The officer didn't give me much information. He wasn't certain who was in the car, just that it was a male and the car was registered at my address. I gave him Paul's information and he directed me to a nearby hospital. I drove there pissed that Paul had been so stupid to drive after drinking, pissed that he'd taken my car, pissed that I was up with this bullshit in the middle of the night. At the hospital, I was taken to a small room and told that a doctor would be in to see me. It was a long wait and I began to get nervous that I wasn't getting any information. Then the chaplain came in and my nerves got worse. When the doctor finally came into the room he told me that the accident had been bad. Paul had driven the van under a truck. They'd had to extricate him. He'd lost his left arm at the elbow. He'd been crushed. They were getting ready to airlift him to Loyola's trauma center. Was I prepared to see him?<br />
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The chaplain held my hand the entire time. I don't remember her name, but I remember her compassion. Paul was covered in blood. His head was crushed and he was intubated. There was a crowd of doctors and nurses surrounding him, trying to stabilize him in order to get him on the helicopter. I tried to stay out of their way. I was asked to give him a kiss before they left, no one saying in case it was goodbye, but I understood. The chaplain wiped the blood off my mouth with a tissue and walked me to my car. I told her I was fine to drive, but I pulled out of the parking lot and realized that wasn't true. I called the only friend I knew would be up at the time, Amanda, and she offered to take me to Loyola.<br />
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We got there and were met by my friend Joe who waited with us. It felt like an eternity. Again, a chaplain joined us. Eventually, a doctor did as well. Paul wasn't doing well. They couldn't stop his bleeding. He had brain damage. I asked if they'd found his arm, if they could reattach it. It was his left arm and he was left handed. "That's the least of our worries right now." I would be taken to see him once they were able to stabilize his condition. So we waited. And waited. And my friend Joe had to leave to open our store. The show must go on, right? Eventually they moved us to a visitors room. Amanda was thirsty so she left to get some water. While she was gone, the doctor came to see me. He took me to a conference room and told me that they couldn't stop the bleeding. Paul had suffered major brain damage. Did I want them to continue their efforts knowing his body couldn't survive without assistance?<br />
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We'd literally just talked about this. Like the day before. So I answered as he wished and told them "no." It was then they took me to see him. I stood next to his broken body and touched him. And kissed him. And told him that I loved him and was pretty angry that he chose to go for a drive. I talked about how we met on Twitter and how wonderful our story was. How the first time we met was at Midway Airport and he kissed me right there at arrivals to get it out of the way. How even when he made me angry, and boy did he, he still gave me butterflies. And as I was talking to him, the doctor came in to check his vitals. He was gone.<br />
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I hope that Paul's spirit left his body at the scene of the accident. I hope he wasn't aware of any pain. But part of me also hopes that I was able to give him some comfort as he passed. That he could sense my presence and it gave him some peace.<br />
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Listening to: "Sinatra" by The Fire TheftKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-85050277698982365742014-12-16T07:34:00.002-06:002014-12-16T07:34:50.935-06:00Shake your Almond Bonbons.When my sweet friend <a href="http://tenminutemissive.com/2014/12/09/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-cookies/">Kristina Martin</a> asked if I still had a blog, I told her yes. Because technically, the blog does exist. It's just been a LOOOOONG time since I've actually posted anything there. Like over a year. And a half. But if anything's going to inspire me to share a little something with my dear readers- all two of you, bless your hearts- it's food, and Kristina asked if I would participate in a virtual cookie exchange by posting my favorite holiday cookie recipe. Easy peasy, no? I agreed because cookies (and links to more cookies, omg yum) and because Kristina unknowingly gave me the kick in the skirt I've been needing to start writing again. So thank you, Kristina. And friends reading, please visit her blog. Not only does she share a delicious recipe, but she writes brilliant missives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iWxSfkYxnxdGRdm5P03VGi6MOtaPAYE78-MmgbsLNAeuZjjnEtWMpPnEVoawYEun24kZ6uUy6M_iggI125YrtPw9zDCbU8BnwV4Ngqkd0qFj8f7Wk1NmtluDK8kuBH1W6xjdRUZqchU/s1600/virtualcookie-exchange-blog-hop-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iWxSfkYxnxdGRdm5P03VGi6MOtaPAYE78-MmgbsLNAeuZjjnEtWMpPnEVoawYEun24kZ6uUy6M_iggI125YrtPw9zDCbU8BnwV4Ngqkd0qFj8f7Wk1NmtluDK8kuBH1W6xjdRUZqchU/s1600/virtualcookie-exchange-blog-hop-1.png" /></a></div>
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The recipe I've chosen was given to me by a woman named Susie Feeney. Susie Feeney (always a first and last name for that one) was tall, beautiful, put-together woman who had lived all over the country and had raised her beautiful children to be successful doctors and bankers and they all got together to tailgate at Notre Dame games. She was the woman I wanted to be if I could ever get my shit together. We worked at the GAP together and she brought these little nuggets of delight to one of our holiday meetings, which took place in September because retail. Anyway, they were so elegant and delicious, and I asked for her recipe. I was expecting an embossed recipe card with perfect handwriting, and not the photocopied page from a Betty Crocker cookbook. Susie Feeney told me she made these bonbons because they were insanely easy, but looked bakery-made. And it's true. When I make them I feel like I'm cheating, but as I serve them to friends I imagine they're looking at me as the put-together woman with the beautiful kids who makes gorgeous cookies and has her shit all together with edible glitter on top.<br />
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And then I shake my bonbon.<br />
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<b>Almond Bonbons</b><br />
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<b>Cookies</b><br />
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour<br />
1/3 cup powdered sugar<br />
1/2 cup butter, softened<br />
3 tablespoons milk<br />
1/2 teaspoon vanilla<br />
7 or 8 oz almond paste (not marzipan)<br />
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Frosting and Decorations<br />
1 cup powdered sugar<br />
1/2 teaspoon almond extract<br />
4 to 5 tablespoons milk<br />
Edible glitter, white candy sprinkles, or coarse sugar<br />
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1. Heat oven to 375F. In large bowl, beat flour, 1/3 cup powdered sugar, butter, 3 tablespoons milk and the vanilla with electric mixer on medium speed, or mix with spoon until well blended. Cut almond paste into 1/2-inch slices, and cut eat slice into 8 pieces (40 pieces total).<br />
2. Shape 1-inch ball of dough around each piece of almond paste. Gently roll to form ball. On ungreased cookie sheet, place balls about 1 inch apart.<br />
3. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until set and bottoms are golden brown. Remove from cookie sheet to cooling rack. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.<br />
4. In small bowl, mix 1 cup powdered sugar, the almond extract and enough milk for spreading consistency. Dip tops of cookies into frosting. Sprinkle with edible glitter.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-39521026469939140202013-04-25T18:25:00.000-05:002013-04-25T18:25:39.609-05:00Pass the Cook Book Club- AprilGuacamole is my most favorite thing ever. Okay, I don't love it more than my fellow or my kids, but for reals, it's a close *close* second. I make it once a week, and I anticipate that meal like it's my birthday. Problem is, the kids are getting a little tired of tacos. I know, I too am concerned whose children they are. They may be pod children. Or there was some craziness in the genetic mash-up that caused them to be averse to eating tacos for every meal. <br />
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I don't know. <br />
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But anyway, I'm always on the lookout for new Mexican/Tex-Mex recipes that will enable my guacamole addiction, and this month's Pass the Cook Book Club had a super winner. The Weeknight Shredded Chicken Taquitos from the Picky Palate Cookbook were ab fab, way easy to make, and a hit with the kids. Plus, they were perfect dipping size for my guac. Loved them. <br />
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Weeknight Shredded Chicken Taquitos<br />
Page 84<br />
2 tbs extra virgin olive oil<br />
½ cup chopped onion<br />
¼ cup chopped red bell pepper<br />
1 tbs minced garlic<br />
2 cups shredded cooked chicken<br />
1 10oz can diced tomatoes with green chilies<br />
3 tbs finely chopped cilantro<br />
½ teas kosher salt<br />
½ teas ground cumin<br />
¼ teas freshly ground black pepper<br />
10 10” flour tortillas<br />
1 ½ cups shredded cheddar cheese<br />
Recipe:<br />
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and spray a large baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray.<br />
Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven or medium pot over medium heat. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook, stirring, until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the chicken, tomatoes, cilantro, salt, cumin and pepper and cook, stirring, until hot, about 3 minutes. Reduce the heat to keep warm.<br />
Add ¼ cup of the chicken filling to the center of each tortilla and top with 2 tbs cheddar cheese. Roll tightly and place seam side down in prepared baking sheet. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until tortillas are crispy.<br />
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Listening to: The Joy Formidable "Wolf's Law"Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-20065208673550990162013-02-28T18:27:00.001-06:002013-02-28T18:58:11.691-06:00Pots de Creme<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thank God for Pinterest. Dinner had become a regular rotation of five or six meal that the fam used to adore, but became JUST A LITTLE TIRED OF EATING. Then I started pinning. Oh dear lord, the food ideas. Slow-cooker meals. Homemade pretzel bites with cheese sauce. Cupcakes in every flavor combination imaginable. BACON EVERYTHING. I didn't want to just pin, I wanted to experiment. <br />
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Early fall, I saw a pin for <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://http//passthesushi.com/chai-pumpkin-spice-thumbprints/%22%3E%3C/a%3E">Chai pumpkin spice thumbprints</a> and needed to make them. The cookies turned out so fantastically, I followed Kita Robert's <a href="http://passthesushi.com/">Pass the Sushi</a> blog and face place page, and my family and I are grateful (and fatter) for her uber-delicious recipes.<br />
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Back in January, Kita invited her page followers to join her <a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups/138076599684291/153526704805947/?notif_t=group_activity">Pass the Cook Book Club</a>. She picks a cookbook, decides on three recipes, and shares them with us to make and post. February's pick was The Pioneer Woman (omg, fabulous!) and the recipes included Herb Roasted Pork with Root Vegetables, Perfect Au Gratin Potatoes, and Pots de Creme. I chose to make the Pots de Creme because, duh, chocolate and oh hells yes it was good. The kids weren't big fans of the coffee flavor, so I had to put on my buffet pants and finish all of them. It was rough, but I made it out alive.<br />
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Here's the recipe:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_g6VkhYgVC5QguC65Pn9bgEuki6SooofrobNtZtd_6FhZb2gNBJu5DC3ePndPd9D2ncnYPMJ5lAjm9EoHBC4h6Zoa9PAliVMzGBREa__yZUDkq5nS0-u3DajSzHt64dluqzdckhBKCPY/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_g6VkhYgVC5QguC65Pn9bgEuki6SooofrobNtZtd_6FhZb2gNBJu5DC3ePndPd9D2ncnYPMJ5lAjm9EoHBC4h6Zoa9PAliVMzGBREa__yZUDkq5nS0-u3DajSzHt64dluqzdckhBKCPY/s320/photo+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Pots de Creme<br />
Ingredients:<br />
12 oz semisweet chocolate chips<br />
4 eggs, at room temp<br />
2 teas vanilla extract<br />
pinch of salt<br />
8 oz very hot strong coffee<i> (I used Starbucks Via)</i><br />
1 cup heavy cream<br />
2 tbs sugar<br />
Preparation:<br />
Place the chocolate chips in a blender. Crack the eggs and add them to the chocolate chips along with the vanilla and salt. Pulse 5 - 7 times, or until chocolate chips are partially pulverized.<br />
Turn on the blender, then pour in the very hot coffee in a steady stream. The coffee will melt the chocolate and turn it into a smooth mixture. <br />
Pour the mixture into small mason jars, pretty wine glasses, or demitasse cups. Place on a tray and refrigerate for 2 - 3 hours or until firm.<br />
Whip the cream with the sugar and plop it onto the top of each glass. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3_EmDGyFVXnJqhyphenhyphenxBNnChAAoLTNTSE1a9loSj6XJVJRMdGgWHT1qEm2P3MW3oWV8lXCJMZEgvGWXBMCxgVpeG5YusWW0T1Zv-MEILAOCLb_1tcx1QR6aWNJ96X9ZSAv_06Iah2huJHY/s1600/PCBC-post-image.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3_EmDGyFVXnJqhyphenhyphenxBNnChAAoLTNTSE1a9loSj6XJVJRMdGgWHT1qEm2P3MW3oWV8lXCJMZEgvGWXBMCxgVpeG5YusWW0T1Zv-MEILAOCLb_1tcx1QR6aWNJ96X9ZSAv_06Iah2huJHY/s320/PCBC-post-image.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Listening to: The Shins "Port of Morrow"<br />
<br />
xo. kb.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-72485677403909598812012-12-06T13:45:00.000-06:002012-12-12T22:45:38.565-06:00Chocolate cookies with Creme de Menthe chips.It's been awhile since I've posted a blog. A long while. And though I don't believe in excuses, I have been busy. I do this work thing that pays most of my bills while sucking the soul right out of me. I wrangle a gaggle of children and keep them off the streets. I kiss on this Paul guy who is deranged enough to want to marry me. Huh.<br />
<br />
During my downtime, when I haven't fallen asleep on the couch (the post-dinner and pre-bed power nap that ensures I have enough energy to climb the stairs to tuck in the kids), I've been cooking and baking. Like a fiend. A madwoman. A katebakes. (groan) Anyway, I post pictures of my food on the faceplace all the time and am frequently asked for my recipes. So I thought I'd share in a more accessible place- my underused blog! <br />
<br />
Today I made a new cookie recipe. Chocolate cookies with Creme de Menthe chips. Holy wow. I saw the bag of baking chips at the grocery store last week and had to have them. I concocted a chocolate cookie recipe that had a nice texture, added the chips, and the result tastes like a chewy Thin Mint. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBtrkJeIrF2WSRJappYHjN1NxhH0_SUovvXshZef89wu_QYMBDNanBYB2jeQC8HKvBn_b8cW1GNRmNRXeLAszj_ClWkjjwRI8pwrxb6O8EgX0T6vfOaiA6j6ZiMkuhgBfCi4Mz7zwxUw/s1600/Chocolate+cookies..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBtrkJeIrF2WSRJappYHjN1NxhH0_SUovvXshZef89wu_QYMBDNanBYB2jeQC8HKvBn_b8cW1GNRmNRXeLAszj_ClWkjjwRI8pwrxb6O8EgX0T6vfOaiA6j6ZiMkuhgBfCi4Mz7zwxUw/s320/Chocolate+cookies..jpg" /></a></div><br />
Ingredients:<br />
1 cup butter, softened<br />
1 cup white sugar<br />
3/4 cup packed brown sugar<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
2 eggs<br />
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour<br />
1 1/4 cups unsweetened cocoa powder<br />
2 tsp baking soda<br />
1 tsp salt<br />
1 bag Creme de Menthe baking chips.<br />
<br />
Directions:<br />
1. Cream butter, white sugar, and brown sugar together until light and smooth.<br />
2. Add vanilla and eggs and stir until thoroughly mixed.<br />
3. In a separate bowl, mix together flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt.<br />
4. Add flour mixture to butter mixture and stir.<br />
*Note* the dough will be thick.<br />
5. Add chips and mix.<br />
6. Drop onto ungreased cookie sheet by the teaspoonful. (I rolled mine into balls for a more consistent size/shape.)<br />
7. Bake in a 350F oven for 10 minutes. Remove from cookie sheet immediately and place on parchment to cool.<br />
8. Eat one to ensure it isn't poisonous.<br />
9. Eat another one to make sure that first one wasn't a fluke.<br />
10. Eat just one more, this time with a glass of cold milk, and promise you'll save the rest for later.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-83047498099949225852012-09-04T21:54:00.001-05:002012-09-04T21:54:15.425-05:00A lamentOh my God, I miss writing
I miss my period key
I miss free time
Or rather, I miss free time that didn't need to be filled with a nap because I'm so damned exhausted
Listening to: Of Monsters and Men "My Head Is An Animal"Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-48274287566470679962012-03-18T13:48:00.000-05:002012-03-18T13:48:51.844-05:00Guilt.I haven't written creatively for so long, since summer when the process of divorcing became extremely overwhelming and all I could manage was to parent and run, run, run.<p>I'm trying to forgive myself for taking such an extended break. To understand that being a single mother of three children and working full-time in retail is much to handle. But I can't help but feel a better person would find the time, the inspiration, to write. I wonder if it isn't really in me at all.<p>Sent from my iPhoneKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-55440869869886013282012-02-17T12:54:00.000-06:002012-02-17T12:54:30.891-06:00An UpdateI haven't posted in a long time, partially because my lack of period key is still freaking me the freak out, but mostly because life has been freaking me the freak out<br />
<br />
There's been so much change- new job, divorce, new relationship- that I've been overwhelmed, and my thoughts are somehow congealed and unable to become type-able words - I'm sure those of you who write know how frustrating that feels, not to mention the guilt associated with not working on a project - It's difficult for me to forgive myself for being so unproductive, and allow myself the break - While I recognize that single-parenting and working full time is not really taking a break, I miss having a story, miss feeling like a part of the writing community, miss creating<br />
<br />
I haven't had the energy<br />
<br />
I do now, and it comes from anger - Not the most healthy inspiration, but certainly a driver<br />
<br />
I came home from work yesterday to find a package from my mortgage company - My ex-husband and I requested a mortgage modification a year ago - We were approved, and were told to stop paying our mortgage, that The Company would analyze our financials and come back to us in July with a more affordable payment - July turned into August, turned into September, and on - We were told that everything was fine, that the application was still being processed, and we'd be notified when everything was finalized<br />
<br />
Yesterday - I opened the package, terrified of what was inside - I was right to be terrified - My mortgage payment had been reduced by $100 a month, and the payments I hadn't made in a year (which should have been only 5 months) were added onto my loan - I now owe $20,000 more on my home- $40,000 more than it is worth in this market - I still cannot afford the payment<br />
<br />
I'm pissed, and I'm scared - I'm not sure what will happen going forward - I'm going to try for another modification, request that The Company will review their decision based on my single-parent income - Still, my first mortgage payment is due March 1, and I have to pay it - Thankfully, I have my tax return to tap into, but it won't last long - I find myself thinking of worst-case scenarios, wondering what I'll do, where I'll go with my three kids if my home is foreclosed on, hating that it'll disrupt their lives, hating that The Company couldn't do any better than a $100 reduction<br />
<br />
xo,<br />
kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-33611473147056672102011-10-24T09:56:00.000-05:002011-10-24T09:56:08.801-05:00Thank you, LordThank you for loss- it taught me to appreciate what remains<br />
Thank you for pain- without it I wouldn't know healing<br />
Thank you for uncertainty- I now understand the true meaning of faith<br />
Thank you for exhaustion- I know to save my energy<br />
Thank you for financial difficulty- I've learned to differentiate between what I need and what I want<br />
Thank you for isolation- I know I can stand strong alone<br />
Thank you for the times I was ignored- I recognize how important it is to pay attention<br />
Thank you for what I thought were wrong turns- they were necessary detours<br />
Thank you for my broken heart- it's healed stronger, making me better able to love<br />
Thank you for all my struggles- they've made me the person I am<br />
<br />
xo, kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-63085921667498079752011-09-28T15:21:00.000-05:002011-09-28T15:21:15.287-05:00Ezra 3:13"and no one could distinguish the sound of the joyful shouting from the sound of those who were weeping; for the people raised a mighty clamor which was hear afar off"<br />
<br />
This is what life feels like to me most of the time<br />
<br />
Listening to: wind through the trees shaking raindrops free<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-34679486392735581192011-09-25T22:45:00.000-05:002011-09-25T22:45:04.333-05:00PicturesThe kids and I took Elsie for a walk this afternoon The sun was perfect and I got some cute pictures<br />
<br />
Alison<br />
<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP2dITOg0-n3hsayXIBGNkvWr3vMIqf_R57gH2WHxFflRbQxg3-mL7Pxomazw9oP4utla1zurh0UJHmDFGjCs7mbPGMShonrjzMbKot_abM3XuNDbIBxeRD-GkDjuPhHWe5u_NXuXByE/s1600/photo-733780.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP2dITOg0-n3hsayXIBGNkvWr3vMIqf_R57gH2WHxFflRbQxg3-mL7Pxomazw9oP4utla1zurh0UJHmDFGjCs7mbPGMShonrjzMbKot_abM3XuNDbIBxeRD-GkDjuPhHWe5u_NXuXByE/s320/photo-733780.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656383167962654354" /></a></p><br />
Iain<br />
<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGYQR7FRRvIW2BEhksHQ7LAw_1mXEQifdz1LbtSUtRXR7k2jizJ_b8N54vhyphenhyphenx3e8OeZ6eJ5KEDEb-FnfdyU7a5oFGBM8jYnqTdzJxlwK96FRaq0-XUEcKFh2cnRyt6NQiqlHOUDEk-3s/s1600/photo-769979.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGYQR7FRRvIW2BEhksHQ7LAw_1mXEQifdz1LbtSUtRXR7k2jizJ_b8N54vhyphenhyphenx3e8OeZ6eJ5KEDEb-FnfdyU7a5oFGBM8jYnqTdzJxlwK96FRaq0-XUEcKFh2cnRyt6NQiqlHOUDEk-3s/s320/photo-769979.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656382923547721378" /></a></p><br />
Julia<br />
<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN76OYBhVjBj053V4AXMPJeCPB3RAoxFRKgGbxOLVtqxqKojgyW5F5pQWweS-OsazCPqlVFZ_e8k-N_IvVS0OUCM3FhSx-zVIEttBHCXcARr7GE3JuXHA2l-y8rYdWcpOtyESEnNIGvb8/s1600/photo-732288.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN76OYBhVjBj053V4AXMPJeCPB3RAoxFRKgGbxOLVtqxqKojgyW5F5pQWweS-OsazCPqlVFZ_e8k-N_IvVS0OUCM3FhSx-zVIEttBHCXcARr7GE3JuXHA2l-y8rYdWcpOtyESEnNIGvb8/s320/photo-732288.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656382732250398098" /></a></p>Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-37183979586215569792011-09-25T22:28:00.002-05:002011-09-25T22:41:02.032-05:00Strange occurancesI'm just going to log when these things happen, because it's weird<br />
<br />
Or not<br />
<br />
For two weeks now, I've been thinking about this guy I used to work with at Starbucks in downtown Wheaton Not like romantically thinking about him, just randomly remembered him and wondered where he was in his life His face would pop into my head now and again I haven't seen him in 9, maybe 10 years Strange, but whatever<br />
<br />
Then this morning at church, I'm walking up the stairs after dropping off the kids at Sunday school, and I see the back of this guy in line for coffee Short hair, thinning spot in the back, slight build, hoodie, and I knew *I KNEW* that it was him Walked past him in line, glanced over my shoulder and, sure as shit, it was<br />
<br />
Crazy<br />
<br />
After the service, I went down to pick up the kids and he was waiting outside the same room I was heading for Of course, I recognized him, but he saw me and said, "Kate?" and I never get recognized, not ever We chatted a bit about church, about where we were at in our lives, then went on our separate ways<br />
<br />
I wonder what that was all about<br />
<br />
The other thing: My best friend forgot my birthday I just knew she would text me about it today, and sure enough had a text from her while I was at work tonight, "Happy Belated Birthday"Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-20638721369628209322011-09-23T15:08:00.000-05:002011-09-23T15:08:40.296-05:00Oh, the job searchSo there are complications again, availability issues with one opportunity, pay issues with another<br />
<br />
I'm remarkably unstressed<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because I ran 8 miles today, or maybe because I'm used to this junk by now<br />
<br />
Maybe not<br />
<br />
I got the call from one company while I was in the shower, and took the time to get dressed (because that's not a call you want to take in a towel) and then said a prayer I asked God for things to go as they should I'm done expecting specific outcomes- I understand that I don't always know what's best for myself or what my future holds When my potential boss told me I needed to be able to work the 5am shift three days a week I sighed, because I truly don't know if I can He told me to take the weekend to think it over, that the job was mine if I could handle the availability needs, and he'd call on Monday I hung up frustrated, because nothing seems to be resolving easily<br />
<br />
But that's never been my life, and I don't know why I'd expect things to change now My favorite quote is by Philip Pullman "What is worth having is worth working for" and I truly believe that Or as my mom used to say, "This is a character-building opportunity for you" *sigh*<br />
<br />
So I'm going to do what I do when I'm running and at the base of a hill, keep my head down, keep my pace, keep moving forward<br />
<br />
In the meantime, there will be a lot of praying over the weekend<br />
<br />
Listening to: matt pond PA "Last Light"<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-30569512067923751792011-09-19T14:53:00.000-05:002011-09-19T14:53:57.053-05:00Birthday 2011I re-read my Birthday blog post from last year, and am amused because I could have just re-posted it again this year with a few minor changes<br />
<br />
What's different:<br />
I'm not as soft- in fact, I'm smaller now than I was at 23, so that's cool I guess<br />
I made myself a carrot cake this year<br />
I didn't read a book all day because I worked<br />
I'm *gasp* even older now<br />
<br />
What's the same:<br />
I again made ravioli and drank a ton of red wine<br />
I still hate my birthday<br />
I still fake it for my kids<br />
I still miss my mom the most on that day and the 16th<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-89720508848853306372011-09-18T12:56:00.001-05:002011-09-18T12:57:28.723-05:00Weekend UpdateI haven't been on my laptop in *gasp* two days, and I thought perhaps the period key would have magically fixed itself, that maybe it just needed a little rest, but that wasn't the case As you can see But the good news is that it's raining today, so at least there's that<br />
<br />
It has been a whirlwind week, Matt Pond/Rocky Votolato on Monday, lots of working, my birthday on Thursday and a carrot cake, bacon cupcakes and St Louis on Friday and Saturday, getting lost on my drive home (and being helped back to the highway by two men with beers at a golf course, who had me follow their truck with Florida plates- not embarrassing for me at all, btw), wine with my neighbor Sandy last night (kinda forgot about that commitment and, ugh, I was tired), then getting the kids ready for a Cubs game and myself ready for church And I still have to run and work today <br />
<br />
Yikes stripes<br />
<br />
But in all, the best last few days I've had in ages and here are the highlights in pictures My only regret is that I didn't get a picture of the generous and lovely Steve Ulfelder at dinner- I was too in shock from being called old by our waitress to think of cameras<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrA_HyZi8FLFtQlLR3ab46ECpxTLXp2wn4sdnmpCtxw48sviZLAIS5qNtpZpel0OKiQ_TiJoRxjGqNtf6azRpAX7tJN1je5H1bRcCP6ru5ffmSLK9naXAf5XrFjEsY_nb_z_fp_UrlvA/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrA_HyZi8FLFtQlLR3ab46ECpxTLXp2wn4sdnmpCtxw48sviZLAIS5qNtpZpel0OKiQ_TiJoRxjGqNtf6azRpAX7tJN1je5H1bRcCP6ru5ffmSLK9naXAf5XrFjEsY_nb_z_fp_UrlvA/s320/027.JPG" /></a></div>Me on my birthday, modeling my new black sports bra and Bon Iver CD<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3AnjT6uDSfUsxGHZADmN5ZJYpEm_uqUpx7Cbt-k1NH-yQ1qi6mwyyGOd9euxy4ubJB7CKjlrNA-rDvEh2S8YNPShtXzjOAntmfrPxKpa0NNJkppTPPvN8sWuUMA2r7sGTIQeeNun5DQ/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3AnjT6uDSfUsxGHZADmN5ZJYpEm_uqUpx7Cbt-k1NH-yQ1qi6mwyyGOd9euxy4ubJB7CKjlrNA-rDvEh2S8YNPShtXzjOAntmfrPxKpa0NNJkppTPPvN8sWuUMA2r7sGTIQeeNun5DQ/s320/036.JPG" /></a></div>The card that came with my beautiful flowers from my stepmom, who said exactly the right thing at exactly the right time<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCswq6wO2cJLVmwvPWuNLm8Rp7y8x7uDeUmBNsnuP_rOn0l2rWAlsmeiO3FHmih80GvijSjDBnNDYAbZ9hj1glQE5t_IAxvssqyu002geX4GzCYK1tBRIoOa4klkPM7iHyVL2u7j0OEQ/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCswq6wO2cJLVmwvPWuNLm8Rp7y8x7uDeUmBNsnuP_rOn0l2rWAlsmeiO3FHmih80GvijSjDBnNDYAbZ9hj1glQE5t_IAxvssqyu002geX4GzCYK1tBRIoOa4klkPM7iHyVL2u7j0OEQ/s320/040.JPG" /></a></div>Previously mentioned beautiful flowers and a slice of my birthday cake<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrYftojcDOAnUeb3uiWQQyDNbuEux-Kr2apwTKMkgXec0cdNohZEShhYytdUHTP3H066LMd0d0kDPfuezu9ihMw_GjmrBYSOvxRyWDWHAYdjNz1TnNaLIF9uSIvFUhoQ92vAM_Zyr_eM/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrYftojcDOAnUeb3uiWQQyDNbuEux-Kr2apwTKMkgXec0cdNohZEShhYytdUHTP3H066LMd0d0kDPfuezu9ihMw_GjmrBYSOvxRyWDWHAYdjNz1TnNaLIF9uSIvFUhoQ92vAM_Zyr_eM/s320/045.JPG" /></a></div>The charming Bill Cameron and totally hawt Denise Swank at The Dubliner in St Louis<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjq9hCLKZeb6VUDD0Y1sPBpPMyDg1Ca11xPDdQ24uzCf8ik-x2HcRwGHbT0lP6EuIyCHGm3Te5pz2NMU1kUUYzmFoxwoyRX7MMvgUkPeKLwOY_Wlj_bOGD-EyyTrTZptpwsA8tqHGnLE/s1600/044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjq9hCLKZeb6VUDD0Y1sPBpPMyDg1Ca11xPDdQ24uzCf8ik-x2HcRwGHbT0lP6EuIyCHGm3Te5pz2NMU1kUUYzmFoxwoyRX7MMvgUkPeKLwOY_Wlj_bOGD-EyyTrTZptpwsA8tqHGnLE/s320/044.JPG" /></a></div>Dashing and not over-dressed Brooks Sherman, the knockout Trisha Leigh, and devastatingly handsome BC<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6Zij4oeR3HgIxh1jlYk9CVEQ4NAWrJISjKfpZvxQQ03G1gNZVN5n3VSlFsR9bYAu1WSmTRjuZWTyZbLhwDZQwCNo9hWbCdn1s4a8DXBtb9sGvu1-NhCow6Hf2k1OJi4nRdVG-KmhZ0Q/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6Zij4oeR3HgIxh1jlYk9CVEQ4NAWrJISjKfpZvxQQ03G1gNZVN5n3VSlFsR9bYAu1WSmTRjuZWTyZbLhwDZQwCNo9hWbCdn1s4a8DXBtb9sGvu1-NhCow6Hf2k1OJi4nRdVG-KmhZ0Q/s320/047.JPG" /></a></div>Brooks in his new favorite hat<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIzHbWQi09rh_huZsaZV5bMlBNto0yewgj5mcbsXrauYvRHG1Q9z3KlsoZDtAb95YYGLBezJGpcB4q8rqOaEjNpuICdQRLvCYDQeyeQT6ODCn6eSho2gnikXEEVmBMohz2hScgkUqyh4/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIzHbWQi09rh_huZsaZV5bMlBNto0yewgj5mcbsXrauYvRHG1Q9z3KlsoZDtAb95YYGLBezJGpcB4q8rqOaEjNpuICdQRLvCYDQeyeQT6ODCn6eSho2gnikXEEVmBMohz2hScgkUqyh4/s320/051.JPG" /></a></div>Breakfast of champions<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13J2S45zi-d3-hR8x43R8rOLP9k3CgkXqVe1sgHbnUN30R3fw6-RxjueCyUi8m-86Ig_3rYz_2o-2ooisWx7zz94qE-9VSGFLaQIoF1fhLIFmX2fE26hdpFFy3ii9jfkfD7np4BRr0gI/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13J2S45zi-d3-hR8x43R8rOLP9k3CgkXqVe1sgHbnUN30R3fw6-RxjueCyUi8m-86Ig_3rYz_2o-2ooisWx7zz94qE-9VSGFLaQIoF1fhLIFmX2fE26hdpFFy3ii9jfkfD7np4BRr0gI/s320/058.JPG" /></a></div>The Mother Jones Monument<br />
<br />
Listening to: matt pond PA "The Green Fury"<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-77094002090273070192011-09-14T16:57:00.001-05:002011-09-16T07:34:36.956-05:00Carrot CakeThis recipe is a very modified version of the one made at the Palmer House in Chicago<br />
<br />
1 cup all-purpose flour<br />
1 cup whole wheat flour<br />
1 cup granulated sugar<br />
1 cup packed brown sugar<br />
1 Tbsp ground cinnamon<br />
2 tsp baking soda<br />
1 tsp salt<br />
Dash ground allspice<br />
4 eggs<br />
1 cup unsweetened applesauce<br />
4 cups shredded carrots<br />
Apricot fruit spread or preserves<br />
Cream Cheese Frosting (recipe follows)<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350 <br />
Grease and flour three 8" round baking pans<br />
In a bowl, mix the flours, sugars, cinnamon, baking soda, salt, and allspice<br />
In a mixing bowl, beat eggs until light, reduce speed to medium, then add applesauce<br />
Beat in flour mixture until batter is smooth<br />
By hand, stir in carrots<br />
Pour mixture into prepared pans, and bake 20-25 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean<br />
Leave in pans 10 minutes, remove from pans and cool on racks until room temperature<br />
Prepare Cream Cheese Frosting<br />
To assemble: Set cake layer on serving plate, spread preserves over it, top with next layer and repeat, cover with third layer, then coat top and sides with frosting<br />
<br />
Cream Cheese Frosting<br />
<br />
8 oz softened cream cheese<br />
1/3 cup softened butter<br />
1/2 tsp vanilla<br />
3-4 cups sifted confectioner's sugar<br />
<br />
Beat cream cheese, butter, and vanilla until light and fluffy<br />
Reduce speed on mixer, and gradually add sugar until mixture is smooth, but slightly stiff<br />
<br />
*Note* There were so many instances here where I wanted to add "that's what she said" but I held back<br />
*Note 2* I deserve a reward for my good behaviorKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-72226876179846310742011-09-13T09:54:00.000-05:002011-09-13T09:54:07.421-05:00A listI don't ever want to be rich No, I'm not just saying that to sound like a dirty hippie Or maybe I am Anyway, I don't know what I would do with a big house or cars or excess in general I'm a minimalist by nature (although if you saw my collection of shoes- and mind you, I don't like actually wearing shoes- you might think otherwise), and I prefer simple and necessary However, if I ever have money that I can use for fun things, here is what I would spend it on:<br />
<br />
A real camera, with different kinds of lenses<br />
Hardcover books<br />
A new mattress, box springs, and sheet set<br />
A down comforter<br />
My big-ass back tattoo<br />
A strap for my guitar (I've had it since I was 15 and have never had a strap)<br />
John Fluevog shoes<br />
One of those Crosley record players that has the CD/tape/mp3 option<br />
A cool old-school bike with wide handle bars and a basket on the front<br />
An upright piano<br />
<br />
That's allKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-70592696715488259112011-09-13T09:24:00.000-05:002011-09-13T09:24:50.435-05:00Matt Pond PA/ Rocky VotolatoI went to Lincoln Hall last night It's my favorite place to see a show because it's so clean, smells like (Metropolis) coffee, and the sound is amazing AMAZING <br />
<br />
I wasn't disappointed I bought the ticket for myself as a birthday present (yeah, it's coming up, lurking, waiting for the right evil moment to pounce and make me older) I couldn't have picked a better show to go to Sure, the Bazan living room show in Wheaton would have been cool, but I've seen him and Wheaton quite a few times (and might be a little bitter for not having my living room chosen) and my heartfelt love for Matt Pond has grown so exponentially over the summer, I may have died if I didn't see him perform live<br />
<br />
Oh God, it was a good show The crowd was a little quiet, and the words "tame" and "Monday" were used on a few occasions, but sometimes you're quiet because the music is too beautiful to add noise You need to show reverence Gentlemen, if you're reading this, I would have screamed and hollered, but it was just too pretty to deface with that static<br />
<br />
Anyway, I love taking pictures and, while I am by no stretch a photographer, I think I caught some nice pictures and here they are<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtxeKVaRwt-1nsKZ62fSETT8kPyWeW8wnYim3M22etDyT0mZhdautfVMjbIFe0UAFDbP3Hj7qrJ7DLkHG6JBB9d8FH3htn-pR5ZibvWT27TWk9Oyln0cR0j9CPs_hTubXZMhMvpmOreE/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtxeKVaRwt-1nsKZ62fSETT8kPyWeW8wnYim3M22etDyT0mZhdautfVMjbIFe0UAFDbP3Hj7qrJ7DLkHG6JBB9d8FH3htn-pR5ZibvWT27TWk9Oyln0cR0j9CPs_hTubXZMhMvpmOreE/s320/036.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho43aJsmPSy1-4Xla7-bNKevabTYPCpAaEqkClOn79qtQXT-TCTxwDzpnbF0SaAIrDcpQiwf1v3ofZNRvhXyfNuT1W8i7e8VwDUNWceUcj6agYRMPVTauUqBE-m0Z8ZWRL_Z8uHL3auCE/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho43aJsmPSy1-4Xla7-bNKevabTYPCpAaEqkClOn79qtQXT-TCTxwDzpnbF0SaAIrDcpQiwf1v3ofZNRvhXyfNuT1W8i7e8VwDUNWceUcj6agYRMPVTauUqBE-m0Z8ZWRL_Z8uHL3auCE/s320/040.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIltUEZI5vS7r9Y_bsrmUJ_SxZ-snjUl2ygHU7etIEsMpc5mJj6_-Hu-wYIBhl0tr0PhOxPhHNOBWggHvF4Ibk8apmufYeM9cxeyt8SGPsCUpvHDYs4DxV2ugzwR9w9VsL0E0KO7y61p4/s1600/052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIltUEZI5vS7r9Y_bsrmUJ_SxZ-snjUl2ygHU7etIEsMpc5mJj6_-Hu-wYIBhl0tr0PhOxPhHNOBWggHvF4Ibk8apmufYeM9cxeyt8SGPsCUpvHDYs4DxV2ugzwR9w9VsL0E0KO7y61p4/s320/052.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Listening to: the cricket in my house<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-37652089750330340322011-09-11T18:17:00.000-05:002011-09-11T18:17:09.687-05:00Reflections*Please forgive my lack of punctuation The key stopped working again and I can't afford to have it fixed just yet*<br />
<br />
We all have our stories, where we were when we first heard about the planes crashing, how we felt when we learned the buildings were collapsing, the senses, the emotions that bombarded us It was nearly impossible to grasp the reality of the day, of the chaos, and I say this as person who has never been to New York or the Pentagon, who didn't experience the terror first-hand But it affected me that day, and continues to- to the point that the coverage on TV this morning had me in tears and unable to eat<br />
<br />
On September 11, 2001 I was managing the Starbucks in Downtown Wheaton, IL I don't remember who I opened with that morning, and it began like any other open- brew the coffee, prime the bar, put cash in the registers We always opened ten minutes early It's actually policy to open ten minutes early, but at Downtown Wheaton we really did it because Mark the Barber from next door needed his drink before he opened shop Our next customers were always two guys who worked at the Sears Tower I can't remember if they were the ones that told us the news that there had been a plane crash At first, we didn't think anything of it I mean, we thought, <i>Oh God, that's horrible</i>, but news began to trickle in quickly that it had crashed into the Twin Towers There was speculation it was intentional Then we learned it was two planes, both towers had been hit <br />
<br />
I turned off the music streaming in our store and turned a radio on to WGN, placed it on the bar and we huddled and listened to the reports It was so quiet that morning, no talking or laughing as usual, no hustle or bustle of trying to get drinks out Customers ordered in whispers, we filled their orders in silence It was the one and only time I worked in that store where it ceased to feel like a Starbucks I can't find the words to describe what it felt like, something like a church, like a funeral, like a bomb shelter People passed around the information they'd heard in their cars on the drive over, what they'd seen on the news before they'd left their houses Those driving to work stayed a little longer than usual Those who commuted left to get on their trains, uncertain what they'd experience once they got to the Loop, if the Sears Tower would be hit, if there were bombs planted at the Merc, at the CBOT <br />
<br />
My district manager called me at a point in the morning to tell me that Starbucks had decided to close all their stores I was to keep one volunteer to help me shut down, and we were to go home to our families as soon as we'd managed to clean things up My barista and friend Sarah chose to stay with me It was the longest close I'd ever had, did ever have Not because we were in the middle of the morning rush, but because by that point we'd learned the extent of the attacks and could barely see through our tears to clean Two hours later, Sarah and I hugged, and I walked down the street to where my husband was working selling cell phones and pagers No one came in and it was just fine because we were like zombies watching the news, the devastation <br />
<br />
I was pregnant with my first child My good friend Carrie was in the hospital recovering from her C-section the day before, both of us left wondering what kind of a world we were bringing children into, a world where ideological differences leads to dehumanization, where lives are lost and it's seen as a triumph<br />
<br />
That day was such a tragedy <br />
<br />
But I see tragedy in every day, and I don't say this to in any way diminish the suffering that was experienced on 9/11, or that has resulted from that day, because it was- is- ungodly But it is a tragedy when we pretend the horrific drought that is affecting the people in the Horn of Africa doesn't affect us too It is a tragedy when we walk past the homeless man because his clothes are dirty and he smells awful A tragedy when our neighbor's home is foreclosed on and we thank God that we can still pay our mortgage<br />
<br />
Perhaps the greatest thing that came out September 11, 2001 was the unity it inspired in so many We held each other, comforted each other Donated money, blood, sent our fire men and women to New York to help in any way they could We showed a rich compassion as a people I cry more over this than the loss of life, am struck by the beauty we have inside us <br />
<br />
We just need to embrace it and live it every day<br />
<br />
Listening to: Matt Pond PA<br />
<br />
xo kbKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-48995322074928064752011-09-08T12:09:00.000-05:002011-09-08T12:09:02.410-05:00A prayerLord,<br />
<br />
I totally understand the lesson of rejection, so can we move on to something else now, please?<br />
<br />
Thank you and AmenKate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-45482221052858952262011-09-06T10:19:00.000-05:002011-09-06T10:19:43.741-05:00Mad Libs made more fun.Ali can't spell. But she likes to do the Mad Libs app on my phone anyway, then has us read her entries back to her. Today, Julia read one back and, rather than editing as she went by adding real words and pretending Ali had written them on her own, she read each entry letter by letter. And found one heck of an actual word in the middle of the mess. Here's a look.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WJUe083SLGkT_p8QbQU1ms0llbsvsnMdnPjkkw1x2RoQpFmdqPS48-9OKSiI1BNCWNw1prrFqPZNuOLnf_gFCNsmwNjX8mL0IDzGoAG3QWlihX288yVZ9LWl2T8yQS429BvkOinpdXg/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="299" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9WJUe083SLGkT_p8QbQU1ms0llbsvsnMdnPjkkw1x2RoQpFmdqPS48-9OKSiI1BNCWNw1prrFqPZNuOLnf_gFCNsmwNjX8mL0IDzGoAG3QWlihX288yVZ9LWl2T8yQS429BvkOinpdXg/s400/022.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Listening to: A howling dog and tornado sirens.<br />
<br />
xo. kb.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-28215379648084459362011-09-03T00:18:00.001-05:002011-09-03T09:44:57.826-05:00Understanding.Listening to "Styrofoam Plates" and thinking about how we all have our parent issues. <br />
<br />
I think about how my mom had a smile that could cheer a room. She could talk to anyone and make them feel comfortable. At the same time, was sad and always dreaming of something else. Literally dreaming of houses she would love to own, to decorate. I think about how she wanted to be a good mom, a homemaker, and yet was so strong-willed she couldn't be a wife. Needed to be recognized by other people. A husband's love wasn't enough for her. Neither was her children's. How her mother was always busy and trying to make everyone happy. How she was born when her parents were much older and she was used to being the cute one. She didn't know how to cook when she got married, only knew how to dance and be funny. I think about my grandpa. He was the product of an asshole, a drunken womanizer, and a saint, who raised four boys without thanks. How my grandpa recognized his mother's love and tried to live up to his mother's expectation, but couldn't help owning the anger of his father. <br />
<br />
I think of my dad who was angry, always wanted us to follow his authority without question, but could be silly and hilarious. How his mother was his ideal woman. She married as a teen, and spent her life doing everything for everyone else. How his dad was short and had a short temper. Was a mean bastard to his family, but could play any song he heard by ear on the piano and tell a joke like no one's business. Was loved by all his friends.<br />
<br />
I think of who my parents were, and how they affected me and how I am now. Who I am, who I want to be. We are all shits, products of the worst of our genealogy. And at the same time, we are those great things too.<br />
<br />
I have a temper. I let things build and then freak out over nothing. I swear a lot when I'm driving and can be very mean if I don't watch myself. Then again, I am extremely calm in stressful situations and can think things through. I am hopeful and optimistic. A dreamer. I can play any instrument I pick up, I sing well, I tell great stories. And I remember everything.<br />
<br />
My point? This line, "He was a bastard in life, was a bastard in death," gets to me. We are none of us all one thing. There are parts of us that are just the worst, and parts of us redemptive. Let's just acknowledge that.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-58246136768524794932011-09-02T23:38:00.000-05:002011-09-02T23:38:12.757-05:00Hats.I am a hat girl.<br />
<br />
It's not always been this way- I remember being in grade/middle school and hating hats. They messed with my bangs. I only wore earmuffs. The word earmuffs bothers me now. Say it aloud. Earmuffs. It sounds weird. And the visual? Like some awful headband, or DJ-type who had a fur fetish. Yeah, um, no.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in high school I began a love affair with hats. I say love affair loosely. I never actually did anything remotely sexual with a hat, merely put them on my head. But I loved the feel of a hat covering my head. I used to steal my boyfriend's baseball cap, all broken in and huge and smelling of him. It covered half my face. I'm sighing at the thought of it now, it was so great. My youth director bought me my own cap for my seventeenth birthday. A Yankees hat, God forgive him, but it was flannel, and he had the decency to rubber-band the bill before wrapping it. I wore it whenever I could.<br />
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Somewhere in my history, I got over the baseball cap and moved on to hats that are more fitting for a girl. Like ski caps, or newsboys, or bucket caps. Sunhats. All huge and covering much of my head, half of my eyes. To appear as some kind of enigma. Or because my head is small and I can wear a child's size. Whichever.<br />
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But I went through a period of time when I stopped wearing hats. Somehow, whenever I put one on it looked off. I couldn't figure it out, if my face had changed, or if my haircut was wrong, but the hats didn't work. And it was weird to look at myself in a mirror and think, "You used to be this hat person and now you're not. What's different?" <br />
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And the answer is a lot of things. Sometimes you look in the mirror and you don't recognize yourself. You see who you used to be, who you want to be, but can't for the life of you figure out who you are in that moment. I've had a lot of those moments. I will, I'm sure, continue to have them in the future. But for now, I'm a hat girl again. Bought one the other day. It's fancy. Gray felt. Soft. Big, of course, even though it's a small. I wear it cocked to the side, covering my right eye for that proper sense of mystery. Despite the fact that I'm the most obvious girl in the world. Even so, I love it. I feel like a badass in a hat. Like a woman with purpose, with intention. Because you don't wear a hat tentatively, you wear it with confidence.<br />
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Listening to: Death Cab For Cutie "Codes and Keys"<br />
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xo. kb.Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4406139049479571417.post-46974596802254932442011-08-30T21:41:00.000-05:002011-08-30T21:41:57.189-05:00Procrastinating.I should be writing. I really should. I had intended to finish a chapter by today. I was supposed to start writing it yesterday, but I had this interview thing, then I did this long run thing, then I made these tamales and salsa and guacamole, then I drove to the city.... And today, I was all about writing. Gonna do it. Gonna get this chapter done. But then I did this crying thing, then this long uphill run thing, then more of this crying thing, then took this crazy long nap, then went to work.... So now I should be writing. And I will. Swear to God. But first, here's a song from my favorite band, Sunny Day Real Estate.<br />
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It's from my #1 concert ever, September 24, 2009 (#2, if you're interested, was Built To Spill in 1999) and it's my favorite song by them. <br />
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Kate Lydstonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03498916799208113877noreply@blogger.com0