What I learned in 2015

With alarming quickness this year has come and gone. In 2015 I entered into the second quarter century of my life, began working in the non-profit sector with remarkable individuals, and became a wife. A few things I learned along the way...

I learned that sisters do not have to share the same parents. You can be fortunate to find  friends so dear that you look to them as family. The label of a friend is not nearly momentous enough. I also learned I'll be gaining a brother this upcoming September, and he has already given our family such love.

I learned that spanx work wonders when you're wearing an ivory gown, navy blue cowboy boots make fine footwear for a wedding, edible favors are the best favors, and whiskey and beer beat an extensive bar list for the right crowd. 

Two words: Vegan Chili. 

I learned that there remains in me, despite my knowing better, a fixation with the illusion of perfection. Maybe because perfection is celebrated and applauded. As a people, we flock to what is beautiful and pristine. And together.  We are drawn to people that present an air of ease, pride, and confidence.  But, we only see a small part of the picture. The Facebook version of our existence is a dreadfully unrealistic one. And we see what we choose to see.  I have learned it is a worthy undertaking to see the wholeness in us through the broken glass. The beauty in our fragile state, and the love that seeps from our words and deeds.  The unkempt homes, unconventional relationships, anxieties, and extra pounds. The poor self esteem, problematic skin, unforeseen challenges, and burdens. When we stop comparing, the only thing left is the right thing. We are already enough.

I learned Basic Sign Language, and how to communicate with individuals who are both deaf and blind, using tactile signing. In my ignorance I had not known someone could be both deaf and blind as I had never experienced it before. I also work with individuals who have intellectual and developmental disabilities, complex medical and behavioral support needs, or a combination of disabilities.  These individuals have interests like you or I, give back to the community, and hold jobs. They wrap presents for inclusion, make decor for holiday parties, pack lunches, attend mass, and sing Christmas carols. They have inspired me in a formative way, and not because I look at them as lesser, but rather because we live in a world that is geared towards those with access to all of their senses and a range of abilities. Regardless of barriers to participation, these individuals are vital members of their communities, they contribute, and they deserve every opportunity any other person is afforded. It is our duty as a civilization to ensure access to these opportunities for everyone, regardless of the differences that divide us. These peers of mine have taught me more than most able bodied and able minded ever will.  Now look me in the eye, and tell me this is not their power. 

If you have any interest in supporting quality programs for these individuals, I welcome you to make a contribution to our Holiday Campaign. 

I learned that when I am critical of myself it overflows into my judgement of others. I judge more harshly and peer with critical eyes when I am feeling inadequate; maybe this is a survival mechanism. If I am in a deep well, I am pulling someone else down with me? But what I have learned is It would be fortuitous for everyone to begin with self love and acceptance.  When we are in touch with our worth, it is easier to accept others.  They deserve our best. And we do too.

I learned what it feels like to be on screen thanks to the timeless craftsmanship of Shane Kress. And what it is to have my written work shared on a larger scale than this digital space of mine

We celebrated our reception in an charming, historic mansion: The Oakeside. 

I learned that a state of mind has very little to do with the state of affairs. Inwardly we can be in shambles, yet to others we seem typical and unfazed. I also know that having everything from a tangible perspective does not correlate to peace of mind.

It is ok to be pleased with an uncomplicated life, to relish in the simple. To look the rat race in the face and say NO, I am not going to participate no matter how alluring the cheese smells. 

All cakes, favors, planning, and venue decor by 2SweetLLC.

I learned that the most vulnerable, the cast out, and the people who are last in line are the keepers of what is important.   

I felt what it was like for time to be suspended for a day. I walked down an aisle in a quaint Franciscan church before my family, friends and the heavenly Father himself, and walked away from the altar a wife. 

I developed a taste for Rum punch, leapt off a cliff in Jamaica, and had my very first massage. I also had my second massage. It was a good year indeed.

I said good bye to two women who were fighters to the very end. They looked pain and uncertainly in the brutal face, undeterred, and lived fully until their last breaths. I learned that when we confront sorrow, a hard shell develops so we can cope with what we experience. This does not cast out our compassion, but rather ensures that after we experience pain we can still wake up and face another day with courage. I learned how truly trivial a majority of our worries can be. I learned to be a little tougher like my sister. 

I learned that if all else fails to take a deep breath, followed immediately by a bubble bath with a bath bomb from Lush. 

The world is watching

All I offered was a kiss on the cheek goodbye and a mandate to check in when he arrived there safely. A sweet gentleman in passing said, "well, that was nice."  We smiled at one another and went on our separate ways. I was changed; perhaps he was as well. 

We are always under observation, under a microscope even.  An exchange, a word. These seemingly small moments affect other people.  We don't have to have adoring fans, buckets of money, or notoriety to lead a full life - to impact other people. If we quiet the noise and distractions, we would see this each day. A gesture of understanding in the checkout line between mother and child. A nimble young man helping an elderly man with his bags. Returning a lost glove, a smile at a wailing toddler, the acknowledgment of a lonely stranger. To believe that small gestures are meaningless is a disservice to the gift that life is. A gift every human person is afforded, despite his or her station in life.

Right around Christmas time, I received a message from Beth Sweeney, founder of Coppermill Kitchen, a luxury brand of restored European antique copper cookware. Her pieces are absolutely stunning, and her story is equally inspiring. She wanted to send me a present for my kitchen. I was flabbergasted. "You want to send me a Christmas present?" As I have recently undergone a transition in the workplace, I was feeling a bit lost, uncertain, and worried about keeping up appearances. What will I tell people I do for living, I wondered. I surely cannot say I am a writer, as I haven't been published by a respected source. At best, I am a decent home cook with a great appreciation for mealtime. I like to dabble here and there, while I figure out the next step, if there even is a concrete step. The road is winding and I must remember that. 

Beth told me she was inspired by my work. I was deeply touched from a maker's standpoint, as I have been diligently striving to develop a craft. But more so I was touched on the human level. An act of kindness from a stranger, a small symbol of appreciation, and it made all the difference.  She and I have remained in contact and plan to get together in her Copper Kitchen in the future, to share "good food and good stories." A friendship sparked from a darling copper mould, one I will treasure.

To prepare compound butter:

Bring 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) of butter to room temperature, until it gives to the warmth of your hands and is malleable. Finely chop a selection of your favorite fresh herbs. I used rosemary, chives, and sage. In all, it should amount to a little less than a tablespoon. Using a spoon, break down your butter and mix in your herbs, working the excess off the spoon with your fingers. When the herbs are evenly distributed, spoon the butter into your mould and press down with your fingers to fill the crevices. Continue to pack the butter into the mould, level, and chill. I left mine in the freezer overnight, as it was my first time using my mould, but an hour will do. 

Beth taught me to run the mould under hot water ever so briefly. I gave my mould a little tap on the cutting board and it popped out. If you have difficulty, work it gently with a tooth pick. We will be serving this atop a grilled steak for dinner, but you can serve as you wish. Atop a sandwich on crusty bread would be a delight as well. 

To shop Beth's catalogue at Coppermill, click here.  

You mean something to someone

In the age of social media, big business, and the endless pursuit of affirmation, the focus seems to have shifted from quality to one of quantity. How many followers do we have, how many strangers "like" something we have released into the world, how many dollars we take home at the end of the week. These metrics are important, undoubtedly. Dollars put food on table, rent checks in the mail, and shoes on feet. Followers and fans pave the way for business opportunities, social influence (hopefully in the direction of good),  and link communities across the world. Access encourages communication, and even competition which fuels innovation. In the absence of competition, we may never reach the cutting edge, but rather hover in the mediocre zone. The pursuit is necessary.

Thus the negative connotation I speak with is not an assault on striving, pursuing material success, or aspiring to attain fame in a particular field. It's more so a reminder that regardless of these metrics, you mean something to someone.  

I recently read for the countless time a darling little book by Anna Quindlen called A Short Guide To A Happy Life. It has offered me great consolation in times of anxiety and uncertainty. It has reminded me to be grateful when worry rears its unceasing head. I highly recommend reading it; it's brief so there is no excuse not to. In it she writes, 

“Life is made of moments, small pieces of silver amidst long stretches of tedium. It would be wonderful if they came to us unsummoned, but particularly in lives as busy as the ones most of us lead now, that won’t happen. We have to teach ourselves now to live, really live…to love the journey, not the destination.”

She speaks with a humility that is inspiring (she is an accomplished author and New York Times bestseller on multiple occasions), and an appreciation for life's beautiful moments that we all too often overlook. Dew resting on blades of grass, a belly laugh from a toddler, a wet kiss from your dog. She has helped me to quiet the noise, focus on "small pieces of silver", and give thanks for them.

Recently, I've gotten engaged and have successfully put off any serious thought about the expectations of planning a wedding. People have asked about the details, who will shoot the photos, what brand the dress will be, who will cater... the list goes on. I've managed to avoid getting caught up in these details just yet so that I may soak in this moment in my life. A moment that hopefully doesn't come around again. James and I each have so many quirks that I think we are more or less bound together. Regardless of the venue, the cost of the dress, the size of the ring, and the champagne served for a toast, at the end of that day I'll be a wife, he'll be a husband and our loved ones will have been there to rejoice in a happy moment. A moment where two people decided they'll face the world, the pursuit, the uncertainty - together. While I won't walk a runway in my gown, and James won't get a James Beard award, I will still feel beautiful in that dress and he will still be the greatest Chef I know. I mean something to him and he means everything to me. And that is enough for this day. We'll face tomorrow when it comes. 

My cousin took some photos of us to commemorate this moment. Obviously we decided to go to a farm that sells apple cider donuts. 

If you have rate inquiries for photography and you live in or around Central New Jersey, fill out our contact form. Tammy also makes custom designs using wood and natural materials featuring your images. To see a sampling of her work thus far, visit her Facebook page. 

Strawberry Rhubarb

Some may believe Memorial Day marks the beginning of the barbecue season or the first weekend it is warm enough to go to the beach. Admittedly, we indulged during the long weekend. We got together with friends and family, spent time in the sunshine, waded in the lagoon and had too many hot dogs, but more importantly we paid tribute to our troops. Selfless men and women who have sacrificed their own freedom and even lives to ensure people they have never even met might enjoy those very things. It was a weekend laden with emotion and ceremony. My boyfriend James, former active duty United States Marine, shared a tribute with my family on Monday afternoon. He bought an extra six pack of beer. We opened each can, one by one, pouring them over the grass to honor the fallen. He cried which is rare; I cried which is not rare. Everyone cried grateful tears, appreciative tears for lives lost and the lives still entangled in conflicts around the world. 

Someone in the digital sphere had said we can give thanks by living a life worthy of their sacrifice. While I can't save lives in the same way, I can endeavor to make the world a tad more kind, even sweeter. I took to my large pile of magazines and found a Strawberry Rhubarb Pie recipe from the Food Network. I found rhubarb at the market, an ingredient I have never worked with, and I got acquainted with its raw bitterness. I spent hours alone in my kitchen, following every step and assembling my very first pie, entirely from scratch. Berries were washed, butter cubed, and dough kneaded. 

While the dough was chilling we got a great rain and I listened to the calming melody of falling drops on the window sill. I rolled out the crusts and mixed the filling with sugar and the juice of just one lemon. The pie was arranged on a soaked picnic table as the drops made a lovely pattern. 

My crust strips may have been uneven, but the pie was bursting with character. It made me very proud to make something, every component, from start to finish. In to the oven it went, the aroma bewitching. Butter and fruit filled my home. We enjoyed the pie on Memorial Day with fresh whipped cream and touch of vanilla, silently giving thanks to the men and women away from their families. God willing most will return home, but the bitter reality dictates otherwise. May we never forgot them and strive to live lives worthy of their sacrifice. 

A Christmas Kind of Mood

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Mom and Dad prepare the stuffing like Nonna would have.

Thanksgiving was a whirl wind. It went as quickly as it came.  Our family prepares such an abundant feast that we convened on the Saturday following Thanksgiving to share a meal again. I love that. Such a wonderful holiday, and we get to have it twice. Having been so late in the year though, soon after the turkey and stuffing was digested, Christmas preparation was upon us.

It is the first year in the last seven, that I am home for the entire month of December and it has already been something special. Simple things make it so. Nothing extravagant, but the tangible anticipation of Christmas heightens the enjoyment I suppose. The scarcity of the season, only available one month in twelve, empowers us to live and love more freely? Or maybe Christmas music has subliminal messaging that teaches us to be kind to one another. The egg nog is spiked with happiness. The sugar cookie scented Yankee Candle puts you in the mood to bake. Or maybe it is the Holiday Bloom and Cheer Febreeze. That must be it.

In December, people sing along: in stores, at their desks, in the car. I pretty much sing along all year, and mess up lyrics through and through, but during this time of year it is more common and socially acceptable. The inhibited even sing. Some whistle. There is skipping. All do it to the tune of Carol of the Bells or Sleigh Ride. On Spotify, A Charlie Brown Christmas is alive and well.

In the past few weeks, I have spent more time than usual in Michael's craft store, buying Christmas stickers, treat bags, glitter pens, and blank cards. I've done serious time in the baking aisle as well. What to buy, what to buy? Brown sugar, heavy cream, and vanilla extract. Shall I splurge on new muffin pans? No Francesca, yours are fine. A can of pumpkin here and Anise extract for Mimi's Anisette cookies. Chocolate chips of every variation.

Sitting in my pajamas one evening I was working on Christmas cards, cutting out shapes with my Cricut and deciding on a color scheme. From experience, I know if cards aren't started well in advance, I won't finish them. I made some hot cocoa and added a splash of Eggnog as it needed a little dimension. It felt slightly gluttonous and perfectly "holiday".

Christmas card making.

Dad and I went to Corrado's to pick up the tree, a seven foot Frasier fir. It was loaded into the pickup truck and we drove home sharing a little heart to heart. He works quite a lot so any time he has my ear, I come away feeling grateful and loved. At home, James was preparing the pierogi Mom bought from the Polish Church. They are divine-the potato and sauerkraut kinds. He also made cabbage and kielbasa to round out the perfect, comforting meal. We huddled around the table, elbows knocking one another which happens in an average sized kitchen.  Smaller the better I say, as there is more affection packed into each square foot of the space. Take that, monumental kitchens with islands and elaborate cabinetry. (P.S. Don't get me wrong, if I ever came to have a kitchen like such, I would just have to pack it with more mouths to feed and merriment to share - to maintain the good stuff ratio of course.)

In December, calendars fill up with Cookie exchanges, Christmas concerts, and holiday parties. There is ice skating and tree lighting. Menus are planned and dishes prepared. Flannel sheets with snowflakes make their way on the bed. Gingerbread are decorated with candies and icing. Stockings are hung and gifts are wrapped. Regardless of how little they may have, people find a little extra to give to someone else. My friend Joey suggested we start a message chain in which we share daily with each other what we are thankful for. It has become my favorite part of the day.

I often wonder what would happen if we prolonged the season. Why must it only last from Thanksgiving to New Year's? The holidays can be tiring with the planning and gatherings, I know. We need not have cookie exchanges all year, although it would be pretty gnarly. I am thinking more about the spirit of it all. It would be just lovely to feel that warmth and gratitude all year. Maybe reconcile with someone you have been avoiding or donate your time to a charity drive. Make time for a dinner with old friends.

If I am not mistaken, research shows that Jesus was born in the summertime so I think it's only fair we share the love with the rest of the year.