Assumption Pizza

I am a master of the last-minute. Oftentimes, I am only struck with an idea hours (or even minutes) before it needs to be finished. So two Thursdays ago on the Feast of the Assumption, I came across this amazing blog, which provides recipes and other meal ideas for each of the major feasts of the liturgical year. It also has recipe ideas for other not-so-major feasts, like St. Augustine's feast day, which was celebrated yesterday.

Of course, I realized that I didn't quite have time to prepare an Assumption-themed meal since at that point it was already 4 pm, and Andy likes to eat before 9, ideally. (Although, we have eaten after 9:30 in the early days of our marriage, when I was still figuring out our oven). So I decided to go ahead with my original meal plan: homemade Margherita pizza and our friend Julia's Chocolate Mousse pie for dessert (with tofu as a secret ingredient...shhh!!!).

As I was making the pizza, however, inspiration struck. Couldn't I use one of the crusts to do a little Marian-inspired decorating? I had a bunch of little Roma tomatoes that my mother-in-law had graciously given us, plus some pesto that we had made together, and I had bought fresh mozzarella. All the materials I needed to craft a quick Assumption-themed meal! After brushing on some olive oil to the pizza crust, I sliced the tomatoes and used those to form a large "M" in the middle. I then took a pastry brush and painted on a cross above the letter with the pesto. I placed slices of mozzarella around the "M" to look like clouds. And then, (because I wanted the pizza to taste yummy!) I brushed the mozzarella with a lighter coat of pesto. Below is the result:

Before baking (I was a little worried the pesto on the clouds would look weird, but practicality won out in the end)

Ready to Eat! Note: the crust was crisp because it wasn't loaded down with cheese and sauce. It was delicious!

So while  I won't be  submitting this to Catholic Cuisine anytime soon, I think it turned out pretty well for a last-minute variation on my original meal plan. 

And just in case you're interested in how the non-Marian pizza turned out...

Muy Delicioso!

Let me know if you're interested in the recipe for the aforementioned Chocolate Mousse Pie. I took pictures of the process, but the final result picture mysteriously vanished from my camera. But you can ask Andy how it tasted (fantastic!), plus it's full of protein and yummy chocolate goodness, without the dairy. 

Are you more of a stick-to-the-recipe kind of a person or spontaneous and creative (with sometimes disastrous results) in the kitchen, like me?

Fall Already?

It seems that fall has come early this year in Seattle. Rain is pitter-pattering outside, and the few deciduous trees we have are decidedly losing their leaves. I have to admit that I am a bit reluctant to part with summer and all its glory here in the Northwest. I have always loved autumn in the Midwest, but that's because summer can be so miserable. Summer in Seattle, on the other hand, is just plain wonderful. Sunshine, temperatures mostly in the 70s and 80s (I think we had a week or two of temps in the 90s, but that's nothing). And easy access to water. Oh-so-wonderful.

It doesn't help that when I first arrived in Seattle last November, it rained (poured, really) for two weeks nonstop. It was the most depressing welcoming party ever. So I associate the fall in Seattle (probably incorrectly) as being miserable and very WET.

But Andy considers autumn here and elsewhere to be his favorite season, so I'll let you know what my verdict is in the next few months.

But in the meantime, this change in the weather has been a good reminder that I need to write some more blog posts about all the fun we had this summer. So remind me if I forget to write one on our trip to Mt. Rainier and our mini-vacation to Andy's family cabin on the Puget Sound, to name a few.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Take me out to the ballgame...

Andy is on a mission. A mission to 1. get me more interested in sports, and 2. go to professional sporting events with me so that he can 3. have fun and 4. get me more interested in sports. I mostly jest, but I would say that, while Andy is not a sports fanatic, he is a sports fan. He grew up playing soccer, and going to several baseball games each year. My family, on the other hand, had no interest in sports, except as a mere passing cultural interest. "Ah, yes, the baseball game...Americana at its best." So we were lucky if we went to one baseball game every couple years. I could be wrong (sisters, feel free to correct me on this one), but I think I was the most interested in sports of the four of us. As in, I played volleyball in middle school, and actually wanted to go to baseball games during the summer. So, Andy has his work cut out for him.

Take me out to the crowd...

Ready for some baseball!

"I'm really excited..." Andy grinned, a bit sheepishly, as we approached the Safeco Field Baseball Stadium. We joined a mini procession of people--families decked out in baseball caps and shirts with players' names boldly printed on the backs, young couples on a date, and soon-to-be-raucous groups of single thirty-somethings, eager to get inside so they could get some beer. That's one of the really cool things about baseball games--everyone comes. On the big screen, we were introduced to an African American woman who was celebrating her 102nd birthday. "She looks great for 102!" Andy exclaimed. "I hope I look that good when I'm 80" I thought.

We successfully navigated past a young man with a sign warning us to "Repent! and escape Hell-fire," an older veteran, shouting something unintelligible from a megaphone, and scalpers wanting our extra tickets. We sat in the outfield, and in just the right location so that we got the brunt of the setting sun (We shouldn't complain, though, because the days are coming when we will miss the sun!). 

Our actual view. Note the sunlight in the top right corner of the photo.

Zoomed in, and they still look like ants.

Something curious I've noticed about Seattle: during the singing of the national anthem, I saw only one or two people in the crowd placing a hand over their heart. And I think I was the only one singing. Growing up in the Midwest, I remember everyone always placed a hand over his/her heart, in addition to standing and removing one's hat. Is this a dying tradition?

Buy me some peanuts and cracker* jack...

We brought most of our food to the game, because the prices are just plain ridiculous at the stadium. Ten dollars for a cheap beer? You've got to be kidding me. But we did decide to splurge on sharing some funnel cake during the sixth inning. At six dollars, it was worth it!  *Incidentally, I kept on accidentally saying, "Apple Jacks" instead of cracker jacks. Oh well.

I don't care if I never get back...

Yep. We know we're cute.

Baseball games are loooooooong. I always forget this. Fortunately, we brought some cushions to sit on. And they do their best to keep you entertained with songs, and the "wave," and hat tricks. And if you really wanted to, you could just hang out in the beer garden the whole game. We didn't do that, though.

Let me root, root, root for the Mariners, if they don't win it's a shame...

Well, we did our best, really, to support the Mariners. But, c'mon, they only have one player with more than .300 batting average! Sheesh! (Andy tells me that if you have less than .300, you're not very good). I wasn't expecting that we'd win, since the Mariners are notorious right now for being awful. But it was really bad.

For it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game!

The Mariners were the last to bat, since we were the home team. The score was 1 to 5 at that point, and it was clear that the Mariners had given up. The last batter tried three times to hit a home run (couldn't he just have gotten on base?), and struck out. Those of us who were still left (people started heading out during the 8th inning, when it was clear we weren't going to win), left with heavy hearts.

On our way back to our car, a street performer was playing "Walking My Baby Back Home" on a saxophone. And as we walked, hand in hand, I reflected that a baseball game is more about the experience than winning or losing. And as cheesy as it sounds, making memories with the ones you love.
 

You are welcome!

The Rhythm of My Days

In a conversation with one of my sisters, I realized that I haven't exactly been faithful to my promise to my family and friends that I would be more communicative now that I've been off Facebook. I have been writing blogs, but they've been as my sister put, very "philosophical" and not very informative about my day-to-day goings on here in the Northwest. "I just want to know what you had for dinner last night!", to paraphrase my sister. :)

Now, it wouldn't be very authentic of me to completely nix the philosophical blog posts (after all, the title of this blog is "Merry Dreamer"). So don't expect those to disappear. But, to satisfy at least one dear reader, I will do my best to add some informative blog posts about what's going on way out in this land of mountains and sea. Because it's very exciting and different than anything I have yet experienced in my short life. So, if you get tired of my "newsy" posts, feel free to skip them. Hopefully there is something here for everyone to enjoy...even the philosophers among us.

As I type this blog, I am sitting alone in my apartment. The cool morning breeze pours through the sliding glass door that leads out to our little deck. Andy and I have made it a routine to get up super early on Mondays (5:30 for him, and 5:45 for me) for 6:30 Mass at our parish.

There is something grand about getting up so early. While I am by no means a morning person, I enjoy rising before most, when the air has that scrubbed, squeaky-clean feeling and even the birds are still shaking the dew from their feathers and the sleep from their eyes. And when you get up this early, you sometimes see the most glorious sunrises. Today was one of those days. As we raced towards our cars (we drive separately, so Andy can go to work afterwards), I saw it--peachy-pink and purple streaks across the sky and the dusky blue of "our" mountain. "Look!" I cried, pointing to the morning majesty. Andy and I both grinned, and then were off to Mass.

I am always reminded of my Steubenville days when we go to the early Mass. Rolling out of bed, throwing on clothes, and stumbling across campus to get to the 6:25 Mass with Katherine or household sisters. Although it was hard to get up that early, I always felt like I had a jump start on the rest of the day...even if I went back to sleep afterwards. There is something so simple, so right about starting one's day early, and with prayer. I suppose that is what life is like in the convent or monastery. Simple. Cyclical. Ordered. Beautiful.

I do feel like I am getting into the rhythm of life here in the Northwest. While many things still take me by surprise (like the salty smell of the sea breeze at the Mariners baseball game), I am growing quite fond of my surroundings. Please continue to join me as I navigate through this mysterious land. And keep on dreaming!

Don't Worry. Be Holy.

Storming through his front door, Kevin proclaims boldly to the world (and anyone who's listening in his ritzy neighborhood) “I’m not afraid anymore. Do you hear me? I’m not afraid anymore!” A few seconds later, he sees his ominous neighbor and this is his reaction:

Well, that was long-lived, Kevin.

That scene from the movie Home Alone just about has me covered. I often make half-hearted and soon to be forgotten resolutions and promises, usually centered around how I’m going to stop worrying and start living. Carpe diem. Seize the fish, et cetera. And then I stop typing and start living in this world of ours. Which, quite frankly, is scary. Beautiful, yes. Awe-inspiring? You bet. But not an easy or comfortable place for scaredy-cats like me and Kevin.

What, you may ask, am I so scared of? Well, I could list of more than a double dozen of things that make my hands clammy and my insides turn flippety-flop. But it all boils down to these three things: 1. Death 2. the Unknown and the worst one of them 3. The fact that the when and how of Death is Unknown.

Two stories to illustrate my point.

Story Number One: The other day, my friend Caitlin told me about a cool Catholic college in Wyoming. It’s a traditional Catholic school with an outdoor education focus. Well, if you know me (and you probably do since you’re reading this), you know that I love all things Catholic and I love outdoor, experiential education. So I decided to check out their website for more information. As I was perusing the home page, I was surprised to see an article about the funeral arrangements for one of their students. On the way back from her freshman year at Wyoming Catholic College, Christine and her family stopped to do some hiking in the natural beauty near Moab, Utah. A few seconds before her death, her family snapped a picture of her, atop a craggy bluff in a pose of joyful triumph. Here was this girl in the prime of her life, and suddenly without warning, she was gone. (The ground literally caved in where she was standing, and she fell to her death).

Story Number Two: Around the same time, I revisited a story about a young Italian Catholic woman named Chiara, who, after carrying two babies with fatal abnormalities to full term, was diagnosed with cancer while she was carrying her third (and it turns out healthy) baby. She postponed treatment until after her baby was born, and passed away about a year later. To read her story and to hear her speak (she gave her testimony after the birth of her first child), with such faith in the midst of such great loss and suffering is very moving. (Warning: both will make you cry).

Isn't she absolutely gorgeous? Holiness does that.

What were my reactions to these stories? I was sorry. But more revealingly, I was scared. Scared because these women were young. They were good. And they were more prepared for their death than I am.

But something else I took away from both of these stories was their zest for life. Both were tragically cut short, but both lived their lives in such a way that they made those short years count. Plus, just because I worry and take ridiculous precautions doesn’t mean I will add one year, one day, one millisecond to my life. After all, doesn’t Jesus remind us of this truth?

“For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’ For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. 

(Matthew 6:25-33)

And honestly, even if it did, do I want to live a life of safety, timidity, and only-do-something-when-you know-no-risks-are-involved? No.

So I will try once more. To set out courageously. “No holds barred!” as my friend Katherine’s almost three-year-old proclaims in his Davy Crockett coonskin cap. To live each day that God grants to me without the extra “what ifs?” and “I can’ts.” And maybe next year, when my husband asks me to go skiing with him, I won’t imagine a million ways I will die an early death (as in losing control and careening wildly down a mountain into a forest of Douglas Firs). I’ll just say, “I’m not afraid anymore. Do you hear me? I’m not afraid anymore!” And try my best to mean it.