A most befuddling thing

At the end of everyday, I like to spend some time sitting on the back deck, sipping on a hot beverage and enjoying the beautiful nature scene that surrounds me. My mom and step-dad have done a beautiful job adding all sorts of naturey things out there. It's almost like you step out into an oasis, rather than a back deck with practical use. Not only are there dozens of varieties of flowers and plants, but there are herbs, bird baths, bird feeders, seasonally appropriate decorations, tiki torches etc. it's quite cute.

Because of all of these aesthetically pleasing, naturey things, a wide variety of naturey friends have learned to gather here over the years. We have all kinds. Chickadee's, purple finches, cardinals, blue jays, gold finches, humming birds, bees, crows (least favorite...well besides mosquitoes. I hate mosquitoes), woodpeckers, tufted titmouse's, a few other birds I don't recognize, gray squirrels, red squirrels, chipmunks and we've even had fuzzy little bunny rabbit's in the past {which are so cute I wanna eat them up...not in the literal sense. No, I don't eat cute little bunnies. In the "omg that baby is so stinkin' cute I just wanna eat it up!", kinda way}

It's free entertainment out there really. When you spend enough time out there, you begin to learn about their different personalities. Cardinals are almost robotic when they move. They tilt their head certain ways, and the way they hop and peck at seeds...they just look like robots. Blue jays are one of the loudest, alerting everything in the surrounding neighborhood that there is a human nearby and to run and hide. Chickadee's are funny. I haven't quite figured out if it is their preference, or everyone bird elses, but they can't seem to share the bird feeder...even with each other. There will be 3 birds having dinner quietly, one on 3 sides of the bird feeder, and a chickadee will come sit on the 4th side and all the other birds will fly off yelling in their little birdy voices. And when one chickadee is eating by itself, and another comes and joins, the first one darts off squawking as well. i dont' quite know what to make of it. 

My favorite of all though, is hands down, the red squirrels. Besides being so absolutely adorable when they are babies, they have the most personality of all of the little critters out there. We've had one that's hung around all summer. We call him Squeakers. (S)he got their name of course because of the distinct squeaking sound he makes whenever he is upset or perturbed about something. We line up shelled peanuts all around the deck, trying to lure him in to feed him by hand. He doesn't like coming around when the dog is on the deck with us of course. I remember one day when he jumped onto the deck from the apple tree to gather some peanuts, and as he did he spotted Duchess (our dog). Just as fast as he jumped down, he was back up in that apple tree, and soo upset. He turned around on the edge of the branch, squeaking and shaking his butt at us. He went on for minutes. It was quite comical. 

Yesterday I was reading my book at my favorite spot under the big tree in the side yard. As I laid there, I heard squeakers in the tree above me. I looked and looked for minutes, and finally spotted him up there, laying over a branch, looking straight down at me and squeaking up a storm. The neighbors probably think I'm crazy, because I was talking back at him, and inviting him down to join me in my nap. He finally found a nice little spot to sit and munch on the tree, dropping little pieces on my blanket the entire time. {silly squeakers}

When I woke up, he was still there resting. 

It was only today that I realized we have two red squirrels (or at least a visitor), and they are most definitely a boy and a girl. I was sitting on the deck admiring everything like I do every evening and all of a sudden I hear this commotion and see branches moving frantically. Suddenly, leaping from branch to branch, Squeakers appears! But he's not alone, he is being chased by another red squirrel. It was hysterical. He was leaping from unsteady branch to unsteady branch, running up the trees, and down the trees, circling the trunk of the trees, all around the perimeter of the property. At one point she caught up to him and they stumbled a little and then he darted off again. They made it back to the back of the property, and when he had some distance, he turned around and was squeaking up a storm. I was dying laughing. He was surely giving her a piece of his mind. 

I immediately warped back in time to my childhood as I thought of my favorite scene in The Sword in the Stone. You know the one where Wart turns into a red squirrel, and is learning how to do squirrely things, when he meets a pretty little female red squirrel who is just absolutely smitten with him, and will go to any length to win his affection. She is...ahem...a little forward with him {understatement of the week}. She mistakes his blatant acts of un-interest for playful acts of interest, as he's begging for advice on what to do from the wizard, Merlin (in the form of a gray squirrel of course), who offers no help. Merlin sits back singing 'A most befuddling thing', about the young, twitterpated couple. It is adorable, but a little bit heartbreaking how it ends. {I won't give it away}. 

Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed today's free entertainment in the back yard while I was sipping my first ever cup of Teecino (a caffeine free herbal coffee that my naturopath recommended...it certainly isn't coffee, but I'm giving it a shot).

Here is Squeakers, upside down in the center of the frame, looking at me from the tree during my nap yesterday

Here he is getting ready to leap to the bird feeder for a snack

Our cute little autumn window boxes on the deck

Our front steps

p.s. Autumn is my favorite season :)

Showing my patriotism, and fear of the midnight hour

I think it is safe to say that autumn has arrived in New England. It arrived with almost perfect timing, exactly 3 days following the annual Seafood Festival on Hampton Beach, which is the big to-do that closes out the summer. {one of my favorite weekends of the summer btw}

Autumn is my favorite season of the year, and I don't think I'm alone in that. When you live in a place like New England in the fall, it almost has to be your favorite season. Sure, we all love summertime, and sun tanned skin, beach days, and hiking and fishing and swimming, boating...and the list could go on. But I know that deep down, in the heart of every New Englander, they are a little bit giddy at the thought of the quickly approaching season. You hear mutterings everywhere. "I can't wait to wear my cute fall clothes", "I can't wait to go apple and pumpkin picking"...or my personal favorite, "When is football season gonna be here already!". {I am kind of a fanatic, and most decidedly a life long Patriot's fan, regardless if they blow the first home opener game since 2001, when they had it clinched......{sigh} 

I'll get over it soon...I hope.

No, today wasn't a good day for New England football. But, it was a perfect autumn Sunday afternoon. The air was crisp, the leaves are starting to change, my aunt Kate made homemade apple pie with fresh picked apples and pumpkinhead was on tap. That's another unmistakable sign of fall. 

{All things pumpkin}

I was just sitting here thinking about it, and in the last 2 weeks I've drank Pumpkinhead beer multiple times (at home and at the bar with a cinnamon and sugar rim....delicious), I've had dunk's pumpkin coffee, made DD's pumpkin coffee at home in my french press, had pumpkin cinnamon frappucino at Breaking New Grounds, made homemade organic pumpkin ice cream, homemade pumpkin cream cheese muffins and pumpkinhead beer cake. Phew!

Thank goodness for my bedtime of 10:30pm, instituted by my new naturopathic doctor, or I might turn into a pumpkin at midnight!

Here's a glimpse...they didn't last long.

Not a great thing to have around the house when your doctor has asked you to remove all flour and sugar from your diet....{sigh}...again.

Next up is homemade applesauce, hot apple cider and apple crisp at the Fryburg fair. Wait...no flour or sugar? Ugh...and yes, again....{sigh}.

My life will never be the same....

A few weeks ago I was in Seattle on one of my many business trips this summer. I was working a conference for naturopathic doctors, so there was a lot of...let's just say, interesting things being exhibited there. The entire show, I could hear this voice over a microphone at the end of the row I was in. After a couple of days I decided to venture over there and take a look at what the crowd of people were watching. There was this mid 50's, very handsome couple, demoing a blender. Once again I notice the crowd and I'm all, "What's the big deal? It's just a blender". But as always, curiosity got the best of me and I listened in. 
I hear him talking about wet blender and dry blender, and creating a vortex and friction and blah, blah, blah.... 
Then he said the magic words..."It's the #1 blender used by bartenders world wide". 
Cha-ching!
He had my attention now. 
Then he said even better magic words. "You can make ice cream and soup right in the container...."
Ice cream and soup? In the same container?
OK, I was hooked. Good thing there was someone else watching the booth, because I was there for at least 30 minutes watching him concoct an array of delicious treats. The first was a Mexican style soup, with tons of veggies, non-GMO spices and black beans, corn and tortilla chips added at the end. It was so good. I had two 3 cups of it...come on, they were only dixie cups. 
Then he started {stah-ted} to make ice cream. Well healthy sorbet actually. I was very skeptical when I saw the ingredients. 100% apple juice, banana, carrots and...cabbage? What kind of ice cream was this going to be? I don't know about you, but I'm used to Beach Plum, real, coffee Kahlua brownie ice cream with chocolate jimmies on top. sinful...i know.
Let's be real folks. You can't eat Beach Plum full fat ice cream your entire life, as often as you would like, and look like this husband and wife do in their 50's. They didn't look a day over 40..if that. 
So he proceeds on with the blending of his ingredients, in the same container that he had just made hot soup in. After what seemed like a minute and a half, he stops the blender, picks it up, takes the lid off and turns it upside down. no movement. We have ice cream sorbet folks. Remember those ingredients I just told you about? The cabbage and carrots and banana and apple juice? They were absolutely delicious! I had 2 cups...again.
I asked a few questions and discovered just how many incredible, healthy and delicious dishes can be made by this beautiful little machine called the Vitamix. I had to buy one. I almost felt as if I didn't have a choice. They were offering such a great show discount, I couldn't refuse. 
I've been waiting and waiting and...waiting, for my Vitamix to arrive. I've been planning out what I was going to make first. I've been visiting all the local farmers markets and health food stores, picking up all things organic. Fruits, nuts, corn, flowers...well the flowers weren't organic, those were just something pretty for mom. 
I have been like a kid awaiting Christmas day when you know that your parents got you the exact gift you have been wanting, but they haven't put it under the tree yet, and then magically on Christmas morning you wake up..and there it is! 
Yes. That level of excitement. I would call home asking mom if it had arrived. I even called Vitamix directly to find out if it had shipped yet, and when exactly the date and time of arrival would be. I couldn't wait for my Vitamix to come. 
Well today was the day. It arrived! And I was like a kid on Christmas morning, trotting through the house yelling "My Vitamix came!". Mom laughed. I think secretly moms love seeing their kids get excited about something, no matter how old they are. 
The anticipation was killing me as I was unpacking, removing Styrofoam and washing my Vitamix for it's first use. My first dish? Organic almond butter. So yummy, and so much better for you than peanut butter. 
And then I made the smoothie I've been waiting to make that I found in their online recipe book.  

It's an all organic, kale, pear, green grapes and banana delicious green smoothie. This was my dinner. And it was oh so good. And so healthy. It's so powerful it even disintegrates the seeds of berries. I hate it when I make a breakfast smoothie with blackberries, strawberries, raspberries and blueberries, and the seeds get stuck in my teeth. Problem no more!
I LOVE my Vitamix! 

And the cherry on top of the sundae today was, the library called and told me the book I requested was in. I have been waiting to read Double Cross by Sam and Chuck Giancana. It's the unveiling of the Kennedy's relationship with the mob boss Sam Giancana, and his involvement with the untimely death of my favorite, Norma Jean..better known as Marilyn Monroe. I'll have to hurry and finish up the Nicholas Sparks book I'm on right now so I can get to the exciting one. 
I'll let you know how it is. 

Nature: A foreign world

I can't get enough of the outdoors. I love trees, and birds, and lakes, and hiking, and swimming (clothed or otherwise), and furry friends like squirrels and chipmunks. My all time favorite place is of course, the beach. The sound of the waves does something for my soul and state of mind that no other activity has done yet. It's peaceful but powerful at the same time.   I can walk, run, lay or play on the beach and have completely different experiences, but always leave feeling refreshed and energized. I love camping. So much so that I recently took a road trip across the country with my sister, and camped the entire way. The type of camping where there isn't cell phone service or other digital distractions. The only everyday comfort that we had was a double high queen size air mattress. {a necessity after riding in a car for 14 hours a day}. The type of camping where the stars are brighter than anywhere else, the trickling stream is the sound you fall asleep and wake up to, and you have to be certain to lock up your smores food at night time to avoid any cute, neighborly local critters. 

I've always loved being outdoors. I can't imagine a life always in front of a screen, or inside with AC, or in an office. ewww, no way. 

When I was a kid, basically all we had was outdoors. Before the time of video games being a household staple, one computer (let alone 3 or 4) per house, iPad's, iPod's, smart phones.....well, you get the point. Before the time of man-made everything entertainment, we really didn't have a choice but to go outdoors. As a child I would mow the lawn for fun (it took 2 1/2 hours, but it was a ride along mower, and I loved it). My brother and I would be gone for hours a day swimming in the waterhole, climbing trees, skipping stones, checking out the beaver dam in the pond at the base of the mountain we lived in front of, or dancing in the rain. We'd ride the tire swing, play fetch, go hunting, walk up to Lougee hill or ride bikes. We grew up in a time of knee scrapes, elbow bruises and sun-kissed skin...i don't even need to wear sun screen anymore, and need the vitamin D anyways.  

Even as I write this post I'm sitting outside on the deck, listening to the pine bugs, crickets and birdies singing and talking to each other. And it just started to sprinkle, but the sun is still shining, so there'll probably be a rainbow, which is a communication from God. And a gray squirrel just came up for a visit to the bird feeder, and looked straight at me and was startled. The acrobatics these little guys perform for me is incredible.

My sister is even a master birder. She can recognize birds from far distances just by the way they fly or the structure of their wings or the sound they make. Of this, I'm incredibly jealous. 

See, these are things you can't experience indoors. 

These days it seems like kids only get thumb cramps from so many hours of gaming, or snazzy new eye glasses because their eyes are already worn out at 12 years old. 

I was recently talking to a very well rounded, smart and environmentally sensitive dear friend of mine, and he brought up the term 'nature deficit disorder'. I had never heard of it before. My initial thought....

What? You can be so deprived of the things of nature that there's actually a disorder for it? That can't be true. 

I did some digging. Here's one of the sites I visited. And 'nature deficit disorder' actually does exist. Not only that, but they're making a correlation between it and ADHD, Depression and Childhood Obesity. And yet schools are still removing recess completely and replacing PE with computer studies. Isn't it bad enough that when kids are let out of schools they run home to their computers and gaming systems? Do we really need to remove the only half hour (maybe) of connection with nature that they get? And the scary part is, parents are keeping their children indoors because they are 'protecting them from danger'. 

I don't know what your opinion is, but I think it's pretty clear we're doing an incredible disservice to the future of our nation. I'm concerned that one day (not far off) humans won't even be able to connect with each other, let alone be grounded by nature. 

Sure, I love my iPhone, and access to the world wide web at any given moment...but something I love more, and always will, is being in the great outdoors, connecting with the beautiful Creation that God gave us. I make time for it every single day. I know I'm not the only one like me, but I wonder if it's largely because of my upbringing. My dad always took us camping, fishing, hunting or biking...and I remember my mom hand feeding chipmunks and raccoon's (not recommended), and nursing wounded hummingbirds back to health. I can't imagine feeling any other way about nature, and always wanting more time with it. But if it's because of my attachment to the ways of my childhood, what is going to happen to all of the children these days, who can't even ride their bikes to the end of the street and back, let alone go camping in the woods for days...yikes.

What is society going to look like in a few decades?

Oh no....it's happened.

I sound like one of those old, out of touch with modern society, people. {oops}

Soulful interaction

There's a few things I know for sure in this world. I won't go into my plethora of knowledge about the earth being round, or the sun being hot or that in 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue....or was it the John Smith...either way, I digress. 
One thing I absolutely know without a shadow of a doubt, is that every person who walks this earth has a soul. No, it's not tangible, like the dirt and water that makes up the earth, or the blisters you get from too much sun... or the sleek, silky feeling of skinny dipping in lake water...but who really does that anyway? :)
After living out the short life that I've lived on this earth, and experiencing everything that I've experienced, I can't believe some people think we just live, and then die, and then become worm food, and that's it...gross.
No, you can't compare it to any other feeling or matter in this world, because it's a gift beyond human comprehension. It's a direct connection to the Creator of our universe and His vast creativity that is unmatched....and that in itself is indescribable. I could write an entire post novel about it, but I'll keep it on an earthly human level right now. 
I know without a whisper of question that I possess a soul. A soul that is a sixth sense, picking up on palatable connections with other souls in this life. Your soul is that feeling you get when you look into someones eyes, and you just...smile. You might have just met them, you might have known them your entire life, but your souls connecting and communicating brings an unmistakable, unique interaction that is not duplicated by any other experience in this world...and the only immediate response is for you to...smile, or laugh..or get goosebumps. It's your soul that alerts you to a complimentary, friendly soul when you shake hands, hug or otherwise make physical contact. And it might be that you've found your 'soul mate' if it's like the grand finale of the best 4th of July fireworks display you've ever experienced, even if you just brushed fingers.  Your soul is alive and well, and if you're open to it, will allow you to see into a realm of peoples lives that is not visible to the outside world. You'll know that you're tapped in, when it feels like the rest of the world doesn't exist around you and you're being completely transformed.

I like to think of it as different colors. I've heard that in Heaven there are more colors than we've ever imagined on earth. It's as if to say our souls are different colors, and are wandering around, aware of all the other unique colors that are out there. And when you come into contact with another color, you might appreciate it for it's unique beauty, and you might leave a splash of color on them that is apparent for everyone else to see. But occasionally, and maybe only a handful of times in a lifetime, you will come across a color that your color (soul) has an un-duplicatable attraction to. Romantic or otherwise. That when you connect, it's so magical that a completely brand new, unique color is formed. A color that is unrecognizable to the rest of the world, but is so much a part of your being that you are forever a different shade of your original color. It might be so slight, that no one else picks up  the changes you present, but to you, you're a completely different color all together...and the only other person who recognizes you as you are now, is the soul who left that impact on your life, and you on theirs. Or it might be so apparent, that the rest of the world doesn't recognize you as you anymore. These interactions and realizations can take place without either of us being aware it's even occurring. 
Everyday, we encounter different colors souls in this life, and it's up to us if we're going to recognize their uniqueness, or simply let them pass us by as just another shade of gray, or purple or blue. It's up to us, if we're going to allow them to splash a bit of their color on us or if we're going to walk around with a shield of clear saran wrap surrounding us, so we're able to see the other colors out there, and let them think they're splashing us with their color, but unwilling to let them leave an imprint on our lives and consequently not allowing our color to splash on anyone else...what a tragedy.
I don't know about you, but I hope my color is yellow. Yellow because I want to be bright and apparent to everyone else. I want to stand out to the rest of the world. And I want the splashes of color that I encounter in this world, to be obvious and clearly a part of who I am. Maybe that's why I'm a November baby and my birth stone is gold topaz. I choose yellow because the only other lighter color is white...and white is set apart for the only truly pure soul who's ever walked this earth, Jesus Christ. Black is the absence of color, and white is all colors combined...so it makes sense that He would be white, since we're all created in God's image, and only Jesus walks around with a splash of every single soul who's ever walked this earth. 
Whatever your color is, know that it is truly a gift. That no one else wears your unique shade and that you have been given that color with Divine purpose. Don't hide it from the world, and don't be afraid to let the other colors of this world, splash their beauty on you, and you on them. You might have the great fortune to be turned to a completely different shade that is only recognizable to those who have eyes to see and souls to...well, recognize. 

There's no place like home

I've been living in California for just under a year now, and it's becoming increasingly apparent to me just exactly how obvious it is that I'm not from here. It's been brought to my attention that my bold, need to follow up, straight to the pointed-ness has been a topic of discussion among my laissez faire, sounds like a nice idea, california "yes" (which really means, that sounds like a great idea but I would never actually consider doing it and don't expect you to actually plan it) answering friends. I think I might come off as a tad bit pushy and abrasive...but that's just what I've picked up on. 
The jury is still out on where exactly the intricacies of my attitude are derived from. Is it from being raised in the northeast by parents who grew up in Massachusetts, and have strong family ties to the 'oh so classy' side of Lawrence, Mass where everyone add's a 'y' or an 'ie' to the end of their name...Timmy, Micky, Dickie, Eddie. "Eddie I'm gonna go sit in the cah'r its too damn cold out here...the what? The car... C.A.H!"....Oh God bless us..
 Is it my Portugee heritage who are known for being loud, but not because they're yelling, just because they're Portuguese? Is it from my need to be in control and a smidgen bossy and for some reason feel the need to be loud about what I want? "Joshy! Get ova' here Joshy! Joshy get ova' here right now!"...gosh I was such an angel as a child...my poor brother. 
Or maybe it's my need to be stubborn just to make my point loud and clear..."It's gonna take me a looonnnggg time to eat all these french fries.........." as Nancy ever so patiently smiled at me and thought to herself.."where did this stubborn little devil-child come from?!"....bless her heart.
I might feel a kindred connection to Charlene (chah-lene), the mtv girl from Lowell, who's pretty face and and smile only last through so many times of being called an mtv girl before she'll knock a b***h out. I don't know, I'm just sayin'. 
I always have my nails polished, love wearing black clothing and red lipstick and listening to Billie Holiday as I spend an hour..hour and a half in the bathroom every morning. When I was home recently my mother came into the bathroom, as I was ever-so-carefully applying my very black mascara, and asked me how I ever got to be so particular about my maintenance, cause she surely was never that way...yea right Ma, you had the biggest poodle hair, stirrup pants and slouchy socks with high-top Velcro Reebok's than any other mother when I was a kid. You bred me to be a fashion-ista. 


Speaking of my recent trip home, it was so good to be home. I've been home a few times since moving to California, and I've never been so aware of the uniqueness of home until this trip. The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane was the smell of New England. That salty, humid smell. I took a deep breath in through my nose and a smile instantly formed on my face. That's one of my favorite things about New England. And New England is so green...like GREEN. California is pretty beige colored except for the month of March when it's bright green before everything dries up. In New England, there's so many different shades of green, and it's everywhere, all the time. Even in the wintertime there's green pine trees everywhere. The ocean is only a mile and a half away, and there's freshwater everywhere. I love driving down the road in the middle of the night, with the windows down because it's so hot and humid out, and knowing you're driving by freshwater, even if you can't see it, because you can hear the peepers. For my west coast friends: Peepers are the insects and amphibians that live in the water and make the sound of summer nights in New England.  I learned recently that 'peepers' is a foreign term out here....strange. 
Everyone back home either owns a boat, canoe or a kayak and many summer days/nights are spent standing by, swimming in or boating on freshwater. 


 Home.... late night bonfires where you get eaten alive by mosquitos, beach cruises in the convertible, cigar sessions on the seawall while listening to so much music the battery dies...but that's OK, it's New England and if you run far enough in either direction you're bound to run into someone you know that will give you a jump. 
Home....backyard lobstah bakes followed by a caravan of cars driving to the beach plum where you walk up to the takeout window for homemade hard ice cream (not soft serve 'fro-yo') for the second third time that week. Where you walk the strip, play some ski-ball at the arcade, swing by Blips Blinks for a doughboy (another east coast treat) and settle in on the sand for fireworks every Wednesday and Saturday night in the summer. 
Home...games of cribbage on the deck, huddled around the citronella candle drinking an ice cold beer or 'Boston Tea Party', my favorite summertime drink. 
Home...trips to Fenway, the most nostalgic ballpark in the nation where you drink Sam Adam's on tap, eat foot long Fenway Franks and sing Sweet Caroline during the seventh inning stretch.
Home...where people act like me, talk like me and have the same sense of humor as me... or they at least know what I'm talking about when I say doughboy and peepers. 
And most of all, home is where family is. No matter how crazy, dysfunctional, blended and unique family is...there's no place like home and being surrounded by family. 
When I announced I was moving to California, everyone was shocked. It was a very spontaneous decision..which is how I always roll. 
And I think most of you will be equally shocked to hear about my most recent spontaneous decision... It is very bitter sweet...
I'm moving back home to the east coast. 
I know it's sudden. And trust me, I love living in California. You can't beat the weather or the enormous variety of food options where you basically just pick which country you want to eat from and you can find a restaurant (or 10) nearby....even if it's Ethiopian. I was able to go hiking all 'winter' long and didn't have to wake up extra early to shovel off and start my car a half hour before needing to leave. I've been welcomed into peoples lives and homes and taken care of by almost complete strangers, who quickly became like family. I have the greatest community and circle of friends that anyone could ask for, thanks to Cornerstone Fellowship. Friends who have left a lifelong impact on me, who have shared their west coastness with me, and fully embraced my loud and proud northeast coastness. 
I have grown more in this last year than I think I ever have in any other year of my life. I will always look back and remember my year in California with fond memories and take the experiences I have had here with me for the rest of my life. I hope I've left as much of an impact on my friends here, as they've left on me. And I hope that they'll never forget me.
I will miss this place, and the incredible people I'm leaving behind. But...there's just no place like home..and it's time for me to go back to the northeast, where I belong. 

Making massa without the mastah'

I'm a Portugee. You may or may not have already known that, but it's a fact. Well...sort of. The truth is, like most other Americans, I'm actually a mutt. But the heritage I have grown up with, connected most with, am learning the language of, and resemble the most, is in fact, the Portuguese side. I may only be 25% Portuguese....but, the physical features that shine through are the Portuguese, I have the attitude of a Portugee, and I can bake like a Portugee. If you know any Portugee's then you know they love their linguica (so delicious) and their bread (carbs are bad?). Specifically the sweet bread, which in my family we call...Massa. The correct spelling is actually Marca, but coming from the northeast, my family calls it Massa...said like it's spelled.  


Several years ago, after living in a 3 generation home with my Portuguese grampa, I decided I wanted to learn to make the Massa bread. We only had this bread at Christmas and Easter, and I wanted to carry on the tradition of baking the bread. I sat down at the kitchen table, informed my grampa that I wanted to learn how to make the bread and was excited at the idea of learning the family recipe straight from the source....or so I thought. After I posed the request, I waited for a look from my grampa Manny, of pure joy that his granddaughter was enthusiastic about learning how to make the family bread...yeah right. 
Much to my surprise, he looked over at me like I had just told him I was going to enter a body building competition, scoffed, and then proceeded to tell me I would not be strong enough to pound the dough properly. As he looked away and did not entertain my idea any further, I couldn't help but stare at my (all of 110 lbs) grampa, with confusion and disappointment. 
"Wait..what? You don't think I'm strong enough to pound the dough properly? I don't think I understand".
"You're not strong enough to pound the dough. Leave it to your brother." He says. 
In my stubborn, loud, Portugee little mind, I'm saying...are you kidding me? You don't think I'm strong enough to pound the dough? You're 110 lbs and you can pound the dough...so, what makes you think I'm incapable? wtf.
My grampa certainly was a stubborn, critical and extraordinarily hard to please individual...qualities of which I learned to laugh about.
Since I'm a stubborn (take after my grampa) and determined Portugee, I went to plan b and recruited my ever-so-much-stronger older brother to teach me the trade of pounding massa bread. It was Christmas Eve Eve, and he had only been shown once by Grampa Manny, but through a little trial and error, we were able to create our first batch of the sweet bread by ourselves....well, with some drive-by criticisms from grampa as he was passing through the kitchen, but nonetheless. We were proud of our creations and decided it would be a yearly tradition. 
At some point my brother trailed off with a busy schedule, and I began making the massa bread without him. Each time with a little improvement, and my mom (an angel) by my side. She was the photographer, dish washer, cheerleader (there's a lot of pounding ya know) and shoulder massager (did I mention she's an angel?). We would always intend to start the bread early in the morning (it takes all day to make), but would always end up finishing the loaves at 10:00 at night. Grampa would give up waiting, bid us goodnight and retire to his room for the night...
Then 10 minutes later, he would reappear from his room, take a seat by the stove, and peer his bald little head around the front of the stove to have a peek. He'd look up at me, eyes wide..."What?" he'd say. "I had to see if something was happening". And then he'd flash a big grin and settle in til the finish. Mom and I would wink at each other with a little smirk, secretly loving grampa's involvement. 


Today I baked the bread. And now I live in California, and it was the first time I baked the family bread...without one family member by my side. I didn't think about the significance at first, but as I moved through the process, it was more and more clear that I was missing having my mom and my grampa involved in the process. Before there was always this anxiousness inside of me as I went through all the steps. Each time I would wonder if I would pound the dough enough so it would rise properly, or would it turn out with a case of the "flatsies", as grampa called it. He would always put in his constructive criticism, and each time I would improve from the last. When every loaf was finished, I would analyze each one, finding the most perfect, prized loaf to present to my grampa. After I selected the loaf for him, everyone would stand around as I cut into the family loaf and started giving out thick, hot, steamy, mouthwatering pieces of massa lathered with real butter....dang there is nothing like homemade bread, fresh from the oven. 
Today, as I was going through the process, I had to relive all of these memories in my imagination. Although I still had the anxiousness of the final outcome, I didn't have my grampa around to check in with me...and he's not around for me to present him with my prized loaf. His spirit must have been with me today though, because this has to have been my most beautiful batch of massa bread to date. As I watched through the oven door as each loaf rose to the right height (free from a case of the flatsies) and turned a beautiful golden brown in all the right spots, I was so happy and so proud. I was of course texting my mum pictures throughout the process, and she said grampa must be smiling down on me. I said a quick prayer, asking God when he sees my grampa today, to thank him for me. For all the constructive criticism that improved my skills, and all the memories of making the massa bread as a family. 

Having a peek and anxiously waiting for the finished product

A labor of love, but worth every bit of it. 

The finished product

Cutting into the first loaf. Always the middle first..it's the best part :)

There's no pearl in my oyster!

I've been told that San Francisco has some of the best food in the country. Especially seafood. I've been to a few places for some local cuisine, but due to the high price of food everything out here, I have been very selective on my dining choices. One of my recent dining experiences was probably the best since I moved here though. It came at a high cost, but was absolutely worth it.  I was meeting up with an old friend from college and he suggested the Waterbar in the marina neighborhood of San Francisco. I looked it up online before heading out there, but there wasn't much besides the menu to look at. I don't understand why because this place was..incredible. They didn't leave out one detail of the casual fine dining experience. Let me set the stage...

This was the view from the outdoor seating..

I pulled up to the front of the restaurant, gave my keys to valet parking and proceeded to check in for our reservation. I was a few minutes early so I found a seat at the bar and grabbed a san pellegrino with a lime while I waited. This was the classic after work cocktail and oyster hour joint for the local financial district area. There was everything from 3 piece suits to Banana Republic denim and t-shirts. 

The view from my seat at the bar... terrible huh?

My friend joined me and we grabbed a real cocktail while we waited for our table. We almost decided to stay in the lounge because of the incredible view, but I'm glad we decided to keep our reserved table.

The restaurant had 2 huge salt water fish tank pillars. Our table was right next to one. These cute guys were our dinner guests. You can even see the view of the lights on the bridge through the water. They probably weren't too thrilled when we were enjoying their cousins the Triggerfish and Opakapaka though. They were delicious. 

My friend is a big fan of oysters, and since they had a full raw oyster bar and I've been wanting to try oysters forever...we ordered some. He told me I'd either love them or hate them and that most people prefer not to chew them. So we ordered a dozen of the featured raw oysters.

He showed me how to take the little miniature fork, separate the oyster from the shell, drizzle it with the sauce in the middle and let the oyster slide on into my mouth. As I chose my first oyster, and raised it to my mouth, he reminded me not to chew, but swallow the meat immediately. These things were huge. The verdict? 

I LOVED them. Incredible. Can't believe I waited this long to try them. 

They were really huge though, so I tried chewing the second one, and it wasn't at all what I expected. It wasn't rubbery or chewy or snail like at all and it was much easier to swallow. I'll definitely be stopping by for happy hour sometime soon when the oysters are only $1 each. If you haven't tried oysters yet, and are adventurous at all, you need to go try them. I'm hooked. 

The Artist, and a tribute to another.

Until award season, I had never heard of the movie The Artist. Even then, I didn't learn much about it. But after it's recent sweep at the Academy Awards I decided I had to see what all the rave was about. Once I learned it was a silent film which takes place during the 1920's and 30's, I couldn't wait to see it. This is a movie I knew had to be seen in a theater on the big screen. Something about lounging on the couch watching it on the 46" flat screen tv with all kinds of modern technology laying around didn't seem to suit a silent film. Then again, I've never actually seen a silent film. Except for all of the programs I watched with grampa back home. He always had the volume turned all the way down because he was deaf anyway. Those weren't real silent films though. Either way, it wouldn't be the complete experience, and I'm all about the complete experience. 
I searched flixter for all the local theaters to see when the show times were. I couldn't believe it when I didn't find it anywhere. It just won best picture, and it's not in any of the local theaters? It didn't seem to make sense to me. I looked a little further, and I found it. There were still two available show times at a little throwback theater in Livermore called Vine Cinemas. This theater had a terrific old Hollywood feel to it, minus the grunginess of the Nickelodean theater in the Old Port. The room itself was older, with cement floors and round tables at the end of each row where you could order food and a cocktail. It had everything but the clouds of smoke billowing towards the ceilings of the old days. 
The movie began, and it was....quiet. very quiet. you could have heard a pin drop. Or the lady obnoxiously chomping on her popcorn in the row behind me. 
I've always had a soft spot for old cinema, but I was especially taken by this film. I wasn't prepared for the emotions that I felt. The musical scores were a perfect match for the excessive 'mugging' in each scene. I always wondered why silent films seemed so overly dramatized. They had to have some way of conveying their emotions to the viewers, since they didn't have words. Although the music was not being played live by an orchestra in front of us, the experience was entirely authentic and mesmerizing. 
As I sat watching the film, I couldn't help but think of Grampa Manny. We sat together on Christmas morning, watching It's a Wonderful Life, and it's a memory I'll never forget. One of my last with him. He watched intently, and when George and Mary locked eyes from across the room during the high school dance scene. Then he looked over at me and said "You see? Sometimes that's all it takes". I could see he was thoroughly enjoying himself, watching an old black and white film with mild romance. it's my favorite Christmas movie. 
Had I only known about The Artist while I was home for the holidays, I would have sat across from Grampa at the breakfast table and told him to put on his best flannel shirt and winter cap, because I was taking him to see a motion picture. Oxygen tank and all. I would have rented out the entire room for a private viewing if he wanted. It would have been worth every penny. He would have worn his green lined flannel shirt and his navy blue knit cap. my grampa was a creature of habit. Those were his favorites. 
I'm not even sure if my grampa ever went to the movies. He came from very humble beginnings, and he surely never talked about it, and he didn't much care for contemporary programs anyhow. He stuck to the history channel, the weather channel and his favorite....the TV Guide channel. This would have been the only contemporary motion picture, I am confident, he would have thoroughly enjoyed.  He would have sat quietly the entire time, only making remarks when absolutely necessary. He was a man of few words. It was only when he was upset that he would speak often. If he was happy and content, he sat quietly until someone else started a conversation with him. My grampa was a simple man. He didn't have much, and asked for even less. Best of all, he was truly an artist. His beautiful paintings are displayed proudly on the walls of our home. His model ships, that would take him years to finish, are displayed in museums and store fronts. He remembered every last detail. 


I sat with him as much as possible while I was home. I knew it might be our last time together, at least on this earth. A couple weeks later my sister called to tell me grampa wasn't doing well. He hadn't gotten out of bed in days, and was too weak to even speak anymore. We started a video chat on skype, and she brought the laptop in to his bedroom. She put the screen in front of him, so he could see me. He didn't say anything, he just laid there and looked at me. I did my best to just keep smiling at him. Since he was deaf, I took a sharpie and a post it note and wrote I <3 U on it. I couldn't fit the word Love, but he knew what it meant. I held it up to the camera, and he read it. A moment later, he whispered, "I love you too". Then he raised his arm sideways, too weak to even turn his hand around.....and he blew me a kiss. I tried to hide the tears streaming down my face, just as they are now, but he didn't care. I blew him a kiss back and he wiggled his fingers at me to say 'see you later'. 
The next morning my grampa passed away. He was warm and asleep in his bed. He would have been 91 this May. 

Christmas 2011. He always was a ham.

Watching It's a Wonderful Life together on Christmas morning.

My last interaction with my grampa. 

I wish I looked better. I was terribly sick, but he didn't care. There he is, laying in bed, in the lower left hand corner of each frame. Looking back at me and showing his love for me....

even in the silence. 

Dedicated to:

Manuel Costa

1921-2012

Lesson(s) in patience

This past weekend I was on a business trip to Phoenix. Although the weekend was marked by several "seinfeld" moments, the most classic was my experience at the gate, waiting to board my flight back to Oakland. 
It was a Sunday night, and I knew the airport would be busy with end of weekend flyers. I was concerned about the amount of time available between leaving the conference and arriving at the terminal, so I decided to upgrade to Business Select. worth every penny...well, usually.
I checked in at the counter, received my boarding pass (which came with a free cocktail during my flight....thank goodness) and proceeded to 'fly by security'. The line for regular security was enormous, so getting to go straight to the beginning of the line was absolutely incredible. I'll be doing this every time I fly. 
I arrived at the gate with time to spare, grabbed a bite to eat and relaxed for a few minutes before I saw people lining up to board. With A3 as my boarding spot, I was to be only the 3rd person to board the plane. Well that's after the pre-boarders, but that's never more than 4 or 5 people and takes about 5-7 minutes to complete. I threw my brief case over my shoulder and glanced out the window at the setting Arizona sun. We were scheduled to depart right as the sun was setting...it was going to be absolutely beautiful. 
Then it began....
2 planes came in to side by side gates at the same time. Both flights just happened to have 4 little old ladies in wheel chairs exiting....at the same time. The southwest crew member announced over the intercom, and extremely loudly, for wheel chairs and assistance to gate C7 asap. They proceeded to line the, eight, little old ladies front to back as they waited for airport crew to push them to baggage claim. They might as well have pulled up a table and started a game of canasta. As the minutes passed, and no personnel came for assistance, it was clear that passengers ready to board were getting antsy. It was crowded, and we couldn't start even the pre-boarding process until the, eight, little old ladies were whisked away. Finally .............


{side note: an earth quake just hit while I was writing this! That's my second one since moving here...not all that impressive..and I hope they stay that way}


Ok, back to the regular programming. Where was I? Oh yes,  pre-boarding. 5 more minutes until I would be sliding into my aisle seat, resting my head back, while everyone else was still waiting in line for their turn to board. They called for pre-boarders and here came a basketball team. 15 total athletes and chaperones....all in wheel chairs. Not only were they in wheel chairs, but they all were pushing a 2nd wheel chair in front of them which held their bags. Thirty wheel chairs. thirty. On a normal flight, 4 or 5 wheelchairs would have been abnormal. But....thirty? Really? My shoulder was hurting from carrying my bag, my feet were incredibly sore and I was so exhausted. This process was excruciatingly long...just taking forever. 
Looking back I felt like George Costanza. I imagine him playing this through in his head..{what if I walked over to the group, showed them my prominent A3 spot in line and smiled at them. "Hi there (big smile, squinty eyes). I couldn't help but notice how big of a group you have here, and it really is a wonderful thing you're doing, getting all of them together on a basketball team and such. That must really lift their spirits. You see, I paid extra to be seated rather quickly on this flight, and I didn't think you'd mind if I just slid on by to take my seat before you begin boarding your team. I promise, you won't even notice I'm there. Do you think we could arrange this?} When the airport personnel nicely asked him to get back in line, he'd throw his hands up in the air and with his screechy George Costanza voice yell "But I paid extra for Business Select!! I want a refund!"


But in all reality, my feet were killing me, my shoulder was starting to burn (why hadn't I put my bag down by now?) and I was quickly getting frustrated. I took a deep sigh and glanced over at the team of paraplegic basketball players.....They were all laughing and talking about how great the game had been, even though they only came in 4th place.....
Seriously? These kids can't even stand up on their own, and I'm complaining in my head about how bad my feet are hurting from standing for so long? God really does have a sense of humor sometimes. He's been teaching me lessons in patience frequently lately. This is just one of the many examples of Him gently nudging me, encouraging me to be a bit more gracious and thankful than I once was. 
And I did get to watch the beautiful Arizona sunset, and it was just as magnificent through the windows in the airport. 
We really do serve a merciful and gracious God. 

my new whip

It's official. This week I confirmed my place as resident in the Golden State of California. I've wrestled with this for a while now. When I first moved out here, my plan was to spend my first full day becoming a resident here and kissing New England goodbye for the foreseeable future. I was spreading my wings, and not even thinking about looking back. 

or so I thought. 

 Although Cali had never been on my radar, I was anxiously thinking about a warmer climate to venture off to. And after spending 9 days here last July (which by the way is probably the coldest time of year in San Francisco....strange, I know), I couldn't wait to return. I knew this was the place I wanted to get lost in, and discover all kinds of great things about myself that I never had before. It was here I would push myself to try anything new that came my way. I was going to do it all folks. And even live to tell about it. I didn't even think about the fact that I was literally moving from coast to coast (Hampton, NH to San Francisco Bay area), I just couldn't wait to get here and let the good times begin.  

In the beginning, I was too busy being excited and taking it all in to realize it. I had finally done it, finally taken the leap and moved somewhere I said I was going to move to. No where in my brain did I ever think that I...Rachel Starr Davis.. would ever even imagine of being... homesick. No way. I was the adventurer, the conqueror of all my fears, the Carpe Diem, live life to the fullest and try everything possible that I never experienced growing up in rural Maine, girl, who wouldn't look back. yeah right.

Sure, this really is how it was for a month or so. Then my favorite season was here, but not really here in California. Fall has always been my favorite time of year, and there's hardly a more beautiful time in New England than Autumn. I was having a more difficult time than I'd imagined making new friends and I had the outrageous idea of watching 'When Harry met Sally'.... all alone. if you haven't seen it yet, watch it. Needless to say, it made me starving for the East Coast and my community of family and friends back there. 
Slowly I started to wonder if I had made the right decision, moving so far away from everything that was familiar to me, and the homesickness became overwhelming. My little sister, Michelle, came to visit me for Thanksgiving/my early birthday, which brightened my spirit while she was here, but drove home the fact that I missed my people terribly.  
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay for the long haul anymore, if I'm being completely honest. I knew I would go home for the holidays, with no new friends to speak of, and not want to return again, leaving my family and friends 3500 miles away. 
So, as my registration and inspection became due in November, I "forgot" all about it. I didn't want to go through the process of changing residency, getting new license plates and drivers license, if I wasn't sure I wanted to be here..you know, longer than a few months. Besides I've gone over a year past registration before....and never got a ticket. i probably just jinxed myself. 
God has a sense of humor sometimes, and He always has us right where He wants us. I started getting involved at my new home church, Cornerstone Fellowship, and just 6 days before I made the trip back to New England for the holidays, I met my dear friend Marina and her husband David. We instantly became bosom buddies, and it was exactly what I needed. Sometimes I wonder how we can have connections with perfect strangers, and a wise woman of God once answered that question. You see, God is preparing our hearts for each other, even before we've ever met. He knows our wants and needs, and he matches us with exactly the right people, at exactly the right time. pretty amazing huh? 
Anyway this was just the first of many wonderful and rich friendships that I have been blessed with, and although I cherished every moment of being home for the holidays, I was excited to return to my new home in California. As you can see from previous posts, my circle of friends has multiplied! I know this is where I'm supposed to be now and I decided to plant my feet firmly here. As hard as it was to let go of being a resident of the Live Free or Die state...we really do have the best state motto...I have fully embraced the Golden State and have finally made it official.
When I was at the DMV getting my new plates, the woman explained to me that I had to forfeit my license plates and punch a hole in my NH drivers license. I told her in New Hampshire we only have to have a plate on the back, so I only had one to surrender. it's only a little white lie. 

My souvenir.

And here it is

I think the new flair suits my little car.

I actually didn't even recognize my car after. I was so used to scanning the lots for my obvious New Hampshire plates that I walked right past my car after leaving the grocery store. i had a good laugh when I turned around and realized what I'd done. 

Episode 3: The one with the big balls

Bowling was one of our pass times growing up in Parsonsfield, ME. It was about the only activity there was to do, except for tree climbing, ice skating and water hole swimming. We had birthday parties, end of school year parties and Thursday night bowling leagues there. My school even had bowling league as an optional sport after school. Yup. We sure did like our bowling. 

Oh, and it was candle pin bowling. You know. The small balls you could fit your entire hand around, and skinny bowling pins. And the balls weren't bright neon fun colors either. No. They were brown and red and boring and ugly. You can imagine my envy the first time I experienced Big Ball Bowling...Is that what they call it? The bowling pins looked like the ones we had in our household bowling sets, and the balls were big HUGE and very bright and colorful. And then there was the light show. That's right. Where they had black lights, neon lights and strobe lights creating a party atmosphere with loud contemporary music blasting as you had your bowling extravaganza. They weren't playing a jukebox of 1970's rock'n'roll hits selected by the local blue collar weekly bowlers who were reliving their prime bowling days of their youth. There was no way I could ever go back to my candlepin bowling and actually enjoy myself again. nope...never.

Good thing I moved to an area of California that has not one, but two Big Ball Bowling ally's. And I've found a group of friends who enjoy bowling just as much as I do. Probably because they never had to experience candlepin bowling, but either way. 

Here are some photos from our recent outing to the Big Ball Bowling ally.

Look at all those bright colored Big Balls.

Here's the whole group.

We had a blast. And yes there were current music videos on the screens down the ally's and a cosmic light show. 

Here I am... probably getting ready to bowl another.. zero. That's right, I rock at bowling.