Life is so fragile
Life is so fragile.
Life change in an instance, for the good and for the worse.
Lives end, lives begin.
Time is so precious.
Time flies past us like we're standing outside ourselves, watching.
Time is always in short supply.
Love is so strong.
Love stays constant through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Love is ALWAYS there.
We may be fragile, but we are precious. And when the hourglass tips, we WILL be strong.
xo <3
Monday, May 17, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
What is Casual Blues and Streaking Yellows?
Some days you are blue like the bottom of the sea. And other days, you're streaking across the sky like the sun. For every other day, there is this...
The above says it all. Let's face it: our lives imitate a wave. We sometimes ride the tide, or get sucked into the undertoe. We have bad days, good days, and days that we just exist in neutral. For those days, and everything in between, I've made this blog.
What is this? It's Casual Blues and Streaking Yellows. A blog page. On your computer. On the internet. On the planet EARTH. Get with the program already.
Who am I? That's a good question. If I find out, I shall let you know.
Why am I doing this? That is also a good question, and one that I actually know an answer to. The answer is because I bloody well can, and if you don't like it, too damn bad. Just like you, I get the casual blues and the streaking yellows. So I made this blog to write about my unique life journey.
Every moron has a blog. What makes you differnt? Yes, I am well aware that every idiot with highspeed has a blog, and is giving their piece of shit opinion on it right now. You could very well go listen to some hick's rant about gun control instead of reading this. Feel free to do so. This isn't here for your benefit. I don't claim to be an expert on ANYTHING I write about. I am not the head cheese of knowledge in one area of pop culture, or for that matter, in ANY area of pop culture. I am simply writing what I want, and posting it online for shits and giggles. Some weeks, it might be a short story, or a poem. Other weeks, it'll be a rant about stupid people and stupid world politics. Whatever it may be, feel free to drop an opinion on it in the comments section. Or, share your own experience/related story and feel superior for a moment.
When will there be blogs posted? Weekly? Daily? Monthly? Whenever I can be arsed, really. But I can almost PROMISE it will not be daily. I don't have that kind of attention span. Moreso, I don't have enough topic to write about. Seriously. I'm actually a pretty basic person. This is more for mental rambling than adding anything creative to the interwebz.
So there you have it. It's a blog. Deal with it.
Oh, and please subscribe. Thank you x)
<3 xo
The above says it all. Let's face it: our lives imitate a wave. We sometimes ride the tide, or get sucked into the undertoe. We have bad days, good days, and days that we just exist in neutral. For those days, and everything in between, I've made this blog.
What is this? It's Casual Blues and Streaking Yellows. A blog page. On your computer. On the internet. On the planet EARTH. Get with the program already.
Who am I? That's a good question. If I find out, I shall let you know.
Why am I doing this? That is also a good question, and one that I actually know an answer to. The answer is because I bloody well can, and if you don't like it, too damn bad. Just like you, I get the casual blues and the streaking yellows. So I made this blog to write about my unique life journey.
Every moron has a blog. What makes you differnt? Yes, I am well aware that every idiot with highspeed has a blog, and is giving their piece of shit opinion on it right now. You could very well go listen to some hick's rant about gun control instead of reading this. Feel free to do so. This isn't here for your benefit. I don't claim to be an expert on ANYTHING I write about. I am not the head cheese of knowledge in one area of pop culture, or for that matter, in ANY area of pop culture. I am simply writing what I want, and posting it online for shits and giggles. Some weeks, it might be a short story, or a poem. Other weeks, it'll be a rant about stupid people and stupid world politics. Whatever it may be, feel free to drop an opinion on it in the comments section. Or, share your own experience/related story and feel superior for a moment.
When will there be blogs posted? Weekly? Daily? Monthly? Whenever I can be arsed, really. But I can almost PROMISE it will not be daily. I don't have that kind of attention span. Moreso, I don't have enough topic to write about. Seriously. I'm actually a pretty basic person. This is more for mental rambling than adding anything creative to the interwebz.
So there you have it. It's a blog. Deal with it.
Oh, and please subscribe. Thank you x)
<3 xo
Thursday, May 13, 2010
My Mother's Kitchen
There really isn't anything quite like my mother's kitchen. It's more comforting than a hot bath, and more secure than a jail. It's cleaner than Martha Stewart's house, and it smells better than the kitchen of the Ritz. No matter what is prepared there, I know it will be delicious, tasty, hearty, and made with love.
It isn't so much the objects there, although they do account for a lot. In years past, we lived in a house with a rather small kitchen. The five people in my family had a hard time getting around each other to make our lunch for school or get a drink of juice. But the sparkling white cabinets, pretty blue walls, and delft tile decorations were always a cheery welcome to anyone with a rumbly tummy. Nowadays, our kitchen is quite large, beautifully decorated in cherry wood cupboards and sunflower yellow walls. The chilly tile floor does nothing to cool the warmth that this room emanates. In this kitchen, there are a lot of nooks and crannies and shelves and drawers for all my mother's cooking odds and ends; not to mention her endless supply of tupperware storage containers.
The countertops, always tidy, have always held the basic everyday supplies and appliances. The toaster, the napkin box (which has been painted a few times to change decor or hides wear and tear), the coffee maker, the kettle, and lastly, the mixer and mom's recipe box. The mixer has changed over the years, but it's sight always stirs many a warm memory of the goodies it has prepared. But Mom's simple blue recipe box will always trigger a interesting reaction for me.
That little box holds everything. Bakes and squares, casseroles and side dishes, cookies and biscuits, desserts and goodies, cakes and pies, breads and more. I cannot count the number of times I have flipped through that box, withdrawn a recipe with an interesting title, and thought about the last time I tasted it. Some recipes I have not had before, because my mother has collected it from a friend and not used it yet. Some recipes are on new cards, and some receipes look like they've been dunked in the cake mix a few times. Some are cut-outs from magazines, or folded pieces of paper that were typed out on the computer or printed from the internet. Some, I have added myself, but not many.
Above the recipe box, on the shelf and in the drawer, are dozens of reciepe books. Some older than me. Some from when my mother was in high school. Each has unique, retro designs, with unique titles, themes, and reciepes. Some are new, barely used, and some are falling apart and require tape to keep them in somewhat order. I have yet to explore them all.
My mother's shelves are always stocked to the bursting. Cookies, pasta, breads, snacks, spices, sweets, condiments, baking supplies, baking decorations, and mixes and seasonings. And the fridge is always full: fresh produce, meats and cheese, milk and orange juice, more condiments and dressings, and homemade jams and jellies. But none of the kitchen's stock can compare to what comes together in this room.
Seasonally speaking, there are some foods that only waft in delicious aromas during the holidays. There's olibollen and appetizers at New Year's; roast chicken at Easter; ham at Thanksgiving; meringues, bakes, croquettes and turky at Christmas. Birthday cakes have been baked and decorated by hand in the figures of Barney, Bugs Bunny, and later, Barbie. Cookies, cupcakes and squares for school or church have appeared by the dozens.
More than anything, my mother's kitchen speaks so loudly of no one other than it's owner: my mother. Just like her kitchen, she has stood by her family through messes, spills, accidents, broken plates, small fires, failed reciepes and burnt cookies. The kitchen is versatile, clean and tidy, deliciously aromatic, sensible and pretty, yet unique and outstanding. Just like my mother. And my mother with her kitchen has nourished our family, connected us together, divided us when necessary, and reminded us constantly that there is no place quite like home.
For all that her kitchen is she has made it to be, and without her, it wouldn't be quite the same. I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
<3>
It isn't so much the objects there, although they do account for a lot. In years past, we lived in a house with a rather small kitchen. The five people in my family had a hard time getting around each other to make our lunch for school or get a drink of juice. But the sparkling white cabinets, pretty blue walls, and delft tile decorations were always a cheery welcome to anyone with a rumbly tummy. Nowadays, our kitchen is quite large, beautifully decorated in cherry wood cupboards and sunflower yellow walls. The chilly tile floor does nothing to cool the warmth that this room emanates. In this kitchen, there are a lot of nooks and crannies and shelves and drawers for all my mother's cooking odds and ends; not to mention her endless supply of tupperware storage containers.
The countertops, always tidy, have always held the basic everyday supplies and appliances. The toaster, the napkin box (which has been painted a few times to change decor or hides wear and tear), the coffee maker, the kettle, and lastly, the mixer and mom's recipe box. The mixer has changed over the years, but it's sight always stirs many a warm memory of the goodies it has prepared. But Mom's simple blue recipe box will always trigger a interesting reaction for me.
That little box holds everything. Bakes and squares, casseroles and side dishes, cookies and biscuits, desserts and goodies, cakes and pies, breads and more. I cannot count the number of times I have flipped through that box, withdrawn a recipe with an interesting title, and thought about the last time I tasted it. Some recipes I have not had before, because my mother has collected it from a friend and not used it yet. Some recipes are on new cards, and some receipes look like they've been dunked in the cake mix a few times. Some are cut-outs from magazines, or folded pieces of paper that were typed out on the computer or printed from the internet. Some, I have added myself, but not many.
Above the recipe box, on the shelf and in the drawer, are dozens of reciepe books. Some older than me. Some from when my mother was in high school. Each has unique, retro designs, with unique titles, themes, and reciepes. Some are new, barely used, and some are falling apart and require tape to keep them in somewhat order. I have yet to explore them all.
My mother's shelves are always stocked to the bursting. Cookies, pasta, breads, snacks, spices, sweets, condiments, baking supplies, baking decorations, and mixes and seasonings. And the fridge is always full: fresh produce, meats and cheese, milk and orange juice, more condiments and dressings, and homemade jams and jellies. But none of the kitchen's stock can compare to what comes together in this room.
Seasonally speaking, there are some foods that only waft in delicious aromas during the holidays. There's olibollen and appetizers at New Year's; roast chicken at Easter; ham at Thanksgiving; meringues, bakes, croquettes and turky at Christmas. Birthday cakes have been baked and decorated by hand in the figures of Barney, Bugs Bunny, and later, Barbie. Cookies, cupcakes and squares for school or church have appeared by the dozens.
More than anything, my mother's kitchen speaks so loudly of no one other than it's owner: my mother. Just like her kitchen, she has stood by her family through messes, spills, accidents, broken plates, small fires, failed reciepes and burnt cookies. The kitchen is versatile, clean and tidy, deliciously aromatic, sensible and pretty, yet unique and outstanding. Just like my mother. And my mother with her kitchen has nourished our family, connected us together, divided us when necessary, and reminded us constantly that there is no place quite like home.
For all that her kitchen is she has made it to be, and without her, it wouldn't be quite the same. I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
<3>
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