Old loves; newly obsessed.

In the cool fall months I get to be a little obsessive about being "warm & cozy," an elusive experience that involves big chunky socks, sweaters and scarves, several quilts, beautiful dishware and many, many kinds of "warm & cozy" foods to fill them. Here is what I'm currently over the moon for:

Mark Bittman's Banana Bread.

Oh. Em. Gee. Granted, I change the recipe a little (no unsweetened coconut on hand, plus I like my b-breads as moist as possible, so I use half white sugar and half brown [at least] and I added a 1/2 C of homemade cinnamon applesauce). I recently discovered that storing the loaf in wax paper is KEY to keeping it moist. A few days ago I made the batch in a mini loaf tin and now I have 8 tidily wrapped breakfast-to-gos for the week! Almond or peanut butter is my favorite topper.

Roasting Veggies.

Obsession is an understatement... it doesn't matter what kind of veggie it is, because if it came home with me this season it's going into a bowl to be tossed with olive oil and sea salt, then on to the cookie sheet and into the over for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees. I'm doing this with everything from sweet potatoes to parsnips to cauliflower to carrots, but especially to...
BEETS.

Can't get enough. My favorite combination is a beet-brussel sprout-sweet potato dish, whose leftovers get reheated in Brianna's artichoke dressing and served on a bed of mixed greens. Too. Much.
This is the best tea in the world. Ever. I'd back that statement with money.

Quinoa!!

When I was sick as a child, my father made quinoa soup: a bland, chicken stock base with this magical grain in it that I could stomach regardless of how much gatorade or saltines hadn't stayed down. I'm currently sipping on a quick bowl of my grown-up version: veggie stock, quinoa, mushrooms, onion and spinach. Que rico.

Orange iPod shuffle.

This little guy is my running buddy, pushing me up hills to LMFAO and Jay Z while all that cozy rich food settles. I don't know what I was thinking trying to run outside before without an iPod, or even with one of the old nanos that didn't rock the super-convenient clip feature (I used to wedge it into my sports bra or waistband instead, and wouldn't you know that the things are not sweat proof at all).

Soon I'll update about my recent birthday, which included some more delicious foods and a gorgeous autumn hike up one of Roanoke's most picturesque mountains. Happy fall!

The Floof Parade

Living on the Appalachian Trail has many perks, the first

being that hiking is an incredible way to reduce stress.

This is from a few days ago, resting on an overhang near Tinker Cliffs,

looking out at Carvin's Cove Reservoir.

Hiking has become a big part of my life lately, along with the wonderful new experience of running regularly outside. I'm sure the shift was weather-related, as my first real attempts of breaking away from the treadmill were over the summer in 90 plus degree heat. Now, I can't get enough of the 3-5 miles in weather that, depending on the time of day, is anywhere from the crisp 50's to comfortable 70's. I loaded up my shuffle with nothing but booty jams (Major Lazer to Gaga to MIA to JT) and one day I found myself running by the gym entrance, and to my surprise up the enormous hill by the barns. To my greater surprise I found myself able to push through all the usual brain-doubt that slows me down when I run outside or uphill, and now the two to three loops are so enjoyable, they feel easy. And there's something about feeling strong and physically capable that I'm discovering is essential to my well-being.

A friend of mine here refers to those grumpy, gutter-stuck times when all you can seem to think or say is less-than-sweet as "going on a Floof parade." This is especially resonant with me because I am, for the most part, smothered in a thesis titled "The Meat Parade," and drifting from one to the other seems dangerously easy.

Things have been getting to me lately-- stupid things, things outside of my control and things that have absolutely nothing to do with who I am or what I'm trying to do. And there's only one possible reason: somebody's been slipping me the Haterade.

Based on some of the things that have been getting particularly under my skin lately I can venture a guess that all this grump has something to with what I feel has been a massive emotional and mental upheaval amidst a relatively static environment: why can't all the people around you change at the same time and rate as you do? It's such a downer. The entire grad school experience has been an enormous growing one, but this year in particular I feel like it's been an extraordinary series of lessons in humility, commitment, and singular old fashioned hard work, but sometimes I find that these things don't seem to be at the forefront of everyone else's experience here.

I'm not saying I'm surrounded by bums. It's probably just that I'm surrounded by better multi-taskers and time managers-- people who can work all day and play all night. I never got the hang of that.

I recognize that this is the downside to personal growth-- it's not a publicly mandated thing. Part of the new tension is learning to change against the grain, and find a new place for yourself in the community. For me that means learning to ignore the part of me that really really wants to go play with everyone instead of holing up with the Meat Parade when I know the latter needs the attention. And to not be angry or jealous when it seems like everyone else is constantly having fun doing non-writing things. I mean, 1) this is prep for the writing life, right? Not to mention this is what I came to do. and 2) I'm not a complete hermit. Prioritizing the completion of my book is changing my social life so that weekends can't always mean "playtime," but I'm by no means cut off from the world around me.

I'm just a drama queen. And I love, love, love to play.

Also, I've been dealing with this lately, with increasing stress:

As if I don't feed him 150 times a day.

This one had its eyes eaten out before I could get to it.

I love my cat, I do. But I do not love what's happened to him in this tiny hayloft apartment. He's demanding and loud, and becomes destructive when I don't let him out, and when I do he kills everything within a 2 mile radius. And I'm squeamish. Picking up carcasses is not my favorite thing to do.

Little monster. What am I going to do with him?