A Fountain of Bubbly.

For Thanksgiving dinner we traveled to Richmond to visit family. There were lots of people there that I didn't know as well as several that I did. In those situations, I often find conversation with strangers a bit awkward, especially in settings that are supposed to be warm and comforting like Thanksgiving dinner. I find the drone of my public-self uncomfortable and weird--especially when I am with strangers and family at the same time. It is like half the room knows the answers to all of the of the questions that the other half of the room is asking. I tend to talk too much and be generally very uncomfortable, in short, I much prefer to stay quiet and helpful in the kitchen.

So that is what I did. I made myself helpful by being the drink girl. I mixed up delicious champagne concoctions--champagne with a splash of pomegranate juice. Very festive. And they helped take the edge off of the evening. Bottoms up.

As people drank, I continued to pop the cork, pour and serve. Pop. Pour. Serve.

When the time came for dinner, the deliciously smelling hot food was placed on the island and I pulled a magnum of brute out of the fridge to serve the last round of cocktails before we settled to our place settings. I placed the chilled bottle on the island between the turkey and the gravy. I then placed a towel over the cork and began to gently unscrew it.

Suddenly. A fountain of bubbles began to gush uncontrollably out of the bottle and all over the island, the turkey, the gravy, me, the ceiling, the floor, the potatoes, the pies, the green beans, the asparagus, and everything else within a 6-foot radius. My cover of being quiet in the kitchen was effectively blown.

Champagne had gotten in my eyes, but I was able to squint at the crowd of frightened onlookers who were clearly thinking, "OMW did she just ruin our dinner?!" Meanwhile, the poor woman who slaved in the kitchen making all of this food was thinking, "Is there a straw anywhere, I am going to need to slurp up some of this champagne, this crazy girl just ruined my dinner!" And Mike was slowly backing up as if he were trying to escape.

I am not really sure what happened next. Somehow it got cleaned up. Dinner was great, with a hint of bubbly.

What is in the Name. NutMeg.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
Romeo and Juliet

Since I have chosen this week to abruptly reinvent myself as a blogger, I decided that it might it be good to start with the basics.

Before I continue, I must share the great battle that is happening between my head and the keyboard. On one side I feel that this is quite narcissistic and self centered and self indulgent to talk just about me. I mean who cares really? There are literally so many more important matters to be concerned with--like poverty, hunger, and finding the perfect pair of jeans (i have found the perfect pair--they are the boyfriend jean at American Eagle--LOVE THEM). But on the otherhand, everyone has a story. Everyone has a journey. And perhaps someone out there will relate or connect or find their voice by reading about mine. Or not.

NutMeg.
I respond equally to Meg or Megan. Husband always refers to me as Meg. He only calls me Megan when he adds on my former middle name and says, Megan Lou.

Nutmeg is a wonderful, spicy spice that is not often used in cooking. It is saved for those rare occasions when nothing else will do. It isn't like parsley or pepper that enhances almost every dish. It is one of a kind for which there are no other substitutes. Take the classic bechamel sauce, nutmeg is the key ingredient and you can't exchange cinnamon or clove for it. Nothing else will work.

Nutmeg smells like home. I love home.

A Bit Of... I don't really follow exact rules. I am a rule breaker. If you need the previous posts about cooking you will notice that I don't measure, even when baking. This is because I don't do numbers. I find them tedious and too exacting. I just throw a bit of this, a bunch of that, a splash of this into the pan or bowl and viola. That is how I roll.

So. That is what this will be. A spot of this. A splash of that. Each post will be one more addition to the story. A unique story for which there is no substitute.

A steadfast spirit.

This past weekend I ran the Richmond Half Marathon. I will save the story of how and why I entered the race for another time, because all who know me have heard me say more than once, the last race is "my last race, I swear!" but inevitably I always enter another.

At least this one was only 13 miles. And not 26.

Anyway. By mile 4 or 5, I can't really remember, my legs started to hurt and I began to do the math. How many miles do I have left? How long will that take me? When can I sit down? Since I can't add, much less subtract, this was quite the challenge. I often had to get math confirmation from my running gal pal, Karin. "So, if we just passed mile marker 6 then we only have 7 to go, right?"

And that is how it went. One foot in front of the other. Mile after mile. Sore toes and achy hamstrings the whole way.

There is a Distance Running Law that states, The pain will only get so bad, and then you get to a point where it can't get worse. The key to running long distance is getting used to the pain. It is weird. But true. The difference between running 10 miles and 20 miles is not a lot. Because running 10 miles hurts and running 20 miles hurts just a wee bit more. It is true. Don't believe me? Get in shape. Run 10 miles, then 12, then 15 then 20. You will see.

This is also true about our Ethiopian adoption.

Waiting 3 months hurt A. Whole. Lot.

Waiting 15.5 months now hurts more but not much more. The weight of the wait, is a lot to take. You just get to a point where it can't get worse. I am reminded of the pain with each step. Each day. Every holiday that passes is another holiday that passes.

But at least it doesn't get that much worse. I am thankful for that. It is something that you get conditioned to. It is just like passing mile marker 9 in the race. Despite the aching body I take a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other.

Psalm 51:10
Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.