The Cupcake Project

A few weeks ago, I bought Julie and Julia in an airport bookstore so that I would have something to read on my flight to...somewhere. I can't remember now where I was flying to. I think I was flying home.

Anyway, so the book (which was just made into a movie) is about a woman who decides, just after her 29th birthday, to cook every recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Julia Child, over the course of a year. She does this, and blogs about every recipe along the way. I enjoyed the book thoroughly, and began thinking of a similar project. Copying Julie Powell and cooking through the Julia Child cookbook is pretty much out of the question because:

a) I live in Lubbock, Texas, and don't have access to a lot of the exotic ingredients required for French food, and

b) Too many of the recipes Julie Powell made sounded really disgusting. I have no desire to make aspic or to split bones for marrow to use in some sort of sauce. 

Then, last week, Stephanie gave me Martha Stewart's Cupcakes. It contains, by my count, the recipes for 75 different cupcakes that I would make. It's not as daring as Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but it is definitely do-able, and I am pretty sure it is something I will actually enjoy. It will be one more thing to keep me from working on my theory of therapy paper. Plus, it will give my blog a theme. Not an original theme, I realize, but a better theme than "How many times can one person go to Washington D.C. without actually seeing anything cool?" or "Posts about times when men have said stupid things to me."

I forsee potential problems with this plan:

• I will have to make at least one batch of cupcakes, sometimes two, every week to meet this goal.
• I live in Lubbock, Texas, where it is not easy to find things like unsweetened shredded coconut or vanilla bean.
• I am already more excited about some recipes than others.
• Some of these recipes are going to require me to buy equipment, like a food processor, which I had to use to make the coconut cupcakes, and a kitchen torch for things like meringue. Conveniently, Martha includes a list of places where you can buy such things. Again, most of them are nowhere close to Lubbock, Texas.
• I will end up with a lot of cupcakes. However, I think I can find people to eat them, which might be a fabulous way to connect with other people, such as neighbors, coworkers, and my visiting teachees.
• Martha is not afraid to use booze in her cooking. And some recipes call for coffee or tea. Hence, there are a few recipes I will not be making. I know alcohol is supposed to cook out of things, but there are a fair amount of people in the community who know me as their therapist and as a Mormon who I wouldn't want to run into buying it.
• Many of the cupcakes are as much about the decor as they are about the actual taste. Hence, many of the cupcakes call for ridiculous shapes made out of marzipan, or, in one bizarre case, mushrooms made from meringue, white chocolate, and milk chocolate.

I made the first recipe from the book on Friday night--coconut cupcakes with coconut frosting. I took them over to a garage sale my friends were having on Saturday morning, and they were a huge success. The leftovers made it to Stephanie's house, and then a game night with some people from my branch. I have no pictures to post on my blog, but there are some on the page with the recipe.

Substitutions: I did not have pure coconut extract or pure vanilla extract. I used imitation for both. Also, I could not find unsweetened coconut flakes, so I sprinkled the top with some sweetened shredded coconut instead. Nobody complained.

Equipment purchased: A food processor and a candy thermometer.

For those of you who have a hard time with the texture of coconut (I've heard it described as like eating cuticles), I ground mine up pretty fine in my food processor, and it was almost unnoticeable. Also, I am a big fan of Seven Minute Frosting, although it took me longer than seven minutes to make it. It is light and fluffy, almost like marshmallows or meringue. I didn't try piping it, but in all other aspects, I liked it as an alternative to buttercream. If you like coconut, I would highly recommend trying this recipe out. If you do, please let me know what you think of it.

Writer's Block

I know, I have about four trips I have yet to blog about, and while I still fully intend to, I have decided to use this blog to accomplish two of its other intended purposes:

• To rant.


• To avoid doing what I should be doing, which, in this case, is writing THE PAPER OF MY LIFE.

The second is the subject of this post. I am about to begin taking my qualifying exams, after which I will be a Ph.D. candidate (assuming I pass). What am I now, you ask? I'm not really sure, which, I think, makes passing my qualifying exams that much more important.

These qualifying exams consist of two papers. In the first paper, I have to write about my theory of therapy. In other words, I have to talk about why I think therapy works. Which means I have to think therapy works. Which I do. Unfortunately, in the last two days, I have had 8 of 9 clients cancel or not show up. I think this is a personal record for me. For those of you questioning what kind of therapist I am, I would also like to mention that four of these clients are people I have never even met, so, hypothetically, these people haven't even had the opportunity to not like me yet. A snarky person who will remain nameless suggested that, perhaps, I am getting a reputation in the community. Anyway, this has created a paradox where I have time to write my paper, but nothing to write about. 

Instead, I have spent a lot of time online-looking at blogs, looking things up on Wikipedia, stalking people on Facebook, buying things I don't need, looking up summaries of old episodes of Gilmore Girls. In fact, as I have been writing this post, I have gotten distracted several times and looked up Faerie Tale Theater, Mark Harmon, and Cole Porter on Wikipedia, checked Facebook about seven times, Googled a recipe for Brazilian lemonade, and checked my Netflix queue. 

This is not to say that I have been wholly unproductive. I now have one journal article that has been published and one in submission, which will make my vita slightly less pathetic when I apply for jobs next year. I also did some laundry and unloaded from my dishwasher the dishes I did not LAST Sunday, but the Sunday before. And I ran two miles. These are all things I would feel very good about, if I didn't have this paper looming over my head. 

When I was about 10, I wanted to be a writer of fiction. I didn't aspire to Anna Karenina or Wuthering Heights, but I did have dreams about writing serials similar to The Babysitters' Club. Even now, I sometimes think about chucking the whole Ph.D. thing and writing a novel. The problem that I always run into when I start to write, whether it's a manuscript, a paper for class, or a story about a girl dating a hockey player, is writer's block. Or is it writers' block? Anyway, it is the reason I decided to become a therapist. But I didn't know that, in order to become a therapist, I had to become a graduate student first. Being a graduate student has involved lots of writing, and, consequently, lots of writer's block.

So, here I am, for the next month, on my couch, like I'm stranded on a deserted island with only my laptop and the remote control for my DVD player. If you don't see another post from me for a few weeks, you'll know I got over my writer's block. If you do, well, maybe I can do something else with these two years of Ph.D. level classes.

Washington D.C., Trip 2

Within a six-month period, I will have the opportunity to visit Washington D.C. three times. I should probably provide some background to make things make sense.

A little over a year ago, I was awarded a minority fellowship through SAMHSA and the American Association of Marriage and Family Therapy. In addition to receiving a generous sum of money, I have also had the opportunity to attend training meetings by some of the experts in my field (and related fields) on minority issues and substance abuse. It's a pretty incredible experience that always leaves me feeling a mixture of heavy emotions related to my cultural and professional identity. The last meeting left me feeling very unresolved. Also, I spent four days in our nation's capitol and saw none of it.

So, I can't say that I was really excited over the prospect of flying to Washington, D.C. to spend three solid days in a conference room and leave feeling emotionally battered. This is me, again, sounding ungrateful to the association that has given me a lot, in addition to paying for food, lodging, and airfare for this four day trip. I'm a brat.

I planned to arrive in D.C. early enough to get a good night's sleep before our first day, which was to be spent on Capitol Hill. Unfortunately, I got stuck in Dallas for an extra two hours as a storm passed over DFW and left us sitting on the tarmac. I was lucky enough to be on the same flight as my friend Martha, another MFP fellow and student at Tech, so we had dinner together in the airport while we watched CNN footage of a security guard at the Holocaust museum who was shot and killed earlier that day. It was sort of a chilling way to begin a weekend that was sure to include discussions of discrimination, oppression, and power. When we arrived at Reagan National Airport, we debated about catching the Metro to our hotel or taking a cab. A man driving a shuttle came up to us and said, "You need a cab? There are no cabs running this time of night. Get in my shuttle."

Why we obeyed him is beyond me. I will say that, while I am among the least street-savvy people in the country, Martha is a shade less savvy than I am. So we followed him, while Martha, confused, whispered, "I see three cabs up the street." But we concluded it was a little late to change our plans. Meanwhile, we got on a shuttle with seven other people from various other countries who were staying in various places around the city. I don't think the doors on the shuttle closed properly, as the overhead light flickered on and off several times. We kept looking over our shoulders to make sure our bags were still in the van. An hour later, he dropped us off at our hotel, and after some confusing negotiation over prices, we paid him way too much and checked in. It was 1:30 by this time, and my roommate, Kim, was already asleep when I got to my room.

The next day, we met in the hotel lobby for breakfast before taking the Metro to Capitol Hill. As I mentioned previously, I saw nothing that looked like D.C. when I came in February, so I was pretty awestruck by the sight of the Capitol Building, the House and Senate Buildings, monuments, museums, the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, etc.

We had a photo session scheduled on the steps of the Capitol Building at 11 with Congressman Jesse Jackson, Jr. He was one of the major players in securing us the SAMHSA funding, which, according to Adisa, our program director, was a result of a conversation he had with Congressman Jackson about the importance of families (snide remarks about the congressman's family pre-empted). He was very nice, but took charge of placing us for the picture so that he could get it taken in a timely fashion and get back inside, where he was to be speaking in 15 minutes. If we'd had access to CSPAN that day, I guess we could have watched him.

The official Capitol Hill photographer got a shot of us with the congressman. This one was taken with my camera after he left. Sara, me, Avigail, Afshana, and Kristy.

Instead of watching CSPAN, we had lunch in the cafeteria of one of the House buildings, and then split up to meet with staff members of Senators/Representatives from some of our respective states. Those meetings were relatively short, which left us some time for sightseeing.

Here is a shot of me next to the Texas state flag. It's funny-Texas is the only state I've ever lived in whose flag I can recognize easily. It may be because it is such a simple design, but it's probably because I see it often.

There are 19 Smithsonian museums around Washington D.C. The first one we explored was the Native American museum. Because of the training associated with this Fellowship, I often find myself looking at things with a more critical eye than I used to. And the irony of a museum for Native Americans built on land stolen from Native Americans was not lost on me.

We visited an art museum featuring exhibits of Japanese artwork. Here is a shot of a screen from the Edo period (I think. It's been several weeks since I took this picture, and my memory is a little fuzzy. I liked that it depicted a family gathering. I also liked that they were eating onigiri, as I am pretty sure that Japanese families today still do this.

Below is an intriguing painting by James Abbott McNeill Whistler called The Princess from the Land of Porcelain. It's part of the Peacock Room in the Freer Gallery. Whistler also painted the entire room in addition to this painting. Click the link if you want to know more about it. I just thought the painting was interesting because it is an American depiction of a Chinese woman. I don't think she looks particularly Chinese.

Here is a shot of me and Afshana as we made our way back to Union Station for dinner. I wanted to get Washington Monument in the back. I apparently also got piles of concrete barriers and the back of a moving truck.

Then, we headed to a restaurant called The America for dinner. When you have 27 people with different tastes, some of whom are also vegetarians, at the same dinner table, I guess you have to go kind of generic. The restaurant boasted cuisine from various regions of the country, like Maryland crab cakes, Texas barbeque, and Southern fried macaroni and cheese. 

After dinner, despite soreness and fatigue, a few of us decided to see some of the monuments. Kristy lived in Washington D.C., and offered to show us around.

Here's another shot of me in front of the Washington Monument. I apologize for the angle, but it was the only way Kristy could get all of the monument in the picture.

Here are Kristy, Afshana, and I in front of the Lincoln Memorial. I was surprised at how crowded it was.

We also visited the Vietnam Wall, but it was getting dark, so I didn't get any pictures of it.

Here we are in front of the World War II monument

I have to say, I wasn't expecting to have a moment like I had in front of this monument. This Fellowship has been an interesting experience for me because, while I recognize that a large part of my receiving this award has to do with my minority status, meeting with other fellows and participating in these training sessions reminds me that my life has been minimally impacted by being a minority. I have very little connection to my Japanese ancestry (as my sister is quick to remind me), and people are more likely to mistake me for Latina than they are to correctly guess my Asian ethnicity. However, I will say this: I felt very conflicted as I walked around the World War II monument. I have a grandfather who, like many second-generation Japanese Americans at that time, was in the army. As an American, I am glad that our country accomplished its goals for peace in World War II. But then I think about Japanese Americans in internment camps, and I think about the horrors of unleashing the A-Bomb in Hiroshima, and I am reminded that there are two sides to every story. And I think being an American carries with it the responsibility of never forgetting that. I apologize if this rant makes you uncomfortable. I'm done.

Why bring this up on a blog that, for the most part, has been a documentation of my travels and occasional rants about my love life? It was sort of a turning point in my life, and particularly in my experience as a Minority Fellow. The next day, before starting our training, we were asked to share our thoughts about Capitol Hill. I shared my experience in front of the group, and had the opportunity, throughout the rest of the day, to have several conversations with others about the experience, including our faculty advisor, who intimidates me beyond reason.

The other notable part about that second day was that I met Gayle Iwamasa. I had no idea who she was previous to this trip, but, as it turns out, she is a Japanese-American former professor of psychology who has been active in leadership in the American Psychological Association. Recently, she made the decision to leave academia for hospital administration in order to spend more time with her three young children, who, like me, are fourth-generation half-Japanese Americans. I found out later that Adisa invited her to come with me in mind. I was touched. She gave me some great advice about connecting with the culture, balancing career and family, and coming to terms with having children who look like generic white people. Pretty much all of the things I worry about on a regular basis.

Here are some shots of the reflecting pool between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.

That night, we walked down to the waterfront, which was very pretty. I wish I could say I felt a strong desire to see Alexandria nightlife, but by 9:00, I was beat.

Saturday involved much more training. However, we did get time for lunch and dinner on our own. I am ashamed to say that I ate at the same restaurant twice, and that it was the kind of fast food sushi serious sushi afficionados like my brother would turn their noses up at. I also had a cupcake, though, which, I think, made up for it.

I had a little bit of time to browse some of the stores along the main drag of Alexandria's Old Town. It's sort of an interesting street. There are restaurants from various countries, as well as trendy fusion restaurants, bookstores, tiny boutiques, brand name stores, and, for reasons I don't really understand, two wig stores two doors down from each other. Some day, maybe I will get to explore these two wig stores and compare and contrast them. I just can't figure out why that particular community is able to sustain two wig stores adjacent to one another. I've lost sleep over it.

Here's one.
Here's the other.

I got up extremely early the next morning, as I had to catch a flight back to Lubbock in time to teach Relief Society that afternoon. The Metro hadn't even started running when I got to the station with my bags, so I took the time to snap this picture.

There are times when I'm pretty proud to be an American.

Apologies

It's been a long time since I have blogged anything. In fact, since my last blog post, the following important events have transpired:

• The RedWings lost the Stanley Cup.
• The Lakers won another NBA title.
• I have visted Washington D.C., Utah, and Oklahoma.

As is the case with journal writing, it seems like when I have the most interesting things to blog about, I do not have the time to actually write about them. However, I have a few days before I have to leave town again (to go back to Washington D.C.), and it should give me some time to write about some of my adventures. For those five people who read this.

Why I love hockey

Tonight, two important events in the professional sports postseason world took place:

Game 1 of the NBA Finals

Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals

For those of you who knew me in high school, you may remember that professional basketball was very important to me. And as far as the actual sport goes, I still enjoy watching a basketball game every now and then. I watched the end of Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals and marveled at LeBron's Jordanesque ability to finish a big game. I watched the Cavs lose Game 4 in overtime and worried that neither team looked great for the Finals. I will still root for any team that plays against the Lakers, and I have a soft, nostalgic spot in my heart for the Utah Jazz, whose bittersweet title runs in the 96-97 and 97-98 seasons sparked early conversations with men about sports, which mostly involved me defending the honor of Karl Malone ("I know he just missed three key free throw shots, and I realize that he can't put together a coherent sentence to save his life, but look how big his shoulders are."). 

In some ways, I think the reason I do not watch basketball anymore is because I care too much about it, and I get irrationally upset when my team loses, or when the Lakers win. Possibly I stopped watching because I believe that the NBA has become an arena in which, too often, the good guys lose. You could argue, though, that the real reason I have stopped following basketball is that I am too cheap to pay for cable TV, and I miss most of the regular season games as a result, as well as highlights and recaps on ESPN.

At any rate, I do not follow the NBA anymore, and I steer clear of conversations with men about sports in general because I have discovered that there is a reason why men do not pay as much attention to relationships as women do: their brain space is taken up with stats on their favorite sports teams from the most recent game to before they were born. The energy I put into dissecting what a guy means when he says, "We should do this again some time," he is using to put together scouting reports and post-game wrap up on his team, just in case, at some future juncture, the coaching staff is hit by lightning, and he is asked to take over, or ESPN Gameday knocks on his door and asks him to do color commentary. So, anyway, I typically find myself way out of my league when I talk to guys about sports.

Which leads me into the subject of this post: why I love hockey. The first reason that comes to mind is that I don't get intimidated talking to men about hockey because there are very few men down here in Texas who know more about it than I do. 

I started watching hockey when I was in high school. To be completely honest, it started because of a guy. I had a friend in high school named Mike, who was completely obsessed with four things: Star Wars, the Detroit RedWings, Dave Matthews Band, and a girl he dated off-and-on our entire high school career. I like Star Wars and Dave Matthews, and I am Facebook friends with the ex-girlfriend, but hockey is the most important thing I took away from my friendship with Mike. During hockey season, it was all he could ever talk about, so I learned quickly to talk about hockey on, at least, a surface level.

My interest in hockey has ebbed and flowed over the years. The NHL went on strike for awhile, and that was a bummer. On my mission, I got to go to two  hockey games of investigators. After my mission, the NHL went on strike again, but I discovered the Provo IceCats, who were officially adopted as a BYU club team in 2007. The hockey itself wasn't that great, but I have some great memories associated with it. When I moved to Lubbock, I became very interested in Texas Tech's team, until, for reasons that don't make a whole lot of sense to me, they ceased to exist. 

This year was a landmark year in my career as a hockey fan because I finally made it to an NHL game in Vancouver, where real hockey fans live. My team lost, but it was only slightly less glorious.

So, tonight, I bribed Stephanie to let me watch Game 4 at her apartment. The RedWings lost decidedly to the Penguins, but the game got me thinking about what I love about hockey:

-I feel like hockey is one of the few sports in which athletes are still competing for the love of the game. This is especially true of college hockey. Who's watching college hockey? Not me. I don't have cable.

-While serious hockey fans can come up with stereotypes for defensemen, goalies, wingers, etc., hockey players have a few things in common:

-They love what they do.

-They enjoy taunting one another.

-If you stand in their way, there is no force powerful enough-not referees' bodies, not threats of penalties, not the embarrassment factor-to keep them from coming after you. 

Stephanie continues to be puzzled that hockey players competing for the championship need no better reason to fight than, "Because he got in my face." In hockey, that's enough. 

-I think the penalty box is one of my favorite features of a hockey game. I seen entire lineups sitting in the box at the same time. I once heard about two brothers who were both in the box at the same time for fighting, and dedicated the penalty to their mother, who happened to be there in the stands. It was designed to be an aversive experience, but, for some players, it's a chance for them to be on display. That whole mentality is very appealing to me.

-A mullet is a completely acceptable hairstyle in hockey. I am not talking Billy Ray Cyrus circa "Achy Breaky Heart". That would be ridiculous. I'm thinking more Dave Coulier on Full House. Also known as the Canadian Passport

-You can enjoy hockey with only a basic understanding of what is going on. Like me. 

-It is a great yardstick by which to measure guys. I have discovered there are levels of hockey awareness in men. And, yes, these levels are all based on actual men that I have known.

Level 1: Will not go to a hockey game because he finds it too violent. I have trouble believing it could work with a guy like this.

Level 2: Wants to go to a hockey game, but, halfway through the first period, asks what a power play is. This guy is well-intentioned, but he gets mocked mercilessly by me. If I can mock him to his face, it could still work.

Level 3: Is not as well-versed in hockey as in other sports, but has some understanding of strategy and an awareness of NHL history. He seems like he would be the ideal level of hockey fan for me, as long as his knowledge of hockey does not exceed mine. That would make me look foolish, as I proclaim to be a hockey expert, but I am obviously not.

Level 4: Plays hockey. The fact that he plays hockey is really cool, but also means that this guy comes with his own set of troubles that I should probably stay away from.

So, in conclusion, hockey is wonderful, the NBA makes me sad, and my life is clearly very uneventful right now. I am going to Washington D.C. this week, so, hopefully, I will at least have some good pictures.

Wedding Flower Blues

A few weeks ago, I volunteered to do the flowers for the wedding of some people in my branch. It started when they volunteered to participate in some research I was doing. They mentioned they were trying to figure out how to do flowers cheaply, and I said, "I took a floral design class at BYU. I'd love to help." 

The funny thing about that is that, when Ami and I took the class two years ago during the last semester of our master's degrees, we joked about being able to integrate floral design and therapy successfully. I think this may be as close as I will ever come. What was even more incredible was that they walked out of the clinic that day with a florist, $30 for participating in the research, and an appointment for a free premarital class that would waive the fee for their marriage license, courtesy of my friend Jeremy. I still think a marriage mini-mall would be a good business venture.

To do this post justice, I need to set the stage on this wedding:

The bride and groom are both recent converts to the church. The groom grew up in Lubbock, and the bride is from a town close to Houston. The wedding was a civil service in the cultural hall of the stake center with the branch president officiating. They had five groomsmen, five bridesmaids, three flower girls, a ring bearer, and a lot of help. The bridesmaids' dresses and the groomsmen's ties were made by one of the bridesmaids, who is a clothing design major; I did the flowers; Ashley made their cake; and some kind ward members took their pictures.

I had a concept meeting with the bride and her future mother-in-law a week before the wedding. The bride was very hesitant at that point to make any kind of concrete decisions. She kept saying, "I don't want to be Bridezilla," to which I replied, "Your wedding is a week away. It's okay to make some decisions." She threw out a few ideas, but kept saying that whatever I wanted was okay. At last, I said, "Why don't you just tell me how much you want to spend, and I'll just give you the receipts at the end?" She seemed to think that was a good idea. I took down some notes about colors, numbers of people in the wedding party, cake ideas, and theme ideas. Actually, if I'm being honest, the bride said she wanted daisies, and Ashley and I came up with a theme based on that. It turns out that, in the absence of leadership, I will step up to the plate to create some order. Ashley is very much the same way. Before the wedding started, one of the groomsmen remarked that he wasn't used to a wedding where neither the bride's nor the groom's mother seemed to be taking charge. I remarked aside, "I would prefer it if one of them did." Ashley added, "That's the way it SHOULD be."

Here are some shots of the flowers I made. These are some of the different mock-ups I made two days before the wedding. I ended up using the one with the ribbon loops for the groomsmen.

These are the various kinds of ribbons I used for the bouquet and the other flowers. Ashley borrowed some of the wider turquoise with the stitching for the cake, which turned out to be perfect.

Below are the wristlets I made for the bridesmaids', which were super inexpensive and very easy to make.

And here's a shot of the pretty bouquet (roses, spray roses, daisy mums, hypericum berry, stock, and a few blades of bear grass with turquoise beads, if you're interested):

Below is the bouquet I let the bride actually throw. Still pretty, but not quite the same labor of love. Clearly, I need therapy.

And these are some of my extra corsages.

Some things I expected:

-Needing more corsages and boutonnieres than the bride originally told me. It was a good thing that I made extras.

-Watching someone significantly taller than me come away with the bouquet.

-The wedding reception coming to a standstill for two minutes while the guys in the branch tried (unsuccessfully) to get Layne to participate in the throwing of the garter.

Some things I did not expect:

-Becoming emotionally attached to the bouquet I had made and, at the last minute, offering to make the bride one that she could throw in order to spare the prettier one for herself.

-Arriving at the wedding less that two hours before it started and finding that there were fruit, vegetable, and meat and cheese trays to put together, which I helped with.

-The groom's mother having to leave to go pick up a sheet cake and several trays of cookies and not returning until 10 minutes after the wedding was supposed to have started. As a side note, she also had the rings, so she could rest assured the ceremony would not start without her.

-The maid of honor coming up to me five minutes after the ceremony was supposed to have started and asking me if I had flowers for the flower girls and the ring bearer. My response: "There are flower girls?" Fortunately, I had extra flowers for the throwing bouquet, which I ravaged to come up with three little nosegays and a sad-looking tiny boutonniere before the mother of the groom arrived and the reception could start.

-The stereo belting out "Cotton Eye Joe" just before the processional was supposed to start coming down the aisle.

-The amazing things Ashley was able to do with a few leftover flowers and some greens on the top of the cake (see below).  

-How many intimate family moments I would walk awkwardly through looking for my fabric scissors and pearl-headed pins.

-The number of stores I would have to visit to find white spray roses (four).

-How convinced I would be afterward that elopement is not the worst thing in the world.

Downright Domesticity

In the last few weeks, I went from having a lot to do to having some free time on my hands. I finished up four classes, turned in the grades for the classes I was teaching, stopped seeing clients at Texas Tech, and got released from my calling. Right now, I am working a few hours a week at the Employee Assistance Program seeing clients, and collecting data for my dissertation. And, in between, I am working on a few things for publication, as well as getting ready to take my qualifying exams in August. But, for some reason, I still feel like I have a lot of extra time on my hands, probably because I am avoiding doing some of that stuff that I should be doing. And, for some unexplained reason, I have been feeling domestic lately. Those of you who are domestic every day may think I'm a jerk for talking about it like it's a hobby. Sorry.

Anyway, I got the urge to make a few things I have never made before. The first was rugelach. I am a big fan of Pioneer Woman. She is a witty blogger, and she does all of the things I aspire to do, from photography to cooking to being married to a cowboy. One of the things I love about Pioneer Woman is that she brings other food bloggers to her ranch and cooks things with them. Then she posts about them on her blog, and they post about her on their blogs, which makes it feel like all the people who have well-known blogs are good friends. It also reminds me of my childhood. When I was young (probably about four or five) I was a big fan of the reruns of the Monkees. My first celebrity crush was on Davy Jones. At the time, I had no concept that the show had taken place 20 years earlier. That reality check didn't come until a few years later when the Monkees put together a reunion tour and I saw how old he really was. I also remember watching a lot of Brady Bunch episodes, and the greatest day of my young life was the day that Davy Jones guest-starred on the Brady Bunch and Marsha got to KISS him! This event only served to further support my fantasy that people on live in an alternate universe in which they all know one another and hang out, and that, if I could get inside the TV, I could join them. Anyway, for me, as an adult, Pioneer Woman having Bakerella over is basically the same thing.

Last month, she had Deb, who writes the blog Smitten Kitchen, out to the ranch, and the two of them made, among other things, rugelach. Rugelach, not to be confused with arugula, which is a vegetable, is a type of Jewish cookie made out of dough rolled with nuts, cinnamon, dried fruit, and chocolate. Using Pioneer Woman's cinnamon roll dough, Deb made some rugelach that looked so good, I had to try it. Here's her recipe.

I bought jars to hold my sugar and flour. Look, I'm more domestic already.

This is the only counter space I have in my whole kitchen. Here it is with my rugelach dough rolled out on it. This rugelach had raspberry jam, brown sugar, white sugar, cinnamon, butter, golden raisins, chocolate, and pecans. 

I rolled it up and put it into muffin tins to bake.

And when it was all done, I iced it with cream cheese icing. This was the result. As for the taste, as it turned out, that was a lot of stuff for one pastry. While I like raspberry jam, and chocolate, and golden raisins, and pecans, and cinnamon-sugar, and cream cheese frosting, it was a lot to eat together. Plus, some of it leaked out of the dough while it was baking. However, I took them with me on a date, and my date and his parents raved about them. I wish I was making that up.

It turns out the cinnamon roll dough recipe makes a ton of dough. After cutting original dough recipe in half, I made a batch of rugelach and still had half the dough left. So I made Pioneer Woman's orange rolls, also.

Look how much I got out of a quarter batch of roll dough!

Don't hesitate to make these. However, I am going to warn you right now, in case you have never made any of Pioneer Woman's recipes: you will use more butter than you ever thought humanly possible. So make them, but then do what I do and try to get rid of them as fast as humanly possible. Again, my date and his family went crazy for them.

I also bought sewing machine that weekend. It's pretty rare for me to find a pair of pants short enough to wear off the rack, and in the last year, I have probably spent close to the price of my sewing machine getting my pants hemmed

So I bought a sewing machine and went to work hemming two pairs of pants and my new temple dress, which I bought in December and have been wearing since then with masking tape holding up the hem. I worry when I hem pants that I will hem one leg and not like the length, and then hem the other leg a different length, never be able to match them up, and end up with a pair of John Stockton shorts. Fortunately, that didn't happen.

Then, this weekend, we had a baby shower for Rebel, and she requested chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting. I made Bakerella's recipes for chocolate cupcakes and chocolate buttercream. Then, I saw Bakerella's cupcake tower and bought one to display my cupcakes and cup pies. And, for some reason, I thought it would be funny to decorate them with plastic babies. So this is my tribute to Bakerella and Cakewrecks.

I try not to think too much about why a baby would be sitting on an enormous brown swirl wearing nothing but a strange mohawk.

I really like the cupcake tower, though. I have a feeling I will get a lot of use out of it.

Whew! That was a lot of domesticity. I am also working on flowers for someone's wedding, but we'll make that a subject for another post. Now that I've baked everything I've ever had an urge to bake, I need to get back to the less fun parts of my life, like my job.