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cooking together.

A few weeks ago a cooking class spontaneously came out of a day of baking. The ladies at church asked me to teach them how to make cake. I was excited about this opportunity for many reasons, but mostly just to share and interact with these ladies that I have come to love so very much.

We made some cupcakes and cookies. It was a mess to say the least. I did not think about needing to convert the measurements into the metric system for them. Eventually, we figured it out and we had a lot of fun.

I'm not sure who came up with the idea to have cooking class every week but we decided that it should and that it should be international, learning how to make foods from all over the world.

We started off with French food.

The quiche was quite a hit and very delicious.

The next week we made Mexican food. You can see pictures from that delicious taco-filled day at our baking blog, here

In the next few weeks, we'll be making Indian food, Korean food, Mongolian food, Greek food (maybe) and Russian food, to name a few. 

I mentioned a little bit about this on the cooking blog but being able to share a meal and talk with these ladies has been such a blessing for me. Cooking and eating is something that all people do. No matter who you are or where you are from. 

Cooking brings people together because it is a part of our every day life. When we cook together, we are living life together. When we live life together, we can be a part of each other's ebbing and flowing. 

In that cooking, sharing and living we are blessed with great meaning.

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An ode to my wiser self

I've been thinking about blogging a lot lately. Well, writing, rather. I used to write a lot. It was therapeutic and life giving for me. It helped me to be in a constant state of process where I was not just taking in life but searching for and digging for meaning. It kept me grounded and real, for lack of better word.

I have been starting to write more lately and have several little bits I'm working on. In the process of digging out my blog from the depths of the internet, I found this jewel that I wrote years ago. Yes, that's right... years ago. I thought it was beautiful and worth sharing. So, in an attempt to revive this way of sharing my thoughts and processing...

Here is an ode to my younger (and probably wiser) self:


Welcome to The Chronicles of a Confused Citizen.

Here I am, residing in the country I was born in, living the life I knew from my birth to year 22.

It doesn't quite feel right, though.

Recently, as I found myself living in Mongolia, I started feelin…

bring it on, world.

October 26, 2011.

That is the day I last wrote a blog. That's not the day when my life changed but it is a day that I can recognize as one of the last ones when I knew who I was and what my purpose was.

I'm not generally a quitter. Sure, sometimes I quit on books or I quit on small projects but in life, nope. I  try hard at most things, usually right until the end. I won't say that quitting is not a thought that meanders through my being when something gets tough but I have come to learn that when I stick things out I come out having learned a thing or two.

But I did quit. I quit a big commitment. I said I would live in Washington, DC and I would do my best.

I tried. I also had my very first panic attack, too.

It was too much. I couldn't think or breathe. I couldn't cope with the devastation I felt for leaving Mongolia early that March morning. I couldn't cope with no one understanding what Mongolia had meant to me and how it had changed me right down to my bo…