is this crazy hereditary?

This post in the same genre as yesterday’s.  I leave you to name that genre.

This weekend Megan commented on my random wall and said she liked it.  At least I think she said she liked it.  I was happy, because I’m still not sure about it — I’m almost too pleased with it, because it really is a rather random conglomeration of things put up on my wall because they kind of look nice together.

I started with Joan of Arc:

She definitely can stand alone.  She’s beautiful, she makes a statement, she can dominate a wall.  I would hang her above my fireplace alone.  But on this wall she looked a little lonely.

But what could possibly look good next to her?

I have a beautiful little gold bas-relief of St Joan that my pastor gave me when he went over to Germany.  It’s one of my favorite pieces, and I knew it would go well with the large picture.  I then began assembling other little things that seemed to match, and I eventually came up with my random wall:

When Megan said she liked it, I commented on the random nature of things.

Like the random picture of John XXIII.  I don’t have a particular devotion to Bl John XXIII, but I had his picture and it fit up there.  It’s a picture from my great aunts’ house.

“There has to be a story about it.  Right?” I commented to Meg.  I don’t know who is in the picture with John XXIII.  ”But maybe my aunts knew him. I like to think that. Maybe it was a friend of theirs.”

“I mean, who would have a framed picture of the Pope with some random guy that they don’t actually know?” I pointed out to Megan.

She was silent for a short while.

And then she pointed out that I did.

Oh. Right.

So maybe that bishop with John XXIII was the Georg Ganswein of one of my great aunts.

Hm.

In Pictures

I am in the fourth week of teaching a class at Aquinas, so I don’t have much time to post.  Okay, so I’m in the first week.  But with a Maymester class, every day equals a week of class in a normal semester.   At the end of the second class, one of the students stood up, stretched, and said, “Second week down!”  So tomorrow is our fourth class.

But I at least have time to post pictures.  You wouldn’t want to read an entire post about any of these things, anyway.  So here we go…

A few weeks ago, I made a killer lasagna for dinner when a priest friend came to visit.  He blessed my new condo and I made him dinner.  Win, win.  The recipe came from a composer-chef friend of mine.  He and his wife had me over for dinner a few months ago, and I fell in love with this Sicilian lasagna and had to have the recipe.  Lasagna with meatballs inside of it?  Score. And the ricotta cheese wasn’t overpowering.  (Trena, remember shuddering while eating the shells at Christendom?) It was deeelish.  While it was pretty labor intensive, it was a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon and the work produced awesome results.

I forgot to take a picture of the actual finished product.  So all I have are pictures of the prep.

Mmm, meatballs.

I was in the mood to make ice cream, so I did that, too.  I was originally going to make ice cream inspired by “Spouse Like a House” at Handel’s (how I miss you) — namely, ice cream with peanut butter-filled, chocolate-covered pretzels —  but I didn’t dip my pretzels in chocolate, and the ones I bought didn’t have enough peanut butter in them.  So  I ended up throwing in peanut butter cups, too.

It was good, but only because you can’t really go wrong with peanut butter and chocolate in ice cream.  I’d buy different peanut butter pretzels next time.  And dip them in chocolate.  Father ate it without complaint.

…

My “house” at school (sort of like a sorority, but not) had a bake sale to raise money for veterans who have had trouble getting back on their feet after coming home.  Since Joan of Arc is the patroness of our house, we thought helping veterans was fitting.  My friend Paul did the posters, and they just crack me up:

One of the history professors emailed me and noted, “Joan of Arc must really hate the English.”

…

Part of my job regularly takes me to Knoxville, TN, where Cardinal Rigali is living in retirement.  Many of his things from the conclave are on display in the chancery, including the prayerbook and Rite book for the conclave, the little briefcase he was given (it had the little sede vacante umbrella embossed on it with “2013″ – it’s no wonder it took awhile to get this conclave going, they had to make all these things!), his little red lap desk with his name card that was waiting for him at his place in the Sistine Chapel, a sample ballot, and the pen he used to vote.  I couldn’t get over the humorous fact that the pen is a simple blue Pilot pen.  After seeing all the special books and the embossed small briefcase, I expected some cool pen.  Or maybe a quill.  Nope, just a blue Pilot.

There were also pictures of him taking the oath and processing — right behind Cardinal Bergoglio. Very cool.

…

A few weekends ago I re-vistited a wine bar my cousin Michael had  introduced me to last year.  It’s in an old house, and in addition to a regular bar area, the different parlors in the house have machines with various kinds of wine.  When you arrive you get a card (similar to a hotel key) that you put in the machines prior to making a wine selection.  Then you choose whether you want a taste, a half glass, or a whole glass.  It’s pretty fun- and can get very expensive if you aren’t careful!  I went down with some friends for happy hour and wondered why I don’t go down more often.  But perhaps it’s a good thing it’s not closer.

…

May 1st is the Feast of St Joseph the Worker.  I happen to work in a building trailer structure named after St. Joseph, and so we decided to celebrate his feast day.  Yes, we celebrated on March 19, too.  But if the Church celebrates him twice, we can too.  In true southern fashion we had barbecue and slaw and chips and invited everyone to come hang out in our building trailer structure for awhile.

Providentially, on that same day, we received the sign for our building place of work that we requested several months ago.  We have formed a nice little community in our portable building (which just means that we’ll probably be split up before too long. Isn’t that the way it works?) and I we decided we deserved a sign on the outside of our building so people would know who we were.  A minor request, really.

Especially since this is the sign on the outside now, just to the right of the front door:

What does that mean, you might ask?  Well I did too-  eventually.  It’s apparently leftover from when the, er, structure was on the property of an explosives testing site in Bucksnort, TN.

You can’t make this stuff up.

So this sign has been on our building for 10+ years.  So leave it to me to be difficult and ask if we can have a sign that indicates we’re the St. Joseph…

But what?  What are we?  Since the philosophy faculty is at home in our structure, they said we can’t be the St. Joseph Building, because by their nature, buildings don’t have wheels.

We couldn’t very well put “St Joseph Structure” on our sign, could we?

So we decided on “St. Joseph’s.”  That’s what everyone says on campus, anyway.  ”Where is Dr So-and-So’s office?”  ”In St Joseph’s.”

But apparently that message didn’t get to the actual order-er of the plaque. So now we’re St. Joseph Hall.

We’ll take it!  Although as our sarcastic selves, we put the sign in the hallway for the first day.  ”Where are you putting the sign?”  ”In the hall.”

Our shrine to our sign.

…

You know what is dangerous?

Homemade Nutella ice cream with Trader Joe’s Ultimate Vanilla Wafers.  I was in charge of bringing dessert to book club last week, and instead of making some elaborate something or other, I made Nutella ice cream and bought those awfully-addicting vanilla wafers from TJ’s.

Too good.  You know what else is dangerous?  Trader Joe’s Oatmeal Cranberry Dunkers. My sister Jill introduced me to them, and they’re deadly.  I bought them without thinking, and quickly took them to work before I ate them all in one sitting.  Everyone loved them. And hated me.

Buy at your own risk.

My week (or two, or three) in pictures.  Food, alcohol, and Catholic stuff.  Sounds about right.

Happy Birthday, Pope Benedict!

I know, Pope Emertius.  But it still sounds weird to me.  And you all know I know he’s not Pope anymore.

Today is Pope Benedict’s 86th birthday!  So my friend Loretta and I went to eat German food to celebrate.  We toasted him with German beer.

And we ate schnitzel and spaetzle.

We tried the newest German/Austrian restaurant in town, Viener Fest, and frankly, I wasn’t overly impressed.  The food there was better than the other German restaurant in town, but it wasn’t as good as the Rathskellar in Indianapolis and not nearly as good as Cantina Tirolese in Rome.  The atmosphere was so-so and our waitress wasn’t superb.  But if I ever have a hankering for schnitzel, I’ll be back.  All in all, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what I imagined when I looked at their menu.

I do love spaetzle, though, so it was a nice way to celebrate his birthday.  I wonder if he and Archbishop Ganswein had spaetzle tonight? Or a nice beer?  Or maybe just some Fanta.

Or maybe they just watched the evening news.

I love, love, love this picture.

And then I went to teach my bible study, where I asked the 60 people present to pray for him.  So that was probably better than toasting him with beer.

Come and have breakfast

We obeyed Jesus this morning and after Mass went out to breakfast.

One thing I love about my little parish is that it’s in a neighborhood.  There used to be a little coffee shop around the corner and I walked there after Mass a few times.  It has since closed, so I obviously should have walked there more often.  This morning I convinced my friends to try a new restaurant a few blocks from the church, and when one of my friends suggested walking, I gladly agreed.

It was a beautiful little walk.

The destination was Red Bicycle Coffee and Crepes. I had read mixed reviews about the place, but a friend had said their crepes were good, so we all decided it was worth the risk.  Their menu looked wonderful:

Tons of different crepes to choose from.  I got the Wake Up, which had cheese and eggs and onions and mushrooms and my choice of meat (I chose bacon).  I also split the Nutella crepe with my friend Darcy.  Because who can resist a Nutella crepe?

I had heard the service was slow, but that wasn’t the case this morning.  I don’t think we waited longer than ten or fifteen minutes for our crepes.

And while I’m not crepe connoisseur, these were good.

This is Liza’s “Bacon” crepe. It had bacon, spinach, mozzarella, and balsamic.

They were stuffed.

My “Wake Up”

And so were we.  Well, not so stuffed that I couldn’t eat this:

The crepes themselves were a little tough, but it wasn’t something I noticed except when trying to cut the Nutella crepe.  They were yummy yummy.  I’m definitely up for a return trip.

Another return trip I’ll be making is to Fat Bottom Brewery.  My friend Manda and I had wanted to go because we had coupons for a free sampler of beer.  So last Thursday, I went to Compline at the Motherhouse with Manda and her boyfriend and we headed to Fat Bottom afterwards for dinner.

There’s another brewery in town that has a taproom, but it’s basically just that — a taproom.  I couldn’t imagine going there for dinner, unless a food truck was parked outside.  Fat Bottom, on the other hand, had a great menu and the ambiance of a restaurant.  I will definitely be going back for dinner again.

I liked it as soon as we walked into the back porch/biergarten area.  Dean Martin was singing — what’s there not to like with that as a first impression?  The inside was very trendy — concrete floors, wood everywhere, and those awesome Southern lights with antique bulbs that are everywhere these days.  It’s hard to explain the vibe — they played 40s music the whole time, which was awesome, and it was very laid back but classy at the same time.

The tables were awesome, but I couldn’t get a good shot of them — really neat rustic wood with benches.  And then there were these chairs at the hightop tables and the bar:

I kind of wanted to take one home. (I don’t know if you can tell, but there are no front legs until the very bottom. Really unique.)

We all got beer samplers.  I don’t think I have had their beer before. I liked it all, but liked Ruby the best.  She’s their American Red.

Those three all sort of look the same, but it’s just the picture. The one closest to the dark one (“Black Betty”) is the red.

John Michael and I both got burgers and Manda got a Reuben.  I think everyone was very pleased.  My burger had real lettuce (no Iceberg) and the tomato looked like it was out of someone’s garden. And the potato wedges?!  Were real.

sorry about the horrible quality of the pictures. blame the mood lighting.

Their beers are all named after girls, in an 40s pinup sort of way (hence the great soundtrack to our meal).    I was sad that Java Jane wasn’t in the sampler that night, because I think I like coffee porters.  My friend Paul informed me that it wasn’t coffee porter season anyway.  So I guess I’ll have to go back in the winter.

Looks like I’m back to posting about what I ate last! : )

Lessons in sacrifice

Life has been a little crazy lately.  I won’t go into detail, because no one really cares, but life has felt rather unstable over the past few weeks.

I said goodbye to a good friend tonight.  He’s returning to Poland tomorrow, rather unexpectedly, and it’s still rather surreal to think I may never see him again.

Anyone want to go to Poland with me?

It’s one of those times when you realize you walk around saying “God’s Will!  I want whatever is God’s Will!”  … but you really don’t.  As things were falling down around me this week, I was the lector at Mass and had to read all about God’s Will.  Between the passage from Hebrews (10:1-10) and the Psalm (40), I made my mouth say the words and hoped I could mean them in my heart.

Sacrifice or oblation you wished not,
but ears open to obedience you gave me.
Burnt offerings or sin-offerings you sought not;
then said I, “Behold I come.”
Here am I Lord; I come to do your will.

As Lent approaches, it was a good check for me.  I can give up chocolate, not eat between meals, or turn off technology.  And these things can really help me grow in the spiritual life.  There’s nothing wrong with self-imposed sacrifice, and it’s often pretty darn hard.

But I’m usually far more willing to impose sacrifice on myself than to accept the crosses I’m given.

“Um, thanks, God, but I don’t want my friend to leave.  How about I fast tomorrow instead?  Thanks.”

That doesn’t work?  Hm.  I suppose it’s time for this girl to learn to follow God’s will instead of her own.

It’s also been a good lesson in love.  Maybe life would be easier if you didn’t become friends with people.  If I hadn’t gotten to know Father, if I hadn’t helped him when he first came to town, I never would have had a painful goodbye.  Some people will probably barely notice he’s gone, whereas there will be a big Dominican-friar-shaped hole in my life now.

But that’s what love is, right?  The moment you open yourself to friendship is the moment you open yourself to loss and pain.

Sacrifices that aren’t of my choosing… stink.

But I suppose those are the crosses that will get me to heaven.

 

Restaurant Week: 2013 Winter edition

Whoever thought up the idea of Restaurant Week deserves a big pat on the back.  Or maybe a smooch.  Or maybe the Nobel Peace Prize.

Restaurant Week, for those of you who are deprived of one, is a week when a number of local restaurants offer a special menu for a set price — $20.13 or $30.13, or occasionally something else (like $13.13 or $25.13).  It’s a great opportunity to experience restaurants that would normally be out of your price range.  It’s also just a great excuse to go out to eat.  Not that I usually have a hard time finding one.

I’ve heard NYC’s Restaurant Week lasts almost a month.  This gives rise to two questions. 1) why do they call it Restaurant Week?  2) why am I not there right now?

Last fall I was only able to go to one restaurant the whole week.  That was unacceptable.

So I made up for it this year.  Seven days, six restaurants.  Yes, I’m poor and fat now.  But boy, was it fun.

I didn’t take pictures of every meal for a variety of reasons.  And then later I was listening to Jim Gaffigan and these words hit a little too close to home..

“‘Hey, instead of enjoying this moment, let’s take pictures!‘  We take pictures of every day life and act like we’re capturing history.  ’Unbelievable!  The cat’s asleep!  Post that on my Twitter.’  It’s because we have the cameras on our phones.  Do we need that?  It’s not like ten years ago we were like, ‘I wish I could take a low quality photo of my dessert and text it to someone who’s not interested.  But I can’t, so I guess I’ll just eat it.’” – Jim Gaffigan, Mr. Universe

Guilty.

Monday: Watermark

No pictures here because the restaurant’s mood lighting was too low. And I felt a little conspicuous taking pictures since the restaurant was so nice.  I’ll stick to taking pictures of my McDonald’s french fries instead.

Watermark had received high praises from my  Restaurant Week veteran friends who go there every year. It’s a very nice restaurant that none of us could afford outside of RW.  I’m already looking forward to going back in the Fall.

There was a choice of appetizer and a choice of entrée, then dessert was chosen for us.  For an additional price, they had also paired wine with all the appetizers and entrées and offered half glasses, which was a nice touch.

My choices:

Appetizer: Hickory grilled baby octopus over Tennessee stone ground grits with ratatouille in a lemon, opal basil and roasted pine nut vinaigrette. (paired with a Spanish red wine)

Fantastic.  I hadn’t had octopus that wasn’t fried since Rome in 2005… and actually, I didn’t eat it then.  So I was kind of second-guessing my bold choice until I tasted it… and it was wonderful.  If you didn’t look at it, you didn’t know you were eating octopus.  The texture was tender and rich … not chewy at all.  A+

Two of my friends got mushroom soup, and the waitress brought bowls of mushrooms — and then simultaneously, two waiters appeared on either side of them and poured soup into the bowls, perfectly choreographed.

Entrée: Amish chicken confit over a black eyed pea and roasted shallot ragout in a cracked hazelnut and fresh thyme jus (paired with another red wine)

I really wanted to get the other entrée (Carolina shrimp and Tennessee stone ground grits scented with lemon in a garden rosemary and roasted pine nut sauce) but thought that might be a little grits-overload.  I’m sad to admit that I chose poorly.  The chicken was good, but I tasted Manda’s shrimp and it was much better.

Dessert: Pineapple upside down cake with brown butter ice cream.

The dessert was a bit of a let-down.  When a restaurant lists its pastry chef on the menu, you’re expecting big things.  It was okay, but nothing I would go back for.  And it was a bit heavy after a pretty rich dinner.  I was hoping for something light and chocolate.

With our bills, the waitress brought a “taste” for each of us, compliments of the pastry chef-  chocolate shortbread.  It was good, but didn’t make up for my disappointed expectations for dessert.

The service was wonderful.  I’m definitely going back in the fall.

Tuesday: Burger Up

Burger Up is a nice burger joint in a hipster part of town.  They’re known for their farm-fresh ingredients, locally raised beef, etc.  That translates into “expensive for a hamburger.”

But it’s definitely worth treating yourself every once and awhile, because they’re darn good burgers.

Their RW deal was two burgers and two beers for $25.13.  Since you might normally drop $18 on one burger and beer there, it’s a pretty good deal.  So on the spur of the moment, three of my colleagues and I decided to head over there for lunch.

I had the “turkey burger” on beef.  I liked the toppings listed for the turkey burger but was craving some good red meat.  Avocado, caramelized red onions, mayo, romaine lettuce and tomato.  I had the seasonal beer, a winter lager, which I really liked.

My burger was cooked perfectly.  I think I should probably take my parents there when they come down in a few weeks.  Mom, you’ll most likely get a hipster sighting as a bonus.

Wednesday: PM

I had heard good things about PM but never ventured over to check it out, partly because I don’t venture into the college part of town very often.  PM is owned by Arnold Myint, a Nashville chef celebrity.  PM isn’t completely out of my price range on a normal night, but RW was a nice opportunity to try it for the first time and have a girls’ night with my friend Rachel.

My choices:

Course One: Crab & Bacon Wontons

Course Two: Salmon Teriyaki w/ Lo Mein Stir Fry

Dessert: Brownie Tempura donuts

All in all, it was a ton of food.  I ended up taking half my salmon home for lunch the next day.  It was all very good, although I would get a different dessert the next time.  Their dessert menu was pretty impressive and unique– American standbys with Asian twists.  These donuts were a little too tempura and not enough chocolate.

Thursday: Holland House Bar and Refuge

Again, no pictures here because of the mood lighting.  It’s really too bad, because the Holland House is such a neat place.  The atmosphere and decor are so fun but hard to describe. To say industrial country chic just sounds weird, but I’m not sure how else to describe it.  Think exposed ducts and lots of wood, chandeliers and two really awesome bars. I wish I could somehow replicate it in my apartment, especially since I already have the concrete floors.  But I’m not sure it would be very cozy to live in a bar.

My choices:

Course One: warm white bean and spinach salad, lardons, honey vin, gorgonzola, almond

This was such a winner.  I want it right now.

Course Two: spicy ginger grilled hanger steak, olive oil smashed potatoes, arugula, pea pods

The steak was a bit chewy, although I guess I should have read the Wikipedia entry beforehand to know I should order it medium rare “to avoid toughness.”  I didn’t really get a lot of spicy gingerness. The potatoes were good but nothing I couldn’t make.  The pea pods, strangely enough, were my favorite part.

Course Three: flourless chocolate cake, dark & white chocolate ganache, mixed berry compote

Goodnight nurse.  This thing was fantastic.  So light yet so rich… I guess this is what I had been hoping for on Monday.  The Holland House won the dessert competition.

If you can’t tell from the name “Bar and Refuge,” the Holland House is probably better known for their drinks than their food.  Like the Patterson House, another favorite watering hole, their cocktails aren’t just drinks… they’re works of art.  They’re also expensive.  Hey, you have to pay for a Raphael or a Degas.  We took advantage of the time of day and ordered off their happy hour menu, which meant drinks were only $5 instead of $11 or $12.  I was boring and got a Manhattan with Weller bourbon, partly because I would like to acquire a taste for bourbon while I’m living down here.

Saturday: Flyte

This was sort of a wildcard.  Manda and I had wanted to try this place but hadn’t gotten a chance, so we decided to take advantage of the price drop of RW.  Neither of us knew what to expect, although we had heard good things.

The interior was not what I was expecting — very bright and open.  They somehow achieved a feeling of warmth, even though it was almost industrial inside.

No pictures here because I had just listened to Jim Gaffigan.

My first impression was good — our waiter was very nice.  And nice looking.

After we ordered, a waitress brought us a “taste” compliments of the chef — pear butter with goat cheese.  It was silver spoon (short handle, big bowl) with just a dab of the pear butter with a tiny square of cheese sitting in it.  One little taste.  And it was wonderful.

My choices from the menu:

Starter: Cauliflower Soup

It was like dessert.  So smooth and creamy.  And it had to be healthy because it was cauliflower, right?

Entrée: NY Strip with Kimchi butter and fingerling potatoes

The steak was perfectly tender.  And the Kimchi butter!?  It really elevated the steak from “hm, that’s a good steak,” to “I’ve never had anything like this.”  It wasn’t the best steak I’ve ever had (that was at Shula’s, for anyone keeping track), but it was pretty darn good and the Kimchi butter was great.

No choice on dessert, but that’s okay –

Dessert: Zeppole with mascarpone cheese, tangerine and blood orange

Two wonderful creampuffs.  Light and creamy and perfect.

Then with the bill came a taste compliments of the pastry chef – a chocolate brownie bite.  It helps sticker shock to get a present when you have to pay the bill.

What really elevated Flyte in my book (besides our good-looking waiter) was the red wine flyte.  They had an enormous wine list, but before I got completely overwhelmed, I glanced at the back and noticed they offered six flytes — three red, three white.  Essentially, each flyte was made up of three glasses of wine grouped together for different reasons.  Manda and I both chose (per our waiter’s recommendation) The Olde Country, which was a wine from Spain, a wine from Italy, and a wine from France. All of the wines were very good, but tasting them next to each other really highlighted different parts of the wines that you might not have noticed otherwise.  Manda and I will be going back soon to try another flyte and to see our waiter again.

Sunday: Table 3

It’s hard to believe I was still hungry on Sunday, but after Mass I met my friend Maria for brunch at a fairly-new French restaurant.  They were having a nice lunch special that was $13.13. Again, I had never been there, and this seemed like a good time to try them out.

My choices:

To drink, a café au lait.

First Course: Potato-Leek Soup with a Gruyère crouton

Second Course:

Croque Madame - Grilled Ham and Gruyére Sandwich with Mornay Sauce and Sunny~Side Up Farm Egg

While the sandwich was very rich, it was also very good.  I think I need to learn how to make it — it can’t be hard once you perfect a béchamel sauce, and I’m pretty sure Julia Child would tell me it was about time I perfected a béchamel sauce.

All in all, restaurant week was a success in my book.

Kudos to anyone who got through the whole post.

And I’m taking reservations at Chateau Joan for anyone who wants to come into town for the fall edition of RW.  Just bring your credit card and your elastic-waisted pants.

Lookout Mountain and Stress Relief

Every fall and spring, my work takes me around the state of Tennessee.  I teach parish volunteers on Saturdays and travel to them — which means 7 weeks of the fall (8 this fall) and 7 weeks of the spring, my Saturday is spent inside working.  Luckily I love teaching, I love what I teach, and it’s all worth it in the end.  I did have a moment of crisis last Saturday when I reflected on the fact that I haven’t had a free Saturday in October or November for the last four years and won’t have a free one for the foreseeable future.   But I try not to think about it.

This past weekend, in addition to teaching on Saturday, we also were sticking around to teach school teachers on Monday.  Luckily, we were teaching in a city where I have a friend who lives on a mountain nearby.  (My cousin also lives there, but I heard through the grapevine that she wasn’t in the city — so next time, T!)  So the weekend turned into a nice little getaway — Friday night was spent hanging out with Barbara and her husband Steve and a local priest, eating good food and drinking homemade brew.  Saturday was spent teaching, but the evening was filled with more eating good food, drinking wine, and sitting on their beautiful back porch around a fire pit, eating s’mores.  (That’s their front yard, above– so you can see I wasn’t suffering much)

On Sunday, after Mass, RCIA class, and brunch, Steve took me on a tour of Lookout Mountain.  We went on a little walk to their church (where we had left his car to go to brunch) then tooled around Lookout Mountain in his Lexus convertible with the top down.  It was a gorgeous day and Lookout Mountain is filled with stunning views and beautiful houses.  Not all the houses are huge (although there are those), but all of them are unique and well-loved.  Around every corner, there was yet another house with some great feature, whether it was big bay windows, an arch, or even a bell tower– that made me gasp and say, “I want to live THERE!”

Steve does some Civil War reenacting, so he took me to Point Park to show me around.  It was a great personal tour — and he didn’t even know how much of a Civil War buff I am!

They always take pictures of their friends by this cannon — so I had to pose for the obligatory photo.  When we got to the cannon, a young couple was taking turns taking pictures of each other, so Steve kindly asked if they wanted him to take a picture of both of them.  Now, Steve is a bit of a Renaissance man — he’s a photographer on the side, and a darn good one.  So I almost lost it laughing when the girl showed him how to take a picture with her iPhone.  But he was very kind and listened to her lesson.  And then proceeded to take the best photo that’s probably ever been taken with her phone.

Over the course of the weekend, he taught me lots of cool tricks — like how to use the HDR feature on my iPhone so that the city showed up in the picture above.  Pretty cool.

He also showed me the best photo editing apps to purchase.  In the picture below, there used to be a big white warehouse building in the valley below.  Not anymore!  Poof! 

The rocks up at Point Park were so cool.  We saw them in real life, and then we went to the museum and saw the photos of the Union soldiers posing on the rocks after the battle.  A photographer took their pictures up on the mountain, on this awesome rock outcropping, and then he developed the pictures right there!  Steve has been out on the outcropping while reenacting and said you can still see where he mounted his tripod.  Pretty awesome.

Sunday night we … guess what?  Ate good food and drank wine.  And another priest came for dinner!  We watched the sunset from the back porch.
I could get used to this life.  Did I mention that Barbara made me breakfast every morning?  Even when I had to leave at 6:30 am to go teach.

That’s love.

Speaking of love, this guy can’t get enough of it.  Meet Huck:

So all in all… a great weekend.  It was definitely what I needed during this stressful time at work.  In addition to the busyness of work, I’m also teaching twice a week in the evenings… which means a lot of lesson prep the evenings I’m not teaching.  And guess what?  Starting next week, I’m teaching a study on the Vatican II documents on Monday nights.  All of this translates into: Until Thanksgiving, I’m teaching every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.  Each day/night something different.

 After Thanksgiving, it will just be Tuesday and Thursdays.  And I’ll feel like I have tons of time on my hands.

I really wanted to teach more.  And God answered that prayer!

Last week, despite the stress — or maybe because of it? — I went to a Carbon Leaf concert with my friend Manda.  (Don’t tell my Mom. Maybe she won’t read this far down? Haha.)

Manda was a good sport, because it was a late night.  And we both had to work the next day.  We skipped the opening bands and went over there at 9:30 (after I taught.  Hey, you only live once!) and walked into a basically-empty concert venue.  We counted 30 people there!  Eeek!

More people came, but it was still pretty sparse.  It was a week night, after all, and they had scheduled the concert at the last minute.  But it ended up being a great concert — the guys didn’t hold back, despite the small crowd, and it was practically a private show.  We were in the “front row” since no one was standing in front of us, and at one point the lead singer (Barry) and Manda were having a conversation back and forth with eye contact and body language.  The whole thing was really hilarious.  In between songs, Barry would just talk to us.  And we would talk back.  It was great.

After they played their last song, Barry came down off the stage and motioned for the other guys to bring instruments and join him — and they stood right there and sang another song — no microphones, a foot away from us. And when they were done, they just started mingling and we hung out for awhile.  It was so laid back and awesome.

And guess what?  The next day I didn’t regret it for a minute.  Yeah, I was tired.  But I wasn’t stressed and I wasn’t moody.  Because good music, good friends, and an evening where you can let go of the fifty things that are usually occupying your mind is exactly what you need when you’re burning the candle at both ends.

The end.

The Cancer Year

Last week I saw on Twitter that Matt Maher was going to be playing in Nashville.  I wasn’t sure if Matt’s recent move to Nashville would necessarily translate into concerts, so I was pleasantly surprised to already see him playing here.

When I looked into it, I saw that it was a benefit concert put on by Audrey Assad and her husband Billy for those struggling with debt incurred by medical bills.  Audrey is another great Catholic musician, and she and Billy produced an EP called “The Cancer Year” to help pay for the medical costs they incurred when Billy was diagnosed with and fought Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  Today Billy is cancer free, the EP was a success, and they wanted to have a concert to help others.

I was grateful that my friends Maria and Manda wanted to go too, because I was sort of unsure what to expect.  It seemed like it was going to be a small, intimate group of people… was it just going to be Audrey and Billy’s friends?  Would we stick out?

It was worth the risk.

It was a small, intimate gathering (sixty people tops), and most of the people knew Audrey and Billy personally.  But it wasn’t a big deal that we didn’t, and I knew a lot of people there and felt perfectly comfortable.  It was a blend of Catholics and hipsters.  And it was awesome.

It was in a converted warehouse  that is now a venue with rooms of varying size.  The room we were in is actually a “member’s only” coffee shop. Who knew such things existed?

One of Billy’s friends is in Second City in Chicago and did stand up comedy.  There was beer and coffee and food.  And all the artists from the EP played — first Erin Gauvin, then Audrey, Audrey with Matt, just Matt, Audrey again, Audrey with Marshall Altman.

It was very laid-back and exactly what the night should be… just a bunch of friends hanging out and playing music.  We were standing in the back with Matt Maher for awhile, and it was no big deal — he was just a guy hanging out with his friends.  Audrey sat in front of us while Matt played – and again, it was just a girl watching her friend perform.

It was just a bunch of people hanging out and celebrating.  Except these people were professionals.

Have I mentioned that I love this town?

Lori

I’ve been told I am a true Southern girl now.

Yesterday afternoon (after working in the morning), I headed out to the Hanson homestead to spend as much time as possible with my friend Lori before she left forever.  Well, not forever.  But it seems that if the Army pays for you to go to nursing school, they expect you to give them something in return.  So she’s off to Texas.

I didn’t know what we would be doing — I didn’t really care, actually.  I just wanted to hang out with her.  She’s pretty loved, so there were two other families over at the house doing the same thing, and it turned into a really nice afternoon.

Of shooting two-litre bottles off a sawhorse.

Welcome to Tennessee.

I was thinking I would just watch, but one of the guys insisted I should try, and it was actually pretty fun.  I joked to my Mom later that I worked for the Church in the morning and shot in the afternoon.  That’s supposedly what we small-town people in the Midwest are doing, right?  Clinging to our guns and religion?

Then this morning after Mass, we stood and talked and she told everyone goodbye… Father O’Neill blessed her and her car… and I waited until the last possible moment… until she really had to go.  We hugged, I left, and my last look at her was her driving by when I was stopped at a stoplight, waving and smiling, trying to cheer me up even until the end.

I’m really going to miss that girl.  We haven’t been friends for that long, comparatively.  But it doesn’t matter– she’s one of the best.

Lori is amazing and special and one-of-a-kind … and since all those words have been overused, it doesn’t seem to say anything to say she’s special and amazing and one-of-a-kind.  But every once and awhile you run across someone who really IS — and you feel guilty for using those words to describe anything less.  Lori’s one of those people.

One of the first things we ever did together was to grab coffee after Sunday Mass at the little coffeeshop around the corner from our parish.  She and her mom had attended a conference I had been in charge of, and while I had seen her around a bit, I didn’t know who she was.  We got coffee that day because she had decided she wanted to be my friend.  And she told me that.  Straight up.  I’m going to be your friend.

The fact that someone wanted to be my friend and was making a conscious decision to do something about it was humbling and touching and sort of blew me away.  And when I got to know her, I soon found out I wasn’t doing her a favor being her friend — she was the gift to me.

That’s so very “Lori,” too — informing me that she wanted to be my friend.  With Lori, there’s no pretense, no masks, no guile.  She’s another Nathanael. What you see is what you get.  That’s really rare in people these days.  There’s a beautiful vulnerability, receptivity, transparency in that.

She’s incredible. Always serving, always acknowledging the other, always ready to do what needs to be done.  I don’t know how to explain it, except to say she is her “brother’s keeper.”  She cares about everyone — from babies to old people and everyone in between.  And she wants to make sure everyone is taken care of — whether it means everyone is fed or everyone is having a heck of a good time.

And now she’s off to another city, another community, another place that needs her.  With her honesty, her love, and her total self-gift to others, she will transform the world.  No one gets to know Lori and remains unchanged.

Brew at the Zoo

A few weeks ago, when I was on my quest to find Food Network, I heard about a fun event hosted by the Nashville Zoo: Brew at the Zoo.  My friends Liza and Paul were thinking about attending, so we all decided to splurge and spend the evening with the giraffes and 30+ breweries.

Paul and I had the perfect DD (Liza’s preggo), and the weather couldn’t have been nicer.  We knew we were in for a good evening.

Our ticket included admission to the zoo, half-price admission for the rest of the month, a glass, and 3 oz samples of as many brews as one could handle.  That was the only sad part of the evening — I wish I could have tried them all!  But 3 oz does add up…

A few food trucks were there, so after a few tastes from a couple of breweries, we headed over to the trucks to get dinner.

We all decided to eat at Hoss’ Loaded Burgers — drinking beer on a summer night requires something like a nice hamburger.  I got the Big Kahuna, which had grilled pineapple and pineapple-infused teriyaki sauce.  Mmm, mmm!

These guys serenaded us as we ate:

Then it was off to find the elephants and the giraffes before they went to sleep!

One thing I really liked about Brew at the Zoo was how spread out all the breweries were.  There were a couple close to the gift shop as you entered the zoo, then there were about fifteen in the middle of the zoo, where there’s a large grassy lawn (that’s where the food trucks were too), and then there were others farther into the zoo — by the elephants, by the giraffes, tucked up on the path to the merry-go-round, etc.   It not only helped crowd control, it allowed the zoo to be part of the experience as well as the breweries.  It wasn’t as if you had to choose — see the animals or visit the breweries.  You could enjoy a beer while watching the elephants, then keep walking and see the giraffes while tasting another brewery’s specialty.

photo courtesy of P. Downey

The elephants stayed pretty far away, but luckily Paul has a nice zoom.  Most of the following pictures are his. : )

photo courtesy of P. Downey

Liza and I posed with the elephants, but you can’t really tell they’re back there.  Take my word for it.

The best part of the zoo is the giraffes, of course.   The two giraffes (a daddy and his kid, I suppose) stayed far away, like the elephants-

photo courtesy of P. Downey

but luckily we hung around that area for awhile, because the zoo keeper brought the daddy up to feed him and we all got to get pretty close to him.   The mommy giraffe wasn’t around — she gave birth a few days ago, so she was pretty preggo at this point and wasn’t hanging out in public.   Good thing we didn’t need her to be our DD.

photo courtesy of P. Downey

photo courtesy of P. Downey

It’s incredible how huge these animals are.  You think of them being tall, but check out the size of his head:

photo courtesy of P. Downey

Do you think he ever gets tired of holding it up so high?

It was definitely a fun evening.  I was able to try lots of different kinds of beers, and I learned like while I really like English stouts, I don’t really like American stouts.   I also discovered a new cider that blows any other cider I’ve had out of the water.  Crispin Cider.  I had The Saint, which is made with maple syrup, and I wish I would have tried the other two they were sampling, too.  It was so good I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a party on October 25 just to make the cider the centerpiece of a party.  (We may even read the speech, even though it’s for the wrong side.)

The worst beer (and the only one I poured out) was Buchi, which I tried merely because I knew I would never order it or buy it.  It’s beer made with kombucha, a type of tea that’s been fermented.  I’ve had kombucha before, in college, and didn’t remember it being so bad.  This was awful.  It burned the top of my throat (I guess I shouldn’t have gotten “Fire,” which I now know is made with Cayenne pepper) and smelled like someone had found wet socks under their kitchen sink that had been lost since February, dropped them in the trash, retrieved them, and squeezed them into my glass.   The smell hit you as you went to take a drink… but both Paul and I were brave and took a sip anyway.  Ugh.  I had to rinse my glass out three times before the smell disappeared.  They should probably rename the brew “Socks.”

We left when a guy came over and tried to be our friend.  He was either on acid or drunk.  Or both.  So we told him to go ride the merry-go-round and decided maybe it was time to leave.

All in all, a good night.

photo courtesy of… guess who?