scarf weather

I have no idea where the weekend went.

That is to say that it was exceptionally productive, but also to say that I would like another and would like it delivered with two-day express shipping.

I do know a few things: red cups are back and scarf weather has returned.
Also, that makes it soup season.

Today started like the best Sunday’s always start – at the farmers market, tea in hand. It was unexpectedly cool and the stands had some really pretty produce. I got some of the last heirloom tomatoes of the season and a gluten free treat as a reward for a hard workout later this week.

I spent the rest of the daylight with some lovely ladies, getting home well past the sunset. Regardless, Sundays were made for cooking. I opted to make a butternut squash and quinoa soup with chicken and kalamata olives, and a roasted salad of cranberries, butternut squash and quinoa tossed in maple syrup and ginger. Glorious.

The soup called for a can of diced tomatoes, so in the spirit of learning a new skill I decided to make my own diced tomatoes from scratch. It turned out to be really easy and fun!
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To make diced tomatoes, wash the produce and pull the stems. Place the tomatoes in a stockpot and fill with enough water to cover the tomatoes. Boil for one minute, or until skin starts to crack and peel. Ladle tomatoes out of the boiling water as the skin cracks and drop in ice water. Once the tomatoes are cool enough to handle, place on a cutting board and peel the skin off by hand. Core and dice, return to the stock pot. Simmer for five minutes before taking off the stove.
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After making the diced tomatoes, I went ahead with making the soup according to the recipe. Later this week I’ll make stuffed acorn squash and white chocolate cranberry quinoa cookies. Two hours later, I’ve got seven servings of soup, two servings of salad, and the dishes are clean.

I’m travelling for two weekends this month, with two races and three more events that I’ve got a part in. My next objective will be perfecting a homemade cream of mushroom soup for use in our family recipes so that I can celebrate Thanksgiving in gluten-free peace. After that, it will be creating the menu for Friendsgiving 2013 and finding crafts for my nephew to do during our family time together. Perhaps I’ll put together a tablescape too.

Alright October.

The past few days have been a blur; five events in four days and having a leadership role in each took more stamina than originally anticipated – but what a blessing. Between NWPC-SV, a girls night in, a membership event, our alumnae homecoming tailgate and the founders day brunch – all while hosting a National Officer. I’m a bit exhausted but completely astounded by the love that exists in my life and heart.

I came home to the sun beaming through the trees in my backyard, and as I took a sip of my ginger tea, I looked out the window to see the leaves blowing through my little patch of earth. ‘Twas a blustery, warm afternoon and the red and yellow leaves were dancing magically through the yard with a graceful power.

I love October. And Autumn. And the comfort that comes along with the settling into the season. And so, I took another sip of my tea and tried to breathe it all in.

I was am sad right now. Sad about something that was beyond my emotional comprehension at first and hard to admit once I was able to put my finger on it.

I miss my dad.

Its been a year since we’ve spoken, and somehow that feels like my failure. Perhaps its the years of manipulation thats eliciting such a response, or the gender norms that tell us that daughters are supposed to adore and be in service to their fathers. I know it was the right choice for me to present him with the opportunity to be his own genuine self. Deep down I know that he chose the thrill of a constructed reality over something real – but somehow I still miss my dad.

I’m angry about that. I never wanted to miss my dad. I never wanted to need to protect myself on this level. My mom didn’t want that for me either.

It makes me angry to think that this was his choice – that he chose a construct over his own real daughter full of real love. I wish he’d chosen choose me. Because right now I need some of the fight that I learned from him. The raw and righteous, stand-up-for-your-damn-self fight, and I’m angry that I can’t call my dad for that.

In other news, there has been little cooking in the past two weeks. That needs to change. Perhaps I’ll have the opportunity to carve out some time next weekend with a bit more purpose and intention.