Cinnamon Pie

I was watching Psych the other day. Shawn and Gus go to the town of Dual Spires to solve a murder per usual, etc, etc, but the point that stuck with me was the cinnamon pie they kept eating. I was so excited that I paused the episode halfway through to google cinnamon pie recipes. I didn't find anything satisfying, so no pie was made.

I was disappointed with this result, but days later the thought was still nagging me. I really, really wanted some cinnamon pie. Back to the internet I went. I looked and looked for a recipe that seemed yummy to me, but once again, I came up empty handed and, thus, empty stomached.

So I made one up today.

I just had a slice and ohmygoodness it is so good. You have to like cinnamon and you have to like delicious desserts, but this is awesome. And I'm going to share my awesome brainchild because you deserve to have deliciousness in your life, too!

Ingredients:
     Filling:
          2 Tbsp butter
          3/4 cup white sugar
          1 cup brown sugar (not packed)
          2 Tbsp flour
          1 cup almond milk
          4 eggs
          4 Tbsp cinnamon (this is a rough estimate, I just dumped a whole bunch in because I love the stuff)
          1 Tbsp vanilla

     Topping:
          1/4 cup flour
          1/2 cup oats
          1/2 stick butter
          2 Tbsp brown sugar (not packed... because who packs tablespoons?)
          2 Tbsp cinnamon

Prep:
- Preheat oven to 375
- Grease and sugar pan*
- Thoroughly beat all filling ingredients together. Batter will be liquid with some chunks of butter floating around if you didn't melt the butter prior to mixing. I didn't melt mine and I'm not sure what melting it would do. Probably nothing, but I have no data to support any theory.
- Pour in pan
- To make the topping, chop your butter into bits and then combine it with all the other stuff. I use my fingers and mush it.
- Top pie with streusel. It's going to partially submerge and you won't be able to spread it around, so you have to sprinkle it around carefully. (Or, in my case, sorta carefully until you get impatient and start dumping it.)
- Bake for 45 minutes. If it starts to burn before it sets, cover it in foil. I didn't have this problem; it was perfectly done after 45 minutes. 

* You could probably use nonstick spray, too, but I'm allergic to that stuff. Actually, you probably don't need to grease the pan given the consistency of the pie, but I hate when desserts are cemented to the pan and you lose edible deliciousness. Skip greasing at your own risk of less fatteningness.

N.B. - I know I called this a pie and then neglected to include crust. I decided to put my calories towards a delicious streusel topping rather than a plain ol' crust, so that's why that happened.

p.s. - I apologize to all of my celiac and otherwise gluten intolerant friends that this would be a no-go for you. Maybe you can tweak it a bit and still have cinnamon bliss?

Berry Fine Art

Summer: a time for sunshiny, happy, frivolous fun.

The heat inspires me. I take that back. The heat takes away any and all inspiration to do anything that requires local motion, so the creativity of my lazy activities increases. Here's the most recent love child of heat + hunger + laziness.

They're blueberry-stuffed-raspberries. Aren't they just the cutest little juicy fruit treats? I'm excessively pleased with myself.

My First Democrat Friend

Everyone, meet Lefty.

He's a stuffed donkey with an American flag embroidered on his left hindquarters. The story of how we met is pretty interesting, actually.

I was 14, going in for my first shoulder surgery at Children's Hospital. It was early in the morning, my stomach was full of butterflies, but bereft of all food, and I was shivering. Hospitals are all kept at an inhumanely cold temperature and they make you wear these very light cotton gowns that don't even close all the way. But I digress. The shivering probably had just as much to do with nerves as it did with the cold.

The first OR nurse I saw asked me a whole battery of questions while taking my vital signs. One of the questions was, "Are you pregnant?" I stared blankly at her and blinked a few times, very slowly. I was totally humiliated. "No, ma'am," I said, blushing. On the inside, I was yelling, "WHAT??? DO I LOOK LIKE I'M PREGNANT??? DO I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO WOULD BE PREGNANT AT 14???"

At the time, I didn't realize that this question is standard procedure in any medical setting. If a woman goes in for anything - asthma, broken bones, surgery, concussion, bug spray poisoning, etc. - she will be asked if she's pregnant. The question will probably be asked several times, just to see if they can catch you lying, I guess. Mum explained it to me a few days later when I related this story. At the time, I knew none of this. I thought it was some sort of personal affront against me and my character. Hence the humiliation, spooned on top of some more humiliation. For some reason they had decided to subject me to this interrogation. Me! Why? What did I do wrong?

She continued, "Are you sure?" I nodded, wondering why she insisted on pressing the issue.

After she finished taking my initial vitals, I was ushered into another room. The friendly nurse there asked for a urine sample. "We just need to run a few tests, including a pregnancy test." My eyebrows shot up toward my hairline, but I didn't say anything. My humiliation continued. They didn't believe me. They had gotten it into their heads that I was pregnant and they were going to keep asking me over and over again and they were going to make me pee in a cup. Not only did they think I was sexually active (the effrontery!), but they thought I was a liar on top of that. Add to all of this moral indignation a personal & severe aversion to peeing in a cup. The struggle is real, guys.

After I came back, the nurse finally had something nice to say to me. "We keep a stash of stuffed animals in the back for all you kiddies who have surgery. You get to pick one beforehand and bring it into the OR with you. It will still be there with you in your bed when you wake up." I was a little confused by the offer of a stuffed toy after the repeated questions regarding my suspected pregnancy - if I'm old enough to be pregnant, why would you think I like stuffed animals still? - but I was relieved. Finally, the interrogation was over.

The nurse escorted me out of the room. Prior to this, my mother had always been present in the room. The nurse opened the cabinet and I knelt down next to it. She put a hand on my shoulder, "Go ahead and pick out a stuffed animal, dear, but I wanted to ask you when your mother wasn't in the room: are you sure you aren't pregnant? There is no chance of you being pregnant? There isn't anything to be afraid of, dear."

It was all a trick. A ruse. The stuffed animal was a ploy to get me in a room with a nurse, but without my mother. I almost threw up. (I have a sensitive stomach, guys. Don't judge me.) I repeated my previous answer. No, ma'am. I'm not pregnant. There is no way I could be pregnant. At all. Eager to leave this scene of trickery, I grabbed the first stuffed animal I could, stood up, and walked out.

A few days after surgery, my mother asked why I had a Democrat stuffed animal. I was incredibly confused. A what? "Lefty," she said. "It's the symbol of the Democratic party." I thought the American flag on my horse's rump was just a weird embellishment to make a stuffed toy more patriotic. Turns out it was a donkey. A left-wing donkey.
 

I've had Lefty now for 10 years. He's an excellent snuggle buddy. He has never betrayed or rejected me. He proved to me, from my early teenage years, that I didn't have to be scared of Democrats. Well, it was him and my physical therapist who was a staunch Democrat, but miraculously didn't have horns or a tail, despite what I had been led to believe.

So that's Lefty. Glad y'all got a chance to meet.

A Wedding Toast

(or "A clear example of why Bridget should not be allowed to have a microphone to give a toast because this is what she would want to say")

I'd like to propose a toast to my aunt and her newlywed husband! I hope they have a lovely life together. Thankfully, we already know they will. How do we know this? Because we are the Argenti family. The Argenti family always does everything according to a precise pattern and in keeping with tradition. Everything, so far, has gone according to schedule, as it should. Innovation is not encouraged in this family.

We need a bit of family history to make the pattern clear to those outside. In 1987, Marilyn and Aldo's oldest daughter got married. She then had three children, two girls followed by a boy. Then there was a long period of stability in the Argenti family - three children, one son-in-law, three grandchildren.

In 2001, a change occurred. Marilyn and Aldo's youngest daughter got married. She then had two children, one girl followed by a boy. There had been no weddings for 14 years and no babies for 9 years - we were excited for the familial expansion. Following the expansion, there was another long period of stability in Marilyn and Aldo's family - three children, two sons-in-law, and five grandchildren.

Fast forward to the present day. 13 years have passed since the last wedding. Nearly 8 years have passed since the last baby was born. It must be time for another marriage. Now, in my perfectionist pattern-recognition brain, I wasn't really expecting the wedding until a year from June, but Craig doesn't apparently adhere to Argenti traditions as strictly as Chris and Aaron did. I pray every night that this breaking from tradition doesn't cause the earth to open under my feet. If it does, it's on you, Craig.

If the rest of the pattern holds true, though, we should expect this marriage to produce one child: a baby boy. Then there will be another period of stability, one that doesn't have any foreseeable disruption. Marilyn and Aldo's family will be established in a precise pattern: three daughters, three sons-in-law, three granddaughters, and three grandsons. It's the kind of symmetry that my grandmother would've wanted. It has occurred on a regular - although occasionally slightly rushed - schedule.

Welcome to the family, Craig. Welcome to the insane circus that is the Argenti family. We will hold you to a tight schedule of happiness and familial bliss.

Cheers!

Big News

I should have some big & exciting news in the next week or two.... I'll keep you posted. :) In the meantime, have a photo or two from my crafty corner....

Words

What words are you entertaining in your brain today?

It matters.

Believe me, I know.

We live in a world of poise and self-confidence. People strut and preen and boast. But how many honestly, actually, truly think they're worth it? I'd put money on this: not many. I sure don't.

I'm fat.

I'm ugly.

I'm stupid.

I'm broken.

I'm a mess.

I'm incompetent.

I'm unlovable.

I'm a failure.

I've had these thoughts. All of them. Repeatedly.

You think these things because you believe they're true. Maybe it didn't start out that way. Maybe you did have healthy self-confidence once. Maybe the first seed of doubt was planted by an unkind parent, a harsh teacher, or those demons that occupy your mind at three in the morning. Maybe they come from haunting memories of three men who molested you & had such a strong hold on your mind and heart that your world became so twisted for so long that it began to look straight to you. Your mind can become a place of elegantly constructed lies. They're so elegant that you can forget that they're lies. Words can hurt and haunt.

Those words that your brain accepts as true are the words your heart comes to live by. 

The heart isn't as easily changed as the head, but one thing that can change it is the repeated, relentless, bruising, breaking words that the mind thinks. It won't change by one harsh word or thought, but days, months, and years will establish heart-habits.

This is why the words that your mind thinks are so important. The head influences the heart. The heart, in turn, influences the head. These things - your intellect and your will - influence your life. The words that your mind thinks should be habitually positive and good.

Because your heart deserves a home that is good.

Words can heal and strengthen.

And where can you find better words for the mind to think than those that the Word Himself gave us?

As always, Ann Voskamp provides inspiration and practical tools to help us in these things. This post is the second in a series that provides free printables of Gospel verses. They're the words that your heart should build into its home. Because they're Truth.

I have been gifted with abundant life.

I will not perish.

I have been gifted with peace.

I am not afraid.

I have been gifted with joy.

I am blessed.

I have been gifted with love.

I abide in that Love.

And I - broken, messy, imperfect me - do have those things. They are all gifts from Him, but He has given them all to me.

These are the words that should fill my mind. These are the words that should be a home for my heart.

In order to live in Love, you must first think in Love.

God so loved the world - loved me and you - that He gave His only Son. He sent us His Son - gifted Him to us - so that we might not die. You and I won't die. You and I will live and live eternally through His perfect gift of Perfect Self.

The words your mind thinks become the home your heart lives in.  

Think the words that bring life so that your heart may revel in life.

I am made for two things: to love and to be loved.

The first can be so easy... the second can be so hard.

"Spiritual disciplines are not about getting God to love you — but about getting your heart in a place so you can hear Him say it." ~Ann Voskamp


Amen.

Living with EDS - Swimsuit Edition

I've been living with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome since birth. As a child, I was considered to resemble Gumby a little too closely, but it wasn't cause for real concern. As I've gotten older, it's presented a more serious set of problems, including chronic joint pain, fragile skin, and an inhibited ability to develop scar tissue.

A new issue, which reared its ugly head just this summer, is a less serious, but incredibly frustrating fashion issue: halter tops cause my neck joints to slide forward and push against my windpipe. I'm not even sure your neck joints can dislocate, but mine certainly seem to do so. The pressure of the band across the back of my neck causes this rather painful occurrence. I don't like it much. 

So what? I can't wear halter tops. Big deal.

BUT IT IS A BIG DEAL!

There are already so many rules that I have to follow regarding swimsuits. I like to keep my tummy and my derriere covered. I like to keep the cleavage to a minimum. Basically, I like to wear a cute suit that doesn't resemble a bridal shower gift. Pardon me.

I found an adorable swimsuit that met all these requirements this year. I was super excited. It was pretty much perfect. No cleavage, not too much back, not too much leg, no tummy. I put it on and tied the knot behind my neck.

Then POP went said neck.

Ow. Sigh. Owwwwww.

I went perusing websites again, searching for an alternative that didn't cost a ton (since I'd already invested a considerable amount in the offending suit) and didn't push my comfy modesty envelope. Every freaking swimsuit that I found is a halter top. Occasionally, I came across a racer back suit, but then the front was so low that I don't think I'd ever be able to leave the house while wearing it.

Another rule, another guideline, another hurdle for my life. Living with EDS isn't easy. It even affects my swim season. The swimsuits are trying to kill me, too.