Photo Session (from last fall. Ha.) and Some Gratitude

Oh my gosh, it snowed today.  What the heck, winter?  We said our farewells last week with the 70 degree weather.  I put away my winter boots.  Get out, already.

(Want to know what keeps running through my head? "Be gone, Long One."  You know, from Disney's Robin Hood?  When Little John is talking to Hiss?  Anywho...)

I was organizing files on my computer and realized I never shared these photos.  I imagine our family members would like to see a few.  Our good friend, Vanessa, from Pearl Photo and Design, shot these for us on a gorgeous day last September.  I cannot get over the vibrant yellow sun reflecting off of the leaves behind us, especially on a gray day like today.

Squirrel!

  

Last night, I noticed the magic in this^^ picture for the first time.  It's funny how distance can do that.  When we first got the pictures, I didn't notice that this photo was extra special.  It's now one of my favorites of the two of us.  My heart feels so much gratitude for life as I know it when I look at it.  I think, "Oh my goodness.  I am in love with my very best (and very handsome) friend.  And he loves me so much, too.  I can see it!"  I remember the moment.  We were totally lost in our little exchange.  Everything in this picture is authentic.  I love that.

 I totally get it when people want to exclaim to the world how happy--how in love--they are.  I'm there.  Man alive, I am one blessed girl.

{Recipe Share} Bacon-Wrapped Basil Pesto Chicken

I know.  I'm posting another recipe.  I have more to come, too.  Whatever.

Bacon-Wrapped Basil Pesto Chicken

Ingredients

6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded flat (you can halve the breasts if you'd like)

about 6 Tbsp. basil pesto

garlic salt and pepper

Feta, Parmesan, or Swiss cheese

6 slices bacon or prosciutto

2-3 Tbsp. olive oil

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Sprinkle flattened chicken breasts with garlic salt and black pepper. Drop a tablespoon of basil pesto in each breast, add some cheese, and roll up.  Wrap bacon around each chicken breast and secure with toothpicks.

Place chicken in a 9x9-inch baking dish and drizzle with olive oil.

Bake 30-35 minutes (or until chicken has an internal temp. of 160 degrees F).

The chicken is super tender and makes great leftovers. (Preserve the juices when storing to help with reheating.)

*Note: This recipe is a mash-up of a few from allrecipes.com.  Just search the ingredients or name and you'll find the original.

{Dear Martha Anne} Here's to Health

Dear Martha Anne,

Today was a day that I loved running.

It's an on and off relationship.  Some days, I grit my teeth and glare at my feet and hate the thing so, so much.

And some days, I have a big goofy grin on my face and my arms are flailing and Chariots of Fire is blasting from somewhere behind me.

Today, I had no Chariots of Fire.  In fact, I was still stuck inside on a treadmill, even though by now it should be warm enough to run outside.  But for some reason, I loved every step I took on that spinning belt.  I loved feeling my heart pump, my hamstrings stretch, my feet kick up behind me, my arms flex with every swing.  I felt very alive, and very healthy.  That is a great feeling.

I've spent my fair share of time in physical therapy over the years--tendinitis here, out of place rib there, muscle tension all over.  I know what it is to have every step, every single move shoot pain through my spine, or through my hips.  I'm just prone to injury that way.  Chiropractors, physical therapists, and masseuses either really love or really hate my body.  I've had plenty of mornings where I've felt 80 years old.

But it is what it is, and as a result I feel extra grateful for days like today, when everything just feels good.

I hope you have such a day.  I hope my body carries me through for years to come, as it has for you.

Much love and health,

Kelsi

{Travel} Louisville, KY & Nashville, TN--Part II

From Louisville, we headed down to Nashville, finding even warmer weather.  Our first stop was Mammoth Cave National Park, where we participated in a two hour tour underground.  Thank goodness, my claustrophobia didn't kick in during Fat Man's Misery--a tiny little crawl space we all had to squeeze through over 250 feet underground.  Really, it was a very interesting tour in a cave that has over 400 miles currently mapped.

Once in Nashville and cleaned up, we ate at Monell's for dinner, a family style restaurant, dining with 8 other strangers and conversing like old friends.  We passed around cornbread, cornbread pudding, fried chicken, beef 'n gravy, meatloaf, green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes, pasta salad, biscuits, and banana pudding.  We were stuffed and so satisfied, with both the food and the company.

After dinner, we walked Broadway and bar-hopped late into the evening, enjoying live music of all genres.  The air was warmer than we've felt in so many months--we couldn't pull ourselves away from the night.

And let me tell you, Southern hospitality is such a real thing.  Even in the bars, the people were so nice.  Everyone helped each other out and acted like old friends.  It was an amazing thing to witness.  Nashville made quite an imprint on us.

Our carefree evening was followed by a beautiful morning at the Latter-Day Saint temple near Nashville and a stroll around Franklin, enjoying more spring weather.

Our three day getaway flew by, but our little break from routine gave us the boost that we needed.  We returned to more unseasonably cold weather, but our hearts were warmed.  And we were greeted by this sweet face. :)

{Travel} Louisville, KY & Nashville, TN--Part I

Preston and I had a slim window during his spring break to get away for a couple of days.  We took advantage of our proximity to other states and ran off.

We started in Louisville, Kentucky to visit the Latter-Day Saint temple.  Once our time at the temple concluded, we ventured over to none other than The Harvest House, where we were staying.  When Em announced on her blog that they were opening up their home to guests, I knew it would be perfect for our little getaway.  And it was.  I could have relaxed in their home all evening it was so cozy.

Obviously, I was a little more than excited to stay here and meet Tim (Em was out of town), one of the writers of those sweet, inspirational daily letters.  Their home is stunning.

This banana bread was one of the best loaves I've ever had.  Serious.  I've got to get my hands on that recipe.

Pres and I were so tired from all the work leading up to the getaway that we laid on the bed just taking in the peace.  The light coming through the windows was perfect to refresh and encourage us.

We spent a night on the town taking in the Bohemian shops and restaurants and enjoying Blues music.

The next morning, when it was time to go, we were sent off by an energetic and friendly River. 

Thanks, Louisville, you were fun!  On to Nashville...

A Weekend Getaway--Chicago & Michigan City

We were blessed to recently meet up with our good friends also hanging out here in the Midwest, plus a few more, at a beach house on Lake Michigan.  Though there was still snow on the ground, it was the perfect place for our weekend adventure.  Preston and I enjoyed an afternoon at the Art Institute of Chicago--knocking off a must-see--before eagerly joining our friends. 

Over the weekend, we:

 played far too many rounds of Pirates Dice and Celebrity

 talked late into the night about our past undergrad days and our future dreams

ate pretzel M&M's until we were sick

enjoyed a windy day in Chicago with the best deep dish pizza yet (once again thanks to Lou Malnati's)

stepped dangerously onto the frozen lake for a squinty picture

and bade farewell energized and grateful for lasting friendships.

It wouldn't be a get-together without a photo bomb by Cody.

Thanks for adding to our collection of valuable memories with you all.  Until next time.

On Sweaty Palms, Gravity, Anger, and Faith

It has been nearly two months since the tragic shooting at Purdue. I revisited my journal entry, looking for my account of a bizarre dream I had the evening of the shooting.  Here is what I found:

I had a very frightening dream last night--a dream that compares to only two others in the way it imprinted me.  Perhaps it formed from the shooting and my threatened safety and my prayers to God to help this country and this world.  Perhaps it formed from my recent viewing of Gravity.  Perhaps it formed a long time ago.  The dream was long and twisted, but the noteworthy part of the dream was my time at “Pacific Rim.”  This “Pacific Rim” was not the rim that the world knows; it existed in an entirely different sphere, at the outer most edge of the earth.  Shaped like a shallow, wide vase made out of rippled and uneven red sandstone, its mouth opened up into the galaxy.  Around the rim of the vase were eight waterfalls, staggered--four below and four above.  The lower four waterfalls fell in long, thin streams down, down, down.  The upper four waterfalls were the attraction for all the tourists who visited this Pacific Rim of my dream.  Because we were at the top of the earth and due to the earth’s spin, these waterfalls did not bubble downward, but swept sideways from their mouth to make an impressive, frothy stream of water that circled the rim.  It was exquisite, watching water defy gravity in such a way.  Though it was night and the galaxy above was as dark as ever save the billions of stars that dotted the sky, below, where the lower four waterfalls fell eternally, was light--the kind of light that sparkles from a diamond back-lit by fire: blues, greens, pinks, yellows, purples.  The light was warm, invigorating, and absolutely lovely; it has marked me.  Hooked to the walls of the Pacific Rim interior were metal rings a few inches in diameter.  These rings circled around the entire mouth of the rim, hundreds of them.  Visitors were to grasp these rings with their hands and work themselves all the way around the rim until they reached a stream of glowing water in which they would submerge in order to return to earth as we know it.

I journeyed to this Pacific Rim not as myself but as an adolescent blond girl, a girl who had just lost her father in an accident that occurred in my dream preceding this one.  He fell from some great height to his death, and I watched it happen.  He was a strong, kind, respected figure.  I was with a petite blond mother in a pink velvet sweatsuit, and a brother, who was also Preston.  We journeyed to the Pacific Rim because our father loved this place--revered it--and we sought closure and peace following his death.  This Pacific Rim was a sacred place for many people--a Mecca of sorts.  A once in a lifetime opportunity.  But for me, the dreamer, it turned into a nerve wracking, terrifying experience.

The hundreds of tourists visiting the site had their gear, having prepared for a long time to journey around the rim.  We were encouraged on by guides, lifted inside the vase by some contraption and urged forward beneath the stars and other-worldy waterfalls.  The mother moved first toward the small rings, solemn and determined in her journey around the rim.  It was her way of coming to grips with the loss of her husband.  She moved quickly and I never saw her again in the dream.  As I took in the Pacific Rim, its eternal waterfalls and its magic light, I was overcome with its beauty.  I stepped onto the sandstone, my shoes gripping the gritty rock, and grabbed my first ring.  Preston was just ahead of me.  The beginning of my journey was fueled by the surrounding beauty.  The energy was warm and light.  I could hear the reverent exclamations around me—this place was stunning.  Only God could have created such a place.

As I moved from ring to ring, carefully placing my feet on the rippled sandstone and curling my fingers around the metal, I noticed a fatigue in my fingertips.  My legs started to shake and for the first time I realized that I was not fastened to anything.  No one was.  We all relied solely on the strength of our legs, arms, and fingers to get us around this rim.  If our strength failed, we would fall, rolling down the sides of the rim and into the eternal light below.  It would mean death, just like the father's.  Why was I not given a rope?  Why was no one else concerned?  People moved steadily above and below me, their hushed chatter happy.  I, however, was panicking.  I did not want to join this father.

Preston stood by me urging me on, compassionate in my distress.  I kept moving, my hands getting sweaty.  My rings started to get smaller and thinner.  They had gaps in them, like my hooped earrings, and my fingers kept slipping through the gaps.  I had to take precious moments to rotate each ring for a good grip.  I began to really panic, being too far along to turn back but yet so far away from my destination.  The stars looked menacing as I stared at the abyss both above and below me, having nowhere to go but to the next ring.  But I was shaking so badly that I could hardly get my fingers into the feeble ring.  And those fingers were so sore, rubbed raw.  My shoulders ached as I carried the weight of my body.  I could not find a grip for my feet.  I reached for a ring that was too far and ended up barely grabbing it, my fingers curled backwards.  As I released my weight, I slipped, my body spinning to face the center of the rim as I hung from the two rings.  As if on a cross.  As my sweaty hands slipped, I looked up to the sky above me, seething.  I could not do this.  Why was I here, and where was my help?  Why would someone who loves me let me get into such a situation?  I had no strength.  I had no tools.  I had no companion.  I had nothing.  I was utterly alone and the light below me and the heavens above me laughed.

Somehow, I maneuvered off of my cross.  Preston was there again, encouraging me.  The rest of the journey was exhausting and faithless.  The rings continued to shrink until I was sure they could not hold my weight.  But they did, and I eventually reached the flowing river that stood as portal to my safety.  I entered with shaky relief, giving only one last look at this idolized Pacific Rim, my emotions peaked and frazzled, my injuries fresh.  When I finally woke up, my thoughts rested on the idea that a life without faith, without hope, is not a life worth living.  But those desperate emotions were too real and too recent.  I had to remind myself that I know a life of faith, and that God has not abandoned me.