Proven Butter Chicken

I combined a few different recipes to churn out this utterly delicious butter chicken, and I am so impressed I feel the need to record the recipe so I can go back to it again.

INGREDIENTS (Feeds 6)

2 lbs of chicken thighs

1 pint Heavy Whipping Cream

2 Tbsp butter

15 oz tomato sauce

2 tbsp garlic

1/4 med onion

3 tsp turmeric

2 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp coriander

2 tsp garam masala

2-3 tsp chili powder

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1-2 tsp curry powder

cilantro to taste

golden raisins

salt and pepper

Directions

1. Cut the chicken into bite-sized chunks and generously coat them in half the turmeric, ginger, salt

2. Heat a skillet to medium heat and brown the butter, add the onions and garlic. Cook until translucent and fragrant.

3. Increase the pan temperature to med-high and add the chicken. Cook until almost done (3-5 minutes), add more browned butter if needed.

4. Add heavy whipping cream and tomato paste/sauce will turn a red-orange in color

5. Turn the heat to med-low and cover with a lid for 5-7 minutes

6. Remove the lid and add the rest of the spices. The chicken is fully cooked, reduce to preferred consistency. Add cilantro and golden raisins.

Proof of Sexual Assault

I have a very real question. . . when people sit and demand PROOF of sexual assault, what exactly are they looking for?

If sexual assault turns into rape, there are rape kits available (if you have the wherewithal to go to the hospital and get one done, and if where you're located they even process it). But in cases of assault, what evidence is there really?

A few years ago, I was sexually assaulted.

It was scary. And gross. But I didn't feel like my life was being threatened. I was able to walk away shaken, but otherwise unharmed and mostly just really grossed out.

If I think about it, his lingering and last, "Text me," haunts me a bit. But it's been years now and I don't think about it.

It happened. But the thing is, I don't have any proof.

I do not remember what year it was, much less the day of the week or even the month. (I could sit and figure out the math to get the year... I remember where I was working at the time, but asking me off the top of my head? Nope. Unsure.)

There aren't photos or video--it's not like you're able to say, "Hey, pause for a minute on that trying to rip my shirt off... I want to take a snapshot for posterity, and potential evidence later on."

It's an assault, not a rape, so there are no bodily fluids.

We were in a car, so there were no witnesses.

I didn't save the receipt to his Hotdog on a Stick french fry purchase or the ticket from the parking garage.

But you know what? If he ever decided to run for office or was appointed to the highest court in the land--you know what??? I would speak up. I would want people to know that he is garbage.

I could tell you what he said to get me on the date in the first place. Or how I felt when I saw him bob into the food court. I remember how he looked as he stuffed those fries into his face. I could tell you the outfit I was wearing. I could repeat the fact that he grabbed me from behind on the way to my car and asked, "So, no sex?" And I turned him down.

But do I have anyone to corroborate? No. Do I have proof?

No.

That doesn't mean it didn't happen!

So instead he's out there. And hopefully he's grown up and figured out a better way to try and get his rocks off than pressuring women into doing something they don't want to do. But maybe he didn't. Maybe there are more women out there who could back me up if I ever needed to go public with his name.

Why didn't I report it?

I got away with nothing more than heightened stress levels and a little bit of shaking. I did check to make sure he didn't follow me home. I did make sure that I triple locked my doors for a few days. I dreaded seeing his number on my phone should he call or text.

But I didn't have nightmares after. I was physically fine. I was emotionally shocked but recovered quickly. I didn't report it because it didn't seem important at the time.

It didn't seem like assault. Because it wasn't rape.

Dating App "Compliments"

When a man tries to kick off a conversation on dating apps with me by saying something like

• You are so gorgeous
• Your pictures turn me on
• Hey, sexy

I think they want me to take it as a compliment. I think they want to fluff my ego a little bit. Make me feel good and receptive to their overtures. Maybe feel inspired to kick off a conversation with them.

It backfires. 

Every. Single. Time. 

But why? Why can't I just take these comments for what they are and ignore how gross they make me feel? Why do I immediately feel like I'm setting them up to be catfished? Or immediately feel defensive?

The problem with comments like these is that they are based solely off of a set of photos.

Photos that I specifically curated to showcase my BEST looks. While they are definitely photos of me, and I don't really think any of them are misrepresenting me (too bad), they are also the very best looks.  

These guys haven't met me in person. They don't know what I look like when I'm walking my dog. Or when I've been doing hot yoga for 90 minutes. Which are arguably times when I absolutely look my worst. Would they still be calling me sexy then? Probably not.

Which means that it all feels like a line. Insincere. Disingenuous. Unbelievable. 

They may as well be leaving comments on Tumblr posts or liking random Instagram accounts of any woman that looks good. The internet is filled with billions of options.

It's just superficial. If there is nothing else in my profile that sparks a talking point, then it's hard to believe that the guy is interested in anything outside of the surface, physical stuff. And if that's the case, I just don't think that there's really a chance for anything to go anywhere.

And it usually doesn't. I don't know how to respond to those "opening lines." Do I just say thanks? I know? You're right? 

Where is the conversation supposed to go from there? 

If I were just looking for hook-ups, maybe this wouldn't bother me so much? Or maybe I would still be irritated by the way I feel objectified on dating apps. Replaceable. Interchangeable. 

Action

In high school, juniors and seniors had an opportunity to attend the local community college with all books, tuition, and fees paid for by the state under the Post Secondary Education Option. This program was something that I knew I wanted to be a part of long before I even entered high school. It was a part of my master plan to attend BYU; something I had also determined at an early age was the only option for me.

I knew paying for college, especially one that was out of state, was going to be incredibly difficult. My parents were not wealthy and neither of them had earned a bachelors degree. So this was new territory for my family and one that made all of us nervous. But the promise of having an associates degree by the time I graduated high school seemed like an answer to a prayer that hadn't yet been given, and an opportunity that could not be wasted.

The PSEO program wasn't something that was highly encouraged by high school staff. I remember sitting in the meeting with our guidance counselor explaining how everything worked and feeling as though they were trying to dissuade us from even attempting. I had friends who wouldn't even consider going because the appeal and allure of high school--the 10 Things I Hate About You version, not the real-life experience--was too much to consider giving it up. But that didn't deter me. This was what I wanted and this is what I had to do.

Imagine my disappointment when I was told that I hadn't passed the entrance exam into the program.

It wasn't just disappointment. It was full rage and upset. Upset to my plans. My future. Everything that I was counting on hinged on this test, and I had failed. By one lousy point. I kicked a hole in the wall of our kitchen because I was so angry.

The test was pass or fail, so it didn't matter that it was by one point. A fail was a fail. And I had to face the idea of attending high school for my junior year. Something I did not want to do. Something that I knew would interfere with my plans for going to BYU.

I could not accept this outcome.

I did not accept it.

I found out that the only way for me to be accepted into the PSEO program was to take an 0900 level class during the summer. I had to pay for it out of pocket, and I had to pass it. If I did that, I could attend Edison as though I had passed the test.

So I found a way. I'm sure my parents helped pay for that class. I also assume that many of my Bob Evan's paychecks went toward the $350 or whatever tuition was at the time. I took the class that summer, and I was admitted into the program. And by the time I was ready to apply for BYU, I was on track to have my AA. I was accepted and my plans were back on track.

The experience taught me that I did not have to accept the terms that were being presented to me. That there are multiple ways to solve a problem, if you are just willing to ask and act.

I fought for my degree at BYU. And in the end (after too many years) I graduated.

Again, my plans were on track. But I had accomplished the thing that I had set out to do, and now my goals were a lot less concrete. There isn't a course that you can map out for "get married and have babies." It isn't like college. In order to be accepted into college, you know you need 1) good grades, 2) decent recommendations, 3) a show of responsibility in either clubs, service organizations, or jobs. You know what you have to do to get in. And you know what you have to do to stay in. And if you do A, B, and C, you get the Degree.

But marriage and babies are a different story. The goal line remains elusive while the clock continues to count down. No amount of asking and acting has yielded any results. In the meantime, you fill your life with distractions. Some more meaningful than others. But on days when the distractions fail to work, and you feel as though you are just being handed one consolation prize over the next, it is frustrating. It is unacceptable.

We're told to live "productive, faithful, and grateful lives." But none of those feel like real actions toward accomplishing the things you want the most. They feel so passive, as though you are just sitting, waiting for the thing to happen to you, instead of making it happen for yourself.

I don't know how to not feel that way. I don't know how to make faith an action instead of it feeling like the equivalent of wishing on a star or throwing a penny in a well. All of it seems to give the same results. We are supposed to have faith in the Lord's timing. But that feels like a copout. Or contrary to the belief that "God helps those who help themselves." I believe in making things happen for myself. I also believe that God supports me when I do. We are grateful when we find the person we are supposed to be with, and credit God and His goodness. But we aren't to feel bitter and resentful while we are still waiting, as if He is somehow withholding blessings from us.

But agency plays into all of it too. And when you are involving the agency of another person, how do we know if it is timing, your actions, or the actions of the other person that is keeping it all from happening? I don't know that it is any of the above. Sometimes I think you just need luck and happenstance.

When I was applying to go to college, I didn't apply to a single other college than BYU. It was the only school I had considered. It was the only school I wanted to attend. When I hadn't received my acceptance letter after some weeks, I began to wonder if I should consider another alternative. If I should pick another option. I couldn't imagine what life at another school would look like. It made me sick to think of it and incredibly sad. If I didn't get into BYU, what was I really going to do with my life? Utah was my destiny.

I waited for weeks and began to think that I really needed to have a backup plan. I started my application to OSU. To Liberty University. I tried  to consider BYU-I or SUU. I did my research. I tried not to cry at the thought of having to abandon the thing that I had been working toward since I was in fourth grade.

When I got my acceptance letter, finally, and was able to abandon all  the other applications before paying application fees and writing too many essays I cried with relief.

I'm at the point in my life where I'm starting to wonder if I need to consider alternative plans. And it makes me sick and exhausted and panicked. I keep going back to the end of my high school career and feeling that same worry that things are not actually going to work out. That for all my preparation and hope and work, I was not going to make it.

You don't have much control over whether or not romantic love and pairing off is in your future. You can put yourself in the awkward situations that arise from trying to date; make sure that you remain social and open to new people, and hope that something works out.

It may never happen.

It doesn't matter how much you fill your life with productivity, faith, and gratitude. It still may never happen. And no matter how much I know that, I still find the whole thing intolerable. Unacceptable. But clueless as to how to change the cards. Where is the extra class I need to take? What is the extra steps? It's not so simple, because there are no guarantees.

I want to be fine with that. But accepting it opens up a lot of other things that I have to accept. And I'm not ready to do that. I'm not ready to start filling out the "other applications." But I'm feeling the pressure of the shot clock. And I'm nowhere closer to the basket.

#WhyIMarch

January 21, 2017 I was in Washington D.C., participating in a march for Women's rights. The march was organized to be held the day after the inauguration of our 45th President, Donald Trump. The fact that a man such as he could be elevated into the position of the President of United States is abhorrent and so completely mind boggling, that since the election I have felt like we are living in a twilight zone.

There has been so much commentary about the Women's March, and given that my social media feed is a total blend of conservative, right-wing Mormons and my friends who are mostly liberals, I have gotten it from both sides--those who condemn the march and make judgments based on a few pictures and what they think happened. And from those who were really supportive and participated locally where they could.

This year, I've dedicated some of my reading to more feminist books. All the Single Ladies and Everyday Sexism have been excellent reads to remind myself why I participated in the march.

Because why would someone like me want to participate in something so crass and debase? I have voted in every election since I was 18. I went to college. I have a decent-paying job at a company that has women executives. What more could I possibly want?

There's a misconception that because women have the vote and are able to attend college then equal rights has been achieved!

Ladies, we are done! What more could we possibly want outside of women's suffrage and education? After all, both were denied us for so long. And things are "so much better than they used to be."

The problem is we aren't done at all. Just because I have had those opportunities, does not mean they afforded to women throughout this country. The problem with people who insist that civil rights are done just because a few laws are in place, means that they refuse to look outside their communities and actually see what is happening beyond them.

I don't want to be like that.

In all the books that I've been reading over the past year, in the blog posts, the news articles, the documentaries, there is resounding evidence that there is still so much to do. There is resounding evidence that despite the headways we have made for equal rights, we are still not being treated as full humans. Certainly not equals.

Tips for Online Dating/Tindering

If you have been online it is possible that you have stumbled upon a site or two or twelve that show the hazards of online dating. Guys are made out to be complete idiots in varying levels of objectifying man whores, who are often disrespectful and crude.

While I've certainly had a few interesting propositions, for the most part, the guys that I have interacted with have been decent humans with varying degrees of intelligence and intrigue. I have mentioned in a dating profile that I like double entendres. Recently, a guy messaged me and said that I was brave for putting that in my profile, as it was like "opening Pandora's box." Which is true. Certainly anyone could use that as an excuse to start a conversation out with something entirely inappropriate.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that I must have mastered the algorithm for avoiding what the internet has dubbed as "f*&k boys" and gotten a much nicer experience (if a little more boring) than other women.

I can only speak from a woman's point of view. So, while I am sure there are plenty of girls out there making total cakes of themselves, I have to stick with what I know.

Here are my tips to avoiding massive douches when online dating/Tindering.

Swipe left on douchey pictures. These include:

• Shirtless photos (of any kind)
• Pictures that highlight any specific part of the body--abs, biceps, hips, and penises are out--save that stuff for later conversation.
• Gym pictures
• Bathroom pictures
• Pictures posing next to a (likely drugged) exotic animal
• Pictures of said dude posing with other females--especially large groups of women
• Unless they are nieces, daughters, or otherwise identified as a relative
• Swipe faster to the left if the girls were paid to take the picture with the guy--often indicated by the fact that their boobs are on full display and their smiles look extra forced and fake
• Pictures where the guys is flipping off the camera. (Why--WHY--do guys post pictures where they are flipping me off?) Also included in this, any photo that has a suggestive or offensive gesture documented.
• Someone blowing smoke in your face

The way the profile has been filled out is also an indicator. Some guys will tell you flat out what they are looking for. If you aren't looking for the same, then get out of there! Others are more subtle about what they really want. I have found that the moment I let my standards for good grammar and full sentences fall, I wind up regretting it almost instantly.

There are plenty of decent folk out there looking for love, or companionship, or to make a good friend. But there are also a lot of idiots looking to test the boundaries and ignore the good sense we were all given. Don't let those guys (or girls) get away with it! The less matches they find, the more likely they'll start to realize that they need to change their approach.

If someone does cross the line, feel free to unmatch immediately. Or, better still, call them out on it! And then unmatch them. You don't have time for their nonsense.

When I see the articles or examples that float around, I wonder, "Who is out there letting them get away with this?" I hope it isn't any one of my single friends. It certainly isn't me.

The Hourglass

The sand in the hourglass isn't moving too quickly, but the levels on the top dips lower as each grain passes through. 

The room where the hourglass sits on the small side table in the corner is ornately furnished. The type of room where one would never lament a few hours spent in its company. 

The sand continues to fall in its inconspicuous and nearly silent way, but one doesn't mind its steady slowness. 

The room has several windows. Providing light and a lovely view. When the window is open, birds can be heard; wind, waves, and the whisper of a bigger, brighter world. 

The door is locked. But the sand in the hourglass isn't moving too quickly. And there are so many things in the room to do.

The library is vast and wonderful. Filled with books on every topic. There's beautiful artwork too. Stirring and emotional. Easy to spend time studying and learning. All for the sake of edification. Turn on the record player, listen to the melodies of whatever you wish.

Drown out the quiet fall of the sand. The sand isn't moving too quickly. But the door is locked. The view out the window unchanged.

You've read the library a hundred times through. You've stared at the paintings again and again. Memorized each record track by track. The room is beautiful. But you can only rearrange the furniture in so many ways. 

The view is lovely. But the sunshine beckons to you. It's no longer enough to hear the wind--you want to feel it. Feel it before the sand drains completely. 

The sand in the hourglass doesn't fall too quickly, but now there is plenty on the bottom piling up. The room is stifling. No longer is it enough to keep the window open. The room feels smaller. Each hour is spent in the same way. 

What's beyond the locked door?

These books are too familiar. There are permanent indentations in the frequently sat upon furniture. The sand in the hourglass isn't falling too quickly, but dammit, it's still falling.

The wind howls and beckons; the sun shines and like a siren it calls. If only you could feel the elements just once on your own skin. 

Every shelf has been dusted and cleaned. It's all been organized and reorganized. There's a well-worn favorite path about the room, but no square inch is unfamiliar. 

What's beyond the locked door?

Perhaps just another room. Perhaps just a little more access? Not a full egress to the outdoors. The unknown is tantalizing. 

The sand moves--not too quickly. But it is draining. Are these the only walls you'll ever see? The only books you'll ever read? It's a glorious room, but is this all there is ever going to be? 

How long can you enjoy the comforts and pleasantries of the only thing you'll ever experience before it becomes a cage? A cell. A sentence. Unbearable.

The sand isn't falling too quickly, but you resent it falling at all. Before you're ready. Before there is a chance at change.

The view remains the same. The walls still your prison. The weather is untouchable. Would that you could escape! The beyond is just out that window and heartbreakingly unreachable.

The door is still locked and the sand is still falling. What joy then from the delights of the room? This room is no more capable of providing happiness. Escape is the only solution.

The door must be unlocked. The key must be found! There has to be an exit. The sand will still fall, but at least behind the scenes.

It's isn't falling too quickly. But you'll be damned if you have to sit and watch it.

Catalog Dating

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person, who no longer wants to be single, will be asked, "Have you tried online dating/Tinder?" I remember when online dating became a thing. I was still in high school, but it was a scary practice whereupon you had to wade through profile after profile wondering if the person on the other side of the monitor was telling the truth about what they looked like, where they worked, and their criminal background. Everywhere you looked, people were counseling against it. Those that were the pioneers of this new technology were ridiculed or mocked. They came up with creative backstories because meeting online was not something to be proud of. Now, things are different. No one knows how to approach a stranger unless they have already swiped right, exchanged horrible back and forth meaningless text messages, and provided, at least, a headshot as a means of being able to recognize them at a lunch date. It's almost nothing to be propositioned by a complete stranger, just because there really is no risk for the person making the proposition. What's the worst you can do besides saying no? And while I'm sure there are scores of reasons to try online dating and/or Tinder (the first and foremost being that it really is the ONLY way to meet new people), it's created this phenomenon of Catalog Dating. The problem with Catalog Dating is that it doesn't really allow for human flaws and character. It's like flipping through a furniture website or a store catalog looking for a couch or a side table. If you were to see a couch in a catalog that was a little banged up-- maybe the legs were scratched or the upholstery torn, maybe you just didn't think one of the colors would tie into your table lamp--you would continue scrolling. You would never order something from a catalog that wasn't 100% in perfect condition. Why would you? You can't sit on the couch, or really visualize how it will fit into your space, complement your other furnishings. And if you can't do that, then it's best to keep looking until you find the one that you can visualize working out. And sometimes that is great. There are plenty of people that get some really amazing things off of online shopping. But other times, we find out that we didn't measure the size correctly or the color wasn't represented correctly on the screen. Sometimes there is just a problem with shipping. Maybe the construction or material quality is lower than what was represented on the site. The point is, online shopping for men or dates generates these expectations of perfection. And if we don't see perfection, then we move on to the next thing, which means that all of us are missing out on some probably really good options. Remember when dating was more like walking through a consignment shop? You're walking through this placed housed with things that have stories and histories and character. No, not everything is great. But every once and a while, you stumble on a table with so much character that it makes your pulse quicken. You can see easily how it will sit just so across from your fireplace and against your window. Sure, there's a few nicks and chips in the wood. It could probably stand to be repainted, too. The handle might be a little worn, and if you had found this in the catalog, you would have certainly ignored it. Instead, you're giddy and excited. This is just the thing you need to complete your space. So you take it home, give it a little TLC, and its a match in heaven. You don't demand perfection, because you don't expect perfection. You got it from a consignment shop, where you lose all expectations of perfection and are just looking for the thing with the most character and the thing that will fit in your home perfectly. The answer is yes. If a single person, who no longer wants to be single, is asked "Have you tried online dating/Tinder," they are inevitably going to say yes. We've all looked through the catalogs. We've all seen what is being offered. But sometimes it is just a lot more interesting and fun to try a little more organic method.

#HeForShe Recipe

Tell us your unique #HeForShe recipe.

A photo posted by #HeForShe (@heforshe) on Dec 18, 2015 at 1:18pm PST

Two of my coworkers were enlightening another of how our fathers empowered us as young girls so that we could grow to be confident, strong women. Growing up, I often heard how proud my dad was of me for being smart, getting good grades, and being a good big sister. He and my mom entrusted me at an early age to help care for my younger siblings and let me make all of my own decisions, supporting me each step of the way. I was blessed to grow up knowing that I was not limited because I was a girl. And that I could do whatever I set my mind to. It has made me the uncompromising, demanding (but only in the best of ways--I think) person I am today. With expectations that might be a little too high.

Why I'm Glad I Didn't Marry at 19

I know that I blog about how dismally sad that I'm not married and I'm childless and all these other things at the age of 30. But the truth is, I am infinitely more grateful that I didn't get married at 19.

At the age of 19, it's hard to have a true understanding of what real life is like. 

If you're lucky, you graduated from high school with little to no challenges. You weren't struggling to find creative ways in which to meet your basic needs. Shelter, food, and clothing were provided. The hardest thing I had to do was find a way to balance my part-time job, some homework, and wake up at 4:30 a.m. for early morning seminary. Once, I ran out of gas on the way to Edison. Once, my tire went flat at midnight on a country road. This was all before I had a cell phone. See? My life was hard.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to move out of my parents' house, and into an apartment. This is where it became critical to learn how to pay my bills. I had to balance my needs (rent, food, tuition) with my wants (those pants that fit because I wasn't actually buying food and that double-feature movie procrastination day). I lived a bunch of kids my own age and to varying degrees of success. Some of my roommates were gems that developed into long-lasting or lifetime friendships. Others were straight up trials, that helped me figure out how to deal with difficult people.

Life has been one barrel roll over a waterfall after the other. From my cars falling apart at the most inopportune times, to health or family challenges, and job changes, it seems like nothing is ever easy. That there's always something. And it always happens at the worst time.

But inbetween the trying times, there's the trips, the laughing fits with your best friends, the cozy meals, and the exploration of the city/state/country or the world. If I had been married at 19, I would have missed out on so many amazing experiences that have colored my life with happiness. I would not be friends with any of the men and women that I associate with now. It was during the ages of 19-25 that I really was developing into the person who I am today and to have been married during that time would have changed so much. And I'm not convinced it would have changed for the better.

At 19, you're still trying to figure out who you are. 

How can you possibly know who you are if you have never lived on your own? If you have never dealt with anything outside of your comfort zone? If you have only a few years of part-time employment experience, and spent the rest of the time in a classroom studying things that you're guaranteed to forget instantly?

There's so much to know. And so much to experience. Trying to figure out a way to support a young family before you've learned how to support yourself seems ludicrous to me.

At 19, you haven't had enough relationship experience to know what you're doing.

I equate picking a spouse at the age of 19 to blindly picking out a boat before you know what kind of water you'll be in.

And honestly, it doesn't hurt to test out some of the boats, before you know how they'll handle the crash of the waves, or the bends in the rivers. Do you really want to take that rowboat into the open ocean? Or try and fit that cruiseline down a mountain stream?

Sometimes you choose correctly. I do understand that. But at 19, how can you have really had enough experiences in relationships, to know you're making a choice that you are going to be happy with 10 or 20 years from now? In what other scenarios is is appropriate to just pick the very first thing to come along and go with it in full confidence?

I think it should be illegal to marry before the age of 25. (Ok, maybe 24.)

This seems extreme, but I really believe it. Even in Mormondom, where we expect everyone to save sex for marriage, I think that it doesn't hurt to experience a little bit of life outside of college, outside the realms of these very temporary blips of our life stories. Once you've graduated, and found at least the first step in the ladder of your career, things start to settle. You start to realize that life is always going to be crazy, and if it isn't one thing, it will be the other, but you'll have a strategy with how to deal with it. You'll know how you handle all kinds of life situations, and know what kind of person you'll need in a life partner in order to help you be successful. Or in helping you become a better person.

I believe that every relationship you're a half in, should help you become a better person. If there are people that are dragging you down, then you shouldn't continue with the relationship. But if you don't know what kind of person you are, then you don't really know where to set the bar! And it should be equal. You should be encouraging those around you to be better people and to grow in some way. If you don't know who you are, then you won't know what kind of influence you are on other people, either.

There are sometimes I wish that I were married, and that I had begun this other stage in my life. I get tired of what I feel like is ACT I. Marriage and babies would be my ACT II and I do feel like I'm ready for that scene change. But the thought of starting ACT II at the age of 19 would have been a huge detriment to my story. There would have been too many plot holes, and too many characters cut. Yes, ACT I has been long-going, but, I wouldn't cut anything from it. It makes me sad to think that there are so many that do without truly weighing in what they are losing.

Birthday Month Part 2 - The Biological Clock

Posting about something that you logically know is ridiculous, but can't help how you feel anyway, is always conflicting. On the one hand, you don't want your most inner thoughts and feelings public. And on the other, you can't imagine going another minute without making sure that someone knows exactly how you are feeling. When you write on a blog, you make yourself vulnerable and open to others' judgments, their advice, and their criticisms.

Of course. I've always been one to lay it all out there, regardless of what someone else is going to say.

Which is why, when I was sitting in a team meeting the other day, and my coworker had finally had it about my complaints about my upcoming birthday and snapped at me, I shrugged and nothing changed. Despite his reassurances that I'm fine, and that I have nothing to worry about, I don't really believe him.

Despite the fact that most of my friends have hit this upcoming milestone, does nothing to assuage my own fears and anxiety about it.

I turn 30 soon. Less than two weeks away and I am freaking out.

I don't want to freak out. I would love to enter into my 30s gracefully. But instead, I feel like the reluctant cat being dragged into the bathwater. I'm trying to grab at anything that will give me more time, and Time just keeps pulling me right along and out of my 20s like it's no big deal.

That's what everyone would have me believe, anyway. That it's no big deal. That so far, their 30s have been THE BEST. Any maybe that's true for them. And maybe it'll be true for me. But I'm having a hard time accepting it. Especially when it comes from those who have married and started having their babies (or not having their babies, if that was their choice). Of course being 30 is no big deal when you have your partner in crime to be there with you.

The problem is that when I turned 24, then 25, 26, and then 27, I said to myself, "It doesn't matter that I'm not married. That I haven't started having kids. At least I'm not 30." Every year that things haven't happened the way that I wished them to, I've reassured myself that I have plenty of time. That I'm not 30, and therefore, it was OK to continue on. That somehow things would be different by the time I hit this particular date.

But nope.

I can't say that things are really much different at all.

And so I'm panicking. Because even though I could probably transfer all this dread and worry onto the age of 40. "At least I'm not 40!"

I worry. I worry because the last decade has gone by SO quickly. And if it has happened once, who is to say it won't happen again? And how can a decade blow by and nothing change?

“Today we tell girls to grow up to be or do whatever they want. But the cultural pressure to become a mother remains very strong; rare is she who doesn’t at least occasionally succumb to the nagging fear that if she remains childless, she’ll live to regret it.” —Kate Bolick 

I wonder if I were raised differently if it would matter so much. People are quick to accuse the fact that I've lived in Utah for the last 11 years, watching 19 year old girls marry; or that I've been raised Mormon where the emphasis on being a wife and mother and a part of a perfect little family unit; and that is why I am so hung up on all of this.

But I find that hard to believe as a full explanation. My earliest memories are of me mothering my younger siblings, writing stories about two lady bugs that fall in love and have babies. Playing house....

Being a wife and mother has always been something that was important to me.

I wish I could be content with the thought of not. I wish I could be strong enough to be OK with the idea that if it happens it happens and that is great. But if it doesn't happen, then that's great too.

I'm not though.

What happens if 40 comes, and everything is the same again? Then there is no hope. Even my doctor told me, "If you were turning 40, then I'd be crying with you." I just can't seem to leave the timeline of events alone. No matter what I do, I can't negotiate with Time to give me more. I don't want to go back to when I was younger and more naive. I don't want to have to relive the years where I wasn't quite sure of who I am, or remake some of those same mistakes. But I do not want to be 30. Not yet.

Birthday Month Part 1 - The List

Things that I thought I'd accomplish before the age of 30:

• Graduate from college
• Travel
• Know who I am
• Have my finances under control
• Own a house
• Kiss men
• Fall in love
• Have my heart broken
• Fall in love again
• Introduce my family to "the guy"
• Go through the temple
• Get married
• Have a baby
• or two babies
• Have my own family traditions established
• Drive a car that works
• Move out of Utah
• Live closer to my parents
• Write something
• Lose weight
• Be important to someone
• Have my health under control
• Have lifelong friends
• Feel content and ready to leavy my 20s behind

Things that I will have accomplished before the age of 30:

• Graduate from college
• Travel
• Scotland
• Hawaii
• Japan
• Canada
• Utah
• California
• NYC
• Florida
• Idaho
• Know who I am
• Have my finances under control
• Own a house
• Kiss men
• Fall in love
• Have my heart broken
• By a friend, not a boyfriend
• Fall in love again
• Introduce my family to "the guy"
• Go through the temple
• Get married
• Have a baby
• or two babies
• Have my own family traditions established
• Drive a car that works
• Have my car totaled in a car accident
• Move out of Utah
• Fall in love with Utah
• Live closer to my parents
• Write something
• Lose weight
• Be important to someone
• Have my health under control
• Have surgery to remove an ovary
• Go through cancer treatments
• Lose my hair
• Regrow my hair
• Have family members go through cancer
• Have lifelong friends
• Watch lifelong friends move away
• Have lifelong friends move back
• Feel content and ready to leave my 20s behind

One Year

I passed the year mark of my surgery on September 19. Tomorrow will be the one-year mark from the day that I went in and discussed my chemotherapy just before I started treatments. (And then bawled in my car for a good 30 minutes before I could call my mom. FYI: NO ONE should go to those appointments alone. They are the worst.) As I hit these little anniversaries, I've been trying to be really introspective about it all.

What have I learned in this past year? What have I really experienced? Am I as strong as everyone keeps claiming I am, or have I just been really successful in deceiving them all?

The truth is, I feel like I'm a failure of a cancer survivor.

I'm only introspective because other people keep bringing it up. I don't feel like I've learned any major life lessons. I haven't developed lasting, supportive relationships with the women I worked out with for 12 weeks in a study up at Huntsman, or with the doctors and nurses who treated me. I tried really hard not to need anyone during the whole ordeal.

I saw some friends that I hadn't seen in probably a year, and they asked how I was feeling. People ask me that all the time. Not in a "hey, how are you?" question that everyone asks everyone. But a "So. How are you feeling?" I know exactly what they mean, of course. But my health is never high on my list of concerns and so I don't think about it. Ever. Until someone asks, and then I don't want to think about it because I'm feeling fine. I'm tired because I didn't go to bed until 2 a.m. I'm lonely. I'm stressed because of work. But I'm not anything because of cancer.

I'm done with all of that. (Minus the millions of worthless follow-up appointments.)

I don't like being associated with cancer unless it is to my advantage. (Yeah, so what? I still try to play the cancer card when it suits me. Never mind that it hasn't worked for me much.)

For something that can be so earth-shattering and life-changing for some, has been a relative nothing for me. If it weren't for the fact that my hair is still the bane of my existence that I have to deal with every single morning, I think that I would literally forget that any of this happened a year ago. It would be on the radar the same as when I crushed my hand in a falling window. Or that time I checked in the hospital for bleeding to death. (A precursor to everything else I've dealt with turns out.) Something that sucked while I was going through it, but aside from the medical bills and follow-up appointments, has nothing to do with my day-to-day.

Every reason that I've come with as to why I had to go through all of this has been shot down as the year progressed. Did it fix any of the medical things I was dealing with before? No. Did it exempt my family from having to deal with cancer? No. So perhaps there is no reason, except that life sometimes sucks, and that we have to go through sucky things.

And then we're done with them. And they are a blip on the radar of life. Here, and then gone in a year. And in its wake leaving a path of insecurities, debts, and not a whole lot more. Something that you would totally forget, if others did.

Even when I was going through treatments, it was not always the highest on the list of woes in my life. When listing out the trials of my life, it usually landed on spot number two or three or four. (The exception being the second or third day after treatments, when I'd forgotten to take my Dex. Those days truly did suck.) Unlike so many true survivors, I never thought of myself as in a battle or as if I were fighting off cancer. I hate being grouped in with those who have had it so much worse. Who have tried treatment after treatment, only to find that their cancer morphed into something different and had to switch up their meds or add treatments. I lost an ovary. But the physical evidence is limited to a scar that no one will likely ever see, and the scar left behind by my port.

I also hate how much I care about my stupid hair. I'm obsessed with it. I talk about it all the time, but I hate whenever anyone else does. I hate what I see when I look in the mirror. I obsessively look at pictures from a year ago when I had long, blonde hair and cry over the fact that I'll be 32 before it looks anything close to that again. I hate that it matters. I want to want to embrace my short hair, and instead, I just get angry about it all.

So have I learned anything in the past year? Am I a better person? Have I grown? Am I really that strong? I think no. I remain me. Unchanged. Unhinged. Shorter hair.

Nova Scotia

At the beginning of the month, the FTC flew into Halifax, Canada, and explored for our annual birthday trip.

It was beautiful, and fun, and I let those two reprobates take all the good pictures of the three of us.

I was super stoked to find this delicious treat in Canada! I lived off of this stuff in high school, because it has a good amount of sugar to make me act like a total drunkard.

The Green Gables

We managed to avoid four moose on the Skyline trail. They made us only slightly nervous when we stumbled upon them right in the middle of our trail.

The worst part of Nova Scotia is the food. Pizza everywhere--both good and bad. And French fries. And literally, not much else. We had the worst luck.

The area's stunning, natural beauty made us gasp and squeal with glee. And I'm sure that the few people we encountered probably thought we were total idiots. We had trouble with the tolls. We swooned over the pretty bills. (I now understand why Canadians make fun of our money all the time.) And we kept getting caught by older couples in the middle of our totally inappropriate, albeit hilarious, conversations.

It really was a beautiful trip, and despite the fact that the customs agents all thought we were crazy for going somewhere "so remote" and seemed genuinely confused as to why we would vacation there at all, (Probably because it was way off-season, and the few people we did encounter were older than us by at least 40 years, everywhere we went.) I would totally go back again.

Cooking

Last week, Meghan and I alternated whose turn it was to cook dinner each night, and the result was that we both ate really well for several days in a row. Or, as my dad would say, we were eating like kings!

It was such a delightful experience. I don't cook. At least, not often. I don't really enjoy it. Except, when you're cooking for someone that is as willing to try anything as you are, doesn't complain about the ingredients that you are using, or the time it is taking to make it; when you're cooking for someone who also helps clean up. . . well, I guess it isn't so bad. It was a fun reminder that even though I don't necessarily enjoy cooking, I actually can do it.

The recipes we used are definite keepers, so here they are: 

Crispy Black Bean Quinoa Burritos

from: http://www.twopeasandtheirpod.com/crispy-black-bean-quinoa-burritos/

Yield: 10 burritos

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cook Time: 25 minutes

Total Time: 35 minutes

ingredients:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small yellow onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 cup diced red bell pepper
1/2 cup diced green bell pepper
1 (15 oz) can Libby's Organic Black Beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 cup Libby's Organic Sweet Corn, rinsed and drained
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
Juice of 1/2 lime
Salt and black pepper, to taste
Cilantro Lime Quinoa
2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
10 burrito-sized flour tortillas
Creamy Avocado Yogurt Dip, for serving (THIS IS A MUST--it was soooo good!)

Directions:

1. In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 2 minutes. Stir in the peppers, black beans, corn, chili powder, cumin, and cilantro. Cook for 5 minutes. Add the fresh lime juice and season with salt and pepper, to taste.

2. Place a few spoonfuls of cilantro lime quinoa in the center of a tortilla, leaving a 1/2-inch border around edges, then add the shredded cheese, and bean/corn mixture down the center of the quinoa. Roll burritos, by folding over the ends and rolling up. Continue making the rest of the burritos.

3. Heat a large non-stick skillet or griddle pan over medium heat. Arrange burritos, seam-side down, in pan or griddle and cook until golden brown and crisp, about 2-3 minutes per side. Serve warm with Creamy Avocado Yogurt Dip.

Note: You don't want to fill the burritos too full or they will be hard to roll up. You can also use Cilantro Lime Rice, instead of the quinoa.

Kung Pao Chicken Zoodles For Two

Skinnytaste.com

Servings: 2 • Size: scant 2 cups • Old Points: 6 pts • Points+: 7 pts
Calories: 277 • Fat: 12 g • Protein: 24 g • Carb: 21 g • Fiber: 4 g • Sugar: 9 g
Sodium: 725 mg (without salt) • Cholesterol: 62 mg

Ingredients:

• 2 medium zucchini, about 8 oz each, ends trimmed
• 1 teaspoon grapeseed or canola oil
• 6 oz skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 1/2 red bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp fresh ground ginger
• 2 tbsp crushed dry roasted peanuts
• 2 tbsp thinly sliced scallions along diagonal

For the sauce:

• 1 1/2 tbsp reduced soy sauce (tamari for gluten free)
• 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
• 1 tsp hoisin sauce
• 2 1/2 tbsp water
• 1/2 tbsp Sambal Oelek Red Chili Paste (or more to taste)
• 2 tsp sugar
• 2 tsp cornstarch

Directions:
Using a spiralizer fitted with a shredder blade (this makes a thicker noodle), or a mandolin fitted with a julienne blade, cut the zucchini into long spaghetti-like strips. If using a spiralizer, use kitchen scissors to cut the strands into pieces that are about 8 inches long so they’re easier to eat.

In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, balsamic, hoisin, water, red chili paste, sugar and cornstarch; set aside.

Season chicken with salt and pepper, to taste. Heat oil in a large, deep nonstick pan or wok over medium-high heat. Add the chicken and cook until browned and cooked through, about 4 to 5 minutes. Set aside.

Reduce heat to medium, add sesame oil, garlic and ginger to the skillet and cook until fragrant, about  30 seconds. Add the bell pepper, stir in soy sauce mixture and bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer until thickened and bubbling, about 1-2 minutes. Stir in zucchini noodles and cook, mixing for about two minutes until just tender and mixed with the sauce. If it seems dry, don't worry the zucchini will release moisture which helps create a sauce. Once cooked, mix in chicken and divide between 2 bowls (about 2 cups each) and top with peanuts and scallions.

Panko Crusted Chicken Piccatta

 

Prep time

15 mins

Cook time

25 mins

Total time

40 mins

 

Serves: 4

Ingredients

• 1 cup flour
• 3 eggs, lightly beaten
• 2 cups panko breadcrumbs
• 4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves,
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• ½ cup olive oil
• 6 Tablespoons butter
• 2 Tablespoons capers
• 2 Tablespoons lemon juice + A few slices of lemon
• 1 tablespoon chopped parsley


Instructions

1. Place the flour, eggs, and panko in three separate shallow bowls.
2. Butterfly the chicken so each piece is half as thick as it was to begin with. Lay the chicken out on a cutting board, cover with wax paper, then use a meat mallet or rolling pin to pound it to a ¼ inch thick. Season both sides with salt and pepper.
3. Heat half of the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Dredge the chicken breasts in flour, shake off the excess, then dip in the eggs, and coat with breadcrumbs. Add half the dredged chicken breasts to the skillet and fry for 3-5 minutes or a side or until golden brown and cooked through. Remove to a plate.
4. Add the other half of the oil to the skillet and repeat with remaining chicken breast.
5. When the chicken has been removed, add the butter to the skillet and use a spatula to scrape up any brown bits (that's where the flavor is!). Let the butter cook until sizzling and just starting to brown. Stir in the capers, lemon juice, and lemon slices.
6. To serve, plate the chicken then spoon the lemon butter sauce over top. Top with lemon slices and fresh parsley.

Strawberry Festival Pie

Yes. I made this.

This weekend Troy will celebrate the Strawberry Festival.

Celebrating the Strawberry Festival as a kid was the official way to usher in the summer holiday. For a few years, our ward had a float (that was back then, when they actually did floats) in the parade and I remember stuffing tissue paper into chicken wire to get our floats to match whatever berry silly theme had been chosen for the year. We rode on a few of those floats and even won prizes.

The Boy Scouts in our ward at some point started doing a fundraiser at the Friday night festivities in the downtown square. Friday night was reserved for a children's parade and bed races. There were all sorts of vendors and booths, and the Boy Scouts sold pies. Delicious strawberry pies.

I believe the original recipe came from an older lady in our ward, and throughout the years, my mom and Aunt Elouise in particular, along with the help of women in the relief society, developed the recipe into something that not only tasted better, but was more attractive, and more efficient to make.

The first several years went something like this:

The Boy Scouts would go to Fulton Farms and pick the berries.

The Relief Society would divvy out the jobs from making pie crust shells to glaze and then drop these off Friday morning at our house. (Our house is only three blocks from The Square, and easily accessible through the alleys to the booth set up there.)

Volunteers, be it Boy Scouts, Young Women (mostly Amy and me), and other Relief Society members would meet at our house and top and wash the berries. Then we would pour on the glaze and set up the pies on long tables, which they would set up until they were loaded in the back of a van and driven to Square.

The Boy Scouts would then top them with whip cream, and serve the pies.

Throughout the years, they started doing pre-orders and sold whole pies instead of by the piece. The prices rose. My aunt started working in the school cafeterias and we gained access to nacho cheese and chili meat to put on hot dogs. The enterprise expanded to the point where the health department said that they couldn't be made in our house anymore.

By that point, they were selling a hundred pies at least, with my aunt always pushing to make more. Which could be done as the process streamlined.

Saturday, Amy and I would wake up to the sound of people finding their seats in front of our house, as we were the last street on the parade's route. We would have to move the cars we parked on the street for the day. Members of our ward, school friends, and people we knew would come and find a place on our porch and we would watch and yell at the participants to give us one last performance. (Because we were the tail end of the route, the performers would be tired and ready to be done, and often, we didn't get to hear the bands or watch the dancers.) As a kid, I always loved to see the different pageant queens and courts. Several of my friends competed and won a spot on the Strawberry Queen Court float.

Following the parade, we could go to the levy and walk through the booths. Mostly artisan booths, crafts, and food. There was a duck race at some point, where they would send hundreds of yellow ducks down one side of the river to the other.

Sunday, our regular route to church was diverted because of a 5 or 10k race.

I have good memories of the Strawberry Festival. And it is sad that the last time I was home, the parade had gotten SO lame. It now mostly consists of people driving in cars with a magnet advertising their business. Other changes over the past couple of years also sound sad. No more bed races. A change of venue from the levy. And because of that, a change of procedure for the strawberry pies.

Luckily, not only is the pie famous enough to have the recipe passed down, it's also famously easy to make. I always try to make at least one around this time for a little reminiscing.

I may never be as good as my mom. But I can certainly hold my own. And you can try, too, because here is the recipe:

Strawberry Festival Pie

Pie Crust:

• 1½ C. Flour
• ½ tsp. Sugar
• ½ tsp. Salt
• ½ C. Oil
• 2 T. Milk

Filling:

• 1½ C. Sugar
• ¼ C. Cornstarch
• 1½ C. Water
• 1 box of Strawberry Jell-O (3 oz.)
• Fresh Strawberries

Topping:

• Real Whipping Cream
• Vanilla and Sugar to taste

Crust: Blend and press into pie shell. Create an edge at the top to hold the pie filling. Bake at 400° for 10-12 minutes or until light brown. Cool.

Filling: Mix sugar and cornstarch, add water and boil until transparent (~2 minutes), stirring constantly. Add Jell-O and return to a boil. Remove from heat and allow to cool. It should be cooled quite a bit before you use it. The filling will do one deep pie, and you'll probably have leftover glaze. Just double the recipe for two pies.

Put berries into cooled glaze and stir, coating evening. Pour into cooled pie shell. Refrigerate to set completely. 

Topping: Serve with Whipped Cream.