It happens every year, sometime in [...]]]> So, it’s February 24th; it’s raining with a chance of snow.  When I arrived home in a downpour late last night, I didn’t manage to shake that raw winter chill from my bones until several minutes after I had climbed underneath my covers.  I’ve definitely reached my winter breaking point.

It happens every year, sometime in the midst of my least favorite month.  I’ll make it through Valentine’s and President’s Days, and then, I’ll realize the groundhog has given us at least four more weeks of this bleak season.  We were teased this past weekend with balmy weather, and now we’ve been slapped back into reality.  It’s at this point that I usually begin to complain on a daily basis.

warm summer colors in today’s lunch: golden beets, celery, and carrots, later mixed into a blend with quinoa, sunflower seeds, and a mustard-oregano vinaigrette.

Some recent gripes:

• I would like to wear a pair of shoes that aren’t boots.  My shoe collection is suffering from neglect.
• While my puffy parka was by far the best purchase I made this winter, I am tired of walking around inside a bubble.
• I have been dreaming up so many recipes for zucchini, cucumber, and asparagus, but I don’t like buying them out of season.  [I now have a perpetual craving for a cucumber-coconut-basil smoothie].
• I’m struggling to be creative with the cruciferous vegetables in season.  [Ideas are always welcome!]
• I have a piece of furniture that I want to paint, and it has to wait until I can hang out on my rooftop while the paint dries.  I’m not a fan of the currently mismatched colors of my bedroom furniture.
• I’m cold.

Rather than wallow in my winter grievances, I’m trying to bring in some summertime warmth.  My parents recently took a snowy trip to our August paradise, and hearing their weekend tales instantly took me away to sun and sand.

thanks for the flavorful trip to summer, amanda.

Then, a few days ago, I made an easy dinner that I had spotted on – where else? – a blog.  As I took my first bites, I felt immediately transported to summer.  Perhaps it is possible to surround ourselves with the aromas and the seasonings of July, simply by sacrificing just a bit of freshness.  In summer, I would have made this recipe with fresh tomatoes [oh, fresh heirlooms, I miss them!] crafted into homemade marinara.  But as I have actually been known to gag on February tomatoes, I used – gasp – a jar of pasta sauce, courtesy of the low prices in the aisles of Trader Joe’s.

I also added some canned diced tomatoes that were leftover from one of my sister’s dinners, and I subbed kale for spinach, because I do adore that wintertime green.  It was the perfect amount of Italian flavor [not to mention color] cooked up in a recipe ideal for we vegetable devotees.

Ok, I have another complaint: I wish the sun would set later so I could have some natural light for late evening photography.

What are your winter complaints?

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Currently, as an intern, I don’t have much idea of what my professional life will look like past this spring.  I know that now it’s going as perfectly as I had hoped.  I know that I am learning, observing, and accomplishing each and every day. [...]]]> I have a tough time keeping my head in the present.

Currently, as an intern, I don’t have much idea of what my professional life will look like past this spring.  I know that now it’s going as perfectly as I had hoped.  I know that I am learning, observing, and accomplishing each and every day.  But I also know that it is short term.

Still, I find that I am always looking ahead: dreaming up possibilities for the months to come, making plans for the weekend or the summer, basically, contemplating every inch of the future.  I’ve done this for years.  I remember imagining my life at the film school I hoped to attend [I got in; then I transferred out] when I was still five years away from collegiate age.  I envisioned my life as a student abroad before I had ever left the country.  I pictured myself as a New York working professional while I was still a European assistant.

It’s a bit paradoxical, because I’ve never really known what I actually want my future to be.  I don’t mind the unknown; I’ve learned over the years to embrace it.  But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about the future anyway.

“sweet potato hash” topped with poached eggs; side of roasted brussels.

These thoughts all began on my yoga mat [shocker]; I was in the midst of a podcast I return to quite often, and it occurred to me that the next sequence would allow me a short respite in triangle pose.  I love triangle pose.  Something about that stretch feels designed exactly for my body, and it seems to uncannily arrive precisely when I need a few moments to catch my breath.  I always settle into it with such a sense of calm; I always lift out of it with such a sense of strength.  Remembering that it was only a minute or so away, the edges of my lips curved just a bit upward.  I was looking forward to it.

I used to experience this sentiment back when I ran as well.  I trained myself to start at my slowest, so each run always felt like a journey, building and changing over the course of the miles [though I'm sure I idealize this now - there were bad runs too]. Usually, though, a moment would occur sometime toward the end of the first mile: my momentum would grow, a rhythm would set in, and the freedom of running in fresh air would lay before me.  One foot in front of the other: I would look forward to it.

tonight, i’m looking forward to making this dinner again.  i mean, just look at that runny yolk.

I am realizing there is a difference between mulling a future largely out of my control and simply contemplating the little things I can choose to do each day.   It’s the thought of those small intentions that compose each day: awaiting the arrival of an online purchase, rereading a classic novel and knowing a beloved sentence will come in the next chapter, chopping ingredients in preparation of a dinnertime craving, smiling into a favorite yoga pose.

The future will likely always be a question mark.  But I’m grateful for those tiny moments of anticipation – they let my mind wander to the future without ever straying too far from the present.  It’s nice to look forward – as long as it’s not too far.

What little moments do you look forward to in your daily life?

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Yum.

I had the idea for a squash omelet a while back, but I kept putting off purchasing eggs.  I [...]]]> I’m doing pretty well with my autumnal resolutions.  24 hours counts for something, right?  I fulfilled several today, including baking my first autumn squash of the season.  Kicked off the start of fall in the perfect way.

Yum.

I had the idea for a squash omelet a while back, but I kept putting off purchasing eggs.  I suppose I have some negative associations with them – let’s just say, too many plates of bland egg whites.  But I actually don’t mind eggs – they’re versatile, they’re delicious with avocado (what isn’t?), and they can be made either sweet or savory.  Tonight I took them in a sweeter direction.

sweet autumn omelet

• 2 eggs
• evoo
• 1/4 acorn squash, chopped into 1/2″ cubes
• ~1/2 c asparagus (10 stalks, I think), chopped into 1″ pieces
• 3 leaves Swiss chard, ribs removed, coarsely chopped
• 1 t agave
• cinnamon to taste

Preheat oven to 425.  Bake squash for 30 minutes.  Add asparagus; bake both 20 more minutes.  Remove from oven.

Heat oil in pan.  Add chard; sauté until wilted.  Remove from pan and toss chard with agave.  

Add eggs to pan.  When ready, add squash, asparagus, and chard.  Fold omelet, flip, and serve garnished with cinnamon.

I feel like I’m the only person in blog land who eats Swiss chard.  Anyone else?  It’s my favorite green.

Anyway, this was delicious.  A nice way to say goodbye to springtime asparagus and hello to warm autumn flavor.  Oh, and per my post this morning, I managed to make it through all but the last two bites of dinner before my phone rang – and I answered.  Baby steps.

How did you kick off the first day of fall?

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