Wielding my knives once again.

This summer was a tough one on my pots and pans. Even on my grill. They felt so neglected. So unloved. Cooking was something I could not bring myself to do very often. 103 degree weather demands you cut up a watermelon, make a sandwich, and call it dinner.

Thankfully, I'm feeling it again.

Tonight, in order to celebrate the most undeserved Nobel Peace Price recipient ever, I bring you

BARACK OBAMA VEGETABLES

That's not their real name. They're really called Morrocan Vegetables, but about four years ago Allan asked me that I make them (because they're a favorite around here), and I thought he had said "Barack Obama Vegetables". It was really funny back then, because at that point Barack Obama was still known largely as the guy who gave a pretty speech at the Democratic National Convention about purple states...or whatever. Now our little inside joke isn't so clever. Because he's, like, our president.

No matter your political leanings, these make for a hearty vegetarian dinner. I like to serve mine over quinoa, but couscous is an excellent alternative.

Moroccan Vegetables*

Serves 4 to 6

2 T butter

2 c coarsely chopped cabbage**

2 c chopped onions

1 ½ c cubed eggplant (1-inch pieces)

1 t ground turmeric

½ t ground cinnamon

½ t ground ginger

1/8 t ground allspice

1/8 t saffron threads***

2 c broth or water

1 ½ c carrot chunks (1-in)

1 ½ c cubed rutabaga (1-in)

1 c chopped tomatoes, or 1 can of drained diced tomatoes

1 bay leaf

2 c cooked or canned and drained chickpeas

½ golden or dark raisins

Prepared couscous or quinoa

1. Put on an apron. This stuff STAINS!
2. In a 6-quart pot, melt butter or margarine over medium-high heat. Add the cabbage and onions; cook, stirring, until the vegetables are softened, about 4 minutes. Add the eggplant; cook, stirring until softened, about 3 minutes.
3. Stir in the turmeric, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and saffron until absorbed. Add the broth and bring to a boil. Add the carrots, rutabaga, tomatoes, and bay leaf; cook, covered, stirring occasionally, for 40 minutes or until vegetables are tender.
4. Add the chickpeas and raisins; cook, covered, 20 minutes longer or until stew is slightly thickened. Discard the bay leaf.
5. Serve over cooked couscous or quinoa.

---

* Original recipe appears in 1,000 Vegetarian Recipes by Carol Gelles. You must. buy. this. cookbook. I cook out of it at least once a week. You won't miss the meat. I promise.

** If you really want to pay homage to President Obama, use purple cabbage. Oh, someone stop me!!

***Saffron is expensive. For crying out loud, we're in a recession--use an extra 1/2 teaspoon of turmeric as a substitute.

Musical flashbacks.

I headed into L.A. this week to meet up with a dear friend who is gallivanting throughout Southern California while her husband attends an otolaryngology conference in San Diego (feel free to bask in how important I am because I have a friend who is married to an otolaryngologist. You may need to Google otolaryngologist to see what it means. And please don't ask me how to pronounce it). While driving home up and down and all around the Angeles National Forest, the mixture of carsickness and fatigue demanded some seriously peppy music. Something I had not listened to in a long time.

I hesitantly put in "Buffy's Mix 2000" and gave it a listen. Let me explain my hesitance.

2000-2001 really should really be referred to as "the dark years." It was my second year at BYU. Fifteen hours a week were spent at T.G.I. Friday's showing people to their tables, handing them their menus, and explaining that the Jack Daniel's burger didn't actually have any booze in it. I lived in an exceedingly less-than-desirable locale. Three of my five roommates were horrible. One of them was dating the bass player from the now-thankfully-forgotten band Orgy. Another "modeled." I was a microbiology major. My diet consisted of Life cereal, Snelgrove's cookies and cream, and my (righteous) roommate's homemade snickerdoodles. I weighed 50 pounds more than I do today. I listened to a lot of Alanis Morissette. The creepiest guy in the ward was in love with me. I resorted to dating a guy who bleached a skunk stripe into his hair and wore a tiger-striped shirt (because he wasn't as creepy as the creepiest guy in the ward).

Oh, and I bought all my clothes at Shopko.

Indeed, these were dark, dark days.

However, yesterday when I cranked those tunes, I found myself gleefully belting out all the lyrics and dancing in my seat while my son snored away in his car seat. It's funny how even the darkest days don't seem so bad in retrospect. At least that is how it is for me. Maybe there were bright spots in 2000-2001 that I just don't remember. But the music does.

Iowa throws a wedding.

I have a cousin named Laura. The best word to describe her would be fabulous. There is nothing low-key about her. Never has been--even when we were six years old.

Even though she grew up in a small Iowa town and remained in state for college, it was really no big surprise to anyone when she moved to NYC upon graduation to pursue a career as a fashion designer. She's done very well for herself--working for Tommy Hilfiger and J. Lo among others.

Laura got married a few weeks ago. Jack and I headed back to Iowa for the wedding.

Remember, she's fabulous. So nothing less than fabulous would do.




Pictures cannot do this wedding justice. Everything--absolutely everything--was perfect. Nothing chintzy, nothing out of place. As someone who can appreciate a good party, but possesses absolutely no party-throwing skills, I counted myself lucky to participate in such fabulosity.

The other days of our trip were slightly less over-the-top. For instance...

(that goat possesses an alarming amount of personality, no?)


I have spent twenty-one of my twenty-eight years in the Midwest. No wonder it feels like home.

Renewed. Refreshed. Rededicated.

September was a rough month. The roughest in recent memory. Nothing extraordinary happened. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult. After months and months of nothing extraordinary happening I felt like nothing extraordinary would ever happen to me again. I was lonely. I was sad. And I was clinging to hope.

Then October happened. October 1st always feels like a holiday to me. I turn to my fall recipes, I pull out my desperate-to-be-replaced corduroys, and I spread my autumnal quilt upon my bed. I ring in the new season by listening to George Winston's Linus and Lucy album. The opening track always stirs me from my summer slump.

With the opening weekend of my favorite month comes one of the two best weekends of the year. General Conference. Barely thirty minutes minutes ago the closing prayer of the last session was said, and my heart feels like it is about to burst at the seams.

The Lord loves me. He loves you. I know that he hears every single prayer I utter--even when in desperation I feel like my words are extending into empty space. I have a stalwart, faithful, loving family--immediate and extended. I have wonderful friends who teach me how to be generous, intelligent, and faithful. I have a spirit that yearns to grow. I am capable. I like my hair. And my ankles.

My October is going to be amazing (and not just because my parents are going to Tuscany and have promised to come home bearing gifts in the form of Italian leather sandals...). I have some clear goals forming in my mind.

One of them includes blogging regularly again. I love to write. I love to struggle over sentences and word choice. I love to sort through my thoughts and share the ones that aren't too personal with my friends and family.

Welcome, October.