The third family I lived with to finish the school year was the Mijares. Barbara and I had become friends at school; we swam together on the high school team and had many classes together. We also spent many, many weekends in her tiny car cruising, eating cups of elote and gossiping about boys — as high school girls did at the time. Barb was instrumental in my education of Spanish and my survival of a year away from home. Like a big sister, she wasn’t shy to tell me when to shape up, or when my much more liberal American behavior was inappropriate for the conservative Catholic environment in which I was trying to conform.

One day, likely tired of my babbling, she sat on my chest with another girlfriend and plucked my previously youthful and unwieldly eyebrows into arched submission. I cried. She told me I’d thank her later. I did. Barb taught me things about beauty, manners and grace that were simply different versions from what I’d learned at home. Truly, not a week goes by I don’t think of some bit of insight she gave me — even if at the time I couldn’t appreciate it.

Barb and I kept in touch over the years through the occasional letter and phone call, but God bless the Interwebs reigniting our friendship. Thanks to Facebook, I’ve been able to reconnect with many of the friends I made that year. They are now scattered across Mexico and the world — those who have been able to find employment elsewhere have. Unfortunately, the sweet town of Torreon with its cathedrals, parks, squares and Rio de Janiero-inspired Christ on the mountain, has become yet another Mexican city embroiled in cartel violence and corruption.

And so, Barbara — with her husband and children — now lives in San Antonio, Texas, just minutes from my parents. Imagine my delight last weekend when my friend walked into the restaurant and we embraced. Within moments we were back into our gossipy sing-song Spanish groove, catching up for many lost years. Her children are adorable and her husband is someone I would have ordered for her out of a catalog. The joy in seeing her doing so well and having created such a beautiful family is unparalleled.

There is nothing sweeter in life than picking up a friendship 15-plus years after you’ve set it down, without missing a step.

~K

New Year’s Eve dinner party success, even if we did have to watch the ball drop on my computer in lieu of TV.

Happy 2012, y’all. May this year knock our socks off with joy and blessings!
~K

Needless to say, her fan club went bananas crazy with pride, including ringing a cowbell. She had rows of people screaming like mad for her and every yelp was well deserved.

Because if you are going to have a nurse in the family, let it be a super smart one who can lead!

And then, because this is Adam and Kim, after way too much pizza and libations — we bowled:

Yep. She’s even gorgeous bowling. Smart and gorgeous. I know. 

So damn proud of her!

~K

His peanut butter dog treat recipe was super simple to bake.

He even stamped them with a tiny paw stamp — although it isn’t so easy to see.

I’m pretty sure his friends next door would have preferred tiny barrels of bourbon in this chilly weather. Next year.

When he isn’t chasing squirrels (who could just hibernate already. Please.), sniffing butts at the park, or being attacked by mean dogs with stupid owners, he’s watching me run around like a Christmas crafting maniac baking.

~K

Taking a bit of a break to head home to Phoenix for a few days with loved ones.

Wishing you a blessed Christmas!

xo,

Kelli

What’s that? You are going to a Cosby sweater holiday party with your bestie BJ and you don’t have anything to take to the potluck? Looking around the kitchen you notice way, way too many left over pretzel pieces from your other holiday exploits. And so the conversation goes a bit like this:

“Hmmm. I need to bring a dessert. I’ve got pretzels. I love brownies. Safe to say, nothing bad can come of this.”

In fact, these were rather delicious. For those who enjoy the sweet and salty combination, I’d go so far as saying they were a delight. An easy chicken fried rice, goulash, gumbo, kitchen left-overs inspired dessert:

Pretzel Peanut Butter Brownies

Ingredients:

2 cups broken pretzel pieces

1 cup peanut butter, warm + melty

1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

2 Tablespoon cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon salt (Sprinkle the top with kosher salt for a kick when you pull it out of the oven)

1 cup unsalted butter

3/4 teaspoon cinnamon

2 cups of dark chocolate chips, melty

1 cup granulated white sugar

1/2 cup light brown sugar

6 large eggs, at room temperature

2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter/spray a casserole dish. Place pretzel pieces at bottom of dish. Sift together flour, cocoa powder, salt and cinnamon. Melt butter. Add chocolate chips and peanut butter until mixed well. Slowly add sugars and mix until no longer grainy. In a third bowl, whisk eggs and vanilla until smooth. Add flour mixture to egg mixture and stir just until combined. Add chocolate mixture. Pour batter over pretzels. Bake for 40-45 minutes. These are better under vs. over cooked, so be mindful of checking them every few minutes after 35 minutes. Let cool. Enjoy!

{But of course, the real winner of a dessert at the Cosby party were the pudding pop shots. Wowzers!}

~K

First, yes. This is me as Willie Nelson. I know. I know. I’m damn cute. What you should be glad you can’t see is my alarmingly increasing midsection. I actually conned Tall Lady out of a portion of a rotisserie chicken to sit for these photos. It’s not my fault. I showed up at the Heirloom Homestead underfed — ribs visible. The vet told Tall Girl to “feed that dog!” and she has done a great job. Thank God I don’t have to fit into skinny jeans, or any jeans for that matter.

I just hope she doesn’t decide to shave me anytime soon. My girth is hidden fairly well with all this fur, especially the dark fur. Uncle Cody had the nerve to call me “chubby” this afternoon. CHUBBY.

There is enough sorrow with that to make a dog want to write a sad, slow country song.

I may be a drag-dog, but I’m no fool. Dress up? Really? We’ve gotten to this pathetic point of the year after one minor snow? Friends, we may need alpine rescue around here pronto, and it will have nothing to do with being snowed in and everything to do with Tall Lady’s boredom and me as her sole focus of craft.

Help.

In other news — she decided yet again that Frida Kahlo was the right costume choice.

Never mind all the other girls at the party went as cheerleaders, sexy nuns, and pretty much any other costume that doesn’t require emphasizing one’s facial hair. Those are also the girls who went home with boyfriends. Tall Lady? She came home with a glue gun and a mission: the Willie Nelson costume!

At least Uncle BJ was creative. He’s a black eye pea. Get it? Fergalicious!

Happy Howl-oween, amigos. Don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

~Willie Nelson Mandela

Taken on my actual 16th birthday. That poor boy. 

If I could go back to my 16-year-old self, I’d scream this wise advice in her ear:

• You are not Selena. There is an unfortunate chunk of high school when you foolishly think long, dark hair, brown eyes and the ability to roll your Rs makes you latina. Loca, no. Brown eye liner should never — ever — be used as lip liner.
• Fear not, Nordstrom is coming. Your height and feet have been a fashion hinderance since fifth grade, but hold on! Before you know it, you’ll have a size 11 shoe section and a “long and lean” option at the Gap. I promise you, the days of boy’s running shoes are coming to fugly end.
• Stop reading fashion magazines. Just stop. Those women? They don’t even look like those women. And while you are at it, give up every single “diet” you’ve decided to optimistically conquer. You won’t. And then you’ll feel worse and eat way too much ice cream to cheer yourself up. You are strong. You are athletic. You have muscle and cellulite and this is the way it will always be. Own it.

• Take yourself less seriously. College is not just one giant exam. Go out. Have fun. Get a fake ID. Take your time. Do not, I repeat, do not think anyone cares about your grades from a tiny state university. They won’t. (Future employers will care if you are well-rounded and able to handle stress.)
• Wear more moisturizer.
• Wear less blush.

• Sometimes it is okay to quit. In fact, sometimes it is the right thing to do. It won’t feel right at the time, but you’ll see.
• Never be embarrassed for showing your emotion. You can make friends at the grocery store. Enjoy it, and who cares if you are the only one who knows the bagel guy’s birthday?  You love loving people —  the wide, weird variety they may be. And when your friends balk at hugging, or telling you they love you, do so twice. Because you will never — ever — go to the grave with people saying, “Huh. I wonder how she felt?”
• Never be embarrassed for loving God. Also, know when is the right time to share that love, and when to be quiet and just listen.
• On that note, speak less. You have never — ever — regretted saying too little.
• And while we are at it, you have also never — ever — regretted saying no to a round of tequila.
• You will, my dear, regret many dates. Also, there will be a handful you love so much it hurts to breathe. Those few will make you better. I wouldn’t change any of it.
• Read more.
• Shop less.
• Appreciate the days when you can run without pain. One day, you’ll turn 30 and your right foot will give up. You’ll ache for the days of long, endorphin-fueled runs.
• Be outside as often as possible.
• Spend as much time with your grandmothers as you can.
• Be nicer to your folks. You will spend much of adulthood reminiscing how great your childhood was, and how mind-boggling incredible they are.

• Smile. One day you’ll wake up an have a dozen friends in your pocket who would do anything for you. Most of their families would too. They’ll invite you to stay in their homes — here and 10,000 miles away. They’ll make you godmother of their children. They’ll ask you to marry them. You’ll feel loved every single day by people who don’t have your last name.
• Be thankful. Sometimes life will suck. Sometimes you’ll pinch yourself, it is going so well. Order another round of tequila, screw regret, and thank God for all of it.

And oh, 16 year old me — you are a shitty, shitty driver. Slow down, pay attention and be kind to the Hornet. It is the coolest car you’ll ever own.

xo,

32 flavors and then some, me

Oh yes, ladies. That’s right. The professional golfer who became a pilot who speaks with an accent? Yeah. Now he’s on TV too.

(That sound you just heard? Panties, dropping in one collective, Scottsdale swoop.)

Matty was selected for The Big Break – a golf reality show on the Golf Channel. They filmed this summer in Ireland and the show is set to premier in a few weeks. For those who can’t wait, or just always wondered what Matt sounds like: a video clip of his bio.

Love this kid like he is my actual brother. Glad to see him having fun on this side of the pond and can’t wait to see all the good coming his way.

~K

I’ve never been a person lacking in sentimentality or emotion; weddings are the worst. I cry at the drop of a hat. “Look at the flowers! The program! The dress! Oh man, the grandma is dancing with the groom!” Insider trading tip: invest in Kleenex before I attend weddings.

My biggest worry with Adam and Kim’s day was that I’d cry. Actually, my biggest worry was that I’d be so nervous, I’d have a couple shots of tequila beforehand and then get up there and make too many jokes and an ass out of myself in the process. I sincerely wanted to have the guts to open with, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate this thing called life!” Even though it was the perfect crowd, my voice hiccuped and I stuck to the pre-approved script.

No tequila, no tears. Huh. There might be something to that…

I spent the hour before the wedding with Kim and her bridesmaids. One could say I was praying with them, but in truth I was sipping a glass of champagne and reviewing my notes. It wasn’t until we arrived at the ceremony — a gazebo in the woods overlooking a lake — that I lost my nerve. Seeing Adam in his suit, standing with his best friends, furiously reviewing his vows? Well. There was a lump of doom in my throat.

There he was. My best dude friend. In a suit. His face wasn’t peaceful. It was anxious and first-day-of-kindergarten nervous. He was ready to get these vows over with and hit the party. I had two seconds to give him a hug and give Matty a pinch on the butt before I scattered down the aisle in my surprisingly slippery cowboy boots to the altar. Soon enough, I was surrounded with Kim’s gorgeous bridesmaids on one side (who collectively could use not just a cheeseburger,  but to invest in an entire McDonald’s franchise) and his frighteningly charming groomsmen on the other.

She came around the corner with her dad and the look on Adam’s face instantly transformed. He lit up, and like a child on Christmas morning, giggled. Everyone could tell what he was thinking — “Can you believe that gorgeous woman is going to marry me? Holy mother of all things Coors.”

And then, in a flash, I was announcing them man and wife. The ceremony included the Jewish tradition of breaking the glass, a joyous “Mazel Tov!” by the crowd and a sincere applause when they were finally able to kiss.

Being able to marry them blew my mind. Honored and all that such doesn’t do it justice. I am just so very glad these two found each other, we were all able to see them get married and that they are considering moving to Denver. Because their minister said so.

Much love to the newlyweds!

xo,

k

Driving a car not known for comfort or speed. COME ON HAMSTERS!

Mattador self portrait

His first true love

Kisses!

Dancing queen

Julezig’s signature pose

The groom’s cake — a Coor’s

Right where I like to be — surrounded by gorgeous men. Look! There is even an African bookend.

And quite possibly my favorite photo of the toasts. Danny and Brian — both best men — took their golden opportunity to roast a few friends and family. I have never laughed so hard.

As Rebecca said, if one of us could have a wedding with a bonfire, a folk band and 100 people singing songs while roasting smore’s — we might touch this wedding’s style. I am in serious friend, humor and good times withdrawal this week.

~K

Kim was the most gorgeous bride ever. Adam melted when he saw her.

The Wright’s know how to throw a party. Their generosity was unbelievable and Adam’s mom paid attention to every last detail — from horse drawn wagon shuttling guests to the rehearsal dinner to the care packages left for each guest in the hotel rooms. Adam is the first Wright grandchild to marry and I’m not sure how the bar could be raised.

I could not love these two more.

Also — these four? Well. They are most certainly my family too. I couldn’t have managed all of the emotion and detail of this weekend without these girls and their husbands by my side, encouraging my bad behavior, making me giggle and indulging my incessant requests to give them hugs and tell them how much I miss them.

It also didn’t hurt having this hot honey on my arm.

His milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard.

Congratulations, Adam and Kim!

~K

We didn’t have any fun. Ahem.

Or eat any food…

Yet another post about food and friends. I know — this space is starting to resemble that incredibly tacky “Weekend Photos!” socialite section from the newspaper everyone looks at but no one feels good about. There hasn’t been much travel (although I am writing this from New Orleans), crafting or other homesteading activity lately. I’ve been too busy enjoying friends and being charmed by my new city.

This said, I’m keenly aware of the juxtaposition of complaining about hunger and inequality in one post, and being a gluttonous party girl in the next. What? I’m complicated. I am hauling my chubby ass down to the food bank later this week to begin a new round of volunteering. And I’m likely to eat too much afterward. So, hang in there. More meaningful posts to come, and one can pray, more balance too.

And if you don’t like contradiction? Well. I’m fresh out of perfection.

Off to find Cafe du Monde,

~K

Birthday’s celebrated: 1

Long-time interweb friends finally met in person: 1 (Colleen! Wahooo!)

Bowls of “back up guacamole made just in case”: 2

Pending wedding celebrated: 1

Dogs present: 4

Rounds of margaritas: plenty

Yesterday felt like a scene from some country magazine feature — where folks show up with a bowl of something from their garden and a dog to run around in the yard. In other news, I’m home.

~K

Adam and Kim are in town for a bit of rest before their wedding early next month. Don’t tell Wills and Kate, but I’m pretty sure the Wright wedding is set to be the event of the decade. Friends from far and wide are attending the Wyoming bash, which is set to include: Western night, brewery night and a panty party.

(Alas, boys. The panty party apparently has something to do with a day-before impromptu lingerie shower for the bride, not a pillow fight among the bridesmaids. That said, there are some gorgeous girls in this wedding, and the Pink African, the groom’s scoundrel brother and even more of a scoundrel cousin will be standing on the other side of the aisle. Any wagers on the trouble to be had?)

Anyway! Adam and Kim are in town! And I haven’t ever been happier. I miss these two so much that their conversations about soon relocating to Denver make me want to spin in the backyard like a dervish. I showed off those mad spinning, dancing and clapping until my hands hurt skills last night with the engaged pair at the Blind Pilot/Josh Ritter concert in Boulder.

If you’ve never heard of these bands, here are two of my favorites they performed last night with brilliance:

Three Rounds and a Sound

and

Sir Galahad

Ritter embodies everything I love about folk music — great storytelling, enthusiasm, amazing guitar and a gorgeous smile. His lyrics ring true. These are among my favorites:

I had a dream last night
I dreamt that I was swimming
And the stars up above
Directionless and drifting
Somewhere in the dark
Were the sirens and the thunder
And around me as I swam
The drifters who’d gone under

Time, love
Time, love
Time, love
It’s only a change of time

I had a dream last night
And rusting far below me
Battered hulls and broken hardships
Leviathan and Lonely
I was thirsty so I drank
And though it was salt water
There was something ’bout the way
It tasted so familiar

The black clouds I’m hanging
This anchor I’m dragging
The sails of memory rip open in silence
We cut through the lowlands
All hands through the saltlands
The white caps of memory
Confusing and violent

I had a dream last night
And when I opened my eyes
Your shoulder blade, your spine
Were shorelines in the moon light
New worlds for the weary
New lands for the living
I could make it if I tried
I closed my eyes I kept on swimming

(rough seas, they carry me wherever I go)

I’ve been officially ordained on the interwebs and will be marrying these two. Such an humbling honor to be a part of their ceremony — one I don’t take lightly. Thankfully I’m fairly certain, in times of rough and calm seas, they’ll always carry each other.

~K