Tradition

High five if you read the title in an appropriate Fiddler on the Roof voice.
I love traditions. There's just something right about certain things always being.
Especially when holidays roll around, I think more about how much I enjoy traditions. Asking others what their traditions are lets you catch a glimpse of who they are; we can all be celebrating the same day or event yet with that individual flair that makes it something much deeper.
I look forward all year to my family's Christmas Eve with seafood chowder, spinach dip, and It's a Wonderful Life. (I considered making this post about the chowder--but then I realized if I spilled the secrets, our family wouldn't have a monopoly on the recipe, and then where would we be?)
Now that I'm married, I get to share my family's traditions with Brian, experience his family's, decide which ones to incorporate into our lives, and make up new ones just for us. Last week we celebrated with the Millers and what Christmas tastes like to them: mini pizzas, baby carrots and ranch, and Reese's peanut butter trees.
Considering this is only Brian's and my second Christmas together in a "normal" setting (i.e., not in Kenya), we haven't set a prolific number of traditions in stone yet. So far, we have rather arbitrarily decided that our Christmas meal must always include seafood, mangoes, and creme brulee--for this year at least. Here are Tuesday's results [having effectively postponed our festivities so as to prolong the joy of the holiday...] :

Poached catFISH with sweet rice and tropical/MANGO salsa, citrus green beans, and sweet potato crescent rolls.

Sweet potato CREME BRULEE and (decaf!) espresso.

 Mmm. The creme brulee recipe (I made up the rest...), coming up soon. Until then, find chances to honor the moments in your day by both commemorating in tradition and expressing in spontaneity.

Mishaps and Such

I've got it. What about I plan to post every other Saturday or so? That's totally not overdoing it nor completely forgetting it and gives me a structure. And as an added incentive, helps me put off finishing cleaning the house! Which is pretty much what I'm all about by the time the weekend hits.
Besides, I've already (almost) cleaned up the extra messes I've made so far today (a quart of yogurt lassi all over the floor/rug, anyone? oh, you broke your husband's special mug? why does it smell like you left the granola in the oven too long?), so the vacuuming can wait.
Speaking of mishaps. I was considering posting an album of visual illustrations of what goes on in this house when I'm left alone in it. But I'm trying to keep my posts a little shorter and more manageable, and anything close to slightly indicative of the litany of chaotic instances would be a tome worthy of Crime and Punishment comparison (in length; perhaps also in subject matter). Thankfully, I've also slacked off in the photography element necessary for this feat, so it's just not going to happen this time.
Except for these three photos I found stashed away in the annals of the summer past. Enjoy laughing at my expense (don't worry, that's my only effective coping mechanism anymore).

Exhibit A: When you cook beets in the microwave, check on them every now and then. Unless you want it to look like something very bloody died.

Exhibit B: Ah, the bucket. The bucket of fresh peaches that got turned into emergency salsa because the leftover pickling juice spilled over in the fridge and dripped down when we were gone for a week. Voila! Pickled peaches. Nom.

Exhibit C: is not from the kitchen, but still a classic. I was so careful to wash Brian's crisp white dress shirt on the delicate cycle blah blah, so proud of myself to be paying attention. Just should've paid more attention to that bright coral scarf I also wanted washed carefully...

 There are plenty more where these came from. Trust me.

It's Time

Time to blog again. I was going to say, "Time to blog consistently again," but it'd be difficult to return to what never was.
We'll see what happens.
First off, before getting into all the juicy domestic activity details, I need to make a confession. Barefoot in the Kitchen is a somewhat misleading title for this time of year. Don't worry; I stay completely committed to the value of living without shoes. Just within reason. It's below freezing outside, and my tootsies get chilled walking around that linoleum floor.
Introducing, for a limited time only, Moccasin-shod in the Kitchen.

That's right. I wear 70's moccasin-slippers, spandex, and my Congolese-fabric apron to cook. I'm not here to make fashion statements. At least not any good ones.

Just Kidding

So you know that part where I said I would be posting my articles from my time here in Nairobi? I forgot about copyright and such. So...just pretend they're on here.

A Quiet Sunday Afternoon

For having been here in Nairobi only a little longer than a week, I've had a delightful range of pleasant activities. Not only have I spent more time sitting outside by myself in gazebos and under tropical flowering trees than I'm accustomed to, but I've enjoyed an immense amount of good company and additional job titles. So far, I've been some form of child control (although only minimally, considering the 2-year-old in question screams "No no no!" nearly every time we're in the same room--which is often, considering I'm living with her), grocery procurer and deliverer, officially commissioned overnight bodyguard, personal chef for from 3-19 eaters, proofreader, ESL teacher accompanist, kindergarten aide, and Kiswahili tutor, to name a few.
I've actually even been doing what I came for, which is turning out to be even more enjoyable than I anticipated. There is just nothing wrong with spending my days meeting people dedicated to God's work and hearing their stories face-to-face. Then I get to sit out on the lawn in shorts in late October, drinking chai and finagling the jumble of my interviewed information into articulate articles. What a blessing to be able to help share stories of God's work! It's more than just the hot coffee that burns my heart as I interact and write.
Please pray with me that I would be able to adequately express the heart of the people I am honored to meet, and to help spark others into fire for God's mission as they read my words. That I would be able to be a legitimate encouragement to the long-term workers here in the small ways that I am able. That whatever is going on in my stomach would take a chill pill. That I would survive without my husband for 2 1/2 more weeks. That I would be able to meet up with my contacts from up North. That Elise would finally stop screaming at me.