The Art in Life

Country music makes me cry.

Posted on August 21, 2013 by Hannah

Country music makes me cry. Obviously, not all country songs make me cry. The ones that are full of honky-tonk happiness, barefooted women dancing on cars, and cowboys falling all over themselves – those make me turn up the dial and pretend I am in a truck and cutoff jeans. The ones that make me cry fall into two categories. The first category, the one that has me sobbing against the wheel, are the ones about life passing too fast, or not noticing that the little moments are the most valuable. Little girls grow up while their fathers grasp at stolen moments, husbands are convicted that their wives matter most to them, and I crumble in delicious tears. Watch this song for example, and just try to tell me that your eyes stay dry. The other ones that make me cry are the ones that are super proud of being American, which brings me to…

The National Anthem makes me cry. Francis Scott Key, you sneaky devil. How am I supposed to keep that hand over my heart when your poignant words are ripping it out? That hanging question mark where we wonder if the flag is still flying??? It slays me. I have cried almost every single time I have gone to the Old Glory exhibit at the Smithsonian. The only time my tears didn’t reach full force was when I was sitting on the dark bench trying to anoint the moment of patriotic remembrance with my tears while a rogue security guard decided to take over tourist instruction. My tears turned to giggles as the guard explained that “Bombs and stuff be falling every where and my man Key just be like, dude I wrote this great jam.” Great jam indeed. I usually cry when we sing it at baseball games too, which brings me to…

Sports movies make me cry. It isn’t like I am moved by the amazing display of athletic prowess. Meh. But when you have groups of people thrown together, working through the stages of dislike and into camaraderie, and then overcoming all odds to a big win, I just can’t help it. There is always a scene where some player – usually the one who was a punk for a long time – gives a moving speech that reveals their inner transformation and I loose it. Of course, as long as we are talking about the connection between the screen and my tear ducts…

The TV show Parenthood makes me cry. I am fairly positive that the producers of this show have a focus group of people exactly like me and that they know, they KNOW, with diabolic certainty exactly which moment will make me cry, so then they add some amazing music and it is OVER. I don’t want to provide details, because you should all watch it and enjoy all the twists yourself, but I have cried in every. single. episode. Sometimes it is because the show gets me, but quite frequently it is because it makes me think of a potential parenthood moment that I will someday face and I just can’t take it anymore. One evening, James had a hard time consoling me because he was too busy laughing as I cried over our future children going off to future college and leaving future me crying at the airport. Yes, that’s right, I was crying over the children that we don’t have going off to colleges that I don’t know. I can’t blame James for his laughter, which brings me to…

James talking about seeing me in my wedding dress for the first time makes me cry. The first look. The doors opening. Walking down the same aisle that my mother walked to meet my father so many years ago. It is enough to make me grow misty, but when he talks about it, I start weeping happily. He knows this, which is why sometimes he will do it like a party trick when we are at weddings, parties, dinners etc.

The other surefire trick he employs is the fact that…

Homeward Bound makes me cry. Nope, I don’t mean actually watching it. I mean thinking about it, hearing other people talk about it. Shadow in the hole… Chance and Sassy rooting him on… his sweet owner thinking that he won’t ever make it home… [pausing to go cry and come back]. And as long as we are talking animals…

Videos of dogs welcoming their owners home from war makes me cry. Do I seriously even need to explain this one? Because if so, maybe you should check for a pulse and heartbeat because you might be a robot. I should really expand this to just say that almost any animal doing something noble makes me cry. Which brings me to…

Children’s books make me cry. Last summer my friend Bethany was telling me about a book she read to her sixth grade students, The Dog of Pompeii. This FICTIONAL book spins a story around the dog discovered at Pompeii and relates the relationship between a little boy and his dog, who, alas, doesn’t make it out of the city. Bethany finished talking about the book only to see me slumped against the car door in tears. This book is not the first book for kids that has affected me so. The Giving Tree? I still cry every time I read it. In fact, sometimes I read it because I want to cry, which brings me to…

The Les Misérables trailer makes me cry. I think I actually cried more in the trailer than the actual film. That perfect montage of scenes juxtaposed against Anne Hathaway’s ravaged voice singing a song of shattered hope held more power for me than the full film. Occasionally I would declare that I just needed a good cry and then I would curl up with the trailer. Just in case any of you is in need of a cry, here you go.

That sounds weird, I know, but sometimes a good cry when nothing is actually wrong with your life can be just what you need. It gets all the tears out in a cleansing way and leaves you stronger without leaving you hardened. I found this quote when I read Great Expectations in high school and I love it.

It’s not that sometimes it is ok to cry, but that sometimes it is needed to cry.

Any other non-tragedy criers out there?

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged confessions, lists | 80 Comments

Heirloom Caprese Tart

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Hannah

tomatotart_11 Sometimes I think sadly on my wasted years, those long years leading up to college where I didn’t like tomatoes. It wasn’t that I would turn up my nose to them in a nice pasta, but I didn’t realize that they need very little to shine, that they are an absolutely perfect food meant to be eaten as the center focus rather than a measly addition. Now of course, I realize my folly, and I am making up for those wasted years by consuming as many tomatoes during tomato season as possible. Because a tomato eaten out of season is nothing more than a soggy red mess. But one eaten in season is tart and tangy, with just a enough sweetness. I especially love the heirloom ones, with their homely lumps and varied colors.

tomatotartcrust A couple weeks ago I got so excited while shopping that I came home with more heriloom tomatoes than anyone can possibly eat in one week. Challenge accepted. We had caprese salad with every meal, thick wedges of tomatoes on sandwiches, and also some eaten almost like apples. And still, there were tomatoes remaining the day before I went out of town. tomatotarttomatoes James had already headed out of town, which meant there was no obstacle between me and my favorite vehicle for excess vegetable consumption: quiche. Yeah, James doesn’t do quiche. He scorns it as it as egg pie, and his twin hatreds of weird cheeses and multiple food kingdoms baked into one homogenous, slice-able, amazing combination, causes him to pass on every quiche I make. I know, it’s such an unjust waste. But it does free me from my fear of other people eating my food. tomatotartprep And so, armed with way too many tomatoes, an intense love of quiche, and the first basil plant all summer that I have managed not to kill (because, ok, James took over the care and harvesting of this one), I set out to make this tart. I modeled my recipe loosely on this one, but minus the long step of fresh roasted garlic and the hard to find cheese, and then I added a topping more like caprese salad because I cannot get enough of that summer treat.
Heirloom Caprese Tart

Pie crust
3-4 heirloom tomatoes
2.5 cups whole milk ricotta
2.5 Tablespoons diced garlic
1 Tablespoon lemon juice (or zest, which would probably be awesome)
1 egg
Handful cheese crumbles (I used goat)
Salt and pepper
Fresh basil
Balsamic glaze (I am addicted to the Trader Joe’s one, and when I say addicted, I mean that I have taken to drizzling it on absolutely everything)

For the crust, you can either make one, or just use a pre-made crust, pressed into a tart pan. You will want to par-bake the crust for about 15 minutes, as this tart is juicy. Listen, I love a homemade crust as much as the next person, and the one on here is the cornmeal tart crust from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook. However, this is a no-judgment blog, and I see absolutely nothing wrong with buying a crust. The tomatoes are the star here.
Combine ricotta, egg, lemon, and garlic, and spread in par-baked pie shell.
Slice tomatoes about 1/3 inch thick and arrange on tart. Press lightly into cheese. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and crumbled cheese.
Bake at 350 45-60 minutes, or until tart doesn’t jiggle and tomatoes are nicely roasted.
Top with diced basil and drizzle with balsamic glaze. Let sit for at least 20 minutes to set.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged cheese, Cooking, photography, quiche, summer, tomato | 19 Comments

What I’ve learned from the PA Turnpike

Posted on August 16, 2013 by Hannah

In a span of two weeks, James and I drove the length of the Pennsylvania Turnpike between Breezewood and Pittsburgh 6 times. Yes, SIX. That is six times too many. Every mile of that infernal road is blazed into my soul after spending so much of the past couple weeks on it.

For those of you who haven’t had to make this trip, let me sum up for you why it is bad: Breezewood, Pennsylvania.

Now, ordinarily, a toll road merges seamlessly into a non-toll high way. This will inevitably cause a little back up, as cars have to stop and pay the toll, but it is manageable and expected. But in Pennsylvania, to avoid some sort of taxes or something (we did some angry research) someone put a tiny town of junky fast food joints and travel plazas in between the turnpike and the interstate. Oh, and it has like 5 million stoplights (or you know, 4) in that tiny quarter mile stretch of road. The result is that instead of the regular back up of cars going through a tollbooth, you have a massive bottleneck as an entire interstate worth of cars inches together into two lanes and then crawls its way through each stoplight. I wish that I could bottle up how frustrating it is and dump it on people that I dislike. Ok, so that is a little overkill, but you get the idea.

Still, we learn valuable truth in times of trial. Here are some of the things I have learned from our repeated trips along the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Where there is no hope, there is at least music from the 90’s. People, it is pretty hard to be upset when you are rocking out to some awesome 90’s jams. For some reason, the radio waves along that turnpike consistently offered up some amazing music from the height of Bubblegum Pop. I’m not sure if these stations usually play the likes of early Brittany, classic Third Eye Blind, and some amazing BSB, or if we just hit throwback countdowns, but I will take either. Say what you will – that era had some outstandingly positive music. Just try to be gloomy while you listen to a Now CD from the late nineties. The economy was booming, glitter was considered acceptable makeup, and we were all blithely chowing down on every bite of gluten we could get our hands on. As an added bonus, I know all the words to all the songs because I spent all of my middle school years devotedly listening to Rick D’s weekly top forty as I lay on the floor in my purple bedroom and read Sweet Valley books.

I can do anything if there are snacks. I am not someone who has to have my Starbucks latte every day, or even once a week. But when I go on a trip, I suddenly need a frothy overpriced beverage. It is this Pavlovian reaction where I leave on a trip and suddenly I am scanning the horizon for that creepy mermaid like an addict. Oh PA Turnpike, I will give you this: You have Starbucks at regular predictable intervals, nestled next to Auntie Anne’s pretzels, my other great love. Snacks make torture almost fun.

Marriage can’t always be bike rides and birthdays. Sometimes it is having one car break down the night before you leave on a trip, and then having the other car you borrowed from your brother malfunction just as you are entering the turnpike. Sometimes marriage isn’t holding hands and swooning, but rather using duct tape to hold the window up and then continuing on as you brace it with your hand. Sometimes it isn’t whispering sweet nothings, but rather yelling at each other over the rush of wind coming in through the gap between the tape and the window as you finish the four hour drive home. But it’s in these moments, these not fun, this will be expensive to fix, whose fault was it, I just want to be home moments, that you will be thankful for the character of the person you married.

The best way to spread Turnpike cheer is singing loud for all to hear. The ipod will die and you will eventually come to a dead zone of no good 90’s jams. But you can always sing, and I dare you to try to sing yourself out of a bad mood and have it not work. During one especially frustrating Breezewood transfer, James and I developed this awesome game where one person picks a subject and a genre/artist, and the other has to perform. This game inevitably dissolves into Mumford and Sons constipation ballads and Celine Dion flushing drugs down the toilet before the cops show up. Yep, we are super mature. I apologize to everyone around us in traffic, as the aforementioned car troubles meant that the window was down, and the hubs and I are not exactly roackstars of music. He can match a melody, but I am pretty much akin to a cat in a garbage compactor. (Oh, and thank you Buddy the Elf for teaching us valuable truths that we can apply the whole year long. I have also taken to adding maple syrup to green beans and it is delicious. )

This weekend will be the first of the last three that we have not spent substantial time on that turnpike, and I can’t say that I will miss it at all. But at least it was a learning experience.

Happy weekend y’all.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daily life, rants, travel | 16 Comments

The Last Road-trip.

Posted on August 12, 2013 by Hannah

In May, I took my car in to get the oil changed. The little sticker that they put in my window said that I would need my next change at a certain number of miles, or November 13, 2013. I take these stickers very seriously because I know absolutely nothing about cars, other than how to jump start my own car (a skill of which I am unspeakably proud). They could tell me that I needed a new flux capacitor and I would instantly start to cry at how much it was going to cost before even realizing that such a part [sadly] doesn’t exist.

But the sticker was out of touch with reality, as we actually had to get it changed yesterday, because we are already 100 miles past the recommended mileage. It’s just been one of those summers.

This past weekend was the last road trip until at least October and though I couldn’t be happier to be done with long days in the car, I am glad that we ended on such a good one.

First stop, Lansing, Michigan for the wedding of one of my college roomies. Yes, I showed my support for their marriage by rocking the primary colors. They are just my favorites. vscocam919

Obviously, everyone knows that you go to weddings partially to celebrate the couple and partly to have a reunion with all your other college friends. This was no exception. Our little college town had not much beyond a few greasy spoon diners and the motto “It’s the people,” but it didn’t need much else. It was the people, it is the people that had me leave DC at 6 am and drive all day to get there in time for the wedding. Ok, so it was also the promise of great dancing and food. We are kind of a dance-crazed bunch of foodies. When you go to school in rural Michigan, those winters are long. You eat your way to comfort and then dance as if no one was watching because the world has forgotten you in the frozen wasteland that is Winter, which extends from November till May.

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After the wedding, we all caravanned several more hours that night to another roomies’ parents’ house on Lake Michigan. That meant that Saturday was spent basking in crystal waters and white sands.

Oh, and because we are who we are, there was a lot of reading material on that beach. It has been said that hell is other people, or that hell is running a race why people throw stuff at you. No. Hell is finding yourself somewhere with nothing to read. That never happens with this crowd.

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I have a secret confession: I maybe prefer Lake Michigan to the beach. Don’t get me wrong – I love the beach. But Lake Michigan looks just as good and has no jellyfish or salt that stings your eyes. I’m just saying.

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After the day at the beach, I headed down to Indiana where we spent the weekend with James’ family. This means marveling at the amazing height of corn this year and pillaging their garden for the best of summer produce while the boys played baseball.

And today, we make one last trek back to DC. No more twice a day Starbucks in the car (Hooray Treat Receipt!), no more endless hours of audiobooks and scanning the radio for something we recognize. No more fast food meals, holding out forever to find Chick-Fil-A, and car snacks. No more car games, sing-a-longs, and naps against the window.

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At least, not this summer.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged college, family, friends, Indiana, iphone pics, road trip, summer, travel, weekend fun | 21 Comments

Peach Cobbler, or, Dr. Quinn and Kentucky Hospitality.

Posted on August 7, 2013 by Hannah

Guys, do you remember that amazing TV show Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman? What am I talking about – of course you remember it, because it was awesome. You can go watch the opening song here, and then come back when you’re done.

Do you know what I love most about Dr. Quinn? Not the fact that Sully could solve any problem by throwing a tomahawk into whatever was being disputed, not the fact that Dr. Quinn hit that perfect balance between girly East coast girl and cutting edge feminist, and not the fact that the storyline was always centered around riveting plot twists like buying the teacher a fancy Bible or something. No. What I love is how everyone brought food around with them the way that we bring our iphones or whatever. Dr. Quinn was paid in food for her services more times than I could count. Pies, jams, loaves of bread just appeared – the de facto currency of Colorado Springs in the late 1800s.*

In that world, I could be a robber baron. In this one, I hope to some day teach their snobby children French.

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Sometimes I think my mom is actually Dr. Quinn. No, she doesn’t treat lots of scurvy, or wounds inflicted from wolves/skirmishes with Indians. She also hasn’t delivered her own baby after several nights spent in the woods. But she does receive a lot of food. Her patients were always bringing her food, and she in turn would bring it home to us.

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One of her long-time patients was a woman named Bernice, a woman who was the embodiment of southern grace and Kentucky charm. A key component of said grace and charm was that she was always showing up at our house with peach cobbler. I love cobbler. Any cobble. It is this perfect blend of fruit and cake, topped off with creamy ice cream. But I especially love this cobbler, because it is sweet and tart, gooey with a crispy top, and incredibly easy to make. Oh, and it is made out of peaches. PEACHES. We are in high peach season right now and I can’t get enough of them. I actually got stressed the other day about how to make and eat all the peach desserts I want to try before peach season ends. If summer had one taste, it might just that of a peach. Or pink lemonade. Or maybe hotdogs grilled outside. Ok, so I guess summer cannot be limited to just one taste, but still – peaches definitely rank high on the list.

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The summer before I got married, Bernice brought multiple peach cobblers by our house. I think she knew that my parents had all the complex emotions of marrying off their only daughter, and nothing helps complex emotions like peach cobbler. Yes, this is illogical. But in the south we know that the act of bringing someone food isn’t actually about the food itself. It is a way of saying, “I wish I could help you in whatever way you need helped. But I can’t, so instead I stood in my kitchen all morning thinking about you and here are my thoughts, baked and bubbly and ready to be smothered in ice cream.” I asked for the recipe right after moving to DC and I made it for James last year for his birthday. It felt like having just a little bit of Kentucky hospitality in my DC kitchen.

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Bernice passed away last year. She had lived one of those best lives, the type that might not be noticed by the media or noted in any annals of society, but is felt deeply by those that knew her. I want to live one of those lives, marked by the constant extension of quiet, unpretentious hospitality. I thought of her as I was making the cobbler this year. I thought of her generosity, her kindness, and her understanding that showing up with a peach cobbler can do a world of good.

Bernice’s Peach Cobbler

Peel and slice peaches. How many? Enough. You can never have too many peaches. My peaches were not super ripe, so I let them sit tossed in a couple spoonfuls of sugar. If yours are juicy and ripe, you won’t need this step. Pour peaches into greased 9×13 inch dish.
Cut crusts off of white bread and arrange in criss-cross pattern over peaches.
Mix together 3 Tablespoons flour, 2 eggs, 1 stick melted butter and 2 cups sugar and pour over cobbler.
Bake at 350 until bubbly, with the bread a golden brown, approximately an hour.
Let sit for about 45 minutes before serving.

*In fairness to accuracy, there was finally an episode where the good doctor started laying down the law and asking to be paid in money. She just didn’t know what a good thing she had coming.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged baking, dessert, food, photography | 25 Comments

Happy Birthday Husband!

Posted on August 5, 2013 by Hannah

I am one of those people who feels that the world should stop turning just a little bit on your birthday. I blame this on my eternal camp counselor party-planning mother, and my gift loving father, together the perfect combination for birthday madness. We didn’t do extravagantly expensive things, or get overly lavish gifts, but we always grew up making a huge deal out of birthdays.

James’ birthday was last weekend, and we decided that instead of just celebrating for one day, why not drag it out for the entire weekend? This meant that all weekend things did or didn’t happen because of his birthday. Birthday milkshakes? YES. Multiple episodes of 30Rock instead of productive housework because it was his birthday? OF COURSE. Getting a Good Stuff burger even though we had just eaten a meal of all his favorite foods? A birthday necessity. (For the record, we both felt birthday sick halfway through and tossed half in the trash. )

On Saturday night, we had a laid back birthday cookout at my brother’s place. I say laid back, because my extroverted self desperately wanted to invite everyone I had ever met and make an entire canopy of bunting while forcing everyone into party hats while they made birthday speeches about James. But I know my introverted husband, and he wanted burgers and a very short guest list. I did sneak some balloons though, because I cannot deny my true self. I also conceded to his desire for peach cobbler over cake. Now, you know how I feel about people who claim to hate cake, but I also believe in letting the birthday person call the shots, so gooey wonderful peach cobbler it was. It started raining right after we took this picture and we had to flee inside, but it was still a perfect evening of friends and food.

For his birthday, I gave James a quilted sham pillow cover from the clearance bin at Marshalls so that he will stop accusing me of stealing his pillow, and give up trying to sleep on the shams. I also made up some lie about his other gift being in the mail. James is really hard to get gifts for because he honestly doesn’t want lots of stuff. Me? I’m actually kind of a materialistic want-it-all, so I can be placated with clothes, pretty things that have no use, books I may or may not read, or specialty bottles of balsamic vinegar. But James wants experiences. He also wants the Pittsburgh Pirates to finally have a winning season, which is why I lied about a gift being in the mail and then shook him awake early Sunday morning with the announcement that he had 15 minutes to get in the car so that we could make it to Pittsburgh for a game.

PNCpark It was, officially, the best birthday surprise ever. Pretty sure I will have to actually rig the World Series to top it.

If you have been reading this blog for more than five minutes, you have probably figured out that I am not exactly athletic or sports inclined. But I do love this man and he loves baseball, so I love it by association. His day was a success because he watched the Pirates win from awesome seats, and my day was a success because I participated in two full-park rounds of the wave and ate myself almost sick on ballpark snacks. Oh, and it was also pretty successful to spend the day on a crazy trip together. We have come back to a rough week of multiple car repairs, exhaustion, and way too much to do before we both go back out of town this coming weekend. But I don’t regret any of this past weekend. It was indeed the happiest of birthdays.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged baseball, husband, James, party, travel | 26 Comments

Lately we’ve been taking lots of bike rides.

Posted on August 3, 2013 by Hannah

summer_32 Lately we’ve been taking lots of bike rides, because we want to explore this city beyond the scope of what we can easily walk. Lately we’ve been appreciating how much DC clears out in the evenings, and on lazy Sunday afternoons, when the tourists are back at their hotels and the commuters have fled across the Potomac. Lately we’ve been marveling at the how green this city is, how elegant, and how surprisingly small it is when we can fly down the mall on our bikes. Lately we’ve been taking lots of bike rides because the exercise is good, and you hate running (and we can be honest, I hate running with you), but I don’t want to give up time when you are home to run. Lately we have been getting lots of exercise, and we love it, because then we don’t feel bad getting pints of ice cream on the way back.

summer_35 Lately we’ve been taking lots of bike rides, and you are always so much faster than me, but I blame it on how much nicer your bike is. We both know that’s a lie, and it is just that you will always be better at anything sporty, but you let me declare it anyways. I don’t really mind, because I like following behind you, watching you ride with no hands, and hearing you call back to me. I like when you circle back, and we try to hold hands why we ride, even though we both know that this is a terrible idea because I am miserably uncoordinated and we could both go down in a pile of rubble. But you smile and convince me to try, and I know we look so ridiculous, but I don’t care.

Thanks for slowing down when I get whiney on the hills, and for always carrying all the stuff. summer_34 Lately we’ve been passing on nice dinners out so that we can bike along together and grab a picnic to take down to the Lincoln memorial, or whatever beautiful destination we happen upon. Lately we’ve been eating lots of Sweet Greens and caprese salad and whatever fresh summer bounty we can get our hands on. We don’t need fancy restaurants right now because it’s summer. Biking with you and a fresh bite to eat and a summer evening.

That’s enough for me.

PS: Lest you think that this is about to become one of those trendy blogs where we bike everywhere looking impossibly chic and cool, don’t worry. I have no clue how people look cute when they bike because I sweat like a man and have to wipe my forehead on my sleeve every three minutes. And those cute helmets that are all retro and dome- like and colorful? So expensive, not to mention the impossibility of cute hair post bike ride. Nope, not this girl. You will have to go elsewhere for your hipster biker-blogger fix. But on the plus side, I do kind of think that this counts as us having a hobby!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged daily life, DC, photography, seasons, summer | 22 Comments

My sister’s wedding.

Posted on August 1, 2013 by Hannah

I have never had a sister.

Growing up, I really didn’t mind, as I am kind of an over dramatic middle child who felt that having all the attention as the only female child was her exact due. Admit it, none of you are actually surprised by this. My mom and I are super close, and I have always had amazing girlfriends, so not having a sister was never really missing from my life.

But when I started dating James, I also started becoming friends with his sister, likewise the lone girl in a family of rowdy brothers. When Laura came to stay with me in Paris for a week, we came to the point where we had the I-love-you-so-much-that-I-want-you-in-my-wedding-even-if-your-brother-and-I-break-up conversation. The fact that my entire apartment was only ten square meters, so I had to shower right above where she was sleeping certainly helped accelerate our closeness. Luckily, James and I never did break up, and we have just gotten closer until I really do feel like I have a sister.

When we showed up in Cincinnati for her wedding last Friday, I glanced at the programs that she had just printed and I saw my name accompanied by “matron of honor, sister.” I promptly started crying, something that would repeat itself over and over throughout the weekend.

Laura hired an amazing and super sweet photographer for her wedding, but I was that obnoxious member of the wedding party that dragged along her own camera because I am too impatient to wait for the real pics. I am already dying to see the awesome pictures that I know Vanessa took, but in the meantime, here are a couple snapshots from the weekend!

The wedding was on Sunday (exactly one year and one week after she caught the bouquet at my wedding… just sayin.’ ; ) ), so on Saturday we started the weekend with a bridal tea at The BonBonerie. People, there is nothing I love more than a tea party. Oh wait, yes there is: a tea party where we all wear obscenely large hats. Laura'sweddingcollage9 After a rehearsal dinner with lots of tears (Disclaimer: I am a TOTAL SAP. If I don’t cry at your wedding… something is wrong.), a night with way too little sleep as James was up practicing his speech (yep, more tears), it was on to the wedding day!
Laura'sweddingcollage2 Laura'sweddingcollage3 She’s so beautiful that I can barely even handle it. Oh, and she is wearing my veil… that my granny made for my wedding. Yep, MORE TEARS.
Laura'sweddingcollage4 Just look at those two. I know what you are thinking: Hannah’s kids are going to have ridiculously attractive cousins. It’s true. Laura'sweddingcollage5 And because I know you are dying to see it, behold James, Hannah, and Hannah’s Hair. This picture does not do justice to the sheer size and force of my amazing do. I am generally opposed to people misusing the adjective epic, but I might just have to employ it here. Laura'sweddingcollage6 For as long as I have known Laura, she has been beautifying whatever space she occupies with whatever she can craft or rummage up. This wedding was basically the culmination of her entire personality. From the wildflowers we picked that morning to put in vases, to the paintings she did for guests to sign instead of a guestbook, the the endless strands of bunting that she made or the paper pinwheels, this wedding was perfectly her.
Like she did for our wedding, James’ mom MADE all of the cakes. Just thinking about them makes my arteries clog a little, but they were so, so good.
I am blessed beyond belief to be able to call that amazing, gracious, kind, but still sassy enough to be fun, woman, my sister. And after spending the weekend around David’s family and friends, I’m pretty sure that I am blessed to be able to include him in this family as well.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged family, love, photography, wedding | 30 Comments

5 Things I Love Today

Posted on July 30, 2013 by Hannah

We were out of town all weekend for a wedding, and after getting back late-ish last night (ok, so it was 9, but there was very little sleep had this weekend), we opted for zoning out on the couch instead of unpacking. That means that this morning, our home is an absolute disaster, there are multiple loads of laundry to do, there are no groceries, and I have developed one of those nasty coughs that hurts your back every time it happens. Which obviously means that I need to start out this week with a quick reminder of some of the things that are blessing my days right now. Here are five things that I can’t stop loving right now, with the disclaimer that you should probably sing the title of this post to the refrain of this song before you continue. It will totally start your day off right. And then you should stop what you are doing and do some of those awesome dance moves wherever you are. This will start everyone else’s day off right.

This porcupine. Last night my brother-in-law shared this link with me and I went into convulsions over how much I loved it. THOSE HANDS. I am slain. One of the many joys about having both our brothers in DC this summer is that I have discovered that my brother-in-law is my kindred spirit. We both injure ourselves multiple times a day without knowing how it happened, we both have to take more bathroom breaks on car trips than James likes, and we both LOVE animal videos. One night we spent close to an hour just watching baby sloths, and it was perfect.
My crock-pot. Ok, don’t judge. I realize that crock-pots are an outdated cooking appliance of of mothers or grandmothers, and now we are all supposed to eat heirloom tomatoes and fennel on piles of quinoa. I am all about that. But I am teaching summer school three nights a week, and we would not have dinner if it weren’t for the dark magic of the crock-pot that turns piles of raw food into delicious dinner in some strange alchemy. You should all go to a yard sale or Goodwill near you and find some cast off crock-pot and then make this pot-roast as soon as possible.
Summer school. I know it sounded like I was just complaining, and I do hate missing out on summer evenings, but I actually love my summer school class. They are a quirky group of students who make the evenings fun, or at least laugh at my horrible French learning jokes/songs/dances enough to validate me. We have a pause in the middle of the class and I let them request French songs to play, like this one that we were all rocking to last week. I excitedly informed them that it was like our own version of TRL where I was Carson Daly (yes, I do remember RACING home from school to see the premier of a new Backstreet Boys song… and can we talk about how they have a new album coming out???). They stared at me the way you look at an ignorant, but cute child, until one student kindly told me that TRL had been gone for almost a decade. I guess that YouTube kind of killed that concept.
Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging out Without me? I spend a lot of time contemplating if I like her book or Tina Fey’s better, because obviously this is an opinion that it is vital for me to have. I have the audiobooks of both because I like their voices, and I have listened to Kaling’s book 4 times. Most recently I forced it on everyone on our wedding road-trip, and I just can’t get over how awesome it is. Molière (I think) made the argument that if you are going to critique something, you need to do it with humor, because it helps people let down their guard and accept something they would otherwise hate. Kaling does this so well. In the midst of all her hilarious stories are really wise thoughts on being a woman, body image, marriage, family, and growing up. I also JUST discovered as I was linking to her book that she has a blog, and that will most likely make up the rest of my day.
Sara Bareilles “Brave.” To be honest, last week was a little rough around here. This typically overlooked little corner of the Internet got a lot more attention than it has ever received, and was ever intended to receive. The feedback was exciting at first, and then promptly shifted into overwhelming. I found my marriage, my character, my family, and my faith being torn apart by (maybe well meaning?) people whom I don’t know, don’t know me, and apparently don’t understand what a blog is. There was definitely a moment on Tuesday where I was crying so much that James took over moderating comments. It was partially hard for me personally, but I also felt a little sad for how much Christians revealed themselves in comments (even though I took down quite a few) as a bickering lot who would rather tear one another down in defense of things we will never know or understand than anything else. If you read through comments and weren’t a Christian and were turned off by some of them, I just want to say that I am sorry – I’m sorry that we fail too often in living out the love and truth of Christ. Of course, there was also a ton of positive feedback, and I really appreciated that. It has all prompted lots of discussion and thought over what we want this little space to be, and how we can maintain the privacy of our family. Whenever I got overwhelmed, I would turn on this music video and dance around my living room, which is totally a grown-up response for everything.

What are some things that you are reminded to love today?

*Image is “I Saw the Figure 5 in Gold” by Charles Demuth.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged art, daily life, lists | 71 Comments

My husband is not my soul mate.

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Hannah

It might seem odd that on this, our one-year anniversary, I am beginning a post with the declaration that my husband is not my soul mate. But he isn’t.

I wouldn’t want to imagine life without James. I enjoy being with him more than anyone else in this world. I love him more than I ever thought you could love someone, and I miss him whenever I am not with him. I wouldn’t want to married to anyone else other than James, which is good, because I plan on being married to him forever, and he has to let me die first.

But I reject the entire premise of soul mates.

Do you remember those awesome Evangelical 90’s/ early 2000’s where Jesus was kind of like our boyfriend and we all kissed dating good-bye because we just knew that God was going to bring us THE ONE and then life would be awesome? And THE ONE would most likely be a worship minister, or at the very least a youth pastor, and we would have to be in college when we would meet at some sort of rally to save children from disease or something. We would know that he was THE ONE because of his plethora of WWJD bracelets and because (duh) he had also kissed dating goodbye and was waiting for me, strumming Chris Tomlin songs on his guitar as he stared into whatever campfire was nearby. We would get married and it would be awesome FOREVER. If you were like me, in devote preparation for this moment, you wrote letters to your future spouse, preferably in a leather bound journal dotted with your overwhelmed tears. Yes, I actually did that. Suffice to say that I found this journal over Christmas break and it was so embarrassingly awful and emotional that I couldn’t even read it out-loud to James because I was crying from laughing so hard.

But then my theologian biblical scholar father shattered my dreams by informing me that God doesn’t have a husband for me, doesn’t have a plan for who I marry. NOT TRUE I scolded him, attacking him with the full force of Jeremiah 29:11 that God “knows the plans he has for me, plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me a hope and a future,” and obviously that means a hott Christian husband because God “delights in giving me the desires of my heart.” He slammed through my horrible (yet popular) biblical abuse by reminding me that the first verse applied to the people of Israel in regards to a specific time and just didn’t even dignify my horrible abuse of the second verse with a rebuttal. Nope, he said, a husband is not only not a biblical promise, it is also not a specific element of God’s “plan for my life.” God’s plan is for us to be made more holy, more like Christ… not marry a certain person. (This advice was also used when I asked what college God wanted me to go to, accompanied I think by, “God doesn’t want you to be an idiot, so go somewhere you will learn.” )

And then he gave me some of the best relationship advice I ever got: There is no biblical basis to indicate that God has one soul mate for you to find and marry. You could have a great marriage with any number of compatible people. There is no ONE PERSON for you. But once you marry someone, that person becomes your one person. As for compatibility, my mom would always pipe up when my girlfriends and I were making our lists of what we wanted in a spouse (dear well meaning Christian adults who thought this would help us not date scumbags: that was a bad idea and wholly unfair to men everywhere) that all that really mattered was that he loved the lord, made you laugh, and was someone you to whom you were attracted. The rest is frosting.

This is profoundly unromantic advice. We love to hear of people who “just can’t help who they love,” or people who “fall in love,” or “find the one person meant for them.” Even within the Christian circle, we love to talk about how God “had someone” for someone else for all of time. But what happens to these people when the unstoppable and uncontrollable force that prompted them to start loving, lets them stop loving, or love someone else?

What happens is a world where most marriages end in divorce, and even those that don’t are often unhappy.

My marriage is not based on a set of choices over which I had no control. It is based on a daily choice to love this man, this husband that I chose out of many people that I could have chosen to love (in theory, don’t imagine that many others were lined up and knocking at the door). He is not some elusive soul mate, not some divine fullfulment, not some perfect step on the rigorously laid out but of so secret “Plan for My Life.”

But he is the person that I giggly chose to go out on a date with in college. He is the person who chose to not dump me when I announced that I was moving to France for a year, then Kentucky for another year. He is the person who asked me to move to DC and I chose to do so. He is the person who decided to ask me to marry him and I agreed. At any step here, we could have made other choices and you know what? We might have married other people, or stayed single, and had happy and full lives.

But now I delight in choosing to love him everyday.

I like it better this way, with the pressure on me and not on fate, cosmos, or divinity. I will not fall out of love, cannot fall out of love, because I willingly dived in and I’m choosing daily to stay in. This is my joyous task, my daily decision. This is my marriage.

Someday I hope to have daughters and sons. I am going to pray for their futures everyday, and I will pray for who they might marry, but also what job they will have, who their friends will be, and most of all, that they delight in becoming more like Christ. But when my daughters come home starry-eyed from camp announcing that they can’t wait till the day they meet the man God has for them, I will probably pop their bubble and remind them that God doesn’t have a husband stored away somewhere for them.

He has a whole life, one of rich and abundant choices. And it is awesome.

Oh, and for the record — I like James so much more than my imaginary, obnoxiously religious, youth pastor future husband. When I asked him if he had written Future Me letters as a child, he told me he was too busy memorizing Pink Floyd lyrics. But then he ran in the next room and wrote down what 14-year old James would have said in a letter to 14-year old Hannah: “I hope you’re hott.” That’s why boys didn’t get swept up in that movement… they knew the truth all along.

(Also for the record, I actually think a lot of the high Evangelical movement was awesome, especially in so far as it made young people do a ridiculous amount of churchy activities so that we weren’t out doing drugs or at home watching re-runs because we didn’t even have Netflix yet. I was at youth group every time those doors were open and I LOVED it. )

*All photos are by the wonder that is Whitney Neal Photography.

Update: This was a post to share a little bit of my heart with the [normally very small group of] people who read here. However, as it has been read more widely, please know that it was not to start a lengthy debate on the Internet. If your comment is rude, vulgar, excessively unkind, or fosters bickering, it will be removed. I appreciate reading all your comments, but I will also no longer be responding on this post.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged confessions, God, husband, James, love, marriage, photography, wedding | 1,613 Comments