Trust the test kitchen!

As anyone who knows me could tell you, I really like baking. It's a legitimate hobby of mine. (Also I can proudly say I once rocked a summer job as a Baker, and they trusted me enough that they didn't require prior paid experience and didn't train me either, but that's another story.) I'm apparently good enough at it that my skills are well-renowned among all of my husband's male friends. But you know the secret? Just bake the recipe listed on the container of the most important ingredient: back of the chocolate chip cookie bag, lid of the oatmeal container. I figure this is because the company tested the classic recipe using that exact product, and so they perfected it.

So I figure that's the same reason why I should take God at his Word - He created humans, He's been watching how they work for thousands of years, and He's even lived with us as one of us... I'd say He knows what He's talking about.
Just a good reminder for myself, especially when I question His ways sometimes - Trust the "Test Kitchen", Ellen!

Food for thought, anyway. (ah yes, puns are good too)

“What is mankind that you make so much of them,
    that you give them so much attention, 
 that you examine them every morning
    and test them every moment?" Job 7:17-18

Love of spoken poetry; see video example!

Excellent poem and performance. I think I'm more and more attracted lately to spoken poetry - an art that's good for my soul.

...Now that I'm done with the latest community theater production, I'm itching to get back to writing my own poems. Hooray for inspiration & motivation! :-)

(Thanks to Jen for bringing my attention to this vid.)

A walk to talk and clear my head.

Mooonlit walk to chat on the phone

with a far-away friend who feels like home.

Skirting puddles in shoes not water-tight,

the cold water only visible by moonlight.

Their reflections are serene and silvery,

each puddle beaded up like mercury.

Fall is coming and my arms are chill

soon frigid air my breath will fill.

My heart is pumping, my step is fast--

talking and walking puts the breathing last.

I miss her I do, and our cozy chats over tea

and I nostalgically sigh at the full moon I see,

shrouded up there by a comforting midnight blue…

why are tranquil walks like these so few?

©Ellen H. September 2013

For Cassie.

Walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love.

Bastille, "Pompeii", acoustic version. Listen while you read.

I often have soundtracks for while I write. This has become one of those today. The lyrics are a beautifully haunting poem, yet vague enough to mean what your brains wants it to mean.

"I was left to my own devices
Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love
Grey clouds roll over the hills
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
Nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
You've been here before?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?"

For me, today, here's what my brain makes it say:

"Many days fell away with nothing to show"
I'm just doing day-to-day life without bigger-picture goals being accomplished.

"walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love"
I live in my second-hometown, a sweet and comfortable-enough place to live, but it's less and less ideal to me, losing the luster it once had for me.

"If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?"
I get sentimental a lot; about past friends and childhood places. Sometimes I try to bring those things back by pretending nothing has changed. But it's clearly a delusion. The past is past.

I just gotta be an optimist about this anyway. Strive forward, Ellen...

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytie995zY-Q)

I'm Always Looking.

I will always be looking for your Jeep.
Gray-green and roofless as the tell-tale signs;
Looking for the young male driver, scouring his face:
is he tall enough? thin enough? Does he have your eyes?

I will always be looking for your Jeep.
The one in which I really learned to drive a stick,
as if your bad-boy aura lent me unusual confidence,
though now, just using a clutch scares me, makes me sick.

I will always be looking for your Jeep.
No matter that you could be in love, or in jail, or have moved;
or lost your license, lost your senses, or sold the car--
Yes, I'm always looking, but I never regret
                                                                   not seeing you.

©Ellen H. June 2013
"I'm Always Looking"