Bon appetit!

I had cereal for breakfast this morning. After my run, I had cereal again for lunch. By the time the sun was going down, I had already decided on spending the evening at home, which brought up thoughts about dinner. "Hmmm... Shall I make it three for three?" No, no. I decided to kill two birds with one stone: I'd vary the day's food intake and partake in a fun activity. I would cook something!

Now, if you've known me longer than, say, an hour and a half, you know I don't cook. Period. One reason is I really do love cereal. This is a holdover from my childhood and I don't see this facet of my being disappearing. (Cereals of choice have changed somewhat though. And I made the switch from whole to skim milk years ago.) Another reason is prior to moving to Mission, I had a 300-square-foot studio apartment. My kitchen cabinets were used as general storage, so even if I had been culinarily inclined, there was no room for pots, pans, and other cooking accoutrements.

Which leads to this evening. I have a fully stocked kitchen where I'm living. So, I headed over to the grocery store for the ingredients for tonight's meal: penne pasta with sauce and garlic bread. I figured any moron can make pasta.

I had a conundrum right off the bat: The jar of sauce lacked instructions. Do I just put this stuff in a pot and wait for it to boil? I figured that was the case, so I did just that while my penne water was heating to a boil. It didn't take long before the sauce began burping bubbles. Is that supposed to happen? Adjustment made...

I got the penne in the pot and threw the bread in the oven. From there, it was just stir and wait. When the penne finished up, I dished some onto a plate and poured the sauce on top. And... It was really good! So good, in fact, that I completely forgot about the bread. Those pups were briquets. A plume of smoke rose from inside the oven, so I hit the button for the fan. That's when what looked like shredded wood chips rained down from the exhaust and into the open pot of sauce and all over the stovetop. I couldn't distinguish spice from wood, so adios to the sauce. A peril of living in an old building, I guess.

Thankfully, I'm not too good for plain pasta and parmesan cheese. After shoveling the penne down (I was hungry, evidently), it was time for dishes, an activity I've learned I somewhat enjoy. But I really wanted some bread. I fixed up another piece, placed it into the oven, and commenced dishwashing. The oven must have still been pretty warm, because it was black by the time I finished the dishes. I had even turned on the oven's timer. Oh well. It just wasn't meant to be.

Tonight's end result was two plates of penne in my stomach, half a jar of sauce and three pieces of blackened bread in the trash. Tomorrow, I'm going back to my cereal. And I'm heading over to LaCosta's for the Super Bowl and dinner. There's a chance the Bacon Explosion may be making an appearance, so no cooking for me. An angioplasty, on the other hand...

Now, I'm off to have some ice cream. That I can handle.

Becoming a familiar face

I wasn't planning to go to the grocery store during my lunchtime walk, so I didn't bring my green grocery bag with me. But I was right there, so I stopped in for a few things I needed. After I placed my items on the belt, the cashier asked, "Do you have your bag?" When I told her I wasn't expecting do to any shopping, she kiddingly chided me for not bringing my reusable bag.

It's not the same as Alma knowing my order by heart at the Valley Restaurant in Juneau, but I'll take this display of recognition any day.

Happy new year!

I knew 2008 was going to be a big year. I would be turning 30. I'd vest with the State of Alaska, both a milestone and an opportunity. And I was just generally optimistic. This year is a bit different though. It's more a year of settling in as opposed to one of change. The optimism is still there though.

Somehow, in my advanced age, I've become this idealistic, glass-is-half-full person the Brian of 10 years ago would not recognize. It's not that I was doom and gloom before. I think it has more to do with obstacles I've overcome over the past several years. Challenges present themselves now with only a shrug of my shoulders. It's been worse. Life will go on, because it always does.

So, how do I foresee 2009 turning out? Taking advantage of my time on the reservation. Making as much of an impact as a VISTA as possible. Maintaining relationships separated by distance, while forging new ones locally. Training for and feeling good after the marathon. Breaking even financially. And remaining optimistic.

I should have made the damn pancakes instead!

An article reporting USD's MLK Day of Service activities appeared in Friday's Vermillion Plain Talk. The accompanying photo was of three of my group's members cooking up pancakes at the Welcome Table. The photographer arrived early in the afternoon before most of the cooking had commenced. Otherwise, I just know he couldn't have passed up a shot of me, tongs in hand, fishing little smokies out of a crock pot. Next time, I guess...

Smokies anyone?

Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, of course. It was a "day on" for us VISTAs, not a day off. The VISTAs in the more populated areas of South Dakota (i.e. everyone but me) planned and attended events in their local areas. I, on the other hand, got to travel to Vermillion, about three and a half hours to the east, to participate in an event put on by the University of South Dakota.

Students and members of the community met at Vermillion High School's gym, where we were placed into random groups. After listening to two "motivational" speakers, the group leaders revealed the service tasks to be completed during the day. Our group was asked to plan, cook, and serve a meal at the Welcome Table. This program is put on every Monday night at the Methodist church in town. This free meal is open to the community.

Most of the folks in the group were USD students, some of whom had volunteered at the Welcome Table before. So, they were familiar with the setup of the kitchen, meals served in the past, and how the evening generally would progress. We decided to take a pass on popular meals like spaghetti, soup, and chili. Instead, we chose to cook up pancakes, little smokies, applesauce, and fruit cups. Really, can one go wrong with breakfast for dinner?

After half of the group returned with supplies from the Hy-Vee, there was some downtime until the cooking had to begin. Okay, there was a lot of downtime, which frankly sucked considering I had traveled so far to help out. In the meantime, the group got to know one another, while the two precocious girls in the group posed for the photographer from the Plain Talk.

Activity finally ramped up around 4:30 p.m., when the first pancakes were placed on the griddles. Then, we had a quick orientation with the woman who runs the program, who assigned tasks. This was the one part of the evening when I had to bite my tongue. She gave a brief overview of the Welcome Table for those of us who had never volunteered there before. She said the program's mission was to serve a meal to those who would rather not eat alone. Because no one like to eat by themselves, right?

Oh, it's times like this I admire my self-restraint. What I wanted to say was, "Ummm... Some of us are single and eat alone most of the time. And get this. Some of us actually like to eat alone. At restaurants no less!" But no, I kept quiet. Just another person who thinks solitude equals sadness and loneliness. I'm glad I have enough sense to believe otherwise.

Anyway, I digress...

I was assigned to the little smokie station. I would start a plate, put three smokies on it, and pass it off to Kristen, a USD freshman and my partner for the evening, so she could add three pancakes. (Kids received two of each.) And man were we movin'! The folks behind us cooking up the pancakes could barely keep up.

The Welcome Table is setup like a restaurant as opposed to a buffet or soup line. Diners remain seated at their tables and place their orders. Volunteers then run to the kitchen window (where I was located) to grab the filled plates. I really liked this aspect of the program. Between 100 and 300 meals are served every Monday, and I can see why it's so popular. Although the dinner is open to anyone (of course, with the mission of serving those lonely souls with no friends), most of those who attended were either elderly or physically/mentally handicapped.

Kristen and I remained busy for a good hour and a half before we were relieved so we could eat. Surprisingly, neither of us was hungry. I wonder if that had anything to do with the fact we would sneak a smokie or a pancake between serving up the plates. We decided we couldn't with a clean conscience serve folks deformed pancakes. (If I ever became a cook at a restaurant serving food I liked, I'd end up weighing like 1,800 pounds.) But we managed to scarf down our dinner plates anyway. Actually, it was more like dessert, what with the whipped cream and chocolate chips on top. I felt a bit sick afterward, but it was well worth.

The crowd started to disperse around 7. That's when we started putting together to-go boxes while the others cleaned the dining room and the dishes. Since I had a long drive ahead of me, I left a bit earlier than the others at 7, heading to Wal-Mart to pickup a few items I can't find in Mission and some celery for LaCosta. And I managed to stop at the Dairy Queen in Yankton for a Blizzard. My stomach had settled down by that point. Even if it hadn't, I just can't pass up a Blizzard.

I made it home at about 20 after 11 and quickly went to bed. I did get up bright and early for work the next morning, not so hard considering the commute. All told, even with the slow start, the trip was definitely worthwhile. Besides the whole service aspect, meeting students from USD was great. Everyone had good things to say about the university, which strengthened my desire to attend post-VISTA. And the group was fun. I guess that was never in doubt, since we were all there for the same reason.

Sunsets

There have been many occasions since arriving in Mission I've found myself running outside to watch the sunset. That's one thing I'll never get sick of. I live in a prime sunset-viewing location, with nothing to disrupt the view to the west. I woke up from my nap this afternoon to see a flaming sky out of my bedroom window. With camera in tow, I threw on some clothes and headed out the door:

The only other place I've see skies like this is the Texas Panhandle, one of my favorite areas of the country. How I love open country!

On that subject, I heard George Strait's "Amarillo by Morning" for the first time last week. Great song! Reminds me of my many drives up 287 from the Metroplex. I can still rattle off the names of the towns along the way: Wichita Falls, Vernon, Childress, Memphis, Clarendon...

Sigh.

Parched

Just thought I'd mention how dry it is here. This is by far the most arid place I've ever lived. And having resided in a rain forest the past five and half years has me always within an arm's reach of both water and hand lotion.

Granted, I'm west of the hundredth meridian. But it's not like it's the desert. The area does receive about 20 inches of rain per year. I'm having a heck of a time keeping myself moisturized and hydrated though.

And can I please tell you about my scalp? It is an obsessive-compulsive's dream right now. Itch, itch, itch. Last week's speakers mentioned how lice is prevalent within the schools here. After they said that, I couldn't stop scratching my head. That's just what I need.

I went running today and yesterday, battling a stiff northwest wind both days. Running headfirst into it and going up the hill along the Dump Road was a killer. And I could feel the wind scouring every drop of moisture out of my sinuses and throat as it sailed into my nose and mouth.

My delicate skin and I will adapt, for sure. And it'll be interesting to see how my running season progresses with the change in climate. I've run very few races in dry, sunny weather. The one that comes to mind is 2007's Apple Hill Harvest Run in California's Sierra foothills. I ran and placed well, even with a pretty significant hill. But I made a conscious effort to stop at every aid station, something I didn't worry about during the races in Juneau.

So, I'll stick with that plan. In the meantime, I'll continue to get myself outside running uphill into a 30 MPH headwind like a lunatic. I have to be prepared!