Red Flag.

If you are from a beach town, you will understand my use of red flag. It's a warning of unsafe conditions.

Don't swim. Don't sail. Don't stand too close to the edge. 

Sometime the red flags flaps violently in the wind. Cracking and snapping, echoed by sound of the waves smashing the rocks and sand. The pier is coated in a sheen of lake water, small puddles form only to be desturbed and displaced by the next wave that crashes in. 

These are the obvious red flag days. 

Then there are days when the flag lays docile against its pole. Lack lusterly flutters in a brief breeze. The waves are calmly, ritualistically lapping at the beach. The pier is dry and crowded. The crowds thinking the flag was forgotten and should be ignored. These red flags give the warning of a hidden danger. Riptides. 

The snaking current that pulls you out and under. 

Tonight was an obvious red flag day.

The waves soaked Erika and I to the bone as we cautiously navigated the pier in a desperate attempt to get better pictures of the sunset happening beyond the chaos around us. 

Tonight was an obvious red flag day, not only on the beach, but in my life. 

The kind where everyone around you knows. The red rimed eyes give a subtle warning, but the waves of tears crashing against the table of a coffee house, the gasps for air, and sobs that rack my body, really drive the point home. 

God gave me a red flag day that was echoed in his creation. And yet. On that pier. I wasn't alone. I was standing with twenty other people who were there for the same reasons I was. 

We are willing to stand though something so miserable because something beautiful will follow. 

I will move past this red flag stage of my life, because God promised me a life of sunsets. That's what I am focusing on tonight. 

Blueberry and Maple.

Welcome to my first venture into food blogging.   Bear with me; I’m just a bug in the blogging world anyways so this is entirely new territory for me!

Since I have completed college and no longer have to cook for a grade (just a paycheck) I have felt a little constrained.  At school, we had creative freedom with the plates we presented, we got to play with color, texture, even sound of our food.  It was an amazing outlet.  There was always a great variety of fresh produce, herbs, different kinds and cuts of meat, exotic spices, and expensive alcohols to play with (not to drink).  I could go in every day for eleven weeks and never make the same dish twice.  I loved that part of school.  

At work, though since starting my new job, I feel so much more connected to the food that goes on everyone’s plates, I am not able to be creative.  I follow someone else’s recipes and plate according to someone else’s eye. *

*No, I am not planning on ever opening a restaurant. That ship has sailed.

What I find myself doing now, to release my creative frustrations, is night baking.   

I haven’t done any serious baking in a year, and I began to crave it.  Not the taste of the cookies or the cake, but the smell in the house, the sound of the mixer, the way the batter looks swirled around in the bowl.  It is different than cooking. It isn’t quick, hot, stressful, or loud.   It is slow, mellow, sweet, and comforting.

Last night’s baking adventure had me running to the closet for my old stand by pound cake recipe.  Which I promptly realized was totally, technically wrong.  So I tweaked it! (Thanks Chef Turner)

ATTENTION:  I did it wrong… I left out one ingredient and almost put it in the pans before adding the baking powder.  It worked, it tasted yummy and this recipe has been tweaked even more for your viewing pleasure!  

I am not a baker. I am not even a chef. I am just a girl who likes to have her fun by destroying her mother’s kitchen midnight.  

Blueberry Maple Pound Cake!

• 4 sticks butter, softened*
• 1 cup white sugar
• ¾ cup brown sugar, packed
• 6 eggs
• ¼ cup almond milk (or regular milk. My brothers are lactose intolerant so we never have that in the house)
• ½ cup maple syrup (The real stuff.  Do yourself a favor.  It is not only better tasting, but better for you)
• ½ teaspoon vanilla extract (I make my own... I should blog on that)
• 3 1/3 cup flour, all purpose
• 1 Tablespoon + 1 teaspoon baking powder
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 1 (heaping) cup of blueberries**

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease and flour loaf pan(s) or bunbt pan. Heck, do them in muffin tins, that would be awesome… why didn’t I think of that last night!

Cream together butter and sugars until they have reached the consistency of, wait for it, airy sand.  It sounds super weird, I know, I had a chef tell me that in school.  I didn’t believe him… then I realized, that is just how it feels.  Really.

Stop mixer, scrape down the sides.

In a separate bowl, crack your eggs and beat up.  If you feel like shouting some insults it can only help.

Slowly. SLOWLY! Add the egg mixture.  If you add it all at once like I did, (my chefs are just itching to fail me for this mistake) your mixture will curdle.  Which looks gross.  Don’t do it.

Combine milk, maple syrup, and extracts together and slowly stream into the mixture.

Stop the mixer, scrape down the sides.

While the mixer is off, add your flour, baking powder, and salt. It is preferred if you mix them together first, but if you are like me, you will almost forget the baking powder and omit the salt on accident.

Combine until just mixed.  Make sure there are no lumps, but don’t just keep mixing to be sure.  If it looks lump free STOP the mixer.  You can work out any hidden lumps with a spatula.

Pour in your blueberries and gently mix by hand.  I kept mine frozen so they wouldn’t break open during the mixing and turn my batter blue. Smurf cake anyone? If yours are thawed or fresh, just be very gentle.

Okay, you are done! Time to put them in the oven, set the time for about an hour, and lick the bowl.  I mean, clean up!

If you try this recipe, lets me know. Tag me on Instagram if you take a picture! @thatgeekyginger

*I always leave mine on the counter for a few hours, or stick them in the microwave on the lowest defrost setting turning them occasionally.   Please don’t melt… it’s not the same

** I used frozen blueberries.  Firstly, cause they are out of season in Michigan.  Secondly, because frozen blueberries don’t “bleed” in the batter the way thawed blueberries do.

20 By 21 List.

In celebration of my twentieth birthday I will be walking the stage in my college graduation.  Which is huge, and I thought, since two significant life changes are occurring on the same day, it would be appropriate to have a "life change" blog post.

I've never been good at life long bucket lists, but I got the idea for a birthday to birthday bucket list from Whimsy + Wild and loved the challenge of it. It's a list of twenty things I want to do by the time I turn twenty one, hopefully I didn't go way over board but I guess we will see next year!

Wish me luck?!

1-- Blog 12 times.

2-- Plan a dinner party for my friends.

3-- See AJ at least twice.

4-- Read 5 new books.

5-- Have 1 photo shoot a month.

6-- Go to the beach.

7-- Try 3 new coffee houses. (Lyon Street Cafe, 

8-- Create something beautiful.

9-- Roadtrip!

10-- Grow closer to my Heavenly Father.

11-- Spend more time outside (Michigan weather permitting).

12-- Try 5 new restaurants.

13-- Journal once or more times a week. 

14-- Develop my "big girl" wardrobe.

15-- Make 10 new friends.

16-- Develop and share 5 original recipes. 

17-- Organize my life / just make the bed!

18-- Dress up more.

19-- Explore my town.

20-- Follow my heart...

I left my last one open ended. A sort of note to myself to be happy, and do what makes me happy.

Alright, I am off to walk across a stage and shake some professors' hands, then eat some food! Whoohoo!

*The lovely watercolor is from my beautiful friend, Erika.

Happiness at the Bottom of My Mug.

My coffee addiction is not something I hide from you guys.  It's a serious joy (problem) for me. It runs far deeper than just my need for caffeine.

Coffee has a huge symbolism to me.  The smell is a comfort, it reminds me of early mornings with my dad, when I was little, we would sit and eat breakfast before he went to work.  It later became a way that we bonded when I was finally old enough to enjoy the drink itself.  There are still times, after a hard day, that I just want to make a cup of coffee to smell it, and hold a warm mug in my hands.

*not my hands*

Now that I am an adult, I find that coffee is my outlet for so many other things that make me happy.  I have reconnected with old friends at the bar of my favorite coffee house.  Memories stem from the worn booths and chipped mugs. Adventures are had by exploring new cafes and chatting with regulars about their favorite drinks.  These are things I thank my coffee addiction for. 

Latte Love. 

Coffee to me is happiness in a warm drink.  The end of every cup is the middle of a good conversation. So here is to celebrating a drink that brings people together. 

These pictures are from my adventure with Erika at Rowster Coffee with our sweetened lattes! 

Behind "The Ramblings".

Since it seems like I have a lot of new followers that I don't know personally, I thought I would write a little blurb on myself... Because this is a platform that narcissism is not only acceptable, but encouraged.

-- My name is Lauren Steele.
-- I hail from the great mitten state.
-- I am currently 19 years old.
-- I have been with My Marine for two years this September.
-- And by with, I mean we text, like ALL the time.
-- Coffee is my muse and my vice. I drink it black, no sugar.
-- I was homeschooled from 1st grade through 12th.
-- I lived in Louisville, Kentucky from September 2013 - December 2014.
-- Culinary school is what drug me down south.
-- I have an extreme love-hate relationship with snow.
-- Yes, my hair is natural.
-- No, you can't touch it.
-- Things I need in the morning; Coffee, Jesus, and some friggen quiet.
-- I love dark (and I mean DARK) chocolate, Thai food, and Instagram.
-- I used to inline speed skate, like Apolo Ohno, but with wheels and slower.
-- I worked at my local skating rink for about five years.
-- I waitresses at a pizza place for less than three months, I was horrible at it.
-- I am a klutz, which is why I was a bad waitress.
-- I am an American of Welsh/German decent, not Irish, the hair and freckles lie.
-- Rescue dogs are a weakness of mine, I have had two, and planning on more.
-- Dream vacation: New Zealand.
-- I am a huge geek.  Doctor Who, Sherlock, LoTR, and so on.
-- I quote constantly, if I don't make sense, then you haven't seen it enough.
-- Both my parents are vegetarians, and I am slowly joining them.
-- I judge new friends on whether or not they have seen/like The Princess Bride.
-- I have tons of unread books on my shelves. I keep buying more and lying to myself about reading them.
-- I started this blog because I wanted to review books and movies. That didn't work out apparently.
-- I am a horrable speller. Always have been, always will be.
-- I am a minimalist when it comes to clothing and jewelry.
-- I am 5'9" and have man hands... such is my life.
-- I do the same hairstyle everyday for work. Ponytail with a small braid across the front.
-- I hate this hairstyle... it's just super practical.
-- My favorite color is blue. But the shade has varied over time. Currently it is slate blue.
-- I am a huge believer that you can do anything with enough caffeine.
-- I love learning. So naturally I remember all the useless tidbits I hear.
-- I have been singing since I could talk.  Had my first public performance at two years old.
-- If you have read this far, you are incredibly dedicated.  I thank you!

Expected picture of self and handsome man of mine.

To my new followers, drop me a comment and let me know where you are from and how you stumbled upon this humble blog of mine!  Would love to get to know some of you!

An Open Letter.

Oh my sweet boy, how I love you already.  I cannot wait to see you, to meet you, to learn who you are.  My deepest hope is that you are happy in your life, from the time I cradle you in my arms till the time you are cradled in God's.

I pray you will be a silly baby, full of giggles and smiles.

I pray you will be a tumbling toddler, so you learn to stand up on your own.

I pray you will be a loving brother, that you will protect your sibling(s) from the monsters in their lives (under the bed or otherwise).

I pray you will be a dedicated learner, who goes beyond high school and college, someone how craves knowledge and wisdom, always.

I pray you will be a strong man, not only in body but also in mind.

I pray you will be a respectful courter, that you will honor all women and will be wise with the one you chose to call yours.

I pray you will be a diligent provider, one who loves his wife and children, giving of himself for their happiness.

I pray you will have the courage to admit defeat, to seek help when you can no longer stand on your own.

I pray you will be a commanding leader, at home, at work, and in the church.

I pray you will be a humble son of God, that you will listen and lead as He shows you.

I pray you will live a full life, a long life, packed with loved ones' laughter, precious moments, sunsets, and shooting stars.

Don't forget where you came from, but make your own way in life, according to what God has planned for you.  Never forget how much your mother loves you, even now.

Aaron and Michelle

Meet my older brother, Aaron, and his lovely girlfriend, Michelle. I had the pleasure of torturing these two crazies in the frigid wind in downtown Grand Rapids, this past weekend.  All for the sake of art and late Christmas gifts.

These two have been together for a little over four years, and it shows in these pictures. Aaron being the goof that he is, and Michelle patiently (sort of) putting up with him.  These two make me laugh. 

Hopefully this summer I can track them down again, as they rush through their busy schedules, and force them, yet again, in front of the camera. Sans the freezing temperatures and numb appendages.

Cause this was fun!

Thank's you guys!

There and Back Again.

January 5th marked a strange day in my life.  It was the beginning of the winter quarter at Sullivan and I wasn't in Kentucky.  One year ago, I was sitting in an airport, waiting for my delayed flight, headed back to Kentucky after Christmas break.  This year I was watching my friends and family go back to school and work as I stayed in my pajamas till noon.  That's when it really hit me.  I was done with Kentucky.

Despite my grumblings (and yes, there were a lot of them), Kentucky had become my home.  My pictures hung on the walls there, people who make me smile and laugh are there, and there were three happy animals ready to greet me every day.  I worked there, I lived there, it was my home for over a year.

Then my pictures were in boxes, I had said farewell to my friends and had one last hoorah, the animals had successfully hidden in my luggage, I quit my job, I packed my stuff, and I didn't call it home anymore.

Now it is strange, living somewhere I haven't called home in over a year.  I'm not the same person, which is horribly cliched to say, but accurate. In someways I'm better, and in some ways, worse.  I needed to come back to Michigan to heal myself, but I needed Kentucky to break me.

I needed the wake up call that Kentucky gave me, both the good and bad ones.  The realization that I really can do anything for eleven weeks, I really can do this career, I am really not as good as I thought I was, and I really need a lot more help than I let on.

The people I met in Kentucky have changed me forever, whether it me the boys who harassed me for months, or the instructor that literally held me as I cried out for help.  I wouldn't be who I am right now without them.

My time in school not only taught me how to sous-vide a duck breast, but also how to handle life and its curve balls... and there were plenty.  A long distance relationship was started six months early, a suburban girl was thrown into a big city, a fear of abandonment was kicked into overdrive, and I survived my hardest year yet.

There have been days when I regret what happened in Kentucky, who I was there, things that I said, or decisions made under the circumstances.  There are days I wish I had never left Michigan.  But today, as I write this on the brink of starting a new job and more life changes, I miss Kentucky.  The normality that I had become accustomed to is now gone.  I have to find a new normal, and I'm not good with transitions.

Today, I want to be back in my musty apartment, making dinner for myself and getting my uniform ready for tomorrow. Instead I am sitting in my room, with my friend, Erika, sitting on my bed playing music, waiting for my mom to finish my dinner, and dreading driving to my first day of work tomorrow.

In two months, I won't remember what I am feeling at this very moment.  I'll have found my new normal and will be content with it and happier than I ever was in Kentucky.  But that is not today. Today is strange because I was there and now I am back again.

Promises.

This is the time of year for promises.  Promises to eat right, work out more, be more organized, or to enjoy life more.  Most promises made will be broken within the next month or so.

I, personally, don't make resolutions at New Years.  I am notorious for breaking promises to myself and change is not my strong suit.  Promises, in general, seem unreliable to me.

There are many broken promises in my life and though I don't have trust issues, I do have a pessimistic view on promises.  That way, when one is kept, I am surprised and pleased, and if one is broken, I don't get upset.

Trust in other's promises is something that I have struggled hard with in the last three months. Believing that I was wanted back home, that I was loved by someone who felt so distant, that people were going to help me, that people would pull through. All that was difficult and emotional for me. I spent nights crying out to God, trying to make him hear how much I was hurting, how much I wanted these promises to be true.  Trying to make Him, and myself, understand exactly how much I needed those promises to be kept, but at the same time, bracing myself for them to be broken.

I forgot God made promises to me too.  That he promises to always want me, to love me, to provide, and to never leave me.  Hopelessness overwhelmed me last night.  I couldn't do it on my own, and those who I ran to for comfort didn't do what I wanted them to.

I wanted them to fix it.  To give me what I needed right then and there.  Or I wanted them to hold me, comfort me, just tell me it was going to be okay.  Some weren't around to hold me, and words on a phone screen do not hold the same level of comfort that arms do. Those who were close, didn't give me the comfort I wanted.  Their words weren't peace giving, and I didn't know what to do.

So I picked up the only words I knew of that might help.  My bible.  I sat it in my lap and let it open where ever it wanted. Job 37 is where it fell too.  In those words God showed me his power.  That he is the one who tells the thunder when to rumble and the lightning where to strike.  That he alone is the one who controls this.

If he is powerful enough to control the storm and where it falls and when.  Then he is also powerful enough to control the storm in my life.  He knows that rain is falling, and that I will need shelter, and he let me fumble around in the dark trying to protect myself.  He heard my cries and waited there, my ever constant shelter, for me to find him.   He saw me run to others, those who could not do for me what he could, and he saw me give up.  Sitting in the rain accepting my fate to be struck by lightning.  Then he called, very gently, very softly, to me.  Asking me to come back to him.

Last night I found him, my shelter from my storm.  One that has been raging for months.  And I woke this morning to find the storm had passed.



Over the last three months, I have been searching for an internship in Michigan in order to complete my degree.  I have been met with a lot of dead ends and unanswered phone calls. I was a week away from my dead line and I still didn't have anything. Last night I broke down, from the weight of not knowing.  I felt unwanted and even considered the fact that I had made a mistake coming back home.  After reading God's Word and feeling peace about how powerful he is, and that he did promise me that he will provide, I was calm enough to finally get some sleep.  I didn't know what I was going to do, but I trusted Him enough to know that I would know what to do when the time came.

This morning, I was woken by my phone ringing.

I now have an internship and I start next week.  EVERYTHING was taken care of and I no longer have any fear.  God only wanted me to come to him, and when I did, he showed me what he can do.  He calmed my storm, and for those of you who feel as if you are also stuck in a storm, he can calm yours as well.  Just run to him.

Job 37:5
"God's voice thunders in marvelous ways;
he does great things beyond our understanding." 

Holidays and Life Changes.

Tis the season to be... beyond busy, stressed out, and gaining weight! Some people call that jolly. The holidays bring back a lot of memories for me, as I'm sure they do for everyone else.  This year, memories involve so much more than Christmas's past.

As of the seventeenth of December, I am no longer a resident of Louisville, Kentucky.  Academically, I have finished college. No more scantrons, no more product IDs, and no more Kentucky.  I'll be brutally honest when I say, "Thank God."  I have been dying to move home since I moved away last fall.  Then again, now that I am gone, it seems a little sad, a little lonely in a way.  I miss my old room, my kittens, my routine, and my freedom.  Instead of that, I gained my dog, my family, my safe home, my best friends, and someone a little more special.

After six months of bad cell reception, grainy Skype quality, poorly timed text messages, and overall not niceties, I got this man back.  It's not been an easy six months, between his overwhelming work load in the Marines, my stress over school and internship, and a three hour time difference, things with us have seemed to fall the wayside.  We spent his birthday, our one year anniversary, and Thanksgiving over two thousand miles apart.

All sadness aside, I now have him back for the remainder of the holiday season and then will regretfully have to hand him back over.  Until then, look at some happy pictures from this break and my happy friends and family.

I was able to go Christmas tree hunting with AJ and his family.  Erika brought along her boyfriend, Keegan, and they are the dictionary definition of a handsome couple.  So obviously there were photos snapped.

This family means so much to me. They have become my Holland family, and my two best friends belong to it.  The Wells have made me feel so welcome, they have given me support, wise words, coffee in the morning, and reason to smile!

To say that I am just excited to be back with this girl, is the understatement of the century.  I am a happy girl, back in my home state, ready to see what God has to throw at me, and I know there will be a lot.

Stay tuned and have a great New Years!


Any photos you see of me here are from my beautiful friend Erika! See past post and her blog here!

Miss Erika.

Meet Erika.  

A fellow blogger, coffee lover, and photographer.  Most of you will recognize her from my various social media updates about her, and some of you have the pleasure of knowing her personally.  She is one of my very best friends.

Around this time about two years ago, I went to a party hosted by my friend, Sarah.  I didn't know anyone who was coming.  I was actually warned about a few of them, so I was understandably apprehensive.                                                                                                                                                 When people started to arrive, I slowly backed myself into the corner of the kitchen, everyone seemed to know one another, they were all very comfortable, and I was looking for any reason to escape.  Then in walked Rachel and Erika, both of them asking about my last name and where I went to school.  As it turns out I had met Rachel my freshman year of high school and I was friends with Erika when I was in beginning band... about 2005.  Needless to say I was completely rude and didn't remember... Whoops!  

Over the next few months, Erika and I bumped into each other a lot.  We bonded over surviving the end of the world, sitting quietly together in a hectic New Years Eve party, and Pinterest partying whenever the movie nights got boring.  Needless to say it was pretty much instant friendship.  

In two years there has been so much that has changed in both our lives.  We helped each other through everything from the celebration of new relationships to the loss of a grandparent.  We spend holidays with each others families, braved blizzards and Michigan roads to attend Christmas parties, survived a post apocalyptic photo shoot together, spent countless hours chatting, skyping, texting, or snapchatting, she has surprised me in Kentucky, and I bring her tea when she is sick.

In March, Erika and I suffered a mutual loss.  Her brother, my boyfriend, left for Marine basic training.  I came home on spring break about a week after he left, and we just sat in her room thinking that the next knock on the door would be him asking to chat with us, or it was him coming up the stairs to sing along with Erika playing the piano.  Needless to say, it wasn't. Over the time he was gone, there were lots of shared "I miss him too's", info passed from his letters, celebrations of his milestones, and prayers for both us and him. Twelve weeks later we were reunited in California to watch him graduate. Which led us to bond over exhaustion, frustration, sun poisoning, and aloe. Hours I would not trade for the world.

She has been such a huge support in my life.  Not just though AJ's enlistment, but also through my struggles at college, with other friends, with family, and most importantly, with God.  She has held my hand through sermons that made me sob, prayers I could not put into words, and through times where I needed the physical support.





I owe a lot to her. I have her to thank for my sanity at times, for my favorite coffee houses, for introducing me to my Marine, for my inspiration in so many things, and for helping me become who I am today.  There will never be a way to repay her for any of these things, but I will try.

Erika is a rare beauty.  Not just in looks, though she is obviously a stunner, but in her heart as well.  From my stories above, you can tell that she is a comforter, and it is not just me she is looking out for.  She is one of the truest and most reliable friends anyone could ask for, and many know what it is like to call her friend.  Her helping hand never falters, wisdom seems to pour out of her, creativity is second nature, and her love seems unfailing.  Wit and genius sparkle in her hazel eyes and grace shows in her every movement.

In about two weeks, I am moving back home, where I will be a mere twenty minutes away from her again.  There is no way of knowing what will happen between us in the time to come, but I can tell you that it will involve more all night life chats, photo shoots, mugs of tea, study dates, and adventures I know God has planned. And I am looking forward to that!

If you want to check out her blog (her photography is amazing) click HERE!

Things People Don't Understand About Culinary Students.

We have real college degrees. 

We took English and math classes just like you.  I will not use my intro to physiology or religion classes in the kitchen, but I still had to take them. 

We love it when people cook for us.  

Please don't be scared to make us food.  We are food lovers not food critics.

We have weird names for things. 

"Robokus" are food processor.  "French" means knife. "Up at" means serve. "Side towels" are pot holders.  

We talk fast, use a lot of French terms, and don't measure.

Get used to it.

We laugh at one-use kitchen tools. 

Apple slicer? We have a knife for that.

We are passionate learners.

We learn best by mistakes, so expect some experiments that are disgusting or delicious... and if its good, don't ask us to replicate it the next night.  We weren't paying that much attention, we won't remember. 

We can work noon to midnight and still have energy to burn.

Our jobs are exciting and hard.  Adrenaline gets us through a shift and it hangs around for a few hours after.  If you want us to come home after work, we are gonna make noise... let us go out with the gang and grab food and drinks before we come home. 

We hate being still.

Don't ask us to sit till the job is done. 

We call things out.

"Sharp! Hot! Open! Behind! Hot and sloppy!" When we yell, pay attention.

We love people and serving them.

Which means working nights, weekends, and holidays.  Don't get upset about us missing Mothers Day... again. 

We hate doing dishes, but we hate not doing them.

Things have to be clean, and it drives us crazy when they aren't

We don't like people to touch our knives. Don't.

Our knives are an extension of our arms.  We know when they need to be sharpened, how they should be weighted, how the grip should be molded, and how we liked them cleaned.  Taking our knives is like taking away the keys from a teenager on their sixteenth birthday.  Expect some screaming. 

We will ask you to do things, but if you aren't fast enough, we will do them ourselves.

Don't get upset with us... we are just trying to get the job done.

We keep the sinks empty unless washing something.  

If we find something sharp hiding under the suds, you will get yelled at.

We have a flow.  

If you mess with it, we will get flustered.  It's just one of those weird ticks we have. 

We can be lewd, vulgar, insulting and obnoxious in the kitchen.

Take it into stride.  The kitchen can be a very stressful and dangerous place.  Even though we seem angry and upset, it is still one of our favorite places to be.

We are scarred.
In more ways than one. We are yelled at, harassed, questioned, and misunderstood even by the people who we love and who love us most.  Our hands also show the evidence, covered in burns and healed punctures, sometimes tattoos, and we are proud of them.

ALSO...

Your colorful knives are embarrassing.
Stop.

Beauty and Strength.

"You are beautiful. You are strong." 

I have heard these words a lot this week.  Compliments paid to me when I am helping someone with lab work or when I show up on the weekend to volunteer my time for an event.  Classmates ask me how I find the time to do everything, how I am strong enough to wake up before dawn every morning, even on my worst days.  How I never seem to let anyone know I am having a bad day. 

People believe that I am beautiful, happy, successful, and strong, but what do those even really mean.  What is beauty?  What is strength?

I don't feel beautiful, when my eyes rimmed with red and draped in purple. I don't feel strong when I break down in the middle of a classroom.  Beauty cannot be found in my hastily braided hair, and strength is not defined by hiding under the covers.

I am not beautiful.  I am not strong.  I am just a very good actress.

I keep a level head when people are counting on me, but I am put into a tailspin when I'm counting on myself to keep it together.  I try not to let people see me cry, I hide. That is not what I call strength.  I call that embarrassment, humiliation, weakness. Those are the words that come to mind when someone says nice things about me.  I smile at their ignorance about who I really am.  I never let the compliments sink in.

I smile. I work. I get the job done, but I'm crumbling.

To me, beauty means I am hiding behind God-given curls, mascara, and anything that will make it look like I got more than five hours of sleep.
To me, strength means I am hiding behind a smile and a convincing "I'm great."

I am not complimented by beauty or strength, because I see them for what they really are.  They are really just hiding.

So I am not beautiful, I am not strong.

I know these words aren't inspiring, I wish I could come up with some that are.  But today, as I am writing this, I look on in envy of those who seem to have their lives all together.

The ones who aren't crying in the middle of class.
The ones who are better at relationships.
The ones who don't need makeup to make them look flawless.

Then I realize, they are hiding too.  Just in a different way.  They don't struggle with everything that I do, but they have their own struggles they are hiding from the world.

So today, this post is to let any of you who feels crushed and weak know that you are not alone.  You are not the only one, you are not a bad person for crumbling, and it is okay to ask for help.  It is okay to just break down and need a hug, a bag of chocolate, and a day off every once and a while. And I promise you, you will be beautiful and strong again soon. 

Culinary School

I have been at culinary school for over a year now and I have never actually shown you guys any of it!

So today, I changed that!  I woke up really early on my day off and headed in to school, armed with my uniform and camera.

For those of you who don't know me well, I am a fifth quarter culinary student at Sullivan University. Which means I am little over four months away from graduation.  Technically the school calls me a sophomore, since I have been at school for about thirteen months, but because I am so close to graduation, I call myself a senior.




I'll definitely write another post after graduation about my time here, but for now here are some fun photos!

Mis En Place

Clean up

(Thanks to my oh-so photogenic classmates who let me take pictures and get their way this morning!)

Laughter and Memories

Lauren; The Blogger.

Edit. Cut. Reword. Rename. Omit. 

Four hours later and I will still never publish anything.  In the last year of this blog, I have found myself caught somewhere between over sharing and not-so-subtle cryptic messages. None of those make a good blog post.  Which seems to be the problem with my blog.  

I write what is on my mind.  Sometimes I just write for the sake of writing.  I do not have a target audience, I'm pretty sure those of you who read my blog are the ones who find my link off Facebook, which means we are friends.  This is the kind of stuff I would share with you over a cup of coffee, or on a road trip.  Long rants, but here I am not interrupted by anything but my own thoughts.  For someone who lives hundreds or thousands of miles away from those she would normally ramble to, this blog has turned into my outlet.  

For about the first year of this blog, no one knew about it.  I never shared it on social media, never mentioned it to friends or family, I just wrote.  Slowly I worked up the courage to share things on my Facebook page, mostly to let people keep up with me after I left for college... Because I am a notoriously bad friend when it comes to long distances. 

Some of my most popular posts are those that are the most personal... About my relationship, my body image, and my view on dating.  That will never cease to amaze me... And scare me.  Suddenly my blog became a source of stress.  

How much is too much to share?  People will read this... I'll have to edit that part out.  I don't want people to know that I'm not doing well.  Why can't I find an answer to this problem? 

I went from being carefree about what I posted, because no one read it anyways, to someone who was overly concerned about how things look to my readers. 

The last time I wrote a post, I ended up taking it down almost immediately, because it was too much of me and not enough of Lauren; the blogger. I sat in a coffee house and cried about what I had just written, making all the business men around me very uncomfortable.  That post didn't have a strong conclusion... it actually ended with me crying out for help.  It was raw, it was me, and I deleted it.  

I was scared of what other people would think, that they would suddenly realize that I was imperfect and failing.  Other bloggers aren't like that, with their perfectly edited pictures, inspirational stories, and perfect families. Then there is me, a nineteen year old mess of a college student. But no one should know that. 

This is crazy! No one is perfect, even other bloggers with their pristine Instagrams, seemingly angelic children, and artistically plated meals.  They are just like me, carefully editing and omitting the nitty gritty that is real life.  

So here is my honest statement about this blog... I don't know what I am doing.  I am learning everyday and sometimes that means that I falter and don't have a witty conclusion to wrap it all up nicely. 

Is that okay?  Maybe it is.  Maybe that post was written so that someone can understand that it's not just their life that seems to be in shambles.  That no matter how glamorous a person can describe their life, it is still hard, and it takes work.  That Lauren; the blogger, is actually Lauren; the rambler.  Cause I think I just might like that title more.

Tick-Tock

Time is the most precious commodity and we can't get more of it. - Robert Irvine

Sometimes there are days that never end, month-long weeks, twelve hour shifts that feel longer than my entire college career, and other times there are days that disappear, a year that felt more like a couple of random weekends and Christmas break than my entire freshman experience.

I will be the first to admit, I am an expert time waster.  With the help of social media, I can make two hours feel like fifteen minutes.  It's almost an art form.   But we have all heard this spiel before; "Life is over in the blink of an eye." I have heard this from my elders for years.  "I blinked and my kids were grown."  Don't blink seems to be the overwhelming consensus.  But lately that seems to be all I have been doing.

Yesterday I was sixteen and terrified of driving a car.  Twenty minutes ago I was trying to work up the courage to talk to a boy I really liked. ...Wait... It's Monday?!

Normally I don't notice these things, but at work yesterday I got a rude awakening to how cruel time can be.   While working an event for school, our speaker for the night made an alarming announcement in front of not only the crew, but also, his entire audience.  Just hours before the show, he had lost his father.

He showed an extreme amount of decorum during the entire day.  Even those who worked closest with him, were ignorant of the fact.  After this startling announcement, we all stood in shock.  Crew and audience alike.  Our host took a short pause, then gave us some words of wisdom to take with us, that I know will resonate with us for a long time.

He told us to keep in mind what is really important to us.  To not let time slip away.

As he said these words, I watched husbands hold their wives a little closer, mothers kiss their children's foreheads, and the look in an old man's eye; telling more of a story than words ever could.

No matter who we are; celebrity personality, military, college student, businessman, mother, or child, time hides itself from all of us.  It does it very well, looking for the perfect opportunity to come out of the wood work and surprise us.

Don't let it go unnoticed.  Pay attention to time as it passes, and be thankful for every second we have.  Good or bad.

The Perfection in the Hustle and Bustle.

Here I am again, in the midst of hectic quarter.  My alarm clock seems to cackle at me every morning at five, getting too much enjoyment from my exhausted attempts to press snooze.   My chef this quarter is retired military, so this means, if you are early, you are on time, and being on time means you are late.  So class for me, starts at six forty-five.  There is a large amount of pressure and an even larger amount of laughter that happens during this class.  Professionalism is replaced by sarcasm, and if you can't take a joke, it is time to take a walk.  This makes five am worth it to some extent.  The snooze fest of my other classes, not so much.

Homework piles up and I fight to find the motivation to type notes every night, study for irritatingly frequent tests, and crank out five hundred words on a topic I find completely pointless.  What keeps me going?  The promise of only nine more weeks of this madness, and after that, I never have to do it again.

Now and again though, it isn't always enough. I just can't care about the history of dining room service anymore, and I run to the every understanding arms of Netflix or escape to a tiny coffee house and nurse a Chai tea, listen to almost painfully hipster music, and edit pictures.

Just like so many quarters before this, I am struggling.  It isn't the class load, it isn't even the distance from my loved ones.  It is the pressure to be perfect, and falling short so often.   I am supposed to have a plan, a "where do you want to be" list made up, with steps on how to get there.  I thought that I would have one by now.  But in reality, right now, my list is blank and screaming at me to figure this life of mine out.

It screams; "why don't you have a job; why aren't you getting better grades; why don't you know what you want in life?" Right now, I can't quench my thirst for those answers, and I have hit the bottom of many a coffee mug looking for them.

As easy as it is to find things to complain about in the hustle and bustle of my life, I sometimes have to take a step back and appreciate the little things.  Like being able to escape to the comforts of a good cup of coffee, a solitary drive every morning, and kittens napping in the sun as you snap picture of them.  (If you have seen my instagram lately, I seem to be more than a little bit cat crazy).  Remembering to take a deep breath and reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect right now, is something that doesn't happen enough and should happen a lot more often.

I have to find the perfection in the chaos that is my life.  How ever small and infrequent as those occurrences may be.

Happy Days.

Happy isn't something I always have in my day-to-day life.  In the last year, there have been a lot of days where happy feels like the last emotion I could experience.  Stress over school, relationships, and my lifestyle take control of my life and their grip doesn't loosen easily.  It takes a drastic change, usually found at the end of a seven hour car trip.  

Life is more happy when I am home in Michigan, surrounded with familiar faces, places, and coffee houses.  Even here, the stress of school still haunts me.  I have nightmares about being late to class or missing a test I didn't know I had.  Relationships follow me everywhere, and there always things that need improving.  Sometimes the only way to do that is to have a good cry, go to bed early, and try again tomorrow.  But my lifestyle in Michigan does change, drastically.  I sleep. A lot. It is glorious.  I also get to spend time with some of the people I love most in this world.  

Now I am facing the reality of having returned to Kentucky and another three months of seven am labs, homework, and doing my own laundry. I didn't want this break to end, but alas, I don't get everything I want. Bummer.  So here are some pictures of things that make me happy in Michigan.  Enjoy!

Apple Orchard Adventures.