I decided {seeing I’ve been such a sporadic dreadful blogger lately} that instead of attempting to make excuses for why I haven’t written much lately, I’d simply give you a glimpse of what we’ve been up to lately by showing you some rather unimpressive photos from my phone.
Sounds deliciously personal, doesn’t it?
Here we go!
First series of shots from my phone…our first attempt at making South African sausage, also known as boerewors. Just saying the word makes us drool. Unless you’re a vegetarian South African, in which case, maybe you should move. We like our meat, what can I say?
The “w” is pronounced like a “v”, which is why we will laugh wildly at the sight of these words on a shirt…”may the wors be with you”. It’s as if we know something you don’t. Which we do. And it’s how to make the gosh-darndest, most mind-blowingly scrumptious sausage you ever did taste.
I kid you not.
We dug out the recipe, spices and sausage casings we’ve been hording for years and finally got the guts {pun intended} to give it a whirl. We ground the pork, smooshed it together with our ground venison, smooshed it further with some of the most decadent spices known to mankind {like coriander and cloves…two of my favs}, some brown sugar and red wine, and then proceeded to squeeze it into the casings {which were, admittedly, some of the most disgusting things I’ve ever laid my hands on}…we threw it on the braai {charcoal grill}, and promptly gobbled it up {with some ‘pap en sous’ – the scandalously delicious combination of simple corn meal and tomato/onion sauce we grew up eating in Southern Africa}.
It was a delightful conglomeration of hard work and nostalgia, and a treasured taste of home.
I also, apparently, took photos of smiling children with their eyes closed. Thank you, sweet sunshine!
We’ve had the most fantastic weather here this week – warm and fresh – and the kids have spent every possible moment up to their knees in slimy puddle water. We have low spots in our yard and they fill quickly with rain water in the Spring. I am reminded of how much more laundry I do during the warmer months. And how much grass and sand I get used to finding stuck to every surface in the house. It’s a good thing God is slowly working beating the control freak out of me, by way of these lovely little loin fruit.
I’m learning to laugh at it, rather than cry. Which is considerably more fun. And much less awkward.
Moving right along…I’ve just unplugged my hot glue gun, and clearly forgot how much fun was involved in gluing little pieces of my fingertips to the countertop.
In my attempt to pull together our costumes for the 80’s high school reunion themed murder mystery dinner we’re attending tomorrow {we’re married marching band sweethearts}, I’ve been rocking the buttons, ric rac, feathers and fake hair. I may or may not be a professional procrastinator.
Gnarly dude.
I’ve also been working on my Eighties slang, brushing up on words like “radical”, “bogus”, “wicked cool” and “gag me with a spoon!”. I’m so there. Cool beans, valley girl. Word to your mother.
Speaking of wicked cool…I got inked this week {gasp}.
I decided last year that when I turned 30, I was going to get out of my comfort zone, learn to live life to the fullest, and get better acquainted with the word ‘risk’. I was determined to get into the best shape possible, make peace with my quirks, and boldly step off the edge a little more often.
To celebrate every day life, more extravagantly.
After spending 20+ years as a fearful, people-pleasing perfectionist, I thought it would be grand to celebrate this decision to live life more fully by getting a tattoo. Because brave people do it and I want to be brave. Drunk people also do it, but that’s beside the point.
So I got brave.
{ Love is always enough }
These words sat – in various fonts and sizes – on my desk, in my planner, and lastly on my fridge for almost 10 months. I was just too chicken to get something permanently inked into my flesh. I mean, what if I don’t like the curl of the “e”…what if it’s skew…what if I hate it? And for Pete’s sake, what if it hurts?
Who’s Pete, any way?
I digress.
So on Monday evening, as my hubby and I snuggled on the couch watching a long overdue teaching DVD from a conference he attended last year…the lady wrapped up her talk with these words…”God’s love is enough. It is always enough”. And I looked at him and declared…”that’s it, babe, I’m doing it!”.
While I didn’t actually intend on doing it the very next morning, when I drove into town for some much needed alone time and a brief workout, it all seemed to fall together perfectly. The guy I’d been told to request was actually there…and while he was booked through the end of April, someone had not shown up that morning and he suddenly had an opening in his schedule. Right then. Right there. And there I was. Shaking in my sneakers, a total tattoo virgin, rockin’ my uncool mommy hair and attempting to hide the diapers and little ponies exploding from my purse.
Decision time.
I threw caution to the wind, grabbed the crumpled slip of paper out of my bag and said, “heck yeah…let’s do it!”.
I thought I’d come home with a sweat. Instead, I returned home with an ever-present reminder that His love is indeed, always enough. For me. For you. In every season and for every circumstance.
Always.
