French Toast: 0; Kendall: 1

This is what humble pie looks like. In case you can't tell from the stunning photograph, it was supposed to be baked apple french toast. It became mush, with a fine layer of leather on top. Carly, bless her heart, described it as a sort of "souffle. George, or Ciara, called it "custard." They're very nice people.

If we coated it with enough sugar, or huckleberry syrup, we could pretend it was french toast. But it wasn't. And I grew pretty despondent, after the success with the Brown Cow a few days before. Apparently, that had been a fluke, and now I was back to being a flake in the kitchen. Oh well, I thought, defeated, back to the grocery store vegetable trays I usually bring to parties.

I found out how humble pie tastes. It tastes eggy and burny.

Then, this afternoon, something happened. I was watching Holiday Inn, which is a strange movie starring Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, a bunch of spineless and thin-ankled women, and a really strange song dedicated to Abraham Lincoln that the whole cast sings in black face, and , my mind wandered, since the movie was making me pretty uncomfortable. My mind wandered back to every task I've undertaken and quit. Piano lessons, dance classes, singing in the choir (though, really, I had no business in any singing based activity), soccer, sewing classes, even this stinking blog.

In an effort to be less of a quitter, to do the sort of hard, introspective work that I associate with being an adult, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and I tried again. It wasn't quite perfect, but let me provide visual evidence for the fact that I at least got myself within the ballpark (is that even a sports metaphor? it looks strange.).

Better, right? Someone, somewhere, would believe that this was baked apple french toast.

I promise this isn't going to be a cooking blog, because I really don't EVER cook anything, and this past weekend was a total anomaly with two cooking events in three days. But now I'm set until 2011. Seriously. It's just really snowy and cold here, and I don't have anything else to be doing, and trying to cook--and trying to blog about it--is better than trying heroin or gambling or murder, or any other trouble I could go getting myself into.

In the spirit of this newfound determination, I'm going to attempt the Snoqualmie pass tomorrow, for some quality time in Seattle with Katie before heading to P-town for the duration. Wish me godspeed and good defensive driving skills for tomorrow. I probably won't blog for a few days (tragedy!) (people sobbing and renting their clothes!) (I'm sorry Melissa--keeping you from doing your real work is the very best reason I have for keeping up with this thing), but I leave you with this very, very dear Christmas gift.

Enjoy!

What Other Blogs Do

Step One of Being a Good Blogger, according to Natalie who is an absolute expert and brilliant blogger, is reading other blogs. So, today I visited several bloggers of note. Here is what I found:

1. A woman who really, really loves her rabbits and painstakingly documents their complex social interactions. Admittedly, the rabbits are cute.
2. Another woman who is getting her nails painted every day for the entire year. (I think. It was hard to understand if she was getting all of her nails done every day, or just a single nail done each day. Maybe she is doing her own nails every day?? Regardless, it's ambitious.)
3. A blog about owl tattoos, and the people who have them--obviously, a clear winner in my book.

What this "research" made clear to me is that I don't have any owl tattoos (Yet. But those pictures got me thinking). Nor do I have the financial freedom or patience to be getting my nails done everyday. And I certainly don't have wack-a-doo rabbits, or any other pet, about whom I can take cute photos and tell amusing stories.

But I do have these:

They're a bromeliad and a philodendron (so says my mother). I call them...the bromeliad and the philodendron. And they're hilarious! The bromeliad is totally a classic cactus--you know, kind of stand-offish and independent, while the philodendron is high-maintenance, needy, but pretty endearing for the way it's always reaching out to you with its floppy stems. Adorable. And totally worth blogging about.

Or not. I'm still figuring this whole thing out.

In other news, of professional note, my first story was published in the Hayden's Ferry Review! It came out last week, and even though I haven't had the stomach yet to actually open it up and look, I am pleased as punch about this. Additionally, I spent two hours today working on a different story, and wrote a new line (that's right, one single line) that I really like. It all makes me feel that although the game is far from over, I'm scoring a couple points. Or goals. Touchdowns. I'm on the board. Whatever. Sports metaphors aren't really my bag.

Blog over.