Cream Cheese Biscuits

Cream Cheese Biscuits with Buttermilk by Mikaela Cowles

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I have a tendency to act first and think later. While my dad always attributed this particular trait to my success on the basketball court, I’ve found it can also lead to walking into doors – literally. My nose has left a greasy print on its fair share of glass.

It’s led to being the girl who twirls in streets and loves to pick friends up in bear hugs. It’s the catalyst for this woman who states her mind, even in the face of public disapproval; this Seattleite who believes in an uncommon combination of gun rights, the right to choose, marriage equality and healthcare privatization; and this gal who wears cowboy boots with her pearls.  Continue reading

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Duke of Earl Cookies

Duke of Earl Cookies by Kristen Jensen

Not long ago I flew to Boise. It was a quaint city that felt more like a town than a metropolis. The mountains seemed to spill into the city streets. Cars actually stopped for pedestrians. Shop owners smiled when I walked through the door. Back alley pubs sported large patios. Graffiti was less teenage tagging and more artist confusing brick with canvas. It was the kind of spot where you expected to get whisked into the air and kissed by someone tall and handsome. Don’t worry. I knew the man doing the whisking.

Garrett and I were there visiting Gran and Gramps (his grandparents on his father’s side). They spoiled us – me in particular. There were niçoise salads and steak in a cream and mushroom sauce. There was ice-skating and a trip to Sun Valley. There was chocolate – oh, how there was chocolate. There was conversation and naps and one morning there were hot air balloons – a whole sky full of them just a few city blocks away. Continue reading

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When he showed me his heart

Beef and Cabbage Buns with CheeseWe met in kindergarten. I love to tell people that when they ask. And it’s true. We did. We met when he had a blond afro and I thought leggings and unicorn shirts were the best thing since sliced bread and Post Toatsies.

What girl wouldn’t want a story like that? The only problem is, by the time I was 26, I wouldn’t have recognized him walking down the street. (I’d have checked him out. Slyly of course. But that’s a whole different story.)

I also like to tell people we met through his mom. That’s true too. Though she wasn’t trying to set him up with anything more than a basketball playing companion. Continue reading

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