Conglomeration of life

Below is a conglomeration of life I either noticed or experienced in recent weeks. The thoughts are scattered and unpolished (like everything else on my blog, except maybe just a bit more). But I hope you enjoy a peek into life here.


“Hola, American.” A sub-Saharan man said the words almost under his breath as we passed on the street.

I didn’t think much about it until I was a few steps beyond him. How did he know I was American? Someone must have told him.

Due to the abundance of Russian immigrants and the lack of North American ones, my community assumes I’m Russian. In fact, when I started Spanish class, my Russian classmate told me that she’s seen me around and always thought I was a Russian.

Last night in class, she worked on forming a sentence with the imperfect subjunctive: “Trish has a face as if she were Russian.” After various corrections and alterations, we all were very familiar with the idea that Trish looks Russian.


“I thought to myself: I hope she makes brownies. And you did!” My student pulled the brownie plate closer to her and grinned at me with shining eyes. And she didn’t protest when I sent the leftovers home with her after class.


Little arms thrown wide with delight in overhead bubbles.


Four neighbors were on the front stoop when I stepped out the front door of the apartment building.

“Are you having a meeting?” I asked with a laugh.

No, two were just out for a smoke and had collected the others coming in or out the door. Like me.

“Sit down here. Join us.” Demanded the middle-aged man from the second floor. We hadn’t seen each other for a while so maybe he thought he needed the latest scoop on my life.
Not really wanting to wedge myself between two people with lit cigarettes, I stood back just enough to enjoy the breeze that waltzed down the street.

“You don’t smoke, do you?” The second floor neighbor asked.

“No.”

“Do you drink?”

“Not that either.”

“What about the other thing?”

Was this a morality test? I hesitated, not knowing for sure what he meant. “Marijuana?” I asked hopefully. “No, not that either.”

“No. Making love.” He tinged a bit with this. I suppose you could say I had forced him to say it.

The lady on the other side of the stoop eyed me. “It’s not worth it. Men are too complicated.”

“You say men are too complicated!” He was indignant. “It’s the women who are too complicated.”

It was a good time to leave. So I made a light, overgeneralized comment. They laughed. I told them goodbye and continued on my way.


I had almost reached the language school when I noticed a woman was getting out of her car. She was a bleached blonde with dark eye makeup. The combination made her seem sad somehow. Behind her was a mural of a woman with streaking mascara.

Two sad ladies on the corner, almost like a piece of visual poetry, I thought, and continued walking.

I was in the middle of the crosswalk when muffins, donuts, and bread came skidding across the road toward me. I hesitated mid-stride. Was I hallucinating, my subconscious pulling up cravings for foods I rarely ate?

But no. A delivery van’s door had slid open as the van bumbled through the roundabout. The goodies inside had tumbled onto the street with enough momentum to shoot them in my direction.

I helped gather the packages littered across the roundabout and toss them into crates. The poetic sad lady from the corner helped too.

“Gracias!” the man told Sad Lady. “Chokran!” he told me.

I paused and looked down. Sometimes when I wear a dress, people ignore my fair coloring and assume I’m North African. Not that it matters, I suppose. Russian. North African.

Why not?


I trailed Sad Lady into the language school–who knew she was going there too?!–and when I couldn’t get my questions answered at the front desk as I had hoped, I began to chat with her.

She was planning to test for English; I for Spanish. “Let’s meet for coffee to practice!” she said and we exchanged phone numbers.


The next evening, my neighbor and I were only a couple of blocks from home when we saw the drunkest person I have ever seen in Spain. He stumbled out of a salón de juegos and clambered on his bike. Both he and the bike splattered onto the sidewalk. He gave an unintelligible monologue at high decibels but appeared relatively undamaged.

Just a block later, a man bumped into my neighbor. “I’m sorry! I was looking over there while I was walking and didn’t see you!” he said while his arm gave an exaggerated swing in the direction of the park.

“No problem,” my neighbor said graciously. “It happens.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not a racist. And I’m not a thief. You have to be careful on the street. Hold your bag like this!” He tugged the strap of his man purse. Then he clasped his hands together, and gave a wobbly bow in mid-stride and began the same speech again.

And again.

And so we continued several blocks with his cycle of effervescent apologies and wobbly bowing.

My neighbor and I finally stopped at a store to let him get ahead of us.

“Well,” I sighed. “We’re only a few blocks from home. What else is going to happen? Should we go back?”


Hopscotch boxes drawn all of the way to 85, progressively lopsided from weary little hands.


I fell out of bed the other morning. I was freshly awake and rolled over, only to realize that during the night, I had perched myself on the edge of the bed. Fortunately, I caught myself with flailing limbs before I made a resounding boom on the downstairs neighbors’ ceiling.

Who needs caffeine? There’s nothing quite like tumbling out of bed for a delightful adrenaline rush.


A friend cried when I brought her a gift. We sat on the floor together just inside her front door while she fingered every item in the gift bag with grateful tears. Someone cared.


The safety of Grandma’s hand holding fast.


A house with crumbs and sticky that remind me that someone has honored me with their presence in my home.

Recipe: roasted almonds

Roasting almonds is one of the easiest things in the world to do. You might buy your almonds already roasted, but roasting them at home is more fun. I’ve been roasting my own for a few years and finally decided I needed to write down a recipe since they never turned out the same. Note that these measurements are approximate; feel free to skip the measuring or branch out with your seasonings.

  • 4 c. raw almonds
  • 1 Tbsp. extra virgen olive oil
  • 1/2 tsp. garlic powder
  • 1/4-1/2 tsp. black pepper, finely ground
  • 1 tsp. salt, finely ground (I found that regular salt didn’t stick to the almonds, so I tried popcorn salt. If you have an electric grinder, grinding your preferred salt should work too.)

Stir almonds and olive oil until the almonds are uniformly coated. Add the seasonings and stir until spread evenly.

Spread on a baking sheet and bake at 300° F. (150° C) for about 15 minutes, stirring halfway through. Cool before serving.

Recipe: relatively healthy oatmeal chocolate chip cookies

These cookies are like breakfast muffins except in cookie form… probably an attempt to trick your brain. So, if you’re looking for a crisp, chocolatey bit of sweetness, these cookies aren’t it. But they do carry their own charm if you’re willing to give them a try.

I started making these cookies about the time I tried to eliminate refined white sugar and flour from my everyday diet. I still make them today, but I added the “relatively healthy” modifier because although they’re healthier than regular cookies, I’m not sure how healthy they are when I eat them in uncontrolled quantities. 😉

Like most cookies, they’re best fresh. Make sure you serve them with milk or tea if they last for a few days.

unbaked cookies on baking sheet
  • 1 1/4 c. oats
  • 1 1/2 c. oat flour
  • 1/2 tsp. baking soda
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 5 Tbsp. (70g) coconut oil, melted then cooled
  • 1/4 c. honey
  • 1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce (I peel and puree an apple. 1 apple = about 1/2 c.)
  • 2 eggs, beaten
  • at least 100g chunked dark chocolate or semi-sweet chocolate chips

Mix ingredients. Chill dough for about 10 minutes. Press each dough ball before baking (see photo). The cookies hardly spread at all, so you can fit a lot on 1 cookie sheet.

Bake at 350° F. (180° C) for 15 minutes or until done. Makes about 30 cookies.

Recipe: chocolate-coconut granola

With the descent of summer, do you need a recipe for cold breakfasts? I’ve been faithfully using this granola recipe for the last several years. Granted, it has evolved over the last several years and feel free to keep it evolving to fit your preferences. 🙂

  • 5 c. Old-Fashioned oats
  • 1 c. unsweetened coconut
  • 1 c. walnuts
  • 1/2 c. unsalted sunflower seeds (if you use salted seeds, omit salt from the ingredient list)
  • 1/3 c. ground flax
  • 3 Tbsp. chia seeds
  • 1 generous tsp. ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp. salt

Stir dry ingredients. In a separate bowl combine:

  • 1/3-1/2 c. honey (I use 1/3 but, as a rule, I don’t like things very sweet)
  • 1/2 c. coconut oil, melted
  • 1 tbsp. vanilla

Stir and then pour over dry ingredients. Stir granola until well mixed. Bake on cookie sheet at 325° F. (160° C) for 40-45 minutes, stirring halfway through. Aim for golden brown. After the granola has cooled, add:

  • 200g (approximately 1 1/2 c.) dark chocolate, chunked
granola on baking tray
Note: double recipe pictured above

Recipe: Gingerbread cookies

Ever since North Africa, these cookies have been my Christmas tradition. Not only are they yummy, but they are also fun to make because they retain their shape. The original recipe can be found on thekitchenpaper.com. I’ve altered it very slightly and included some notes at the bottom. I’ve also included some of the weights in case you weigh your ingredients like I tend to.

  • 3 c. (384 g) flour
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 1+ tbsp. ground ginger (a smidgen more for a better kick)
  • 2 tsp. ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 tsp. ground cloves
  • 6 tbsp. (85 g) butter
  • 3/4 c. (150 g) brown sugar
  • 1 large egg
  • 1/2 c. (160 g) molasses
  • 2 tsp. vanilla

Whisk the flour, salt, and spices together. Cream the butter and sugar until they’ve just come together. Add the egg, and mix until incorporated. Add molasses and vanilla. Mix. Slowly mix in the flour mixture until your dough forms. If your dough is crumbly, add 1 tsp. of milk at a time until it comes together. Roll out at room temperature on a lightly floured surface to 1/4″ thickness. Bake at 375° F. (190° C) for 8-9 minutes.

shaped gingerbread cookies on counter

Note: You really don’t want your dough sticky. It’s a headache. The more flour you add to keep them from sticking to your rolling pin, the less flavorful they will be.

Also note: If you like your gingerbread cookies thin and crispy, by all means, roll them thin. But don’t forget to decrease the baking time like I forgot to do this year. 😦

Third note: These turn out best when you’re listening to Christmas music. 🙂

Well? What are you thankful for?

Well? What are you thankful for this year? 

Thanksgiving is one day that we set aside to be thankful for our blessings. 

Of course, we shouldn’t only practice our thanksgiving sitting down to a feast of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade dinner rolls, and pumpkin pie. We know that. And I hope we practice that. But it doesn’t hurt us to recap a year of thankfulness before every Thanksgiving feast. 

I look back on 2019 and see things I wish had not happened, things I wish I had done differently, and things I wish others had done differently.

But even though we bumble through life, getting a few things right and a lot of things wrong, the “High King of Heaven” is always in control. He’s not up there sweating bullets that we will mess up His plan. In fact, He is letting us be part of His plan. Our sin and sorrow are never too big to be turned into a beautiful redemption story in His plan. 

As this year closes, I am thankful that after all I have done and faced this year, the Father blesses His child’s prayer:

“Thou and thou only, first in my heart.”

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art;
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tow’r:
Raise Thou me heav’nward, O Pow’r of my pow’r.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heav’n’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Attr. Dallan Forgaill, tr. Eleanor Hull