Bali soup

I spent my birthday last year in Bali and it was nothing short of incredible. I could go on and on. The food was lovely, but not really my thing. I'm more of a cheeseburger girl. By the end of the trip, I was ready to be done with the rabbit food and get back to some meat. On the last night, we all ate together at a tiny little restaurant called The Melting Wok. The menu was limited and all pretty rabbit food like, so I just ordered what our guide recommended, not really expecting much. That soup turned out to be hands down one of the best things I have ever put in my mouth. I begged the owner for the recipe, but she was unwilling to run the risk that I would move to Bali and open up a restaurant of my own with which she simply could not compete. Or something.

Anyhow, I was faced with the daunting task of replicating the recipe myself. Having never done much experimenting in kitchen, I was intimidated. But I have done it! I could not be more excited about it! I searched for similar recipes and found this one. It was a good starting point, but still required a few trial runs with changes and tweaks to get it right. If I ever get to go back to Bail, I'll go back to the Melting Wok and compare, but for now, I am so happy with this recipe.

3 cups fresh spinach leaves

1/2 pound snow peas, trimmed and cut in half crosswise

1 (5 3/4-ounce) package pad thai noodles (wide rice stick noodles)

1 tablespoon canola oil

1/4 cup thinly sliced shallots

2 teaspoons red curry paste

1 1/2 teaspoons curry powder

1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric

1/2 teaspoon ground coriander

2 garlic cloves, minced

Enough chicken bouillon for 6 cups of broth (but not that much water!)

2 tablespoons fresh lemongrass *

2-4 tablespoons sambal (depending on how spicy you like it)

2 (13.5-ounce) cans coconut milk

2 1/2 cups shredded cooked chicken breast (about 1 pound)

1/2 cup chopped green onions

2 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons fish sauce

1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

A splash or two of lime juice

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the snow peas and the spinach for 30 seconds, then remove with a slotted spoon. Add rice noodles and boil for 2-3 minutes. Drain, but reserve 4 cups of water, add bouillon and set aside. Back in the pot, heat oil and add shallots, curry paste, curry powder, turmeric, coriander, and garlic. Sautee for 1 minute. Add chicken broth, lemongrass, and sambal. Bring to a boil, then add coconut milk. Return to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Add chicken, green onions, sugar, and fish sauce (unless, like me, your husband hates fish sauce and you're not allowed to have it in the house) and cook for 2 minutes. Return peas, spinach, and noodles to the pot and add cilantro and lime juice. Add some more sambal. And then some more. Hmmm maybe just a bit more. Don't be a wuss.

I hope you love this soup as much as I do (which is a lot). My husband says this is now his favorite thing that I make. But if you have suggestions, I'm open to them, so let me know!

how I fell in love with my bullet journal

Something that I learned (or maybe relearned) about myself this year is that I'm insanely motivated by check marks. In fact, keeping a to-do list proved to be one of the most helpful tools for overcoming my baby blues. But until now that to-do list has been scrawled on scrap paper or kept on an app that somehow takes the fun out of crossing things off. I decided I wanted a planner that would help me be my most productive self and one that was beautiful.

Problems:
1. In a bound planner, if I miss a few days for vacation or sickness, those are wasted pages. If you need extra pages for something, too bad.
2. A binder is so bulky and...un-chic. Or you can buy a chic one for $$$ and then special pages to fit it for $$$.
3. I searched for ages trying to find the perfect layout, But nothing was perfect. I wanted perfect. I even tried to design my own to print.
4. Printing your own planner pages is super expensive.
5. When you buy a planner, you are committed for that year. No take-backs. I just wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.

Solution:
Bullet Journal

In a bullet journal, you write in as much or as little as you want. You choose if you want monthly spreads, weekly spreads, daily spreads, or all three. And, you can change your mind about any of that at any time! In a bullet journal you can add in notes and quotes, lists and doodles, you can tape in photos or tickets or whatever you like. In a bullet journal, you never waste space or run out of space--until your journal is full, of course.

I started by watching this video about a bare-bones bullet journal. It was immediately apparent that this system would solve many of the aforementioned problems with a journal. But if you google image search 'bullet journal', you'll see that a bullet journal can be so much more. It can be beautiful. My personal favorite is Boho Berry, and I took a lot of inspiration from her designs. But that's the best thing about a bullet journal- it is yours and yours alone. It is a planner designed for you by you to perfectly meet your needs. And since mine is beautiful, I enjoy using it and productivity is even more fun! I have been experimenting with different layouts in some blank pages of an older journal, but for 2016 I have a band new one that I am so excited about! When I get back from my Christmas vacation I will share my weekly and daily layouts, but here are some teaser pics for now.

Thanks to Boho Berry for the mandala tutorial!

Beyonce at the Super Bowl

I feel the need, as I often do, to soften my opinions with a few nice disclaimers before I begin: Beyonce is an incredibly talented and beautiful woman, and I'm sure she has a lot of other wonderful characteristics that I could point out if I knew her better.

But I strongly disapprove of her Super Bowl performance. And it has saddened me to see how many women raved about it. I wish they could see what I see.

Today I came across this article on Facebook entitled "A Dance of Power, Not Sex". Just in case you don't want to read it, it talks about the lack of male influence in Beyonce's show, both on the level of the dancers as well as on the level of production. Which is a great point......I guess? Score one for Beyonce that she didn't have half naked men grinding up against her in her show. But the article also claims that this is what normal people saw from that show, and that anyone who noticed the super skimpy clothing and provocative movements only noticed that because they had a dirty mind to begin with. I find that insulting. So the only reason I am an advocate for modesty and have such concern for the young women of America is because I have a dirty mind? I think not.

Do you think the young girls of America saw power and female independence? I doubt it. Or even if they did, I think they could hardly escape another message, that is far too frequent already: that showing more skin goes hand in hand with being more popular and even more successful. And I don't think they saw that because they are bad people, I think they saw that because society has trained them to see that.

Then there's the issue of objectifying women. The article above claims that those of us with dirty minds saw too much sexiness because we objectify women. Immodesty inevitably leads to objectifying women. Don't believe me? Check out this article from cracked.com that lists several ways that dressing sexy degrades women, one of which is that even women objectify women. The "Defiant Dance" article even talked about examples of women objectifying Beyonce, although the article missed the point that this was a bad thing. It quoted women's reaction to the half-time show along the lines of "I want her figure". This kills me. I wish so terribly that America had more truly strong and independent female role models that could inspire us to greater goals than merely having a body different from the one we already have. We have far too many "role models" that do that to us already.

And, maybe more importantly, the world needs more strong women like my mom, who are willing to speak out against the inappropriate whenever it rears its ugly head.

Dr. Phil's "slut shaming": my two cents

I watched Dr. Phil at the gym today, which was a mistake. It just got me all riled up with opinions and feelings and things, but no way to tell the guests on his show what I thought of their arguments. It made it worse that today's topic is something that I feel so strongly about. So here are my two cents about Dr. Phil's show about "slut shaming".

Let me be clear from the beginning that being mean to people is never OK. One of my favorite Bible stories is of Jesus forgiving the adulteress, and he never once called her a slut. That being said....

Dr. Phil asked his guest "slut shamer" a couple of questions, the answer to which seemed so obvious that the slut shamer was left speechless. For example, "Doesn't she have the right to decide how she's going to dress?" The poor guy couldn't say yes, because that would be admitting that he's wrong, but he couldn't say no or they'd burn him at the stake then and there.

Well, since Dr. Phil and his mostly female audience can't burn me, so I'll say it. No. She absolutely doesn't have that right. If I decide I'm sick of clothes and I go to the grocery store naked as a jay bird, I'd get arrested for "indecent exposure". So can I wear my most revealing lingerie to the grocery store? No. So I only have the right to wear whatever I want, so long as society accepts it.

Then Dr. Phil asked the slut shamer "So who gets to decide what she can and can't wear? You?" Faced with the same double edged sword dilemma as the previous question, he again stumbled for something to say. But me, I'll say it. Yes, he absolutely does have the right to tell her what is OK and what is not OK to wear.

 Well, who decided that being naked in the grocery store was indecent? The cop arresting me? No, society. Society decided that that's not OK. Society doesn't give me the right to run around naked. But if society makes the rules, then the slut shamer has as much right to dictate what is appropriate or not as the scantily clad woman on the show does, because they are both members of society. In fact, I'd go so far as to say he has a responsibility to take a stand for modesty (thought maybe in a nicer way). If members of society who don't approve of sluttiness keep their mouths shut to escape being labeled as judgmental or closed minded or oppressive, then they will end up living in a society where it is OK to go to the grocery store in sexy lingerie. Heck, it's already OK and even expected to wear it to Halloween parties.

One of the guests had the argument that since men sleeping around is often applauded, women shouldn't be punished for the same activity by being called sluts or whores. Well......OK.......I see where you're coming from. And I agree that it's not strictly fair, and again I'm against being mean. but if you're searching for gender equality, then adopting men's weaknesses is a stupid way of doing it, and whining that they get to make poor decisions without consequences so you should be able to too is  a childish way of doing it. And if men are hormone driven and endlessly promiscuous as you say, then dressing up like sex dolls and advertising that you can be exactly what they want you to be--well I don't think that accomplishes your purposes either.

Of course, you can't have a show on sluttiness without someone who, by the standards of the slut shamer, is a slut, right? Well, let's just say she looked the part. Part of her intro was a montage of photos of her, apparently that she'd posted to the internet, that were so provocative and revealing that they had to be blurred to save the blushing and modest face of daytime television (*cough*). And then she proceeded to get all butt-hurt that the slut shamer called her a slut. Where do I even start?

For one thing, if I go around always wearing black with black makeup and metal spikes adorning all my things and go to vampire clubs, I can't get my panties in a bunch if someone calls me goth. If I insist on always having Channel and Gucci and Prada and Armani things, I can't go crying to mommy that someone called me rich at school.

For another thing, by getting offended because people regularly call you a slut, you are admitting that being a slut is a bad thing, or it wouldn't be an insult. But you keep on acting like a slut. So either clean up your act or stop complaining that people see you for what you publish yourself to be.

Then, right before my workout was done and I had to leave, a seeming voice of reason came. A lady who, like me, didn't want to persecute people who exhibit slutty behavior (also known as sluts), but was an advocate for modesty. I was able to hear one great, wonderful, faith-in-humanity-restoring point from her. What about young girls? What are slutty women teaching them? That in order to be attractive to men you have to wear lingerie to the grocery store? That the only really redeeming or attractive quality a woman can have is her body? That you're only attractive if you can be sexier and more provocative than the next girl? And, let's add the poor young boys. How are they supposed to grow up respecting women if all the girls they know are posting provocative pictures of themselves, like that's all their good for? How is anyone supposed to grow up to have functional and healthy relationships?

So, dear women of the world, dress modestly. Dress like you respect yourself and care about the well being of future generations. Stop dressing like showing more skin is the only way to get people to like you.. It just makes you look desperate anyway.

dear chick-fil-a

Dear Chick-fil-A,

I noticed that you seem to be under heavy fire and criticism on the internet and I wanted to extend my deepest sympathies to you. It would seem that you have been labeled a "bigot" because of "documented support of anti-gay groups". As a result, you have lost the friendship of the Jim Henson Company and no doubt much business from the "more open minded" that will no longer patronize such a closed-minded business.

I thought you might like to know that there are some people on your side, and I thought maybe someone out there might like to know why I'm on your side. I feel I have good reasons, neither of which is that I am opposed to gay marriage. (I am against gay marriage, that just doesn't factor into my arguments).

1. The Jim Henson Company will no longer allow you to include Muppet toys in your kid's meals because you are a "bigot". A bigot is "a person who is utterly intolerant of any differeing creed belief, or opinion", according to dictionary.com. So, as far as I can tell, The Jim Henson Company is the one acting like a bigot. If you had refused to sell their toys because they are pro-gay marriage, then you 'd have been a bigot. But, seeing as how you accepted the fact that not everyone sees the world the way you do and still got along with them just fine shows that you are the bigger person (or in this case, corporation). Obviously, I disagree with the Jim Henson Company's views. But I'm not going to run out and burn my Muppets from Space DVD. I love that movie!

2. One of the most nonsensical criticisms I have found against you is the following image.

Obviously the creator intended to show how ridiculous you are for having a different opinion from all the other restaurant owners. I have two objections. Firstly, what in the world does your political stance on gay marriage have to do with fried chicken? It's not like every Chick-fil-A meal comes with anti-gay marriage propaganda, and I'm quite sure your restaurant doesn't ask you about your opinion before serving you food. Secondly, who bothers to dig up a restaurant owners opinions about stuff before consenting to eat there? I surely don't. And even for those who do, if you refuse to do business with anyone who doesn't agree with everything you think or believe, that makes YOU the bigot.

And so Chick-fil-A, I wish you the best. I pray there are enough open minded people out there to believe that a difference of opinion or belief doesn't mean we have to cut all ties or go on the offensive.

Love, Ashlee

one nation under God

This has been on my mind for while, ever since my brother and I had a conversation about atheists trying to ban or remove crosses from military sites or other sites of sacrifice or loss. The whole concept confuses me. If I came to your house after a loved one died and tried to erect a cross in your front yard, then your protest would be understandable. I fully support your right to not believe in God, and you shouldn't have to act like you do. But the other side of that coin is that you can't run around yelling at other people who do believe in God and act accordingly that they are cramping your style.

But there is a bigger picture here that I don't expect any atheist understand or agree with, but I think it implies a great responsibility for the rest of us.

America is Christian. There, I said it. And I don't mean as a sum of its parts, that the majority of citizens are Christian. I mean America is Christian, just like the Bible is.

We recently celebrated the 4th of July, the "birthday of America", our independence day. We celebrate on this day because it was the day that our founding father's signed the Declaration of Independence, even though our fight for independence hadn't even begun.

This is the first paragraph of that first, American document.

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

See? Nature's God? It was an appeal to our God-given rights that created our great nation in the first place. And it is to that God that we owe thanks that our great nation survived the War of Independence. Consider the last verse of our National Anthem, that struck me as we sang it on Sunday.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

I'm sure I don't need to enumerate other evidences such as the pledge of allegiance as referenced by my post title or the reminder on our money "In God we Trust". But I will quote a verse from the Book of Mormon that underlines my point. Ether 3:2 says,

"And he had sworn in his wrath unto the brother of Jared, that whoso should possess this land of promise, from that time henceforth and forever, should serve him, the true and only God, or they should be swept off when the fullness of his wrath should come upon them."

I guess what I'm saying is that if atheists succeed in robbing us of one of the most important aspects of our nation, or if we casually forget what America is, what makes it great, we are in for big trouble. Again, I'm not trying to force Christianity on anyone, but if you don't like the fact that America is Christian and are hell-bent on changing that, maybe you should consider Europe. It's nice there.

havasupai

I'd been looking forward to this vacation for years, ever since my sister Cassity went in 2008 and raved about it. It seemed right up my alley-hiking, camping, stunning waterfalls-what's not to love? So when Christian couldn't get enough work off to accompany me I was sad, but decided to go anyway.

My older Ryan said he'd pick me up at 4 am, but as is all too typical with my family, he didn't show until 4:45. So I jumped into his "monstrosity of a vehicle" and we began the 9 hour drive.

On my way into a McDonald's in Vegas to relieve myself, a wrinkly, gangly black man was sitting by the entrance and I braced myself for when he would surely ask me for money. Instead, he asked me, "D'you buy that van that way?" "No," I replied, "my brother made it that way. He's crazy." He laughed.

Around 3 in the afternoon we finally reached the trailhead. While Ryan finished packing things that were strewn about his van, I walked to the office to see if I could get anymore information (we couldn't see where the trail started from our parking spot). The office was padlocked and vacant, but I did find these unhelpful and downright confusing signs.

So we were forbidden to hike at night and there was no day hiking. Hmmm. Well, we'd driven 9 hours and weren't about to head back, so a nice couple in the parking lot pointed us to the trailhead and we began our descent into the Grand Canyon.

At first it looked really cool, hiking down in like that. I'd never seen the Grand Canyon before, and now I was really experiencing it. Unfortunately, after only a mile or two of the total eight for us to hike that day, the heat exhaustion set in. I had a headache, I was sweating faster than I could drink, and I felt like throwing up. Ryan took good care of me, making me rest in the shade and sharing his water that was colder than mine, but it put a serious damper on how excited I was to continue. The trail seemed to stretch on forever, with no sign of hope or life or water-nothing but dry and deadly desert.

Eventually we made it to the villiage and started seeing signs "Campground -->" We followed sign after sign and found no campground and it began to seem like some sort of cruel joke. When we finally arrived at the fabled campground it was dark and it took us a while to find our friends and family waiting for us. It was only eight miles (much shorter than my beloved Timp hike) and it was all downhill, but I was exhausted and my calves HURT. And I'll admit it, we were grumpy.

The next day my calves were like bricks, but I told them I was the boss, and I told them to walk. We visited a few different waterfalls that day that were pretty neat, and I'd say the falls match any of the marvelous ones I saw in Croatia.

The water was deliciously cold, a fact that was enhanced by how dang hot it was. It seemed you stepped out of the water for a moment and you were dry, another moment and you were soaked again- this time in sweat.

That night I was rudely awoken by a cockroach crawling on my face and should have known then that nothing good could come of a day that started off that way. We set off for Cassity's favorite falls, and I'll admit the first part of the hike was nifty. Not long after leaving the campground we came to the top of the biggest waterfall of all, and had to climb in and out of the rock walls, clinging for dear life to the chains along the way, on the near vertical descent to the bottom of the falls.

For someone who is afraid of heights, it was a little nerve racking, but fun all the same. If only we had stopped there.

The trail from then to Cassity's favorite falls was in and out of the water, and even though I'd taped my emerging blisters, it didn't take long for my wet Chaco's to start to be a nuisance. Plus, my infamously bad knees were fed up with what I had been putting them through, and they would not be ignored any longer. After many ups and downs and false turns, I was very much ready to be done and swim and then head home. Still, it was intriguing in a way to hike through the random jungle there in the middle of the desert; it was eerie and out of place.

After a small eternity- or at least that's how it seemed to my knees and everything below- we reached Beaver Falls, but the trail that Cassity remembered had been wiped out by a flood, and we couldn't figure out a way down to the swimming hole. Ryan was eager to swim and opted for climbing down the cliff face, an option way to dangerous and scary for me. The others opted for a different, more accessible swimming spot, but I didn't feel good about leaving Ryan alone, so I followed the directions of some others already swimming on an easier way to get in. After a while it became clear that I was searching in vain, there was no easy way down. I was lost, frightened, in pain, frustrated and alone. When I finally found the spot where Ryan had climbed down, it was still too scary and I sat down and sobbed. Loud enough for the swimmers to hear me over the waterfall. They climbed up and helped me down the cliff as I sobbed in terror; I knew I would fall and die right there. We swam for a while in the mediocre swimming pool, but it just wasn't that great. We wasted time looking for an easier escape route, but eventually had to leave the way we came, with people dragging me along through tears of terror.

After the fact, Ryan admitted that it was foolish to attempt such a climb without safety gear. Needless to say that I was not exactly in the mood for the hike back to camp.

Ryan and I were still super achy from the hike in, and he needed to get back to work as soon as possible, so we decided to take the helicopter out instead of hike. I was pleased that my knees and blisters would be spared any more strain, and that heat exhaustion wouldn't be an issue again, but mostly I was excited about how much that would expedite my return to my husband.

Tuesday morning, my legs below the knees were swollen and I hobbled along like a granny. The hike from the campground to the village was probably only about a mile, but the whole time I just kept telling myself it was only a mile, and then a helicopter ride. I could do that. Very few times in my life have been as painfully disappointing as when we learned that the helicopter wouldn't fly again for two days; we would have to hike out after all.

We waited for some cloud cover and headed out. I clenched my teeth and hobbled along out of pure necessity, not knowing how I was going to manage this. Eventually it started to rain, and as the first sign at the office said, it was monsoon season and there was a danger of a flash flood. We found high ground and nervously waited it out. then the sun came out and it made progressing on our hike a foolish endeavor, so we waited it out in the shade. I didn't like stopping because it was hard to get my legs going again, but we had no choice. The last mile was the hardest- the steepest parts and the seemingly endless switchbacks as you exit the canyon. I only made it of pure necessity, of a desire to leave that horrible deathtrap and to see Christian as soon as possible. So make it I did, but just barely.

Ryan drove pretty much all through the night, so I got home early on the 4th, and was able to spend the whole day eating, watching Deep Space Nine, and resting my still swollen legs. They are mostly all better now, but I probably won't be returning to Havasupai- in fact I scoffed at the friendly sign on the way out inviting me to "Come again!".