As we all know, I cook and bake a lot and when I say a lot I’m not kidding.

We live in a food desert here in Arlington, VT so it’s necessary if we want to eat things we love and miss.

I love plating my food not just for photos, but for most meals. I can’t help it. How food looks is just as important to me as the taste.

I have a facebook friend who asked another friend if I was really cooking “all that food” or was I getting it somewhere and plating it up. 😂

My friend told her I was indeed cooking it all myself and there is nothing around us where I could even buy food like I make. I’ll take it as a nice compliment.

This week I was craving a roast beef club sandwich, diner or deli style with fries and a pickle.

Friedman’s deli in NYC is probably the only place I could find a proper club sandwich on gluten-free toast.

Everything in all the Friedman’s locations can be made gluten-free except for the matzoh ball soup and one other thing I can’t remember for the life of me.

I did a lot of prep work and baking this morning. My sister Jen and her daughter Sofia are coming for a quick visit this weekend.

After I finished my kitchen to-do list, I made some fries and our club sandwiches.

Early this morning, I watched a couple of YouTube videos on the proper layering of club sandwiches so I could get it just right.

Long story short, I was thrilled with how good they came out. I took a couple of photos before we ate like I always do.

I called Marty for lunch and asked him to eat somewhere else since the kitchen was a fucking wreck. He happily ate in front of the TV.

I made a spot for myself at the kitchen workbench. I took a couple more photos and why Marty couldn’t eat with me.

I laughed and took another photo of the picks in our sandwiches holding them together especially when cutting them in half.

I didn’t have the frilly ones that I love getting in diners and delis. I had to use bamboo skewers that worked exactly the same way but didn’t look as cute.

This gave me the idea to show how my food photos look during a food shot I would post.

I edit my photos by taking out the ugly stuff and making some of them cookbook-worthy.

I don’t have the time to turn my food pics into a full-on photo shoot like professional food bloggers do.

That’s why this isn’t a food blog website, I don’t have the time or money to make that happen.

I’m glad it’s not a food-only blog since I never know what I am going to write until I sit down and start typing. Lol.

I like that each blog post comes from right field and no one knows what to expect, that includes me.

Happy Friday friends! Enjoy your weekend. Cheers.💜

I was craving a hot steaming bowl of pho for lunch today. Pho is pronounced FA.

I triple checked myself on this one. Now you can see why I chose the title as it rhymes like faux pas, faux pho.

I say faux because I didn’t have the time or ingredients on hand. I looked up what pho soup base had in it and improvised.

I didn’t have veggies or proteins to make a proper pho but my taste buds didn’t care.

Was it as good as the one I had at a Vietnamese place? No, but it worked as a great sub on yet another cold and rainy day here in Vermont.

I decided to draw my lunch for fun and it’s good practice for me. All while Nelly was snuggled up tightly against me.

I’ve been meaning to write about my Entyvio infusion days at the hospital.

Entyvio is the new medication I started in November to treat my ulcerative colitis.

I was nervous in the beginning but have found I actually look forward to infusion day every other month.

The drug is working brilliantly keeping my UC in check. I haven’t experienced any side effects which is awesome.

I arrive at the infusion center and am always welcomed by the super friendly and nice infusion nurses.

After they take down my height and weight I am led into an infusion room.

I have one of the last appointments of the day at 2 pm meaning I have the room all to myself. This is wonderful.

It takes about 30 minutes for the nurse to call for my medication, draw bloodwork for my gastrointestinal, and start an IV.

While we are waiting for the medicine and I am getting settled I have my jacket and handbag hung up with my phone in my bag.

When the Entyvio arrives the nurse hooks it up to the IV and presses start. The timer will go off in 30 minutes when it’s done.

This is the part I love. I am “stuck” in a recliner chair with a cold water bottle, a pillow under my arm, and wrapped in a warm blanket. A warm blanket is the best!

I close my eyes and listen to the noise the IV machine makes. I focus on the sound and block out everything else. I doze a little and am totally relaxed.

While this is a necessary part of the maintenance of my UC it is also therapeutic for my well being.

During the infusion, it’s the only time I “have” to sit still. I take full advantage of this time not wasting a second of it.

I don’t scroll through my newsfeeds on social media and I have my phone on Do Not Disturb.

It’s wonderful being completely unplugged. This is self-care 101 which is as necessary as the drug being pumped through my vein.

The nurses in the infusion department told me many of their infusion patients look forward to their infusion days like me.

After the nurse removes the IV I take my time getting myself together and walk slowly back to my truck in a great state of mind. ☺️

I just finished this drawing a few minutes ago. I’m only a beginner, but this captures our three loves perfectly.

Drawing the bicycle built for three took me the longest. I’m not a left brain-thinker I am a right-brain thinker.

I love the arts, history, and literature. I suck at math and science. I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.

Since I learned on my online art class how to find perspective points and correct angles I was able to figure it out. Which was huge for me!

Drawing our pups was easier. Klaus was the alfa of the pack and the biggest, I knew he needed to be in the front seat of the bicycle.

Otto was harder for me to draw and while none of them are close to “perfect” I had a lot of trouble with his eyes and nose.

Otto was a beabull. He had the body of a bulldog with a beagle head plopped on top.

I have a good amount of practice drawing little Nelly. She needed to have a princess hat and be holding onto Otto for dear life

While Nelly never met Otto, I knew this was how it would have been.

Back in October, I found a print on Etsy that reminded me of Klaus and Nelly. It was all wrong but captured them in a special way.

When Christmas morning came I almost didn’t give the print to Marty since Klaus died only two weeks before.

This print didn’t feel right anymore since Klaus was with Otto now. We put it aside and never hung it up.

A week ago, I looked at the print again and decided I would draw all three of them on a bicycle.

I showed it to Marty and he loved it. I love it too! It feels right; it feels bittersweet.

I am finding my way as a beginner and have found my style so it speak.

I sign and date every piece I draw so I can go back and see how I improve over time.

Thank goodness we have Nelly to love and spoil because I miss the other two goofballs so much. ♥️

I just stumbled upon this Norman Rockwell painting called, “First signs of spring.” In the background I can hear Mother Nature calling back, “ You sister’s ass it’s spring.”

I stayed home from dance again tonight because of the rainy ice pouring down, high winds, and some snow thrown in for good measure.

I ended up getting 2 heat maps for my seeds to stay warm and a grow light. Both were pretty inexpensive being under $25.

Grow lights have come a long way. They now have led lighting, automatic timers and 3 different spectrum colors.

Since some of the seeds have sprouted and the rest need light to germinate, I took out my new grow light and am pretty impressed especially for one under 25 bucks.

I’m doing my best to plant flowers that I grew not transplanted. Right now, it’s a 50/50 crap shoot. In the meantime, I’ll have my fingers and toes crossed.

I wrote about my oldest son, Noah, and his Fuzzy Bunny a few weeks ago when he asked if I still had him.

Fuzzy Bunny was Noah’s favorite stuffed animal from when he was a baby until he grew up. Fuzzy Bunny went everywhere with us. Did I still have him? Of course, I did.

He’s been sitting on a shelf ever since Noah moved out. Sometimes, when I passed him, I would get mushy and think he was like Buzz and Woody in Toy Story when Andy grew up.

When I gave him to Noah yesterday, on Easter Sunday, it made my heart melt; it was one of those things that made this mama’s heart so full and happy. 

Our Easter holiday turned out differently than I planned, but I can pivot on a dime at this point in my life. 

Marty helped our friends who own the Arlington Inn and our buddy Chef Martin with an Easter Brunch. The brunch was a wonderful feast of exquisite food on the buffet menu. 

The team outdid themselves and worked together like they have for decades, not just a few times over the last year. The best part is they have a blast doing it. I got some of the leftovers, so I was a happy girl.

Of course, this canceled my planned Easter dinner menu but turned it into a lovely brunch for Noah, Aja, and me. We had a wonderful time together, talking a lot and enjoying brunch ourselves.

I made a crumb-bun French toast casserole, a cold asparagus salad with a sweet lemon vinaigrette, shrimp cocktail, maple bacon, and Bloody Marys for Aja and me. I also made a pizza gaina, a tradition since childhood. 

It’s an Italian Easter pie from southern Italy dating back centuries. It was intended to be the ultimate reward for fasting during the Lenten season. It is filled with ricotta, mozzarella, and provolone cheese.

It’s also stuffed with Italian meats, such as capicola, salami, mortadella, and pepperoni, which I forgot about this time. 

It’s eaten cold or at room temperature and is a familiar, flavorful Easter food memory from my childhood. I love making it as much as I love eating it.

Growing up in an Italian neighborhood, everyone bought or made pizza gaina every Easter. After we moved to Iselin, NJ, my parents would order a portion of pizza gaina from a small Italian market called Mistretta’s. 

I would walk down two blocks to Oak Tree Road and pick ours up. I remember it was still warm and how wonderful it smelled. It tasted the same as the ones we had in Elizabeth.

It’s usually made by people on Good Friday, which is a real temptation when fasting and not eating meat in the Catholic religion on Fridays, especially the tragic Friday. I’m sure millions of rosaries have been said whenever people were making this staple dish.

Even though I don’t practice the Catholic religion anymore, I realized it’s my nostalgic Holy Week memories that make me want not to eat meat on Fridays, especially the big one.

I succeeded in not eating any of the fillings but completely forgot about it when I made scallops for dinner. 

I made pan-seared scallops topped with bacon and lemon. I tasted the scallops and pasta. It was so delicious; halfway through the meal, I said, “Oh shit! I forgot about the bacon.” Oh, well, I tried.

I immediately remembered my belief that man-made religious rules no longer mattered to me. It’s all bullshit. Telling my sins to another sinner was the first thing I questioned as I grew older. I could tell God my sins without some middleman involved.

For example, why can the Pope excuse or permit people from eating meat when St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday during Lent? Why?

Well, because he’s the Pope, that’s why. Hang on a second. Honestly, I am not being disrespectful in any way, and everyone has a right to their beliefs, but in all reality, who is he? He is a man not without sin like the rest of us.

Every human is a sinner. He is a regular man, not God or Christ himself, who can allow people to break a rule in Catholicism.

That said, I won’t go straight to hell for eating bacon or that hotdog, I was told as a kid. Furthermore, I don’t have to say 10 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers for “sinning.”

I am sure all the other religions people who eat meat on Fridays don’t burn in hell, especially if they don’t know about any such rule.

In Catholicism, rules were meant to make people choose what pleasures they would give up as a sacrifice to show God their love. Love. That’s what it’s all about. We are all one with God with or without confessions to a priest and punishments in the form of memorized prayers.

This Easter, I was able to let some good childhood memories flood back in. This was my first year without a heart full of pain, anger, sadness, disappointment, and being a victim of abuse for decades.

It felt so wonderful that I can’t even explain it to anyone. By finally forgiving my mother a few weeks ago has made my heart softer, if that makes sense.

It feels like a teeny tiny piece of enlightenment I experienced when I was 9 years old. Oddly enough, I was thinking about God’s love when it happened in school that day.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of energy work on myself and working with the other side, helping many lost souls cross over and go home just like Fuzzy Bunny did. 

After Noah and Aja left, I sat down and drew Fuzzy Bunny; how I will remember him.

These last few weeks have been the calmest, safest, and most peaceful I have ever felt. Last week was truly a Holy Week for me and my close spiritual relationship with our creator. 

For those of you who have been reading my blog for quite a while you know about my adopted mother and my relationship.

I wrote about her a lot. I was trying to heal all the hurt, pain, disappointment, anger, and sadness she left me with after she died.

I appreciate each of you for your love and support while I was going through such a terrible time.

After I took down that mirror in our living room which was facing our dining room mirror creating a vortex inside our home.

The vortex was blocking anything good or positive from coming through the door. It also didn’t let stuff out either.

If you don’t know me that well please understand I’m different and I am not alone. I am blessed with “The Irish Gift.”

After removing the vortex I felt it immediately; blockages being removed right away, I shit you not.

On my birthday, I received an absolute sign from my mother. Instead of getting angry, I felt my heart melt. I felt like the Winter Wizard on Santa Claus is coming to town.

I started remembering the good memories I had with my mother. I laughed when I thought of ridiculously fun things we did.

At that moment, I was able to finally forgive my mother for everything. I can’t even begin to tell you how freeing it was.

I sat in meditation and spoke to her. I told her I forgave her and I loved her.

I went on to tell her, “Since you passed away had a life review you know how you treated me.” I thanked her for the sign on my birthday.

I waited almost a month before writing about this; making sure it was real. It’s real.

My heart isn’t angry anymore. I have been in a happy, positive, and great mood.

If you asked me if I would ever be able to forgive my mother I would say, “ I don’t think I ever can.”

Here I am a changed and happier person. My heart and soul feels like a million ton weight was lifted.

I remembered this from the Bible when I was a child.

Then Peter came and said to Him, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.

Matthew 18:21-22

I can’t believe I was actually able to do the impossible. Now I know what it means when they say not forgiving someone hurts only you.

I was hurting myself. That blockage that was there for years kept me in a constant state of worry, pain, disappointment, sadness, and extreme anger.

How do I feel? I feel like my body, heart, and soul is lighter and brighter. I have a smile from ear to ear.

I feel fantastic not carrying around all that shit any more.

To tell you the truth, I’ve been carrying some of that stuff since I was a little girl and now I can’t fathom how I felt like that for so long.

Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am very spiritual, thinking about Easter week.

My father died on Easter Sunday and my Nana died on Holy Thursday. It feels right to focus and pray this week without all that yucky shit in my heart.

Have a great week! Thanks again for your support and being on this journey with me. ❤️

Well, it seems like Mother Nature is making up for a lame winter here in Vermont.

This is the biggest snowstorm of the season, the wrong season mind you, but nevertheless, it’s really coming down hard as I write.

Marty stayed home from the farmers market today since the roads were dreadful; they still are.

He has been going on rescue squad calls for most of the day. I have been keeping myself busy doing my favorite things.

This morning I was in a full-on cooking mood. I love making comfort food on days like this.

I took out some skinless and boneless chicken thighs and made chicken cacciatore.

I have never had this dish before but have been wanting to make it forever; so I thought today is the day.

It looks and smells delicious. It will be our Sunday dinner tomorrow along with cheesy polenta and a salad.

Next, I grabbed a chuck roast and made bourbon & brown sugar braised beef. I just finished making the gravy from the pan juices. Yum!

I’m undecided about what to serve with it. Marty won’t be home for a while so I have time to figure it out.

I felt like drawing this afternoon in my cozy spot in our back room with Nelly snuggled up tight against me; on a heated blanket.

I took down our kitchen chalkboard and made a spring drawing of Nelly. She is by far my favorite thing to sketch.

Have a great rest of your weekend. It’s time for a glass of wine and finish dinner.