pberry

It’s cold in Colorado. It’s cold everywhere. There was a story today that 49 of the 50 states have snow. SNOW! Everywhere but Florida. Which is where I was supposed to be this week. But an ice storm in Atlanta kept me from making it there.

When it’s cold, Amy and I love to make this soup. It’s Amy’s recipe and so she gets the credit, save one piece. I was the one to insist on a decent beer. We’ve tried all different kinds, from Ambers to Wheats to a nice Dark Black Ale. Play around with it. Just no Bud Light, okay?

Ingredients:

2/3 cup of Shredded Carrots

1/4 cup of Chopped Onion

1/4 cup of Butter

1/4 cup of Flour

2 1/2 cups of Milk

2 cups of Grated Cheddar Cheese

1/2 cup of Beer

1/8 teaspoon of salt

1/8 teaspoon of pepper

It your pot, cook the carrot and onion in the butter over medium heat until tender, stirring frequently. Add flour and mix well. Gradually add the milk, stirring until well blended. Stir constantly and cook until thickened. Reduce heat to low. Add the cheese and cook until melted, stirring frequently. Stir in the beer. Cook until heated through, but do not boil. Salt and pepper to taste.

Now this is the most important part: Top with popcorn. Seriously. Make a lot.

Makes around 4-6 servings, depending on the size of your bowl. You can double this recipe for a bigger group.

Enjoy!

I spent Christmas with a two year old. Amy and I don’t have kids. The closest thing we have is our dog, Bella. You’d think having a two year old and having a dog would be a lot a like, but it’s really different. It really is. It’s totally permissible to put the dog in the laundry room when company comes over. You can’t do that with a two year old.

Not that you’d want to of course.

This is Cade. “C!-A!-D!-E! CADE!” Cade is full to overflowing with life. And by life, I mean joy and excitement and energy. He runs about a million miles an hour. Every hour. All day. Every day. It’s impressive when you think about it.

Cade is very curious about everything, on account of him being two and all. Because he’s two, he doesn’t really understand what everything is. But he wants to. His favorite questions are “What’s that?” and “What are you doing?” and “What are you eating?” And because learning is hands on, he wants to have, do, or eat whatever your answer is.

Can you imagine if Cade never asked any questions? If he never asked what the stars are or what those little thin candy-shelled chocolates are? What if he never wondered why we give presents at Christmas or how to use the toilet or what Mommy’s doing with her head bowed and hands folded? He’d be kind of a bum, really.

Asking questions can be dangerous. They can change everything. Sometimes we’re not ready for the answers. Cade isn’t ready to ask where Grandpa went when Santa showed up. But eventually he’s going to have to ask that question. Because as dangerous as asking questions can be, not asking them can be more so.

As we grow up, we stop asking so many questions. We know more stuff and most of the time we’re just too busy to be curious. Sometimes, we do ask questions, but they’re questions to justify ourselves, our habits, our behaviors.

We learned all this stuff when we were like, twelve.  Isn’t it time for a little change?

Maybe for 2011, I need to be more like Cade.

Ask more questions.

Seek real answers.

Wonder at the world.

Maybe running another half-marathon wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

Remember Katrina?

I do. I worked with her at the swimming pool. Her dad was my math teacher and basketball coach in 8th grade. He was a really happy guy. I mean he didn’t really seem to get down and always had something to smile about. Sometimes he would get on your case and when he did you knew he meant business because he was so happy all the time. He didn’t really get too mad, just frustrated. He wasn’t frustrated because you messed up, he just knew your potential was better than what you were giving. He just knew you had it in you, you know? And man, you never saw somebody so happy as him when you got it right. He just found a lot of joy in life, I guess.

Anyway, poor Katrina. She had a real nice name until that hurricane. Now when she meets someone they’re probably thinking, Man, that was a horrible hurricane. Instant downer and all you did was say your name. I can’t imagine introducing myself and everyone getting all sad because my name is Paul. Right after the hurricane, I had a waitress named Katrina and it just about ruined the meal. I left her a big tip because I figured people got mad at her just because of her name.

I remember when Katrina happened. The hurricane that is. It seemed like everybody was really pissed at Bush. It wasn’t everybody, though. It just seemed like everybody because the only people talking were people who hated Bush. And they were talking loud. People who liked Bush weren’t saying much at all because they knew he screwed up. And so did the people who hated him. Man, did they let him have it. I really felt sorry for him even though I was mad at him too. Now the same thing’s happening to Obama with the oil spill. The people who were quiet before are loud and the people who were loud are real quiet.

It’s funny how everybody says they expect politicians to do a bad job and then still get all cranky when they do. People rail on politicians for acting like gods, call them hypocrites when they say they aren’t gods and then put them on blast when they don’t turn water into wine. I’m not saying politicians don’t need to be accountable because they do. But most of the time we’re just trying to use a bad situation to get someone else into office. This guy screwed up disaster response, let’s vote in someone who wants lower taxes.

Katrina’s dad didn’t treat people like that though. He wanted you to be better because he knew you could be. He wanted you to succeed. I liked how Katrina’s dad treated me. I try to treat other people that way, but I’m terrible at it. I really am. But I bet it’s like free throws. I need practice.

I haven’t heard from Katrina’s dad in forever. He moved to Africa to help kids. I don’t blame him. I don’t think Africa’s had any natural disasters named after his family.