Thursday, July 20, 2017

the peach pie.


It was probably close to this exact day, only 10 years ago. 
We had seen a roadside stand selling fresh picked Michigan peaches, so we stopped. When you're camping, there's no particular rush to be anywhere anyways. 
Not long after, we were hopping back in the Suburban, a few dollars lighter. Those few dollars earned us the kind of peaches that have juice dribbling down your chin and running down your arm. The kind that make waste of all the spare napkins in the glovebox and force you to hang your arm out the window (while death gripping that peach) to let the wind wick away the sticky, sugary mess.

I thought about that summer day when I stumbled upon a small crate of peaches at the produce stand down the street from my apartment last week. These ones were from Georgia, but they looked promising so I bought one. A tester peach. As I left and struggled to evenly balance my bags on both my arms, I grabbed the peach from off the top of one of the bags. It had bumped and bruised and the juice had already started seeping out of its broken skin. Let me just say that it is always best to first wash or soak your produce (this coming from the girl who got a stomach bug from everything that first year in Mexico). That is not what happened. And a couple minutes later, my sticky hands and chin reminded me again of the Michigan peach. 

The tester peach was a success. Not knowing how long those peaches would continue reach our part of the city, I made plans to get some more. Enough for a cobbler - two cobblers, actually. And enough for a peach pie. Enough to share a taste of summer and enough to share memories and make new memories with some friends. 

I forgot how long pies take to make - especially when you choose to make a finicky butter crust (but the peaches seemed worthy of it). 
So that's how I spent my day. And in the evening, I walked a couple blocks down the street to Karla's house for our Thursday night Bible study, pie in hands. 
Ice cream on top. Tea on the side. All my favorite girls around me. 

I walked home with an empty pie dish. Always a good sign. 

Now, I have to check on those peach popsicles in the freezer...





























Sunday, July 9, 2017

TEPOZTLÁN.



"Can you talk right now?". Nicole's message popped up on my phone and a couple minutes later, she was calling me on Facetime from her car during the last bit of her lunch break. No, she wasn't calling to tell me she was pregnant, but she was calling to see about the possibility of planning a last minute visit to Mexico City. 
Also really great news. 

And that's when the idea started forming. 
What if we took a break for a couple days, rounded up some friends, and left the city to catch our breath for a bit? 

So that's what we did. 
We left behind our back-to-back-to-back marathon weeks and loaded our weary souls onto a little bus for a short ride to the pueblo of Tepoztlán, set in the mountains. 
We rented a house just outside of the town center where it was silent at night - and we slept like babies. 
We jumped in the pool even though the water was freezing and stayed there even when it started raining. 
We prepared big meals together and spent endless hours sitting around the big table eating or playing games as the fire danced in the background late into the night. 
We hiked up El Tepozteco, gulped the crisp humid air and marveled at the view in front of us as we sat with our legs hanging out over the edge of the pyramid. 
We explored the markets in town and ate itacates and nieves
We laughed a lot. 

Right now, Nicole is on her plane back to Chicago. It was a short trip, but filled to overflowing with joy. 
I'm thankful for friends who fly standby and travel crazy hours to come see me - to just make sure I'm doing okay and to love me. 

You're a gem, sweet sister. Thanks for the adventures. 




























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