We call it "veggie casserole..."

...but there's nothing healthy about it. About 10 years ago (maybe more...) I started making "veggie casserole" for Thanksgiving. It was a hit and became my annual contribution, along with sweet potatoes and spinach dip in a bread bowl. Since I've already missed one Thanksgiving with family and will miss the second with them this week, I've gotten requests for my casserole recipe from my nieces, Lauren and Keri. I originally made it from a recipe I found in the Charleston Unitarian Church cookbook and it was called "company casserole." It morphed into "that vegetable stuff with crackers on top" to "Ritz cracker casserole" to simply "veggie casserole." And I can't remember ever having more than a spoonful left over.


In case you're looking for another yummy side dish that you can make last minute, here is the recipe verbatim as I sent it via email to my nieces:

(you can double this recipe - I usually did so I could make a big one)

1 can french style green beans, drained
1 can shoe peg corn, drained
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 cup sliced mushrooms
salt & pepper
1 sleeve Ritz crackers, crushed
1 stick butter, melted

Mix all ingredients except crackers, a little bit of the grated cheese, and butter. Pour into casserole dish. Top with crushed crackers, the rest of the grated cheese, and melted butter. Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

I always chopped the celery and onion pretty fine so there weren't any big pieces. And when I doubled the recipe (which means 2 of everything on the list), I still only used ONE stick of butter on top because the butter is really just so the crackers would brown. The year I used 2 sticks of butter the casserole was really soggy and kind of not good. You can also leave out the sliced mushrooms if you don't like them and sub cream of celery soup for cream of mushroom, but I think most people liked the mushrooms. Don't used canned mushrooms - you can buy the fresh already sliced if you want, but the canned mushrooms taste like crap.

I love you, I miss you, I wish I could be there with you. My heart will be.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

I don't want to start this off by saying I have a small case of the post-holiday, missing my family blues. But there I went. I wanted to start off by saying I got to spend an amazing 10 days with friends and family back in Charleston after being away for a whole year - the longest I've gone without seeing my mom, sisters, nieces, nephew, and friends from Charleston. It took me less than a day to sink into the familiar comfort of home, curled up on mom's couch while she cooked something fabulous in the kitchen (poached eggs with fresh spinach and hollandaise for dinner? Yum.), hugging my sisters and nieces and my BFF Mary Kathryn, staying up late at night talking to my mom, shopping with my sister Katie and MK (always expeditions in hilariousness), lunch with my writer friend Angie that came with some nice inspiration, meeting my almost-6-month-old niece and namesake (Jolie Love) for the first time and getting to pinch her chubby little cheeks in person, feeling so much love surrounded my family and extended family and friends, it spoiled me just a tiny bit.

Now that I'm back in Austin, I feel invigorated, less homesick, stocked up on the family love, comforted, and so grateful that I was able to spend so much time with them. It snowed, giant fluffy flakes, the day after Christmas...like magic. I slept every single night I was there like I haven't in a year...going to bed after midnight and waking up at 7am ready to go. Why don't I sleep like that in Austin? I've been waking up earlier than usual since I've gotten back and don't want to sleep until noon, but I also wake up a lot at night here. Is it the quiet in Charleston versus living on a fairly busy street across from a bus stop in Austin? Or was it being back with family and feeling safe? After a year in Austin, I think I've done a pretty good job of getting myself into a safe space. And now I have new memories of being back home to lull myself to sleep.

It's hard being away, but I realize how much has changed in a year. I've made friends in Austin. I love this city. It's not where my family is, but they're not as far away as it felt they were a month ago. And yes, I drove - 2 days each way - and it didn't kill me. The massage I got on Sunday after I returned helped, and so did the audio books that kept me entertained on the road. But something else is different: Now I know I can come home, even though things have changed in all of our lives, what I love the most doesn't change. As soon as I arrived and my mother gave me a great big "mom hug," I knew I was home and that home will always be there - no matter where I end up.

Yes, I'm rambling a bit, but I also promised above-mentioned writer friend that I'd blog more, blog more honestly, write even when I don't want to, write about things I don't want to write about, and get back to the "old Kelly Love." The one (thank you, Angie!), who is "the sh*t."

I feel so lucky to have the friends and family I have. I don't know many people who would pick the family members they've been assigned, but I would. If my sisters and nieces weren't already related to me, I'd love them anyway. And on top of that, I have some amazing friends. The simple version of what I'm trying to say in way too many words: I feel loved. And if feels great.

My first family visit in Austin...

Was from my niece Amanda yesterday, who flew to El Paso to drive a friend back to Charleston and came through Austin for the day (see pic...she's a short stack, so I had to squat down a little for a photo hug). It was wonderful after seven-plus months being in Austin and limited to Skyping and phone calls with family to see her, and of course she brought all the love from the multitudes of sisters, nieces, mom, nephew, brand new niece, and everyone back home. We spent a great day together in Austin, went to lunch, drove around downtown Austin, and they had some rest time back at my place in the afternoon before mucho driving to try and make it out of Texas and into Louisiana before they stopped for the night. I wish she could have stayed for a week, sans her friend Tiffani's 3-year-old, who is extremely entertaining for a day, but also exhausting. On a positive note, my dog absolutely adored the child and they chased each other around the coffee table for an hour. I think Lulu would have squealed the whole time too, but, you know, she's a dog...either way, I had one worn out puppy last night.

I thought I'd get hit with a wave of homesickness after Amanda left, but I was left instead with a feeling of love and happiness. Sometimes it seems like family is so far away, but then they pop up and you can put your arms around them and they're closer than I imagine. The only one who cried a little when they left was Tiffani's daughter, and that's because she wanted to stay with Lulu.

Wishing my niece safe travels back to Charleston!

My heart is full...

When I left Charleston for Austin in January, I did so with a heavy heart. I was leaving behind three sisters, five nieces, a nephew, my mom, my best friend, and many other friends I would miss terribly. I was also leaving a city I loved, the house I'd been living in for 8 years in a neighborhood I loved, and my comfort zone.

I made the decision to move to Austin in early November and found out that my niece Keri was pregnant right around Thanksgiving. I was thrilled for Keri and her husband Tim (who I also adore). Sadly, Keri's father passed away on the Monday after Thanksgiving last year, just a day or so after she told him he was going to be a grandfather. The idea of leaving my pregnant, grieving niece and moving halfway across the country made my heart even heavier. I knew it would be expensive to fly back to Charleston and I hated that I was going to miss her pregnancy and the birth of her first child.

Yesterday, Keri was admitted to the hospital to have labor induced (she's a tiny little thing and the baby was growing fast!). After being in labor all day, she finally had to have a c-section. I was on the phone for about two hours - talk and text - with my mom and my sister/new grandma and my heart ached to be there with the rest of the family. My mom and sister did a great job of making me feel like I was there; the minute my new niece was born I received a flurry of photos via text.

I already knew they were going to name their daughter Jolie, after Keri's dad Joseph. And that her last name would be Martin. When my mom texted "Jolie Martin, 6.5 lbs., 19 inches long" along with a photo of Jolie in a bassinet, I texted back, "what's her full name?"

Ever since we found out Keri was pregnant, we had all suggested names (some jokingly), and I told Keri (also jokingly) that she should give her my middle name because (a) it's awesome and (b) I don't think I'm going to pass it on myself, being the least maternal member of my family. But I never expected her to seriously consider it.

My mom responded to my text with, "I'll let Keri tell you when she wakes up." And when she called me, I told her that I wasn't serious about her giving the baby my middle name and my feelings wouldn't be hurt if she didn't. She told me Keri would probably call me this morning. She didn't. She called me last night, groggy and exhausted, to tell me that her daughter's name is Jolie Love Martin. And I immediately burst into tears. Keri, being Keri, said "don't be sad, you'll see her over the holidays," thinking I was upset that I couldn't be in Charleston. I had to choke out the words..."happy tears." And they were. I don't think I've ever felt so honored in my entire life, so connected to my family, or that I realized how amazing it would feel to have a "namesake."

Keri has already posted pics of Jolie to Facebook, being Keri, from her laptop in her hospital bed. And I've been weepy on and off all morning looking at photos of my new niece and namesake. I can't wait to meet her. Keri told me when she told the nurse what the baby's full name is, the nurse said, "it sounds like a rockstar name."

Indeed. And now I'm excited x100 to go home and visit for the holidays and get to hold my new niece for the first time, to tell her how amazing her mom and dad are, to tell her how lucky she is to be part of our screwy family. I have no doubt this beautiful little girl will live up to her name.

Could have used another half-hour...

My sisters called this morning and woke me up because they were on their way to my house to pick up some bookshelves and other things I'm getting rid of in preparation for the big move. They waited until they were on Rutledge to call, which was actually good because I was in the middle of a dream.

Those of you who know me know I have a thing about hearing other people's dreams and telling other people about my own. My theory is that dreams are only interesting to the people who have them, unless they're premonitions that come true later. So I'm breaking my own rule. The dream their call interrupted: I was in a big hotel (probably in DC) following Barack Obama around because I was working for him in some capacity. We had dinner together and he was charming and funny and I found myself attracted to him (sorry, Michelle...I'm not a husband-coveter in real life). We were talking politics and television and literature over dinner and at some point it became clear that we were sharing a hotel room. I politely explained as much as I would enjoy a tryst with our President, that I'd rather have him use his time wisely - say, on something like public option health insurance. As I waited for him to consider his options, my sisters called and woke me up.

I know this comes from the weeks I've spent trying to find private insurance because my COBRA is up at the end of the month. I hoped a year ago when Obama was elected that there would be a public option for the self- and under-employed by the time my COBRA ran out. After calling more than 30 insurers in the past couple of months and getting quotes, spending more time on the phone and applying to various companies online, I realize that (a) it's not going to be cheap (the least expensive I can find is $400 a month, which is close to what I'm paying for COBRA anyway), and (b) I am unlikely to find an insurer who will cover anything diabetes-related for a period of time (6 months or a year is the best I've found, forever is the worst).

Also, weird that I was attracted to our President because, even though I really like tall men with his build, I find his ears slightly off-putting. And there's the matter of his wife and children. I tend to put men with girlfriends and wives in the same category as my female and gay male friends: totally non-sexual.

The bad news is that Barack was just starting to talk about a public option for health insurance when my cell phone rang and woke me up. I'm wondering if I would have gotten any dream advice or direction. I could use some.

The good news is that my sisters carted away two large bookshelves, a corner shelf, an ottoman, and a large planter, so now I have more space for boxes.

Putting a toe in the water...

It was a wild ride, folks. I got four months of "how to run press for a political campaign" boot camp. I made some great friends. I had a lot of really good (long) days, and a few bad ones. In the end, my candidate only lost by four percentage points. She did really well in Charleston County, got more votes than Obama in Horry County, and I think we ran a hell of a campaign. I have lots of stories, but need some time to process before jumping in all the way.

My job didn't end on Election Day - I was really busy until the 15th and have been doing some of the things I listed in my previous post, but mostly sleeping and spending time with the family. I had a birthday (strangely, did not get a year older). I spent Thanksgiving with my mom, three sisters, five nieces, one nephew, a brother-in-law, a nephew-in-law (is there such a thing?), and some family friends. We ate a disgusting amount of food and played Cranium all afternoon.

And now I'm trying to get back into a routine, go through my list of all of the things that I've been putting off for four months, and getting my creative mojo back. Step one: start blogging again. Check.

Must we go through this every year?

One of my older sisters called me last night to invite me to her annual Fourth of July backyard BBQ. A little background: My two older sisters are from my mother's first marriage and their father was of American Indian and/or Italian descent. Therefore, my sisters have olive skin, dark hair, and tan easily. Ten years later, my mother married an Irishman and ended up with two extremely pale third and fourth daughters. My sister and I have the same conversation every year in early July:

My sister: So we're going to be grilling burgers and dogs.
Me: I no longer eat red meat. But how about if I bring some chicken?
Sister: Seriously?
Me: Veggie burgers?
Sister: Not on MY grill.
Me: I like mom's potato salad.
Sister: Bring your bathing suit - we just had the pool cleaned!
Me: Have you met me?
Sister: Just saying...we got new rafts!
Me: I haven't owned a bathing suit in 10 years. And I don't go in the sun. You know how you and Kristin make jokes about me looking like Wednesday Adams with red hair?
Sister: I thought we made jokes about you being flat-assed.
Me: That too.
Sister: And flat-chested. And remember before you got braces when we used to call you Bucky Beaver?
Me: Yeah, that was hysterical.
Sister: At least you finally got boobs. ANYWAY...just put on some sunblock! And bring your suit.
Me (giving up): OK.

Even though they don't care if I get skin cancer and believe that I am pale by choice and I think olive-skinned people enjoy lording their sun worshipping over those of us who are melanin-deficient, I love my family. And I will go to the cookout. I'm just going to bring a giant parasol, a long-sleeved tee, and 60SPF - but not my bathing suit that doesn't exist. And yes, at least I finally got boobs.

All it takes to shake off a stressful week...

Is a bag of stale bread, a three-year-old, a sunny day, and a duck pond.



My mom, Connor and I spent the afternoon feeding the ducks at Hampton Park. (a) I've always been a little afraid of large birds (mostly geese after being chased by a pack of them a Page's Thieves Market some years ago), (b) the ducks at Hampton Park are quite aggressive, (c) the seagulls are worse, and (d) Connor freaked out when a big white duck snatched some bread from his hand. I laughed, I couldn't help it, but when one of the bigger ducks started chasing me and I ran away screaming, I think it made Connor feel better.



We went to Jestine's for lunch afterwards and our very smart waitress brought us some paper and crayons along with the homemade pickles. The food, as always, was yummy. Connor ate a whole hot dog (and their hot dogs are huge).

Good times.

The nephew turns three...

And he wanted to cut his own. Damn. Cake.

The Bob the Builder theme was his idea, not mine. If I had my way, he'd be wearing a dragon costume and I'd be dressed as a princess. But he likes to hammer and destroy, not play dress up.

And see what I mean about the hair? He was completely bald until he was two, and now I fear he may be mullet-bound.

Sibling secret languages...

I've always been fascinated by the secret language of twins (and siblings born close together). My mother had her daughters in pairs. My older sisters are 8 and 10 years older than I am and there's a two year age difference between me and my younger sister Katie.

Katie and I had what I think could be considered a secret language, or at least a language that meant something to us but that other people couldn't understand. We still use it from time to time. Katie used to sing a song whenever she had to use the restroom (because my mother thought it was crass to say "I have to pee"...or worse), so Katie sang "skidamarinkadinkadoodle" (I have no idea how one would spell that - it started when she was 3 or 4). It came from a song my grandmother used to sing to us. Later, we shortened it to just "doodle."

We used to make up meanings for words we heard and liked but didn't know what the definition was. At around 3 and 5 years old, we still took baths together and made shampoo horns from our hair and called each other "three-horned butler" and giggled hysterically. "Butler" was a funny word. Probably because it has the word "but" (or "butt") in it. I remember a moving day when we left Guam and we were playing between the boxes in the driveway. One was marked "sewing" (my mother sewed back then) and my sister spelled it out loud and asked me what it meant. I told her it was our "sea wings" - the rafts we used to use in the ocean water pool in our neighborhood. I just made it up, because even at 5 years old, I didn't like to admit I didn't know something. I could spell "together" when I was 5, but apparently not "sewing." Others: "Button jam" was a signal to flee. I can't explain that if I tried. "Peapie" meant "cute," later shortened to "peep."

My older sister Kristin and I still call each other "seester" instead of "sister." I don't know where that came from. She must have started that one. She also calls Katie "hoop" because her middle name is "hope." I can't think of any good examples of Kristin and Karen languages because the only thing I really remember about them is a lot of knock-down, drag out fights before Karen went to live with my grandmother when I was 6 or 7.

I love my sisters and that we're all still so close as adults. Unlike some of my friends, I actually look forward to holidays and family gatherings and the time we can spend together. They make me laugh like no-one else can. They were there for the whole show of our childhood and an outsider will never be able to understand us like we understand each other. They're the part of my "weird little world" that I didn't get to choose, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

And today is my nephew's third birthday (my sister Katie's son and the only boy in our family). He's our peep. And if Katie doesn't get his first haircut soon, he will also be our three-horned butler.