Contented rambling

I just ate the last of my box of strawberries that I bought a few days ago for our Easter dinner fruit salad. I'm practicing the art of taking time out to relax tonight . . . I was thinking about the movie Eat Pray Love where the Italian man is explaining how Americans don't really know how to relax - just be entertained - and I'm out to prove him wrong. I'm listening to a little Etta James, blogging and day dreaming . . . just a little.
There is something really rich in the satisfaction of relaxing - funny how writing the blog is a relax time - I think I'd see that pattern if I looked back to read them (all Andrea's rambling philosophizing that I'd be a little embarrassed for anyone to read except the people that love me already). I don't know if its the fact that I'm two papers away from taking my last class of my master's degree or the warm evening and April rain that make me feel like I want to slow down and enjoy, but somehow I feel incredibly grateful tonight. I picked up my roommate's book men are from Mars and women are from Venus . . . and yet somehow I didn't feel the need to analyze my relationship, myself or my boyfriend - instead I felt incredibly content with it all. My mom sent me a little email today saying how my dad had commented on how happy I seemed - and its true, I am happy. I'm not quite sure why and how I get this blessing now, but I am so grateful for it!
A worried me would analyze the risks, look for guarantees and securities . . . but tonight Etta James and I aren't analyzing - we're just relaxing and enjoying a Sunday kind of love.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfNLspDL3ns

Kitchen Memories

I'm sitting in my favorite place in our apartment, perched on top of our chest freezer, with my back up against the wall and a great view of the sink. I'm not quite sure why I love it here so much, but I think a lot about how much time I spent in the kitchen when I was little and maybe that's the attraction. I love food . . . but that's not really what its all about.
In our kitchen we had brown and yellow and orange linoleum flooring - sixties style. Sometimes it was my job to scrub it and I can remember how the years of dirt never seemed to scrub out of that paisley square pattern. Yet somehow, I ended up in the kitchen, often sitting on the floor or climbing the counter tops.
When I was kindergarten, my mom would pull out one of the lower drawers, moving the measuring cups and rolling pin, and make into a little table where she would serve me lunch so I could be with her while she worked. (Our big table was in our dining room).
But my favorite place was the big square of sunlight that came in from the large old-fashioned windows and would warm up our yellow and orange linoleum. I would sit there in the mornings, before our old house had heated up, like a cat soaking up the sun. I don't remember whether I talked to my mom, or just sat . . . but I find it interesting that here I am again, in the kitchen.
I chatter to my roommate while she's doing dishes, or smile at my boyfriend as he's making me dinner (I know, isn't he wonderful!) but somehow the kitchen always seems to be a gathering place. And I think I've found my favorite spot again, perched up here on top of the chest freezer, writing away on my blog.
Its funny, I haven't written for awhile because of the hubbub of my life, adjusting to a new relationship and trying to make life plans post graduation - somehow that all seemed to confusing to put on a blog. Yet here I am again - a comment from a friend, a request from my mom, and I'm writing. But not about that big life, ironically, instead what I remember sitting here is the simplicity of kitchens, warm memories and feeling safe. Perhaps this is why I blog.