On Summer (Or, That Time I Grossed Everyone Out With All of the Feelings)

Warning: This post is full of a ridiculous amount of feelings. Utterly sincere feelings, but still. Sorry. But not really, because I still did it.

I've been with my company for fifteen years.

"But CDog, you're 26. You've said so. A bunch. Pretty sure."

Very astute, dear reader. Here's a little backstory.

I work for a non-profit musical theatre company for kids. Back in my youth, I spent two years as a camper at one of their summer sessions. I worked for them every summer after that, starting as a volunteer and rising through the ranks before assuming my current position as office manager/writer/drama teacher.

So. I've been with my company for fifteen years - more than half my life - and that's the kind of thing that lends itself to wild nostalgia almost every day. A couple weeks ago, I was at the wedding of a friend who was once my camp counselor. I met the girl who would become my best friend at my first employee training day. Some of the first kids I taught just graduated from college. Kids who were the youngest when I was in my early teens are now my coworkers in the summer.

It's a funny thing, when the quiet wee six year-old who used to tug on your shirt to ask you a question is suddenly your height and teaching alongside you.  You feel old, even though you know that you are not, but they're talking about SAT scores and college applications and weren't they just eight years-old yesterday and I guess it was nine years ago that you were thinking about the same things not, "a couple," like you've been telling yourself.

It's gross, and it's jarring, and it's awesome. I've gone to a lot of high school shows over the years to support my friends and former students, and I totally get the parents who slap, "My Kid Is A (Insert Accomplishment Here)," bumper stickers all over their lives, because all I want to do is stand in the lobby after, pointing at headshots and shouting, "I know them! Did you see what they just did? Aren't you proud?"

Because I am. That's what really hit me as I sat in the theatre of a high school I didn't go to last spring, waiting for the lights to go down for a musical I was seeing for an unprecedented second time: I am so, so proud. I'm proud to know all of the people I have met through what I do - older, younger, and everything in between. I'm proud of the people they are, the people they're choosing to become, and of the fact that I get to count them as friends.

I say I've been with my company for fifteen years, and technically that's true - I never stopped contributing in some capacity. However, there were two summers where I did not work because I was at my Grown-Up Job - the one I didn't really want but reality (particularly the need for health insurance) was forcing me to keep. As bad as things felt sitting at that desk during the year, it was a thousand times worse during those summer months, knowing that just across the bridge there was magic happening and that I couldn't be a part of it. I couldn't even visit. I lied to my office manager to get time off so I could at least go to the performances, passing them off as family functions.

There is no justification for my dishonesty - I don't encourage it. But you know what? I was going to see people I'd grown up with, and watched grow up. People who had seen me at my best and my worst and never judged me, never failed to have my back. People who have helped shape me and who still manage to make me better.

Sounds like family to me.

To every camper, coworker, friend, family member: All these words didn't really do it justice, but I am so, so happy to know you.

- CDog

On That One Time It Was Easter (Or, Not That Time I Explained 4/20 to My Mom)

Remember when it was Easter?

Fine. It was sort of a month and a half-ish ago, and shame on me for not posting about it in a more timely manner. However, it's either this or the story of me having to explain to my mother the significance of 4/20, and trust me, this has the potential to be more useful.

So.

Remember when it was Easter?

I am delighted to say that I have a gigantic and wonderful family. When you're Irish, Catholic, and American, this typically means that Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter (the Big Three, if you will) are major affairs full of food, family, and fun (also, alliteration).

The former of that trifecta of holiday F's got a bit trickier when I became the first and only vegan among meat and cheese loving relatives. First off, let me say that everyone has always been very supportive of my choice, and I love to cook, so contributing a dish that I can eat to the potluck affairs is more fun than frustrating. But it's a little intimidating too. There's some skepticism that accompanies the idea of veganity. Were there a standard information pack for beginners, the phrases, "So...what do you eat?" and "Yeah, I had a vegan cookie once and it tasted like cardboard. But it's cool that you're doing that," would be listed under, "Things You Will Hear Constantly for the Rest of Your Life." When I make something to bring to a family gathering, it is with the knowledge that a combination of genuine curiosity and politeness will prompt most in attendance to at least try it. There's added pressure for it to be good, lest I set back the cause.

I know. It's a rough life. Fortunately, there are sites like Isa Chandra Moskowitz's Post Punk Kitchen, to which I turned for a simple and super delicious recipe for March's Easter brunch. I ended up going with the Raspberry Jam Swirl Crumb Cake, making a few modifications along the way. Recipe and pics after the jump.