Seasons of change

Life has changed so much for me in the past several years. I've spent the past two years writing books nearly non-stop... and honestly I'm tired! For a little while I felt like I was pretty much done with cooking. I was "cooked' out, burned out, baked out. And "written" out as well...

Over the past few years we've been there with my Dad as he's survived a severe heart attack, followed by three months in the hospital and rehab, then this summer he was blessed with a "brand new" heart via a transplant... those times brought so much reflection, there was joy with tension, hope with timidity, love with smiles followed sometimes by tears... and through it all deep, deep appreciation for doctors and nurses, for people who choose to give their organs, for family and friends who have ALWAYS been there for us along the way. And of course for my Dad.

My cat Mitten (who was so much more than just a "cat") passed away this year and that brought deep grief and despair and yet, hope. We lost my amazing grandmother "Nan" along with my cousin Annie. We lost Michael's aunt, we had other family members going through major life changes that were painful and hard. And all we could do was simply watch, pray, be there... and yet feel like we couldn't really help, which feels so "helpless" in itself..

So my thoughts and my heart have been so incredibly far away from food these past few months. Which probably isn't the most effective way to be a successful cookbook author... but it was important to me to learn where my priorities needed to be and how to ride peacefully with each ebb and flow of life.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with this blog, with this little space on the vast internet that I've shared my story and my recipes since August 2007.

I haven't been creating a lot of recipes as of late, I've just been trying to get dinner on the table. Yes, it's gluten-free... but trust me, it isn't exciting. Yes, it's mostly paleo... but you wouldn't need a cookbook to make it.

Our meals have consisted of a protein + veggies + sometimes a healthy starch, like sweet potatoes or butternut squash or even white rice or potatoes on occasion. Truly nothing exciting... and honestly it's been a good place. I'm not looking for excitement at dinner these days.

I've found my thoughts veering towards simple, real food. I've been thinking about the way my grandmother made meals for us, the way my great-grandma always wanted to feed us. The way my Dad  has always expressed so much of his love for his family through food. I've been fascinated with food history and about the ways we need to honor the local foods of our region and our family traditions. I've always loved these things, but they've become much more important.

So as life has changed, my plans for this blog have changed. I'm not going anywhere... but I'm still not exactly sure about the content I plan to share in the future. I want to focus more on simple meals, on real foods, on family traditions, on bringing food close to home, etc... but how to do that, I'm not quite sure yet. I want to write more.

At it's core, this blog has been a way for me to write, and write often. And probably much more than cooking, I love to write. I love to explore thoughts and ideas through words and this means I may lose some readers along the way. I hope not, but I'm afraid that may happen.

I also want to share more about other aspects of our lives. Our faith, our journey, possibly poetry or short stories, essays, etc... and I want to hear from you. I want to share your stories. Your food stories, your life stories, your faith stories... I'd love to know what inspires you, what moves you, what makes you sing and dance, and cry, or simply pause in awe..

Oh and cats... maybe we'll share more cat pictures... those seem to be pretty popular around the internet these days :-P

Ginger Lemon Girl Featured in The Roanoke Times

I am thrilled today to be a featured story in the Extra Section of The Roanoke Times today in an interview with Lindsey Nair, Food Writer.

Lindsey asked me a bunch of questions about why I wrote the cookbook, how I started the blog, and how I became interested in cooking and writing. I really enjoyed answering Lindsey's questions and I'm really excited because I grew up in the Roanoke area, so to be featured in the local paper there is a true honor.

Not only does Lindsey share a fun interview with me about the book, but she shares two of my favorite recipes in "The Everything Gluten-Free Slow Cooker Cookbook" and you a sneak preview of some additional projects I'm currently working on that are due out late summer and early fall 2013!

Please head over to the Roanoke Times today and read Lindsey's story today! And meanwhile, don't forget to order a copy of "The Everything Gluten-Free Slow Cooker Cookbook" if you haven't already!

Special thanks to Sarah Neilsen, author and photographer of Celiac in the City for sharing her photograph of the Hot Chicken Buffalo Bites for the story, and to Kat of Kat's Food Blog for the picture of Roast Chicken with Lemon and Artichokes! You ladies ROCK!

Enough, 100 Words

I found this writing prompt through the blog "LouCeel" today and I was intrigued and challenged! It's a weekly writing challenge that is prompted by simply one word. This week's word is: enough.

While I love to cook and bake... I feel like my real gift is writing. And sometimes it's just fun to use a creative prompt to get the "literary juices" flowing.  So here is my entry for this week's 100 Words.

Enough:  

He’s been there 12 years.  Through 11 “ Saint Valentine’s Days.”  In the beginning I needed reminders. I needed the reassurance, flowers, and chocolate.

There were years he forgot. No flowers at work… oh the fury of scorned women.

Expectations were unmet, I didn’t  feel loved, respected. Pouted for days.

Silly, now. 

I wake up to him nudging me.  Turn off the alarm. Cats purring.  His warm smile. We’ve made it. There’s no actual NEED for schmaltzy gifts.

Staring at those beautiful dark brown eyes who have always loved me back, it’s all I need. So much more than enough.

Happy St. Valentine's Day M! 

To read more entries from the "100 Word Challenge" please visit this weeks' edition at Velvet Verbosity. 

For Mitten

I'm sitting in the small community college library. I've been reading the latest issue of Good Housekeeping and Southern Living. The entire issues mind you. I can't tell you the last time I've done that. Just sit down in a quiet space with magazine and read it cover to cover. No worries, no work... just the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the occasional ring of someone's cell phone (despite the mute-it sign.) It's peaceful here and I've needed these quiet hours for weeks. Weeks. Libraries are in many ways my "church", my safe place... I seek them out constantly even though I work at one. I accompanied my husband to his work this afternoon to spend a few hours near him. We needed to be close.

The past 24 hours have been a blur. Really though, the past 6 weeks, 6 months have been a blur. Michael and I are happily married with no children, but we love our furr-kids. I don't desire children like many women my age do. I've struggled with that for much of my adult life, people seem to find it very wrong for an adult woman not to want children. Don't get me wrong, I love kids. I love YOUR kids. I love kids that I get to give back! I love being an aunt and a neighbor who bakes cookies... but I don't have a desire for my own 24/7 kids. So my kitties? They truly are in many ways our "kids." We have had four cats all uniquely special and we have a tight bond with each of them. They are all rescues. I don't believe in buying pets (even hamsters! Check out your local rescue organization, they nearly ALWAYS have small "pocket" pets that need good homes!) and I love animals so much I've bordered on being a vegetarian/vegan the past several years. I can't bear to see them hurting or hungry.

Six months ago I shared about the scare we had with Mitten. My first furr-kid as an adult. I was a year out of college and living with my sweet friend Betty (you've seen her recipes around these parts) and I was getting ready to move into my very own first "apartment." It was a small (maybe 400 square foot) renovated part of a home. It was tiny, but it was mine! And Mitten came along with me. He was only 3 weeks old when I adopted him from a family who's "something + Persian" cat had just had a litter of kittens. I only went to look, but the lady's sister immediately came to the front porch with two kittens in her hands and just said "which one do you want?" Flustered, I just grabbed the one with longer hair and held him. He nuzzled my hand and sat quietly on my palm. He was tiny. I had had NO intention of taking a cat home. I hadn't officially moved into the new apartment yet and Betty didn't want any more pets. But the next thing I knew, I was sitting in my car with this flea-covered long, haired white kitten sitting in the brand-new cat carrier I had bought for the FUTURE cat in my FUTURE apartment.

I remember sitting in that car looking at him and panicking... what the heck was I going to do with this cat? He just sat quietly in the carrier looking at me contentedly. I was sitting in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly in a tiny little town called Elm City, a few miles away from Wilson, where Michael's family lived... I called Michael's mom and told her I didn't know what to do. I was too scared to tell Betty I was bringing home a cat, but I had to do something with him.

She told me to come over and we'd figure it out from there. So I drove to Michael's parents house. We took him to the bathroom first thing and washed him with Dawn, no less than 3 times to get all the fleas off and then took him into the kitchen. Carol (Michael's mom) was weary that SHE would end up having to take care of this rascal, as I had tried and failed to take care of a hamster, which Michael wouldn't let me donate to an elementary school. Instead he took the hamster named Sunny, tamed it, and he lived happily for 3 years on their dining room buffet.

After talking with Carol, I called Betty and asked her to meet me in Wilson at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. I drove over and when I saw Betty in the parking lot I asked her to come see my car. I showed her the cat and with a wry smile she said, "Well I guess you have to bring him home..." Crisis averted. I still had a month with Betty before I was going to move into the apartment.

So "Mitten" came home with me. I don't even remember how or why I named him Mitten... it just seemed appropriate for some reason. And after that, all of our future cats had names that started with an "M." Betty named all her animals with an "S." So I followed her tradition.

The first night Mitten was there I put him in the bathroom. Immediately he started howling. I thought he would stop after a few minutes, but he didn't. After 10 or 15 minutes I decided Betty was not going to be a happy camper if she had no sleep that night, so I moved the cat, the litter box, and his food and water to my room. A few minutes later, I heard him clawing his way up into my bed and the next thing I knew he was curled up next to my face on the pillow. He fell asleep in minutes. And that's where Mitten slept until I got married. Either on the pillow or right next to me. Every night. He would nuzzle into my back, or in my hair, he would squeeze my arm in a hug with his paws, purring gently, and fall asleep.

Mitten was with me through countless "firsts" as an adult. First pet. First big expense (hello vet bills and cat food!), first companion in my first apartment. When he was little he loved riding in the car, he would walk on a cat leash, and he managed to squeeze himself into the smallest possible places and get stuck. We "rescued" him from behind a washer and dryer (at least twice), from the top of the refrigerator too many times to count, from behind a bathroom WALL (that's a whole 'nother story in itself!), from being lodged shut in a drink cooler, and who knows how many other places.

Mitten was also deaf. We didn't realize this for about a month. I just thought he was insanely stubborn. I could say NO until I was blue in the face and he went right on doing whatever he wasn't supposed to be doing. I could shout it. I could sing it... nothing worked. Clapping didn't work, shouting didn't work, NO didn't work... and one day it finally dawned on me that he couldn't hear me. I took him to the vet and they confirmed it. We had a deaf cat. Which immediately meant he was even more special. I had a special-needs cat.

(if you have trouble viewing this video in Chrome, please try IE or Firefox)

Over time we developed a kind of sign language. He learned a flat "stop-sign" palm and a hard stomp meant NO. We learned to step into a room and lightly tap the floor, so it would send vibrations for Mitten to feel so wouldn't be startled when he woke up. We learned to talk to him when he was laying on our bellies or on our chests, he would start purring as soon as you started to talk to him. If we patted our chest with our hand, he learned that meant it was okay to come up into our laps. Mitten was a true "lap-cat."

Mitten was one of the most non-aggressive cats I've ever known. He didn't have a "mean" bone in his body and when our other cats joined our family through the years, he always welcomed them. He was the first to sniff and welcome without being afraid or mad. The other cats are a different story! If he ever got mad about being brushed (he hated being brushed!) or being snuggled too long, he was over it in about five minutes and was purring and back for more. Some cats can hold a grudge... we have two in particular who are very good at this... but Mitten never did.

Mitten loved to snuggle. You could hold him in nearly any position, and he didn't care.  He would just sit there and purr. He would nuzzle, grab you hand, and squeeze with his paws until they shook. It was his was of saying "I love you." He loved a paper bag. He would push it over and crawl inside, and then try to dig his way out the bottom. He didn't know (or care) how loud it was, but he loved it. He loved to sleep in tiny boxes. We caught him sleeping in a casserole dish on the counter once. When he was younger, he would climb anything he could. He ended up on top of the kitchen cabinets, up on a shelf in a closet. We never could figure out exactly how he did it. He could sit and look up at something, and you could tell he was planning out a way to get to the top of it. He loved to look out the window.  If the blinds were closed, he'd stick his head in between them. Once he figured out that this wasn't allowed, he learned to tap on them to tell us to open them. He liked to play with flashlight spots and lasers. He was shy around strangers, but he loved Michael's parents. He was full of joy.

So six months ago, Mitten had a major scare. We came home one day to find his nose and ears blue and he couldn't breathe. It sounded like he had fluid in his lungs. Turns out he did. But got through it. He was okay... for a while. Over the following six months, we had at least 3 visits to the local Emergency Vet for related medical issues and slowly Mitten's health continued to decline. A few weeks ago we realized that his remaining time with us was probably short.

What do we do? When do we decide? DO we have a right to decide "for" him. It was a continuous struggle. It caused many an argument and a frustration over vet visit after vet visit. Over daily medications that just didn't seem to work, over a poor cat who wasn't the same cat he was a year ago. It had probably been a year since he was seriously interested in playing. He slept a lot more. He didn't volunteer to jump up onto the bed or chairs as he once did so easily. We played much of it off... we teased him and called him the "grumpy old man." But in my heart I was afraid he wouldn't be around much longer.

But finally, on Wednesday January 30th the night had come. He was showing signs of increasing pain and a true struggle to breathe, he no longer had the energy to into the litter box (this poor boy NEVER had litter box issues, he seriously was the most well-behaved, down-to-earth, low maintenance cat ever) and we both knew it was time.

I won't go into the hard details of last night. It's too hard to write at this point. But our boy gently moved onto a pain-free life in Heaven. I miss him more than words can describe. I always will. I know that "time" generally does heal, the sun will keep on setting and rising as always, and that life will get easier.

(if you have trouble viewing this video in Chrome, please try IE or Firefox)

Right at this moment though... I'd do just about anything for one more of those white-pawed arm squeezes from my beloved friend.

It was an absolute joy and honor to be your human parents my sweet boy. We love you Mitten. We always will.

-- Michael co-wrote this post with me. 

Those days, those weeks...

Ever have those days?

I'm looking at my blog calendar and amidst the giveaways and the book reviews are blank empty spots to be filled in.

blank

empty

spots

Some weeks are like that. This blog is a big, wide-open, blank canvas and there are days, I simply have no idea what to fill it with.

The momentum has changed. I love cooking and I love writing... photography not so much. But that's no secret.

It seems like every season brings change.

Change to the leaves, to the scents in the air as I leave work in the afternoons. Change to diets, change to the list of books on my reading list.

What's next? I really don't know.

Some days I want to write stories. Some days I want to cook. Some days I'd rather just observe and watch. Lately I've picked up my crochet needles again. It's that time of year. Many afternoons I'm contemplative and I want to simply write out those thoughts and feelings. And more often than not these days, I'd rather stay away from any electronic device for weeks at a time. Who needs Facebook? Facebook can make you feel like others lives are more fulfilling than your own. And that simply isn't true. It's one of those tools of this day and age which needs to be used in great moderation or it can steal your joy.

My neighbor stopped me in the driveway yesterday. Came to return a dish. Apologized for not filling it with something in return. I smiled. And she sighed and simply said she was tired. She went on to talk about the things in her life that were extremely challenging for her right now. The frustrations that come from owning an old house. And just life in general. I listened, not really knowing what to say. But I wanted to help.

I wanted to invite her over for my grandmother's tea. To come into my messy kitchen. We'd push stuff out of the way on my overcrowded kitchen table and just enjoy the moment. Different families, same frustrations.

Life has just been like that... messy, overcrowded, days of frustration, days of absolute joy.

How do you sort it all out? Are you a contemplative type? Do you ever feel overwhelmed, even when things are good? Do you question what direction you need to be headed? If you're doing things right on your blog, in your journal, in your life?  What are you working through right now? Do blank empty spots face you as well? How do you work through those moments?

I'd love for you to share your thoughts in the comments below... and there's an anonymous option to leave comments, so you can be completely honest and totally anonymous if you'd like too.

Favorite Recipes from My Dad

That's my Dad and my Step-Mom. Today's a very special day. It's my Dad's birthday. I love you Dad!

You may not be aware, but my Dad is a huge inspiration behind most of my creativity in cooking. He's the foodie in our family. He's the one who first made chocolate chip cookies, omelets on Sundays, beef stews in the winter, and rare steaks with Caesar salad all summer long.

When I was little he made most of our breakfasts: usually grits, bagels, or oatmeal. On the weekends it was his famous omelets, fried liver mush (that's some good eating!), country ham cooked in cola, or fried eggs & bacon. One of my favorite cookbooks is his old copy of "The Joy of Cooking" by Irma Rombauer. That's the cookbook that taught me dozens of different ways to make cookies and cakes.

I remember old copies of Gourmet magazine always lying around the living room. I think that's where I get my love of actually reading cookbooks. While I may not try many of the recipes in a cookbook -- I think simply by reading how others make food will broaden your palate. It will give you ideas of new spices to try. Which foods work best together and will help you learn new cooking and baking techniques.

My Dad's also a writer. And while he doesn't always realize it, he's a very, very GOOD writer. He's spent nearly his entire adult career as a journalist and columnist and I know one day I'll see his name on a book. And trust me, no matter the subject... you'll want to read it. You'll be better for it. 

Today for his birthday I thought I'd share five recipes from the blog that have been most inspired by my Dad. Many are actually recipes that he used to make quite often that I converted to be gluten-free. You have to cook what you know best. Don't let being gluten-free stop that for you. Because family recipes are important. They carry on traditions, bring back beautiful memories, and make you feel like you're feeding people well. Food with a story is the very best kind of food. 

Well of course, The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies!!! 
They have to come from somewhere right? While this recipe isn't actually based on my Dad's recipe, it's special to me because my Dad made a LOT of chocolate chip cookies growing up. You knew it would be a good day if Dad decided to make cookies! And this recipes happens to be one of HIS favorites on my blog... which is a very cool thing!

Pancakes. 
My Dad made a lot of pancakes on Saturday mornings too. We loved his pancakes. Again... a recipe with a story! Read how my Dad learned to make them.

Caesar Salad. 
The ultimate "family" recipe in our clan! This one isn't just made in my immediate family it's shared by my aunt & uncle and their children... every kid in our family loves homemade Caesar salad from a very early age. It's good stuff and there's a good reason why!

Grits Bowls. 
Because I can't tell you how many school day's began with grits at our house. My dad loved to make us grits!

GLUTEN-FREE PIZZA!! 
Okay, so my Dad didn't make gluten-free pizza when I was growing up... but HE LOVED making us pizza with Chef Boy-R-Dee's Cheese Pizza Kits. By the time he was finished with them, they were full-blown supreme pizzas with green peppers, onions, pepperoni, ground beef, mushrooms, and tons of cheese. It's honestly why I love pizza so much. My Dad loved making those pizzas and the best part was we got to make them with him. He let us add the toppings, shred the cheese, watch the oven, taste the first bite. My Dad knows a thing or two about pizza and while this is a homemade recipe, it's JUST as easy as the Chef Boy-R-Dee version!! Want to buy a gluten free pizza kit that's way healthier than Chef Boy-R Dee? Check out Gallo Lea Organics GF Pizza Kits of Asheville, NC ! 

And Dad, when I see you later this month, I'm making you this... my favorite chocolate cake (or maybe a vanilla version since Chris doesn't like chocolate!) I also hope you know how great a Dad you are! Never forget that! I'm blessed outa my socks to have you for a Dad and I love for you for way more than all the amazing food you made for us growing up!

Happy Birthday Dad!! 

A Couple On the Water's Edge

Saturday afternoon in our favorite place. A little town called Swansboro, NC. A quiet, sleepy little town on the banks of the White Oak River in eastern North Carolina.

So rarely do we get here anymore. We meant to go to the beach at Emerald Isle, but saw hundreds of Harleys on the road headed to a bike fest. We don't need the beach today.

Where to go? Downtown. The quiet little downtown right on the water. Trees and benches line the little park. If the water had been warmer, my feet would have been in.

A couple in front of us sit quietly. Smiling at each other warmly. People watching... I'm guilty. Her hair beautifully curled, yet blowing gently in the wind. Years and years together. It shows. They don't need to talk.  The water laps against the stone wall, she feels the salt water tickle her nose. She laughs softly. 

His worn, weathered hands, one across her shoulder, the other hugging the bench. Against the cracked, hurricane-beaten wood. He's worked hard his entire life. He loves her deep through to his bones. There are no words. And no need for them. She leans her head against his shoulder. A quiet Saturday just watching the boats, watching the waves.

Her feet still lovely. Beautifully polished toes in summer sandals. Rocking back and forth, feeling the breeze. They've walked through this town so many times. So many summers. The sun warms her on this April afternoon. 

"That will be us in 60 years" I whisper lovingly to Michael. "No, honey..." He says quietly with a genuine smile... "That will be us in about 30 years... and really... it's already us." 

It's getting cooler by the minute. A day which began warm with possibilities. Now, it's time again to return to life. To bills, to home, to pets, to their grandchildren, and yard work. But there will be more warm summer afternoons to enjoy the boats. To enjoy each other, to simply be. Together.  

The bench will always be waiting. 

Potpourri and Pine: The Roanoke City Market c.1994

Photo by Carrie Forbes, 2010. 

I promise I'll start posting gluten free recipes again soon, after all, I know that's what you stop by for...but I hope you will indulge me and read about a fond memory that I was reminded of last night.

My friend Debbie shared on Facebook last night that one of her recipes  had been printed in a prominent publication by her work. She was SO excited and I was thrilled for her! And for some reason it reminded of when I first realized I loved writing.

I've always been a writer. I have journals that date back from when I was around 7 or 8 years old... but I think I truly realized that I had a love for words in my junior year of high school. I was in an advanced English class with a favorite teacher: Mrs. Harriet Little. She loved my writing, and she loved her students, and that meant so much to me. She truly listened to our thoughts. She encouraged this small class of young college-bound high school girls, and told us we had such an amazing life ahead of us. Her worn silver rings with an aged patina always faced us as she sat with elbows on her desk and fingers inter-laced. With wise brown eyes and always a story to tell she would say "Just wait until you're 35. You will love life. You will finally feel comfortable in your own skin and you will begin to know who you really are." To girls who were barely seventeen... 35 seemed ancient. Yet here I am... on the heels of being 34 this month. I had no idea how valuable her words would turn out to be. Mrs. Little gave us several writing assignments in particular that year that I remember.

The most memorable was a short essay that I wrote in December of 1994 about the Roanoke City Market. I have always loved this market. The smells and sounds. The Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings. Seeing fresh coffee ground at Mill Mountain Coffee & Tea, buying Roald Dahl books at the small local bookstore, visiting the planetarium at the Science Museum, etc... It was all simply remarkable. Mrs. Little loved my essay. I remember her smile as she was reading it. "Carrie, this is REALLY good." She said, with absolute sincerity. Ironically, I think it was when I first started learning how to use a thesaurus very effectively (lol)... but I was proud of that essay too. I loved my description of the market. Mrs. Little suggested I send it in to the Roanoke paper to have it published in the editorials section. I remember a small smile creeping on my face, but I was thinking that wouldn't work. My father worked for the paper at that time. Surely, publishing an essay from his daughter would have been considered  favoritism. Mrs. Little, however, told me to send it anyway. So I did. I didn't tell my Dad about it. I just quietly tucked it in the mailbox and forgot about it.

And then Christmas Eve 1994 came. We were on vacation from school. Mom and Dad were home from work. It was a joyful Christmas that year, I remember Dad making breakfast that morning and we were all sitting around the table. Dad, as always, was reading the paper as we ate. NPR was on the radio in the kitchen. And out of nowhere, Dad just put the paper on the table... "Carrie! This is your essay!" I was shocked. I had no idea they were going to publish it. It turned out that the editor of that section of the paper was on vacation at the time and the person working in her place didn't know who I was. So they published it. And then I saw it. My name in print under a few paragraphs that I had written. My Dad was thrilled. I was so excited. Mrs. Little... thank you!

I happened to find the essay that was printed in the Roanoke Times from an online database of newspaper archives which happened to date back to the early 1990's (talk about making you feel old!). Especially for those of you from the Southwestern Va., region I think you'll enjoy reading this short composition about how I saw the Roanoke City Market nearly 20 years ago... and amazingly how little it has changed since then!

Potpourri and Pine: The Roanoke City Market Captures the Season
From: The Roanoke Times Archives
Written by a 17 year-old me...
From the Editorial section, December 24 1994

THE SIDEWALKS are encrusted with forgotten orange rinds and apple cores, while the smell of hot apple cider lingers in the musty air. Passersby are greeted with fresh pine cuttings and little wooden men, each with its own story, made by an old carver whittling close at hand. Cheery seasonal melodies in the distance are strummed softly by local musicians.

The scent of flavored coffees and muffins draws people to the local coffee and tea house near the lighted trees of the old market. The little shops offer freshly made jams, homemade pies and ornamental decor right under the "cinnamon and cloves" aroma of the hand-stitched potpourri sachets hanging on the wall, which seem to be calling out for those close by to take them home.

I find that whenever I have the pleasure of visiting the Roanoke City Market, I return home with a reassured knowledge that believing is seeing. The market comes with scents and distinct feelings, contributing to a warm and homey atmosphere that overcrowded malls don't offer.

The atmosphere of such a place as the market is astonishingly different from that of a mall. The market offers so much more in return with its purchases than just the receipt you would receive at the mall. The mall was designed to make shopping trips easy and accessible while crowding many stores into one large building to make parking easier. The market's purpose is not that of a designer, but of the individual.

The market, though often less frequently advertised, gives individuals a chance to look in "nooks and crannies" for treasures of all sorts, whereas at the mall you only get the obvious. Craftsmen and street vendors line the cozy streets, selling their unique, "made with care" items, while at the mall the predictable clothing and other articles are often made in faraway poor countries. The specialties at the market usually don't consist of something from an imported famous designer, but from the special hands of hard-working people in our area.

The market is especially charming during the holidays. You feel welcome, and if you weren't in the spirit before you arrived, you will be when you depart. The mall offers some of the same feeling, but you can't enjoy it as much without the crisp fall air brushing against your cheek while you munch on a fresh apple from an open shop wondering if you can outrun the flock of pigeons before you get to your car.

The market leaves you with a wonderful magic that the mall can't ever impart. You believe the world can be as delightful as the market seems. The mall is just another mall; there are millions of them; they have no real personality. There is only one Roanoke City Market!


And Mrs. Little... I'll have you know... you are and were absolutely right. As I turn 34 this year... I am absolutely thrilled with where I am in my life and I can't wait to live more of it. I'm so glad you were my teacher.