My Master Chef Audition

Subtitle: aka Thank God I'm Boring?

My alarm went off at 6:30 this morning. That NEVER happens on a Saturday morning unless we're leaving for a fabulous vacation or, as was the case today, I am auditioning for Master Chef. I quickly showered and tried to dress like the middle aged writer/mom/cook that I am these days. (The FAQs on the Master Chef website suggested we wear something that best represents who we are...!?) I pulled my pot of Cinnamon Sweet Potato Soup out of the refrigerator and began heating it while the oven pre-heated for the toasting of my Maple Bacon Cornbread Croutons. I drizzled the butter over my carefully cubed croutons and popped them in the oven. All my prep went off without a hitch.

I was confident that my high powered thermos would keep the soup hot for at least 6 hours. It had proven itself last Halloween when I doled out "Ski Lifts"(hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps) to the other parents during our neighborhood's trick-or-treating and Halloween Party.

Maybe everything was going too smoothly. I got to the Culinary School at the Art Institute of Nashville 2 hours before the doors were to open. I had heard that in other cities there were 300 people in line 2 hours early. I was number 6! Okay, great, the good luck continues.

I met and chatted with the other hopefuls until the doors opened at 9:30. For all my sizing up of the people around me (eventually, there were a couple hundred in line), I just couldn't tell who had the goods and who didn't. We were finally led inside where we were given numbers. I was 109. Things continued to go smoothly as I sailed through the registration process and ended up only having to wait for 15 minutes in the "holding room." I was in the first group of 20 who were called into the "tasting room." We each had a small table and were given 3 minutes to plate our dish. My soup and croutons were both still hot!

My heart pounded as the chef started with the guy to my left, Nick, #110. He had never even seen the show but I could tell from his dish and his expertise in describing the cooking process that he was the real deal. His upscale potato soup and avocado/lobster salad were plated on a beautiful slab of wood. The soup was in an iron bowl with a handle on top, for heaven's sake!

I have to say that the chef complimented me every bit as much as he did Nick. He said he really liked my soup, but thought the bacon in my cornbread croutons was an especially nice touch. So far, so good. Only a few minutes went by before Gina and Lacey, casting directors for Master Chef, came over to chat with me. I felt confident. I told them I was doing this for all the moms who had put their dreams on hold to focus on raising children. I told them how cooking had been healing for me when I had to walk away from songwriting. And I told them about my pistol of a daughter and my loving, supportive husband. I would find out later that this is not what they wanted to hear.

Raynel with the dread locks, #108, to my right, made this really complicated Chicken Tamale soup with quesadillas that didn't look very good. But then she told me her story. She is raising her 16 year old brother. He ran away two weeks ago. He is somewhere on the streets of Nashville and she is so worried about him.

Although I ended up befriending Nick, #110, he didn't tell me his story. But I did eavesdrop as he talked to the casting directors. He grew up in a bad part of town outside of Atlanta. His family was on food stamps all through his childhood, but he refused to live on junk food. Instead, he taught himself to cook and it has become his passion in life.

Only 6 or 7 people out of the 20 of us were called for the next round. I was not surprised to hear numbers 108 and 110. I am very happy for Raynel and Nick. But I am also thankful for the very thing that probably disqualified me from advancing to the next round: a loving, stable family.

I am sad that some peoples' lives include such cold, cruel versions of reality. I am glad they have a shot at their 15 minutes of fame. As for me, it feels like too high of a price to pay. I'll take my own story any day!

To Hope

I am loving the creative class I am taking on Thursday mornings! We have studied art, poetry, letter writing and art and poetry ABOUT letter writing. Such rich material. I am reminded of something my friend, Joel Lindsey, who is a very successful writer, used to say..."If you are having trouble coming up with something to write about, then it is time to feed the lake!" A silly fishing analogy, but it speaks volumes to the struggling writer! Watch a great movie. Read poetry. Go to an art museum. Look at old photographs. Re-read your favorite novel. Inspiration is waiting to be found.

Today we were encouraged to think about writing a letter to an inanimate object. This form of writing is called "Apostrophe." To my forks and spoons, to my exes, to the Yeti (we studied that poem today!), to my 20 lbs, etc., you get the idea.

We also talked a lot about hope, so that is who my inanimate object letter is to:

To Hope

I have lost you as often as I have found you

Deferred, you have made my heart sick

Re-discovered, you have made it soar

You are a glimmer, deep in the heart of the cynic

You are the last remaining sign of life

in disappointment's flat-line

I often hear that you float, 

but I have also seen you sink

like a doomed ship

waiting patiently to be mined 

as hidden treasure on the ocean's floor
 

I tell the white lie to my little one, 

as long as you believe in this thing or that, 

it is real

but I applaud you for being no less real

when I am plagued by doubt

Once A Writer........

Always a writer. Over the course of my life so far, the drive to write has been a blessing and a curse. On the best of days, it has left me with a great feeling of accomplishment. It has given me great pride to have created something. On a bad day, when the blank page has taunted me or when writing itself seems like a distant memory, I am defeated. The pendulum swings wide and the emotional roller coaster ride is both exhilarating and terrifying for me....and for most writers.

I now know how it feels to NOT write for a long period of time. No song, blog, short story or scrap of an idea has ventured forth from my troubled mind in over a year. And I did it on purpose. I turned my back on it. It just didn't seem practical and it certainly wasn't going to pay the bills. It was a busy year full of more than our fair share of changes. I worked hard on my cooking business and on being a supportive wife and mother. The occasional well-crafted song or beautifully written blog made me feel a little wistful, but not enough to do anything about it.

And yet, here I am revisiting my blog. So, something did happen to end the drought. It was nothing dramatic. It was talking about writing over coffee with a songwriter friend.  It was the fledgling song ideas that started to pop in my head. It was the "creative group" that I joined last week. It was the announcement in the church bulletin about the "worship writing workshop." I probably won't finish my novel or have "2 a day" songwriting sessions anytime soon, but you can bet I will be writing something.

I am going to write because I am a writer. Whether it seems practical or not. Whether I ever make another cent or not. My writing muscle is out of shape, but the drive (and hopefully the talent?) is still in there. Yes, the pendulum will swing wide and the roller coaster will careen out of control at times. But another thing I have learned about writing is that it is not for the faint of heart.

Goodbye, Holly Dog

I will never forget the phone call from Mark. "She's white with brown spots and I scooped her out of the middle of the street," he said. It was early December almost 10 years ago. Mark and some co-workers were taking the back way over to Sonic which meant they had to travel down hilly, winding Holly Tree Gap Road. They couldn't believe it when they saw 6 tiny, female, beagle/spaniel puppies running in and out of the street. They quickly pulled over and started rescuing the little things. Another passerby stopped and said that he had a kennel so he could take Holly's 5 sisters (I pray they have had as happy lives as Holly did!).

We had only had Maggie Dog for 4 months, so we were not in the market for a new puppy. But God knew better. There is no doubt in my mind that Holly (named for the street where she was found!) was meant to be part of our family. She was a diva from the very beginning. We took her to a Christmas party the week that we got her where she was passed around like a beloved newborn baby. We are pretty sure that she never even knew she had been abandoned. Her attitude was one of entitlement and she was not a bit sorry about it. Dr. Hendrix, her vet, belly laughed after feeding her a treat, only to have her look up at him and then spit it out! She was offended because he had taken her temperature in a very.....um, embarrassing place!

She adored Maggie Dog and loved and respected Mark. She only tolerated Sydney. The truth is, I think she wanted to BE Sydney. When she commandeered Sydney's Dora the Explorer couch, we realized that she pretty much wanted one of whatever Syd had. More than anything, I think she believed she was my daughter. Her neediness melts my heart in retrospect. Next to a romp in the woods at my parents' house or a long walk with neighbor, "Aunt" Susan, all Holly really wanted was to sit next to me on the couch as I stroked her ears and belly.

I guess it is a blessing that the cancer took her in only 12 days. She went from being her demanding self to barely being able to walk. We were going to try chemo but in the end she was not even stable enough for that. It was almost midnight last Thursday night when it became clear that we needed to send her on to Doggy Heaven. I had wanted to be with her when the time came, but it was late, cold and rainy, so sweet Mark took her. He stayed with her until the end and said it was all very peaceful. He told her she had been a good dog and that she better remember us when we cross over to Heaven someday.

I don't know how long I will grieve for her. I pray that time will take away the pain and leave joyful memories in its place. One thing I know for sure is that I will never forget her.

Goodbye, Holly Dog. Thank you for the 10 years of love and laughter.

Songwriter Turned Cook!

A little over a year ago I put down the pen and picked up the knife...and roasting pan and immersible blender, etc., etc. I was in a weight loss group (after gaining weight co-writing Point Of Grace's cookbook with them!) with some other women who did not have time to do all the prep and cooking necessary for successful weight loss. A couple of my friends asked if they could pay me to do the cooking for them. Wow - what a novel idea - getting paid to cook?? Through word of mouth only, my business has grown to an email list of 95 people receiving my menu weekly. I take an average of 15 orders per week. And then on Mondays, my healthy foodie customers converge on my house to pick up their healthy meals for the week.

In the last month or so, I have decided to take my business to the next level. I am ready to take on new customers. And I am fully legal. I have insurance and a commercial kitchen. The sky is now the limit. As for my songwriting, I am pretty much a believer in "once a songwriter, always a songwriter!" For now, I am expressing my creativity through beautiful, healthy, TASTY food!

Check out my new blog at http://healthynashvegas.blogspot.com/

If you'd like to purchase the aforementioned Point Of Grace Cookbook entitled "Cooking With Grace" go to www.pointofgrace.net

An Open Letter To Amy Grant

Dear Amy,

I want you to know how very deeply I am moved by your new record. Jennifer gave me a copy two days ago and it promptly became the CD that repeats over and over in my car as I run around town, mostly doing mom things. As I listened I was transported back to my childhood on "Arms Of Love." I was struck with just how long you have had an influence on my life. Unlike the vast majority of your fans, I have actually known you personally since the early 80's. We have lived similar lives (except for the fact that you became a celebrity). We both grew up in Nashville and we both grew up at Belmont Church where both of our fathers were elders. You went on retreats with our youth group and spoke in our Sunday School class. I will never forget the day that you let us help you and Michael teach "Thy Word" to the congregation.

You and I have never been close but have always had a friendly relationship. I have had a unique opportunity to watch you live out your faith. Sometimes it was up close as I babysat your children and did "The Loft" with you. A lot of the time it was from afar but I was always watching. Being six years younger than you, I thought of you as a role model. As I grew older I realized that you were not perfect. But what you ARE is way more important. You are genuine. I would tell your listeners that you mean every word on this new project. What you are singing about it so unique to you, yet SO universal at the same time. Thank you for saying the hard stuff. The vulnerable stuff.

The different circles that we run in often intersect. And I am thankful when they do. But in case I don't see you in the near future I wanted to go ahead and thank you for inspiring me as a fellow songwriter, mom and woman of God. Our ages don't seem that far apart these days and as I listen to your music, I recognize that we have arrived at similar places in our lives.

I am so glad you made this record. It's just what I needed and I think it's what the rest of the world needs right now too!

Love,

Julie

P.S. Meet me at Bread & Co. 10-12 years from now when our last little birds have left the nest! Maybe we can catch up then!

What If

I broke my self-enforced vow of songwriting silence today. It was time. I had put it off long enough, even going to such great lengths as writing a cookbook to keep from having to write a song. I was a little rusty, but I had expected to be. My co-writer, Phil Madeira, was as gracious and funny as ever and I am sure this helped to ease my nerves.

I am still trying to figure out all of the reasons that I felt betrayed enough by songwriting that I would consider walking away. The music industry is one of the few businesses where talent and hard work don't always add up to success. It is hard to know that some of your best work will never see the light of day. That shows you right there that I don't necessarily write for the love of writing. I admit that I want to be heard, to be recognized. Most of all, I think I just got tired of feeling like I was spinning my wheels.

Writing the cookbook with Point Of Grace reminded me about the joy of creating. I can now hold in my hands a beautiful, hardback book full of my heart and soul and words where six months ago there was no such thing. I had an idea and said, "What if....?" Well, what if I approached my songwriting that way? What if I didn't worry about "commerciality" and trying to compete? What if I actually had fun with it again?

After chatting for awhile, as songwriters tend to do, Phil and I wrote a very irreverent, bluegrass funeral song! As Phil and I talked about his good buddy Tom Howard's funeral, I distinctly remember Phil saying, "Hey, what if we wrote a song about directions for your own funeral?" Even with my semi-phobia of funerals, I whole-heartedly agreed. And the song turned out great. Special, even. There was a time that I would have tried to talk him out of it, that I would have pushed for something a little more practical....and commercial. I would have missed out on being part of a great song.

The melancholy side of me sees the glass as half empty. I appreciate that darker side of myself and draw from it often in my writing. But that is also the side of me that answers the question, "What if?" with "It would never work."

If I appeal to my lighter side, the side of myself that has seen doors swing wide open lately, then I would answer that question with a resounding, "Yes! What if!"