Nina Luna finds her kitchen.

I don't cook very often because I don't think I do it well enough. Perfectionism (aka my constant companion and shadow) keeps me away. And of course eating is still not uncomplicated for me even after over a decade of healing from an eating disorder. If I do cook, it is in a Conquer kind of way: get a big idea and make a big production trying it once, then good or not - it usually seems like too much work to bother again.

But an unexpected result of my current romantic relationship is more time in the kitchen... somehow the gentle and accepting company of this particular companion has helped me be open enough to take this risk. Luckily, I have received a lot of personal coaching from my friend who cooks good food as naturally as she breathes. It started, of course, with bacon and brussels sprouts. Then came the fajitas - which turned out OK, but a little too chewy. Then I successfully tackled lasagna - after my friend calmed me in the midst of a dating crisis with the wise words, "A lot can be healed with lasagna." There was even a side trip into baking apple pie, which I have lots of practice at - I seem to be more comfortable baking. Or just more motivated to eat those baked treats.

Then, last Monday I read my favorite food/love/life blogger and came home to happily make her latest recipe for dinner. This might seem pretty ordinary to some people. But to me? Miraculous. Cooking on a weeknight just feels like way too much unnecessary frustration. And I am often limited to certain foods or textures as dictated by my emotional state, like my fascination with cottage cheese and rice crackers when I have an angry need to crunch but a milky comforting longing as well. In general, I often don't feel satisfied with a meal unless it somehow involves cheese. I probably ate Trader Joe's frozen pizza and a wild greens salad at least four nights a week for about two years. I'm still not sure exactly what emotional need that was filling, but the compulsion seemed like a little more than really liking pizza.

But the point is that something may finally be shifting inside of me. With some help and new perspective on food itself. This blogger, Shauna, gives recipes and directions but with rich context and an amazing passion for food. Like my friend with the lasagna advice, Shauna speaks in the language of textures, smells, and preferred taste more than exact volumes and specific amounts of time. The openness and focus on learning the process rather than rigidly following directions gives me the information, but with freedom. And the way she talks about food is teaching me to savor each aroma, color, and flavor with real creativity and love. Food not only can sustain life but enrich your life. It's not just something to fight against and control and resent. Who knew?!

And enjoying my kitchen tools really helps - I am in love with my cast iron pans (thank you Uncle Jim). There is something so timeless and wholesome about them. Seasoning them feels like caring for old friends. I picture pioneers cooking with them over open campfires and grandmothers with rich equatorial skin pulling them out of outdoor clay ovens. And they work really well.

This week I was inspired enough to feel like it was creative and fun. So I made Shauna's savory black beans. (The grape tomatoes on the top make it a masterpiece - I couldn't find yellow, but red were delicious.) I cooked them along with some rice, quick chili-lime prawns, and roasted asparagus. And enjoyed myself.


File under: small victories and simple delights... like actually using my sewing room to sew. I know, I'm getting it. Sometimes it just takes me a while.

Winning is fun.

It's true. Winning might not be everything. But it sure is a whole lotta something. Something super fun.

My volleyball girls played SO well this weekend. We experienced moment after moment of sheer delight and joy. Even the girls who have never been the strongest were passing with precision and pounding the ball down on the other team. Are these the girls who couldn't set a ball to save their life a few months ago?! Amazing what a little instruction and happy motivation can do. I am proud because I think I am actually learning to be a technically good coach and would like to think I've had something to do with it. But I am also so proud of them. With a heart full of love. Like the proud volleyball mama.

I've certainly grown along with them. The "playing time" dilemma nearly got the best of me. But I think I found where I am comfortable. I had to fight a few people around me to make things fairer again, but that felt noble. And I swear everyone started playing better when things got more equal again. Who knew?!

The semi-final game this Wednesday may well be our final game (I've seen the team we're playing, and it might not be pretty), but I think we will remember this season very fondly (angry parents and all) regardless.

Love. Injure. Retreat. Recover. And Repeat.

I received another complaint about my coaching, but from a parent this time. Eek. And it touched on something I wasn't entirely happy with myself at that moment. Those complaints that ring in the vicinity of true are especially hard to take.

They were not happy with the amount of playing time their daughter is getting. (Apparently, she was devastated and ready to quit?!) I freely admit that balancing inclusivity vs. competitive edge in the heat of the game is by far the hardest part of coaching volleyball for me. As a group we've talked through their frustration with losing and chose to be more "strategic" with who we play when. I actually haven't been comfortable with how far we've swung toward the competitive side recently. But I really didn't think that if you counted up the minutes (which apparently they had) that she'd been on the bench far more than anyone else. That really wasn't my intention. But they didn't care. They were MAD.

I am sure we both see what we are looking for in the situation. This year I am noticing how hard it is to sift through my assumptions about players to see what they are actually accomplishing on the court. The appearance of how athletically they move and the actual result of their action doesn't always match up. And growth creeps up on us. I don't always see each person with fresh eyes each day, even though I desperately hope other people give me that chance to grow in their eyes. This girl had been working hard and doing better, and I was slow to respond.

But please tell people how you are feeling before it reaches crisis levels in your eyes!!!!

It is devastating for me to feel like I've injured someone. Especially when my intention is exactly the opposite. For a brief moment after hanging up the phone, I actually wanted to quit. To retreat completely. From this, one of my favorite things to do in the world. Because of one hard conversation.

Then I remembered that I really do trust my intentions. To understand and teach and love all of those girls the best I can. Not only that, but I am open to learning to do better, which is rare and remarkable. I also remembered it will feel better the next day. And even better the next.

Injure. Retreat. Recover.

And then I had a date where I thought that I had ruined everything. As my words came out, I felt like that girl who needed a boy's validation to be OK. And I didn't get the response I thought I wanted. Pain. And so I pulled back.

Injure. Retreat.

But I remembered that I am not that girl - I am an honest individual who is brave enough to risk revealing my messy insides. (Although, I admit it can get confusing for everyone involved. Often I'm not really sure what I am feeling... then I spend a lot of time wishing that I wasn't feeling what I am feeling... then I'm not sure how to express it... but eventually I get there.) I retreated and recovered. Then I was able to say what I actually meant. And it went back to being joyful and fun.

Recover. Repeat.

My Love Affair with Bacon

It was bacon all week last week. No joke. It started with BLTs and root beer floats (the brilliant boy's idea), yum. Then eggs and bacon. And a strip of bacon here and there on the go. Another BLT for good measure. Then the clincher... the Bacon Party thrown by good friends.

The Bacon Party was lovely. Probably one of the loveliest parties I've ever been to - not just because of the bacon, but because of the mix of good friends to see again and really nice people to meet. Usually I dread "stand around and talk to people" parties. But I credit L & B, the hosts, for being two of the kindest, most genuine, and intelligent people I know, so I shouldn't be surprised when the people they surround themselves with are stellar as well. The brussels sprouts and kale I made (cooked in bacon fat, of course) turned out really well. I've never cooked brussels sprouts, but I thought it was a fantastic balance of seemingly opposite foods.

But as someone who has had so many painful issues with food and weight, allowing myself to savor something so devilishly good is simultaneously essential and a miracle. And I'm trusting those miles on the bike to start paying off...