Yes, Books are Heavy

Today I moved out of my college dorm. Packing was interesting. I found a lot of things in my room that I didn't know I had. Most of these previously unknown items materialized in the form of old M&M's packages, one sock, and several bags of Twizzlers. There was also the ten dollar bill, but I won't mention that.

Besides all that, I sold my books for ridiculously cheap prices at the bookstore. It's so hard parting with books. My life consisted of them for the past few months, and now someone else's life will consist of them. It's interesting.

At any rate, I was trying to carry the books that I kept (the larger ones that I actually rented) down four flights of stairs. Yes, I live on the forth floor, and there is no elevator. I decided to put the multiple pounds of books into a flimsy grocery sack. I then proceeded to carry it down the stairs along with a suitcase and several other item-filled grocery sacks.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs and had to stop, because it felt like the bag with the books was breaking. I didn't want to put down the rest of my bags, because I didn't feel like I could lift them again. I still had a ways to walk to my car, and I couldn't open the door of the building.

Then this random guy came along from behind me. He just kind of appeared, and said the best words ever:

"Hey miss, let me carry that for you."

He was so nice, and carried that ridiculously heavy sack all the way to the car, and tried to talk to me too. On one hand, I was worried he was a serial killer or something, and would steal my car. On the other, I thought that all guys should be like him.

But anyway, that is all. Nothing else happened. So why am I talking about this?

It's the little things in life that matters. I will remember that random guy for quite some time. If you see someone who needs help, just help them.

Because, yes, books are heavy. I figured that out today.

Ignore the Flames Billowing out of the Oven

Well, I just remembered that I have a blog, and I thought I would update it, just so I can sit back, feel smart, and tell myself I have an updated blog.

As some of you may or may not know, my mom is in the hospital (and has been for 16 days now), so life has been interesting as of late. Rather interesting indeed. It means I need to do all the cooking (Katherine would set the house on fire). It is rather adventurous, as witnessed by the story which is chroniclized below.

Yesterday, I was making this incredible chicken dish I found in my amazing Cooking with Four Ingredients cookbook. I was making the chicken, and it was cooking in the oven sitting in a sauce of French Onion soup, soy sauce, and sour cream (it actually was really good). I went to get it out of the oven, and my linguine began to boil over. Startled, I dropped one end of the chicken dish into the oven, causing the sauce in it to spill out into the oven. Odd, grey, smoke-like air began to rush out of the oven. In fact, I believe it was smoke.

Actually, I nearly started a fire.

If you know me at all, you may or may not know I love cooking and baking. Now, however, I can truly say I almost caught something on fire. A rush of pride, of course, accompanies that statement.

All great chefs have caught something on fire. Right?

Right.