Alles gute...

Today was my birthday. I was given four cakes, three of which were homemade. I was congratulated and hugged and sung to. I feel very welcomed, and I am surprised by how effusive so many people were in their well-wishes. I'm too tired to write more now, but I'll just say that my birthday, while different, was still a very good day. 

I didn't end up eating my Chinese leftovers, because after a day full of trying cake, a good salad seemed to be in order.

One Year!

This is my official one year post on Toast and Jam! Though this blog is but a humble effort at electronically keeping a public journal, I feel rather proud that I've followed through with it for an entire year. Once again, I'm facing a birthday--as people tend to do each year--but this this year, it's very different. I'm living in Germany, and I am away from all of the usual people I celebrate with. Yet, I still have that twinge of excitement somewhere inside of me, that hopeful anticipation for another productive year. This last one has been a whirlwind, and though it had its up and downs, I can confidently say that, qualitatively, it has been a very good one. I'd like to thank my family and friends who read this for making it so. I love and/or miss you all.

I'm also announcing my participation in NaBloPoMo. Yep, National Blog Posting Month. I will be posting something every day. Maybe not amazing things, but tidbits to get myself in the habit of writing again (not that I've lapsed out of the habit, but this can only sharpen my skills--or so I like to think). 

Last but not least, I'm pleased to say I've found good Chinese food in Düsseldorf. They serve platters that are like, 20% meat and 80% hot chilies, but they wouldn't make it spicy enough for me. The next time I go back (and believe me, there will be a next time), I'm going to have to say that I want it really hot. Insanely hot. I'm going to insist. They gave my friend and me the total white people treatment, even though my friend is half-Taiwanese and told them to make it hot in Mandarin. It must have been our English-speaking that really turned them against us. But I'm not going to give up. Anyway, we ended up ordering tofu in chili sauce (hot, but not hot enough--kind of a thick sauce, studded with fresh red chilies, not super-impressive) and eggplant in a spicy garlic sauce (not spicy at all, but a lot of garlic and really oily in that way that Chinese food sometimes is when it's supposed to be oily). I really wish I spoke Chinese, though, because they have the special only-in-Chinese menu for the Chinese customers. But even the German menu is pretty good, with some interesting sounding dishes. They also have Hot Pot!

Tomorrow, I will treat myself to a couple new movies from the library, as it is my birthday and all. I may even have my Chinese leftovers for dinner after my German-language night class. Tomorrow promises to be unlike any other birthday I've ever had, and really, what more could I ask for?

Thoughts on Birthdays.

Tomorrow is my birthday. This got me to thinking about birthdays past, and feeling a bit nostalgic. I remember, as a little girl, the anticipation I felt at finally having achieved another year. I would wake up with a tautness inside of me, a sensation that drove me out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. My mom always baked a birthday cake, but best of all, she let me help. I remember watching as she measured the flour, there in the warm kitchen, November rain slapping against the old windows. The house was always drafty in the late fall and throughout winter, but on my birthday, the kitchen was the most warm and comforting place I can remember. For years I insisted upon the same chocolate cake. Between each layer was hidden a sweet stripe of my favorite raspberry jam. Outside, it was spread with whipped cream and decorated with slabs of bittersweet chocolate. This outer shell was my favorite part of the cake, as it was simply melted chocolate bars spread very thinly, dried and broken into shards. The comforting smell of melted chocolate would fill the entire house, and I was allowed to lick the spatula often enough that a ring of chocolate inevitably appeared around my mouth. 

I don't remember many of the presents I received as a child, but the ritual of cake stands out in my mind. Mom never baked from a box, and to me--even now--the baking of a cake is, at its core, one of the tenderest gestures of love and devotion that can be offered by one person to another. Receiving a cake fills me with a feeling of childish delight and contentment; to be baked for is to be truly loved.

This new year, I think, is going to be good. Today I saw an old family friend for the first time in over half a year, steamed milk for a latté perfectly, and invited a few of my wonderful coworkers to a birthday get-together. The trees are brilliantly red, apples are ripe, I have coffee for tomorrow morning, and it's storming outside. Beauty.