Spiced Blueberry Cashew & Coconut Smoothie

You know how life is extremely unexpected?

Let me give you some examples.

Sometimes  you’re just trying to walk your dog. Maybe on this walk you see a shirtless stranger barreling towards you on their bicycle. He is smoking a cigarette. You can’t help but think how difficult it would be to smoke a cigarette WHILE biking the hills that surround this area. That is both cardiovascular-ly challenging and counter-intuitive. You also can’t help but wonder if he’s chilly. It’s sunny, but the wind is brisk. You yourself are in a jacket and pants. He is topless.  While you are pondering both his fashion and health decisions he yells out “Get off of the flapping sidewalk!” while narrowly missing your paws with his bike tires and puffing a thick of smoke in your face. Note: He totally didn’t say flapping. I’m just trying to keep this kid-friendly. This interaction is odd. Why do I have to get off the sidewalk? I am the one walking. I am the one wearing a top. Also, why are you yelling at me? Unexpected. […]

How To Make Coconut Butter

So, butter.

We have a history.

This weekend I was hanging out with my family, and these words were inevitably spoken to me:

“Hey, Gina! Remember how you used to sneak into the fridge and leave finger prints in the butter container?”

Yes. Yes I do. It went something like this…

I would wait until no one was in my grandparent’s kitchen. I would sneak over to the fridge and pray that the large tub of Country Crock was within my stubby-four-year-old-arm’s reach. If it was, I would sneakily remove it from its place in the fridge and bring it over to the kitchen table. Silently, I would remove the top off of the tub of butter. Eureka! I would dip my fat little fingers inside of the container and eat the butter off my hands. Carefully, I would put the top back on the container and make sure to place it back where I found it in the refrigerator. My four-year old self did not understand that I had left substantial evidence of my shenanigans behind. There were little finger divots and prints left in the butter tub. I was the only four-year-old that frequented that house. I was caught red-handed. Several times. I will also NEVER live this down. […]