Pigs and Fireworks


I am back!

I am:



and a little toasty color - maybe similar to that of a teddy graham.

 I want to recap the past couple of weeks. Mostly so I never forget the sweet moments. And the mental snapshots. And the remember this forever whispers that shout into our little heart pockets when something remarkable takes place.

Labor Day is the summer finale. If summer is a sponge, by Labor Day it's just about dry and here in Kentucky we wring out the last few drops of goodness in a big weekend of cookouts and pool parties. AND IT MEANS: SHUT UP, SUMMER. WE JUST WANT FALL.

Having lived the past several years in the quiet countryside of my parents' home, I was excited for Bryan and I to finally be married and get cozy in our new little urban nest. City living! It's a little dirtier, busier, and full of new faces.

So to kick off the weekend before our wedding, we unpacked some of our new treasures, and I took the nesting part very seriously.

On Sunday, I made a fool-proof sangria in our new pitcher. Actually, I think all sangria is probably fool-proof. Basically dump a lot of wine in and cut up some fruit and toss that in, too. Shoot, I should write a food blog! I also moved an end table into the kitchen just so I could take this photo. Because what is a proper aerial shot without some woodworking in the background? 

Our one neighbor in our building has a pig roast every year. I have never experienced a pig roast. I love animals with a deep and fiery passion (well, apparently not deep enough to not eat them...but still). I put on my best "I'm so excited to eat this tiny former piglet dear friend swine!" when we saw all 129 pounds of it shoved in the fridge in our cellar. (I say cellar, because basement is too generous and I feel like Kevin McAllister when I walk down there).

I was so brave. Even when they offered me some meat from it's butt, I obliged. Even when I heard the crispy skin being ripped from its body, I slathered on some barbecue sauce and pretended I did it all the time. Rest in peace. GO FIND YOUR SANGRIA.

I also learned that I might be the only person in the history of pig roasts to walk outside with a baked brie.

Marveling phrases of, "What is that fancy thing?" is enough to make any person feel like a total idiot. But just continue to be brave. Eat your pig butt and baked brie with a confident smile on your face and do not falter. Smile kindly at the man with the pickle jar full of tequila wrapped in a dish towel and just enjoy your life.

Any event in which I can share quality time with my favorite meatball is cause enough for celebration.

Eventually a deluge overtook the city and we decided to enjoy the fireworks show from our back porch. It was convenient and I was able to sneak inside and eat more baked brie.

Our friends came over and we danced in our kitchen a little bit and watched some of the fireworks on our dinosaur television set, and we called it a night.


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