I miss the days when my uncle had a boat and the whole gaggle of us would head out to the lake.  Back then I was too young to water ski, so I just enjoyed the feeling of being strapped in my life vest and watching my cousin Maury tear it up on the waves.  I hoped one day I’d be brave and cool enough to do what he did, but the family trips ended before I got the chance to try.

Fortunately, my chance to hit the open waters came when I was in high school.  I rocked the inner tube (as well as other floatation devices strapped to the back of the boat), but I could never quite get the hang of the skis.  I’ll put it this way: in my first attempt to ski, I drank more water than Sparkletts delivers in a week.  Ouch.

Every time the boat revved up, I held on as tight as I could and prayed I’d survive.  I was hell bent on getting up on the skis but gravity – and my lack of upper body strength – was even more determined to keep me down.  Finally, after swallowing at least 50 gallons of lake water, I let go of the rope and came to grips with the fact that I’m a better buoy than a skier.  Oh well.

Despite the fact that I couldn’t will my body to adhere to my athletic wishes, I still had a great time at the lake.  I enjoyed time with friends and participating in both aquatic and non-aquatic activities of the day such as roasting marshmallows and dominating the camp with my sweet water gun skills.

One could say I gave up too soon or quit when it got too tough – I didn’t.  I just knew when it was right to let go, move on, and stop wasting my energy on something that was wearing down the boat and me.

I’m convinced that life works the same way.  Sometimes you have to be stronger than steel to endure a situation; other times you have to conjure up an equal amount of strength just to be able to let something or someone go.

I’m not saying to give up when things get tough.  Certain situations (and people) require us to stick through the muck until we’re back on solid ground.  It’s only time to let go if what is frustrating you or dragging you down is bringing more harm than good.  Or, as this wannabe water skier would say, if you’re eating too much water it’s time to drop the rope.

The advantage of life versus water skiing is that if you have a good support system of friends and/or family around you, they’ll start waving flags before you’re sunk.  In water skiing, no one’s waving a flag unless you’re already up to your neck in H2O.  I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather heed the flags before I’m fish bait.

It takes quite a few tumbles to learn the balance between knowing when to tighten your grip and when to let go – rarely is one choice easier than the other.  But if you’re listening to your heart and paying attention to flags, you’ll be gliding on water instead of drowning in it.  And if all else fails, stock up on floaties =).

I’m a Mexican-American girl with an Italian soul.  I love everything about Italy – the food, the music, the food, the culture, the food, the art… did I mention the food?  There’s just something about this country that has a hold of my heart and apparently my stomach.

I’ve never been to Italy but every time I see pictures or video I feel like I’ve been there before.  Somehow the sights are familiar to me despite the fact I’ve never even been anywhere close to the Mediterranean Sea.  But I feel like if or when I go there that I’ll know exactly where to go and what to do.  More than likely it will involve visiting a gelato stand (or two) first.

My mom feels the same way about Hawaii.  She dreamt for a long time about going to the island – and once there, her inner GPS took over.  With very little help from a map, she was directing my dad around the island as though she had lived there all her life.  This is amazing considering she sometimes gets turned around while attempting to navigate through Southern California (where she actually has lived most of her life).

My mom knows about Hawaii what I know about Italy: it’s home.

Dorothy of Kansas once had the same feeling.  She dreamt about a place located somewhere over the rainbow where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops.  Though she’d never seen or heard of Oz, she knew there was something more beyond the very beige, hog-scented Kansan farm she called home.

In the movie, the thing that really sells Dorothy’s performance of “Over the Rainbow” is the longing in her voice.  She knows there are chores to be done and chickens to be fed, but she gives herself a timeout to think about what life could be like once she’s flown the coop… and yes, puns intended if there are any puns to be found.

While I don’t spend the majority of my time thinking about Italy, I do think about those places over my personal rainbow.  I’m not sure if I’ve met my future husband or not, but I miss him terribly.  I think about him every day and dream about what life will be like with him in it and what it’ll be like raising our family together.  In other words, he’s my home and I’m homesick for him.

I know that I fixate a lot on my dreams and the future in my blogs.  Truth is, writing about my dreams is the same thing Dorothy does when she’s singing about the rainbow: it’s a coping method we use to help keep the dream alive while trudging through our own versions of Kansas.

Life sometimes becomes too beige and reality (or in her case, Auntie Em) can nag at us that it’s (whatever “it” may be for you), is never going to happen.  Life will tell you that you’re never going to get married, have kids, own a home, have a career, or eat your way through Italy – it just likes to bully you that way.

However, the best way to stand up to the bully is to keep dreaming, keep believing, and, if you must, burst out in song.  I wouldn’t recommend bursting in song when confronted with an actual bully, but sometimes playing crazy is your best defense.  That’s just a little free advice for you.

You know what your “home” is.  Even while reading this you know who or what you’re homesick for.  The best thing I can tell you is to do whatever you can to keep hope alive.  Don’t let anyone steal what’s in your heart and try your hardest to believe that anything is possible.

I’m looking forward to reaching my home someday.  My yellow brick road is going to lead to some amazing people and places along the way – and that journey will definitely include a gondola ride with my sweetie and hitting up every gelato stand under the Tuscan sun.   It’s going to be a sweet, sweet time.  And in the words of my dear friend Dorothy, there truly is no place like home.

I’m a math hater.  I don’t like it… mostly because I can’t really do it.  I have the most trouble with algebra because, as far as I’m concerned, when you put letters together they make words, not equations.  I just CANNOT wrap my head around why n + x = y.  Lame.

The only parts of math I can peacefully coexist with are percentages and most things related to geometry.  You need geometry to know how to draw and build things, and you need percentages to know how much of a discount you’re going to get on that really cute pair of shoes you’ve had your eye on.  Those things are important.  If you want to know how long it’s going to take Train A and Train B to make it to the station, don’t bother with algebra – just check the schedule.

Aside from discounts and drawing, my most favorite usage of math is when numbers translate into baked goods.  Ingredients must be measured correctly and the timing of how long the product remains in the oven has to be timed just right.  If it’s taken out too early, it’s too doughy – too late, and it’s too dry… and possibly inedible.

I’ve often heard that many who delve in the culinary arts know the food is ready simply by a feeling.  That “feeling” comes from a lot of time spent in the kitchen as well as the artist’s sense of knowing when their creation is ready to be presented and enjoyed.

I think life works the same way.  There are just some things in life that are all about perfect timing.  At least this is what we tell each other when we’re still waiting for the right person, the right job, the perfect house, or even a perfect, little baby to come along.  It’s all about timing.

But sometimes I just want to throw a rock at that perpetual clock so that it starts working properly.  I want it to finally be the right time for my friends and family (and even myself) to have our wants and needs fulfilled.

It’s past time for breakthrough to happen for many people I know and love as well as many people I’ll probably never meet.  I want to see this economy bounce back and see people employed again.  I want to go to baby and bridal showers for my friends who have been so faithful and deserve these blessings.  I just want to see those who have struggled not only get a well deserved break, but also get a great bonus blessing – the cherry on the cake.

Unfortunately, it’s not completely up to me or them to make breakthrough happen.  You can go on dates, apply for jobs, and shop for houses, but more than likely the “dream” won’t come to pass until it’s time for it to happen.  Timing – stupid, yet glorious timing.

But like any culinary artist knows, perfect timing produces ideal results.  For example, if it were up to me I probably would’ve been married 5 or 10 years ago and thank God it wasn’t completely up to me to make that decision because it would’ve been a wrong one.  Relying on God and relying on his timing has more than likely saved me from a lot of unnecessary heartache.

I’m not saying it’s been easy going to weddings and bridal showers – it’s taken superhuman strength to not stab myself or someone else with an hour d’oeuvre pick every time I go to one of these happy occasions.  However that pain, irritation, and loneliness is a small price to pay compared to what I could have gone through had I married the wrong guy at the wrong time.

Babies are another great reminder of the importance of timing.  The survival rate for premature babies is lower in comparison to those who go full term.  There’s a plan and a process and timing truly makes all the difference.

Everything is rooted in timing.  Whether or not you believe in God (I do), you know that we’re living on someone else’s clock.  And in a way, I’m glad we do because I’m pretty sure we’re not as smart as we think we are.

I’m hoping the clock will soon start ticking in my favor and in the favor of those who deserve the breakthrough they’ve been waiting and praying for to happen in their lives.  But I guess the best thing to do is to push forward because the sound of contentment is the only thing that will truly drown out that ticking clock.  And if that doesn’t work, then now’s a good as time as any to make a quick stop by the bakery for a practical (and yummy) lesson in timing!