Making the Most of Autumn

making is the simple, down-home version of creating, I think. // Issue II

When I was packing for six-weeks in Argentina with AFS, my grandma bought me a huge variety pack box of jolly rancher lollipops. She encouraged me to share them with the other students on my trip as a way to break the ice and make friends. It totally worked. I brought them out on the long bus ride from Buenos Aires to Resistencia, where our small group of teens from all over the country would be staying with families, working at daycares in the morning and playing sports with young people in the evenings. To this day, the smell of a watermelon Jolly Rancher takes me back to the bus rides we took throughout the country, times we spent talking and sharing details of our lives, and the friends I made on that trip.

The lollipops, now discontinued but much beloved according to Reddit.

All this took place before cell phones, before Facebook. I sent and received snail mail letters to get to know the family I stayed with for over a month. So, unsurprisingly, we didn’t keep in touch for long after we left Argentina. But I have visceral memories of helping my friend Meg, from Noti, OR, who got air sickness; of trading Counting Crows albums with Owen, who had eerily similar music tastes to me; of Kelly, who charmed me with her east coast accent; and Marni, who wrote a college application essay about our time—she called it her “AFSay”—and emailed it to us. One time, Kelly told everyone she was “embarazada” (pregnant) instead of “embarazosa” (embarrassed). Another time, waiting for our meal to arrive after a long day exploring Iguazu Falls, one of the girls exclaimed, “I’m ravishing!” She meant ravenous.

Each of these memories is associated with the sweet, fruity smell of a Jolly Rancher, because we shared that box of lollipops for almost 6 weeks (I think there were 100 in the box). Even though this trip took place almost 25 years ago, I relive the memories often because just as strong as the olfactory memory is the memory of the near constant confusion I felt as I lived abroad and practiced my second language. Sometimes I eat paella in Spain, and my mind is transported to July 9, 2000, when I tried paella for the first time, in Argentina.

This mental time travel I do is always with me. Maybe I’m the only expat in the world to experience this, but at any given time, especially while doing mundane tasks like making dinner, my mind is somewhere I used to live, doing something I used to do. I can't always explain it as an olfactory memory, like so many moments from Argentina with the lollipops, but I embrace it as a funny part of expat life.

And I try to pack a unique smelling body lotion to use on certain trips so that when I want to return in my mind, I just have to find the scent. I packed a quintessential millennial body lotion on that trip to Argentina, Bath & Body Works’ Cucumber Melon.

What are some of your olfactory memories? Are any of them associated with Bath & Body Works?

making much of others

:: Sarah Clarkson wrote a book called Reclaiming Quiet that I let seep deep into my soul so that I could grasp even a little knowledge of how to cultivate the quiet that is vital to a vibrant spiritual life (my greatest desire). It’s working.

:: Grab a cup of apple cider, pumpkin spice, or hazelnut and take a few moments to read the essay in the Coffee & Crumbs fall collection.

:: I recently started listening to this Podcast about the rise of Christian Nationalism in America. As a believer with a long and fully global view of the big-C church, plus a life built abroad, I need help understanding what is happening to the American church, which we depend on to sustain our ministry.

making a difference for others

:: Use the code CC-Bright-friday for $5 off your purchase of $50 or more when you shop with my link.

making much of myself (an appropriate amount)

:: I made these stars, this bunting, and this flat lay!

making memories

:: We had to pay an exorbitant amount in Spanish taxes in 2024, and it caused some problems for us as a support-raising family. Christmas will therefore be a handmade, homebound holiday (thankfully we do have one visitor coming on Christmas day), but I am finding creative ways to embrace our limitations. (See the craft above!) For example, I brought out the Christmas books a little early this year, and we’ve already read a couple, snuggled up on the couch just like when they were little.

making crema de calabaza

All winter squash in Spain is calabaza, pumpkin, whether it’s butternut or acorn or actually pumpkin, whether the peel is green or yellow or orange, whether the flesh is stringy or starchy. One kind I have never seen, and I miss tremendously, is delicata squash. So, if you have access to that, try it out and think of me (same with spaghetti squash). This fall our landlord gave me an enormous section of homegrown calabaza, the size of two large butternuts, and I roasted, pureed and froze it for all manner of fall recipes, including pumpkin bread, muffins, risotto, and the ubiquitous crema de calabaza. Spanish kids eat this all year long, but especially in winter, as a first course. When your kid slurps this up, you really don’t need to worry about whether there are vegetables in the second course.

Ingredients:

1 leek, rinsed and sliced
1 potato, peeled and cubed
1-2 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 clove garlic
1 cup frozen squash puree (or chunks of squash would be fine too)
1 cup stock or water
salt and pepper and other seasoning to taste (we love to add curry power or garam masala)

Put it all in your instant pot and set it for 5-7 minutes on high pressure. Let it naturally release for 5 minutes and then release the pressure manually. Using a stick blender, puree the soup until smooth.

Spanish people love to stir in a generous tablespoon of cream cheese, creme fraiche, or a laughing cow triangle (this is the most common!), but we don't. Sometimes I add a 1/4 cup of coconut milk. I like to drizzle a little garlic-flavored olive oil on top and top with croutons, pepitas, and flaky salt.

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