I Miss New Orleans

I miss the bright, warm colors of the old buildings and houses. I miss the sound of the distant saxophone coming from somewhere around the corner. I miss casual conversations with fellow passengers on the streetcar. I miss wandering into old book stores and getting lost in the stories, the creaky wood floors, and the friendly resident cat. I miss the mountain of powdered sugar on top of fresh, warm beignets. I miss blowing powdered sugar everywhere because I am dining with hilarious friends...and maybe delirious friends.  I miss the soulful sounds of the gentleman singing hymns outside the cafe. I miss the Mississippi River. I must admit I did not think it would be so beautiful. I miss sipping a savory Bloody Mary and hearing the loud conversations and music in the French Market. I miss the gypsy cab rides and the best poor boy I have ever eaten. I miss the impromptu folk concerts in the French Quarter and the man who is so moved by the music he has to get up and dance. I miss the peaceful, ancient graveyards and the story-filled thick air.  I miss the living of life there, the still, present living. I even miss the aches in my feet that prove I have wandered, and seen, and felt joy. I miss New Orleans. 

New Inspiration, New Blog Concept

I have to admit, though it might be apparent, writing is not a natural thing for me. I have started several blogs and all have ended after a few shorts attempts to share my art and inspirations. I am however fascinated with the idea of documenting my life and thoughts, whether it be on a blog or in a journal. Discipline is where I fall short. Inspiration is all around me! My heart melted when a friend of mine told me she gave her journal to her soon to be husband that held prayers and dreams for their relationship. Another friend of mine writes everyday about his prayers and how God is moving and working in his life. While shopping in New Orleans, a small yellow antique book caught my eye in a book store, and I began to read the struggles of resistance strangling creativity, and the woes of a lonely heart aching for intimacy, written by 18th century artist Eugene Delacroix. So here is my attempt...again...to document my thoughts and experiences with life, cooking, and serving others. Perhaps it will at least provide me conclusions to my thoughts that often end in introductions or provide a connection to myself durring future re-reading. 

The Story Behind the Name: 

I recently discovered plums. As ridiculous as that sounds. My best friend was eating one and whatever I was thinking in that moment was immediately overtaken by the vibrant red color of the center of the plum. I tasted one and was hooked. What a loving and magnificent creator we have. It is moments like these that inspire me to create with what God has provided on this earth. I googled plums because I am a weirdo and wanted to find out where plum orchards grow. The first thing I read was the scientific classification stating the order of a plum is Rosales. Wait what! Rosales? My last name is a scientific order? The very thing that inspired me to create is defined by a word that has helped to define me. Rosales. Though it is not the name it is the people who possess the name. My grandmother and father has selflessly and creatively served friends and family with homemade food for years. It is their food, their hearts, and their stories that have helped define me as a servent and a baker. It only makes since for Rosales to define my journal as well. Thus began my new blog...The Rosales Kitchen. 

1. One bite of this thing literally brings me instant happiness.

2. The Rosales Wikipedia page. Even the image on this page felt like me.