Like and Love, Ramblings of a Theologian in Progress

Two weeks ago I went with a group of friends to see the Backstreet Boys concert at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion. It was spectacular in ways I cannot possibly explain. This is due, in part, to the way I revert to being a 14 year old fangirl with a more limited vocabulary. My 14 year old self cannot tell you why it was fabulous, although if you could have seen the look on my face and the flaying of my arms that evening you might have a good idea (the have aged remarkably well, by the way and you should listen/buy their new CD//BSB I'm marketing your stuff please send me a signed album if physical albums still exist). As I normally do following a concert, I quickly compiled a iTunes playlist that would be able to bring those feelings back. As I scrolled through all 2.48 billion songs I own (approximately) I found gems once forgotten. Moonpools and Caterpillars' "Summertime" from the Baby-Sitters Club movie, which I'm sure many of you have forgotten about. Aq

My mom doesn't realize this, but she makes the best spaghetti in the world. I'm nearly positive that Italian chefs would disagree, and perhaps they have a point. It doesn't matter. As far as I'm concerned it's the best spaghetti and no matter how much I try to recreate it- I can't. That's probably the reason I now use HEB sauce, fiber-ful pasta, and ground turkey. It's a substitute because it'll never be the original. In the same way, my Mimi made the best fried chicken. I hate the break the hearts of little old Baptist ladies everywhere. Asking what came first, the Baptist or the love of food is like asking which came first, the chicken or the egg. I'm not sure if my soul is filled with the comfort of food because I'm Baptist or the other way around. Perhaps it doesn't matter. Home is where I'm fed. When I travel, the food just isn't the same. Jack and my go-to road trip food is beef jerky. I don't know if you've ever