A Christmas Video for my Loved Ones

Live from an internet café in Antigua.

Almaz Makes It Count

Almaz Makes It Count from Jeremy Hawkins on Vimeo.

One of my besties, Almaz Sara Dessie, graduated from medical school and Providence two weeks ago.  This is the song I wrote to celebrate her and her transcontinental move.  I am so proud of her.  Oh, and she really likes Beyoncé.

You know black, it's this year's pink...

Indulge me as I briefly reflect on the past 30 years, and the coming three. In consuming a belated 30th birthday dinner with my folks and grandmother last night, I began to think about my turning thirty this past 14th of February and what it means. I came to the following conclusion: absolutely nothing. You won’t find me curled in a feeble state dreading my impending dotage, nor lamenting years strew carelessly aside without regard. Yes, in sincere awareness of all its banality I utter: I have no regrets. I look back on my life, my struggles with finding a path, with substance, with education. I turn toward the dark-filled, love-scattered, and bond-testing times alike and revel in their didacticism. As a faithless man, I murmur: I have been blessed.

And now I begin a new chapter: life outside of Rhode Island. This week was ripe with change for me. I received a job offer to be a camp counselor at BeamCamp in New Hampshire for the summer, which I accepted. I gave my notice at PASA, which proved more difficult than expected. After New Hampshire, I’m buying a one-way ticket to Guatemala, where I will spend several weeks in an immersion program, followed by an unknown amount of time traveling and volunteering throughout the country, until I feel my Spanish has reached fluency, and my commitment to social justice in Central America fulfilled. During this time I will be applying to MSW programs in NYC, and will move to the city following my return from Guatemala, to (hopefully) begin an MSW program in fall 2012. I’m ready to move in a new direction. And while I’ll no doubt miss seeing this on a regular basis:



I know I’ll return to it one day. Wish me luck.

Thanksgiving Redux

My brother was unable to make it home for Thanksgiving this year, so this photo-, cinema-, and orthographic recounting of the day’s triumphs and failures is dedicated to him.  Until Christmas, hermano. 

In The Beginning...

There were ingredients.  And they were beautiful.  Multi-grain and country loaves from Seven Stars Bakery; butternut squash from Allen’s Farm in Westport, MA; honey from Farmacy Herbs.  This was my first year prepping in collaboration with my mom.  I felt so...adult.

And The Ingredients Became Digestible (well, most of them)...

My dishes:

1) Homemade stuffing made with diced apples, onion, rosemary, local honey, kosher salt and pepper.  Oh, and lots of butter.  My one gripe: I didn’t have any fresh rosemary on hand to use in this dish, like I did when I made this dish for Friendsgiving last week (to much approbation).  I substituted this dried rosemary/garlic blend instead and I wasn’t cray-cray about the results.  Neither were my relatives.  It made the stuffing taste...empty?  Lesson learned.

2) Butternut squash with local honey, nutmeg, dark brown sugar, cinnamon, and my secret ingredient: cayenne pepper. This was a hit, with a  kick.

3) Hummus from scratch (chick peas, garlic, extra virgin olive oil, kosher salt, pepper, tahini).  Another hit.

4) Sigur Rós, which I introduced to my mom and we spent the whole day enjoying. If five years ago you had told me that one day I would be listening to Icelandic post-rock in my mother’s kitchen while we cooked Thanksgiving dinner together, well, I  just may have believed you.  But, nonetheless, it was pretty smashing to mellow, create, and confect with mom. 

My mom took care of the rest of the spread (her juiciest turkey to date, thanks to a new tip about how to slice; spinach casserole, a personal fav; plain stuffing for my dad because he won't eat anything remotely exotic/creative; creamed corn; and pumpkin mousse from her culinary bible: Cooking Light magazine (this is not to be confused with her actual bible, which is a King  James)). Clearly she bore the brunt of the work. But we had fun, and my participation in the preparation precluded me from cleaning up 
afterwards (sorry Dad!) (sorry NY Times Style Guide!).