Can I just set the table, invite you in, and pretend that no time has passed? If Marvel can do it, with all of their amazing idea people (I’m certain that’s their official title), marketing strategists, and infinite budget; I think I can. I’m going with it.
What’s different? Well, WordPress (my blog source) for one, so it’s going to take me a minute to figure this out. (Also, you may have noticed, not that long ago, ahem, I accidentally published an old rough draft. So embarrassing. Sorry about that.) In general, I’m a little older; I started a new part time job; I homeschool two of my children; and I found a YouTube program called “Country Life Vlog” that I love and highly recommend. But mostly, things are a lot the same. I feed my family; I do a lot dishes; I still have a strong love of cookbooks and molded bakeware… I still like to write.
So, I plan on writing more- because I am convinced it’s good practice (for writers to write). I’m dusting off my camera, as things go, so you may see more photos on Instagram. I am inviting you to the table, for the reason that I believe community and connection to humanity is good. There is something innate about it, for me, so here I am.
It was approaching the summer of 1994, the first time I had visited Paris, France. I was young and naive. I didn’t know a thing about traveling overseas, I barely knew about leaving the borders of Michigan. It was exciting, my first plane ride- and to Europe to boot! I knew nothing about Paris besides the three years of language lessons peppered by informative sessions of art and history. But I was taught by a French enthusiast, and I also knew it all. I knew how special this place was, the City of Lights; the City of Love; the people, the culture, the history, and I was ready to drink it in. I had a newly purchased cheap camera (in retrospect I should have saved for better). I had a ridiculously heavy suit case. I knew I looked like a tourist (the buses would have given it away anyway), but I was determined to not be a stereotyped American. I would try my best to speak the language, and courteously take it all in. I didn’t want to miss a thing. One of my traveling roommates journaled our experience, and I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve thought to contact her and ask for a copy. It was a whirlwind of invaluable memories. My less-than-amateur pictures will never do that trip justice. There were names of places I never thought I would forget, that I would give almost anything to remember.
But what I did not forget, what I could not forget, was Nôtre Dame. It was surrounded by the Seine with river boats, and artists with easels, just like I imagined it would be. There were people coming and going every which way along its’ seemingly endless stone-paved entrance way. It was under construction the year we were there. That’s the kind of thing a French Club field trip can’t plan around. But it didn’t matter. I was looking at an architectural masterpiece. It was stone, magnificent, gothic, religious, cold, warm, and striking. There were carvings of saints and gargoyles, twisted towers, and flying buttresses. I climbed stone stairs as far as permitted, the very same that people had been climbing for centuries… and I looked through three famous rose stained-glass windows. I fell in love with La Vitrine Rose.
It was the stained glass that I appreciated more than anything at Nôtre Dame. The carvings and architecture were marvels in their own right. But the warmth that came from those beautiful windows was a sight to behold. It was a colorful display of grandeur in an otherwise very monochromatic setting. The ceilings were unfathomably tall, but equally as hard to comprehend, was this artistry built right into the stone wall, nearly as high as the ceiling. The details were amazing, depicting various stories from the Bible. It was the windows, I imagined most, as the daylight poured their hues in, that I shared in delight with so many who came before me. And since all of my pictures of this came back black, I am thankful I purchased a small replica of La Vitrine Rose for my godmother, to hang in her window, next to her Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired stained glass art. It was because of this wonderfully detailed souvenir that I could show my family a glimpse of the beauty beheld in the famous cathedral of Nôtre Dame.
Almost a decade later, I made a second trip to Paris. This time with a group of girlfriends and my sister. Would you believe, the cathedral of Nôtre Dame was under construction again? Looking at my (slightly improved) pictures made me laugh, because the only way I can picture the cathedral is the way I see it in other people’s pictures. Perfect. We made the best of it, taking snapshots from the best (unconstructed) angles, and the side where we would actually take a boat ride down the Seine. A vantage point where I could capture an exterior view of one of those rose stained-glass windows.
After my godmother passed away, we collected a few personal keepsakes from her home in remembrance of her. When a woman in charge of her caregiving asked if we minded if she kept a small circular window-hanging that reminded her of my godmother, my first instinct was to say “sure”. Honestly, it was strangely uncharacteristic for me to retract my permission- it surprises me to this day. In reflection, I’m almost offended by her asking, although she had no way of knowing how special it was to me; or how over 20 years ago, I had purchased it for my godmother, or how proud I was that she hung it in her window; and how I was reminded of it all, the trip to Paris, Nôtre Dame, the beauty of the replicated piece, and the pride I had in my godmother loving it, on every visit…
Yesterday it was shocking to hear about the fire. The fire heard around the world. It’s one of those things you’ll feel like you’ll remember forever; like when people talk about where they were when Kennedy was shot, or the morning that unfolded the events of 9/11. It feels almost embarrassing to think I found out about it so impersonally on Facebook. It feels surreal to think about how much damage could be done in an afternoon, after centuries of preservation. It’s disturbing to simultaneously understand the devastation, and to have derived a place in my mind of almost un-shockable in the reality of a world full of destruction.
All of this. And yet this morning, while angry with myself for not being more organized to find pictures of my trips to Paris; while feeling gut-wrenched for a world of so many unwelcome changes outside of my control; while melancholy on a very grey and rainy day, I took comfort in the ease of locating my Vitrine Rose, and great solace in reading that the rose stained-glass windows of Nôtre Dame, although early in assessment, seem to be intact and minimally damaged. Hope endures.
I love when the chilly outdoor air permits the perfect reason for a roasting fire inside. It’s something I wait for all summer long. I can get by with bonfires, on the beach or a backyard on a chilly night, but there is nothing like getting cozy with the kids, when all is calm and well, in front a the crackling warmth of a fire at home. I like to make tea, the kids beg for cocoa, and for the moment time slows down like in the days of old.
By the Fireside – Poem by Robert Browning
How well I know what I mean to do
When the long dark autumn-evenings come:
And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue?
With the music of all thy voices, dumb
In life’s November too!
I shall be found by the fire, suppose,
O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age,
While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows
And I turn the page, and I turn the page,
Not verse now, only prose…
Image courtesy of James P. Jordan
As a child it’s awe-inspiring; the heat, the danger, the excitement. As an adult… it’s just as awesome.
My baby, contemplating the phenomenon of fire
In the latest issue of the Magnolia Journal, Joanna Gaines shares her excitement about the season in an article titled Anticipating Nostalgia, “…I see Chip and me fireside with all of the kids snuggled in around us, gazing at the lights till our eyes are too heavy to keep open…”
Ideal.
It’s just a classic tale that never gets old. You don’t “outgrow” having a fire.
Image courtesy of classygirlswearpearls.com
Traditional Irish House Blessing:
God bless the corners of this house
And be the lintel blessed.
Bless the hearth, the table too
And bless each place of rest.
Bless each door that opens wide
To stranger, kith and kin;
Bless each shining window-pane
That lets the sunshine in.
Bless the roof-tree up above
Bless every solid wall.
The peace of Man, the peace of love,
The peace of God on all.
-courtesy of appleseeds.org
I love that, “bless the hearth, the table too…” I don’t take being warm for granted.
Image courtesy of nature.desktopnexus.com
Here’s to enjoying life’s simple pleasures, and hoping you are staying warm on these chilly nights.
Love,
Sadie
Featured Image courtesy of townandcountrymag.com (which also has quite a few more cozy pics if you are interested!)
Serendipitously, I’ve been reading books containing other people’s quotes. While reading a Pete the Cat book to my son, we came across this nugget:
“To begin, begin.” -William Wordsworth
There is so much wisdom in the simplicity of that! Regardless of the situation, just start; you’ll work your way through it… I love that. And I saver the moments I just want to dwell on someone’s words (hoping the wisdom is also sinking into my children). Of course, the book of Proverbs is a great place to start.
“A soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger.” Proverbs 15:1 KJV
Infinite wisdom. Choose your words wisely!
…So much choice to be had.
And some people just seems to really get why;
“The pen is mightier than the sword.” -Edward Bulwar-Lytton, 1839
The whole notion that hope is worth living for… It’s powerful. Inspiration is priceless. Faith. The belief you are meant for more. Purpose…
Inspiring, right?
Undoubtedly, words do more than inspire. There really is nothing like someone saying the perfect thing, the moment you needed to hear it. There is so much comfort and healing in compassion, understanding, and kindness. There is so much to be said for timeless wisdom, the words and truisms that get passed down from generation to generation. And often it doesn’t have to be lengthy and drawn out; just to the point.
“If you cannot explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.” -Albert Einstein
Genius.
Thankfully, there are also humorous writings, often my personal favorites. Things can be serious, my family often (not always) tends to deal with such things with comedic relief; like Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias. I’ll never forget years ago while my father was having a heart attack, his chronically painful knees gave out at the bottom of a set of stairs entering the garage. I was a mess at the time, hating to watch my dad suffer and in shock by the fall. Then he looked at me and quoted Tommy Boy, “Could’ve done without that.”
I envy people who have the strength to take things in stride.
Image courtesy of lifehack.org
This week I was reading, Tea at the Mary Jackson House by the Milford Historical Society. In it are a variety of citations and facts that I think I enjoyed reading even more than the recipes… well, they probably enhanced one another. Anyway, one of the informative quotes that stuck out the most was this:
“Things not to be forgotten at a Picnic… A stick of horseradish, bottles of mint-sauce, salad dressing, vinegar, and made mustard, pepper, salt, good oil, and pounded sugar. If it can be managed, take a little ice. It is scarcely necessary to say that plates, tumblers, wine glasses, knives, forks and spoons, must not be forgotten; as well as tea cups and saucers, three of four teapots, some lump sugar, and milk, if this last-named article cannot be obtained in the neighborhood. Take three corkscrews. Beverages – three dozen quart bottles of ale, packed in hampers, ginger-beer, soda-water, and lemonade, of each two bottles; six bottles of sherry, six bottle of claret, champagne a discretion, and any other light wine that may be preferred, and two bottles of brandy.
Isabella Beeton, Book of Household Management, 1861
I chuckled out loud at the ‘beverages’ part. How many people were going to that picnic? Because it sounds like a plan to survive the prohibition. It’s good to laugh.
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” -Proverbs 17:22
Image courtesy of Instagram @oak73
There really are so many great sayings. I wish I was full of them. And I’d really like to be able to say it to you the moment you need it…
In the meantime, I can share other people’s goodies.
I love fall. To me, it’s the most exciting time of year. I love the chill in the morning air after the long hot summer days. I love the hustle and bustle of back to school. I loved it as a young girl, the anticipation of knowing I was going to see my friends again after summer break. You could feel it in the air. I loved the football games, oversized sweaters, and hot drinks. I loved mom’s pot roast and apple pie. Some things never change. There’s a comfort in that. When Owen and I got married in early fall, I think it had more to do with planning a honeymoon around Labor Day, a three day weekend. I remember my uncle remarking at my wedding, what a beautiful time of year it was to be married with all of the changes in the season. It was a notion I really hadn’t put much thought into at the time, but I think about every year now. For a homebody, it’s a perfect time of year for the excitement of what lies ahead in the warmth of our home: stoking fires, baking pies, early nights under big blankets. After the fast pace of trying to take advantage of every outdoor moment in summer, it’s a reprieve for the body and mind.
Tahquamenon River, courtesy of Ryan French
I really can’t say that we’ve slowed down this fall as much as I’d like to. We’ve been doing some autumn projects. My baby boy (who is actually my oldest) is growing up. This year he traded his old bunk beds and little desk for (what looks like to me to be) an adult apartment. If I think about it too long, I could get sappy and emotional… But, somehow the seasonal change helped me through it. It seemed more exciting, like a good time for preparation. I tell you what, Fall is medicinal.
Old bed
New bed
Old Desk
New Desk
It also helps that he kept a Lego pen box on his desk. I mean, I can only handle so much change at a time. I realize he is in middle school. I remember putting away the Barbies… I think it’s a good time to bake a therapeutic pumpkin bread. (I couldn’t have enjoyed that as much in the summer… See?)
This weekend we moved the dock at my parents cabin, to make way for winter changes.
The Cabin, Courtesy of Ryan French
And I spent some time with my favorite people.
My dad and sister, courtesy of Ryan French
It warms the heart, right? The stability during the inevitable change. The togetherness. And look at all of the autumn color! I love it. Enjoy your Fall!
Featured image courtesy of my brother-in-law, Ryan French
Whiskey in a Tea Cup? Sounds like a fine idea to me. However, the notion that “southern women are a combination of beauty and strength” resonates with me even stronger. Not that I’m a southern woman, because even though I lived in Tennessee for 2 years, by all standards I’m a certified northerner. That said, I never realized what a southern woman I actually am! I suppose it does make sense. On my father’s side, the lineage is clear: German, Irish and French Canadian. On my mother’s side it went like this: GG (what we called my great-grandmother) was from Texas. After she was married, they moved to Tennessee. Along the way (like the Dolly Parton song), they moved from the Appalachians to Detroit for work. My maternal grandfather also had roots in Tennessee. All that seemed important to the cross-culturalism of mom’s side is that we’re from the south and we know we have some Cherokee (My paternal great-great grandfather was Cherokee- which they always accredited for my high cheek bones.) Since I came from a stable loving home, full of support, holiday traditions, nightly dinners, large family gatherings- I never questioned the origin of the devotion to fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits. It was just all I knew.
Instantly, I was smitten with Whiskey in a Teacup. Reading it is like cheerfully walking down Familiar Lane; pleasant and homey with an emphasis on family and the good times. It reminds me of a single volume of an annual subscription of Southern Living Magazine through the life and eyes of Reese Witherspoon. She gives family recipes (which I always appreciate) and party menu lists for year round celebratory occasions. Do I want to have a Kentucky Derby Party complete with pretty dresses and oversized hats? Yes, I do. And I want to serve Reese’s suggested Mint Juleps and Chocolate Derby Pecan Pie. She includes entertaining anecdotes from her childhood and endearing memories of her grandparents, mom, brother, family and friends. She made me want to put on my pearl necklace and get a dog. Reese had me reminiscing about my own grandparents’ huge garden and my grandpa’s work habits, from dawn to dusk even after retirement. In such a BFF kind of way, Reese takes her personal sharing even further- by suggesting music play lists for events like a “Southern Party” and road trips. She gives instructions for how to use hot rollers, and diagrams for how to set casual, as well as, formal table settings (with clever ways to remember). She gives hostess tips, attendee advice, flea market strategies, book reading suggestions, and gift ideas for a variety of occasions. I too love monograms Reese! It is an art under-appreciated in the north, and so is wall paper, soul sister.
My affirmations of my southern upbringing (in the north) were confirmed by the big hair and love of make-up Reese attributed to women of the south. (However, it’s possible that in general the Jersey shore has the whole country beat.) Nobody outdoes my mother. She has never been caught in any photograph, broad daylight, or getting out of bed without her hair done (big) and lipstick applied. Of course, Reese explains that although it rang true for her grandmother, it seemed to skip a generation on her mother. I admit, it seems to have passed me by. But it is already strong with my daughter – a real northern “Southern Belle” in the making. Although the “put your face on” approach to life for me is reserved for special occasions, the love of holidays and the joy of over-the-top decorating for every celebratory day on the calendar has not been lost on me. It is in full effect. Full Effect. From the stair banisters, to the mantels, to the (respective holiday) motif dishes and serve ware, to the annual traditions of gathering and food; holiday celebrations are cherished in my home. I love dressing up for the holidays. And I get it when you say “…We like having things to look forward to–times that we know will be entirely about family and togetherness and the kids and the things that really matter…” Yes, ma’am.
Thanks to Reese Witherspoon’s newly released book, I understand so much more of my southern roots! My mom’s sayings, (Reese’s “Betty-isms”), i.e., Pretty is as pretty does and To have a good friend, be a good friend, her affinity for equestrian themed art, and her natural ability to hostess, her understanding of complimentary fabrics and patterns… My love of Bluegrass, the banjo, quilts, and Dolly Parton… So, even if I’m in Michigan, Reese is in California, and you are where you are… Our southern connection transcends state lines. So ring the brass bell and raise our teacups, because I’ll toast to that!
Let’s start with deep dish (square) BBQ Chicken Pizza from Jet’s because it’s the best. Grilled chicken, red onion, and barbecue sauce on top of their perfectly balanced crispy crust with a little soft chew. I just can’t get enough of it lately. Towards the beginning of summer my in-laws came over and ordered one… and for a moment everything was right. Genius! It’s summer pizza, and “ba-da-da-da-da I’m lovin’ it.”
2. Haircuts. We’re getting ready for back-to-school over here. Look at those little hoodlums with their tight lines. (I really don’t know why they gave the scowls. They remind me of some Irish ruffians from the local football (soccer) club hanging out at the neighborhood pub.) Love ’em.
Number 3. True story: I’d been eyeing this popular blogger cookbook, hugely successful, awarded and recognized… and I like to support my fellow bloggers (even though they have no idea who I am). But, it’s kind of pricey. And because I have more cookbooks than I could ever really make all of the recipes, I really try to bargain hunt. But this one boasts recipes made by specific farmer’s market ingredients from like avocado to zucchini or something- so I splurged. (And on my way out I grabbed the bargain, Cook’s Country Cookbook– every recipe from every season.) When I got home I went through every page of my new collection of recipes. I quickly realized that the whole book was vegetarian, which is okay I don’t mind a “meatless Monday” now and again. Except to me the whole thing seemed like uninspiring side dishes. I don’t know how many vegetarian tacos I could eat? Then I opened my ‘bargain’ book- the first recipe was that mac n’ cheese with tomatoes pictured above. (Coincidentally enough it’s vegetarian.) It jumped right out at me and immediately I wanted to eat it. My mom used to bake tomato slices on top of her homemade mac n’ cheese! I love how the bursts of tomato and their little acidity gave a burst of juice and complimented the cheesiness. That was just page one, and the awesomeness didn’t stop there. Needless to say, I returned the pricey ‘popular’ book. Loving Lately: The Complete Cook’s Country TV Show Cookbook.
Quatro. I love Michigan summers. I’m sure most people who live in regions with similar climates (cold and snowy winters) love this time of year. Everything is green and the sky is blue. But I am so partial to Michigan! Our lakes and waterways get so much play and appreciation right now. The picture above is from the Tahquamenon River just a couple weeks ago, and for a minute I was in a time warp. It was so peaceful and could have easily been fifty- or one hundred- or so on- years ago. I love those little connections where we seem so small and insignificant and get to enjoy such vast timeless beauty… and I love summer in Michigan.
I really could go on. Right now the kids are healthy, I’m not stressing over pulling weeds or school clothes shopping. (I probably should be.) I’m trying new recipes and enjoying the prospects of writing… I’m just loving.
I think she was a country singer. I really didn’t know anything about her, except that she was a real southern lady- generous, hospitable and kind… and that I was a guest in her large southern home. They had found her lifeless that morning, the workers of her estate. It just didn’t add up. Who would want to kill such a wonderful woman? Well it seemed, as her houseguest, I should at least look for clues. I felt like I owed that to her. The home was full of dark wood walls and carvings, the very height of fashion about fifty years ago when it was built. It had felt so warm and full of life just last night. Now, it all seemed dated and cold, like artifacts in a museum. As I went into her bedroom, nothing seemed mysterious or out of place. But wait, why was there a red handprint on top of that bookshelf? It seemed like a print left behind from a cheaply dyed glove that had gotten wet. Could that be evidence left from the killer? (Cue the music: dun dun dun) All of the sudden, I got an uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. Was it possible the killer had come back to the scene of the crime to tie up loose ends? Just then, I heard the hallway door start to close. I knew it was the murderer, and I couldn’t let them get away! I reached out my hand to grab the suspect, but all I got was a cold hand as they tried to push the door shut. I felt her long sharp nails as she pulled away and ran. It was too late. She was gone.
Later in the day, I had gathered my things to leave. It didn’t seem right to stay. I wanted to help, but I really didn’t have much to go on and couldn’t imagine getting another opportunity. It was driving me crazy. Who was that woman and why would she do it? It was day one, and already everyone had given up on a search for any suspects or reasons why. But I just couldn’t. I still had time. There was a large gathering in a room outside of my door. They were employees, friends and family who had assembled to process their grief and remember a special lady. I went out into the room and struck up a conversation with a woman with short, red, curly hair, sitting alone in the corner on a built in bench. Her name was Trixie. And I couldn’t help but notice the detailed flowers painted on her very long nails. As the conversation went along, I just came out with it. “Why did you do it? I asked.
“Do what?”
“Why did you kill her?” I grabbed her hand to look for stains leftover from cheap gloves, like the print on the bookcase. I wanted to catch her red handed. But, when looked at her palms they were clean. Darn! She must have washed them. As she pulled her hand away, there was no denying that scratch, the very same one I felt in the hallway. She was the culprit! But how could they convict anyone with so little evidence? Nails weren’t enough, I’d have to get a confession.
“I didn’t,” she replied.
She was going to be tough to crack. “Was it because of her boyfriend?” I prodded.
“She had a boyfriend?” she retorted.
“I don’t know.” I had to admit. “I was just trying to get a motive.” I could tell this was going nowhere. “Well, I have no proof and no evidence. No one, would believe me anyway. Why don’t you just tell me why? I really just want to know. I won’t tell anyone.” I declared.
“I did love her boyfriend” admitted Trixie.
“So it was you! I knew it!” I said with satisfaction. But she had trusted me and my vow, I couldn’t turn her in now. I quickly thought it over. Surely, this was an isolated incident. It was a crime of passion, not to be duplicated… and besides, it was done. But (I reasoned with myself), what if she did strike again? How could I ever live with myself, knowing I had let a murderer go free? “I’m sorry, I lied to you” I said as I grabbed her and held her toward the large assembly in the room. “It was Trixie!” I stated loudly to everyone, realizing that I didn’t know her last name. “Trixie… “ I said again in such a lingering way as to let everyone know that I needed help filling in the blank. As I looked around the faces in the room, it was evident nobody else knew her last name either. “No one knows her last name?” I questioned. The room stayed quiet as I tried to meet all of their eyes one by one. A few people swiveled their heads from side to side indicating they did not. Awkward. At least I had the villain in hand, or did I? I looked down in my arms to realize I wasn’t actually holding Trixie, but a bag of pita chips. How did she escape? That slippery scoundrel! I caught her out of the corner of my eye making an escape out the front door. I quickly darted after her. I couldn’t let her get away again! Of course, it was raining outside as I gave chase. Naturally, I wasn’t wearing shoes… so I braced myself for the cold wet plunge as I lunged at her. And that was it. I had her in custody and the police would be coming to take her away soon. (I assume.)
That was when I woke up. My son was calling my name from his bunk bed on the other end of the camper. His mosquito bites were itching and driving him nuts. And since I was up, I figured I might as well jot down the caper.
Ben & Jerry’s gives me the weirdest dreams…
It had been raining all night, and my feet were cold since they had come uncovered. But the pita chips? That was a mystery.
For the first time, in a long time, I had a “laugh out loud” fail. I was trying to replicate “Jo’s Fatayar” from my Magnolia Table cookbook. It was an uphill battle from the start. I knew the name itself would draw criticism from my family. It did. Not that they had any knowledge on which to base their rejection, just the simple fact that my family had not heard of it before is enough to get them riled. Of course, after reading the ingredients (ground beef, cheddar cheese, thawed hash browns, biscuit dough, etc.), I knew there was nothing really objectionable. I likened it to a pasty; beef, potato and onion in a baked crust- a personal package of seasoned meat filling. I don’t know if it was because I replaced the suggested “Grands” with my organic “Annie’s” pre-made biscuit dough, or because the method just relied on pinching the triangle-cornered pockets together without any type of egg wash, or such, binding… But, I knew about half-way through the cooking process, when I went to switch the baking sheets on the oven racks for even heat distribution and saw that my ‘pockets’ looked more like little ‘pizzas’ with unevenly disbursed mounds of beef and cheese, that my attempt was a complete fail. It really was laughable compared to the picture from the cookbook. My kids certainly (after hearing the confession of my mess up) wouldn’t try it now. My husband was a good sport, after smothering it in ketchup. (I liked it best with a dash of Frank’s Red Hot Sauce.) The dough, easy to bend into a taco shape while warm, actually reminded me of a Taco Bell chalupa shell. I made a mental note of this for future experimentation, took a picture of the mishap, and reheated various leftovers to salvage dinner. The kids were pleased.
I, however, am pleased with one of my new cookbooks, Real Girl’s Kitchen. I’m a fan of Hailey Duff’s blog, Real Girl’s Kitchen, and have followed it for a while. I really love her not overly complicated, but heart felt approach to cooking and living. I know the book has been out for a while, but it was still new to me and instantly one of my faves. I appreciate how transparent she is about trying to make healthy choices while still being delicious (my goal in food), as opposed to many celebrity books I buy where I’m constantly questioning to myself as to whether or not they actually eat their recipes (although tasty). I also really like that the majority of recipes are for one. I know that might sound weird, but usually when I cook healthy or want to try something fun (like goat cheese stuffed chicken breast, wrapped in prosciutto with shallot sauce), I know I will have to fight my children to take every bite. This way I can make myself, or myself and a couple of friends, a fun lunch without waste. If I think it’s something my family would enjoy, I can easily double… or quadruple… or sextuple… the recipe too. But mostly, I think I LOVE how that the Real Girl’s breakfast recipe for one, Quinoa, Butternut Squash, Kale and Fried Egg, calls for one whole butternut squash and two eggs. I don’t know if that’s a misprint, but that’s my kind breakfast and I think we could be best friends. It also comes with great suggestions and tips (I’ll take everything I can get). Here are a couple gems I eagerly pass along to you: #1 If you are traveling to New York City please note that between 3-5 pm taxi cab drivers are doing a shift change and therefore make it more difficult to hale a cab, so plan carefully. #2 If you leave a wooden spoon across the top of a boiling pot of water, it will not allow the liquid to boil over. So clever!
Recently, my husband encouraged me to go out and take a morning for myself- a rare, but welcomed treat on a weekend where we try to make the most use out of our “family” time. I went to the local café and got a pastry, pain au chocolat, a coffee (from their in-house roaster)… and, ahem, a breakfast sandwich, a toasted english muffin with Gruyère and bacon. Diet fail… but a pampering win. Priceless.
Not very far from the local coffee roaster, is my favorite store in the whole world, Acorn Farms. They don’t know it, yet. They sell kitchen wares, Polish pottery (as seen in there store window display above), cookbooks, oils, etc. They’re fabulous, and I rarely can walk in without bringing something out. They also offer cooking classes (of which I have taken a couple, such as, Julia Child’s Boeuf Bourguignon, Cookie Decorating and Canning Strawberry Jam). One day, I will admit my affection toward them, and make a plea to let me feature them on my blog.
One of my recent purchases from my aforementioned favorite store was this book, Tablescapes. Oh my word, I cannot say enough about this treasure… What a find! Everyone should own it (at least everyone that has an interest in setting a pretty table). I want to show you every picture in the book, except I’m sure that would infringe upon copyrights. Just know this, it’s a goodie. See how inspired I was to set a pretty ‘scape’ around it just to take a picture? Lol!
I’d love to hear about your finds (especially in cookbooks). I’m always looking for inspiration! And of course, feel free to share your fails… the gift that binds us together!
I know, I know… Once again, I have vanished into the great unknown. This time I have been making my way through a literary universe spanning hundreds of years. I really can’t remember the last time I’ve allotted this much self indulgence. For the first time since my children started attending school, I actually feel like I’m taking a summer break. It’s fantastic.
In the course of the last week alone, I have read (or re-read) A Tale of Two Cities, Loving Frank, Cheaper by the Dozen, and The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank. I have contacted two universities in a tempting pursuit of a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. Simultaneously, I have become obsessed with store fronts. (I don’t even understand myself.) I only know that I am on a perpetual trail of self discovery… and I am certain that one day it will all make sense.
Courtesy of Pinterest
I don’t think it is a coincidence that I have a strong attraction to store windows filled with colorful book covers. Like a moth to a flame, I suppose, they are magnetic rectangles of various size and illustration beckoning me with their stories and works unknown. There is something so deeply comforting about bookstores, knowing that everyone is welcome and they behold treasures for people of all ages and interests. Of course, the romantic side of me likes to take it a step further- imagining scenarios and happenings… I mean, can’t you just envision yourself ducking into this store on a cold rainy day to escape the elements and the immediate welcome of relief and inspiration?
Courtesy of Pinterest
Although, I can’t say I’d be disappointed to find my way in this store either.
Courtesy of Instagram @andybailen
For all of the colorful old world charm books and bread have to offer, this girl can also be easily persuaded to enter almost any (seemingly trustworthy) establishment advertising with such words as “pastry” or “cake” or “biscuit”…
Image courtesy of Vogueolosophy
I find the terms “café” and “coffee” just as appealing. (Daydream… sigh… ahhh)
Image courtesy of @sophiemaxiemae
I really don’t even consider myself a cat person, but I could see me being a regular if this store was nearby.
Image courtesy of smallbusiness.chron.com
Naturally, my curiosity would get the best of me with such an artistic appeal as this:
Image courtesy of maddie.co.vu
Basically, if a store front boasts of books… or food… or drink… It has my attention. But, think of all the money I save our family on shoes and clothing!
So many places to see and books to read, so little time…
