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I’ve been stuck to my No List January Policy nearly as well as the zero on my computer keyboard, the casualty of a coffee spill a few weeks ago. It’s been a true test of my will to not post at least one little innocent list. Don’t believe me? Come look at my cubicle (third floor, across from the printer, I’m wearing lots o’ stripes today… can’t miss me). There are post-its scattered hither and tither with lists of fabric, to do lists (at home, at work), book lists, supply lists… even this list could go on and on. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my promise, dear reader.
But it’s January 31, and I have several discoveries I feel compelled to share today. Not tomorrow. These can’t wait until February. Thirty-one days into 2008. It’s time to start blowing those resolutions out of the water.
My Must Share List of January ‘08:
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The Library of Congress has a flickr page! Trust me. Much cooler than it may sound upon first read.
And wait… there’s more… Read the rest of this entry »
I’d love to give these a home, but alas, thwarted by the almighty pound yet again.
I am currently smack dab in the middle of a book that is a reminder of how magnificent it is to hear the stories of others when well told. It’s called, fittingly, The Book of Other People, edited by Zadie Smith and contributed to by the most wonderful of the wonderful imprinting their soul onto the written page these days. (A complete list can be provided by request, but I’d much rather you simply picked up your own copy.)
And while we’re on the topic of middles, I should also acknowledge the halfway point of the Year of 100 Books, which is rapidly evolving into the Year I Read As Much As I Could When I Wasn’t Reading Academic Articles or Textbooks. It came and went without fanfare last week and without 50 books being read.
Status Report:
32. Hattie Big Sky, by Kirby Larson
33. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver
34. The Apron Book, by EllynAnne Geisel
35. The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop, by Lewis Buzbee
36. number9dream, by David Mitchell
Last night we made this*–the ultimate comfort food–for dinner.
We drank this (spring ale! in January!) while bustling about the kitchen, dodging one another’s elbows.
I met someone who grew up here. Who speaks fluent French.
And we exchanged stories about travels here and here.
We sat at the table basking in the glow of the candle and enjoying the comfort that comes from good food and good company long after the final bite had been taken.
Good night.
*Words to live by: Always use the gruyere.
I’ve been trying to make this year more about the creative and beautiful and less about the material. But we all have our weak moments when the pull of wanting to own something overpowers us and we can no longer deny our inner material girl.
For example, yesterday, I gave into this whim:
Fun, yes?
I fear my financial situation will prevent me from giving into this one today:
But just barely.
Novels were meant to be written on such things.
I have a superiority complex. This isn’t a big secret to people who know me. I could not pinpoint when it exactly it started, but I can confirm that it really blossomed in high school. You can picture flowers in April if that helps. If you went to my high school you would understand. In fact, you would probably have one, too.
Nor am I known for my unflagging optimism. In fact, I can be quite the cynic given the right circumstances.
That being said, people continually amaze me. In the good way. I didn’t realize how true this was until I overheard an acquaintance say the other day, “I just don’t think the average person is that creative.” I said nothing at the time, but it has become a refrain in my brain ever since–a private and personal challenge to prove otherwise.
Maybe I’ve simply chosen to surround myself with bright and creative people–musicians, hat makers, artists, writers, photographers, crafters, kitchen goddesses, and graphic designers. Or maybe I just read the right combination of blogs and books. Or maybe I’ve browsed one too many bookstore, craft show, yarn shop, museum, etsy shop, etc and my head is a bit addled. But the way I see it people’s capacity for creative thought is remarkable. A part of me wishes I could compile it all in some online archive titled “People Are Cool” or something equally as vague.
[Author Note: I'm quite serious (about the concept if not the name). I desperately want to create a multimedia online journal that celebrates creativity of all types: recipe creation, handmade goods, art/design, writing, photography. I'll let you know if I figure out a way. Suggestions are welcome.]
In the meantime, never fear, friends. My complex remains. And I’ll still bite off a cynical comment with the best of them on my good days. But perhaps I’m becoming a bit of an optimist as I enter the second half of my second decade. Perhaps there is something to this growing up business.
This was to be the Year of the Vegetable. I have preached the Potato Is A Vegetable sermon more times than anyone has cared to listen to it. But this year was supposed to be different. Over the Christmas holiday, I had a go at kale and a rainbow of peppers. I was off and running.
Next I borrowed a copy of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle from the local library. I began to wonder if fresh zucchinni really was edible and started to speculate on the possibilities of winter squash recipes.
But I turned down split pea soup. For all my talk, I still took the convenient route and picked up my groceries at the supermarket a block away instead of braving the cold to the farmer’s market after work or on the weekends. I blame January for my failures. And I tell myself I’ll do better next month.
And then the boy shared this bit of of bedtime reading with me: Rethinking the Meat Guzzler.
This is the sort of lullaby that can cause nightmares and gives the Year of the Vegetable a renewed sense of immediacy. Please read.
Over the next few months/years, I will no doubt use this blog as an outlet for my homework frustrations, if I haven’t already. Why am I killing myself for a Masters degree when I would be perfectly happy in a little beach house, churning out bad novels and even worse quilts for mass consumption?
Many reasons, actually. One of which is I love learning. And I love learning in a beautiful place that seems to shimmer and glow with knowledge and history.
Inside, the floors are uneven. The paint is more than a little chipped. And I found out first hand on Monday how drafty an old window can be. But each creak of the floorboards is a sigh of wisdom yearning to be shared. Evey crack in the wall is a home to the many lectures given and the numerous lessons learned. And the draft, why that is simply the outside world’s desire for knowledge floating on the breeze, making itself known.
I was born in February. This fact of life strikes me as the sole redeeming quality of this otherwise forgettable month. No doubt I’ve already mourned the fact that I never had a pool party, that cold weather (and especially February snow) gives me hives, and that well, to be honest, I’d rather blow out my candles in a cute sundress rather than a frumpy sweater.
Thank the women at Sew, Mama, Sew!, for giving February new meaning to me.
Lately my time has been divided between crafting, homework, and season 2 of Heroes (thanks, Netflix). And while this balancing act has been successful thus far, my kitchen is beginning to feel a bit neglected. My aspirations for a semi-regular 2008 In The Kitchen post have gone unrealized. What I have realized, though, is that man cannot live on multigrain Cheerios and spaghetti alone.
To motivate me:
Pretty, yes?
And lest we forget, Santa’s other present:
If the combined powers of these two objects in my kitchen fail to tempt me. I have this book, as a last resort. But for now, design*sponge and Lotta Jansdotter are challenging me to figure out what a parsnip is and whether or not I want to make it part of my diet.
