Today, J. K. Rowling announced that it is James S. Potter's first day of Hogwarts. To celebrate, I made a lazy person's version of pumpkin pasties. I also used this fact to convince my husband that we should start our Harry Potter Book Club of Two. We bought the set of Harry Potter paperbacks earlier this year so we could read the same book at the same time. He wanted to wait until it gets cooler, while I argued for starting at the start of the school year. I'm sure we would have waited until the holiday season if it hadn't been for this announcement.
I'm stoked to climb into our new bed with my hubby and start reading Harry Potter from the beginning. After a cup of tea and a pumpkin pasty, of course.
As we move through our book club selections, my plan is to make as many of these Harry Potter foods as is feasible. I am absolutely not going to make my own jelly beans or buy frog molds, but licorice wands, treacle tarts, and rock cakes I can do.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Savor or Spree
This morning my little compartmentalized worlds collided for a brief moment. Typically, I have one of three reactions when this happens. All of them could be summed up with a phrase my dad uses often, "Well, I'll be darned."
One reaction, is "huh," as in, "Huh, my third cousin knows someone I went to high school with." It's when "Well, I'll be darned" means, "That stands to reason, but I never would have considered the possibility." The second reaction is "eeew," as in "Eeew, my third cousin is dating someone I had a crush on in high school." It's when "Well, I'll be darned" weird means, "I didn't really want to consider that possibility." The third reaction is my favorite. It's when "Well, I'll be darned" is punctuated with an exclamation point. "Well, I'll be darned!" It's a rare moment of kismet.This morning I had that "Well, I'll be darned" exclamation point - kind of moment.
Last night, I noticed a book Tim had been reading about Nikola Tesla sitting on top on the bookshelf. He hadn't read it for a long time because he didn't want to finish it. He didn't want it to end. I have always been the opposite. I race through the end, no matter what it is. As a preteen, I hid a flashlight under my pillow so I could finish the book I was reading. I clean my plate to the point that I don't even need to rinse it before I put it in the dishwasher. I binge-watch television. I was thinking about that difference between us last night and also how--even though I like to get to the end of the story, season and sleeve of Thin Mints--I have been more apt to savor things as I get older. Or maybe it isn't that I'm older, it's just that I'm choosing things that are worth savoring more often. For instance, as much as I was loving reading One More Thing by B.J. Novak, I couldn't rush through it. It is just too good. Lately the only books I've read in less than 48 hours are ones that I didn't enjoy very much.
This morning, after I was in my car, but before I pulled out of the driveway, out of reach of our wifi, I made sure that the latest "Happier with Gretchen Rubin" podcast had downloaded. I got about 15 minutes into my 50 minute commute when Gretchen and her sister Elizabeth Craft started into a segment they refer to as "Know Yourself Better." The topic they were discussing? "Do you prefer to savor or spree?" I thought, "Well, I'll be darned! I was thinking about this last night."
It was one of those unimportant, inconsequential things that brightened my day.
One reaction, is "huh," as in, "Huh, my third cousin knows someone I went to high school with." It's when "Well, I'll be darned" means, "That stands to reason, but I never would have considered the possibility." The second reaction is "eeew," as in "Eeew, my third cousin is dating someone I had a crush on in high school." It's when "Well, I'll be darned" weird means, "I didn't really want to consider that possibility." The third reaction is my favorite. It's when "Well, I'll be darned" is punctuated with an exclamation point. "Well, I'll be darned!" It's a rare moment of kismet.This morning I had that "Well, I'll be darned" exclamation point - kind of moment.
Last night, I noticed a book Tim had been reading about Nikola Tesla sitting on top on the bookshelf. He hadn't read it for a long time because he didn't want to finish it. He didn't want it to end. I have always been the opposite. I race through the end, no matter what it is. As a preteen, I hid a flashlight under my pillow so I could finish the book I was reading. I clean my plate to the point that I don't even need to rinse it before I put it in the dishwasher. I binge-watch television. I was thinking about that difference between us last night and also how--even though I like to get to the end of the story, season and sleeve of Thin Mints--I have been more apt to savor things as I get older. Or maybe it isn't that I'm older, it's just that I'm choosing things that are worth savoring more often. For instance, as much as I was loving reading One More Thing by B.J. Novak, I couldn't rush through it. It is just too good. Lately the only books I've read in less than 48 hours are ones that I didn't enjoy very much.
This morning, after I was in my car, but before I pulled out of the driveway, out of reach of our wifi, I made sure that the latest "Happier with Gretchen Rubin" podcast had downloaded. I got about 15 minutes into my 50 minute commute when Gretchen and her sister Elizabeth Craft started into a segment they refer to as "Know Yourself Better." The topic they were discussing? "Do you prefer to savor or spree?" I thought, "Well, I'll be darned! I was thinking about this last night."
It was one of those unimportant, inconsequential things that brightened my day.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Thirty-Seven
I turned 37 this month and right around the big day, I made a list of 37 things that made 36 great and that I hope for more of in the coming year. In no particular order...
1. Reading: Whether it's an entire book in a day or a lazy chapter in a comfy spot or finding a surprisingly charming essay where you least expected it, like Christopher Kimball's editorials in Cook's Illustrated magazine.
2. Scenic overlooks and rearview mirror sunsets on my commute home.
3. My step-daughter's verbalized internal monologues, most of the time.
4. The former hamburger drive-thru joint turned locally-owned tiny coffee shop opened by a couple who cashed out their 401k to make their dream come true. It's one of the only charming things on our otherwise charmless main drag of crumbling mid-century strip malls of the suburbs.
5. Lazy mornings and the quiet of my neighborhood on weekend mornings when no buses, trash trucks, or sirens disturb the peace.
6. Brits and Au Marche in downtown Lawrence and every Ten Thousand Villages store everywhere (and other places like these).
7. Hobbits with their meal plans and hobbit holes.
8. A couple of cottages in our neighborhood, also bungalows with deep front porches, dormer windows and porch swings.
9. Summer thunderstorms and winter snows.
10. Crocuses and "ditch lilies" (and the wonderful people who I first heard say ditch lilies when referring to day lilies).
11. Just the right amount of caffeine and just the right amount of alcohol.
12. David Suchet as Hercule Poirot.
13. Herbal tea, sun tea and sweet tea.
14. Soup and hot dishes in all their wondrous variety.
15. Breakfasts: whether it's scones and earl gray or biscuits and gravy with chow chow.
16. Stuff my mom makes: rows of canned tomato juice, salsa, marinara sauce and green beans, a grapevine wreath with silk flowers, my Christmas and Easter dresses as a little girl, knitted dishcloths and crochet scrubbies.
17. My dad's stories of childhood hijinx.
18. My husband's stories about things like not knowing that pickles were cucumbers and tasting soy candles because they smelled good and you can eat soy.
19. The way one of my childhood friend's eyes have always shined when she's stretching the truth for the sake of a good story.
20. The family farm, which is more sinkholes than farmland.
21. Outside chores: stacking wood, pulling weeds, mowing the grass, burying half-decomposed compost, raking leaves, picking up sticks, etc.
22. Caves
23. Town squares.
24. Nature.
25. Using a spoon or whisk instead of the mixes, using a rake instead of the leaf blower, walking.
26. Small things in jars: beads, marbles, dried beans.
27. Memories and stories of my grandparents: a tidbit that my grandmother referred to the WPA as "we piddle along," my grandpa's cane and the story about the time he spit his false teeth out of the window of his car.
28. Convertible sofas folded out just because you want a space to dogpile while watching tv in your pajamas.
29. Christmas and making cozy during cold weather.
30. Cocoon-like spaces: hammocks, tiny houses, closets, tents, appliance boxes, blanket forts.
31. NPR radio shows.
32. Anything arranged by color to make a rainbow: a closet full of clothes, shelves of books, skittles, skeins of yarn, paint chip displays.
33. Fixing things and recycling what is unfixable and wearing my super awesome patchy pants to run errands.
34. Old jeans that are one size too big, layered t-shirts, grandpa cardigans.
35. Big bowls full of fruit and pillar candles and flowers and candy dishes.
36. Amy Poehler and Tina Fey.
37. Public transportation.
1. Reading: Whether it's an entire book in a day or a lazy chapter in a comfy spot or finding a surprisingly charming essay where you least expected it, like Christopher Kimball's editorials in Cook's Illustrated magazine.
2. Scenic overlooks and rearview mirror sunsets on my commute home.
3. My step-daughter's verbalized internal monologues, most of the time.
4. The former hamburger drive-thru joint turned locally-owned tiny coffee shop opened by a couple who cashed out their 401k to make their dream come true. It's one of the only charming things on our otherwise charmless main drag of crumbling mid-century strip malls of the suburbs.
5. Lazy mornings and the quiet of my neighborhood on weekend mornings when no buses, trash trucks, or sirens disturb the peace.
6. Brits and Au Marche in downtown Lawrence and every Ten Thousand Villages store everywhere (and other places like these).
7. Hobbits with their meal plans and hobbit holes.
8. A couple of cottages in our neighborhood, also bungalows with deep front porches, dormer windows and porch swings.
9. Summer thunderstorms and winter snows.
10. Crocuses and "ditch lilies" (and the wonderful people who I first heard say ditch lilies when referring to day lilies).
11. Just the right amount of caffeine and just the right amount of alcohol.
12. David Suchet as Hercule Poirot.
13. Herbal tea, sun tea and sweet tea.
14. Soup and hot dishes in all their wondrous variety.
15. Breakfasts: whether it's scones and earl gray or biscuits and gravy with chow chow.
16. Stuff my mom makes: rows of canned tomato juice, salsa, marinara sauce and green beans, a grapevine wreath with silk flowers, my Christmas and Easter dresses as a little girl, knitted dishcloths and crochet scrubbies.
17. My dad's stories of childhood hijinx.
18. My husband's stories about things like not knowing that pickles were cucumbers and tasting soy candles because they smelled good and you can eat soy.
19. The way one of my childhood friend's eyes have always shined when she's stretching the truth for the sake of a good story.
20. The family farm, which is more sinkholes than farmland.
21. Outside chores: stacking wood, pulling weeds, mowing the grass, burying half-decomposed compost, raking leaves, picking up sticks, etc.
22. Caves
23. Town squares.
24. Nature.
25. Using a spoon or whisk instead of the mixes, using a rake instead of the leaf blower, walking.
26. Small things in jars: beads, marbles, dried beans.
27. Memories and stories of my grandparents: a tidbit that my grandmother referred to the WPA as "we piddle along," my grandpa's cane and the story about the time he spit his false teeth out of the window of his car.
28. Convertible sofas folded out just because you want a space to dogpile while watching tv in your pajamas.
29. Christmas and making cozy during cold weather.
30. Cocoon-like spaces: hammocks, tiny houses, closets, tents, appliance boxes, blanket forts.
31. NPR radio shows.
32. Anything arranged by color to make a rainbow: a closet full of clothes, shelves of books, skittles, skeins of yarn, paint chip displays.
33. Fixing things and recycling what is unfixable and wearing my super awesome patchy pants to run errands.
34. Old jeans that are one size too big, layered t-shirts, grandpa cardigans.
35. Big bowls full of fruit and pillar candles and flowers and candy dishes.
36. Amy Poehler and Tina Fey.
37. Public transportation.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Full On Monet
I am a full on Monet.
I came to this realization while getting ready for Christmas with my in-laws. As I applied my usual layers of makeup, I took two steps away from the bathroom mirror and appraised myself in it without the aid of my astigmatism-correcting glasses. I looked pretty good. It's not until I moved closer to the mirror that the big old mess comes into focus: clogged pores, flaky skin, chin hairs, unplucked eyebrows and the other usual aging woes.
I had just enjoyed my last lazy morning of holiday vacation; a beautiful morning of tea and pumpkin oatmeal, Anne Lamott, and my sleeping husband and step-child, all half-lit by Christmas tree lights and the morning sun sparkling off a fresh skim of icy snow. Then everyone else in the house woke up and things came into focus; my step-daughter's irritating indecision and low-level bickering with my husband that escalated into squabbling and hurt feelings. A big old mess.
I suspect there are lots of people like me. People who are okay from far away but seem more like a big old mess the closer you get. We feel much more comfortable keeping people at arm's length and being slightly out of focus if it means we seem okay. It is rare to find someone who allows their big old messes to come so sharply into focus. It makes sense, doesn't it? We all want to reflect the beautiful impression of ourselves that we sometimes glimpse in the golden morning light.
I am lucky to live in a city with a great art museum. It has full on Monets and other Impressionist works, too. I notice that lots of people like to bask in the perfectly lit, parqueted floor Impressionist room. We all take two steps back and change our focus to catch the beautiful idea of the thing that inspired the artist to pick up his brush and make a big old mess.
I've also noticed that fewer people seem to linger in the concrete-floored modernist expansion to the neoclassical museum, especially in front of this painting. Heineken by Idelle Weber is a beautifully executed sharply focused painting of a big old mess. The thing that inspired this painting is a wreck. It's irritatingly, squabbly, hurt feelings-y messy. It's discarded and worthless. It's trash. But thanks to the artist's keen eye and steady hand, she elevated this big old mess into something valuable--treasured, even. Every time we visit this museum, we are drawn to this painting. I appreciate it because it is a big old mess rendered so sharply in focus that it becomes beautiful.
What if we all could share our messes just as they are? Isn't there beauty in that? At times, I get inspired glimpses of my beautiful mess: artfully arranged bed head, mascara smudges so perfect they look like they were applied by a make-up artist for a mid-1990s heroine chic fashion shoot, bruises that look like Monet's version of a stormy sky at night.
It's easier to find beauty in our exterior messes than in our internal ones. But I'm slowly learning to claim those messes, too, and render them in ever-sharpening focus. While I don't necessarily feel more beautiful when I say things like "I don't know what that means," or "that hurts my feelings," or "I'm so frustrated and overwhelmed I don't know what to do," I always feel better after I claim the mess. When I do, I inevitably learn something about myself, my loved ones, or the world around me. And that is a beautiful thing, no matter from how far away or up close you look at it.
Friday, September 5, 2014
My Legit Emails Sometimes Devolve into Something Less-Than Legit
I have a
couple of awesome friends who indulge me in some of the most random email
exchanges. Here is an email exchange from yesterday. It’s just a sample of all
the awesome fun you could be part of if we were friends and you emailed me at
work.
From: Me
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 9:47 AM
Hi lady!
Glad you survived the coke
bottle incident. Or at least [someone] at [someplace] said it was a
well-wrapped coke bottle.
[This bit is redacted because it was a boring albeit
legit business question.]
Thanks
From: This could be you!
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 10:36 AM
[This bit is also redacted because it is the answer to
boring albeit legit business question.]
I think that my favorite part of the whole thing was that
they blocked the street off, and brought in the bomb squad, but didn't think
that it was necessary to let us know what was going on, or to clear the building.
It was hilarious to watch though. At one point the guy was standing next to the
bomb robot, but ducked behind the tree. Hell, I could do that.
From: Me
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 10:49 AM
If I were the bomb squad boss, I
would just make sure that me and everyone else was a safe distance away,
detonate the bomb, and slowly stroll away from the fiery explosion. You can be
on my bomb squad and we will take turns video-ing each other strolling away.
I'm guessing we'd be fired after the second explosion, but at least we'd have
two good shots of us strolling away from an explosion for our buddy-action
movie. (We will make a low-budget buddy-action movie in this alternate reality,
also.)
From: This could be you!
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 10:52 AM
Threat Level Midnight? Only if it's slow-mo and Back in
Black is playing. That would be so awesome. But yeah I think that we wouldn't
last that long. But can you imagine our photo stream on facebook? So worth it.
From: Me
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 11:01 AM
So worth it!
I think we should call our buddy-action movie
"Super-Duper: No You Won't Know What You Get"
You know, I don't think we'd have the budget for AC/DC. My
husband's friend's brother has a metal band, I think. They could do a
metal cover of your
daughter's Super Duper song. It'll be the Back in
Black for a new generation.
The sequel should be Super Duper II: There's Throw Up in My
Pull-up ($$$ for product placement!) The third is called Super Duper III: And You
Never Diiiiie
From: This could be you!
Sent: Thursday, September 04, 2014 11:09 AM
Holy cow, I'd almost forgotten about the Super-Duper
song. Maybe we can get a couple spiderman and superman costumes, so we can have
two spidermans, and two supermans. Ahhh the throw up in my pull up. Now it's
just called "The Diarrhea." As in I have The Diarrhea. Hey, that's a
good name for a punk band.
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