Pillow Book

Bet Woody Allen would've liked my outfit, too.

2012-02-03T06:52:00.015-06:00

I actually started this yesterday morning after reading my daily Awe-Manac entry...

February 3 commemorates the birthdays of Norman Rockwell and Gertrude Stein. I imagine you are all familiar with Rockwell and his Americana-styled magazine covers, posters, and art images. Stein, perhaps not so much. She was an American (but French transplant) art critic, collector, and writer whose storied and somewhat scandalous-for-the-time life was often weaved into the novels and poems she penned.

Aside from recognizing the name, I knew little about Stein before sitting in front of my fireplace with my favorite coffee mug and daily journals this morning. I'm so glad I made time to explore. After doing a little research, I discovered that although Stein seemed to have lived a life of confusion and repression and contradiction, it was also one replete with intrigue and travel and intellectual stimulation. She interacted with artists and writers and philosophers. She was surrounded by beauty. She was in the social circles of geniuses. Thus, while I don't necessarily admire some of the political and social beliefs attributed to her, I, in Owen Wilson~Midnight in Paris~style, find her complete engagement in life completely admirable. *If you haven't seen this Woody Allen film, I definitely recommend.

"I like a view but I like to sit with my back turned to it." Gertrude Stein
This quote reminded me of a picture that was taken of me in Montego Bay, Jamaica in January of 2002. I, along with seven other Centre students, spent three weeks living in Kingston and taking a class (The Economics of Poverty) at the University of the West Indies. What an amazing experience.
I remember really liking my outfit this day. I had on a black tank top, Carhartt overalls (that I bought because I liked my Dad's so much), Teva flip flops, and a bandana I rolled and used as a head band.
***
"If a picture wasn't going very well, I'd put a puppy in it." Norman Rockwell
***

Instead of providing a recipe for you today, I have a suggestion. Go visit the Martha White Cooking Challenge website, peruse this year's top five entries from around the country, and vote for our very own Kelly Claywell's, Easy Blueberry Muffin Mix Dessert recipe! Let me repeat...TOP FIVE NATIONWIDE. What an honor! Congratulations, Mrs. Kelly!
***
Question to think about: If you could live in any historical era (not to suggest that your life isn't completely lovely), what would it be and why? I plan to answer this in the next post.

News You Can't Use

2012-02-01T05:44:00.010-06:00

Keys to a good morning:
Coffee, Chocolate Banana Smoothie in a martini glass, and Willie Geist.

***
I finished my "Draw a tree everyday in January" project yesterday. I should probably consider becoming a full-time freelance sketcher.

My three favorites:

Lessons I learned:
-I'm not as much of a perfectionist as I thought. I consistently cut myself off at ten minutes, even if the tree looked like crap...and, I was okay with that. I got satisfacation out of little things that I considered to be progress. I simply enjoyed finishing a small project every day; it kept me disciplined.
-Contrary to sketching logic, I preferred using an ink pen (well, this wasn't yo mamma's plastic BIC; this sucker (a gift) was nice).
-I was better when I committed; when I half-assed shadows or texture it just looked silly.
***
Tomorrow begins a wonderful, wonderful opportunity that I am honored to have the chance to do. I will be teaching two days/week at Centre (I love my job at the library and I'm not going anywhere; this is just a part-time second job in the spring), my Alma mater, the school that made me a better thinker, citizen, and friend. I will be teaching GOV 351: Women and Development (my favorite course I took while a student) for a professor who has influenced more than nearly anyone in my life. Truly humbled.

Here is a description of the course...
"Focusing on both theory and practice, this course provides an overview of the topic of women, gender, and development. We will analyze the cross-cultural understandings of development that have historically and theoretically impacted political, economic, and social policies. We will then examine women’s perspectives on, and participation in, development. This will include such themes as: the nature of women’s work, women’s health and reproductive issues, gender-based violence, legal issues, the effects of structural adjustment on women and families, cultural relativism v. universality, women’s rights as human rights, vernacularization, and environmental issues. We will also study various obstacles to women’s progress and development including the feminization of poverty, inappropriate technology, and cultural/religious norms. Finally, we will turn to ways in which women have organized to improve their condition locally, nationally, and globally in international organizations such as the United Nations, via political office, and through non-governmental organizations."

Yes, I did give myself a year and a half. "20" just sounded better.

2012-01-23T22:30:00.014-06:00

Letters mean something to me. You know this. If you follow Pillow Book much at all, you've probably read this more times than you care to mention. I've talked about how much joy cards from my grandmother give me. I've shown you pictures of letters that I, at one time, wished to be love letters. I've encouraged you to write more, whether that be in letter, blogpost, poem, or short story format. I'm pretty sure at some point in the past few months I've even suggested you write a letter to yourself, something I had never actually done...Until yesterday.

Last week I mentioned Jeanne Oliver's (if you haven't checked out her blog yet, you really should; somehow reading about - and seeing pictures of - her fulfilled life will give you a renewed appreciation of your own), "Creatively Made" e-course. One of our journal prompts in yesterday's "class" was to "Write a letter to a ten years younger version of yourself." I include mine below, not because it's beautifully written - because it definitely is not -, but because I want to encourage you to take the time to do it for yourself. Just write whatever you're thinking, even if the thoughts and phrases seem disjointed even as you write them. Give yourself a time limit. Don't put pressure on yourself to be eloquent. Just start writing.

Dear 20-year-old-Liza,
First lesson you need to keep in mind is that only the foolish say "I'll never." Truth is, there's a reason the "walk a mile in another's shoes" cliche is a cliche. Over the next ten years, there will be moments where you think the future is clear, that you have it "all figured out." Guess what? You won't. You know what else though? These moments and these decisions don't define you. They don't put you on an irrevocable path of misdirection. They are what they are. They are decisions that you know you put thought or your heart into. They are moments when you had to make a decision and you made one. They are moments that you will question, despite knowing you cannot change them. They are moments that will bring heartache, and doubt, and frustration, but they exist alongside those that make you laugh and make you feel like you're really living. You will want answers and want to feel that the cumulative experience was "destined," was "meant to be." Deep down you won't believe this. Don't let that make you feel like a bad person. It's okay to see randomness.

You won't really feel like the person you know you can be until much later in your 20s and it may take a certain person or personality to really draw it out of you. That person may not be a forever fixture in your life, but your acceptance of your gifts, your acceptance of yourself, will be. Until you get there, really live your life. Explore job opportunities and if you don't get the one you want - or into the school you want - remember that you can always do something else. A good portion of the time, our realities are what we choose to make of them. Try to "be" in each day. Try not to see these "Plan B" moments as inferior; see them as alternatives. Commit yourself to whatever you're in, but always keep in mind that you are never "stuck." You are smart and resourceful and willing to take chances. Trust that. Have the confidence to explore "could be"s and find inspiration in something everyday. Keep lists of short-term and long-term goals, goals that exist outside of daily obligations. Make these goals solely for yourself; don't dream for others or with others in mind. Be willing to put things on credit cards if need be, but if the bill reaches $1000, cut them up. Know that exercise will seem more and more like a burden as you get older, but that pies and brownies will seem more and more like a good idea. You will start to really like coffee. You will wish you didn't have to work. You will have a high standard and have a hard time accepting anything less. You will move home and you will be grateful for mundane moments with your family. You will always remember funny things your Dad said even if you never write them down. You will really be "in" your life.
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A little project I'm super excited about...

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I'm a huge fan of most anything that has a bunch of carbohydrates...particularly for breakfast. I decided yesterday that I needed a little additional sugar to throw on top of my weekly bread choices.

Slow-Cooker Pear & Apple Butter
2 1/2 pounds Bartlett or Anjou pears (about 5) - I used the two not-quite-ripe ones I bought at Houchens the previous day

2 1/2 pounds McIntosh or Gala apples (about 5)- I used whatever kind I stole from Mom's refrigerator

1 cup packed dark-brown sugar - I used light

1/2 teaspoon coarse salt

1 cinnamon stick - I used ground cinnamon. How much, you ask? About that much.

Directions
Peel, quarter, and core pears and apples. In a food processor, finely grate fruit (in batches if necessary), then transfer to a 5- to 6-quart slow cooker. Stir in dark-brown sugar, salt, and cinnamon stick. Cover and cook on high, 4 hours.
Remove cinnamon stick and reserve. Transfer mixture to processor (in batches if necessary) and process until smooth. Return to slow cooker, along with cinnamon stick, and cook on high, uncovered, until mixture is thick and browned, 4 hours. Discard cinnamon stick and let mixture cool. Transfer to airtight containers and refrigerate, up to 3 weeks, or freeze, up to 3 months.
***
What would you say to your 20-year-old self?

"A witty saying proves nothing." ~ Voltaire

2012-01-18T23:25:00.012-06:00

Most of you have probably heard me mention Jeanne Oliver before. She is the photographer/designer/vintage collector who we featured in the Christmas issue of FOLK Magazine. And, she is just a lovely, lovely person. I am currently taking her e-course, "Creatively Made," a four-week online class that encourages participants (over 500 of us worldwide!) to explore talents that we wouldn't normally take the time to consider or cultivate. We watch videos posted by Jeanne or other guest artists from around the country. We post our own creations, ask questions, and just trade funny quips on the Facebook group page. We say nice things to each other, constantly reminding one another that there's more to each of us than just our day jobs, our families, and our obligations. We write and take pictures and see new purposes for objects we would typically overlook. We give each other something to look forward to.

Our first "assignment" for the class was to create our own "creativity journal" from repurposed old books. For one of mine, I cut the front and back covers off of a book I knew I would never read; made the pages from old wallpaper, cardstock, pictures/magazine images/newspaper articles/ticket stubs that mean something to me, images from old cookbooks, and pages from various old books; bound it with baling twine; and added various decorative creations for effect. On the second, I just picked a book I liked (I love the color and the bird on the cover and the haikus and silly messages inside), kept the pages in tact and just added some of the things previously mentioned.

Creatively Made

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One thing I love about special projects like the "Creatively Made" course is that they simply make me feel more inspired about life in general. I try to more consciously create beauty or fun around me. I do things just because they might make me laugh. I feel more engaged with even the simplest of tasks.

Hence...

"Orange you glad you came to dinner"...

My thought process went as follows:
-I see a lone little orange on my counter
-I just brought in an orange shirt from my car
-The joke about "orange you glad I didn't say banana"
-I have apricot jam I need to use
-I have sweet potatoes too
-I saw an orange scarf on Pinterest that I think I could make
-I'm not at work today so I will have time to cook
-Themed dinner parties are fun
-Ask Mom and the Morgans if they want to come to "Orange you glad you came to dinner?"

So, in essence, the thought process was: "that might be fun."

Menu:
Apricot Dijon Pork Chops (the apricot creates an orange glaze)
Sweet Potatoes (I won't explain this one)
Baked Beans (Kind of orange)
Homemade Bread (I was going to tint my butter orange, but didn't have time)
Orange Juice Cake (The gooey center is especially good)

Scarf tutorial on Pinterest

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Before working on the journal, I started going through some of my books, looking for covers, passages, or pictures that I might want to use. In so doing, I came across my dad's copy of Pulitzer Prize-winning author and conservationist, Louis Bromfield's 1955 publication, From My Experience. I didn't want to tear it up, but I did start flipping through it. This caught my attention...

"Considering the general insignificance and unimportance of man, the pleasures of agriculture are perhaps more real and gratifying than the pleasures and even the excesses of the purely mathematical mind (which are certainly not pleasures to be underestimated). If the pleasures of mathematical debauchery or orgies in physics are to be treated as limited, it is only because they are denied the great mass of humanity and because all too often they induce and create the deformities and limitations of the incomplete man. Rousseau was in many respects a fool and at times a humbug and a liar but he had something in his conception of the Natural Man, something in which even the great wise and cynical mind of Voltaire, an infinitely more intellectual and sophisticated man, found a perpetual source of envy.

The greatest creative and intellectual vice of our times, and a factor which causes increasing distress and even tragedy, is the overspecialization which man has partly chosen and which has been partly forced upon him by the shrinking of the world, by the incredible speeding up of daily life and the materialistic impact of technological development upon our daily existence." (12)

A man after my own heart. One day I shall use Rousseau in passing while talking about sustainable farming.

I'm sorry, Bob Ross.

2012-01-14T07:41:00.013-06:00

John Singer Sargent once said, "You can't do sketches enough. Sketch everything and keep your curiosity fresh."

The editors of the Awe-Manac add: "Sketching creates an intimate connection with your subject even if you're not a skilled artist. Practice with permission to be imperfect."

Whatevs, Awe-Manac, my lined notebook paper with unmeasured pen-drawn grid screams sketching perfection...
The fruits of my draw-a-tree-each-day-in-January project.

I give myself no more than ten minutes. I use whatever I can find to write with (I usually see about 16 pencils in every junk drawer...until I actually need one). I pick a tree near my home or at the farm. I work until I'm laughing, bored, or reach my time limit. And, I can't lie; I enjoy this. It adds a little structure to my day. It makes me feel artsy (artsy and talented do not have to go hand-in-hand). It's what Vivian Swift told me to do.

For what it's worth, here's one of Sargent's unfinished sketches (he became frustrated with it and quit):
The Bead Stringers of Venice
I would've become frustrated with this, too. So amateur. ...

One of the reasons I like the Bead Stringers so much is that it reminds me of a more spirited, yet strangely sadder, version of James McNeill Whistler's 1871 painting, Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 (commonly referred to as The Whistler's Mother). I was sitting outside a professor's office on the 17th floor of Patterson Office Tower (history department at UK) in a very mundane blue plastic chair a couple of years ago and my favorite professor walked by, did a double take, and told me I reminded him of the whistler's mother. I loved it.

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"Things that keep you warm in January...
Hot chocolate, ice cold champagne. Not in the same glass, but on the same afternoon." ~ Vivian Swift
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Know what goes well with champagne?...Truffles

One of my resolutions for 2012 is to try new recipes each week. I was pretty pleased with this unexpectedly easy one (although I still insist my sister's are much better). I ended up rolling mine in powdered sugar, cocoa, coconut, or chopped pecans.

Ingredients
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
3 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
3 cups semisweet chocolate chips, melted
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

Directions
In a large bowl, beat cream cheese until smooth. Gradually beat in confectioners' sugar until well blended. Stir in melted chocolate and vanilla until no streaks remain. Refrigerate for about 1 hour. Shape into 1 inch balls. Roll truffles in ground walnuts (or any ground nuts), cocoa, coconut, confectioners' sugar, candy sprinkles, etc. To flavor truffles with liqueurs or other flavorings, omit vanilla. Divide truffle mixture into thirds. Add 1 tablespoon liqueur (almond, coffee, orange) to each mixture; mix well.

Other recipes I've tried this week:
Coconut Cream Pie with Whipped Cream Topping (instead of meringue) - Definitely recommend!
"Pioneer Woman" Pie Crust - My favorite pie crust recipe I've tried yet
Potato Gnocchi - In my opinion, not worth the time!

Once and Future Carpenter

2012-01-10T20:11:00.008-06:00

Yesterday we buried our beloved horse, Cotton (his full racing name was "Cotton's Last Hope"). This was the horse that Dad raised, the one he trained and carted across the country (along with his wife and their two loud little girls who enjoyed playing "who brought the skunk?" ... while romping around in an attachable camper separated from front seat sanity by a mere sliding glass window) to race, the horse that has been a farm fixture for 31 years, the horse that symbolized so much more than "longtime pet." This horse gave the farm life and, in the past 14 months, gave me a sense of purpose. Cotton made me feel connected to Dad, as though with each stall cleaned or each bucket of feed prepared or each hug and "you're a good boy" given, I was standing in the barn beside CLT, asking him what I could do to help or listening to him tell some story I should've taken the time to write down. Cotton helped me realize why Dad loved this farm so much. For that, I am truly grateful.

Even if I am sitting here crying my eyes out as I type this, the purpose is not to be dramatic. In fact, I know there is terrible beauty in yesterday's events. Mom made the decision because it was the best thing for the horse. He was simply old; he couldn't see well, he had lost a lot of weight, he had arthritis. Last year when the vet had to come check on him, he implied that he probably didn't have a ton of time left. Mom didn't want to see him suffer or struggle through a tough winter or be left hanging on, but not really living. So, yesterday she made the exact decision Dad would've made. She and I put the racing blanket on him that he won in the 1984 Hope and Dreams Derby, we fed him a huge bucket of sweet feed, we walked him over to Dad's plot and she told me a couple of stories about a wonderful man and the horse he loved, and we hugged him as he lay there in the barn lot adjoining the field he had called home for many happy years. It was the humane thing to do and the right way to do it, even if it was incredibly sad.
So, in one way, I felt like a connection to Dad, one I have desperately clung to over the past year, was disappearing. It just broke, and continues to break, my heart. There's no better way to say it. In another way, however, I smile somewhat coyly, the way I remember Dad doing, when I think about the similarities between the two jokers. When given the chance to be in the cozy barn or in the field last year, Cotton always chose the field, no matter the weather conditions; Cotton, who was a pretty even keel horse, would neither instigate trouble nor take crap from the other horses; Cotton knew the farm better than I do; I feel like if he could've talked, Cotton would've been sarcastic a good portion of the time; He was tough as nails, but didn't mind hugs and pets and silly little comments. He and Dad were a good match.

In the midst of the sadness, I therefore remember these things: we did what Dad would've wanted; we took care of Cotton over the past year and a half in a manner that would've made Dad proud; both are buried in the barn lot they loved; and, I'm exactly where I need to be. Wendell Berry writes about it and CLT always implied it...this is the stuff that matters.

Terrible Beauty and Blue Ivy

2012-01-08T09:26:00.011-06:00

I'm rereading When Wanderers Cease to Roam, taking in the illustrations, memories, and quirky musings one month at a time. I love so much about the January chapter...the way Swift makes the bitter seem surprisingly thoughtful, the barren somehow unsuspectingly full of life, the muted grays, richly vibrant. Most importantly, I love how her words and sketches seem like a secret to which only she and the reader are privy; the thoughtfulness, the life, the vibrancy, a pact between two best friends.

A few pages into the January chapter, Swift describes "Small pleasures worth staying home for"...
"*Sipping a cup of lapsang souchong tea that tastes like January: Deep, Dark, Bitter ~ Like smoke from an ancient fire.
*A blizzard: Big fistfuls of snow falling from the sky for 10 hours ~ Beautiful and terrible, but mostly beautiful.
*Remembering bluebirds and warmer days: A kingfisher on Key West, an Abyssinian Roller on the Sahara, Peacocks in the Jordan Valley.
*Sewing in the company of a cat.
*Humming a sad song on a solitary walk on a cold day ~ but not feeling sad."

Here are a few of my own...
*Spending a Sunday morning eating Beer Bread French Toast and drinking a pot of surprisingly perfect coffee (despite doing the exact same thing every morning, sometimes it's just a lot better than others)...and doing this just for myself. Why should we have to have guests to enjoy a special breakfast?
*Opening the curtains, sitting on my love seat, the one just big enough for Wendell and me, and using the natural light to read a few pages of WWCTR and The Essential Agrarian Reader.
*Cleaning out closets and bookshelves and feeling a sense of relief, rather than sadness, to see moments from - and artifacts of - a different life carefully placed in Goodwill-bound bags.
*Looking out the double sliding doors to scope out trees I want to draw today, doors that are given character by evidence of puppy nose curiosity.
*Writing in my Caroline-gifted "Q&A a day 5-Year Journal" with the Fran-gifted ink pen that I absolutely adore.
*Humming a sad song on a solitary walk on a cold day ~ but not feeling sad.

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My new pen:
That's right, the pen is comfortably resting on top of The Art of Piddling (the hard copy of Pillow Book).
And yes, that is one-shoulder, black-leotarded Beyonce on the cover. I am still firmly convinced that she, Jay-Z, and I would be best friends. Congratulations on the new arrival, pals.
***
What are your small pleasures worth staying home for?

Yeah she's a trifflin' friend indeed.

2012-01-05T06:54:00.014-06:00

In the last post I mentioned that I'd be showing off some new stationary. Get ready to be impressed/feel ashamed of any homemade gift you've ever given....
Caroline MADE me a collection of these for Christmas (and sent me this great little 5-year journal; each day has a question like "Do people change?" or "What was the best part of your day?" I can't wait to sit down with a cup of coffee and read my responses in 2017.) She took newspaper articles and blacked out any words that had nothing to do with fun or intrigue or the recipient's implied awesomeness. So, for instance, this one has "vibrant, dapper, soul and dance." She then used thread and some sort of magic paste to attach them to construction paper and cardstock. Voila. Greeting card worthy of one's favorite penpal.
Not only do I love both the effort that was put into the cards as well as the aesthetics of the end result, but I also love that when arranged on one's kitchen table, they kind of look like a Piet Mondrain painting. Remember this Dutch painter associated with the De Stijl movement?
Well, maybe not. But, I bet this looks familiar...

The reason I will forever know Piet Mondrian: art class at Cumberland County High School. I don't remember the exact assignment, but I do recall picking Mondrian as my artist of interest (probably less because I loved philosophical cubism and more so because I liked the way his name rolls off the tongue). Thanks, Mrs. Cash.
***
Speaking of art, let's get back to the "Caroline is wonderful" point. Here is her much more articulate response to the "What kind of art do you enjoy" question that I posed - and foolishly tried to answer - a few weeks ago. She even seamlessly incorporates Kanye, a feat that only further highlights her coolness and writing aptitude. Bitch.

December 5, 2011

Sitting right next to me, waiting to be tucked into a special envelope and stored away for a good long while, is a letter from my grandad (only one ‘d’). The letter is not dated, but it is a thank-you note for some Christmas handkerchiefs (and a pencil holder from me), and my best guess would say the note is from around 1989. But in noticing it sitting next to my keyboard, I realized, or perhaps reaffirmed in my mind, what art I enjoy most: the art that gives its observer a keen sense of the life and livelihood of its creator, or in some cases, of its subject. To me, handwritten letters are an art form. And to be a bit more precise about the artwork that strikes me most, I love art that presents – to my eye or ear or heart – a life and livelihood full of JOY.

When asked “what art do you enjoy most?” my first inclination is to think of visual art, and, in turn, of Renoir. His are the paintings I make my way toward first when visiting the Art Institute. The “why” of this inclination can be summed up by a painting depicting a lady wearing a red hat. That punch of color in her ensemble is unforgettable. I love paintings that include rich, vibrant colors. Colors exude a sense of brightness, light, life…gaiety. I am attracted to those artists who see life through a jovial lens.

The thick, glossy paint that Renoir used also fascinates me. Not because I know anything about the composition of paints, but because it is often easy to see his brush strokes through the build up of coat upon coat of thoughtful curves and lines. His work is not that of a minimalist; there are many blended colors and details. And even though these details may not be fine, they are given careful attention. Stand close to one of Renior’s paintings, and you will see these many thoughtful brush strokes, the flick and bend of the creator’s hand. Their shine makes it seem as though the paint has not even yet dry! I love looking at this artistic map of the author’s process.

Music is also an art form that is important to me, and Kanye West, one of my favorite contemporaries. I heard an episode of “Sound Opinions” about a year ago that included a review of Yeezy’s “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.” In the review, Greg Kot made a comment along the lines of “Kanye doesn’t like himself very much…nobody really says that kind of thing in pop music. He’s just so honest.” The remark resonated with me, and started to get at the crux of why I so enjoy his music. Beyond the catchiness and the fun and, in some cases, the beauty of his music, as silly as it may sound to say it, I feel like I know Kanye; I get him. I know the South Side of Chicago because it’s where I work. I know the feeling of loving your parent so deeply and can understand the sadness that accompanies the loss of one. I have felt the joy that his early songs evoke – a joy that comes from being young and things working out and of promise – and I, too, have felt the lows that he so openly displays to his fans in his more recent albums. His may not always be an art form that is full of joy, but it’s full of a realness that I appreciate.

I went to the Art Institute today, and saw a photography installation called “The Three Graces.” The exhibit was based on the statue of the same name, as each photo showed a trio of women – some young, some old, some dressed all alike, some wearing nothing at all, some serious, but many showing women – friends, quite often – being silly or hamming it up for the camera. The photos were mainly casual snapshots, all black and white, and many somewhat old. I loved the exhibit because it made me want to either come up with a story about the subjects, or simply guess as to who was the pretty one, the funny one, or the shy one of the trio. I wondered why on earth there were so many of three women standing around completely naked with their friends. Or if they willingly put on the same hideous dress. The photos made me think of my own photos with two friends. Which Grace would I be? This collective wall of female friends, sisters, mothers, and daughters seemed to celebrate womanhood, and the love shared between those women whom we love – women just like the one who prompted me to write this piece.

Yes, I like art that reminds me of the beauty – in scenery, in a beloved outfit, in an important friendship, in devastating loss – that can be found every where, every day in life.

I wish "Making cheese and drawing trees" didn't rhyme nor make me giggle. My blogrights should be stripped.

2012-01-01T12:20:00.016-06:00

I give myself a "B-/C+" on last year's resolutions. I didn't make cheese or attend a concert/lecture every month. I didn't break a horse or make my mom's sourdough bread. I never made time to visit friends who I wouldn't typically see.

I did, however, host a murder mystery party at my house. I ran a half marathon. I at least attended my Mom's "how to make sourdough bread" class at the Extension Office. I submitted a poem and a few essays to several publications. I read some fiction. I spent 11 days in Europe with my best friend.

Here's my list for 2012:
Make cheese. Yep, I'm putting it on there again.

Run another 1/2 marathon (I've signed up for the Derby mini, now I just need to find the motivation to train)

Start a savings account just for a house and/or cafe

Make a decision about the dissertation

Get an Avett Brothers interview for FOLK

Write more letters (make sure you check back; I'll be showing off some of my new stationary in the next post)

Read more...AND finish books that I start

Try a new recipe every week (I have homemade beer bread in the oven right now)

Have more play dates with my dogs

Return phone calls (especially to Caroline) in a timely fashion (I have no idea why I am so bad at this, considering I always feel so warm/cozy, inspired, and happy after we talk). I just hate the phone for some reason.

Stick to the "Decluttering Agenda" I saw on Pinterest (so far I have dusted the top of my kitchen cabinets and cleaned out my kitchen "junk drawer.")

Drink more water. Yuck.
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From Vivian Swift's, When Wanderers Cease to Roam...

Why have I stayed in one place so long? Could be because all the while I tried to think of somewhere else to go - somewhere unusual and busy - all my new furniture and all my old memories were fitting in perfectly here. Who I used to be, and who I always wanted to be, seemed comfortable together in this quiet little Village on the Long Island Sound, and that's as good a reason to stay put as any.
***
What it takes to get through January is what it takes to get through life. It takes a winter mind.

Whenever I would wonder "Where do I go now?" the only good answer was: "Don't go. Stay put." And every month there was a good reason to do just that. In January I stayed because of my winter mind.
***
How to winterize your mind:

One: See the sun rise and set everyday. The average night is 13 1/2 hours long. We spend most of January in the dark. Don't miss a minute of daylight.

Two: Learn how to draw a tree. Now is the best time to see what a tree really looks like. Draw one a day.

Three: Put something beautiful in your room so that it's the first thing that you see when you wake up.

Four: Mend something with your hands. Sew it, glue it, nail it, fix it.

Five: Seahorses, ladybugs, woolly bear caterpillars, and dragonflies do it - Hibernate. Life is but a Winter Dream.

I'm off to take the bread out of the oven and draw a tree. Happy 2012!

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple streudels...

2011-12-26T07:50:00.009-06:00

Hope you got to spend Christmas with those you love. I certainly did.

And even though I know it's about more meaningful things, the gifts aren't so bad either. Here are some of my favorites.

Leigh Ann compiled the pictures from that day into a book. What a wonderful gift.
I love that Mom takes the time to personalize our gift tags. She selects old Christmas cards that "look like us," cuts the edges with pinking shears, and then occasionally writes funny little messages on them. For instance, for my new pajama box, she signed it from my pets, suggesting that they were getting tired of seeing me in crap sleepwear. Thanks, Mom.
I would've never thought to do this. I absolutely love it.
Both of these are made out of old pieces of silverware.
Homemade wrapping with a true treasure inside...
That's right, Minit Mart, I'll be keeping that daily $1.47.
I may not know the difference between an iPad, iPod, and e-reader, but I'm not above kitchen gadgetry.
Cowboy boots are facing retirement...residents of Marrowbone will now get to see me walking the dogs in jogging pants and these.
***
“I just wish I could do a British accent…” Christmas Eve, 2011

Every year I inevitably sit befuddled, contemplating, planning, and searching for inspiration;
the sights and sounds of the past year, the journey; a Christmas Eve poem, the destination.
If I’m not mistaken, I threw in “moobs” last year for visual and alliterative effect,
the height of the poetic bar, thus thankfully suspect.

So here I sit, pet menagerie by my side and mediocre literary standard in mind,
searching for my entry point, my hook, that irrefutably impressive opening line.
…[Five minutes later]…
Uh, well, in lieu of said perfection, perhaps I should just consider Option B,
a poem about Grandma’s pickle, Zach’s concentrating face, nay, Leigh Ann’s mini-me.

“Wildcat,” “Rollie Pollie,” and “Granny Pig” are all one in the same,
for Isabella Kurtys Morgan is rather fond of the sophisticated nickname.
“Sweet Pea,” “Little Rascal,” and “China Shop Bull,” has a creatively foolish flair,
a trait surely inherited from the Morgans, one among the Turners, undeniably rare.

Regardless of the daily moniker, however, her presence is a daily joy;
better than the most beautiful of Etsy ornaments or holiday-themed, mass-marketed toy.
The little girl who inexplicably loves ol’ purple shirt worn by my brother-in-law, TJ,
is the most perfect of Christmas gifts, one whimsically wrapped in footy panda bear pjs.

Sure, she, in pretty white tights, might stick her foot in cake icing again this year,
all the while procuring 46 suckers and performing Mrs. Barbara’s song about reindeer.
She, doing her best Waffle impersonation, will take food off everyone else’s plate,
a skill honed from much practice, one required when your parents are always late.

She might run a cat-toting stroller into one of Nonna’s newly painted walls,
or insist on simultaneously carrying around her bowl of noodles and roughly 14 dolls.
She will talk over everyone else if she has something to say,
but usually to spout something incredibly endearing like “and you have a nice day.”

For, see, she is a stinker if ever a stinker there were.
Born and bred of foolishness, forget incense and myrrh.
Yet she is my Christmas angel, my queen of queens, on December 25 and every other day,
“What child is this?” you ask… Hmmm, just depends on who she wants to play.

Well, lightening hasn’t struck me yet, the irreverence thus apparently kept in check.
But “Granny Pig” superimposed into something less religious might permanently save my neck.
How about “Nonna Got Run Over by a Vacuum Popper” or “GP is Coming to Town”?,
both hopefully performed by a little girl in a pink tutu, brown horse dress, and her favorite flannel gown.

With that image in mind, it seems time to end this little Christmas ditty,
read in the coziest of decorated dining rooms among those far more witty,
Yet, write and read I have, in hopes of upholding a Christmas Eve tradition,
one the Little Rascal will inherit someday, or at least I will petition.

I promise not to include Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas" or "Oh Santa" even though I really want to.

2011-12-21T13:46:00.011-06:00

A few days before Christmas and I've already received some of the most wonderful gifts...

Remember the post about Vivian Swift painting a picture for me? Well...
The card looked like a page from her book. It really is beautiful.
Her email correspondence has been witty and down-to-earth and thoughtful. The painting is perfect. I can't wait to meet her one day.
My Lucy!
This is the picture I had emailed.
***
Laura McLaughlin came into the Library last week and brought me (for no particular reason; we aren't family or close friends) homemade Christmas Jam (I'm not sure what all is in it, but the fact that I wake up thinking about what I plan to put 2-3 tablespoons on should tell you something). She also made the bag. In one fell swoop, she, in effect, put my Christmas presents to shame.

We have such neat people in Cumberland County.

That's right, the container is half-empty already.
***
I'm not one for dramatics...BUT, I honestly think this is a wonderful, wonderful gift. I am grateful for the friendship of two of the most thoughtful people I have ever known. I am grateful for good news.

And here is where you team up with 8-year-old Leigh Ann and tell me I'm adopted: Christmas at Turner Farm.

2011-12-16T06:14:00.013-06:00

I wrapped a ball in fabric strips. Mom made this.

Too bad I couldn't get Zach to stand next to it in a green dickie and skin-tight cream sweater.

Even good ol' basket lamp gets in on the fun.

Can't forget the bathroom and bedroom.

***
One of the holiday treats my mom is known for...

Bourbon Balls
1 stick butter
2 boxes powdered sugar
Dash of salt
1 c. pecans
½ c. bourbon

Cream butter and gradually work in sugar. Add bourbon and nuts. Roll into balls and refrigerate over night.

Chocolate coating
2 squares of unsweetened chocolate
6 squares of semi-sweet chocolate
½ bar of paraffin

Melt over low heat and dip bourbon balls.

Although this was originally my Aunt Sherry's (the one with the amazing house you all may have seen in the Thanksgiving pictures) recipe, my mom is the one with whom I will always associate this irrefutably unhealthy, but fantastically decadent, holiday treat. From the time I was a little girl who insisted on “helping” in the kitchen, I can remember mom rolling out bourbon balls and making peanut butter and chocolate fudge every Christmas season. While some were certainly reserved for family gatherings, most were carefully packaged in whimsical holiday tins and sent to fellow teachers, my or my sisters’ teachers, and a wide assortment of community friends. My mom is a wonderful cook, so any edible gift is typically welcomed by all; however, it seems recipients’ eyes shine a little brighter when these little goodies are unveiled.

One bourbon ball memory that will always make me laugh involves CLT, a man with a hilariously dry sense of humor, my part basset hound/part unknown breed dog, Willie, who happened to be dressed in a Christmas elf costume on the particular night in question, and a beautiful glass serving dish. Two pertinent facts: 1) Because mom often sets containers of various candies on coffee and side tables when she has guests over, it was not odd to see several bourbon ball and fudge options in numerous living room locals two Christmas Eves ago. 2) Willie will eat anything. Anything.
...[suspense]...
I was sitting in front of the fire, when Dad said simply, “Willie probably shouldn’t be eating 23 bourbon balls.” I ran over in a panic, saw the glass dish, which at this point only had one bourbon ball left in it, resting beside a content little mouth-stuffed Willie. Apparently, he had stealthily climbed on the coffee table and eaten, no kidding, seven or eight bourbon balls without being detected. The final lunge, however, the one that knocked the container over and thus, grabbed Dad’s attention, ruined his scheme. Long story short, Willie, and his stomach of steel, were just fine…and Mom earned yet another bourbon ball fan.

You are most certainly going to think I'm adopted after seeing Mom's house on Friday.

2011-12-12T16:32:00.024-06:00

I know there's all kinds of cute stuff on Pinterest, but I NEVER know how to display my Christmas cards. I put them roughly 3000 places around the house and then inevitably hang them the first place I tried.

I love trees that have themes and beautifully matched ornaments; however, I like trees even more when they simply reflect the things the respective tree owner loves. Mine is a mish-mash of homemade ornaments, gifts from Mom (she gives us ornaments every year on Thanksgiving), a few I've collected from places I traveled, and an assortment that remind me of "places" and moments of my life. One of my favorite projects: take a clear, glass ornament, remove the top, squeeze a variety of acrylic paints in, swirl around, turn over and let drain and dry.
If you don't like sock monkeys, there is something wrong with you. End of story.
The egg Caroline and I picked up in the amazing little shop in Salzburg, Austria.
Pine cones and twigs haphazardly thrown in the tree, a puffy Santa that just makes me smile, and one of my favorite homemade ornaments (just took strips of fabric and covered an ugly ball ornament that I would've never used).
Two of my favorite books, both gifts from the wonderfully talented and hilarious, Lindsey Devore. Sock monkey comment applies to the Pokey Little Puppy, too.
My sophisticated door-air-blocker-thing. Mom bought this for me last year after discovering the daily present I and my front door were giving Tri-County Electric every day. It does the trick and it makes me smile.
When I said to my mother, "I need to get a new Christmas flag," her response was, "No you don't. I probably have an extra." One of the many benefits of living two miles away.
Insert previous comment, substituting "flag" for "wreath."
Took the mum out of the chair planter and put a small Christmas tree in it.
I'm a minimalist when it comes to Christmas decorations, but I do like a touch of red.
My Christmas cards were neither classy nor sentimental, but I liked them nonetheless. I tried to personalize by attaching equally unclassy construction paper to the back and handwriting a favorite holiday cookie or candy recipe.
My kids, Lucy, Willie, DC + 5 (the five kittens that stay outside and that run from me unless I'm carrying a ridiculously huge bag of catfood), and Wendell all have stockings that cost $1-$3 dollars and have their names painted on them.
Merry Christmas from the Turners!
***
Last Christmas, my family spent an obscene amount of time addressing Lindsey's critical questions: "What isn't better with butter?" and "What isn't better on a stick?" I pose a new one this year: What isn't better dipped in chocolate?

Very little.

One of my favorite holiday candy is just various things dipped in either dark or white chocolate and then swirled or drizzled with the other. What I worked on this past weekend: pretzel rods and Ritz crackers. Suggestion: top with coconut and sea salt.

Or, try chocolate bark (line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, break up Ghirardelli bittersweet and white chocolate bars into eight pieces and arrange in checkerboard fashion, melt in 275 degree oven for 8 minutes or so, remove, swirl with toothpick, top with sea salt and nuts, chill for at least an hour, break apart, eat all of it and then fix a martini).

Happiness isn't happiness without a fiddle-playing goat. Word, Anna Scott.

2011-12-12T09:27:00.016-06:00

Not sure if you know this feeling or not...
Sometimes I don't want to do something so I just put it off. I convince myself I have more important things to do (and I legitimately might). I occupy my time, my conversations, my mind with other things.

Inevitably, however, I'm not really putting "it" off. Whatever "it" is may not be an all-consuming thought, but the notion of "I should be doing XYZ" lies there in the background, subtly guilting me, subtly posing questions as to why I'm avoiding addressing whatever "it" happens to be. In putting it off, I thus cause myself more aggravation and frustration that just taking care of it ever would.

Such is the case with the homework assignment I gave myself last week. I had mentioned that I have a hard time articulating what type of art I like and subsequently (...and foolishly) mentioned that in the next post I would provide a more intelligible and meaningful response. Well, insert before mentioned scenario.

I understand the insignificance of this assignment/writing prompt. Yet, it has remained an unsettling mental "to do" for the past week. I've thought about it nearly every day, reminding myself that I needed to just sit down and start. But then I made fudge. And played with Wendell and his new cat toys. And made a drum out of an oats container. And looked at friends' Pinterest boards. And [insert anything other than "write about what type of art I like"].

I know that you all haven't been on the edge of your seats waiting for my response. I know that even reading this now, you likely couldn't care less about the art description that will follow...and to be honest, I really don't care if you inevitably like the works or styles I ultimately describe. My hesitancy thus has very little to do with feeling pressured to "perform" at a high level. I understand that with every post, I run the risk of offending, disappointing, or simply boring every reader. My avoidance, instead, has more to do with the simple fact, "I just don't know." Despite criticizing the "I have eclectic tastes" cop-out, I find that in most cases, there is little pattern or linear progression to the things I enjoy. I'm just "all over the place" most of the time. I fear that any description I provide of my tastes will reflect incoherence, hypocrisy, or cliched naivety.

Usually there reaches a point, however, when the consequences of procrastination become more tiresome that just doing the task. ...

I like earthy colors (whether they are muted or richly-hued). I am drawn to work that reflects movement and loose brush strokes. I appreciate simplicity, but not in the "This sole yellow dot on a white canvas actually reflects the universal pangs of longing that define the human condition" sort of way." Oh, shut the hell up. I typically don't care for portraits (although I do like Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring and The Milkmaid, both of which feature individuals and are somewhat realistic [but not rigid]). I like when artists play with light and shadows. I prefer post-impressionism over impressionism, but have favorites from both eras. War imagery does not move me. Dedicated efforts to achieve depth don't impress me that much. I can be intrigued by surrealist and expressionist works, but I likely wouldn't put one up in my house. I'm not familiar enough with even relatively obscure painters to attempt name-dropping. I like splatter. I find abstract to be interesting, but primarily when there is some geometry or structure to define it (but I often abhor art deco stuff). I prefer honesty over shock value. I like when the finished project seems like a dedication, as though the artist is infatuated with the landscape, or the person, or the emotion expressed. I don't mind Jasper Johns, but am leery of works that border on contemporary kitschy. I love sarcasm, irony and wit, but not necessarily in art; let me just look at it and see beauty. I like Degas' dance class paintings, de Toulouse-Lautrec's work that has inspired pseudo French movie posters, some of Kandinsky's early works (pre-super geometric), Chagall (and not just because Julia Roberts gave an original to Hugh Grant and followed with the "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her" line), and a lot of Picasso and Van Gogh work (original, I know).

Therefore, while I think it would be neat to group myself into some exclusive "cubist, with a touch of romantic sophistication and transavantguardia symbolism" fan club, the truth is that I simply fall in to the "modernist" club that leans more toward the late 19th, rather than late 20th, century. I suppose I am a post-impressionist.

Vivian Swift is working on my painting of Lucy as we speak. I can't wait to share it with you.
***
I imagine most of you picked up on the fact that this isn't just about art. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves to just put brush to canvas; to get out of the gray; to decide what to be and go be it.

What ever happened to "sincerely"?

2011-12-04T18:07:00.009-06:00

I was reading my daily update in the Awe-Manac this morning and learned that Dec. 4 is Wassily Kandinsky's birthday (although he died in 1944). Kandinsky, the Russian artist known for his love of the abstract, is one of the artists featured at the Rosengart Museum in Lucerne, Switzerland, the museum Caroline and I inadvertently stumbled upon, but feel in love with, in May. I'm not going to pretend to know a ton about Kandinsky or, to be honest, art in general. I recognize names, but would probably do poorly on a "match the artist with work of art" game. I love going to museums, but would never feel comfortable evaluating pieces with someone whose art knowledge is even in the "modest" range. I say "I don't exactly know why, but I like this one" far too often. When someone asked me a few weeks ago what kind of art I enjoy, I fumbled around the question with random comments about particular works, colors, and styles I'm drawn to, but never really answered the question.

This is a question, however, that I want to be able to answer...and not simply so I can sound pretentious while standing in the middle of an art gallery. I want to do it because I appreciate beauty and should be able to explain my proclivities with clarity and specificity; because I'm an adult who should, at this point in my life, be figuring out who I am and why I like what I like; because "I have eclectic tastes" shouldn't cut it when discussing art or music. Thus...

I am giving myself a homework assignment. In the next Pillow Book post, I plan to offer a reasonably articulate answer to the "what kind of art do you enjoy" question. I know, your seat edges are already feeling the pressure.
***
A bit of foreshadowing...A good place to start with this question is with the book that inspired this blog, When Wanderers Cease to Roam by Vivian Swift. You've surely heard me mention this lovely, witty, and deceivingly profound travel journal before (and I'll explain more in the next post). If you haven't already checked it out, I encourage you to go buy it for yourself as an early Christmas present (or come to the Cumberland County Public Library to literally check it out). I was fortunate enough to nab a signed copy this past week. A friend who lives in Nashville worked some magic with/decorated end tables with nativity scenes for/promised an IKEA kitchen to a former intern who now works at Parnassus Bookstore. Said pawn grabbed one of twelve copies sent by Swift specifically for the store opening. Wait, it gets better...
Not only do I now have an autographed copy of one of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors and bloggers, but as soon as I can get a copy of the receipt and a picture of my pet menagerie to her, I will also have a painted portrait of selected child. Swift had posted on her blog one day about the Parnassus opening (it's an independently-owned bookstore) and mentioned that she would paint something for those that picked up a copy of her book. When I emailed her this afternoon about now having the book and receipt in hand (thank you, Paul, for delivering to the CCPL yesterday), I had a reply within an hour that was as inviting and laid-back as her blog entries seem. Perhaps most importantly, she did not sign it, "Best, Vivian." I have no idea when "Best" became all the rage, but it makes me want to punch myself in the face for some reason.
Anyway, how cool is this?
***
Even if you can't describe what type of art you like, try to tap your artistic/creative side as you get ready for Christmas. Here's a great gift idea: make a recipe box using paper (wallpaper, magazine pages, old cards and notes with graphics you like, contact paper) that "looks like" the recipient. Fill it with some of your favorite recipes. The one below was sent to me by the wonderful Miss Alexus Tolley.

Shoot for Crazytown. If you fall, you'll land among the stars.

2011-11-29T07:05:00.008-06:00

If you've read this blog much at all, you're probably well aware of my disdain for inspirational quotes. You know those posters that hang in middle school hallways...the ones with beautifully-hued sunsets or ocean cliff sides in the background, the ones with stuff like "Be the change you want to see!" (it's the poster, not you Gandhi) plastered in white cursive font in the foreground? I hate those. It's not that the messages are necessarily bad, it's just the whole mix of generic graphic, generic rallying call geared toward unknown audience, generic font that if written out, would be written with one of those giant pencils (if "cussing" doesn't offend you and you consider yourself even remotely funny, please, please check out Lecher's post, "I'm Comic Sans, Asshole.") that bothers me. If you know this, then you likely also know that I don't claim to be super religious. No need for poster explanation here.

With these acknowledged, I have something to admit. ...

I get daily email reminders from The Brave Girls Club. Have you heard of this? I was introduced to the site by fellow FOLK writer and designer/decorator/crafter/stager/artist extraordinaire, Deb Kennedy, and I could just kiss her for it. The Brave Girls Club, a website run by two women and geared toward women, is basically a mash-up of inspirational quotes, messages of motivation, and religious-leaning "things will work out the way they're supposed to" rationales. It is the very thing that would typically make me roll my eyes and quickly go back to Nashville Needs More Metaphors.

Yet, it is not.

I encourage you to check out the site for yourself. After doing so, perhaps you will be able to better explain my affinity. For the time being, though, here's all I got: 1) I love the artistry of the site. The colors, graphics, and fonts "look like me."; 2) I like opening emails in the morning that start "Dear Miraculous Girl," or "Dear Lovely Girl," or "Dear Brave Girl."; 3) Although the gist of the emails is always more positive and fluffy than I'm usually drawn to, there are also always specific lines that make me laugh or that actually do inspire me. Example "Please do not decide that you are forever going to be a resident of crazytown."; 4) Maybe I'm not as cynical as I like to think.; 5) The masterminds behind the site like the "..." as much as me.

Here are excerpts from two of my favorites...

November 9, 2011
"Dear Miraculous Girl,
One of the most important choices we will ever make, and sometimes we have to make this choice over and over again...is that we will not set up camp in a place we don't want to end up...that we will not drop anchor because we are too tired to keep going...that we will not decide to live forever in misery because we have forgotten what it's like outside of it."

November 30, 2011
"Dear Doing-Your-Best Girl,
Because there are only so many hours in the day...and because we are all simply human...and because there is just no possible way that we can do everything we want to do, and especially do everything well...we must make choices. Some of the hardest, most difficult choices we will ever have to make are the choices between two things that both make us happy, things that both bring good and happiness into our lives. Sometimes we only have time for ONE of those things. This is one of the hardest parts of life."
Have a lovely day, beautiful girls.
***
Just wanted to share with you some of my great grandmother's, Etta Brown Turner (Leon Jr.'s [Papa's] mother), pieces that I recently picked out. Thank you Aunts Ruby Jane, Betty Jo, and Carolyn for hanging onto these.

"I'm super efficient at wasting time as it is." - Fran Smith

2011-11-23T05:47:00.005-06:00

There is definitely a part of me that hates the phrase "in the grand scheme of things." I hate it because it sets up an inevitable comparison between two completely unrelated things, an apparent dichotomy that should never exist, much less be used to "help" someone maintain perspective. Example: I know you stepped in a mud puddle, but there are children without food in "country that you likely know very little about, yet use as an example of underdevelopment." I hate it because all things are not relative. We are entitled to feel hurt or angry or frustrated without guilt, constantly reminded of those who have it so much worse.

Well, no kidding, of course things could always be worse.

With that being said, however, the tiny part of me that doesn't hate the phrase, understands why it is so commonly tossed around. It is the disclaimer that allows us to go ahead and say something utterly insignificant and feel justified in doing so. It is the "bless her heart" that gives legitimacy to - and that magically wipes away guilt from - the insult that will surely follow. SO...

In the grand scheme of things, I realize that Facebook is not that important. It is filled with some stupid, stupid stuff: far too personal postings, the likes of which I would never tell Caroline, much less an entire online community; deep thoughts such as "It's cold this morning!" or "Love this!" (I have used both); an inexplicable hatred of Nickelback; and far too many "bro"s, "tat/tatted up," "lmao"s, and "prayer chains" that spiral into nosy Q&A sessions, for my liking. BUT...

It is also the "place" where I read stuff that makes me laugh out loud while sitting alone in my living room. It is the place where I can see pictures of Terry and Tommy Staley with their grandchildren that make me respect them even more than I already do. It is the place where I can read the Annie Ruby's menu and snippets of my favorite blogs. It is the place where "The Art of Piddling" and "Random Thoughts of Very Little Significance" flourish. It is the place where I can see glimpses of just how funny T.j. Morgan, Jessica Cossel, and Neal Poindexter are. It is a place of shared experience, even if that experience is, by all reasonable understanding, dumb and/or insignificant (...in the grand scheme of things).

And, thus, it is this notion of shared experience that makes me feel okay about devoting a little time to it each day. It's nice to take something that would normally be quite frustrating and, via a quick Facebook post or comment, turn it into something that you can laugh at with others. It's nice when quips from unsuspecting bystanders somehow make you feel as though you're not the only one "XYZ" has happened to. It's nice when you know something you've done has made others smile.

It seems, therefore, that Facebook is just me being super efficient at both time wasting and community development.:)

For two of my favorite Facebook posts of all time (and the related events happened to occur on the same day), see:
The "If anyone has a fence down..." post.
Is it a "u" or "e"?

Baby, whatever comes Monday can take care of itself.

2011-11-20T16:26:00.014-06:00

Well, in lieu of hiding under the covers all afternoon with Keith Urban, I decided to spend some time in the kitchen. ...

Pecan Butter Balls (Recipe courtesy of Heather Hannan, owner of Annie Ruby's Cafe)

Pie Crusts (Will be used for a cushaw, pumpkin, candied pecan pie later in the week; as I learned at the Library's "Knead to Read" cooking class, 1) make sure you chill your flour, sugar, and shortening mix; 2) Use ICE water; 3)A pastry blender is pretty neat.)

Gingerbread, Chocolate Chunk Cookies (Made the dough a few days ago)

Beef Stew (Recipe courtesy of David Gobeli and the FOLK Magazine blog)

*If you would like any of these recipes, just let me know.

"Good luck, sir."

2011-11-13T10:40:00.011-06:00

I realize that "Liza" is not a common name. However, it's no "Apple" or "Banjo" or "Zuma Nesta." I don't have an intelligent way to articulate what I'm thinking, so I'll just leave it at: I don't get weird names, names that seem picked or made up purely for the sake of being different.
***
My great grandfather's name was Thurston. My dad called him Pa Sewell and I remember CLT talking about how much he loved being around him when he was growing up. If I ever have a son, I'd like to see "Thurston" in his name somewhere.

My grandmother, affectionately known by most as "Mama," recently handed down to me two Thurston-related gifts that I absolutely love. The first was a pair of books that belonged to Pa Sewell in the early 1900s: a 1915 edition of Ivanhoe and a 1916 edition of the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. On the inside cover of both, he had signed his name and the date. His handwriting reminds me of his daughter's, the woman who, for 31 years, has written the most thoughtful messages in my birthday cards, for-no-particular-reason letters, and on my let-me-tell-you-what-else-you-can-do-with-this-gift post-it notes.

And the other gift, well, I'll just let Mama explain...
Mama took the time to write it out for me, too.
I love this story. I love to think about Mama going just with her father, dressed in that navy suit, to catch a glimpse of JFK. I love that she had no qualms about loaning the gloves to my mom, Jacqueline Ann (who did, in fact, remind me of Jackie Kennedy) for Halloween. I love that she has given them to me.

"You can't fake passion."

2011-11-07T06:02:00.006-06:00

I originally saw this article last week linked from a fellow Centre alum's Facebook page, but reread it again this morning. With my Alma mater on my mind, I went searching for two things: my Government capstone paper and a "reflecting-on-the-past-four-years" Cento article (school newspaper) that I had also written during my senior year (2002). In so doing, I came across...

1) Folders filled with notes and essays from classes such as Civil Liberties, Latin American Political Systems, Introduction to Acting, History of Christian Thought, Introduction to Anthropology, The Economics of Poverty, Introduction to Linguistics, Renaissance Women Writers, and Alcohol & Society (the class to which Caroline and I wore belly chains one day...just because it made us laugh).

2) Pictures from class- or organization-related trips to New York, Boston, and Washington D.C.; pictures from a three-week class at the University of the West Indies in Kingston, Jamaica; pictures from two different West Virginia trips - one, a whitewater rafting trip with the Outdoors Club, the other, a home-building trip with the campus Habitat chapter.

3) A folder dedicated to the Vice-Presidential debate experience of 2000.

4) I finally did find my paper. Part of the title was in Latin, but because it was a phrase the professor had used when discussing the fall of empires, not because I had wikipedia-d something trying to sound impressive.

5) In the article for The Cento, I offered what basically amounts to the philosophy behind this little blog: "Try to focus on those things that make this journey a true education: believe in something greater than yourself and find purpose in whatever it is that you do; be friends with a wide variety of people and take classes from a wide variety of professors, but remember to sincerely appreciate those few who have inspired you, made you laugh, and have just been wonderful friends. You'll look back in the last month of your four years at Centre and realize you are a better person simply because you've known them."
***
"Steve Jobs' Liberal, Hippie Education" by Dave Serchuk
Forbes 10/11/2011

"One of Steve Jobs’ signature achievements was that he was able to somehow impart to his devices something akin to a soul. How ironic that he was able to achieve this at a time when the push in his own country, America, is to make everyone more and more like a machine.

It is amazing to consider what made Steve Jobs special. He wasn’t a top flight computer programmer or engineer. He didn’t go to MIT or even CalTech. Could he have gone there, had he applied himself in high school? Probably. But he didn’t seem to aspire to it.

No, instead he went to Reed College, where he famously dropped out. But that he dropped out of Reed is not what should be taken from this. It is that he went there at all, and that he stayed even after he was no longer officially a student, to audit classes. Why is this important? Because Reed is not just any college. And I can say this having graduated from Wesleyan University, which shares a profile with Reed, in many ways. No, it is very specifically a liberal arts school, with a capital L. Steve Jobs, in essence, is the greatest living argument from the past 50 years for why a liberal arts education is invaluable. More importantly he was a living exemplar of the fact that if America is to continue to lead the world in innovation and creativity it is going to be thanks to the products of places like Reed every bit as much as it’s going to be thanks to the high-tech specialists, and MBAs, that we seem to crank out by the thousands every year.

The irony is that even as everyone everywhere applauds the achievements of Jobs, we as a nation are showing, with our dollars and rhetoric, that we think the arts–which is what a place like Reed is so good at teaching–are either soft, worthless, or kind of sissy. If we follow down this path it will not only drain much of the future color from our collective lives, it will also lead us gradually ever more toward America becoming a second-rate, lackluster nation.

In his commencement speech at Stanford, another school he didn’t go to, Jobs famously remarked that even after he was not longer officially a student at Reed he hung around and studied calligraphy. As he has noted, he didn’t see any practical application for this at the time, he just loved it: its elegance, its historical value, the simple pleasure he garnered from the pursuit of creating something beautiful for its own sake. Of course the upshot is that this love of finely wrought letters eventually became one of the early distinguishing hallmarks of the MacIntosh, its fonts, at a time when most other computers still ran with blocky letters on a black screen. As he himself acknowledged in his speech, he didn’t know this at the time, it only made sense later.

But even if the Mac didn’t benefit from Jobs’ calligraphy–in some other universe–Jobs himself would have. The patience needed to make the letters just so, despite their having no obvious commercial value, was its own reward. The fact that he was happy to not only delve into a fine art, but an archaic one at that, it gave him a set of intellectual tools, and attitudes, that his generational peers cranking out punch-card code didn’t have. It gave him a larger, historical perspective on the world. It gave him an aesthetic. People rave about how Jobs had such an overview of the worlds of technology, and design. This is part of how he got it, by studying things that didn’t have immediate commercial implications. It allowed him to actually think different.

More to the point, the pursuit of beauty for its own sake, then, as now, was probably seen as beside the point, if not offensively silly, in a recession-driven America. God bless Jobs’ tolerant parents, who probably wondered what their son was up to, with his hippie B.S.

Put it another way, do you think MIT had a calligraphy class in 1972? (Also, let’s also give a long-overdue shoutout to Reed itself, which let this dropout not only continue to hang around, but act as a student. This tolerant attitude is part of what leads to true education, but I would not say it’s a common quality.)

Another art that Jobs passionately indulged was his love of music. A true Baby Boomer he seemed to worship it, and not for nothing did Apple share a corporate name with the label the Beatles founded. (Which resulted in a long, long legal dispute.)

Jobs didn’t only passively listen to music, he understood it. It is quite easy to imagine him sparking up a spliff and listening to some Bob Marley, back when it was new. He also dated Joan Baez, so talk about passion.

Need I say where this led? At a time, the early part of the last decade, when the music industry was already spiraling into collapse, due to illegal file sharing, and the shortsighted greed of the major record labels, Jobs not only launched the iPod, but, more key, the iTunes store. As my colleague Zack O’Malley Greenberg so smartly put it, this made him, over time, the most important figure in the music industry, and helped take some of the bite out of free file sharing. This made Jobs more important to music than Clive Davis, Simon Cowell, and Lady Gaga combined, because he, literally, owned the store.

Again, it is easy to imagine his love of music as initially being seen as beside the point, a distraction, possibly a waste of time. I have met many engineers, and many of them love music, but it’s doubtful they studied much of it in the course of their higher educations. I doubt Bill Gates, for example, ever listened to Dark Side of The Moon with the headphones on–though I love the image. But a single minded-focus on programming may have helped them imitate, but not create.

Today educators are being told more and more to push No Child Left Behind, a poorly thought out excuse for a program that pushes “core” academic programs at the expense of the arts. This will in the long run, allegedly, make the U.S. more competitive. As if becoming the new South Korea is something we, as Americans, should aspire to.

It’s not. There is a reason Jobs could only have come from a liberal arts background. There’s a reason schools like Reed, Evergreen, Wesleyan, Centre College, and Brown will continue to punch way above their weight when it comes to minting future generations of leaders and innovators. There’s a reason Bill Gates may be the richest technologist in the world, but Microsoft has become an afterthought when it comes to the cutting edge, and has been for some time. It’s like owning the utilities in Monopoly.

The reason is that while it takes a keen analytical brain to create a new technology it takes a much larger set of skills to make that technology into something the average person will want to use, believe in, defend, and, yes, impart with soul. It takes a liberal education.

But it is hard to imagine that Jobs could have had such a feel for where the music business was headed if he was not, in fact, a fan first. You can’t fake passion.

Again, it is easy to imagine his love of music as initially being seen as beside the point, a distraction, possibly a waste of time. I have met many engineers, and many of them love music, but it’s doubtful they studied much of it in the course of their higher educations. I doubt Bill Gates, for example, ever listened to Dark Side of The Moon with the headphones on–though I love the image. But a single minded-focus on programming may have helped them imitate, but not create.

Today educators are being told more and more to push No Child Left Behind, a poorly thought out excuse for a program that pushes “core” academic programs at the expense of the arts. This will in the long run, allegedly, make the U.S. more competitive. As if becoming the new South Korea is something we, as Americans, should aspire to.

It’s not. There is a reason Jobs could only have come from a liberal arts background. There’s a reason schools like Reed, Evergreen, Wesleyan, Centre College, and Brown will continue to punch way above their weight when it comes to minting future generations of leaders and innovators. There’s a reason Bill Gates may be the richest technologist in the world, but Microsoft has become an afterthought when it comes to the cutting edge, and has been for some time. It’s like owning the utilities in Monopoly.

The reason is that while it takes a keen analytical brain to create a new technology it takes a much larger set of skills to make that technology into something the average person will want to use, believe in, defend, and, yes, impart with soul. It takes a liberal education."

Let the light of late afternoon shine through the chinks in the barn

2011-11-04T18:40:00.003-05:00

May Turner Farm be wrapped in comfort and joy tomorrow and every day.

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through the chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in the long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to the its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

--Jane Kenyon

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do no tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

-- Wendell Berry

"In other words..."

2011-11-03T05:25:00.006-05:00

One of the most memorable conversations I ever had with my dad occurred one day while we were alone in UK's Markey Center. I always appreciated that he talked frankly with me about cancer, about how he wanted the last few months to go, about the decisions he and I had both made in our lives. On this particular afternoon, we were discussing the idea of "fairness" as it relates to illness. So many times we (the rest of the family) had said or heard, "It just doesn't seem right. He's young. He takes care of himself. He has so much to live for. We need him." Dad's take on it that day: "well, why not me?"

It sounds simple (as most things with any substance often do), but those four words epitomize why I respected, and continue to admire, him so much. Dad (and Mom, too) never allowed some ethereal notion of "should be" cloud what was. They never felt sorry for themselves. They understood that appreciating what they had - a supportive family, a beautiful farm, a new grandchild who shared his name - was more important than fretting about and questioning daily realities and eventual loss. They were grace and kindness and unselfishness personified. They simply "did the best they could."
***
In memory of CLT, November 13, 1948-November 5, 2010.

He was a farmer who loved his horses, cows, dogs, and cats almost as much as the three little pony-tailed girls who likely drove him crazy for 32 years with pleas of pony rides – both actual and the occasional “buckin’ bronc” game in the living room – , fishing trips, and opportunities to hang onto ropes and “ride” the horse walker. He was a good teacher (based on my own experience and on those that others have been kind enough to share with me), one that could make us laugh with some dry, offhand comment and scare us in the same breath with both his knowledge of “a little bit about everything” and with the pointy toes of those classic cowboy boots. He was a news watcher. He was a reader. He loved to sit in his big brown chair in the living room, often with a dog squeezed in right beside him, and pull out his favorite Wendell Berry collection. He enjoyed horse magazines just as much as books of political theory. He appreciated Kentucky authors. He had an affinity for collections about agriculture, sustainability, and simple pleasures in life. He was open to trying poetry, although it wasn’t his favorite and sometimes invoked a little eye-rolling or sarcastic comment. And, this is one of those everyday things that I will miss everyday – walking by and hearing him repeat some line he found particularly interesting or ridiculous, a line he was able to read only because he had not lost his incredibly dirty glasses that given afternoon – but one for which I am incredibly grateful.

He was a husband who made certain the paths around the wild blackberries were mowed in late summer; the son who inherited his father's work ethic and affinity for the story, his mother's sense of simple right and wrong; the dad who makes me better everyday.

He did like his shirts starched and I did/do think he walked on water.

He always liked Alan Jackson and this song has always made me think of him.

"If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die."

Cumberland County, I'm getting ready to fuss on you...

2011-10-27T05:24:00.007-05:00

Let me start by saying: I'm no rigid tree-hugger who makes my own toilet paper, or knits what would surely be multi-patterned and grossly uneven sweaters for myself, or rides my purple mountain bike (the one that: 1. I, in fact, bought at Wal-Mart and 2. has had a flat tire for roughly two years) to work every day, or who alienates potential partners with pretentious, unrealistic initiatives.

But...

I like to garden. I appreciate a home-cooked meal. I choose to buy locally as often as possible. I attempt to reuse and recycle old materials. As much as I enjoy driving an old pickup truck with the windows down, I like my fuel-efficient hatchback a little bit more. I think there's something to global warming. Wastefulness - be it of food or paper or ability - frustrates me. I care about how animals, even those that I inevitably eat, are treated. I hate driving by that "farm" just prior to Summer Shade, the one that has far too many cows on far too little land. I appreciated having plastic and paper recycling trailers in Burkesville. ...

THE SAME RECYCLING TRAILERS THAT ARE NO LONGER AVAILABLE BECAUSE SOME YAHOO APPARENTLY GUTTED A HOUSE AND DUMPED A BUNCH OF SHIT IN THERE THAT CANNOT BE RECYCLED.

For months and months, I've been taking my recyclables to the county garage drop-off trailers; for months and months, I have therefore also been complaining, to anyone who would listen, how this service was being abused. It was nothing to stop by and see toilets or scrap metal or carpet pieces or glass or just random trash tossed in and around those trailers. There were green signs, reading "Plastic" and "Paper Products," in clear sight, yet, some still chose to dump whatever they wanted.

And, as a result, the recycling company has (understandably so) decided to pull those trailers, in effect, leaving absolutely no recycling option (at least that I'm aware of) in Cumberland County.

I'd love to continue ranting about irresponsibility, and selfishness, and wastefulness, and ignorance (and, I'm not calling people stupid; I'm implying "unawareness" with no desire to educate oneself), and laziness. That neither changes the current situation nor offers solutions for the future, however. So, here's what I propose:

1) Residents of Cumberland County need to support the fiscal court members when they are in the position to implement the recycling grant stipulations. Don't complain and say "that money needs to go elsewhere."
2) When we do get the recycling facility, let's regulate it more than was being done at the county garage (and I do realize that wasn't the county workers' responsibility). Have cameras set up and fine those who abuse the drop-off requirements. Have closed bins that make it impossible to dump some big load of ridiculous stuff. Implement an awareness and education campaign.
3) In the meantime, let's all cut back on the number of garbage bags we put at the end of our driveways. Reuse cups, use actual plates, get cloth napkins, compost, put items on the county yard-sale Facebook page rather than throw them away, be creative - find ways to repurpose and reuse as many products as you can.
4) Take your recyclables to the drop-of bins available in the Columbia Wal-Mart parking lot.
5) If you can't do this yourself, here is my proposal...

If you will collect and separately bag your plastics, paper, and cardboard, and bring them to the Library on a designated day, I will haul them to Columbia. The first day: Saturday, November 12. If you come to the Library at noon, I will load the stuff in Dad's old truck (yes, the one that pollutes the air more than my car) and take it to be recycled.

I realize there are some flaws in this plan. No, traveling 30 miles is not the most environmentally-friendly thing to do. This does mean that you may have to bag and store the recyclables in your basement or garage for a couple of weeks. There may be absolutely zero people who show up on November 12.

But, you know what? It's something...and I think that's the best we can do sometimes. Just get started. Be open to suggestions and constructive criticism. Before you know it, you just might be riding your purple Huffy to work.
***
If you're looking for creative project ideas for repurposing, check out:
Funky Junk Interiors

For infomation on the Eastern Kentucky PRIDE initiative, check out:
Eastern KY PRIDE

To access the Kentucky Department for Environmental Protection, check out:
KY Dept. for Environmental Protection
The City Museum in St. Louis

...and the names of the trees where they're performin'

2011-10-21T05:54:00.008-05:00

I'm not typically a "stream of consciousness" kind of girl. I like things to be spelled correctly and for semicolons and apostrophes to be in the right place. I'm intrigued by, but don't really get, e.e. cummings, because of both the lowercase letters and the seemingly random lines. I am hesitant to let anyone know the wildly random things that go through my mind.

However, sometimes just writing something is a good starting point. It is the stretches and brisk walks that deceivingly convince you that running a few miles will be fun. It is the cake batter spoon that devilishly reminds you "I don't have to give all of this away." It is the abhorrently obvious, page one, "oh, they're going to get together" rhetoric that makes is impossible to put down Cowboy Christmas Love Story.

And who knows? You might surprise yourself. You might not be nearly as scattered as you think.
...
I love that my cat is asleep on the bed with me. This is the cat that I tried not to like. She was irresistible though. Calico, hungry, and just wanting attention. I thought "my eyes are going to itch. my dogs will try to eat her. I don't need another pet." Well, she now sleeps with Willie in his dog bed. She gets milk in her little red mug anytime she makes one tiny little peep. She is laying by my feet as I write this. I love this little cat. I think a stream of consciousness letter is supposed to switch right about now. I'm really surprised I'm doing this. I have to admit though, I haven't been able to resist the backspace button when I know I've misspelled something or made a punctuation mistake. I'm not sure that's okay. I'm cutting myself some slack though. I have Pride and Prejudice sitting beside me. I've been waking up between 4:30 and 5:00 for the past few mornings. I like getting stuff done in the wee hours of the day. I like going outside when it's still dark to take the puppies out and to let DC in. But, I also really love just eating breakfast and reading Austen. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I lvoe when I haven't had much to eat the night before and I wake up hungry and excited about my meal. This morning I had a poached egg and blueberry bagel. I really wanted to put peanut butter on my bagel, but I didn't. I used to love waking up at Mom and Dad's and smelling the breakfast my dad was cooking (because it was alwasys something delicious like biscuits and gravy, fried potatoes, and sausage; he would;ve scoffed at my poached egg and bagel). Oh, and hearing him too. I can't say that my dad was the quietest of cooks even if he knew the rest of us were sleeping. Great breakfast cook, just loud. I love it when I'm really busy in the mornings and feel like I've worked off my breakfast. I would really love it if I could have those kinds of breakfasts with my Dad every monring and then go do stuff on the farm. I told a friend the other day that even though I love reading and writing and challenging myself to think about abstract concepts and whatnot, I also just love walking on my parents' farm. I love the animals I visit with a couple of times a day when I go over to feed. I love knowing that Lightning likes to be brushed, but Waterview does not. I love my job and I love school and I love teaching, but a big part of me just wants to farm. Every time I'm there, I feel like I get a tiny glimpse of why Dad loved his life so much. Sure, he enjoyed teaching, and he was a damn good teacher, but that farm and his famiily were his life. I hope I can look back at my own life, whether I'm doing that at 61 or 35 or 90 and know the same. Mom said on November 5 that the family is going to have a "paint the barn" day in memory of Dad. That would make him smile I think. He would love all that Mom has taught herself to do in the past year. He would love how she and TJ are running the farm. He would love that we'll all be there, probably with the horses watching from by the fence and Waffle by our side, putting a fresh coat of paint on his barn, the barn that is familiar, the one recognizable by many in the county. It looks like a horse barn. It seems to go with the house and the land it sits on. It looks like Dad. I love my parents so very much. Mom is one amazing woman and Dad was lucky to have snatched her up many years ago. We are all lucky to have had him in our lives and for the legacy of committment and love and humor he has left.
***
all which isn't singing is mere talking - e.e. cummings

all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)

gush to it as diety or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else

drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother's son-
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone

but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
***
For the recipe for homemade bagels, see the March 3, 2010 entry.

Sorry, though, the recipe for the best biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and sausage, will remain CLT's secret.

"Don't bother me anymore, and don't call me sugar."

2011-10-17T05:57:00.013-05:00

I staunchly support the core philosophy behind the "Occupy Wall Street" demonstrations, primarily the attack on the social and economic inequalities spawned (at least in part) by corporate greed...but I appreciate the practicality of this message even more.
For the Nov/Dec. issue of FOLK Magazine, I had the opportunity to interview Jeanne Oliver, owner of Jeanne Oliver Designs. Based in Colorado and specializing in handcrafted clothing, jewelry, bags, and linens (as well as unique vintage items and mixed media art), Oliver's company embodies the ideas and business practices that undergird FOLK's own core philosophy. Check out the upcoming issue (available at the Cumberland County Public Library in mid-November) for the actual Q & A, but I encourage you to visit her website, online shop, and blog in the meantime.

A little teaser from Jeanne Oliver Designs:
"I grew up watching old movies. I was inspired by the styles and femininity of the past. Nothing seemed more glamorous to me than Vivien Leigh sweeping down a staircase, Grace Kelly wearing white gloves with a black cocktail dress or Audrey Hepburn outside of Tiffany's. Hours were spent designing my own creations and dreaming of wearing all the apparel my fingers could sketch. Today I have the honor of offering you collections of my clothing, bags, art, jewelry and vintage pieces that tell a story. Each piece full of attention to detail and design. My hope is that from the moment you receive an item from my shop that you know it is different from the attention to wrapping, fabrics, embellishments and vintage finds. Whether you are wearing one of my dresses, pieces of jewelry or carrying one of my bags ... I want you to feel beautiful and feminine. Welcome to my shop and I hope you enjoy your visit."

And for the record, Jeanne just happens to be one of the most lovely people with whom I have ever communicated. Her interview responses were thoughtful; her email replies quick; her work, part whimsy, part classic beauty, wholly impressive; and her humbleness, worthy of respect. What a wonderful opportunity for a librarian who, herself, wouldn't mind being Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn for a day.
***
I am in love with the messenger bag that arrived in my mailbox a few days ago (that she sent simply because), beautifully wrapped with handwritten card in tow. I'm anxious to see what kind of story it will have to tell.

***

1:36

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a tiny fortune must be in want of a few pets and a personal library.

2011-10-12T05:12:00.010-05:00

A few days ago I told a good friend, "I'm not a hopeless romantic or anything, but I really love the art of letter writing." And those of you who have followed Pillow Book for a while have surely heard me mention something similar. I love when I can visualize the handwriting - the nuance in penmanship, the common phrasing, the clever or sarcastic tones - of those whose voices I can also immediately distinguish on the dreaded, dreaded phone. I love to open a card or letter and feel as though the particular stationary, drawn picture, or stamp was chosen or created just for me. I love those rare occasions when it seems I've said exactly what I wanted to say in my own penned compositions. Letters thus "speak to" and cultivate those relationships that matter...and also force us to give structure to thoughts floating around in our often multi-tasked and scattered minds.

And, while this expression of concern for others and articulation of self does not necessarily have to be evidenced in romantic gesture - in fact, I have a collection of letters from Caroline that mean more to me than most everything else I own - the idea of getting to know someone, and maybe even falling in love, through letters is a really beautiful, albeit antiquated and likely faulty in its own right, act. Who doesn't enjoy digging around in keepsake boxes and uncovering old love letters? Who wouldn't treasure finding those shared between their parents or grandparents? Who wouldn't secretly love to get one, even as a 31 year old who claims to be neither hopeless romantic nor "hugger for no particular reason"?

Answer: No one.

Suggestion: Write a love letter today...even if you never send it. Write one to your significant other, write one to your best friend, hell, write one to yourself.

***
Cleverly-crafted and beautifully-worded letters are one of the primary reasons I love Jane Austen so much. Despite loathing both impractically tight dresses and impossibly rigid gender expectations, I read Austen and think, "I want to go to a ball. I want to wait anxiously for a letter from the boy I met at said ball. I want to be rescued by a man in tails, who, on his stately horse, rescues me from the lonely field I have chosen to walk across on a bitterly cold, overcast day...and who then writes me a letter of inconspicuous adoration. Like I said, not one bit hopeless romantic...

So, in effect, Austen's work is my literary Gilmore Girls. She pays attention to banter. She is masterful with character development. She has witty heroines who can verbally compete with any suitor and who inevitably fall only for the one who challenges them most. She makes me want to be one of the characters. And, I simply love her way with words; I respect her sarcasm, her biting, but subtle, social critiques, the sophistication and depth of thought conveyed in formal expression, the fact that each time I read I find something new at which to giggle or scoff or nearly cry.
...
Some of my favorites from Pride & Prejudice...

"'Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.'"

"Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper"

"Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual recommendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each."

"'Nothing is more deceitful,' said Darcy, 'than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.'"

"She could only imagine however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was a something about her more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation."

"After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her, 'Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?' She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence. 'Oh!' she said, 'I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say yes that you might have the pleasure of despising my tastes, but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all - and now despise me if you dare.'" One of my favorite covers (1880s edition)

Pillow Book: not likely to inspire nor earn Jesus's approval

2011-10-06T21:41:00.013-05:00

A few things this week that, nevertheless, HAVE inspired or amused me...

1) The preface to The Bucolic Plague (and, by the way, what a great title):

"This is a memoir of a certain time in my life. The names of some characters have been changed, and some are composites of various people, experiences, and conversations I had then. If you think that’s unfair, you’ve obviously never lived in a small town and written a memoir about your neighbors." [i.e. Fran and her Marrowbonites]
***
Author’s Caution
This book is not about living your dream. It will not inspire you. You will not be emboldened to attempt anything more than making a fresh pot of coffee.

The author reminds you that there are plenty of other memoirs out there written by courageous souls who have broken with their past, poetically leaving behind things such as:
1. Drugs and/or Drinking
2. Career Ennui*
3. Bad Relationships

…and have successfully achieved goals such as:
1. Creative Fulfillment
2. The Simple Life
3. Jesus’s Approval"

*See Gilmore Girls episode where Michel and Sookie come down with ennui.
______________________________________________________
2) Included in the October 4 entry of The Awe-Manac: A Daily Does of Wonder...

“When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So, what the hell, leap!” Cynthia Heimel

I knew little about Heimel, but I really enjoyed this quote. A quick glance at Wikipedia later, I discovered that Heimel is a playwright and author (known for her satirical social commentary) who spent years working for Playboy after being shunned by both academic and feminist organizations (for being too provocative) and by women's magazines for seeming too angry. She was later fired from Playboy when producers decided that she was alienating men with her "empowerment" nonsense...

I stumbled upon this one as well...

"Never judge someone by who he's [she's] in love with; judge him [her] by his [her] friends. People fall in love with the most appalling people."Cynthia Heimel

I have awesome friends.
______________________________________________________
3) I saw this on a friend's Facebook page earlier in the week. I really, really want to put this up in the library.
Especially when we have the likes of this one coming in.
____________________________________________________

I just love the art & whimsy of this one...

#30, for you, Fran Smith.

2011-09-29T15:11:00.015-05:00

I walked into the office last Thursday and saw a curious brown envelope on my desk, "Liza Turner" written neatly across the center. Upon opening, this is what I found...

"Community Stumped by Local’s Silence
Travel along KY 90 through the small community of Marrowbone and you might be surprised at the sights. In recent weeks small and oftentimes large groups of locals have begun clustering on the sidewalks, scratching their heads in puzzlement as all ask the same question – “What’s the deal?”

Marrowbone, a small hamlet some 10 miles north of Burkesville, is the home of Liza Turner who is responsible for putting the area on the map. The famed professor, world traveler, best friend to Caroline Kraft (of the Chicago Krafts), author and current librarian in Burkesville, returned to her roots just over a year ago, a move that thrilled those who know her as well as those who simply revere her. Turner’s fame only grew when she began writing her own blog in 2010, chronicling her adventures and mishaps as well as the goings on in her family, beloved dogs Willie and Lucy and whomever she happened to cross paths with at any given time.

One resident, who spoke only on the condition of anonymity since his goal is to marry the eligible spinster and have her bear his children, commented, “She’s a gosh darn local hero to us here in Marrowbone. That filly’s done put us on the map more times than I can count without taking my shoes off!”

The anonymous Marrowbonite admits he is as confused as any of his neighbors as to why Turner seems to have given up on her blog which she dubbed, “Pillow Book.” In 2010, she blogged some 86 entries detailing various recipes, local shopping and eating establishments, family celebrations, favorite songs and even a how-to pictorial on dog house construction. However to date in 2011, Turner has penned a measly 29 columns and frankly, residents are worried their hero has suffered a setback.

Some point fingers at her mother, retired teacher Jackie Turner, who admits a particular fondness for Black Jack bourbon. They fear the younger Turner may have also acquired a taste for the liquor. Everyone is in agreement that the young Turner’s fancy was focused on homemade moonshine before her mother’s influence took hold.

“She better not have ruined our little Liza,” quipped the anonymous Marrowbonite, spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice as he shook his finger at this reporter to make his point. “Everyone knows she’s a moonshine gal from way back.”

Local residents are so addicted to the column that they confess to reading it before they pick up the Farmer’s Almanac. They say Pillow Book more accurately tells them when to plant their ‘cukes and maters. “Why that little gal can read the weather better than any of them TV weatherman!” claims her potential suitor. “She follows them dogs ever morning, reads the signs and she used to tell all of us what the weather was gonna do.”

Marrowbonites are hopeful Turner will soon return to her Pillow Book-ing ways as their Farmer’s Almanacs are wearing thin. “I like looking at her in her pajamas and walking them dogs down the road and knowin’ she’s a thinkin’ of sumthin’ to write down in Pillow Book! Come back to us, Liza,” pleaded her biggest fan and hopeful father of her unborn children. “Why Marrowbone just ain’t the same without that Pillow Book to look forward to!”

Some have speculated a calico cat glimpsed in a Pillow Book video may have thrown Turner off her game while others firmly believe it was the romp through that field in Austria that changed her. Regardless of the reason, Marrowbonites are willing to forgive and forget as long as their beloved hero returns to her writing ways. “I’m crazy about that littler heifer,” vows her biggest admirer. “If we’d just start gettin’ more of them Pillow Books to read I jest know it could lead to our little paradise getting its own Wal-Mart!”

-Please proof – article set to appear in Marrowbone Chronicle 9-3-11"

Point taken, Fran Smith. I shall do better. ______________________________________________________
Speaking of the "Chicago Krafts," here are some scenes from my weekend visit.
Outside the Aragon Ballroom, just before The Avett Brothers concert.
It took some convincing, but I actually had this for breakfast (and no kidding, really enjoyed): frozen spinach, banana, blueberry/pomegranate juice).
One of my favorite things to do with my best friend: find a cozy coffee shop and just talk and laugh.
In honor of Tina Fey and Bossypants...
The bathroom at Open Books bookstore (Caroline volunteers here a couple of weekends/month).
Look out, Blake Lively, Alexis Bledel, and that magic pair of traveling pants. I can't wait to see where this purse travels over the course of the next 50 years (we both loved it and so decided to buy and share; I have it first).
How beautiful is this? Courtesy of a Miss Caroline Dale Kraft.

By the way...
Do you know how to poach an egg? Bring water to a slow boil (just when it starts to bubble). Add vinegar or salt and swirl around a bit. Crack egg in water. "Cook" for 4-6 minutes. Carefully lift out with spatula and serve on (buttered) toast. Top with a little salt, pepper, and herb of choice (Caroline used rosemary).

In my next life, I want to be the Stars Hollow troubadour.

2011-08-30T21:15:00.017-05:00

On this first day that "feels like fall"...

Stand in the woods and contemplate something really deep and serious. I was surely doing so here.
Or, you could always skip. Enjoy your favorite magazine. (This is a new magazine - first issue should arrive in mailboxes tomorrow! - that I am helping with. It's a Real Simple/Southern Living/Whole Living/Garden & Gun put together by 20-40 year olds)
Find new uses for late summer/early fall supplies. Example: Turn your tomato cages upside down, gather the ends, and wrap lights around for outdoor decor.
Great idea for pumpkins or cushaws.
Make something that requires cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Below: cushaw bread, butternut squash pie, pistachio pear cake.

Start a Gilmore Girls marathon. Or, at least watch these two youtube clips that I'm having trouble embedding. Jess was always my favorite.
http://youtu.be/arF5pRh0ing
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ijzpa4haclE&
feature=related

Play songs that remind you of fall.

___________________________________________________
Pistachio Pear Cake
Mix together:
1 c. sugar
1 c. brown sugar
½ c. oil (or substitute yogurt!)
3 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. soda
¾ tsp. salt
2 c. all purpose flour
1 ½ - 2 tsp. cinnamon
½ - ¾ tsp. nutmeg
3/4 tsp. ground cloves
1 c. toasted pistachios

At this point, the dough will be very stiff. Go ahead and add 4 c. of peeled, cored, and diced pears (or apples if you so choose). Don’t overmix! I baked in a springform pan at 315 degrees for around 75 minutes (I covered with aluminum foil; this is a dense cake – the top will brown before the center comes close to being finished so covering partially or completely is recommended)

Optional topping (if you decide to do this, I would cut back on the spices and sugar in the cake): In saucepan, mix ½ c. brown sugar, ¼ c. milk, ¼ lb. butter, and bourbon (to taste). Bring to a slow boil for 3 minutes. Pour over cake and return to 300 degree oven for five minutes.

Unobliging Vagabonds of the Closet

2011-08-16T06:45:00.023-05:00

Charlie Chaplin played one in 1916; so did Sean Penn in 1997. The Man with No Name rather aimlessly drifted in many a Spaghetti Western. Japanese anime depicts characters referred to as "rurouni"s. According to Wikipedia - the harbinger of all truth - Rambo was of the soldier variety. And then apparently, there's me.

A few posts ago I mentioned how often I get asked what my tattoo means. Whatever figure I gave surely pales in comparison to how frequently I'm questioned about "how long I'm going to stay here" (Here: Cumberland County). Sure, I was living elsewhere for 11 years or so. I have had the opportunity to do some neat things in other places. I have friends in much larger cities who I love to visit. For some reason, however, a lot of people seem to assume that these collectively mean I can't be settled, that I can't be genuinely happy, in a place like Marrowbone. I have heard the "well, but how long is she going to be around?"s and the "she'll leave when she gets bored"s. I have caught the skeptical eye squints while trying to express (probably poorly) how much I enjoy being "home."

I've never denied that I need to be challenged. I like to feel inspired, I enjoy trying new foods and art and music and activities, I love to have ready access to cultural and sporting events. Combine this with a deep questioning, or at least exploration, of self and decision, and maybe the logical conclusion is that any vagabond tendencies will ultimately resurface.

I learned long ago to never assume what will happen years down the road; people and circumstances change, often without asking your opinion. But, with no reservation and no hesitation, I can wholeheartedly say that I AM settled. I am happy. I love my front porch. I love driving two miles to see my mom and sister. I love that Isabella and Leigh can walk to my workplace in about three minutes. I love Hamilton's BBQ. I love being within an hour of Dale Hollow Lake, and Mammoth Cave, and Cream & Sugar pancakes. I love having Sunday dinners with my family. I love that former teachers and mentors are now friends who come in the Library for our organic coffee and chocolate bar. I love the support this community has shown to my family and to Turner Farm. I love my garden beds. I love Houchens, even if most stuff is overpriced and about to expire. I love Main Street 210 and The Yellow Ribbon Trading Post. I love walking Lucy and Willie in my pajamas and still feeling perfectly comfortable waving at Misty Dubre as she heads to work at the Extension Office. I love interacting, as adults, with high school friends. I love how much we laugh at the Library. I love all the interesting characters that are town fixtures. I love that Tj, Todd, Allen, Stevie, Jimmie, and I had a goat follow us while running a few days ago. I love all the animals at Mom's farm.

When going through some of my storage boxes a few days ago, what I realized is thus: while to some - those who will actually believe me - I am vagabond no more, to myself, I never really was. In each of the cities, apartments, and houses I have lived, I have carted around and carefully stored pieces of family, reminders of friendships, tokens of laughter, and tangible connections to home and childhood. The ties have been there even if the strings were loosened.
...
These items have been packed. They have traveled. But they also speak of roots. (I have decided to focus on childhood objects and letters in this post. There will be a follow-up dedicated to Senior pictures and Senior Albums:)).
Grover was always my favorite. In this particular book, one filled with my green crayon marks, he plays hide and seek with the reader. I LOVED this book.
Mom and Dad gave me this doll when I was probably 8 or 9. If you are a Pillow Book follower, you might remember a post similar to this one where I showcased my packing techniques and strategies...I am amazed this doll is neither broken nor naked. And, I think she is just lovely. I would like to give her to a daughter (or if that doesn't happen, to Isabella) one day.
This just makes me laugh. For about 14 years, I have kept this button-inspired, ceramic paperweight of me giving a thumbs-up. Mrs. Charlotte, I either really liked art class, or I was astute enough to realize how ridiculous this would look tucked between my favorite childhood books and family heirlooms. Well-played 17-year-old Liza.

I am so grateful for my GSP experience. Were it not for this six weeks in Danville, I probably would have never gone to Centre, a decision that made me a better student, thinker, and human being. Plus, I got to have Philosophy class with a cute boy named John. That's right, I had a crush on a boy who signed his letters as such.
If any of you know a John Walker from the Ft. Thomas area, make sure you tell him that Liza Turner says "Hi" and is still hoarding pictures and letters from/of him. That isn't creepy at all.
This is one of the first, if not THE first, letter I ever received from Caroline Dale Kraft. Some 13 years later, we're still putting pen to paper.
Look! She even signed her last name:)
And I quote, "I like you more than any girl I've dated SINCE MY EX." Wow, that really wasn't a compliment at all.:)

Your Life in Six Words. Go.

2011-08-08T09:01:00.014-05:00

I was looking through old Pillow Book posts a few days ago and decided that I wanted to update a couple of my favorite entries.
...
Smith Magazine is the online home of the "six-word memoir" project. The purpose is to encourage readers to think about perspective and significance without sacrificing clarity and conciseness. If you've read this blog much at all, you are well aware that I occasionally have trouble with the latter. This exercise, therefore, is a bit of a challenge for me. Nonetheless, I figure anything that somehow forces introspection and yet ultimately inspires simplicity is good for me.

So:
Gypsy souls will not break me.
Watching Mom bushhog makes me proud.
Dad would've fussed, but slyly grinned.
My mornings seem better with yogurt.
I loved watching the garden grow.
Nonetheless, the cucumbers wore me out.
Wish I could just sit still.
I can be happy by myself.
I like responsibility, but I'm tired.
Why not finish the three-quarter sleeve?
What doesn't kill us still hurts.
Needing to exercise unhealthily consumes me.
I'm grateful for my amazing job.
Ice cream was a bad idea.
I won't look back and wonder. (Initial list; still true)
It's okay to feel crazy sometimes. (Initial list; definitely still true)
When was I at my best?
***
Simply because Awesome/Not Awesome lists are fun.
Awesome:
*Getting a simple, yet thoughtful and unexpected, text or email.
*Cooking your own garden vegetables.
*Someone taking control, grabbing your face, and just kissing you.
*The perfect iced coffee.
*Fresh herbs...on anything.
*Getting reacquainted with people, those you once knew only as Mr. or Mrs. XYZ, as an adult.
*Making homemade yogurt...and realizing it's actually the right consistency.
*Walking your parents' farm in cowboy boots.
*Mornings when it seems summer just might be turning into fall.
*Unexpected visitors at your workplace.
*Running Jackson Hollow...at the end.
*Having pictures on your dashboard that make you smile...even if it does make you look 16.
*Feeling inspired to write.
*Stray cats you grow to love.
*When your hands look like your fathers, stained and calloused from berries, gardens, and manual labor.
*Taking a picture and realizing it either turned out surprisingly interesting or accidently captures a perfect stranger's ridiculous expression in the background.
*Having someone take a candid photo of you (and a real one, not the "I'm going to pretend I don't see them, gaze off into the distance" kind) that you really love.
Not awesome:
And, Zach, I wholeheartedly agree with your profound conclusion: "this is Earth; this is the world." I know these are totally insignificant. That doesn't mean that they still aren't a pain in the ass.
*Swimsuits: one-piece, tankini, the tiniest of string bikinis...they are all little pieces of horrible.
*Being hot when you're trying to sleep.
*Wet grass on flip-flopped feet.
*The saying, "I'm a poet and didn't know it."
*Looking forward to a soda, opening it, and realizing it's flat or warm.
*When the ice machine at Minit Mart does not work.
*People who wear charm or dangling bracelets at meetings and continually hit the table with said decoration every time they write.
*Facebook misalignments. I "Like" the wrong thing about 14 times/day. Even better: finally typing a message in the correct comment box and then getting the "Sorry. Something went wrong." notification.
*Stuff underneath your fingernails (although stained hands = good).
*Being hot, taking a shower, still being hot when you're trying to get ready.
*Loud people at restaurants...especially when they are saying stuff they think makes them look cool or funny. Never ever has this been the case.
*Blizzards that's aren't thick. DQ workers that don't turn blizzards upside down.
*Eating something really hot, forgetting you picked up said bit of fire, and then rubbing your face.
*Mini-dishwashers. Kristi and Luke, I apologize for the dishwasher diatribes to which you have been privy. No actually, no I don't.
Let me hear your six-word memoirs or awesome/not awesome lists.
_____________________________________________________
Little glimmers of fall air make me so very happy. I'm ready for hoodies, pumpkin-spiced cappucino, small town festivals, and weekend "let's go look at the leaves" drives.

Oh, and fall photo shoots.

If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die.

2011-08-02T22:07:00.004-05:00

I get asked what the banner part of my tattoo means at least a couple of times a week. I typically just take the easy way out and say, "it's a song lyric." And it is (from the Avett Brothers,' January Wedding). But, here you go, the real reason, for any of you who are interested: "Cause it's simple" is this poster. It's about making A decision. It's about figuring out what is most genuinely important to you and choosing that above all else. It's about moving home. It's about trusting yourself. It's about just doing something. It's about recognizing the terrible beauty. It's about understanding that life is not a conspiracy against you; It's about getting over yourself. It's about surrounding yourself both with the people you love most and with those things that inspire you.

In previous posts, I have mentioned (or at least implied) my hatred of inspirational one-liners, of the "oh, it will all be fine" stuff that is so often inappropriately offered without request, of the empty mantras that ignite emotional response. For those who know me well, you understand that I'm frustratingly skeptical of "order" or "how things should be" or "reasons things happen." Thus, I know some will think I am teetering on hypocrisy here. I simply find so much more substance in these poster sentences than I do in most "life reminders" advertising. (While acknowledging that a few border on kitschy).

My favorites:
*If you don't like something, change it.
*If you don't have enough time, stop watching t.v.
*If you are looking for the love of your life, stop; they will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
*Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.
*Go out and start creating.

Songs on my mind this morning:

I include this not because I'm trying to tie in some "it's gonna be a good life" connection, but because I like the video, the sound of the "when you're happy like a fool" part, and because it looks like the Santa Monica pier at the one minute mark or so. I have a lot of memories, including meeting J.J. from Good Times, on the Santa Monica pier.

Because I think Adam Levine is hot. And I like this song.

This is one of the Avett Brothers' new songs. I really believe they are some of the best songwriters of our generation.

On Friday, a tourist called CCPL the "local Cheers bar." I love it.

2011-07-31T14:10:00.030-05:00

Tomorrow will be my one year anniversary with the Cumberland County Public Library.

So, in essence, tomorrow I celebrate...

- one year serving in the most fulfilling job I've ever had.
- one year of waking up without a single "I can't go to work today" thought. Sure, there have been (and will continue to be) days when I would have rather lounged around the house, but there honestly has never been a morning I've dreaded my job.
- one year of the most laughter I've ever had in a work setting.
- one year of interesting introductions and moments of reacquaintance.
- one year of continual surprise...at how some people apparently don't see the numbers on the DVDs:)
- one year of the occasional biting of the tongue, but more so than not, of intriguing conversation.
- one year of fiction author tutorials; I've got it now, Terry...Beverly Lewis = bonnets and wagons!
- one year of Fancy Nancy parties, homemade recorders, and Tucker-assisted Story Hours.
- one year of sarcasm-laden, but always in good-fun, Talk Around Towns, newspaper articles, and Facebook updates.
- one year of gingerbread houses, dessert bake-offs, and Minit Mart fountain drinks (Barbara and Cathy - half ice, half drink and usually a 22 oz; Terry - Diet Coke, 32 oz.; Vickie - Mt. Dew and usually a 20 oz. bottle; Janet and Shirley - they're crazy, they usually drink water).
- one year of speakers and book fairs and orchestras.
- one year with the best co-workers I can imagine and the most interestingly diverse patrons any small town has ever produced.
- one year in a position my Dad was proud to see me in and one in which my Mom supports with her attendance, cooking skills, and charming personality at each event, activity, and program.
- one year of being inspired.

Some of my favorite moments...

_______________________________________________________
Last Thursday, we were fortunate to have Kentucky native/author/NPR commentator, Georgia Green Stamper, join us for an evening of discussion, essay excerpts, and absolutely delicious food. She was delightful - approachable, entertaining, and well-prepared - and her most recent publication, You Can Go Anywhere From the Crossroads of the World, is now available in our library. Here are some of my favorite opening lines from this essay collection:

"This is the way Daddy always told the story so I guess it happened that way. If it didn't it could have, and after seventy-five years of countless re-tellings, it is now the truth."

"I was born into a sprawling, indigenous to Kentucky, two-pronged clan, and each side of the family believes in reunions. We believe in the Constitution of the United States, too, but we would probably find something good to say about an anarchist if he were faithful at showing up at our annual potluck."

"There is a Hell, he assured me, in case I had any doubt. He had been there and back on a train. Then, like the author of a Fromm's Tour Guidebook, he proceeded to describe the place to me, so that I would know what to expect should I, too, ever travel there. I was about twelve and hadn't had time, I figured, to do much that would put me on the road to damnation."

"By the time I entered first grade, I knew all there was to know about make believe, and understood that fairy tales were not true. That was the same year, however, that I met Buck, our little school's custodian, and I was never afterward quite so sure of the line between truth and fiction."

"I haven't read the best-selling book about the five people you meet in Heaven. I haven't read it because I don't like the title. To be honest, I'm expecting at least half the Kentuckians who ever lived to come out to meet me at the Pearly Gates."

"I guess I'm tacky as all get out, and maybe shallow to boot, but I just love the trappings of the Christmas season."

Leigh Ann Morgan, The Original Bossypants

2011-07-10T14:49:00.010-05:00

It didn’t matter if we were “cooking” with what could have only been a pretend Easy Bake Oven (Mom would never buy us one. Or a three-wheeler. I don’t get it.), setting up - and subsequently playing - “school” with random, lightweight pieces of furniture that we had hoarded from other rooms of the house and collected in the middle of the living room floor, dressing up like the esteemed members of Poison, or ordering healthy snacks from McDonalds...Leigh Ann had the best spatula; Leigh Ann’s desk could’ve passed for an actual teacher’s; Leigh Ann was Brett Michaels when she wanted, Slash when she so chose; Leigh Ann was the silent, yet inevitably well-fed child who somehow coerced her sister, two years her junior, to tell the man or woman behind the cash register - an employee who was probably super happy that a child who couldn’t pronounce her “r”s and “l”s was ordering anyway - that the older of the two wanted a plain cheeseburger.

And I took it. And it makes me laugh now. And I probably wouldn’t change a thing.
What you don't see is the aluminum foil ball and plastic fork Leigh Ann gave me to play with. But look how happy I was!

Five beauty tips found in Tina Fey’s, Bossypants:
1) "The right undergarments are an essential part of your silhouette: My mother knew the importance of getting the right fit for a bra, so she took me to JCPenney and tried one on over my clothes. She tried a bra on me over my clothes in the middle of JCPenney.

2) A woman’s hair is her crowning glory: Beauty experts in the 1970s declared the shag the ‘most universally flattering haircut.’ The short layers in the front framed the face while irregular longer pieces in the back elongated the neck. I think this picture proves them right. Always on the cutting edge of beauty, I believe this haircut was executed by folding my face in half and cutting out a heart.

3) What to do if you don’t have constant access to a hairstylist: I first found a system that worked for me in the mid-eighties. Once or twice a week I would set my alarm for six a.m. so I could get up and plug in the Hot Stix. Hot Stix were heated rubber sticks, and you would twist your hair around them and roll it up. After about fifteen minutes, you took all the sticks out, and your hair was curled up in tight rings (with dry raggedy ends). I would study the curls in the mirror, impressed with both the appliance and my newfound ability to use it.

Then, without fail, at the last second before leaving for school, I would ask myself, ‘Am I supposed to brush it out or leave it?’ Why could I never remember? That feeling of ‘I’m pretty sure this next step is wrong, but I’m just gonna do it anyway’ is part of the same set of instincts that makes me such a great cook. On some level I knew I wasn’t supposed to brush it out, but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand – gripping the brush like it was a hand transplant from a murderer who hated beauty – brushed through the curls, turning them into a giant static-filled mess.

4) When it comes to fashion, find what works for you and stick with it: By nineteen, I had found my look. Oversize t-shirts, bike shorts, and wrestling shoes. To prevent the silhouette from being too baggy, I would cinch it at the waist with my fanny pack. I was pretty sure I would wear this forever. The shirts allowed me to express myself with cool sayings like ‘There’s No Crying in Baseball’ and ‘Universitat Heidelberg,’ the bike shorts showed off my muscular legs, and the fanny pack held all my trolley tokens. I was nailing it on a daily basis.

5) A manicure is a must: Once I moved to New York in 1997, I discovered the joys of the quickie Korean manicure. The city is filled with tiny storefront nail salons where you can get a manicure-pedicure, an underarm wax, and a ten-minute series of punches in the back, all for under a hundred dollars. The first few times you go, it can be intimidating. For starters, you may forget that you yourself speak English. You enter, smile, and nod at the manager. ‘Manicure-pedicure?’ ‘Pick color,’ she chirps back in her Korean accent. You pick out a couple of the three hundred shades of off-white. ‘This for manicure. This feet. Magazine okay?’ Why are you talking like that?"

To all the bossypants out there, I salute you. Notice that, despite being two years older, Leigh Ann is the one who got the booster seat. At least I look incredibly comfortable.

**And, by the way, I enthusiastically recommend this book. I have literally out loud every time I’ve picked it up. For those of you in Cumberland County, it is available at the Library…or, it will be as soon as I return it. ______________________________________________________
A couple of ideas for that excess garden produce...

My version of Pineapple Zucchini Bread
Yield: 2 loaves; or 1 loaf, 12 big muffins

The basic recipe can be found on the Taste of Home website (I also suggest trying the Rhubarb Blueberry Muffins also found on the site). I added in the following ingredients (in no really set amount; just whatever I thought "looked about right" - thinly sliced apples, maple syrup, coconut, homemade yogurt [and cut back on the vegetable oil] and poppy seeds)

Ingredients
3 eggs
2 cups finely shredded zucchini
1 cup vegetable oil
1 can (8 ounces) crushed pineapple, drained
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1-1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup chopped nuts (I used walnuts in one batch, Carri Peterson's granola in another)
1 cup raisins, optional (I don't use)

Directions
In a large bowl, combine the eggs, zucchini, oil, pineapple and vanilla. Combine the dry ingredients; stir into egg mixture just until moistened. Fold in nuts and raisins if desired.

Pour into two greased 8-in. x 4-in. loaf pans. Bake at 350° for 50-60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes before removing from pans to wire racks to cool.
*Word of advice: If you fill your loaf pan too high and batter drips in the stove, clean it before preheating your oven for another baking adventure. I may or may not have started a small fire in my oven yesterday.

Carolyn Turner Lee's, Tomato Pie
Prepare crust:
1- Single roll out pie crust (I just used a frozen crust); Bake crust at 425 for 5 minutes; Take crust from oven and add ½ Cup Mozzarella cheese on bottom

Vegetables:
Use any vegetables you like. (I use yellow and zucchini squash, onions, banana peppers, hot banana peppers, & fresh mushrooms) I prefer the squash to be diced(small). You will need about 3 cups of veges total. Sauté in olive oil just a few minutes till tender then lay on paper towels to drain. Place the drained vegetables over cheese in crust.

Filling:
Mix together: ¾ cup of fresh basil (chopped),1/2 cup real mayo, 2 cloves of garlic –chopped, 1 ¼Cups of Mozzarella cheese, & ½ cup of parmesan cheese. Spread this mixture over top of vegetables in crust.

Tomato Layer:
Use 4 fresh tomatoes cut in wedges (after slicing tomatoes in wedges lay on paper towels to drain). Arrange tomatoes on top of filling. Sprinkle tomato wedges with ¼ cup of mozzarella cheese and black pepper.

Bake @ 375 - 30 minutes.

If You Don't Like the Winnie the Pooh Trailer, You Are Just a Bad Person

2011-07-07T16:33:00.007-05:00

Yes, parts of it definitely do not rhyme and the others, well, are stretches. ...

“One World, Many Stories”
For Isabella Kurtys Morgan on her 2nd birthday...with much love, Aunt Liza (LiLi)

I see stories unfold, with a quick turn of a page, nearly every day:
trips to far-away lands, rides on exotic turquoise wings, talks with animals befriended along the way.
I feel silky, vibrantly-hued fabrics and hear musical medleys of robins, kittens, and buzzing bugs,
worlds of imagination seemingly real despite my office chair and coffee mug.

Of all the stories read and of all the stories told, however, I wish yours to be the most...
the most beautiful, the most exciting, the most engaging, the most fun.
I hope you run in fields among bright pink butterflies and swim in oceans with joke-telling seahorses,
live in treetops that nearly touch the moon and eat extravagant meals with more than four courses.

I wish for you a world of possibility, of never-ending stories, a world filled with your very favorite books.
I wish for you days of pretend, days of dress-up, days of hidden reading nooks.
I wish for you built-in shelves where your favorite characters will cozily rest side by side,
I wish for you nights spent reading, tucked in bed by your mom and dad, AKA, your tour guides.

But most of all, I simply wish you a happy 2nd birthday. I love you, you little rascal.

As she was watching the fireworks, Isabella would cover her mouth in excitement and say "what come next??" and then proceed to name the suspected selection; or when there was a break in between fireworks, she would stand in Nonna's lap and say, "C'mon." Pure joy is a really, really beautiful thing. Watching her truly was my favorite part of a wonderful 4th of July weekend.
***
Masterful advertising.

"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's."~Mark Twain, letter to W.D. Howells, 2 April 1899

2011-06-26T22:07:00.010-05:00

Addendum to my "Here's Stuff I Find Awesome" post many months ago...
- Leslie and Eric Conner

Your generosity, your warmth, your kindness, and your "take charge" attitudes have literally saved the lives of at least five animals (cats and dogs) over the past year. You have taken them in, regardless of medical condition, size, or breed; you have paid for vet bills, medicine, and food no matter the cost; you have given puppies warm beds and the attention they deserve; you have made strays feel both wanted and loved; you have welcomed the motley bunch of critters into your garage and your family; you have done all of this without ulterior motive and never in search of praise...you continually restore my faith in goodness and love.

PLUS, you collect antique lanterns (tastefully displayed in your beautiful cabinets in your breathtakingly classy, yet inviting, kitchen) and you plan to have some of the girls of '98 over for a slumber party. Could you get any cooler?

Leslie, I truly think you're awesome. Thank you for being you.
"Brutus" is going to make it, thanks to Leslie and Eric.
The neighbors' dog...I don't blame him for wanting to hang out at Leslie's instead.
He's even up and playing around.

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Look, Leigh Ann!! Leslie lives across the street from one of our childhood hangouts. That's right, folks, Mom was a big fan of Crowe's. I'm pretty sure this is where I got my pink, pinstriped OshKosh B'gosh overalls. Hot.

“Two things create a woman, pretty dresses and love letters.” Honore de Balzac, Pere Goriot, 1835

2011-06-19T09:04:00.012-05:00

I can't remember if I've used this particular quote in the title of a previous entry or not, but I am fairly certain that good ol' Honore de Balzac has not gone unmentioned. Remember?... He's that French playwright and novelist considered one of the founders of realism in European literature, an artist known for exposing the deeply complex and often contradictory emotions of the human existence. ... Oh yeah, that guy.

And yes, a little of that just may been taken from Wikipedia.

Anyway, this quote is at the top of page 105 in Vivian Swift's, When Wanderers Cease to Roam (for those of you who remember, this is the "travel journal" that inspired Pillow Book...and hey, we have it available for checkout at the library now!). Found in the "July" section (Swift documents idiosyncrasies, funny moments, memories, artwork, and musings by month), this quote leads into a discussion as to why Swift bought four particular dresses, what each have come to mean to her, the memories they inspire, and what quippy words of advice they ill-fashionably offer.

For instance...
"I’ve never been a bridesmaid. I’m not complaining. But when I bought this frock from the consignment shop I justified the expense by telling myself that one day it will come in handy, when one of my friends has an impromptu wedding with come-as-you-are bridesmaids and I just happen to be wearing yards and yards of this tulle with a strapless, fitted bodice adorned on the back with a big pink bow. However, since the skirts are ballerina (Sugar Plum Fairy) length, and because one night I happened to be wearing it at home to re-arrange my tea cup collection while listening to the only classical record I own, I call this my Tchaikovsky Dress."

My Reward for Turning 40
If not for this dress, I would never have had the nerve to date younger men. I’d never been 40 before, and I had no experience acting my age. But I figured it was time for me to own at least one mature outfit. I let the salesgirl in a fancy dress shop pick out this beige dress for me. What’s more mature than beige? The dress was made of an elegant rayon moiré and I doubted I’d fit into the tiny size 6 I was given to try on. Amazingly, the thing slid on me like dew on a rose petal, like inspiration on a non-ironic French novelist’s woman.

So when I started meeting men I wished I’d met when I was in my 20s I’d wear this dress and let them deal with the age difference."
...
I have one, too. I bought this dress when I was in Los Angeles five or six years ago. Several mornings a week, I would go to the outdoor market in Santa Monica and buy fresh fruit, the occasional book or souvenir, and obviously, multi-patterned outfits at the shop that alluringly resided on the corner adjacent to said market.

I had gone in one day in search of a dress to wear to a special dinner; I tried on several very classic, Audrey-Hepburn types, but it was this turquoise number that stole my heart. Yes, it somehow reminds me of a Bill Cosby sweater; it does indeed have an inside skirt layer that would make 4-year-old beauty pageant contestants blush; it honestly doesn't fit that well, as the waist needs to be taken in a bit (and not because I'm soooooo skinny; I bought a size too big because the dress just made me happy). I freaking love this dress.

When I wear it, I kinda feel like I did when Leigh Ann and I would put on the flower girl dresses we had worn in my uncle's wedding in the early 80s, the ones excitedly jerked out of the closet when the urge to dance and twirl around the living room during American Bandstand could no longer be suppressed. I feel like a gypsy princess. I feel like Angelina Jolie on a UNICEF mission trip, caught by some photographer whose magazine editor will inevitably use phrases like "Stripped down to no make-up and an oddly whimsical dress, Jolie jetsets around poverty-stricken countries."

I have worn this dress to wedding showers, to church services, to a BBQ at a Loyola Marymount professor's house on the outskirts of LA, to the Cumberland County Public Library. If I have children, this is the dress that I will pull out and let them make fun of in 20 years. This is the dress that I just might throw on today as I'm baking bread pudding and cleaning my house. This is the dress that few would likely characterize as "pretty" and the one that has inspired exactly zero love letters.

For this point on, I shall call it my Pillow Book dress.
$100 to anyone who can help me think of the name of the stiff lace layer that makes the dress puff out. Well, maybe not a hundred.
Looks even prettier blowing in the wind, doesn't it?
And it matches my chair.

Tell me about "your dress."
***
Cinnamon Raisin Bread Pudding
From the Taste of Home website
Yields: 2 servings (I tripled and baked in a 9X9 square pan)

Ingredients
1 cup cubed cinnamon-raisin bread (If you can buy Carri Peterson's at the Cumberland County Farmers' Market, do so!)
1 egg
2/3 cup milk
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Dash salt
1/3 cup raisins

Directions
Place bread cubes in a greased 2-cup baking dish. In a small bowl, whisk the egg, milk, brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt until blended. Stir in raisins. Pour over bread.

Bake at 350° for 35-40 minutes or until a knife inserted 1/2 in. from the edge comes out clean. Serve warm.
That's right, that is butter floating on top.

When in Salzburg, loudly sing "Do Re Mi" with your best friend while on the Sound of Music tour bus

2011-06-06T12:46:00.018-05:00

I love it when the hills are alive.
Luzern, Switzerland

Mirabell Gardens - Salzburg, Austria. And yes, we did hand sew our outfits.
***
Enjoy both the ordinary and the completely extraordinary... no matter where you are.
Amsterdam
Prague
Prague
Marrowbone
Marrowbone - first cucumber!
Marrowbone - this weekend! One of my favorite memories: doing the cake walk with Papa (Dad's father, Leon) at the "Fireman's Festival" when I was a little girl
***
Caroline and I had coffee, orange juice, yogurt and muesli/granola nearly every morning while on vacation. Inspired by this - as well as Carri Peterson's convincing argument that homemade yogurt really isn't that difficult - I decided to try some.

1) Plug in your crockpot and turn to low. Add an entire half gallon of milk (I used 2%). Cover and cook on low for 2 1/2 hours.

2) Unplug your crockpot. Leave the cover on, and let it sit for 3 hours.

3) When 3 hours have passed, scoop out 2 cups of the warmish milk and put it in a bowl. Whisk in 1/2 cup of store-bought live/active culture yogurt. Then dump the bowl contents back into the crockpot. Stir to combine. (At this point, I also added about 1/4 cup sugar and 1 tsp. vanilla)

4) Put the lid back on your crockpot. Keep it unplugged, and wrap a heavy bath towel all the way around the crock for insulation.
5) Go to bed, or let it sit for 8 hours.

In the morning, the yogurt will have thickened (it's not as thick as store-bought yogurt, but has the consistency of low-fat plain yogurt). Chill in a plastic container(s) in the refrigerator. Your fresh yogurt will last 7-10 days. Save 1/2 cup as a starter to make a new batch.

My favorite way to enjoy: Multi grain cheerios in the bottom of a bowl that you really like, between 1/2-1 cup yogurt on top, drizzle with maple syrup or honey, top with some of Carri's homemade granola and fresh fruit. Take out to your front porch:)

The Dark Truths of Pillow Book, Or, Death by Ginger Snap

2011-04-18T16:23:00.008-05:00

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Pillow Book, it’s that baking is one of the great ways to relax and enjoy life in all its simplicity and wonderment. If one delves into the backlog of this blog, one will find numerous stories of a quiet afternoon spent baking eight different batches of cookies simultaneously whilst reading a book of Appalachian poetry and writing a contemplation on the various reasons why people should love the Avett Brothers [Entry One: Beards]. All very quaint. All very pastoral.

So, I thought to myself a few weeks ago, I should do that myself! I have all the things I need! I have an oven! I have an ingredient or two! And I have a dozen spare brain cells unclaimed by dissertation work that I’d been saving for a rainy day! What could possibly go wrong?

Ah, my oven. If I had a nickel for every frozen pizza that she's cooked, I'd have a very embarrassing number of nickels.

Of course, there are numerous kinds of cookie, from the humble yet tasty chocolate –chip varieties to the mass-produced Oreo. I realized I wanted to do something outside the ordinary, so that ruled out chocolate-chip cookies. I also recognized that I have no marketable baking skills, so that ruled out most everything else. In the end, I decided on a simple ginger snap recipe, one that was passed down to me by my mother and passed down to her by her dollar-store cookbook.

The ingredients are as follows:

-2¼ cups all-purpose flour [note: not actually for all purposes, will not plug a flat tire or substitute for fertilizer]

-1 cup brown sugar

-¼ cup molasses

-1 cup shortening [I do not know what’s in shortening, and I would like to keep it that way]

-1 egg [if you do not eat eggs, this means you get the pleasure of having 11 eggs in the fridge for a week without any clue what to do with them]

-1 teaspoon of baking soda [this is surprisingly important]

-½ teaspoon of salt

-1 teaspoon ground ginger [note: not a tablespoon, also surprisingly important]

-1 teaspoon cinnamon

-½ teaspoon of cloves [I was alarmed when I first read this, but it turns out these are different from those things that Wendy’s puts on baked potatoes (those are chives)]

-enough sugar to roll stuff in

It was probably a bad sign that, when I first started this project, I officially had two of those ingredients, namely salt and sugar. I did have some flour from a previous Presidential Administration, but I was pretty sure flour was supposed to be fluffy and powdery and less brick-like. But anyways, after a trip to the local supermarket—er, farmer’s market—I settled down and prepared for my senses to be literally assaulted by waves of relaxation and enjoyment.

Not so much. The first task at hand was to mix the “wet” ingredients—brown sugar, shortening, molasses, and egg—in a bowl until “creamy,” whatever that meant. It was at this point that I realized I did not have a mixer or, really, anything appropriate other than a spoon. After destroying several nerve endings by frantically stirring with a spoon, I accidentally launched half the mixture into the kitchen floor—which then, of course, led to me tackling my dog, Linus, before he could eat all of it, throw it up, then repeat the cycle ad infinitum.

Linus, considering whether he feels up to puking or not today.

I returned to the superma—farmer’s market—to pick up a hand mixer for the price of eight dollars, which, as we all know, is certainly enough money for fine kitchenware. After a minute or so of fine hand-mixing, the so-called wet ingredients appeared to be in a state that could be identified by a casual observer as “creamy, albeit lumpy,” so I moved on.

The next step was, apparently, to “sift” the “dry” ingredients into a separate bowl. This created two immediate problems: first, I didn’t know how I was going to go about “sifting” ingredients, and second, I would need a second bowl, which is far less of a given in the sub-human living conditions of a single male graduate student than should reasonably be expected. I ended up using a Tupperware container and a strainer of sorts that I had bought in the distant past for some unholy purpose. I managed to get most of the ingredients safely into the container, though I did learn that all-purpose flour, like the ice you try to tap into your mouth after finishing a glass of water, follows an “all-for-one/one-for-all” mentality when being poured into a too-small strainer.

Some of the baking tools of the single male graduate student. Not pictured: any self-respect whatsoever.

And here, my friends, I must admit that I was beginning to feel a bit perturbed. Two hours and multiple trips for ingredients and accessories into the process, I had not yet reached the point where I even had cookie dough. Where was the moment of insight? When would my attempts at baking culminate in one of those crystallizing moments that Liza seems to have every other week? Where, indeed, was my Folk Hipster Nirvana?

Things only got worse during the next step, combining the “wet” and “dry” ingredients. Technically, the “dry” materials were only supposed to be integrated into the creamy mixed goodness a bit at a time, with a slow pattern of sift/mix/muse/sift/mix/etc. until the two portions had become one. Unfortunately, the “dry” ingredients again decided that they performed better as a single unit, so this multiple-step integration became one horrible mishmash of disparate elements, like Elton John and Eminem at the 2006 Grammies. Then, in a shocking moment, my eight-dollar hand-mixer shuddered to a stop and whirred at me reproachfully. If anyone is going to learn something from this post—and the possibility is highly doubtful—I would have it be this: never check to see if a hand-mixer is broken by pulling it out of the mix and then squeezing the trigger.

After cleaning cookie dough off 80% of the exposed surfaces of my kitchen, I finally moved to the final pre-baking stage of ginger snaps, wherein I rolled the ginger snaps into balls and then rolled those in sugar. The recipe called for the oven to be pre-heated to 375 degrees and left for 12 minutes or until “golden brown”; I had no idea what “golden brown” meant, since the dough actually already looked “golden brown,” so I chose the fire-and-forget method and went to play some video game for 12 minutes.

Unfortunately, my oven has a strong can-do attitude, and when I returned, I discovered I had just spent approximately 2.5 hours perfecting a recipe for charcoal briquettes. As I laid the first batch to rest with the appropriate mixture of respect and muttered profanities, I decided to keep a watchful eye on the second. And lo and behold, when about six minutes had elapsed (six, I will note, is half of twelve), the cookies in the oven looked somewhat similar to ginger snaps.

This, then, was the moment of truth, the moment where I realized the hidden truths of Pillow Book and wept the tears of fulfillment. I waited for the cookies to harden into sufficiently edible consistencies, grabbed one that looked especially aesthetic, and took a bite. And lo, I realized then the self-worth that grows from working with one’s own hands to produce something that could be described by any baked goods connoisseur as “pretty much adequate.”

So, what, then, did I learn from this experience? Well, first, I learned the fundamental truth that I am not Liza Turner, and if I ever end up digging a posthole, painting an abstract depiction of a landscape, baking a soufflé, and reading a book on organic food in the course of one day, it will have to be at gunpoint. Second, some clichés are true. For example, anything worth doing is worth doing right—did you know that if you don’t put baking soda in ginger snap mix, the cookies come out as weird misshapen masses that somehow manage to look sad? Finally, and I’ll try to remove several layers of my natural irony here, sometimes it actually is worth it to try something new every once in a while. In my case, I had to try something new about nine times before I finally came out of it with something worthwhile (in one attempt, I forgot to turn the oven on and couldn’t figure out why they weren’t baking right), but I can now make a ginger snap that has been called by an unbiased observer, and I quote, “the best cookie ever.”

OK, perhaps not aesthetic wonders, but still...

And speaking as the least crafty person on the face of the planet, that has to be worth something.

"Home" and A Whole Bunch of Yellow Paint

2011-04-17T20:55:00.015-05:00

A weekend of books, friends, and Mama Janice punch culminates with a little art project...

_____________________________________________________
For what it's worth, here's one of my favorite classics...
Vermeer's, Girl With a Pearl Earring

A wise man once said I had impeccable taste in films; little did he know, that skill extends to bird figurines as well

2011-04-02T03:48:00.012-05:00

It seems I talk about Main Street 210, Burkesville's own gem of a consignment store, in every other post, but my newest finds warrant yet another mention. If you haven't stopped in yet, make a point to swing by today (Houchens shopping center). I'm confident you will find, as I do, that Robin and Freda simply have the best taste, in terms of style - eclectic, yet classy - and in regards to whom they select as occasional staff members (even if Leigh Ann does arrive a couple of minutes late and has customers waiting on her).
I love it when families have chalkboards in their homes. I love to see nightly or weekly menus written on them. I love to see sweet or funny messages family members leave for one another. I love it when people jot down quotes or random thoughts that inspire them or at least brighten their day. I may not have a family, but I do now have a chalkboard. *Notice the persuasive advertising. Liza: reads. Liza buys it.
I have no idea where I'm going to put my birds (you know how I feel about trinkets and things that just "sit around"), but they made me too happy to not take them home (that's pretty much my buying philosophy on anything).
_______________________________________________________
As much as I enjoy consignment knick knack shopping, I really have to be in a particular mood to go clothes shopping. And, even when in that particular mood, I rarely enjoy it. I am convinced that my body is just weird: my arms are freakishly long, my legs and waist apparently disproportionately arranged, and my mind too spastic, incessantly filled with thoughts of other things I should be doing instead of trying on clothes that look dumb anyway. With that in mind, it seems logical that I don't peruse fashion magazines very often or really even notice ads when looking through my wide range of subscribed choices - The New Yorker, Real Simple, Martha Stewart Living, National Geographic, and Food & Wine.

Nonetheless, I saw this the other day and for some unknown reason, really wanted to go buy it.

_______________________________________________________
And, in keeping with the "good taste" theme (Yes, I am choosing to assume that you find the bird/chalkboard/dress medley in good taste), I have a restaurant recommendation for you. WHEN MOM AND I WENT TO SEE MICHAEL BOLTON in concert a few Sundays ago (yeah, that's right we did; and he was AWESOME), we ate at Varanese on Frankfort Avenue. I picked it based on really great reviews and simply from getting a "good feel from it" when looking at the website.

First of all, Frankfort Avenue is just a really neat part of Louisville, like Bardstown Road in terms of locally-owned, eclectic shops and restaurants, but a little more like a small town neighborhood in feel. Secondly, the ambiance in Varanese is a careful balance of sophistication and hospitality; you will feel like you've gone out for a nice dinner, without feeling the weight of pretentious stares. There is plenty of room in-between tables, the decor is classy, but comfortable, and the white tablecloths, fresh flowers, and tiled water fall along the back wall seem homey, rather than stuffy. Thirdly, we found the staff to be both incredibly friendly and knowledgeable. The chef even came out toward the end of our dinner to tell me what was in the apricot chutney:). Finally, it was very reasonably priced; Mom and I had an appetizer (pork belly with pancetta), a bottle of wine, two entrees (she, the prime rib, me, a Mediterranean-inspired pork chop), dessert (bourbon bread pudding) for roughly $80.

To top it off, Varanese is actually located in a converted gas station. Pretty cool, huh?

Architecture and Oreos

2011-03-29T18:33:00.017-05:00

My appreciation for this article has less to do with the fact that I absolutely hate the emergence and growing popularity of e-books, Kindles, and Sony Readers - I just think there's something to be said for holding a book in your hands, feeling the pages, seeing notes you've or someone else has written - and more so with the fact that "shelves" as a snapshot of the person we've been, the person we are, or the person we hope to be is just really compelling...and kind of beautiful.

"Shelf Life" from Louisville Magazine (March 2010)
Bob Hill

"One thing we did after moving into our well-worn farmhouse was to build a library in its wide, front-door hallway, lining one wall with shelves of books, another with family pictures, plaques and the nostalgic debris of lives fully lived. The books had followed us around for years, growing in scope and volume with each stop. (In truth, they sat in the hall in cardboard boxes for years until we accumulated enough inertia and money to hire a carpenter.)

Once finished, the hallway became a room unto itself - more than a passageway to our bedrooms or a front door never used. It had purpose and place. It defined who we were, what we read, which family images we wanted to display - and wanted others to see. All those things had become part of the architecture, the ambiance, the life of our house.

So what will our lives - our houses - be like when all that information is only stored on a digital picture frame or a Kindle?

I'll spare you the perhaps expected rant of another old guy denying the byte-sized future; there are obvious time-related and financial benefits to downloading words and images. I just see nothing warm, cozy, or comforting in having all my family photos and all the books I've ever read compressed into flat black computer gizmos the thickness of a pizza.
...
Think of all the homes you have visited in which the most comfortable room or place to be found was lined with books. Indeed, the most impressive private room I have ever seen in my life is the library at Oxmoor Farm in Louisville. It is a vast cathedral of books - wide, expansive, breathtaking - a surround of hundreds of leather-bound volumes rising to the sentence.

My library is a bit more modest - and subject to periodic purges. After each, surveying its shelves is like looking into a mirror; my life and all its still-relevant interests are looking back at me, even surprising me. On the far right are all my garden books, two and three deep with books laid sideways on top, their titles ranging from Elegant Silvers to Annuals for Connoisseurs to the more prosaic Viburnums.

Poetry books arch across my library garden - Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, T.S. Eliot, Robert Browning, Edgar Lee Masters, W.H. Auden, Wilfred Owen, and nearby, of course, Dr. Seuss. Not too far from the author of Cat in the Hat are two battered volumes of the Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant, published in 1885 and bought off a hay wagon at a farm auction 100 years later. I've had them appraised; they're worth about $10 Confederate.

There is no one bookcase theme - a journalist's curse. Roger Kahn's nostalgic classic The Boys of Summer is just a few volumes down from Stephen Crane's blood-soaked The Red Badge of Courage. Naturalist Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is carefully observing Henry David Thoreau's On Walden Pond. Above them looms the 483-page tome The Works of Plato - a book I must have kept around for appearance's sake or as a doorstop.
...
I just cannot imagine - I don't want to imagine all those books, all those great voices, tucked into a single black box lying on a bare shelf. Each is a physical reminder of where my mind has been, where it is going. Some days you want to judge a book by its cover."

Some of the places my mind has traveled...

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I haven't done a recipe in a while so I figured my comeback entry should be healthy and incredibly complex.

Start with your favorite chocolate chip cookie dough recipe (I used a packaged mix; added a stick of butter and one egg). Put a teaspoonful on a greased cookie sheet. Stick an orea in the center and push it down so the dough encases it a bit. Put another teaspoonful of dough on top of the orea and try to "connect the dough." Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 10-12 mintues.
I love that there are bananas in the background.

Yard tasks that have "wicky wacky" written all over them

2011-03-26T19:02:00.025-05:00

It's amazing what one can get accomplished when they wake up at 3:30 am raring to go.
...
Started with some super important Facebooking and Lucy/Willie visiting. Made it to Mom's by 5:00 (both because I needed to feed & clean stalls and because I had no breakfast food in my house...and I'm one of those people who likes to eat when they wake up, not after coffee/stretching/shower). After a gigantic bowl of oatmeal, I did barn duty and returned home to get ready for work. Library from 9-12. Tompkinsville Wal-Mart (where I once again saw Debbie Messenger - she likes to follow me around sometimes). In between, did a few little projects...
I ordered a umbrella-style clothesline off Ebay. It shipped within 2 days. I decided today was the day to tackle it.
Got a little worried at this point.
The instructions said I needed a hole 8-10" in diameter and 20" deep. I grabbed Dad's post hole digger from the barn and my trusty hand shovel. And for the record, the instructions also said I should pour concrete, a step I chose to ignore.
Looked about 20" to me.
Since I didn't pour the concrete, I decided not to add the extension pole (it actually can stand about 3' higher than this), but I may try it out tomorrow to see how much "wiggle room" exists when the wind blows. I put gravel at the bottom of the hole, put the plastic tube in, filled around it with dirt, compacted it, added the actual rod, and then added more dirt and rocks around the base.
Hung my new flag (Ebay).
Finally took down the Christmas wreath and put up this one (borrowed from Mom).
Already had my compost pile and part of one raised bed done. Did a second bed (using landscape timbers from Browns) and finished the first one.
Plan to put down old feed sacks before filling with compost.
Took the Christmas light strands out of the front yard tree using this genius Billy Key creation (they have been up for two Christmases I think - they were here when I moved in in early December...and they were in the awfulest tangles and knots. I know, awfulest isn't a word).
I'm telling ya, genius.
Decided a bird feeder would be a good replacement.
...
Instead of making a rain barrel, I decided to reserve one from PRIDE (Personal Responsibility In a Desirable Environment). PRIDE is a nonprofit organization that encourages sustainable ecological, agricultural, and buying practices throughout 38 southern and eastern Kentucky counties. As stated on the website, www.kypride.org, it "links citizens with the resources of local, state, and federal agencies to improve the region's water quality, clean up solid waste problems, and advance environmental education."

Each year, PRIDE partners with local school districts to make, paint, and sell rain barrels. Although they will not be ready until April 15, you can call 888-577-4339 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 888-577-4339 end_of_the_skype_highlighting to reserve one. Not only will the painting/design be really cute, but the barrels will come fully assembled, have a faucet, and be ready to attach to the gutter. I honestly can't wait to see the students' vision of PRIDE initiatives.

*Just so you know: watering lawns and gardens accounts for nearly 40% of total household water use during the summer. Rain barrels can thus save you money in addition to reducing rainwater runoff.
*Thanks Gina Shaye for bringing the latest PRIDE newsletter to the library!

Cause It's Simple

2011-03-22T22:08:00.003-05:00

Losing someone you love - whether by death, circumstance, or choice - is always harder than enduring any kind of physical pain. It's difficult to figure out how to just "be," when that part of your life that made the everyday so "normal" is gone. What I've learned over the past few months, though, is that despite the questions, regardless of the hurt, and overlooking the need for explanation that can likely never exist, there can be a sense of peace at any end. When you know that you, without a single doubt, loved completely everyday, you realize that it simply is what it is. There's no desire to let go, but there is an ability. The pain doesn't inspire second guessing or "what if"s; it reminds you that that person or that life was worth it. Love completely.

And, if that doesn't work, occupy yourself with things that make you laugh, stuff that interests you, or side projects that allow you to get in completely over your head. My weekend plans: constructing and painting a rain barrel, finish building my raised beds, buy starter plants for the garden, clean out window boxes and flower pots, drink coffee with lots of flavored coffeemate, drink lots of DDP, play "come over here and give me a hug" with Isabella, take Lucy and Willie hiking, hang new pictures, eat pancakes.
And...
Do a lot of front porch sitting, too. Maybe Brad Garner will call me and sing "Just a Swingin." - Oh, Leigh Ann, she had 'em wrapped around her finger even in Kindergarten.
May watch a few of the DVDs we were going to sell at the Library. As you can see, my interests are varied. Vickie: "Do you really want the egg one?" Liza: "I love stuff like that."

I've got this feeling, that time's just holding me down

2011-03-14T19:51:00.017-05:00

And it has only taken me 13 years...

Some of my favorite finds from Day One of "you are too old to still have 'high school boxes'."

The ceramic plate I made for our "Fear" integrated unit place setting. We picked historical figures who we would characterize as "fearless." I thought I was so clever with my Muhammad Ali plate.
What? There's something wrong with having your junior and senior prom glasses - one that even still has the candle in it?
Probably no more persuasive evidence of the necessity of art classes in school.
As Ora Clay and I discussed in the Library a couple of weeks ago, there is absolutely nothing wrong with retelling stories of one's 5th place finish at the State Track Meet.
One of the best decisions of my life; had I not attended the Governor's Scholars Program, I probably would've never gone to Centre (and subsequently, met Caroline Dale Kraft).
***
And in one of the "Random" containers...
Dad brought Leigh and me back belts from one of his Oklahoma trips.

I don't pretend to be super religious, but this is one of my favorite things I found today. First page: "To Liza Marie from Mama and Daddy."
I dismantled trophies today. I can honestly remember being at Monticello's gym for both tournaments and diving after balls, running into bleachers, probably taking a few cheap shots when I had the chance. I used to be a tiny bit competitive. Glad I got over that...
In addition to bringing them down to the front yard during birthday parties, Dad would let us take our ponies, Pete and Cindy, to the fair. I'm pretty sure everybody's trophy read "1st."
I'm shocked that when I emptied these two boxes, I found five random arms. I packed my cherished teddies and birthday dolls so carefully.

Oh, bite me Phil Collins

2011-03-01T21:21:00.009-06:00

Suggestions for a bad day... Make your own flower arrangement. Eat 1/2 box of Golden Grahams in 2 days.
Youtube some of your favorite commercials.

Put your sunroof down and find a song that makes you smile (I'm hoping the video shows up; if not, it's one of my car radio while "Rhythm of My Soul" plays).

Say "that's right, bitches." About anything.

Centre College Admissions Office, I Owe You One

2011-02-17T23:05:00.006-06:00

An excerpt from Truth & Beauty by Ann Patchett (recommended to me several months ago by Caroline Dale Kraft)...

"One night, when we were in our early twenties and still living in Iowa, we went to the campus theater to see a showing of Cocteau's Orpheus. We sat with a group of poets, friends of Lucy's, and together we cheered the scenes in the Poet's Cafe where fistfights broke out over the scribbled drafts of a few new poems. I remember it as being a wonderful night. The movie thrilled us, and we walked home in the bitter cold talking about how brilliant Cocteau had been to make a movie in which the poets were the most important and revered people in society. Lucy said she was in love with Heurtebise, who played the part of Death's driver. She thought it showed a great sensibility on her part to fall for the sidekick, the number-two man, instead of wanting Orpheus for herself. I agreed with her completely about the appeal of Heurtebise, although the sight of Orpheus asleep in the sand, his cheek pressed against a mirror, was one that would stay with me for years.

'You should take Orpheus, then,' she said.

'But I loved Heurtebise, too,' I said, and it was true. I did. And I also didn't want Lucy to feel like she was settling. 'He had a greater soul than Orpheus.'

We were two young women talking about which of the dead French movie stars we would have rather gone on a date with. In short, we were very much alive."
***
Caroline, this reminds me of us. You, being Lucy-esque, taking me to the types of places where people are familiar with Cocteau. Us, being the friends who walk home analyzing a movie (even if it is Stomp the Yard) in the Chicago cold, all the while debating which stars we would want to date or with whom we would be best friends.

Thank you for always being honest with me even in those moments when conciliatory "I agree with you"s would be easier; for improving your story-telling skills since college; for not sugarcoating the effects of an illness; for not wallowing in illness-related pity either; for inspiring me to pursue creative and interesting activities; for sharing too much wine with me and subsequently posting a Wikipedia entry on "pants" on various Facebook pages; for being the best dancer I know; for having the coolest parents imaginable (other than my own:)); for really "getting me."

Your letters are the most eloquent. Your email and Facebook quips, the funniest. Your presence, the most welcomed. Your friendship, the most cherished.

Happy Birthday, CDK.

So gangsta, I'm so Thug...

2011-02-09T21:17:00.008-06:00

Well, since it was going to cost me nearly $42 to get a case of Diet Sierra Mist Cranberry shipped to the house (apparently, this is only seasonal; for the past month or so, Andy has anxiously walked into gas stations, only to come out minutes later cussing the entire beverage industry), I decided to get Mr. Wiggins the next best thing for Valentine's Day...a video compilation of random, somewhat nontraditional love songs that remind me of him or of us.

But first...

Happy Valentine's Day to the man who...
*will play 20 questions in the car with me even though my categories are typically far too vague and my answers, rather than being "yes" or "no," often include "kind of", "depends", or "sometimes."
*looks really, really cute in his grandfather's horn-rimmed glasses.
*might read a comic book, Nietzsche, and an ESPN magazine within a two-hour time block
*doesn't settle for uninspired.
*can drive a tractor and a Prius.
*I never worry will be awkward around, intimidated by, or uncomfortable with any group of people I choose to be around.
*makes me want to read more and think more.
*is one of few people who has weirder dreams than me. And the only one with whom I like to laugh about them in the morning.
*willingly, and quite enthusiastically, participates in Turner family stupid pictures.
*was my co-star in The Hunt, our AWARD WINNING horror short film.
*can have an in-depth discussion with me about what makes a pizza a good pizza.
*disregards his instincts and keeps the house clean because it makes me happy.
*accepts people for who they are, whether or not he would choose their decisions/lifestyle for himself...And reminds me to try to do the same.
*likes American Idol far more than he would ever admit.
*makes the best fried sweet potatoes I've ever eaten.
*has cycling jerseys and my dad's flannel shirts side-by-side in the closet.
*is, no joke, one of the most creative, quick-witted, and foolish people I have ever met. Just ask Evil Rat Bitch.
*would do anything to help my mom.
*encourages me to both believe in and stand up for myself.
*makes me laugh everyday.
*is more liberal than me. And who can articulate his political/economic/social positions so much more intelligently than me.
*as Garth Brooks says, "is so New York and then L.A.; And every town along the way; He's every place that I've never been."

That's right, when they say you're not my baby like Maury
You can tell 'em that they're telling a story.

This is how Andy finally got me, too.

The actual video is so much cooler, but I couldn't embed it. Oh well, I think he knows I still love him so.

Cause it's simple.

Some additional random picks for Valentine's Day...
Swept Away by The Avett Brothers - Who cares about tomorrow; what more is tomorrow; but another day; when you swept me away

Magnolia Tree by Drew Halcomb & the Neighbors

The Luckiest by Ben Folds I don't get many things right the first time; In fact, I am told that a lot; Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls;
Brought me here

Strawberry Swing by Coldplay The sky could be blue, I don’t mind;
Without you it’s a waste of time

She's Every Woman by Garth Brooks He's anything but typical;
He's so unpredictable; Oh but even at his worst he ain't that bad
I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie

Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars

I'd Rather Be With You by Joshua Radin

Into Your Arms by The Lemonheads

1234 by Plain White Ts

Outloud by Dispatch

Come Away With Me by Norah Jones

Jerry Don in a Priest Costume...Really, how could it go wrong?

2011-02-09T15:31:00.010-06:00

Scenes from the Marrowbone Murder Mystery Party...
Never trust a French winemaker.
Do trust your sister when she says "I can do excessive makeup and a big, gross mole."
Trust your Recipes from an Italian Summer cookbook as well.
***
A couple of ideas...
Add a little character to your Valentine's Day meal: consider heart-shaped polenta, french toast, ice cream sandwiches, jello, vegetables, or ravioli.
Rather than buying an expensive wine rack, cut PVC pipe to size. I love this look. ________________________________________________________
Avocado Salad (Obviously this would be better with seasonal ingredients, but I enjoyed nonetheless)
2 avocados
Juice of 1 lemon
2 mandarins or tangerines
1 romaine lettuce, separated into leaves
2 tomatoes, sliced
1 scallion, sliced
2 tbsp. chopped flat-leaf parsley (I used basil instead)
2 tbsp. Dijon mustard
Generous 1/4 c. olive oil
Salt and Pepper to taste

Peel, halve, and pit the avocados; cut into slices and sprinkle with lemon juice. Peel the mandarins and slice into rings.

Arrange the lettuce on serving platter. Make a layer of tomato slices and scallions. Cover with avocado slices and then top with mandarin slices. Sprinkle the herbs.

Whisk together the oil, mustard, salt and pepper (I did this the night before and whisked again just before serving). Pour over salad and serve.

Pasta, Passion, & Pistols

2011-02-02T19:47:00.009-06:00

Another resolution gets checked off...the Murder Mystery Dinner Party hits Marrowbone Saturday night.
Two of my homemade wines will also be available. Yeah, I know, I wouldn't pick them either.

Menu for the evening:
Appetizers
Bruschetta with tomato and mozzarella
Sundried Tomato and Cheese Focaccia Bread (I'm making from a mix)
Roast Garlic and White Bean Dip (Menu in the Party Planner guide)
Avocado Salad (From the Italian cookbook Andy bought for me; he's a fantastic shopper)
Olives

Dinner
Homemade Pizza - Spinach, Mushroom, Pepperoni
Lasagna (Mom is helping me out here)
Parmesan Chicken Pasta

Desserts
Cream Puffs and/or Cannolis
Raspberry Semifreddo (From the Andy cookbook)
Chocolate Hazelnut Coffee Sticks

*I'm Clair. I'm sending Andy to Goodwill tomorrow. Pictures forthcoming.

Adrienne, if I invite you to play your recorder at the National Symphony Orchestra performance, will you finally forgive me?

2011-01-24T21:33:00.010-06:00

I really have no idea how to start this. I know the point that I want to make, but it's embedded in a story that's personal, one that makes me look bad, a story that I would like to rewrite. However, with Myndi's post on my mind - the point in particular about cultivating relationships - it's a story that I want to share with you.

Many posts ago I talked about my second grade sister wanting to sing the national anthem at my last high school basketball game. Upon finding out, I threw a fit that could've only been rivaled by one of the girls on Jersey Shore. I screamed about how badly Adrienne sang (and to my credit, she does:)). I complained that no one was "thinking about how I would feel" (that's right, I had a TOUGH life). I'm pretty sure that I threatened to be a no-show at the game (as though this would have been the make or break it for a win or loss;)). And to make it all worse, I said this in front of a seven year old.

I could blame it on being 17. I could justify it with statements like "maybe someone should've asked me first." I could lie and say that I wasn't as much of a b*^&% as the story, as told by Adrienne, makes me seem. But, the truth is, I was just wrong.

And, it is moments like this that are part and parcel of some of my biggest regrets; moments when I allowed my pride, my expectations, my own sense of "love" or "kindness" to cloud - or even worse, belittle - the actions of others; moments when my feelings became so much more important that anyone else's involved; moments when my visceral, knee-jerk reaction alienated someone who loved me; moments when I took relationships for granted.

The most recent example of this occurred about a month ago. Andy did something incredibly nice for me - something he spent a lot of time on, something he put a lot of thought into, something that should've immediately reminded me how lucky I am. What did I do with it, though? I squandered it. I picked up on the two or three things that I thought "didn't seem like me" and I let those drive my reaction to the whole. I nonchalantly addressed what was deserving of something so much more.

And, you know what, this is a moment that I can't get back. Sure, I can apologize. I can explain my position. I can elaborate on all of those things that I loved, but was too wrapped up in my own concerns to acknowledge. And, I can be forgiven and understood. However, none of this makes my initial apparent flippancy any less vivid or any more justified. I had the opportunity to cultivate a relationship, and I chose - and, this is always a choice - to demean instead.

So, I guess the point of me sharing this is to simply remind you to think about the motivations of someone's actions before immediately worrying about how it affects you. In both occasions I mention above, part of my issue was "I don't want to be in the spotlight/I don't want personal things exposed" - and I do see the hypocrisy in this by the way:) - and this blinding emotion tainted two really beautiful acts.

Let others love you, even if it looks a little different from your own understanding. Cultivate relationships every chance you get. Sometimes keep your big, fat mouth shut.
____________________________________________________
A resolution update: I said that I would read at least three works of fiction this year (most of you know how I feel about fiction). The library staff tried to pick
some out for me, but to no avail. Nothing just seemed to tickle my fancy.

But, then...

Cecil Hall Dyer returned a book last Saturday and, for no particular reason, I decided to flip through it. Linda Lael Miller's, A Creed Country Christmas, or as I have referred to it every time I try to remember the title, "Cowboy Christmas Love Story," really is something special. Yes, it was large print. Yes, I knew what was going to happen after reading about four pages. Yes, I'm fairly certain those incomplete sentences weren't solely for dramatic effect.
Yes, my fancy was tickled.

Nonetheless, I'm reverting back to my first love: Wendell Berry's Bringing It To The Table and Berry Craig's (who I hope to have speak at the Library this spring) True Tales of Old-Time Kentucky Politics.

On Balance

2011-01-20T07:50:00.004-06:00

I am confident that I am likely the only Pillowbook contributor who has never actually met Liza in person. This speaks to the power of Liza's words and how she has impacted people she hasn't even met outside of the Internet world. I was honored to be included in Liza's circle of guest bloggers. Pillowbook is a blog with a strong sense of community and sharing, and I'm happy to be a part of it!

If you've ever stumbled across my blog, you know I write a lot about balance, that delicate push and pull of finding it and maintaining it. And inevitably each January I spend the month evaluating my previous year, what I feel I'm lacking and what I need more of. My greatest fear in life is muddling my way through with my head down, getting through the tough stuff and looking up ten years later wondering where the time has gone. I don't know about you, but if one area of my life is out of balance, I feel a complete mess. If I've been working 12-hour days, the rest of my life falls into disarray. I don't want to look back and regret not seizing moments and opportunities in front of me.

As I've gotten older I've learned that the dreams and big goals for myself aren't just going to happen on their own. I have to take action and make choices that help me get where I want to go. So for me, slightly type A and with a great affinity for pen and paper, January is the perfect month to take stock. I like to begin by grabbing a notebook or journal and jotting down the things that are most important to me. These fittingly break down into six main areas:

Mind
Body
Spirit
Community
Relationships
Creativity & Passion

This is why Sid Lerner's philosophy works so well for me. Lerner likes to think of Mondays as the January of every week. This is brilliant. Mondays are good days to set goals for the week and resolve to make it your best week. On Monday mornings I jot down my five main areas in my journal. Then I write down what I'm doing for each area that week. When Sunday evening comes around I look back on my Monday goals and see how I fared. Some weeks are better than others, but in the end, this has been a great way for me to see my goals through. I've included some ideas to spark in you avenues that help ensure you are feeling whole, and making time for each part of yourself.

Mind
What are you doing for your mind? Find a way to exercise your brain. We have been on a serious crossword puzzle binge as of late. Also late night rounds of Scrabble. I also like to choose a longer news article to read each week. I am a big fan of Arts & Letters Daily. It makes the perfect homepage on your computer. One of my favorite parts of the week is stretching out with the Sunday paper all day, digging into each section and discussing the news of the week over a large pot of coffee.

Body
What are you doing for your body? Exercise is one of the first items to fall off the list if I'm stressing out and working long hours. Quite backwards when I consider how much better I feel after a good workout. Find what works best for you. Choose a plan you can stick with. Start small with 30-minute workouts or a walk around the block. How are you eating? Everything in balance and moderation I say. Once you start cutting things out wholly and making drastic changes, I think the chances are greater that you'll stop following through and ultimately feel worse in the end.

Spirit
What are you doing for your spirit? Do you pray, read, meditate, attend church services? This is a deeply personal area, but so important. I feel this is the area I am lacking in the most and hope to improve in 2011. We have been seeking out a church where we feel at home and have been trying out various ones around the city, hoping to find one that feels like a comfortable fit. Charlie and I also practiced meditation in college and I would like to find a way to incorporate it back into my life.

Community
The majority of Americans leave this one off the list entirely. Who has time to volunteer and give back? All of us in my opinion. The key here is finding a cause that you connect with and one that suits your interests and talents. It's such a wonderful way to get to know your city and the people that make your community complete. Maybe you volunteer once a week, once a month, or once a year. No matter what you do or how often, the impact is immense. To get involved somewhere, click here.

Relationships
What are you doing for the people in your life? Have you picked up the phone or the pen recently? I'm a letter writer. I try to write one letter a week, always send thank you notes, and always remember birthdays. Receiving a birthday card or letter from a friend is one of the greatest and unexpected gifts. I also love to surprise my family and friends. It can be as simple as sending a sweet note or picking up the tab at dinner, or a step further with a plate of cookies or jar of jam. If you're in a relationship or married, I think it's so important to plan romantic surprises. They go a long way. If you're in a serious relationship you also understand the importance of patience. I challenge you to think before you speak, to try and go one day without complaining to your partner. This touches on Becky's post about not sweating the small stuff. You quickly realize how much is insignificant when you make a conscious effort to stop complaining.

Creativity & Passion
What is your passion? What drives you? What do you aspire to be? It's so important to make time for your creative pursuits. This usually requires stepping out of your comfort zone and muting the voices of your inner critic, but how freeing to get to that place! For me, it also requires powering off. Pick a few evenings and keep your television off, Facebook closed, and phone put away. Reconnect with yourself and what inspires you. If you're lost and trying to find a place to start, I highly recommend picking up The Artist's Way. This 12-week program is a blast to work through and truly helps you get back in touch with your creative goals. Two of my favorite elements of the program:
Morning Pages
Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning. There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages-- they are not high art. They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind-- and they are for your eyes only.

Artist Date
The Artist Date is a once-weekly, festive, solo expedition to explore something that interests you. The Artist Date need not be overtly "artistic"-- think mischief more than mastery.

Make a list of fun, creative goals for yourself and challenge yourself to completing one a week or one a month. Here are some ideas to get you started: Keri Smith's 100 Ideas, Learning To Love You More assignment list, 52 Projects.

Wishing each of you a happy, well-balanced 2011!
Myndi

An Article About Nothing

2011-01-15T20:10:00.002-06:00

By: Becky Ballard
Isn’t it ironic when a person who is annoyingly chatty and always received a check for “talks too much” on her report card as a student suddenly is speechless and blank when asked to write an article for her favorite blog? Well, that is the position I am in when asked by Liza to write an entry. First of all, I am so in awe of Liza’s flair for writing. Her thoughts seem to flow effortlessly from her keyboard and are so insightful, clever, and charming. Her entries make me cackle out loud, choke up with tears, and wish I were as well read and intelligent as she is. So, after typing those thoughts, now I feel even more insecure about my writing abilities, and to steal a quote from my students, “I can’t think of anything to write!”

As soon as that sentence leaves my mouth as if it were in a cartoon bubble, an episode from the highly intellectual situation comedy Seinfeld enters my brain. For those Seinfeld enthusiasts like myself, remember the episode where Jerry and George create a sit-com for NBC and it’s about nothing? I can so identify with those characters right now! I have been snowed in for days with my two daughters who I adore, but have had very little adult conversation, since my highway department husband has been working overtime and isn’t in the mood to chit-chat when he gets home, bless his tired heart. So I don’t think the Pillow Book readers will appreciate an entry about my conversations with my daughters: Put the cats out now! Stop fighting with each other! No you cannot put baby lotion on the cat! Please turn I Carly down! Stop yelling at each other! (I yell). What in the world will I write about? I haven’t exactly been stimulated with deep thoughts over these 5 days of snow. Hmmmm.....crickets....hmmmmm....

Aha! To quote George Costanza (Another Seinfeld reference), I see the book I’ve been reading for the past few days on the end table that has really spoken to me as a mother and a high-strung person who gets easily annoyed at things that don’t really matter. (Yes, I sweat the small stuff Richard Carlson, so sorry to disappoint.)

The book I have been reading is titled Resilience by the now deceased Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Senator and former Vice-Presidential candidate John Edwards. To quote from the title it is her reflections on the burdens and gifts of facing life’s adversities, and she had all of the above. It’s a beautiful memoir about her life’s struggles and is very inspiring. The chapter that touched me the most is where she describes the day her 16 year old son died. That afternoon Elizabeth and her daughter Cate were visiting private schools for her to attend. Cate was not a willing participant and had somewhat put a damper on the day. On the plane ride home, a family with a crying baby and a young child who kicked the back of Elizabeth’s seat for the entire trip, really agitated Elizabeth. Can you imagine anything so annoying? Elizabeth complained, she said, the entire way as her husband drove her home from the airport. Not long after arriving to their house a state trooper pulled into her driveway with the devastating news that her son was dead. She reflects back to the previous moments of getting so aggravated and thinks, in her own words, how silly.

So, I would like to ask those who like myself, sweat the small stuff to make an effort to identify the “crisis” in your life as what it is. When I’m at the end of my rope with my daughters who argue all day, I will be glad they are alive, healthy, and safe in my home. When I fly into a silent rage because someone has returned an empty box of cereal in the pantry, I will be thankful we have food. When my job leaves me discouraged and exhausted, I will be thankful I have a means of supporting myself and my family. When I am in a hurry and get behind a slow driver, I will think this is God’s way of slowing me down, and enjoy the beauty of my surroundings. Because the everyday stresses of life, that I so often blow out of proportion, they really are about nothing.

"We recognize our own mortality, and we are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this Earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame -- but rather, how well we have loved—and what small part we have played in making the lives of ...other people better."

President Barack Obama
Tucson Memorial Service, January 1...2, 2011

I Heard It From Schwartz Too

2011-01-10T07:27:00.017-06:00

A wise philosopher (it was actually Oprah I think) once said, "you can't change what has happened, but you can control your response to it."

On Saturday I posted a clip from Neil Pasricha's talk, "The Three A's of Awesome" (if you haven't watched it yet, I encourage you to go back). The part that resonated most with me was his discussion of behavioral choice. Suggesting that "attitude" - one of the "three A's" - is malleable, Pasricha reinforced a very elementary concept, but one that we, or I at least, need to be reminded of fairly often. Sure, some days are - and will be - incredibly frustrating, some events tragic and inexplicable, but that does not mean that we must give in to our immediate responses. Grief and anger are inevitable, self-pity is not.

So, for instance, when I was at the barn at 6:00 am yesterday trying to feed horses and clean stalls in 8 degree weather, or when I got shocked by the electric fence I crawled under while scooting a manure-filled wheelbarrow across ice and snow to the compost pile, or when my dog got sick and I couldn't call my dad to ask him what he thought I should do, or when I simply missed my dad in general, I mentally replayed NP's talk of attitude, awareness, and authenticity (after I finished my mini-breakdown, stopped crying, and picked myself up off the ground and out of the way of the cows that stood around me wondering why Randy Parker's long lost sister was glassy-eyed and laying in the middle of their snow/poop/sawdust beds). I decided to laugh at myself. I thought about some of the quippy one-liners Dad would've used to describe the mess of a scene that had just occurred behind his barn. I decided to go to my favorite cafe and have my favorite meal. I swallowed all pride and facebook stalked my Danville vet, asking him to call me on a Sunday night to ease my concerns about Willie (which he did within 20 minutes - if you live in the Danville area, I wholeheartedly recommend Heartland Veterinary Hospital; if around here, Brian Dyer was wonderful as well, willing to work on and keep Willie overnight). I took time to be aware. I decided.

Here is some of the awesomeness that helped me...
My barn outfits typically are ridiculous, but I may have set a new standard yesterday morning. I had on: long-sleeved t-shirt, sweatshirt, down vest, Northface-like jacket, coveralls, carhartt jacket, scarf, toboggan, insulated boots, and gloves. And I was still cold. BUT, without said "layers," I would've said much worse things in my head.
It's cliche, but it really was pretty.
Brown's Supply and the recommended magic heat tape are winners.
Isn't it nice when your subject looks directly at you right as you take the picture?
This farm sign, in between Waterview and Glasgow, just makes me smile.
I love exposed brick and hardwood floors. I love mismatched seating. I enjoy eating by myself. I wish I owned Cream & Sugar.
I love the little spill-over hunks on the sides of just-made pancakes.
I love that my sugar substitute was called "Sweet Thing."
I love that I have a "Party in the USA" Pandora station. And, apparentely, no shame.
Why are movies so much better when you unexpectedly find them on TBS? While I think Michael Cera is always endearing, I can't say that "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist" was one of my favorites. Yesterday, though, it was awesome.

1001: Neil Pasricha

2011-01-08T11:23:00.004-06:00

A follow-up to one of my favorite posts...

Spend some time this weekend thinking about attitude, awareness, and authenticity. Take some pictures that reflect "awesome." Tell someone why they should be on your list. Share your weekend with me.

A Festivus For the Rest of Us

2011-01-04T22:15:00.008-06:00

I am a firm believer that my family is probably one of the funniest in the United States. Every Christmas I try to write a poem that captures some of their idiosyncrasies, quirks, and foolish decisions/behaviors/personalities. I hope these give you a glimpse as to why: 1) my family is awesome and 2) the standard "stupid picture Christmas Eve" seems perfectly normal.

2008
"I Liked Last Year’s Better…"

Although it’s been a tough year for a number of different reasons,
We must remember the goodness that seems heightened during the holiday season.
Goodness in the form of puppies, family, new babies, and friends,
Each reminding us that laughter is okay and that hearts are supposed to mend.

So while Mom didn’t give me dancing fodder for the typical Christmas ditty,
I decided to just reflect on a few holiday memories that have made us a bit giddy.
From the classy (and always reverent) pictures taken on those chilly Christmas Eve nights,
To the unwanted guest debacle that quite nearly caused a heartwarming little fist fight.

Let’s start with 206 Virginia Avenue, an abode of great lore.
The home of the multifunctional Santa houseshoe is rarely a bore.
There will be paper plates in the dishwasher and china in the tree;
10 pm, Grandma remains locked in the bathroom with the fruits of her shopping sprees.

Although the blessing will be a step up from anything by Mom or Sherry,
The Turner Christmas is not quite a simple celebration of Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.
For it is gluttony in the form of appetizer and post-it note obsession;
We all relish Mama’s descriptions of the panties, mini-lotions, and socks now in our possession.

It is the immediate family get-togethers, however, that have produced the most memorable Christmas fun;
For Adrienne dancing with walnuts on her eyes indisputably brings joy to everyone.
Dad will hit up Grider “Antiques” the morning just before the big day,
While Mom, Ralphy, and Kenny G keep tradition alive and any sadness at bay.

A wreath on the P.T. Cruiser and twinkling lights in every tree,
Turner Farm simply embodies the Christmas spirit as any passerby could see.
We should thus all feel blessed to be a member of this incredibly funny Nunn/Turner clan,
So charge your camera batteries and put a drink in your hand.

2009
“Music consumes my soul”

Writing Christmas poems is the equivalent of selecting the perfect birthday card.
Will it be a badass mustache or the wispy daisies sprouting in the yard?
Standing in Walgreens or typing on the bed in the one room to which the pups and I have been confined,
I frustratingly debate the all-important question, should I leave sentimentality or stupidity behind?

For Christmas is the time of the year when expectations loom intimidatingly static,
Poems don’t freely ebb and flow like the valuable necessities carefully organized in Jackie’s attic.
Twenty four years ago Glenn Frey skyrocketed to fame for his ditty in Beverly Hills Cop.
“The heat is on,” continues to haunt me a mere twenty four hours before the rib roast drops.

So here we sit, Luce, the Pickle, and me, looking for inspiration in all that we see.
But, alas, the bull-wearing-a-scarf cookie jar or the tipsy glass bunny aren’t really doing it for me.
I am Pat Benatar and I desperately plea for motivation to hit me with its best shot.
I look to the sky, hoping a pseudo Star of Bethlehem will untangle this creative knot.

Then suddenly it happens, the object of intrigue that will frame this annual literary gift.
In my periphery I see a blue streak of hoopie delight which causes my spirits to lift.
“That’s it!” I proclaim, opening my computer, and deviously running Christmas songs through my mind.
Billy superimposed into the Twelve Days of Christmas, a poetic gem, a joyous metaphoric find.

So the fruits of this year’s labor now take a decidedly different turn.
Rhyming mediocrity is finished, yet the rhythm inside my soul continues to burn.
I must “bring it,” therefore, just as Adrienne did for Western’s Mr. Powell.
No applause needed, but get prepared to be wowed.

2010
"Fred’s Really Came Through This Year"

Who doesn’t need a singing sensor-based reindeer from Fred’s?
“What an important question,” the procrastinating muse of Christmas poems once said.
Walk behind and you’d never realize the secret talents the hoofer possessed,
Inversely proportionate to a mullet, it is the front that marks success.

“Where else could this poem go?” You are, probably for good reason, asking.
Will she bring up Charlie Daniels’ Facebook account or the Macy’s multitasking?
Maybe she’ll go on and on about details for which no one cares in the least,
making sure we all feel put-out and annoyed over the course of the Christmas feast.

Nah, perhaps she’ll do some reflection on the meaning of family and friends
Singling out each dinner guest with an ode to the love they foster and tend.
Isabella is pure joy even if she is the roughest sweet pea in the pod,
Her daddy, a man who introduced me to the word “moobs” and who has a brother named Todd.

Isabella’s momma, now there’s a complicated lady.
The only Turner around who secretly loathes precious, innocent, sweet, little Sadie,
The one who has encouraged flu shots to all near and far
Yet, a mother whom I respect and whose devotion will never be marred.

Now, we can’t forget ole Adrienne, the blue-collar laborer of the clan,
All-too-aware that papers don’t write themselves even in the best laid plans.
Copier, cheat, mischievous scalawag if you will,
Or, the vice mayor of Corntown who rules with unyielding zeal.

Last, but certainly not least, the spirited leader of the pack,
JNT embodies all that is Christmas as a matter of fact.
Whether decorating for 68 hours straight or baking bourbon balls for known alcoholics,
She creates an atmosphere of holiday perfection, one dorks might call warmly bucolic.

Oh wait, there’s one more who it seems I have left out
The big guy sitting beside me of which I have no doubts,
He, to his credit, sometimes reminds me of dad, witty, honest and handy
No shock where this one is going….his name is indeed Andy.

So, the poem that started with a Fred’s clearance reindeer finally comes to a close,
Deep in meaning and substance, so the story goes.
Maybe next year I’ll put pen to paper a few days before Christmas Eve,
And create a heartwarming poetic quilt that I’ll be proud to have weaved. …

Until then, though, you get moobs and far-too-obvious name rhyming. I love you all very much. Merry Christmas 2010.

Oh Micheal, said I loved you but I lied

2011-01-04T20:55:00.014-06:00

Last year I resolved to listen to the Avett Brothers...no, I mean really listen. In their song "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise," Scott Avett simply states: "decide what to be and go be it." I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, some sage advice that only the most clever or insightful could come up with; however, it resonated with and inspired me. I stopped doubting myself. I stopped questioning what I knew I wanted. I stopped settling for the gray. I decided what to be...And, I am better for it.

So, for any of you who feel lost - in whatever shape that takes in your own life - I encourage you to download I and Love and You and put #3 on repeat.
***
I am grateful this year to be in a place - both literally and figuratively - where issues of identity are fleeting, if existent at all. I love my life, the people in it, the jobs and responsibilities that keep me busy, the house I share with the boy I love, and the goals that now seem like viable possibilities. So, with that being said, here are a few of my much less significant, but fun-to-think-about, resolutions for 2011...

1. Make cheese. 8 different kinds in fact. Caroline Kraft, this was quite possibly the most exciting Christmas gift I have ever received.
2. Host a Murder Mystery Dinner at our house.
3. Run a half-marathon.
4. Attend a concert, play, or lecture every month. Upcoming events: February - Peking Acrobats; March - Michael Bolton (Mom's birthday gift. That's right, I said Michael Bolton.)
5. Do CLT proud - try to break a horse by myself.
6. Learn how to make Mom's sourdough bread. And actually feed the starter when I'm supposed to.
7. Submit at least one poem and one essay to one state and one national publication.
8. Read at least 3 works of fiction. Finish the Sandra Brown book Vickie and Terry picked out for me by the end of January.
9. Save enough money to go to Europe with Caroline!!
10. Visit friends who I enjoy so much and miss tremendously, but with whom I have not spent quality time in years: Trina, Melinda, Meredith, get your couches ready.

Happy 2011!

Turner Farm: In the Kentucky Tradition

2010-12-21T15:54:00.006-06:00

Dad's office in the barn was the standard spare room mishmash of horse antibiotics, binoculars, magazines, fishing poles, deer antlers, and a whole host of other necessities. I was pilfering around in early October, looking specifically for a couple of blankets that Dad's favorite horse, Cotton's Last Hope, had won in the early 1980s, and I ended up stumbling across a file with information relating to one of his first horses, Go Red Jet. Inside I found pictures, a typed note from the previous owners, magazine write-ups, and most importantly, a hand-written description that Dad had apparently submitted to various publications. The above ad was based on this particular note (second page seen at right), which although had been chewed on by some office critter, was, for the most part, in tact. I love that it is printed and simply on 8X11 notebook paper, I love that he uses phrases like "superior disposition and confirmation," I love that he included Mom as "owner." Most importantly, I am thankful for the love of animals, farm, and family that we saw every day in Dad.

Tater tots.

2010-12-14T20:17:00.010-06:00

The editors of Real Simple recently asked readers to "share the little stuff that brings them joy," based on the assumption that "everyday moments and objects pack a powerful emotional punch."

Whereas Charles Schulz (the example provided by the magazine) defined happiness, nearly 50 years ago, "as a warm puppy, an umbrella, and a side dish of French fries," here are a few of my own explanations...

1. I love first getting to know someone and sensing that you would be friends. I do believe Fran Smith is one of the wittiest and most creative people I've met (or been reacquainted with) in a long time. Here are a few of the cards that she was thoughtful enough to make for me (personalized cards and stationary are a wonderful gift; if you're looking for handmade presents, always consider this a viable option).

2. Hearing the history of a dessert (the recipe creator, ingredients used, the baker) and then enjoying it without guilt. Ex. The sampling of peanut butter balls, death-by-chocolate cake, and cookie from Annie Ruby's today...Why I didn't feel guilty is beyond me.

3. Shaved or crushed ice. I love fountain drinks from Minit Mart for this very reason.

4. Watching Tucker (dog) and Sadie (cat) sleep in the living room chair together. And, watching Mom scoot over in fear she might crowd the two.

5. Tater tots.

6. Trying your homemade wine and realizing it's actually not too bad. Incredibly strong, but not bad.

7. Getting an unexpected email that simply has one, "just had you on my mind," clever or thoughtful sentence.

8. Realizing that someone really likes something that you enjoy (not a bit vague), but that you assumed few people knew about or would be interested in.

9. Being really happy with whatever you order at a restaurant (recommendation: Fish Tacos from Garcia's in Glasgow).

10. Having stamp options. I love it when I can pick between 3 or 4 designs.

11. Having someone cover you up, but first flicking the sheet or blanket a couple of times.

12. Those mornings when you put on mascara without getting it above or below your eye. Bonus: The lashes actually look perfectly separated.

13. Having lunch with your significant other.

14. When someone calls you by name, someone who you didn't imagine knew who you were.

15. Hoodies.
***
A great idea also in the newest Real Simple: Frame a pretty piece of fabric or paper, then write temporary to-dos on the glass with a dry-erase marker.
***
Semi-home made...
Start with hot cocoa mix of choice. Doctor it up...
1. Broil 3 marshmallows in the broiler or a toaster oven until just golden, about 30 seconds. Mix the hot cocoa with 3 tablespoons malted milk powder. Top with the marshmallows.
2. Top the hot cocoa with 1/4 cup mint chocolate chip ice cream and 1 spring fresh mint.
3. Mix the hot cocoa with one pinch ground chipotle chili pepper and one pinch of ground Cinnamon. Top with 2 tablespoons sweetened whipped cream. Sprinkle an additional pinch of chili pepper and cinnamon on top.

Chopping Cabbage and Smoking Cigarettes

2010-12-11T18:35:00.016-06:00

Last night I actually used the phrase "chaps my ass." I'm not sure I have ever put those three words side-by-side in a sentence in my life.

What makes me giggle is that I honestly thought that there wouldn't be many people in Wal-Mart. Turns out, two weeks before Christmas, on a weekend night, and mere hours before possible snow, people shop. Go figure.

Just a reminder that shopping locally not only helps support community businesses, saves gas, and in my case, saves money, but ultimately, piddling around local shops makes patience and sanity a little easier to come by during the holidays.

Some more local finds...
Pat Ritter and Gary Cooper are both amazing artists. Check out their webpage for shots of Pat's paintings and Gary's woodworking projects: http://www.artmusic.net/index.html. I don't want to ruin the surprise; I'm keeping my order a secret.
Find a pretty ornament (this one picked up at Main 210) and do your own decorations. Nothing says sophistication like a big, puffy Santa and an assortment of yellow "ho ho ho"s.

Custom framing is always a good option. Stop by and see Charlotte and Danny Cash at The Square Corner on Hwy. 90 east. Mrs. Cash has some wonderful matted photos and drawings for sale as well (plus, it is just a beautiful home and farm).
I found this pocket photo album at the Dollar Store for an actual dollar (I love that nearly everything in there is more than $1) and had some photos developed and enlarged at Morgan's Medicine. Save one sleeve of the album for a favorite poem, song, or personal note.

Lucy and Willie are getting new dog beds from Fred's this year alongside some homemade treats from a dog cookbook a dear friend gave to us last year.
Since my boyfriend no longer reads Pillow Book, it won't hurt to show this. He loves to eat crap. He "is red." Hence, lots of balls of red sugar and sugar-coated nuts from Kountry Kitchen for his stocking.
A $1 tie and two, $3 shirts from the Methodist Opportunity Store.

*I am also getting something monogrammed at Country Peddler (I'll show pictures when it's finished), stopped by Grider Flea Market to check out cookie jars (Dad got me, Leigh Ann, and Mom all one several years ago and it remains one of my favorite Christmas presents of all time), explored Brown's Supply for stocking stuffers, listen to the Swap Shop every morning and write down numbers for people who have hens and roosters, and asked an incredibly creative local card designer to possibly do a few for me to include with a gift.

Let me know if you have other suggestions!

The Sign Ain't Playin' - Cumberland Co. Really IS the Best Kept Secret in Kentucky

2010-12-04T19:35:00.023-06:00

A few of my favorites from my Cumberland County Christmas shopping... (I still have several "colors" that need to be addressed; will likely be a Part II to this post)
Above: Methodist Opportunity Store - $3.00 for two tea cups and matching saucers; Below: Same store, $.25/tin (plan to do some trail mix, Christmas cookies, and various goodies dipped in chocolate)

Smith's Pharmacy has a wide selection of Christmas cards for 50-75% off. Save some money and go this route, but personalize with your favorite poem, lyric, family update, child's drawing, or joke on the inside. Call Caroline - bet she has some classic holiday jokes worked up.
For a $10 donation to the Cumberland County Public Library, get yourself one of these cute t-shirts. Black and olive tote bags (that simply say "Cumberland County Public Library") are also available (you could fill them with someone's favorite book, a candle, neck pillow, hot cocoa mix, magazine subscription card, etc.). Added bonus...You get a chance to check out new books, DVDs, and magazines. Plus, I hear the Director is really cool.
"Bella Baby" products are a good idea for girls of all ages.
The cutting boards/trivets, handcrafted by Sherman McCoy, are some of my favorites. I suggest giving one of these alongside the homemade wine you're making and some specialty cheese or homemade bread from Kountry Kitchen.
I found these ramekins at what used to be "J's Discount" for $1.00 a piece. I plan to include these in a gift box accompanied by recipe cards for individual desserts and a spice medley from Kountry Kitchen.
Above: Some of the neat things I found at Main Street 210. I paid $12 for the beautiful scarf, $8.00 for the baking dish, and .$20 for the ornaments (which Andy and I plan to paint designs and a message on). Below: This may not make it into a gift package...I love the stained glass I stumbled across at MS 210 (less than $10!).

I absolutely adore everything I found at the Yellow Ribbon Trading Post in Marrowbone. For $12, I got the vase, three incense holders, homemade pumpkin butter (made by a Cumb. Co. resident), homemade candle, and two coffee mugs (which may not make it into a gift either).

I also got a fantastic deal on a gift item I picked up at Anderson's Cowboy Store, I found another coffee mug at Smith's (red and orange with an initial on the front - plan to fill it with pumpkin pie biscotti for my "orange" recipient), and spulrged on a pair of jeans for myself at Millie's for $7.

While you're out and about, I suggest that you go to the news office to check out the paintings Billy Guffey will have on sale for the next couple of weeks and then cross the street and swing in Annie Ruby's for a chocolate chip cookie/buttercream icing sandwich. Finish your day with whimsical socks and Love Actually.

Happy shopping!