the junk in my head

Some nights are sleepless and filled with strange dreams (like your mouth full of stitches because your gums are all rearranged; thanks E! Television). I woke up confused and exhausted, my eyes squinty and my brain in denial that morning had indeed come.

Luckily this doesn't happen very often, because when it does every cell in my body wants to abort the wake up mission, and return to bed. Stat.

Some days are a foggy blur of people talking, working on 'stuff' and going through the motions (wake up, eat, work, walk, gym, eat). I'm focused entirely on getting through to Then when I can roll my sleepy self into bed and curl up, with my pillow scrunched up just so. In the meantime, I have to do a job and drive around running errands. It's dumb, really.

Tonight I'll wear earplugs and ignore the night sounds that kept me up last night. I'll try not notice when the dog starts wagging his tail at 6:30am for his walk. I'll look away from the "Top 20 Best and Worst Plastic Surgeries" or whatever other disturbing show is on TV at the gym.

I swear. I'll do at least two out of three.

sleepy hedgehog courtesy of petsblog

sleepy kitten courtesy of wailoong.com

wanderlust-me-not

There is a literary magazine I've often enjoyed titled The Sun. It is filled with poetry, short stories, Reader's Write, photographs, and interviews with interesting people affecting our world. On the last page they choose a theme and quote writers and philosophers, and it is this page I've turned to first, loving the commentaries on many of life's themes.

I just found out they have a book of these Sunbeams that take you "on a journey through innocence and experience, love and loss, disillusionment and awakening. Along the way you'll find words that inspire as well as challenge; that celebrate the beauty around us without ignoring the injustices in our midst."

Here are a few I recently re-discovered:

Wandering reestablishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.

-Anatole France

Travel does what good novelists also do to the life of everyday, placing it like a picture in a frame or a gem in its setting, so that the intrinsic qualities are made more clear. Travel does this with the very stuff that everyday life is made of, giving to it the sharp contour and meaning of art.

-Freya Stark

People travel to faraway places to watch in fascination the kind of people they ignore at home.

-Dagobert D. Runes

If you lived in your heart, you'd be home by now.

-anonymous

quoting bambi

"I like flowers" is sort of a theme of mine. I notice them wherever I go, I seek them out as I walk through our neighborhood, and I take photos of the ones I'd like to know more about.

These photos are of a Pink Flowering Currant, and we had one on our property growing up. We called it the Fairy Tree, because it bloomed each spring in the forest nowhere near any other flowers, and seemed magical with it's bright, tiny blossoms.

I like to imagine my eventual garden (the one I'll have when I grow up) and picture a wild-looking place filled with indigenous plants and pretty stone pathways weaving in between. This garden will be quiet and peaceful, with birds chirping and a bench for sipping tea. There will be cherry and apple trees, hellebore, ranunculus, and maybe some non-invasive bamboo. I'd like to look out my kitchen window, smile, and think to myself how well things are growing, and how green and pretty my garden is.

toes on beach

Friday, half way through the work day.

I'm dying inside. The whole world is in the tropics right now (well, at least six people that I know) enjoying perfect air, beaches, water, and delicious food. I can almost feel the breeze...

Friday, one minute past half way through the work day.

Wishing my toes were on a beach somewhere.

i killed mao

First, I'd like to note that neither of the people who own the fish are Chairman Mao enthusiasts.

Now, for my story:

A week ago two people who own a tiny fish asked me to care for it. The fish's name is Chairman Mao. I believe it started out as a joke, and then the name stuck. He is about 1" long and thinner than a pencil, he is orange-yellow, and has a little bump or curve in the middle of his belly area. Not sure what happened there, but he seems fine and swims around dabbling in new swim techniques and waiting for food from on high.

Anyway, Chairman Mao's fish-parents were leaving for nearly a month, and rather than ask me to drop by their house every few days, they suggested I drive the fish and his bowl to my house and care for him there. It sounded easy enough, and he was an active, fun sort of fish, so I said, "Sure, no problem, sounds great!"

Stupid me.

I got him home, and he was a little worn out after the 1 1/2 hour ride (it turned out we had to drive one of the fish-parents to the airport with the fish in tow), but he was swimming around and seemed curious about his new surroundings.

The next day I woke up and went to check on him. He was no longer swimming around up top, but down amongst the rocks and was actually bumping his head into the bottom of the tank. And, he was also no longer only slightly curved. He looked like a zigzag.

I moved him into a warmer room, and fed him a little.

A week passed, he kept acting more and more strangely, finally digging himself in between the rocks into the narrowest gap he could find. And when I came home yesterday, Chairman Mao had died. He had squeezed himself in so tight! I watched him up close for a couple of minutes to see if I could catch a glimpse of his little fish lips opening and closing, but no. He was gone.

I'm going to go ahead and say he was not well to begin with. I mean, what kind of fish swims around with a curve in his belly? And slams his head into the bottom of his fish bowl? Was he trying to go up and got confused?

I feel bad, but I did give him a nice little memorial service as I put him in the compost crock on top of some old strawberries and a slice of lemon. At least he went out with some fruit.

after the road

Two years, one month, and twenty days ago we left San Diego, California on a motorcycle and rode to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I've been reading through our old 'Two for the Road' blog posts, flashing on so many memories and reliving our adventures. What an experience!

For a couple of only 2 1/2 years at the time, I'm pretty impressed that we risked the 24 hours a day together for six months! It turned out to be amazing, and I wistfully dream of heading out on the road again.

Recently, we realized that we can remember each individual day of the trip, but last Tuesday is a blur.

We took 13,000 photos over 6 months and are working on a book of photos and stories that is slowly but surely starting to come together. So, since I'm feeling a little nostalgic, I thought I'd share our "Two for the Road" blog today, and some of the photos we posted along the way.

Album 1

Album 2

where home is

Every day I drive by a once-beautiful old house that went up in flames in December. I've seen it since the day after, when everything was still soggy from the fire truck hoses, it's many windows burned out, a highchair fried and crispy sitting on the porch, every door gone, and giant holes in the roof.

After a week or so a wire fence went up, and pieces slowly disappeared. The siding was mostly removed, and dumpsters were filled with the wreckage inside. Today as I headed in to work, there was an excavator digging at it, and half the house was gone, leaving a blackened half-husk where home used to be.

It made me think (as many things seem to do) what is home? And where?

After riding on a motorcycle for 6 months and through 12 countries, rarely staying in any place for more than one night, (and with a bag about the size of a grocery sack), I learned that for me home is wherever I am, and sometimes who I am with. It is the love I have cultivated with family and friends, and the feeling that wherever I am, I am home.

Don't get me wrong, I have been known to form strong attachments to things. Things like vintage hat boxes and dresses, travel photos, my favorite books, pretty dishes and aprons. But I learned after a rather brutal separation with all of what I considered my 'home' that these things merely surround me in a comfortable and aesthetically pleasing way. They do not make me homeless by not existing.

Well, unless my house burns down.

Which makes me wonder if I'd feel the same if my things were taken suddenly by fire or theft, and not simply sold or tucked away in a storage unit.

I'm thinking probably almost definitely most likely not. But I'm glad I had a chance to see what it felt like.

The Ballard House Fire, and Engine 21 out of Greenwood.

deviations

Some days I have very little enthusiasm for things other than making it through the work day, getting home to my book, my pup (who will be expecting his evening walk) and perhaps cooking up some steamed artichoke with brown basmati rice. (Remember, I'm on my health kick.)

Last night came and went, and I may have deviated from the health plan.

Last night I had enthusiasm for eating a delicious pot roast complete with mashed potatoes, cauliflower and carrots. I enjoyed my meal with a pint (or two) of Guinness. And after dinner, there was more Guinness.
After Guinness, I imbibed a nice little dessert of Bailey's Irish Cream. I thank you, yes, dear bartenderess.

Somewhere in the middle of it all I enjoyed some green PBR which is evidenced by this photo of a green pitcher of beer-like substance, and the lingering green stains on my right index finger and thumb.

Happy Day-after St Patrick's Day. I hope yours was as good as mine, and that like me, you suffered no serious repercussions.

things related to today

It being St Patrick's Day, I decided to hunt around for photos of Irish Soda Bread (which is delicious), Guinness draught beer (also delicious), and any cool item of green clothing that stood out. First, I typed "pretty green shirt," and this crazy guy came up (see photo above). The second thing I typed in was "green dress."

The first image of a green dress that caught my eye was from the film "Atonement" with Kiera Knightley. Apparently, this dress was recently voted "Best Film Costume of All Time" by Sky Movies and InStyle readers?! Wow.

As a designer I have to admit I love the dress: the color, the drape, the lovely fluttering silk? Hard to resist. But the Best of All Time? Seems a little bold. Regardless, it's very pretty, and constitutes my St Patrick's Day green. Which I'm not wearing. But secretly wish I were. Even a little bit like a bracelet would be better than the absolute zero green that I am adorned with.

It begs the question: is it a little bit sad that I stocked up on Guinness and had a nice healthy slice of Irish soda bread but didn't bother to wear green?

Irish Soda Bread at Ladybird Bakery
Guinness from Robert Love "economics, technology, and wolves"
Costume designer Jacqueline Durran'sThe Green Dress
Pretty green shirt at champagne-vision

nom nom nom

As I begin a wonderful health overhaul, cooking delicious healthy dinners and making sure there are delicious healthy leftovers for the next day's lunch, my thoughts turn to tasty treats like Cadbury mini eggs. They only come once a year, but this year they seemed to come early!
Which is wonderful. And dangerous.


None of these edible delights have yet to cross the threshold of our house, and I can't help but wonder: would it be soooo bad?

And here's why:

1. They're tiny.

2. They're delicious.

3. I like to crack them in half.

While searching for some pretty photos of these alluring treats, I came across the following quotes:

"Happiness is.... munching my way through a bag of Cadbury mini eggs."

"Love me some Cadbury mini eggs."

"What is this? Drugs??!! I said mini eggs!" Which of course meant I had to post this funny comic by John Christian Perkins.

I have now added "head to store for Cadbury mini eggs" to my calendar. Not literally, but I'm pretty sure it's there if you look close enough.

*Blue eggs in a nest photos by Jessica Bishop.

wafers in a tin

Someone recently gave me a wonderful collection of four vintage jars (one of which may be 1850's vintage) which this someone had in his garage, getting dusty. Each one is different, all are in beautiful condition, and all are useful!

Little did he know that I love vintage jars. I have several from a very thrilling trip to Oregon where I wandered into an antique shop and happened upon them. They are lovely, their zinc tops lined in white 'war' glass. They sit pretty on the counter filled with different grains (right now quinoa, brown basmati, and amaranth). I have them displayed proudly, and every time I see them I get a little giggly and think to myself how great they are.

And they're just jars!

As thanks for the vintage pretties, I made cream wafers for which I found a recipe from a family who had been making them for forty years. They are delicious, very not-good for you, and so fun to make. I'd share the recipe if you asked me, but for now I'll share a photo.

the wimp in me

We went cross-country 'Nordic' skiing over the weekend. I rented my gear. This was a huge mistake. The bonus was that it was super inexpensive compared to downhill ski rentals (think a quarter of the price), the gear is much lighter (think a quarter of the weight), and the groomed trails out at Hyak in Snoqualmie were fantastic! We saw maybe two people an hour, which meant we basically had the beautiful, falling snow and untouched snowy forested mountain to ourselves. Pristine! Plus, it wasn't too cold and it was actively snowing all day. Wonderful.

The down side? Oh, the down side.

My rentals were rentals. The boots were so excruciatingly uncomfortable that I literally have bruised ankles (yes, both), and blisters the size of quarters, wait nickels, on both heels. I really tried not to complain too much, because my wonderful cross-country ski companion was being so supportive and trying to show me a good time, and I really love the snow.

But then I waited too long to have a snack. I'm thinking about 2 hours too long. So then I was a bit grumpy, and being hungry and grumpy meant I was no longer really trying to be tough and just get into it and go for it. That's when I met the wimp in me.

Don't get the wrong impression: I've met the wimp in me before. But I really don't like her. She whines and sometimes she cries, and it's not pretty. I was pretty gung-ho about being tough and having fun no matter the situation with my ankles and heels... and then I wasn't anymore. Gung-ho me got punched in the stomach by the wimp in me, and the wimp in me won.

So, after many adjustments to my socks (I'd wear two pair next time), and a few stops to write "Love" in the snow, we had a snack under a tree just as the ski patrol were heading down off the mountain. We had some apples and tasty Beechers raw cheese (yummmm), some crackers and trail mix. I felt a little better, and actually cracked a couple of jokes as we packed the food away. My sweet ski companion laughed (luckily) and commented on how ridiculous it is that I can't tell yet when I've passed hungry and headed straight into crazy-hungry land. I'm working on it, but sometimes it's hard to tell until it's too late. I giggled and whizzed by (there was a slope) excited to head home for a meal and a hot bath.

And as we headed down the mountain, the wimp in me whined, "Are we there yet?"

bags with purpose

How useful are fanny packs?

They seem very useful. They strap on to your body at a very convenient location that frees your arms and legs, they can be worn on the front, back, or side depending on your particular fancy, and they can hold quite a lot depending on what model you get. Everyone loves pockets, and pockets with zippers: even better!

I passed a woman today that had a fanny pack on front and a backpack on back! She wore a nice combination of a floral shirt, puffy jacket, sweatpants (in a rich rose color) and a knit scarf wrapped stylishly around her neck and tucked into the top of her floral shirt. Her shoes were a delightful vintage high-top, very stylishly un-laced, and she was definitely rocking her over-size glasses. I felt she had the right idea, set for anything, and properly balanced with her obviously heavy bags.

It made me think: Why don't more of us use this handy and inventive pack? Is it the word 'fanny' that keeps us from utilizing such a multi-purpose and comfortable style item? Is it the oddly placed bulge that gets immediately associated with a sort of social awkwardness? I have to admit, I myself do not often connect fanny pack in my mind with 'cool' 'suave' or 'chic.'

And so I did a search.

I came across this taxidermy with a twist by Carlee Fernandez, this runway model with her special pack, this stylish bon vivant with her fanny pack-meets-belt combo, and even a funny comic referring to these much beloved packs. Who wouldn't love one of these for their birthday? (And yes, I would like to see what you have in there!)

As one writer put it: "All I’m saying is take note because you can never stick a pin in cool, but at this moment cool is sitting right on top of uncool’s head, they’re both wearing fanny packs, one neon green, and one is velvet."

I used to have a fanny pack. It was purple, had neon green zippers and a large black plastic buckle. It was made of high quality acrylic, had a great assortment of pockets, and you know, I never really used it to its full potential. I wish I had it packed away somewhere. I might try and rock it. The 80's are totally back, right?

um, you're awfully loud

We're taking care of a little Silky Australian Terrier named Cheeks. She's a handful, and she weighs 3 lbs. She makes our 2 1/2 year old pup look like an angel, which is rather fun considering he is often not an angel, and he weighs 50 lbs.

We have two webcams at home (someone in our household likes tech toys) and we can check in to see what trouble the dogs are causing while we're at work.

Here's what we found:

Check one: Both dogs were sleeping near each other, very sweet and peaceful.

Check two: Big dog Sascha was up on his step (we keep a wooden box for him by the window so he can step up and look out at passersby) and tiny Cheeks was barking.

Check three: Sascha was in his bed, looking at Cheeks, who was sitting on the back of the couch staring out the window and barking. He seemed to be saying, "Um, you're awfully loud." It was either that or "If you continue in this irritating manner I may have to eat you."

I haven't checked the webcam in several hours, and am counting on walking in the door to Angel Sascha, not "Sorry, it had to be done."

Oh, and yes, the walls are purple. No, we did not choose the color, and yes, I will be painting as soon as possible.

the farmer in me

Today doesn't feel like a writing, thinking sort of day. My socks are still wet from running out for lunch in an impressive torrent of rain, I have a lot of work to do, and only 45 minutes left to do it in.

However, I did want to say something about living on farms and how I really have no idea what that's like or how hard the work is (early early mornings!) but sometimes I dream of it. I think my farm dream is mostly about lots of craft time, cooking, wearing pretty vintage aprons, and reading books. I'd like to have honey bees, and horses. Little pigs would be nice, and maybe some chickens. While I'm at it, I may as well have a cow.

I picture a long, wide porch, and big picture windows. Pretty candles burning on the mantel, and a big, beautiful kitchen with one of those butcher-block counters...

Apparently my farm-dreams are more about a lovely farmhouse vacation than anything else. *sigh*

I'm okay with that.

layers

Last night I made enchiladas.

Actually, that's a lie. They weren't technically enchiladas; they weren't rolled, they were layered, and the ingredients were a "creative" combination of truffle mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, green enchilada sauce, sauteed mushrooms, black beans, black olives and cheese. Sharp cheddar, to be specific. Oh, and of course corn tortillas.

I used to make rolled enchiladas, carefully heating each tortilla in hot oil, and purposefully wrapping measured ingredients into each one, stacking them against one another until the pan was full. They looked pretty, and servings were easy to measure out. At some point, I started layering them (it takes far less time) and adding different ingredients such as rice sauteed with ancho chile powder and corn, chicken with thyme, tamari, and ginger... I tried different cheeses, green sauce instead of red, and found the perfect baking dish that is probably meant for small casseroles (it even has a lid for storing in the fridge). I bake them uncovered for about 45 minutes at 400 degrees, till the cheese on top is bubbling.

My enchiladas are no longer truly enchiladas. They are difficult to serve (rather sloppy, actually) and typically look like someone put the ingredients in a blender. But, they are delicious. I guess when it comes down to it, no one cares how pretty the garnish is or how dressed up the food looks, as long as it tastes good.

I still like it to look pretty, but I make an exception for those layers of goodness. A little scoop of plain yogurt sometimes helps...

really very strange

Sunday was not a typical day for me. I wasn't feeling great, so I missed out on the Cross-Country ski adventure, and so planned on tidying house, organizing 'things', and not much more than that.

Oh, how things did not go as planned. First, my house- and car-keys went on a drive in the wrong car, and it was nearly 3 hours before I could catch up to them and get back inside my house. Luckily, it was a beautiful day and my nearly three hours of sitting outside in the yard were pretty comfortable. My dog was outside with me, and I was catching up on world news thanks to my luxury item a.k.a. smart telephone device.

Without going into an overly-detailed account: I was interrupted by one of the strangest events I've ever witnessed. This included a neighbor, who I now think may be mentally deranged, utilizing her back stoop as, well, a poop-stoop. It wasn't pretty. I'd like to tell you how not-pretty it was, but my life has been irrevocably altered by what occurred and there's really no reason for you to have to share in the same misery.

Suffice it to say, I am now considering calling some sort of citizens care hotline, just to see if someone with some sort of credentials will go and check in on That Neighbor. It's concerning, and makes me wonder if perhaps this normal-looking neighbor's house is actually, really very strange inside. What else is going on in there? Do I want to know? Or should I just tell the story and pretend I didn't see anything when I walk out to get the mail.

fare well, dear

Wishing you a peaceful journey, Grandma Peggy.

May your path rise up to greet you, and may you feel all of the love sent your way. Many thanks for the game cupboard, the golf cart rides, and many delightful hours in your swimming pool. You are part of my summer memories for as long as I can remember. Thinking of you, in this, your last adventure...

if home were a stone...

...it would look like this.

I don't usually post twice in one day, but this incredible house in Portugal made my jaw drop.

As I poked around on trendir.com, dreaming of my one-day home (eco cottage, Danish architecture, desert/mountain/seaside, loft, studio, three story with ladders... I'm open) there it was. It feels like stepping into a storybook.

electrochef

I love to cook. Sometimes just pizza with interesting vegetables on top (steamed cauliflower is surprisingly delicious!) and sometimes I like to experiment. I've played with truffle oil, aged balsamic vinegar, used blueberries as a garnish for baked chicken, and added green chiles to seared, sliced polenta. I discovered that cooking without salt lets out a whole spectrum of new flavors (and I looooove salt!).

After years of cooking on gas stoves, I've been learning to cook on electric. It was not a delightful beginning (you mean I have to figure out how hot Medium is, I can't just look at how high the flames are?!), but after some weeks or months (I'll not be telling you exactly how long) I've finally gotten the hang of it. Water continues to boil on my 1970's stove top just below Medium, Warm means Hot, and High means "I'm coming to kill whatever it is you're trying to cook."

I've cooked in restaurants using exotic 12-burner tops and even one-burner camping stoves, learning from great chefs who taught me some of their secrets. One thing I learned was to deviate from the recipe and try an extra pinch of this or that, to use the recipe as a guideline but mostly as an inspiration for new culinary creations. This can come in handy when you happen to be missing one or two ingredients...

And so I come to the point:

In life, it's easy to follow what's written down and make something delicious. What's not so easy is when we encounter something missing, such as a key ingredient and are still expected to have something edible and perhaps even wonderful in the end. I like to think that as I look back on all the meals I've shared, that I can sit happy knowing I made the most delicious dish I could with what I was given, and with what I happened to find sitting around in the bottom drawer of my fridge.

a bit crunchy

Today is all about vintage buttons and ribbons. Why? Who cares. But I'll tell you anyway.

It all started with a computer test that included the note, "This crazy guy eats buttons." Or something to that effect.