Chez Danisse

My plum (scarf), it's done!

2009-11-03T10:22:00.000-08:00

My new plum scarf. Completed November 3, 2009.

I have been putting this poor scarf on hold for what seems an eternity. First it was tabled so I could knit a hat for Chris (my first circular needle project). I used an interesting blue and grey yarn he selected from Art Fibers. The hat ended up being several sizes too large, but that's beside the point. It was still a fine hat, albeit rather large. Then I put my scarf on hold again to knit little Hadley a sweet peanut-sized cotton scarf. I used another lovely Art Fibers yarn, it looked like the sky on a near-clear day. Next, I knit a scarf for Mom. I used a beautiful cream-colored Be Sweet yarn that I bought during a "yarn tasting" at Bluebird Yarn in Sausalito. There was also the scarf I knit for myself with large needles and a wonderful Japanese yarn I found at Greenwich Yarn. The needles were very big, so I could knit it quickly and get back to my delicate little plum scarf, but then I started a striped scarf for Chris... Finally, I put the striped scarf on hold to work on my very own plum scarf.

Today I completed my plum scarf. I am so pleased! It is made from a gorgeous 76% silk 19% superkid mohair 5% wool yarn I selected from Art Fibers before they left their San Francisco location. It's beautiful and it feels fantastic.

But why is the sun shining so brightly and why is the forecast showing a high of 78 degrees in San Francisco today? Sigh...

Like a Lullabye

2009-11-01T06:20:00.000-08:00

Tulips, 2006

It was a dark day
so much cold
so little light.

It shifted so quickly.

Like a butcher
wrapping
a piece of my soul
neatly
in plain white paper

and departing
with it cradled
like a football
close to the chest.

Leaving me
incomplete
as if I’d never been finished.
But I had--
I’d been finished
and even rebuilt.

I didn’t want to go
but they arrived
in the midst of my darkness
and brought a ball of bright.
So warm
so nice

and they carried me away
softly
quietly.

Like a lullabye.

I prefer men to cauliflowers.

2009-10-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

Lounging Cauliflower, 2009

Like Ms Woolf, I too prefer men to cauliflowers, but when it's roasted cauliflowers we are discussing, well, the competition stiffens. I've been meaning to roast cauliflower for quite some time now. Yesterday, I decided it was an activity that could no longer be delayed.

The Tuesday Market didn't have any cauliflower, but Farm Fresh to You, inside the Ferry Building, had two choices: 1) A nice traditional white head of cauliflower wrapped in plastic 2) An uninhibited green head, no plastic jacket. I chose the green. There's just something I find off-putting about plastic-wrapped produce. This distaste for plastic-wrapped produce is one of the main reasons I haven't visited Trader Joe's in a while. The Tuesday Market did supply me with an inspirational bunch of young leeks. With cauliflower and leeks in hand, and a few other items I knew I had in my kitchen, I decided to construct a pizza.

Roasted Cauliflower, Caramelized Leek, and Crispy Pancetta Pizza
(serves 2)

1/2 recipe of this pizza dough, or enough for a rectangular pizza the size of a small cookie sheet (Store the other half in the refrigerator for your next pizza.)
One small head of cauliflower (Any color will do.) sliced lengthwise into 3/4 inch slices
3 thin slices of pancetta, diced
1/2 head roasted garlic
4 small leeks, sliced thin and slowly caramelized in generous amount of olive oil
A very small amount of cheese (I used a few curls pulled with a vegetable peeler from a block of Marin Cheese sharp white cheddar. No one ever uses cheddar on pizza and I wanted to give it a go. Chris agreed.)
Olive oil (Keep bottle on counter, you'll need it.)
Salt & Pepper (I happened to have Fleur de Sel and freshly ground black pepper.)

Roast a head of garlic if you don't have one on hand, actually, roast two and save one for later.

Read your dough recipe and allow yourself some leisurely time to prepare. It's quite simple, but it takes a while.

You can pre-cook the rest of the ingredients ahead of time or wait until your last dough rising cycle and begin then.

Rub both sides of your cauliflower slices with olive oil, place on cookie sheet, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for about 20 minutes, turning once. If you end up with some smallish pieces of cauliflower, wait about 10 minutes to add them to the cookie sheet. This will avoid burning. Your cauliflower should brown a bit on both sides. Set aside and let cool to room temperature.

Saute pancetta in a little olive oil until lightly crisped. Don't overcook because it will crisp up a bit more on the pizza. Move pancetta from pan to a small bowl or plate. Do not drain on paper. Do not wash pan.

Add a bit more olive oil to your saute pan (the same one you used for the pancetta) and add sliced leeks. Slowly caramelize your leeks and let them cool to room temperature in pan.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees.

Break up roasted cauliflower and add to leeks in pan. Toss leeks and cauliflower and add additional salt and pepper to taste (remember...pancetta is salty).

Press dough into cookie sheet, out to the edges of the pan.

Smear cloves of soft roasted garlic onto the dough with your hands--a bit here, a bit there.

Evenly sprinkle leek and cauliflower mixture on top of garlic.

Scatter pancetta on top of leeks and cauliflower (don't wash the bowl).

Pull a few curls of cheese and place on top.

Dip your fingers into the pancetta bowl and rub on all of the exposed crust showing around the edges of the toppings.

Bake for about 10 minutes or until crust begins to turn light brown. If the toppings start looking too brown before the crust turns brown, cover them with a sheet of foil.

Remove from oven, cool for a few minutes, and EAT!

Use the other half of your dough later in the week for a roasted red pepper, feta, and chicken Italian sausage pizza. That's what I'll be doing...

Yes, this takes a little time, but it's fun, and remember--don't let your priorities get in the way of your priorities.

Things I Learned Later

2009-10-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

From Barbara Jean's Collection, 2009

the lost
description
of a nectarine
yes,
a smooth skinned peach

his dancing
on Halloween
with her
before Lisa was born

fainting
at the sight
of his sister’s
first needle
before she was my godmother, before she left us,

and the bridge
to the lighthouse
he could not cross

Everything old is new again.

2009-10-23T09:46:00.001-07:00

Late October, 2009

This new light, it makes everything feel so different.

Pimp My Blog

2009-10-20T10:03:00.000-07:00

preserve, 2009

blog·o·sphere / ˈblägəˌsfi(ə)r/ • n. the world of weblogs.

If you are here, you are probably a member, at least in some small way, of this club we call the blogosphere.

How is it working out for you?

I have had my ups and downs, but I think I might finally be adjusting to this new method of communication and idea sharing. My largest problem is a good one. It's you. Access to this international forum is enabling me to find too many thought provoking individuals sharing their ideas and images in blog format. I'm referring to those of you who post on your own blog and those of you who don't write your own blog, but participate by sharing your thoughts and ideas in comments sections.

I'm currently managing this forum via Google Reader and have recently implemented computer-free Saturday. As this forum of intriguing individuals grows I'm sure we will all be seeking new ways to adjust to the volume. I know that I don't want to spend so much time reading about the lives of others that the life I live begins to shrink. I want to focus on my priorities and preserve what is most important in my life. For me, spending hours per day in front of any magic screen hinders this pursuit. As beautiful as this blogosphere may be, it also has its beast of burden qualities (...thinking Oh, what about breakfast? at 11 o'clock).

I just read some interesting statistics, a sneak preview of Technorati's State of the Blogosphere 2009 report. For instance, 2/3 of professional bloggers are male. Really? This surprised me. Professional bloggers are a well-educated bunch, 75% have college degrees and 40% have graduate degrees. 72% of the 2900 surveyed blog for hobby/fun and don't make money. Optimistically, 63% say they have become more involved with what they are passionate about as a result of blogging and only a tiny 6% say relationships with family or friends are suffering.

Of course, Twitter was also mentioned. 73% of bloggers surveyed use Twitter versus 14% of the general population. I'm sure you've heard or read that microblogging services such as Twitter are replacing traditional blogging. This might be true for a few, but this article claims that statistically, it just isn't so. They say the #1 reason bloggers are on Twitter is to promote their blogs, or "to pimp their blogs" as one audience member comically stated. I still haven't really wrapped my arms around Twitter and I'm not entirely sure how it fits into my life. Am I just using it to pimp my blog? Maybe.
So...I have a few questions pertaining to how you are managing the world of weblogs.

What technology are you using?
How are you managing your time?
Do you feel you are able to comfortably participate in the blogosphere and preserve what is most important in your life?

For myself, for me.

2009-10-18T22:33:00.000-07:00

Seattle, WA - October 2009

Contracted
and expanded,
full
with nothing at all.

Is there still
a glimmer,
no matter how small?

A light floating fragment,
a ghost of the old you.

A tiny
yellow leaf.

Should I capture it?

That one last
piece, all that remains.

And keep it,
for myself.

Should I take it?

And press it,
hot with an iron,

between two sheets of wax.

So I can hold it,
preciously in my palm.

And cry.

For me,
just selfishly for me.

Pinch Pots

2009-10-12T12:48:00.000-07:00

A few new items in the shop. These little guys + one bottle vase.

Suit

2009-10-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

photograph by Indulis Ozers (Dad)

I once dated a bartender.
We met when I tried to play football.
He drove a jeep, called me a suit,
and bought me white chocolate chapstick
from the Gap.
He'd needed a clean shirt for work
and believed laundry to be a waste of time.
I knew it was all temporary.
I never even met his roommate, the actuary.
He wanted to be a cop,
like my dad,
and he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend.
She didn't bother with manicures.
He introduced me to
Everlong
and Aurora.

Good Poem Hunting

2009-10-09T10:48:00.000-07:00

My best friend's breakfast. September, 2009

Do you have a favorite poem?

Whenever I'm asked this question I think of a very early work of Sylvia Plath's, Jilted. It reminds me of so many of the thoughts I had during my adolescent years. Looking back, those thoughts seem sweet and cute, but back then it was all very serious.

Would you share your favorite poem with me (just post it in the comments section)?

Side note:
Here's wishing you find the perfect light, and when you do, that you happen to be with someone who will pause, put down his fork and knife, and be patient while you work.

But is it work? No, not really.

Enjoy your day.

This is not my Chicago.

2009-10-06T09:28:00.000-07:00

On my way home after visiting with my Aunt Barb,
shot from the train, somewhere near La Grange, IL.
Autumn 2009

...but maybe it's better. Oh, I'm just not sure.

There is often a struggle between my adventurous side and my sentimental side. For instance, the new Millennium Park is great, but I miss the original Petrillo Band Shell and the old Grant Park of my childhood. I'm sure most would disagree, Millennium Park is a big hit, but my Chicago past holds a very special place in my heart and the old run down Grant Park is part of that past.

That being said, my trip "back home" did not include one Chicago-style hot dog. There was not a poppy seed bun in sight. Those delicious Italian beef sandwiches, the type they used to sell in the shop below my grandmother's apartment, the tasty treat I used to earn by peeling potatoes for the owner's french fries. Nope. I didn't eat one. Chris took our new friend from London to Pizzeria Uno for a deep dish pie, but me, I was not along for that ride.

These were the Chicago standards I grew up adoring, but during this trip I focused in on some new favorites.

The Publican. It's a great place. If you visit Chicago, go. If you live in Chicago, why am I telling you about this place? Although I was incredibly fond of the pig paintings on the walls, I loved their housemade pickles, the pork rinds were out of this world, and the beer selection was spectacular--it was the suckling pig, yes, that Fairbury, IL pig from Slagel Family Farm that truly won my heart. When we quickly perused the menu and ordered suckling pig as one of our many shared dishes, we'd imagined a large and somewhat messy platter piled high with rough chopped pork. This was not the case. I don't know where I came up with this idea, I've never eaten suckling pig. When it arrived, well, we all frowned a bit. That's it? It was a tastefully arranged dish (broccoli, delicate little grapes, and almonds--plated upon a small serving of creamy grits) , quite beautiful really, but we'd anticipated that messy overflowing platter... We were sitting in this enormous beer hall filled with long communal tables, pork rinds as big as your head, and grand pig portraits decorating the place. We were thinking BIG. Long story short, the suckling pig was exquisite and my favorite dish of the trip. Order it.

Next on my list is the best almond croissant I have ever tasted. It was made at Vanille Patisserie, a small unassuming storefront off of Clybourn Avenue, just north of Webster. Vanille seems to be more about wedding cakes, chocolates, and beautiful little cakes and tarts. The croissants appeared to be second class citizens, but don't be fooled. This croissant was perfectly crisp on the outside and had I've-died-and-gone-to-heaven layers of pastry and almond goodness on the inside. It was fabulous. Try the chocolates and cakes if you like, but please, indulge in at least one of these almond croissants.

Last, I will talk briefly about Intelligentsia. I'm a little uncomfortable with this one (the sentimental thing again...). I'm confused. Intelligentsia has been around. It was there, on Broadway, when I left Chicago in 2000. It had been there for about 5 years. I really liked the place. Back then, it was just a place, not a brand. They made great coffee. I loved to camp out at a table with a book and sip my cappuccino. It was quiet. It was cozy. Honestly, no one besides the loyal locals seemed to really care that it existed. I never knew anyone outside of the neighborhood who had even heard of the place. Now Intelligentsia is a brand. They have a detailed website and a definite look. They've opened locations in Silver Lake and Venice (CA), New York, and the guy at the counter told us they'd recently purchased a struggling brand in San Francisco. When I rode the train to the suburbs to see my Aunt, they were selling Intelligentsia coffee inside the tiny train station--they are everywhere. They look good, the coffee is still great, the owners will surely retire happier, but I miss that unpretentious and independent little coffee place on Broadway.

Before we departed, after all of the food and drink, we visited my favorite place to find peace in Chicago. My beautiful escape. A place I've gone to find solace more times than I can count. A seemingly never ending body of water that touches Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin, and Michigan. Probably the first body of water I ever observed, the same one I watched as I rode in the little bike seat on the front of my father's bike when he used to take me along with him on his lakefront bike rides. Just past the Lincoln Park Zoo (my first zoo, the only FREE zoo I've ever visited, the place my parents took me when I was a tot), right where Fullerton hits Lake Michigan. Beside Theater on the Lake. One of the best spots in Chicago. It hasn't really changed at all. When I arrive, I'm still overwhelmed with peace and have to smile. This spot, thankfully, is still my Chicago.

Lake Michigan at sunset.

Autumn 2009

My new shop is open.

2009-09-25T16:18:00.001-07:00

Handmade Dish, 2009

There is a link, right over there, yes, right there, in the right margin.

It's a very small and unobtrusive shop at this point, so go ahead and do a little window shopping, at minimum, it won't take long. Better yet, buy yourself something nice. You deserve it.

Chez Danisse Shop

But is it a poem?

2009-09-25T12:58:00.000-07:00

The Noftsger Hill Inn, 2009

Let this keep you company during the next two Sundays.

Never Look Down

Somewhere on the silk, between the spider and the web. Taken away, up high, on a slow moving gondola, suspended, with only a slight provocation of thought. Drifting down a shallow cool river, feet first, looking straight up at the partly cloudy sky, moss tickling the backs of your thighs. The irresistible urge to touch a cholla, just to see if it will really jump, takes you over, and you watch the tiny droplets of blood pool up on your finger. There is no pain. All else moves past you at an incomprehensible pace, the day pressed down a bit and smeared with a thumb. Just left of center a viewfinder floats and you move as close to it as you can and look inside, your right eye opened wide and your left eye tightly squinting shut. There you are, on the bus. You back up, a little light headed and inhale a tennis ball shaped gulp of air, tiny stars appearing and disappearing in front of you. Swallow your disbelief. Continue slowly on the silk tightrope and enter through the center of the web. Don’t pause to think. Don’t look down. Never look down. Move swiftly, surely, and don’t doubt yourself. Not too fast. I’ll wait for you. We knew each other a long time ago, but not so far back. I’m afraid you don’t remember.

Keep walking. The bench, carved from a log, is not your size, your feet dangle. You look out across the large dry meadow, some sort of grain or grass, straw-colored because of the drought. There is one small tree, bright green leaves. How? You are small and beneath it, on a long pier, kicking the water in the tiny lake with your toes. Now you know. Don’t try to explain.

I'm building a book.

2009-09-22T18:26:00.001-07:00

Dorothy Dale and Her Chums by Margaret Penrose
Copyright, 1909

I found this book at a sale that took place a few years ago at the Joslin Memorial Library in Waitsfield, Vermont. Attached was a note that read This book was just returned to us. It was purchased in 1911. This gem from 1909 was not only fun to read, it is a beautiful object.

I love books. My attraction to the written word began very early in my life. I recall my parents finding a book on cursive writing at a school book sale and bringing it home to me. I diligently sat at our kitchen table and taught myself how to write in cursive the year before the rest of the children in my grade learned the skill. I was pleased as punch. I did it all by myself, with a book as my guide. It might have been the first time I realized the power of books.

I don't know where my life would be without the stacks and stacks of wonderful and even not-so-wonderful books I've read throughout the years. So many memories, so many lessons learned, so many peaceful hours spent reading.

One of my latest projects is building a book. And yes, that includes physically building the book. In the end, I might find that locating a professional printer makes the most sense, but first I'd like to work through the steps of building at least one humble book, from beginning to end, on my own.

I'm currently in the brainstorming and research stage. I have all sorts of ideas whirling around in my head and I'll try and articulate some of them and share them with you as I move through my process.

Like the tortoise, I'll be plodding along, slowly but surely. Please be patient.

The Lady from the Kitchen Shop

2009-09-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

September 2005

So changed,
yet so familiar, so close to the same.

Her stride, a bit slower.
Her eyes, slightly glazed.

What was silk is now sagging cotton.
The glimmer has gone dim.

But I still remember,
way back when,
how she'd make him nervous,
when she winked at him.

Their space, it gave her life.
It brightened her eyes.

When they left, she just smiled,
and waved goodbye.

A Tub of Mud

2009-09-18T13:56:00.000-07:00

Just before sunrise in Calistoga, CA
September 15, 2009

From the moment we turned onto historic Lincoln Avenue (Calistoga's Main Street), I knew we were going to have a wonderful trip. Surprisingly, it turned out to be our last day, September 15, 2009, the day I woke before sunrise that was the best day of all.

Combine Lincoln Avenue's charm of yesteryear with Indian Springs and its simple white cottages, croquet, and shuffle board courts and you will soon feel transported back in time. This is precisely what happened to us.

After being lost in the past for a couple of days, we left our room and strolled along the palm tree lined drive toward the large white California mission style spa building. We scheduled mud baths and 1/2 massages and then walked across the drive to lounge in the giant geyser-fed Mineral Pool and enjoy the view of the surrounding mountains. The Mineral Pool is kept at a temperature of about 90 degrees and is one of the best parts of the resort.

The reason the place feels so nostalgic is because it's been around close to forever and has quite a history. The original spa, mud baths, and water plunge (now the Olympic-size Mineral Pool) were built on the property in 1861. Also noteworthy, Leland Stanford purchased the resort in 1880 with the intent of locating Stanford University on the property (he obviously changed his mind).

So let's get to the good part, the tub of mud. I was originally a bit skeptical about immersing myself in mud. Chris was intrigued enough for both of us. This is often our story. I'm lucky to have him around, gently nudging me into the great unknown.

We begin our experience in the spa lobby. After a very short wait, my name is called. I wave goodbye to Chris, and I, along with another guest whose name has been called, follow a pleasant attendant back to a quiet white room. She hands us our locker keys and explains next steps while my eyes wander over to the beautiful bowl of fresh orange slices, the lemon & cucumber water, and a wooden crate filled with bright white hand towels tightly rolled and arranged perfectly. I undress and wrap myself in a green & white seersucker robe (love the robe!) and slip into my spa sandals. I eat a juicy orange slice, rinse the sweet stickiness off of my hands, dry them on one of the neatly rolled towels, and relax for a bit on a cushioned bench. I lean back against the wall and exhale with a quiet and comfortable sigh. It is a peaceful place.

Soon a new attendant greets me and the woman from the lobby (it seems the spa has guests travel in twos) and guides us to the mud room. The mud room is all-business. Concrete tubs filled with shiny black mud (volcanic ash mixed with mineral water), exposed pipes, industrial faucets. The room is functional and solid as a rock. We are asked to get wet beneath a shower head and are then given directions to enter our tubs by yet another attendant sit down on the edge of the tub, place your left hand... Soon I am suspended in mud. It's amazing, really. I don't sink at all. I float on top. The attendant pushes mud onto all parts of my body that weren't covered during my entry and asks if I'd like mud on my face. I say I don't know, do I want mud on my face? She says Oh, yes. It is very good for your skin. It will make you beautiful. So of course I say yes. I'm told I'll be resting in my mud for 12-15 minutes.

My body heats up and my mind drifts into a dreamlike state. I keep looking above my tub at the three dimensional representation of some sort of goddess-like figure, just a head. A woman with long flowing brown hair decorated with apples, or perhaps peaches. She looks down at me. I can not wait to ask who she is. I'm starting to feel a little lightheaded when an attendant begins stirring the mud in the tub beside my tub with a giant pitchfork (or was I really lightheaded?). I wiggle my fingers and toes and begin looking out the open window high above me, palm fronds blowing in the breeze, trying to cool myself down. I squish the mud between my fingers and try to think of words that accurately describe the texture. Dark chocolate pot de creme mixed with finely ground almonds. It was hot... I start getting that heartbeat feeling throughout my body, you know, when it feels like your entire body is a beating heart. Luckily the attendant returns and asks if I'd like to stay for a few more minutes or get out. I look over at my Swedish traveling companion (I later learned she was Swedish) and she doesn't look like a beating heart. She looks completely content, the picture of serenity. Grudgingly I say Yes, I'm ready and the attendant carefully removes my top layer of mud and helps me out of the tub. I rest on the edge and she asks if I'm okay, several times. I say I'm okay, but I actually feel a little woozy. She sees through me and we wait a bit before she helps me rinse off beneath a cool shower.

Next, a new attendant and another white room. This room has two claw foot tubs (white) filled to the brim with lukewarm mineral water. Each tub has a tray with a cup of drinking water & straw and an orange stick for removing any residual mud from beneath our nails. I later learned that the men had pumice stones, but no straws in their cups. I was a bit jealous about the pumice stone, but a straw is very helpful when reclining in a tub. I drink a lot of water during this stage, probably 4-5 cups of water. I keep drinking and my attendant keeps returning at the perfect moment to refill my cup. It is nice. No ladies with apples in their hair in this room, but it is peaceful and I cool down.

Once I am nice and cool it is time for a steam. I am handed a towel to sit upon and a cool washcloth for my face. I heat up again in the lavender and eucalyptus scented steam room and then it is time to cool down, again. I see a pattern emerging. I exit the steam room and am told to lift my arms. I am wrapped in a layer of cool soft flannel and taken down a hall to a small quiet room, shown where my seersucker robe is hanging in the corner, and told to lie down and rest on what is best described as a simple daybed. The attendant places a cold cucumber slice over each of my eyes and covers the cucumbers with a cool washcloth. Soft music plays, a gentle breeze blows, and I doze off.

I awaken to a kind massage therapist removing my cucumbers and telling me she'll meet me in the hall. She points to my robe (perhaps she thinks I'm so sleepy I'll wander into the hall nude). I follow her through what seems to be a maze of white and then outside to a small hut near the coveted Buddha Pond.

After a 30 minute massage I am told I can do whatever I want to do, go back inside, visit the Buddha Pond, return to the Mineral Pool. I decide on the pond and find that Chris has made the same choice. We sit side by side, drink fancy water, and watch the dragon flies dart about above the pond.

It was a complete experience. I glide through the rest of my day, but I never learn about the lady with the apples in her hair.

Thank you Christina & Charlie!

The most beautiful laundromat I've ever seen. Calistoga, CA
September 15, 2009

tossed salad and boiled eggs

2009-09-13T09:13:00.000-07:00

Green Gulch Farm salad greens in my favorite wooden salad bowl

It is Sunday morning. I've woken without an alarm. I've posted my poem. I have a few eggs boiling on the stove. We will soon be eating those eggs with a green salad and slices of toast topped with homemade jam. Green Gulch Farm adds lovely little flowers to their salad greens mix, and for me, it makes all the difference. It is a good day. I'm happy. That's all...

And He Was

2009-09-13T07:42:00.000-07:00

blue blazers
and
gold buttons
you did not fall in line

curiosity
and
intuition
were the pool from which you drunk

you have
never
remained still
on the murky pond bottom

but have
always
rushed to the top
gasped for air

clean
wet
new

and on you have gone...

December 2007

Launch into the deep,

2009-09-09T13:03:00.000-07:00

gazing beyond

photograph by Christopher Parsons, 2000

Today I found an old file filled with various items I had saved from a basic bookmaking and letterpress course (circa 2003).

One of those items was a large sheet printed with an excerpt from a book I was reading at the time. Our group had selected the excerpt for one of our letterpress assignments.

I am as moved by these words today as I was back then, one fine day in August of 2003. I hope you can find a moment in your day to sit back and spend some time with them.

The world's spiritual geniuses seem to discover universally that the mind's muddy river, this ceaseless flow of trivia and trash, cannot be dammed, and that trying to dam it is a waste of effort that might lead to madness. Instead you must allow the muddy river to flow unheeded in the dim channels of consciousness; you raise your sights; you look along it, mildly, acknowledging its presence without interest and gazing beyond it into the realm of the real where subjects and objects act and rest purely, without utterance. "Launch into the deep," says Jacques Ellul, "and you shall see."

excerpt from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard

The Corner

2009-09-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

Green & Jones

There he was,
pushing the stroller
of a crying child.

He wore such hatred,
a thick knit wool hatred
that made them both
wince and itch.

It was not fleeting,
based upon struggle,
or minor feud.

It began that way,
a starched and pinched pleat
that would never soften.

Father and child,
on their march to God knows where.

I could not look away,
and then
they turned the corner.

playing along

2009-09-04T12:09:00.000-07:00

Playing along with Abby...

Touch
A cool clay mug

Taste
A bowl of Malt-O-Meal

Smell
Lavender

Sight
Looking through Lumie again

Sound
Norah Jones + traffic

If you decide to play along, leave a link to your post in the comments section.

orangette

2009-08-30T20:01:00.001-07:00

one little orangette at sunset

The orangette is a beautiful thing. This past weekend I made a platter of them and most people agreed.

There are, of course, those with an aversion to oranges--Ahem J.

It is a fairly intense treat. Although one slowly savored orangette per evening is enough for me, most people did not agree. I watched several individuals quietly return to the orangette platter again and again, each one of them slipping a fresh orangette (or two, or three) into their mouth during every visit.

I was happy to see the candies disappear, pleased the guests were enjoying what I'd prepared for them. Suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn't photographed even one of these lovely little confections and the sun was quickly sinking. I'm a big fan of natural light, so I grabbed my camera, snatched one orangette from the platter, placed it on a teensy dish, and headed outside.

It had been a beautiful day and I knew that each time I looked back at this image I'd be able to return to this place and time. No pressure. I worked quickly, the sun vanishing, as one of my friends cheered me on yes, yes, I like the blue! I did the best I could. It was done.

I loved that I was able to indulge in the bitter sweetness of this particular orangette and save it forever.

I searched for orangette and candied orange peel recipes and found quite an array. I loosely followed this one. If you'd like to prepare a platter of your own, you'll need the following:

4 large oranges
3 cups of sugar for the syrup (This is what I used and our guests seemed quite pleased, but I found the orangettes to be very sweet, perhaps too sweet. I think I might take the amount of sugar as low as 1 cup next time and see what happens. I'm the type that cuts way back on sugar in preserves and cakes too.)
1 additional cup of sugar for coating the orange peels
8 ounces of extra dark chocolate--70% cacao
lots of water
sharp knife
cutting board
large stock pot
medium heavy-bottomed sauce pan
baking rack
cookie sheet
wax paper
airtight container

Cut off the top and bottom of each orange (the North and South Poles). Cut just far enough into the orange to reveal the flesh.

Score the peel to create 6 sections (longitude lines) and ease your fingers beneath the first section of the peel, beginning at the top (North Pole) and gently working your way to the bottom (South Pole). Continue with the additional 5 sections of peel. Repeat with remaining 3 oranges. Save the peeled oranges and eat them later (or now).

Slice all of the peels lengthwise into 1/4 inch strips and toss them into a large stock pot. Cover with water and bring to a boil. As soon as the water boils, drain off all water and repeat process 2 more times.

Pour 1 cup water into a medium sauce pan and add 3 cups sugar. Bring to a boil and then lower to a simmer. Once the sugar has dissolved, add the orange peels and simmer for 3o minutes or until translucent, stirring occasionally. (Don't abandon your peels at this point...you've worked too hard.)

Set a baking rack inside a cookie sheet and remove all peels from the pan with a slotted spoon and arrange on rack so they are not touching. Save the remaining syrup in a Mason jar and refrigerate for later use. (I added a little bit to a glass of sparking water and it was nice).

Once the peels have cooled down and dried a bit you can toss them in a bowl of sugar. (I coated all of my peels, but I might try 1/2 without sugar coating next time.) I saved the remaining sugar too.

Place all sugared peels back on the rack and let dry completely, about 5-6 hours. Once dry you can dip in tempered chocolate. I used Method 1, sans thermometer, and it flopped. Perhaps I need to find my candy thermometer...I know I have one somewhere. Dip each orangette 1/2 way into tempered (or simply melted in my case) chocolate and shake off excess. Place dipped orangettes on a wax paper lined cookie sheet and let the chocolate set in refrigerator. Store set orangettes in an airtight container or serve and watch them vanish.

Since my tempering was unsuccessful, the chocolate on my orangettes began to get a little soft after only a short while on the platter. Oh well... No one seemed to mind.

#33 -- check!

a small white moth

2009-08-30T08:39:00.000-07:00

he said he learned by watching me,
but i hadn't meant to teach

i stretched to fill our spaces
sprawling out comfortably
long conversations with myself

and the sky,
it would not be ignored

he became a blur
and i smiled with tears in my eyes

as my wondering when he'd return faded
a small white moth nestled
into the rug beside my foot

it was fearless and stood its ground

i knew it would eat my sweaters,
but i could not kill it

pot party

2009-08-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

a few of my pot bottoms

I've been learning to work with clay. Lorna Newlin has been my guide.

We are celebrating her studio's seventh birthday this weekend. Stop by, have a glass of wine, and see what Lorna has been up to for the past seven years. I'll have a few of my pots for sale too.

Dates: August 29-30, 2009

Time: Student Art Show & Open Studio: 11:00 AM - 5:00 PM
Studio Anniversary Party Sat. August 29, 5:00 - 8:00 PM

Place: Sausalito Pottery, 610 Coloma St. #690, Sausalito CA 94965

Directions: From Bridgeway turn west (uphill) on Coloma, turn right into MLK School parking area after playing field. It's the first building - #7, first door.

these are not capers

2009-08-26T19:48:00.000-07:00

green peppercorns in one of my little handmade bowls

I'm contemplating green peppercorns.

These are special peppercorns, at least they are special to me. They aren't dried and dried peppercorns are all I've ever known. I had no idea that what appear to be fresh peppercorns packed inside a small slender jar with water, vinegar, and salt (basically...a pickle) were out there in the world waiting for me. Aren't they beautiful? I saw them on the grocer's shelf when I was searching for capers and I knew I had to have them.

Green peppercorns are simply young unripe berries. The fruit is dark red when fully mature. Black berries do not exist in nature, black peppercorns are green unripe berries that have been cooked and dried.

I just popped one in my mouth and it's quite lovely. As the firm little berry rolls around in my mouth, at first there is a mild sour saltiness, somewhat similar to a common caper, but without any hints of bitterness. When I bite into the berry it pops and there it is, the familiar pepper taste, but more bright and fresh. It's easy going for a second, but then boom, it hits me and my tongue tingles, my eyes water a bit, and I cough a week little cough as the spiciness tickles my throat. A brief moment passes and I'm okay again.

The mild burn stays on my tongue for a few minutes and then I eat another one.