Pimp My Blog

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.

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

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

Suit

photograph by 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

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.

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 see standing in this spot still overwhelms me with peace. It is still my Chicago.

Lake Michigan at sunset.

Autumn 2009

My new shop is open.

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?

The Noftsger Hill Inn, 2009

Let this keep you company during the next two Sundays.

Never Look Down

You are 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 cool shallow 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 squinting tightly 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 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. Rest on the bench that is not your size, allow your feet to dangle. Look out across the large dry meadow, straw-colored because of the drought. There is just one tree, bright green leaves. How, in this drought? You are suddenly small, shrunken, the size of a bean. You are beneath the tree, on a long pier, kicking water in the tiny lake with your toes. Now you know. Don’t try to explain.

I'm building a book.

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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.

playing along

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

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!

Moth

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
while 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

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

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 weak 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.

berry

Breakfast on Mesa Road, Point Reyes Station, June 2008

berry, oh berry
simple, honest, and sweet

juicy and black
not at all like a beet

you bathe in the sun
and you never burn

you fall from your stem
nothing asked in return

I think I can, I think I can.

#11

I've been working on a list. Inspired by Tiny Abstraction's 31 things to do..., I've created 41 before 42.

It seems my list making is inherited. When I visit my father I find old envelopes scattered throughout his house with lists written on them, clipboards with lists stacked beneath the clips, lists on the refrigerator, lists in the truck, lists on his desks (both of them), and lists on the chalkboard in the kitchen.

One major difference between my father's and my list making habits is that I keep all of my lists in one place, my notebook, so I don't lose any of them. As #20 states, I plan on experimenting with bringing Google docs into the mix. Knowledge Man thinks it's a good idea. He's probably right.

Although my lists live side by side, I am just as prolific as my dad with my list making. I write lists of poems I'd like to read, places I'd like to travel, projects I'd like to tackle, books I'd like to check out from the library, ideas for my novel, ideas for my blog, dreaded housekeeping tasks, groceries I need to purchase, recipes I'd like to try, lists of pros and cons for difficult decisions I'm in the process of making, and everyday to-do lists.

I recently had lunch with a friend I hadn't seen in years and years and, of all things, she asked me if I still wrote lists pinpointing all of my hopes, dreams, and simple to-dos. Yes she recalled you were always making lists, writing everything little thing down. I'm not sure how I feel about not seeing my friend for such an extended period of time and then, when we finally meet again, learning that my list making is one of the core things she remembers about me. Hmmm...

In honor of Julia Child, I won't apologize. I guess it is who I am. I have thoughts. I have ideas. I write them down. No reason to be ashamed.

So like the The Little Engine That Could, I'm optimistically off to continue my journey.

41 before 42

1. Finish striped scarf for Chris
Done, but it turns out it's too short...back to the drawing board. More here.

2. Experiment with Lumie's (my Lumix L1) film mode
Done. This was the day.
3. Make a Wakame Salad (buy Mendocino Wakame--Whole Foods, Bi-Rite, or Rainbow Grocery)
Not done. Bought Wakame at Whole Foods (no, I'm not boycotting). I thought I was buying a California product, but I'm a bit confused about the origin of this seaweed due to the label stating Wild California or Maine. Still need to make salad.
5. Submit Worms for Girls to Reaktion Books Ltd
Not done. Decided not to go the traditional publishing route. Working on a handmade book.
6. Submit Worms for Girls to second literary agent
Not done. Decided not to work with an agent. Plan to sell handmade book (and possibly more) online.
7. Make Molly Wizenberg's Banana Bread with Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger
Done (in the form of muffins) .
8. Make our pottery replacements (bowls, plates, mugs)
Done with the exception of mugs. I love my tiny tree mugs and Chris now has his Chicago flag mug.
9. Donate the bowls, plates, and mugs we replace w/ my pottery to Goodwill
Not done. Donated some, but must finish.
10. Watch a sunrise
Done. Woke up early and watched a sunrise in Calistoga, CA on September 15, 2009.
11. Watch a sunset
Done. Watched a beautiful sunset with Chris (photograph above) at Crissy Field August 14, 2009.
12. Make pottery for Dad (bowl and plate)
Done (for now). Dad doesn't really need a plate or bowl, but wanted something cool that I made, so he'll soon be choosing one of my two special wood-fired bowls to keep as his own.
13. Solo trip (focus on observing, writing, photography)
Done. I wrote a little bit about it here.
14. Solo day/night together trip with Chris
Done, but we were missing each other and spent most of our days AND nights together with just a few solo breaks.
15. Time blocking plan (write, read, pottery, knit, workout, home, plan, walk, meet, etc.)
Done, but thinking time blocking is over-rated...
16. Type After the Sour Lemon Moon poems on typewriter (presentation? float in frames?)
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Not feeling bad about it.
17. Start blue scarf with big needles
Done.
18. Finish plum scarf with little needles
Done. Here it is!
19. Try stitching (embroidery) one of the After the Sour Lemon Moon poems (decide on a proper stitch, like the Blue Bottle sign, & use linen)
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Not feeling bad about it.
20. Sort writing, projects, ideas (life) in Google docs.
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Not feeling bad about it.
21. Incorporate computer-free time into schedule (Sundays? A certain time period each day?)
Done--all day each Saturday (highly recommend!). A little bit about this topic here.
22. Inventory closet and compile a donation for Goodwill
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Really should hop to it!
23. Try Maldon Salt
Done.
24. Make Paneer
Done. Made paneer (Julie Sahni's recipe...she shares some paneer making tips at the bottom of the recipe) to replace the tofu in Jen's Okra recipe August 19, 2009.
25. Make a spoon rest
Done.
26. Make a taller (work) mug for Chris
Not done. He bought a Chicago flag mug instead.
27. Make a shorter utensil holder -- use current as model
Not done. Chris loves current model and does not want to replace.
28. Make yarn bowls
Done. Made 4 yarn bowls. Here's three (also apple bowls or whatever-suits-your-fancy bowls).
29. Make large shallow bowl w/ Be Sweet Knobby Ball swirl for texture
Done.
30. Pickle ginger
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Not feeling bad about it. I want to find baby ginger and haven't begun my search.
31. Complete Worms for Girls text w/ index + cover image (stamp?)
Not done. Need to prioritize!
32. Sausalito poem + prose submission to literary magazine
Not done. Just not sure I still want to do this...
33. Make candied orange peel
Done. Made orangettes (candied orange peel dipped in chocolate) August 28, 2009
34. Make crystallized ginger
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Not feeling bad about it. Bought some great crystallized ginger at The Candy Store.
35. Anniversary in Calistoga, CA
Done. Returned home on September 16, 2009 after a great trip to Calistoga, CA
36. Read Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient & Anil's Ghost
Done.
37. Type all Quiet-Riter notes and writing from notebooks into Google docs.
Not done. Just haven't made it a priority...focused on other things. Feeling bad about it.
38. Begin 15 minutes of silence per day
Done. Began 15 minutes of silence per day (ferry ride to Sausalito). September 3, 2009. I did well for a while, but then fell off the wagon. I need to jump back on.
39. Find two Moroccan tea glasses
Not done. I looked for a while and couldn't find what I liked. I totally forgot about this. Maybe I'll find them today! If not, I'm in no hurry. I'll wait for the glasses I love.
40. Read Per Petterson's To Siberia & In the Wake
Done with In the Wake. Haven't read To Siberia.
41. Show Chris my list
Done. Showed Chris my list August 16, 2009.

Ice cream, in oatmeal?

Steel Cut Oats, Red Apricots, Vanilla Bean Ice Cream, and Freshly Ground Nutmeg

Yes, ice cream in oatmeal!

The following is excerpted from the comments section of a post about ice cream on david lebovitz living the sweet life in Paris.

By chez danisse on August 14, 2009 3:47 PM

Ice cream in oatmeal? My father used to top our Cream of Wheat with vanilla ice cream and until now I'd never heard anyone reference anything even close. You are the first. We loved it--rich cool sweet cream melting over breakfast...yum. I'm sure your version, caramelized white chocolate ice cream stirred into oatmeal, is superb!

By David on August 15, 2009 4:06 AM

chez danisse: Ice cream, in oatmeal? Even I'm not that crazy : )

I put a big spoonful of the caramelized white chocolate itself in the oatmeal, let it melt a bit, then stir it around slightly. (Not too much, such I like ribbons of it.)

By chez danisse on August 15, 2009 11:57 AM

Oops...looks like I was reading too quickly and seeing what I wanted to see versus what was actually written. That being said, I am crazy enough to try ice cream in oatmeal and plan on giving it a go. It was so good in Cream of Wheat. I'm sure it will be tasty. Maybe you should get a little crazy and try it too ; )

We Knew Each Other

Photo by Christopher Parsons

She seemed so familiar,
too familiar, too much like me.

But then something shattered,
either her or the mirror.

One can never tell
from so far behind,
or at all, really.

It began innocently.
A tiny fissure.
Barely noticeable.
Nothing a little foundation couldn't hide.

It grew slowly, at first.
An invisible hand dragging a pencil,
or a knife, across a page,
or a face.

A fault line,
the same one that I, and they,
were built upon.

We knew each other,
even those of us
whose eyes had never met.

Like them, I'd walk along the tightrope.

I'd pray for tension
and against the tremor and the crumble and the crack
that would split
it, or me,
wide open.

Julie & Julia Bruschetta

Bruschetta? Who cares!

I am certain that I am not the first person to try and recreate the indulgently drenched in olive oil and fried version of bruschetta prepared by Amy Adams in Julie & Julia. As I watched Julie and her husband devour those crisp slices of bread covered in olive oil, heirloom tomatoes, and basil...well...I knew a week would not pass before I gave it a go in my own kitchen.

Forget one week, I didn't even let two days pass. I was first enticed by a couple of beautifully ripe orange heirloom tomatoes at The Real Food Co. and snatched them up. Yesterday I added to my collection with some juicy and full flavored Early Girl tomatoes from the farmers market. I also found a huge bunch of basil from a Bolinas farmer with a stand I hadn't seen before, I believe it was La Tercera, but I'm not completely sure because I was too focused on the basil. The type of basil she sold was unfamiliar to me, thin stems topped by little globes of tiny basil leaves, loads of them. The nice man at the Acme Bread Co. counter suggested a Long Italian loaf of bread and it was an excellent choice, perfect for this recipe, perfect. I already had garlic, fleur de sel, and my pepper mill was full. I deviated just a smidge from what I saw in the movie by adding one small ripe fig to the mix. A fig might seem a little out of place here, but I've never heard of fried bruschetta either, so I figured, why not?

I began prepping my ingredients about an hour before I planned to eat. Step one was cutting up my tomatoes into traditional bruschetta sized chunks. To my bowl of super ripe and juicy tomatoes I added the little leaves from several basil stems and stirred it around gently with my hand. I topped the tomato basil mixture with one very soft and ripe fig cut into small pieces. Don't add any salt at this point because it will make the tomatoes release their juices and if you've selected ripe tomatoes they'll be juicy enough. Wait and add the salt at the last moment, right before you eat your bruschetta. I then placed a piece of saran over the bowl and walked to the library to return a book.

When I returned from my library walk, after thinking about my bruschetta feast the entire time I was away, I anxiously moved forward. I poured some (I wasn't shy) olive oil into a heavy bottom pan and began to warm the oil over a medium heat. I placed several slices (about 3/4" thick and sliced on an angle) of bread into the pan of warm oil and brushed the top side of the bread with the oil in the pan that was pooling up around the slices. Once I'd covered the top side of the bread with oil I moved the slices around in the pan so the bottom side could absorb more oil. I wanted this bruschetta to look as crazy good as the bruschetta in the movie. Just forget that it is not the bruschetta you know and love and move on. Fat, calories, and Italian tradition were not on my list of priorities.

Once the bread was lightly browned on the bottom side I turned it over and continued heating the bread until it was lightly browned on the other side. The bread should have that overall crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside look.

I removed one slice of bread from the pan at a time and thoroughly rubbed each slice with a 1/2 clove of garlic. Next I spooned mounds of the tomato, basil, and fig mixture on top of the garlicky bread and sprinkled it all with a bit of Fleur de Sel and freshly ground pepper.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this meal was absolutely delicious! Yes, the bruschetta alone was my meal. It was all I needed. It will be all you need. I haven't swooned over my food like this in quite a while. I was the only one home and I'll admit to moaning out loud with each and every bite.

We are right in the middle of tomato season and the timing could not be better for a dish such as this that revolves around fresh sun ripened tomatoes. I strongly recommend giving this non-traditional and utterly indulgent version of bruschetta a try. You will not be disappointed.

* I performed an encore at about 10:30 pm, when Chris made it home from a long day at work. He happily devoured a full plate of this goodness and thanked me with a nice kiss (and a couple of bites of his bruschetta).

Choose your dinner companion carefully, this dish begs to be followed by nice kisses.

place and space

image from one of Liivian Talossa's 2009 posts

I have been admiring the work of Liivian Talossa for quite some time now. The text on her blog was not in a language I recognized, yet her photographs were so beautiful I never felt the need to understand the text. I just returned again and again to see the beautiful imagery she captured.

I've been thinking a lot about place and space lately, the way the space we inhabit influences us in a way that is often difficult to describe. Are these images so mesmerizing to me because of Ms. Talossa's relation to the equator? Is it the culture in which she was raised? Perhaps it is just her way of seeing, inexplicable, and something unique to her and only her. I may never know and that is okay.

My curiosity did prompt me to do a little research this morning and it appears Liivian Talossa is Finnish, but I have no desire to investigate further. I'll leave it at that.

I'm inquisitive by nature and I did have to dip my toe into the research pool to learn a bit about Ms. Talossa, but only ever so slightly. I'm sure her place in this world has something to do with her work, but more importantly, I don't require this information to enjoy her work.

I've been inspired to be a little less curious, let some things sink in for a while before asking questions. These thoughts took root during a visit to one of my favorite spots in San Francisco, SFMOMA's 2nd floor education area, a wonderful space. They have a mini library and furniture to lounge upon and learn about many of the artists in their collection.

While perusing one of these artist books I read an interview with Katharina Fritsch where she referenced her comfort with the unknown and how some things can't be or simply don't have to be explained immediately.

I agree and I believe it was being in this special library space that allowed me to do so.