winning; or how my autumn vacation became impossibly better

the Monday after next, my oldest friend and I will be winging our way to Charleston, SC. We've been talking about taking a vacation together for ages, having traveled no further than a couple hours together since we were in junior high and embarking on club field trips to Virginia and Boston. Our schedules simply have not meshed, as she's a lawyer with her own firm to partner and run, a business venture not too old.

Then, I entered the #TakeMeToCHS sweepstakes. I did so on a whim, since my previously planned trip to the city this spring fell afoul of family issues. I adore Charleston and have not been there since my best friend and I went while she was still in law school, in 2008. It's been a long five years.

This year, Travel + Leisure named Charleston the best city in the US & Canada in its World's Best awards. Between that distinction and the six hotels in the small city named to the Best Hotels List, the Charleston Vacation and Conventions Bureau put together the sweepstakes: one winner per month of a featured package from one of the six hotels through 2013.

I filled out the form, tweeted, tweeted some more, Instagrammed some pictures from when I last was there, tweeted, then rapidly forgot about entering.

Imagine my surprise when the kind folks at CVB tweeted, Instagrammed, and emailed me to announce I'd won the Charleston Perspective package from the French Quarter Inn. My parents immediately began groveling, wondering which of them I would be taking. Unfortunately for either, I already knew my oldest girlfriend {we've known each other since we were 7, and she knows all of my embarrassing stories...mostly because she was present for a good portion of them} would be the best choice.

Just yesterday I finalized our flights, and we received the most wonderful itinerary from the nicest hotel staff. There's champagne upon check-in for our two night stay, a three hour sunset harbor cruise, a private carriage tour with snacks, a helicopter tour {with more champagne}, dinner reservations, and someone to pick us up and drop us off at the airport.

Tomorrow morning, I'm off to my travel companion's office to celebrate, then Monday the 14th we're on the plane and off to Charleston. I imagine there will be excessive amounts of tweeting and Instagram posts {there always seems to be something photogenic around every corner in Charleston}. Watch this space for a complete recap of our adventures...and don't forget to add your own entry to the #TakeMeToCHS Sweepstakes.

the 29 project; or how a birthday is an inspiration for kindness

we could all use to be a bit kinder to each other. There's no suggestion here that we all have the time or wherewithal to be Bill & Melinda Gates or that we occupy the platform George Clooney or Brad Pitt use to their charitable advantage. In far simpler ways, we could all use to be a bit kinder to each other.

Hold a door, help a stranger, take a tiny bit of your day to brighten a friend's day. Not because we are looking for thanks, but just as a moment of kindness. We could take a moment for ourselves. Say "no, I have to do this for me." I'm not talking about weekly expensive facials {though, that certainly isn't the worst idea of me time}, but what I mean is carving out a bit of time to think about strangers and how you impact them. Think about your actions, think of a little way {or a big one} you can be kind to family or friends and to yourself.

I had a lovely birthday party, and a lovely birthday. It's tradition in my family, especially because we never know what will walk into the door from day to day in the store, that on a person's birthday, if nothing else, that family member need not do the dishes or cook unless he or she wishes to do so. On my birthday, I ran off for an espresso & gelato lunch, picked up a movie for us to watch {is there a better birthday than The Great Gatsby & blackberry martinis?}, and bought a couple new pieces of clothing.

That bit of time to myself got me thinking. I turned 29, and while I am valiantly attempting to throw away the societal timeline of what a woman has to do before 30, I do think a bit of self-thought is in order. Hence, The 29 Project. Every day until I turn 30, I will attempt to do a kindness for strangers, something for family or friends, take a moment for myself, and take a single photograph that encompasses something about that day.

It's been a week. I've failed entirely for a single day, and I have not managed to check something off the list everyday. But, this is not about making another to do list. The 29 Project is about reordering one's thinking, taking the time to think about the little things. I'll be posting a short note here each Tuesday, letting you know how I'm faring and to see how you're doing as well.

The 29 Project has also inspired me to increase my correspondence. We don't write letters anymore. We send texts, or post on Facebook walls or tweet each other. Maybe, we write emails. That is not a letter or a card that is physically delivered. It lacks a bit of the thrill received when holding something another person held, reading their handwriting, feeling their love. As a personal part of The 29 Project, each Wednesday I'm writing a note to a friend I do not get to see often. This is not about getting mail back, but about sending a bit of myself out there.

With this in mind, I am encouraging everyone to get involved. I post my daily pictures on Instagram with #The29Project hashtag, and will begin to tweet inspiration {@VMRvictoria} for my little helpfulnesses with the same hashtag on Twitter. I've also begun a Pinterest board with each of the daily photos. There will be 365 images there when I've done, though I hope that I won't need the reminder at the end of this year. Personally, I'm also keeping a notebook with a daily log, just to see what comes from The 29 Project.

Join me, even if you do not talk about it, in a reorganization of thinking. If you'd like to join my correspondence, send me your address {vmrvictoria@yahoo.com}. If you want to join The 29 Project, tweet or Instagram with the hashtag, or simply take a bit of time for others and for yourself. Less than five minutes is enough.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

violence; or when it is time to stand up and speak out

in a six day period that ended two weeks ago, five people died and one was injured. This is not a post about gun violence {yes, four of the five were killed by a hand wielding a gun}, but one about another specific type of violence: domestic violence.

One of the victims was a two year old child, killed by his own father. One of the victims was shot as she watched her husband shoot the son they created together. She survives. One of the victims was a wife, having finally gained the courage to file for divorce from her retired state trooper husband two days previous. One of the victims was an 18-year old woman on the cusp of the rest of her life. One man is in jail for allegedly chocking and stabbing his girlfriend repeatedly with a screwdriver, then hiding her body in the woods. Two of the victims were men who turned their violence on themselves, committing suicide after having violated their wives' trust.

This violence was not spread over a swath of the country. This violence was not even spread over an entire state. This violence was confined to three counties here in Western PA, all within a single television station's coverage area and well under two hours drive from my home.

It is axiomatic that a subject does not hit home until it actually hits home. I do not live in a home where domestic violence occurs. I do not directly know of {though statistics suggest that I do} a home where domestic violence occurs. I do, apparently, live in an area where five people die, and one is injured, in a six day period due to domestic violence.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make this right, and I especially don't know how to make this right for the women and men who suffer daily under the torture of domestic violence all over the world. It is heart wrenching. A donation to a shelter or hotline is easy, and it helps.

At least one of the women, and I think both, had a Protection From Abuse order against her husband. A PFA is meant, in Pennsylvania, to keep a person safe from one threatening his or her life. One who violates a PFA is off to jail...unless he or she manages to perpetrate violence and either escape punishment by fleeing or self-harm.

Some PFAs require the subject to turn over all guns to the local sheriff's office, lest he or she use one of them to perpetrate violence against the protected party. The man who killed his wife at her grocery store, place-of-work had such an order against him, yet he still managed to obtain another weapon, which he then turned upon himself.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make this right. I don't think any of us really do, but I think we can all stand up and speak out. Don't jump into a situation where you're liable to make the situation worse, but pay attention. Stand up, be it for yourself or someone else. Speak out, for anyone and everyone who might be affected.

Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline {1-800-779-SAFE} or visit their website. Call 911. Talk to your gynecologist, she may well be a source of information on local avenues of help. I know mine is. Stand up, speak out. Be safe. Maybe together we can fix a world where the bonds of trust between partners are rendered completely by those partners all too often.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

kindness; or how the little things make a better day

as I picked up a coffee the other day, the college student making my latte complimented my blazer. It had been a rough day, but with that little boost my day instantly became better. That incident got me thinking about how often I see someone wearing something or doing something that I want to complement, but since I don't know him or her, I simply keep my mouth shut.

Similarly, we make a valiant attempt to compliment parents who have incredibly well-behaved children. We see so many that are poorly parented and who behave inappropriately that we try to say something to those who are appropriate. Sometimes we don't say something because those who visit our store are strangers.

I'm also single. While I'm not actively looking for a partner, I am also nearly twenty-nine and do not wish to turn one away. When a person is no longer in school and has been at the same job for a period of time, meeting new people and making new friends becomes a bit more difficult. You {or at least I} tend to feel awkward attempting to make conversation without it seeming desperate or turning into a pick up.

As I've been spending time pondering the good deeds and excellent style {also, ahem, attractive men} that float by, I thought a little card might just do the trick. I've seen the business cards that say something to the effect of "you're hot, call me" as ice breakers, but they don't seem to me to be more than a lame attempt to be cool while trying for sex. Instead, I threw together the following sentiment.

& I happen to think you... seems to be the best way to thank someone or compliment them for whatever it is they happen to be doing that caught your fancy. Interested in a pick-up? write something with innuendo. Think someone is parenting well? mention the kids' behavior. Love that pair of shoes? ask where the wearer got them.

Now, to gather the courage to pop one of these babies out of my purse and hand it to that attractive man at my yoga place...

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

love, honor & friendship; or engagement pictures!

as I've posted about or chattered away about rather a lot lately, my sister is getting married at the end of the month. She's not really my biological sister, but she is my best friend in ways that calling her a bestie simply can't cover. I'm an only child and she has only brothers, so it is only fair that we got to pick out each other as sisters.

I've been thinking more and more about my maid of honor toast for their wedding lately. Mainly because she reminded me that there are less than three weeks left & I should probably begin coordinating with the matron of honor on our joint speech. Sari & Brett aren't perfect, individually or together, but they are perfect for each other. They balance and work together in ways I am always honored to witness.

There isn't a lot of PDA in Brett & Sari land, especially when you consider the pool of PDA they swim in in North Jersey. Theirs is a bit more of a quiet love, one that sneaks up on you. They don't need me to retell the the story of their courtship, at least until I give the actual toast at their wedding, but I'm happy to say that I somehow managed to keep my mouth shut before ruining the surprise. See, Sari had no idea she was into Brett until she found out at her own pace. I knew, but she needed to realize on her own. She did, as did he, and they've been a wonderful couple since.

A few weeks ago, I threw a bridal shower, then took Sari into the city the next day. It was delightful and lovely and well-received, all the things necessary in a bridal shower. The true fun bit came later that afternoon when I took their engagement pictures.I like to think I captured them and their love appropriately.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

nyc; or a travel-filled day bopping across the island of manhattan

whew. My biggest challenge as a first-time maid of honor is over. I may have rushed around in turquoise and silver spiky heels like a chicken with her head cut off, but the mimosas were drank, the cookies gobbled, presents opened, and a good time was had by all. Ostensibly, I went to north Jersey this past weekend to throw my sister the best bridal shower I could manage. That happened {look for a post on Friday with pictures that do not include me...must remember that the photographer never gets photographed}, but the real highlight of the weekend was Sunday.

Sunday we ran into the city for a belated birthday celebration {me} and a relaxing shower gift day {Sari}. We had tea, saw The Gershwins' Porgy & Bess, caught up with an old friend for a Venetian feast, and witnessed a wonderful concert by mandolin player Chris Thile in an impossibly intimate venue. It was an hectic, relaxing, upbeat, tear-inducing, sisterhood strengthening, fantastical day.

Let us begin with tea. Right where Chelsea bleeds into the West Village sits a tiny and hectic little tea shop, Tea & Sympathy. When we popped in, at 1:30 on a Sunday afternoon, we were barely seated. The place barely holds twenty, and signs on the door clearly indicate a lack of patience: "you will not be seated until all of your party is present." We snuggled in next to a table of hipsters, proving once and for all that buddy holly glasses are still in style, and were immediately surrounded by an interesting mix of English and New York accents. We may have been the only table to be comprised entirely of American-accented English speakers.

Our waitress was an adorable English girl with Weasley coloring and a Royal blue dress. There's no rush at Tea & Sympathy, but everything is all bustle nonetheless. Incredibly large pots of tea, scones, jam, and clotted cream came in a trice, then everything was jostled around as ten finger sandwiches {egg, chicken, and crab salad with watercress} overflowed our tiny table. Neither teapot {Assam and Chocolate Vanilla, respectively} nor one of the tea cups fit into an instagram photo.

Owner Nikki keeps everyone moving, an extremely important task when there is a line of people waiting outside. She wanted to pack up our leftover sandwiches, but we were off to the theater and had to leave them behind. The traditional English fare looked  and smelled fantastic as it passed by to be eaten by others, but we did not have quite the time we wanted to waste. None of the staff would have let us waste much time, to be fair, as cheerfully polite as they all were.

Time got a bit tight then, as a street fair blocked traffic all around 8th. We managed to get two thirds of the way to the theater, but had to rush out of the cab and walk to make it before the curtain. The Richard Rodgers Theater {home to The Gershwins' Porgy & Bess for one more week before the show closes} is an old-fashioned gilded theater, perfect as a setting for a most famous American opera. We climbed the stairs and managed to gain our seats just as the overture began.

The first chord, the history this show contains, all the racism and furor, love and devotion, struggles, poverty, and storm-battered humanity was enough to close my throat with emotion. It never quite got unstuck. At its roots, Porgy & Bess tells the struggle of one man to keep with him the woman he loves. It also tells of the demons one woman possesses, and is possessed by, in her struggle to conform to society's standards of decency, and one small community's fight against the incursions of white power.

This production has been updated to better include the themes from the original novel {Porgy, written by DuBose Heyward} and to stamp out some of the paternal racism expressed in Ira Gershwin and Heyward's lyrics for the original production as an operetta. Though billed as "the American musical" on the production's website, the show is entirely sung with only flashes of speaking.

Audra McDonald sways through Bess' transformations from, quite literally, a "liquor-guzzling slut" to the lover and keeper of the crippled-from infancy Porgy. Norm Lewis, despite walking most impressively with a cane and later a brace he does not need in real life, is just as strong and determined to see Bess treated properly by those who surround her as he is full of life himself. When the near-final showdown occurs between Porgy and Crown, Bess' nemesis and Porgy's rival for her affections, Lewis defiantly filled the theater with Porgy's line, "Bess, you got a man now!" Never before have I heard an entire audience cheer and clap so loudly for the violent death of a character.

Never before, either, have I seen such a Broadway audience filled with so many African-Americans, proving that there is plenty of desire and disposable income within the community if only productions were produced to appeal to a broader base.

There was not an actor upon that stage who did not breathe life into a character, no matter how small the part or brief the appearance on stage. Old classics soared to the rafters and settled into your soul. I'm still singing. Perhaps the most delightful moments came from David Alan Grier as he sauntered and high-stepped across the boards as Sporting Life, or as he clashed with NaTasha Yvette Williams'  community leader Mariah. Pages could be filled detailing the love shining between Nikki Renee Daniels' Clara and Joshua Henry's Jake, as they sang and flirted their way through raising a new baby.

After that brilliant performance {can't believe we got in just under the wire: the show closes on September 23}, my sister and I wandered through the street fair that caused so much traffic trouble earlier in the day. After a quick wander through Sephora for a makeup touch up {more than five minutes loose in a make-up store that actively encourages sampling and I look like a hooker} we strolled back down to Chelsea for supper.

Thanks to Yelp, Sari found Le Zie while we took the train into the city earlier in the day. A cozy  Venetian restaurant with multiple rooms and a lounge, it was the perfect place to meet up with an old friend. We decided on the cichetti tasting sampler, comprised of little plates of stuffed fried olives, eggplant al Funghetto, stewed squid, beans and onion, cod mousse, shrimp cakes, sardines in Saor, octopus with celery, white baits in ceviche, meat balls, and chicken liver pâté, all served with white and yellow grilled polenta.

Personally I found the chicken liver pâté, stuffed fried olives, and shrimp cakes to be my favorites, though all were delicious. As three of us split the selection and ordered salads, there was no particular reason to consider more: we were far too full to even ponder dessert, no matter that a fig creme brulee was on offer that night.

I had the roasted red beet salad with warm Montrachet goat cheese, toasted walnuts, marinated leeks, string beans, and Sherry vinaigrette {bottom of above photo}, while David ordered the Tricolor Salad, with sautéed Shiitake, Apple Wood smoked bacon, tarragon vinegar dressing, and shaved Ricotta {top}. Sari had a stacked {photo below} Arugula Salad, with tomato, Feta cheese, cucumber, black olives, onion, Dijon Mustard, and Extra Virgin Olive Oil vinaigrette.

 Afterward we went our separate ways, as Sari and I were off to our final destination for the evening. The Rockwood Music Hall would more aptly be called a bar with a stage and a tiny balcony. Though we were too distracted to bother counting, there is room for possibly fifty people standing around the stage and in the tiny tables at the foot of the stage and upstairs.

Chris Thile is the lead singer & mandolin player for the band Punch Brothers. Along with starting said band a few years ago, he is perhaps better known for his work as a member of Nickel Creek and his recent recordings with Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, and Edgar Meyer, put together in the album "The Goat Rodeo Sessions." I first recognized hearing him play when Sari and I saw he and the rest of Punch Brothers perform in New York during a live performance of Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion" back in 2009.

They brought the house down then, and we fell in love. Classically trained, the band puts together bluegrass inspired bluesy alternative rock that they dubbed "plunk rock." Somewhat less bluegrassy than UK imports Mumford & Sons, Punch Brothers is rather more eclectic and slightly less commercial. All highly talented, each band member performs solo and with other groups when not touring together. Sunday was such a night for Thile.

He played for two hours, including two encores, pieces that flowed from Bach's violin concertos to Radiohead to songs Punch Brothers cut from their most recent album {the fantastic "Who's Feeling Young Now?"}, to folk and back again. His playing is delightfully quirky and fantastic to hear in such a homey venue. Still, I felt a need to put my chunky glasses on just to fit in, no matter that I had on a floor length chiffon skirt and a chambray shirt. Thile inspires a serious number of hipsters, though the gathering included some older guests and a few seriously preppy folk. Somehow the waitstaff at Rockwood managed to refill drinks and take orders unobtrusively, never distracting from the performance.

It was the perfect end to a perfect day. Sari had a day away from the bride drama and her normal life. I had a fantastic celebration of my birthday, and we both got to gloat over the phone to family members chocked green to the gills with envy. We are never not going to Tea & Sympathy when we run into the city, and Le Zie is getting put in our supper rotation forever. Some days, you just need to fill full to bursting with fun and happiness. This one overflowed.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

{all photographs taken with my terrible phone camera and filtered via the Android version of Instagram}

truth; or marion cunningham says it best

apparently Marion Cunningham passed a few days ago. I, too, had never heard more than possibly a passing mention of this celebrated cook and author. However, that doesn't mean that I haven't stumbled across one who pays homage to her...and therefore perhaps one of the best quotes I have ever seen lamenting the state of supper, gathering, and the kitchen today. Other than linking to my source Tea & Cookies and suggesting you take a look at the touching blog Tara Austen keeps there, I'm going to let Marion have her say all alone.

"Strangers are cooking most of America’s food. Everything is uniform and without a sense of place or history. … The microwave is the latest example. There aren’t aromas coming from a microwave. Bit by bit, we have been relinquishing the very essence of what makes a home. 

People are living like they are in motels. They get fast food and take it home and turn on the TV. Schools and sports groups have soccer practice or what have you during what used to be called the dinner hour. 

We don’t need more competitive sports. We need to sit facing people with great regularity so we are making an exchange and we are learning to be civilized. We need to learn that if you pass a platter and take everything off it, you are not leaving anything for others. 

We are strangers to each other…The place where we really need to come together is around the table.” - Marion Cunningham

that is all for today.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

television: mad men vs. justified

sorry, no food today, kids. I'm a bit too busy cooking & serving & cleaning & baking to pause long enough to take pictures of either the step-by-step process or even the finished product {talk to Grandpa about this}. However, I did have time to catch two of my all-time favorite shows. This week saw the return of Mad Men and the ending of the beginning of a countdown to the season finale of Justified (just two episodes left!).

I am happy and funny and silly, but I am not constitutionally a "happy" person. I laugh and smile and talk in funny accents, watch Jon Stewart and adore Mel Brooks. I am happy, but I am not a happy person. I like my jokes sarcastic, my life view with a touch of cynicism. As such, I never can quite stick to watching sitcoms on television. I found Community wonderful and hilarious, still watch re-runs of Frasier and Wings on daytime tv channels, but I can't quite seem to remember that x night is Community night. I like my dramas {though I do prefer that they provide at the very least a wry chuckle now and again}. For me, The West Wing exemplifies this sort of television: an hour-long drama about serious things and serious people, but characters who are people who laugh and joke and love and hate each other. Alas, TWW went away at its own perfect moment.

However, there are plenty of those wry chuckles in the dialogue of both MM & Justified. The nearly two year hiatus from Sunday night MM viewing with my mom & my oldest friend, cocktails in hand, was a sad one. We were left wondering what was about to happen: would Joan tell Roger the baby was his? would Don really marry Megan? would Lane manage to keep Sterling Cooper Draper Price afloat without Bert's money? Societally, how would these Korean War vets and their underlings manage to navigate the late-sixties movements for racial equality and against war?

They were all fascinating questions, posed by a fascinating show that never seemed boring and always left us wanting more. Then they left us wanting more for so long we forgot how much more we wanted. I'm not sure if it was the long hiatus or the fact that I became used to my Sunday nights filling with the English accents of Downton Abbey, but I was sorely disappointed in the return of Mad Men. The show seemed a bit flat {well, flat other than Christina Hendricks' bosom}. I simply didn't care what happened as they moved forward. None of the burning, pressing questions made me want to keep watching. I nearly turned it off in the middle of the endless two-hour focus on Don's grumpy mortality. I turned to my mother and informed her that I was giving it the final forty-five minutes and next week's episode, then we were done with the show.

I am no longer impressed by fabulous period set and actor dressing. Matthew Weiner's dialogue was as stellar as ever, the actors' notes were still pitch-perfect, except the song seems to be fading. Only in the final moments, when the not-so-hilarious SCDP joke ad backfired upon them and their lobby filled with African-American job applicants, did I even bother wondering what the next move would be. In the giant game of chess played by historical dramas {bodice ripper or not, MM remains a historical drama in the great British tradition}, we all know what happens, so long as we've read our history books.

The key is whether we care what happens to these particular characters. I suddenly cared again. How would Lane and his ilk {for me, the show is becoming far more about Lane than Don at the moment. The Brit stepped up mightily in comforting Joan and taking charge of the near-disastrous racial issue} bridge the gap to the history we know is coming home faster than Dr. Harris in a body bag? I used to feel I knew these characters. Despite all the subterfuge, the audience knew more about Dick Whitman and all the individual cheating, scheming, and dreaming than anyone else populating Mad Men. That thin veneer of viewer knowledge was shattered when Megan casually informed us that she knew, too. I'm left not wondering where they all go from here but wondering if I even want to watch next week. You know, Great Expectations will begin showing up on PBS Sunday nights soon.

Tuesday nights, though, never fail to disappoint. Justified is both entirely different and exactly the same as MM. Both give us a male protagonist nearing middle age that spends a bit too much time running from himself, screwing around, screwing up, and generally being creative with his stories. The former begins each season essentially as a crime procedural, until a moment hits that brings all the disparate story lines together into a discussion on Raylan Givens' hubris. The ancillary characters and story lines are great, always providing foil, but they are also solid enough to stand on their own.

There is a major difference in comparing a show slowly building from a season premiere to one rushing headlong to a likely chaotic finale. The former will always feel slower, more measured, and rather more boring. The latter holds the promise of finding out that tiny.bit.more. Resolution generally trumps anticipation, except we're still technically in the anticipation stage of Justified. Last night's episode began the gentle and violent weaving of the final threads of this third season together. Dickie got out of jail, the Detroit mob is finally ready to add their names to the long list of people who want to kill Quarles. Boyd Crowder may possibly begin properly making money again {or maybe he'll just blow shit up to get money}. Every moment feels important. Every moment seems to indicate that this might be the last time we see that character alive again.

Part of this dilemma between 60's advertising and current law abiding and law breaking folk does hinge on the violence. People don't die {well, except Mrs. Blankenship} on Mad Men. I'm not sure of the record, but I am pretty sure that at least one minor character dies every single episode on Justified. Meanwhile, the dialogue remains sparkling. The delivery is faithful and true. Nobody does a come-to-Jesus revival meeting preacher at a sheriff's election debate better than Walton Goggins as Boyd. Raylan gets to say things like "I don't care about shitkicker on shitkicker crime." A character we've seen twice {Lindsay the bartender/owner, a bottle blonde as handy with speechmaking as she is a shotgun} gets bon mots including, "I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to fill me in on every moment of your life up to the point where you took my feminine virtue." Adding that Raylan doesn't need to apologize, but she thinks she does,"I feel a little bad for taking advantage of you, but not so bad that I don't plan to do it again."

Of course, I'm also biased. Harlan County, Kentucky is about as similar a place to Jefferson County, Pennsylvania as I will likely ever see on television. We don't have a violent crime in quite the same way {also, we lack a Raylan Givens}, but this is a shitkicker on shitkicker on crime sort of place. The writers and producers of Justified are clever: these are the smartest and truest country people you will find characterized on television. This is what country people look and sound and act like, with some as smart as Boyd and others as dumb as the Bennett boys ever would be.

In the end, I'll be watching both Mad Men and Justified next week. but, I know which one I'll be on the edge of my seat for and which one I'll be watching to play spot the flaws. I can't say for sure, but the worst thing that might have ever happened to Mad Men was too long a wait between seasons. Once we've gotten out of the habit of caring about Don and the rest of the crew, we may not learn to care again.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

anticipation; or how I get twitchy when spring is just around the corner

today isn't about food or fashion or feeling pretty or interesting things outdoors...it's about an itch. After watching Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona for the first time, my oldest friend turned to me and informed me that the more she thought about it, the more she thought I was rather like Christina. Granted, I'm not about to get on a plane with a total stranger, Javier Bardem or not, and fly off to Oviedo {Fernando Alonso's birthplace!} with him on a lark.

Still, over the intervening years I've come to see her point: I'm never quite satisfied; once I get what I want & live with it for a bit, it turns out to be another example of what I don't want; I desperately want to be creative but never seem quite able to find a niche from whose bosom I won't run screaming from sooner or later; obsessive projects burn brightly and quickly flame away. It is all very much Scarlett Johansson's character.

Spring and the lure of a busy summer in the store, as always, is a trigger for an extra bit of restlessness. Suddenly, there are all sorts of projects to begin whether there will be time to complete them before work takes over my life or not. I'm wanting to learn to play the guitar again, to run around and take more pretty pictures {no snow + no green growth = unattractive Western Pennsylvania}, to begin running or bicycling, to wear only one layer instead of seven, to use vegetables not starches, and paint.

The last is the most vexing. My father has a habit of popping off rather lovely watercolors in the space of an evening. Watercolor and I do not mix well, unless you take that to mean "mix until everything is a muddy blob." Watercolor & I do that rather too well. and so, I've embarked on another of my creative endeavors, bound most likely to fall by the wayside in a month or two: acrylic painting. That is, once I run out of ideas. I've two completed, two I'm pondering, and some lovely colors just sitting, cheering me on. For now, they hang in my house, but I am considering {after a lot more practice} asking if they might hang at the local coffee shop for some unsuspecting blind person to buy. I'll let you know how it goes.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

inspiration; or Honey Apricot Almond Layer Cake as a signal of spring

there is something absolutely soothing about the mixing of batter, the pouring, and especially about the licking it off a spoon. It is even more soothing when one has spent the day pondering the melding of flavors and the additions and subtractions necessary to best adapt a favorite recipe to the idea in your head. I've been inspired in different ways lately: doing some pretend yoga, painting a lot, pinning many, many, many outfits to Pinterest. Still, when I saw a bittersweet article at Saveur about Southern layer cakes, family, and how they all fit together, I knew I had another inspiration.

I rather like layer cakes: they represent a challenge and rarely impinge upon my own family's history and out individual prowess in the kitchen. I know my mother can do them, but growing up, cake was {and is!} entirely of the slab variety. You make a delicious cake in a square or rectangular glass pan, let it cool barely away from piping hot, and slather with powdered sugar icing. It is super delicious, often inventive, and rarely the sort of fiddly mess that comes with a layer cake. So, I like to challenge myself to get out of the box from time to time. I'm waiting impatiently for spring, even with the brief flickers of it we've seen, and wanted to combine the sort of spicy comfort of a wintery cinnamon cake with the delicate spring of apricots and almonds. It all began with removing the cocoa from the traditional Miracle Whip Chocolate cake and evolved from there. The cinnamon icing is rather spicy, so if you prefer something a bit less intense, drop the amount back to a teaspoon or two.

Honey Apricot Almond Layer Cake

Cake:
1 cup Greek yogurt
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon almond extract

2 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch salt

Filling:
6 ounces apricot jam
1/2 teaspoon almond extract

Icing:
1/2 to 1 pound powdered sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1/4 cup milk

slivered almonds

preheat the oven to 350 degrees and mix the wet cake ingredients in a measuring cup. Set to the side. Mix the dry cake ingredients well in a large bowl, then add half of the yogurt/honey/milk mixture and mix. Add the rest and mix well. You may need a bit more milk to achieve the proper cake batter consistency. Pour into a well greased (or sprayed) 9 inch springform pan and bake for 30-45 minutes, until there is not sticky batter or crumbs sticking to an inserted knife. Once out of the oven, run a serrated knife around the edge of the cake to loosen it from the pan. Remove the round edge of the pan and allow the cake to cool.
While the cake is cooling, mix the jam and extract for the filling and set aside.
Also while the cake is cooling, mix the powdered sugar, cinnamon, and milk to a thick icing consistency. DO NOT add all the milk at once, mix some milk with some sugar until there is about a cup and a half of icing, moderately thick. Feel free to use a plain vanilla store-bought can of icing & simply mix a tablespoon of cinnamon into the icing. Set aside.
Once the cake is cooled, gently peel the cake from the bottom of the springform pan by placing it on your hand, upside down and removing the pan. Then, return it to the cooking rack, right side up. Using a serrated knife, cut the cake in half, spinning the rack to facilitate easier cutting. Place the bottom half of the cake on your serving plate, then spread the jam mixture over the top. Take care to keep it from getting too close to the edge or dripping down the side. Next, place the other half of the cake on top of the cake and jam cover. Gently ice the entire cake, starting on the top and pushing excess icing down the sides of the cake. Firmly press the almonds around the edge, using them to cover any icing gaps or jam spillage. Allow the cake to chill in the refrigerator for at least a half hour to set before serving.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

atonement; or why men deserve an apology for Valentine's Day hoopla

there are many people I love, many who have carved out some part of my cold, cold heart for their own. I do try to make them feel loved most days, to show my appreciation for their positions in my life with a bit of respect, affection, acknowledgement. I tend to fail. That's the sort of thing that happens with my face. It looks cranky, and I'm a quiet girl much of the time.

Today, though, I went grocery shopping to a number of stores, everything from a big box chain to a discount place to the fancy deli with the good cheese. It looked like St. Valentine had been martyred in each and every store. Red, pink, chocolate, flowers, heart-shaped everything, it was everywhere. It just doesn't seem right that love is measured by an amount spent and hoops jumped through.

I'm not an idiot: just like every other holiday, Valentine's Day has been turned into a love-fest and chocolate orgy by advertising campaigns that have helped sell more cards, candy, roses, and jewelery. It's just as we've somehow decided that Christmas is all about the presents. But, and I'm about to go out on something of a limb, it's kind of, sort of, entirely the fault of women. If the first cavewoman hadn't gushed to her girlfriends that Nugg had drug back an entire prehistoric elk, then the girls wouldn't have felt the need to nag the other cavemen into attempting to top each other with bigger and scarier animal kills.

This sort of commercialization taps equally into the traditional gender stereotypes of women who want stuff and men who want to outdo their friends by scoring better in the game of stuff buying. There is no reason for us ladies to demand flowers, jewelery, candy, sentimental cards, a fancy dinner out, *and* the myriad other products offered. Love isn't about grand gestures on one day, it's about the little gestures every day. It is small displays of affection, it's doing the dishes, it's baking cookies, it's listening, it's courtesy, it's in the eyes and the heart, not the credit card statement.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy and celebrate Valentine's Day. I'm baking cookies to give to those important to me. I made a special dessert for my mom when she came over to watch tv. My dad will bring me a couple of red carnations. Yes, V-Day is a holiday and it should be marked. It should be celebrated with a card, or a flower, or a text, or some simple affection that is right for the two people sharing it. The key is that is is a show of affection and love, correct for the two people sharing it. Not over the top, not demanding, not what society tells us it should be. Love is all-encompassing, but it never demands more than we can give, it is understanding and compassionate. Let's celebrate love, not stuff.

If you want to celebrate with a dessert, here is what I made for my mom.

In a pretty glass, layer:
-leftover Strawberry Pie filling
-chocolate pudding (you can make homemade, but a regular 5-minute milk & powder package works great. Simply add an extra tablespoon of cocoa powder if you like dark chocolate).

Gentlemen, I apologize for the extra hoops, demands, and stress brought about by next Tuesday. Ladies, don't forget that it isn't the fancy lingerie your partner is interested in, but what's underneath ;-)

PS no offense intended to any same-sex couples. You have the same hoops and expectations as anyone else, I simply find writing from my own heterosexual point of view a bit easier.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

breakfast; or how soft-boiled eggs can never be eaten in bed

some days, I want to live in a fantasy world: one where I wake up with unmussed hair, ungroggy, and immediately ready to begin the day. In that special world, I manage to simultaneously get out of bed, make a delicious, eggy breakfast and hot tea, then serve it to myself in bed. Since I usually have this fantasy first thing in the morning, there are certain liberties with cosmic abilities to snuggle deeper into the covers while cooking. There never seems to be a desire to have this magical breakfast delivered by someone else, as I'm always making it myself. As with most fantasies held while still partially asleep, there's a basis in reality but the possibilities are never quite worked out.

In any case, not being an upstairs dweller in Downton Abbey, I've also never figured out how one is supposed to eat a breakfast with knife and fork, toast and hot drink while reposing calmly in bed. There would be spilling, sloshing, and crumbs. So, then, it is a good thing that that particular little mental idea doesn't work. That does not mean that breakfast isn't a most important meal. Friends have learned that if I'm not feed in the morning, I'm liable to be unduly cranky. To those of you who have experienced this, I apologize. I really am sorry to be such a grouch. Just tell me I'm a grouch and maybe feed me, and it's likely to fix things. Similarly, I have a bad habit of not eating when stressed or thinking through ideas and projects. I really don't have the weight to lose, so maybe someone should remind me to eat, too.

Eggs, in an omelet, fried with a runny yolk, soft boiled, poached, fried hard in a sandwich, that's the best breakfast. They also work fabulously for lunch or supper, but I may just be rhapsodizing a bit too much about food as it is. The other day, I made a lovely little fried egg sandwich, popping the eggs on bread I'd toasted under the broiler with Brie. I have no idea why it didn't turn out well. All the elements were great, it just wasn't as good as either I wanted it to be or it should have been. Alas, some things fall short. At least it was only the eggs that day.

Soft-Boiled Eggs
2 eggs per person
water to cover

These are some of the easiest eggs for breakfast, so long as you can stand a runny yolk and not quite hard whites. I like them all the time, with toast for dipping, but my mom will only eat them when sick. To each her own.
Just put the eggs in a small pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil with a lid on. Once the water is at a heavy boil, set a timer for two minutes. You may need to turn the heat down enough to keep the water from boiling over. Once the two minutes are up, remove from the heat, drain, and cover the eggs in cool or cold water.
This is where is gets tricky. With a bowl for each serving ready, gently but firmly tap a spoon on the side of the egg, about halfway down. Make an indentation enough that you can pull the two halves apart over the serving bowl. Egg goo will run out, especially if you break the yolk. Take the spoon and gently slide it around the edge of the shell, removing the cooked whites into the bowl. Mix up a bit, add salt and pepper, spoon onto toast. There's no way this wouldn't be messy in bed, but if you feel like it, go ahead and try.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

news; or how posting is either obsessive or nonexistent

apologies. I sure do apologize a lot. There are hosts of things I could use for the explanation/excuses dance, but suffice to say that I was here, I went away, I came back, and there were a lot of things going on in my head. There's still creative stuff percolating away, but it's been pushed behind a wall of excitement and terror. I've been verbally/provisionally accepted to a graduate program in mass media arts and journalism. I can't tell if it's more scary that the chair mapped out the schedule of my classes for the next year and a half or that I still had to hand in my application and gather letters of recommendation...or that I have to wait until June and was about a week too late to just get started now.

The waiting is killing me. True, I now have time to plan things, pop in final vacations (yay California and the free time I had to think things out!), get my sister's wedding sorted, all sorts of fun things, but I have the patience of a gnat. I make a decision, I want it to happen straightaway, no waiting, no reflection. Reflection drives me nuts because then I get all doubtful.

In any case, I have to fill my time between now and official acceptance and actually beginning classes (can anyone wait to see me juggle grad classes and a full Formula One reporting schedule, along with maid of honor duties and a full-time job?)...so I should get a-posting here. Maybe some of my other blogger friends will give me something extra to do, maybe I'll get back on the fiction writing (anyone remember the first four parts of my short story?).

It all comes down to the fact that I need to get back on the proverbial horse. I am rather excited for grad school, with its multitudinous branching future options (stay here, maybe teach here, maybe commute to teach locally, maybe a doctoral program nearby or far away, etc.) and to get back to academics. There are already thesis thoughts floating around my head, when I'm not planning too far in advance and dreaming about happy little college professorships that simply cannot happen for ages.

Until then I remain here, physically and online. There will be food and fun and book clubs and fashion pictures and creativity. Keep reading and following on Twitter and checking out the Facebook page. I look forward to sharing the new experiences with you and continue to apologize for my flakiness.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

new year; or why we should be fun & festive in the dead of winter

true, it isn't winter everywhere in the world. In some places it is summer, in others the weather doesn't actually approach the traditional thoughts of winter. Still, there is no reason that we have to pretend that since the "holiday" season is over we still don't sometimes want an excuse to dress up and gather together. Here in Pennsylvania, we need the accumulated body heat over the next couple of months.

Christmas and New Year's is over, bringing an end to the traditional gorging on family gatherings, cookies, and tipples. Most are still sticking to their resolutions; it's still only the second of January. But when that time comes that most have completed their yearly resolution let down, be ready to throw  a party. Right now, we are all sick of seeing each other...or not seeing the people we want to see, having been forced into family stuff {not me, I see my family every day, but I've just had two days where we closed the store in the span of one week. I'm energized and ready to go}.

For my family, New Year's Eve is generally a night for a bit of fancy dressing up, then sitting around the kitchen table eating and drinking. Usually a few friends drop in, we watch the ball drop, drink something fizzy, eat some more and go home. It's pretty low key and completely enjoyable, so long as I don't lose the Trivial Pursuit game that may or may not pop up most years. Mom always spends a bit of time playing with the bayberry candles to be certain they burn out properly and completely for good luck...and this year was no exception. Dad hand dips the candles because it is nearly impossible to find bayberry tapers to burn each evening from Christmas Day until they burn out completely for good luck before midnight on New Year's Eve.

I got a bit carried away with my new "remote commander" for the camera and some fashion-y, vaguely arty shots before my Christmas decorations came down. Enjoy, keep reading, and look for more food, fashion, and randomness to come throughout the year!

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

holidays; or how sometimes life gets in the way of fun

oh dear. It has been a while, hasn't it? It turns out that I'm no good at this blogging thing unless I'm slightly obsessive about it...which certainly isn't healthy. Well, never fear, there are plenty of recipes and silly stories still rattling about in this brain. However, I have decided that it simply is not healthy to prance about taking pictures of myself most days of the week. I just can't do it: the existence of this blog smacks enough of narcissism without pictures of myself all over it. So, expect a few fewer pictures, certainly less of me, and maybe some more doodles. As is life, this is a work in progress.

Plus, my sister and her man are getting married. At the moment, they want to hold it near my house, a good five or six hour drive from their own, which makes me something of a wedding location planner for the near future. I can't wait for their ceremony, and since I'm maid of honor, to be part of it! It does make for a busy girl though.

Still, with no racing and no vacations within the family planned for the near future, this girl has a bit more creative time. I decorated for Christmas last weekend and my house feels like a magical winter wonderland now. I can't wait to get on the cookie baking train and have drank a half gallon of eggnog {mainly used a coffee creamer} in five days. I'm pretty secular when it comes to Christmas, loving the feast and ways to show your love for those around you, rather than the Christian religious tradition. I'm pretty sure everyone can get behind a holiday that promotes good will towards all and fairy lights. This is the time of year where I turn off all the lights but the Christmas ones and sit still, being thankful for all I've got. Over the next couple of weeks I'll being going over my family's traditional holiday delicacies. drinks, and a teeny bit of party planning. I hope you enjoy this season to the best of your abilities.

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor

Thanksgiving; or why food & family should come first whenever possible

I'm not going to lie: Thanksgiving is the one day my immediate family is always together. Not that it matters much: I eat supper with my parents and grandfather at least four nights a week. That's the sort of thing that happens when you live next door and run a business together. It is often more joyful to cook for others than just for myself, and why bother stocking two refrigerators completely when I'll never eat everything before it turns.

That doesn't mean that we don't have traditions, though. For the first time ever my mother's side of the family actually came to our home for a winter holiday meal last year...though we didn't know they were coming until the night before. It didn't really matter. As in all cases of holiday hosting, we had far too much food planned. Here in the Reid family, the Christmas and Thanksgiving food traditions are a bit blurred. The major difference? poultry instead of ham in November. We do roast turkey, noodles, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, stuffing, candied yams, fresh-baked rolls or bread, pumpkin pie, and bakeless cake {along with whatever vegetables Mom & I can shove down my father & grandfather's throats} for Thanksgiving. For Christmas, the menu is ham, scalloped potatoes, candied yams, fresh-baked rolls or bread, pumpkin pie, and bakeless cake, adding in assorted Christmas cookies.

Though I'll likely be posting the bakeless cake and various cookie recipes between now and Christmas, and am currently putting bread, stuffing, and maybe green bean casserole into the oven, I thought I'd do a mini list of Thanksgiving food for this holiday. Unfortunately, those comfort foods were posted at times of sorrow. Roast chicken simply takes less time than turkey. Pumpkin pie is delicious hot or cold. Mashed potatoes are easy as, well, pie, as I mention tirelessly in a post or two.

Originally, Thanksgiving was apparently celebrated as a harvest feast between early settlers and Native Americans. I don't think it was terribly widely celebrated until the American Civil War, when Abraham Lincoln declared it a national holiday. I really hope he wasn't the president that initiated the "pardoning of the turkey." {For more information, find yourself greatly entertained by watching a few minutes of The West Wing and a rather long dissertation on the President's actual lack of ability to pardon a turkey} However, the day of celebration was fixed as the final Thursday in November by Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the eve of World War II.

Even if it is just immediate family, Thanksgiving is one of three days each year we actually close the store. That means it's another day ripe for dressing up. Sparkly heels make even washing dishes more fun, and a relaxing afternoon on the couch more festive. For me, it marks the end of autumn and Black Friday is no day for shopping bu a day for decorating. Christmas is just around the corner, even for those who celebrate only the family togetherness and showering those you love with gifts of that holiday. Enjoy your day if you're celebrating here in the States, enjoy your Thursday if you are in a foreign land, but make sure to hug a family member or friend no matter where you are.

I am thankful for my family, my friends, their loves, a warm home, plenty of food on the table, the ability to derive enjoyment from beautiful things of myriad varieties, and a snuggly puppy. Everything else will come in its own time. What are you thankful for?

"Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch." - Garrison Keillor