not here.
here: shannadipaolo.tumblr.com
xo.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Monday, March 16, 2009
a smear of ash, a pinch of salt, a stick of butter: worry with lemon-chive cream
"my life is a listening, his is a speaking. my salvation is to hear and respond." Thomas Merton
a saturday ago, i was early morning porch sitting in the sunny, chilly air, just waiting. or, i was trying to wait. instead, i was worrying. i worried about getting all of my to dos done. i worried about a friend who was hurting. i was anxious about the tires on my car. i felt guilty for something i'd said that week.
as i worried, my thoughts blocked out the beautiful morning, the peaceful quiet filled up with nervous energy, and every muscle in my body stood on edge. i wasn't waiting. i couldn't just be.
"there has to be something that can center me." i thought. "yoga, meditation, or something."
then i realized: prayer. i know the benefits of prayer, but in that moment i was completely convinced of its centering power.
when i pray, i'm noisy. i unload on God. i complain to Him. i ask for things. i tell him what i'm anxious about, what i wish would just go away, what i wish He would fix. i treat God like a buddy, like a favorite, time-tested, all-powerful buddy.
that kind of frank honesty with God is healthy, and i think, beneficial. but there is another side of prayer on the opposite end, and it's completely other. it's the quiet kind of prayer, the still, transcendent, even centering side that involves silence from us and maybe even Him. we have to submit ourselves to communication with Him, and sometimes that means shutting up so He can speak, so He can show us what should be on our minds. He might be vocal, but He might be still and quiet, too. just the exercise of listening, waiting and opening our minds to His direction is enough to transform our days.
usually when i cook, there's someone else in the kitchen--alan, or one of my roommates, or katie, or someone. but when i saw this recipe for simple broccoli soup with cream, with all of the chopping and zesting and shredding it requires, i knew it would be best if i made it on my own. in the kitchen there's one goal only: finish and prepare a dish. not prepare a dish and watch a show, or prepare a dish, answer an e-mail and read a book. just cook. it provides a lot of time to muse, then, and while i made this soup i mused on the idea of centering prayer. the conclusions i arrived at, you just read. the soup, i guess, you'll have to make yourself.
broccoli soup with lemon-chive cream (from orangette)
serves 4-6, with leftovers
For the soup:
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 medium leeks, white and tender green parts only, sliced
1 small yellow onion, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 ½ lb. broccoli, both crowns and stems, trimmed and coarsely chopped
5 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 rind (about 2 inches square) from a piece of Parmesan cheese
¾ tsp. kosher salt, or less if your broth is well salted
For the sour cream:
1 cup sour cream (not low-fat or nonfat)
2 scallions, white and pale green parts only, very thinly sliced
¼ cup minced chives
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
½ tsp. kosher salt
¼ tsp. pressed or minced garlic
in a small stockpot or dutch oven, warm the butter and oil over medium heat. add the leeks and onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they have softened and the onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. add the garlic, and cook for one minute. add the broccoli, stock, parmesan rind, and salt, and stir to mix. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook, partially covered, until the broccoli is tender, about 20 minutes.
while the soup cooks, prepare the cream. in a medium bowl, stir together the sour cream, scallions, chives, lemon zest, lemon juice, grated parmesan, salt, and garlic, mixing until fully combined. taste, and adjust as necessary.
to finish the soup, remove the parmesan rind. using a blender and working in small batches – when puréeing hot liquids, never fill the blender more than one-third full – purée until very smooth. (alternatively, purée it in the pot with an immersion blender.) return the soup to the pot, add a few dollops of the cream mixture – i add about 1/3 cup – and stir to incorporate. taste for seasoning, and adjust as necessary. if needed, rewarm the soup gently over low heat.
serve the soup with a spoonful or two of the remaining cream on top.
a saturday ago, i was early morning porch sitting in the sunny, chilly air, just waiting. or, i was trying to wait. instead, i was worrying. i worried about getting all of my to dos done. i worried about a friend who was hurting. i was anxious about the tires on my car. i felt guilty for something i'd said that week.
as i worried, my thoughts blocked out the beautiful morning, the peaceful quiet filled up with nervous energy, and every muscle in my body stood on edge. i wasn't waiting. i couldn't just be.
"there has to be something that can center me." i thought. "yoga, meditation, or something."
then i realized: prayer. i know the benefits of prayer, but in that moment i was completely convinced of its centering power.
when i pray, i'm noisy. i unload on God. i complain to Him. i ask for things. i tell him what i'm anxious about, what i wish would just go away, what i wish He would fix. i treat God like a buddy, like a favorite, time-tested, all-powerful buddy.
that kind of frank honesty with God is healthy, and i think, beneficial. but there is another side of prayer on the opposite end, and it's completely other. it's the quiet kind of prayer, the still, transcendent, even centering side that involves silence from us and maybe even Him. we have to submit ourselves to communication with Him, and sometimes that means shutting up so He can speak, so He can show us what should be on our minds. He might be vocal, but He might be still and quiet, too. just the exercise of listening, waiting and opening our minds to His direction is enough to transform our days.
usually when i cook, there's someone else in the kitchen--alan, or one of my roommates, or katie, or someone. but when i saw this recipe for simple broccoli soup with cream, with all of the chopping and zesting and shredding it requires, i knew it would be best if i made it on my own. in the kitchen there's one goal only: finish and prepare a dish. not prepare a dish and watch a show, or prepare a dish, answer an e-mail and read a book. just cook. it provides a lot of time to muse, then, and while i made this soup i mused on the idea of centering prayer. the conclusions i arrived at, you just read. the soup, i guess, you'll have to make yourself.
broccoli soup with lemon-chive cream (from orangette)
serves 4-6, with leftovers
For the soup:
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 medium leeks, white and tender green parts only, sliced
1 small yellow onion, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 ½ lb. broccoli, both crowns and stems, trimmed and coarsely chopped
5 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 rind (about 2 inches square) from a piece of Parmesan cheese
¾ tsp. kosher salt, or less if your broth is well salted
For the sour cream:
1 cup sour cream (not low-fat or nonfat)
2 scallions, white and pale green parts only, very thinly sliced
¼ cup minced chives
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
½ tsp. kosher salt
¼ tsp. pressed or minced garlic
in a small stockpot or dutch oven, warm the butter and oil over medium heat. add the leeks and onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they have softened and the onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. add the garlic, and cook for one minute. add the broccoli, stock, parmesan rind, and salt, and stir to mix. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook, partially covered, until the broccoli is tender, about 20 minutes.
while the soup cooks, prepare the cream. in a medium bowl, stir together the sour cream, scallions, chives, lemon zest, lemon juice, grated parmesan, salt, and garlic, mixing until fully combined. taste, and adjust as necessary.
to finish the soup, remove the parmesan rind. using a blender and working in small batches – when puréeing hot liquids, never fill the blender more than one-third full – purée until very smooth. (alternatively, purée it in the pot with an immersion blender.) return the soup to the pot, add a few dollops of the cream mixture – i add about 1/3 cup – and stir to incorporate. taste for seasoning, and adjust as necessary. if needed, rewarm the soup gently over low heat.
serve the soup with a spoonful or two of the remaining cream on top.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
a smear of ash, a pinch of salt, a stick of buter: tears in my lentils
why are girls so terrible to each other? i don't think i've ever been friends with a group of girls where there hasn't been some back biting, gossip and cat fights. usually, you just move on, but sometimes it hurts terribly and becomes very damaging. the broad answer is that we're all depraved, and our insecurities and personal fears are temporarily assuaged by pointing out someone else's flaws. the relief only lasts so long, and soon we're once again pushing down our rising internal panic by talking about someone else. and so it goes.
in kansas city i have a group of friends who are committed to their faith in the Lord and try hard to love each other in a Christ-like way. a conscious effort is made to support one another in love and be discreet about what we say about someone else when that person isn't around. at least, that's how i see it. we aren't perfect, but i'd like to think we're all giving it our best effort. we have a long way to go, but who doesn't?
as long as women have been around, talking behind one another's backs and causing mischief, there have been lentils. the lentil is a legume that originated in the middle east. it's still used there as a staple in many dishes, and for all it's fiber and protein, it's really quite simple. lentils come in green, yellow, red, brown and black varieties, but very rarely would you ever see someone eating a bowl of plain lentils, the way one might eat rice. they're always simmered down, seasoned up, and served with another dish.
while i was preparing my lentil soup this week, something about the way the dish was coming together convinced me i needed to share it with my friends. the lentil is not really date food. it's a stressed-out-from-work, worried-about-the-future, need-to-pray-about-this with my friends over big bowls of soup and crusty bread type dish.
so that's exactly what i did. as everyone congregated in my dining room, each anxious and worried about something different, we vented a little and cried a lot, but after we prayed and started eating, some of the stress fell away and we were left with a table full of giggling girls and a big pot of soup.
lentil and green collard soup
feeds about 6, with leftovers
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 onion, finely diced
several cloves of garlic,minced
2 cups of red lentils
1 tablespoon cumin
1 teaspoon cinnamon
salt and pepper
2 cups vegetable stock
6 cups water
a large bunch of collard greens, cleaned, stemmed and thinly sliced
lemon juice, to taste
Parmesan cheese, to taste
soak your lentils in cold water for 20 minutes. while they're soaking, pour 2 teaspoons olive oil in a large pot over medium heat, and then sautee the onion and garlic until the onion is transparent. drain your lentils and add them to the onion and garlic. add the cumin, cinnamon and salt and pepper to taste, and sautee for about 4 minutes. add the stock and water and bring to a boil over high heat. when it's boiled, lower the heat to medium low, cover and simmer for 15 minutes. while it's simmering, in a large skillet, heat the remaining olive oil over medium-high heat and sautee the collard greens with salt and pepper until they're wilted, about 10 minutes. add them to the pot and simmer the soup for about 10 more minutes. add the lemon juice to brighten the flavor. serve with Parmesan cheese.
in kansas city i have a group of friends who are committed to their faith in the Lord and try hard to love each other in a Christ-like way. a conscious effort is made to support one another in love and be discreet about what we say about someone else when that person isn't around. at least, that's how i see it. we aren't perfect, but i'd like to think we're all giving it our best effort. we have a long way to go, but who doesn't?
as long as women have been around, talking behind one another's backs and causing mischief, there have been lentils. the lentil is a legume that originated in the middle east. it's still used there as a staple in many dishes, and for all it's fiber and protein, it's really quite simple. lentils come in green, yellow, red, brown and black varieties, but very rarely would you ever see someone eating a bowl of plain lentils, the way one might eat rice. they're always simmered down, seasoned up, and served with another dish.
while i was preparing my lentil soup this week, something about the way the dish was coming together convinced me i needed to share it with my friends. the lentil is not really date food. it's a stressed-out-from-work, worried-about-the-future, need-to-pray-about-this with my friends over big bowls of soup and crusty bread type dish.
so that's exactly what i did. as everyone congregated in my dining room, each anxious and worried about something different, we vented a little and cried a lot, but after we prayed and started eating, some of the stress fell away and we were left with a table full of giggling girls and a big pot of soup.
lentil and green collard soup
feeds about 6, with leftovers
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 onion, finely diced
several cloves of garlic,minced
2 cups of red lentils
1 tablespoon cumin
1 teaspoon cinnamon
salt and pepper
2 cups vegetable stock
6 cups water
a large bunch of collard greens, cleaned, stemmed and thinly sliced
lemon juice, to taste
Parmesan cheese, to taste
soak your lentils in cold water for 20 minutes. while they're soaking, pour 2 teaspoons olive oil in a large pot over medium heat, and then sautee the onion and garlic until the onion is transparent. drain your lentils and add them to the onion and garlic. add the cumin, cinnamon and salt and pepper to taste, and sautee for about 4 minutes. add the stock and water and bring to a boil over high heat. when it's boiled, lower the heat to medium low, cover and simmer for 15 minutes. while it's simmering, in a large skillet, heat the remaining olive oil over medium-high heat and sautee the collard greens with salt and pepper until they're wilted, about 10 minutes. add them to the pot and simmer the soup for about 10 more minutes. add the lemon juice to brighten the flavor. serve with Parmesan cheese.
Friday, February 27, 2009
a smear of ash, a pinch of salt, a stick of butter
"Lent is the time for trimming the soul and scrapping the sludge off a life turned slipshod. Lent is about taking stock of time, even religious time. Lent is about exercising the control that enables us to say no to ourselves... Lent is the time to make new efforts to be what we say we want to be." - sister Joan Chittister
lent has always facinated me. at my non-denominational mega-church we never broached the idea of mystical spirituality; icons, liturgies, and rituals were eschewed for stage lights, a chorus of guitars and didactic sermons. when i attended the catholic wedding ceremony of one of my distant cousins or tagged along for a friend's first communion i was awed by the heavy symbolism and tradition that pervaded everything. sitting down, standing up, keeling. chanting, praying, hearing. drinking and eating. my observations mingled equal parts awe and terror; i marveled that spiritual practices could be so markedly complex yet horrified they were missing the point.
lent has always facinated me. at my non-denominational mega-church we never broached the idea of mystical spirituality; icons, liturgies, and rituals were eschewed for stage lights, a chorus of guitars and didactic sermons. when i attended the catholic wedding ceremony of one of my distant cousins or tagged along for a friend's first communion i was awed by the heavy symbolism and tradition that pervaded everything. sitting down, standing up, keeling. chanting, praying, hearing. drinking and eating. my observations mingled equal parts awe and terror; i marveled that spiritual practices could be so markedly complex yet horrified they were missing the point.
now i'm part of a community that observes a traditional church calendar and we've finally arrived at lent. in the decade since my first lent experience, i've had more enlightenment about my lenten practice. i give things up, but the meaning isn't really in the sacrifice. instead, it's in the willingness to search for habits, people or actions that we've become addicted to, and allow those things to fall away in favor of Christ's grace and His ability to fill us. we're weeding out the irrelevant, creating space for Him to fill us with more love. it never works to simply give something up; in the giving we must choose to be filled with something else.
this year, i've decided to give up eating out. it was initially a knee-jerk decision. i thought, "lent is coming. i go out too much, so i'll give that up," but the more thought i gave it, i felt it was increasingly important. i eat out when i'm hurried and haven't given enough thought to the shape of my day. i grab a burrito or slice of pizza, or heaven forbid, a quick-trip hot dog, because it's a last-ditch option on my way to my next activity. often i'm simply too lazy to prepare something at home. when i eliminate the option of eating at a restaurant, i create an opportunity to consider nourishment, hospitality, frugality and discipline; i begin to cultivate a home life, one that carefully considers the natural rhythm of my day and includes a community of friends.
so i've decided to give up one thing, eating out, and have replaced it with a series of spiritual disciplines that prepare me for Christ's direction, what He would have me do with my extra time, space and money. i'm anticipating recording the things that i learn from this experiment--insights i have into the season, recipies i try, conversations i have over the dinner table. i wonder what 10-year-old shanna would have thought (she gave up her blankie).
Friday, January 2, 2009
motivate me.
many creative types talk about inspiration. where they find it. how they wish they had some. what it prompts them to make and do.
inspiration, please. i have no lack of stimulating forces sparking my neurons and firing creative thoughts.
what i lack is motivation.
i've often longed for a technology that allows me to download thoughts, unaltered, into a word document and then rearrange them once they're on the page. this is a process i imagine would take about ten minutes or so, central prcessing unit happily humming away while my thoughts were converted into readable files and then opened with a double click. i'd never lose anything to laziness that way, forgetting what i wanted to write because i waited so long to get it down on paper. i suppose, though, that if such a technology existed we'd have bigger problems even than my lack of motivation, problems that involved computers being able to thoroughly probe the human mind.
anyway, it wouldn't really be writing, would it? writing is less about putting pen to paper than it is about losing yourself deep in thought, then looking at the clock and realizing an article you've yet to start is due in seven hours. you think a little bit more, this time about how much you hate writing and wish you'd chosen to be a lion tamer or a barista or anything but this. (you wonder if you could get your old job at the Gap back). the panic starts to rise again, this time coming from your stomach and flooding your brain: you can't do this, you'll embarrass yourself, you won't do this.
all the while, the article remains due at the same time it always has been, so you fight back the panic with promises of a nap once you're finished or a trip to the library or any bribe, really, that happens to work on that particular brand of panic. then you start, keystroke by keystroke, on the article.
inspiration, please. i have no lack of stimulating forces sparking my neurons and firing creative thoughts.
what i lack is motivation.
i've often longed for a technology that allows me to download thoughts, unaltered, into a word document and then rearrange them once they're on the page. this is a process i imagine would take about ten minutes or so, central prcessing unit happily humming away while my thoughts were converted into readable files and then opened with a double click. i'd never lose anything to laziness that way, forgetting what i wanted to write because i waited so long to get it down on paper. i suppose, though, that if such a technology existed we'd have bigger problems even than my lack of motivation, problems that involved computers being able to thoroughly probe the human mind.
anyway, it wouldn't really be writing, would it? writing is less about putting pen to paper than it is about losing yourself deep in thought, then looking at the clock and realizing an article you've yet to start is due in seven hours. you think a little bit more, this time about how much you hate writing and wish you'd chosen to be a lion tamer or a barista or anything but this. (you wonder if you could get your old job at the Gap back). the panic starts to rise again, this time coming from your stomach and flooding your brain: you can't do this, you'll embarrass yourself, you won't do this.
all the while, the article remains due at the same time it always has been, so you fight back the panic with promises of a nap once you're finished or a trip to the library or any bribe, really, that happens to work on that particular brand of panic. then you start, keystroke by keystroke, on the article.
Friday, December 19, 2008
query? part II
"And so, I think the idea is good, but needs more direction. I don't think the topic could stand on it's own without a stronger angle."
- An editor.
Yes, queries are difficult, but finally having the guts to query an editor only to receive an e-mail like this is down right terrifying. Support and assert my idea? I thought I would just send it to you and then sit back and listen to your profuse praise while you greenlight this article and any other fleeting idea I've ever considered fit for publication.
Now I'm wondering, am I really smart enough to do this? Do I have the level of intelligence necessary to connect this issue with any kind of insightful thought? Is my creativity a complete sham? Oh, the writer's mind. It is truly fraught with all kinds of anxiety and a touch of bipolar: the confident high I was riding after seeing my name in print last week, the despondent doubt I'm experiencing this morning.
So, you'll kindly excuse me for now. I'm off to fetch a cup of tea, close my eyes and inhale deeply, then hit "reply" and attempt to salvage this article.
- An editor.
Yes, queries are difficult, but finally having the guts to query an editor only to receive an e-mail like this is down right terrifying. Support and assert my idea? I thought I would just send it to you and then sit back and listen to your profuse praise while you greenlight this article and any other fleeting idea I've ever considered fit for publication.
Now I'm wondering, am I really smart enough to do this? Do I have the level of intelligence necessary to connect this issue with any kind of insightful thought? Is my creativity a complete sham? Oh, the writer's mind. It is truly fraught with all kinds of anxiety and a touch of bipolar: the confident high I was riding after seeing my name in print last week, the despondent doubt I'm experiencing this morning.
So, you'll kindly excuse me for now. I'm off to fetch a cup of tea, close my eyes and inhale deeply, then hit "reply" and attempt to salvage this article.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
query?
there are a lot of worst things about freelance journalism. developing story ideas is the worst. convincing a subject to agree to an interview is the worst. writing interview questions is fun, but sometime conducting the actual interview is terrible. nerve wracking. the worst. querying editors is the worst.
no, really.
querying editors is the worst.
i'm not sure what other profession combines mental strain and personal risk as completely as freelance writing does. it's like cultivating a rare and precious fruit in your backyard, ripening it to perfection, then finally plucking it and offering the first taste to a notoriously picky eater who has license to hurl the fruit across the room and watch as it splatters against the wall and slides sloppily to the floor. this is what i endure, myself and my little brainfruits.
every time i query an editor, i have to make a carefully-weighed decision: do i want to offer this apple to someone else, or would i like to eat it myself this time?
Thursday, December 4, 2008
a poem is never finished, only abandoned.
~ paul valery (french critic and poet 1871-1945)
this is true about poetry, yes, but i think it is a universal statement about all art. i've never truly finished anything i've ever written, only gotten sick of working on it or declared it "good enough." sometimes things are done, but i believe there's a thin differentiation between done and finished. it is in that small place that most of my projects lie: no longer a work-in-progress, but always somehow needing a little more work.
~ paul valery (french critic and poet 1871-1945)
this is true about poetry, yes, but i think it is a universal statement about all art. i've never truly finished anything i've ever written, only gotten sick of working on it or declared it "good enough." sometimes things are done, but i believe there's a thin differentiation between done and finished. it is in that small place that most of my projects lie: no longer a work-in-progress, but always somehow needing a little more work.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
when writing an article, i often have to call people to arrange interviews or sometimes to do the actual interview over the phone. this is normal. those people are my primary sources and without them, the article couldn't be written. i've probably done this somewhere around 200 times by now, i'd imagine, or maybe more.
there's always this internal struggle. i look up the number. i pause. my heart seizes up. i think of a million things i have to do before i can call the person. my laundry. clean my room. track down an image on a server somewhere. refresh my blog and look for comments. call my boss and ask him a question.
even after i do all of those things, i still have to call the person. no call, no article. i stare at the phone. i pick up the receiver. i put it back down. up. down. swallow. i dial the number. i dialed the wrong number. i hang up and dial the right number. those rings are always the hardest. i pray it goes to voicemail. it would be easier on me if an actual someone answered. but i always pray it goes to voicemail. i leave such good voicemails.
the actual someone actually picks up. i experience one more flash of panic, so tight and intense i think i might cry. then, from some quadrant in my brain, professionalism takes over. i hear my voice saying the right things, acting friendly. i hear my voice asking intelligent questions. i see that i've taken a few pointed notes. i'm joking, i'm laughing, i'm having a good time talking to this person i so desperately did not want to call.
i hang up, high on the kind of adrenaline that releases after you do something that you're good at, and you do it well.
i don't think i'll ever get over the panic, though, no matter how many times i do it. writer's panic. even joan didion had it.
there's always this internal struggle. i look up the number. i pause. my heart seizes up. i think of a million things i have to do before i can call the person. my laundry. clean my room. track down an image on a server somewhere. refresh my blog and look for comments. call my boss and ask him a question.
even after i do all of those things, i still have to call the person. no call, no article. i stare at the phone. i pick up the receiver. i put it back down. up. down. swallow. i dial the number. i dialed the wrong number. i hang up and dial the right number. those rings are always the hardest. i pray it goes to voicemail. it would be easier on me if an actual someone answered. but i always pray it goes to voicemail. i leave such good voicemails.
the actual someone actually picks up. i experience one more flash of panic, so tight and intense i think i might cry. then, from some quadrant in my brain, professionalism takes over. i hear my voice saying the right things, acting friendly. i hear my voice asking intelligent questions. i see that i've taken a few pointed notes. i'm joking, i'm laughing, i'm having a good time talking to this person i so desperately did not want to call.
i hang up, high on the kind of adrenaline that releases after you do something that you're good at, and you do it well.
i don't think i'll ever get over the panic, though, no matter how many times i do it. writer's panic. even joan didion had it.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
concieve.create.repeat
today, i'm feeling so very creativ.e.
maybe it's the sunshine this morning after the
rain??
i just discovered the answer to a question i've had for months:
question: how to make over a lamp i found on the side of the road?
answer: scales. trust me.
also, how do you people feel about feather headpieces?
not really indian style.
i'm thinking more like zelda-fitzgerald-roaring-twenties-gin-martini-type feather headpieces.
do you think i could make these on my own?? (i'm not afraid to try).
other things on the list: pumpkin carving, halloween costume, decorating the house to look like a spooky mansion...
i can't wait.
do you ever have that funny feeling where your brain suddenly unlocks an idea that it had been holding captive? i live for that.
maybe it's the sunshine this morning after the
rain??
i just discovered the answer to a question i've had for months:
question: how to make over a lamp i found on the side of the road?
answer: scales. trust me.
also, how do you people feel about feather headpieces?
not really indian style.
i'm thinking more like zelda-fitzgerald-roaring-twenties-gin-martini-type feather headpieces.
do you think i could make these on my own?? (i'm not afraid to try).
other things on the list: pumpkin carving, halloween costume, decorating the house to look like a spooky mansion...
i can't wait.
do you ever have that funny feeling where your brain suddenly unlocks an idea that it had been holding captive? i live for that.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
sometimes i write nursery rhymes
if it grows by leaps and bounds
when it's lead you all around
and it's written on your face
you want to call the chase
what do you do?
sink into the blue
climb back into bed
cover your little head
gracefully fade away
wait for a different day
hope everyone forgets
deal with the regrets?
or do you face it straight on
tell 'em they're all wrong
work until it's done
and fight till you're the one
when you win you'll know
how to stand on your own.
everyone will be proud
celebrate real loud.
until the next thing comes along
and it's started off all wrong
you work to make right
you don't give up the fight.
it's how we learn and know
step by step, we grow.
when it's lead you all around
and it's written on your face
you want to call the chase
what do you do?
sink into the blue
climb back into bed
cover your little head
gracefully fade away
wait for a different day
hope everyone forgets
deal with the regrets?
or do you face it straight on
tell 'em they're all wrong
work until it's done
and fight till you're the one
when you win you'll know
how to stand on your own.
everyone will be proud
celebrate real loud.
until the next thing comes along
and it's started off all wrong
you work to make right
you don't give up the fight.
it's how we learn and know
step by step, we grow.
Monday, October 6, 2008
i'm with the band
friday was just one of those days.
yes, it is a genuine rock band completely comprised of kids. kids that i hope to adopt.
the good kind.
i was productive at work. i did all of my errands. i received an unexpected check in the mail.
the ak came over. we rode the motorcycle down to the crossroads. we had margs and mexican at manny's. we met up with friends and family to hear
some beautiful music. we ran into our favorite waitress while she was playing her flute on the street. we popped into galleries and businesses. we saw friends. we met people.
isn't it funny how somedays are so good and others are so terrible, and it really all comes down to how comfortable you feel in your own skin?
just as we were about to leave, we ran into these guys:
yes, it is a genuine rock band completely comprised of kids. kids that i hope to adopt. when i went to give them some money, i realized their tip bucket was full. i'm proud to live in a city that encourages young ingenuity.
alan and i ended our night at the skies, rotating slowly above kansas city.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
metal heart
you know how some people are just real-life heroes?
chelsea is my real-life hero.
drew and alie are my real-life heroes.
i have a new real-life hero. let's call her "ms.k."
every morning, ms.k wakes up in her bed on the bad side of town. she drinks some tea. she spends some time with Jesus. then she goes to one of the worst elementary schools in the city and teaches all day long.
art class.
ms.k has the audacity to teach beauty to kids who only know pain. to create in the midst of destruction. when ms.k tells me about the things that have become her reality, i cry.
ms.k, i know you're going to change those kid's lives. you and Jesus.
ms.k, you're my real-life hero.
only someone with a metal heart could be brave enough to love love love in a world with so much pain.
for example, my sister chelsea. she's only 21 but she's already lived in italy and costa rica, visted korea, hung out in ecuador, nicagrauga, panama and spain. chelsea can talk to you about Jesus in english or spanish, which ever you prefer.
it's her goal to traipse all over the world, taking care of people in the name of Jesus.
chelsea is my real-life hero.or drew and alie.
i don't even know where to start.
drew and alie love God. they've been to thailand and sudan and the end of the world because of His love.
even when they're just in plain ol' columbus, their love shines.
(plus they're amazing photographers).
sometimes when i think about how much i love drew and alie, i can't stand it.
drew and alie are my real-life heroes.i have a new real-life hero. let's call her "ms.k."
every morning, ms.k wakes up in her bed on the bad side of town. she drinks some tea. she spends some time with Jesus. then she goes to one of the worst elementary schools in the city and teaches all day long.
art class.
ms.k has the audacity to teach beauty to kids who only know pain. to create in the midst of destruction. when ms.k tells me about the things that have become her reality, i cry.
ms.k, i know you're going to change those kid's lives. you and Jesus.
ms.k, you're my real-life hero.
only someone with a metal heart could be brave enough to love love love in a world with so much pain.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
fair isle socks
i watched an episode of the rachel zoe project this weekend and it made me want to get my closet ready for fall.
(which i'm wearing right now.)
which happened to be perfect, because the weather's been fall all week.
i visited a few thirft stores and my neighborhood target. i got fall-type things (it's a little blair waldorf). new tights, jumpers, headbands and fair isle socks.
(which i'm wearing right now.)then i came home and cleaned my closet. i put everything in order. now my closet is "per-fect-ly mer-chan-dized" as taylor from RZP would say. olly and i even hung out in there for a little bit.
when my closet is clean, i feel more human.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
know your onion!
sometimes i feel like an onion. i don't know how to describe this feeling except, well, there's the center of the onion that formed when i was a very little girl, and then every year there's a new layer, until i'm 23 and i'm quite the well-developed onion. but that part at the center, and all of those layers thereafter, are still very much me. sometimes i am the center of my onion, a little girl , and sometimes i am the newest layer, a 23-year old, but more often i am somewhere in between, leaving me to feel very, very 15.
it's hard, sometimes, to look and act 23 but feel six or 15. there are a lot of discrepancies, as i'm sure you can imagine, between appropriate feelings for a 15-year old and someone who is completely finished with college and has been "on her own" for the past year-and-a-half.
things this weekend that made me feel six:
- my dog ate an article of my clothing (tantrum)
- i ate chicken-fil-a (truly enjoying fast food)
things this weekend that made me feel 15:
- a series of events ended up with me home alone on saturday night (self-indulgent loneliness)
- crying in mccoys in front of the waitress (unexplained crying)
- afraid of the waiter at lulus (intimidated by people who seem cooler than me)
things this weekend that made me feel 23:
-cleaned my house for five hours on saturday (deriving joy from chores)
-spent loads of money on nothing very exciting (sensible spending)
do you ever feel like an onion?
it's hard, sometimes, to look and act 23 but feel six or 15. there are a lot of discrepancies, as i'm sure you can imagine, between appropriate feelings for a 15-year old and someone who is completely finished with college and has been "on her own" for the past year-and-a-half.
things this weekend that made me feel six:
- my dog ate an article of my clothing (tantrum)
- i ate chicken-fil-a (truly enjoying fast food)
things this weekend that made me feel 15:
- a series of events ended up with me home alone on saturday night (self-indulgent loneliness)
- crying in mccoys in front of the waitress (unexplained crying)
- afraid of the waiter at lulus (intimidated by people who seem cooler than me)
things this weekend that made me feel 23:
-cleaned my house for five hours on saturday (deriving joy from chores)
-spent loads of money on nothing very exciting (sensible spending)
do you ever feel like an onion?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
last night i helped with a surprise.
katie and nick never get to see each other. but they're, you know, in like. so it's hard. i can understand. when nick e-mailed me to ask would i please help him surprise katie, well, what was i supposed to say? of course yes. i think the only people on earth who wouldn't want to help with that surprise are recent divorcees and dictators. too busy oppressing people! (although, chavez probably knows how to have a good time).
so we came up with a secret plan. kate and i would eat dinner (at lulus, where i wish i lived. i wish i had my bedroom right in the center of lulus, and those hipster waiters would bring me red curry in bed.) and then we'd "meet up with people" at murays. for ice cream. and cookies.
the whole time i was nervous i would accidentally give up the surprise. like when you're sitting on the balcony at church, and you think, "i may jump over this balcony." and you know you wont, but you could. i was relieved when we finally made it to murays. i didn't give up the surprise!
katie and nick were so happy. you know that one youtube where the guys raise the lion cub, then release him into the wild, then go back a year later and find him again. the lion is so excited, he runs to them, jumps on them hugs them, then goes and gets his wife and introduces her to his old friends. it was exactly like that, except katie didn't go back and get her wife.
katie and nick never get to see each other. but they're, you know, in like. so it's hard. i can understand. when nick e-mailed me to ask would i please help him surprise katie, well, what was i supposed to say? of course yes. i think the only people on earth who wouldn't want to help with that surprise are recent divorcees and dictators. too busy oppressing people! (although, chavez probably knows how to have a good time).
so we came up with a secret plan. kate and i would eat dinner (at lulus, where i wish i lived. i wish i had my bedroom right in the center of lulus, and those hipster waiters would bring me red curry in bed.) and then we'd "meet up with people" at murays. for ice cream. and cookies.
the whole time i was nervous i would accidentally give up the surprise. like when you're sitting on the balcony at church, and you think, "i may jump over this balcony." and you know you wont, but you could. i was relieved when we finally made it to murays. i didn't give up the surprise!
katie and nick were so happy. you know that one youtube where the guys raise the lion cub, then release him into the wild, then go back a year later and find him again. the lion is so excited, he runs to them, jumps on them hugs them, then goes and gets his wife and introduces her to his old friends. it was exactly like that, except katie didn't go back and get her wife.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
pieces of our mythology
the first time ak and i ever hung out (went out?), he called me for directions. well are you driving? i asked. "yes, i have a green jeep."
i'm sure there was more to our conversation, but that detail inexplicably sticks with me. i think about it probably once a week, actually. (little treasures like bits of memories and people's names tend to get trapped in my mind and roll around, i guess, like semi-precious stones in a rock tumbler. someday i'll take them out and they'll be shiny and smooth.)
several minutes later (he was running a little late, even way back then, and to tell the truth, he still is most of the time) i looked out the sixth story window of my apartment onto the street below. i saw a cute stranger parking a green jeep. my heart jumped. i felt wonderfully ill.
sometimes, i still do.
i'm sure there was more to our conversation, but that detail inexplicably sticks with me. i think about it probably once a week, actually. (little treasures like bits of memories and people's names tend to get trapped in my mind and roll around, i guess, like semi-precious stones in a rock tumbler. someday i'll take them out and they'll be shiny and smooth.)
several minutes later (he was running a little late, even way back then, and to tell the truth, he still is most of the time) i looked out the sixth story window of my apartment onto the street below. i saw a cute stranger parking a green jeep. my heart jumped. i felt wonderfully ill.
sometimes, i still do.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
i get a terrible headache about once a month. i can feel them coming on: my shoulder starts to tense up, and then my neck, and then on the third day i'm hit with a full-blown pain parade. Weird vision, stabbing in my temple, general discomfort around the back of my head. today the pain was making me nauseous, nauseous, nauseous, and then suddenly, hungry. like, ravenous. like, i had to eat immediately or suffer certain death.
i dashed to the kitchen to warm up my lunch. as luck would have it this was my day to be visited by the fridge stealer (why me?), because all of my food was gone. the bread that i use to make toast: gone (!). the frozen pizzas i keep for emergencies: gone (!!). oh, mysterious fridge stealer, you make life interesting. i never know when i might be forced to forage for food outside the safe walls of my office.
a sandwich sounds good, i thought. i had the brilliant idea to have one made at the local grocery store deli rather than hitting up subway or jimmy johns. seems like a cheaper and fresher way to acquire a sandwich, right?
except. my sandwich was literally one thin slice of meat and one piece of cheese on white bread. not a sub. on white wonder bread. i had to beg for a piece of lettuce. and it cost. four. dollars. and. seven. teen. cents. no chips, no drink, just sandwich.
the guy who rang me up told me to "have a five-star day." i don't want a five-star day. i want a five-star sandwich.
tomorrow, i'll remember to pack.
(the sandwich in question.)
i dashed to the kitchen to warm up my lunch. as luck would have it this was my day to be visited by the fridge stealer (why me?), because all of my food was gone. the bread that i use to make toast: gone (!). the frozen pizzas i keep for emergencies: gone (!!). oh, mysterious fridge stealer, you make life interesting. i never know when i might be forced to forage for food outside the safe walls of my office.
a sandwich sounds good, i thought. i had the brilliant idea to have one made at the local grocery store deli rather than hitting up subway or jimmy johns. seems like a cheaper and fresher way to acquire a sandwich, right?
except. my sandwich was literally one thin slice of meat and one piece of cheese on white bread. not a sub. on white wonder bread. i had to beg for a piece of lettuce. and it cost. four. dollars. and. seven. teen. cents. no chips, no drink, just sandwich.
the guy who rang me up told me to "have a five-star day." i don't want a five-star day. i want a five-star sandwich.
tomorrow, i'll remember to pack.
(the sandwich in question.)Monday, September 22, 2008
jim the bread man has a curly white mullet. he drives a big red astro van with the bench seats taken out. he is mysteriously related to the amish.
jim the bread man has a deal worked out with white hen and price chopper. a few times a week he goes and picks up groceries that are nearing the end of their shelf life. then he brings them over to my office and lets us pick out anything we want.
sometimes sandra sees jim the bread man driving up the road. she tells me that he's coming and i race upstairs to wait for him.
thanks jim, for all of the yummy food!
today is the first day of fall. can you feel it? i don't think i can, not yet.
ak and i went to chicago this weekend, but i didn't take one (!) picture. just imagine that it was beautiful.
let's go apple picking.
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