Land Locked (and in Love!)

Homemade Samoas! Happy Birthday, Maura!

2011-05-11T20:19:00.000-04:00

I used to challenge my younger sister to popsicle eating contests when we were kids.

"I bet I can eat my popsicle faster than you can!" I'd say, and she would totally buy it. Maura would risk a cold headache and chattering teeth to finish her popsicle first. Me? My intention was never to "win." I'd slurp mine as slowly as I could, enjoying every sweet, dripping lick I had left while Maura looked sadly on with nothing but an empty stick and a sticky face. I pretty much did it just to torture her.

If you ask her, I'm sure she's got plenty of similar stories about all the crummy things I did to her in our childhood, since I was older and had the advantage of experience and overactive imagination on my side. (Maura, I am really, really sorry that I tricked you into giving me your favorite troll doll. And also that I made you switch Popples with me because yours was way cuter).

Despite it all (don't worry, she gave as good as she got), my sister is one of my dearest friends and makes me laugh like no one else can. Her scathing wit and sharp insight make for the best phone conversations, her sense of style is impeccable and enviable, and she inspires me constantly with her creativity and perseverance. I am proud to have her in my life, as both a sister and a friend.

So when she requested homemade Girl Scout cookies for her birthday this year, I didn't bat an eyelash (I also totally kept several of them for myself).

Homemade Samoas

Shortbread Cookies:

Ingredients

2 Cups flour

1 cup of butter (softened)

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 Cup powdered sugar

Cream butter and sugar. Add flour and salt to form a dough. Wrap in plastic and chill in the fridge for an hour. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Roll out dough to roughly 1/8th of an inch and use cookie cutters or the rim of a glass to cut cookies into the traditional ringed shapes (Sprinkle counter liberally with powdered sugar to prevent sticking). Bake on parchment paper for 8-10 minutes or until bottoms are just golden and tops are still pale. Let cool completely.

Coconut Topping:

Ingredients

1 lb sweetened shredded coconut

1 stick butter

1 Cup sugar

1/2 Cup heavy whipping cream

Preheat oven to 350. Spread coconut on a baking sheet and toast coconut until lightly golden brown, flipping several times to prevent burning.

Make a caramel sauce (CAUTION: SUGAR WILL BE EXTREMELY HOT!): Melt sugar in a heavy-bottomed pan over steady, medium-low heat--whisking constantly--until amber-colored. Add butter. When all the butter has melted remove the pan from the heat and slowly add the cream (the caramel will froth violently, just keep stirring).

Set aside 1/2 Cup of caramel sauce, and combine the rest with the toasted coconut.

To Assemble:

Brush the tops of cooled cookies with caramel, then spread the caramel coconut mixture on top and allow to set completely. Melt some high-quality dark chocolate in a double-boiler and dip the bottom of each cookie in the melted chocolate. Pipe chocolate stripes across the top of the cookies with a piping bag or a ziploc with the corners cut off.

Enjoy!

A very happy 26th birthday to my little sister, Maura. I hope the cookies were just want you wanted! I love you!

Some Days Are More Difficult Than Others (A Boyfriend Post)

2011-04-17T13:15:00.002-04:00

For those of you who know Kelly Riley, you know she's been taking her punches lately on the career front. That's twice now a certain local publisher has treated her--in my mind--with a lot less respect than she deserves. If you go back a few Fridays, not only did this publisher finally communicate that she didn't get the much desired position Kelly has wanted since moving to Minnesota, but the her current/not-current/current employer was also toying around with this lovely person.

It's a difficult thing to watch when someone you love is being treated so poorly by people she is better than. And there can be a feeling of helplessness knowing there is not much you can do about it. On this specific Friday, however, I took it upon myself to do what I could within my power to make sure this difficult day didn't get any worse than it already was--I arrived home after work on that Friday with a bag full of culinary delights and flowers.

In the grocery bag were a few of her favorite things: there was cheesecake, there was lemon ice cream and the ingredients for a delicious home cooked meal too. Chicken, lemons, cream, butter, potatoes and cheese--there are just a few of her favorite things. Do you see a theme here? We got cooking and had gnocchi and chicken with a lemon cream sauce! Oh and a "Kelly Riley Salad" made of iceberg lettuce, red bell peppers and cucumber with a light, homemade vinaigrette. It turned out to be a wonderful evening. We hung-out in our kitchen, worked together to create a meal and for a few brief hours Kelly forgot her woes.

Just because you get some release doesn't mean the difficult things in life go away. That's how things work, though, and we all learn to work through every day in our own way. As you can see, our household focuses on food--and here we come to the following night's meal and the recipe of this post: Pasta with Chestnuts, Pancetta and Sage via Epicurious.

We happened--don't shun us because this might sound pretentious--to have a jar of chestnuts in the pantry and pancetta in the freezer. Though we didn't have the called-for tagliatelle, we did have some angle hair pasta on hand. So, Saturday being Saturday, we opened a bottle of wine and began that evening's work. Mise-en-place is common phrase at our place. While Kelly watched, talked and listened we had Girl Talk on in the background and the preparations began.

The recipe called for 'crumbling' the chestnuts. When you see a jar of nuts, you don't usually associate that word with the limitations of what you can do with the ingredient. The things crumbled with ease however, since they are already roasted and ready to go. Very convenient!

From there it was easy--chop, dice, grate and you're ready.

Then you saute, boil, toss and it's done!

Some days are more difficult than others.

Love = Laminated Dough

2011-04-07T10:19:00.003-04:00

Traditions are important--birthday traditions even more so. In my house the very best birthday tradition is that you get to eat whatever you want. I can't remember the last time I celebrated my birthday with a traditional frosted cake. Infancy, perhaps. For me? Cheesecake all the way. I'm a loyalist, too, so it's cheesecake every single year. Sometimes I'll switch the flavor up a bit--plain cheesecake, raspberry swirl, salted caramel, whatever strikes my fancy.

My birthday isn't until July, though, so cheesecake will have to wait. (Sorry. Didn't mean to get your hopes up, there).

David's birthday was in March, though, and he definitely knew what he wanted:

Croissants. I love croissants. I love the girl who bakes croissants. And she must love me--otherwise, why would she make them for me? They were damn good.

One of our annual traditions is making a food item for one another on their birthday. I think the initiation of the tradition happened when I made fresh Cod with sun-dried tomato tartar sauce (at the end of the night I found out Kelly doesn't like sun-dried tomatoes...or tartar sauce) and fresh fava and jalapeno salad (she doesn't like beans either). She enjoyed the meal and in subsequent years began baking for me on my birthday. She's an excellent baker.

Kelly had previously mentioned (numerous times) that she had always wanted to make croissants. So why not provide an opportunity?

This year, when she asked what I wanted I immediately replied "marzipan croissants". Hell yeah. When I lived in Germany, I used to go to this bakery for breakfast whenever I had class in the schloss. I used to get two things: a warm marzipan croissant and a warm ham and cheese croissant. So damn good. The only issue: what's marzipan? Well, in Germany it's almond paste. An almond paste that by law (yes, by law, much like the Reinheitsgebot) is two parts ground almond to one part sugar, only additional flavoring allowed being rosewater. Apparently here, Kelly discovered, marzipan is a type of almond dough. More for baking independently or as part of cake, than stuffing pastry. After some additional research on both sides, we agreed that Kelly would make an almond paste then.

As such we spent the better part of my birthday proper sitting around the house, relaxing and every few hours beating butter or folding and rolling dough with butter. It was a fun, long process. But worthwhile. The almond paste was spectacular by itself. Baked into homemade croissant: amazing.

So. Croissants. From scratch. What had I gotten myself into?

Croissants are a lengthy ordeal centered on something terrifying called "laminated dough." Essentially, that means that you make a dough and layer it with butter about a thousand times. When you put the croissants in the oven the butter melts, leaving flaky pockets behind. Mmmm.

I'd never made a laminated dough before, and they're rumored to be pretty high maintenance. Keep the butter and your work surfaces cold! Work fast and roll out accurately! Don't panic!

Luckily there's a built-in step in the croissant-making process to help you get out all your fear and anxiety. Beating the butter!

1. This is the first video I ever took with my phone, and it shows. Apparently it doesn't reorient itself the way the regular camera does?
2. "Pasturized" butter. Obviously, the butter is pasturized! What I meant to say is that the butter was made using milk from pasture-fed cows. David thinks this mix-up is hilarious.
3. Unintentional cleavage shot. Sorry!

After that, things just seemed to fall into place...

The verdict?

The very best part is that David had the brilliant idea to freeze the shaped croissants before the rise. That means we have a whole stockpile of croissants in our freezer and we can just take them out, thaw, rise, and bake 'em, and have fresh, homemade croissants on a whim! As a matter of fact, we had some for breakfast this morning. DELICIOUS.

Happy, happy birthday, my love! Hope your croissants are everything you wished for! I am so excited and also terrified to see what you'll request next year...

I have to say that making these was a blast. Time-consuming? Yes, but not nearly as scary as I thought they'd be. Rather than try to detail the process here, I'm going to redirect you to Julie's excellent tutorials at Willow Bird Baking.

I've been reading her bog for over a year. She issued a croissant challenge to all of her readers, and without her encouragement and painstaking instructions and photo tutorials, I wouldn't have known where to begin. If you want to make croissants look through all of her amazing suggestions and success stories and get in the kitchen:

http://willowbirdbaking.wordpress.com/2010/07/03/secret-garden-recipe-homemade-buttery-croissants-and-pains-au-chocolat/

http://willowbirdbaking.wordpress.com/2010/10/09/homemade-croissant-phototutorial/

http://willowbirdbaking.wordpress.com/2010/07/21/croissant-masters/

http://willowbirdbaking.wordpress.com/2010/08/04/croissant-masters-round-2/

http://willowbirdbaking.wordpress.com/2010/09/13/croissant-masters-round-3/

I made my own almond paste using this recipe:

http://www.mysisterskitchenonline.com/2008/12/10/you-mean-i-can-make-my-own-almond-paste/

And then used that to make almond pastry cream:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Twice-Baked-Almond-Croissants-103999

(I also used the orange vanilla simple syrup in that recipe to glaze the croissants before baking so the almond slices would stick to the top).

Hot Chocolate...on a STICK.

2010-12-26T17:51:00.003-05:00

So, it's been three months since my last post. I'm pretty much the worst blogger on the planet. You're about to forgive me though, because I come bearing Hot Chocolate on a Stick.

Part of living in Minnesota is surrendering myself to the notion that every type of food imaginable can and should be served on a stick whenever possible. The winters are very, very dark and long here; I'm not going to begrudge anyone whatever amusement they can find. If putting a wooden skewer through a snack makes you happy, then more power to you!

Given that I've garnered a bit of a reputation when it comes to all things edible over the past year, I knew that whatever Christmas gifts I gave this year had to include something homemade and delicious. I didn't want to send anything too delicate that might break or spoil during shipping, so that ruled out most of my original ideas. By sheer luck I stumbled across this post on an adorable blog called Giver's Log and knew instantly that I'd found the perfect thing.

I made 68 of them, because I am just that crazy.

David was away deer hunting almost every weekend (we recently bought a 7 cubic ft freezer chest to hold all the venison meat. And David claims to have grown up in the suburbs), so luckily I had the whole kitchen to myself. Sixty-eight chocolates molded in Dixie cups with sticks and candy canes poking out of them take up an astonishing amount of space.

The most time consuming part of the entire project was actually the packaging. I made three flavors: original, peppermint, and cinnamon. I wrapped each individual stick in plastic and tied it up with ribbon, hemp twine, and a little label indicating the flavor. Then I grouped them up and placed them together in larger bags--four to a pack--and added another label with directions.

We had a huge blizzard the weekend that I made all of these. It was so cozy to be inside my apartment melting chocolate and eating broken candy canes while the snow piled up outside. I may also have had a mug of hot chocolate or two. I mean, someone had to be the taste-tester and David was up in Wisconsin sitting outside in the freezing snowstorm waiting for Bambi to come along, so I had to bite the bullet myself. Tough job.

Hot Chocolate on a Stick

adapted from Giver's Log

Yield: approximately 10 sticks of Hot Chocolate

WORD OF WARNING: Do not let so much as a drop of water near your chocolate or it will seize. If it seizes (and you will know if it does because it will become a grainy, horrible mess) it will still taste delicious, but it won't look as pretty. If you don't care how they look, then you don't have to be so vigilant. Make sure that all of your equipment is bone-dry. NO LIQUIDS. This means that you can't add booze to these (just splash some into your mug once it's all made!) or things like vanilla or almond extract. If you want to add flavorings they should be in powder or paste form only.

You will need: a double boiler (or a metal bowl over a sauce pan), a piping bag (or a ziploc bag), chocolate molds (Dixie cups and ice cube trays work just as well), a wooden spoon (or whisk, I quickly abandoned my spoon for the whisk. Use what works best for you!), and sticks (wooden dowels, lollipop sticks, popsicle sticks, candy canes, cinnamon sticks, whatever!).

Ingredients:

8 oz high-quality chocolate, between 60 to 72% cocoa. Do not skimp on the chocolate. I used Guittard and it was amazing.
1/4 cup of cocoa powder
1/2 cup of powdered sugar
pinch of salt

Directions:

Set up your molds and have your sticks handy.

Sift together the powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and salt. Please do not skip this step. Sift. Please sift. Then set aside.

Gently melt chocolate in a double boiler until about 2/3 of the chocolate is melted and a few solid pieces remain.

Take off heat and add the powdered sugar mixture. Stir, stir, stir. It will be very, very thick, like frosting. If it looks like a big old gritty mess, just keep stirring; it should smooth out soon enough. The final product will be smooth and very glossy and shiny. Immediately transfer to the pastry bag and pipe into your molds. You want 1 oz of chocolate in each mold. If you have a kitchen scale it is immensely valuable here. If not, try to split the chocolate evenly between 8-10 molds. Add a stick and let it harden--usually I give it about 2 hours to be safe, though they are often set before then. (If you use candy canes for the sticks, you will need to prop them up. After much trial and error and an awful lot of swearing I found that hooking them on a bowl worked best. Of course, I didn't have a bowl that was the perfect height, so I supplemented by adding crumpled tinfoil around the rim). When chocolates are set, remove from molds. Hot Chocolate on a Stick will keep well for up to one year in an air-tight container. Do not store in the fridge or freezer.

Decorating (Optional):

I decided to dress mine up a little bit to make them extra-pretty. I bought some white candy melts and dipped the set chocolates into it and then either dipped them in colored sugar, or applied chocolate transfer sheets (the plaid decorations you see in pictures). There are lots of great ways you can play with these. I already have some good ideas for future batches. Be creative, and pretty much anything goes.

To Serve:

Stir 1 stick into 1 cup (8 oz) of hot milk until melted. If feeling incredibly indulgent, top with homemade whipped cream. Enjoy!

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and that a joyous New Year's Eve awaits you. May 2011 bring you health and happiness.

Much, much love.

The Ethics of Eating Well

2010-09-16T16:32:00.001-04:00

It is almost time for apples, which means it's almost time for apple-picking. Few things bliss me out as much as spending a crisp, sunny Autumn day picking apples and drinking hot cider before going home to bake, bake, bake.

Yesterday, I was hunting around online for an orchard where David and I could go and pick our fill. The first place that came to mind is the orchard that David and I visited last year. It was an idyllic, lovely little orchard, and exactly the sort of apple-picking experience I wanted. But I hestitated. The apples at that orchard are grown using pesticides.

And as that moment of hesitation expanded, I realized that I was probably going to have to go ahead and find an apple orchard that's chemical-free. For me, eating has become ethical.

I dug my heels in on this for a long, long time. My food came from the supermarket. It appeared there, by magic, waiting for me to buy it. Anything that happened to it before it got on my plate didn't really interest me. I had no desire to think about it.

When David and I were in the first flush of dating, he mentioned an article he had read about the dangers of High Fructose Corn Syrup and how it is in absolutely everything we eat. Man, did I fly off the handle. "Psh!" I said. "It's corn. It can't possibly be that bad for you! The government regulates these things! They wouldn't let people eat it if it was bad for them!" They were gonna have to pry the Diet Coke from my cold, dead fingers, I can tell you that much. David, wisely, did not push the issue. My ignorance was a bright flag; I waved it.

The first thing that put a crack in my resistance was cooking. Cooking, for me, began as an experiment. A challenge. When I was a junior in college Dan came up to visit me for a weekend, and I decided to make my first ever pie. I found a recipe somewhere--who knows where--for a simple apple pie, and I went at it with gusto. Peeling apples with a slippery little paring knife, rolling out the crust, dumping it all together and hoping for the best. Mostly, I just wanted to see if I could DO it. If I could create something out of nothing, like magic. It turns out, I could.

The pie was gorgeous coming out of the oven. The high crust was golden and sugar-sparkled. When we cut into it (without bothering to let it cool--how could we wait?) there was an odd, 2-inch gap between the dome of the crust and the cinnamony filling, but who cared? I had pulled this out of thin air. It tasted wonderful.

That's how I cooked for a long time: to see if I could do it. I tried many more pies. I made bread. I made over a hundred mini cheesecakes for the holiday party at David's office. I made pita, and macarons, and fresh pasta. If it was difficult or time-consuming, I tried it. I started to read about food, to invest more time and thought into what I was making, and soon enough these one-off cooking experiments evolved into something else. I started cooking full meals, three times a day. For the first time in my life, I was cooking consistently to feed myself.

The more I cooked the more interested I became in the ingredients I was using. It became a lot harder to pretend that the food I was buying at the grocery store was harmless, or even--that it was food.

I will tell you right now that one of the biggest reasons I refused to inform myself about the American food industry is that I knew, instinctively, that something was very, very wrong with it. And once I opened that Pandora's Box there was no going back. I'd either have to drastically change my life, or go on as I was and feel ashamed and guilty about everything I ever put into my mouth for the rest of my life.

Let me pause for a minute here, and just try to say something. I'm not here to tell you what to eat. I'm not here to say that the way I feed myself is the way that you should, too. Food is deeply, DEEPLY personal and I sure as hell don't want anyone to dictate the very complicated relationship that I have with it. I'm not trying to dictate yours, either. The reason that I'm writing this post is that while a lot of things have changed in my life in the last year, one of the most visible changes has been centered on my relationship with food. And it's been one of the most emotional changes. One of the most exhilerating. I want to process that, to record it. To take stock and say, this is where I am, this is what has happened to me, this is how my life has changed.

Needless to say, I opened Pandora's Box. I read all the Michael Pollan: THE OMNIVORE'S DILEMA, IN DEFENSE OF FOOD, SECOND NATURE, and THE BOTANY OF DESIRE. I watched FOOD, INC. and JAMIE OLIVER'S FOOD REVOLUTION. I read blogs and books and listened to podcasts and talked to people and educated myself. I went to farmers markets and started an herb garden in my window sill and tasted things. And there were a lot of really terrible moments where that dormant sense of dread I'd felt so often in the grocery store, the one I refused to face, proved to be justified, and even more horrific than I'd thought. I gave up the Diet Coke of my own accord.

We joined Mississippi Market, a local food co-op. I became obsessed with the idea of going to the Farmers Market. I marked the opening date on my calendar, and we were there at 8am that dull grey April morning, browsing through half a dozen stands all bearing some slight bundles of asparagus and perhaps some new potatoes. Not very glamorous. But as the summer went on, the number of vendors exploded. By buying almost every last bit of our produce at the Farmers Market, David and I wound up eating seasonally. For myself, at least, it was the first time in my life.

I love sugar snap peas, particularly when eaten raw. I fell in love with them, oddly enough, in New York. After work one day my friend Bri and I met up and decided to amble around down in Union Square as we so often did. The Wednesday farmers market was still thriving, so we gathered up some bread, some cheese, some strawberries, some sugar snap peas. We sat on the grass and reveled in our bounty. As we sat there, chatting and laughing, snapping open thick pods and popping raw peas into our mouths like candy, I remember falling a little bit in love with just about everything at that moment. Every time I eat them I think about that afternoon.

Our co-op had some. Slender little things imported from Mexico. I bought a bunch, and shelled them enthusiastically (I love to shell peas. When I worked in restaurants I also loved to roll silverware or fold napkins. I find small, repetative tasks that require little focus so relaxing and lovely). And they were...ok. Not great. This is nothing against our little co-op, which champions local growers and products at every turn. But the winter sugar snaps imported from Mexico? Not impressive.

Several weeks later in the spring, our Farmers Market had sugar snap peas by the trillion--big fat pods that snapped with the most delightful, satisfying crunch I had ever heard. Mexico had nothing, nothing on Minnesota as far as peas were concerned, and I made my first decision about eating foods in season. I will never, ever eat wimpy little sugar snap peas again. I will wait, in agony, every year for that brief window of time when peas are available locally, and then I will GORGE MYSELF on them. Having had something so delicious, I never want to settle for a subpar sugar snap ever again. It will be worth the wait.

Eating in season, eating locally, eating food that has been raised without chemicals or hormones, meat that has been fed only its natural diet and been granted the freedom of unrestricted movement--these are some of the things that guide my food choices, now. I want to support my community, stimulate my local economy, meet the people who raise my food and know that they do so sustainably. I want the food that I eat to be food.

I'm by no means a purist. I love coffee. I love my fully-stocked spice cabinet. I really, really love citrus. But I want to make the most ethical food choices that I can. I want the time that I spend in the kitchen to be a joy, the ingredients that I use to be the freshest and most nutitious, the meals that I eat to be delicious and shared with the people I love.

I'm not saying that eliminating HFCS from my life was easy. I'm not saying that I will never eat another Snickers Bar. I'm saying that educating myself about my food, and making a commitment to better food choices is something that I have never once regretted. Not for a second.

I'm saying that once I realized that other choices existed, once I explored them and committed to them, a lot of beauty came into my life. And this small triumph, this act of deliberate choosing, opens up so many other doors. In how many facets of my life am I doing what I'm doing simply because I haven't bothered to access any alternatives? My choices about eating have empowered me to make other choices, to take control of my life in other ways.

Eating mindfully is just a start.

And I am still learning.

I just recently finished reading Barbara Kingsolver's ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MIRACLE, and was telling David about it on a long car ride. In the book, Barbara is having a phone conversation with a friend of hers who happens to be a gourmet chef. They are discussing Barbara's garden, and she mentions that the potatoes have recently come up. Wait, says the chef. What do you mean 'up?' What part of a potato comes 'up?' Barbara answers somewhat incredulously, the plant part. Hold on, says the chef. What are you talking about? Potaotes have a plant part?

The gourmet chef and I have that in common. Potaoes grow under ground. They sprout little eyes that take root and, you know, that's it. The fact that potatoes have a plant part that grows up above the ground astonished me.

"Can you believe it?" I said to David in the car. "A plant part? I never knew that! Did you?"

"Um, yes," he said, this man who claims that the corn fields where he grew up count as the suburbs. "We drive past potato fields all the time."

Well, imagine that.

Please Don't Ask Me What My Book Is About.

2010-09-07T15:21:00.003-04:00

Once upon a time I was a writer who wrote things. I graduated with a B.A. in Creative Writing and a minor in English. I wrote a lot of really terrible short stories and some poetry that is scarcely worthy of the name. I wrote nearly every day for about six years, and have appeared in some very modest publications (one of which actually paid! Thirty dollars, hell yeah!). I then wrote some marginally better short stories, and even one or two that could be considered good. I worked on a novel and hatched ideas for several others. I wrote a children's book and even got to the beginning stages of shopping it around before I chickened out. I was part of several delightful writers groups and was invited to read my work aloud at a number of events. I started working in the publishing industry. I began writing less and editing more. I became a literary midwife, and happily brought many, many books into the world without ever sparing thought for my own. And somewhere along the line I became a writer who doesn't actually write anything.

Recently I've decided I really ought to do something about that. I don't want to render my degree any more useless than it already is, afterall. So, I give myself a couple of pep talks and dive right in.

David comes home after work one night to find me seated at the dining room table typing madly away. Naturally he's confused, because I'm using my laptop, yet not trolling around endlessly on Facebook. He asks what I'm up to.

"I'm writing! Just working on my novel!" I say, beaming. I am like a four year old who has just tied her shoes for the first time. David obligingly showers me with heaps of encouragement and praise, so of course I have to ruin it all by saying, "Oh, yes! I'm going to write every day for the whole month of September!"

Wait, what? Like hell I am.

But of course, now I've got to. I've gone and made a stupid pledge in front of someone else, and now I've got to follow through or perish. And so far I've done it. I have sat down every day this month and contributed at least a single sentence, but oftentimes more, to my little novel.

And I am not here to tell you about how hard writing is. I am not here to tell you how mind-numbingly stupid that little blinking cursor can make you feel. I'm not here to tell you that it's easy, either, because it sure as hell isn't. I'm not actually here to say a damn thing about writing at all. I'm here to ask you--beg you--for one small favor, and the favor is this:

Please don't ask me what my book is about.

Because here is what will happen if you do:

We go up to David's cabin for Labor Day weekend. Holidays are a free for all, so besides the two of us, David's cousin Timmy, his Uncle Mike, and Mike's girlfriend Shelly are all staying up there as well. I bring my laptop because I am committed to writing every single day, damnit. I find small, quiet moments to get my writing done. I wake up in the morning before the others and I hunker down under piles of blankets with my coffee at hand and I write. And I write. And I experience that sensation I'd forgotten, the one where writing is the best, most freeing, most joyful thing in the world. The words are flowing effortlessly. Time flies by and I don't even notice. I have hit my stride. I have remembered this gift. This is the greatest thing that has ever happened.

But eventually I am caught out. People wake up, move about, drink their coffee, pull on their sweatshirts. For a couple of hours I am dumb enough to think I might be off the hook. But then it happens.

One of them comes up to me, all innocent smiles, and asks "So, what is your book about?"

And a small part of me, the part that can still think rationally, the part that is going to be drowned in just a few precious seconds, hisses in my ear, "This is why you stopped writing, you moron."

Because I utterly loathe that question. Why do people always ask that question?! There is no polite way to avoid it. You sound like a total prick if you say something like, "Oh, I don't like to discuss my works in progress." Yet if you are anything like me, it is IMPOSSIBLE for you to answer that question in any remotely normal way. I always end up apologizing for myself. Like, oh god, I am so sorry that I piqued your curiosity. Truly, it is better for both of us if we leave the topic unaddressed. You really do not want to know how fucked up I am at this juncture. Shall we discuss the weather instead?

I turn into a spastic freak when faced with that question. I literally begin to twitch. The novel I'm currently working on is a YA fantasy (I know, god, I know) and that's embarrassing enough to pull me up short right there. But somehow, I lumber on. My cognitive skills fly out the window, so I’m twitching and turning bright red and shouting out things like “There’s this girl? And magic! Mole people? But not really!”

I am losing my audience. Mole people? Jesus. They are backing away from me slowly. They are looking very, very sorry that they asked. And what I should do, I know, is let them go. I should shrug and give a tilted little half-smile and leave it at that. Fucking writers. What a bunch of lunatics.

But deep embarrassment is only one of many emotions racking my nerves at this moment. And embarrassment is being over-ridden by EARNESTNESS. Suddenly I am overcome with desire to win these people over. I am a writer. A good one, even! I have some really great ideas! My books are going to be pretty good, if I ever get around to finishing them! I need to prove that there's more to me than just magic and mole people. I can be more sophisticated than that.

I try to save myself. I’m groping for something that will satisfy these people and return their facial expressions to normal. Something that will ease their minds about the fact that they are going to sleep with me in a one-room cabin tonight and that I could possibly be an axe-murderer.
So I switch tactics completely, abandon my YA novel, and start blabbering on about my other novel--a monster of literary fiction that I have been working on since 2002 and of which I have never completed even a single draft--as if that would be any better, any more comprehensible.

“AUTO-EROTIC ASPHYXIATION! I like to write about smoking cigarettes! There is probably incest, but I’m not decided as to whether or not it’s consumated!" I shout these things out like a game show contestant until the shame, the SHAME forces me to just shut my freaking mouth. And people are too stunned, too horrified to even look grateful that I have finally stopped talking.

At which point I usually shrink and fade and curl up into the very smallest version of myself and mumble something like “…anyway, um…I’m not very good at describing it?” and take the first opportunity to run away and DIE.

So please, please, PLEASE. Spare us both any further humiliation.

Farmers Market Fail, A Boyfriend Post

2010-07-23T18:51:00.003-04:00

*Note* Another post by David, who is keeping this little blog going while I'm busy with other things. I'll post again soon, truly. Not sure yet whether it'll be a narrative, or a recipe, but I'm getting back on the blogging wagon, I promise.

By now everyone who reads this blog knows how obsessed we've become with the farmers market this summer and with food in general since the move to Minnesota. It should come as no surprise to anyone that we made an early morning trek to the St. Paul Farmers Market a couple of weekends ago. The only problem--this trip didn't go so well.

First, we broke our only rule. We went after 8am. That is a no no. I'm no good with crowds, especially meandering, slow crowds. If we get to the market early enough, there aren't too many people. We can simply make our way around the market (which is a great market by the way) and then loop through again to hit all of the stands we want for the things we've decided to purchase. If we get there too late, we run into the f***ing crowds. They are slow. They get in my way. They are slow, and they get in my way. It's no good going to a farmers market after 8am. And this week, we went after eight.

Second, in my mind, it wasn't me for once. Obviously it is mostly me that hates crowds. Riley can calmly manage them and still enjoy a leisurely walk around the market and shop. This guy can't do that. But I put my game face on this week and, while a little cranky at the horrible driving surrounding the market, I believed myself calm, cool and collected throughout. In anticipation of my usual crowd anger, however, it was Riley that was a little off kilter. [David is being very generous here. I was a total shrew.] As we made our way around looking for various goodies I could tell something wasn't quite right. She was stressed out because of the anticipation of my anger. So, we rushed through and got what we needed.

Third, I've been on a potato craze. It's spring/early summer and that means new potatoes! And, apparently, that means I get to try as many new potato salad recipes as possible. Again, obviously, Riley has been getting a little tired of all the potato salads. I make massive amounts of each recipe whether or not they are good. Then I expect that we eat it all for lunch over the ensuing week. Big mistake; she usually has a couple of helpings while I polish off the other two pounds. [I mean, it's good and all, but how much potato salad can one person possibly eat?!] Inevitably I bought about four pounds this past weekend.

Fourth, the potatoes were rotten. It turns out Riley was finally in the mood for potatoes--she was going to try a new recipe for crispy baked potatoes. She woke up Sunday excited to make a brunch of eggs, bacon and crispy potatoes! As I read the paper she went to prep everything, but then soon enough came back into the room...

"We've got a problem. The potatoes are wet."

"What?"

"The potatoes are wet and they smell funny. And some of them are squishy."

"Well, pick the bad ones out!"

We walked over together, to take a look. I started picking potatoes out. Some were still solid, but did smell funny. Others literally exploded when you squeezed. After some typically stubborn picking through on my part, in an effort to salvage the lot, I started to gag. They smelled that bad. [They really, really did.] Riley intelligently and calmly called the whole thing off. No potatoes for brunch. No potato salad for the week.

Farmers Market Fail.

[Thankfully, such a wretched experience is a rare occurance. Most of our Farmers Market trips are wonderful and end in some seriously delicious dishes!]

It's Finally Summer (a Boyfriend post)

2010-06-26T13:06:00.000-04:00

From February through June, for the most part, my life revolves around baseball. By association so does Riley's. She likes the Red Sox and all, but comes nowhere close to my level of fandom. My excitement kicks in as spring training starts and by the time the regular season opens I can become downright obsessed. I watch every game available, whether or not it's the Twins. Back when I lived away from Minnesota I would purchase mlb.tv so I could watch every Twins game, but would also watch the local game at the same time, if it was on. Once Riley and I were even at a Mets game in Queens, while I was watching the Twins live on my iPhone at the same time. I repeatedly check all the sports sites for updates throughout the day, follow several Twins-centric blogs and have been known to watch Baseball: a film by Ken Burns when I can't get enough. Yeah, all ten dvds worth.

Field of Dreams makes me cry. Yes, that's the one with the talking corn field and Kevin Costner.

It must have been a long spring for Kelly. When you throw in the fact that this is the opening season of Target Field--the new home of the Twins--and the fact that I am living in Minnesota for the first time in almost ten years, you could say I became a little over obsessed this time around. We've watched a lot of baseball and gone to quite a few games. It's been great. But expensive. And it is starting to wear on us, a little.

That's why I'm surprised by a recent turn of events. For as much of a fan as I am I don't play baseball and rarely get a chance to play catch. In fact, I haven't had a glove for years. So, when I get the chance, I usually jump at it. Such was the circumstance the other day--after dinner at my uncle's he and I were tossing the ball around when Riley grabbed an extra glove and joined in. Now I've got to say that this was a little unexpected. I can't recall having Riley show interest in this before. Every once in a while we'll throw a Frisbee around, but I don't think I've ever seen her throw a ball. That's why I was a little surprised when, after she made a nice little grab, she threw a solid strike right into my mitt from at least 70 feet. My glove even made that nice popping sound.

What a pleasant surprise.

Three of played for quite a while, with my aunt joining in even. Just about every single ball Riley threw hit the target. She has an arm ladies and gentlemen! (Would now be an appropriate time to thank you Jack?) We had a lot of fun that evening and we even got to play catch again the very next day while visiting my Mom. On the way home we tossed around the idea of buying gloves and making it a regular thing. And, the next week, we did! We're each the proud new owners of mitts. We even did the whole oil them up, place a ball inside and wait thirty six hours thing to break them in. We haven't had the chance to play catch at home yet though--we've had plenty of rain and spring like cool whether lately in Minnesota. But as I sit here writing this post it is at least 85 degrees with about 85 percent humidity. The sun is still out too, so maybe we'll go play.

It's finally summer!

Home Alone

2010-06-22T22:12:00.002-04:00

Remember when you were a teenager and your parents worked late or went out for the evening or--oh my god!--went away for the weekend and you had the whole entire house all to yourself? And it was totally the best thing ever!

Even if it was only for an hour, having the house to myself when I was a teenager was a hallowed experience, and that hasn't changed.

David went away for the weekend to spend time with his college buddies, and even though he was taking the car, and even though I barely know anyone in this town, and even though I had virtually nothing planned to occupy that time, I still immediately got that little thrill.

The magic of having the whole house to yourself for any extended period of time has nothing to do with relief in someone else's absence. ...Ok, maybe when I was a teenager it did. But David's impending absence inspired no such relief. I'd miss having him around, for sure.

It's that there's a certain luxury in being alone. It inspires indulgence. You can do all kinds of stuff alone that you can't do in front of your significant other. (Although, it turns out that I'm comfortable doing pretty much anything in front of David. Ok, sure, if I watch 7 straight hours of trashy reality tv shows he's going to tease me relentlessly about it and perhaps be a little disgusted. But the fact is, I've totally done that in front of him before, and probably totally will do so again. Singing 40's musicals at the top of my lungs while wandering around the house in my pajamas? Been there, done that. In an attempt to tame my crazy hair I wrap a turban of paper towels around my head for 20 minutes after every shower, and he smiles at me over breakfast like I'm not the least bit insane. This freedom to be found in solitude is an illusion because my boyfriend loves me--completely and without restriction--and so within our partnership I am already free. Sappy, right? Also true).

And I knew that being without a car would make me feel stranded, and I knew that being without David would make me feel lonely, and I knew that the best way to combat that would be to indulge in the admittedly awesome magic that is having the entire house to myself.

Oh, the things I had planned! It would be a weekend-long girly sleepover for one! All the embarrassing things! All!

Gossip Girl marathons! Ice cream for breakfast, face masks, cold press iced coffee with Bailey's, farmers market strawberries all day long, sitting on the floor in the middle of my living room with a towel and a bowl of very hot water and shaving my legs while watching tv (yeah, that last one is weird. To me, though, that is just the ultimate in uninhibited relaxation. Who knows why. I am bad at the girl thing. My best friend and my mother had to hold me down when I was 20 and forcibly pluck my eyebrows for me because I refused to do it myself on some weird principle I've long since forgotten about. Fact). Just an endless string of indulgence! PILLOW FIGHTS WITH THE CAT!

It didn't happen like that. Of course not. What happened is I ate a mangosteen, and watched just one episode of Gossip Girl, and didn't shave my legs at all. I did all the laundry and after my initial text to David to make sure he got in safely after the long drive, I left him to it with his boys because nothing ruins a Guys Weekend like a girlfriend who calls all the time. I went to the farmers market via the bus and got caught in a thunderstorm and an interracial homeless couple out of their minds on illegal substances got into a physical fight over whether or not the gentleman was hitting on me (he was). I brushed the cat and slept in the EXACT middle of the bed and kept all the sheets and covers to myself.

And was very, very happy when David came back home (hung over as hell and looking like he had had the time of his life!)

"You Can't Come, Kate" Coconut Cupcakes

2010-05-24T22:04:00.002-04:00

So, LOST ended.

And I might as well tell you right now that if you haven't watched the finale yet you can just scroll right to the bottom of the post for the cupcake goodness, cause there will probably be spoilers in this post.

I watched a stray episode or two of the first season when it originally aired, but I had a lot of other stuff on my plate in 2004 and didn't latch on to the show the way I later would.

In 2006 I hit a low point. Basically, I was in New York, dirt poor, had no real career to speak of, and had just gotten out of the most destructive relationship I'd ever been in. I pretty much dealt with the astounding depression by never, ever, ever leaving my bed, and steadily gaining approximately 20 pounds. Awesome, right?

Not that LOST saved me or anything. I owe that to my unrelentingly fantastic friends and my own weird determination to keep on keepin' on regardless of what I'm up against. But sometime before I decided to get out of my bed I figured--since I'm just laying around ANYWAY--I might as well give this crazy TV show everyone is always talking about a shot. And then I watched the first three seasons in a week and a half. I've been hooked ever since.

Since moving to Minnesota, David and I have been watching this final season of LOST with some of his cousins and their significant others. We alternate hosting and providing dinner, drinks, and dessert. It's a pretty sweet set up, because you only have to be responsible for one thing per week, which takes the pressure off.

I volunteered to bring dessert for the finale; mainly because I have been wanting to try these pineapple flowers FOREVER and needed an excuse. I figured I'd go all tropical with my dessert to pay homage to the Island in my own humble way (and because, you know, pineapples are tropical) and came up with Coconut Cupcakes filled with Key Lime Curd topped with Cream Cheese Frosting and Pineapple Flowers.

Originally, I wanted to use mango curd and planned to make my own using the ever-incredible Smitten Kitchen's recipe. But that would have taken a lot of time and effort, and I had already committed myself to 6 hours of making dried pineapple flowers. And, really? There's only so much time in the day. So I punked out and used store-bought Key Lime Curd instead. Sorry.

I have to admit, I was disappointed in the finale. But, ok, I didn't HATE it like I first swore I did. Maybe. I haven't gathered my thoughts quite yet. I used to dash off abrasive and rather hilariously pointed recaps of LOST for my friend Russ via email when he was unable to watch episodes. The tradition has since died, but he requested that I recap the finale for him, and I've promised to do so. Most of my legitimate thoughts on the show have gone into that thus far, and I'm left with only very incredulous caps-lock-y shrieks of outrage (CRAPPY AFTER-LIFE? FREAKING GOLDEN LIGHT OF HUMANITY? SAYID AND SHANNON, SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY?!)

But mostly, and above all else: I hate Kate. I have always hated Kate. Kate ruins everything. She is an everything ruiner. Everyone is constantly telling her that SHE CAN'T COME on whatever little island adventure they're having that day. They tell her this because if she comes, she will RUIN EVERYTHING. But does she listen? Hell no. BECAUSE SHE SUCKS.

She for sure cannot have any of these cupcakes.

"YOU CAN'T COME, KATE" Coconut Cupcakes
Adapted from Simply Recipes

Ingredients

3/4 cup of unsalted butter, softened
1 1/4 cup of sugar
3 eggs, room temperature
1 cup of canned coconut milk
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon of almond extract
2 1/4 cups of flour
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1/2 cup of sweetened desiccated coconut

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Cream together the butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each additions. Add vanilla, almond extract, and coconut milk. In a separate bowl combine flour, salt, and baking powder. Slowly add the dry mixture to the wet mixture a little bit at a time. Mix well after each addition. Gently fold in coconut. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool on a rack completely before frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients

1 package of cream cheese (Philly admittedly works best), softened
1 stick of butter, softened
1-2 cups of powdered sugar

Directions

Cream together cream cheese and butter. Add powdered sugar slowly, mixing after each addition, until frosting reaches desired consistency.

Dried Pineapple Flowers

Adapted from Axis of Ævil

Directions

Heat oven to lowest setting and cover a baking sheet with parchment paper. Peel pineapple and slice thinly crosswise (not too thin, or it will burn). Bake for 3-4 hours, turning over with tongs about every hour, or whenever tops begin to look dry. Remove from oven and place on a rack to cool for a few hours. When flowers are dry but still pliable use a flower cookie cutter, or hand shape the petals using a good pair of kitchen shears (I opted for the latter because I don't own any cookie cutters, but I really liked the control the shears gave me). Grip each flower by the center and gently pull petals upward to create a more realistic look. Return to the rack to finish drying.

Kate hate forever!

Excuses from the Guilt-Ridden

2010-05-16T12:15:00.002-04:00

Reasons I Haven’t Updated My Blog Since February

I’m busy.
I haven’t cooked or baked anything worth writing about.
I’ve cooked and baked plenty worth writing about, but forgot to take pictures of the deliciousness.
I’m sick of posting only about food.
I’m tired.
I’m lazy.
I’m homesick.
I never do anything interesting.
I’ve done loads of interesting stuff, but don’t have any pictures to prove it.
I’ve done interesting stuff, and have pictures to prove it, but I look ugly in them and am still inexplicably too vain to post ugly pictures of myself on the internet.
I’ve done interesting stuff, and have plenty of pictures in which I look great while doing said stuff, and I am more than happy to plaster flattering pictures of myself on the internet—however, the hard drive on my computer is COMPLETELY full and I don’t yet have the money saved up for an external and thus cannot upload photos for love or money and we all know that a blog post without pictures is LAME.
The fact that my audience is so varied (hi mom, dad, grandparents, friends, former coworkers, significant others’ family, former clients, former high school classmates I am once again in touch with thanks to the slightly awkward magic of facebook, and random strangers from the internet!) severely limits the scope of what I feel comfortable writing about. And everybody loves food, right? Right! Except as mentioned in #4 I’m sort of sick of posting about food. Conundrum!
Writing is hard.
Writing consistently is particularly hard.
I have notoriously terrible follow-through.
I’ve been reading a string of epic fantasies—from the literary to the moderately trashy—one after the other over the last month, and pretty much spend all my free time inhaling those books as opposed to doing anything else, ever. It’s an odd phase, and it will pass, but for the moment I am consumed.
I’m boring.
I’m still suspicious about my own motives for keeping a blog. My previous blogging experience consisted entirely of a handful of livejournal accounts, so, yeah.
I've been too busy theorizing about LOST and being devastated by the fact that [SPOILER] Kate hasn't been killed off yet. I hate Kate.
You know how you put something off, and put it off, and put it off, and it just becomes impossible to pick it back up again? Yeah, that.

PS. I started this list, like, a week before I got around to posting it. I have an external hard drive now. Pictures will be uploaded. Posts will be posted. You will witness the impossible.

xoxo

Happy Birthday, Dad!

2010-02-25T18:33:00.001-05:00

My dad and I share a sweet tooth. When he started bemoaning the fact that he had to read all my facebook status updates about the delicious things I was baking without getting to taste them, I promised that I'd ship him some baked goods for his birthday.

I've never shipped food before, so I put a lot of thought into what I wanted to send. Cookies seem like the obvious choice. Simple. Not messy. Easy to transport.

But I wasn't really feeling it. It didn't seem special enough. Cookies aren't birthday-ish.

When I was a kid, we always had those snack cakes around the house. Little Debbie's, Drake's, Hostess. So I figured, why not mimic one of those? So I decided to make Ring Dings from scratch for my Dad's birthday.

It was a little complicated. Ok, a lot complicated. But I was up for the challenge. Want to see?

Happy Birthday, Daddy! I love you!

mise en place

2010-02-20T19:54:00.002-05:00

Mise en place (pronounced [miz ɑ̃ plas], literally "putting in place") is a French phrase defined by the Culinary Institute of America as "everything in place."

I've been cooking for about eight years now, and have been cooking seriously for the last five.

There are three professions I seriously considered having in elementary school (where all career ambitions first bloom). I was determined to be either a teacher, an actress, or a pastry chef.

As it happened I stumbled upon publishing (a career I never considered in elementary school because it didn't occur to me that such a job existed. Books, I believed, sprung fully-formed onto library shelves, where they waited their whole papery lives to be checked out and devoured by yours truly). Yet, teaching, acting, and cooking never left my life. They remain my dear, abandoned loves, and whenever my guilt allows me to face them, I indulge.

I have many, many food memories. A few bad, but most overwhelmingly good, and several rather charming in their simplicity. I remember going grocery shopping with my family as a child, and how after leaving the deli counter my father would unwrap the cheese and give me a slice to eat while we walked up and down the rest of the aisles. I remember stopping at Anthony's Bakery sometimes after running errands with my mother, and having to decide between a cheese danish or a Half Moon cookie. I remember my first taste of ginger bread, on a dark Christmas Eve, given to me by my Nana from the bakery she worked at in Boston. But my first memory of actually cooking is when my Grammie taught me to flip pancakes. I remember the nightgown I was wearing. I remember the feel of tile on my bare feet. I remember the agonizing patience required, to wait until the entire surface of the puddled batter erupted with bubbles before flipping the pancake over. Because otherwise, I'd get a runny, goopy mess. And I get a lot of those, because I am not very patient.

And it just so happens that mise en place requires just as much--if not more--patience as perfect pancakes.

Organization does not come naturally to me. I am too restless, too lazy, too impulsive and simultaneously hesitant to be seduced by the idea that setting out everything you'll need for the task ahead of you in a clean, coherent manner would make cooking (or life) significantly easier.

At best, I would gather all my ingredients and plop them down on the table. Not measured or divided. Not arranged in the order I'd be using them. It was enough of an accomplishment for me to know that I wouldn't have to go digging around my pantry at the last minute only to discover that I was out of yeast. And there is something to be said for that. Unfortunately, I can't tell you how many times I overlooked the yeast altogether, not seeing it among the scattered ingredients on my table and forgetting it completely. That sucked.

So this year I decided to put my prejudices aside, and give mise en place a whirl. Do I even need to tell you how much more harmonious my kitchen adventures have become since? Mise en place has revolutionized cooking for me. Amazing how all those professional chefs and organized home cooks have been right all this time. Never again will I lose track of how many cups of flour I've already dumped into my mixing bowl.

And while mise en place has revolutionized my life in the kitchen, I'm finding more and more ways to implement it in the non-culinary aspects of my life. I will be the first to admit that I'm disorganized and scatterbrained, and yet suddenly I'm consumed with the need to have "a place for everything, and everything in its place."

According to my father, I didn't really become an adult until around 2006-2007. He's probably right on the money with that one, too. By that time I'd been living in New York for a year or two, I had begun my career, was more or less financially stable, and started cleaning my room/apartment on a regular basis. The fact that I make my bed every morning now probably shocks my immediate family, or anyone who roomed with me in college. It shocks ME, even.

But now that kind of neatness and order and ritual lends a kind of serenity and calm to my life.

So I've made room for mise en place in other corners of my life. Whenever I'm applying to jobs I make sure I have my updated resume, references, and cover letter template ready to go before I even begin the application. Last month I reorganized our bathroom closet and put everything into clear containers which I labeled with things like "cleaning supplies" and "medicine/first aid." Thanks to David (who is naturally an organized person) all of our books are separated by genre and alphabetized by author. And, well, my clothes are all color-coded in my closet. But that's something I've just always done.

It's definitely a challenge to keep it up. We made fresh pasta last week on Kelly Riley Day 2010* and since the ingredient list was SO minimal I didn't properly set up my mise en place. And of course, I wound up forgetting 2 tablespoons of olive oil. I added it in time, and the pasta turned out beautifully, but David and I were both laughing and shouting about the importance of mise en place! My 2010 resolution! That has been my lone lapse, though. It does help that we have such darling little prep bowls. They're so pretty that I'll find any excuse to use them!

The coolest thing, though, is looking at your pretty little bowls, and well-prepped ingredients and knowing what they'll turn into. For example, the ingredients in the first picture in this post combined with a little bit of water baked up beautifully into this:

*you are dying to know what Kelly Riley Day 2010 is, aren't you? Soon, I promise! It's a complicated post!

sick island

2010-02-20T14:14:00.001-05:00

I am teetering on the edge of getting sick. I have the very beginnings of a sore throat, some congestion, and am generally feeling a little bit lethargic and achy. Since I'm still currently unemployed (ugh) I have the time to try to fend off this cold before it becomes full blown and ruins the next several days of my life. In other words, I'm doing a lot of resting. Hence, I've been hanging out in my Sick Island lately.

Now, if you are already super sick and miserable and want to die because you can't remember what it's like to breathe out of your nose or to not have your brain fried by fever then a Sick Island cannot help you. Go to bed, sleep it off, pray for death, whatever you've got to do. A Sick Island is only truly effective to either stave off that misery or to help you recover from it. A Sick Island is best used when you just barely have the energy to get to the bathroom and back without wanting to die, or when you can now only sleep for three hours at a time during the day, instead of seven. A Sick Island comes into play when you're still too sick to do anything like go to work or class, but you're also bored out of your freaking mind because you're too sick to do anything.

I like to make my Sick Islands on the couch because usually by the time I make them I've been bed-ridden for a few days and need a change of scene.

Here's what you'll need to do:

Get some clean, cool sheets, cozy blankets, and a pillow and make the couch all nice and comfortable. Think of it as a snuggly little nest.

This is a Sick Island because essentially you're going to strand yourself here for the rest of the day. You want to gather everything you'll need or want and put it within reach, because you want to move as infrequently as possible.

Tissues are a must, and I like to pull out a little trash can and set it right by the couch, so that I don't have piles of used tissues surrounding me.

TV remote is essential. I'll just throw on the Food Network, or watch marathons of reality shows like Top Chef or America's Next Model or whatever. Anything that doesn't require too much brain power. This week, though, I've been watching the Olympics non-stop. What is so riveting about curling? I don't know, but I CANNOT stop watching it!

Tea, tea, tea. With honey and lemon if you've got a sore throat. I fill up my thermos with hot water so that I can have several cups in a row and minimize my trips to the kitchen! And of course orange juice. I also love ginger ale when I'm sick. And even though I rarely have an appetite while I'm sick, I'll usually keep a packet of Saltines close by, especially if I have an upset stomach.

You should also have something around to amuse yourself with when TV gets boring. Normally, I'd have a small stack of books nearby, but David picked up this little origami flower kit for Kelly Riley Day 2010* and I've been obsessed with it ever since!

I'm a huge baby when I'm sick, so I usually need to snuggle with my stuffed animals for a little while, too. If I'm really, really lucky Durp will come snuggle with me for a little while, too.

Once you've got everything you need, nestle in and don't leave unless you've got to! Nap, relax, heal!

It also helps to have a super wonderful person around to take care of you when you're sick. David has offered to make home-made chicken soup (he makes the chicken stock himself and everything!) if I'm still not feeling well later this weekend. I am feeling a bit more energetic at the moment, but I might have to fake it. Who could pass up homemade soup?!

*a blog post about Kelly Riley Day 2010 is forthcoming!

VDAY

2010-02-14T08:40:00.000-05:00

www.vday.org

VDAY is a global movement to end violence against women and girls.

I love you all.

a jar full of sunshine

2010-01-11T19:51:00.011-05:00

When I was in college one of my best friends, Dan, came up to visit me several times a year. One of those years, on one of those visits, we embarked on what is to this day the greatest grocery shopping trip I have ever been on in my life.

I can't really explain why, only that it's one of those seemingly unremarkable days, those everyday-days in which nothing really happens, and yet you'll always, always cherish it. A little slice of memory that perfectly sums up your friendship.

We spent hours (yeah) in the store, wandering up and down the aisles, throwing completely random things into our cart on a whim because we liked the packaging (a tiny jug of apple juice!) or similarly superfluous reasons. But the BEST thing about that trip is that Dan and I discovered lime curd.

Lime curd, in a little jar on the shelf at a grocery store in Ithaca, was somehow the most bizarre and hilarious thing Dan and I had ever witnessed. We shrieked and laughed in that aisle until we couldn't breathe. Because, really, what the hell was curd, anyway? We had no idea, but it sounded horrifying and hysterical. It instantaneously became an inside joke we've tossed back and forth ever since.

(The photo on the right is of me and Dan, loosely around the time the infamous grocery trip took place)

But last year, I finally found out exactly what curd is: DELICIOUS.

Now, I've never made (or tasted) lime curd. I just can't bring myself to do that without Dan. It would be blasphemous. But I have become rather well aquainted with lemon curd, and I've got to tell you that stuff is stunningly tasty.

You can eat it right out of the jar. Off a spoon, your finger, whatever. Put it on toast. Put it on cake. Put it on anything and everything. Just please enjoy that tangy-sweet, sunshiney bit of heaven.

Or, you could really go all out and make a strawberry galette. A galette is a "rustic" tart. In other words: you don't have to bother with making the crust look all beautiful and professional because we're just going to lazily throw the whole thing together and say it's homemade and charming. Fantastic!

Strawberry Galette with Thyme Crust and Meyer Lemon Curd

(Meyer Lemon curd and Strawberry Galette adapted from Dishing Up Delights)

Ingredients

1 pint of strawberries, sliced
1 tablespoon honey
2 teaspoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water
several tablespoons of lemon curd (although you can buy it in a store, it's super easy to make your own, which I did here. I can post the recipe if anyone's interested)
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
1 stick butter, chilled and cubed
2-4 tablespoons ice water

Directions

Mix the flour, salt, and thyme. Cut in the butter with a pastry blender (or do the whole thing in a food processor. It's a tart, not a pie, so I won't be picky). Add the ice water a tablespoon at a time until dough is just combined. Gather into a ball, cover in saran wrap, and chill in the fridge for at LEAST an hour (the longer the better).

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Mix the strawberries, cornstarch, honey, and lemon juice in a bowl and set aside.

After properly chilled, roll out the dough in a circle a 1/4 inch thick. Top with a few tables spoons of lemon curd, spreading the curd into an even layer over the dough, but leaving a one inch border around the edge. Top with the strawberry mixture, and fold the edges of the dough over the top.

Brush with the egg wash mixture, and bake for 20-25 minutes, until crust is golden and filling is bubbly. Let cool before serving. If feeling truly decadent, top with homemade whipped cream. Swoon.

yeah, you make me merry--make me very, very happy

2010-01-06T08:46:00.001-05:00

Every January I make the same resolution: "I shall learn to make button holes, and attend to my parts of speech." A few among you may recognize that heroic declaration as belonging to Miss Amy March and appearing in chapter eleven of LITTLE WOMEN (one of my all-time favorite re-reads). My parts of speech are rather well attended, in my opinion (although it's true that I don't know how to make button holes), but I like having this little bon mot ready whenever someone inevitably asks what my resolutions will be on any given year.

I don't like to make proper resolutions. They always seem trite and insurmountable. But of course there are things that I'd like to change or accomplish within the next year or more.

There are the obvious things, such as being financially stable and landing a full-time job that I enjoy. I'd of course like to be healthier and use my time wisely and take ballroom dance classes like I've sworn I would since 2005.

But mostly, it's the little things I truly want to master in 2010. I want to learn to accept compliments with grace. To let go of that which truly does not matter. To be sure that the people in my life know how much I love and appreciate them. To be kinder to myself. To embrace new challenges sincerely and openly. To lift the restrictions I place upon myself and to become an active, courageous participant in the story of my own life.

I want to take steps toward becoming my best self with each passing year.

2009 is the year I left behind an established career that I loved, the city that forced me to grow up, and my best friends and family, and moved to the middle of nowhere (sorry, but it's true) for the love of my life and our future together. And that was just the tail end of the year!

I also baked bread for the first time in 2009, which quickly became a habit. I joined yet another writers group and still didn't get any closer to finishing my novel. I had a gym membership and actually, you know, went to the gym. Some of the time, anyway. I visited Chicago and Minnesota, attended the wedding of one of my dearest friends, purchased and wore rain boots, discovered a favorite cocktail, paid forward all the good will (and couch surfing) that was given to me upon my arrival in New York so many years ago, ate Ethiopian food for the first time, saw my first real shooting star, ate at the 21 Club, and walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.

I can only hope that each coming year is better than the last. And with the way things are going, it looks like 2010 will be.

I love and miss you all! I wish you health and happiness in 2010!

xoxo

the more things change...

2009-12-04T10:36:00.003-05:00

Last night David and I were getting into bed for the night and talking about what a hellish, emotional, but incredibly exciting week we've had thus far, and David summed up the entire ordeal in one vivid little quip that describes things far better than I ever could.

"Just when we're starting to panic and get really worried all of this good stuff just, like, barfs all over our lives and destroys the precious little stability we've managed to secure for ourselves."

People. Good stuff has barfed all over my life.

I've been meaning to blog a lot in the last week, but I just haven't been able to get my act together.

David and I celebrated our two year anniversary last week, just before Thanksgiving. Then there was the holiday itself. Oh, and David and I both got jobs, by the way. He's working a temporary project-based job for the state government, and I've got a seasonal part-time gig at the Ronald McDonald Charity House doing some general admin work and taking inventory of food donations. (Thanks to Meredith and Neil respectively for the connections that led to our employment!) Our commute is just a tiny bit ungodly, but it's nice to be working again. We start apartment hunting this weekend.

And really, I've been having an incredibly difficult time with these transitions. Thanksgiving marked the first time since moving out here that I really became homesick. Like, almost inconsolably homesick. I burst into tears in front of my oven early Thanksgiving morning--superficially because my pie crust would not roll out properly, and mostly because it was one of the first major holidays I'd spent away from my family and it was in that moment, sobbing in front of my oven when the sun had barely risen, tears making tracks through the sugar and flour on my face that it really hit me that I live here now. That this isn't a vacation, or playing house, or anything. That this is where I live now, and where I will be living for the rest of my life. And a lot of the people I love are not here with me.

See, I knew these things. David and I spoke about these things extensively when we made the decision to come out here. But I realize now that perhaps he better understood the depth of what that would mean for me than I did. Because it was a very different thing to know something intellectually and to feel it erupt inside you all at once because of a stupid pie crust.

And although I pulled it together with David's help ("Honey, you are not allowed to bake anymore if it's going to make you this upset!"***) and had a lovely holiday with his family, I've had a lot of trouble finding my balance again after that. Things have been coming at us--or, barfing on us--so fast over the last handful of days. I just wasn't prepared for the onslaught of EVENTS.

And the thing is, it's all really good stuff. Jobs! Apartment! Independence!

It's just so much at once, and I was not prepared.

But the thing that I have realized as I've struggled through this week, getting up at 5:00 am and sitting alone in a coffee shop for hours to kill time before work, getting home late and so exhausted that the dishes never get done and the bed never gets made and all I want to do is curl up and sleep--the thing I've learned, or rather, come to appreciate on an even deeper level, is that this really is where I want to be.

It's hard. And I'm overwhelmed. And I miss my family and friends so very, very much.

But there are good things waiting for me here. And (ok, about to get mushy, here) with every day that I spend with him I find that I love David more and more. He is such a supportive, understanding partner, and I am so, so excited about the life that we're building here together. I am so thankful.

I will always be homesick, I imagine. I will always miss my family and friends. And although this week has been incredibly difficult for me, I'm coming out the other end of it feeling so much more secure about the reasons I came here, and the reasons I'm staying. I'm ready for pretty much whatever gets thrown at me next.

*** The last time we were in Massachusetts, my father told a story about when I was young and first started performing on stage. I would get so nervous before performing that I would actually make myself sick. My father couldn't watch me work myself by decreeing "You are not allowed to perform anymore it's going to make you this upset!" That put an abrupt end to my stage fright.

the girl with the pearl earring

2009-11-17T18:55:00.000-05:00

With two exceptions, all of the jewelry I own is total junk. Like, bought it at Claire's for under $6 junk. One exception is the claddagh ring my mother brought back from Ireland for me. It's silver with an emerald stone and a few small diamonds framing the setting. I absolutely adore it. Probably moreso than anyone should ever love a bauble. But in addition to being the first truly nice piece of jewelry I owned in my adulthood, it's coincidentally also the same ring my best friend, Julie, also got in Ireland, which only makes me love it more. The other nice piece of jewelry I own is a string of pearls that my dear friend Bex far too generously brought back from China for me. They're stunning and absolutely my go-to accessory in the Publishing World.

But all of my other jewelry? Junk.

Because I am relentlessly classy, I often pair my breathtakingly gorgeous pearl necklace with a pair of totally-faux pearl earrings that I got in a set of three for under $6 from, yes, Claire's. I'm sorry, but it's true. This was the medium pair in the set, and my favorite. The others are both far too small and way too large for my liking.

I have a pouch on my dresser that is currently serving as a catchall for my junk jewelry (I do actually take care of my two nice pieces. Shocker!) but the other night after brushing my teeth and washing my face to get ready for bed, I took off my cheap, cheap, cheap plastic pearl earrings and set them on the side of the sink.

You already know where this is going, don't you?

I was exhausted, and so David had to sort of wake me up when he came to bed after brushing his teeth.

"S'matter?" I slurred.

"I am so sorry," he said.

"Mmmhuh?"

"I dropped one of your earrings down the sink. I'm so, so sorry. I feel terrible."

I reassured him that the earrings were in no way real pearls and that there was nothing to feel terrible about. "I don't care," I mumbled as I rolled over and almost immediately fell back to sleep. "It's fine, honey. Don't worry about it."

But David did worry about it.

In fact, he surprised me the next evening when he came home with this great score (under $6!) from Target. (Ok, so it's not Claire's but I'm not picky).

Is my guy a sweetheart or what? Now I don't have to stress about which earrings to wear with my pearls when I finally get a job. Or, you know, while I'm folding laundry around the house tomorrow. Whichever.

apartment tour

2009-11-07T23:48:00.004-05:00

A hill is a house for an ant, an ant.
A hive is a house for a bee.
A hole is a house for a mole or a mouse
And a house is a house for me!

-A HOUSE IS A HOUSE FOR ME by Mary Ann Hoberman

A HOUSE IS A HOUSE FOR ME is one of the picture books I remember vividly from my childhood. Even now I can recite impressive chunks of it from memory and some of the illustrations are preserved perfectly in my mind.

For some time now I've been planning to show you my house. Or at least, the one I'm living in at the moment. But, you know, taking a lot of pictures of a basement apartment requires good light (you'll see I compromised a bit on this one, but a gifted photographer I am not!) and a lot of time and energy. And getting all of those things at once can be tricky!

I knew, though, that when I did get around to making this post I'd want to quote Mary Ann Hoberman's book. In fact, I've had that quote typed up and sitting in an otherwise empty blogger draft for weeks now.

Would you like to see where we live?

This is Aunt Katie and Tim's house. They are generous enough to let us live in their basement apartment while we get on our feet!

They built this incredible fire pit. It's so awesome to sit out by the fire at night.

This is the view from our front door.

Inside, the front door leads to our kitchen!

This is where the magic happens, baby!

Sometimes, I look out the window when I do dishes, and I see cows.

Really. Cows. See?

If you come over for dinner (and you know you want to) this is where you'll be sitting.

Hello, lover.

We're in the frozen tundra, here, so we have a lot of sweatshirts and coats and jackets at our fingertips.

Because I am a lucky, lucky girl I get to wear David's old hockey jacket when my own hoodies just won't do the trick.

The livingroom is where we spend most of our time.

I LOVE this little stove. At night when it's cold---even under an afghan--we light a little fire while we read and listen to music. Blissful!

And we're always reading. (Catch a glimpse of PW's cookbook? More on that in the future!)

I approve of David's bookmark!

This is the livingroom window.

The view can be really breathtaking.

Oooooh!

Hi guys!

On to the bedroom!

We even have a guest room!

Here's some pictures of the surrounding area. These views are pretty everyday for me. I see them on my way to job interviews, on my way to the farmers' market, on my way to :::cringe::: Walmart...

Stunning scenery!

And that's where we live! Definitely a big change from New York City. A big change from the suburbs of Massachusetts, even. We're so lucky to have family out here helping us out and giving us an amazing place to stay! We'll never be able to thank you enough. Truly!

(I've got to admit though, that I still miss the ocean something fierce).

"monday, tuesday, thursday, wednesday, friday, sunday, saturday!"

2009-10-27T22:35:00.005-04:00

*Blogger is really, REALLY frustrating me with its html glitches lately. Forgive any bizarre formatting/lost content you may experience in this post. Grrrr.

Hello! Both Kelly and David (aka "The Boyfriend") here to share with you drool-worthy pictures of our latest culinary adventures from Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday (hence the title. Familiar quote, anyone?).

SUNDAY

The Meal: chicken in a sherry mushroom sauce with garlic mashed potatoes and pan-fried asparagus.

The Chef: David

The Ingredients:

The Plate:

The Result:

MONDAY

After the hay ride Aunt Katie let us take a few of the leftover pumpkins to dispose of as we chose. Naturally we chose to roast the seeds (David) and make pumpkin puree (Kelly)! (Hey, Kelly promised to try her Pumpkin Apple Spice muffins with homemade puree sometimes, didn't she?)

The Ingredients:

The Result:

But there was still dinner to consider...

[car ride home after running errands]

David: (oh-so casually) So...do you want to be in charge of dinner tonight?

Kelly: (immediately) No.

David: ...

Kelly: (reluctantly) I mean, I guess I can... If I have to...

David: (immediately) Good. Cause I don't want to.

Kelly: But... whadda we got? (A rare reversal of roles!!!)

The Meal: Asparagus mushroom quiche with cheddar and green onions, in a potato crust.

The Chef: Kelly

The Ingredients:

The Plate:

TUESDAY

The Meal: Slow-cooked porkchops, carrots, sauerkraut, and apples with homemade applesauce (and a side of leftover cheesy garlic mashed potatoes. Because they are that delicious).

The Chef: David

The Sous-Chef: Kelly (she made the applesauce)

Pre-plated:

The Plate:

The Result:

(Kelly's plate is in the upper left. Unfortunately she discovered that sauerkraut wasn't her "thing." Otherwise, another hit!)

In keeping with the jumbled quote serving as the title for tonight's post, here's a photo from last Friday. We attended a dinner party at a relative's house, and Kelly befriended an otherwise stranger-hating cat, Quimby, while battling the last of her week-long cold.

Note: Recipes are of course available on request.

a quick update

2009-10-27T10:19:00.000-04:00

I'm here to reassure you; I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have, however, been sick. Like, bed-ridden sick. For over a week now! I'm finally up and about, and have been leaving the house the past few days. I still have a persistent cough that keeps me up at night if I'm not vigilant with the cough syrup, but all in all I feel loads better than I have in a long time.

It feels as though both nothing and tons of stuff has been going on in the meantime. David has had several jobs interviews, and I've had one meet-and-greet and made appointments for two more in the coming week. We went to see Where The Wild Things Are and finished watching the final season of Deadwood. We attended a dinner party and spent a day making a comic book (King Kong vs. T-Rex. For those interested, T-Rex wins) with David's five year old pseudo-nephew Gordon (his cousin's son).

We also went on a hay ride! Every year, Aunt Katie and her husband Tim put together a quintessential fall day of pumpkin decorating and take family, friends, and neighbors on a hay ride through their idyllic land. Take a look:

Post apple picking dinner...whadda we got?

2009-10-13T22:41:00.004-04:00

Apple picking was fun, fun, fun. It was a fine fall day and a nice drive down to the orchard. Riley and I were feeling good--we had both exceeded our job applications for the morning. See? Look, apple picking enjoyment!

For dinner later we were sort of planning on Eggplant Parmesan and Mushroom Risotto. We had leftover eggplants from a party we had for my Mom's birthday the day after we got here, but unfortunately the gifted plants had gone bad. But, we were hoping to find some replacement eggplant from the small farmers market in the town we're staying in, St. Croix Falls, WI. Instead we walked away from the market with habaneros and green onions. So, when we got home, we began one of our favorite games...what's for dinner? Well, whadda we got in the fridge and pantry honey!?

[a little explanation here. when we get to this point in the evening and we are wondering what we have for dinner it usually falls on me, the boyfriend, to come up with ideas. i'm not complaining, i love doing this, but i just want to make sure you all understand this. "whadda we got in the fridge" means, "what are you making for dinner, honey, cause you haven't said anything about it yet and i'm starving." oh, and sometimes i even get vetoed.]

THE PROCESS, of whadda we got, in dialogue:

"Well, we were going to make Mushroom Risotto and Eggplant Parmesan. The Eggplant Parmesan had Marinara sauce in it right, so we still have those ingredients, right?"

Tentatively, "Yes."

"Let's see, what else do we have? Hmmm..." Brats, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, Zucchini, mushrooms (for the risotto, of course), cherry tomatoes, onion, potato, beer, hummus, wine, rice, pasta, soup, cake, oatmeal, eggs, habanero, cheese, feta cheese, romano cheese, yogurt, flat bread, lots and lots and lots of apples, and... "...what do you think of this? Mushroom Risotto, fried brats, mushroom and green onion on top with a little Marinara over that!" [my college roommates would have been cheering at this point.]

*a very quizzical, apprehensive, scared, yet still starving look*

"Hey, risotto's good. Brats are good. Marinara is good............risotto with brats and marinara.....not so good?"

*meek, still starving and apprehensive look* "yeah...not so good?" **VETOED**

"Well--"

"--we have pasta don't we? What about that and marinara? And we have chicken in the freezer don't we?"

"But I want to use up what we have. And what about the brats and mushrooms?"

"Okay." [not really an answer, but in this situation it'll do.]

THE DINNER: Spaghetti Marinara, with veggies and brats.

Of course the land locked (and, obviously, in love) gorgeous gal loved it. She shredded some fresh Romano (a staple in our household) right beforehand and was ready and waiting when it was all served up. [i had to suggest taking the picture before she dug in and thus the discussion about this blog that led me to finally write my first contribution.] The whole thing was readily consumed before we could even really think about how good it actually was. There were some leftovers, and--naturally--we have some purposely spared mushrooms for my [i like to think] famous mushroom risotto...

David's Marinara

one whole chopped onion
a slightly less than equal amount of chopped carrot
about two cloves of minced garlic
approximately 1/4 cup red wine
one can tomato paste
four fresh tomatoes, peeled and roughly chopped
a very healthy amount of dried basil, and then some
some oregano
two teaspoons of sugar
two teaspoons of salt
ground black pepper to taste

Saute onion, carrot and garlic in olive oil for a few minutes until soft. Add wine, saute for a few more minutes. Add everything else, plus about a quarter cup of water and simmer on low-med for about 20 min. Cool, then puree. Once you have the texture you desire put it back on the low-med heat (here you should taste it and add whatever you think it might need. tonight it was a little more salt and basil.) for about 10 min (just enough time to boil the pasta, if you started the water boiling when you set the sauce to cool.)

Veggies and Brat

two brats, cooked and chopped
two green onion, sliced
one zucchini, chopped
four mushrooms, chopped
sugar, salt, ground black pepper

Toss everything together first and let sit for a few minutes. [whenever you fry/saute/whatever fresh veggies, always, ALWAYS, toss them with salt and sugar a few minutes ahead of time to "cut them" and open up the flavor.] Heat a frying pan (not non-stick) with a little olive oil to high heat. Add everything and stir continuously until the mushrooms are done and the brats are lightly browned. Done.

One Should Always Eat Muffins Quite Calmly. It Is The Only Way To Eat Them. *

2009-10-13T22:14:00.002-04:00

There's a few things about the fall that really make it my favorite season. I love the crisp, sunny weather. I love all the colors of the foliage. And I really love apple picking.

Apple picking rocks. And last week, David and I went out to Aamodt's Apple Farm. It was everything an apple orchard should be, which both delighted and surprised me.

I know it's a bit narrow-minded of me, but apples come from New England. That's just always how I've thought about it. Apples are a New England thing. And going apple picking is something I remember doing as a kid, and then again sporadically in my adolescence.

A truly great apple picking experience requires two things: hot apple cider, and apple cider donuts. Aamodt's, clearly a worthy apple orchard, had both. In addition to the two bags of apples that we picked ourselves, we bought an additional bag at the store in the barn. We also bought some local honey (which I have been enjoying immensely in my morning tea) and I bought one tiny old fashioned caramel (which was out of this world).

But before the shopping, naturally, I insisted that we get to the heart of the whole apple picking experience: the cider and the donuts.

I like apples as much as the next gal, but the whole point of apple picking is going inside the barn, with your cheeks red from the crisp cool air, and sitting down on a wooden bench with a cup of hot apple cider and an apple cider donut to dunk in it. Mmmmm... I'm ready to go apple picking all over again!

...Not that we need to. We certainly picked our fill. We got a bit overzealous, actually, and wound up with way more apples than we could possible need. So I have been doing a LOT of baking. Apple butter, applesauce, German applecake. Apple pies, apple crisp, and apple dumplings are forthcoming. And yet still we have apples upon apples upon apples in our kitchen.

One of my favorite recipes ever (and this is saying something) is my recipe for Pumpkin Apple Spice Muffins. You must, I mean, you really, really must make these muffins. Soon. They are a perfect bite of autumn. So aromatic, so flavorful, so GOOD. You can make them for a big brunch like I did two weeks ago, or you can make a batch for you and your family, like I'm about to do. These freeze extremely well, so you don't have to worry about devouring them all in one sitting, which is a very real danger because these muffins are THAT DELICIOUS.

Best Ever Pumpkin Apple Spice Muffins

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups of flour (up to half can be whole wheat)
2 cups of sugar (brown or white. I prefer brown, personally)
1/2 cup of applesauce (I'm using homemade applesauce this time around, but store bought works just as well).
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 can of pumpkin puree; not pumpkin pie filling. (You can also use 1 cup of homemade pumpkin puree which I swear to try out myself sometime soon. In the meantime I'm a fan of Libby's).
Several apples, peeled, cored, and chopped. (Depending on size the number will vary. I used about 6 smallish-medium apples today. I like a lot of apple in my muffins!)
1 tsp of baking soda
1/2 tsp of salt
1 1/2 tsp of cinnamon
3/4 tsp of ginger
scant 1/2 tsp of nutmeg

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Combine eggs, pumpkin puree, and applesauce in a large mixing bowl. Add sugar, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg, stirring to combine. Add the flour one cup at a time, mixing well after each addition. Gently fold in the apples. Grease a muffin tin well (I recently discovered Baker's Joy and I'm in LOVE! I also like using cupcake liners). For nicely domed bakery-esque muffins, fill tin to the top with batter. This method will produce roughly 18 regular sized muffins. If you fill each tin 3/4 of the way full, you can get 24 regular sized muffins. Personally, I prefer the pretty domes. Plus, more muffin! You can sprinkle some sugar over the tops for some crunch and sparkle if you like! Place muffin tin on the center rack and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool on a rack, and enjoy!

Keep your eyes peeled for the next Land Locked (and in Love!) post, which will be written by a very special guest!

* Lots of love, and perhaps a prize, if you can identify the source of the quote in the title!

are we there yet?

2009-10-08T23:48:00.001-04:00

We made it! We're in Minnesota!

Ok, so technically we're in Wisconsin right now. Details, details.

I know this post comes a bit later than we'd all like, but things have been hectic! I'm going to do my very best to give you a run-down of everything that's happened in the eleven days since we left New York City.

But before I get into the adventures of the last few days, let me put you all at ease by answering the number one question on everyone's mind: HOW COLD IS IT?!

Oh, no. Sorry. The number one question everyone's asking me is: How are you doing?!

Answer: I am doing great (and it is pretty. damn. cold)!

We hired movers to load the truck up with all of our stuff, which was the best $75 I ever spent, seriously. David helped them because he's incapable of sitting still when he's impatient and anxious to get going. I sat in the truck like a total princess and didn't lift a finger. You know, I ought to be embarrassed about that, but I'm not gonna lie. It was awesome.

We went up to Boston on Sunday and stayed over Sunday night and Monday night. We took David out for a real Roast Beef sandwich ("What, is it like Arby's or something?" "NO.") We got chinese food because I had been CRAVING crab rangoon for about four years and THEY DON'T HAVE IT IN NEW YORK. If anyone ever asks me why I left NYC, I'm going to look them dead in the eye and say that I left because of the crab rangoon shortage. Appalling.

It was really wonderful to stop off in Massachusetts one last time. Everyone was so happy for us, and took the trouble to remind me what I'm getting into. You know, like "I hear it's REALLY COLD out there! Love you! Miss you! DON'T FREEZE TO DEATH!"

We loaded the truck up with even more stuff. Highlights include: an electric blanket ("isn't it really cold up there, or something?"), a food processor, and a shiny, red, KITCHENAID. Also among my old things that have been packed up since my college days I found THE UGLIEST AFGHAN EVER! "So ugly it's pretty!" as I used to say back in high school to describe everything I owned. Of course this monstrosity is my FAVORITE blanket ever and you can bet that when David and I get our stuff out of storage I will take tons of pictures to show you. Perhaps I'll even dedicate a blog post entirely to that ratty thing. It will rock!

So, anyway. Saying goodbye was a lot more difficult than I expected it to be. I cried and cried saying goodbye to each of my parents. I'm still pretty homesick, actually. It's funny; I haven't really lived at home in years and years, but this is the first time I really feel like I'm leaving home, you know?

And then it was just us and the open road! David, me....and Durpalug. Yeah. See that picture of the extremely perturbed cat on the right? That's Durp. When she wasn't sleeping or trying to make a break for it by attempting to jump out the window at a toll booth in Illinois and instead getting her claws stuck in my hair while I was driving, she looked like that. To be fair, I can't really blame her. By the end of the trip I pretty much looked like that, too. But with more frizz.

What did we do on the drive, you ask? We drove. No stopping off at the world's largest ball of yarn for us! It was pedal to the metal. We drove from Boston (2 hours of nearly stand-still traffic on the Mass Pike!) to just past Cleveland, OH on Tuesday. Then from there to Minnesota on Wednesday. Pretty much every time I hopped in the driver's seat it started raining. We were wise enough to bring a fully stocked cooler with us, so we had plenty of carrots, apples, peanut butter, tortillas, hummus, trail mix, granola bars, and, most importantly, red bull to last us. We only stopped for dinner. (The first night: Applebee's. And I swear, I was so excited to get out of the truck and eat something other than the rabbit food listed above that I was practically jumping up and down. Never mind that our waiter did a magic trick every time he came to the table. Never mind that the air conditioner was on full blast in September. Never mind that it was freaking Applebee's--it was one of the best meals I've ever eaten. The second night: Chili's. Not such a great time there. No magic tricks, for one thing).

A few rest stops here and there, but mostly we just drove, drove, drove. Despite the photographic evidence showing that Durp was a pretty miserable kitty-cat, I must say that she was surprisingly well behaved for the most part. She developed a particular interest in big rig trucks. Every time we got near to one on the highway she would perk up and put her paws on the window and start sniffing at it. Cute!

We got in Wednesday night and almost hit two deer on the way to St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin where we're staying! Yes, I moved to Minnesota, but I'm staying in Wisconsin. David's Aunt Katie was generous enough to let us use her basement apartment until we can get our own place. It's a completely separate two bedroom apartment in the basement of her house. We have our own entrance, bathroom, and kitchen. Have I mentioned how extremely fortunate we are, and how super grateful we are to David's family for helping us out so much? Because we are. St. Croix Falls is right on the border of Minnesota, and with luck we'll be moving to Minneapolis soon.

It's been an adjustment for sure. This is more "country" even than Ithaca ever was. It's by far the most rural environment I've ever lived in. It's beautiful, though. Very quiet and peaceful, and very scenic. The leaves are absolutely stunning up here, which surprised me. I always think of Autumn as a New England thing.

I'm homesick, for sure. Way more so than I've ever been moving to any other place. David has been worried about me. He's so anxious, and wants to make sure that I adjust and that I'm happy here. I keep telling him, "I am so happy to be here! It's just going to take a little while to adjust. And you have to adjust to being back here, yourself!" And it's true. We have each other, and that has made this transition so much easier. Even being in an unfamiliar place, with all our things packed up in storage, it helps so much that his family has been so kind and welcoming. And having him here to look out for me makes all the difference in the world. We've finally begun to settle into a routine and have begun job searching. That helps a lot, too. In the meantime, I've been keeping myself busy in all sorts of ways! But those stories are for future posts to come! And I promise there won't be such a long dry spell next time!

I love and miss you all so much! And you New Yorkers--do me a favor and really relish the next bagel you get, ok? God, I miss those.

if i can make it there, i'll make it anywhere

2009-09-27T07:50:00.005-04:00

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company. . . .

Here is New York by E.B. White

You'll have to bear with me on this one. I am at a loss. How to give voice to all that I experienced in the 4+ years I lived in this city?

I came here--it's true!--on a whim. I was impetuous and lonely and romantic and needed desperately to be Elsewhere. Isn't that why we all come here, in one way or another? I had one backpack--a red jansport--filled with clothes and a book or two, and $100 to my name. In cash. I am a living, breathing fairy-tale.

The largeness of it all! The wonderment of the cross town buses--I'm not lying. I would slide into a window seat and stare at my own reflection in the dark windows made greenish by the fluorescent lights inside and orangeish from the street lights outside. Cruising through the dark mysteries of Central Park after a closing shift at the vegetarian restaurant I worked in on the Upper East Side.

I am too overwhelmed now to properly answer the question "what will you most miss?" which is the question people are most often curious about. I can only say with certainty that it will likely be the small things. Sitting on the stoop of my first apartment for hours and hours. The quiet, magical walk along Astoria Park after sunset. The trick of knowing exactly which subway car to ride in to a) have the best chance of getting a seat, or b) get off directly in front of my exit. That the wonderment of walking past Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall, and St. Patrick's Cathedral every morning on my way to work quickly wore off, only to reignite itself more fervently than ever on some unobtrusive morning when the light sparkled just right or the rain held off until I made it inside and the pearly grey clouds reflected beautifully in all the windows. The N train and everything about it. Gramercy Park, which I only ever loved because it looks and feels exactly like Boston. Being called "sweetheart" by every doorman in the city. The rhythm and hum of the city itself.

So, here's a little snippet of the folksinger at 18. She just moved to New York and she’s had her mouth hanging open for about three days. I remember vividly the whole learning process and the prostitutes that were working the little cobblestone street below my window... it was like, 'No Ani, those are not women. They look a lot like women but…' And I was like, 'Wow...They're purty!' And then, and then, and I was like--so, um? There was this deck off of--well it was kind of a roof, really, as, you know, patios in New York are. They’re the roofs of other buildings. And there was chalk outlines of bodies on mine. So I inquired about them one day and they said, 'Oh, I don't know, I think maybe they were a joke...'

-Ani Difranco

Last night--our last in the city--David and I went to Korea Town, which is where we had our first date. After dinner we got frozen yogurt from Red Mango and sat at a little metal table in the middle of Herald Square. There was a small leafy tree overhead, blocking out some--but not all--of the headlights, street lights, and neon signs in and along the street. "I think," said David. "That this is the first and last time I've ever enjoyed listening to taxis."

I will miss so much. So much about this city and this life. So many people. But this morning, I'm off on the greatest adventure of my life. And I absolutely can't wait.

Love.

I have the measles and the mumps. a gash, a rash, and purple bumps

2009-09-23T16:02:00.000-04:00

Remember my To Do list? All items are now crossed off. The few things we have left to do literally can't be done until the last few days/hours, so for all intents and purposes David and I are truly ready to go.

Unfortunately we're both sick, so even the few remaining tasks left seem impossibly overwhelming.

I've canceled all my social plans for the week thus far, which really sucks but can't be helped at this point. I've got to recover. There's no way I'm driving all the way to Minnesota feeling like crap the whole way.

I can't wait to go home and make a "sick island" and eat soup and saltines and drink ginger-ale and go to sleep.

i'm really happy for you, and i'mma let you finish, but...

2009-09-21T15:59:00.004-04:00

Thanks so much to everyone who came out to the Beer Garden on Saturday Night for our Goodbye Party! It meant so much to us to have you there. I wish I had taken more pictures (I always wish that in retrospect. Must make more of an effort next time). There were lots of laughs, a few tears, and at least one Kanye West impression. I really couldn't have asked for more.

We're still interviewing for my replacement at work. Pamela swears she will make a decision today and I plan to hold her to it. We really want to get someone in to train with me, moreso than usual because I'm going to be leaving several major projects uncompleted and it will be a rough transition for whomever fills in. I am trying to get my ducks in a row, here, but it's getting really hard to focus.

David and I finally sat down and planned out our driving route. We're driving a u-haul all the way out to Minnesota; did I mentioned that? From New York to Massachusetts to Ohio to Minnesota. About 27ish hours of driving total!

I'm tempted--so tempted!--to buy some kind of ipod car converter device so we'll have some audio control along the way. But it's sort of a foolish waste of money at this point. Not to mention that it's been years, literally, since I've actually spent any time listening to the radio. It will be good for me.

We're really down to the wire now: 6 days until we leave. The apartment is disheveled and strewn with boxes--some packed, some half-packed, some empty. Our refrigerator is void of everything but condiments and some yogurt. Oh, and some limes.

Speaking of limes (this is actually an unplanned segue, so forgive me. We're venturing off the beaten track here), didn't I promise you the recipe for my favorite summer cocktail a while ago? I definitely did. Might as well do that now, huh?

The Long Vodka

ingredients

bitters
vodka
tonic
lime
ice

directions
Shake a few dashes of bitters over ice in a tall glass. Add two shots of vodka, the juice of half a lime, and top off with tonic. Add a slice of lime for garnish if you want to be fancy. Stir, enjoy!

In fact, I'd be tempted to make one myself if I were going directly home this evening. As it is, though, I'm putting on my best Mad Men pearls and hitting the town with Donna Bagdasarian. If we hit up Employees Only for one last farewell--as we are wont to do--I fear there's far more sinister drinks in my future!

belated blogging: where the hell did the last two weeks go?!

2009-09-07T18:47:00.015-04:00

Blogging is hard. Apparently, you actually have to be self-disciplined and make a commitment to consistency. No one thought to mention that when I started talking awhile back about starting a blog to document this transition. Thanks, guys.

SO MUCH IS GOING ON. It's crazy.

I can't believe it's already midway through September! David and I leave for Minnesota in 13 days. THIRTEEN DAYS. I'm really beginning to feel the enormity of what we're doing. This decision certainly was not made lightly, but in the initial stages it definitely took on a dream-like quality. As we made our plans we talked about our freedoms and fears and spent a lot of time being cozy and confiding in one another. In a way I felt as though we were in our own private bubble, and that all of the changes were happening within and between us. Now I find that as we're hurtling closer toward our departure date everything has become external. We check things off our To Do lists and suddenly our private hopes and dreams for the future are becoming grounded in reality in a way that is both exhilarating and terrifying. I can honestly say I never imagined myself moving to Minnesota. But I can also say--just as honestly--that there's no where else I'd rather go. I always have been and always will be every bit an emotional romantic, and this is no exception: I want to be where David is and nowhere else.

I haven't just spent these past two weeks in deep existential lovey-dovey thought, however! Initially I had plans to write separate blog posts about all of the things I'm about to mention. I even drafted a few paragraphs and saved them along the way! But time is truly quicker than I am. I thought it better to give you the rundown than to surrender myself to the undertow! So, as Inigo Montoya would say:

Let me s'plain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up.

David and I were back in Massachusetts over Labor Day weekend because my wonderful friends Dan and Niccie got MARRIED. Tied the knot. Got hitched. I was so, so happy to be there. Congratulations to you both, and thank you so much for letting me share the day with you!

That trip also served as an opportunity to say goodbye to some of my extended family members. Chances are I won't be back in Boston for any significant length of time until next summer, which feels a little bit strange.

David and I have both given our notice at work, which was a huge weight hanging over us. I feel so relieved now that it's over with! I'm essentially in charge of finding my own replacement so I've been combing through resumes and fielding phone calls for most of the last week. I have this week to really wrap things up as far as projects I'm working on, and then a week to train whomever Pamela decides to hire as my replacement.

I bought my last ever monthly metrocard (and then lost it and had to replace it, but whatever) which was an unexpectedly poignant moment for me.

I've been making the rounds, saying goodbye to friends, getting things done. This Saturday David and I are having our Goodbye Party at the Beer Garden in Astoria! If you're in the city I insist that you stop by.

I also got my hair cut. Now, here's the thing. When we first, first made the decision to move to the midwest, David asked me what I would most miss and regret leaving behind--family and friends being the obvious answer and therefore excluded. "My hair dresser," I replied instantly. I didn't even wait a beat. I've been getting my haircut by Melissa at Devachan for the last three years, and I am not at all exaggerating when I say that this salon changed my life. I'm so upset about the fact that she won't be able to cut my hair regularly anymore that I actually can't think about it. Luckily there is apparently a former Devachan stylist who now works in Chicago, which is a totally reasonable 8 hours away from Minneapolis. So it looks like I'll be getting most of my future haircuts in Chi-town. But whenever I can swing it, Melissa, I'm running right back to you! I'm bound to visit NYC every now and again!

We still have a lot of packing to do, and tonight, I think, we're going to map out our drive from the East Coast to the Mid West! (Midwest? One word or two? These are the things I need to learn, along with being able to identify the Great Lakes and accepting the fact that the Twin Cities are urban as opposed to suburban. I've got my work cut out for me!)

bad days and bye bye brooklyn

2009-08-29T18:34:00.010-04:00

I am having one of those days. I had a terrible night's sleep after being devoured by strange bugs that left David entirely alone and only came after me. I slept a lot later than I had planned to, stubbed my toe, had multiple impossible knots in my hair, my iPod was dying, I discovered that my camera battery REFUSED to charge overnight like I told it to (the first picture in this post was taken by me, the other two are courtesy of David's iPhone!), and just generally had a rotten morning. David was on hand with lots of hugs, though, and I put on my bravest face because today we went to say goodbye to Brooklyn.

I have lived in Queens for the majority of my time here in New York. I had brief stints on the Upper East side, the Upper West side, and a ridiculous stay in Washington Heights (long before the musical came out) where I befriended a drug dealer named Seven who nicknamed me "Snow White" because I was "the only white girl in the heights" and who made sure that no one gave me a hard time or followed me to my apartment from the subway late at night when I got home after closing down the restaurant where I worked at the time. Ah, memories.

So once I moved to Astoria and was, for the first time, a financially independent adult and had a bedroom with an actual door that I could open and close at will (seriously, I will never ever take doors for granted again. You wouldn't either if you'd ever lived for any length of time without one!) I fell in love with Queens and I fell hard. So of course I inherited a prejudice against Brooklyn from the start.

Now, this totally irrational bias was supported a little bit by my first excursions to Brooklyn, which almost entirely consisted of hipster warehouse parties in Williamsburg or Bed-Stuy thrown by people I didn't know and didn't want to know. Often I was dragged there by guys who refused to let me leave the party when I wanted to (immediately) because it was too dangerous for me to walk to the subway alone in the middle of the night and they just wanted to have "one more beer." Sitting on some roof in the middle of Bed-Stuy with a bunch of entitled trust-fund hipsters, listening to them talk about the deep personal meaning behind their latest tattoo while they sip on Pilsner or Jim Beam on ice and blow smoke in my face as the five kids who had earlier done coke in bathroom were dancing around in the background to the sounds of all the car alarms going off down on the street was just not my idea of a good time. Sorry.

But then I met David. And he was definitely cute enough for me to overlook (not quietly or anything, but still) that fact that he lived in The Worst Borough Of Them All. In fact, when I went to visit his apartment in Prospect Heights I had to admit that his particular part of Brooklyn was actually sort of lovely. For a year we spent most of our time there. We went to Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Museum and ate at a dozen sweet little cafés and Brooklyn grew on me more and more, until I was grudgingly forced to admit that yes, maybe I did sort of love it. Parts of it. Maybe.

But then David's lease was up and after a frantic, unfulfilling apartment hunt he moved to Queens. Sadly, it has to be said that he never really warmed to it the way I did to Brooklyn (parts of it. Maybe). So when we decided to move to Minnesota we both knew that we'd have to go back to Brooklyn and say goodbye. I've never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and knew I had to do it before I left the city. David's walked it many times, but he's the best ever so he agreed to walk it with me. But first, we had to have sustenance. We had to have brunch. We had to have... Tom's.

Tom's is a diner in Brooklyn. It's open from 4am to 4pm Monday through Saturday. The lines are usually so long that they wrap around the corner, and while you stand there (or sit there--they kindly set out plastic chairs for you to rest in while you bide your time) waiters come around with coffee, sausages, orange slices, cookies, and other delicious goodies for you to munch on while you wait...free of charge. It's WONDERFUL. You're pretty much full before you even get inside.

Getting inside is worth it, though, because Tom's is a true sensory overload. Every inch of wall space is covered with framed reviews, photographs, paintings, fake flowers, neon posterboard highlighting popular menu items, and christmas lights everywhere.

After an amazing brunch (David: fresh crab cakes with chipotle mayo, two eggs sunny-side up, home fries, smoked beef sausage, wheat toast, and coffee. Me: Challah bread french toast with strawberry butter, side of bacon, coffee, and a slightly over-rated vanilla egg cream) we were ready to take the trek across the Brooklyn bridge.

I don't really know what to say about it. It was raining--misting, really--and a little cloudy. There was a fantastic breeze up at the top, and if you looked closely you could see through the wooden slats at your feet and watch the cars as they zipped beneath you. The top of the Empire State Building was hidden in the fog, but we could just make out the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Seeing all of the city at once like that made me feel very close to it. David indulged me and snapped a few touristy pictures (I am very sunburnt! David's eyes may or may not be closed!), and before we knew it we were in Manhattan.

I've spent the evening drinking long vodkas and making The Pioneer Woman's individual raspberry cobblers (TOTAL disaster, but still super tasty!) Recipes and pictures tomorrow, but for now I'm going to pour myself another drink and thank David once again for hugging my bad mood away, teaching me to love Brooklyn, and just generally always being the best.

no procrastination this time around

2009-08-24T11:14:00.006-04:00

I have a difficult time with To Do lists, because after I make them I immediately wish I hadn't. Having a physical To Do list rather than a mental one instantly makes all the unpleasant tasks on the list much more immediate. I look at the list and think, "Damn, now I actually have to accomplish this stuff."

But, if you're anything like me you begin avoiding your To Do list the moment it's made. Often I'll put my hands into my pockets and pull out an old To Do list that's gone through the wash without a single item crossed off. Or worse, I am one of those people who complete a task that isn't on the list, then add it to the list simply so that I can cross it off and feel like I'm making progress.

I'm telling you this because my list of Things To Do Before I Move To Minnesota is enormous. And yet, I've crossed off more than half of it. Want proof?

Things To Do Before I Move To Minnesota

~~Tell my family~~
~~Tell my friends~~
~~Find someone to take over my room in the apartment~~
~~Pare down my wardrobe and donate whatever I don't keep. If I haven't worn it in a year IT GOES!~~
~~Sell my bed~~
~~Coordinate furniture with David and sell whatever we aren't bringing with us~~
Get rid of all that useless crap I keep in those pretty boxes on my dresser. I know it's in there, even if I can't see it. Empty bottles and bits of ribbon way too small to ever be of any use. Get rid of all the junk!
~~Get my security deposit back~~
~~Move into David's studio to save money~~
~~Pack for the move in with David;~~ ~~Pack for the move to Minnesota~~
~~Have a sidewalk sale and sell whatever I can~~
~~Give my 2 weeks' notice at work~~
~~Cancel my gym membership~~
~~Fill out a change of address form~~
~~Call my doctor to see if I can fill my prescription out of the state. If not, see if I can get a prescription that will allow me to do so.~~
~~Compare prices and hire a rental truck~~
~~Recruit as many people as possible to help us load up the truck when the time comes, as there is no freaking way that I can help David get that couch down two flights of stairs.~~

I'm sure that list will grow, but I have to say I'm impressed with the amount of items crossed off (items, I might mention, that were genuinely crossed off, and not just added as an afterthought so that I could cross them off and feel more accomplished!)

Since breaking the news that David and I are moving to the midwest I've been touched (but not surprised) by the overwhelmingly positive and supportive reactions from my family members and friends. After their initial shock wears off, the questions I am most often asked have to do with my feelings about whisking off to the unknown and leaving everything behind. Usually when in the midst of answering those questions I say something like, "I'm really, really excited! I feel really positive about it. This is absolutely the right decision!"

And while that's all true, I've also been thinking about how to articulate more clearly what I'm experiencing right now. And maybe the best way to do that is to point out the fact that I am actively crossing things off my To Do list.

I am in love with David Van Sant. So much so, that if I were to describe it at length it would probably make him blush as he scrolls through this update on his google reader (hi honey!). I am so, so in love and every moment that we spend planning, working, hoping, and building these dreams into reality affirms that this is the person I want to spend my life with, and that life is going to happen in Minnesota. Every item I cross off my list brings me one step closer to that reality. So, how do I feel about whisking off into the unknown?

I feel ready.

Oh, and I have one more thing to add to my To Do list just for the sheer joy of crossing it off.

~~Start a blog~~

The Gist Of It

2009-08-19T17:04:00.000-04:00

I grew up in the suburbs of Boston a mere fifteen minutes away from the Atlantic Ocean. I then spent 4+ tumultuous years at Ithaca College in upstate New York before moving back to Massachusetts to wait tables and hang around aimlessly. I spent some equally aimless time up in New Hampshire. Eventually, I hopped on a Fung Wah bus with $100 and one backpack and got off in New York City to "seek my fortune" as they say in fairy tales. After 4+ years in The City (not all of them tumultuous) and fortune found, I'm leaving the east coast and life as I've known it behind and moving to Minnesota with my boyfriend. This water-loving girl is about to become Land Locked. (But is oh so in love!)