i've always known that i like routine. i usually eat at the same times every day, and maintaining a regular bedtime definitely helps me feel less crazy. i liked my college schedule a lot because i always knew what i was supposed to be doing with the various chunks of my day. even better than college was how, when i was living at home, daily chores were the basis of everyone's schedule: the animals shaped it with their morning feeding, lunchtime feeding, night time feeding... it breaks the day up into manageable three or four hour pieces, gives it all a sense of rhythm.
without these outside structures, and with a slightly-crazy, always-changing work schedule, i've been struggling lately to reestablish a routine. some weekends i'm gone all day, others for just a few hours in the middle. sometimes i don't work at all during the week, and have to find creative ways to fill my time and stay productive. without a real, pressing reason to get up in the morning, it's easy to stay in bed too long. without an obvious conclusion to the day, it's all too easy to eat dinner at 9:30 at night (have you noticed yourself doing this since the time change? i sure have been...). it all circles back around to that discipline thing i've talked about before, and my general lack thereof.
one morning routine that i have been practicing lately is this: wake up pretty early (around 5:30 lately--the birds are really loud!). the alarm goes off at 6:30 and i listen to erik trundle through his morning routine. then i get up, early-ish still (usually no later than eight). i don't bother taking a shower unless i'm heading to work, bundle up (it's been pretty chilly recently), and put the kettle on. grind up my coffee and fill the french press. let it steep while i make oatmeal or pour some granola over my yogurt. then i sit down at the kitchen table and read. i've been resisting turning on the radio or listening to music: i just sip and sit there with my book and my pencil. it's really therapeutic.
i like spending my mornings this way. it is really nice not to feel rushed in the morning, and this way i even get some quiet time before heading to work. it's nice to start the day with someone else's thoughts, not my own: i've learned that writing early in the morning is too taxing for me. i need a little time to warm up and get my juices flowing. early afternoon seems the best time to tackle that. i'm thinking that come summertime and mornings that don't make me shiver, i might change to green tea in the mornings, rather than coffee.
hooray for routines, and saner-feeling days.
b
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
pretty things
bob marley playing in the sunshine.
apple-patterned notebooks.
w.s. merwin.
collections at 3191.
delicate silver jewelry from elephantine.
rainbow-colored recycled leather journals from kate's paperie.
footed mug from back creek pottery.
people opening doors for each other at the cafe.
bicycles.
scottish shortbread.
getting a few photos printed.
in the past two weeks or so i have rearranged a good portion of my apartment, planted seeds for the garden, invested in herb plants for my balcony, started a new writing notebook, and rescued some branches from the park to decorate the living room. today, i'm going to take the first steps to have a few of my photos printed so that i can work on framing them and finding them a venue. why not, right?
the other day i wrote a really long, totally incoherent and rambling journal entry about struggling to justify my enjoyment of pretty things and making them, because (1) they are things, (2) some of them are dubious in origin, and (3) shouldn't i be simplifying and de-cluttering, rather than collecting more things?
i know that i am prone to clinging to things... objects that i bring home because they are pretty (weeds from the ditch, unusually shaped jars, yet another colorful mug); old items of clothing or paper that i don't really use, but have some memory associated with them; piles of magazines that i keep on hand for "inspiration," but don't do much more with. i have so many little collections hanging around. erik regularly reminds me that every time he clears a space around the house, i tend to fill it with something. this is distressing for his clutter-hating soul, and i feel guilty when my stuff starts sprawling all over the place, leaving him (and myself) very little clear space in which to breathe.
i think that i hang on to these little bits of prettiness because i am as equally prone to losing sight of them, as i am prone to bring them into my cluttered house. i don't know if this is a reasonable justification or not, but i'm going to stick with it for a bit. i do a lot of reading and thinking about issues that are scary and overwhelming--global warming, poverty, insecurity of food systems, my own little future. so i surround myself with pretty little things that remind me why i should keep caring. these are bits of the world that are worth keeping around: daffodils and pretty paper to send notes on, cake pans to bake things and thermoses to keep things warm, thoughts and photos that can point out what i find beautiful in the world, books to share with friends.
some things are worth hanging on to, but the recent post on 3191 encouraged me not to cling to my collections too much. it's probably time to take down the thistles and other dried weeds i had in my winter window, and embrace flowers and tins cans planted with lettuce for the spring. i don't need to save every piece of paper i ever wrote anything on, ever. i can shrink my dishes collections to just the ones i use regularly. i can get rid of those extra pairs of shoes and shirts that don't quite fit anymore. not only is it simplifying, it is making room for newer and better things that reflect how i feel right now, rather than three months ago. healthier, yes?
and anything that makes more room for sunshine and inspiration is good.
b
ps> here are a few of the pictures i'm having printed. what do you think?
"edges"
"decay"
"angled"
"outlook"
"opal"
apple-patterned notebooks.
w.s. merwin.
collections at 3191.
delicate silver jewelry from elephantine.
rainbow-colored recycled leather journals from kate's paperie.
footed mug from back creek pottery.
people opening doors for each other at the cafe.
bicycles.
scottish shortbread.
getting a few photos printed.
in the past two weeks or so i have rearranged a good portion of my apartment, planted seeds for the garden, invested in herb plants for my balcony, started a new writing notebook, and rescued some branches from the park to decorate the living room. today, i'm going to take the first steps to have a few of my photos printed so that i can work on framing them and finding them a venue. why not, right?
the other day i wrote a really long, totally incoherent and rambling journal entry about struggling to justify my enjoyment of pretty things and making them, because (1) they are things, (2) some of them are dubious in origin, and (3) shouldn't i be simplifying and de-cluttering, rather than collecting more things?
i know that i am prone to clinging to things... objects that i bring home because they are pretty (weeds from the ditch, unusually shaped jars, yet another colorful mug); old items of clothing or paper that i don't really use, but have some memory associated with them; piles of magazines that i keep on hand for "inspiration," but don't do much more with. i have so many little collections hanging around. erik regularly reminds me that every time he clears a space around the house, i tend to fill it with something. this is distressing for his clutter-hating soul, and i feel guilty when my stuff starts sprawling all over the place, leaving him (and myself) very little clear space in which to breathe.
i think that i hang on to these little bits of prettiness because i am as equally prone to losing sight of them, as i am prone to bring them into my cluttered house. i don't know if this is a reasonable justification or not, but i'm going to stick with it for a bit. i do a lot of reading and thinking about issues that are scary and overwhelming--global warming, poverty, insecurity of food systems, my own little future. so i surround myself with pretty little things that remind me why i should keep caring. these are bits of the world that are worth keeping around: daffodils and pretty paper to send notes on, cake pans to bake things and thermoses to keep things warm, thoughts and photos that can point out what i find beautiful in the world, books to share with friends.
some things are worth hanging on to, but the recent post on 3191 encouraged me not to cling to my collections too much. it's probably time to take down the thistles and other dried weeds i had in my winter window, and embrace flowers and tins cans planted with lettuce for the spring. i don't need to save every piece of paper i ever wrote anything on, ever. i can shrink my dishes collections to just the ones i use regularly. i can get rid of those extra pairs of shoes and shirts that don't quite fit anymore. not only is it simplifying, it is making room for newer and better things that reflect how i feel right now, rather than three months ago. healthier, yes?
and anything that makes more room for sunshine and inspiration is good.
b
ps> here are a few of the pictures i'm having printed. what do you think?
"edges"
"decay"
"angled"
"outlook"
"opal"
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
recipes and a project to share
i'd like to say that i've been cooking more than normal lately, but that wouldn't be entirely true. i have, however, been stockpiling recipes.
one theme in those recipes is olive oil. since starting work at red ridge, i often find myself with a couple of bottles of olive oil sitting in the kitchen begging to be made into something delicious. i love olive oil in all its traditional places--salads, pasta, drizzled on veggies or soups--but i am very, very intrigued by olive oil in less obvious applications. lately, i've been experimenting with olive oil in sweet and baked things... and it is awesome.
so far my favorite tasty treat is definitely olive oil granola. it's literally that simple: swap out boring old canola for some green, grassy olive oil, and your granola instantly gets a flavor boost. the recipe i've been using also adds about twice the salt as normal granola, which makes it into a sweet and savory treat that is really hard to stop eating.
another success was a blood orange olive oil cake (both the granola and cake were from melissa clark's in the kitchen with a good appetite). this was a dense, moist pound-cake like loaf. strewn with orange supremes (mine were just regular oranges, not the bloody kind), fresh orange juice, AND(!) orange zest. yummers. it didn't last long.
yesterday i tested out another olive oil dessert--olive oil banana bread. now, i'm not a big fan of bananas... but banana bread, that's pretty tasty. (not as good as zucchini bread, but we're months away from summery squash like that--i can't wait to make that with olive oil!). if you have any bananas in your house that are passing their fresh-eating expiration date, i highly recommend popping them into the freezer, going out and buying some good olive oil and a few lemons, and making this tasty bread. you can find the recipe here.
also, i didn't have any lemons on hand, so i made it with orange zest, and it turned out just fine. think about halving the chocolate so you can enjoy more savory-sweet bready crumbs.
the other theme in my recipe hounding lately has been salad. SALAD! it's spring and i want salad! i can't wait until the snap peas are here! in the meantime (and until i have some uber-fresh lettuce of my own), i'm hoping to experiment with homemade salad dressings. about a month ago i made a delicious winter salad that involved italian sausage, garlic, and radicchio. delish. now, i'm thinking about trying creamy dijon dressing over some hot-from-the-oven roasted potatoes. and i already have a few fresh, herby vinaigrette recipes saved for when the baby lettuces come my way.
you can read about my recent salad dressing realization, and find recipes for a few, at my other project: the yamhill county slow food blog. getting involved with slow food has been really fun so far, and i'm looking forward to summery weather when we'll have more flexibility in the kinds of events we can put on. in the meantime, i'm really enjoying writing posts and sharing recipes through the site. give it a look and let me know what you think! and if you like it... pass it on to other folks! i'm trying to get it some more traffic, and every click counts. if you're feeling brave, you could even leave a comment. :)
b
one theme in those recipes is olive oil. since starting work at red ridge, i often find myself with a couple of bottles of olive oil sitting in the kitchen begging to be made into something delicious. i love olive oil in all its traditional places--salads, pasta, drizzled on veggies or soups--but i am very, very intrigued by olive oil in less obvious applications. lately, i've been experimenting with olive oil in sweet and baked things... and it is awesome.
so far my favorite tasty treat is definitely olive oil granola. it's literally that simple: swap out boring old canola for some green, grassy olive oil, and your granola instantly gets a flavor boost. the recipe i've been using also adds about twice the salt as normal granola, which makes it into a sweet and savory treat that is really hard to stop eating.
another success was a blood orange olive oil cake (both the granola and cake were from melissa clark's in the kitchen with a good appetite). this was a dense, moist pound-cake like loaf. strewn with orange supremes (mine were just regular oranges, not the bloody kind), fresh orange juice, AND(!) orange zest. yummers. it didn't last long.
yesterday i tested out another olive oil dessert--olive oil banana bread. now, i'm not a big fan of bananas... but banana bread, that's pretty tasty. (not as good as zucchini bread, but we're months away from summery squash like that--i can't wait to make that with olive oil!). if you have any bananas in your house that are passing their fresh-eating expiration date, i highly recommend popping them into the freezer, going out and buying some good olive oil and a few lemons, and making this tasty bread. you can find the recipe here.
also, i didn't have any lemons on hand, so i made it with orange zest, and it turned out just fine. think about halving the chocolate so you can enjoy more savory-sweet bready crumbs.
the other theme in my recipe hounding lately has been salad. SALAD! it's spring and i want salad! i can't wait until the snap peas are here! in the meantime (and until i have some uber-fresh lettuce of my own), i'm hoping to experiment with homemade salad dressings. about a month ago i made a delicious winter salad that involved italian sausage, garlic, and radicchio. delish. now, i'm thinking about trying creamy dijon dressing over some hot-from-the-oven roasted potatoes. and i already have a few fresh, herby vinaigrette recipes saved for when the baby lettuces come my way.
you can read about my recent salad dressing realization, and find recipes for a few, at my other project: the yamhill county slow food blog. getting involved with slow food has been really fun so far, and i'm looking forward to summery weather when we'll have more flexibility in the kinds of events we can put on. in the meantime, i'm really enjoying writing posts and sharing recipes through the site. give it a look and let me know what you think! and if you like it... pass it on to other folks! i'm trying to get it some more traffic, and every click counts. if you're feeling brave, you could even leave a comment. :)
b
Monday, March 28, 2011
a hard balance
as i wrote a couple of posts ago, i've been reading a lot. much of that reading has been nonfiction, and not only that, but nonfiction topics that are especially difficult or exhausting to read about for long stretches. i am currently two-thirds of the way through mark hertsgaard's great new book on climate change, hot. hertsgaard does an amazing job of balancing frank reporting and a hopeful outlook: he doesn't shrink from telling the truth about the severity of impending climate change, or how dire it will be if we don't act now, or how royally we have screwed up most climate initiatives thus far. he is a harsh critic of action (or lack of action) in the face of this crisis all across the globe--personal, business-sector, and political fronts included. at the same time, he dedicated this book to his five year old daughter... and he manages to remain hopeful about the possibility of meaningful and effective action being achieved here and now. it's a hard balance.
this morning i read the bulk of the chapter on food, perfectly titled "how will we feed ourselves?" in it, hertsgaard writes unflinchingly about the failings of the modern agro-economic system: soil degradation, over-tapping of groundwater resources, pursuit of profit over quality, chemical overuse and run off, and continued food inequities and widespread malnutrition. he talks about how china's northern plains will run out of water by 2030, how the american midwest will be baked by scorching high temperatures three summers out of four, and how the global population, projected to hit 9 billion by 2050, will require that our food systems continue to increase yields despite rapidly escalating climate pressures. will industrial agriculture feed the world? no. but organic agriculture as it stands today probably won't either. there are good answers to this question, but they require more innovation, investment, and forward thinking that doesn't exist on a large scale right now.
and then he travels to the african sahel, and finds people there who are lifting themselves out of poverty and hunger by employing simultaneously novel and old agricultural techniques. their efforts include allowing native trees to grow interspersed with their crops, and this simple step has not only increased crop yields, guaranteeing many families never-before-experienced food security, but it is also recharging the aquifer they live on, attracting wildlife, and offering a degree of livelihood and hope that they have never known. he also travels to a promising test farm in northern china, where a determined professor and a group of young chinese and international students are hoping to prove that traditional intensive farming methods will be able to feed the chinese nation, and rescue it from the total destruction of its soils and water table.
despair intermixed with hope. trouble balanced by effective action.
this hard balance, perhaps in a silly way, is reminiscent of my internal dialogue of late. i'm working less now, which leaves me a lot of free time to think. and i've been thinking a lot about the sorts of things i want to do in the future. this is a hard thing for me. for one, i'm not good at making these sorts of decisions: i'd much rather have them made for me in some way (but not dictatorially--that's guaranteed to make me want to do the exact opposite).
also, i'm overwhelmed by the options. i'm interested in doing so many things! they don't really seem to mesh very well: grad school, working on a farm, having an etsy website, working on my writing, traveling, serving in the peace corps, working in a coffee shop, going to culinary school, working for a nonprofit.... the list, it just goes on and on. i don't think i'm enough person (being that i am bound by time and only having one body and needing to do things like sleep) to do all of it, and yet i can't decide what to approach first.
this is the perennial issue with me: i'm paralyzed by the options. i don't know what to do first: i buy a book about block printing and the inks and even some items to print, but i haven't actually done it yet. i write in a dedicated way for a month, and then it drops off again, and i don't edit anything i work on. i spend a couple of weeks doing a really good job of meal planning and trying out new recipes, and then i fall off the wagon and rely on burritos and dinners out. i read a book that makes me really excited about studying community development or permaculture design or urban planning or what have you; a week later i'm burnt out by the idea, and want to be selfish and study poetry and crawl inside myself to hide from the world and write. there are a pile of seeds waiting to be planted at home, and i'm here at union block, writing rambling blog posts and staring off into space as the sun tries to dry out the mud outside. blurg.
so many things to do. and i know i really do have a lot of time (in the day, and in the years to come), but it doesn't feel that way. how can i balance doing things like craft projects and meal planning with a meaningful job or grad program? i know it isn't impossible but sometimes it feels that way. do you know what i mean?
luckily, i get to go home to a clean apartment (thanks to erik, whose cleaning rampages make up for my apathy in the face of a mess) and feel like i at least have space to start working on a project. last night i organized my seeds into what to plant now, later, and direct into the ground once it isn't so swampy. i have new herbs to put in pots and a lemon tree to pot up as well. i have a bottle of olive oil to use up. i'm thinking granola and banana bread. hopefully i can tackle that for now, and slowly i'll be able to figure out how to do everything i want to do without exploding my poor little overwhelmed brain. wish me luck.
b
one thing that definitely makes me feel hopeful lately:
ranunculus. especially that shade of pink that makes your eyes widen. so lovely.
this morning i read the bulk of the chapter on food, perfectly titled "how will we feed ourselves?" in it, hertsgaard writes unflinchingly about the failings of the modern agro-economic system: soil degradation, over-tapping of groundwater resources, pursuit of profit over quality, chemical overuse and run off, and continued food inequities and widespread malnutrition. he talks about how china's northern plains will run out of water by 2030, how the american midwest will be baked by scorching high temperatures three summers out of four, and how the global population, projected to hit 9 billion by 2050, will require that our food systems continue to increase yields despite rapidly escalating climate pressures. will industrial agriculture feed the world? no. but organic agriculture as it stands today probably won't either. there are good answers to this question, but they require more innovation, investment, and forward thinking that doesn't exist on a large scale right now.
and then he travels to the african sahel, and finds people there who are lifting themselves out of poverty and hunger by employing simultaneously novel and old agricultural techniques. their efforts include allowing native trees to grow interspersed with their crops, and this simple step has not only increased crop yields, guaranteeing many families never-before-experienced food security, but it is also recharging the aquifer they live on, attracting wildlife, and offering a degree of livelihood and hope that they have never known. he also travels to a promising test farm in northern china, where a determined professor and a group of young chinese and international students are hoping to prove that traditional intensive farming methods will be able to feed the chinese nation, and rescue it from the total destruction of its soils and water table.
despair intermixed with hope. trouble balanced by effective action.
this hard balance, perhaps in a silly way, is reminiscent of my internal dialogue of late. i'm working less now, which leaves me a lot of free time to think. and i've been thinking a lot about the sorts of things i want to do in the future. this is a hard thing for me. for one, i'm not good at making these sorts of decisions: i'd much rather have them made for me in some way (but not dictatorially--that's guaranteed to make me want to do the exact opposite).
also, i'm overwhelmed by the options. i'm interested in doing so many things! they don't really seem to mesh very well: grad school, working on a farm, having an etsy website, working on my writing, traveling, serving in the peace corps, working in a coffee shop, going to culinary school, working for a nonprofit.... the list, it just goes on and on. i don't think i'm enough person (being that i am bound by time and only having one body and needing to do things like sleep) to do all of it, and yet i can't decide what to approach first.
this is the perennial issue with me: i'm paralyzed by the options. i don't know what to do first: i buy a book about block printing and the inks and even some items to print, but i haven't actually done it yet. i write in a dedicated way for a month, and then it drops off again, and i don't edit anything i work on. i spend a couple of weeks doing a really good job of meal planning and trying out new recipes, and then i fall off the wagon and rely on burritos and dinners out. i read a book that makes me really excited about studying community development or permaculture design or urban planning or what have you; a week later i'm burnt out by the idea, and want to be selfish and study poetry and crawl inside myself to hide from the world and write. there are a pile of seeds waiting to be planted at home, and i'm here at union block, writing rambling blog posts and staring off into space as the sun tries to dry out the mud outside. blurg.
so many things to do. and i know i really do have a lot of time (in the day, and in the years to come), but it doesn't feel that way. how can i balance doing things like craft projects and meal planning with a meaningful job or grad program? i know it isn't impossible but sometimes it feels that way. do you know what i mean?
luckily, i get to go home to a clean apartment (thanks to erik, whose cleaning rampages make up for my apathy in the face of a mess) and feel like i at least have space to start working on a project. last night i organized my seeds into what to plant now, later, and direct into the ground once it isn't so swampy. i have new herbs to put in pots and a lemon tree to pot up as well. i have a bottle of olive oil to use up. i'm thinking granola and banana bread. hopefully i can tackle that for now, and slowly i'll be able to figure out how to do everything i want to do without exploding my poor little overwhelmed brain. wish me luck.
b
one thing that definitely makes me feel hopeful lately:
ranunculus. especially that shade of pink that makes your eyes widen. so lovely.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
hopelessly nostalgic
erik recently called me "hopelessly nostalgic"... and that's probably the best description anyone has ever given of me.
it's true: i love old things. pyrex mixing bowls, 1930s dresses, worn wooden spoons, handkerchiefs, manual typewriters, tattered polaroid shots, soft leather, woolen blankets, film cameras. i love writing letters by hand, cooking my own meals, gardening, canning, sewing (though i'm not great at finishing my projects), collecting old bits of random stuff that i find pretty.
currently i have a major crush on old cameras. here are two beauties that i'm aching to have in my hands:
this is a 100% manual, completely ancient soviet camera. it was designed to be cheap and durable. basically it is like a less-disposable disposable camera: you wind the film, focus the shot, click the shutter and wind it again. it doesn't do any of the work for you unlike modern cameras, which do everything except pick your nose. those cameras scare the heck out of my honestly... and i struggle to justify the expense, when i feel like it would take a lifetime for me to figure out how to really use the thing. you can do amazing things with them, yes. i just don't know if they're for me or not.
this sassy little lady is a 1970s polaroid one step land camera. look at that little rainbow down her front! they don't make them that cute these days. in fact, i find the new polaroid cameras pretty ugly, even though i think it's great that there is enough demand for them that they're back in production.
i've really been having fun taking pictures for my public art project, a million little pictures. i haven't used a disposable or film camera in ages, and there is something so satisfying and exciting about pushing the shutter and having no control over the image at all. it's out of my hands, and it captures a moment, even if it ends up being a crappy photo. the only thing better than that would be a real polaroid camera... click, whiz, shake, and your moment's right there! awesome.
so yes, i'm hopelessly nostalgic. i love the idea of having a little string hanging in my bedroom and clothes-pinning new polaroids to it. like a constantly remade collage of day to day pieces. i love that there will only ever be one of those pictures. i can't capture that precise image ever again. i can't print duplicate copies. if i give that picture away, i am giving the recipient a little piece of me and my experiences. hmmm.
one of these days i'm going to break down and ship one of these gems into my hands. then all i'll have to worry about it not going too crazy and spending all my money on film. in the meantime, i'll peruse the awesome polaroid movement website. it features polariods of all kinds from all over the world. happy looking!
b
it's true: i love old things. pyrex mixing bowls, 1930s dresses, worn wooden spoons, handkerchiefs, manual typewriters, tattered polaroid shots, soft leather, woolen blankets, film cameras. i love writing letters by hand, cooking my own meals, gardening, canning, sewing (though i'm not great at finishing my projects), collecting old bits of random stuff that i find pretty.
currently i have a major crush on old cameras. here are two beauties that i'm aching to have in my hands:
this is a 100% manual, completely ancient soviet camera. it was designed to be cheap and durable. basically it is like a less-disposable disposable camera: you wind the film, focus the shot, click the shutter and wind it again. it doesn't do any of the work for you unlike modern cameras, which do everything except pick your nose. those cameras scare the heck out of my honestly... and i struggle to justify the expense, when i feel like it would take a lifetime for me to figure out how to really use the thing. you can do amazing things with them, yes. i just don't know if they're for me or not.
this sassy little lady is a 1970s polaroid one step land camera. look at that little rainbow down her front! they don't make them that cute these days. in fact, i find the new polaroid cameras pretty ugly, even though i think it's great that there is enough demand for them that they're back in production.
i've really been having fun taking pictures for my public art project, a million little pictures. i haven't used a disposable or film camera in ages, and there is something so satisfying and exciting about pushing the shutter and having no control over the image at all. it's out of my hands, and it captures a moment, even if it ends up being a crappy photo. the only thing better than that would be a real polaroid camera... click, whiz, shake, and your moment's right there! awesome.
so yes, i'm hopelessly nostalgic. i love the idea of having a little string hanging in my bedroom and clothes-pinning new polaroids to it. like a constantly remade collage of day to day pieces. i love that there will only ever be one of those pictures. i can't capture that precise image ever again. i can't print duplicate copies. if i give that picture away, i am giving the recipient a little piece of me and my experiences. hmmm.
one of these days i'm going to break down and ship one of these gems into my hands. then all i'll have to worry about it not going too crazy and spending all my money on film. in the meantime, i'll peruse the awesome polaroid movement website. it features polariods of all kinds from all over the world. happy looking!
b
Monday, March 14, 2011
food for thought
a lot of reading these days. i guess less time spent working for other people opens up that possibility.
a lot of following of international news. it feels like i rarely turn off NPR. been following the news in libya for weeks now, and keeping my dear friend nadia in my thoughts. i recently learned that she will be coming home soon. i am happy to hear she will be out of danger as violence intensifies in the country once again. and then japan... so many lives lost and broken to pieces. so much uncertainty out of something that feels so certain--the ground beneath our feet. yet another reminder of how perilous our existence is these days.
i had started a new kick of nonfiction reading before these events started informing my days. now what i am learning from these books feels more necessary than ever. not just good things to know anymore; they are good reasons to act.
on my pile right now:
hot by mark hertsgaard
tons of up to date information on the impacts of global climate change, present and future. also a lot of reasons to still be hopeful, and a lot of reasons to act.
finding beauty in a broken world by terry tempest williams
okay, i read this a while ago, but it fits to perfectly with my current line of thought. a fabulously well written and unique book about finding hope among the ruins (be they human or environmental).
the impossible will take a little while by paul rogat loeb
the newest addition: a collection of essays, poems, stories, speeches, and letters by peace activists from all over the world. a meditation on why hope is so important and so powerful.
i think not working as much has me thinking a lot more about what i might want to do with myself. (something other than working part time in retail.) these books are giving me both ideas and encouragement.
and so i don't get to caught up in the difficulties of the world...
on beauty by zadie smith
because good novels always remind me what it means to be human.
what are you reading?
b
a lot of following of international news. it feels like i rarely turn off NPR. been following the news in libya for weeks now, and keeping my dear friend nadia in my thoughts. i recently learned that she will be coming home soon. i am happy to hear she will be out of danger as violence intensifies in the country once again. and then japan... so many lives lost and broken to pieces. so much uncertainty out of something that feels so certain--the ground beneath our feet. yet another reminder of how perilous our existence is these days.
i had started a new kick of nonfiction reading before these events started informing my days. now what i am learning from these books feels more necessary than ever. not just good things to know anymore; they are good reasons to act.
on my pile right now:
hot by mark hertsgaard
tons of up to date information on the impacts of global climate change, present and future. also a lot of reasons to still be hopeful, and a lot of reasons to act.
finding beauty in a broken world by terry tempest williams
okay, i read this a while ago, but it fits to perfectly with my current line of thought. a fabulously well written and unique book about finding hope among the ruins (be they human or environmental).
the impossible will take a little while by paul rogat loeb
the newest addition: a collection of essays, poems, stories, speeches, and letters by peace activists from all over the world. a meditation on why hope is so important and so powerful.
i think not working as much has me thinking a lot more about what i might want to do with myself. (something other than working part time in retail.) these books are giving me both ideas and encouragement.
and so i don't get to caught up in the difficulties of the world...
on beauty by zadie smith
because good novels always remind me what it means to be human.
what are you reading?
b
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
have i ever mentioned how much i love cookbooks?
yes, i am a dork. yes, i read cookbooks cover to cover. ...but seriously, what's not to like? you miss so much when you don't read your cookbook--flipping from recipe to recipe while using only the index means you miss all of the witty commentary and random historical insights that the author uses as glue between the recipe for things like gumbo and gazpacho. how else would you transition between those two recipes?
i will admit that i don't read all of my cookbooks. some (The New Best Recipe) have permanent page markers that flip me easily between oven fries, chicken stock, and chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. good old Joy of Cooking is most easily navigated by index, though i do take the time to read the introduction to the section i'm cooking from. did you know that Irma left us simple directions for everything from how to best poach an egg to how to select root vegetables? it's all hidden there in the print between recipes folks. its worth taking the time to read.
my new cookbook crushes mean that i'm splitting time between Amanda Hesser's doorstop-thickness Essential New York Times Cookbook and Melissa Clark's less imposing, but just as endearing In the Kitchen With a Good Appetite. these cookbooks literally make me drool. they have also been working together to get me out of some recent ruts, both in the kitchen, and in my life.
my kitchen rut has involved a lot of nachos (wince) and pasta. my life rut has involved a degenerating work situation and growing dissatisfaction with my little schedule. i am happy to report that both have received much-needed boosts in the past couple of weeks. recently i have been juggling jobs around to find a balance that makes me happier. i have also taken on a new project--revitalizing the Slow Food Yamhill County blog, and have been busily planning for our community garden row (mostly this involved drooling over seed catalogs and names like chioggia and rubine). i have also recently baked two cakes (buttermilk vanilla bean (find it here), and sour milk, of NYT origins), made cheese straws (oh my god), and after finishing this post, i will be heading back to the kitchen to explore olive oiled granola and spaetzle. things are looking up all the time! it feels good to be gaining momentum going into spring.
how about you?
b
i will admit that i don't read all of my cookbooks. some (The New Best Recipe) have permanent page markers that flip me easily between oven fries, chicken stock, and chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. good old Joy of Cooking is most easily navigated by index, though i do take the time to read the introduction to the section i'm cooking from. did you know that Irma left us simple directions for everything from how to best poach an egg to how to select root vegetables? it's all hidden there in the print between recipes folks. its worth taking the time to read.
my new cookbook crushes mean that i'm splitting time between Amanda Hesser's doorstop-thickness Essential New York Times Cookbook and Melissa Clark's less imposing, but just as endearing In the Kitchen With a Good Appetite. these cookbooks literally make me drool. they have also been working together to get me out of some recent ruts, both in the kitchen, and in my life.
my kitchen rut has involved a lot of nachos (wince) and pasta. my life rut has involved a degenerating work situation and growing dissatisfaction with my little schedule. i am happy to report that both have received much-needed boosts in the past couple of weeks. recently i have been juggling jobs around to find a balance that makes me happier. i have also taken on a new project--revitalizing the Slow Food Yamhill County blog, and have been busily planning for our community garden row (mostly this involved drooling over seed catalogs and names like chioggia and rubine). i have also recently baked two cakes (buttermilk vanilla bean (find it here), and sour milk, of NYT origins), made cheese straws (oh my god), and after finishing this post, i will be heading back to the kitchen to explore olive oiled granola and spaetzle. things are looking up all the time! it feels good to be gaining momentum going into spring.
how about you?
b
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