one lump or two

well, so much for keeping up with the jones's! i have one busy week--and one very nice weekend at home--and i forget to update the one thing i had resolved to keep up with. dear, oh dearie me. here's taking another stab at it.

i mentioned a couple weekends ago that my friend elli was in town. while she was here, we made a pilgrimage to the queen mary tea shop. it's a little salon about the size of a postage stamp and has all the copious floral decoration you would imagine comes with a name like "queen mary." there were cherubs hanging from the ceiling and everything. seriously. tremendous (okay, mid-sized) cherubs just dangling in all their gold-painted glory. i think one of them may have had a trumpet. but i suppose that's beside the point.

the point, dear pretend readers, is that this place was wonderfully charming. the above photo was my lunch. smoked salmon quiche. mmmmmmm. i need to learn me how to make some quiche. everyone gets his or her own personal sterling silver tea pot, and each tea pot has a cute little infuser that fits right beneath the lid. the tea stays warm for almost two hours. i don't know how this works, but however they accomplish it, it's pretty sweet. and it kept me from having to drink the earl grey that my lunchmates had agreed on.

besides being a restaurant, inside there's a little shop that stocks every possible color of tiny tea pot and a really delicious assortment of... wait for it... just a little longer... i know the suspense is killing you... yes... tea! i got something called "andes merry mint." apparently, it's a red bush tea. i have no idea what that means, but it tastes like french vanilla and mint at the same time. i wish i could buy a little tin for every tea lover that i know.

places like this always give me the feeling of being transported. i sit up straighter, i feel daintier, i feel more cozy. even with the cherubs, who may or may not give me the willies. i wish that i could exist in a world that felt that cozy. looming adulthood certainly doesn't feel all that warm and inviting, but i'm determined to find the sweet things in it. things like wonderful afternoons with good friends always seem to help.

about a soup

it's been a delightful holiday weekend. i love long and lazy weekends that allow for that all-important combination of leisure and industriousness. my friend elli was in town this weekend, and so there was the requisite running around. we did some delicious window shopping at anthro--or "shopping crack," as i like to call it--and williams sonoma, and we actually went to an old-fashioned tea shop for brunch on sunday morning. pictures will follow in another post. i was even able to take myself shopping on saturday. even though i love hanging out with friends, sometimes its nice to have a whole day to yourself; to sample every yankee candle in the store (blue hydrangea is to die for!); to walk through pottery barn and have conniptions because you haven't any house to put things in, nor money to buy it with. it's also nice to finish all of your classwork before the eleventh hour and get a bit ahead for the week.

maybe the nicest part of the weekend has been this evening. all the roommates were out, so i decided to experiment in the kitchen. so, i threw a load of laundry in--mmm, i do love being industrious-- opened my computer and logged onto my nickel creek station on pandora, and proceeded to try my hand at tortellini soup.

i got the idea from the wonderful shannan over at flower patch farmgirl, a blog i've been following for several months. a few weeks ago, she was kind enough to post her dinner menu for the week and give me a few ideas! her measurements are much more precise than mine--i told you i was a bit of rogue in the kitchen--so i recommend visiting her blog for the actual recipe.

i'd explain tortellini soup like this: you throw two cartons of chicken stock and a can of diced tomatoes--don't drain them!--into your soup pot of choice (note: i only used one carton of chicken stock because i was only cooking for myself, and my soup wasn't quite brothy enough. so, you know, use two). the only diced tomatoes i had on hand tonight were the sort that have green chiles mixed in with them, so my soup had a bit of an extra bite to it. shannan has her own particular assembly of vegetables to toss into the mix; i, myself, diced some baby carrots, mushrooms, celery, and green olives and threw them in. (there's a lot of throwing involved in this particular culinary adventure). i also added a bit of V8, just to supplement the juice factor. then, you bring the whole thing to a lovely rolling boil. if you leave to, say, go retrieve some laundry, try not to let it boil over.

once it's boiling and lovely, throw, toss, lob, hurl, what have you a package of tortellini into your already delicious cavalcade of ingredients. let the tortellini cook until done, probably about 10-12 minutes. then, reduce your rolling boil to a simmer and let it be for a bit. once you've had enough of this simmering business, add some basil (i'm poor, so i had to resort to the flaky sort) and fresh baby spinach. i threw in some croutons as well; i was having french onion soup fantasies, i guess, and wanted soggy bread on top of my soup. stir it a bit, let the simmer thing go on for just a tad longer, top with some cheese, and then-- serve.

dinner really provided a fantastic end to an already fantastic weekend.

really. i mean, i can hardly wait for leftovers.

i hope you, my fictitious readers, had a wonderful weekend as well. back to the slog tomorrow!

baby, i love your way

yesterday, i fell down the stairs. today, i have bruises in places i don't remember landing on. the moral of this story? always step on the center of the stair and don't wear slippery socks. this has been a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood klutz.

in other news, peter frampton covers are the stuff that dreams are made of.

or rather, peter frampton covers are the stuff that the nineties were made of. that, and self-reflective movies where ethan hawke rambles on about young adult angst in a stream-of-consciousness fashion that involves a lot of fantastic words that were probably on some incarnation of the sat's.

so, tonight, i am watching reality bites, ben stiller's sterling 1994 directorial debut. i am also enjoying some $5 cabernet

sauvignon, working on my reflection project for my multicultural education class, and thinking about consuming another of the beautiful cupcakes my roommate made. i have reached the point where this movie has become applicable to my life. i'm that pretentious. oh dear.

maybe the theme for my blogging adventure should be life as a postgraduate without a master plan. it's compelling stuff! do i choose higher education? do i travel? do i try to find semi-gainful employment to finance this travel? do i curl into a ball and avoid the real world for just a bit longer? in a way, it's very exciting--this is the first time in my entire life that i haven't known exactly what i'm going to do next. for the last seventeen years, there has been the simple expectation of the next school year, separated by intermittent summer breaks. now, i'm being offered a break from the monotony, and i have no idea what i want to do with it!

i find some of the nuts and bolts of becoming an adult really pleasant. i'm enjoying learning how to take care of myself. i actually really love grocery shopping; i think keeping house (well, apartment) is fun, much to the dismay of my roommates. i even like menial chores like laundry. i'm sure that this will all change the longer that i do these things, but for now, the cult of domesticity is pretty appealing. i just wish i knew what to do about a career. teaching high school is appealing; graduate school with an eventual university gig is also appealing; so is investigating more creative spheres like interior design or publishing. a b.a. in english is sort of a wide-open ticket to the greater universe. it's applicable, but not specialized.

this degree came with critical thinking skills, now i just have to use them!

mamma mia

i made the decision to abandon my computer this evening and watch a movie instead. and so; i leave you with what i feel might be my most fantastic idea yet.

i do believe meryl streep should be my best friend.

well, aside from my actual best friend, who resides somewhere in wales and is much younger and cuter than dear meryl. but after chelsea, i do think meryl would be a commendable second lieutenant. yes, yes, i do.

and now. to sleep!

a comfy confession

i'm an old-fashioned sort of girl. despite my new penchant for blogging and my facebook proficiency, i have an inexplicable connection to the past. when i was in grade school, i used to read the dear america and american girl books until my eyes nearly fell out. the feeling of being transported to a different, simpler time was something that i totally relished--and it's one i still do.

i'm an english major, which means i spend a significant amount of my time reading piles of books. i should be a book snob, and to a certain extent, i am. (twilight is rubbish; please don't read it). thanks to several quarters of careful academic training, i am now fully capable of reading, understanding, and even occasionally enjoying literary theory. somewhere along the way, i've grown to like herman melville. metaphor excites me, alliteration gets me all hot and bothered. i'm a literature junkie.

however--much like my john denver worship--my favorite books are not those that most english majors would admit to loving. i think i'm supposed to be over the moon about dickens (who i hate) and nabakov (who i keep meaning to read) and maybe have a slight appreciation for hemingway (who i hate more than dickens). but no. much to the chagrin of other literary friends, my favorite author is l.m. montgomery.

i hear crickets chirping. there are tumbleweeds rolling across my laptop screen.

she wrote anne of green gables. and anne of green gables is, as kirsten dunst would put it, the poo. take a big whiff.

presently, i'm distracting myself from coursework with pat of silverbush (yes, montgomery heroines are always "of" a designated adorable and cozily named homestead). pat is a girl who's so desperately afraid of change that she can't even bear to part with old clothes in order to make way for the new. while this is not a problem i have-- the gap and i are very, very good and frequent friends, and if i have to throw out a few relics in order to make space in the dresser for s'more goodies, you'd better believe i will-- i know what it's like to be petrified of what's coming next.

you see, pat is resolved to never leave home because it is a place she loves so. the tongue-in-cheek narrations suggests that this is an ass-backward idea--and so does the story's rocking and mystical irish maid, judy. everyone knows pat's inability to roll with the punches is ridiculous, but pat refuses to budge.

i want to refuse to budge. i want to be cozy.

i love montgomery's books because they take me back to a time i wish that i belonged to. i find something comforting in stories where homemaking and one-room school houses take center stage. seriously. i'm the sort of girl who wanders around antique stores for hours and then leaves feeling irritated that i have to go back to modern convenience. blasted indoor plumbing and automatic washing machines! yeah. i mean that.

i like to imagine myself in a tiny parlor, doing sums on my slate or knitting by the light of a fire. it's fun to think of what it might have been like to not have the constant distraction of technology; to know how to do work with my hands; to better appreciate small moments of natural beauty. these are all things montgomery girls are up on. montgomery's heroines have the same concerns as modern women-- their looks, men, what to do with their futures, etc.--but the built-in whimsy and wistfulness of their time period makes them less stressful to read about. almost all of the stories have a sagacious narrator who acknowledges youthful struggle with a wink and nod, as if to say "ha! they have no idea what's next-- but it's all part of the journey!"

maybe i'm afraid to deal with reality, but i think contextualizing bumps in the road as part of the "journey" is a much more positive way to deal with it than curling into the fetal position and crying-- which is a course of action i'm definitely more apt to take. so is pat, coincidentally.

but if there's anything i've learned from montgomery--and, you know, from actual adult life-- it's that you can't refuse to progress. even if things are unbelievably stressful, you have to keep going or else you're going to wind up a dried up old spinster with only her china dogs to keep her company. okay, that's montgomery specific, but seriously.

keep moving.

country boy

i'll come right out and say it. i absolutely hate public transportation. oh, i like it in theory. i like that it's "green" and all that rot; what sort of moderate liberal would i be if i didn't appreciate modest efforts to improve the environment? i suppose it's good that major cities have "convenient" modes of mass transport for those who would otherwise be stuck in the suburban hinterland or the ghetto or what have you. it's nice that the bus gets me to and from school every day. but i think i'd be a bit more inclined to ride if the buses didn't smell like urine and ran on a schedule that doesn't leave me standing in the rain for a half-hour when all i want is dinner.

which is precisely what happened to me this evening. after nigh on twelve hours on campus, my bus pulled away just as i turned the corner to get to the stop. bollocks, as the folks across the pond might say.

luckily, i had my trusty ipod to entertain me.

now, i consider myself a girl of eclectic--if not eccentric--taste, but while i can groove to beyonce and appreciate josh radin, i usually find myself indulging in, well, decidedly unhip artists. i've seen jimmy buffet live twice; i can perform all twelve minutes of meat loaf's "i would do anything for love" sans musical accompaniment; just today, i spent a good deal of my work day twisting to herman's hermits and frankie valli. yeah. i'm twenty-one.

so, it should be no surprise that my ipod dial landed not on taylor swift or j. timberlake--who did, in fact, bring sexy all the way back--but on your american troubadour and mine, john denver.

now, you may argue-- "dylan is clearly the poet laureate of rock!" "leonard cohen speaks to my soul!" i tell you, these men are talented word smiths, but they've got nothing on my bud john. observe the stylish magazine cover to the left. you know you've never seen a pop star who reminds you so much of your fourth grade teacher--especially if your fourth grade teacher was a lady in 1978. it's true that john wasn't glamorous or macho or even all that cool, but his personal canon is pretty impressive. "sunshine on my shoulders?" "rocky mountain high?" "country roads," which, incidentally, is a great song to sing while slightly intoxicated and ringing in the new year? his greatest hits is a veritable line-up of classics. and you know what's great about those songs, besides the inescapable camp value of a select few-- "thank god i'm a country boy" and "grandma's feather bed," for instance-- is that they're evocative. really evocative.

i was first introduced to john denver via the world's oldest and heaviest vhs tape. it dates back to 1978, when my parents were taping every christmas special they possibly could to entertain my then two-year-old brother. the second selection was "john denver and the muppets: a christmas together." solid gold entertainment, friends. it begins with john and the gang--being kermit, miss piggy, et al--in dickensian gear, singing a rousing version of the 12 days of christmas. the entire special continues in a similar fashion, all gimmick and cheese, and it's absolutely delicious. john wears cable knit sweaters and sings about sentimental christmases gone by with kermit, plays a tap-dancing tin solider, and sings a holiday lullaby to his infant son. heavy stuff for a holiday special with puppets, you see. i used to watch this tape a couple times every holiday season, and when i got older, all i had to do was listen to the cd to conjure up some really poignant christmas nostalgia.

i have friends who make fun of my john denver love. one friend in particular--cough, michael, cough--does rather politically incorrect impressions of planes crashing into the ground every time he's mentioned. i, however, stand by my convictions.

have you ever listened to the song "calypso?" likely, if you're my age and even if you're a bit older, probably not. it's a tribute to jacques cousteau (johnny d may be unhip, but damned if he didn't come up with some original source material) that actually makes you feel like you're out on the ocean. there's well-placed bell cues and a sweeping orchestral underscore that literally gives you the impression of following the crest of a wave or is at least reminiscent of how it feels to stand in one of the panoramic theatres at disneyworld and watch the crest of a wave. "annie's song" is one of the most romantic tributes every committed to music. when john sings about his lady filling up his senses like night in a forest, it's very easy to feel what it might be like at night in a forest. the threat of hypothermia and feral raccoons is suddenly null and void. nothing sounds better than cuddling on a bed of pine needles-- or something like that. in any case, it would be really flattering if all of our lovers could give up the ghost and just say things like that.

i told you i was unhip already, didn't i?

okay, yeah, he was a dude with a bad bowl cut who sings songs about nature. but he did it well! and he did it in a way that almost always makes me feel like i'm wherever it is he's singing about. and on a rainy evening in seattle, who wouldn't want to feel like they're in a place like this?

if you'll excuse me, i think i'll go listen to "wild montana skies." it's my personal favorite.

a hard-boiled tale

i've recently been learning my way around the kitchen. last week, i made my own variation on the fabulous pioneer woman's chicken salad, some wonderful fiesta whole-grain pasta salad, and my personal favorite--and ever evolving-- creation: mexican macaroni and cheese. next time i attempt that, i'll have to chronicle the experience. and write a recipe. because my method of culinary creation involves a whole lot of throwing whatever i feel like into a pot, disregarding exact measurements and any sort of order.

but that's my method. when it comes to the tough stuff, i consult the experts.

hard-boiled eggs are the tough stuff, for those who weren't aware.

prior to living on my own, i had only cursory knowledge of the kitchen. my skills were restricted to sometimes mixing cookie dough, microwaving easy mac, and--on a good day--not burning my own toast. there was once a debacle where i didn't realize that the toaster oven's dial had been switched off of "toast." my english muffin was less than crunchy that day. this is why i have to google things like how to hard boil an egg.

mr. kitchen was pretty helpful. he told me to fill my saucepan just so, bring it to a rolling boil, and then reduce heat to simmer while my bouncy little white lovelies were boiled to rubbery perfection.

and that's what i did. really.

except for, well, i didn't. i have an issue with properly reading the rotary dials on the panel of my stove. instead of reducing the left-rear burner to simmer, i turned on the left front burner to simmer. i couldn't figure out why my tiny saucepan kept boiling over. it could have been because i was bopping to journey's greatest hits while this was going on. who can concentrate on proper egg-boiling etiquette when steve perry is singing about his faithful woman?

obviously, not i.

so, i really hard-boiled my eggs. on high. for twelve minutes. but i at least had mr. kitchen's required bowl of ice water waiting for me. turns out, the eggs turned out a-ok. i used them in my own mish-mashed egg salad. like i said, no measurements. just some dill relish, two different kinds of mustard, and olive oil mayonnaise. yummm.

and, yes. my egg-salad was significantly uglier than the one pictured. that's why i immediately slapped it between two slices of bread with some spinach and tomato and moved on.

i prefer long pauses

clearly, i possess excellent follow-through.

so, it's been several months since i started this blog. it doesn't much matter, since i've contributed so little to it that i have all of zero followers, but still. there's been a time lapse. and much has happened. so much has happened, in fact, that i've actually decided to face the empty text box and write.

i've never been good with paper journals. i start them, carry on diligently for about a week or so, and then get tired of watching my handwriting deteriorate as my entry crosses the two page mark. (seriously. my handwriting is tiny, deliciously loopy, and way too hard to read after my hand begins to cramp). blogging, on the other hand, was something i did daily, for years, without ever even realizing that i was doing it. i can type on a regular basis. carpal tunnel may lie ahead, but at this moment, my spry, college-aged wrists love to clack the keys. word.

but, of course, half the fun of blogging is hoping that there's somebody out there who'll read what you have to say. i don't flatter myself that my daily exploits are relevant to anybody but myself--or certain maladjusted friends who find my bullet-pointed rundowns charming-- so what's a blogging newbie to do?

tell you what, pretend reader: i don't know.

i don't know what to write about. do i write about me? do i write about arts and culture? crafts? food? design? i've seen many blogs--and follow many blogs-- that do all of the above, and i'm addicted. maybe i'll just have to run this little baby as my own case study on what makes an alluring blog. i'll learn as i go!

i think photos are supposed to be helpful. lots of them in this post, eh?

i shall figure it out. with uncharacteristic sticktoitiveness and gusto.

really.

starting tomorrow.