This Week in My Garden: May 7, 2015

And so it begins. 

There's nothing particularly inspiring about the garden right now, except that there are sugar snap seeds in the ground and a trellis to support them once they're growing. 

Aside from those little guys, things are looking...rough. 

The first snow last winter surprised us, and we didn't get the garden (or our yard, for that matter) cleaned up. So I'm making my way through the beds, pulling out the old dead plants and piles of leaves and pine needles and putting in topsoil and compost. 

The weather is unusually hot right now - at least the highs (80s), so we'd probably be fine putting everything in the ground. But it still feels early, and I'm waiting for that last cold snap. The peas are hearty and the one thing I absolutely knew we'd be planting because I could probably eat a whole garden's worth by myself. 

Because we belong to a CSA and get a farm share during the summer, we've been factoring that in to what we'll grow - aka things we wouldn't mind having a ton of (from the CSA + from our garden) or things that we really want to preserve for winter. And we're also conscious of not overwhelming ourselves, which has happened to some extent for the last two years. We get busy with work and let the kale get mauled by slugs or the basil get devoured by Japanese Beetles. So we're trying to be realistic. Hence a full bed of wildflowers just for the prettiness factor. 

Here's the plan: 

As you can see, we still have some holes to fill. 

We're continuing with a few things that haven't worked out in the past in the hopes that changing position in the bed to get more sun might help (tomatoes, zucchini, melons). The last two years I've ended up with pounds of green tomatoes in September, and while I love green tomato salsa,  I'm really looking for some red ones to cook with and preserve. We got a squash mold last year on our melons, zucchini, and delicata squash that took them out completely. I think we got two tiny zucchini and 2 delicatas. I'll be on the lookout for that this year and watering in the morning instead of the evening so that the plants have a chance to dry out during the day.

Cucumbers aren't on the plot right now. I'm on the fence. We had such a tough time with them last year, I think because of lack of pollination. 

Our chives haven't come up, which is making me nervous because I think they usually have by now. And I'm afraid that the thyme and rosemary didn't overwinter successfully. I keep checking every day, but still no sign of life. 

What you can't see here are our blueberry bushes and raspberry bushes on the other side of the yard. We planted the raspberry bushes last year and got a nice small crop. 

I can't wait for the days when I come home from work and walk through the beds with a big bowl, picking off the ripe fruits and veggies to bring inside. I still think it's a miracle.  

Link to your garden posts if you have one, or tell me what's happening this week in your garden in the comments. 


p.s. Our 2013 garden


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Writer's Block Wednesday

No, this is not a new series where I have writer's block once a week. Or at least I hope not.

I sat at my computer this morning at 5 am, totally blank. I noodled around on the internet trying to find some inspiration (which is almost never where inspiration appears). I began a few words of a post that I abandoned for lack of adequate interest and research. I began a few words of a second post and closed it out for the same reason.

And at 5:41, I gave in to the truth. For the first time since January 29, when, under the umbrella of practice makes perfect, I committed to myself to post 5 days a week, I can't think of anything to say.

Perhaps it's because you guys gave me such love yesterday and now the pressure is on.

But more likely, it is simply the cycle of inspiration and the effects of tiredness and a busy work life that has nothing to do with these pages.

Either way, the words are missing. 

And yet, look what we have here: words on a page. 

You know what they say. Showing up is half the battle. Also, practice makes perfect. 

In truth, I think sometimes showing up might be the whole battle. And practice makes space for more practice, better practice, practice again tomorrow. 

See you then. 


p.s. The Ease of Wanting


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Brokenness and Community

My sewing machine is broken. Or its user is. Maybe both.

I figured out how to change the foot and the needle. So proud of myself, I pressed it down onto the knit fabric - my first time sewing on anything other than cotton - and it jammed up. Thread stuck in the bobbin and wrapped around it and held firm, and the needle wouldn't budge. I pulled out the manual and took apart the bobbin case and put it back together and tried again. Jammed again. 

I took the manual back out and removed the machine from its table. Nothing I said to the man at the repair shop seemed to ring a bell. Not the "I know exactly what the problem is" I'd been hoping for. He said he'd give it a tune up, and when I returned for the machine four days later, that's what he'd done. He found no problems, just adjusted the bobbin tension a bit. 

I brought it home, screwed it back to the table, sat in my chair, put the fabric back under there. Jammed. 

I cursed and put my hands over my face and tried again with the same result, the sewing project I had planned for the blog thwarted for the second week in a row. 

* * * 

There's this thing that happens as a blogger, where you spend a lot of time typing some part of yourself into the keys of your computer, and no matter how much you try to be "real," the story that comes out is inaccurate. At least it seems that way as you see it mirrored back to you in the words of friends or readers, when people start using phrases like "do it all" or "have it all together."

In a world where so many of us use the successes of others as weapons against ourselves, as proof of our own failures, I feel some obligation to set the record straight. To say that these pages are a tiny piece of the story and sometimes I am talking about Facebook or pie or quilts, and while you are reading those words, I am at home falling apart or screaming at my sewing machine, that I have a billion questions and almost no answers, that I cry and yell and think mean thoughts and sometimes say unfair things. That I have worries and fears and goals that I'm too embarrassed or ashamed or protective to share on these pages. Or they just don't belong here.

And yet somehow the simple act of writing these words down and sharing them with you here gives the impression of having sealed it all up in a tidy bow. I don't know how to kick that. Maybe I'm not supposed to.

Writing is reflective. It's not tidy, but it does provide some context, some meaning, to its subject. A broken sewing machine (or a broken user) is no longer just that. On the page, I am no longer the woman sitting in tearful frustration in front of an antique machine that befuddles her. Instead, I am a woman acknowledging her limits, sharing her humanity - with you and with herself. 

* * * 

I've read a lot of sewing blogs over the years. I've seen countless projects - bags and dresses and shirts and table runners and quilts. I've never read a word about someone fighting with their sewing machine, jamming the bobbin, perpetually screwing up the tension, at least not from someone who isn't sitting down at a machine for the very first time. As far as I can tell, I'm the only craft-oriented blogger on the internet who can't figure this crap out. I'm the only one who's dumb enough to be bested by this hunk of metal.

And yet that can't be true, right? I am not so unique that I can claim this particular frustration as mine alone. I don't want to. 

I want a community around it. I want all of the people staring at their sewing machines in confusion and anger to yell across the web to each other, "ME TOO!" and wave their hands and then point and laugh at their screwed up projects because hey, we're all in this together. 

I am just as broken as you. Maybe more so, depending on the day. What you see on these pages, what looks like life tied up in a bow is me, seeking community. It is me, sharing my humanity and, in my deepest dreams, creating a space for you to share your humanity too. To wave from across the internet and say hey, me too. And to smile because you're not alone. And neither am I. 

p.s. Fickle or Renaissance?

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Project Pie: Chicken Pot Pie with Herb Crust (Dairy Free)

Project Pie: I'll be baking 24 pies before Pi Day 2016 to get over my fear of baking pies. And to eat delicious things. You can join me by posting about your pies in the comments or tagging your twitter, instagram, or facebook posts with #projectpie. Make something gooey and delicious!


Is there a food more comforting than chicken pot pie? As a kid, I loved the little individual pies from the freezer section in their tiny aluminum pie plates. A personal chicken pot pie for dinner usually meant we were eating in front of the television, perhaps the Disney movie on Sunday night, back when there was no Hulu or Netflix and I tore through the Sunday paper to find the tv guide for the week. And then we would all sit down together with our tv trays at 7:00 pm to watch whatever the network gods had chosen for us.

Chicken pot pie always feels to me like a food from another era, an "easier" time. 

I made mine with a single crust (just on top, none on the bottom) to lighten it up a bit and without dairy for my lactose-free lady, who helped out with chopping vegetables and shredding chicken while we listened to a little Miley Cyrus (Party in the USA never gets old) on Pandora. 

Even with the changes and the modern tunes, sitting down to eat this in front of the television on a Sunday night reminded me of childhood, of days when I didn't understand how confusing or messed up the world was or that everyone didn't assemble with their family in the living room to watch the Disney movie of the week. I'm glad for what I've learned since then - about the lives of others, our differences and the ways my story of an easier time was not necessarily accurate. It's made me a better person. But I do still like to sink back into that blissful ignorance, if only for an hour, accompanied by a plate of chicken pot pie.

Dairy Free Chicken Pot Pie with Herb Crust

Pie Crust (makes one crust)
Adapted from Elizabeth Patel 

1.25 cups flour (I used whole wheat)
1/2 cup shortening, cold
1 oz cold water
1 oz cold vodka
2 tablespoons fresh thyme (or other herbs)

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. 

2. Cut your shortening into chunks (best if they're not all uniform in size) and put in the freezer for at least 10 minutes.

3. Add the flour and shortening to your food processor and pulse 8-10 times, or until the mixture looks a little crumbly. Stop before it starts to look like cornmeal. You want some different sized shortening chunks. 

4. Pour in the water, vodka, and fresh herbs and pulse again 8-10 times until the dough starts to come together. Stop before it forms a big ball. 

5. Take the dough out of the food processor. It should all stick together at this point. Wrap the dough in saran wrap and put in the refrigerator until ready to use.
6. When ready, using a rolling pin, roll out dough on a lightly floured surface until it is about an inch wider than your pie plate all the way around. 

7. Pick the crust up by rolling it onto your rolling pin, and place it onto your pie plate. Cut off any excess around the edges, crimp with a fork, and cut several slits in the center. 

Chicken Filling

2 boneless chicken breasts, skin removed
3 tablespoons margarine or olive oil (I used earth balance)
5 carrots, peeled and diced
4 ribs celery, diced
1 onion, diced
1/2 tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 cup flour (I used whole wheat)
1 cup frozen peas
3 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons fresh thyme
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Poach the chicken breasts by placing them in a pot with enough water to cover them by 1/2 - 1 inch. Cover and bring to a simmer on medium-high heat. Cook for 15-20 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through.
2. While the chicken is cooking, chop your vegetables, then melt the margarine in a pot over medium heat, and pour in all the chopped vegetables. Cook until softened, about 5-7 minutes. Stir in the garlic and flour until fully incorporated.
3. While the vegetables are cooking, shred the poached chicken with a fork. 
4. Pour in the shredded chicken, chicken broth, frozen peas, and herbs. Add salt and pepper. 
5. Cook for another 5-7 minutes, stirring frequently, until the chicken mixture has thickened slightly. 
6. Pour into an oven safe pie plate and top with the rolled out pie crust. 
7. Place pie plate on a baking sheet (to catch drips) and bake at 375 for 25-30 minutes. 



p.s. How to build the perfect meal salad.


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Weekend Reading: Become a Better Person

Here's your quick and dirty weekend reading list from around the web, guaranteed to make you a better human being.*

Become...

A more successful person: Sometimes over-communicating is right on point. Also, play nice. 

A more knowledgeable person: About sex. 

A softer person: Don't harden yourself to the world. Go ahead and have a thin skin. Let it change you.

A healthier  + happier person: Because you made and ate these zucchini chickpea fritters.

A wealthier person: Get smart about personal finance by adding these blogs to your daily reading list. 

A more aware person: Acknowledging our biases is the first step. 

*As I've said before, simply reading these articles probably won't make you a better person. But they're interesting, and anyway, I recommend seriously considering whether you're perfect already - just the way you are.

p.s. How to consign your clothes like a pro.

p.s.s. I've heard from several people that they're having trouble commenting. I made a couple changes to my settings, but please let me know if you tried to comment and had a problem so that I can try to fix it!


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The Well Runneth Dry

Over the winter, we woke one morning to find that our faucets would produce only the tiniest trickle of water. My wife and I began rushing around in a panic, yelling across the house at each other as we turned on each one, hoping for more than a dribble. No luck. Our town listserv had been busy with stories of frozen pipes for days, and we finally stopped and looked at each other in resignation.

We called some plumbers, who said what we were dealing with didn't sound like frozen pipes. Great! we thought. Frozen pipes had been our biggest concern - in fact, we'd been leaving the faucets slightly dripping on the coldest nights just to be sure. So what else could it be, we wondered. And that's when we heard the truly terrifying words.

Shut off your valves. It might be that your well's run dry.

I was afraid to ask what we would do if that turned out to be the case.

We'd either dig down deeper or dig you another well.

I sat at the dining room table, foot tapping, fingers jumping on my keys, pretending to work while the man from the well company knelt outside in the snow to test the level of the well. I hopped up and walked to the front door when I heard him step onto the porch. I looked at him, eyebrows raised in a question.

Well, you've got water. 

I let out my breath and then asked what happened. Why did we lose water if our pipes hadn't frozen and our well hadn't run dry?

He explained that wells can run temporarily dry. Basically, the use of the water outpaces the flow of groundwater into the well. It can happen in really dry seasons or really cold ones when the frost reaches deep into the ground. Or it can happen when there's a leak, even a tiny one. He checked our faucets and our toilets and tightened some things up. Those little drips could add up to a lot of water over time, he said. 

* * *

Today my well is dry. Perhaps it's temporary, and I just need to find the leak. Shut off the valve, tighten a few things, and wait for the inspiration to fill me back up.

Or maybe it's truly spent. Empty. No more. And then what?

Dig down deeper.

Or dig another well.


p.s. Hello.


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Mother's Day Etsy Gift Guide

Mother's Day is right around the corner, and if you haven't bought a gift for your mom (or your grandmother or your aunt or whatever special women have helped you through life), don't worry. You still have time!

If a summer Saturday afternoon finds your mom at an arts and crafts festival pining after the beauties in every booth and you can't pull her out of little boutiques with handmade wares, this Etsy gift guide is for you.

1
The dainty illustrations on this graphic herb poster would spruce up any kitchen and possibly inspire some new flavor profiles. Epazote anyone?

2
These sweet little nesting heart bowls are sure to become a treasured favorite, either displayed together or separated and used to hold jewelry or other items.

3
This precious cosmetic bag with a mix of fabrics and a little lavender sachet tucked inside will make her feel pampered every time she pulls out her lip gloss.

4
On cool summer nights, this lightweight infinity scarf will add a little warmth around her neck and a cheerful pop of color to her outfit.

5
This feather necklace with a delicate flourite bead and an aged brass patina will be sure to get compliments and serve as a reminder of her ability to soar.

6
This hand stamped cotton tote bag will make carrying around all the mundane things of life a little more exciting.

7
What woman couldn't use a little relaxation? Lavender bath salts and handmade lavender lemongrass soap will leave her renewed.

8
With a simple style that would go with anything, these tiny leaf earrings are a perfect addition to her jewelry box.

These Days: April

Planning summer vacations and yard projects
Rejoicing in the lack of snow on the ground (though we got an inch last week)
Fighting with my sewing machine
Thanking the gods that sewing machine repair shops are still a thing
Wishing they were open on the weekends
Spending way too much energy thinking about my sewing machine
Enjoying wearing a puffy vest instead of a puffy coat 
Waking up early to write
Laughing out loud at The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt
Baking lots of yummy pies
Learning to let go of perfectionism (still, always)
Following a zillion Instagram animal accounts that make me smile
Raking leaves, but not as much as I should be
Knitting (slowly) the sleeves of my sweater  
Feeling overwhelmed by all my creative ideas and the limited hours in the day
Drinking lots of Mate Chocolatte 
Relaxing into restorative yoga on Sunday afternoons
Loving so many trips and visitors to look forward to in the coming months


p.s. This quick and easy project requires no sewing machine (aka nothing to break)


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The Best Roasted Potatoes

Potatoes were not the primary carb in my house growing up, at least not in their whole potato form. We had mashed potatoes (from a box - gasp!) and sometimes potato salad in the summer, but our mainstay starchy deliciousness was rice, a holdover from my parent's Louisiana upbringing where everything is served on top of it (gumbo, etouffee) or mixed with it (jambalaya, red beans and rice).

As a kid, I actually avoided things that tasted too much like potato. Steak fries? Absolutely not. I wanted skinny, crunchy, well-browned strips that may have been a potato in a former life but were by that point simply delicious vessels for grease, salt, and mustard (never been a ketchup fan). And whole baked potatoes, which I loved, were in my favorite foods index simply because I slathered them in butter, sour cream, gooey cheese, and bacon. Without those "toppings," I wasn't all that interested.

So it took me a while to get into roasted potatoes. The first time I ordered hash browns alongside my omelet and found myself looking at diced potatoes instead of the familiar shredded Waffle House-style pile, I contemplated sending the plate back. What were these? Roasted potatoes? Masquerading as hash browns?

But as my brunch tooth grew (and grew and grew), I started to warm to these perfectly spiced, crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside roasted potatoes. Those were the keys. They had to be spiced well - salted, maybe with a little spice, or an italian kick. They had to be crunchy on the outside. Soggy roasted potatoes are just a nonstarter. But crunchy all the way through won't work either. It's a delicate balance.

And this recipe from Emeril's Farm to Fork is that balance. They are perfect. Every. Time.

I've used russet potatoes, fingerling potatoes, sweet potatoes, those little round red potatoes. I've cut them in large chunks for dinner and diced them for breakfast. They are fabulous without fail.

I have made them so many times that I don't even use the recipe anymore, though the cookbook falls open to that exact page. Because I love thyme so much, I've added in a lot more than the original recipe, and I think that's part of what makes them my absolute favorite.

These are a teensy bit of extra work, but they are entirely worth it.

Roasted Potatoes
Very slightly adapted from Farm to Fork

2 pounds potatoes
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon coarse sea salt (I use whatever I have)
1 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3 bay leaves
6 sprigs thyme
2 heaping tablespoons fresh thyme
3 sprigs rosemary
2 tablespoons butter (I use earth balance)

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Slice the potatoes into whatever size you want them - I usually quarter a fingerling potato. Remember to adjust your cooking time if you go very small or very big.
3. In a medium bowl add the olive oil, salt, paprika, pepper, bay leaves, thyme, and rosemary. Add the potatoes and toss thoroughly, making sure all the potatoes are covered.
4. Place the sprigs on a rimmed baking sheet and pour the potatoes on top. Set the bowl aside.
5. Roast the potatoes for 20 minutes.
6. Remove the baking sheet from the oven and pour the potatoes and herbs into the bowl you set aside earlier. Add the butter (or earth balance) and toss well until melted.
7. Carefully return the potatoes to the hot baking sheet. Roast for another 15-20 minutes or until fork-tender. Discard the herb sprigs and serve.


p.s. My wife wanted me to start this post with AAAAAAAHHHH!!! THESE POTATOES ARE AMAZING!! AAAAAAAAH!!!!


p.s.s. My mama's peach cobbler, vegan-style.


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Weekend Reading: Become a Better Person

Here's your quick and dirty weekend reading list from around the web, guaranteed to make you a better human being.*

Become...

A more loving person: Especially if you love a highly creative person.

A more joyful person: Find those areas of your life where you're hanging on to the wrong thing, the thing that feels like pain or apathy. Make a change. It might get harder before it gets better. But it will also be worth it. 

A dreamier person: As in, dreaming about the life you want. And then ACTING ON IT. Get a little help from these two folks. 

A healthier person: Get on the green smoothie train, but for the love of yumminess, don't start with celery. Try this one. 

A more alive person: Use the Fine Art of F@#k It. 

*As I've said before, simply reading these articles probably won't make you a better person. But they're interesting, and anyway, I recommend seriously considering whether you're perfect already - just the way you are.

p.s. Bringing back these pandas.


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I Promise: Vows for my Dearest Friends

My wife and I wrote our own vows, heartfelt and specific expressions of our particular love. A mix of aspiration and realism, they were promises of who we hoped to be for each other while recognizing our own limitations. Writing them was an exploration of the type of person I wanted to be in this relationship. I felt honored to share mine with my wife and to be the recipient of hers on our wedding day. 

I've been thinking a lot about friends lately and what makes a good friendship, a friendship that lasts. I've known some of my closest friends for almost half my life, more than double the amount of time I've known my wife. And there are newer friends that I'll likely know and adore for another half my life. They've talked me through breakups, cried with me over losses, and rubbed my back when I'd had too much to drink. They've partied with me and called me when times were rough. These friendships have sustained me. 

In romantic relationships, at least the ones that choose the traditional route of marriage, the couple makes promises to each other about what the rest of their relationship will look like. Here's what you can expect from me. And even in those long-term relationships without marriage, I think there are conversations about what one partner can (or can't) promise to the other.

Perhaps other friendships are different, but in my experience, even the best of friends don't have those conversations. I've made promises to my friends, of course - I'll keep it a secret, I'll be there for you after you break it off, etc. But I've never set it out in full. I've never said you're so important to me, that I sat down and thought about who I want to be and who I can be in this relationship.

So here goes. These vows that are both aspirational and realistic, promises of who I hope to be for my dearest friends while recognizing my own limitations. 

Dearest Friends,

I promise to always remember your birthday except when I don't, in which case I promise to wake up panicked in the middle of the night and send you a verbose belated birthday text that includes a substantial number of exclamation points and emojis.

I promise to verbally (or in writing) agree with you about how horrible your boss/significant other/roommate/parent/sibling is behaving, but I also promise to offer gentle, sensitive questions if I think you're going to extremes (which of course would never happen, but just in case).

I promise to dance with you at trashy clubs and in kitchens and living rooms and grocery stores and on sidewalks and create more ridiculous memories. 

I promise to read emails from you and respond to them promptly except when I don't, in which case I promise to feel terrible about it and think about the email every single moment that I am away from a device with a screen.

I promise to tell you if you have something in your teeth, mascara smudges, or a wardrobe malfunction. 

I promise never to post a bad picture of you on social media, even if it includes the best picture of me that's ever been taken.

I promise to celebrate your joys and grieve your sadnesses, and I promise to share my joys and sadnesses with you.

I promise to give you the benefit of the doubt and to tell you if I'm feeling hurt by you or angry with you in a way that is compromising our friendship.

I promise to listen and try to understand your point of view when we disagree.

I promise to carry you in my heart for the rest of my days.  


p.s. Blue Moon.


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I Took the No-Like Facebook Challenge

A post by popular blogger Schmutzie has been making its way around the internet for almost a year - about how she quit liking things on Facebook for two weeks and found herself more connected to her Facebook community. I didn't find it until a few months ago, but when I did, I decided to try her idea for myself. 

It has been a little over two months since I quit in earnest. Perhaps I've let my finger slip a time or two - that habit is hard to break, but for the most part, it's been a like-free zone. In the beginning, I experienced feelings similar to those Schmutzie describes. I felt as though I was letting people down, as if they would notice the absence of my "like" on their recent family photo. I worried that I was breaking the inherent social contract of a Facebook friendship: You like my updates. I like yours.

To combat that feeling, I had to comment on posts where previously I would have simply hit "like." I felt suddenly shy. Do I really know her well enough to say something about her recent promotion? Liking it, sure. 185 other people liked it too, so she probably wouldn't even notice. But even a simple "Congratulations!" seemed like it might prompt a response like, "WTF? Why is this person writing on my Facebook wall?" Or worse: "WTF? Who is this person? Did she go to my high school?" 

Through Facebook likes, I had been smiling and head nodding along with perhaps dozens of people that I never actually interacted with. It was as if I sat on a bench a couple feet away, listening and smiling and nodding, while someone told all their "real" friends about their trip to the Grand Canyon. What would happen if I yelled out from the sidelines, "Hey! I went there last summer too!"? Would they incorporate me into the conversation? Or would they view me as an intruder?

So while I struggled with worrying that someone might miss my likes on their posts, my fear of intruding simultaneously kept the bar high for posts I would comment on.  If I hadn't spoken with someone in real life in the last 10 years, I didn't comment on their posts. And because of Facebook's algorithm, I eventually quit seeing their posts at all. For the most part, the posts that remained were those belonging to the people that I actually engaged with - the ones where I commented on the adorable overalls the kid was wearing or sent my condolences for a terrible experience or gave a little "Woot!" for a job well-done. 

My feed was more tailored to me and more likely to prompt a friendly online conversation than a like fest, which made Facebook a more enjoyable place to be. I'm not immune to Facebook envy, to pictures of vacations and new offices and perfectly decorated birthday parties leaving me with a sense that everyone else's life is better than mine. And recent studies indicate that the voyeuristic style of Facebook use, where we watch (and perhaps like) but do not engage, is more likely to result in feelings of depression after we peruse our feed. The watching means we only see the Facebook story, the pretty pictures, the parties with girlfriends, the successes, the combination of images and words that make someone appear to us as a constantly beautiful and happy character rather than a live human being. Engaging, even with people we don't know in real life, often leads to an understanding of a more nuanced story. We comment on someone's photos from Hawaii, "That looks like Heaven! Those must've been the best 10 days of your life!" And they respond, "It was! Except for the 3 days the kids were sick and puking and the day my husband locked the keys in the rental car! Haha!" And Bam. Envy spell broken. Humanity restored. 

But perhaps the restoration of humanity is not what we're all looking for on Facebook. 

What surprised me about the experiment is that I visit the site less often now. I shouldn't have been shocked. I'm an introvert at heart (though, obviously, a very chatty one), and engaging with other people, even online, requires more energy than simply liking a post. I'm less apt to pull up Facebook on my phone while I wait in line at the grocery store because I won't have time to really respond to a post. Before, I could scroll through, liking away, without really being present. Now, if I like someone's post, I take the time to say something, even if it's just "Way to go!" or "What a cutie!" (which, incidentally, might be my new "like"). If I'm in a terrible mood or just feeling like I need to recharge, engaging even in this online fashion is more challenging. 

And I miss some of those old posts. I appreciate reading about the lives of people I don't really know, or at least not anymore - I'm a self-professed online voyeur. Sometimes I feel envy, absolutely. But those people and their posts also broaden my view of the world, precisely because they're not in the circle of folks with whom I usually engage. 

So after two months of not liking anything on Facebook, I'm adopting a hybrid approach: Commenting as the primary activity. Liking as secondary, to be used primarily when commenting would feel too much like inserting myself into a conversation for which I have no invitation.* 

But don't even try to take away my Instagram double-tap.


p.s. The Blogosphere Comparison Game: It's a Lose-Lose


* I know there are those who believe that posting something online is an automatic invitation for comments by any and all who can see the post. While that may be true in theory, I think that in practice and specifically on Facebook, people tend not to think that someone they barely know is perusing their posts.


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Easiest Fabric Napkins

I went to a wedding last summer where the groom's mother made dozens of fabric napkins for the place settings, beautifully mismatched in as many different patterns. The bride was incredibly generous and sent me home with four dainty flowery ones, which I use for special occasions. 

Making some more to go along with those original four has been on my project list for almost a year. I don't know why it has taken me so long because whipping up a few of these fabric napkins is about the easiest and fastest sewing project you could imagine. Making hundreds for a wedding would take a while for sure, but I made 10 in less than an hour, with a little extra time for trimming the edges in front of the television. 

And now, not only are we being a bit more environmentally friendly, but I get to see these pretty fabrics on a regular basis instead of having them folded up in my studio. And I have enough that we don't have to save them for special dinners, and we shouldn't run out even if I'm behind on the laundry (and you know I am). 

If you're all set for fabric napkins at your own house, these would make a great hostess or housewarming gift. 

Easiest Fabric Napkins

Cotton fabric in a variety of patterns
Ruler
Rotary cutter or scissors
Coordinating thread
Pinking shears

1. Cut your fabric into a large square. I did this by folding from the edge into an even triangle and then cutting the two sides, which ensures that the square is...well, square. I used an existing napkin to get the size right.

2. Sew a simple straight stitch all the way around the edges of your fabric square with a 3/8 inch seam allowance. 

3. Cut the edges with pinking shears to avoid fraying. 

That's it! Now put one next to your plate and enjoy having something so pretty for wiping your hands! 


p.s. Embellished hand towels are another great way to get pretty fabrics into your everyday life.


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Project Pie: Very Berry Mousse Pie

Project Pie: I'll be baking 24 pies before Pi Day 2016 to get over my fear of baking pies. And to eat delicious things. You can join me by posting about your pies in the comments or tagging your twitter, instagram, or facebook posts with #projectpie. Make something gooey and delicious!

Saturday afternoon, in the middle of making this pie, I stopped, took myself into my bedroom, and put myself to bed. I gave myself 5 minutes. A time-out to think about my own behavior. 

We had people coming for a not-yet-cooked dinner, the kitchen looked like we'd been bombed, I broke the shell of my pie crust, the coconut cream layer was too thick and wouldn't spread properly, the pie crust was out of proportion to the amount of filling, the sun was going down so I wouldn't be able to get natural light photographs, and I'd done almost nothing on my page-long to-do list. Naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do in this circumstance. I yelled at my wife, slapped a spatula down on the counter (spattering coconut cream everywhere), and had a full-on temper tantrum. 

Unaffected by Navah's attempts at logical problem-solving, I huffed around the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors and muttering under my breath. And then some mildly sane voice, which I suspect was my therapist telepathically sending me messages from her vacation in Turkey, suggested that I walk away for a few minutes. 

So I did.

And I learned what I assume every parent knows. Time-outs are not so much about punishment as they are about resetting. When you're in the middle of the temper tantrum, there's nothing but the temper tantrum. Everything is horrible and unfixable and must be blamed on someone. 

In the five minutes that I lay on my bed, these things happened: 

1. My breathing slowed down. 

2. The thoughts in my brain slowed down. 

3. I realized that the sun would could up again tomorrow, and I could take a picture then. 

4. I had the epiphany that a fruit compote on top of the coconut cream layer would be delicious and would (1) cover up the messiness of the coconut cream layer and (2) increase the height of the filling so it didn't look so stupid in my deep dish pie pan. 

5. I thought, "I love my wife. I'd like to apologize to her and give her a hug."

6. I said a little prayer of thanks that it took less than five minutes for some space in my brain to open up and allow rational, non-panicky thoughts. 

I sat on the edge of the couch and told Navah I was sorry, and we talked about why making a pie had sent me over the edge. "If this doesn't turn out," I told her, "I won't have any recipes for my blog this week. And I'll get behind on Project Pie." 

"Couldn't you write about the failure?" she asked.

I looked at her askance. 

"Wasn't the whole Project Pie thing supposed to be about facing your fear and allowing yourself to mess up?" she asked. 

Oh, how quickly the attitude of play and experimentation gets thrown out the window. 

With just three successful pies under my belt, that old familiar expectation of perfection had plunged me into the worst version of myself. Failure was no longer an option. Especially not with an audience.

And as it turns out, it wasn't a failure. Giving myself the time to step away and let the Perfection Monster slink back into its tidy little corner allowed new ideas to bubble to the surface. The fruit compote saved the day. After Navah and I tried a little of the pie without it, we decided the "fixed" pie was better than it would have been had I not had a few mess-ups in the first place. 

It's a constant practice, this acceptance of imperfection. 

It's better with pie. 


Very Berry Mousse Pie 
Adapted from Spunky Coconut 

Prepare and bake this pie crust (or your favorite) for 10 minutes at 325 degrees. 

Very Berry Mousse

Add to your blender or food processor:

3/4 cup canned coconut milk
1/4 cup honey
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 heaping cup frozen mixed berries
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon gelatin, dissolved in boiling water (add last)

Puree and pour into the cooled crust. Place in the refrigerator to set for at least 30 minutes. 

Coconut Cream Whipped Topping

Add to your blender or food processor:

2 cups coconut cream
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon agave nectar
3/4 tablespoon gelatin, dissolved in boiling water (add last) 

Puree and pour onto the very berry mousse layer. Refrigerator for 30-45 minutes to allow to set up fully. 

Fruit Compote

4 cups frozen mixed berries
1 tablespoon chia seeds
1/2 tablespoon agave nectar

Bring ingredients to boiling over medium-high heat. Once boiling, reduce to a simmer and stir frequently until a jam consistency. Spread onto the cooled coconut cream whipped topping layer. 



p.s. Another coconut cream favorite - four-ingredient vegan chocolate frosting.


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The Entire Universe

Happy Friday, folks. It was a hard fought one this week.

Opting Out

A few weeks ago I read this post by Sarah over at Yes and Yes. 

"I remembered that freeing feeling of opting out and started applying it to other areas of my life. And I realized that there were plenty of things I could opt out of - things I could simply choose to not care about."

Perhaps it sounds simple, but when I read her post, a lightbulb went off for me about the difference between not being able to do something and choosing not to do something. 

A few months ago, I signed up for the trial period on one of those online exercise programs. You know these sites, right? You pay $10 or $15 dollars a month, and you get access to a library of work out (or yoga, pilates, etc) videos that you can do in your own home. Usually there are a bunch of filters you can use to find just the video that works for you in that moment. For instance, you can sort the videos by length. So if you only have 20 minutes, you can find a video that's short and only do those squats and lunges for 17 minutes. 

I tried out Barre 3 after learning about it from (never home) maker, and I did one of the 10 minute videos and liked it. And then every day, for the next 15 days, I thought about how I should do a video. But I didn't. I was busy or tired or forgot when I was actually at home. The next day I would chastise myself a bit for the previous day's failure and promise to sign on today. 

13 days came and went. 

And then I read Sarah's post, and it hit me. 

I could choose not to do these videos. In fact, I was choosing not to do these videos, but I wasn't thinking about it in those terms. Instead, I planned every day to do a workout video, and every day I failed. I was viewing myself either as a failure or as someone way too busy to fit in working out, both of which left me feeling crappy and not in control of my own life. 

What if I decided that walking my dog twice a day was all the exercise I was going to get? Maybe not forever, but for right now. What if I decided that having toned legs and sexy arms just wasn't on my priority list?

What if I opted out? 

I cancelled the membership. 

I have a lot going on, and I choose not to add home exercise videos to that list. 30 minutes of sitting on the couch and knitting while I watch The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt is on the list, but home exercise videos are not. That's just how it is right now. I opt out.

I started looking for other places in my life I could opt out. 

Making the bed

Looking fashionable on the weekends (see photo above)

Getting my inbox down to zero

Saving old clothes to re-purpose them (now I just consign)

Giving up coffee 
Being an emotional stoic

I'm *this* close on high heels.

Opting out is basically about honesty. Either you're opting out already but not owning the decision or you're opting in but feeling miserable and stressed out. 

By finding places to opt out, I'm realigning my time and my energy. Sometimes you have to figure out what you don't want so that you can make time for what you do. 

I encourage you to do the same. 

Opt out.

p.s. Our stenciled bathroom.


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13 Animal Instagram Feeds That Will Brighten Your Day

I am an unapologetic Instagram addict. I post a couple times a day, but mostly I love looking at other people's fabulous pictures. Scrolling through the day's images is usually the last thing I do before I turn out the light at night (I know - Terrible! But I sleep just fine.). And when the going gets rough, I go to Instagram. 

The photos in my feed are inspiring, funny, touching, and just plain beautiful. Every now and then, I whip my phone around and show my wife something that I loved, and she'll ask, "Who is that?" I tell her I have no idea, or that it's one of my favorite bloggers, or that it's just someone who takes awesome pictures and shares them with all of us. 

Animal pictures are my favorite, and I've compiled a list here of some of the best ones. Add these to your Instagram feed, and they're sure to brighten your day.  



Very Fat Rabbit 

Very Fat Rabbit was adopted off Craigslist, and I'm shocked by how friendly this little furball is after what seemed like a not-so-great initial home. Bonus points for awesome videos of him eating, running, hopping, and generally being bunnyish. 

First Time Farmers

Rachel and Scott left city living to try their hands at farming, and their photos of the process - especially the adorable fluffy parts - are enough to make you start cruising through the farmland section of your local real estate listings. 

Oscar the Exotic 

This precious kitten gives Grumpy Cat a run for his money. Every time I see that sweet, sad face, I want to reach through the phone and snuggle him up. 


Wilbert the Piggy

I love watching this tiny guy from Texas romp around. And look so dapper doing it. 


Highland Airs Alpaca Ranch

These New Jersey alpacas are the most expressive guys around. They smile and wink and glare, and it's all fabulous. 

The Dogist

Think Humans of New York, but for dogs.  


Rescue Goats

The feed for the Puget Sound Goat Rescue in Washington State will make you want to rush out there and adopt one of these sweet and hysterical farm animals (or is that just me?). 


Stovepipe the Traveling Cat

Oh, Stovepipe. This rescue kitty travels around the country advertising his fancy cat litter and advocating for rescue animals. He's cosmopolitan and a riot.


Taco and Friends

Taco, Bella, and Nacho. Three Chihuahuas. One adorable feed. 


Crimson Leaf Alpacas 

Because who doesn't want more pictures of alpacas? 


Oh My Dog VT

I don't know who writes the captions for these photos from a daycare and boarding facility in South Burlington, Vermont. But they crack me up. 


Black Nose Sheep Dumfries

Adorable Scottish lambs? Yes please. 


Abby the Pink Piggy

This sweet girl from Connecticut was the first mini pig I followed. And she's still the cutest.

Go follow some animals!


p.s. My dog's twitter account. 


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The 13 Year Quilt

2002. Washington, D.C.

I was a graduate student - theater - living alone and far away from my family for the first time in my life. My studio apartment was 325 square feet, had a half-wall of tiny appliances, and was furnished (by my mom and me) with a futon, a rectangular card table, and a black and silver tv stand from Walmart. Making friends outside the dorm life of college was more difficult than I had expected. That first year, I spent many weekends by myself, watching a lot of television and channeling Mary Tyler Moore as I wandered the streets of Dupont Circle. 

I watched entire afternoons of HGTV. It was a little less trendy back then, and my favorites were the Carol Duvall Show and Simply Quilts. I crocheted while they presented holiday centerpieces and masterfully pieced together works of art. Quilting seemed out of my reach, requiring skills and paraphernalia I didn't have.

The day they shared the denim rag quilt and described it as a great beginner's option, I put down my crochet hooks and immediately searched for the episode and instructions on my computer.

To my weekend wanderings, I added thrift stores and the Goodwill, where I rummaged through piles of jeans and racks of shirts to find just the right fabrics to cut up.

I got a sewing machine for Christmas.


2004-2006. Silver Spring and Bethesda, Maryland. 

Kept company by Meredith Grey and McDreamy, I traced around the cardboard square template with a sharpie. Down the legs of a pair of men's Wranglers and up the back. With a good pair, I could get 12 squares. I needed 180 for the whole thing.

To my pile of thrifted plaid garments, I added the left-behind shirts of a former high school boyfriend and one of my college loves as well as two men's button-downs that I'd worn after coming out my senior year, a move that I had hoped signaled my newly-minted lesbian status to the ladies around me.

I bought spring-loaded scissors and kept a rubbermaid tub filled with denim and plaid under the bed I shared with my then-partner.


2007-2009. Washington, DC. 

The rubbermaid tub and my sewing machine sat in a series of closets as I moved from apartment to apartment with my then-girlfriend (now wife).

Law school left little time for crafting, and the piles of fabric looked to me old fashioned in the worst way.


2010. Washington, DC. 

My inner crafter, thought deceased, had simply been hibernating. She revived almost immediately upon graduation.

At the dining room table of our Logan Circle apartment, I oriented the sewing machine so I could stitch together squares while watching back-to-back episodes of Little House on the Prairie and waiting out the 5 months until my law firm job would begin.

"You've been carrying this all around for 8 years?" Navah asked, incredulous.

"Yep," I nodded.

"I didn't even know you sewed," She said.

"Yep."

Rows of alternating denim and plaid sprawled across the living room floor with numbered sticky notes pinned to their tops.

My sewing machine broke.


2015. Richmond, Vermont.

With a freshly painted craft room calling, I opened the old rubbermaid box. Nine rows of fabric stitched together and six waiting to be added.

I listened to the sound of the needle moving up and down through the layers of material and watched each pattern go by, remembering.

"I'm going to finish it," I told my wife. "And I think I might actually like it again - this whole denim and plaid thing."

She laughed and said she'd believe it when she saw it.

I shouted up from the studio - "Finished!" - when I pulled the last bit out from the sewing machine.

I snipped the seams for days (weeks?), through Modern Family, Six Feet Under, The Good Wife, BoyHood, Top Five, Scandal, Interstellar. I bought new spring-loaded scissors, these specific to rag quilts and the primary reason that I can still use my hands after cutting 10 little snips in every seam.

The couch, the floor, the table, my clothes, Navah's clothes were all covered in tiny little denim threads. "The cost of art," I said.

Two cycles through the washer and dryer, carefully cleaning out the lint filter every 15 minutes, and it was over.


13 years older and 500 miles further north, I am sitting under this beautiful fabric time capsule as I write these words.

I think I'll call it my gratitude quilt - for all the days and weeks and television shows and friends and loves and thrift stores and scissors and sewing machines and rubbermaid tubs that traveled alongside me to this moment with the sun not quite up, my dog on the floor beside me, my wife asleep down the hall, and the only sound the tapping of my fingers on the keys.

p.s. The first quilt I ever finished. 

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Vegan Caprese Skewers

You would think that, as a sometimes food blogger, potlucks would be my jam. I'd show up with something amazingly delicious, and everyone would ooh and ah as they took seconds and asked for the recipe.

But you'd be wrong.

I do have a friend who shows up to every potluck with an incredible dish - usually some sort of scrumptious dessert - that took hours to make and meets everyone's dietary restrictions, of which there are usually a significant handful. My salivary glands start working overtime as soon as she walks in the door, and I'm never disappointed.

I, on the other hand, usually show up late carrying a grocery bag with a loaf of bread and a container of herbed goat cheese. Seriously, that's my go-to buy-it-on-the-way potluck presentation.

I love to cook, but I am super temperamental about it. And, as it happens, a potluck invitation almost never coincides with my urge to make something delicious. Instead, I remember the night before and have a conversation with my wife where she suggests multiple things I could make; I reject them all as too time-consuming, too difficult, not tasty enough; we end up stopping at the store on the way there; and I apologize profusely to the host for failing to prepare something special for the occasion.

So what's the problem? It's not that people don't love bread and goat cheese. They do. It's always gone by the time I leave.

It's just that I do actually enjoy sharing yummy food with friends. But I have potluck anxiety - like the test anxiety that afflicted me in my 7th grade algebra class.

Because I think of myself as someone who makes yummy food, a potluck (which, let's face it, is basically a competition to see who can bring the most delicious thing) fills me with dread and an overwhelming case of procrastination.

As such, I've essentially opted out of the high stakes potluck game by bringing store-bought food. 

Like I said before, though - I actually do enjoy preparing food and sharing it with friends. I just need to start small to overcome my potluck anxiety. These vegan caprese skewers are super simple, and yet they pack a flavorful enough punch and look cute enough that I'm happy to carry them into a friend's house, even if I know I won't be getting any medals for most amazing dish.

You have to start where you are. 

Vegan Caprese Skewers

1 container grape tomatoes
1 jar (or can) hearts of palm 
1 bunch basil 
cocktail skewers or toothpicks
balsamic vinegar (optional)

1. Slice the hearts of palm into 1/2 inch thick circles, and remove basil leaves from the stalk. 
2. Fold a basil leaf in half or thirds and slide onto a toothpick, followed by a circle of hearts of palm, and a grape tomato. Continue with the rest of your skewers.
3. If you want a little more flavor, drizzle with balsamic vinegar right before serving. 

Just to blow your mind: You can also make these for yourself, no potluck necessary. I made them and put them in the refrigerator, giving us a healthy and delicious snack for the week (that we ate in 36 hours). 


p.s. Pistachio and coconut stuffed dates - another quick recipe that is deliciously potluck-worthy.


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Weekend Reading: Become a Better Person

Always with the striving. Promise me this weekend you'll take a moment to just sit. Not in front of the television, not with a book, not over a plate of spaghetti. For one minute. 60 seconds. Just sit. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

And then you can read these words. 

Become...

A more accepting person: You're probably already on this train, but Glennon's explanations of how Christianity and GLBT-acceptance go hand in hand are beautiful and eloquent. Read them. Maybe memorize sections to share later. 

A more vocal person: As in, Sing it, Sister (or Brother). Read this list of songs to sing in the shower for every occasion. Play them or make your own list. And then get naked and get in the shower and sing your guts out. Rinse and repeat.

A more confident person: Borrow some confidence. From yourself. 

An open person: Open to the grief, the confusion, the love, and the grace of this life. 

A more satiated person: This garlicky kale salad with roasted chickpeas is the stuff of my (healthy) dreams. Reminds me of this kale salad that always gets rave reviews at potlucks. (Did you see that? Two links for the price of one. You're welcome.)

A more more person: Remember this - you can be more than one thing.  


p.s. Remembering this when homeownership feels like such a hassle.


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