Grateful

Guys, I am sick. No-more-denying it, elephant-sitting-on-my-sinuses, don’t-feel-like-doing-anything, every-breath-is-miserable sick. Ugh. Nonetheless, there are some happy moments to be found. Today our drinking glasses finally arrived! And none of them were broken! This is nothing short of a miracle, and especially because they’ve been on back order for ages and the shipment has been delayed at least four times. (These are totally ordinary glasses, by the way. Mysterious!) I was starting to think I’d be drinking out of my Nalgene forever, but, hurrah, those days are over!

I’m also extremely grateful for my sweet husband, who made me polenta and eggplant by request for dinner, since I wanted something warm and soothing. He is the best. Especially because every time I thank him for cooking dinner/doing all the dishes/doing all the laundry, he tells me he loves me and that I do all those things for him all the time. *Swoon.*

And I’m grateful that I have a husband who will kick back and watch Portlandia with me on a Thursday night, because that sounds like the only thing I’m really capable of. My feet are the chubby ones on the left, bulked up by my beloved 30 Below socks. I am also most grateful to be posting this from the comfort of my own bed, where he’s sitting by my side, keeping me company. There are wonderful memories that we cherish of our wedding, our honeymoon, our proposal, but I almost think the ones I love the best are the simple ones like these, when I feel so overwhelmingly loved in a totally everyday sort of way. I am so grateful.

On Making Things

This article in the NYT by Heather Havrilevsky, on the pros and cons of a self-sufficient life in the country vs. a hectic life in the city, got me thinking. And talking. While I’m neither raising four kids on a ranch in Oklahoma nor raising two in hustling and bustling New York, it made me ponder my own constant desire to make–literally–my own life. Havrilevsky certainly makes some valid points, but I don’t agree with every twist and turn of her logic. There are a few false dichotomies and straw man arguments, to my thinking, but I’m grateful for the impetus to think through my own standing on these issues.

It all started for me a few years ago, when I started paying more attention to what I was buying and what I was doing in my kitchen. I got this crazy idea of trying to make the things I usually buy, all packaged and ready to eat. For me, this wasn’t too much to start with. Bread, crackers, graham crackers, granola bars, tea biscuits. Some of these were more successful than others, but I had so much fun making all of them. Why did I do it? I’d be lying if I said I weren’t concerned with the level of processing most of our packaged food goes through, and, in this day and age, that is a very common sentiment. However, I think there is a deeper issue at hand.

Havrilevsky suggests that we make our own food because we want to be in control, we want to duke it out with nature, we want the feeling of accomplishment and of being self-sufficient. And I can’t argue with that, on a certain level. When I make my own bread, I feel good about knowing what all four of the ingredients are that went into it. But there is something much bigger there: the desire to understand how things are made. My experiments in the kitchen are the product of a deep curiosity. I have learned so much by making these things, and, on some of these things, I’ll never turn back. Fresh baked bread is a luxury I’m willing to work for (especially since I usually use a no-knead method). On some of them, I definitely need more practice. And some of them, after hours of labor, I decide are more trouble than I’m willing to invest. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to try my hand at new things. Next up on my list are mustard and pasta, and I keep asking Eric if we can get a yogurt maker. They’re not that expensive, and we go through a lot of it!

The other draw for me, I think, is that these processes make me feel closer to those who came before me. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful that my dabblings are a choice and not a necessity. Heaven knows that if I had to knit all the socks for my family, we’d have frostbite, and if I had to sew all our clothes, we’d look like circus clowns. But I am still trying, in some small way, to experience some new appreciation for the things my ancestors did on a daily basis as a matter of course. It makes me feel good to have that connection to them. It makes me feel good to think I am reclaiming knowledge and skills that have been lost or missed a generation, things of real value that I am happy to do my own tiny part to resurrect.

And also, maybe most importantly, I think there is a magic that is found in making things–a wonderful, everyday sort of magic. I’ll never cease to be amazed at how bread dough rises, or how basil leaves are transformed into a cool and creamy pesto. I think this carries over into a lot of my passions: gardening, knitting, sewing…it’s incredible to watch something slowly emerge from raw materials, something that is, in the truest sense of the word, more than the sum of its parts. I’m grateful to be able to explore that on a daily basis. And I’m grateful that it is a joy rather than a necessity. I’m always proud to have made something with own hands, something that delicately toes the line between fun and function. That, to me, is a beautiful thing.

The Girl and the Sea

I’ve been looking through old pictures tonight. They are such incredible treasures, and I love having them all at my fingertips. There are so many I wanted to share, but I decided on this one. My brother took it in 2005 when we were taking a trip up the coast, all the way to Vancouver. He cracked me up for most of the trip by taking only pictures of the back of me, “for scale,” as he explained it, so everyone would understand just how big those waterfalls were. This picture is sort of a rarity in that you can see a tiny bit of my face. We found Mendocino foggy and cold, but the seascapes were gorgeous. It’s hard to believe that this was seven years ago. My, how the time flies. I’d like to think that in some ways I am still the same girl, in awe of the world around me. I hope I never lose that. And I hope I can take some more trips with my brother. He is one of the world’s greatest travel companions. And not just because he actually likes to drive, but because he has a limitless love for adventure, a never-ending collection of great music, and and the most unexpected hilariousness when you really need it, on mile 1,294. Love you, brother.

Remember This

Something beautiful happened tonight. I had the evening off, and Eric was on an observing run. I was in the kitchen baking up a storm when I heard my phone ring. He was Face Timing me from what I call his Space Dungeon–a basement from which they can control the telescopes at a large and far-away observatory. Pretty cool. I had my hands in flour and eggs and needed to keep going as I was talking to him, so I gingerly set him in the cabinet among the spices. The sensation of looking into your cabinet at your husband is a strange and wonderful one. There he was, smiling beautifully, nestled among the allspice and smoked salt, oblivious to the flour that I am so good at spilling everywhere and the Really Important Spices that are ingloriously stored in plastic bags until we get pretty spice jars for them. Just a few years ago, this wouldn’t have been possible, and that is kind of mind-blowing. It brought back an ocean of memories of the two research trips he took while we were dating, one to New Mexico, one to Australia–one for three months, the other for four. Skype was our daily bread, and if I missed a session with him, my whole day was clouded with disappointment. But every time I did see him, my face hurt from smiling, and I nibbled on the delicious crumbs of our conversations for days. I am so grateful for the technology that makes this possible. And so grateful for the thrill of feeling close to someone who is far away. And even more grateful that tonight he is only in a building down the street, and that in a few short hours, he will be home with me. There will be chocolate cayenne muffins waiting for him. I ate one when they came out of the oven, and my mouth is still burning and tingling ever so slightly. I love that this picture captures all of that. I hope I never forget it.

Our Mantel

Eric and I moved into our apartment in Pasadena in August, and, ever since then, I’ve been plastering the walls with pictures and paintings, doing my best to make this space our own. I think this is a habit I picked up in my first year of college–something had to be done with those cinder block walls! I’ve been moving things around lately to see how they look in other places, and this has very serendipitously resulted in this one little place that I love with all my heart: our mantel. It is so *us*, and I love glancing up at it from our couch or kitchen.

I made this fall leaf garland to usher in my most favorite season several months ago, and I never took it down. It just looks so cheerful, and I have no problem with it being perpetually fall in our apartment. The three pieces on the mantel are actually garden sculptures, but they are more commonly known in my family as “the garlics.” My mom found them for 50 cents at Ikea five years ago when she was helping me decorate my apartment, and they have been fixtures ever since. Have I mentioned that my mom is awesome?

These button tree paintings are a happy reminder of the first time I put a paintbrush to canvas in years. I love having this tangible memory of how wonderful it felt to be creating again.

One of the most special things in our whole house is this welded heart. A few years ago, Eric’s parents came to visit, and Eric’s dad noticed my many lists hanging in the kitchen. He saw that welding was one of the things I wanted to learn how to do, and he tucked it away in his mind. Several months later, when we went to visit the farm, he had a surprise for me: a welding lesson! He taught me the method on some practice nuts, and this was my final project, a heart. The amount of love and care that went into this still just astonishes me. What can I say, this is the family I married into! I am the luckiest girl in the world.

And the final piece of this mantel just arrived yesterday: our gallery wrap canvas from Amy Dale! For those of you who aren’t familiar with Amy, she is the world’s most spectacular photographer. She did our engagement shoot and our wedding. If you are anywhere near the Memphis area, I would highly recommend that you have her shoot your wedding/engagement/high school portait/family portrait/day in the life photos. Amy takes such care to know her clients, and comes through beautifully in her pictures. The image above is the one on our canvas. I had told Amy how much I appreciated it that Eric liked going to junk stores to look for art supplies with me, and so she took us to this awesomely rambling antique store in downtown Memphis, where this beautiful shot was taken in the afternoon light. When I opened the box yesterday, I gasped, and then I cried, and then we hung it up right away, in the perfect space: just above our mantel. I love how it completes the space and makes it not only ours, but also us.

Image credit: amydalephotography.com