Your Life in Six Words. Go.

I was looking through old Pillow Book posts a few days ago and decided that I wanted to update a couple of my favorite entries.
...
Smith Magazine is the online home of the "six-word memoir" project. The purpose is to encourage readers to think about perspective and significance without sacrificing clarity and conciseness. If you've read this blog much at all, you are well aware that I occasionally have trouble with the latter. This exercise, therefore, is a bit of a challenge for me. Nonetheless, I figure anything that somehow forces introspection and yet ultimately inspires simplicity is good for me.

So:
Gypsy souls will not break me.
Watching Mom bushhog makes me proud.
Dad would've fussed, but slyly grinned.
My mornings seem better with yogurt.
I loved watching the garden grow.
Nonetheless, the cucumbers wore me out.
Wish I could just sit still.
I can be happy by myself.
I like responsibility, but I'm tired.
Why not finish the three-quarter sleeve?
What doesn't kill us still hurts.
Needing to exercise unhealthily consumes me.
I'm grateful for my amazing job.
Ice cream was a bad idea.
I won't look back and wonder. (Initial list; still true)
It's okay to feel crazy sometimes. (Initial list; definitely still true)
When was I at my best?
***
Simply because Awesome/Not Awesome lists are fun.
Awesome:
*Getting a simple, yet thoughtful and unexpected, text or email.
*Cooking your own garden vegetables.
*Someone taking control, grabbing your face, and just kissing you.
*The perfect iced coffee.
*Fresh herbs...on anything.
*Getting reacquainted with people, those you once knew only as Mr. or Mrs. XYZ, as an adult.
*Making homemade yogurt...and realizing it's actually the right consistency.
*Walking your parents' farm in cowboy boots.
*Mornings when it seems summer just might be turning into fall.
*Unexpected visitors at your workplace.
*Running Jackson Hollow...at the end.
*Having pictures on your dashboard that make you smile...even if it does make you look 16.
*Feeling inspired to write.
*Stray cats you grow to love.
*When your hands look like your fathers, stained and calloused from berries, gardens, and manual labor.
*Taking a picture and realizing it either turned out surprisingly interesting or accidently captures a perfect stranger's ridiculous expression in the background.
*Having someone take a candid photo of you (and a real one, not the "I'm going to pretend I don't see them, gaze off into the distance" kind) that you really love.
Not awesome:
And, Zach, I wholeheartedly agree with your profound conclusion: "this is Earth; this is the world." I know these are totally insignificant. That doesn't mean that they still aren't a pain in the ass.
*Swimsuits: one-piece, tankini, the tiniest of string bikinis...they are all little pieces of horrible.
*Being hot when you're trying to sleep.
*Wet grass on flip-flopped feet.
*The saying, "I'm a poet and didn't know it."
*Looking forward to a soda, opening it, and realizing it's flat or warm.
*When the ice machine at Minit Mart does not work.
*People who wear charm or dangling bracelets at meetings and continually hit the table with said decoration every time they write.
*Facebook misalignments. I "Like" the wrong thing about 14 times/day. Even better: finally typing a message in the correct comment box and then getting the "Sorry. Something went wrong." notification.
*Stuff underneath your fingernails (although stained hands = good).
*Being hot, taking a shower, still being hot when you're trying to get ready.
*Loud people at restaurants...especially when they are saying stuff they think makes them look cool or funny. Never ever has this been the case.
*Blizzards that's aren't thick. DQ workers that don't turn blizzards upside down.
*Eating something really hot, forgetting you picked up said bit of fire, and then rubbing your face.
*Mini-dishwashers. Kristi and Luke, I apologize for the dishwasher diatribes to which you have been privy. No actually, no I don't.
Let me hear your six-word memoirs or awesome/not awesome lists.
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Little glimmers of fall air make me so very happy. I'm ready for hoodies, pumpkin-spiced cappucino, small town festivals, and weekend "let's go look at the leaves" drives.

Oh, and fall photo shoots.

If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die.

I get asked what the banner part of my tattoo means at least a couple of times a week. I typically just take the easy way out and say, "it's a song lyric." And it is (from the Avett Brothers,' January Wedding). But, here you go, the real reason, for any of you who are interested: "Cause it's simple" is this poster. It's about making A decision. It's about figuring out what is most genuinely important to you and choosing that above all else. It's about moving home. It's about trusting yourself. It's about just doing something. It's about recognizing the terrible beauty. It's about understanding that life is not a conspiracy against you; It's about getting over yourself. It's about surrounding yourself both with the people you love most and with those things that inspire you.

In previous posts, I have mentioned (or at least implied) my hatred of inspirational one-liners, of the "oh, it will all be fine" stuff that is so often inappropriately offered without request, of the empty mantras that ignite emotional response. For those who know me well, you understand that I'm frustratingly skeptical of "order" or "how things should be" or "reasons things happen." Thus, I know some will think I am teetering on hypocrisy here. I simply find so much more substance in these poster sentences than I do in most "life reminders" advertising. (While acknowledging that a few border on kitschy).

My favorites:
*If you don't like something, change it.
*If you don't have enough time, stop watching t.v.
*If you are looking for the love of your life, stop; they will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
*Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.
*Go out and start creating.

Songs on my mind this morning:

I include this not because I'm trying to tie in some "it's gonna be a good life" connection, but because I like the video, the sound of the "when you're happy like a fool" part, and because it looks like the Santa Monica pier at the one minute mark or so. I have a lot of memories, including meeting J.J. from Good Times, on the Santa Monica pier.


Because I think Adam Levine is hot. And I like this song.


This is one of the Avett Brothers' new songs. I really believe they are some of the best songwriters of our generation.

On Friday, a tourist called CCPL the "local Cheers bar." I love it.

Tomorrow will be my one year anniversary with the Cumberland County Public Library.

So, in essence, tomorrow I celebrate...

- one year serving in the most fulfilling job I've ever had.
- one year of waking up without a single "I can't go to work today" thought. Sure, there have been (and will continue to be) days when I would have rather lounged around the house, but there honestly has never been a morning I've dreaded my job.
- one year of the most laughter I've ever had in a work setting.
- one year of interesting introductions and moments of reacquaintance.
- one year of continual surprise...at how some people apparently don't see the numbers on the DVDs:)
- one year of the occasional biting of the tongue, but more so than not, of intriguing conversation.
- one year of fiction author tutorials; I've got it now, Terry...Beverly Lewis = bonnets and wagons!
- one year of Fancy Nancy parties, homemade recorders, and Tucker-assisted Story Hours.
- one year of sarcasm-laden, but always in good-fun, Talk Around Towns, newspaper articles, and Facebook updates.
- one year of gingerbread houses, dessert bake-offs, and Minit Mart fountain drinks (Barbara and Cathy - half ice, half drink and usually a 22 oz; Terry - Diet Coke, 32 oz.; Vickie - Mt. Dew and usually a 20 oz. bottle; Janet and Shirley - they're crazy, they usually drink water).
- one year of speakers and book fairs and orchestras.
- one year with the best co-workers I can imagine and the most interestingly diverse patrons any small town has ever produced.
- one year in a position my Dad was proud to see me in and one in which my Mom supports with her attendance, cooking skills, and charming personality at each event, activity, and program.
- one year of being inspired.

Some of my favorite moments...



















_______________________________________________________
Last Thursday, we were fortunate to have Kentucky native/author/NPR commentator, Georgia Green Stamper, join us for an evening of discussion, essay excerpts, and absolutely delicious food. She was delightful - approachable, entertaining, and well-prepared - and her most recent publication, You Can Go Anywhere From the Crossroads of the World, is now available in our library. Here are some of my favorite opening lines from this essay collection:

"This is the way Daddy always told the story so I guess it happened that way. If it didn't it could have, and after seventy-five years of countless re-tellings, it is now the truth."

"I was born into a sprawling, indigenous to Kentucky, two-pronged clan, and each side of the family believes in reunions. We believe in the Constitution of the United States, too, but we would probably find something good to say about an anarchist if he were faithful at showing up at our annual potluck."

"There is a Hell, he assured me, in case I had any doubt. He had been there and back on a train. Then, like the author of a Fromm's Tour Guidebook, he proceeded to describe the place to me, so that I would know what to expect should I, too, ever travel there. I was about twelve and hadn't had time, I figured, to do much that would put me on the road to damnation."

"By the time I entered first grade, I knew all there was to know about make believe, and understood that fairy tales were not true. That was the same year, however, that I met Buck, our little school's custodian, and I was never afterward quite so sure of the line between truth and fiction."

"I haven't read the best-selling book about the five people you meet in Heaven. I haven't read it because I don't like the title. To be honest, I'm expecting at least half the Kentuckians who ever lived to come out to meet me at the Pearly Gates."

"I guess I'm tacky as all get out, and maybe shallow to boot, but I just love the trappings of the Christmas season."

Leigh Ann Morgan, The Original Bossypants

It didn’t matter if we were “cooking” with what could have only been a pretend Easy Bake Oven (Mom would never buy us one. Or a three-wheeler. I don’t get it.), setting up - and subsequently playing - “school” with random, lightweight pieces of furniture that we had hoarded from other rooms of the house and collected in the middle of the living room floor, dressing up like the esteemed members of Poison, or ordering healthy snacks from McDonalds...Leigh Ann had the best spatula; Leigh Ann’s desk could’ve passed for an actual teacher’s; Leigh Ann was Brett Michaels when she wanted, Slash when she so chose; Leigh Ann was the silent, yet inevitably well-fed child who somehow coerced her sister, two years her junior, to tell the man or woman behind the cash register - an employee who was probably super happy that a child who couldn’t pronounce her “r”s and “l”s was ordering anyway - that the older of the two wanted a plain cheeseburger.

And I took it. And it makes me laugh now. And I probably wouldn’t change a thing.
What you don't see is the aluminum foil ball and plastic fork Leigh Ann gave me to play with. But look how happy I was!

Five beauty tips found in Tina Fey’s, Bossypants:
1) "The right undergarments are an essential part of your silhouette: My mother knew the importance of getting the right fit for a bra, so she took me to JCPenney and tried one on over my clothes. She tried a bra on me over my clothes in the middle of JCPenney.

2) A woman’s hair is her crowning glory: Beauty experts in the 1970s declared the shag the ‘most universally flattering haircut.’ The short layers in the front framed the face while irregular longer pieces in the back elongated the neck. I think this picture proves them right. Always on the cutting edge of beauty, I believe this haircut was executed by folding my face in half and cutting out a heart.

3) What to do if you don’t have constant access to a hairstylist: I first found a system that worked for me in the mid-eighties. Once or twice a week I would set my alarm for six a.m. so I could get up and plug in the Hot Stix. Hot Stix were heated rubber sticks, and you would twist your hair around them and roll it up. After about fifteen minutes, you took all the sticks out, and your hair was curled up in tight rings (with dry raggedy ends). I would study the curls in the mirror, impressed with both the appliance and my newfound ability to use it.

Then, without fail, at the last second before leaving for school, I would ask myself, ‘Am I supposed to brush it out or leave it?’ Why could I never remember? That feeling of ‘I’m pretty sure this next step is wrong, but I’m just gonna do it anyway’ is part of the same set of instincts that makes me such a great cook. On some level I knew I wasn’t supposed to brush it out, but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand – gripping the brush like it was a hand transplant from a murderer who hated beauty – brushed through the curls, turning them into a giant static-filled mess.

4) When it comes to fashion, find what works for you and stick with it: By nineteen, I had found my look. Oversize t-shirts, bike shorts, and wrestling shoes. To prevent the silhouette from being too baggy, I would cinch it at the waist with my fanny pack. I was pretty sure I would wear this forever. The shirts allowed me to express myself with cool sayings like ‘There’s No Crying in Baseball’ and ‘Universitat Heidelberg,’ the bike shorts showed off my muscular legs, and the fanny pack held all my trolley tokens. I was nailing it on a daily basis.

5) A manicure is a must: Once I moved to New York in 1997, I discovered the joys of the quickie Korean manicure. The city is filled with tiny storefront nail salons where you can get a manicure-pedicure, an underarm wax, and a ten-minute series of punches in the back, all for under a hundred dollars. The first few times you go, it can be intimidating. For starters, you may forget that you yourself speak English. You enter, smile, and nod at the manager. ‘Manicure-pedicure?’ ‘Pick color,’ she chirps back in her Korean accent. You pick out a couple of the three hundred shades of off-white. ‘This for manicure. This feet. Magazine okay?’ Why are you talking like that?"

To all the bossypants out there, I salute you. Notice that, despite being two years older, Leigh Ann is the one who got the booster seat. At least I look incredibly comfortable.

**And, by the way, I enthusiastically recommend this book. I have literally out loud every time I’ve picked it up. For those of you in Cumberland County, it is available at the Library…or, it will be as soon as I return it. ______________________________________________________
A couple of ideas for that excess garden produce...

My version of Pineapple Zucchini Bread
Yield: 2 loaves; or 1 loaf, 12 big muffins

The basic recipe can be found on the Taste of Home website (I also suggest trying the Rhubarb Blueberry Muffins also found on the site). I added in the following ingredients (in no really set amount; just whatever I thought "looked about right" - thinly sliced apples, maple syrup, coconut, homemade yogurt [and cut back on the vegetable oil] and poppy seeds)

Ingredients
3 eggs
2 cups finely shredded zucchini
1 cup vegetable oil
1 can (8 ounces) crushed pineapple, drained
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1-1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup chopped nuts (I used walnuts in one batch, Carri Peterson's granola in another)
1 cup raisins, optional (I don't use)

Directions
In a large bowl, combine the eggs, zucchini, oil, pineapple and vanilla. Combine the dry ingredients; stir into egg mixture just until moistened. Fold in nuts and raisins if desired.

Pour into two greased 8-in. x 4-in. loaf pans. Bake at 350° for 50-60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes before removing from pans to wire racks to cool.
*Word of advice: If you fill your loaf pan too high and batter drips in the stove, clean it before preheating your oven for another baking adventure. I may or may not have started a small fire in my oven yesterday.

Carolyn Turner Lee's, Tomato Pie
Prepare crust:
1- Single roll out pie crust (I just used a frozen crust); Bake crust at 425 for 5 minutes; Take crust from oven and add ½ Cup Mozzarella cheese on bottom

Vegetables:
Use any vegetables you like. (I use yellow and zucchini squash, onions, banana peppers, hot banana peppers, & fresh mushrooms) I prefer the squash to be diced(small). You will need about 3 cups of veges total. Sauté in olive oil just a few minutes till tender then lay on paper towels to drain. Place the drained vegetables over cheese in crust.

Filling:
Mix together: ¾ cup of fresh basil (chopped),1/2 cup real mayo, 2 cloves of garlic –chopped, 1 ¼Cups of Mozzarella cheese, & ½ cup of parmesan cheese. Spread this mixture over top of vegetables in crust.

Tomato Layer:
Use 4 fresh tomatoes cut in wedges (after slicing tomatoes in wedges lay on paper towels to drain). Arrange tomatoes on top of filling. Sprinkle tomato wedges with ¼ cup of mozzarella cheese and black pepper.

Bake @ 375 - 30 minutes.

If You Don't Like the Winnie the Pooh Trailer, You Are Just a Bad Person

Yes, parts of it definitely do not rhyme and the others, well, are stretches. ...

“One World, Many Stories”
For Isabella Kurtys Morgan on her 2nd birthday...with much love, Aunt Liza (LiLi)

I see stories unfold, with a quick turn of a page, nearly every day:
trips to far-away lands, rides on exotic turquoise wings, talks with animals befriended along the way.
I feel silky, vibrantly-hued fabrics and hear musical medleys of robins, kittens, and buzzing bugs,
worlds of imagination seemingly real despite my office chair and coffee mug.

Of all the stories read and of all the stories told, however, I wish yours to be the most...
the most beautiful, the most exciting, the most engaging, the most fun.
I hope you run in fields among bright pink butterflies and swim in oceans with joke-telling seahorses,
live in treetops that nearly touch the moon and eat extravagant meals with more than four courses.

I wish for you a world of possibility, of never-ending stories, a world filled with your very favorite books.
I wish for you days of pretend, days of dress-up, days of hidden reading nooks.
I wish for you built-in shelves where your favorite characters will cozily rest side by side,
I wish for you nights spent reading, tucked in bed by your mom and dad, AKA, your tour guides.

But most of all, I simply wish you a happy 2nd birthday. I love you, you little rascal.

As she was watching the fireworks, Isabella would cover her mouth in excitement and say "what come next??" and then proceed to name the suspected selection; or when there was a break in between fireworks, she would stand in Nonna's lap and say, "C'mon." Pure joy is a really, really beautiful thing. Watching her truly was my favorite part of a wonderful 4th of July weekend.
***
Masterful advertising.

"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's."~Mark Twain, letter to W.D. Howells, 2 April 1899

Addendum to my "Here's Stuff I Find Awesome" post many months ago...
- Leslie and Eric Conner

Your generosity, your warmth, your kindness, and your "take charge" attitudes have literally saved the lives of at least five animals (cats and dogs) over the past year. You have taken them in, regardless of medical condition, size, or breed; you have paid for vet bills, medicine, and food no matter the cost; you have given puppies warm beds and the attention they deserve; you have made strays feel both wanted and loved; you have welcomed the motley bunch of critters into your garage and your family; you have done all of this without ulterior motive and never in search of praise...you continually restore my faith in goodness and love.

PLUS, you collect antique lanterns (tastefully displayed in your beautiful cabinets in your breathtakingly classy, yet inviting, kitchen) and you plan to have some of the girls of '98 over for a slumber party. Could you get any cooler?

Leslie, I truly think you're awesome. Thank you for being you.
"Brutus" is going to make it, thanks to Leslie and Eric.
The neighbors' dog...I don't blame him for wanting to hang out at Leslie's instead.
He's even up and playing around.

_______________________________________________________
Look, Leigh Ann!! Leslie lives across the street from one of our childhood hangouts. That's right, folks, Mom was a big fan of Crowe's. I'm pretty sure this is where I got my pink, pinstriped OshKosh B'gosh overalls. Hot.

“Two things create a woman, pretty dresses and love letters.” Honore de Balzac, Pere Goriot, 1835

I can't remember if I've used this particular quote in the title of a previous entry or not, but I am fairly certain that good ol' Honore de Balzac has not gone unmentioned. Remember?... He's that French playwright and novelist considered one of the founders of realism in European literature, an artist known for exposing the deeply complex and often contradictory emotions of the human existence. ... Oh yeah, that guy.

And yes, a little of that just may been taken from Wikipedia.

Anyway, this quote is at the top of page 105 in Vivian Swift's, When Wanderers Cease to Roam (for those of you who remember, this is the "travel journal" that inspired Pillow Book...and hey, we have it available for checkout at the library now!). Found in the "July" section (Swift documents idiosyncrasies, funny moments, memories, artwork, and musings by month), this quote leads into a discussion as to why Swift bought four particular dresses, what each have come to mean to her, the memories they inspire, and what quippy words of advice they ill-fashionably offer.

For instance...
"I’ve never been a bridesmaid. I’m not complaining. But when I bought this frock from the consignment shop I justified the expense by telling myself that one day it will come in handy, when one of my friends has an impromptu wedding with come-as-you-are bridesmaids and I just happen to be wearing yards and yards of this tulle with a strapless, fitted bodice adorned on the back with a big pink bow. However, since the skirts are ballerina (Sugar Plum Fairy) length, and because one night I happened to be wearing it at home to re-arrange my tea cup collection while listening to the only classical record I own, I call this my Tchaikovsky Dress."

My Reward for Turning 40
If not for this dress, I would never have had the nerve to date younger men. I’d never been 40 before, and I had no experience acting my age. But I figured it was time for me to own at least one mature outfit. I let the salesgirl in a fancy dress shop pick out this beige dress for me. What’s more mature than beige? The dress was made of an elegant rayon moiré and I doubted I’d fit into the tiny size 6 I was given to try on. Amazingly, the thing slid on me like dew on a rose petal, like inspiration on a non-ironic French novelist’s woman.

So when I started meeting men I wished I’d met when I was in my 20s I’d wear this dress and let them deal with the age difference."
...
I have one, too. I bought this dress when I was in Los Angeles five or six years ago. Several mornings a week, I would go to the outdoor market in Santa Monica and buy fresh fruit, the occasional book or souvenir, and obviously, multi-patterned outfits at the shop that alluringly resided on the corner adjacent to said market.

I had gone in one day in search of a dress to wear to a special dinner; I tried on several very classic, Audrey-Hepburn types, but it was this turquoise number that stole my heart. Yes, it somehow reminds me of a Bill Cosby sweater; it does indeed have an inside skirt layer that would make 4-year-old beauty pageant contestants blush; it honestly doesn't fit that well, as the waist needs to be taken in a bit (and not because I'm soooooo skinny; I bought a size too big because the dress just made me happy). I freaking love this dress.

When I wear it, I kinda feel like I did when Leigh Ann and I would put on the flower girl dresses we had worn in my uncle's wedding in the early 80s, the ones excitedly jerked out of the closet when the urge to dance and twirl around the living room during American Bandstand could no longer be suppressed. I feel like a gypsy princess. I feel like Angelina Jolie on a UNICEF mission trip, caught by some photographer whose magazine editor will inevitably use phrases like "Stripped down to no make-up and an oddly whimsical dress, Jolie jetsets around poverty-stricken countries."

I have worn this dress to wedding showers, to church services, to a BBQ at a Loyola Marymount professor's house on the outskirts of LA, to the Cumberland County Public Library. If I have children, this is the dress that I will pull out and let them make fun of in 20 years. This is the dress that I just might throw on today as I'm baking bread pudding and cleaning my house. This is the dress that few would likely characterize as "pretty" and the one that has inspired exactly zero love letters.

For this point on, I shall call it my Pillow Book dress.
$100 to anyone who can help me think of the name of the stiff lace layer that makes the dress puff out. Well, maybe not a hundred.
Looks even prettier blowing in the wind, doesn't it?
And it matches my chair.

Tell me about "your dress."
***
Cinnamon Raisin Bread Pudding
From the Taste of Home website
Yields: 2 servings (I tripled and baked in a 9X9 square pan)

Ingredients
1 cup cubed cinnamon-raisin bread (If you can buy Carri Peterson's at the Cumberland County Farmers' Market, do so!)
1 egg
2/3 cup milk
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Dash salt
1/3 cup raisins

Directions
Place bread cubes in a greased 2-cup baking dish. In a small bowl, whisk the egg, milk, brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt until blended. Stir in raisins. Pour over bread.

Bake at 350° for 35-40 minutes or until a knife inserted 1/2 in. from the edge comes out clean. Serve warm.
That's right, that is butter floating on top.