Bet Ree Drummond has all her little cowpokes do gratitude jars in between fixing fences with Todd and changing their matching flannel shirts. I hate this show.

I would love to say that I've spent most of January knocking out, or at least starting, some awesome resolutions; only two posts in a month would be a little more understandable.

But....that would be a gigantic lie.

The truth is, I didn't make one official resolution for 2013 (or at least nothing specific). Maybe this is a result of being content already with the things that occupy my time...or being lazy and not wanting to write a blog post about my plans and dreams...or being scared that if I wrote something down and didn't do it, I would feel bad...or being fairly confident that the things lacking in my life are kind of out of my control and can't be sensibly put on a resolution list (ex. have a family).  I don't really know what explains my waning interest in numbered "to-do"s. I just know that I want to be happy.  I want to be kinder to others.  I want to go see more movies. 

I was reading Louisville magazine last week and came across an article on "choosing happiness."  The basic point was that we can all do small things each day that make us feel more fulfilled and content even in spite of moments of anger or frustration that will surely occur nearly everyday. Essential to the argument was one of my favorite cliches: we may not be able to control what happens, but we can control how we handle it/respond.  Some of the suggestions included exercising a few minutes everyday, writing one email or letter of encouragement/kindness daily, keeping a gratitude journal where you document something everyday for which you're thankful.

 

I've started doing all three of these.  In the picture above, you can see my "gratitude jar." I think it will be a good reminder of how lovely my life really is as well as a pity party deterrent.  I haven't written any letters this week, but I have tried to send at least one email a day that I normally wouldn't take the time to send (ex. "I thought that comment you made during the meeting was hilarious." or "I appreciate that you stopped, let me cross the street, and waved and smiled." or "Your cookies were delicious."....you know, incredibly witty and insightful emails;)). Even though I run and have always exercised some, I've started doing a 20 minute workout in the mornings that just makes me feel better: three sets each of - 20 lunges, 25 squats, 80 jumping jacks, 5 minutes of yoga.     

And the movie thing....no analytical reason for this. I just love everything about the whole movie experience.

Best one I've seen in a while:


One I'm most looking forward to:

I'm rereading F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic right now. I don't think I had ever paid attention to the dedication section of the book (if you've followed Pillow Book much at all, you know how dedications and acknowledgments are often my favorite part of any book). It reads, "Once again to Zelda"....also the title to one of my favorite collections, Once Again To Zelda: The stories behind literature's most intriguing dedications.
***
You all know that Ree Drummond's exaggerated cowpokiness drives me bonkers.  However, this giant-house-owning, giant-truck-driving, giant-and-expensive-kitchen-cooking "pioneer" woman knows peanut butter pies.  I really love this recipe...

Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie

25 whole chocolate sandwich cookies, such as Oreos

4 tablespoons butter, melted

1 cup creamy peanut butter

One 8-ounce package cream cheese, softened

1 1/4 cups powdered sugar

One 8-ounce package whipped topping, such as Cool Whip, thawed

For the crust: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Crush the cookies until they're fine crumbs. Pour the melted butter over the top and stir with a fork to combine. Press into a pie pan and bake until set, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely.

For the filling: Beat the peanut butter with the cream cheese until smooth. Add the powdered sugar and beat until smooth. Add in the thawed whipped topping and beat until smooth, scraping the sides as needed.

Pour the filling into the crust, evening out the top with a knife or spatula. Chill for at least an hour before serving.

Here is the chocolate pie recipe I used for the equally healthy option also pictured here.
***
So, in 2013, I plan to acknowledge my gratitude more often, go see more movies, cook more pies... and fall a little more in love with Silas House.

Hillbilly Solid 012113 -  In this episode, House interviews author, Ron Rash, and throws in a playlist that includes the Alabama Shakes, Justin Townes Earl, Band of Horses, Edward Sharpe and the Lumineers.

Best dog ever.

Eight days after the fact and it's still a little hard for me to write this without crying.  Those of you who have loved and lost a pet understand this.  Even though Waffle wasn't technically my dog (Dad and Adrienne having picked him out nearly 15 years ago and after I had moved from Waterview), he still belonged to all of us.  The Australian Shepard who was rarely clean, who liked to go for rides, (whether to the gas station down the road or to Lowe's to pick up a Christmas tree), who was gentle with every puppy, kitten, colt, and calf fortunate enough to call Turner Farm "home," who greeted us all when we pulled up the driveway (no matter if we had been gone ten minutes or ten years) was family.  He followed Dad everywhere on the farm, even if he had no intentions of herding anything:). He wanted to ride in the gator every time Mom started it, even if Tucker and Gabby joined in and inevitably jumped on his head.  Four days before he died, he rode to town with me and visited with the ladies at the library and may or may have gotten a biscuit at the Kwik Stop.  He loved Isabella and let her bear hug him anytime she wanted. After two accidents this summer, he fought back from near paralysis to give us seven more happy months with him (and in all honesty, if it meant we could have seven more of him feeling healthy and happy, I would spend night after night sleeping in a tent beside him).

Waffle was a fixture on Turner Farm and his devotion to us was matched by our devotion to him.  We buried him by Cotton, our beloved horse, and in the barn lot that has come to mean so much more to the Turner ladies in the past two years. On that land now rests three guys who pulled through more than they probably should have been able to and who loved this farm, and the family on it, with their whole hearts.

 

Yes, I'll take Jimmy Fallon and Joseph Gordon-Levitt for Christmas, please.

I like to try new Christmas candies each year. Here is a sampling of what I've made thus far. If you'd like the recipes for any of the following, just let me know. 

 

And for what it's worth...

My favorites: gingerbread biscotti and the mint shortbread cookies.

Coconut almond cookies

 Chocolate truffles rolled in all sorts of unhealthy stuff

 Mint shortbread cookies and gingerbread biscotti

 Brownie truffles setting up in the freezer

 Peppermint serving plate

 Snicker doodle blondies

 Step one of the chocolate bark

 Finished product

 Brown sugar cookies with brown sugar icing

Oreo truffles

 ***



I know they aren't carols. I know they aren't sentimental. I know religious undertones are nowhere to be found. I don't care.

I want my own Institute of Slow Information.

A couple of weeks ago, I included an excerpt from Vivian Swift's travel journal, Le Road Trip, in which she describes the "colors of Paris" in thought-provoking and artsy ways like "gray without melancholy." I decided to do something similar for my hometown.

*Purposeful rust - the color of still-functioning antique farm equipment and my dad's barn roof in certain shades of light

*Subdued hazel - the quiet color of hay fields, the river, and the eyes of several people I care about

*Patchwork blues -a stippling of shades that somehow create continuity in the lake, the library mural, and hand-stitched quilts

Additional excerpts I absolutely love...
"Travel Tip: The term is in situ --in the land of origin. We travel to put ourselves in situ, in a place where we belong.  The feeling that one was born in the wrong place is an ancient and universal experience, such that I suspect (a) it is part of our human DNA; and (b) is why our kind are born wanderers.  We travel to find the place where we can recognize ourselves for once.  Be on the lookout for that jolt of unexpected familiarity in a foreign land: that's how you'll know you are in situ." 67

Throughout my travels, I have had only a few moments when I thought, "This just feels home-ish to me. I could live here." Who knows? Maybe I could, maybe I couldn't when it came down to it, but I do think "it says something" that the rather rare thought even crossed my mind. Those places included Wallingford, Vermont, Seattle, Washington, and Prague, Czech Republic.  Ultimately, however, the place where I have most recognized myself, the place where I have felt like the "best version of me," the place where I never expected familiarity after the passing of eleven years, was exactly where I am now. 

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." - Douglas Adams
***
Talking to a tapestry owner  in Bayeux about new threads, "This counts as one of the best conversations I've ever had in my life." 71

A few conversations I consider my "best"...
1. a 30-minute phone interview with Brandi Carlile in which we talked about everything from the colors in her kitchen, to what constitutes a "good Christmas," to the names of her many animals, to how she takes her coffee, to her lingering frustrations toward organized religion

2. a brief, and frustrating-at-the-time, conversation with my dad in the Turner Farm living room on a random winter afternoon a few years ago: I was talking about an "ideal job," and how taking the opportunity would help me "in the long run." His paraphrased response: "True, but Liza, you have to make enough to live on.  It's good to dream and want more, but you have to provide for yourself in the meantime." CLT was always supportive, but he also kept me grounded. By example, he encouraged self-sufficiency and reminded me that sometimes we just have to suck it up and do the hard stuff, the stuff we don't necessarily want to do.

3.  an ultimatum-based conversation in an ice-cream parlor that involved me clearly articulating what I wanted, what I could give, and what I couldn't; it wasn't a conversation that yielded a triumphant end, but it was a conversation I look back upon with pride.  I didn't give in when it mattered. I held on to what I knew was most important.
***
"Next Life: My embroidery studio on the Main Street of Bayeux will be just one part of my Institute of Slow Information. I will also teach letter writing, listening, miniature portrait painting, and the art of doing one thing at a time." 71

I want my own Institute of Slow Information.  I want to spend days writing letters to Caroline, taking painting classes, working on my great-grandmother's quilt tops, learning how to bake sourdough bread with my mother, reading every book that is stacked on my nightstand, and writing a book, the likes of which I like to read. 


If you haven't checked out Bill Guffey's new studio, I definitely encourage you to stop by. His artwork is beautiful, and has heart, and will surely impress you.  The building renovations he and Kelly did themselves are equally impressive.

Project updates and other such piddling...

I found this quilt top in my grandmother's attic over the summer. My great grandmother, who we referred to as "Gramma," had hand-stitched it, using pieces from various shirts, dresses, and other fabric scraps.  I fell in love with it and asked Mama if I could have it.

 

I had big plans....none of which actually involved me trying to quilt the thing myself.

 

Nevertheless, if you remember from a Pillow Book post over the summer, the ladies at the library convinced me that I should do just that. What an awesome idea in theory; I mean, how much more meaningful would it be if I could do it myself? 

 

And so...I was all over it initially.  Vickie made a trip to Wal-Mart with me to help me pick out the batting, thread, and sheet I wanted to use.  We brought the supplies back to the library, laid it out and pinned it the very next day. ....

 

Four months later, I actually picked it back up, and started working on it (thanks to guilt trips by those same wonderful library ladies).  And within one week, I shockingly had it finished. 

 Laid out my backing, batting, and the quilt top

 To be honest, this (pinning it) was probably the most frustrating part.  Once I actually got started with the tacks, I enjoyed the project.

 This is a tack.

 Each tack is roughly four inches apart.

 ***

I've always loved making these ornaments.

A dozen clear, glass ornaments from Hobby Lobby - $4.00 

 Collection of squeeze paint I've kept from various projects

 Study break

 Decided I would drain the ornaments in this expensive tool

 Very complicated and strategic process: squeeze paint in, cover lid with paper towel, shake and swirl, drain.

 Let them drain overnight and then turn right side up and put the "lids" back on

 I used some of my Dad's flannel shirts for a blanket last year. I used the leftover fabric to create "hangers."

Finished product

 ***

A Christmas project for Isabella

 I painted the bench, which I'm considering to be her "reading nook," and used more of my Dad's shirt fabric to make pillows (along with the pink fleece material from one of Lucy's old Halloween costumes:))

 Pillows are about the extent of my sewing skills.

On the back side of the bench, I wrote a secret message (a line from a poem I wrote for her 2nd birthday).

"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." 

Tough call, but I believe I'll take numerous trips to Paris over poisonous berries.

"Road trip: those are still the two most inspiring words to vagabonds and couch potatoes alike; after all, the great American spirit was forged by road trippers from the Pilgrims to Lewis and Clark to the Dharma Bums. Le Road Trip combines the appeal of the iconic American quest with France's irresistible allure, offering readers a totally new perspective of life on the road. Le Road Trip tells the story of one idyllic French honeymoon trip, but it is also a witty handbook of tips and advice on how to thrive as a traveler, a captivating visual record with hundreds of watercolor illustrations, and a chronicle depicting the incomparable charms of being footloose in France. Armchair travelers, die-hard vagabonds, art journalists, and red wine drinkers will all find something to savor in this story." - Review, goodreads.com

Road trip, vagabond, great American spirit, irresistible allure, iconic quest, witty handbook, captivating visual record, incomparable charms, red wine drinkers...One of my greatest hopes is to write a book one day both inspired by and reflective of this most perfect of combinations.  If a product of numerous trips to Paris or Prague rather than an Into the Wild journey, all the better.
***
If you've read this blog much at all, you are well aware of my obsession with all things Vivian Swift. I love her wit, her confidence tinged with self-deprecating hilarity, her slightly Bob Ross-esque illustrations (by the way, I saw in a magazine yesterday that there is actually a BR teacher certification program), her ability to tell a story, her willingness to say things others might deem irreverent and blasphemous, but that remain unequivocally funny (but not mean-spirited), and her appreciation of the little things that make her happy. 

Despite this adoration, however, her most recent book, Le Road Trip, has cozily rested on my bookshelf for months, the hidden nook it has occupied since April.  I had pre-ordered it.  I was so excited when I picked it up at the post office. I have read reviews and her blog religiously since early spring.  Why the wait then to even crack the cover? 

I don't really know the answer to this, but I assume it has something to do with me considering it the "perfect last bite," the literary "Christmas morning," the "saved-for/long-awaited/much-needed vacation departure" (the one in which I would be wearing something totally hip like the stuff I pin on Pinterest, but don't actually own).  Sometimes the anticipation is where inspiration is found.  Sometimes it is hard to start something we don't want to inevitably end.  Sometimes the quest is the irresistible allure. 

And sometimes we just sit down, forget about the sadness we may feel when it's over, and relish the incomparable charm of the actual experience.
***
Probably my favorite passage thus far...

"Question:
What is the official color of Paris?
A. Gray Without Melancholy, as in the sky on a typical overcast day in the Ile-de-France.
B. The honey color of the morning sun warming up the Oise limestone exterior of the Louvre.
C. The quicksilver surface of the Seine in the wake of a Bateau-Mouche.
D. Mansard Blue, the color of Paris rooftops with the sound of an Edith Piaf record playing in the background.

Answer:
All of the above"  (27)
***
"Gray without melancholy"....oh, that's good. 

Take some time this weekend to think about how you would describe your own town or your favorite vacation spot. 

_________________________________________________________
The Catbird Seat in Nashville is not a French restaurant.  However, when I imagine French cuisine, I think of beautiful presentations, small decadent bites, and a fundamental ethos that eating is not just about consumption, but an appreciation of the food culture.  If you find yourself with a particularly fat wallet one week, I encourage you to try this somewhat hidden Nashville gem.  I have to admit, it is a pretty amazing experience.