It’s all about the tree

Tree simplicity at its best: a tiny tree in antique blue & white.

How are you? I know it’s been awhile. Frankly, I fell into a bit of a mental rabbit hole and needed a break — time to escape with a few Sue Grafton mysteries, watch old movies, and putter around my kitchen. Has this happened to you?

By now you probably have your tree up, most of us do. But you may not, or you may still be perfecting the decoration of it, or maybe you decided you didn’t really want a tree this year. This “Covid year” is a challenge in so many ways and we have a few more months to go.

As I was scrolling thru Instagram last night (and I am always scrolling thru Instagram!), I started thinking about what a personal statement a Christmas tree is.

For some it’s a slice of personal history, ornaments the kids made (you know, the beloved popsicle stick Santas). Many of those trees are also decked with signs of a family’s interests — mini Eiffel Tower or Statue of Liberty souvenirs, tiny replicas of golf bags, basketballs, and sports cars, tiny picture frames with tooth-y grins, salt-dough figurines.

We hang a lot of ourselves on a Christmas tree.

Some of the Instagram trees are a decorator’s masterpiece. Color-coded glass balls with matching garlands of ribbon and flowers. I’m frankly dazzled by these trees, but if I committed to a theme, I’d also have to eliminate all the ornaments that didn’t fit. Or, decorate a second tree!

Suzanne of @suzannezingstyle is a stylist, and her trees are perfection.

Others are artfully spare, just a tree and some lights. Some trees are propped in rustic buckets or boxes, others strike a more glamorous pose on a table surrounded with coordinating decor. One of my favorites, below, is one of the 12 trees by Courtney Allison @frenchcountrycottage with lots of lights, a veritable party of ornaments and sitting in an antique bucket. Her stylist touch is one of the prettiest and most natural around. (This may be my tree goal in 2021).

I’m personally attracted to tiny trees, like my bottle brush forest, which grows annually.

But then there are others, deceptively simple in their charm. I love the simplicity of this tree, below. For me it holds the same magical promise of the season as the sparkling lights and ornaments on our own tree in the living room.

This is one of those years — and we all have them — where tradition goes out the window and we have to improvise on the holiday. We didn’t have family and friends around the table on Thanksgiving, and we won’t be descending on my son and daughter-in-law for Christmas. My forty-odd year string of holiday open houses has been rudely interrupted. Anyone who knows me knows I’m missing all of that. But, we are all healthy. For that I’m very grateful.

When I sit beside our tree with morning coffee or a book in the afternoon, or Steve and I have a glass of wine there before dinner, I relish the sense of calm. Christmas comes with its own brand of magic, peace, hope and memories. It’s nice to be surrounded by the familiar in an otherwise strange, even scary time. And there is a little light ahead at the end of a long, dark tunnel. The vaccinations have begun. That’s something to hang on to. A kind of hope. Maybe like the Christmas star?

I hope your days ahead are filled with joy, hope, something good to eat & drink and — most of all — good health. Happy, happy holiday!

Simple pleasures

An old friend dropped off this RBG “action figure” lsn’t she great?

Hello! How are you doing? We’re doing well here, but if I’m totally honest it takes more effort some days than others.

The pandemic numbers in the Chicago area are going in the wrong direction, disappointing but not really surprising. The experts warned there would be a second wave (or is it the third?) this fall. It has made us rethink some of the small steps we were taking to get out & about. The temperatures here have taken a real dive — into highs in the 40’s — making social distancing outside a really chilly option.

So I’m counting on simple pleasures to brighten the days.

The Zebra Cake

When the going gets tough, head to the kitchen and make something chocolate. Actually, you may have already read about this Zebra Cake on my Instagram. Martha Stewart showed off the cake and demonstrated the technique on the Today Show a few weeks ago. Steve and I were both intrigued. (Okay, it doesn’t always take much to catch our attention lately.) So, I made the cake, which shall forever be known as “the cake that wrecked the kitchen.”

I’m not the neatest cook in the world. My theory is pretty much cook now, make a mess, and clean it up later. But this was exceptional. I have two sets of nesting glass mixing bowls and I used both of them.

This cake makes two 9″ layers. That’s a lot of batter. Then you divide the batter and make half of it chocolate. Next you alternate adding quarter-cup measures of white and chocolate batter to each pan until you have used up all the cake batter. The result is amazing and delicious. (Note: you will need any and all left-over clean bowls to make Martha’s decadent chocolate frosting if you use her recipe.) This would be fun and dramatic to serve to guests, but time-consuming. Find the recipe here.

Retail therapy

It occurred to me, after my shoe mini-binge, except maybe to the grocery store or get a haircut,m etc., but at least my feet will be cute!

Remember those days when you just killed a few hours (or more) at the mall or maybe shopping some local boutiques? Sometimes you came home with purchases and sometimes not. It was just fun to escape your home or office, see what was new, maybe stop for a coffee and/or lunch. The pandemic has really changed that dynamic for me. I’m just not comfortable shopping for the sake of shopping. However, online shopping is a whole other thing. I recently went on a bit of a shoe shop online. (There’s always a way top shop, right?) These boots were on a terrific sale at Talbots and the leopard print Vans came highly recommended by Mary Ann Pickett at Classic Casual Home (they’re so comfortable — thanks for the tip!). The white Supergas — a mainstay in my wardrobe — were on sale. They may seem a bit out of place now, but I’ll be thrilled to pull them out in March or April. I realize we aren’t going out much, but at least my feet will look cute in the grocery store!

Watching & reading

Have you noticed that “what are you watching” and “what are you reading” are big conversation topics whenever you Zoom or FaceTime with friends? We’re all so eager for recommendations.

Like everyone else who loves Paris, I watched “Emily in Paris.” Did you? I thought the Parisian scenery was gorgeous, but the story was pretty thin. On the other hand, I just started watching “The Queen’s Gambit” about a young orphan who discovers chess as an escape from the everyday. She’s an outrageously gifted player and begins to play in competitions. I’m not a chess player and know nothing about the game, but I’m hooked. Both of these limited series are on Netflix.

If you haven’t seen Pete Souza’s documentary, “The Way I See It,” look for it on MSNBC. Souza is a photojournalist who was the official presidential photographer for Presidents Reagan and Obama. His insider’s view of both administrations is revealing, but even more important, he views his role as documenting history. He certainly has a gift for getting the right shot at the right time. You’ve no doubt seen many of his photos, but hearing the backstory is fascinating.

I just finished reading My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. It’s a short, beautifully written novel, the kind of book where every word is measured and important. Strout is an award winning novelist (have you read The Burgess Boys or Olive Kitteridge?). Now I’m reading The Daughters of Yalta, by Katherine Grace Katz. The history nerd in me is frankly fascinated by this story of that fateful 1945 conference between Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin, as seen largely through the eyes of Anna Roosevelt Boettiger, Sarah Churchill, and Kathy Harriman, daughters of President Franklin Roosevelt, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and U. S. Ambassador to Russia Averill Harriman respectively. All three women are well-educated and accomplished, used to traveling in heady political circles but also trying to absorb the Russian personalities and the war-torn Yalta landscape. What an amazing view of history they had!

And that’s my world right now. What about you? Keep wearing your mask, and I’ll see you here again soon!

Pumpkins, pasta and more from October

I would say “happy October,” but we’re now halfway thru the month. Where does the time go? I don’t know about you, but I sometimes find myself just getting caught in the headlights of the pandemic and the non-stop news cycle. I “hide out” in a book or watching old movies, something mindless, you know? When I resurfaced my blogging platform had introduced a whole new format. Yikes! I’m still on that learning curve! But, October is sunny and cool, full of pumpkins and other fun stuff, so here goes…

As part of my never-ending quest for doses of normalcy in this anything-but-normal year, I forged ahead into fall last week and my pumpkin decor for the season. I love these wart-y, non-orange pumpkins that show up everywhere at this time of year. Because I have waaaay too much time on my hands, I give my pumpkins a soapy bath to remove dirt and then spray them with a clear sealer. Presumably this keeps the squirrels and chipmunks away? I arranged them with a few mums and liked it so much I thought I’d buy more to stage a second display.

But I was wrong; before I could move on to more pumpkins and mums, the hungry critters had nibbled the warts on one pumpkin, then tried a smoother one, and finally truly feasted on an especially striking orange gourd with a quirky twist at the top. If anyone knows of a proven repellant, please let me know!

Is Ina Garten your hero?

If you read many of my cooking posts here or on Instagram you know that Ina Garten, a.k.a. The Barefoot Contessa, is a favorite cookbook author of mine. I find her recipes to be spot on: clear instructions, (usually) uncomplicated lists of ingredients (though thanks to Ina we have expanded our repertoire of alcoholic libations), and always a good result — if you follow her instructions. As more than one of my friends has said, “Ina doesn’t disappoint.”

If you follow her at all you know she started out as a budget analyst in the White House, acquired a boutique food store in The Hamptons (The Barefoot Contessa) and the rest, as they say, is history. Or is it? I just came across this recent interview with her and found it to be more revealing than most. It puts some meat on the bones of her story. If you’re an Ina fan, and who isn’t, I think you’ll enjoy it.

In my October kitchen…

Once I got past the quart after quart (after quart after quart) of tomatoes my husband’s garden produced, which we then skinned and, chopped and cooked down just a bit, then froze for winter soups and stews, I tried a few new recipes that turned out to be simple, delicious, and perfect for fall. And — no tomatoes!

Peas, pasta and prosciutto is one of those dishes that could be made from pantry staples. Frozen peas are a staple in most kitchens, as is dried pasta. Lately, I’ve been keeping a small package or two of prosciutto in the freezer, mostly as an addition to a fruit and cheese platter that we sometimes assemble as a light supper. The flavor in this recipe relies on quickly, gently crisping bite size pieces of the prosciutto in a frying pan, adding the peas, al dente pasta and some pasta water. I used a recipe from Bon Appetit, here.

My daughter-in-law turned me on to Half-Baked Harvest , a blog/website packed with recipes. Tieghan Gerard got her kitchen start helping cook for her family of nine. Subsequently her recipes feed a group and are slow cooker and

InstaPot friendly. (Happily, she usually includes stove-top directions!) Her healthier creamy tortellini vegetable soup appealed to me. I have made another tortellini soup that featured sausage and spinach, but little else. I really thought it was a little bland. That’s not the issue here.

This recipe includes a handful of spices — sage, fennel, basil, oregano, thyme, red pepper and paprika — that give it a lot of flavor. There’s also onion, celery and carrots and I subbed fresh spinach for kale (a non-starter at my house). But I think it’s the half cup of milk or heavy cream (I used the latter) that really makes a difference in this recipe. I don’t think it’s enough to make a real difference in the fat or calorie count, but it does make the broth richer, especially appealing when you’re serving this as an entree. (Note: I added just a drizzle of cream to each serving. I knew we would be saving some for future lunches and did not think the cream would hold up. I just served leftovers with a last-minute dash of the cream.) If you want to try this recipe, you can find it here.

An unforgettable read

My daughter passed along The Sound of Gravel: A Memoir by Ruth Wariner. Wariner was raised by her mother and stepfather in a polygamous Mormon sect in Mexico, founded by her late father. She had nine siblings; stepfather had other wives and a total of 39 children, making financial support for her family sketchy at best. They lived without electricity or hot water on a “farm” in Mexico and borrowed trailers in El Paso, Texas, where her mother collected welfare.

Like The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls and Educated by Tara Westover, this is the story of a wildly disfunctional family. And I felt — having read both of those books — that this would be just the same. And in many ways it was, but in many ways it wasn’t. This was, after all, Ruth’s story, not Jeannette’s or Tara’s. Her father was absent more than he was physically present, although his role in the family was clear. Ruth’s mother’s unyielding commitment to her husband and her religion, despite the impact on her and her children, drives the story. I had to keep reminding myself that this was not a novel, it was true. And it happened just a few decades ago. Ruth would be a contemporary to my adult children.

So that’s at least some of what’s happening here. Enjoy the season and I’ll be back soon. Thanks for stopping by.

Back on my soapbox

My grandfather was a WWI veteran and a founding member of the William McKinley American Legion Post in Chicago. When he died in 1988, his friends from the post showed up to honor him as pallbearers. When the minister had finished his blessing at the cemetery and was about to send the mourners to lunch, one of the legion members, a little white-haired man (in his nineties I imagine, as Grandpa had been) with his legion cap at a rakish angle, stepped forwarded and admonished the minister to “Hold on sonny.” Then he produced a tape player, pushed a button, and played Taps. (And we all cried a little more. )

Several years later when my father-in-law died, he was buried at Arlington National Cemetery with military pallbearers and a 21-gun salute. It was a small, dignified and extremely moving ceremony. I had been to Arlington before as a tourist and I have been there since to bury my mother-in-law. It has never been possible for me to walk those rows of white markers without being silenced by the sense of duty, honor and loss that this military cemetery represents.

My dad was a WWII veteran and the only decoration on his grave marker, beyond his name and dates, is the insignia of the Army Corps of Engineers he so proudly wore. My uncle was also a WWII veteran and when he died a decade ago, my husband called the William McKinley American Legion Post, where he was also a member, and they showed up with flags and arranged for a sailor from Great Lakes to play Taps at his graveside. (Cue the tissues.)

None of these men were “suckers” or “losers.” Nor was the boy from across the street who played football with my son, went off to college and then joined the army. His job in Iraq was to locate and secure IED’s. He brought everyone on his team home safely.

They were soldiers and sailors who did their job. They were and are proud of the uniform and proud of their service. There are millions more veterans and service men and women, some surely more battle-tested than these. And we are proud of all of them.

I have tried hard not to be political in this season. Politics don’t necessarily fit with my vision of Ivy & Ironstone. But the allegations from the White House, of “suckers” and “losers,” pale in the face of politics. And I understand that they are “allegations.” But, after the last three and a half years, is there any reason not to believe them?

Please vote.

Stay safe & see you again soon.

Cranky August

I have always had mixed feelings about August. On the one hand, summer’s winding down, the beach is behind us, my husband’s hay fever settles in for a week or two of misery for him. On the other hand, there are all the new pens, pencils and notebooks (I still buy a few for myself) and the prospect of a fresh start. Here are a few August 2020 ups & downs.

One good read

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, by Kim Michele Richardson, turned out to be an especially timely choice for my book group to read and discuss last month. The title sounded a little quirky, but the story is based on fact. In the 1930’s the WPA recruited women from tiny Appalachian towns and hamlets to deliver books, magazines and any other available reading materials to isolated homes and schoolhouses. This was a poverty-stricken landscape, and the women had to provide their own mule, horse or donkey to help them travel their forested, mountain routes. Hazards included snakes, bears, weather and individuals who did not want their families to have reading materials. Couple those conditions with the fact that the main character, Cussy Mary Carter, is blue. She suffers from a genetic disorder called methemoglobinemia. Her blue skin tone places her with the “coloreds.” In addition to poverty and illiteracy, Cussy Mary’s story also confronts racism head on.

(Hematologist Madison Cawein III eventually studied this condition and was able to treat some families with methylene blue, alleviating symptoms and reducing their blue skin coloring.)

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek could have been a difficult read, but most of us found it absolutely mesmerizing. And sadly its themes mirror much of what we have been grappling with the last few months. After 85 or 90 years, we still haven’t figured this out.

I know I’m not the only reader who has found it difficult to concentrate on books during the pandemic. Despite the fact that this book really captured my attention, as have a few others earlier this spring (you can read about them here and here and here ) I have generally found it difficult to read many that I know I’ll enjoy later. I’ve read my way through Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series and moved on to Dona Leone’s Guido Brunetti mysteries (They’re set in Venice!). Right now I’m diving into the fourth Harry Potter. One friend told me she re-read Gone With the Wind, “pure escapism,” she said. Escapism is good. Most of all I think many of us want to reach back to another time — maybe any time — even if its a tough time like WWII, Winston Churchill and The Vile and the Beautiful.

What about you? Have your reading choices changed during the pandemic?

My cranky mood

My husband and I set out on our morning walk recently when he mentioned that I seemed to be in a cranky mood. “Yes, I am,” I said, offering no apology. “So,” he said, “should I be heading in the opposite direction?” “No,” I assured him, because I enjoy this time together and it was one of those brilliant, blue-sky August mornings and not really at all hot. And by the time we got back, 40 minutes later, I did feel better. Fresh air and sunshine are therapeutic.

If we have learned anything at all from the pandemic it is to savor good days and time together.

My cranky mood, however, continues to simmer below the surface. And I don’t think it’s necessarily all related to the pandemic. This has just turned into such an ugly time. A pandemic should not be political; it should be about stemming the virus and saving lives. There is so much anger, most of it justifiable. As a lifelong Chicagoan, waking up on a Monday morning to once again see the windows smashed at Marshall Field’s (Yes, I know it’s Macy’s now, but to many of us the building will always be Field’s), I felt literally sick.

I have tried to counter all this with a little more socially distant socializing with friends, and my husband has even pried me out of the house to eat outside at a local restaurant. (Really, the first time sine March.) Being with friends helps. Being with strangers is hard.

How’s your mood? And if it’s at all cranky, what’s your antidote? I’d love to hear.

See you again soon!

Tomato, to-mah-to

Since my tomato day in the kitchen, the crop has begun to roll in. I’m guessing BLT’s for supper?

Most of us can agree that fresh garden tomatoes are one of the gifts of summer. Personally, I’m happy eating them warm from the garden, a tomato in one hand, the the salt shaker in the other. However, the cook in me knows there is so much more to do with summer’s best crop: sauce, roasted on the side, chopped for bruschetta. And then there is tomato pie or tart. This year I’m trying to take my tomato repertoire up a notch.

For some time now I have been eyeing various recipes for tomato tarts. They’re pretty and colorful, and seem like they would make a nice summertime appetizer, first course or side. And last week I needed a new kitchen project anyway.

Our garden tomatoes are just now ripening (this is Chicago, after all), so I supplemented with tomatoes from the store to test these recipes. My first try was this tomato tart from the New York Times. I have been having great luck with their recipes lately and this was no exception. The recipe called for heirloom tomatoes, but my grocery store didn’t have a good selection, so I settled for a smaller vine ripened variety.

This recipe starts with a fairly simple, blind-baked crust that is then topped with a thin layer of pesto (which I made myself from some of our garden basil), then mozzarella cheese topped by a simple egg and cream mix, then the tomatoes. We enjoyed this as a side with grilled chicken, but it could easily have been a light entree. It was certainly filling and fresh. Even my husband, who prefers his tomatoes in spaghetti sauce, endorsed it!

And I’m so sorry I didn’t take pictures along the way, but here’s the finished product. This recipe’s a keeper!

A few days later I made Ina Garten’s recipe for Anna’s Tomato Tart from Cooking for Jeffrey. This recipe has fewer layers, starting with a dough made in the food processor. After chilling the dough for about 30 minutes, giving you time to slice the tomatoes and prepare a seasoning mix of parsley, basil, thyme and olive oil (also using a food processor) it’s time to roll the dough into a rough 11 by 17 rectangle. It doesn’t need to be perfect, but it bakes in a sheet pan, so you want to achieve that general shape.

After rolling the dough out on a floured surface and transferring to a parchment-lined sheet pan (per Ina’s instructions), I realized it would have been easier to roll it out on the parchment, then transfer the paper and dough to the pan. Next time. After baking the crust, it’s layered with a coat of dijon mustard, then grated gruyere cheese, then the sliced tomatoes tossed with the herb seasoning, more gruyere and a final dusting of parmesan. This all goes back into the oven to roast the tomatoes and melt the cheese. After cooling a bit, I cut it into squares and we ate it warm, though you could also serve it at room temperature. This was good, but very cheesy. As much as I like gruyere, I would use less next time.

This made a bigger recipe overall, so it may work better for a larger group. In the end, Steve and I decided we preferred the NYT recipe, but agreed that the Barefoot Contessa tart would be a fun — and different — party app. Bonus points since it doesn’t need to be served right out of the oven.

So, after all this tomato talk, what did I serve to friends who socially distanced with us over the weekend? Good old bruschetta. I used a carton of red, yellow and green cherry tomatoes — quartered — seasoned with minced garlic and onion, a dash of red wine vinegar and generous doses of salt and olive oil. I do this by taste. I used toasted baguette slices for serving and this time, to avoid too many hands on the food, I assembled them ahead of time, spreading a thin coat of ricotta (or you could use goat cheese or buratta) on the bread slices, before adding the tomatoes. In pre-pandemic times, I would have served the toasted bread in a basket and the tomatoes in a pretty bowl.

Which leads me to another question: if you are hosting the occasional guests in these pandemic times, what are you serving and how are you serving it? I did beef sliders and individual ramekins of potato salad a few weeks ago. And I pre-plated it to avoid too much handling. What are your thoughts?

Thanks for stopping by. See you again soon!

Choosing my words

Dad and I on a summer day decades and decades ago. Read to the end of my post to see why he’s so important to the topic.

Words have always been part of my business, so of course the language of the pandemic has been interesting to me. It’s also over-used.

The terms we’ve been using to describe the pandemic — unprecedented, extraordinary, unparalleled (and all the other “uns” like unheard of, unforgettable, unbelievable, unimaginable) — need a refresh. We need to come up with something else — historic (it will be), novel, singular, aberrant. The first synonym for aberrant is abnormal. Yes, this is not normal and in fact many of us are talking about the “new normal” — another one for the vocabulary.

I do like unthinkable. (Did you ever think you would part of a pandemic? It never crossed my mind.)

According to dictionary.com, aberrant means “departing from the right, normal or usual course.” That certainly fits. What about endless? In mid-March when Illinois shut down, it seemed “unimaginable” we would do that for more than three or four weeks at most. Here we are months later. Some of us are dipping our toes into “re-entry” (whatever that means, add that term to the pandemic vocabulary) more than others, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Virus cases are apparently rising more than not and so the race to reopen and expand our own comfort zones is stymied. The friends, family and associations around me are beginning to speak in terms of 2021 before we plan any group face-to-face events.

Catastrophic works. The hospitality industry — from restaurants to major airlines — has been brought to its knees. Any number of players, large and small, won’t survive. Even more grievous, individual households face collapse under financial and medical crises. Oops! Don’t get me started. We’re just talking words here. There are any number of reasons to look on this as a catastrophe.

Actually, for whatever reason, when all this started, the word pandemic had an old-fashioned connotation to me, as in “the black death.” According to Merriam-Webster a pandemic “is an outbreak of a disease occurring over a wide geographic area and affecting an exceptionally high proportion of the population.” It was something I thought went out with the Spanish flu. But here we are.

On a personal level we all know the pandemic is alternately scary, worrisome, lonely, boring, and tiring. We don’t sleep well, our eating is indulgent (and I’m being polite here). We’re cranky (at least I am) and frankly depressed. Disjointed is a good word for right now. It’s a good news/bad news kind of time. Two steps forward and then at least one step back.

And why am I on this vocabulary quest? Two words: my Dad. He was an ad man long before I was ever a writer or editor. He loved language and finding new words. His pithiest writing advice to me was to skip the “50-cent word when a 10-center will work.” For years he wrote new words and their definitions down on 3 by 5 index cards. He did this as he read the paper, magazines, books. This drove my mother crazy. The index cards were everywhere — neatly stacked beside his empty coffee cup, falling out of sofa cushions, tucked into books and magazines. I’m sure she threw away more than half of what he wrote down, but still he collected words. Ironically, he suffered a small stroke in his late fifties that temporarily robbed him of language. He could talk but had no vocabulary. It took weeks just to get the basics back.

So, Dad, this one’s for you.

What about you? What’s your word for the pandemic?

Thanks for stopping by. Stay safe & see you again soon.

Three to read and one from my soapbox

There’s always another read waiting on my bookshelf!

My road thru the pandemic has been paved with a significant stash of books. Reading has been (as it nearly always is) my salvation. Like many of you I often tilted these months at something a little lighter, or at least from another time period. I didn’t want to feel like I was reading the news. But along the way I also read three memorable titles.

Some books are challenging, but you still can’t put them down. There are those that are challenging to the point of troubling, but still compelling. I recently read three novels in short order that fit that description. Each had some uncomfortable moments and pushed my thinking — about the pandemic, African Americans, and immigration. And that, of course, is the “reader’s curse.” You read things that make you squirm, feel sad, maybe even make you want to walk away, but then you come back to see what happens next.

First, An American Marriage

I wrote briefly about the Tayari Jones bestseller here. It’s a popular title on a number of reading lists. The story centers on an upwardly mobile African American couple in Atlanta. They are married for just a short time when, on a visit to the husband’s family in a small town, the husband is accused of sexual assault. You can see where the story spirals. He is arrested, tried and jailed. And while he depends on her as his link to the world, she begins to move on.

I am probably over-simplifying here, but Jones does a remarkable job with characters whose life spirals in a predictable way, but one that is perhaps foreign to most readers. I read this earlier this spring, weeks before the death of George Floyd. If you haven’t read it yet, think about doing so now.

Then my daughter shared Valentine

Elizabeth Wetmore’s debut novel was one of Jenna Bush Hager’s recent picks for her Today Show book club. When she announced this title she noted that readers from West Texas will really get this book (and I’m paraphrasing here). Well, I’m not from West Texas, but this is one compelling read. I understand why my daughter couldn’t put it down, because I couldn’t either.

Set in the 1970’s the story revolves around women in a dirt-poor town in West Texas. They are thrown together after a fourteen-year-old girl — an immigrant from Mexico — is savagely attacked. Yes, there is violence, racism and poverty, but there is also strength, humor, hope and bravery. This is Elizabeth Wetmore’s first novel and I think she hits it out of the park.

A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum

.My book group is discussing this title on Friday at our monthly Zoom meeting. (Also a Jenna Bush Hager choice.) This book opens in Palestine in 1990 when seventeen-year-old Isra is married off to a Palestinian husband from Brooklyn, New York. Her sheltered life hasn’t begun to prepare her for the new home she & her husband share with his family. Isra quickly gives birth to four daughters — but no son — and is expected to shoulder most of the cooking and cleaning for the extended family. Her husband works long hours and she is not allowed to leave the house unchaperoned.

In alternating chapters Rum tells the story of Isra’s eldest daughter Deya, raised by her grandparents after Isra and her husband are killed in a car crash. Deya longs to know more about her mother and what happened, and she dreads the string of suitors her grandmother forces her to “sit with” as she nears high school graduation. Deya’s quest for the family’s truth makes for a good mystery, but the real story here is how a family clings to its cultural ways, no matter how restrictive and controlling. I suspect it’s the story of an endless number of migrant families.

I surfed the web for comments about this book, as well as reviews. A number of readers with similar backgrounds were painfully honest, saying, essentially, “This is what life is for Arab women.” Most of these women also said they were blessed to have families who embraced western customs. The bottom line: this book made me think about how little we really know about the rest of the world.

And now, a moment from my soapbox.

We know that masks, social distancing and hand washing slow the corona virus. Experts in communicable diseases aren’t making this up. But inexplicably in this country that believed so much in science that we eliminated polio and landed a man on the moon, many have decided to ignore the experts. It’s boring. No one wants to be told what to do. It won’t happen to me. There’s always an excuse.

Now simple actions to slow the pandemic have become political footballs.

Meanwhile the pandemic numbers are rising to frightening levels. According to the CDC’s webpage, there were 52,228 new cases of the virus on Sunday, July 5th. More than fifty thousand in one day. It boggles my brain and it’s heartbreaking. I know we all have to work out our own comfort zone, but, please, wear a mask.

I hope you enjoyed a safe and relaxing holiday on this unforgettable July 4th.

Thanks for stopping by and see you again soon.

Nothing but pretty pictures

Some times, the less said, the better.

This is one of those times. I’ll be prattling on about cooks, books, travel, the pandemic and more the next time, but today I’m sharing images I’ve saved from Instagram and some I’ve taken myself. I’ve tried to put these in some sort of order or context. Enjoy! (I hope!)

Armchair travels to Paris

Anyone who knows me, knows I love Paris (and the rest of France). As I was skimming thru images on my iPad, I realized I save a lot of photos from Paris (this is a small sampling), so I thought I’d share just a few favorites.

This image of the Tuileries, left, reminds me of a grade school art class on perspective. It also captures the symmetry and order of Parisian parks. It I love the way the plane trees are perfectly planted and pruned and the dappled shade they offer. The ground is just gravel and there are no other plants, at least in this view. But the effect is simply elegant.

Below, two cafes I can honestly say we have visited more than once on more than one trip. They are both on the Right Bank. Cafe Nemours, left, is just a block or two from the Louvre and perhaps more casual than Bistrot Vivienne. We have made more than one weary afternoon stop here in search of rest and refreshment. Tables are tricky, because it’s always busy. They’re also very close (not at all pandemic seating) and we inevitably strike up a conversation with someone on one side or the other. This is on a broad square, excellent for people watching.

Bistrot Vivienne and the adjacent Galerie Vivienne are in the 2nd Arrondisement. The Bistrot has charming seating on the street (for people watching) as well as inside (where we have had dinner at least once). In the back of the Bistrot, adjacent to the galerie, are several tables, all open to the sky and to the shops in the galerie, which include a legendary wine store whose name escapes me. We’ve also had dinner in this courtyard and it is lovely.

In the Instagram garden & mine

I often save Instagram images of gardens, although this can be more than a little frustrating. There is no way I can begin to replicate some of these plantings in my suburban yard. On the other hand, if I could finally convince my husband to build me one of these tuteurs, below, it would certainly dress the space up!

I’ve always been a sucker for a picket fence, even better if it’s backed by a tumble of plants. I also like gardens that have a predominant color, like white (below, left) or purple. Aren’t the foxgloves gorgeous?

I’ve been working on my own white garden (except for those purple perennial geraniums that snuck in) for a few years. In fact, the astilbe and hosta are so well-established, I think I’ll have to move a few of them.

I’m one of those gardeners who takes an early morning walk around, often with coffee, clippers, or camera in one hand, to see what is or is not growing or blooming, I have found it’s a good way to catch up on small garden chores, like weeds before they get out of control and cutting back spent blooms. And honestly? I’m retired, this is a luxury I waited to enjoy. And sometimes you are rewarded for your efforts, like these daylilies still sporting morning dew.

Instagram inspiration

My IG feed is pretty limited, to places I like, gardening, decorating and collecting. (I think of FaceBook as the repository of everyone’s family vacation pictures.) Keeping that in mind, IG is like a daily magazine I flip thru for ideas and inspiration. There is always plenty to “like” and even comment on. Sometimes I save an image, though I’m not always sure why. Here are a few recent saves:

I like kitchens that aren’t too “kitchen-y” and artwork and silver are one way to up the ante.

Years ago our first house had a guestroom/den covered in 60’s brown faux paneling (and I’m being generous here). A designer I knew suggested I counter the brown with a wedgewood blue area rug. In fact he found me a carpet remnant that I had bound to do the job. Wow! From cave to cozy! That was my introduction to blue. From there it was just a hop, skip and jump to blue and white, to transferware against brown wood, and so it goes. So I loved this room from Eric Cross with the blue and white on and under a dark buffet and those chairs upholstered with blues and green on the brown background.

While we’re speaking of dark wood (and we are, right?) I just discovered Steve Cordony. Although his taste is a little edgier/modern than mine, I love the look of dark wood against pale or white walls. In fact I have liked and/or saved a number of similar shots. I find that look calming and a great way to show off other decorative elements in the room.

Then I looked thru some photos of my own house and realized I was doing a lot of the same look.

And finally, let’s hear it for ironstone, especially decked out for summer’s patriotic holidays. I love the way this collector has unabashedly gathered pieces large and small, even piling tiny creamers into a bowl, and stacking tureens. What a happy collection!

So, that’s what you get looking thru my Instagram: armchair travel, garden ideas, and a bit of decorating thrown in. I’ve probably said too much, but once a writer, always a writer.

What about you? What draws your IG or FB attention?

Thanks for stopping by. Stay safe & see you soon!

A little cooking, a little gardening, and the remarkable Hayes girls

I was writing a lighthearted post when the coronavirus death toll passed 100,000. And while l was trying to wrap my head around that number, one man died on the street in Minneapolis. You know the rest. These have been terrible days and weeks. I am so sad about what’s happened, but also hopeful we meet this challenge. It will take a lot of work. I especially hope you are well. Personally, I just felt numb for a while. Here’s what I’ve been doing to get back on track.

Moving along

Our cooking adventures continue. Earlier this week I made steak fajitas from scratch using a recipe from the New York Times (My new favorite recipe source. I encourage you to sign up for their newsletter.). First, this recipe was much easier than I expected and required standard ingredients from my kitchen. Who knew? The fajitas tasted even better than they look. (I should have tidied that serving board before snapping any photos.)

That is one of my husband’s tart margaritas in the glass. (He’s not fond of the sugar-y taste of other recipes and I think he has a good thing here!)

I have literally been nagging my garden and potted plants to grow and bloom. I could use the boost. And — I think they are starting to listen. Everything is very lush and green. This bed beside the house has been literally overrun with daisies and perennial geraniums. The awkward patch of green in the front are black-eyed Susans which typically burst into bloom when the daisies are done. There are also some daylilies along the foundation. If anyone has some advice for getting this under control and maybe some order — without sacrificing bloom — I’m all ears.

This garden on the other side of the house is the picture of control, almost. There is that one monster hosta in the back. I should have divided and/or moved it early this spring. However, the astilbe are ready to bloom and about the time they fade, the hostas will be flowering.

Those remarkable Hayes girls

Left to right, my mother-in-law Nelle, Lilian, Sara, Clydene, and Lenny.

My mother-in-law was the middle daughter in a family of five girls in a small, north Georgia town. Their father (forever known as “Daddy” in true southern speak) was a rural mailman, originally traveling his route by horseback before acquiring a car. In the early thirties, as the second eldest daughter was about to graduate from high school, the principal and a teacher visited “Momma and Daddy” to explain to them that Clydene was really a smart girl and should go to college. They had no objections, but how would they pay for it? The solution was for Daddy to trade his mail route for one in Athens, Georgia, home to the university, so she could live at home and go to school. So the Hayes family rented their house and moved to Athens. Although the eldest daughter had already embarked on her adult life (and eventually ran the local Chevy dealer), the other four girls each graduated from the University of Georgia during the Depression. My mother-in-law actually taught in a one-room school to help cover her tuition on the way to becoming a teacher. Every time I tell this story I think about how devoted “Momma & Daddy” were to uproot the family and give their daughters the opportunity for a college education.

This weekend Sara, the youngest sister and the last survivor, passed away at the age of 98 (four out of five lived well into their 90’s). As the “Aunts” always pointed out, Sara was the tallest and, I think, perhaps the most mischievous. She was funny without trying to be and playful, which, of course, made her a favorite. Our kids loved her, as did our niece and nephew. The last time we were together she convinced my mother-in-law to play a duet with her on the piano in the lobby of the Holiday Inn in DeKalb, Georgia. Quintessential Aunt Sara.

I think of them now, reunited again, recalling pranks, telling stories, arguing over who makes the best Mississippi Mud Cake. I am honored to have been a tiny part of that family and so happy my son and daughter experienced their loving embrace.

There is a joy and strength in this story that makes me feel good, no matter how many times I tell it.

Thanks for stopping by. Take good care of yourself, and I’ll see you next time!