shining egg

speaking of the kitchen

thanks for all of the kitchen love.  i'm enjoying the space so very much.  and this week, i even took two kitchen photos, trying to embrace the light - which wasn't nearly as bad as i had feared.

i have been - and will be - spending lots of time in the kitchen this week, as we're having 14 people for thanksgiving dinner.  this is my favorite holiday.  (you've probably heard me say that about other holidays.  i love each one more than the next.)  the food, the family, the universal feeling of gratitude.  it's all so good.

 

i took out my thanksgiving file last weekend.  my brother and my husband (and some of my friends) make terrible fun of me for keeping a thanksgiving file, but i suspect that some of you will appreciate my desire to preserve memories and notes about who was here and what we ate and how the table looked for from thanksgivings past.  what a treat to open the folder and find menus, notes about what people were thankful for, marketing lists, place cards going back to b.'s first thanksgiving - he was two months old, and there is a single place card bearing both of our names.  and the leaf-print place cards, the photos of flower arrangements, place settings.  none of it fancy, most of it forgotten, all of it lovingly remembered as i flipped through those pages.

two items of particular interest from the file this year.  the first is a note to myself following the last thanksgiving we hosted, three years ago.  it's attached to the menu for that meal, which includes a cornbread stuffing we had never made before.  the note reminds me how many pounds of potatoes are enough and how much sugar to cut from the sweet potato recipe (i'm thankful to myself for thinking that i'd want to know those things in the future, because of course i wondered).  the note also reads, "DO make the cornbread stuffing again!"  but there is no recipe for the cornbread stuffing.  alas.  it seems that i kept some notes, but not others.

the second item of particular interest is a page torn from a white letter-sized legal pad.  it's been folded many times.  the words on the page are scribbled in my father's handwriting - there are probably only three people in the world who would be able to read it anymore.  it's from my dad's last thanksgiving, the words he wrote in preparation for sharing at the dinner table that night about all that he was thankful for; he passed away four months later.  that was ten thanksgivings ago, and we have read from that piece of paper at every single thanksgiving since.  his words are eloquent, they are universal, and they remind me exactly how much i have to be thankful for.  (reason enough to keep a thanksgiving file, don't you think!?) 

before i go off to wash the dishes from the pie crusts i made this evening, let me recommend that you check out heather's recipe for pumpkin muffins.  that's them in the photo there, and they are delicious.  i can't say enough about these simple treats - light, fluffy, moist, tasty as can be, and easy, easy, easy to make.  i learned today that grace makes pumpkin muffins as a breakfast treat on thanksgiving morning, it's a tradition in her family.  well i'm borrowing her tradition this year; i'll be making these again on thursday morning, enjoying them warm with a bit of butter as we peel and boil potatoes, truss the turkey, and give thanks.  and i'll be adding this recipe to my file, for sure!

the kitchen

finally, the new kitchen.  which, my children point out, is not so new anymore.  there's still work to be done - something to hang over the fireplace, a handful of switch plates, another hole in the countertop.  but it's pretty much finished, and i'm feeling like i've pretty much settled in to my new surroundings.

 

really, it's glorious.  the cabinet space is plentiful and everything has its place.

the colors and the surfaces make the space a pleasure to be in.  the flow of the room is so much better and we're not banging into each other and the cabinets all of the time anymore.  there are five burners on the stove.  five!  there were two before.  it's a joy.  and do you see the library stool in the first photo?  it means that the kids can reach everything (which i would have thought was terrible two years ago, but which is perfect right now) to set the table and cook alongside me.  it's a wonder and a joy.

except for one teensy little - yet very big - thing.  the lighting in the kitchen isn't great.  i mean, it's alright for cooking and eating and living, but not so for photographing.  not at all for photographing, in fact.  (isn't that the most important lighting function in a kitchen?  photography?)  the natural light in the room is less than it was when every single surface was white, and the overhead light is so bright in spots that the glare makes it impossible to take photographs.  (and you know that the kitchen is my favorite place to take photographs.)  i'll adjust, i know i will.  but for now, i'm focusing on the cooking and the baking and enjoying this new space.

the whole house is a work in progress (read: there is no furniture).  though the empty living/dining room is an excellent spot for racing cars and building blocks and setting up elaborate knight wars in the meantime.  and we'll get to it eventually.  but we mostly hang out in the kitchen anyway.  so for now, we just sit in here and cook and eat and color and play, and look around and marvel.  this is our house.  

bits, 3

*molly and i met for dinner last night.  we sat and talked until the waiter cleared our water glasses from the table.  but we could have talked for three more hours, at least; we played with our cameras and talked about family and children and blogging (of course) and so much more.  (and we just might be cooking up a little project together.  i'll let you know.)  when they started sweeping the floors around our table, we took the hint.  and then we took pictures in the bathroom.  yes we did.  

*i haven't been taking many pictures lately.  in fact, i don't think i used my camera for four whole days last week.  it's very unlike me, but i've made peace with the fact that there will be days in my 365 set with no photo - it will be a true reflection of my life.  

*i'm loving martha's s t i l l: body week.  i've yet to find anybody around here that's even remotely still, but i'm working on it.  and feeling inspired by these beautiful photos.

*my high school is having an alumni art show and i submitted two pieces; the opening is tonight.  i'm curious - and excited - to see my paintings hanging on a wall.  i'm a bit nervous, too.  it's high school, after all.  

*i have been spending too much money lately in some of my favorite shops.  and now i feel like i'm stalking the mailman.

*i've been knitting again.  (thanks to erin for helping me find my mojo.)  i so enjoy sitting with the yarn in my lap, the needles clicking, in the evenings when it's dark outside and the light in the house is golden and warm.  i've been knitting slowly, but knitting.  i made myself a pair of these.  and now i'm casting on for this.

*i made a super delicious sweet potato soup on sunday night.  super delicious and super easy.  i ate it for lunch yesterday too, and i'm plotting about when i can eat it again.  and i made this bread twice last week - which was also super easy and super delicious.  i've been spending a lot of time in the kitchen lately, and loving it.

on that note - and because i do well with a deadline - i will not be posting anything else here until i post about the kitchen, the good and the bad that is the kitchen.  tomorrow maybe.  by the end of the week, for sure.

wordplay: gather

i knew from the moment i opened heather's envelope and saw the pinhole card she sent with the word - gather - exactly what i'd do for this final wordplay project.  it was mid-september, my time on the beach still fresh in my mind, the stones i had gathered there still fresh in my hand.  i knew exactly what i'd do, i just didn't know quite how i'd do it.

 

truthfully, this notion of setting stones or mounting stones or somehow preserving and framing the stones i collect has been in my mind for a long, long time.  and when i saw the word "gather," everything clicked.

there are three pieces.    

on birch panel.  each one measures 11x5.5 inches.  the panel was prepared with six layers of gesso to seal the wood (this is how i prepare all of my panels for painting).  the stones are set in acrylic moulding paste.  for two of the pieces i mixed acrylic paint with the moulding paste to add (i thought) extra depth behind the sand.  in the end, i prefer the piece where i didn't add the paint color, but it's a slight difference.  (you can see the each of the pieces in more detail here.)

i set the stones in the moulding paste, poured sand over the remaining surface, and allowed the pieces to dry for a week - the paste is very thick, and i wanted to be sure that i didn't disturb the stones.  when i poured off the excess, it was clear that i needed more sand to create the effect i was looking for, so i painted each piece with a layer of glue, poured on a new layer of sand, and allowed the pieces to dry again.

in the end, i'm pleased with the result.  though i think the last piece could have used another coat of sand, they could all use a sealant, and the unfinished nature of the edges bothers me a bit.  no matter, it was a fun project - and one i'll likely do again, using the lessons i learned along the way.

 

wordplay has been great fun for meover these last few months.  from the beginning, the project was about exploring my creative process; each of these pieces evolved differently, and i have learned so much about myself along the way.  

and the project was only made more fun by the collaborative nature of things.  there are no words to express the joy i've felt at working with tracy and erin - two creative souls, two dear friends.  (and shari, jen, blair, and heather who provided our inspiration were so kind to play along, and gave us such a range of words and ideas with which to work.)  it has been absolutely fascinating to me - as much as the process of my own creating - to see how each of the three of us has interpreted these words differently.  i can't wait to see what my friends have done with gather.

hopeful

1. I voted, 2. did you?, 3. yes I did, 4. vote, 5. I voted, 6. i waited in line for an hour to vote and i was grinning (and knitting) the whole time, 7. vote!, 8. Done, 9. fingers and toes crossed, 10. I Voted, 11. nov4:ivoted, 12. Untitled, 13. did you?, 14. Please, make sure you..., 15. It feels good, 16. I voted

candidates and political parties aside, i was overwhelmed today by the sheer number of people who were voting and waiting in line to vote and talking about voting and encouraging others to vote and wearing "i voted!" stickers in the grocery store.  today, i was really and truly proud to be american.  and i am full of hope for our future.

the last day

thank you all for your kind comments on my last post.  i was so teary - as i always am the night before i leave my grandmother - the other night, and my words just tumbled out.  i really appreciate all of your words of kindness and understanding.

this is a peek at my final day in israel.   

 

my cousin and i drove north, stopping briefly at the dead sea.

 

and then spent the afternoon in the old city in jerusalem.  i am at a loss for words to express the wonder i feel at being in jerusalem; it is suddenly so clear to me that i am but a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. 

i'm home now.  so sweet to be here, in my house, with my little ones.  they had no school today, so we got to spend the day together.  a treat.

tomorrow

tomorrow morning i will close my suitcase, say goodbye to my grandmother, drive north with my cousin, and then fly home to my family.  i'm so looking forward to seeing my family.

but saying goodbye to my grandmother is wrenching for me.  each time, i leave with tears streaming down my face.  i feel enormous gratitude to be thirty-five years old and have two living grandmothers, but it is terribly hard to have one of those dear women living half-a-world away.  i plan to be back here in a few months with my children - they love my grandmother enormously, as well, and were devastated not to be with me on this trip - but a few months is a long time, and there are no guarantees.

we've spent this week together talking and sitting and eating and looking at old pictures and old clothes and old books and visiting my grandfather's grave and talking more and sitting more.  she tickles my back, my arm - she's been doing it since i was a small child.  we sit, she tickles, i rest my head in her lap.  thirty-five years old, resting my head in my grandmother's lap while she tickles my arm.  

all week long, it's as though i've been parched - for more stories of my father's childhood, of my grandparents' wedding, my grandmother's old boyfriends, the summer she worked as a camp counselor and how she made $25 in tips which, along with her bonus, allowed her to buy alligator shoes, an alligator bag, and a green suede dress.  i've been thirsting for more family names, more tales of which great-grandparents carried which items on which ships coming to america from which countries.  i've been inhaling my grandmother every chance i get, desperate to commit the smell of her to my memory - the smell of her clothes, the smell of her skin.  i can't get enough of her.  and i can't let go of the notion that one day, when i say goodbye to her at the gate in front of her house, it will be the last time.  

so i take a deep breath, and i inhale her again.  i write down as many details of the stories she's told as i can before my hand develops a cramp.  and i remember how lucky i am, to be thirty-five and have this grandmother who lives half-a-world away and still lets me rest my head in her lap while she tickles my arm (endlessly.  she tickles my arm endlessly.  did i mention that?).  and i make plans to come back here in a few months with my children.  and i hold on to every single one of the memories we've made together over all these years, including the time when i was thirteen and sitting next to her in the front seat of the car, holding our ice cream cups while she drove, and she sneezed and said, "take the wheel!"  and i imagine the things i can't remember, the stories she's told me - about me as a child, about my father, my aunt, my cousins, my grandfather when he was in the army before they were married, about her own childhood, her amazing travels, her inspiring life.  and i hope, with every fiber of my being, that she'll be here just a bit longer.  waiting for me to come.  with my children.  and rest my head in her lap.  and tickle my arm.  and tell me again about the alligator shoes and the alligator purse and the green suede dress.  

and then, tomorrow morning, i will stand at the gate in front of my grandmother's house and hug her tight and kiss her goodbye and leave.  and i will drive north with my cousin and fly home to my family.  and on monday, i will sit with my children on my own sofa, and tickle their arms and tell them about their great-grandmother and the summer she worked as a camp counselor, and how she made $25 in tips which, along with her bonus, allowed her to buy alligator shoes, and an alligator bag, and a green suede dress.  and i will hug my children tight.  and i will inhale the scent of their skin, of their hair.  and i will think about my grandmother here, waiting for us to come again.  and i will remember how very, very lucky i am.  indeed.