Pancakes and French Fries

On Many Things, Including Books

Jules — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 08:00:52 +0000

On Monday night I sat down to write about the young adult pick for the March session of The Phenomenally Indecisive Book Club. There were points I needed to address and suggestions I wanted to receive. Over the past week on Twitter, people expressed surprise–and maybe a little concern–when I reminded them we were alternating genres. I get it. I generally don’t read young adult unless the series comes highly recommended or has become a cultural phenomenon (Harry Potter, Twilight, haven’t yet read Hunger Games), so I understand if people hear young adult and tense up. If you aren’t familiar with the genre, it can seem like nothing more than a herd of lovestruck mythical creatures clawing their way out of a dystopian society over a three part series.

But I’ve read John Green, so I know there is literature about humans to be found grades 9 and up.

Not that there is anything wrong with the former. I’m pretty middle of the road about most things, including books. I’ll read anything, really.

I wanted to explain I was taking the advice a reader (Hi, Frances!) and limiting young adult selections to Printz Medal winners or honorees, barring a forgotten classic or runaway bestseller that grips society’s attention. The young adult genre is huge; narrowing the focus helps facilitate the selection of quality material. And this is what I planned to write, already set on my introductory sentence and how I would ask if I am the only person on the planet who hasn’t read The Book Thief, arguably one of the most popular books released in the last five years across all genres (pro), and whether 500+ pages was too long (con), but since it’s young adult how slow going could it be (pro) and if not that book, maybe something else by Zusak or Green or any of these talented authors.

That’s what I sat down to write, until I tried logging on and discovered a hacker at the helm of my blog gleefully routing visitors into a never-ending loop of video porn.

And from what I hear, it wasn’t even vampire porn.

Needless to say, I was far too busy staring at the ceiling the rest of the night to concentrate on writing about book picks. Not that I could have written about anything had I wanted. The hacker blocked out of my own blog! No, he/she was completely in charge.

Instead, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling early into Tuesday morning thinking that today would be the day my mother decides to read my blog. Today, the day Pancakes and French Fries features a politician upending a college-aged assistant across a burl walnut executive desk, is the day she gets on the “bah-log? blogue? blug?” to see if I ever did write about Mikey’s solo performance of Silent Night during Christmas Eve Mass.

(Mikey’s performance was fabulous, by the way. The politician’s left much to be desired. My sources called it a feeble 3 out of 10.)

Thankfully, I know people like Anna, who held my hand at 1:20am (her time) and then again at 6:00am (my time). For four hours she sat and deleted virus code. Various politicians and their paramours disappeared line by unsavory line. I am forever in her debt because for a while there, it looked like I would lose four years worth of content. Sure, I wouldn’t mind shoving off into the ether 2007-2009, but the later years aren’t too bad.

And now, 24 hours after I sat down to write that I couldn’t decide because I wanted to read them all–and isn’t the name of our club so great for that reason–here I sit, writing that I couldn’t decide because I want to read them all and I’m because I’m thinking about my mom watching porn. It’s enough to make me want to flush my brain with ammonia.

Is it true I am the only one who hasn’t read The Book Thief? I hear it’s amazing. I’ve scoured the internet and can’t find a bad comment anywhere. I especially like it as a pick because some people call it a convert/crossover book, meaning people who don’t normally like young adult really think it’s something special. The page count doesn’t intimidate me–nor does the subject matter–but I realize I may be in the minority. If that book doesn’t work, please leave a suggestion. As always, I’ll take everything into consideration and will pick the one that stands a chance at pleasing the majority.

If only that politician had been as thoughtful. Ahem.

The One Up

Jules — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 08:00:47 +0000

When we were pregnant with Nicholas and people found out we were having a boy, the most common response was, “Oh, well that’s okay. It’s only your second. You can keep trying!” The more diplomatic of our friends would ask, “Are you going to keep trying for a girl?”

Nope! We’re ship-shape. I always replied that the only way we would have more children is if I could guarantee they would all be boys. I was only partly kidding.

All I ever wanted growing up was a sister. My brothers had each other, and together they were thick as thieves, like built-in best friends. The Mister is extremely close with his brother, and my girlfriends with sisters are the same. I know it’s possible to be close to a sibling of the opposite gender, and that some brothers are enemies and sisters are rivals. Likely, even. But it formed in my mind as a young child that same-sex siblings become best friends. I grew up wanting sons or daughters, but not both.

We are lucky that Mikey and Nicholas adore and look out for each other. If Mikey gets a treat from a mom at choir practice, he asks for an extra one to bring home to his brother. Nicholas colors Mikey pictures during the day and waits for him on the front porch to get home from school. They ask to sleep with each other every night.

Lately, though, there has been a competitive streak between the two. Who can jump, run, walk, play, clean up, eat, and drink faster. Who can read, sing, color, kick, swing, and ride bikes better. There are never ending races. Matches, and then rematches. Everything is a competition, including who is the most tired. Last night I heard them squabble back and forth.

“Whooh. I am so tired,” yawned Nico.

“I’m more tired than you,” challenged Mikey.

“No, I’m more tired.”

“I’m so tired, I’m practically asleep standing up!”

“I’m so tired, I already fell alseep and mama woke me up for dinner!”

“I said I’m more tired!”

“No, I AM!”

All this, while wide awake and playing with marbles.

I dropped family off at the airport at 5:30am that morning, then spent the day purging toys. My throat tickled either from impending plague or too much dust. I spent $40 two hours earlier on fish tank supplies and El Pollo Loco and they were arguing about who was more tired? Answer: ME. I was exhausted, in need of a break, and not about to let this opportunity slide by.

So I said, “I don’t know why you two are arguing back and forth. The only way you’ll be able to prove who is more tired is by being the one who falls asleep first.”

Eyes clashed over a ring of marbles. A mad dash to brush teeth and then, separate beds. Prayers recited faster than auction calls. Lights out! Goodnight! I’m already asleep! In less than five minutes, the house was a blanket of quiet.

Suckers.

What the Doctor Said

Jules — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 08:00:45 +0000

My appointment on Tuesday with the new doctor went well. The results of this latest course of blood work is similar to what I had over the summer. I am in excellent health, including my lipid panel, which is I am happy about given I am over weight. Thin doesn’t equate health, of course, but being overweight does come with risk factors and health concerns. My blood work belies all that, with two exceptions.

My vitamin D levels remain positively dreadful. Truly awful.

My blood work suggests inflammation somewhere in the body, with a possible elevated cardiac risk factor. Given that everything else is normal, this most likely relates to my vitamin D levels, which were discouragingly low, if I haven’t already mentioned.

This new physician is an M.D. who believes in alternative treatments, so I left with a list of herbs and supplements to buy at the health food store. We’ll see how I feel in a month.

Vitamin D was not on that list. Instead, we are going to try applying it topically through a cream dispensed by a compound pharmacy. I don’t have it yet–it should be ready by next week–but I’m hopeful this will be what brings my levels into an acceptable range.

Enough about me. I feel like I am whining.

We spoke of Mikey, of course. I gave him a brief history and he suggested, without seeing him, the removal of dairy and wheat from his diet. I scheduled an appointment for him in March so he can do a proper work up on him, but for now I begin the task of modifying our diets. I’m not afraid of the challenge. When Nicholas was deathly allergic to nuts, his allergist told me the greatest chance he had for outgrowing his allergy would be complete avoidance of any and all nuts, including tree nuts. We were also instructed to avoid any item made in a facility that handles nuts. That eliminated most foods sold in health food stores and Trader Joe’s.

I made almost everything from scratch and we rarely ate out. It was a challenge at first, but I got used to it and established a good routine. In retrospect, it was the healthiest the boys have ever been. Still sick frequently, but not as much.

I found a few books on Amazon that touched upon childhood asthma, allergies, and healthy homes. Before I bought them, I thought I would try to corral some of the books I already have on the subject to avoid duplication. This is but a smattering; there are a few I know I have but can’t find. I was embarrassed, and closed the page on Amazon.

After my appointment on Tuesday, I felt more tired than usual and didn’t feel like doing much of anything. I attributed this to the stress of getting my blood results and the stress of talking about Mikey and admitting that something is not entirely right. I spent the last two days doing more research, of course (those of you who follow me on Twitter know I’ve been tweeting studies I’ve found), but I also spent a good deal of time vegging out reading books and blogs. Kelly always shares the best links, and her Monday post was no different. I found myself on Rachel Saldana’s blog reading about positivity.

Positivity is an attitude I often lack when it comes to myself. For others, I can be a damn fine cheerleader. Top-notch, in fact. But when it comes to me I resemble Eeyore. I’m never good enough, smart enough, and definitely not thin enough. My mom bought me that Norman Vincent Peale book at the top of the right stack when I was a newlywed. Come to think of it, she’s bought me plenty of books simplifying, slowing down, and positive attitude. When I was in college, my brother bought me this book for Christmas. I thought he was joking. He was not. I should see if I still have it. (I never read it.)

So there I was, reading Buttons Magee, thinking maybe Mikey could get better, or improve faster, if I change my attitude. Many people I admire credit positive thinking for much of their success. Even Oprah, for goodness sakes, thinks it’s the bee’s knees. At Camp Mighty, one of Oprah’s producers shared her philosophy on positive thinking and creating intentions. I remember feeling inspired, convinced I would start being more positive from that point forward. Then I started worrying about looking stoned because my new mascara made my eyes burn. So much for that.

Every few years I think, “This is the year!” I’m going to believe in myself and get positive. I buy a bunch of books on the subject, most of which go unread. Every book on positivity you see in that pile is unread. I have a few more, like the Eckhart Tolle book I have listed in my Unread Library, but I can’t find it. Probably because when I tried reading it (several times) I just couldn’t get past the woo-woo.

The three books on the bottom right I bought on March 18, 2009. I know this because I found the receipt tucked inside the top one.I read the first few chapters of the book second from the bottom, realized the premise was that a ghost/spirit/other worldly being named Abraham was speaking through a woman and quietly closed the book. The others I haven’t even opened. They were all highly recommended by someone but, I don’t know.

Do you believe in positive thinking, intentions, and that what you think multiplies? If so, how has it helped you? I’m not unreceptive to the concept, as my library can attest. I’m want to believe, but I don’t know. I suppose it’s the age-old battle between the left and right sides of my brain. My analytical side wants double-blind studies with p-values > 0.01. My expressive side wants a new gauzy caftan to wear to the next smudging ceremony.

Both sides want to be sold, or at least more convinced than not.

p.s. Happy birthday to my Mister. Your present this year is my better attitude, and I promise not to worry as much about little things. This is the year! That sounds vaguely familiar.

The Jewelry Box

Jules — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 08:00:54 +0000

On dark and gloomy days with nothing but rain, I pick my projects with care. I needed a project that kept me indoors, required little sunlight, and, most important of all, could be done with what I had on hand. The top of our dresser and the jewelry box that calls it home met all my requirements.

I had the Mister buy me the jewelry box as a birthday present when The Bombay Company went out of business in 2008. (Look! They were bought and are now a privately owned Canadian company.) He thought it was a strange request, and asked me twice if I was sure. Of course I was sure! I was sure I couldn’t fit one more earring in our thin, barely functioning top dresser drawers. I don’t know if it’s operator error, a product malfunction, or the way it’s supposed to be, but the drawers open about 2/3 of the way out. It’s difficult to store items in the drawers, and impossible to easily reach anything in the back. That’s why they look like this.

The perspective is deceiving in this picture. They open about 6 inches, and yet are the same depth as the rest of the drawers. We’ve looked for locks, stops, and safety tracks but haven’t found a thing. I guess top drawers aren’t meant to pull out all the way.

In 2008, it didn’t occur to me to purge our top drawers. I was just starting to acquire an interest in simple living, voluntary simplicity, and intentional living. Buying another container to contain more stuff seemed logical, and by the time I realized it wasn’t, I wanted to tackle areas with more impact. So the evidence of a life lived somewhat chaotically continued to pile.

(Sorry about the wall-eyed pictures. I don’t have the right lens for these tight quarter shots.)

The usual. Empty. Separate: Trash; Donate; Keep.

The wonky drawers received the same treatment.

Unlike most of my projects that require 800 trash bags, empty boxes, or laundry hampers, I was able to collect all the trash in one Target bag. If you consider an entire Target bag of trash collected for years in two drawers and a jewelry box, it’s not nearly as comforting.

I could easily get rid of the jewelry box and fit everything inside the two drawers, provided I find jewelry compartments to make containing them and accessing them easy. I held off on that because (1) it would be a budget breaker and (2) I’m not sure that is the route to take. I want to think about it for a while and see what would make most sense.

I’m excited I have room for more jewelry! That sounds silly, perhaps, but I love jewelry. I haven’t bought any in a while because I didn’t want to add to the clutter, not realizing that if I did a simple, 45 minute purge I would have plenty of room for pieces I would use and love.

This project isn’t about living at the bare minimum like some Russian prisoner, scooping out thin grewl from a wooden bowl with a day old piece of bread crust. Nor do I anticipate whittling down my possessions to less than 100 items. Thanks, but no thanks. This is only about creating in an intentional home and living an intentional life. I like jewelry, so I will continue to buy jewelry–from now on I will be more conscious of getting rid of jewelry, too.

The vase in the first picture was the first thing I got rid of. I bought it years ago and had it on a sideboard we later sold. I felt guilty for not using it, so I moved it into the bedroom. I never liked it (I bought it 7 years ago when I thought I could live with aqua in my house) but didn’t want to admit I wasted money. I put it in the sell/donate pile today. This project is about owning and moving past your mistakes, too.

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This post was part of The William Morris Project, a weekly series that details the steps I am taking to create an intentional home. You can see more of my goals and completed projects here. To learn more about this project, start here.

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Now it’s your turn! Feel free to share how you have lived according to the William Morris quote, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” Made a plan? Cleaned a drawer? Bought a sofa? Tell us about it with a link or comment.

A few guidelines:

Please link to a specific post, not a general blog address.
Your post must relate to your efforts to create an intentional home.
No links to giveaways, please.
A link back to this site is always appreciated. There are buttons to add to your post or sidebar, too, thanks to the lovely Alex, of Type A Calligraphy. Just copy the code and insert into your blog post or sidebar while in html mode.
Let’s use this weekly link up as an opportunity to gather inspiration and motivation. Click links. Discover new people. Say hi and good job. I know I will.

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Breathing Easy

Jules — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 08:00:20 +0000

Since last week I have researched ALCAT, LEAP MRT, anti-inflammatory diets, NAET, glutathione, elimination diets, GAPS diet, alkaline diets, vegan diets, stinging nettle, butterbur, and countless other herbs, tests, and schools of medicine as it relates to the treatment of childhood allergies and asthma. I’ve alluded over the last few weeks that Mikey has been sick often, but I don’t know if I mentioned that he has been sick (minus a day or two) since December 31st. In January he even had pneumonia, which shattered my heart into a million-trillion pieces. He hasn’t used his inhaler in a week, which is a miracle, but he’s still sick.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook know all this. It’s all I talk about.

I found this treatment…

Has anyone heard of this…

What do you think of this…

I haven’t been the picture of health, either, and the stress of seeing Mikey sick so often is exacerbating my tenuous grip on what they used to call a strong constitution. Over the summer I had a complete work up, and with the exception of my vitamin D levels, my blood work suggested the picture of health. I’d like to keep it that way, but at the rate I’m pumping out cortisol, I’m not making bets.

Many of you have asked how my severe vitamin D deficiency has improved, and a few of you even emailed to thank me for inspiring you to get your own levels checked. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who was deficient in Vitamin D. Sadly, I may be the only one (so far) who isn’t responding to treatment. My body can’t tolerate vitamin D supplementation; I become toxic quickly. I decided to forgo supplements (it’s not like I could tolerate them anyway) and ate foods high in vitamin D and spent 20 minutes every day in the sun. Vitamin D is best absorbed topically, so I had high hopes. In August, after months of sun bathing, my results came back 10 points higher, but still severely deficient. Disappointing.

My main concern remains Mikey and his health. He is so small for his age, so susceptible to every damn germ that crosses his path. I stay up at night worrying, thinking, plotting. I spend hours at the computer reading until I have to get up because my legs tingle and my back aches.

I won’t give up on him, and if only by sheer determination alone, I will find the key to unlock the mystery of his allergies and asthma. Helena’s dad used to say I reminded him of a terrier. “She’s tiny,” he’d say, “but she just barks and bites and pulls until she gets what she wants.” He was right; I won’t ever give up on someone I love, and I love my boys something fierce. When it comes to Mikey and his health, I’m a dog with a bone.

But this old dog learned a new trick or two over the summer, and as much as it feels like I am giving up on him by not giving him 200% of my attention, I have to put myself first and get my health in order. It’s similar to putting on your air mask in a plane before you put on that of your child’s. If you’re no good, they’re no good.

I have (yet another) appointment with a doctor about my vitamin D deficiency (actually, I’m probably at the doctor right now as you read this). He is an MD who incorporates homeopathic treatment in his practice, so I am hopeful he will provide me with a solution that will work. I’m not going to lie, I have some questions for him about Mikey, too. But first, me.

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If you have had any success with alternative treatments for allergies and asthma, I am all ears.

Nicholas Turns 5

Jules — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 08:00:38 +0000

Nicholas turned 5 on Thursday. My baby, 5 years old. The mind boggles.

This is the first year he really understood and anticipated his birthday. He talked about having a party for months, and how he wanted to invite all twenty kids from his class for an Angry Birds/Transformers/Mario Brothers/Star Wars party with a two jumpers, a piñata, and a strawberry army cake with a green tank and one army guy on top.

We settled on four kids from class (plus a little sister), no theme, and the army cake. It made sense.

For a brief moment in January, I considered not doing a party at all. Parties make me nervous. I worry about everyone having fun. I worry about the limited budget I have to work with, and what the parents and kids will think. Mostly, though, I dread the work involved. The planning, the cleaning, the cooking, the baking, the accommodating of many different tastes and diets and allergies. I worry, because I am a procrastinator and a pleaser who can drown in a glass of water.

I love to make my boys happy, but if I learned anything last year, it’s that you don’t need everything you want. I decided to give Nicholas a party, but not the one he thought he needed. I kept it small and personal, something I could manage. I’m so glad I did, both for him and for me.

We kept the guest list small. I don’t know all the kids from preschool, and I certainly don’t know the parents, so we limited it to the kids and parents I knew–the ones Nicholas talks about incessantly. Also invited, of course, was his cousin Addison (she’s the beauty on the slide and is later hugging Nico) and our neighbor’s daughter, Daphne. Play date material, in other words.

We didn’t have a theme. No Angry Birds/Transformers/Mario Brothers/Star Wars. I used the same party flags I made for his birthday party last year, and I’ll use them again for the next party, too.

We held the party on a Friday, right after preschool. We did a little caravan to the house and the kids ran in and out of the house and up and down the play gym for two hours. No piñata, no jumper. The kids played football and dinosaurs and Star Wars and tag and Hot Wheels and doctor. It was wonderful to watch and I was glad I trusted my instincts to let kids be kids and entertain themselves.

I didn’t make the food. This was big for me, the one who wants to do everything. I had to take a deep breath and allow myself to let people help me. I ordered sandwiches, bought pre-cut vegetables, and placed chocolate lace cookies I did not bake on pretty platters. And, most important of all, I didn’t worry (too much) that someone might not like what was available to eat. I offered an assortment of sandwiches, fresh fruit, and two green salads.

I did bake the cake! Nicholas had a clear vision for his cake. I asked him for weeks what he wanted and it was always a strawberry army cake with a tank and army guy on top. I happen to think strawberry cakes are vulgar wastes of flour, but he was adamant. Since this was the one area he seemed committed to (unlike the Angry Birds/Transformers/Mario Brothers/Star Wars themes), I figured it was important to him. Disgusting or no, I made Joy the Baker’s Southern Strawberry Cake. He was so happy when he saw that silly, somewhat lopsided cake with the frosting I didn’t get quite right. He and Mikey worked very hard on the army table display the night before. The placement of each army guy, helicopter, and mountain was carefully considered, and I didn’t touch a thing after they were done. (Bonus: the cake was actually tasty.)

Never have I seen Nicholas so joyous. With only his very close friends at his party and Mikey gone at school, he was–for the first time in his life–the center of attention. It was all about him, and he reveled in it. I thought his face was going to crack from the grin he had stretched ear to ear. At least once I felt like crying, just because I was so happy to see him so happy.

I realized at that moment that I hate parties when I’m planning for them, cleaning for them, cooking for them, baking for them, and trying to get rsvps for them. But I love them when I am in the middle of it watching everyone have fun. And afterwards, when the house is empty and we are eating leftovers, listening to Nicholas tell Mikey all about his special day–that’s when I think parties are the best thing since sliced bread, and that I should have them more often.

Until the next one comes around and I have to start planning…

How to Store Wrapping Supplies (One of Two Decabillion Ways)

Jules — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 08:00:45 +0000

I’ll start today by admitting I have no idea how that vase of lavender ended up in front of the painting, practically dead center. I vaguely remember something about a football crashing into it, lavender buds flying like confetti, and Mikey saying, “Well, at least now we can smell the lavender.” File this one under Life with Boys.

Let’s focus, instead, on wrapping paper. Specifically, the wrapping paper I left in limbo back in October. As planned, I used as much of it as I could during Christmas and did not buy anything to supplement my already embarrassing supply of cheap paper. I barely made a dent in the cheapness, and after today I have a new rule: No cheap wrapping paper, ever. I have a couple of reasons, outlined below.

Cheap wrapping paper comes in rolls that are either too meager or too plentiful. It’s the hotdog buns of stationery. I either don’t have enough, or I’m left with too much.
Cheap wrapping paper doesn’t store well. The color fades or bleeds (both, in my case) and wrinkles or tears easily.
Cheap wrapping paper is often impossibly trendy. What I loved in 2009 left me scratching my head in 2011–and wishing I could buy something else.
Cheap paper is easy to buy in quantity. If I am shopping intentionally and thoughtfully (and not just buying junk in bulk), I don’t need that much paper. This allows me the room in my budget to buy the beautiful, more expensive wrapping paper I’ve always looked at wistfully.

Allow me to be your wrapping paper cautionary tale. Stay away from the cheap paper.

I decided to store the wrapping paper in our campaign dresser. I love this thing. It has a fairly small footprint, and yet it is capable of storing 99% of the contents of our home, as the above picture details. I could have tossed the paper in one of the three empty drawers, but I am committed to having an intentional home from top to bottom, inside and out.

First thing first: take everything out and start sorting.

Bows, ribbons, ties.

Cheap wrapping paper.

Stamps.

Stickers, paper.

I also have scissors, slicers, hole punches, and other supplies that I didn’t photograph because the only thing less exciting than a picture of a pile of stickers is a picture of a pile of scissors.

I started with the wrapping paper, since I needed room to maneuver in tight quarters. I was ruthless, but ecstatic. I gave myself permission to ignore the fact I wasted money and instead rejoice in what I was gaining by recycling paper that was cheap, torn, or faded. Then I tossed rolls that were almost depleted or didn’t have enough paper to wrap a standard box. I’m notorious for keeping random sized strips of paper in case I might one day need to wrap, I don’t know, a wand.

That left me with a roll of parcel paper and one roll of good quality birthday paper. I can’t even. Shame face! (Let’s not talk about the tension rod I found among the rolls of paper.) (Although I could have totally wrapped that sucker with one of my many random strips of paper.)

I thinned out the bows (gave them to my mom), ribbons, and ties, too.

I placed them, for now, in an empty Tupperware container I had laying around. Eventually I will put them in a clear, lidded container or photo box.

I used an extra photo-box to contain my stamps.

The paper, stickers, and random holiday cards I stored in an accordion file I found in the Mister’s office. It won’t win a beauty pageant, but the solution works well for now. One day years from now, when I’m walking around the house looking for something to do, I’ll replace the accordion with one that is prettier.

The scissors, tape, et al went into a basket I found in the kitchen last October. Again, one day I will replace this set up with a lidded container.

But for now, everything fits together like the most perfect game of Tetris. I have everything in one location, easy to pull out and access. I love it.

The two rolls of wrapping paper are in the drawer to the left, along with 2394834 rolls of crepe paper. Don’t worry, today is Nicholas’s 5th birthday (!!!) and I am probably tied up in 50% of it as you read this. The supply should be thinned out by the end of the day, and what’s left I will put in a box. The parcel paper roll is too long. I’m glad I don’t have much left–the next roll I buy will fit the drawer dimensions.

Whew. 19 images, y’all. Mama is cross-eyed.

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A few guidelines:

Please link to a specific post, not a general blog address.
Your post must relate to your efforts to create an intentional home.
No links to giveaways, please.
A link back to this site is always appreciated. There are buttons to add to your post or sidebar, too, thanks to the lovely Alex, of Type A Calligraphy. Just copy the code and insert into your blog post or sidebar while in html mode.
Let’s use this weekly link up as an opportunity to gather inspiration and motivation. Click links. Discover new people. Say hi and good job. I know I will.

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F is for Fujikawa

Jules — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 08:00:48 +0000

Our Best Friends by Gyo Fujikawa was my favorite book as a child. I remember being five years old and flipping the pages over and over again. Everything about it was just too perfect: the bunny, Smudge the cat, the little boy named Larry who always had a sparrow perched on his finger. My favorite page of my favorite book was of the house sitting on a large expanse of green lawn dotted with pink trees. I stared and stared and stared, committing it to memory almost, taken in by the happy house with the big red door. Obsessed with red doors, even then, in 1977.

It was raining when I took these pictures, and had been for hours. The sky was cloudy, like memories.

[p.s. I announced the winners of the book club giveaway on the original post. The publisher got wind of the giveaway and put in two more books, for a total of four. That made me happy! Maybe more book club giveaways are on the horizon?]

C, D, E

Jules — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 08:00:09 +0000

I was plugging right along with my Souvenir Foto Project: Alphabet Edition until yesterday. I decided upon a book theme, which is okay. I wouldn’t do it again. I’m having fun, of course, but I’m losing the spontaneity I adore. I like to take pictures and write a short story around them, similar to what I did with yesterday’s post and what I did the last time I did the A-Z format. This time, not only am I forcing myself to go in alphabetical order, my narrow subject matter means I often scramble to make something fit. I prefer my projects to be more organic, less structured.

Yesterday was a blur of a day. I was out of the house for most of it, running around town trying to strike items off my to-do list before Nicholas’s birthday party on Friday and our tax appointment on Thursday. Because I decided upon a book theme–in alphabetical order!–none of the pictures I took worked. What I wanted to take a picture of sat in Nicholas’s bookshelf, mocking me in the waning daylight, while I drove to from the health food store to practice.

Oh well, live and learn.

(C is for The Chronicles of Narnia)
(D is for Diccionario, Dictionnaire, and Dictionary)
(E is for Elmer, The Patchwork Elephant)

Bacon

Jules — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 08:00:29 +0000

I sat down for breakfast late, but only because I was waiting for her outside. I was running early and she was running late and then she showed up on time and I didn’t think to look for her car in the parking lot. So I stood outside and talked on the phone while she sat inside and drank coffee, watching me from behind the large window and laughing to herself.

We ordered omelets and bacon, extra crispy.

I watched her with one eyebrow raised as she excised the fat from her bacon with the precision of a surgeon.

“So, we’re still doing that?” I asked, with a nod at the bacon fat discards piled on the corner of her plate.

She kept to the task at hand without missing a beat and gave me a look.

“Yes, we are still doing this, as if you don’t know.” Then she popped a piece of fat-free bacon in her mouth and grabbed another strip, which she used to point at me.”Listen, we both know how this is going to end. You’re going to be bored one day, wondering what to write, and you’re going to remember this. Why don’t you get it over with and thank me now?”

Thank you, Helena.