Yesterday, my doctor told me winter’s almost over, but I feel a little dubious about that. I never even got my winter look down (unless you count wearing the same J. Crew outlet striped tunic t-shirt with rotating bottoms). So until the crocuses start coming up for real, not in this totally misguided and confused way, I’ll be listening to this mix and half-hoping it snows one more time. Happy weekend!

Also on Spotify

I think a lot about the creative process: how there are sparks of ideas and bursts of activity followed by periods of inaction. That period of inertia is what always drove me mad. What are we doing if not getting better and moving forward? Something important, it turns out. Like a field that’s given up its harvest, we’re lying fallow: rejuvenating, gathering reserves, collecting our energy for the next big burst.

This, I think, is what is so sweet about winter. When the world slows down, as it naturally does this time of year, we can take the time we need to prepare ourselves for our next surge of growth–whatever that may be. And so we stay close to home, write in our journals, practice yoga, linger over our coffee, and take the time we need to reflect. Its not laziness and it’s not inaction; it’s the practice of shoring up, and equipping ourselves with the care, thought, and ideas for whatever comes next.

In Chinese Medicine, winter is associated with the element water. Water is “the stage of energy before structure; it is potential,” writes Lorena Monda. “To access this phase of transformation, we must create space and quiet within us to mindfully look and listen. We direct this deep looking and listening to the world inside and around us. It is here that we begin to know what we want or what is necessary. It is here that we set our intention.”

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home. ––Edith Sitwell

Light candles. Even when we’re watching TV and eating dinner on the coffee table, I let a tall pillar candle flicker in view. Scatter candles in the bedroom, neglected corners, the bathroom, and anywhere the flame can bounce off mirrored surfaces to bring a little more warmth home.

Bring in nature. A basket of pine cones. Forced bulbs. Branches of bittersweet on the table or a jade plant by a reading chair. The outside world is sleeping, not dead, and these little touches remind us of that.

Inspire lingering. Encourage couch-reading and daydreaming with linger-long touches: a cozy blanket on the back of a sofa, a soft duvet, big pillows to prop up on for bedtime reading.

Cook. Is there no other time of year more inspiring to stand by the stove and stir, chop this and that, plop it in a roasting pan, and go lie on the couch with a crossword while it roasts away? Also: soup.

Winter’s power is deep…It is a time to conserve energy and resources and not be wasteful with your active, outward energy.”–Staying Healthy with the Seasons

Movement. Spin class might not feel appealing right now, and there’s a reason for that. Chinese medicine says winter is a time for gentle movement, like stretching and brisk walks. Take a walk when the sun is brightest and drop into yoga or dance classes (seriously, zumba is fun!).

Self-Care. I’m fascinated by the tradition of saunas and ritual, social bathing in other cultures. What a beautifully symbolic––and pleasurable!––way to slough off the old and begin anew. Seek out a Korean spa, a holistic-type hot tub by-the-hour rental (they exist!), or as I sometimes do, try to luxe-up the sauna and steam room at the gym with essential oils. Brave and hardy souls can DIY the hot-cold experience in their own shower. There’s also dry-brushing, self-massage, and an old-fashioned soak in the tub. No matter your method, the idea is to cleanse, purify, relax, and to treat your body well. When you’re done, swath yourself in soft fabrics–silk, flannel, crisp cotton.

Reframe the season, letting the cold weather be an impetus in getting your needs met, rather than a hindrance.” ––Aruni Nan Futuronsky

Learn. I spent the last three weekends sitting cross-legged in a yoga studio with eight other students and one teacher. For seven hours a day, we practiced together, and helped each other into handstands; we read philosophy and talked about mind-bending cosmology. I brought home a manual and homework, and felt so happy to be reminded of what it’s like to be a student.

Allow yourself to be inspired by something new, whether that means staying home with a book or podcast, or venturing out for a reading,  museum talk, or a knitting drop-in hour. Whatever you choose, learning can bring some freshness to a gray season.

Pranayama. Alternate nostril breathing, or nadi shodhana pranayama, calms and quiets the mind. If you’re curious about meditation but feel intimidated or directionless, alternate nostril breathing is a great place to start. This rhythmic method of even breathing in and out through one nostril at a time requires enough concentration that your mind may be less likely to drift to your grocery list or what happened at work. Read how to practice alternate nostril breathing here.

Connect and nourish. Fewer seasonal obligations–goodbye office parties and cookie exchanges–mean you can focus your social energy where you truly want to. Connect with people you really like in ways that are meaningful and nourishing.

Reflect. The quiet potential of winter might not be best-suited for taking on big projects and initiating grand plans, but it is the perfect time to take stock and prepare. What makes you feel most alive? How can you bring more joy and gratitude into your daily life? What do you need more of to feel your best, and what could you do without? Let yourself be drawn inward and see what fires are glowing there.

Photos: 1. Nordic trees linen napkins, 2. cabin in the snow, 3. soup, 4. fireplace in the bedroom, 5. how to do a self-portrait, 6. candles, 7. birch logs, 8. felt coffee cozies, 9. tea

Words have felt like quite a lot of bother lately, but pictures–pictures feel good. I’ve fallen deeply and quietly into the land of Pinterest and Etsy looking for winter images that feel how I want to in the deep of January: calm, cozy, quiet, creative. On the heels of a weekend like this one, where I woke up to a covering of snow on the wet gray streets and begrudgingly pulled myself out of bed and out of the house, it feels good to be quiet. Monday, the snow melted, and I walked in the rain to get the crossword (a new favorite winter-quiet activity!). Things are good, and even, but I want the muffled quiet that comes with more snow. And so, for a change, I’m making collages instead of droning on and on. You know how it is, I know you do.

As soon as I read the subtitle I knew it was for us: Simple, Splendid Food that French Women Cook Every Day. Yes, please! This is a cookbook that eschews grand to-dos and difficult preparations in favor of bringing the special into the everyday, or as author Wini Moranville puts it, ce soir. Cassoulet is made approachable and ingredients lists become procurable, all while still staying true to the soul of French cooking (no cans of this or that here). There’s a spirit in this book that I found infectious and inspiring. Go ahead, add a flourish to a simple pork chop (it takes an extra minute or two), make do with what you have (use the maple syrup instead of honey, if that’s what’s on hand), and open the front door to your friends, even if all you offer is a glass of wine and a hunk of cheese. And that, perhaps, was my favorite moment of the book: when a wise cookbook author reminds us we don’t always have to cook. “If the task of cooking up something for a simple drink is going to keep you from inviting someone over,” she advises, “then don’t cook––but pick up the phone anyway.” Leave a comment by midnight EST, Sunday, January 22 to win a copy. One Pink of Perfection reader will be chosen at random. Bonne chance!

Update 1/23: Congrats to the lucky, Sara! And thanks to all for entering!

• One of my projects for the new year is to give my cubicle a makeover. If I can’t manage to get together all the ingredients myself, I’m loving these terrarium kits on Etsy.

• Have you tried whole parsley leaves in your salads (as in this kale salad)? In winter salads, its fresh grassiness is a revelation. Pictured above (from left to right): fennel, red onion, and parsley salad; winter salad with lemon-yogurt dressing

• Have you ever taken an e-course? Have you wanted to? I’m taking Susannah Conway’s Unravelling course and loving it, and my mind’s been percolating away at what a Pink of Perfection e-course would look like. Would you be interested? What would you want to see covered? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

• I’ve been searching for a Cathrineholm teapot, and this might be a perfect stand-in until I find the perfect one. (How much do you love that the name of this Etsy store is During Quiet Time?)

• Do you know of a charity that helps provide low-income girls and young women with access to tutors, mentors, college scholarship money, and other resources that help level the educational playing field? Please tell me–Pink of Perfection wants to give them money!

After my usual holiday over-doing it, It feels good to board the healthy eating bandwagon. And while it’s probably not the best habit to bounce from extremes (steak, bourbon, gravy to kale, green tea, soup), it does make me very eager for the change. I was stuffed with cookies and cheese; it felt good to alter course.

And perhaps a little surprisingly, it tasted delicious. After my brother-in-law sent me a link to My New Roots, I started seeing this vibrant Danish blog mentioned everywhere. She designed the recipes below, and they’re wonderful.

One of the recurring questions among my friends is, “Why is it so hard to do what’s good for you?” Cause lord knows it usually is. But there’s also a kind of snowball effect once you get going with decisions that affect your well-being. When you feel good, you want to keep feeling good. You begin to even crave the habits that make you feel bright, content, and fluid.

Here’s an example: I spent this past weekend in the first part of an Anusara yoga immersion. Going in, I was a bit terrified of what six hours of yoga two days in a row would feel like. I should have been more concerned about returning to my desk Monday morning and sitting in a chair for eight hours. Come evening, I’d usually rather watch another rerun of Roseanne than put on yoga pants right before bed. But on Monday evening a few pre-bedtime twists was the right choice for me.

The ultimate challenge, I think, is getting from feeling bad, mired in habits, depressed, whatever the current stuckness may be, to finding a spark that can spur a new kind of decision. Many of us tend to force ourselves out of it, but a friend of mine takes a more gentle approach. A change can start with the smallest choice, she says, and we’ll bring it on when we’re ready. I find that comforting. We don’t need to strong arm ourselves into new habits or new eras; it’s not a matter of force, it’s a matter of ease. And when we’re ready we’ll know it. I read a section in a book last night on receptivity that seems fitting:

Receptivity is a practice many people find difficult, because we live in a culture that says things are accomplished primarily through doing. This attitude creates a bias toward knowing, planning, taking action, a kind of predatory attitude toward life––where we decide what we want, focus on it, and go for it at all costs. But how many of us have done this only to be dissatisfied with what we get?  ––The Practice of Wholeness

Being receptive seems to fit beautifully with back to basics and leaning into the life we have now: being open to ourselves, our thoughts, our sense of whimsy, being open to the world around us and the people and obstacles we meet each day, and being open to every joy, quirk, and marvel in the moment to moment moment of the everyday. “We may experience a sense of magic or serendipity––wherein events happen which fit our needs perfectly. Seemingly remarkable coincidences [...] are the result of our receptivity.”

And so back to feeling good, and specifically these recipes. Please, dear heavens, don’t see these dishes or this post as an admonition. If anything, it’s an invitation to be receptive to where you are, wherever you are, right now. If they recipes appeal to your senses at this moment in time, I promise they’re both really lovely. And no one’s saying you can’t eat a little kale slaw before a nice steak, either.

Spiced Butternut Squash and Apple Soup
adapted slightly from Whole Living

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 inch fresh ginger, grated (2 tablespoons)
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon garam masala
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
dash ground cloves
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 tart apple, peeled, quartered, and chopped
4 cups chopped butternut squash
Coarse salt and pepper

Heat olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and cook until tender, 6 to 8 minutes. Add ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add carrots, apple, squash, and 3 cups water. Bring to a boil; cover partially and reduce to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper.

Cook until vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Let cool slightly.

Working in batches, puree until smooth in a blender. Adjust seasoning, if necessary.

Kale Slaw with Red Cabbage and Carrots
from Whole Living
Serves 4

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon apple-cider vinegar
Coarse salt and pepper
3 cups mixed shredded kale and red cabbage
1 carrot, peeled and julienned
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves
2 tablespoons diced red onion
3 tablespoons sunflower seeds
3 tablespoons pumpkin seeds

In a small bowl, whisk olive oil, mustard, and apple-cider vinegar. Season with salt and pepper.

In another bowl, combine kale, cabbage, carrot, parsley, and red onion with sunflower, pumpkin, and hemp seeds.

Season with salt and pepper, drizzle with dressing, and toss to coat.

It is hard to come back after vacation, isn’t it? To see those free, expansive days end is a kind of cruelty. But I came back to our little apartment after a holiday break, happy to be home. Even with the Christmas tree still standing and brittle and our suitcases strewn on the floor in the living room and bedroom, unpacked. Even with no milk or clean towels, it still feels merry kind of merry in here, if in a cluttered, post-holiday kind of way.

I’ve eased into the week trying to hold on to “quiet mind.” It’s a feeling that comes on for me during vacations or on any extended periods away from the computer or even after yoga. I’m able to focus without thoughts darting every which way. I feel relaxed. You know that feeling? Hanging on to it is the catch.

There’s so much wonderful reflecting and goal-setting happening on the internet right now. On the one hand, it’s inspiring to see, and a kick in the pants for those of us who need it. On the other, it can make a lady feel a little inadequate. I didn’t know what I wanted my 2012 to be “about.” I didn’t have a theme or a goal or a resolution or a project. And that feeling of not having something to strive for in the new year turned into a gnawing anxiety. The new year was coming: what was my plan?

The great thing about having time outside the normal daily hustle and bustle is that things can have a way of working themselves out. One day in the country last week, I went on a walk among farms in the late afternoon light, hands shoved deep in my pockets. My ears and cheeks were cold as I crossed a county line. Drivers waved, I snapped a few pictures, and it all felt so good.

The whole outing smacked me with its simplicity. My approach to the new year is as much mantra as intention. Back to basics. It’s not a goal, not a should, not a resolution, just a reminder of what I care about. Like: a fire, a soft couch, a sleeping dog. A good book, a warm bath, a knitting project. Homemade soup, singing together, and walks in the cold winter air.

I started this blog nearly six years ago (!) because I was trying to carve out a life for myself that felt better. I wanted to soften the  edges of my first job in a new city, and make a new and unfamiliar apartment feel like home. I wanted––even needed––to add some richness to my everyday. That first year, I sewed curtains (badly, but they did the job), made my first leg of lamb, put cheap flowers on my desk at work, and dropped in at a knitting circle once or twice. Each little moment of attention to something I needed in my daily life helped. My sense of loneliness, fear, and not knowing what the hell I was doing with all these big life choices I’d made eased a little. It was like smoothing out wrinkles; I was trying to get the basics of my life lined up.

And now, six years later, I feel certain that those basics worked a kind of magic in my life. They were touchstones that I could return to and refine as circumstances continued to change. It’s human nature to want more, to keep after the bigger and better. But this year, I don’t have a benchmark or milestone to reach. This year, I want to lean into living the life that’s right in front of me, right now.

When we sat and looked back at the last year, it wasn’t the big serious moments of professional or personal triumph that really stood out. Our favorite moments were far simpler: a hike to the top of a mountain, hearing about a friend’s pregnancy on a busy street corner, walking along a curving coastline at dusk. They were bursts that stood out from the everyday, but they were also so fundamental: being in nature, having adventures, connecting with people.

I wonder now if this idea of getting back to basics settled in partly because of the passage by Thich Nhat Hanh I turned to on New Year’s Eve in a book plucked from a shelf: “To love, in the context of Buddhism, is above all to be there…The most precious gift you can give to the one you love is your true presence.”

I’ve been thinking about what it would look like to be present for others––getting off the couch when our partner comes home, keeping our phones silent and out of sight when a friend is telling us a story––and also what it would look like to be more present for ourselves: paying attention to the knot in our neck, our need for another hour of sleep, or some quiet time to just be.

So that’s my intention for the new year: to get back to those basics, and to be there for all the things that really matter everyday, like love, community, creativity, good food, and taking walks––even if they’re not on cold, sunny country roads.

Happy Christmas Eve eve, friends! Are you up to your neck in wrapping and bows? Are you buried under sacks of sugar and flour? Well, as long as you’re captive, I’ve got a little holiday tale.

A couple weeks back, I cashed in a very generous gift certificate. On a Friday evening, after a particularly bad week, I walked into a very fancy spa in a hotel. I was the only one there, so I headed to the snack area in my robe and grabbed more than my fair share of almonds and dried apricots. I hurried back to the “heat experience” room, eager to wring out every dollar’s worth of the whirlpool and sauna. Beaten by jets, pores purified, I let a woman named Karen attack the knots in my neck and shoulders. Afterward, I climbed back into my clothes, feeling as sleepy and relaxed as a baby whose been driven around in the car until she falls asleep. And while I waited for the elevator to take me back down to reality, I was transfixed by the scene in the hotel bar. It was crowded, high above the glittering lights of the city and the dark trees of Central Park. Women were holding glasses of champagne and little handbags that cost as much as my rent. You know when someone just looks expensive? It was like I was seeing dollar signs everywhere I looked, on ring fingers, hanging from earlobes, in slim martini glasses being knocked back one after another. It all started to make me sad.

Let me explain: I was very lucky to have received such a luxurious gift, and I was grateful for it. At the same time, I realized that in my own life I was regularly participating in an exchange I wasn’t sure I liked very much. My time for money; my money for things to make me feel better. Spending mindfully on objects and experiences that enrich our lives is one thing. But pissing away dollars to make up for the fact that we’re stressed, that we’re tired, that we work too hard and take too little care of ourselves––it’s a cycle all too easy to get caught up in. And there I was.

Which brings me to Christmas. There’s plenty of noise this time of year about buying. There are sales to go to, coworkers and family members to buy for; the list is long. And actually, I meant to get caught up in the whole tinsel-y shebang. Instead, I got a cold, and my shopping plans went out the window. Rather than thank a particular friend for all she’d done for me this year with something extravagant––or even something homemade––I stopped into a deli one night on my way to see her. I bought an amaryllis. It was a quiet gift, and I finally got what Emerson meant about fruit, flowers, and gifts of the self being acceptable gifts: “Flowers, because they are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.”

What is the point of all this long-windedness? Only, I suppose, that there are things money can buy that are worth more than their cost, and that this seems especially important to remember this time of year: the bunch of greens and a chicken that become dinner for people you love; a Christmas tree that warms a corner of a little Brooklyn apartment; paperwhite bulbs, rooted in soil and shooting up bright stalks in the dark December evenings. This is what so many of us love about the holidays. That our beloved traditions, repeated over the years with intention, become imbued with meaning.

What I want for Christmas is our annual Christmas Eve Mexican Fiesta: icy margaritas, a giant bowl of guacamole, my mom’s chile con queso, and my little brother’s incomparable chicken enchiladas. We stand around in the kitchen by the fireplace and eat and drink; it’s the most convivial moment of the holidays, and my hands down favorite. After that, I want a cozy New Year’s Eve that celebrates all our blessings of the past year and glows with all the possibility of the one ahead. And somewhere in between, I want a new tradition to hold tight just between my husband and me.

They can be grand or quiet, easy or involved, but what do come back to year after year with excitement? What traditions help make this season meaningful?

And happy, happy holidays to you, friends. Thank you for being part of what made this year meaningful to me. In the days ahead, I hope there are plenty of moments of joy, gratitude, warmth, deliciousness, relaxation––and plenty of outright fun.

Images from Peter Spier’s Christmas

One January, before I was to move into my first apartment, my mom sat me down in the kitchen and showed me how to plan a week’s worth of meals on a budget. She took an inventory of what I liked to eat (bagels and cream cheese, apparently), and listed on a piece of paper what I needed to keep in the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Then the lessons on How to Roast a Chicken and How to Bake a Loaf of Bread commenced. Too bad, I thought, as I started writing this. I wish I still had that paper! I peeked inside the recipe box that rarely gets opened, and there it was, folded right it front. (There are some good things about being a pack rat sentimentalist!)

This lesson in economizing has been on my mind of late. I have fallen into some bad grocery-buying habits: buying too many bottles of local milk, small, expensive containers of Icelandic yogurt, and seductively rare ingredients that are used once before finding a home in the overcrowded condiments graveyard on the refrigerator door. The part of me from a line of frugal Yankee dairy farmers wanted to stop being so mindlessly frivolous at the grocery store. And the time-pressed part of me that has an intense job and a busy schedule wanted to get back to basics. It was time for another home ec lesson with mom.

We sat again at the kitchen table and make an updated list of “what to keep in the kitchen” in colored pencil on the back of a party invitation. This list is less comprehensive, and I should probably add a section on my new pantry staples, but it’s very helpful all the same. It’s gotten me through these last two weeks with quicker, streamlined grocery shopping and less mid-week meal confusion. Amazing how a list can transform chaos into order.

So here’s the new state of affairs: If I have a free afternoon on Sunday, I’ll roast a chicken. I cut it up into parts and tuck it away in the fridge for later in the week, when it will be warmed in a low oven and served with a quick-cooking grain and salad or a vegetable dish (a method totally inspired by that game-changing mise en place meal-planning article in Whole Living). Then I’ll also make a soup or stew, chili or beans and rice. These can be eaten during the week for lunch and can be heated up on the nights when I walk in the door at 8pm and think I might collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor.

Then all we need to fill the gaps are one or two super-fast recipes. Growing up, pork chops with Spanish rice was in the weekly meal rotation. Turns out my mom, just like her mom, made it without tins and boxes and actually cut up vegetables and measured spices from her cabinet. This is a thoroughly modern, convenience food adaptation. And you know what? It’s delicious. I make no apologies.

The short list of ingredients here makes this recipe feel even faster than it is, since 20-25 minutes isn’t exactly lightening speed. But it’s the simplicity of these ingredients I find deeply reassuring: if you keep a can of spicy diced tomatoes and a box of Spanish rice in the cabinet, all you need are pork chops for a perfectly square meal. Toss a salad while everything’s cooking, and you’re done. Kitchen floor collapse averted.

Pork Chops with Spanish Rice
Serves 2

This makes quite a spicy one-dish dinner, so you might consider adding additional plain white rice and additional water to turn down the heat.

In a large skillet, brown 2 1-inch thick bone-in rib chops over medium-high, about 2-3 minutes per side. Remove from pan. Add Spanish rice and seasoning packet from box (I’ve never written a recipe quite like this!), a 14.5 ounce can of diced tomatoes with chilies, and 1/4 cup of water. Bring to a boil, cover, and cook according to package instructions. In the final 5 minutes or so of cooking, nestle pork chops back into the pan; cover and finish cooking. Sprinkle with cilantro (or not!).