hello caroline o

J O S E P H // On Harmonies

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sat, 07 Jun 2014 16:04:00 +0000

...you're my beloved, my kin, no more a slave

You know when you hear a song and it's just right? This whole album is full of those kinds of songs and I cannot get enough of it. I was recently introduced to Joseph, a band of 3 sisters, when a friend of mine approached us about hosting Joseph for a living room concert on their tour across the States. How could we say no? In the month and a half or so leading up to the concert I rooted myself in their debut album, Native Dreamer Kin. Constantly on repeat, their voices traveled with me from room to room. And the living room concert? All chills and magic in a web of harmony.

image by Maria Lamb of Anthem Photography

On trying to write

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 06 Jun 2014 20:14:00 +0000

Anyone who has ever created anything knows what I'm talking about when I say that pursuing a craft is a terrifying thing. There is something so scary and difficult about the process, about putting it out there and just letting the words/portrait/photograph/dance/whatever just be. There it is, for the world to see. For perfectionists like me it's hard to release the imperfect out of our grasp. This poem is about being okay with the struggle for the perfect- or not so perfect- words and about understanding that they don't come from me but are a gift to me. It's about trying your damnedest to write and the ways that words will hit you. It's mostly about being thankful that the weight of creating something beautiful does not fall heavy on our shoulders but is a quiet gift given when we least expect it

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

there are mornings when the earth shakes

beneath my feet with the thunderous barrel

of a poem; coming at me across the landscape

wild and untamed. the howls of it’s breath lifting

and pulling at the tendrils of my hair as I run like hell

back to the house. it rumbles like a train chasing

me, daring me to find a pencil and a scrap of paper

in time to harness the unruly beast of creativity as it passes

through my body with such force that I gasp

whose words are these?

other days, my legs are not fast enough and it blows through me with a cackle

that reverberates off of dead trees, sending me to my knees as I watch

the tunnel of air carry on across the mountains, in search of another
hand and another page to call home.

there are moments when I almost miss it. it corkscrews through me at

the very minute the pen reaches my hand and with my other hand I must reach

out and grab it by the tail, pulling it back with all my might.

transcribing as it seeps into my veins.

some days it stirs me awake in the black night, a tender exhale

through the open summer window, feathering

notebook pages across my nightstand. a remnant of a memory

by morning

most days it’s the mule-ish process of waking at the appointed

hour with beads of coffee scented sweat pooling my brow

willing, hoping, praying for the stubborn and elusive words to come pouring out:

a chance to brush up against the divine.

and I remain

faithful in this work, continuing to show up armed

with a cockeyed optimism that my faith in the holiness

of inspiration will one day allow for a small piece of wonderment
to fall out of my fingers, a gift most precious
and so I remain
trusting in this ritual, this dance of the everyday.

trusting in those handful of nights you happen upon in life

where everything aligns and all seems to be lit: from

above and below, lit up on fire with divinity. when it is no more mine
to claim than it has ever been

but a thing utterly apart from me, a piece of transcendence.

a communion with the holy one, a gift so incomprehensible,

elusive, unimaginable, and impossible where all that is left is to say amen

amen, to this tiny delicate glimpse of God.

Of the Earth

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Wed, 28 May 2014 20:57:00 +0000

“…the care of the earth is our most ancient and most worthy and, after all, our most pleasing responsibility. To cherish what remains of it, and to foster its renewal, is our only legitimate hope.” (The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry)

CSA Share Week 1

Arugula // Bibb Lettuce // Broccoli // Asparagus // Tomatoes // Blueberries // Sweet Potatoes //Mint

On Stillness

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sun, 18 May 2014 15:14:00 +0000

On Thursday I was over at my parent’s house, visiting my littlest sister, Anna, who has just returned from college for the summer. Anna and I were indulging in the laziness of a summer afternoon, I mean really leaning into the whole severe thunderstorms with a chance of flooding thing with just shy of a handful of episodes of NBC’s Parenthood under our belt when my mom came home. My mother is a fierce whirling dervish of a woman, she never stays in one spot for more than 30 seconds and I swear the synapses in her brain fire on twice the number of cylinders that mine do. She has always entered a home with determined joy and purpose: “dishes need to be done” “the yard needs to be mowed” “can you please pick up your room?” “I’m going to weed whack/vacuum the house/take a nap all at the same time” nothing gets done in one line of thought, everything on the list gets done in small bursts all at the same time. It’s crazy and exhausting to even watch, she spins around the house like a dradle bumping into this task, twirling toward that task. Growing up, there was a strategy that went something like this: one child announced “Mom’s home!” and the TV quickly got clicked off, the computer put to sleep, the box of cookies shoved underneath the couch, and all four of us disappeared to our rooms. You did not want to be the kid in the kitchen when she got home because inevitably, you’re the one that bears the brunt of the “can you help me with this?” speech. We were (are?) terrible children.

So Thursday, my mom gets home. The door knob turns and sure enough, like a doctor’s hammer hitting her knee, Anna’s finger reflexively moves to the “off” button. Talk about a quick action-reaction effect, I mean really. Thursday’s task for us was helping my mom pick up the house in ways that would help my dad come home and simply relax. You see, my dad is about to embark upon a much needed 3 month sabbatical. I’m filled to my eyebrows with giddy excitement for him, it’s coming at just the right time and I cannot wait to see him relaxed and at peace. Dad’s got a corner of the “new room” where all of his books, sermon tapes, file folders, and CDs live. On any given Saturday morning, if you’re up early enough, you can find dad sitting in the new room. His hat’s on backwards, he’s wearing a plaid button up over top a t-shirt, his eyes have that crazed morning look to them, and he’s surrounded by books, notes, a monstrous cup of coffee, and a computer. Mom had asked for one of us to help organize said corner to minimize the items on dad’s mental to-do list and I happily took on the task. File folders and tapes were placed in a small woven basket on the top shelf, “right this book, wedge that one here, lay this one flat, etc.” In going through his bookshelf, I began to uncover pieces that had been wedged in the backs of the shelving that were thick with a layer of “I’ll get to this later” on top of them. A 9 x 11 picture of my dad sitting on a stage somewhere in the late ‘80’s: Taylor guitar in hand, aviators on, unruly hair pushed away from his forehead, looking like a total rockstar. Black and whites of the band in high tops and jeans, an old “It’s a Wonderful Life” calendar creased and bent to permanently exist in the month of September, and on the very top shelf: a box set filled with oil pastels, colored pencils, water colors, and those putty erasers that look like chewed up gum (c’mon, you know what I’m talking about).

All of the things that my dad most loves in the world had been pushed to the back of the shelf forgotten about and hidden behind the walls of work. I put all the work away. It’s organized and tidy on those shelves but next to Nouwen now lives that 9 x 11 rockstar dad and the retro black and whites of the band are now equally as prominent as their study guide shelf mates. All I left on the adjacent tabletop was that box set because; let me tell you, my dad is an artist in every way, shape, and form. It’s the core of who he is and it’s when he’s creating something beautiful, be it music or paintings, that he appears happiest – that he seems still.

I’m hopeful that this sabbatical will be a time of restoration, learning, creating, and pursuing those things that bring him the most joy, that lift the heaviness off and bring about the stillness and peace that comes with submerging yourself in what delights the heart.

All of this to say, it got me thinking: what have I put in the back of the bookshelf? What is gathering that musty smell of neglect from years of I don’t have time for this right now or I should be doing something more productive. What is it that makes my heart sing? What is it that pours over me and makes the waters of my heart look as motionless and reflective as glass? And shouldn't work and those heart cornerstones both have equal space and weight on the shelves of my time and the fiber of life? Are we getting cheesy here? Maybe. But I think it’s about changing your perspective and approach from “I don’t have time” to “I will make time” and from “it’s not that important” to “it is essential to who I am and what I want to become.” Am I making sense? I’m in charge of being me and choosing the way I want to be and sometimes I forget that. It’s about diving into that peaceful undercurrent that runs through you, tapping into the small stream of it and opening up the floodgates to create a river of peace. Slipping into the pull of the water and letting it quiet you. It’s about seeing the world through that current: all smudges of color and song. It’s about letting the heaviness roll off of your shoulders and letting that water carry it for you. It’s about being still and looking up.

On Finding Old Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Wed, 30 Apr 2014 21:09:00 +0000

It's been a good, long stretch of dreary rainy days here lately. This afternoon I took it upon myself to sift through some of the old folders still sitting in the dusty crevices of my computer, long forgotten in the hustle and bustle of life- you know how these things go. And I stumbled upon a folder a past me titled "writing work"- who knew this existed!? Certainly not the me of the present. And so, in the spirit of the soggy day outside I give you this something (vignette? poem? essay?) that I wrote a handful of years ago now. It's kind of fluff, kind of angst, kind of a tad bit over done but I like it for today and there are parts of it that I really love. So, without further ado:

Rain Come Down

There’s something about the rain. A gentle cleansing down the window panes of my entire body. My mom yearns for days filled with sunshine and blue sky- blue sky hairy days, she calls them. Don’t get me wrong, I love a tree climbing-watermelon seed spitting-sun soaked skin day just as much as the next person. But there’s something about the rain that just does it for me.

Rain is devoid of demand.

A day full of cloudless sun glowing skies ignites an urgency in my bones to suck all the marrow out of the sunshine sheathed day before me. It’s a panic of sorts that racks my entire body. A long run must take place. And I must enjoy the staggered, sweat-coated breathing and the cutting cramps in my calves. Forget the fact that on an overcast- or even partly sunny- day running is not an activity that provides a sense of uninhibited, cathartic joy in my brain. Not in the slightest.

During the run- I absolutely loathe myself for inflicting this terrible torture on my body. Every muscle screams, both lungs scramble for breath, my sweat glands work in overdrive. I do not run for the pleasure of running during the run. Never have and never will. It is the endorphins that emerge into my bloodstream as I plaster my body to the cold floor afterwards that fuel my determination. My body and brain know this full well but on each blue sky hairy day that comes around I tell myself I must love every minute of my excruciating exercise. Somehow I owe it to the world around me. The sun and sky have put on such a show for the day I, therefore must reciprocate with all that I’ve got. The guilt of a wasted sun day seeps into each minute. Don’t eat inside. No studying indoors. Get your nose out of the book and look around you. Don’t sleep the day away. If you must, do it where the sun can see you. I am required to do everything possible outside of walls and windows.

But the rain. Rain is my release. A reassuring reminder that a rest indoors can also recharge my weary frame. Nothing is more beautiful than the blanket of rain clouds over me. Pathways plowed by each individual drop of rain overtop the glass panes of this old house clear away my inhibitions. I am free. To devour the wise words of others. To wonder at the boxes of thoughts in the attic of my brain. To exist between the waking and the sleeping. To soak my skin until it transforms to the texture of raisins. To belt Ella at the top of my lungs into a cracked wooden spoon. To wander through a wet drenched world without the cover of an umbrella. To dance in the widest puddle my toes can find. In my bare feet. To spend hours on the phone sharing secrets, dreams, and know- nothing phrases. To defy expectation.

To catch a glimpse of breathtaking beauty in a forgotten day. To learn to love the rounded waves of days that wash over the world in a tide of change. Days that can never be redone, relived, or retrieved. They never linger on- except perhaps to live in the bending light of a memory.

On Settling Into Your Skin

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sun, 05 Jan 2014 21:18:00 +0000

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver

[emphasis mine]

I keep a book of poetry on my nightstand for those nights when reading about the politics of food or the life of Cecil B. DeMille just won't cut it. It's there for those nights when I'm feeling out of sorts, restless, or searching. It's there for those nights when I just want a little night music, of sorts. Mostly, it's there because Mary Oliver and I are soul sisters. She doesn't know it yet but we're definitely best friends. More than any other poet, I find myself in her work. It's Oliver to whom I turn when craggy bits of my soul need to be sanded down. Though I've read this particular poem a million times, as of late, I keep coming back to it. There's a challenge in these words paired with encouragement and reassurance that brings me to tears. It fits perfectly into this place, this season of my life, as I begin to further understand who I am and where my place is in this world, this family of things. It's a 2014 poem. A reminder to extend myself the grace I extend to others and not to hinder the "soft animal of [my] body"-- to allow myself to "love what [I] love" and delve more fully into that this year with intention, to take the binding off of my imagination and disregard the fear of pain or failure. A call to remember that I have a place here, all my own, in this vast and beautiful family of things.

In Which Life Puts Us Through Her Paces

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Tue, 05 Nov 2013 23:47:00 +0000

Today was a day. It was one of those days. This day set out to make a point to me of the fullness of life: that life is full of achievements and moments that should be celebrated, that life is full of choices and adult responsibilities, that life is full of sorrow that will sucker punch you right in the gut when you least expect it, and that ultimately, life is brimming with hidden beauty.

For the past three months, we in the Ornee homestead have been practicing a ritual of epic proportions: P90x. Each morning we’ve groggily woken up to the sound of animated birds chirping (why is there no better alarm noise?), rolled over, opened one bleary eye and slurred out “are we really going to do this today?” There were days we missed, skipped, and just plain forgot about but today, today we made it. Today was day 90 of P90x. It feels good to cross that finish line. We have accomplished what we set out to do. There were stumbles and slip ups along the way and I am by no means the fittest gal in town but it is finished. We did it. Through lots of sweat, dark and cold early mornings, grumbling, and tears we slowly but surely found our way to the end of this thing. And that’s life, you know? Sweat, determination, and fighting that part of you that wants desperately to hide from a challenge- rising to the occasion and looking your challenger square in the face. Knowing you can do this. Doing it. Celebrating your hard work at the end of a long line of 6ams. And so, we celebrated in true P90x style by doing an hour and a half of yoga (om, om, om..)

Today is also, I’ll have you know, Guy Fawkes day and election day. Remember, remember, the fifth of November… and all that mess. So we did our civic duty and visited the old neighborhood high school where a very amiable gentleman adjusted his bolo tie, pushed up his thick framed glasses, turned to me and said “well, what have you neighbors been up to this morning?” So neighborly of him. Upon doing our civic duty- haza, America!- we celebrated with one of my most favorite small treats in life: a soy latte from Mudhouse topped with a shake of cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg. Holy yum, y’all.

Soy cinnamon latte in hand we set out upon our quest for the day: mural hunting. Have you ever stopped to think about all of the art scattered around your city? I mean, people spend hours upon hours on these works of art hidden on the sides of buildings, the underbellies of bridges, and the insteps of abandoned homes. We were bound and determined to snuff out the hidden (and not so hidden) public portraits that live in and around Charlottesville. To all you mural painters out there: thank you for adding a subtle beauty to our cities that most of us just walk right on by without a glance. We’re too busy with our ipods or making it to the meeting on time. These walls that were once bare are now crawling with new life. They serve as love letters to our city. Today was our love letter to them, a start at documenting these works and preserving their image on film. It’s also a small part in a big project we’re honored to be a part of, and that’s all I can say on that…

Amidst our meandering from mural to mural we happened to hop on a particularly busy road in hopes of reaching our last mural of the day. As we were driving, the car in front of us hit, swerved and then kept driving. And there, on the side of this busy thoroughfare lay the victim of the hit: a sweet mutt who’d wandered out into the street.

Sucker punch to the gut, I’m telling you.

Frantic, I jumped out of the car, ran to the dog, and pulled out my phone to call 911. Shushing and petting like I was his mother, I looked into the soulful eyes of this little fellow and tried to will him into knowing that he was not alone. The operator assured me that there was someone who would come to get him eventually but that “she was more worried about me than him on the side of the road”. And so we sat there, helplessly watching him slip away. I wanted so badly to save him, to lift him up into my arms and cradle his dear broken bones and tell him that I loved him. Because in that moment, I loved him as though I’d known him my whole life. And in a way, I’m sure I have. Like most dogs I am sure that he was good, and loyal, and true. Like most dogs he loved to run, chase squirrels, have his belly rubbed, play fetch, and snuggle. I know he loved to give kisses, roll on is back, and mostly- to be near to his people. All he wanted in life was to guard them and care for them, to love them as a dog loves. And in this moment, when he needed them most, he was all alone on a stretch of blacktop. They were not there to love him back.

Dogs are a special kind of heartbreak because we know that dogs won’t stay for long. And that inevitably, they have to break our hearts. But this, this kind of brutal heart break was more than I could bear. And because his mama wasn’t there with him to scratch his ears and tell him he is a good dog, I had to be her surrogate. It’s just wired in me, that involuntary reaction to give my heart away in an instant to any living being that may need it. I tend to lead with my heart. So the very roots of me surged up and my heart leapt out of my chest as I allowed it to break -and break- for this poor puppy who someone, I was sure, loved very deeply. Heaven has a special place for dogs, somewhere where they are loved in full with complete abandon- just the way they love us humans. Where their days are full of belly rubs, ear scratches, and gentle whispers of “you, you are a good dog”. I think that’s all a dog ever hopes to hear. And so, to my new spotted friend: our time together was too short but I hope that you know that you are such a good boy, the best of them and the bravest of them.

I’m still muddling through the extreme ups and downs of this day. The elation, simple joy, beauty, and true sorrow that were all important elements of this: November 5, 2013. For now, all I know is that it’s best if we all hold our puppies a little closer tonight, friends.

A Careful Exploration // Hello, Again

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 10 Oct 2013 22:55:00 +0000

“Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that.”

Oh, hi.

So here’s the thing: this blog became something that was not me. It morphed into a place of anxiety rather than safety, a place of self consciousness rather than complete abandon, a place of pride rather than humility, a place of puffed up sensibilities rather than a raw depiction of my thoughts and days. It happened rather fast. Somehow I turned into someone who loved weddings. I’ve never been that girl. My high school best friend was that girl, you know, the one with the binder full of magazine clips and wedding dress sketches- and I loved her for it. She was the perfect yin to my yang. She was super giggly and girly, I was a bit more no-nonsense-let’s-have-an-hour-long-conversation-about-this-amazing-800-page-novel-I-just-finished. I became a wedding planner after college, a job I fell into and was exceedingly grateful to have in this economy. This blog became the place where I tried to convince myself (and you, dear reader) that I was all weddings all the time. When you’re trying to be someone you’re not, it wears you down quickly and I simply gave up.

I’ve changed a lot since high school, a whole heck of a lot, but the essential roots of me have not changed. I love that smell you get when you stick your nose into the binding of an old book because it’s the smell of learning something new or the smell of complete escape to a world of utter nonsense. I’ve got a fierce heart, quick to love and loyal to the bitter end. In me there’s an awful strong stubborn streak that comes back to bite me more than I’d care to share, a deep hunger to learn (I’m that person you hate who says “OH, I’d give anything to go back to school”), and an insatiable curiosity toward food politics and health. I’ve scared myself away from this place, this little corner of the internet, which makes no sense- isn’t it mine, after all? Aren’t I allowed to change, to evolve right here?

I’ve fallen silent on the wedding talk front because, well, I haven’t got much more to say. It’s my day job, so you’ll hear bits and pieces of it on here again. But I’d like to reclaim this little blog, to allow it to be a place of change. So bear with me, because I do not do change well. But I have changed. And so we all must over time. My writing will be real, real rusty- it’s been a while. Please, be kind as I begin to make a careful exploration of what lies within me and all of the tiny fragments of memories, people, experiences, and quirky traits that make me who I am. I’m thankful for friends who have encouraged me to understand that this blog is not somewhere to turn when I have it all figured out, but rather a place to document the slowly unfolding map of life – a place where things get talked out and, maybe sometimes, figured out. It may be messy, it may be confusing, it may be mournful or lonely. It surely will be. I know it will also be a place of hope, of light, of laughter, and silliness. And many, many ramblings such as this.

Here goes nothing.

P.s. My thanks to Tucker, who never quit asking me to write more. You could say this post is sponsored by him.

Professor Appreciation

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 20:25:00 +0000

I am so grateful for the chance I had to learn from professor's who can write like this:

At Ocracoke
Debra Nystrom
This silver light could dissolve everything
into one substance. Already the borders
of sand and ocean and air are unclear,
and people down the beach glitter
and shift like bluish chips of jewels
washed in from some old shipwreck
and left to mix with the seaweed strips.
Even what's up close wears the blueness
of distance: a styrofoam cup; these half-sunk
slivers of fishbones; your dingy running shoes
dangling from the hand that swings, familiar,
beside me. So we walk, letting the cold foam
rush about our ankles and recede;
letting the waves take what talk might be
between us now, as though they could form
some
answer to our longings. We split our attention
between the curving, fading line of shore
that we'd like to follow forever
and the beautiful broken shells
dropped at our feet by the water
to remind us to love our imperfect selves.

[Found in the Virginia Quarterly Review]

Featured: Grey Likes Weddings

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 17:15:00 +0000

We're so excited for our friends at Elisa B Photography, Rock Paper Scissors, Mahlia Creations, Lora Elaine, Hedge Fine Blooms, Pippin Hill Farm & Vineyard, and Jannie Baltzer Coutoure Headpieces- they are featured on Grey Likes Weddings today! [And yes, A. and I got to pretend to be models again- so much fun!]

voices in the attic: new music [Rufus Wainwright]

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 16:25:00 +0000

Rufus just released this new jam, not sure how I feel about it. What are your thoughts?

Thought for Today

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 13:40:00 +0000

"He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is, – I feel akin to him, – I understand the language of his countenance and movements: [...] I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. […] – and yet, while I breathe and think I must love him."

-Charlotte Bronte [excerpt from Jane Eyre]

Wedding Wednesdays: First Dance

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 16:39:00 +0000

Your first dance can be a very sweet and intimate time with your husband-as-of-a-few-minutes-ago. It can also be extremely difficult trying to choose just the right song. We thought long and hard over selections for our first dance- there were quite a few songs in the running. It could have been this:

or this:

this, among other Mat Kearney songs, was a contendor (yes, I'm hearing Brando when I say that):

This song was in the running with the motivation being that my parents were supposed to have their first dance to this song but someone goofed and they danced to this instead. I loved the idea of A. and I dancing to this song for the first verse or so then having my parents come up for the first dance they missed (and his parents following them). It is such a great pick for your first dance:

And if A. was as James Taylor obsessed as I am this song would have almost made the cut (I pushed for it!):

In the end, we decided upon one of our favorite Brandi songs. It was perfect for us and the day (and now whenever I hear it I smile and get a bit teary :):

What was/will be your first dance?

2011 Emmy Nominations

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 14:36:00 +0000

The Emmys are on tonight- will you watch? I have become more and more of a television lover as I've grown older. That being said, I'm very selective in my T.V. watching. I love the format of television: the short episodes, the continuous plot (if it's good television), and the way I tend to fall in love with the lives of the characters on the screen. I don't have an opinion about who should win in every category this year but I would love to see PBS's Downton Abbey win Best Miniseries or Movie. I will also probably cry (with joy) if Connie Britton wins Best Lead Actress in a Drama Series for Tami Taylor or Kyle Chandler wins Best Lead Actor in a Drama Series for Eric Taylor (both for Friday Night Lights- the, hands down, best show to have hit television with The West Wing as a close second). In saying that, I definitely wouldn't mind if FNL won Best Drama Series. The Emmys are on Fox tonight at 8pm.

Here are the nominations for all of the Emmy categories.

How poetic of you

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I'm on the prowl for a new writing journal and I just couldn't help but post this journal by (who else?) Anthropologie. It is too perfect and I want it, oh so badly. Where do you find your notebooks and/or journals?

To Be a Princess

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 15:45:00 +0000

There is an entire shop on Etsy devoted to the lovely Grace Kelly. Accessories and paper dolls, even a cross stitch pattern of her stunning head shot! This retro movie poster for Rear Window is my favorite pick among the collection.

P.s. Don't you think every star should have a shop devoted just to them? I'd love a Gene Kelly shop or a Judy Garland shop. Who would be your pick?

Pumpkin Cupcakes

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 19:30:00 +0000

Giada De Laurentiis is coming out with a new cookbook and this recipe for Pumpkin Cupcakes is one of the mouth-watering concoctions she is giving to the world. Autumn is almost here and I cannot wait. I'll be adding this recipe to my collection of fall foods this year (including applesauce, apple crisp, pumpkin chocolate chip bread, among others). I'm psyched to try it out!

Pumpkin Cupcakes
makes 48 mini cupcakes

Cupcakes
1 (15-ounce) can of 100% pure pumpkin,
such as Libby's
2 cups vanilla cake mix,
such as Betty Crocker Super Moist French Vanilla
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons of whole milk
2 large eggs, at room temperature
2 1/4 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice

Frosting
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup cream cheese, at room temperature
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup sour cream
Mini chocolate chips, sprinkles, colored sugar, and small candies for decorating

For the Cupcakes: Place an oven rack in the center of the oven. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line 48 mini-muffin molds with paper liners.*

In a large bowl, combine the pumpkin, cake mix, milk, oil, eggs, and pumpkin pie spice. Using an electric mixer, beat the mixture on low speed until smooth. Increase the speed to high and beat for 2 minutes, until light and fluffy.

Using a small ice cream scoop or spoon, fill the prepared molds with batter. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until puffed and golden. Cool in the pan for ten minutes. Transfer to wire rack to cool completely before frosting, about 20 minutes.

For the Frosting: In a medium bowl, combine the confectioner's sugar, cream cheese, sour cream, butter, and cocoa powder. Using an electric mixer, beat on low speed until smooth. Increase the speed to high and beat until light and fluffy, about 1 minute.

Using a small spatula, spread the frosting on top of the cupcakes. Decorate as desired.

*Cooks Note: The batter can also be spooned into 16 regular-sized cupcake molds and baked at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes

Women and Girls Lead

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 15:00:00 +0000

Readers, this campaign is so near and dear to my heart. It brings tears to my eyes. I am so excited to tell you that yesterday PBS broadcasting announced a national three-year series for the Women and Girls Lead Campaign. The initiative will feature over 50 documentaries and will launch on October 11 with "Women, War, & Peace" on PBS. Executive producer Abigail Disney says this:

"Over the next nine months, we are launching the first wave of more than 50 documentaries that tell incredible stories of courage and leadership about women and girls from around the world," said Sally Jo Fifer, ITVS President and CEO. "But beyond the national PBS broadcasts, Women and Girls Lead will take this content directly to communities through our groundbreaking engagement programs. Our goal is that these unforgettable films will spark not only conversation, but will also ignite meaningful change in the lives of women and girls everywhere."

Personally, I couldn't be more excited to watch the series unfold and to support this amazing campaign. I am ecstatic(!)

voices in the attic: new music [Coldplay]

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 11:17:00 +0000

Coldplay's new album, Mylo Xyloto, is coming out on October 24th and I simply cannot wait. Every time a Coldplay album is released I get Coldplay crazy. The album doesn't stop playing for at least six months- it is all that I listen to. Going to work, the gym, the store- everywhere and all the time. I'm super pumped to hear the entire album when it comes out- I'm already in love with the two tracks they've released (Paradise was just released on Monday). Enjoy, xo.

P.s. You can purchase this track on Itunes if you pre-order the album (do it! best decision I've made all week :)

Beyond Words: Photography in The New Yorker

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 19:30:00 +0000

Last night, at the Howard Greenberg Gallery, "Beyond Words: Photography in The New Yorker" opened. The show chronicles the history of photography in the magazine. Did you know the first full page photograph to be featured in The New Yorker was printed in 1992? It was a 1963 picture of Malcolm X by Richard Avedon. I'd love to be able to see the entire gallery but these select pictures will have to suffice, aren't they fascinating?

Fall TV Show

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 16:15:00 +0000

The new comedy New Girl starts September 20th. It's about a socially awkward girl (Zooey Deschanel) who recently broke up with her boyfriend and finds a room living with three guys. I love almost everything Deschanel does (both music and film) so I am super pumped to watch New Girl this fall.The trailer made me laugh out loud! It starts Sept. 20th at 9pm.

Will you watch it?

P.s. You can download the pilot episode for free on Itunes right now!

J.Crew 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 15:33:00 +0000

J.Crew's Spring 2012 line was just announced in New York this week. It features tons of bright colors and mixed prints. What do you think of it? Anything strike your fancy?

Thought for Today

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 12:51:00 +0000

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Wedding: Duck

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 15:04:00 +0000

I'd love to show you our wedding location. We wanted our wedding to be in Duck, NC simply because it's the one place on this planet that feels like home to me. I grew up moving around every three years or so-- and Duck was the only real constant place in my life. My family spent so much time there during my growing up years at my grandparents house that there was no question about where A. and I wanted to exchange our vows. Duck also holds special significance to us as a couple because A. was the first guy I invited down to Duck. In my family, it's a huge deal to invite someone to Duck- you can't just invite anyone. If someone is invited to come to Duck it tells the entire extended family that they are something really special. Oh, and there is the fact that both A. and I love the water (so much so that I wanted to run into the ocean instead of recessing out at the end of our ceremony :). We were married on the beach in front of a friend's home, the reception took place right over the dunes in their beautiful backyard. The day was gorgeous: in the seventies with a slight breeze coming off of the land and the sun shining down on us. Everyone was barefoot and the salt on my skin never felt so fantastic.

Wedding Wednesdays: Save the Dates

noreply@blogger.com (Caroline) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 14:00:00 +0000

Save the Date goes stop-motion from Jeremy Janairo on Vimeo.

Lex & Loren - Engagement/Save the date! from Brinton Films on Vimeo.

What are your thoughts on virtual Save the Dates? Personally, I love 'em. I think it's a brilliant way to save some hard earned cash (especially if you are on a tight budget). They are even better, in my humble opinion, if they are filmed. It's such a fantastic way to showcase your love and the uniqueness of your relationship while celebrating the fact that you are going to spend the rest of your life with that person. Admittedly, they are also just really fun to watch and make. When we were engaged I would have killed to send out a filmed save the date. I discovered this last video right around the time we got engaged and watched it repeatedly (it's my favorite Save the Date I've found :)-- they are just so stinkin' cute!

Would you do a paperless Save the Date?