Ikebananas

Last week I took an Ikebana workshop with my husband and mother-in-law through our county park system. Ikebana is a Japanese art of flower arrangement. I still couldn't tell you much about it, but Wikipedia does a great job. 

It was held at our favorite park, Deep Cut Gardens, and I think I signed up for it because I was hoping it would take place in their magical greenhouse (it wasn't). But I find floral arrangements to be one of the great pleasures of life, along with watching a baby nap, sheet cake that's better than it needs to be, falling asleep on the couch, and The Met. Plus, I'm always looking to add to my bag o' tricks.

Once we arrived, I was excited to learn a different approach to flower arrangement that uses materials, shapes, and proportions uncommon to the Western style. All my arrangements tend to look the same. I do a lot of round stuff with one kind of flower. Any time I diverge from that, it gets awkward. 

We each made an arrangement, and mine was OK. To be honest, I'm not sure I know good or bad yet, it's so foreign to my eye. I'm not a natural minimalist, and I didn't think my materials vibed together all that well. I wasn't sure if I'd do it again by the book, but I was inspired to try again with plant materials from our yard.

So today, after Mother's Day brunch, the babe was napping, the mister was mowing the lawn, and Pip and were looking for something to do to pass the time until our next meal. (Why not put it bluntly.) She came with us to the Ikebana workshop and was eager to try her hand at making her own arrangement. We took clippers outside and found a ton of good stuff to use. 

I gave her a traditional vase and I used a wide, shallow bowl more typical of Moribana (the style of Ikebana we "learned" -- that's a stretch). We had two colors of Japanese maples, azaleas, lilacs, and Japonica. There are a lot of specifics to the proper placement and geometry of the branches in Ikebana (refer to our handout up top), but I despise following instructions in all circumstances except when giving my children medicine, so we wung it. Basically: tall thing, slightly less tall thing, wide thing out to side, something protruding toward you, something heavy down low to anchor it. This is probably blasphemy but I find it works.

Mama Ikebana

Pip took a more maximalist approach and made the most beautiful arrangement I've ever seen (I'm not exaggerating because I'm her mom). I'm telling you, you'd have to pay $130 in Brooklyn for this thing. It is hauntingly beautiful, and all from found clippings in our yard. I would have been hard-pressed to summon the freedom to make something so luscious and exuberant and great.

Pippa Ikebana

It's something I've noticed whenever she paints too -- she has an innate understanding of beauty. It's direct, it's colorful, it's free, and she knows exactly when to stop. Picasso said, "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once you grow up." Kids. You learn something from them every day, if you pay attention.

...

On a side note, the babe is ten months today! She has her bottom right front tooth, and all the others seem to be just below the surface. She loves to eat real food (clementines! ricotta! meatballs! banana!). She isn't quite crawling forward yet, though she just figured out how to get over her other leg, and she loves to do "So big!" and clap for herself. She says "da da" all the time, and yesterday she said "Pippa" (we both heard it). So far she has no interest in saying "Mama" -- not even for Mother's day.

First Fortnight

We've been a family of four for two weeks today. She is a happy newborn: she loves eating, sleeping, pooping. She gets the hiccups at least once a day. In natural light her hair has a reddish, auburn tint. Excited to see how that develops. We have redheads in my family but only on the side that I'm not actually blood related to. She has my color eyes and looks a lot like her big sister did as a baby, except she has less prominent lips. 

She immediately took to breastfeeding (like moments after she was born), and she loves to fall asleep snuggled up next to me. Breastfeeding is so special, but it does get exhausting. It's a lot to know that you are THE food source for this precious new creature  you love so much. Everyone wants to help but they can only do so much. Really I don't mind it, only when I she's in the middle of a feeding frenzy and I want to eat, or I've just fallen asleep, or we are out and about and not in a time and space where halting everything and plopping down to breastfeed is an option. But all in all I can't really complain. My mental plan is to breastfeed for 6 weeks and then take each week as it comes. I will be going back to work in mid-September and I anticipate introducing some amount of formula at that time.

But enough nitty gritty details. Zinnias are blooming, the humidity just broke, tomatoes are turning red, the Tour de France is in the Alps, Mr. SevPrez started a new gig doing what he loves, and our first born is about to turn four. Life is good.

The Odyssey

I sit here watching Wimbledon waiting to go to the hospital for an 11am appointment to be induced. I don't need to pack a bag because my bag has been in the car for a week! I had no expectation that I'd be 10 days past my due date and counting. None whatsoever. But that's the way these things go. I've been hooked up to the baby monitor 4 times in the last two weeks and all reports are that the baby is doing great. Great heartbeat, great bloodflow. I've had 2 ultrasounds and she looks a little squished but otherwise seems to be enjoying herself, moving around doing dance routines as we get poked and prodded. A showoff. Apparently your amniotic fluid levels have to be above 5 to be considered safe... Mine were at a 10 yesterday. They estimate her to be 8 lbs 10 oz, but could be up to a pound off either way (yikes!).

But when my doctor came in yesterday examine me, after all this good news she said, "The baby is perfect, she's doing great. Much better than you are." Maybe the nurse had told her that I was clearly having a nervous breakdown when she came in to check on me. Or maybe she could just see it in my eyes.

I have been kidding that the baby knows I needed a vacation. I did, surely. And it's been really nice to have some time off to gather myself before her arrival. Our parents have been awesome about watching the Pipster and she has been super eager to have sleepovers, so I've been able to get a lot of R&R. Frankly I miss my little one a bit, clearly more than she does me. But it bodes well for her in this transition that she feels so comfortable out and about. But there are strategies to waiting. For a while I employed the "tomorrow, it'll definitely be tomorrow" tactic. That starts to wear on you after a week.

A few days ago I decided that if I felt good (some days are better than others) I would just go about my business as if I wasn't 41 weeks pregnant, and stop worrying about arrival times. But that puts you into a delusional state. There is no baby! Labor and delivery? What? I just wasn't feeling mentally prepared anymore, or in the frame of mind that we were about to become a family of 4. And that was unsettling. The other thing that pops into your head is that everything's just fine until it's not -- like you're waiting for something bad to happen.

I don't know what happened to me as I stared up at the fluorescent lights in the doctor's office, listening to her little heartbeat running around 160. I just lost it and it was hard to get back. I think maybe it was a way of the universe nudging me to communicate my wishes with my doctor when I might otherwise have told myself to buck up and keep waiting. What came out of my mouth was that I couldn't go any longer than Thursday. She recommended we schedule an induction because my body, in her opinion, was ready.

So I had orders to call the hospital this morning at 5am to confirm my 6am arrival time. I set my alarm for 4:45, hopped in the shower, and... They had a crazy night and there were no beds available (!!!). Call back at 9. Luckily the Mister only had 1 sip of coffee and was able to go back to bed to get some more sleep. After trying for about an hour to go back to sleep myself, I came downstairs and low and behold, "Sneakers," my favorite Robert Redford movie, was on. I used to have it on VHS! What luck. I feel asleep on the couch and woke up a couple hours later to Breakfast at Wimbledon. Called the hospital at 9. They promised me they'd have a bed ready and everything set for 11. A much more civilized time for my fashionably late baby.

I thought I'd take a few minutes to record this epic journey to the starting line before life totally changes and I don't remember what it's like to have two free hands.

Man I am excited to meet this little girl. Keep you posted.

Snapshots from Downeast

There are so many places we want to go, but somehow we always find ourselves going back to Maine. Sometimes I think we should mix it up more than we do, but then we have a week like we just did and I think life couldn't get any sweeter.

We visited family in Orono/Bangor, which includes relaxation, good eats, good shopping, long walks, and great conversation. Then we were lucky enough to stay at my cousins' recently converted barn on Mount Desert Island just down the road from Bar Harbor. And it was completely amazing. My watch stopped working, my phone died inexplicably, there were no screens and no wifi. Just the three of us, games, arts and crafts, food, and nature. The weather was obscene: warm fall days, crisp nights, clear skies, no rain, foliage popping.

I'd call it a retreat, only it felt more like paddling out to something very alive and ever present. We are grateful to have a home away from home up North, or Downeast as the case may be, and to return home anew.

Red sailboat seen from a run on Route 3.

The magic barn.

Painting rocks and leaves.

Glad to know the art of the hardcover non-fiction is still alive.

The barn manages to be both austere and completely chic.

Making a wish at waterfront park in Bar Harbor. 

More wishes at the fountain in the Village Green.

"Skipping" stones at Jordan Pond after popovers (and chicken tenders).

From the top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia… A third cruise ship joined the next day!

Much needed family bonding and fun.

Three!

We celebrated the Little One's 3rd birthday with a big birthday/housewarming party at our new house. We had about 35 men women and children over, and thankfully the weather cooperated, again! Three years in a row. We are really testing fate with the late July birthday parties.

I had my baking apprentice niece come sleep over to help me decorate and power bake. We got some fun banners at Target (which I plan on keeping up in lieu of window treatments, for now) and made balloon garlands for outside, inspired by Pinterest. We tried to stay with theme colors from the Paperless Post invite but the selection at the store really threw us off. Pippa wanted green plates, surprisingly, and we ended up just buying what inspired us and having a multi-colorful party that was no shortage of festive.


The birthday girl had asked for a "SPRINKLE CAKE WITH SPRINKLES!!!" (shouted loudly, always). So we baked a funfetti cake from scratch -- turns out you just add a cup of sprinkles to your cake batter -- and made a buttercream icing with a massive amount of sprinkles on top that just happen to reveal a 3.

It was sooo awesome to have everyone we love together in our new home, especially since having a big birthday party in our big new house was the thing that finally got our little girl excited about our move. It was also very strategic timing, as the party really motivated us to get the house to a "showable" state. That said, I've definitely been in overdrive for two weeks, so much so that today when I got home from work the day after the party, it felt like our first night. I had something like house amnesia. I don't really remember what our nights were last week… But I'm really glad to be able to take a breath and make memories together.

Photos by the lovely and talented Amanda Kane! That's what friends are for!

All Is Well

I was talking to a close advisor of mine about the sensation of tuning into truths that have always been there. 

Lately I have been experiencing a sense of inner peace that I don't believe I've ever felt -- certainly not as an adult, or without the aid of any substances. Not joy, not contentment, not accomplishment, not mania. What it feels like is this: I am going to be OK, no matter what anybody says or does or what happens. I am going to be OK.

On the "You Made It Weird" podcast with Pete Holmes, which is usually quite bawdy and funny, Deepak Chopra said something that I can't stop thinking about. When he said it, it was like it infected me, and I'm grateful that I'm at a place where wise messages can get inside and transform me, rather than just be something to intellectualize. He said: "I don't have bad days or grumpy days because, essentially, I don't mind what happens. I mean, I don't control the total universe. And yet every moment is a conspiracy of the total universe. So why would I fight the whole universe? Once you've let go of your idea of how things should be, nothing ever goes wrong. So in my world, nothing ever goes wrong."

Hillary Clinton said "Take criticism seriously, but not personally." Yes.

Lou Reed wrote, in "Magic and Loss" (which I personally believe is more powerful as prose than song):

They say no one person can do it all,
But you want to in your head.
But you can't be Joyce
so what is left instead.
You're stuck with yourself
and a rage that can hurt you.
You have to start at the beginning again.
And just this moment
This wonderful fire started up again.

When you pass through humble,
When you pas through sickly,
When you pass through
I'm better than you all,
When you pass through
anger and self deprecation,
and have the strength to acknowledge it all,
When the past makes you laugh
and you can savor the magic
That let you survive your own war,
You find that there is a passion
and there's a door up ahead not a wall.

Resonant messages from those who have passed through this thing before me. I share them here in case my future self needs reminding. I share them here with you.

Rhubarb Pie

A stucco Arts & Crafts house built in 1926.

It's not for everyone, but rhubarb pie is the favorite of a select group of adamant pie lovers. It's also the code name of my new house project, chosen because any house I was going to move into would feel warm and homemade, and be suited for not just anyone. My brother coached me on the project and just giving it a name that resonated for me was a huge help in keeping my excitement going and my motivations present while confronting the fear of uprooting into the unknown. And the paperwork, don't forget the paperwork!

My brother, who gets paid large amounts of money to coach Fortune 500 executives, will always tell you, you have to know the future -- what you want -- and leave figuring out "how to" for later. We created an aggressive date of July 1st when we'd be in our new house. And we came pretty damn close. Our house was on the market on April 21st, we closed on our new place on July 11th, and were sleeping there a day later. The house we are selling is currently under contract and *fingers crossed* will be sold before September is out!

And it's awesome! There is still a lot to do, but Mr. SevPrez and I both feel like we found our dream home. We each got what we wanted. I got a historic home with architectural detail and good bones in a nice neighborhood. He got a huge yard (it's a triple lot -- so much to landscape and room for a big garden) and a town that he feels is keeping it real. 

I was really nervous about moving the Little One. Every time I brought it up she would say "NO! We are NOT moving to a new house!" Seriously, for weeks I tried. My mom (the child whisperer) recommended we find a library book about moving, then upped the ante and said she was going to write a book about us, with pictures and everything. Only my mother.

I gave it one more try, before we started packing boxes on the 4th of July, and told her that her birthday party would be at the big new house. And don't you know it, she changed her tune! I gave her a box to decorate and she became part of the process. My mom delivered the book a few days later and she was filled with authentic excitement and a better understanding of what was about to happen.

She had a brief moment of yearning for the old house before bed on our first night, but when she woke up on Sunday morning, we heard her step into the hallway and say to no one in particular, "I love my new house!" 

And the project was complete.

Happy Thanksgiving

Greetings from Maine

Running across the river...

And through the University of Maine.

Aunt Rose's infamous Chex Mix.

Peggy's pumpkin pie!

And I started knitting again! An infinity scarf with tassels.

LBI

Jumping in the waves, pants be damned!

Happy to be reporting from the first vacation the Mr. has ever planned. In ten years. It's really something.

We are enjoying a lovely house in North Beach on Long Beach Island, steps from the beach and the bay. There's a park with playgrounds and tennis courts around the corner that I can't wait to hit up!!! I am grooming P to love tennis in hopes that she'll want to be our ball girl while we play. 

The beach up here has been replenished since Sandy, which means sand has been pumped ashore from the ocean floor. The beach is huge, with a big hill of sand that you have to walk over before you can see the waves breaking. At this time of year it has a post apocalyptic feel. But there are tons of shells, the water's warm, and no one's around. It's a life-maker.

We found a great restaurant that just opened in June called Arlington. From the looks of the sign I knew exactly what it would be -- new American/farm to table. We did a U-y and were psyched to end up at a place that had good drink, food, decor. In a beach town there are usually so many bad restaurants to avoid. Smelly carpets, bad seafood. It took the vacation to another level to find great food.

Big sky beach.

BTW

I commissioned a watercolor from my brother for the invite.

The Little One turned 2!

We had a party at the house. Theme: red balloons, since balloons are one of her absolutely favorite things. Once again the weather held out. We had a morning party with bagels, cream cheese, and lox; granola, yogurt, and fruit; and of course, lollipops, cupcakes, red balloon cookies, and brownies! She played ball with her cousins. She wore a red party hat. She was pushed around on her new Radio Flyer tricycle. It was one of the best days of her life so far. Here's to many many more. 

Breaking Our Record

The beach has never been my natural habitat. Despite growing up a mile from the ocean, I'm a fair-skinned freckled gal and could never be classified as a beach bum. But now my daughter loves the beach, which changes everything for me. It's the only place where time flies with a two year old. Once you give up the aversion to sand being everywhere, you can really relax and have fun. She loves digging in the sand, jumping in the waves, chasing the birds, cleaning off shells, pointing at the planes, and going in the ocean with mom and dad. It's truly the best.

We just tied our personal record for the summer of six visits (which doesn't sound like a lot!) and I know we'll be going back for more. 

Oh, and Little SP will be able to keep track with us... She's counting to 10!!!

Tears

I'm a crier. It's a thing I do. Weddings, funerals, all types of gatherings of people who are sharing themselves honestly.

Today I was in charge of a group of people. At the end of the day I was moved, and I cried sharing how much it meant to me. I regretted it immediately -- showing weakness when I should have shown strength.

Then I watched this video and felt that tears are one of the most beautiful things a human can produce.

Enjoy.

Postcards From Bucharest

My traveling companions in front of a fancy military building.

Mysterious public art.

Excellent graffiti.

Walking the streets of the old city.

Some sort of big fancy building. Does it really matter?

Morning view from the hotel.

A hidden outdoor watering hole in the old city.

Beautiful manholes.

Stumbling upon a magical shop. 

Ground zero of the Romanian revolution.

Bershka And Other Foreign Wonders

You guys. Bershka. Check it out. My brother and I almost cleaned the store out while shopping in Bucharest. They were playing crazy European house music and I caught myself thinking, just for a moment, that I might never leave. Bershka, Bucharest, Europe. I felt my identity shifting.

Alas I am back home in beautiful New Jersey but I have been googling half-remembered lyrics of some crazy Eastern European club anthem to no avail. Maybe I'll always be an American girl, but I'd still like to be able to call up my crazy European alter-ego while out for a run.

To further my inner European identity I also picked up some awesome European sneakers. And a scarf (even their men wear  cotton scarves.) I got some "fancy sweats" that defy category -- two pairs. Three perfect t-shirts for $6 each and a slouchy cardigan at a store called, ironically, New Yorker. My travelling companions had to pull me out of a massive Zara before I blew my life savings (Zara Home and Baby!).

But seriously guys. I left my heart in Bucharest. It is such a beautiful city, with a vibrant life, and humble, open people. I felt enriched. I felt safe. I felt stimulated. It reminded me of my time in Madrid. It's a city that's not trying to be anything else than what it is. It is too consumed with it's national identity and it's own experience to worry about comparing itself to someplace else. Where else would you want to be?

I have a few more pictures, but I am struggling. They won't get it across. This city doesn't want to be reduced to 2D.

Best Friends

It's funny. I started out with the intention to write about my passport. It was expired, and I renewed it. I got it expedited and it now reflects my legal, married name. I was nervous my paperwork would get rejected, but apparently there are some parts of the US government that still have the ability to function like well oiled machines.

I am traveling for work this fall. I am going to Eastern Europe. Twice. I may be going to more places than that in other parts of the globe. In the space of a year. I had a travel bug, and it's being satisfied. It's also taking me away from Mr. and Baby SevPrez. You get what you want and it's not always in the form you expected.

If you read Treehouse Chatter, like I asked you to, you would know that she just shared what she wants in life. What she really wants. And I am so inspired by that. She is my real friend, one on my best real friends, one of the only people in this whole wide world of 6 billion people that I am willing to share my whole story with. All the gorey details. When something ugly reveals itself in my life, I call her. Because I know she will listen to me, and be there for me, without any judgement. She's also hilarious and fun and smart and intuitive and wise. There is something about her soul that my soul has recognized as being A1. You don't let those people slip away.

She is also my blog friend. I love blogs. I love professional blogs written by professional bloggers. There is a blogroll on the right side of this page that I espouse. But I'm not that, even as much as I aspire to be. I think I'll never be willing to sacrifice my privacy. This blog exists as much as a personal journal as it does a vehicle to share my life with my friends and family and world at large. So Treehouse Chatter is my real network, and my blog network, and I want you to think about what she wrote.

What would you write?

Here's what I left as a comment, that totally trumped my post about going to Romania and Poland this fall. But just so you know, if you stay tuned you'll get fun travel photos.

I want people to know what they want, and get it. Thank you for sharing your hopes and your wishes. It takes courage to roll your eyes, then answer.
I want to be a free bird. I want us all to be free birds. Nothing’s wrong. We are alive for a second; we are playing the game we make up.
I want to have direct communication with the people in my life. No more beating around the bush, filters, or acting out of guilt, shame, and obligation. Let’s everyone stop being nice, and let’s be great. Let’s make a difference in each others lives. Let’s see each others’ blind spots and stab each other in the front. We are fucking geniuses, if we could just get out of our own ways.
What I really want, most above all, is inner peace.
Now vote me Miss America.

One Year

Baby SevPrez is one! I feel like I really accomplished something. I'm awash with total satisfaction. Then, in the next moment, our lives flash before my eyes. She's one, that's what a year felt like... Soon she'll be two, then three, then seven, then 12, then off to college. It's as exciting as it is scary. I'm excited about who she will be, but scared of time passing too fast to really feel it.

But on to more frivilous things... Yesterday we had her party at our house. Just family, which for us is a gaggle of people. The weather cooperated, which is really something for New Jersey in late July. On the day she was born I enjoyed an amazing 5th floor view of a thunderstorm as I lay in bliss after finally getting an epidural. Yesterday thunder rumbled as the coffee brewed, and storm clouds were all around, but we had no more than a light spritz as we served cake inside.

The grandmas brought food (and the lion's share of everything from Costco), we grilled steaks, and I made the cake. The little one knew she was the star when we sang to her, but she was not too excited about cake. Maybe she could tell it was vegan chocolate cake (but it had full butter/full sugar icing, I'm not a monster). She did, however, go to town on some watermelon slices. If I hadn't taken it away from her she would have eaten the green part. What a charater.

As predicted, her favorite gift was a piece of wrapping paper. Ah, to be one.

Did I Forget To Tell You I Met My Idol?!

In February I ran into Maira Kalman first thing in the morning on my way into work. It was magical. At my mom's urging I wrote her a note, and I want to share it with you.
Hi Maira-

I ran into you recently one morning at the elevator at 611 Broadway. I was on my way to work and recognized you and your orange hat. You were very sweet and shook my hand. I called off the Annual February Misery Day Parade for the day and immediately called my mom to tell her about it.

I couldn't resist writing you a note because your work resonates with me so much that I find myself hoping that meeting you was some sort of magical incident -- that you are my white rabbit.

Your work makes my heart leap. It is gorgeous and arresting and and makes me feel things. It also awakens a possibility I put to sleep a long time ago because I thought it was too impractical. I wanted to be Picasso when I was eight years old, just like I wanted to be a New York Knick. In the zero-gravity space inside my head, it was definitely going to happen. I was going to be a great artist unbothered by offices and desk jobs and mundane concerns.

But I ran into you because I was on my way to work in an office, at a truly excellent, world-renowned company that churns out awesome, inspiring nuggets of wisdom on smart looking cards and gifts. I have worked here for 10 years, since college, when I started out stuffing envelops because I wanted to be a part of the organization in any way possible. My position, which was created for me, has blossomed over time and really, I think I have a job that most people dream about. I'm the lady who picks the quotes. And really, it is great, it is about the best desk job a girl could ever ask for. But it's not Picasso -- or, in my present day parlance -- Maira Kalman.

I feel a bit foolish and embarrassed writing all this to you. Shouldn't I just be out there doing it!? What am I waiting for? I am, after all, the creator of follow-your-dreams paraphernalia. But I'm scared of letting go of what I have for something unknown. I suppose this letter is somewhere between a very, very earnest piece of fan mail and a message in a bottle. Thank you for reading it, and for being where you were in the world the other day. It was delightful meeting you.

Truly,
Mrs. SevPrez

Yard To Table

Boston lettuce, collard greens, and romaine lettuce.

Mr. SevPrez was inspired to plant a vegetable garden in our backyard this spring. I was extremely skeptical, knowing that I wouldn't have much to contribute. Until two weeks ago I was getting home at 7 every day, with not enough time or energy to take care of my existing obligatgions. And my track record is not good. I have killed cacti. I have barely been able to keep potted flowers on our deck alive... I always start out with the best intentions, but with plants I tend to have the wrong instincts.


Thankfully Mr. SevPrez refused to listen to my nay-saying and went ahead with the garden. He chose a sunny spot in our yard, measured a plot around 4 by 16 ft, and started digging. Apparently, it's all about the soil. And we knew we didn't have good soil, as we can barely grow grass in spots of our lawn. Somewhere underground there is a pool that previous owners filled in when they had a baby. So we have issues. But he dug on, and double dug, and got a few bags of good soil from the nursery, and started composting. And it seemed to be working: Mr. SevPrez announces with great pride and excitement everytime he finds a worm. Apparently attracting worms to the garden party means you are doing something right.


Flash forward a few months and we have been enjoying the "vegetables" of our labor. All three of us have had collard greens sauteed in garlic and oil. Our lettuce varieties are growing fast and furiously so we've had lots of crispy salads, which is extra fantastic because even though I love salads, I hate buying salad greens at the grocery store because they always end up going bad before we can eat them all.


Is there anything worse than having to throw out spoiled vegetables? Not only did you manage to avoid eating the healthiest thing in your fridge, nature's bounty went to waste. Double whammy. I have really enjoyed composting because if I am forced to throw out any spoiled product, I don't feel so bad knowing it's contributing to future harvests. We also generate a lot of peels from making homemade baby food so it's very satifying to put it all somewhere that it will do more good.


Aside from all the herbs we've got going on, we are looking forward to beets, zuchini (Baby SevPrez's favorite veggie), leeks, onions, bell peppers, and jalapenos. Tomatoes will come in late summer. We planted blueberry bushes that should yield a couple pie's worth of berries in about a month. And we have a little pot of strawberries that the birds kept beating us to before we got nets.

The early bird gets the strawberries.

I am happy to say I am a garden convert. It's amazing to watch all the veggies grow before your very eyes. And there is nothing, nothing more exciting than being able to say, "I'll be right back, I'm going to pick the lettuce for dinner." Nothing.

Mr. SevPrez wanted me to share this quotation from the book that inspired it all, The Earth Knows My Name: Food, Culture, and Sustainability in the Gardens of Ethnic Americans by Patricia Klindienst: "If you cannot see where your food comes from, you are doomed to live in ugliness." Pretty heavy. But when we haven't gone grocery shopping all week and manage to throw together a healthy salad for lunch because we can walk outside and harvest our own lettuce, it all feels very light.

P.S.
Thanks to my readers who asked me where I've been. Sorry for leaving you hanging! More to come!

Inspired By...

...their honesty, creativity, ingenuity, courage to live and work outside the mainstream.


I get really into stuff, and sometimes I think the people in my life tire of my unsolicited, overly enthusiastic, proselytizing emails. And then I remember, that's why I have a blog.


Chuck Close, painter. 

The guy went paralyzed half way through his career, which forced him to come up with new ways to physically paint, resulting in (I think) his best work. Unbelievable. I saw a documentary about him on PBS when I was in college and have loved him ever since. His studio is only a couple blocks away from my office, and one day I walked by him sitting outside. I walked around the corner and spent about 5 minutes facing a brickwall trying to convince myself to go back and talk to him. When I finally worked up the courage he had gone back inside. I'll get him next time.

Mindy Kaling, writer. 

She kills me. It's like she has a portal to my brain and knows my innermost thoughts.

I think a lot of women my age feel the same way, but I still feel special.

John Cage, composer, artist, all around amazing guy. 

He is so much more than the guy who composed a piece of silent music. He was a contemporary of Buckminster Fuller, Merce Cunningham, and that whole crew of crazy forward thinking guys. Joyful Zen is what I take away from him. 

Pablo Picasso, painter.

You know who he is. I am not cool for loving him. I wrote an essay about my early obsession with him -- maybe one day i'll share it on the blog in serial form. I wrote it to submit to This American Life until one of their old producers told me it wasn't universal enough. I freely admit that ever since that experience my love of TAL has dimmed. But I think it just happened to coincide with my love for it burning too brightly: it could not be sustained. Now I tend to find their unassuming, casual narration style somewhat rote and grating. But who am I kidding, I still listen.

Marc Maron, comic & podcaster.

The only way I survive my commute is by listening to podcasts which pre-maternity leave had been limited to shows that air on NPR; the only way I survived the last 3 weeks of my pregnancy was by discovering Kevin Pollack's Chat Show on iTunes. Because I could not listen to Terry Gross or the Planet Money team talk about economic doom while my whole life was all about bringing a human being into the world. So I took hour long walks around my neighborhood once or twice a day and amused myself by listening to Kevin's long form interviews with actors. It was fluffy and funny. Only a week or two ago did I finally download some of Marc Maron's WTF podcasts -- long form interviews with comics, writers, and actors. It was kind of like graduating from high school (KPCS) and going to college where everyone smokes cigarettes and talks philosophy. But it's still funny. In fact it's about ten times funnier, so I've turned into the girl who walks around Port Authority grinning inexplicably. And I like that. Marc Maron, I think I love you.

E.E. Cummings, poet.

Yeah, everybody loves his cute punctuation, his love poems, blah blah blah, but until you read "i: six non-lectures" you have no idea what a mindblowingly compelling thinker he was. There is so much more to him than writing in all lowercase. The book may have taken me about a decade to read and understand cover to cover, but it is the most special book I own, and it was passed down from my mother. And it goes without saying that "if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have one."

Pema Chodron, Buddhist monk.

I was first introduced to her work through Stephanie, my amazing old yoga teacher in Brooklyn. One time she read a passage from her book in class and I started crying. That yoga really can really sneak up on you sometimes. I always turn to her books "When Things Fall Apart" and "Start Where You Are" when things fall apart, which they inevitably do every couple years. You don't have to be a meditating Buddhist to take away some real pearls of wisdom.

Maira Kalman, illustrator.

You knew this already. 

Uncle Jim, my mom's brother.

My love and respect for him has been chronicled on this blog before. He is half of the dynamic duo we are always going to Maine to see. Let's be honest: we love the state of Maine, but we really love our relatives who live there. Otherwise all those evergreens could start to look the same.