Grilled Peaches

When I was a wee tot, my grandfather would pick my sister and I up from school and bring us back to his house where my grandmother would prepare an afternoon snack of a liberally buttered english muffins and luke warm cans of Sprite. Afternoon activities included but were not limited to:

1) Cribbage.
2) Rummy.
3) PBS gems like Where in the World is Carmen San Diego, Reading Rainbow, and Square One.
4) Hanging out with my grandma in the kitchen while my grandpa snored in his favorite chair- New Yorker on his chest, beloved pug Suzie at his feet.

My grandmother did grandmothery things like bake pies, make jello salad, and can peaches. The giant peach tree in their yard produced so many peaches that multiple paper grocery bags brimming with ripe fruit would materialize on my parents front porch weekly. Ever since I was a little girl, peaches have been the taste of summer.

It seems others agree! Peaches are poppin' up right and left in the food world, and I'm particularly fond of the peach grillin' phenomenon. My girl Isa Chandra Moscowitz of the Post Punk Kitchen doles up a recipe for Grilled Peaches with Ginger Coconut Caramel that has me running for store. Can't wait to throw a few of these on the barbe!

Father to Son

I am slightly embarrassed to admit I do not know how to grill a steak. As fond as I am of hop-scotching across boundaries, the gender divide of "women in the kitchen, men at the grill" persists in my family. My lack of BBQ chops comes up for two reasons:

1) 4th of July weekend is prime grillin' time, and I want to throw some meat on a fire!

2) A co-worker just handed me a book called "Father to Son: Life Lessons on Raising a Boy." One of the one-liner lessons is, "Teach him how to barbecue a steak. This is a right of passage."

While my dad missed the boat on this one, he hit quite a few of the Father to Son lessons. One, in particular, stood out to me, “Teach him the wonder of staring at the moon.”

In fourth and fifth grade my dad couched my AYSO soccer team. We won the championship both years. He taught me a couple of things over the course of those seasons:

1)     1) The honor and rarity of being a champion.

2     2) How to blow a snot rocket.

3)       3) The best offense is a good defense.

4)     4)  If you’re not the fastest, you better be the smartest.

One night in the fall, practice was coming to a close. He gathered all the girls into a huddle and told us to look up at the moon. To this day, I’ve never seen a more glorious moon. He told us about the coyotes in the San Gabriel Mountains just to the north of us- he told us of their tenacity and stealth. Then, much to our surprise, he had us howl at the moon. For a good three minutes or so, 20 nine year old girls stood in a pack on a field howling at the moon. I will never forget that.

My father would have raised a good son, but instead he raised a great daughter. And sure, I can't grill a steak (yet!) but that's what this weekend is for. On Monday, as the men in my family gather around the grill and prepare to do their manly duty, I'll saunter up in my sweetest sundress and ask for a lesson. 

Working on the Weekend

I love this image of Courtney Adamo's desk. Since I just started a UCLA extension class in Interior Architecture (yay!), I'll be spending a large portion of my summer weekends at my desk. First things first- make my desk as pleasant a spot as this one.

Note the role of gingham fabric casually leaning against the wall. Cute cute cute. How come when I casually lean things it just looks like clutter, but here it looks fabulous and completely purposeful?

Working on the weekend isn't so bad when the work feels like play. Another step on the road of turning my avocation into a vocation. Quite the task, but Ms Gingham never backs down from a challenge!

Via design*sponge.

I Heart Redheads

Nothing like sultry flowing locks of auburn goodness to make a lady go "oooo." Not only do these redheads (Kate Nash, Jenny Lewis, Florence Welch of Florence and the Machine) have killer pipes, they've got attitude to boot.

It's quite lovely to see ladies writing pop-y songs without acting as rubber stamps for the lowest common denominator of pop star sensibilities. They rock out in rompers, throw down in concert, and have the audacity to declare themselves feminists! Oh, Kate Nash, how do I love thee, let me count the ways... 

"Yes, I'm a feminist. I think everybody should be, because feminism is about equality of the sexes, which we all believe in, don't we?"-Kate Nash 

Words for the Weekend

I used to tell my father, as children do, that I was bored. He always responded with the same sentence, "Boredom is a self-induced state." Well pops, you were right. 

Grab a pal and stir something up this weekend. Whether it's a batch of key lime coconut cake or some good old fashioned trouble, you certainly won't be bored!

The Roof is on Fire

Notions of 'The Home' are much broader than the physical structures occupying our mailing address. In the last four years I've lived in nine 'homes' spanning six cities and three countries. My propensity for the nomadic leads to extreme possession-cleansing at least once a year, often condensing everything I own down to 3 duffle bags and the cash from craigslist sales. 

Each time I pare down, I have to assess the value of my stuff. This process is not dissimilar from the question posed by Foster R. Huntington on his blog The Burning House. He writes, 

"If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It's a conflict between what's practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question."

Apparently, three contributors answered- GINGHAM!

Note: 1950's gingham romper

Note: gingham baby tunic

Note: gingham oxford by Polo (complete with red pony, neigh)

In looking at these neat amalgamations of what people would take with them, I started to think about all the fabulous items I have left in cities I once inhabited. 

The hardest pills to swallow have been: 

1) A 1950's gold velvet brocade love seat. It took me two years to find this baby. I hope someone's ass is happy.

2) My books. In the great purge of 2009 (which claimed the love seat as well) I waded through my book shelves and selected a few key reads. I brought only those books I truly loved with me to New Hampshire where they too were ruefully abandoned upon moving to Toronto not six months later. The books still in New Hampshire. They include but are not limited to: (a) paperback copy of Franny and Zooey I bought in a used bookstore at age 14, (b) Cindy Sherman coffee table book (c) Lynn Hejinian's My Life, (d) my father's copy of HOWL, (e) The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing.

3) Wrought iron hooks in the shape of roosters, pigs, and cows. They were the perfect hooks for my apron collection.

Of all the possessions I've left behind, there are a few that have made the cut each and every time. It seems I can not live without:

1) My down pillow, aptly named Squishy.

2) A set of ceramic mixing bowls my mother bought me when I moved into my very first apartment.

3) A small framed photograph of my best friend and I, age 16, at the beach. 

If my house was burning down, I don't know if these would be the first items I'd grab on way down down the fire escape. However, there's something to be said for the little things that have made it through the past few years of cut throat downsizing and travel. Each time I cuddle up to my perfect pillow, make a batch of cupcakes in my mixing bowls, or look at the photo of Hannah and me, I feel I am at home. 

The Wheels on the Bike

Ladies and Gents, this LA girl is trading four wheels for two on her daily commute! I could muse about the benefits of bikes vs. cars, but I think this image from my friend Colin, avid cyclist and self proclaimed Canadian nomad, really says it all.

If only I could afford a sweet euro-chic chariot from PUBLIC to take me to and from work in styyyle!

 

Little known fact about moi: I didn't really learn to ride a bike until I was eighteen. When my college compadre found this out, he decided to fill my childhood gap by having me mount a brakeless fixed gear approximately five inches too tall for me in a freezing parking garage next to our dorm. Needless to say, success was minimal. 

Within a year I had rummaged a dilapidated but cute-ish blue bike more my size complete with functioning breaks and semi-functioning gears. After adorning my sweet ride with a wicker basket (for baguettes, flowers, and wine, of course!) I was on the road avoiding whizzing motorists with the grace of pregnant heifer. Perhaps now, many years later, I'll resemble something closer to a tipsy badger.

There's a rich history of social movements and bicycles that often gets boiled down to bloomers. Why? Because it's kind of funny to imagine bloomers as a catalyst for change. In fact they were, as women pulled on flouncy pantaloons so they could mount a bicycle without revealing themselves. Without bikes we might not have seen Katherine Hepburn in those fabulous trousers- a travesty indeed.

Now here's my question- do they make bloomers for pencil skirts?