Pink of Perfection

I think these yarn wreaths are just about some of the cheerfullest spring decor items I’ve ever seen. I like how they are both cozy and sweetly fresh, just like season itself. The most seasonal decorating I ever do is bringing in lilacs instead of dahlias, but I’ve always loved the idea of lightening the interior of my home when things warm up. Do you swap out decorative items–throw pillows, blankets and the like? And have you seen your first lilacs? I bought my first bouquet yesterday, and they sit–already a little droopy–in the morning light of the breakfast table.

This weekend, I went on my first yoga retreat. There were so many themes brought up over two days in the mountains that I couldn’t wait to bring back here, and I plan on teasing these out over several posts. (It’s just too juicy to smash into one!) But it makes the most sense to start at the beginning.

Before my sister and I drove up the crazy steep incline to a small guest house nestled at the top of a mountain, we received an email from the weekend’s teachers. They asked us to pause in our lives to ask ourselves: What is unfolding within you this spring? How can you nourish and cultivate those tender, tiny sprouts?

Isn’t it funny how it so often takes someone else to ask us to reflect for us to actually do it? We go from moment to moment in our lives, seamlessly moving from one thought, one action, one task to the next. At its best, life can move along smoothly like this, and at its worst, we can feel like automatons, going through the motions of our days without any heart or mindfulness.

I think this is why so many of us turn to our favorite wise souls for their blogs and books. These outside influences serve as a reminder to check in with our hearts and see what needs tending there: what do I want in my life? How can I support that desire today, tomorrow, this week, this year?

It would be lovely to have a practice of checking in with ourselves. For many of us, this is what yoga and journaling are often about. But even our regular soul-filled practices can become routine, and then we might need to fully step out of our lives to bring new attention to our intentions. I went to the top of a mountain in Massachusetts with wood stoves, wide windows, and a view that made my heart sing. There, two teachers broke my heart wide open, and I could see each little seedling growing within me, tiny green shoots of what I most value, who I love, and how I can live to best support all of that.

Retreating from the hum and buzz of our lives every now and then feels essential, but you don’t have to go to the top of a mountain to make it happen. You might walk up to the park and sit on a bench in the sun for a full hour with your eyes closed, just feeling the sweet warmth. Or close the door to the bedroom, light a candle, and give yourself the space and time to sit with what’s growing within you. And luckily, we have these friends on the internet to prod us with questions, give us the spark of creativity and desire to flourish that makes us want to answer over and over again: what is unfolding within me this spring?

1. Vintage denim wrap skirt pattern; 2. Vintage trench; 3. Tortoiseshell cateye sunglasses; 4. Essie Canyon Coral; 5. Gold nail head studs; 6. Floral scarf; 7. Worishofer lace-up slingbacks; 8. Scoopneck t-shirt; 9. Ruched-sleeve striped top

There is some endless pleasure, before the season has really taken form, in imagining what you will look like in it. I remember sitting in the backseat of a friend’s Toyota before spring semester of our junior year had started. “I’m going to wear lots of pink blush!” I declared. Soon enough, I was bare-faced and the resolution was forgotten, but there was so much delight in that moment of ripe potential.

I just opened the window in the living room and can hear birds outside. My husband reported this morning that the high today would be in the ’60s, tomorrow creeping up into the ’70s. But this is the hardest seasonal transition for me–coming out of the cozy cocoon of a home, peeling off layers, baring arms and pale calves. Spring has a dark side, and there’s a vulnerability to the season. Tender green growing shoots aren’t the only ones emerging from the safe darkness and into the unforgiving light.

But for those able to see it, spring is a new beginning and fresh start. Wardrobe-wise, I’m embracing the change with visions of striped tops, airy floral scarves, and the perfect red-coral nail polish. Life-wise, I see more walks in the park in my future, an uptick in smoothies, and more of those daffodils we all can’t stop about.

How do you welcome spring, wardrobe-wise and life-wise? Do you kind of see yourself like Carrie in that episode of Sex and the City where she’s walking through a flurry of falling pink cherry blossoms? Or when she’s ambling down the street on a weekend, tote bag filled with flowers and the newspaper? (I do!)

I blame the bulb show. In a recreation of one of my favorite illustrations from Miss Rumphius, I walked into a greenhouse yesterday afternoon. It was a brisk and rainy day. The collar of the jacket was wet, and I stood in a doorway shaking out my umbrella and and scraping my wet, dirty shoes on a mat. But walking into the greenhouse was like walking into the warm, fragrant embrace of your most elegant aunt, full of both life and style. The air was lush with the smell of hyacinths, and I stood in the door, my nose in the air––just like Miss Rumphius, minus the smart outfit and fur muff––enveloped by the smell of spring. I am now ready for radishes, daffodils, light-colored shoes, asparagus, trench coats, and strawberries.

tasting :: Alison’s you-wouldn’t-know-it-was-healthy-but-it-was strawberry rhubarb crumble

hearing :: rediscovering my infinite love for Frank Black’s Black Letter Day

smelling :: dreamy hand soap in a cafe that I can’t stop thinking about it

seeing :: exploding roses, everywhere

feeling :: very happy to spend the weekend with my mom

What are your senses this Friday?

Wishing you all a very happy, relaxing weekend. Happy Mother’s Day!

photo via thomas pix

I spent part of this past weekend waking up in my friend’s bed to a view of her balcony lined with potted plants and palm trees beyond. She had terracotta planters filled with succulents and feeders to attract hummingbirds. It was a wonderful way to greet the day, and I watched her tend to her plants the way I do to guests: keeping them watered, seeing if they need anything, making sure they’re comfortable.

I’ve never seemed to have much of a green thumb. My potted herbs always shrivel up and an orchid promised to live forever bummed out on me. The one thing I’ve managed to maintain are some mangy looking geraniums on my bedroom windowsill. Inspired by my friend, though, I re-potted these plants, and set them out in the hot air of our fire escape. It rained hard that day, and the leaves sucked the moisture out of the heavy air. They seemed to shoot up an inch. I felt encouraged.

So now I’m thinking of going hog wild with container gardens, possibly even window boxes (but how do you keep them from falling off the ledge? anyone?). There’s a big, leafy tree outside our apartment that puts us in a bit of shade. I’m thinking of staying tried and true with my red geraniums, a bit of ivy, and revisiting my failed herb endeavor. I’m feeling hopeful about the whole thing.

Do you keep plants in pots and containers? What do you apartment dwellers grow? Do you keep plants inside, and if so, what? Help me to make my garden grow. I’m all ears!

All the seasons have their signifiers — the arrival of tomatoes in August, the emergence of pumpkins in the fall — but none seem quite so ecstatic as the harbingers of spring. We get pumped for the arrival of spinach, strawberries, asparagus, and artichokes, and this year, for the first time, I got to know another spring debutante: rhubarb.

Here’s the story: I’ve been eyeing my Grand Diplôme books on the book shelf, knowing its high time for a lesson. But when I pulled out week 7 (oh boy, is it going to take a lifetime to get through all 72 books), the lessons seemed woefully out of season. Who wants to make crème caramel or Bavarian cream in late April, I thought?

But the particularly gorgeous and inspiring May issue of Martha Stewart put everything right again. There were not one but two recipes for custards, which looked perfect and sounded delicious. And that’s when it hit me. The lessons in the Grand Diplôme lessons rarely seem appealing or seasonal, but I think it’s a matter of bad packaging and poor lighting (the photography, as previously established, is vile and a true testament to its age). In other words, from now on, as soon as a lesson rubs me the wrong way or seems stodgy or just plain blah, I’m turning elsewhere for a little inspiration.

And then I’ll turn back to the el grosso ’70s pictures for “the lesson.”

Have you ever had raw rhubarb? I snagged a piece as I was chopping up the stalks and found myself floored at its complex flavors. It’s tart with a citrusy zing that reminded me of lemongrass, which got me thinking about all the wonderful ways in which rhubarb could be used in savory dishes. But as for the recipe at hand, this is perfect spring comfort food. The custard is rich, but each bite is punctuated with the bright pink tartness of rhubarb. The milky caramel wards off the chill in the air and the rhubarb braces you for warmer days ahead.

Continue reading “Grand Diplôme Book 7: Rhubarb Custards” »

On these shape-shifting spring days — in which one moment the tulips in my neighbor’s backyard bend in the sunny breeze and next the sky’s turned ominous and rain threatens — I long for something steady, something to rely on.

And I always come back to lentils.

They are a stalwart and steady friend in this house. They’ve been with me on days of faux luxury and days of deep poverty. And I can say I’ve yet to run into a way I don’t like them. My favorite is the red variety, velvety, comforting, and falling-to-pieces right along with you, if you need them to.

But then there are the green lentils from France, like poor man’s caviar, they say. “They” must be a little off their rocker, but I will concede there is a touch of understated luxury in this incarnation. More importantly, this is a lunch that feels properly grounded for these flitty days. There’s even a waft of civility in here. And if you don’t need a breath of that every now and then at lunchtime, you’re a better woman than I.

Continue reading “Spring Stalwart: Lentil and Arugula Salad” »