welcome, autumn!

The first day of autumn here in NE Wisconsin feels more like summer, with bright sunshine and temps climbing to the high 70s/low 80s. I like the contrast of warmth and bright blue sky with the first tinges of crimson and gold in the maple trees lining my street.

Last night I listened to *A Prarie Home Companion* and smiled as Garrison Keiler waxed poetic about fall, mentioned my humble little town in passing, and tempered his sentimentality with a well-placed Midwestern joke.

Yesterday at the farmer's market I chatted with the organic farmers, who regaled me with tales of their farm, their experience with my college, and even their religion. It was an interesting conversation and shows how food can really connect people. They gave me their card and invited me to call and come to the farm for veggies...I also stopped at the public library yesterday morning, and came home with my body, mind, and soul ready to devour the delicious, life sustaining foods and books I gathered.

I'm reading *Stealing Buddha's Dinner,* a memoir I've wanted to read every since Mom sent me the review from the GR Press last year and a former colleague asked me if I'd read the book. It's so lovely and melancholy all at once. The author/narrator, Bich Minh Nguyen is about my age and describes her childhood days, growing up Vietnamese-American in the Dutch stronghold that is Western Michigan. Many of the places she mentions are places I know, and at times the book made me so homesick for my home region that I had to set it down and walk away. I feel a real kinship with the author when she describes her escape into books as a way to both be alone and not be alone. It's a gem, and I'm going to teach it in my Multi-Culti American Lit class in the Spring. I'm excited to plan this class...

Today, my friends, their kids, and I are heading to Milwaukee for an afternoon of fun! this time I'm going to spend a little time in Barnes and Noble, selecting at least one new book of my own! Libraries are wonderful and elemental, but there's something about having "a book of one's own" that conveys a delicious pleasure. What I'll choose remains to be seen...several possibilities come to mind: *White Teeth,* *Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,* my very own copy of *The Omnivore's Dilemma*...or a book I have yet to meet. Ahh, the excitement of the unknown!

alice's "delicious revolution"

Ahhh, I so love to read about fellow idealists, who can be frustratingly lovable in their optimism and faith, and their zeal in, well, a kind of perfection. I love that the meal Alice cooks is so utterly simple (and vegetarian!). Check out this article in the NYT:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/19/dining/19wate.htmlex=1190952000&en=2d812d1e466dd6d7&ei=5070

A wonderful read and a nice intro to Alice Waters' philosophy if you're not familiar with her legacy and her ongoing "delicious revolution."

poetics of early morning

I'm one hour into a 12 hour fast. Not for any transcendent motive, but rather for my very first cholesterol and blood sugar screening tomorrow morning. And it seems that my chocolate is calling me:) That I can have an iron will (when I so choose) is quite helpful at moments like this.

Today my class created our own cheese tasting...we're writing food culture narratives and I find that a tasting activity helps show the importance of multi-sensory details. And, when in Wisconsin, make like a cheesehead:) One student brought in the Italian cheese Bra Duro, which I tasted at Stella in TC this summer and adored. I had to deviate from my cheese abstention plan (bc of the aforementioned cholesterol test) to sample a cube or two. Yummmmm.

I'm supposed to be reading Thomas Jefferson. And Ben Franklin. For class tomorrow. Fascinating history wise, but literary wise...I can't wait until next week when we jump ahead to the Transcendentalists and then the rest of the semester falls into line and I can chat extemporaneously (and confidently and knowledgeably) about ALL the readings.

This morning I watched the most beautiful sunrise yet--all pink and blue and purple and cloudy and striated, the sun rising as a fuschia orb from the azure depths of Lake Michigan. That moment of breathtaking beauty, around 6:35 am, when I watch the sun slowly make its way skyward from the vantage point of the YMCA parking lot makes the 5:00 alarm worthwhile. Forget the sweat-inducing and heart-racing spinning class. That's minor compared to the poetry of a daily miracle that we mostly take prosaically.

Poetry, prose, poetry. I'm almost feeling ready to write another poem. It's been three years since my last attempt at verse. I think it's time to leave the sprawling exuberance of prose and revisit the spare elegance and eloquence of poetry. Maybe I'll share...

kitchen home

My weekend has largely evolved in the kitchen, the only place I seem to feel at home these days. I keep reminding myself that this feeling of homelessness will pass as the weeks and months unfold and I settle into the strangeness that at times seems so jarring. Autumn weekends in Wisconsin are distinctly color coded: Red on Saturdays (to cheer on the Badgers) and Green and Gold on Sundays (to cheer on the Packers). I felt like the only person not wearing the de rigeuer garb as I wandered the Farmer’s Market yesterday and the grocery store today.

Yesterday at the market I was waiting in line to buy delicious beautiful organic veggies--they always have a line, which is heartening (they’re the only table to declare themselves organic or anything close)--when I felt hands on both sides of my waist. It felt like something my Grandma would do if she were here, but of course she lives in Michigan. I turned to see that the owner of the hands was an elderly woman on a mission for tomatoes. I waited for her to say something as her hands left my waist and I turned away, but she silently sidled alongside the table toward the heirloom beefsteaks. I, on the other hand, patiently waited my turn.

I watched kids eating cider donuts, and felt a prick of homesickness when I saw a table of blueberry honey from Grand Haven...And I remembered that the last two years this was “apple weekend,” the fall gathering of my best college friends and myself. We’d stay at my parents’ home and spend Saturday in Saugatuck/Fennville. I would run the Mt. Baldy 5K (last year I even won 3rd place in my age group!) and then we’d lunch at the Journeyman Cafe, pick apples at a conventional orchard (where we’d also buy apple butter and cider donuts) and an organic farm (where we wrestled with the threat of bees and poison ivy), drink coffee and enjoy scones and hummus at one of my favorite coffee shops (uncommon grounds), walk around cute shops, and eat pizza at Marro’s (where I would drink one glass of wine and someone else would have to drive my car back to my parents’).

My kitchen became a place of refuge on a cool, breezy day. I made butternut squash ravioli-- a mixture of roasted organic squash, caramelized onion, roasted garlic, sage (all from local farms), pepper, salt, and honey (from Leelanau) stuffed in wonton wrappers (someday I’ll brave my own pasta). After boiling the ravioli, I pan toasted them with more sage and chopped walnuts in a bit of butter. I finished them with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of wisconsin parm, and set them on a bed of wilted organic spinach. A side dish of oven roasted cauliflower and carrots completed this wonderful expression of fall! Oh, and the last glass of my Crios Torrontes, one of my favorite wines.

I also “invented” a tart yesterday, and it’s good, though it needs a little work to be great, and a bit more work to be transcendent. A basic pate brisee topped with dark chocolate ganache (made with half-and-half, which worked surprisingly well), and then a layer of butterscotch pudding (made mostly with skim milk--it is a bit less voluptuous, but makes me feel better about eating the dessert:). A sprinkle of toasted nuts or shaved chocolate on top. Yeah, it’s fairly good, but the crust is a tad tough and too thick. It’s been awhile since I’ve made pastry and hence am a bit out of practice.

Today I made stuffed shells despite a DIRE situation with ricotta/cottage cheese. Yesterday I bought cottage cheese, brought it home and then remembered that it’s one of those products that often contains various gums and stabilizers. So I went back to the grocery store today and the only like product I could find that’s not filled with various gums and stabilizers was marscapone and I couldn’t justify that high level of fat (especially with my cholesterol test on thursday morning!). So I used cottage cheese with all that CRAP in it and I was quite put out by the whole situation. I might not have pursued the dish but I already had the cottage cheese at home and would feel bad about throwing it away. My cover-up strategy involved adding tons of good stuff to the cottage cheese filling: fresh basil and parsley, roasted garlic and roasted peppers, spinach, black pepper, wisconsin parm. But, I swear I could still discern a difference in taste and texture since I usually avoid all such fakery. And this situation annoys me to no end because it is endemic of agri-business. If we bought local, sustainable foods, we wouldn’t need such crap in them because they wouldn’t be coming from some faraway place. And everything would be simpler and taste better!

But I can feel myself being self-righteous and that’s not a good combination with a feeling of homelessness:) Besides, I need to check on my raspberry jam, the last fresh dish to come out of my kitchen this weekend, and then rest for the week ahead.

the best pizza in the world (for now)

Dvorak's 9th, the *Symphony from the New World* is on Wisconsin Public Radio (WPR) tonight. The station plays a program that includes educational discussions of classical music; instead of playing the symphony in its entirety, they'll play one movement and discuss it before moving on to the next. I actually played AND studied this piece back in college, when I minored in music. Ooh, now the DJ is discussing similarities to Beethoven's 9th (my fave symphony, though not my fave classical piece. That would be Barber's Adagio).

The warm fragrance of just-baked banana nut muffins wafts through my home, promising good snacks for the next two work weeks. A few years ago I took to baking batches of muffins, freezing them, and taking them to work for a healthy delicious snack. In a few weeks I'll do something pumpkin chocolate chippy. Yumm.

Today was pleasant though cold. My friend down the hall brought Starbucks to work for me, another friend brought bday treats, and yet another was interviewed on WPR. My students are more than engaged--we're actually planning a FASHION SHOW for later in the semester, in conjunction with reading *The Devil Wears Prada,* and they want to have a little inter-class competition, though when I insisted the competition must take some written form they rolled their eyes a bit.

But, I will delay no longer on my discussion of THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD (for now). I very well may revise this statement when the blessed day comes that I travel to Italy...For now, dining on pizza that has been officially certified by the Verace Pizza Napoletana Association is close enough to being in Naples myself...

Yesterday I left work and drove along the Lake, watching the interplay of billowy clouds, fierce winds, and intensely blue waters. Turning on the interstate, I watched the sky transform into a luminous Beirstadt painting (I had been looking at his "The Oregon Trail" in our American Lit book). I shopped at Target before heading to my new Aveda salon. The trademarh herbal, floral Aveda scent, so familiar and redolent of relaxation and pampering, eased any remaining jagged edges of my day. A vanilla honey latte and a good haircut make me want to return. (I realize that I'm stalling, making you wait for that delicious pizza...). I stopped at Younkers and tried on shoes, but it wasn't the same without Mom, Grandma, or S shopping with me.

Finally, I made my way to Il Ritrovo. Settled into a table for two. There's a certain art to dining alone in a real restaurant. It's difficult to refrain from apologizing for only taking up one chair, but I'm mastering the art (not that this means I intend to become overly comfortable dining alone. But it's a precious skill.) I asked for half a glass of wine--wish granted. Did it help that I was thumbing through the latest copy of *Food and Wine* that I brought with me? I deliberated between the specials--a veggie minestrone, a caprese panini--and my usual. I had pizza on my mind. I needed that perfectly balanced taste and texture again. As I have on my previous visits, I ordered the Mista salad and the Margherita Classico.

Mista salad: bibb lettuce, cubes of fennel, half-moons of cucumber (from round cucumbers, I suspect), long shaved carrots, and wedges of heirloom tomatoes--green zebra, and some completely transcendent variety that's so red it's nearly purple, and sweet, and lush, and a revelation (I found myself thinking in poetry--instead of Elizabeth Bishop's "rainbow, rainbow, rainbow," I was thinking "tomato, tomato, tomato!). Between the fennel chunks and the cucmbers, a delicate floral fragrance pervaded every bite of the salad, which is tossed in a basalmic vinaigrette, in its purest form.

My *Food and Wine*: forgotten. Every taste nearly bringing tears. And it's just a salad!

And then the pizza arrived. It's quite large--probably 14 inches. The crust is thin, and charred in places, crisp, yet inexplicably chewy in the center. Topped with a slick of Italian tomatoes, grown in volcanic soil. Thin slices of fresh mozzarella placed sparingly, and torn basil strewn haphazardly are the only toppings. Steam undulated upward when the pizza first arrived, and I paused before grabbing a slice, a rough quarter. I folded the slice in half and began the transformative meal anew. What makes this pizza so delicious is the utter simplicity of ingredients. The pizza is not much to look at, and indeed might appear disappointing to fans of American pizza, laden with toppings and oozing with cheese. Here, each flavor asserts its rightful place, from the clean textural contrast of the crust to the simmering sweetness of the sauce and the creamy chewiness of the cheese. I find myself smiling through the whole meal--experiencing what the French call joissance.

A decaf non-fat cappuccino, with one lump of raw sugar, and a perfectly blended crema, helped balance out the dreaminess of my half glass of italian red and ready me for the drive back home.

velour pants and fleecy blankets

The first really cool day of fall always surprises me. And make that chilly day a rainy one, and the shock multiplies. Further compound the hint of arctic air with a freezing office, and you have a day of blue fingernails and longing to be home, curled up in the aforementioned velour pants and fleecy blankets (both pink, of course), sipping hot chocolate and lost in some deliciously addictive book, like *Gods in Alabama,* which I'm currently attempting to read betwixt the letters of Columbus and the ravings of the Puritans. And informal student writings. And non-fiction accounts of life on the tenure track. And all my fun blogs...

When I finally made it home, and layered on warm clothes, and curled up with a mug of steaming hot guatamala antigua coffee, I relaxed, breathed, and then proceeded to doze off in my study whilst reading Columbus and de Vaca in preparation for tomorrow's class. Shameful. Or Shameless? I long for the day we begin the Transcendentalists and I can bring in my American Lit photo album. English-major dorky, of course, but it's so sweet! There's Walden Pond, all the nifty sites in Concord, MA, including Emerson and Thoreau's graves, Louisa Mae Alcott's home, the Old Manse, the North Bridge...and then there are the Emily Dickinson photos that students particularly love because I'm in the photos wearing a sorority sweatshirt! and sporting really dorky hair! And, finally, the Kerouac photos. It's a nice collection.

I finished the last of my Corallo bar yesterday. And I'm quickly making my way through the Scharffen-Berger bar stashed in my office drawer as of yesterday. If this cool weather sticks, it will be time to make a little online pilgrimage to chocosphere.com. Hoorah!

Tomorrow I'm going out for THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD, which I keep teasing y'all about. I'll write tasting notes soon...

newbie bloggers and early morning cycling

I spent today reading and commenting on the lovely posts my students are creating for our class blogs. I'm so proud of their willingness to try something new and to share themselves. I'm so excited to see how using a blog for class might change the classroom dynamic--hopefully improving the connections between students. Many of them express a bit of skepticism but their long-ish and personal entries betray their real interest in this "experiment."

Tomorrow morning I will be at the gym, on a fancy bike, listening to pounding music, and peddling my legs into pools of jello at 5:45 am. Yes, 5:45 am. Those of you who know me well know that I am NOT exactly what one would call a morning person. I need a good few hours to adjust to being vertical and alert. Actually, I love mornings, but I like them as a quiet, caffeinated, reflective, peaceful cushion to the more frenetic energy of the rest of the day. This spinning class, which I intend to take 3 days a week, is a testament to my dedication to maintain that delicate life-work balance. To carve out dedicated time for physical fitness. To start my teaching day on a post-spinning high.

If, in a few weeks, I admit to sleeping in, please help boost me out of the bed and back on the bike:)

booze and big city adventures

A beautiful day--the kind of day when the sun's warmth is tempered by a cool breeze, and the crispness in the air means one thing: summer has slipped into fall. I spent the morning dowtown, selecting a few novels from the public library, and deliberating over the gorgeous vegetables at the farmer's market. I came home laden with organic goodness, and with the added treat of mini mozzarella balls--made right here in Wisconsin!--and a mediterranean olive mix from the cheese vendor. Their store in Green Bay is locally famous for delicious cheese from the state and the world. I have yet to make it up to the frozen tundra...but will soon when my cheese stash runs out.

But today I piled into the car with my friends and we set out for a northern suburb of Milwaukee. Under bright blue skies spilling in the moonroof, we laughed and chatted all the way to a colleague's home. We dined on delicious treats and celebrated our host's new status as a tenured prof!

Upon leaving the soiree, we headed south and visited Bay Shore Mall, giddy at the possibilites lining the streets of the urban shopping mecca. We all bought new school clothes, and enjoyed coffee from Alterra. Yummm.

And then we wandered through Trader Joes, loading our baskets and carts with delicious treats and fabulous finds that cannot be had in our small town. I yelped, "bread! real bread!" as I deliberated between a pugliese and sesame semolina loaf. I chose the former. Fage greek yogurt, organic extra firm tofu, baked hickory barbeque kettle chips, 2 bars of Valrhona, 1 bar of Scharrfen Berger, a pound of california walnuts, and a pound of california almonds rounded out my purchase. Oh, and a bottle of slightly fizzy pinot grigio. What happiness in a brown paper sack! And what lovely company on such a gorgeous day.

My next culinary undertaking is to creating a lemon-limecello, per the girls' request, since we polished off the limoncello last night. We've christened it the "Mason Jar Special" after its illustrious vessel:) I've discovered that cutting it with sparkling water makes it very tastier and a little less jangly. It is, after all, made with 100 proof vodka!

Ahh, what a wonderful weekend! Tomorrow it's off to figure out a way to make the Puritans seem absolutely thrilling.

let's get it started...

This photo has nothing to do with my subject. But it's pretty, and it's from my parents' house, and it just says "ahhh, summer!" on a day when southern temps and hazy sun fill the air while eager students and excited teachers hit the classrooms...

On to the subject line...my friend J. sent me a wonderful mix CD of "traveling tunes" for my move last month, full of eclectic songs ranging from the theme to *Smoky and the Bandit* to a insouciant Lily Allen number, to Justin Timberlake and the aforementioned "Let's Get it Started." When S. visited a few weeks ago, we tooled around Door County (the Wisconsin version of Leelanau), listening to the CD. Upon hearing the Black Eyed Peas for the 7th time, I quipped, " Wouldn't it be great to walk into the first day of class and play this song? Maybe dance around a little? Even go old school by bringing in a BOOM BOX?" I loved the idea, but since I'm starting out and have a reputation to build, I decided to stick to my standby: declaring the necessity of chocolate to any and all reading and writing success. However, S. is an established and very talented middle school choir director and she decided to use the Black Eyed Peas. From what I hear, her students loved it and her street cred has increased exponetially.

I share just three words, not even very descriptive words, to describe my first weeks on the job: I LOVE IT.

And my foodie romance article? DONE.

Tales from my kitchen...very pedestrian. Various salads and pasta dishes, sandwiches and frittatas, using the finest local Wisconsin produce. However, delicious thoughts of a towering three layer coconut cake--one with marshmallowey, meringuey frosting, and a dusting of coconut--pervade my mind at the most inopportune moments. I predict a cake party in the near future. The cake will be pink if I'm feeling kitschy and uber-feminine, white if I'm feeling classic. And if I'm feeling like a cheesehead, I may "Packer" it out in yellow and green...




This was my birthday cake in 2006, all coconutty loveliness, with a coconut-less section on the side for my brother who doesn't like the texture. How old was I that year?!?

at home in the kitchen

My grandparents "inherited" this cabinet when they bought their house--a house they've lived in for as long as I've been living and then some. My Mom and Grandma "antiqued" it back in the 1970s, and then my Aunt T refinished it with class brown stain and glass panes etched with cattails and ducks. She returned it to my grandparents this summer, and Grandma called me to see if I wanted it. I did, but not in its present incarnation. I had visions of clear glass, and a pink-tinged white paint finish. I'd always wanted a Hoosier cabinet, but I feared I wouldn't have the time to refinish it before moving. Grandpa gamely volunteered to paint it for me for the bargain price of a few chocolate cakes.

And here it is, my very slightly pink cabinet, my favorite part of my new, large kitchen. I imagine all the women before me who might have rolled out pies on the enamel top. I think of the loaves of homemade bread that sat in the aluminum drawers, feeding the family for a week. Now, the cabinet holds my fancy glass, the bread drawer my vintage apron collection. I've taken to placing a vase of farmer's market blossoms--mostly vibrant zinnias this time of year--on the enamel top.

Someday, when I have the luxury and the money to design my own kitchen (I must believe that this day WILL come), I hope to pass up "modern" installed cabinets for a collection of "vintage" freestanding pieces. A pie safe, for one.

I move around the kitchen, still growing accustomed to the new layout, and as I bake my grandma's cookies, or make my Mom's homemade yeasted waffles for breakfast, I feel guided, comforted, and at home.

chocolate: the new black

My absence this week is explained by my procrastination on the aforementioned "foodie romance" article. My deadline looms--August 31--and therefore I've been trying to remember how to write academic prose. It's more difficult than one might think to switch from writing romance and food writing to writing ABOUT them!

I've been doing a little online shopping lately, to replenish my back-to-school wardrobe, which has never been completely restocked since I lost a bit of weight running and eating as few processed foods as I can. This fall, my closet is filling with a collection of chocolates!

Ahh, how I wish my kitchen cupboards were likewise filling with chocolates...my dear Cluizel, Corallo, Domori, Vosges...you shall return when the days turn cooler and shipping you across the country, across the globe does not cost a small fortune.

But I digress. Chocolate is the new black. It is very versatile--provides a warmer palette than black; coordinates well with the assortment of pinks I am already devoted to; and reminds me of my little foodie obsession:)

From Nordstrom I ordered utterly fabulous shoes--chocolate patent leather peeptoe Mary Janes with, to quote the website, "Trapunto stitching," for vintagey-mod flair. They are HIGH and I feel very TALL wearing them. Considering I'm already 5'8", I really AM tall in these 3 1/2" heels. I also ordered a chocolate brown trench coat with removable liner for these cooler Wisconsin autumns, and to finally look like the professional I am when I go to work (last year I was all denim jackets and patagonia fleece). A chocolate t-shirt and chocolate cardigan from bluefly.com, a wonderful discount fashionista site with distinctive pieces and quick shipping. And, finally a tealish and brown print silk dress from the clearance section of Ann Taylor.

Chocolate overload?

Never!


ps...am very conscious of the chick-litty appeal of this post. have spent much of the afternoon reading reviews of *Cooking For Mr. Latte* and *Julie and Julia* that trash them simply because they look like--egads--chick lit. am rather distraught about all the negative discussion of chick lit. so, in its defense, here's a heaping dose of chocolate and shopping. the cocktails and men will have to wait for another entry...

a long, strange trip back to *On the Road*

In a past life, I was a Jack Kerouac junkie. No, not in the Burroughsian sense of “junkie.” I mean in that, “wow, Jack was so cool and misunderstood, the voice of a generation, who was deeply romantic and henceforth tortured a la Heathcliff, and who was always seeking a deeper connection and real spirituality through whatever avenues were available to him, and he tried his hardest to live in the moment when really he was always simultaneously stuck in the past and already in the future, and wow, was he sexy when he wasn't looking so wasted...” That kind of junkie. I had a bit of a crush, really, and even went through a phase of digging Kerouacian fellows, or at least those who read Kerouac.

Well, those days are past, for various reasons, but primarily because writing a dissertation and focusing all one’s intellectual and therefore most other energy on a topic and a group of writers tends to lead to overdose. I needed a break. And I needed to find some fellows who never even heard of Jack Kerouac, much less read any of his works.

So. My scholarship turned towards romance novels, and fashion, and food. My fellows read John Grisham novels (okay, admittedly not an improvement, really. Where are the fellows who are, say, Michael Pollan devotees? That kind of fellow I could settle in with.)

From time to time I think of Jack and the gang and feel a twinge of something...not longing, but a sense of loss. Back in my doctoral days, I could’ve recited the publication dates of Jack’s novels. I could’ve rattled off some impressive anecdotes about the Beats. I could’ve told you which female Beats slept with which male Beats, and how those relationships ended (which they always did. end.)

So yesterday I received my NYTimes Book Review preview email and saw two articles about Jack and the 50th anniversary of the publication on OTR. I needed and wanted that paper, but wasn’t sure where in my new small-ish town I could locate the Sunday Times.

This afternoon, after whittling away at my foodie romance article, I braved the cold (62 degrees) and rainy day to head to Starbucks in search of liquid rejuvenation and my NYT. They had it! I settled into a comfy chair with the Kerouac articles and my tall non-fat misto (cafe au lait). As I read about Jack’s infamous first draft of OTR (the scroll), the Starbucks music shifted from a bluesy-jazzy mix, to something that sounded suspiciously like the Grateful Dead. “Cold Rain and Snow.” Followed by “Uncle John’s Band” and “Casey Jones.” How more Beat could it be? And how much more could I be propelled back into the past, say 2000-2003, when this particular mix of literature and music filled my days? I finished the Kerouac articles, picked up my American Lit anthology to prep for class and laughed out loud as the Dead gave way to Dave Matthews. “Stay or Leave,” from Dave’s solo album.

I sipped my coffee and waited for that pang of longing to be back in 2000, listening to Dave and the Dead (throw in a little Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls, and Shawn Mullins for authenticity) and reading about the Beat boys and girls, while living in sunny Alabama and at the zenith of intellectual prowess.

And the pang didn’t come. I was content to be in a Starbucks, which looked and felt like it could be anywhere in America, in my new lakeside town in Wisconsin. Happy to be preparing to teach American Lit. Thinking of how I could use these articles, and maybe even some of this hippie music when I teach Kerouac’s *The Dharma Bums* later this fall. Really, DB is my favorite of the few Kerouac novels I’ve actually read in their entirety. Rather than the frentic and at times completely alienating motion of the road, I always identified more with the Kerouac who longed to lay in green fields and free chained dogs. The Kerouac who didn’t want mystical orgies but wanted real soul talk between lovers (okay, in that case I’m back to OTR).

And so this, my 100th post on my little blog, is devoted to Jack, on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the publication of OTR. The publication of which would alter his life dearly, and, if the insights of some of those who knew him best at that time are to be believed, an event that would begin his long, slow spiral downward, madly burning to be saved.

What I always loved best about Jack’s writing was the sense of wide-open possibility, of a never ending seeking, of a yearning for something transformative. It's that message that today’s readers, perhaps more than ever, need to hear. We’re still searching, still looking to see if “God is Pooh Bear,” still looking for our forefathers (and mothers) to show us some better ways, and still searching for personal and national redemption...

school supplies

This time of year, I'm overcome with giddiness when I see special aisles dedicated to brightly colored paper folders; packages of crayola markers and crayons; tubs of elmers glue and rubber cement; and trendy lunchboxes and backpacks. I always loved school, which is partly why I stayed in school as long as I could, and now work in higher education so I can still surround myself with the accoutrements of--and contribute directly to--learning. This year I purchased several sets of crayola markers, glue sticks, and safety scissors, placed them in clear plastic boxes, and brought them to my office. To engage different learning styles, we're going to do more visual/artistic representations in my classes this fall. We'll create identity collages for one class, food collages for another, and American Dream collages for the other. Do I worry that this seems too sophomoric for my first and second year college students? A little. But research--and my own experience--shows that engaging other areas of the mind can help strengthen our writing and help break us from the formulaic patterns we've absorbed in earlier writing experiences. I, for one, am thrilled with these projects. We'll also go high tech and create class blogs...

My personal school supply purchases this year include: a mini pink stapler, complete with PINK staples; a bright candy pink folder, the kind with the clear plastic pocket to slip in a collage to personalize the front; a fancy, imported from Spain notebook with a green cover with white hearts on it; two green pilot v5 precise pens, my favorite to grade with; a brown and pink paisley rug for my office. And then there's my gorgeous green leather HOBO "briefcase" that my dearest friends gave me as a send-off gift, filled with all sorts of goodies, from pens, to hankies, to a journal, and a Vosges Gianduja chocolate bar (which is long gone. I HAD to consume before it melted:)

I'm still working on that all important first day of school outfit...but soon enough I'll be all tricked out, ready to bring my love of pink, green, chocolate, and all things literaturey and foodie to my students and colleagues:)

of things vintage, new, and excluded

This is the famous Zingerman's, in Ann Arbor, home of all that is delicious and good. Oh, Zingy's, let me count the ways I miss you...

Today I'm conjuring up some of their Paesano bread in my mind, and dipping it in the fine Arbequina Olive Oil I recently bought from the Oilerie, an Olive Oil bar in Fish Creek, WI (the most touristy of the Door County towns). Fantasy bread and real olive oil. Hmmm.

And this is me in the photo, wearing a dress that used to be my Mom's, from the late 80s/early 90s, that I like to call vintage, but she doesn't like to hear called vintage.

This is me before I got my hair cut (note to any former students who happen to be reading this blog, yes, I know, I used that abhorrent word GOT)...which I had done right before moving, I'm sure subconsciously it was a symbolic act. I'm still adjusting to my sassy layers that just barely fit in a ponytail...last year this time my hair was flowing halfway down my back. Last year I was also training for a half marathon and confidently running up to 8 consecutive miles with limited difficulty. Today I'm lucky to manage running 1 consecutive mile before sucking air...

But I digress. Today's a day of memories and bits of the past that make me homesick mixed in with my new reality, which is thrilling and positively full of potential.

But. I really wanted to post a mini-rant today about the discrimination against RN's in used bookstores. I've frequented quite a few such bookstores lately, and have noticed that while they include special sections for all manner of odd and esoteric subjects (including the always interesting Circus Book genre), and include sections for other popular, mass-market genres of sci-fi/fantasy and mystery, ROMANCE is no where to be found. A few may be scattered in with the general fiction/literature, but these titles are teetering towards the slightly more "respectable" women's fiction. This exclusion made me mad. I've been formulating reasons in my head--i.e. there are simply too many RNs to even admit any because it is, after all the MOST popular/best-selling genre, and the bookstore would be overwhelmed. But wouldn't this also then mean that these books would come in and out of the store with greater frequency? Surely they could set aside a little shelf space for tales from the heart.

I suspect the exclusion has more to do with perceptions of high/low literature, class/cultural capital perceptions, and suspicion of those damned scribbling women, and their impressionable readers. Again.

fabulous frittata

Yesterday morning I drove to Sheboygan to sign my insurance papers, and decided to treat mytself to "brunch" at the previously mentioned Field to Fork. I ordered the vegetable frittata and wrote in my journal and jotted notes for my classes while listening to the chef prepare my brunch at the open kitchen beneath the loft where I was sitting. The swirl of eggs being whisked, the intoxicating scent of breakfast meats lingering in the air (not that I partook...I'm not that lapsed of a vegetarian. Yet.) heightened my anticipation. When my server set my plate down in front of me, my hands ached for the digital camera I don't yet have so I could share this beautiful creation with y'all...

The frittata was plate sized, with a thin, ruffled edge. Studded with sauteed vegetables--summer squashes, peppers, onions, and mushrooms--and topped with thin slices of crecenza (sp?) cheese, and topped with a salad of frisee, miscellaneous spring greens, cucumbers, more peppers, halved grape tomatoes, and a light vinaigrette, it was a sight to behold. Beautiful, fresh, and bursting with simple flavor. Delicious. I savored every bite, and ate to the point of fullness, munching on wheat toast spread with creamy butter, and sipping perfectly acidic coffee.

I picked up a can of San Marzano Tomatoes, a half pound of Guatamala Antigua coffee beans, and a 3/4 lb. slab of Wisantigo Strevecchio cheese (an aged Wisconsin parm-reg style cheese) and headed back home to the joyful task of unpaking and arranging my library. Then I met some of my new friends for cocktails and felt the welcome of new friendship and the joy of working and socializing with like-minded, fun-loving, thoughtful, and intelligent colleagues.

beginnings

photo courtesy of Wikipedia, taken by MadMaxMarchHare, licensed by GNU Free Documentation License

I can't remember when I've been this bone-tired for this many days in a row...packing, loading, driving, unloading, unpacking...it's grueling business, moving is.

My parents and brother L all made at least part of their journeys on the S.S. Badger, pictured above. I'm looking forward to making the boat ride across the big Lake myself one of these days. I can hear the ship's horn at my home, heralding departures and arrivals...and, I can see a fine film of the Badger's coal-fired black soot on my windows, blown there by a lovely lake breeze...

I'm pleased with my new home, and thrilled with the kind generosity of new friends/colleagues who appeared in droves to assist with my move. Life will be good here.

Anonymous, thank you for your heartfelt comment. Every new beginning means a farewell to what came before, an opportunity to challenge and grow and settle deeper into understanding of myself, and I welcome that change, which I sorely needed.

Soon I shall share the wonderful story of the Best Pizza I've Ever Eaten, my encounters with local color in area liquor stores, and tales from the road. For now, I crave sleep, sweet tea, and restorative yoga!

my favorite things about Michigan, a fond farewell

photo from wikipedia, taken by Lars Lentz, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 1.0

1. my family and friends
2. the beaches of Lake Michigan, with long slopes of sand and rolling dunes
3. foodie destinations: zingermans, trattoria stella, journeyman cafe, uncommon grounds, captain sundae, schuler books and music, simply wine, foods for living, Okemos farmer's market, Holland farmer's market
4. memories of the 26 years I lived in "the magical mitten"
5. two of my three alma maters, Alma College and Michigan State University...oh, and I suppose I should throw in my k-12 schooling at West Ottawa, places that all contributed to my eggheadedness:)

somehow a list seems incomplete, but if I think in full sentences this morning I'll focus more on the sadness of what I'm leaving than the exciting possibilities that await me in Wisconsin...

I'll catch up with you on the other side of the Lake...

last desserts

Friday's the big day: we load up the 16 foot Penske truck with all my worldly goods. There's much questioning about the size of the said truck: will it be large enough to hold all my boxes? I'll spend the night at my parents' home and then make the drive to WI on Saturday morning to unload with the help of my new colleagues/friends.

Yesterday I baked my last goodies in this kitchen that I've hated yet grown accustomed to, with its dark pressed wood cabinets and annoying refrigerator that insists on freezing my baby lettuces...

First I made a cute two layer six inch chocolate cake, which I'm just about to frost. I'm bringing it to Grandpa C, who loves sweets, but particularly chocolate cake. He's refinished a Hoosier cabinet for my new place and I promised to pay in chocolate cake.

Then I made an ultra rustic peach and blueberry galette, with Michigan peaches and my own family's blueberries (I have many stories about that to come). I had to dig my rolling pin out of the box it was already packed in, and attempt to maneuver it on the small counter space left free during the packing frenzy. The pastry crumbled and fell all apart, so I had to press it back together...It certainly wasn't the prettiest of galettes, but it was tasty.

My friend K came over to spend the night and we enjoyed the tart and tumblers full of wine (as I already packed my nice stemware). K and I are friends from college--we were the two highest officers in our--brace yourself--sorority (more on that another time:)--as well as editors on our college newspaper (she was editor-in-chief and I was Features). We caught up on college gossip and discussed the travails of young motherhood and single life, respectively. We're planning a visit for her family to come to WI and go to a Packers game (her husband is a HUGE sports fan)...we have to wait until Brett Favre retires to get tickets, but it will certainly be an adventure (especially for me, as I'm functionally football illiterate).

759 pages, 6 hours

I spent my afternoon with Harry and the gang. Won't write anything else 'til I know it's safe to discuss...but I have some thoughts on the form that I'm itching to discuss:)

One vastly overlooked benefit of completing grueling PhD comprehensive exams (think 3 subject areas, 150+ works to read and be ready to write about and discuss with unerring intelligence and eloquence) is the ability to read. Smartly. Lightning speedily. I may no longer remember the publication dates and corresponding historical significance of Nathaniel Hawthorne's great works; the allusions and influences of each of Pound's cantos; or the nuanced differences between radical, liberal, first, second, and third wave feminisms; but I have retained my ability to read at all speeds.

claudio corallo, chocolate god

Photo by Medicaster. Cacao tree in Hawaii Botanical Gardens. Wikipedia

I first read about chocologist Claudio Corallo in Chloé Doutre-Roussel’s delightful book, *The Chocolate Connoisseur: For Everyone with a Passion for Chocolate.* (note: I was fortunate to attend a chocolate tasting at Zingerman’s with Chloé, an event that transformed my relationship to chocolate). At the time of publication, Claudio Corallo’s chocolates were sold exclusively at Fortnum & Mason (where Doutré-Roussel is the chocolate buyer--what a job, no?), not available to chocophiles worldwide. Now, these amazing chocolates are available and...

But first, a bit of background on Corallo. According to Doutre-Roussel, Corallo was the creative force behind the plantation lines for Pralus, my previous number one chocolate. Corallo’s family’s small plantation in Sao Tomé e Principé is the site of their chocolate production, and Corallo is dedicated to keep chocolate plain, eschewing some of processing we’re used to in order to create chocolates that taste, well, like chocolate...

Last time I was at Zingerman’s I spied a new addition--a row of Corallo chocolates, but was unable to taste and buy at the time. This week I made my farewell visit to my favorite gourmety foodie mecca in Michigan, and decided it was time to purchase and to taste. I came home with a 75% bar--well, actually, when I opened the vacuum sealed packet (intriguing in its simplicity--silver vacuum pack with a white tag with limited info about the treat inside), I giddily discovered three bars. I snapped off a bite...well, as snappy as it could be given the less than ideal chocolate storing conditions here in my home...smelled its complex, warm wonder; and popped it in my mouth.

I nearly cried. Complex yet simple. Primitive. Wild. Rich, with a much less refined and creamy texture of most other chocolates, the flavor seeped into my whole being, and suddenly, poor Pralus was demoted to the number two spot. And I love the juxtaposition of the clean, modern lines of the packaging, and the old and otherwordly simplicity of the chocolate inside.

up north adventures: sassy scrams and tiny bubbles

artwork from wikipedia, 1915 English magazine illustration of a lady riding a champagne cork
From The Lordprice Collection, copyright license found at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

Two years ago H, S, and I discovered the delicious foods at Kejara's Bridge, a little cafe smack dab in the middle of the Leelanau Peninsula. I still remember sitting out in the garden, dodging bees, and feeling more than a little windswept, as we ate our fresh, clean flavored breakfasts. H and I ate there twice this visit, talking about our dreams of buying the place (it's for sale)...a real dream since other lives and other jobs beckon, not to mention a serious lack of capital. But it's fun to imagine the possibilities of a different life.

The most delicious item on the menu, in my mind, is the Sassy Scram (which also happens to have the best name). Three eggs are scrambled with spinach, red and green pepper, red onion, tomato, feta, and white cheddar. Served with whole grain toast and fresh fruit, the concoction makes a lovely breakfast or lunch. I've made similar dishes at home on a random Tuesday when I don't feel like "really cooking," but somehow Kejara's is a bit more delicious, which I suspect has something to do with their much more liberal use of cheese.

The ambience veers towards the boho-hippy, with local art for sale on the walls, an eclectic range of vintage tables, and folksy music. We were lucky enough to listen to Bob Dylan (well, I was. H isn't a big fan of Dylan, but she softened towards his vocal stylings by the end of our lunch). There's something about Dylan's rambling narratives that comforts on days--like this one was--when all I could think about was the melancholy of leaving and moving on to new chapters.

On our last visit, H and I had the pleasure of serendipitously running into an old friend from college who's doing really important and great work.

As my time on the Peninsula drew to a close, H and I had one more destination in mind: the vineyards of Larry Mawby. As I've mentioned before, vineyards dot the land in this region. What distinguishes Mawby is that all his wines are sparkling. He uses the traditional methode champenoise, and his wines are effervescent and lovely. The tasting room rollicks with music that can only be described as *sexy fun*--selections like "Let's Get It On," "Lady Marmalade," and "You Sexy Thing." Between the tiny bubbles and the fun music, H and I were dancing in our chairs, reading all the poetic text on the walls describing the various wines. I bought a half-bottle of Talismon, an estate wine named one of the top 100 wines in the US, and Sandpiper, available only at the vineyard. H bought a bottle of Fizz, a demi-sec sparkler, and Sex, a wine rife with jokes. Add my new purchases to the bottle of Conservancy I bought when I visited last fall, and I'm ready for celebration!

up north adventures: the tao of lake michigan

Last Tuesday morning, I repacked my car and left my parents' home for a mini-break in Northport, Michigan with one of my best friends and her family (minus her husband, who had to return "downstate" to work). I decided to take the scenic route, following 31 up through the coastal towns of Grand Haven, Muskegon, Ludington, and Manistee, before angling over to the peninsula around Benzonia...the drive lulled me into calm joy interrupted with existential quadries about the sheer beauty of the land unfurling outside my car windows. Not being on a strict timetable, I stopped with every whim...for coffee in Manistee, for dried cherries in Glen Arbor, and more coffee and bread in Leland before arriving at the M's home.

The Leelanau Peninsula beckons with rolling dunes, verdant farmland, sumptuous Lake Michigan shores, and a smattering of small communities, each offering a new vista, a delicious eatery or two, and an individual ambience. I love this place. Why? I've been fortunate enough to spend a handful of days there every summer for the past 13 years, as the M's have graciously opened their home to H and her group of giggly, silly, rambunctious friends. Now we're not so rambunctious as we were at the beginning, but we're still giggly and silly, eating chocolate and talking about our dreams. We've grown up--some of us have husbands, some have babies, and some have drifted away. But the place remains, changing a bit with each year as a new winery pops up, or we discover a new favorite place to spread our silliness. This solitary visit didn't supplant the whole group visit, but was a chance for me to temporarily shake off the moving stress.

The Peninsula, and particularly the M's home, has always been my wonder spot, that place where nature's beauty soothes the stressful edges of everyday life, and the constant crash of waves in the background reminds me of the paradox of constant change/non-change.

On Thursday morning, I took a yoga class at the Leelanau Center for Contemplative Arts--yin yoga, which is deeply restorative--and the teacher concluded with a passage from the Tao te Ching, a text I used to read fairly regularly, the lessons of which are especially apropos now. Tears stung my eyes as my relaxation merged with the reminder of something familiar and strengthening.

sad ibook

I'm back from my vacation and have a trillion stories to share, meals to chronicle, and gorgeous vistas to describe. But first, a sad note about my trusty, beloved ibook...I closed the lid quickly, forgetting that my ishuffle cap was resting on my laptop (in retrospect, a really stupid place to set it), and cracked the lcd display. A lovely arcing line of pink and purple frames the right side of my screen. On the bright side, they're my favorite colors...and they're not yet spread to the center of the screen so it's still functional. Here's the ridiculous news about repairing the damage--it costs at a minimum $850 to fix ( well, I did find some cheaper places online but remain skeptical about shipping my ibook off to strangers). Now, a new ibook is $999. Does this make sense? (I'm sure to apple it does, ugh). With all the moving expenses, and not to mention stress, this is just too much for me to deal with now...

I wish I didn't love my ibook so much. But it's not the thing itself as much as what it holds--all my writings, emails, a smattering of photos, and a connection to the wider world. Ahhh. A good Buddhist--and many other faiths and philosophies--would use this as a lesson of being overly attached to "things." I'm afraid I'm not in an overly religio-philosophical frame of mind:(

tea parties, pimento cheese, and ratatouille

photo from Wikipedia; license available at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5/

Balmy. Sticky. Luckily, also breezy. Welcome to summer in the Great Lake State! This morning I ran on the Lake Michigan shores, straight into a driving wind kicking up two foot rolling waves. Exhilarating! My "vacation/last weeks in Michigan" continues with a drive up the shore of Lake Michigan tomorrow to spend a few days visiting my friend H, her daughter, and her parents, in my favorite summertime haunt: the Leelanau Peninsula. I hope to bake a cherry tart for my hosts, and maybe make a dinner from farm fresh produce from the market stands that dot the rolling hills and lake vistas...

This weekend my Mom and I hosted a tea party on my parents' porch for my cousins, aunts, and grandma. The porch is perfect for parties, complete with a cedar swing, lots of chairs, and little tables. My grandma and aunt brought flowers from their gardens--lilies, daisies, and hydrangeas. Mom and I made lemon angel food cake cupcakes, cucumber sandwiches, tomato sandwiches, and a variety of fresh fruits. Grandma brought mini cheesecakes in adorable heart print cupcake papers. My favorite tea party treat, though, is pimento cheese.

Pimento cheese is one of those Southern foods I never actually ate until I moved back North. Go figure. My grandma (who was born and raised in the South), recalls their version of pimento cheese when she was young, which revolved around Velveeta cheese (also a staple for the ubiquitous Rotel dip that peppered grad school parties). My version of pimento cheese is a bit more gourmet-ey, which is the cause for some teasing, but everyone eats it up just the same.

Pimento Cheese:
Grate equal amounts of best extra sharp white and yellow cheddars (now I use Vermont and New York, respectively, but I suspect this will change once I move to the other side of ye ol' Lake), mash with a fork, add a squirt or two of mayonnaise (I use Hellman's Light), and a small jar of diced pimentos (drained). Add black pepper and cayenne pepper (powder or sauce) to taste. Mash it up real good, refrigerate (preferably overnight so the flavors meld), and serve with celery, bread, crackers, pretzels, crostini, anything, really. Drink a glass of sweet tea on the side.

Today I took two of my cousins to see *Ratatouille,* which has received rave reviews from other bloggers AND the NYT film critics. What a fun, thoughtful film! Such a delightful foodie movie, and I'm so glad I could share it with my cousins.

happily ever after!

photo from wikipedia


Tonight I took a break from packing another round of boxes and drove to Stucchi's for frozen yogurt, with visions of Laura's French flower cones in mind (check out her blog at http://www.lauraflorand.com/blog/). Of course, my cone wasn't nearly as pretty, or probably as delicious as those farm fresh glaces, but YUMM. After tasting several varieties, I settled on toasted coconut--a vanilla base with chocolate covered toasted coconut. In an old school sugar cone. Ice cream is simply fun, and it's hard to be stressed or sad when you're enjoying the chilly treat. Especially when you're also watching a glorious sunset spread across the sky--big billowy cloud turned hot pink and orange against a deep blue backdrop.

I'm pleased to add some new visual details to my blog! Check out the neat library program at LibraryThing... My next step is figuring out how to add hyperlinks...I suspect this has something to do with my browser which I will switch when I have more time and a faster connection to download a new one, so please be patient with my old school links. Oh dear, I used "old school" twice already in this post!

Two exciting updates on the writing front: I wrote the HEA (happily ever after) for Sam and Lily today! This is monumental. Not because the novel's finished. (I wish! I've kinda been skipping around). No, it's huge because in the past I could never write the end. So to write a happy (albeit tearful) scene of reunion and potential bliss makes me feel like I've summitted some kind of mountain of my own (to follow through on Sam's mountain moment metaphor:)

And today I discovered that one of my scholarly articles is online! The article appears in *Searching the Soul of Ally McBeal,* published last fall and edited by the talented Elwood Watson. And now, someone has included my article on an online archive of sources about Bridget Jones (I look at Bridget and Ally together. And defend their search for LOVE. And defend their NEUROSES).

boxes, bob dylan, and bookaholicism

photo from wikipedia

This is the week I am forced to start packing. Seriously packing. 25 days 'til moving day. Since college, I have a history of not being completely packed when my dear family shows up to load cars, trucks, and trailers full of my belongings. Over the years, my possessions (mainly books and kitchen supplies) have multiplied, but my ability to be completely packed by moving day has not changed. I could recount many a tearful, stressful, and irritated scene, but will leave this to your imagination. I have vowed publicly that this time I'll be all packed. You know that song by Queen and David Bowie, featured in that film with the cute Josh Hartnett (whatever happened to him, BTW?), *40 Days and 40 Nights,* that's now feaured on various commercials where people are all stressed out, and the refrain is "under pressure"? That would be me.

During my post-prandial stroll (yet another packing stalling technique and sanity saver these stressful days), I listened to a little Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm," which made me think of Sam on the mountain, and, more importantly, coming off of the mountain and finding Lily. "Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved. Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm..." (Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm")

After walking, I picked up the novel *The Baker's Apprentice,* to read just a chapter before filling the empty boxes awaiting my prized possessions. I realized, several chapters later, that books are my drug of choice. Not exactly an epiphany, but something about my current situation and all the real work I have to do throws my quasi-addiction in relief. "Put the book DOWN, Jessica, and just walk away," I muttered more than once. Does my ability to actually walk away save me? Are books an inherently dangerous addiction? You know how those 18th century folks worried about the influence of novels on impressionable young women...

mojitos and men on mountaintops

photo of the Keyhole on Longs Peak, from wikipedia, taken by J. Benjamin Wildeboer

In some circles, I'm known as Martha, after Martha Stewart, for my cooking craft, and in other circles I'm known for making a mean mojito. One relative-of-a-relative actually calls me Mojito Martha. Last night I made the first mojitos of the summer with some gorgeous, fragrant mint from the farmer's market...this time I actually went to the little trouble of making a mint syrup, but you can just as easily muddle the mint and sugar in the bottom of a glass. Add a shot of golden rum, juice of one lime, ice cubes, and top off with club soda for a refreshing, painless drink. Painless until you realize you've downed two of them and these days one drink is enough to provoke tipsy laughter and true confessions. Have another drink and who knows what might happen...

So I've placed Sam, my RN hero, on a mountaintop. Cliche? Perhaps. But I realized I needed something BIG to provoke his romantic "come to Jesus" moment. Losing his job didn't do the trick, neither had moving back to his hometown. I drew on my own experience climbing Longs Peak, a "fourteener" in Rocky Mountain NP, for Sam's big moment.

Long's Peak can be climbed non-technically--that is, without ropes, harnesses, all of the trappings of "real" rock climbing. In 2001, I spent about six weeks working at Shadowcliff lodge in Grand Lake, CO, and planned a climb with my co-workers. In typical dharmagirl fashion, I read everything I could about the climb, and prepared physically and mentally. The books made the climb sound challenging but not difficult (if that contradiction even makes sense). In reality, the climb was grueling, a 14 hour event that saw several missteps, including losing my footing on a particularly steep portion of the climb, just yards away from the summit. Thank goodness for my friend N, the British bloke who pushed me back up and kept me from sliding into a rocky abyss. This climb was transformative--a testament to my resilience in the face of challenges, and a certain tenacity that isn't always apparent when I feel muddled with insecurity and uncertainty.

So what better experience to give to Sam, who needs something larger than life, larger than himself to propel him back to Lily? I have him stop his climb at the Keyhole, a definitive moment that all the guidebooks say is where most people who fail to summit turn around, as the immensity of the mountain becomes apparent. You have to step through a keyhole shaped opening in the rock to a narrow ledge on the other side to wind up closer to the summit. And this is all at 6.2 miles into the 8 mile hike to the summit...turning around when you're that close takes a certain emotional truth that I want Sam to realize and to redirect.

retro photo dharmagirl

As you can see from the camera I'm using in this photo, I'm still old school. Retro. Non-digital. Hence the text-only blogging thus far. I love the food, flower, and place photos in other blogs, so I'm--gasp--researching digital cameras. To purchase. Sometimes, even the best text cannot convey the visceral emotion of a photo.

caprese and affogato

A perfect salad consists of a balance of flavors and textures, a sense of proportion, and a delight of architectural aesthetics. I can name only a handful of salads that have come close to achieving my Platonic Ideal of salad:

1. A summer salad of bibb lettuce, fresh cherries, and some other ingredients I can't quite now recall, since I ate the salad last year. What I most remember about this salad is how perfectly it was dressed--the vinaigrette clung to the leaves and none pooled on the plate. That takes talent. Place: Trattoria Stella in Traverse City, MI. A slow food restaurant located in an old mental hospital...

2. Caprese salad of baby greens, grape tomatoes, mini fresh mozzarella balls (I know there's an Italian word for these but it escapes my mind this morning...), roasted red peppers, pesto, balsamic glaze, and parmesan frico. Not your classic caprese, and with such an array of ingredients the salad could devolve into confusion. But. The flavors were perfectly balanced. What a lovely treat. Place: Courthouse Pub in Manitowoc, WI.A super restaurant where the Chef walks around and checks on diners. A Wine Spectator Award of Excellence recipient. I had a glass of Crios Torrontes, a wonderful fresh, floral, complex, refreshing springy wine I bought for Easter dinner this year from Ed, the dreamy wine guy from Simply Wine in Birmingham, MI.

Last night I enjoyed my first Affogato ("drowned"), in this case vanilla ice cream drowned with espresso. Good espresso--creamy, smooth, rich, and complex. None of those sharp, jangly edges that can come from poorly prepared espresso. Imagine the possibilities--cinnamon ice milk with espresso. Or coffee ice cream with espresso for a jolt of pure energy...as it was, the caffeine kept me awake on my drive home from Ann Arbor. Fireflies flitted over the expressway and congregated in the ditches to share their joissance...ahhh, summer.

field to fork

One of the most exciting finds from my Wisconsin trip is a restaurant/gourmet shop/foodie gem in downtown Sheboygan. After a day filled with frustration, tears, annoying calls from a quasi-stalker potential landlord, and a decision on a cute apartment a few blocks from Lake Michigan (not owned by aforementioned landlord), Mom and I drove down the coast to Sheboygan for lunch. I had seen an ad for Field to Fork in a brochure at a local coffee shop (more on that crazy place later), and hoped that the food, ambience, and grocery would be as wonderful as I imagined.

High expectations can be dangerous, and many, many a time this tendency of mine towards grand visions has ended in serious disappointment. I am, therefore, elated to report that Field to Fork exceeded my expectations. The restaurant has wide, old, knotty wood floors, an open grill, a handful of tables on the ground floor and an open loft with more seating. Our waiter was bubbly and kind, and the food! The food was delicious and well/ethically sourced. The philosophy of the place is to use local, sustainable foods where possible, but not to exclude other delectable gems from around the world (like the San marzano tomatoes in my Ceci bean soup). The grilled cheese feature Wisconsin cheeses, of course, and was a real treat grilled in butter (unlike the more healthful olive oil I use at home).

I ate a few bites of my soup (ceci beans--like garbanzo?, tomatoes, rosemary pesto) and felt the jangly edges of new beginnings and uncried tears soothed by the comfort of good food. I envisioned Saturday mornings spent driving down to Sheboygan for yoga classes, a delicious lunch at F2F, a quick shopping trip from their gracious cases (they have milk in glass bottles! and Italian pastas! and San marzano tomatoes!), and then meandering back up the lakeshore to settle in with a stack of student papers...okay, there is where my dreamy fantasy breaks down when faced with prosaic reality.

hot child in the city, er, country

I'm sitting in the air conditioned comfort of the Herrick Public Library in Holland, while outside hazy skies and escalating temperatures reign. Lake Michigan beckons with the promise of refreshing waves (well, since there's little breeze, the waves might be a bit hyperbolic, but a girl can hope)...which is why I'm still hanging out with my family and not boiling away in my limited AC apartment. I purposely left my laptop at home so I WOULDN'T hang out here, but you can see how well that strategy worked. And now I'm experiencing blogging and emailing withdrawal...with SO many stories from my Wisconsin journey to chronicle, and so many cliff hangers on other blogs, limited computer access is a serious inconvenience. So I'll give you a little preview, a little tease for entries to come (forgive my lapse from parallel structure--my free internet time is about expired): **list has been edited because the lack of parallel structure ruins the list, or so saith dharmagirl now that she's reunited with her trusty iBook**

1. My new home is cozy, charming, and located blocks from Lake Michigan
2. My new colleagues are wonderful--funny, kind, smart, and sociable
3. The drive through Chicago is helacious
4. The ubiquity of football helmet bars (Badgers and Packers) in my new town is humorous and frightening
5. The outlet shopping possibilities between MI and WI are amazing...and amazingly dangerous:)
6. The great foodie mecca Field to Fork in Sheboygan promises many a fine degustation
7. Good coffee and wine abound in my corner of WI
8. My new office is posh and non-institutional (a crucial distinction from the office I've recently vacated)
9. Phantom Deer cause much consternation and jubilation at 1:00am in Berrien County, MI
10.My Lady of Leisure Days are drawing to a close as packing, partying, and preparing shape my next four weeks

berried bliss

... a recipe to celebrate the eve of the summer solstice...

WASH and pat dry fresh, local strawberries at the height of ripeness...
MELT, in a small saucepan, over low heat, chocolate (any combination will do. I used a handful of ghiradelli dark chocolate chips and a smidgen of an *insane* 99% michel cluizel bar)...
POUR melted chocolate in a small bowl...
DIP berries into chocolate and savor while looking out the window at the fireflies cavorting in the blue-black night, which will likely cause the chocolate to drip all over the place, but pay no attention...
FORAGE other tasty morsels, like whole raw almonds or organic pretzel sticks to twirl in the cooling chocolate when strawberries are gone...
SMILE. FORGET that you're supposed to be reading Pierre Bourdieu, and instead rest up for the longest day of the year.

meta-narration

Happy Birthday to my Dad! I listened to Rascal Flatts' "My Wish" in his honor (he gave my brother and me the CD last fall because that song made him think of us, so sweet). It's an apt song for a time of transition...

Thanks to Laura's encouraging words and a long walk today when all I could write was page after page of dialogue (do these people never shut up?!?), I have developed a narrative structure to allow for the characters' place-based po-mo fluidity. Scarily enough, it involves drawing on some po-mo theory of identity/subjectivity/narrative...which will work wonderfully with a *surprise* meta-narrative device that fell into the story last week. And, Lily's (heroine) Mom happens to be a professor, so this structure can work into the existing character pool and plot...now, if I can only correctly remember the aforementioned po-mo theory from my grad school days when it was de rigueur...

Last night I cooked my first meal of the season using exclusively local produce! Well, not local by locavore standards, but from the greater Holland area where I bought my fruits and veggies at the outstanding farmer's market. I'm reading *The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter* by Peter Singer and Jim Mason and thinking about the many implications, personal and political (which are inseperable, yes?), of what we choose to consume. I'll have a whole post on that soon enough. Anyway, the book is as transformative a read as Michael Pollan's *The Omnivore's Dilemma* was last year. Whereas Pollan made me more emotionally connected, Singer and Mason engage a much more complex, analytical perspective. They resist simple platitudes, like the "local, sustainable, organic" mantra, by exploring the multi-faceted ethical quandries such decisions pose.

Finally, my excitement grows for my scouting trip to WI this weekend. Serendipitously, my future colleagues are having a party so I'll have a chance to meet everyone again, this time without the pressure of an 11 hour interview. Yes, 11 hours. (I hope to convince my PhD Friends to blog with me about the insane rigors of The Academic Job Search, in which the full story of that day might be revealed, but I'm afraid our potential blogging will get bogged down in the act of naming. I'm fond of MLAgirl, but know that would only engender a discussion of girl v. woman v. womyn v. grrrl. I miss such debates!)

50 K

No, this isn't some insanely long race I'm training for, but rather the phenomenal news that I've *finally* crossed the 50,000 word count on my RN! Hoorah! I'm fully aware that it's rather arbitrary, and a mark of quantity rather than quality, but I'm pleased just the same.

The weekend was full of family--graduation party for 2 cousins and father's day celebrations. I'll miss my family dearly when I move across the Lake, a move that's becoming more real with every passing day and every packed box. I rented my moving truck today...and will (hopefully) find a new home when I visit WI this weekend.

Strawberries continue to feature prominently in my daily cuisine. Now I can add cherries, sugar peas, and summer squashes to the list of available local foods! Hoorah again! I know I'll be tired of the squashes in a month, but for now, they're a lovely new addition to my meals.

post-modern romance hero?

Thanks to Laura for her kind post to my "Lady of Leisure" musings. I read her book *Blame It on Paris* (loved it--I highly recommend it. The scene with her French beau and her brother shooting in the Georgia woods is hilarious, as is the scene with her friend "sampling" chocolates in a Paris chocolate boutique...I could go on, but I'll let you discover the book for yourself). Then, I wanted to find out more info on book and author, found her blog, and here we are. I love how this technology expands the words on the page into another world where writers and readers can connect and find a community of kindred spirits:)

I've been working on my RN, and I'm almost to that elusive 50,000 word count. Now, the story has all kinds of problems, mainly that it's episodic and the plot elements need real attention. Maybe this is my narrative style: create interesting characters, place them in geographical locations I love and know, allow them endless witty repartee, include minute details of desserts and clothing, throw in a little "yadda yadda yadda," and repeat...

Recently I read about the value of "flow"--that is, losing oneself in an enjoyable activity. And it had been a long time since I experienced writing "flow," but I did the other night when I decided it was time to take Lily, the RN heroine, to Alabama, where Sam, the hero, is originally from...I conjured up some of my favorite places, tried to remember the name of roads, and thought about a Yankee's first impression of the Deep South, which took me back ten years ago (!) to the hot September when I moved to Alabama.

An interesting thing happened to my characters, especially Sam. He changed into such a different person, because of the place and because of his family, it was rather uncanny. I want to keep this mulit-faceted aspect of his character, but how to make it ring true and not inconsistent?

And the academic side of me starts wondering how to write characters who represent post-modern fluidity in the romance genre, which hearkens back to more sentimental models of writing in which characters have a stable core...blah blah blah. If I somehow manage to pull this off I will be very proud:)

home is where the food is

The strawberry tart....mmmmm. Crispy, buttery, crumbly crust. Sweet, thick jam. Lush berries. Tangy creme fraiche. What's not to love?

I'm working on a scholarly article on Amanda Hesser's *Cooking for Mr. Latte* and did a little googling last night to see what a range of readers had to say about the book. People can be really mean! I found a forum on Chowhound that summarily dismissed the column and book because of unnecessary romantic details. Now, I never read the column, but the book clearly states in the full title (Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover's Courtship, with Recipes) that this is going to be a tale of courtship. How could one have a courtship story w/o love details? And then some of the romance readers diss the book's emphasis on food, which they think detracts from the love story. I throw up my hands in frustration for Hesser...but for my argument (that the book is creating a new hybrid genre), these vehement reactions work beautifully.

Food, love. All about coming home to oneself, to another.

Writing has become more difficult, as I'm trying to take my moving preparations more seriously. The chaos of books and bags of paper to be hauled to the recycling center are cluttering my physical and psychic space. Yesterday I finally finished paring down my foodie magazine collection--years of Bon Appetit, Gourmet, Food and Wine, a few scattered Martha Stewart Living, Cooking Light, and Vegetarian Times added to the mix. I flipped through the magazines, tearing out recipes that made me want to head to the kitchen, and dumping the rest of the magazine in the increasing pyramid of printed material to recycle. Eight trips up and down the stairs, my G6 is filled with food writing...and my home is a little less chaotic, if less filled with myriad food possibilities.

And then there's the mental distraction of not having a home in WI yet. I've called a few places and have a least one solid lead, but now I need to go see it in person. Next week! I'm trying to decide whether to go a bit cheaper to allow me to save more $ to buy a place of my own sooner. Somehow that seems more responsible and grown up, which is both heartening and a little scary. I've started dreaming of my ideal home, and my dreams always begin with the kitchen...

of tarts and liquor

Today's my favorite kind of Saturday--slow, sleepy, and filled with sensual delights of food! The farmer's market was bustling with beautiful greens and herbs and berries today. I bought baby swiss chard, spinach, spring onions, lemon thyme, tarragon, asparagus, and more strawberries (My Mom brought me some berries from my fave berry farm yesterday).

I'm making a new strawberry tart...it's from my favorite baking book *Baking: From My Home to Yours* by Dorie Greenspan. It's based on a tart from La Palette, a Parisian Cafe. The tart is utterly simple and looks delicious--will let you know tomorrow! The crust is a sweet, shortbread-esque pate sucre. You bake the crust, and when ready to serve, spread with the best strawberry jam (I made a quick jam for this purpose), topped with halved and lightly sugared strawberries, touch with freshly ground black pepper (!) and creme fraiche.

Today I also completed the next step of my homemade limoncello...I added the sugar syrup, strained out the zest, and stuck it in the freezer for a month. I can't wait to check it out in the beginning of July.

My friend N. called this morning to swap strawberry recipes--which are amazingly in season both in Oregon where she lives and here in Michigan. And then my friend L. called, who I haven't talked to since before Christmas. What a lovely time to catch up and feel connected with my college friends.

waitress

It's humid here in Michigan and my old window AC unit circa 1970 just can't keep up. Yesterday I escaped to the movies and saw *Waitress.* I could quibble with some of the characters' cliched tendencies, but I loved the film. The pies are magnificent--and I loved how they became a character and a presence all of their own. The glistening chocolate, the bursting-ripe fruit...delicious. And I loved the idea that food showcases creativity, provides comfort, and functions as a barometer for others' characters...how someone reacts to a gift of home cooked dessert says something about their personality, values, passions...

As for me, I love that quiet that can descend when blissfully lost in something delicious...the unself-conscious smiles of pleasure speak more than words:)

lady of leisure

So my friends and I like to joke about being "ladies of leisure" during the summer months when we're not teaching. Of course, I don't really feel like a lady of leisure--champagne laced luncheons with other LoL, meetings with a hunky personal trainer, and eating bonbons freely whilst wearing a peignor are not part of my days.

But. Maybe I'm just living the LoL life at a quieter level. Each day features three "hot" meals and several delicious snacks that I have the liberty of preparing at will, one or two walks a day, at least a few minutes of yoga/stretching a day, and my zingy's coffee and bits of chocolate from my secret stash.

It's restorative to have this time to explore side projects--whether the dreaded scholarly articles, fun novels, and non-fiction pieces...and to read and write with a calmer pace and with a more personal compass. I'm not constantly thinking of how everything I read and write relates to the classroom. But yet the work I do in the summer does make me a better teacher. As I struggle to write and find my voice everyday, working on such disparate projects, I can better empathize with the student who gets stuck and doesn't know where to go...I read works that I'll never teach but may be able to recommend to students seeking to expand their reading...

And so I suppose this is a justification of my current status as lady of purposeful leisure...

My chocolates await:)

afraid for the fraise and pondering the francophiles...

June begins with relentless rain...and thunderous storms. I have to be in just the right mood to enjoy a storm, and I haven't been this storm season. The roaring thunder and sharp cracks of lightening simultaneously shrink my sense of self and magnify the capaciousness of the universe. I can appreciate this from a spiritual perspective, but ahhh, such daily reminders can become too much.

And during the storm, besides thinking of my smallness in relation to everything else, all I could think about were strawberries, becoming waterlogged and floating on pools of standing water around their beds. In my defense, I was reading *Alice Waters and Chez Panisse* and so the significance of food was further magnified...if "how we eat can change the world," as Waters says, and what we most want to eat at a given moment (my Michigan strawberries) is in danger, perhaps you can sense my despair.

I skimmed a bit of Pierre Bourdieu's *Distinction* today...interesting ideas about our relationship to consumption and culture and how our notions of taste are intertwined with qualities like education and class. But then I start the same train of thought...why are literary scholars turning towards French philosophers and sociologists time and again to explain American Lit? I'm not saying this isn't a valuable theoretical enterprise BUT I do think it can become rote and meaningless. I'm not anti-theory, but I wonder why there's a need to justify literature with other disciplines...I do know many of the reasons why, but sometimes I just want to read and have my own theoretical take on a work of art, without qualifying or legitimizing my own views with those of someone else.

And this French influence connects with the Chez Panisse story too, the deep links to French cuisine and culture that inspired Waters and so many of the chefs who have cooked at CP...what is it about the French aesthetic that becomes so seductive to so many of the writers, foodies, and idealists I encounter? I think it largely is that attention to aesthetics as an important component in and of itself, not aesthetics in the service of say, capitalism, but an attention to beauty for it's own sake. Idealistic, yes. Elitist, maybe. Pragmatic, not necessarily.

And I love this aesthetic orientation to life. Even if--and perhaps because--life is suffering, as the Buddhists proclaim, why not combat and dispel this suffering with a heady does of beauty? Recognizing, of course, the fleeting nature of beauty in its material manifestions...those poor water-sodden *fraise* and my favorite peonies, bent to the ground, petals dragging in the dirt...the beauty enhanced by its very transience...

And I can't seem to escape philosophizing and qualifying today. Perhaps it's a good day to work on my scholarly article after all:)

strawberries, peonies, and *manhunting*

Hoorah! It's strawberry and peony season! Yesterday I delighted in the first plush berries of the season. I made a "grown up" strawberry shortcake, following a recipe from the current issue of Bon Appetit, which features chocolate biscuits, strawberries touched with sugar and cointreau, and an ersatz creme fraiche topping. Wow. The rich fullness of chocolate pairs well with sweet berries and tangy cream.

And peonies, my favorite flowers, are falling over everywhere due to intermitten rain showers. I bought two stems of flowers and scattered them around my apartment. I love their lush fullness and how I can watch the progress of a blossom over an afternoon.

When I marry, it will be in early June, just to include these two lovely favorites. Of course, early June in Michigan isn't the best time for a beach wedding, but practicality be damned!

And, as for *manhunting,* I'm referring to the Jennifer Crusie novel, which I read Friday and loved. I believe it was her first novel, and it showcases classic Crusie traits--smart, snappy, quick dialog; a smart, strong heroine; and a sexy hero who tries his damndest to stay detached, but of course can't. Love it!

Now I'm avoiding Pierre Bourdieu's *Distinction* in favor of a book on Alice Waters and Chez Panisse that's making me nod vehemently with nearly every sentence.

Today I'm off to Zingy's with S and H...yumm!

a little light reading

I recently read two novels by VERY popular romance writers...I don't usually read their work, but the books were at my disposal, I had a little extra time, and I was in between trips to the library. I was also curious to see what qualities made their books so very popular, and I was eager to see what writing tips I could learn as I continue to plod along with my own RN.

I have to say, I was disappointed. In the case of *Irish Dreams,* a collection of two novellas by Nora Roberts, the characters were decently developed but the plot seemed thin. This may be a function of the shorter form. And in the case of *The House* by Danielle Steel, the plot was medium thick, but the character development was lagging. And one analogy Steel used really seemed inappropriate to me: she compared a crucial moment in a relationship to "their own twin towers" (a loose quote, but the reference was there). In a side note, I've been keeping my eye on how post 9/11 novels deal with this defining cultural moment, and this was jarring and distasteful.

As for what I learned, my reading confirmed what I already know. I tend to prefer character development--I want to feel connected to the people I read about. I want to know some intimate details, silly preferences, and personality quirks. Real vulnerabilities, strengths, and ideologies make characters real to me and make me invested in their story. As a fiction writer, I often struggle with plot issues--wanting my plot to seem fresh and not contrived, but also wanting to allow my story to have that HEA if it cries out for one. This would be a large reason why I didn't fare so well in a grad level fiction writing class in which the emphasis was on high stakes circumstances. I can see now that I wanted to write RN in that class but knew that was not the venue, so I would create all these odd plot twists to seeem eccentric and not so, well, sentimental. Famous Beat Writer/scholar Ann Waldman memorably told me my fiction was too sentimental and I needed to "cut it up!" a la Burroughs during a seminar at Naropa University, but that's a story for another time.

In contrast, what I love about Susan Elizabeth Phillips' RNs is that they are so complex--great plots match well-developed characters (even the supporting ones). In my humble opinion, someone like Phillips should be selling more books than the aforementioned super stars.

s'more

Yummy, sticky, sugary, gooey, crunchy...what could be as kitchsy and lovable as a s'more? Yesterday my family grilled a late lunch/early dinner and I was craving that old campfire treat, so I stuck two jet puffed marshmallows on a long skewer, held it over the dying charcoal coals until the marshmallows started a precipitous slide toward the grill grate, and then sandwiched them with graham crackers and a chunk of hershey's milk chocolate. And though I really don't like the aforementioned "chocolate" anymore (I will refrain from my sharing my chocolate tasting notes and sounding ridiculously snobby), there's something classic about the flavor combination...(though next time I'd love to use some dark 70% valrhona and see what happens...)

the bee season

No, this isn't going to be post about the novel of the same name (though I read it several years ago and very much enjoyed it). Here in blueberry country (I'm spending the holiday weekend at my parents'), the bushes are blossoming and most of the local farmers, including my family, "rent" bees to be brought to the fields to work their pollinating magic. Apparently the bees around here have not been going missing like they are --so scarily--in other places. Usually I like to stroll around the fields instead of walking along the country roadds, but the bees have declared the acres of blueberries their domain and so I take to the streets.

This morning I took a yoga class at Lakeshore Yoga Center in Grand Haven and I can't say enough good about this yoga center. I haven't practiced in many studios (outside of gyms), but it will take a special place to bump LYC off the top. The teachers are kind, knowledgeable, and encouraging. I leave the classes feeling like everything in my life has been reconnected, and I know I have to give credit to the teachers for creating that transformative space. Namaste!

pappa al pomodoro: italian comfort food

I just made my first bowl of pappa al pomodoro, a tomato bread soup that I had at Cafe Spiaggia in Chicago a few weeks ago. My home attempt didn't match the creamy, smooth perfection of Spiaggia's, but the soup was still tasty and brought abundant comfort, along with that warm happy feeling in my tummy that I attribute to good bread and accoutrements. There's a simple recipe in this month's Gourmet magazine, and I loosely followed that. This made about two servings, and before adding the bread I divided the broth in half and only added bread to the portion I would eat today.

Add oil and two cloves minced garlic to a cold saucepan. Turn to medium and heat until garlic is softened and sizzling. Add tomatoes--I used half of a large can of crushed San Marzanos. Add salt, pepper, and allow to bubble until thickened slightly. Add 1 cup of water, allow to simmer a bit longer. Add diced bread cubes--from the center of a good italian loaf (the kind with a chewy, crisp crust--though you don't want to use the crusts. Eat them with cheese while the soup finishes) and basil. Stir until soup thickens and the bread absorbs the tomato base. You can add more water if the soup is too thick for your liking. Serve with plenty of freshly ground pepper, a pinch of salt, drizzle of olive oil, and shavings of parm-reg. Cherish the bliss that spreads through your body, mind, and soul while eating!

'07 heaven

Yesterday I met H. at Zingy's in Ann Arbor for a delightful afternoon. I forget how chaotic Z's can be, and yesterday, after a quiet week, the loud noises (Queen was blaring over the radio), pushing people, and overly-solicitous Z's workers jangled my nerves. But H. and I found a quiet corner to settle into and have a heart-to-heart talk over delicious Stewart's Farmer's Hash (a blend of spinach, piquillo peppers, red skinned potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, and crispy shallots). We chatted until the silence was broken by a screaming child, and headed to Kerrytown to visit our favorite boutique, Vintage to Vogue, where H. bought an adorable romper for baby S and I purchased some rather sparkly brown flip flops to replace my straw JCrew flipflops that have worn down through the straw bed.

We headed back to Z's after shopping to check out the chocolate--I bought a mini Cluizel, a 99% "Noir Infini" bar that I have yet to test. Talk about intense! We then split a slice of the astoundingly tasty '07 Heaven Cake: 2 layers of chocolate cake, 2 layers of buttermilk cake, all separated by coconut buttercream. The whole cake is then enrobed with milk chocolate buttercream and garnished with toasted almonds. Wow--talk about amazing. We also order vanilla lattes--and the barista used--quelle horror!--whole milk. It was a luscious treat, but I have to say I do prefer non fat milk in my lattes--the fat in the whole milk takes over the flavor profile and the clean cut of espresso is lost.

Then last night I joined friends/colleagues J, A, J, K, and little E. for a cookout, and we enjoyed each other's company, beer, and good food. I brought Miller high Life Light, and was quite pleased with the drinkability of the beer, denoted "the champagne of beers" on the paper carrier.

A lovely end to a rather emotionally tumultuous weekend, as I start preparations for leaving and set my new life in motion...

be yoga

What an amazing week simply because it was so unstructured and I could spend my time however I felt at any moment. I used to feel guilty about this freedom that the academic life can provide, as friends and family outside of the ivory tower do not have this luxury. But, this is one of the perks to my career, and one of the reasons I'll never be decked out in Marc Jacobs and Nanette Lepore. I'm okay with that (though I still love, love fashion).

And, I've been working. I've been writing and revising both my novel and my non-fiction piece, been doing a little research for my SAMLA proposal, and I've been reading, reading, reading. Check out the list o'books that I've made my way through...pleasure reads but also instructive reads to help me shape my own RN.

I've lined up two friends to be readers of my RN draft, but now I'm too nervous to send them the opening scenes! Today I plan to revise that section and send it off. At this point, I want to know if my characters are interesting and believable and if anyone cares about what happens with them.

Another discovery this week is Shiva Rea, a yogini par excellence. My friend N. mentioned one of her DVDs to me, and I was able to check out another one from the library--a short Core sequence-- and I was hooked. I bought her "Yoga Trance Dance" and it's like no other kind of yoga I've ever practiced. Or, as Shiva would say, we don't practice yoga we ARE yoga. She blends asana and breath work with meditation and trance work, which is all movement based. So there I am, flailing my arms about and undulating my hips across the living room. I *should* feel silly, but in fact I feel fully alive and I get what she means about being yoga.

romancing the South

I'm eating the last piece of Florida Pie and drinking my first cup of coffee for the day. Before you indulge yourself in a fit of envy, I should mention that I've already trekked 5 miles, with 10-12 pounds of books on my back. I've decided to limit my driving this week--most places I need to go can be reached on foot, and if I'm trying to walk 4-5 miles/day anyway, why not combine some of those fitness jaunts with errands? By the time I returned home, sweating (it's actually HOT today) and with tired feet, I decided that checking out Tom Wolfe's tome *I am Charlotte Simmons* today wasn't the best decision, as that book alone must weigh about 4 pounds...I actually (dorkily) hopped on the scale with my backpack still on to discover that I was carrying around an extra 12 pounds. Not the 30+ pounds I carried when I used to backpack, but a considerable weight just the same.

So now here I am, clean, caffeinated, desserted, and ready to write for the day. I'm working on a non-fiction piece about my "romance" with the South for possible publication, or if not, than just for myself. And I'm revamping my RN--yesterday I sketched out some character background (some big changes there, from physical details to geographical details) and so I'm trying to work them in. I also began a RD (rough draft) of a proposal I might use for both the SAMLA conference and a longer article for a romance collection.

Speaking of my romance with the South, I just found out another proposal was accepted for a conference at my alma mater, Auburn University, next February. To give you an idea of how much I miss that place, I started sobbing when I read the emails--one from my friend/co-collaborator, and another from the conference organizer. I realized that when I go it will have been nearly 3 years since I was last there, at the loveliest village on the plains. Yes, I know I romanticize most everything in my life, and my 7 years in the South weren't all sweetness and light, but the loss of that place has left an empty room in my heart that even my beloved Michigan (and hopefully, my pending home of Wisconsin) just can't fill. I'm going "home" twice--to Atlanta in November and Auburn in February. That room feels a little less empty with the promise of Southern warmth to come...