Commonplace

Morning Light

I get up early.

Thoughts of what's coming always draw me out of bed. As I imagine them to be at your house, mornings are a whirlwind around here. Get 'em up. Get 'em fed. Make the lunches. Don't forget the homework, contact lenses, bus notes, gloves. You know the drill. 

So I get up before everyone else and spend a few minutes.

The calm before the proverbial storm. 

Of course there's coffee and checking in on my favorite blogs. Until recently there were the papers as well. (It hasn't been the same for me since news-gathering became a digital habit.) There was dog walking... but no more. Now it's just me and the cat. We warm the house for the others. We gather our strength for the rush. (Mostly I gather my strength and she sits on the back of a chair and watches the sun rise.)

At 6:15 a.m. I usually feel as if I can accomplish anything. The day lays in front of me with endless moments I plan to fill with finishing. I will finish cleaning the bathrooms. I will finish the dishes, the laundry, the bills. I will clean my closet and file that stack of papers. I will finish everything while devoting my full attention to playing with my toddler.

At 6:37 a.m. it seems possible to finish everything.

But I never do.

Tonight, in a moment of feeling unsuccessful, I will remind myself of the things that did get finished.

When Jake got off the school bus, there were warm cookies waiting for him—never mind if the dishes were still in the sink. When Quinn took his nap, his diaper was clean, his belly was full and he was wrapped up in a quilt that I stitched for him—no matter if his jammies were still in a pile on the floor. When he bumped his head while we played, I scooped him up and kissed it until he laughed—it's okay if the toys still sit where we left them. When Jake wanted to play a new piece for me on his keyboard, I sat and listened to it over and over—no one minded eating dinner a little late. And when everyone was sleeping and the quiet finally settled back around me, the house was a mess and nothing was set for the next morning but I didn't mind.

At 6:04 a.m. tomorrow, it'll all seem possible again, and maybe tomorrow it will be.

Thanks for visiting.

Untangeling the Mess

In a flurry of activity upon the realization that vacation (such as it was) was drawing to a close, Niall and I undertook a few projects around the house this weekend.

Remember the living room and all it's flood-damaged glory? Well, we came one step closer to being able to call it finished. (As much as an architect and a graphic designer can ever call anything finished.)

We hung pictures.

I moved into this house seven years ago this week and yesterday we hung artwork on the walls of our home for the first time. (I have some commitment issues).

As it is want to do when anniversaries approach, my thoughts turned to that new year's week in 2002 when I moved in here with my three and a half year old boy. Newly single and completely clueless about what would happen next, I was determined to make a home for him. I stayed up nights painting cheerful colors and listening to Shawn Colvin sing about a Whole New (Me):

...you have the right
to shake the loneliness and shine the light
take all your tears and save 'em for a rainy night
go and wish on every star that's fallen
shake your head and wonder when it's all to good to be true
like a whole new you
so don't lose the way
you can do no wrong
and don't spend your days just trying to be strong
when you don't know your name
you know it's okay, you can do it...

Having no real plan and taking countless missteps (many of which I am still—I should say we are still—accounting for) I trudged forward blindly. I entered tentatively into a new relationship and three different jobs—just trying to make sense of my own abilities and desires. Fast forward seven years (filling in the blanks with some older posts and some yet to be written) to hanging pictures and untangling the garage mess with my husband of three years and our seventeen-month old joy-baby. Meanwhile my now-ten-and-a-half year old is out skiing with his dad. Metaphor? Perhaps. Or, more likely I think, just the next chapter.

 

For those of you who visit here to see the crafty scenes from my life, I'm binding the first quilt of the new year and hope to have photos within a day or so.

Thanks for visiting.

Less Is More (or, What a Load of Useless Crap)

I've recently had cause to move all our stuff out of our living room. I was forced to look everything we own straight in the eye and came to the following conclusion: What a load of useless crap!

We're in a holding pattern between stages of the floor project right now. In the meantime we have only moved lights tables and seating back into the living room and it couldn't feel more peaceful in there.

I'd like it to stay feeling this way but getting rid of everything we own may be going a bit too far. Clearly we need to pare down. But how to decide what goes and what stays? Since it's on my mind, I'm kind of seeking out less-is-more philosophical guidance. Last week I read this post over at Apron Thrift Girl (Selena is on a blog break and this was written by a guest blogger, Julie Paulling) and it stuck with me. Especially this part: "I noticed...the more things I have around me, the more time I have to spend taking care of them. Every time I walk into my cluttered house, I get tired...all these individual items were once something I loved and longed for...but once I get them home into my space, they just become clutter. So I started to get more careful about what I buy. Even if it's on sale, or from a thrift store, I know that once I get it home it will cost me so much more than money."

Now, we're not in a financial way right now that would allow me to buy stuff for stuff's sake anyway, but the idea that sentimental items end up costing me time and energy speaks very clearly to me. But it's hard. Who wants to get rid of something that was given to them by someone important? Or a book? Any book. I can't part with books. Or photos—even bad ones. But I don't want to look at it all either. Or dust it. Or shove it all up high onto shelves the baby can't reach.  I don't miss any of the stuff at all. If the rule is "If you haven't used it in two years, you don't need it" then I don't need any of it. I'm working on striking a balance somewhere in the middle, and I'm here to tell you that I'm starting with kitty-teapot.

Ebay anyone?

Soup for the Soul

There are days when soup warms more than just one's body. Today is one of those days.

This is the current state of my living room.

And my boys' playroom.

And my mood.

(I would like to add here that the demolition of our living room and the complete replacement of our floors is not something we're doing by choice. It is fully a result of a flood that came from my neighbor's unit. I mention this so that no one thinks my grumpy mood is inappropriate.)

It's soup swap Monday at Turkeycookies and I promised black bean, but it's not happening. 

Instead, I will share with you a recipe for Chicken Tortilla Soup which my friend and neighbor Chris has perfected. In an example of what can only be interpreted as divine intervention, Chris made a batch yesterday and brought me some to have for lunch today.

Thank you Chris.

Here is his recipe:
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated

Ingredients

Tortilla Strips
8 corn tortillas (6-inch), cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
table salt

Soup
2 split bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts (about 1 1/2 pounds) or 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 1 1/4 pounds), skin removed and well trimmed of excess fat
8 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 very large white onion (about 1 pound), trimmed of root end, quartered, and peeled
4 medium cloves garlic, peeled
8 sprigs fresh cilantro
table salt
2 medium tomatoes, corted and quartered
1/2 medium jalapeno chile
1 chipotle chile en adobo, plus up to 1 tablespoon adobo sauce
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Garnishes
1 lime, cut into wedges
1 avocado, diced fine
sour cream

Instructions
FOR THE TORTILLA STRIPS: Adjust oven rack to middle position; heat oven to 425 degrees. Spread tortilla strips on rimmed baking sheet; drizzle with oil and toss until evenly coated. Bake until strips are deep golden brown and crisped, about 14 minutes, rotating pan and shaking strips (to redistribute) halfway through baking time. Season strips lightly with salt; transfer to plate lined with several layers paper towels.

FOR THE SOUP: While tortilla strips bake, bring chicken, broth, 2 onion quarters, 2 garlic cloves, epazote, and 1/2 teaspoon salt to boil over medium-high heat in large saucepan; reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer until chicken is just cooked through, about 20 minutes. Using tongs, transfer chicken to large plate. Pour broth through fine-mesh strainer; discard solids in strainer. When cool enough to handle, shred chicken into bite-sized pieces; discard bones.

Puree tomatoes, 2 remaining onion quarters, 2 remaining garlic cloves, jalapeño, chipotle chile, and 1 teaspoon adobo sauce in food processor until smooth. Heat oil in Dutch oven over high heat until shimmering; add tomato/onion puree and 1/8 teaspoon salt and cook, stirring frequently, until mixture has darkened in color, about 10 minutes. Stir strained broth into tomato mixture, bring to boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer to blend flavors, about 15 minutes. Taste soup; if desired, add up to 2 teaspoons additional adobo sauce. Add shredded chicken and simmer until heated through, about 5 minutes. To serve, place portions of tortilla strips in bottom of individual bowls and ladle soup into bowls; pass garnishes separately.

Scenes From my Living Room

I feel pretty strongly about how I want to use this space. One of the things that has been so satisfying for me about keeping a blog is the daily realization of how much I have to be grateful for. Until pretty recently I focused way too much on the things that weren't right with my days. Now, please don't misunderstand here. I think it's crucial to consider what you would like to be different or better in your life. It seems obvious to me that without contemplating our ideal we might never achieve it. Having said that, I feel much closer to actually getting there one day since I began spending time being grateful out loud. It's easy to say that one appreciates the roof over their head or the food on their table but for me, stopping to take a photo and maybe writing a paragraph or two about it has brought that appreciation into my foremost consciousness. So, it seems counterproductive to whine or complain on my blog.

But, please look at my living room.

(Sorry for the butt view and yes, that is the outside.)

If I told you that the first photo was taken two years ago next month would you feel badly for me? I'm going to spare you the details here partially because I can feel my face beginning to flush with frustration as I think of the story. The crux of it is that we live in a connected town-home. Our neighbor's back yard is next to the wall of our living room. His garden was shoved up against the side of our house for years and water from his roof was being spilled through a downspout directly into the dirt that sat up against our wall. On Thanksgiving morning 2006 I found dirt in my living room. The wall had just disintegrated into nothingness and the outside had come inside.

It's taken us this long to fix it because of insurance and lawyers and homeowner's associations hearings. It's still not over but Niall finally couldn't take it anymore (my whining and complaining about the garbage bag taped to the inside of my house that separated us from the elements). We are still 'fighting' with the neighbor and his insurance company about who is responsible and now the New York State court system is involved. It's awful.

I know I said I'd spare you the details and believe me, I did. It's much worse than all that and it involves mold. Today the wall was put back together and painted but the floors still need to be replaced. I feel unsettled and displaced and exhausted. There. I said it. I feel grumpy about all this and I think about it every time I walk into my living room. Grumpy.

How about some nice cheerful baby hats to end this post on a happy note?

The one on the left is for Quinn and the other is a gift for the newborn girl of an old friend of Niall's. It's hard to be grumpy while knitting baby hats!

My Mother's Basement

Look what I found in my mother's basement:

Pearl was my grandmother. Let me just say here that the knitting-related items found inside this box, while sentimental and campy, are not suitable for viewing by the fiber-faint of heart. One word: acrylic. Need I say more?

Moving on. Most of the fabric my grandmother saved couldn't be salvaged (and I'm not sure I'd even really want most of it) but get a load of these funky fish! There are yards and yards of it and unlike most of the other fabrics in the goody box, it actually appears to be cotton. Suggestions? I'm thinking sundress, but I'm open. I wonder what Pearl had in store for it.

I have an easier time imagining what she may have had planned for this.

And as an added bonus, my mother stashed some of her own crafty goodness in the box for my inevitable discovery. Guess which era she was crafting in!

There are dozens of these wonderful ribbons. (Please excuse the wrinkles. I was too excited to iron.) I remember my mother using them for various projects when I was about five. These will almost certainly embellish a quilt at some point. I especially love the sunny red one with the blue fish in the upper right corner.

Niall has gone to some kind of architect's prom, Jake is at his Dad's house and the baby is asleep. It is dark and quiet in the house (save the sound of the rain on the windows) and I find myself spooked by this post I read at Burrow House this morning.

Have a spooky evening friends!

Scenes From a Saturday

Today I decided to sort through my scrap bin. I had a little helper.

It wasn't so much sorting as it was rummaging around. But there were some hidden treasures within the bucket.

I don't remember buying these fabrics or sewing them for that matter. I have no idea what project they might have been for.

These are leftover from the first free-pieced quilt I ever made. The top is finished and the whole thing is sandwiched and basted but it is sitting in a basket under my desk waiting for quilting inspiration to strike.

I vaguely remember making these blocks with leftover fabric from a different project. I can't imagine what I was planning here.

And these. I went through a pretty serious batik phase some years back but I'm not sure what I had in store for these.

I think I may have gathered enough scraps during this digging expedition to finish a small quilt with these. By far the prize of the afternoon. I love them.

These are left over from one of my all time favorite quilts. It was among the first quilts I ever finished and it's in use daily around our house. It never fails to make me happy.

It was a less than productive attempt to purge the stash but fun nonetheless.