Paradoxical

We got eaten alive by no-see-ums. But we also went to the Everglades. We slept in a cold, wet puddle Thursday night. But we also saw manatees. The shells were bright and plentiful. So were the blisters.
There were giddy highs and pathetic lows. Isn't that every camping trip, though? The manatees, the Everglades, the shells, the music and the sun and the beaches were unspeakable in their beauty and perfection. The blisters and bugs and wind and incredible rain, the broken tent and the traffic jams were unspeakable for other reasons. 
For the purpose of illustrating this paradox, let me present two short stories of our time in Florida. First, the story of great misery and woe.
We were setting up our up-until-now-stalwart Eureka tent in the sun on Tuesday, and a pole just snapped. We'd used it maybe half-a-dozen times, we were baffled, but also distracted by the beach twenty feet away and the clear sunny skies and the palm trees swaying. We shrugged and went to find beers. 
Thursday evening, we get back from a bucolic day in the Everglades and it's like a low-grade hurricane at camp. Driving rain and the kind of wind that blasts you full in the face as soon as you step out of the car. It was the first night of the festival, though, so we swayed with the masses under cover of a big dance tent. Upon entering our tent and pulling back the sleeping bag, I found everything was soaked from my edge closest the window to the middle of the mattress. I could've walked all the way back to the festival in the rain, or...
I managed to fall asleep for a few hours, then went to sleep in our rental car at a quarter to six. I cranked the heat, and methodically shucked off three layers of cold, wet cotton and salvaged the only dry clothes I had from the trunk of the car. A cotton dress, socks, and one of Patrick's white undershirts. The tent only got worse, so we slept in the car the remaining three nights of our stay. I am just going to say one thing: our actual bed is WAY AWESOMER than I'd ever before appreciated. One nine hour night of log-like slumber, and I'm A NEW WOMAN.
Now for the good story.
We traveled to South Florida for the celebrated purpose of attending a music festival. Many of our friends did, too. Our Binghamton friends and Owego friends, fans of Patrick's band and members of the band. The mayor was there. Our favorite local Binghamton band was there. On the fair-weather days we combed the beach together and wandered the festival together and rummaged through coolers together. We discovered a bayside bar on the other side of the island, where locals hung out and ate conch fritters and drank cans of Bud and sat on the dock and watched folks trawling around in their boats in the bay. We made many meandering trips from our side of the island to said bar, and stood in the palm shade and scanned for manatees and tried befriending feral cats. I developed a taste for cold chelada and smoked mahi-mahi. 
That was the weirdest, and best, thing. Being surrounded by familiar people in a wild and unfamiliar place, dancing to a band we can see most nights of the week fifty miles from home, dancing next to the mayor, waking up the next morning and walking the beach one last time with Patrick, hopping a car/train/escalator/train/plane/car, and being home. Was it even real?
I think the bad story is better, story-wise, than the good. That's the good thing about bad things. They make good stories.
My camera is currently en route from Miami in a big container truck driven by a friend-- we shipped most of our gear down with him so we only had to fly with the bare essentials-- hence no pictures yet. I can't wait to show them-- they tell parts of the story I can't communicate with words.
We had a great time, and now it is good to be home.
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Coming up for air

Fffffwwwwushhh. I'm not sure, is that an accurate representation of the noise a whale makes when it comes up for air? Oh man, the deadlines! They conspire. They burgeon. They... are very much something I'd like to sweep away before we hop on that plane for Florida. Right now, I write mostly for quarterlies, and they all have similar editorial schedules, and so... four times a year, it is CRUNCH TIME. The good news is, progress is being made. It feels good. It also feels good to get back here and write something for free. 

In between clicking away on the keyboard, I've been hopping up to spray paint a frame here and there, or cut a mat, or something like that. This is definitely a slow project. In between the spray painting and the accumulating and the mat-cutting... I have to say, I don't know how other project blogs move fast enough to keep it interesting. Do they forgo sleep?

Over the weekend, we hung a small assemblage in the "lair." The man-lair. A small collection of old posters and old photos and prints and pet pictures just perfect for Patrick. I planned out the arrangement, and Patrick set the anchors. It was the perfect little project, and a good trial run for the more ambitious stairwell gallery still in the works. 

Not sure I'll get a chance to update again before we take off, so the next time you hear from me will likely be from the beach. Gah. So surreal. Cheerio!

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Still lifes

Rain drops are hanging from the gutter outside the window. Our yard has gone from snow-covered to naked and muddy over the course of the afternoon, while I paced and thought and watched from the upstairs window, and wrote in fits and spurs.

I'm beginning to despair of having a proper winter this year. Whenever I receive snow gear for Christmas, winter fails to show itself. This year, Patrick and I received snow shoes, which are languishing in the garage.

In two weeks we will be getting ready to leave for Miami. I'm trying to wrap my head around that fact.

We'll be camping, so it'll be nothing decadent, but still... Miami... in February. Oh my. 

The gallery wall is still in progress. I want to hang everything at once, when I'm ready, so can strike a good balance of big frames and small frames, white frames and brown frames. I bought a new rug for the office, which is on its way. Putting down said rug will necessitate me cleaning everything up off the floor, though, so it's a mixed blessing. 

We have friends coming for dinner the next two weekends, so I have to hold off from diving into any big ambitious projects for the time being. To keep the house presentable. It's good, in a way. It's forcing me to be quiet and collected, and to not take on too much. Two months ago I had four projects going simultaneously, and right now I have just the one. It feels good to be able to focus.

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Coming along

This project is turning into the perfect winter companion. It's good to have a companion project to see you through the winter. In the past, it's been a quilt, or a reupholstery project. It helps make the time pass, and it's important for me to have something growing during the winter, indoors, when nothing whatsoever is growing outdoors. 

So, here my little collection of things to hang is growing. The mat cutter is working out ok-- I'm using these instructions, and a little hand-held mat cutter I got for $7 shipped on Ebay. White matboard is definitely a good choice for beginners-- it doesn't show the small moments of untidiness that are so hard to avoid. 

Initially I thought I was going to stick to white frames for this project, but the more I poke around on Pinterest, the more I like mixed frame arrangements that are cohesive but not matchy. So I'm bringing in some dark wood tones, and maybe some black, and oil-rubbed bronze. The little owls were embroidered by my mother-in-law, and they hung, for many years, in Pearle's house. They're very 70s, but in a charming sort of way. The black and white photo is my mother, at nineteen, looking sort of like a model I think. The flower embroidered runner we had hanging in our bathroom in our old house; I just painted the frame to make it fit a little better with this arrangement. The print in the top right corner is Acadia National Park, where we had our honeymoon. I found it in a stack of ephemera at an antiques shop. The little turtles I cut out of a magazine and mounted on cardstock. Sometimes found art is the most fun kind.

I love how this is turning out to be a mix of artifacts, family treasures, and random not-too-precious things. It's turning out exactly how I wanted it to, so far-- we'll see how it goes when I start hanging things up!

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Kale and breadcrumb-stuffed squash

I love delicata squash. Is anyone with me here? They taste butternut-like, with none of the graininess of acorn squash or the fibrous nature of spaghetti squash. And the skin is edible. Wonder squash.

This recipe gets made at least once each winter. It's incredibly cheap, incredibly delicious, and just fancy enough to feel special. It's good for one of those let's-open-a-bottle-for-the-heck-of-it kind of nights. Beans. Kale. Garlic. Breadcrumbs. A dusting of parmesan. It's alchemy. My favorite recipes are like that: humble ingredients coming together in just the right way to make delicious magic.

Kale and Breadcrumb Stuffed Delicata Squash

2 delicata squash, halved and seeded.

Rub with salt, pepper, and a little oil, and bake cut side up in a 350 degree oven for an hour.

Meanwhile...

I big clove garlic, sliced

4 packed cups chopped kale

1 can white beans, OR 3/4 dried white beans cooked with garlic until tender

1 tbsp minced fresh sage

Saute the garlic in a little oil until golden brown, then add the kale. Cover and cook until well-wilted, adding a little water if the pan seems dry. Stir in the beans and heat through to let the flavors mingle. Then add the sage and remove from the heat.

1/2 cup breadcrumbs, preferably homemade

1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese

Combine in a small bowl. This time I got a little extra decadent and toasted the breadcrumbs in a tablespoon of butter before proceeding. Unnecessary, but delicious.

Mix half the breadcrumb mixture into the bean filling. Raise the oven temperature to 425. Pack the baked squash halves with filling, mounding it up in places, then sprinkle the remaining breadcrumb mixture over. Bake 15 minutes.

Enjoy! Makes four servings.

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Hello sunshine

We had a beautiful weekend full of friends time. We had brunch with local friends and dinner with local friends and dinner with some not-so-local friends. I made curried coconut green beans and oatmeal pumpkin bars and facilitated sticker play. I ate amazing mango chutney, and aged salami, and even drank a dainty little glass of Frangelico. I didn't take a single picture. 

I never thought January would be my favorite month, but this year, it's turning out to be. It's the month where we catch up on the most important things. Everyone needs a month like that, right?

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Some artifacts

The mat cutter I ordered is taking its sweet time arriving, so in the mean time I've been fiddling. I picked up two 8 x 8 square canvasses at Michael's last week, because I really love the look of a spare canvas in the middle of a frame wall, and because I'm forever collecting "bits" of things to display. The handful of artifacts on the canvas is from the beach at Long Point State Park, where we had our second date and then later got engaged. Not on the same day. The little metal button, and also the piece of purple beach glass (in the tiny frame) I specifically remember from our second date. Sigh.

Those tiny frames are ones I picked up at the thrift store months ago. They had a package of the four cheapo little frames for $1.25, I think. The box was so flimsy and the packaging so cheap that they actually glued the box to the frames... but that was nothing a little sandpaper couldn't fix. I primed and spray painted them glossy white. The bottom frame holds a skeleton key we found in this house when we bought it. I love artifacts like that.

Obviously I took the glass out of the tiny frames, and put in a piece of white cardstock and a piece of corrugated cardboard in its place. 

I like to do things like this, projects that use thrifted materials and take forever to complete because there's always the waiting... waiting for the perfect materials to find their way to you. It makes the process more enjoyable, and gives you time to think the thoughts you need to think to make it right.

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