AfricanKelli

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A gardening question for you — have you ever grown pumpkins or squash and had to reroute their direction? One of our gardens is so full, it is about two weeks away from completely taking over the walkway to the front door. With the new winter garden on the other side of the path, I’m soon going to be walking on either baby beets or surly pumpkins to go to and from each day.

My idea is to put in a small series of picket posts to give the pumpkins something else to crawl and push them back into the garden space away from the path. Any ideas?

~K

Certainly easier to do when covered with cheese and pesto. Matt jokes that he is growing rabbit ears because of all the vegetables we eat. Soon enough, that will include squash and pumpkins from the garden.

Hippity hop,

Kelli

I recently read, “A Moveable Feast,” by Ernest Hemingway and it was such a pleasant and  entertaining read. I think authors like Hemingway can be immortalized to the point of intimidation, keeping readers at bay. I’m glad I’ve pushed past the pretense to explore his writing — this story is odd, funny, sad and more than anything else — human.

It is a memoir of his early days as a writer when he and his wife Hadley were struggling to pay the rent and figure out what their next meal may be. He writes longingly of food, of spending time with wealthy friends and envying their ability to buy clothing and art (and food). But more than anything, he writes about this city — one that I’ve had a long-distance love affair with for years.

“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

He knew they would one day have money, so he writes of poverty as though it’s a cold, not a chronic disease. Nonetheless, he hates that he cannot provide more comfort for his young wife and son.

“I had been stupid about other things too. It was all part of the fight against poverty that you never win except by not spending. Especially if you buy pictures instead of clothes. But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poo. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich. It had never seemed strange tome to wear sweatshirts for underwear to keep warm. It only seemed odd to the rich. We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.”

I’m not surprised those two excerpts in particular ring true at the moment. We are all struggling in our own ways, so it seems. While I am far from hungry, or worried about feeding a family, I am finding the simplicity of happiness in drinking and eating cheaply as long as you can curl up with those you love by the moonlight. This weekend, my gaggle of friends gathered to play cards, catch up and eat homemade favorites. It made me think of the countless stories I’ve heard my parents tell of their first decade of being married. Friday nights were cheap pizza and beer with friends around a card table — playing whatever suited their fancy at the moment — snacking on handfuls of popcorn and worrying in their own ways how they’d ever be able to take care of the sleeping babies in the next room.

Some worries and some sources of happiness are universal. Hem had them in Paris. My folks had them in Mesa. Today, they haunt and dance around me in Tempe.

“A Moveable Feast” is a timely and excellent read. It’s a classic that certainly doesn’t need my stamp of approval, but it is damn good. I really enjoyed “The Green Hills of Africa,” by Hemingway also, that I read this summer. For those interested, I’m now knee deep in “Stern Men,” by Elizabeth Gilbert of “Eat, Pray, Love” fame and it is so creative and witty.

I won’t be giving these books away. I normally inhale and instantly pass off books I’ve enjoyed, knowing they’ll carry goodwill to the next sets of hands who partake in a literary feast. In visiting my friend Dena’s home last weekend, I found myself ignoring a house full of people (dressed like cowboys no less) to spend time with her giant bookshelf. She’d collected and organized her books in such an elegant way. And so, Hem, this book stays put. I want to share it with friends and family who visit, but always keep a place in my home for your incredible art.

I am happy to be reunited with my lovely, dusty literary friends.

~K

This week’s Speaking of Faith focuses on the practice of yoga and connecting spiritually during practice. I had heard this episode before and enjoyed listening to it again now that I am regularly taking yoga. Seane Corne described getting out of a life of drugs and alcohol in part by regularly working at this craft. She also discussed how her spirituality and yoga are like peas and carrots: you can push and prod all you want, but they develop with time and one day you’ll say, “Huh. Lookie there.”

The conversation group this week was smaller thanks to the holiday weekend, but lively. We talked about how we find ourselves close to God when enjoying different hobbies. I find myself in prayer when I’m on long runs or hikes. While I love Bikram, the teachers talk through the entire class. I need silence — to hear my heartbeat in my ears — to connect with God. (Don’t get me wrong, by the end of the hot class, I’m thanking God for surviving, but that’s it.)

This weekend I hiked a couple times, trying to enjoy the last bit of this insane heat. I know soon enough the heat will disappear and the parking lots will be waiting rooms. Right now, I’m one of only a few crazies willing to battle the weather to be out on the trails. On Sunday, I dragged my friend Alma with me.

Again, there wasn’t much silence, but there was a lot of heart-pounding, huffing and puffing and trying to manage not falling down while making our way up and down the desert hills. It was a couple hours of great friend therapy. We hadn’t talked in a very long time and by the end, I think even our ears were tired.

If you pray, do you find yourself more comfortable to do so during an activity? Do you need silence?

~K

One summer about six years ago, I watched 4th of July fireworks from a crabbing boat in the Puget Sound. Ask me what I remember about that trip, other than freezing my shorts and flip flopped-butt off? The food. Other than the absolute best seafood I’ve ever eaten (crab we caught, boiled in salt water from the sound), another guest brought homemade pesto. At that point my domestic skills amounted to following the directions on a Kraft box, so the idea of raising a basil garden, as this woman had, sounded like traveling to the moon.

I was entranced.

Ever since I’ve dreamed of having enough basil to make my own pesto. When a friend from church recently handed me bags from his garden, and I paired it with cups full from my own, I knew the time had arrived. A few recycled jars from the pantry, a giant bag of walnuts, some great olive oil and spices later and BAM! Pesto.

I intentionally didn’t add cheese because I plan on gifting two of these and freezing the other. I’ll add Romano when I cook with this. I’m thinking of using it as a marinde for baked chicken, served over tiny whole wheat shells with parmesean and a side of fabulous.

Basil forest for homemade pesto? Check.

~K

When a Burundian family left for another state earlier this month, their community garden plot of okra was ready for harvest. Having never eaten okra before, I wasn’t sure what to do with these vegetables. After two weeks of trying to get church members to take bags home with them (including recipes last week), today I took a new approach.

During our community gardening morning, after we transplanted a few more trees and spent a couple hours weeding other plots, we picked the remaining okra. All dozen volunteers were invited to take a handful home. The rest came back to chez moi.

A few minutes of Google research and empowerment later, pickled okra it was. My friend Diane — who runs two incredible foodie blogs — says this is the way to eat the green veggie. She’s been giving me insightful cooking advice for years; I’m taking her word for it.

So spicy, I’m blurry!

With a minimal investment in canning supplies and pickling salt, I canned 16 giant jars of spicy garlic pickled okra.* Oh yeah, each jar includes jalapenos and garlic because I love spicy, garlicy anything. Why not okra?

I bought some labels I plan to stamp with the garden’s information, and after these babies are done picklin’, I am going to sell them at church and at the Tempe Market on Mill to raise funds for next season’s seeds. Voila.

When life hand’s you a field of okra, you might as well make the best of it. And pour yourself a nice glass of metaphorical lemonade in the process.

~K

*Again, perhaps the worst possible time of year to spend in the kitchen with giant pots of boiling anything.

Driving through Scottsdale last night, I passed a talent agency office I’d never before noticed.  I thought about the queues of the young and beautiful who must visit this place — with dreams of Hollywood and fame fueling their collective fire. I have to wonder why anyone would want to be famous? It can’t be the money. The majority of those who are superficially famous don’t seem to live lives of any higher quality than the average working Joe. Plus, this reality television culture seems to take relatively average folk and turn them into crazed-monsters.

But what do I know? My dream reality show would have contestants trying to feed, clothe and comfort as many people as they could on a minimal budget, ultimately judged on their frugalista fabulousness. Who had the most creative and holistic solution to the problem at hand? What? You had a coupon and got that for free? Perhaps this is why I spend my time with friends who do this daily — juggling career, family, limited funding and desires for luxury — without Rachel Zoe telling them what to wear.*

There are a bevy of talents and model behaviors I wish I had. I’d love to paint, play the piano, speak French with fluency. I’d like to have the compassion to always greet homeless people with a smile and something to eat. I want to watch “The Kardashians” and not beat myself up for enjoying really, really crappy television.  (Also, I’d like Kourtney’s hair please.) I’d like to be better with numbers and budgeting. I’d like to have an ounce of Julia Child’s cleverness, Martha Stewart’s prowess and Carolina Hererra’s style.

Alas.

Instead, I’m working with what I’ve got, as my mama would say. This includes sneaking photos of creative things that make me want to recreate them with my own twist — like the bag above. Trees and birds seem to have everyone a twitter/flutter lately. I do love the simplicity of this design, although the factory cookie-cutter applique has to go. Instead, I’m thinking an appliqued tree with tiny embroidered bird silhouettes and TWEET stamped across the bottom of the trunk.

Off to scout,

K

*Don’t get me wrong. The idea of being a best-selling author fans my own flames many a day. Thankfully, most of us have no idea what even the most famous of authors (Dr. Suess, for example) look like. Top of your career + relative anonymity = perfection.

Finny,

May I just say, welcome home birthday girl! So glad you were able to get away to Maui to celebrate your anniversary and the big blowing out of candles. Your photos make me want time in a hammock with a very tan man and a pina colada. What? Too honest? Mahalo!

I love what you’ve selected for the September CRAFT projects. While I’ve yet to make the commitment to become a pet parent (after how many years of moaning that I want a dog), I love this project and have many friends in my life who’d appreciate one of these nifty little canine accessories. Also, who doesn’t have a bag full of annoying conference tote bags hanging around to be put to better use?

And dessert. Well. I think it is safe to say you know where I stand on dessert.

Another not so secret to be revealed — mixed CDs are pretty much my favorite gift to give and receive. I love new tunes, especially a random selection of artists I more than likely wouldn’t have other known. My friend Adam is incredibly good at this. He gives me new music regularly. So, sharing the love this month with a sweet few. I’ll post one to you soon. Nothing like spending the afternoon with dessert baking in the kitchen, the sewing machine humming in the living room and the tunes shaking hips through the entire house.

xoxo,

Donk

Banana Squash Oat Bread

Ingredients:
4-6 cups oats (eyeball it)
4-6 bananas, mashed
2 squash (zucchini, etc), grated
4 eggs
1/3 cup oil
1 1/2 cup water
1 spice cake mix
1 tablespoon cinnamon

Directions:
Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease three bread pans. Cook 42-45 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool for 10 minutes, slice and top with ice cream. Wait to see if roommate loves it. Happy dance when he does. Feed the remainder to friends and coworkers the next day.  Feel the love. Secretly rejoice you no longer have any frozen black bananas hanging around the house.

~K

P.S. My happy news of the week? Matty will be hanging around for a bit and not returning to the land of Oz permanently. Yay!