Here is another reason my kids rock – not just because they wash the dishes – they also entertain me with their interesting views on the world and play Canasta. Best of all, they also give me handmade birthday and Christmas cards and gifts. Check out this year’s gift:
My magic wand is eighteen inches long. A pewter mermaid-fairy perches on top of a thin stainless steel stem, hands held high above her head offering up a clear crystal marble. Knee-length hair winds around her body, and her wings – embossed with tiny pink and yellow crystal stars – fan out from her back. A miniature crystal bouquet hangs from her tail, which wraps around the stem. Read more . . .
This morning I decided to play Book Spine Poetry but handicap myself by choosing only food fiction or food fact books. There’s a collection spilling around the kitchen; I thought it would be easy. But turns out a shelf of titles starting with “The” and ending in “Cookbook” is a bit limiting, and try as I might I couldn’t figure out how to put “The Widow Cliquot” together with “A Goose In Toulouse” and “The Nasty Bits” without cheating. Check it out – here’s what I came up with.
A chocolate-marshmallow-toffee dessert pizza inspired by Jack Prelutsky’s poem “A Pizza the Size of the Sun.” A post in honor of National Poetry Month.
Most recently, my universe wanted pickled red onions.
It started one afternoon when Kid Two and his Buddy sat here after school and ate an entire jar of baby dill pickles and a one of cornichons for their snack.
What are the traditions – new or old – you do at this time every year? For me, the process of creating and carrying on traditions is one of the most challenging aspects of parenting for me, in part because my energies and interests don’t always match what the calendar and drugstore displays tell me it’s time to do. We’ve made some progress, though; click to hear how.
Photographer Carl Kleiner’s clever photographs depicting ingredients in Ikea’s new cookbook are very, very, very cool. To check them out:
Are dried drips in the silverware drawer a badge I should wear proudly, marking a life spent living, not cleaning? Or do I just wipe out the drawers and get writing? Exploring the inverse relationship between clutter and creativity, as manifested in my kitchen, I discover it’s simple entropy.