things left undone...

this is a confession. one that i'm only willing to make because reparations are in progress. i don't finish things. i start one great project after another, but leave many of them undone: creative projects, writing projects, and a great many small, but significant commitments to myself. if there were a 12 step program for this type of thing (actually, i'm certain there is) this might be my first step.

Some of these are old projects, like the memory book i began putting together for my sister (pictured above) which has been a sore spot for years. but there are also several new projects, started within the last few months, sitting around the apartment reminding me of my bad habit, and frankly, terrifying me~to think they too could join the boneyard of abandoned work!


(clockwise: stand mixer dust cover, hand-pieced/hand-quilted blanket, and unfinished painting resting on easel)

at this moment, i am feeling pretty comfortable surrounded by my things left undone - maybe it's the 3-day weekend, but really the answer lies in managing expectations and celebrating small successes.

big projects take lots of time. that's one reason i think i've taken such a liking to cooking. the process of creating a meal start to finish provides a quick healthy dose of accomplishment. enough small successes, and one might begin believing they could take on a greater challenge, like say... a quilt.

so in the spirit of celebrating small successes, here are some things that are finished:


rhubarb and strawberry jam, with hand carved block print label.
finished summer 08, but enjoyed with breakfast this morning


needlebook w/embroidery scissor pocket in sheep print


finished this book last night- Finding Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi


Wheat berry and Smoked Chicken Salad & Tail-gating at minor league baseball game!

and now, i suppose, i have finished another post.

mise en place [MEEZ ahn plahs]

mise en place is a French culinary term that means you have prepped all of your ingredients and prepared your kitchen before cooking. if you grew up before the onslaught of round the clock real-time cooking shows, you might remember the beautiful array of little glass prep bowls of days past that made cooking seem like it was entirely an act of wizardry, magically in one oven and out the other...amazing! of course you knew someone had painstakingly minced that garlic and pre-baked that casserole, but cooking was neat, simple, and still looked fun!

of course, i don't always do it. it dirties lots of little bowls for someone else to wash. but when i do i find cooking highly satisfying and unflustered. it feels like the "right" way. not that anyone eating your food knows whether you went through this process. in fact, that person eating your food might grow increasingly worried after 30 minutes of prep and "you still haven't started cooking, yet?" but when the prep is fini, the cooking goes smoothly and often more quickly.

Springtime Eggs Benedict with Wild Greens and Mushrooms from Cooking with Shelburne Farms was a recipe that required preparedness, and i was happy to oblige!

potholes and roadkill...

The road to perfect is paved with the vegetables, artisanal cheeses and meats found at the Union Square Greenmarket on a Saturday. I was geared up for a smooth ride this weekend, only to find my way peppered with potholes and smeared with roadkill.


This Saturday was particularly gorgeous, 70 degrees, sunny and breezy. I had already received an impromptu lesson on grass-fed Buffalo meat, gathered herbs to dry for the winter, and had my first taste of the pineappley "husk tomato", or ground cherry. This could have been another enchanted weekend on the road to culinary enlightenment, but I was thrown off course by a menacing pothole.


Earlier this summer, I chopped up a purple carrot for an Asian chicken salad, and was pleasantly surprised by its radish-like kick. I returned to the same farmer, but all the subsequent plum colored roots have just been carrot-flavored carrots. I finally decided to ask the youthful biodynamic bohemians, "What was up with the radish flavored carrot?" I wanted them to be enthused that I had noticed the subtle difference. Instead, they denied its existence. One said I was probably eating a radish. The other simply snapped, "Maybe you're wrong." "What did you just say?" I had to clarify. Whatever happened to the customer is always right? If I say your carrot tasted like a turkey leg, you say, "Really? That's so interesting." I was enraged by their dismissive tone. I fumed and walked away, swearing off the sweetness of their delicate micro-greens forever. I left a voicemail for Jordan, "You remember that purple carrot. It tasted like a radish, didn't it? It really WAS a purple carrot. I'm not crazy. Call me back." Hmph.

Potholes are sneaky. How often are we walking along in our bliss, when out of nowhere we slam into a comment or a person that abruptly deflates us? All it takes is one crappy encounter, and we are set off our path. Other times the road is littered with misfortune. Bushels of heirloom tomatoes worked their magic, distracting me from grumblings of self-pity, when I turned the corner and walked straight into my ex.

"Oh my. Look who it is. How are you?"
"Pretty well. How about you?"
"Things are alright."
"Good. That's good. I'm happy for you."
"So, yeah. uh...what have you been doing with yourself?"
"Um...shopping."
"Do you want to get a coffee or something?"
"Oh...sorry, I can't right now. I've got perishables."

Then, I showed him my steak. It was a rib eye, or Delmonico steak, a juicy tender cut from the rib of a Bison. I didn't mean to rub it in, but there it was, vacuum-wrapped meat, evidence that I'd moved on. I didn't set out to hurt any feelings. As I walked on, I looked back and waved. He grinned and waved back, a splayed carcass, roadkill.

These are the roads we all travel, hopefully heading in the right direction. Inevitably, we find our journey punctuated by little annoyances and big mistakes. We try to see them for what they are, distractions along the way, and keep moving.

photo credit: Andrea J. Walker "Purple Haze" carrots