Pie, Universe

The astronomer Carl Sagan said "If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe."

I don't think it's far from the truth, really. I will make sure to breathe quietly today, listening for any atoms waiting in the wings as my hands roll out, tuck in, crimp; as I arrange matter the way any careful mortal does when saving pennies, holding hands.

Happy Thanksgiving, sweet ones. I am grateful to be a part of this thriving community, and ready for some quiet, some still. The pumpkins are roasting, the flour is chilled. I wish you wonder, prana, peace. And heaps and heaps of pie.

{Photo from here.}

Bursting, Plim

I promised to post on my end-of-season post-CSA food situation before, and have finally remembered to document the goodness. Just before Thanksgiving seems a good time to do so. There's more than these pictures show, certainly: the freezer is full of chopped veggies, tomato sauce and soup, the crisper drawer is still full of carrots and celery, herbs are drying in little bundles on my kitchen's baking rack, as well as onions and garlic. Oh, and I have two shelves in my coat closet full of pickles and jams, which are really quite pretty.

The CSA was a wonderful adventure, and I'll do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I may never buy my produce exclusively from the grocery again. I love not having to go the grocery store. I love knowing where my food comes from, and knowing the people who grow it, and not having to peel stickers off everything that goes into my mouth. I eat more vegetables than I ever have before, and am stronger, more flexible cook after having to make use of so many veggies every day. Thanks be to the Monroe family today for food and community.

Sunday Afternoon, Fleeting

There are these moments after I clean my house in which everything is quiet and I can sit down for just a moment before running out or spilling something, or wondering when exactly I'm going to have time to bake a pie and whether or not I have brown sugar. Just for a moment. It's enough time to breathe once, maybe twice. And then it's gone.

Library, Books I Have Coming From the

Because I want to play, too:

For Combatting Holiday Madness:


For manners, of course, and grins:

Render, Lead

Oooh I want these from See Jane Work in all of these yummy, lickable colors. I would keep the sharpening shavings in a box and smell them sometimes when I'm blue.

Postcards, Pope

A few years ago, my clever grandparents mailed me a slew of hysterical postcards from their travels: They were all about Finding Me a Fella, and pictured possible suitors, with running commentary written in my Granny's beautiful hand:

I received postcards from Italy:
-Michelangelo's David--Needs clothes!
-the Pope--Single, top of his field, likes hats.

Followed by postcards from Hawaii:
-Fire-eater--A hottie!
-Vintage surfing postcard--An "old-fashioned" sort of guy

I received about eight, in all, and was completely charmed. Since then, I tend to buy postcards wherever I go, and mail them off at random to friends. Is there anything better than getting a little mailbox love? Books of Wonder in New York is one of my favorite places to scoop them up. Last time I was there, I hoarded Alice in Wonderland and Nancy Drew postcards.

My postcard to you today?

The Pope and Alice and I hope you believe in six impossible things before breakfast.
smooches, Nancy Drew

Megatron, Megaparsec

In A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door, which I read six times in the fourth grade, the main character--Meg--is routinely called "Megatron" and "Megaparsec" by her father. I always want to call Meg of A Practical Wedding these things, but then I think I'd have to explain, and think she might find me a little funny, and probably Miss Manners would never condone nicknaming people in their "comments" sections. But now I have confessed this because She, Oh Brilliant Goddess of Practicality, said I have sass. It might only be because she's feeling a little crummy, but I'm blushing anyhow. Hee!

Many thanks for the kind words, lovely Meg. Feel better!

And to any of you stopping by to say hello, Hello! Do leave a couple of your own sassy droplets behind before you go, so I can peek at them in the morning sun and send a little wave your way.

Stripes, Leaves

From last week's final autumn tromp.

You Won't Believe Me, But It Sings

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

Pablo Neruda, from "Ode to Salt"

Make, Think

Yay for Jen Beckman and 20x200. Here's today's $20 art, by Clifton Burt. Eight left, pretties.

DIY, Greens

Spied during peeks at Apartment Therapy today, a handy little tutorial from Sunset on how to assemble a wintery wreath from fresh greens.

Fold, Crease

C. bought me a strand of gold paper stars on blue thread from pretty, pretty Pomme this summer when we were tromping in Brooklyn. I hung them on the door of my dressing room when I got home, and think they're so lovely. I've decided to fashion a slew of them for Christmas trimmings and general glee. Here's how:

Quiet, Bright

Soon, it will be Christmas. I know this because there were several rosemary trees for me to stick my nose into at the grocery last night.

I want mine simple, quiet and bright.

I'm thinking paper stars made by hand, pretty ribbon, pomanders, white lights, rosemary, A Child's Christmas in Wales, tea and toast, hatted snowy tromps with littles, garland up the stairs, baking, warm socks. Candles, carols, stockings, love.

{Picture from flickr. Thank you, flickr!}