Sometimes there are about a dozen things I want to tell you, but none of them are worthy of their own blog posts, so they sit in my head, gathering lint and fraternizing with their fellow baby ideas in there. The only way to fix this, since none of them can seem to develop into full-grown ideas, is to pile them all together and write you a chatty missive, seeing where the tide takes us. So here we go. First…
Can’t talk. Mid-hurricane. Gotta go find my Birkenstocks to float to safety. Talk to you next week.
Well, this was a fun one. You put cheese, tomatoes, basil, and bread together, and it’s hard to go wrong. At least, that’s my general assumption about life, and in this instance, the assumption holds strong. First off, this recipe is much easier than it sounds, so don’t be scared off by the fancy words like “Panzanella”. Whether or not you can pronounce a recipe is completely irrelevant to whether or not you should make it. Also, I apologize in…
As some of you may know, I have long had a tumultuous love/hate relationship with Birkenstocks, mainly veering over to the hate side. I know people buy them and then practically pass them on to their descendants because they’re so durable and they love them so much, but really, couldn’t a company make shoes that are both insanely comfortable AND somewhat beautiful, rather than looking like a huge board strapped to one’s foot? Is that really too much to ask?…
Take a day to unpack your warm clothes from storage. Wash the ones that smell, and fill your closet with the others. Do some outfit idea pictures, since the clothes will feel new and exciting from being in storage, then you can refer to these once you are tired of them mid-winter. Pack up your lightest summery clothes. Make sure they’re clean, then store them far away where you won’t see them till spring. Take this opportunity to clean out…
First of all, before you tar and feather me, I KNOW IT’S NOT AUGUST. Okay, glad we got that settled. But here’s what’s going on; a wise and deserving cousin got me a subscription to Bon Appetit for my birthday. As in, the honest to goodness paper magazine that shows up in my mailbox each month, filled with glossy pictures and drool-worthy recipes and funny lines written by some editor high up in the One World Trade Center whose life…
Drama, drama, drama. What comes to your mind when I say that word? For me, it brings thoughts of relationships, particularly romantic ones. Does he like her? Is she flirting with him? Did you know they text all the time? Why is she suddenly posting verses about hardships on Instagram; did she get dumped? There is hardly another area of life that raises so many questions. Everything is vague and nebulous, and with feelings and hormones entangled in the drama,…
One could argue that this was glamping, not camping, since we had nearby bathrooms and a big trailer present with all sorts of amenities such as a freezer and folding tables and limitless coffee, and one might be right. However, glamping brings to mind thoughts of glamor and ease, of sleeping in dry, cushy beds piled high with pillows, and lounging in king-sized lawn chairs with the sun glimmering through the trees at just the right temperature as one sips…
Ever since having seen the darling Pixar film, Ratatouille, I’ve wanted to try this classic French dish. I didn’t get a chance to eat it in Paris, so a while after coming home, I finally decided I would just have to attempt it myself. I adapted this recipe to my taste, since it had the movie-style layered veggies, instead of the more traditional chunks. It’s just so purdy that way! 1-2 Cups tomato sauce 2 Minced garlic cloves 3-4 Sprigs thyme, or…
If you ask me about my trip to Paris in the spring, I’ll probably spend so much time talking about the flaky croissants and melt-in-your-mouth duck confit that you’ll begin to roll your eyes and regret asking. But if you can gently steer me away from the topic of food (no easy feat, I’ll warn you), you might be able to find out another area or two in which Paris really resonated with me, besides with my stomach. I might…
I love birthdays. I am not one of those Adulty McAdultsons who don’t tell anyone it’s their birthday, and spend the day exactly as every other day, letting it slide away in insignificance. (Ahem, you know who you are, you traitor to all birthday magic.) I think birthdays are meant to be celebrated, whether you’re turning seven or fifty-seven, and I’m on a mission to destroy the myth that tells adults they are too old for enjoying birthdays. I love…
After our reunion in Montana came to an end, I knew I wanted to do a little exploring while I was off work and across the United States anyhow. I saw Banff was only 4 hours north from our location in Montana, so Philip and I girded our loins, I peeled him away from Montana, and off we went to Canada. Our chosen route took us through Kootenay Park, Banff Park, and Jasper Park, which are all perched atop each other. We…