Category: Golightly Living

Neal and I both like granola, but the brands we prefer are a bit pricey.  Enter Mark Bittman's recipe and a trip to the local health food store, and we have a custom, economical version.  I left out the coconut as I'm not a fan, and I used pepitas, sunflower seeds, and almonds.  Next time I'll put in more dried fruit, and flax seed.  It's so yummy over yogurt (next on my list of make-it-myself foods), and really delish with milk and fresh berries.  Best of all?  I get super happy when I see the two jars up in my new (nearly finished) cabinet. 

What (vegetarian) recipes make you happy lately?

Johnny Castle never backed down.  He wasn't afraid to express himself.  He did what it took to survive.  He admired people who deserved admiration.  He wasn't going to settle for the pachanga when his dancers knew a livelier, fresher way to move.  He knew that no young woman should be put in a corner.

Patrick Swayze's passing hit me hard.  I came to adore him later than most.  The fall that "Dirty Dancing" was out, I was working like crazy at a couple of different jobs and in school.  Neal and I were dating for the first time.  I think I saw one movie that fall.  When spring came, I added even more work to my schedule as I was saving up to spend a month in Australia.  By the time I returned home and settled back into a more civilized pace of life, "Dirty Dancing" wasn't even in the 99 cent theater.  I did have a cut pair of denim shorts to my knee just like Baby sports, though.

Fast forward to the late 1990s.  My girlfriend Jessie, a dancer, couldn't believe that I'd never seen what can only be deemed a classic movie.  She had an extra copy and gave it to me.  I think I watched it three times in a row that first time.  I rarely can watch just once.  I think this lovely essay gets to the heart of what is so special about "Dirty Dancing" and Patrick Swayze.

This weekend, I'm going to have a little "Dirty Dancing" marathon.  I'm going to fix something wonderful to eat, curl up on the couch, and feel the thrill of first love again.  Then I might talk Neal into another round of dancing lessons.  Let's face it, who doesn't want to be Baby in that final scene, even for a moment?

Thank you to everyone who left a comment with links to their must-read sites–I have lots of interesting ones to check out now.

The winner of the beautiful skein of yarn is…………….Teresa (Rav link).

The sun is finally out after a rainy week.  I'm not complaining; the garden craved the rain.  Radishes have popped up, and I'm sure the beets will follow soon. 

I've got a fun day planned tomorrow–part two of the moebius class I'm taking at Creative Fibers and then a church dinner at Blogless Sara's church.  Her daughter is going on a missionary trip to Lithuania this summer, so we get to eat lots of yummy food and help her raise money.  Blogless Sara's church dinners are one of my favorite events every year.

Sunday's plans fell through.  I am pretty thrilled to have the day wide open.  Well, I've got weaving, rug hooking, crochet, and website building all planned, so I guess it's not so wide open, huh?

What are your plans for the weekend?  I hope it is great, whatever you do!

Thank you for all of warm anniversary wishes!  We had a relaxing day.  Originally we'd planned to go on a day trip, but we both battled some stomach bugs leading up to Monday, so we opted to stay close to home.  We agreed after our wedding that we weren't going to exchange anniversary gifts; we'd go for a splurge of a dinner each year instead.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I awoke last Monday to find a set of twelve vintage glasses and twelve vintage dinner plates on the dining room table.  We're renovating the kitchen this summer, and I had mentioned to Neal that I'd like to find some adorable plates to match our 40's theme. 

It gets even better.  The plates are from the Trumpet Vine, the little restaurant where we had our wedding breakfast.  Unfortunately, the restaurant is going out of business, but fortunately, we've been able to pick up some nice things for the dining room and kitchen.  Neal selected these plates for their looks at first.  Then the owner told him that she'd bought them for our wedding breakfast.  How sweet is that?  I now have the plates used on my wedding day!

They got their first outing yesterday for what may be the last Sunday lunch until the renovation is complete.  I was tickled to see how nice they looked with my Gram's linens and the antique silver we received as a wedding gift.

I declared this year the "Year of the Kitchen".  My intention is to build my cooking skills, and I made a valiant effort with yesterday's lunch.  Neal grilled a melange of seafood, while I prepared a spinach and strawberry salad, white bean salad, spinach quiche (I subbed ricotta for the cream cheese and used a different pastry recipe), and lemon almond poppy seed cake with strawbs and fresh whip.  Add a hunk of brie and fresh bread just before dessert and icy cold lemonade, and I call it a festive lunch!

I've grown to depend on the Smitten Kitchen for good vegetarian recipes.  This leads me to the contest part of my post.  Aren't you glad you kept reading as a babbled about china and lunch?

Today, my friends, is my two-year Ravelry anniversary.  Just as the Smitten Kitchen elevates my culinary experiments, Ravelry has for my fiber arts.  To celebrate the great joy that I have in Ravelry, I want to share some beautiful lace yarn.  Leave a comment with the url of a blog that you've grown to depend on–for recipes, crafts, book reviews, laughs–whatever–and a little explanation of why you like it. I'll close the comments on Friday at noon and randomly select a winner for this skein of Wooly Wonka lace yarn.  If you're not a knitter, then we'll negotiate another prize!  Post about the contest with a link on your blog and get another chance to win–just let me know in the comments, okay?

Thanks for playing, and lest you think I've forgotten:  Happy Memorial Day, and my sincerest thank you to our soldiers and veterans.

April = Poetry.

One of my all time favorite poems.

What are among yours?

The NCAA is a big deal in our house.  Neal and I filled out two brackets this year, one online, and looky looky who is tied for first in her pool!

ETA: Sunday, 8:44 a.m.  I'm now a true #2–only one person #1.  Neal is #22.  Maybe I should have made a little side bet.  Just saying.

I was raised in the Catholic Church.  Until about the age of twelve or so, I wanted to be a nun.  Well, I wanted to be a journalist, but also a nun.  Maybe I really wanted to be one of the martyrs in my book of saints.  They had pretty pictures painted and exciting stories, and I certainly wanted some excitement in my life.  After I made my confirmation, I became a lector at my church.  I loved my priests and enjoyed working with them to interpret the Scripture with my voice.  When I got married–by a justice of the peace in my parents' living room–I was told that I could no longer take communion (not by a priest, mind you) until I was married in a church.  That ticked me off to no end, and I pretty much stopped going to church.  My new lifestyle made it easy; my first husband is a musician, and we had a lot of late Saturday nights, making it just fine by me to stay in bed late on a Sunday.

Years later, though, my ex-husband and I felt the need to be a part of a church community again, he more than I, I think, and I participated in hopes that we could save our marriage that had fallen apart so suddenly and sadly.  We separated, but both kept going to the same Episcopal Church.  We knew the priest there socially, and we attended her Wednesday night "alternative" service, which included mediatations and prayers said out loud.  I suffered mightily when my ex-husband–the wound of his asking me for a divorce wide open–prayed that the husband of the woman he claimed to love now (having, apparently, never really loved me) would understand their need to be together and accept the changes that were coming.  Never mind that the woman never left her husband or even told him about her affair.  My point is that this setting was painful, and I removed myself from it and started instead to go to the early morning Sunday service, which I knew F. would not attend.

At the same time, I had taken on a second job teaching at a prison and a third job adjuncting at the college where I was a grant writer.  I was in the process of applying for MFA programs and preparing for the GREs.  The priest at the church asked me to be involved in different activities, and when I would defer, she managed to persuade me.  I was emotionally wiped.  I had no rest, for I didn't sleep well for months at a time.  Later, when I started to be away on weekends, the priest asked if I was dating.  I told her about Neal, and she said that I should break up with him and wait for F. to come around.  I asked if she had told him to stop dating, and she said that he needed to work through his pain.

What about mine?  I grew increasingly disillusioned with the church (although I love the Book of Common Prayer with devotion), and looking back, I feel that I was abused by this church.  At a time when I was fragile, overworked, and distressed, they demanded more and more from me.  Could I have said no at any time?  Of course.  But I needed and wanted help and support, which I simply did not recieve. 

Since that time, I have stayed away from churches.  I understand the comfort they can bring and the joy, too, but I was hurt deeply and only just feel like I might someday find another church.  I miss the celebrations of the holidays in their truest sense–the holy days.  My spirituality and relationship with my higher power is strong; I don't need any church for that. 

Lent is one of the times of year when I most miss Church–Catholic or Episcopalian.  I like the discipline of the Lenten season.  It is an excellent time to evaluate habits, to reflect on growth, to see what parts of me need improvement, and to embarck on those improvements and disciplines.  Tonight I'll be busy grading papers, and in the little breaks I'll take, I want to consider what I want to do with my Lenten season this year.  In the past, I've given up television, fast food, other habits that seem wasteful of time and energy.  I'll do a little of that, but I want to remember what my childhood priest once told me: the Lenten Disciplines are not only about giving up our vices and luxuries, but also about implementing postive new habits, cultivating the goodness in ourselves. 

I hope no one feels the need to comment on my attitude about churches.  I feel a little vulnerable writing about spirituality and religion on my blog; I know what nice girls do and do not discuss in public, but I can't always be Miss Manners.  With this post, I simply wanted to explore for myself how I'm feeling about Lent this year and where those feelings come from.  I'd love you to share, if you observe Lent, how you approach it if you'd like. 

In the meantime, enjoy those vices today, and savor the pancakes tomorrow!

I spent most of last week in Chicago for the AWP conference.  Lots of good panels, lots of inspiration.  The place was dirty with poets and publishers looking for poetry collections.  Poets may not make a lot of dough, but man, they sure get the prettiest books.  I became even more smitten with letterpress printing, but it's doubtful my work will ever get such artistic treatment.  Unless I go over to the poets, of course.

While there, I ate well: Italian, German, Greek.  And diner.  Diner food was a staple.  They don't know from diners in my neck of Connecticut, so it was a treat to hang at one a few times.  I saw some beautiful buildings and took a train ride out to the 'burbs to see the B'hai Temple.  As a woman who loves lace, this building had all sorts of appeal to me.

I didn't get much done while away in terms of grading, knitting, or reading, all of which were on my to-do list. I spent my day off on Monday pen in hand, student papers on the table, and there is another weekend of it ahead of me, I fear. I'm in the middle of knitting a strip for a charity blanket for my SnB, and it just goes on and on at this point.  I'm struggling to remember that I should just enjoy the process; I really want to get my hands back on some yellow silk that has been developing into a Swallowtail.  Soon enough, and what a reward it will be after the beige acrylic that has been in my hands for so long.  I did get through one book while I was away, and I'll post its review in the next few days.

When I can steal a few hours from grading and dog duties, I've been slipping off to the Weaving Center in Hartford to work on the sampler I'm making.  I'm learning to weave from a stellar teacher, but I simply don't have large blocks of time to get in to make as much progress as I'd like.  I did weave a plaid pattern today, though, and aren't I proud!

I'm proud, too, of the gift my parents gave me for my fortieth birthday:  a new-to-me loom.  Gracing my office (well, taking up a large chunk of it) is a refurbished LeClerc Artisat four-shaft 36" loom.  I had saved up for this baby, and my parents surprised me by generously picking up the tab for her.  She came from the Loom Doctor, who is a dolly, and she's warped with some 8/2 cotlin, so as soon as the grading goes away, I can start to play.

Being away made me realize how much time I do spend on line.  Some of that time is my relaxation, the way others might watch a television program.  Some of it is out of loneliness, wanting to keep in touch with friends.  Some of it is frivolous, though, and I decided to pare down my on-line interactions.  I'm giving up Facebook and Twitter for Lent, and I'm going to see if I can get rid of one of my e-mails.  The number of blogs I read has doubled in the last two years, and I can't keep up, so I plan to pare down that list.  All of this may burgeon again once summer arrives, but if I'm going to accomplish what I want to with my writing and fiber, it's time to step away from the computer.  That doesn't mean I'm going away entirely, just letting go of so much on-line play time.

Play time will take a slightly different form for the next year, as I've joined up with Penny to participate in Project 365 in an effort to improve my photography skills.  I'd like a better camera at some point, and I plan to earn it by learning to use what I've got to the best of my abilities.  Look for more, and here's hoping, better pictures at Chez Golightly.

That's where I've been, and where I'm going.  What about you? 

It was 1969 and a blizzard raged.  My mother, belly bulging, must have been impatient.  Of all days, the baby had to come on this one.  My father dutifully shoveled paths to the car and drove his laboring wife as carefully as he could into Hartford, going down one-way streets the wrong way, spinning out and reassuring her that he was "just testing the breaks."

Nurses recognized my mother as she checked in.  This was her fifth baby; she'd been there many times.  Before long, another daughter.  A girl, when she'd been convinced she carried a boy.  No name in mind for a girl, so days went by and names were tested.  At last my father said, "why don't you name her after your sister?  You know you want to."  So she broke her pattern of names beginning with "M" for girls and declared me to be Beverly.

Today the sun shines.  There isn't even a hint of snow.  I like snow on my birthdays; I feel like the world is remembering how it ushered me in.  I won't complain about warmth and light, though, not in early February.

These round-number birthdays seem more significant.  They're both endings and beginnings.  Every year is, I suppose, but the roundedness of 10, of 20, of 30, of 40 seems to beg for reflection. 

I've had no dread of turning 40.  I'm healthy.  I'm happy.  I have a good life, and I will use my energy to ensure that remains good with the goal of making it even better.  I'm in a much different place than I expected to be at 40.  In my teen years, I thought I'd be an established journalist at this point in my life.  Instead, I floundered about before settling into a career, and I'm not entirely certain that teaching is where I belong.  Writing, of course, simply because to write is to exist.  But until the day when I can dedicate myself exclusively to writing (I have faith in that day), how to make a living?  Teaching is satisfying, but I imagine reaching burn out before too long, especially as I'm not likely to find a tenure-track position.  Lately I've toyed with a return to school in order to enter a career as a librarian.  I'm exploring what the career and the education involves, and I'm pretty excited by it.

I know I'll change jobs again.  I'm curious.  I crave new knowledge.  I've taught college for nine years.  That may be the longest I've done any job.  There's a restlessness that comes from being a curious person.  Information is like crack.  I will go to extremes–moving across the country with nothing but what I can fit in my car, for example–to get the information I believe I need.

So where have I been these last 40 years?  Learning.  Growing.  Figuring.  Loving.  Striving.  Connecticut.  New York.  Oxford.  New Mexico.  Back in Connecticut.

At 21 I married my high school sweetheart, a man I believed to be my soulmate, with whom I shared a true love-at-first sight moment.  We grew up together throughout our 20s.  We learned about life, art, food, travel…so many things together.  When our marriage unexpectedly fell apart, I had a good opportunity to reassess.  I was proud of what I'd accomplished.  I went from a dead-end bank teller job to finishing my bachelor's degree to running an office, to writing professionally, to winning a scholarship to study at St. John's College at Oxford to finishing my MA degree.  Still, I wanted more.  If I couldn't have the life I'd worked so hard for, the relationship that had defined so much of my life up until that moment, then, by God, I was going to grab at the life I'd dreamed of, that I still didn't quite believe was possible.

I had a mentor at that time, a generous woman who encouraged me in applying for MFA programs when I thought my writing wasn't good enough.  She demanded from me, and not one to disappoint those I respect, I produced.  The result was acceptance into UNM's MFA program, and a real shift from dreaming of being a writer to being a writer. 

Along the way, I fell in love with Neal.  I tried not to, if I'm to be honest on this day.  I really wanted to keep things casual.  But in him I found the loyalty, the encouragement, the belief and support that I don't think I ever had before.  And I found myself being a better person in order to deserve that from him.

Now, at 40, I have a strong, healthy relationship.  I have a passion and dedication to writing.  I have hopes for a new career.  I have zillions of books I've not yet read.  I have much to learn about weaving, spinning, knitting.  I have adorable dogs.  I have endless cities and countries still to visit.  I have dear, true friends, both in person and online.  I have a loving family.  I have you, dear reader, to share my celebrations with me.

And celebrate, I will.  I intend to reassess my 100-days goals (I didn't do well with any but the pushups, but there are another 100 days ahead), to indulge while I'm in Chicago for the AWP conference, and to begin working toward my new goals when I return home. 

I hope you'll join me, today, in a moment of reflection and in a moment of celebration.  No matter what life has dealt me, I still believe in hope, in grace, in love, in joy.  May it be like that for you!

And, even though she doesn't read my blog, I"ll say it here…thanks, Mom!