Just another lovely corner. There are the red candles that remind us of church and the Hotel Havana in San Antonio. There’s the window that looks out over the pool, and the stack of first-year editions of Everyday Food that I forget to cook from. There’s the Lone Star bike art that Mia and Josh gave us or Christmas, and the stack of old books that I’ve collected from thrift stores just because they look cool. There’s a stack of Kinfolk and Trouvé and Lapham’s Quarterly and Toast and Gather Journal, just a small part of my giant collection of beautiful publications. The stack is topped with a paperweight, which is an old newspaper letterpress weight that Justin found somewhere. There’s a set of leather letter punches that I got for Justin’s birthday in Portland, and the little porcelain and brass jar that Nick brought back for me from Qatar. There’s the handmade recipe box that Logan’s mom gave to me after I swooned over her recipe box that was filled with tattered and torn recipes from years and years ago. On top of that is a hand-carved textile wood block that we got in Santa Fe. And underneath it all are books – book after book of recipes and food writing and all the things that make my brain happy. ♥
Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen. Repent just means to change direction–and NOT to be said by someone who is waggling their forefinger at you. Repentance is a blessing. Pick a new direction, one you wouldn’t mind ending up at, and aim for that. Shoot the moon.
– Anne Lamott
There is no passion to be found playing small – in settling for a life that is less than you are capable of living.
– Nelson Mandela
This little corner of my kitchen makes me happy. Those are my favorite spoons, including that weird plastic one that reminds me of one my mom used to stir sugar into iced tea. That’s my beloved Vitamix base, which makes awesome smoothies, acai bowls, and liquados. There’s my little coffee cup, and a bunch of bananas that I won’t finish and then they’ll get too ripe and I’ll promise to bake something with them and then they’ll start to smell and Justin will throw them away. There are bars of chocolate from Los Angeles, and soft, local butter in the crock. There are jars of salts, a bowl of sugar cubes, and my old cake stand that never gets used for cakes. There’s that cord hanging down from the under-cabinet lights that Justin added for me, and it’s wrapped around that orange bowl that I painted at a pottery studio for a friend’s birthday years ago. There are the root vegetables, and the granola for smoothie bowls, and too many almonds, and that tiny jar with just one square of chocolate that I refuse to throw away. There’s the pretty vintage tea jar filled with Justin’s favorite peppermint tea, and the jar full of sugar that makes me think of an old diner.
It’s a lovely little corner.