In a useless bid to delay leaving home for a few extra moments, I did a sinkful of dishes and pointedly ignoring the cantaloupe on the counter. It is desperate for attention and is beginning to develop tender, sinking spots where it once had a firm, taut rind. Chances are good that it will sit there until totally boggy and fermented, at which point I will finally be able to throw it away. I can’t bear to toss it while it has some promise.

I imagine life as a farm wife, living out on the prairie, each day filled with a rotating assortment of cooking, chores and sleep. I see her standing in the doorway, contemplating her only view, where the land and the sky merge and vanish beyond the point where the eye can see. I envy the home-centered nature of her life, all the while knowing that she must have been deathly weary of that unbroken vista. I am attracted by the peaceful sameness of her days, but only as a relief from the busy-ness of mine.

I am roused from my dream as the radio flips from Morning Edition to BBC Newshour. Inescapably late now, I head for the shower and begin the day.

I got to go to the zoo, on a work day (in fact, for work), and take pictures of the Creatures of Habitat display, which consists of animals sculpted out of Legos. It was pretty cool (and there were cookies).

A few days after that, I got a package in the mail from the Nintendo Enthusiast folks that contained the America’s Test Kitchen game and a bunch of cool kitchen stuff. I’ve already used the stock pot as a canning pot, and I must report, it performs admirably.

The second Friday of April, I went home for lunch and made myself the meal you see above. It was quite delicious and I felt so relaxed as I sat there eating, in complete denial that I had to go back to work for the rest of the afternoon (although, I’m sure the afternoon turned out to be quite painless).

On April 10, Scott and I attended my friend Jen’s wedding. I’ve known Jen since my first year in Philadelphia, and it was such a delight to have an opportunity to witness her so joyful. The ceremony was at the Unitarian Church, and the reception was at a hotel five blocks away. All the wedding attendees walked there, following the bride, groom and a bag piper. It was one of the best spectacles in which I’ve had the pleasure of participating.

The next morning, Shay, Val, Scott and I had brunch at Noble American Cookery. It was an outrageously good meal, made even better by the total absence of a wait. Sadly, word of their many virtues is already getting out, so if we go again, I’m afraid it won’t be possible to roll in at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning and expect to be seated right away.

I made my first batch of cold brew coffee of the season. Mmm.

One of my blog (Food in Jars) readers sent me a hand-crocheted jar cozy!

The bookshelf we ordered back in February arrived. I am now totally smitten with Stickley Furniture. It is beautiful and so well-built (it also costs as much as my [albeit, cheap] car, so we won’t be buying more of it any time soon).

I had another delicious workday lunch at home. I am so looking forward to local strawberries and tomatoes.

I made macaroni and cheese and banana bread to take to my favorite new parents, Thad and Angie. After what seemed like the most uncomfortable pregnancy I’ve ever witnessed, our dear friends had their twin daughters on April 7th. They are precious and have turned on my own baby cravings in the worst way.

As much joy as the new babies brought, there was also some sadness. On April 17, my family gathered to celebrate the life of Greg Kannerstein. He was the oldest of the 8 cousins and siblings that my mom grew up with and is so, so missed.

There was a batch of Rosemary Rhubarb Jam.

Last Sunday, I made pancakes. I was out of mix, but easily threw a batch together using my version of Mo’s Famous Pancakes. Scott doesn’t even complain anymore that I only make whole grain baked goods. I’m breaking him down with my hippie ways.

This week, I came down with a swift and unforgiving flu. I am grateful to report that it only stuck around for a day and a half, leaving me healthy enough to walk through Rittenhouse Square last night. It was a vibrantly beautiful evening. This is the weather for which we survive winter.

I used to function under a mental regime that felt the need to get it all done at once. I had rules for myself that included making my bed every day, ensuring that the kitchen was clean before going to bed and always (always!) picking out my clothes the night before I was to wear them. If I was going to clean the bathroom, I had to do it all at once and if I was going to run the vaccum, well, I had better have the time to do the entire apartment, baseboards included.

One good days, I still strive to accomplish these goals. However, life has gotten busier. On an average day, I’m trying to manage work (thank god my commute time is negligible), making dinner (most days, I cook myself breakfast and lunch as well), running Food in Jars (and this blog, when I can find a few minutes to type) and the occasional freelance gig (which should be coming more regularly now that I’ve started writing for Grid Philly).

So instead of trying to do the best job imaginable, I move things forward. Too tired to do the dishes before bed? I try to at least empty the dish drainer, so that there’s space for five minutes of pot washing and dish washer loading before heading off to work. Home for lunch with five minutes to go? I start a load of laundry, all the while thanking the appliance gods for creating my washer/dryer combo. No time to mop the whole kitchen floor? Two minutes with a sponge will at least help a little (admittedly, my kitchen is tiny).

What I’m trying to do with this “move it forward” principle is just never let any one area of my life get to the explosion range. I try to put little dabs of energy into a variety of spots throughout the day, instead of feeling like I need a 90 minute chunk to do a really damn good job. And so far, it’s working. When I clear off the bar of mail in the evening, instead of letting it accumulate all week, I’ve prevented an explosion of mess and continued to move things forward.

Sometimes it feels a little bit like being on a treadmill, since the scenery doesn’t change and the tasks essentially remain the same. But keeping the messes and tasks of life under control in this way makes me feel generally saner and calmer. So I go with it.

My immediate reaction to both instances was irritation, bordering on rage (each driver required a shake of the head to stop their beeping). “If I need a cab, I’ll damn well hail one,” I thought to myself. Experiencing this response makes me realize that I’ve been living in Center City Philadelphia too long. Here’s hoping ten days on the west coast will gentle my soul (even just a little) and help me shake off those protective city layers.

*     *     *     *     *

This morning was this office building’s annual “Tenant Appreciation Breakfast.” I remember last year having an impressive spread, with bagels, cream cheese and multiple kinds of danish. When I finally made my way down there this morning, all that remained were a few cake-y muffins and some watery fruit salad. All week long I had been looking forward to that bagel, so I was a mite bit disappointed that there were none.

I thought about my missed bagel for at least an hour after the muffin was gone and eventually decided that it would be better to buy one than to continue to pine. I stopped by the office kitchen just before heading downstairs and oh joy! There were a few bagels left over from a morning meeting! I toasted up a half, delighted to be getting the bagel for free (and I only ate a half, whereas had I purchased one, I would have eaten the whole thing).

]]> http://www.apartment2024.com/2009/12/17/briefly/feed/ 3 http://www.apartment2024.com/2009/11/16/mothballs/ http://www.apartment2024.com/2009/11/16/mothballs/#comments Tue, 17 Nov 2009 04:36:42 +0000 Marisa http://www.apartment2024.com/?p=1289 Grades 5 through 9, my family lived in a house in the West Slope neighborhood of Portland (just off Canyon Drive, for those of you keeping track). It was a quite little pocket of suburbia, bordered on all sides by busy streets. Next door to us lived an elderly woman and her son. For the most part, both generations of this small family were grumpily quiet, keeping to themselves unless we actively engaged them in conversation.

I remember one day, my mom had to go over and knock on their door to ask a question. When she returned a little while later, she reeked of mothballs. The chemical smell radiated from her person as if she’d been dipped in a vat of pest killer. It turns out that this neighbor had wool carpets and her method of protecting them was simply to scatter handfuls of toxic mothballs around her home. “Take that, moths!” I imagined her saying.

This woman has been springing to mind for me of late, because this is the time of year when the William Penn House hallways begin to smell of mothballs, as people pull out their winter things and stow away their summer stuff. There are a couple of days at the change of every season when the mothball aroma seeps through the walls and into our apartment. It takes a while to identify as mothball stink, at first I just notice a slightly off scent and start running around the apartment, sniffing and trying to find an abandoned dirty sock or a rotting potato (there’s little that smells worse than a rotting potato).

Then it begins to get stronger and I’m finally able to identify it. I don’t love it, but at least I don’t have to be on guard, wondering what’s crawled into the drain and died.

However, I still don’t understand how people can live with mothballs the way they do around here (I use a combination of lavender and ceder to keep my woolens moth-free). They are so toxic and awful smelling.

I wrote about making cranberry jelly tonight over at Food in Jars, and a new grocery store on East Passyunk Ave. earlier today on uwishunu. And, if you’re in the Philly area and listen to KYW, consider tuning in tomorrow around 9:30 a.m., as you’ll hear me talking about buying locally for Thanksgiving (I may also squeeze a brief plug in for my cranberry canning classes).

In the midst of making french toast, prior to updating my veggie list, with a stalk of Brussels sprouts in the background.

You may have noticed that there’s been more activity on this blog in the last few days than in the whole previous month. That’s because it’s NaBloPoMo, the month during which people all across the world commit to post on their personal blogs every day for 30 days straight. Thing is, I haven’t actually signed up or actually promised to anyone that I’m doing NaBloPoMo. But I’ve been wanting to post here more, and this seemed like as good a time as any to do it.

So here I am.

Expect more tomorrow.

In my family, my mother is the chief laundry officer. She takes the movement of clothing from clean to dirty to clean and folded once more very seriously. Tee-shirts get folded so that they stack precisely and fit most efficiently in the drawers. Pants are vigorously shaken before being smoothed and stacked. Even underwear is folded neatly and aligned into a perfect pile. And, of course, it is all folded within moments of being removed from the dryer.

I have always been my mom’s acolyte in laundry maintenance. Growing up, I was the only one in the family she trusted to fold her clothes, as neither my dad or sister were particularly devoted to living a wrinkle-free life. However, I must confess that in recent years, my adherence to the “Leana method” has slipped. Often, I’ll do a load of laundry, pile it on the couch and then leave it to sit for a day or two before it gets folded*. I’ll dip into the pile each morning as I get dressed, giving the clothes a shake before deeming them “good enough” and slipping them on.

That pile you see above is the accumulation of several loads of laundry. After taking the picture, I did dig in and fold the whole thing (although it’s still on the couch, just in neater stacks). Sadly, the basket in the bedroom is already beginning to fill up once more. The cycle just never ends (and from what I hear, it just gets worse when you reproduce).

*You might be wondering why Scott doesn’t tackle the laundry pile. Well, I have inherited my mom’s laundry affliction. I just don’t love it when other people fold my clothes (space optimization and all). So while he does occasionally try to help, neither of us end up enjoying the experience.

What’s new? Well, I was on TV again last week, this time on the NBC 10 Show doing a canning demo. Sadly, it does not appear to be available on their website, so there’s no clip to share. In its place, I do have a fresh episode of Fork You to offer. Not quite as thrilling for my parents, but it’s something!

I’ve been neglecting my garden something awful lately. It’s just so infested with mosquitoes that I can’t spend more than ten minutes down there without being absolutely destroyed by those little critters. When I was a kid, I was allergic to mosquitoes, each bite site would swell up so that it looked like I had a tennis ball tucked under my skin. While I don’t react like that anymore, too many bites still make me run a slightly elevated temperature and make me feel crappy for at least an hour afterwards.

Additionally, something has devastated my cucumbers and zucchini plants, so the whole project has lost a lot of its joy. As much as I wanted the garden, I’m not sure I can handle having a garden plot a mile and a half away from home next year (particularly one that is so infested by mosquitoes). I’m thinking about ripping all the veggies out and just planting herbs. At least that would be something (and mosquitoes aren’t fans of rosemary and lavender).