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recipe: grilled avocado.

Oh, where has this concept been all my life?

This: large, ripe Hass avocado, halved and pitted, cut-side down on a hot grill for about 5–7 minutes until a bit charred and caramelized. Take it off, let it cool, scoop out the flesh, mash with a fork. Turn it into guac, with a bit of onion, tomato, garlic and S&P, or—my favorite—mash it with the juice of half a lemon, slivered basil, S&P and schmear on toasted bread.

recipe: pizza with chard, goat cheese & egg.

I know. Pizza topped with egg. Sounds weird, but apparently in places that aren't Cincinnati, it's fairly trendy. But then I spotted in our hometown newspaper a recipe for pizza topped with veggies and finished with eggs. What caught my eye wasn't just the combination of toppings—sauteed onion and chard, goat cheese and prosciutto (oh, yeah)—but the idea that the egg, justbarelycookedtilitsniceandsoft, would create a rich, almost creamy sauce when you mashed your fork into it before taking a bite.

Which it did.

Pita bread is the ideal base for this (though my homemade pizza crust is good, too); the pita's cupped shape creates the ideal platform into which you crack the egg. Plus, individual pizzas are the way to go here—you want one egg per person. (Slicing an egg-topped pizza would get messy, methinks.)

pizza with chard, goat cheese & egg

(makes 2 individual pizzas)

2 8- or 9-inch pitas (whole wheat or plain), or 1/2 recipe pizza dough formed into 2 individual crusts

1/2 a grocery or market-sized bunch of swiss chard, chopped

1/2 onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

pinch of red pepper flakes

2–3 slices prosciutto, chopped or torn into pieces

4 ounces fresh goat cheese

2 large eggs

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. If using fresh pizza dough, pre-bake crusts until lightly browned.

Saute onion, garlic, red pepper flakes; add chard and saute until wilted. Divide vegetables between pitas or crusts, spreading evenly. Top with prosciutto, crumble goat cheese over top. Bake for about 10 minutes until the cheese starts to soften. Remove from oven; crack an egg in the center of each pizza, then bake another 10–12 minutes until the egg whites are set but yolks are still runny.

recipe: blueberry muddle.

It's been awhile since I felt like posting; we're still mourning our hairy friend. I haven't yet grappled with a lengthy post about Wrigley, but I'm hoping to get back to writing about other topics. Like food.

Blueberries and I go way back, back to when I was perhaps 10 or 11 and Grandmother first showed me how to make a blueberry pie (it's Dad's favorite, and has since been a staple for Father's Day). I still reference the recipe card she helped me write out; though I prefer Grandma's pie crust recipe, I defer to Grandmother's technique for mixing frozen berries, flour, sugar, cinnamon and lemon juice, then topping the fruit with pats of butter before sealing it with a top crust.

I never really ate blueberries out of hand ... I always enjoyed them in pie form. Until about 5 years ago, when I discovered the bliss of Trader Joe's frozen blueberries on cereal for breakfast. Their frozen goodness turns the milk ice-cold and adds the perfect pop of sweetness to a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios. I was on a daily blueberry kick for a good 18 months ... and then ... and then ...

Allergy. I developed a blueberry allergy, all bumpyrash on my face and neck. After swearing off blueberries for life, I visited a local allergist, who hooked me up with an alternative therapy that, in fact, cured the allergy.

Now, after several years of dismay at having to leave pint boxes of gorgeous local berries in their stalls at the farmer's market, I'm back on a blueberry kick. Last weekend, we picked up a box of thumb-sized berries from Thistlehair Farm (one of my favorite Findlay Market vendors), and I made up this recipe:

blueberry muddle

1 cup of fresh blueberries

1 Tbsp. of sugar, or more to taste depending on the sweetness of the berries

(I used Turbinado sugar for a deeper flavor)

Splash of Grand Marnier or Cointreau

Mash the blueberries in a deep bowl or 2 cup glass measuring container with a bar muddler or wooden spoon. Get 'em good and smashed up, breaking the skins and pureeing the flesh. Stir in the sugar, then the liqueur. Let sit for an hour or so. Serve over vanilla ice cream (we enjoyed bourbon vanilla gelato from Dojo Gelato). This would also be terrific with a bit of slivered mint added and served over peach or raspberry sorbet.

everybody loves wiggy.

After about two weeks of keeping mostly to ourselves, we ventured out per our normal Saturday routine and went to Findlay Market this morning. I was braced for all the "How's Wrigley?!" questions we'd get from folks who didn't know that we'd said goodbye to him. Sure enough, there were tears all around.

We picked up Wrigley's ashes, tucked neatly into a carved wooden box, from the vet yesterday. It felt inexplicably good to have him home. I know this makes no sense, but we truly feel like he's now home.

a chin on your knee.

As we work through the multiple layers of sadness this week and into the weeks and months to come, one thing that helps peel them away bitbybit is recalling all the fond memories we have of Wrigley—memories that we'll have forever. In keeping with one of my favorite childhood books, The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, we've been keeping a list of things we love about Wrigley. Needless to say, we're way past 10.

I will post that list when the time feels right.

What I miss most, right now at least, is his physical presence. The pawing at the back door when I come home. The chin on my knee as I'm eating. The "pffft" in my face as he stood by my side of the bed to wake me. Twiddling his ear, scratching his throat or chest or flank. The simple nearness of him.

He's still very near, in my heart. It's just that it's hard to reach inside and give my heart a good scratch.

a round of golf

Our buddy Wrigley always loved golf. When I would pull out a golf club, he made a distinctive woof that we referred to as "the sports bark." He loved when I would chip golf balls in the yard and he'd go chase the balls down. Occasionally, he would actually bring them back. But it was more fun to chew on them and stash them someplace of his choosing.

Yesterday, I went out to play a round. We always talked about how fun it would be to take Wrigley out on the golf course, knowing full well that his golf etiquette wouldn't even qualify him for a muni! But yesterday was a good day to bring him along. He and I talked the whole way. We talked about the targets we would try to hit, reading the putts, and generally keeping our swing on line. When I made a good shot, he said "woof, woof - good shot guy!" When I hit it into the rough, he said "don't worry, I'll get it." When I missed a putt, he said "don't worry guy, we'll get it back." When I birdied 4 holes, he told all his buddies "that's my guy - he's a champ, woof!"

I shot an 81, which was my best score in a long, long time. Wrigley keeps on giving. Thanks buddy.

woof.

God called Wrigley to come about 9:00 last night, Sunday, April 18.

We are at peace for him, but filled with a deep, profound and engulfing grief for ourselves.

the boy.

These are tough days for The Boy Wig. A nasty fever, combined with weakness in his hind end, sent us to see Dr. Bev on Tuesday, and after a day of fluids and antibiotics failed to knock down the fever, she sent us packing to MedVets in Columbus. It was a late night for us, and we left the boy in their care overnight.

He looked pathetic: pink with fever, shaking, lethargic, lying on his side and not even lifting his head when we came to tell him goodnight and that we'd be back soon to take him home. The next day, an abdominal ultrasound turned up nothing, though the fever stayed high. They brought in a neurologist to consult, and discovered some dismaying signs that may indicate a stroke.

Friday, though, Wrigley staged a comeback, and rallied to a hearty appetite and a spark in his eyes. The doctor who spoke with Rob seemed a bit surprised at his turnaround. So Rob dropped what he was doing and sped up to Columbus to retrieve our friend. (We're planning a fundraising effort soon.)

The past few days have brought many, many tears on both our parts (and Mom's, too). I'm incredibly thankful that I'm going through this with both of them. Rob is a tremendous partner and comfort when things get rocky, and an amazing friend when life is good.

Wrigley spent today sleeping very deeply. He's gobbled up dog food, pita bread, whole-wheat English muffin with peanut butter, boiled chicken, cracker, Jump & Sit Bits and lots of meds.

Tuesday, he is scheduled for an MRI, during which the doctor will look for signs of a stroke, or several, or perhaps tumors. The best case scenario, actually, would be a stroke -- dogs, we're told, typically recover nicely from a stroke. But we're not thinking of that now. We're giving him lots of snacks and scratches, relishing the mere fact of his company.

sprung!

As of today, April 10, spring has sprung. In a big way.

Watching The Masters is a rite of springtime passage for Rob and me, and usually we watch the hallowed grounds of Augusta National, with its gorgeous azaleas and rhododendrons, and sigh longingly, knowing that our own spring bloom is another couple of weeks away.

Not this year.

After a brutally cold and snowy February and early March, Mother Nature decided that she, too, was sick of the cold and gray and threw the Spring Switch. Suddenly, almost overnight, we went from cloudy and 30 degrees to sunny and 70. We missed the usual stretch of 50–60 degree days ... sweatshirt-and-shorts weather. Instead, we blew full-on into early summer.

We opened the Side Porch Cafe weeks early, and had our first dinner al fresco last weekend. We spent today in the sunshine, spreading mulch (a job that's often done in cool temps).

Typically, spring brings a gradual awakening of the landscape: first, the weeping cherry blooms like a cheap prom dress, then the flowering crabapple, then the dogwoods come a week or two later. This year, the early magnolias and cherry trees are blooming right alongside the later dogwood and redbud. It's all happening at once. It's magnificent (and allergen-laden), but a bit disconcerting.

While I welcome the early patch of warm weather, it is compressing the spring growing season, and I fear that I'll blink and miss it.

I need to do a better job this spring of looking around and taking it all in.

spc.

Today, April 1, the temp hit 80 degrees. It's a Thursday. Rob is on hiatus, and I've decided it just isn't in the cards for me to go into the office tomorrow. It's the official 2010 debut of the Side Porch Cafe.

It's a glorious evening: we've chowed down on leftover party food from last night's get-together with Rob's former colleagues. The party was fantastic: good food, copious wine (today reminded me of going to class hung over during Little 500 week at I.U.) and great people. What amazed me, as always, was the genuine respect, friendship and admiration that Rob and his co-workers share(d). People think he's really neat. I think he's really neat.

Wrigley scored big-time from a few folks who kept sneaking tortilla chips and pita bread to him. Tonight, we went for a really long walk. Wigs was tired by the end, but then, so were we.

Life is good. It's good. It's April 1, and we have the house open. Spring is here. It's like winter never even happened. I think I have a new mom's amnesia for the pain of childbirth ... I can't even remember how awful February was, and it seems like the Side Porch Cafe has been in continuous operation forever.

Forever.

springing.

On our morning walk, I noticed more and more signs of spring emerging:

• The cherry trees are just barely starting to bloom
• Forsythia and magnolia are opening
• Daffodils are in their full yellow glory
• Grass is growing and greening up all over our neighborhood

In our own backyard, we're seeing nice growth from the lettuce I planted, and the forsythia are just starting to open. The hydrangea are starting to leaf out, and the lilac bushes are swollen with leaf and flower buds. The crabapple tree (which gets leaves first, then flowers) is starting to show green leaflets, and the weeping cherry (which flowers, then gets leaves) has swollen flower buds that will probably pop in another week or so. Rob expects to run the lawnmower for the first time this weekend.

Too, we anticipate opening the Side Porch on Saturday. Rob has done a masterful job refinishing the beadboard ceiling and repairing some broken trim. I'll clean up the furniture, wash out the glass jars that hold candles and vacuum the cushions on Saturday. We're having some folks over for cocktails next Wednesday, and the weather should be nice enough that we can be outdoors as well as in.

Hooray, Spring!

the puffy coat.

I have a long, black, down-filled, hooded coat from Lands' End that I've worn everysingleday since the beginning of January. I have other winter coats, ones that I quite like, including a brown wool car coat cut in a swingy style. I usually rotate coats depending on my attire on a particular day ... but the long puffy coat has been essential all winter, as we've had record cold and snowfall all through February.

I am hoping that this week is that last we'll see of the puffy coat this season.

Today, we sprung forward (an annual occurrence that makes me grouchy in the mornings for a good week). After a week of sunshine and temperatures in the low 60s, this weekend is cruelly rainy and cold. The cool damp has my bad shoulder aching.

I dodged raindrops today to plant pansies in the pots on the front porch ... after a long absence, the nurserymen are making a return appearance at Findlay Market on Saturday mornings. Rob is now out planting grass seed. The lettuce seeds I tucked into the window box last weekend are sprouting gaily; the four half-rows I put down in the cold frame aren't faring as well (they're a different variety, so they may take a bit longer to come in). I planted the other half-rows today and closed the lid to create a warmer microclimate in there. Last fall's garlic is a good 3 inches high, as are the chives in the herb bed.

Today is Selection Sunday; we're in for a good 3 weeks of March Madness, and then comes The Masters. Spring is at our doorstep.

to live content.

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common. This is to be my symphony. "

—William Henry Channing

via my friend, Peleg

olives.

Oh, by the way ... we have olives. We're such proud parents. After the beloved olive tree was COVERED with tiny, white, four-petaled flowers for the past 6 weeks or so, I researched how to pollinate it so that we might, perhaps, if we're lucky, maybe, have a tiny crop of olives. I e-mailed Ridgley Evers, the proprietor of our favorite source for olive oil, DaVero, for advice. Fortunately, he indulged this crazy girl from the Midwest with a potted indoor/outdoor olive tree and suggested that the olive is self-pollinating and all we needed to do was give it a bit of a hand. So we turned a gentle fan on the tree for a few days and hoped for the best. Mostly, the flower clusters turned dry and brown and fell to the floor. But on the side of the tree that faces our westerly window and caught what little February sun we had, there are a few microscopic olives on the branches. Trust me. When they're more than itty-bitty, I'll take a picture and post it here. And we'll be taking orders for the fall bottling of EVOO.

thaw.

Mooth 2.0 is in full swing, as you'll see shortly when Rob posts an update. This weekend's (finally!) warm and sunny weather has brought a real thaw to our frozen, gloomy, wintry world (and, personally speaking, an equally frozen, gloomy, wintry disposition).

Yesterday, realizing that the coldframe is now getting several hours worth of daytime sun (if it IS sunny, that is), I planted four half-rows of lettuce: Oliver, my favorite variety, and a new one (actually a very old European heirloom variety) called Yugoslavian Red. I did a bit of outdoor clean-up, we had a roaring fire going all afternoon in the firepit, and just generally spent the day outdoors.

That is, when we weren't tooling around in Rob's new car. Or loading our new washer and dryer.

Like I said, Mooth 2.0 is on the rise.

Today promises to be a slightly warmer version of yesterday. Righteous.

P.S. Wrigley is doing well. I felt awful that we had to board him while we were away for a few days last weekend, and it was tough on him. The cold cement floors were hard on the arthritic joints, and predictably he had a bit of system funk for a few days afterward. We have him on an antibiotic for intestinal issues, which works wonders (and quickly). Yesterday afternoon, he perked up noticeably, and he's been his Wiggle self again. We're still taking short, slow walks, but hope that the acupuncture and warmer weather will help pick up the pace soon.

so ready for spring.

Today is February 21. The Vernal Equinox is 29 days from now. I'm not sure I'm going to make it.

Over the past 10 days, we've had 12+ inches of snow in recurring wintry blasts. Only one day of sunshine. The snow is still chest-deep to Wrigley in the front yard, sidewalks in our neighborhood are still buried and the streets are pocked with potholes and littered with salt and debris. I'm tired of the cold, the gray, the general winter crud.

But spring will be here, I know. I have a box full of seeds from The Cook's Garden on my garden bench: five kinds of lettuce, two kinds of bean, carrot, and, to come, pepper and basil plants. We have materials for a new garden fence on order and I have a vine wreath to hang on the new garden gate. I found some colorful outdoor cushions yesterday that will be perfect on the green bench on the patio.

All three of us are ready for warmer weather so we can break this cycle of cabin fever and our joints will feel better. C'mon, Spring!

learning a valuable lesson.

By nature, I am a) generally very accommodating and b) prone to think I can do most things better than most people. Both traits are getting me into trouble at work.

I'm finding myself spread too thin, working on too many tasks, a number of which are really someone else's job (or should be). I tend to say, "I can take care of that" or "I can help with that" ... and then, bloop! Too much on my plate, and I'm doing things others should be or could be doing. Since the beginning of the year, I've been feeling overwhelmed. And, frankly, taken advantage of (though I have to own my responsibility for this problem).

In a meeting last week, one of my colleagues asked—about a marketing idea that we were considering—if it was really worth spending all that time on it. The question was revelatory. Why DO we have to do everything? Why do I have to do everything?

Today, I am practicing the art of the handoff: Doing my portion of a project, and then handing it off to someone else instead of trying to do it all myself. We'll see how this goes.

whatever we need to do.

Wrigley is about halfway through a stint on the 15-day disabled list. He's been feeling the effects of arthritis for about 6 months now; last weekend on a walk where the footing was super slippery, he torqued a joint in his right hind leg. On Monday when I came home from work, Wrigley was not at his customary spot by the back door, and I knew something was up. I found him in a corner of the living room, unable to stand up on the bum wheel. Poor boy was trembling hard, so we made a mad dash to the vet, where X-rays revealed that the arthritis is centered in his hock (his rear "ankle") instead of the hip, where we assumed it was. He'd sustained an injury, so he's been on the DL since. Even though he couldn't walk, his tail wagged furiously and he begged with his usual gusto. Good boy!

Tomorrow, we have an appointment for acupuncture. I hope I'm not putting too much stock in it, but I have high hopes that the treatment will ease his discomfort, free up his movement and generally make him more like his usual Wiggle-self.

Rob asked how many treatments we'll need ... I have no idea, and don't care about the cost. We'll do whatever we need to take care of this boy. The tail has lots of wag left in it! Plus, we're making plans now for a summer vacation, the 5 of us.

make music of what you can.

My friend Peleg Top sent me this poem. I had to post it. I'm very good at hesitating. I need to not be so.

AGAINST HESITATION
Charles Rafferty

If you stare at it long enough
the mountain becomes unclimbable.
Tally it up. How much time have you spent
waiting for the soup to cool?
Icicles hang from January gutters
only as long as they can. Fingers pause
above piano keys for the chord
that will not form. Slam them down
I say. Make music of what you can.
Some people stop at the wrong corner
and waste a dozen years hoping
for directions. I can’t be them.
Tell every girl I’ve ever known
I’m coming to break her door down,
that my teeth will clench
the simple flower I only knew
not to give . . . Ah, how long did I stand
beneath the eaves believing the storm
would stop? It never did.
And there is lightning in me still.

edgar's big day.

I started writing a post about the fact that today is Edgar's birthday (perhaps you, too, noted that on your calendar). And then I realized that I had written about the occasion last year. So I'm going to shortcut and simply repeat myself. I think this pretty much sums up our friend Big Bear:

Edgar, if you don't know, is the Big Bear; Henry is the Little Bear. We figure Edgar is probably 13 years old (Henry is maybe a year or two older) and came to live with us in St. Louis.

Henry and Edgar are best friends, inseparable. Henry is to Edgar what George is to Lennie, what Jim is to Kevin, what Greenberg is to Golic (seriously, where else do you get cultural references to "Of Mice and Men," "The Office" and ESPN's "Mike and Mike in the Morning" radio show??). Henry is wily, sharp, cynical and a bit of a critic; Edgar is big-hearted, friendly and encouraging. Edgar isn't dim, he's just unsophisticated, and he thinks more often with his belly than his brain.

Edgar has trouble grasping the concept of coincidence, so he's pretty convinced that the Super Bowl is a giant, football-laden celebration of his birthday. We haven't had the heart to correct his thinking on this.

reading & writing.

I had a driveway moment (actually, a gym parking lot moment) yesterday listening to NPR's remembrance of J.D. Salinger. The piece included readings from "A Catcher in the Rye," which were mesmerizing. I read "A Catcher in the Rye" exactly once, as required, in high school English class. I vaguely remember its angsty anti-hero, Holden Caulfield, its dark tone, its unresolved ending. After hearing the piece (and finishing my Pilates class), I dashed home to see if I still had a copy of the book ... no luck. (I'll bet that high-school copy is still on the bookshelf in my teenage bedroom.)

Salinger puts me in mind of other writers whose work I love, whose work propelled me toward the career that I'm in. Fitzgerald. Steinbeck. Wharton. White. It makes me want to pick up all those books again and re-experience the marvelous language, the turns of phrase, the ways of seeing and describing the world.

Last night, realizing I didn't have Salinger on the shelf, I grabbed the three-volume set of Junior Great Books that I have from fifth grade. (I'm delighted to see the program is still in existence.) Once a month, a group of advanced readers at Mohawk Trails Elementary gathered in a conference room during lunchtime/recess, where Mrs. Lorton led us in a discussion of a work from the Junior Great Books series. There was an excerpt from "The Wind in the Willows." Part of "A Christmas Carol." An obscure bit from Mark Twain. Writings by Heywood Broun, Chekhov, Bradbury, a few poems. I distinctly remember feeling special (and a bit nerdy) to be part of this group. It was the first time I recall having real conversations about books, not just guided classroom discussion. We didn't talk about the mechanics of the writing, but rather the meaning and our interpretations, guided by our suburban, '70s-era kid worldview.

Last night, I read Bradbury's heartbreaking short story, "All in a Summer Day" and Heywood Broun's "The Fifty-First Dragon." My 42-year-old self was as enthralled as my 10-year-old self had been. I'm planning to pick up "Gatsby" and "Catcher" and create a list of all my old favorites. It'll be my winter reading program.

As a kid, I was a voracious reader. VORACIOUS. I have a high-resolution memory of sitting in front of my kindergarten class, reading to the rest of the kids. I devoured Nancy Drew, E.B. White, Judy Blume. I'd plow through the Carmel Library's summer reading program at warp speed. I loved the library. I have deep and profound recollections of lying on the floor with my mom and brother on summer evenings after supper, reading a chapter at a time of "Charlotte's Web." My dad had perfected the voices of the characters in my favorite picture books, Dare Wright's "Little Doll" series. (He had Mr. Bear down pat.)

This love of words led me to journalism classes in high school and college and, ultimately, to my magazine career and even this blog. I can't NOT read or write. And I think that it's going to point me toward other opportunities in my life, as well.

technology i could get excited about.

Despite—or perhaps to spite—my company's persistent and monomaniacal emphasis on publishing's digital future (i.e., f*** the printed page), I refuse to buy into the hype. For me personally and for the people we make our books and magazine for, the printed object is still relevant and inspiring. It's savable. Many of these items together make a library, a collection. I'd like to see a Kindle user create the same impression of literariness and erudition (ha!) with his onscreen list of titles as a devoted reader conveys with her wall-to-wall-floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. E-books? Bah. Kindle? Humbug.

But wait ...

Anticipating tomorrow's long-awaited announcement of the Apple tablet, I think about how I might use that digital tool. Not for ordinary reading ... but for this: Wouldn't it be amazing to have a digital reader in the kitchen—that houses all your bookmarked online recipes, your favorite food blogs, your preferred online food & kitchen retailers and even, yes, cookbooks and magazines (in full color, with pictures). If a digital device could hold all those resources, and let me search and bookmark them, and perhaps even create a shopping list that I can download to my iPhone ... then, well then, I'd be in favor of this digital publishing thing.

Maybe.

connectivity.

As I think about what I'd like for 2010, in keeping with the Mooth2.0 idea, one of my hopes is to increase my connectedness with family and old friends, and to find ways to make new connections. Last night, Rob and I had a fantastic evening with two of my dearest friends from high school and sailing days and their wives. The six of us spent about five hours over dinner and drinks catching up; we realized that it had probably been a dozen years if not more since the we had all been together. I had seen Andy & Bruce at a sailing event in October, and we planned then to get together for dinner in January. It was such a great time, especially when Noelle asked us all what advice we would now tell our 16-year-old selves, and we reflected on those years with fondness and honesty. I'll play cruise director and plan another outing sometime in late summer or fall ... this was too good not to continue.

welcome to mooth2.0.

Rob and I have determined that this is the year of Mooth2.0. We don't know what that means, exactly. It just feels like we're keeping our eyes and minds open to new and interesting things.

A few friends have casually observed that I've been slacking on posting to this blog, so as part of Mooth2.0, Rob suggested that we (both) commit to posting more regularly. Now, with a week of the new year under our belts, seems as good a time to start as any.

I'm not big into New Year's resolutions; I don't need to quit smoking or start a diet or anything significant like that. But I have been thinking of what I'll call my intentions for 2010: things I want to pay attention to, to be mindful of, to make an effort toward. I'll share them here so my friends can help (gently) keep me accountable. In no particular order:

Be more correspondent. Lately, I've enjoyed exchanging letters with my 88-year-old grandmother. I love her notes filled with news about the goings-on in her garden or at her birdfeeder, and I like sharing similarly unimportant but meaningful observations from my life with her.

Be more thoughtful. My friend Sam Harrison is a master at sending out-of-the-blue gifts that always make my day. I'm not ordinarily proactively thoughtful like Sam is. But I'd like to be.

Be more present. Mom recently said her resolution for 2010 is to figure out a way for the year not to fly by like 2009 did. Mom, if you do, let me know. But I think it has something to do with 1) being observant and 2) being grateful. Two fairly simple things I fail to do on a day to day basis.

Focus on what's meaningful and impactful in my work. 2009 at F+W was a long slog of budget cuts, additional projects, fewer resources. The focus has been on what's good for the company and not on what's good for our customers or our employees. That makes work pretty much suck. I hereby vow to focus on the fact that the work my little team does has meaning and impact for the people we make it for. That is, our readers/customers, and NOT our executives.

Let go of the unimportant. Nothing more needs be said about that.

My highest priority for 2010: Find some inputs. Nearly all of my creative and mental energy is expended on outputs -- making work for others. And currently, all of my learning opportunities are work-related and, therefore, deeply unsatisfying. (Wow, I can add HTML code to a web page. Yippee.) I desperately DESPERATELY need inputs. I need to learn things, to fuel my brain and heart and creativity. Some initial ideas: attending programs at the Cincinnati Observatory, the Civic Garden Center; learning calligraphy, bread-baking, French, whatever.

Like I said, 2010 feels like it's a time for Rob and me to keep our eyes open to new and interesting things.