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.

moleskine love.

I keep a little Moleskine notebook in my purse. More and more, I'm noting random things via outlets like Facebook or my Twitter feed, but the trusty Moleskine is perfect for capturing things with more heft, meaning and significance. And for stashing found objects like wine labels and four-leaf clovers.

I tend to forget about the Moleskine until I'm in the mood to record something for posterity, and then I remember how much I love making notes in it. But really, the best thing about pulling it out of my purse is leafing through and seeing all the good stuff in there: drunken notes, quotes and booze labels from our 40th birthday trip to St. Barts with our dearest friends; pages where I've used a just-pulled wine cork like a rubber stamp to record memorable bottles; recipe ideas and inspirations; garden plans; little poems like this haiku:

On the Equinox
I see that summer's fading
The garden is tired.

Today, as I was jotting some notes as a creative, self-reflective exercise suggested by my friend Colleen (more on that at a later date), I came across this, which I wrote while I was stuck on the tarmac on some airplane somewhere.

Band Names Inspired by Sitting on an Airplane

Armrest Larceny
Airsickness
Upright + Locked
The Exit Row Seats
The Overhead Bins
Bottom Cushion
The Seatbacks
5CD
Aisle Seat Love
Lavatory Funk
Men with Wings
The Beverage Carts
Turbulence
30,000 Feet
The Mini Bottles
Security Jerk
No Step
The Drop-Down Masks

good at.

During a really terrific catch-up conversation with Mom last night, she told me she'd seen my recent post about the "Hello, I'm good at ..." nametags. So she shared her own "good at" list, and I asked if I could post it here:

I am good at:

Being a mother
Making great meals
I matter
Making a small difference for some people
Feeling gratitude
Being a friend
Loving my children
Loving the space I am in right now
Finding out who I really am

Yay!

september 22.

I will not bow
to seasonal wisdom
and trade geraniums
for mums
… just yet

No sense uprooting
tomato plants;
there’s so much potential
hanging clustered, green
on the vines
... for now

I’ll welcome fall’s bounty
into my kitchen
... soon
corn and strawberries
have not yet
yielded that ground

I’ll avert my gaze
from displays
of costumes, candy
… for at least
another few weeks

Today is
summer’s last day
... but not its end.

good.

At a recent conference that HOW sponsored, I again met up with a fantastic woman named Dyana Valentine, who spoke at the same shindig last year. She's a dynamo (perhaps that should be her first name), one of those people who's completely engaging and thoroughly, genuinely interested in YOU.

Among many things, she helps people connect with each other, and she has a cool version of those "Hello, my name is ..." nametags that she hands out. Hers says, "Hello, I'm good at ..." Which is a brilliant way to get a roomful of people talking to each other. Most people tend to write in something business-related: "I'm good at copywriting," "I'm good at design" -- that kind of thing. But at this conference, some people wrote personal things.

This got me thinking.

Hello, I'm good at ...

finding four-leaf clovers
the very detail-oriented aspects of cooking, like planning and preparation
taking care of Wrigley
teaching
being Rob's partner
balancing (physically, that is, not so much the whole work/life thing)
planting
writing
helping
being diplomatic
keeping score at a baseball game
making focaccia

So there.

the garden.

the garden
does not understand
that I am busy

the beans grow
too big and tough
if they’re left unpicked
for just a day

the lettuce bolts
if it’s not harvested
tomatoes split,
red peppers rot
if I don’t pay attention

the flowers droop
if I neglect to water
spent blooms straggle
if don’t take care

the garden
does not understand
that I am busy

the dog needs a walk
dinner needs to be made
the gym beckons
work demands

the garden
does not mind
that I am busy

it is there
when I have time
to harvest
to water
to prune

to breathe

too delicious.

There are two food-related (obsessed?) blogs that I wish I wrote: 100cookbooks.com and smittenkitchen.com. Neither fails me whenever I bookmark a recipe.

So when I spotted this recipe for Tomato and Corn Pie on smittenkitchen.com earlier this week, I made a note to make it this weekend.

Holy Mother of All That Is Delicious!

There is simply no better thing do to with late-summer corn and tomatoes. If you're a food person who reads this (that would be: Mom!), please do yourself a favor and make it while the fixin's are good.

Allow me to back up just a bit for a seasonal musing. Around the Fourth of July, I sink into a midsummer melancholy, sad that my favorite days are passing while I'm chained to a desk 9 to 5, mournful that I can't manage (even with summer's blissfully long days) to accomplish all I want to do.

Then, sometime in early to mid-August, when the days start to shorten perceptibly and the sounds from the swim club across the street stop a bit earlier in the evening, I recognize that summer isn't waning ... it's beginning. There remain weeks and weeks of 70- and 80-degree temps, summer produce and bouquets of zinnias that last until, around here, the end of October.

So I feel better.

Now, as the farmer's market kicks into high gear, really, and tomatoes and corn are still in full bounty, recipes like the Tomato and Corn Pie really resonate. There's something fall-ish about making any kind of pie, and the fact that it's packed with summer's best vegetables is just, well, a double crust.

Heaven.

Seriously, make this recipe. It doesn't note how many servings it yields, but Rob and I polished off nearly half the thing.