To Whole Foods to Study

Hello, friends.  Next week, is my first college exam in a while.  Two summers ago, I took a Plant Biology course, so it hasn't been too terribly long.  Plus--did you know this dear blog readers--that I study for fun?  In 2012, I've been studying for the GRE and brushing up on Precalculus and Physics.  Yes, this is fun for me and I embrace every fabulous learning moment.  And, since I'm always honest with you, I'll admit that I like the challenge of a college test.  So, I can't say I'm complaining.

Tomorrow, the forecast is cloudy and a little cool, so I'm going to head to Whole Foods to make my flash cards and drink some coffee.  The real-life outfit is still TBD, but I like to imagine it will be something like this:

Fat Face navy hoody, $67 / Acne boot cut jeans / Converse shoes, $68 / Crafted Messenger Bag, $40

First Day of School

Every semester, I'm allowed to take one university course for free.  I've only taken advantage of this once (hooray for Biology!)  Work is too stressful and my schedule too packed to fit in a course.

However, this semester I decided to go for it and take Art History:  Introduction to Visual Art.  Just because. I love learning and love art and design.  There have been several times when I have debated dropping it (usually when I received another work project or realized I have about 100 pages of reading and numerous flashcards to make weekly.)  But, I really want to try to make it through this one!

My class is held in the Art Building and, mixed in with the usual college t's and jeans, you can usually see some pretty awesome outfits.  Here is a little back-to-school outfit I put together...now back to the books!

Oasis dress, $76 / Orange trench coat / Matiko wingtip oxford / Proenza Schouler metallic handbag, $2,170 / Ela Stone butterfly earrings, $72 / Goorin Bros. goorin bros hat / Spiral Notebook - You & Me

A Rainy Day with Lucy

I love Lucy.  Lucille Ball was quite the pioneer.  She helped set the stage for women in comedy, had a baby at almost 40,  and was married to her second husband-13 years her junior-for 27 years.  Lucy also had a fashion style that we imitate today.  I think if she went out for coffee on a rainy day in 2012, it would like a little something like this:

Vintage long dress / Prada long sleeve top, $460 / Hunter wellies rubber boots / Radley vintage satchel, $315 / John Lewis umbrella, $16

I Don't Have the Answers

"You know that song 'If a body catch a body comin' through the rye'? I'd like—"
"It's 'If a body meet a body coming through the rye'!" old Phoebe said. "It's a poem. By Robert Burns."
"I know it's a poem by Robert Burns."
She was right, though. It is "If a body meet a body coming through the rye." I didn't know it then, though.
"I thought it was 'If a body catch a body,'" I said. "Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around— nobody big, I mean— except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff— I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy." 

(from The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger)

I suppose life is the inspiration for literature and literature is the inspiration for life.

Suffering. I don't have the answers for why it exists or what to do with it.  But I have thoughts on it and I see some of these thoughts in the passage above.  Holden Caulfield.  Old Holden, old sport.  

The cliff in this passage reminds me of suffering.  The cliff and the darkness, the shadow that we find when we peer over the edge at all the we never want to experience.  When we dangle from the edge, white-knuckled, pleading that we don't fall.  When we balance precariously on the brink.  

But life often doesn't end at suffering.  Or, I guess it is more accurate to say it doesn't have to end at suffering.  Time has a way of making us rise.  Of realizing that our hearts are going to beat again, even if we think it's impossible that they will.  We are a revenant, I suppose.

I think that suffering can be an impetus.  A drive that makes us want to be the catcher in the rye.  There can be a desire to save those who come after us from falling into the depths that we did.  To keep them innocent, safe, perhaps even joyful.  That we can catch them, pull them securely close, and then release them.  

But the hard (hard, hard) part is that we won't want to do this, or even know how to do this, until we know the cliff.  And perhaps that is why suffering comes.  Or, at the least, what we need to reap like rye from the suffering--the hope, the desire, the passion to catch those around us.  To either help them escape the fall entirely and, when that is impossible, to love them through it (to love them through it, to love them through it.)  

Again, I don't have the answers to explain the whys of suffering.  Or to justify it. Or to casually explain it away.  I just know that we are not exempt from suffering but somehow we can choose not to exempt ourselves from loving others who are in it and desperately need us to.

A Delicious Salad Recipe for You.

Beets with Walnuts, Goat cheese, and Baby Greens

(Trust Andrea on the beets and goat cheese.)

From Cooking Light, April 2011, page 130

6 medium beets (red & golden), about 1 1/2 pounds
1 cup water
8 cups mixed baby salad greens
1 cup loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
1 tbsp white balsamic vinegar (regular balsamic works fine, too)
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup (2 ounces) crumbled goat cheese (not feta)
1/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts, toasted

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2.  Leave root and 1-inch stem on beets; scrub with a brush.  Place beets and 1 cup water in a 13 x 9-inch glass or ceramic baking dish; cover tightly with foil. Bake at 375 degrees for 1 hour and 30 minutes or until tender.  Cool beets slightly. Trim off roots; rub off skins.  Cut beets into wedges; cool completely.

3.  Place greens and parsley in a large bowl; toss. Combine vinegar, salt, and pepper, stirring with a whisk.  Gradually drizzle in oil, stirring constantly with a whisk.  Drizzle dressing over greens mixture; toss gently.  Arrange 1 cup salad on each of 8 plates; top evenly with beets.  Top each serving with 1 tbsp cheese and 1 1/2 tsp nuts.

Warning:  This salad is addictive.  It's also an excellent substitute for the usual garden salad at your next dinner party!

Creative Sundays (Written on a Saturday)

It has been an emotionally dark month.  And, like Forrest Gump, that's all I want to say about that. For now.

Here is something I did last Sunday while listening to Perfume Genius and hanging out with Maris:

It's an unedited photo of a painting I'm working on.  A work in progress.  Can you tell yet that it's the ocean at night?  I hope so.  Really, it is so much more, though.  It is an illustration of how desperately I need to be creative. Not necessarily an artistic master.  Just creative.  And I have to make time for this.

Creative Sundays.

Everything else gets done during the week. And, if it doesn't...that's ok.  Sundays are the times to be creative:  painting, photography, writing, reading, crafts, knitting, and so on as I could progress infinitely through these necessary things.

We need those times, friends.  We were made to be creative.  Let's do this.

Goest

Ash Ode
by Dean Young
When I saw you ahead I ran two blocks shouting your name then realizing it wasn’t you but some alarmed pretender, I went on running, shouting now into the sky, continuing your fame and luster. Since I've been incinerated, I've oft returned to this thought, that all things loved are pursued and never caught, even as you slept beside me you were flying off. At least what's never had can’t be lost, the sieve of self stuck with just some larger chunks, jawbone, wedding ring, a single repeated dream, a lullaby in every elegy, descriptions of the sea written in the desert, your broken umbrella, me claiming I could fix it.