toys and trash bags

Last night Dave walked into the living room and said, "are you organizing again?"

We've organized all kinds of nooks and crannies around here. The boys' games and toys are tidy and regrouped and each have new, carefully-thought-out homes that are either in Isaac's reach or not-at-all in Isaac's reach or in Isaac's reach, but behind a locked door.

The bathroom cabinets have been cleaned out and purged and restocked with oft used things right up front and rarely used things waiting in the depths and it looks so nice in there that I plan on showing all visitors in the next week or so the beauty of the bathroom cabinet. It'll knock their socks off, I tell you.

The office area has been restocked with clean notebooks and new pens. My datebook is ready to plan out many cool and crafty projects for the next 12 months. The cluttery spots that normally surround me as a write out these posts have been cleared away for the new year.

It would seem that most of our home is tidy and well organized.

Except for the multiplying bags of trash right by the front door.

The city's response to Sunday's blizzard is under a fair amount of criticism right now. There are still streets that just have not been plowed yet, which is pretty unusual for how the city handles snowstorms. The subways and bus routes are still seeing lots of delays and routes that have been suspended altogher. It's all so strange because normally this city stops for nothing. And although this storm was a big one, it wasn't anything we haven't seen before. (It would seem we could use a Secretary of Transportation with lots of snow experience. Dad, you interested?)

One of the things that has been suspended "until further notice" is trash pick up. And for apartments like ours, with no outdoor area for holding trash until pick-up day, our foyer is holding the trash instead. I've never been so happy that we use cloth diapers.

So, were you to visit today, before noticing the glory of the bathroom cabinets and the alphabetized legos, you would first have to climb over a not-at-all organized pile of trash.

Lots of really clean. Lots of really messy. I'm choosing to call it balance.




White Cheddar Biscuits. Fantastic.

hello august.

This past weekend, August began.
August is the month we originally moved to New York.
This past weekend marks 8 years.
I can't believe that I am old enough to have lived somewhere 8 years as an adult.
And I can't believe I've lived in New York for that long. Seems shorter. Or maybe longer.

I used to think how neat it would be to live in a city. I thought the city would be Boston and I thought I would just like it for a year. I wanted to experience each season in the city, and then I wanted to move to a smaller town where I belonged. But as life unfolded, the city was not Boston and the commitment was not 12 months. It was a bigger city for a longer time.

And now, oddly, it's just home.

After years of wrestling and hating it here and wishing my life was not so urban, I can't imagine living anywhere else. I've been sucked in. I've stopped analyzing every little thing about New York. There are stinky parts about New York and great parts about New York...just like anywhere. And at some point during the last couple of years I lost my balance sheet and the goods and bads stopped meaning so much.

And that's been such a relief.

It's much easier to just like the place you live.

love and marriage

Last night Dave and I went to the anniversary party of a couple from our church. They were celebrating their 60th anniversary and had a large party with a 3 course dinner, open bar and a live band for dancing.

The church we go to has a Middle Eastern heritage. It was founded in the early 1900's by a group of Lebanese and Syrian Christians and most of the older couples (and some of the younger ones!) are Middle Eastern. I tend to forget this from time to time, but last night definitely felt like a cross cultural experience.

Just before the cake was brought out, the band stopped playing and someone announced that we in for a surprise. Middle Eastern music began to play and a belly dancer, in her full splendor, took the stage. She danced, smiling at the happy couple, and then had them join her on the stage. And Rose, who must be in her 80's, didn't miss a beat and danced with the belly dancer.

I have never seen a belly dancer dance before and honestly, my prudish self felt a little shy about the whole thing. I kept thinking "My grandparents certainly didn't have a belly dancer at their 60th anniversary!!!" But the more she performed and the more she danced with Rose's friends, the more I was won over. Perhaps I should hire a belly dancer for my parent's next anniversary. ;) (Just kidding, Mom!)

At one point the belly dancer had a tray of lit candles. She danced with the tray on her head and then she leaned back, put the tray on her belly and danced with it on her belly. It was pretty incredible.

This has definitely been a season of weddings and marriage for me. This weekend I went to a bridal shower on Saturday and a 60th Anniversary party on Sunday. And last weekend Dave and I celebrated our own anniversary. It seems that love is in the air!

so fancy.

Kirsten decided, after a stressful week, that the one thing that would help her to relax would be to take me to high tea. And who am I to turn down someone in need?

I have never been to high tea. And I was a little nervous that I would break all of the rules and embarrass myself in one way or another. Or not look fancy enough. Or use the wrong spoon. But, the other patrons enjoying high tea were other women around our ages who were probably also wondering about the spoons. Our waiter dropped the menu on the floor and tripped over some of his words. And then I knew I'd be fine.

The tea room Kirsten took me to was an inconspicuous brownstone with a small tea cup sign next to the door that I would have not been able to find if Kirsten were not with me. We waited with a few other women in a fancy room with antique furniture, a beautiful fireplace and votive candles flickering everywhere. This was the selection of teas they had displayed.


There were five courses served during high tea.
1. asparagus mini quiche
2. a selection of finger sandwiches (pictured below)
3. scones with cream and jam
4. cake
5. cookies and chocolate dipped strawberries

And, of course, there was tea. I ordered Cardamon Chai and Kirsten ordered a Chamomile Lavender Herbal blend. We both drank about two pots of tea during our hour and half of nibbling treats and sweets.





I loved going to high tea. It was just lovely and sweet. Kirsten, thank you! And the next time you have a rough week, you can count on me to help you out. ;)

My street

I really like the street I live on. I live above a store, on a commercial street in a pretty quiet area of Brooklyn. I like that my street is commercial. I like seeing the buses buzz by and hearing the bustle. I like stepping out onto the sidewalk and feeling like I am already in the thick of it. And I like the efficient way that information travels.

For example last night, at midnight, two hours after I went to bed I realized that the Yankees won the World Series. I knew because suddenly the street was filled with hundreds of people cheering. Even the cars were excited. They were zooming up and down the street beeping and hollering.

This neighborhood loves it's local teams. The year the giants won the Super Bowl it was the same scene except more so and for a longer time.

I just wish I could get more news this way. I had to look online to see that Bloomberg won the mayoral election. I guess his fans are a quieter set.

guests and recipes

My mother is coming.

This is a big deal. It's a hard thing to convince her to visit me and for good reason. Driving through New York can make normally even-keeled people fear for their lives. And once she arrives, she either sleeps on the couch or cuddled up with Andrew in his toddler bed. We are presently without coffee maker and are still very much in possession of two lovable but quite rambunctious children. An invitation to visit me makes most people frantically scan their date books hoping for a good excuse not to come. And, unfortunately, my mother could not find one.

My mother's impending visit has put me in cleaning mode. My mother puts June Cleaver to shame in her housekeeping skills. Everything is always immaculate. And one of the many genetic gifts that my mother passed on to me was an obsession for clean.

I've been vacuuming under beds, rescuing toys from under the couch and scrubbing month old puddles of hardened chocolate sauce from the shelf in the refrigerator. The pots and pans are nicely stacked, the toothpaste is standing up straight in the cabinet and the boogers from Andrew's last illness have been removed from the couch.

Now, let me be clear. My mother has never once arrived in white gloves to inspect my apartment. And she would be a-ok with a colony of dust bunnies under the bed and renegade toys under the couch. But, it would drive me nuts. And so, I clean.

Give me a few more hours, Mom and this place will shine.



And...a recipe:
Pumpkin Praline Muffins

3 T brown sugar
1 T sour cream
1/3 cup chopped pecans
2 c flour
2 t baking powder
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t baking soda
1/8 t ground cloves
1 egg
3/4 c buttermilk
3/4 c pumpkin
2/3 c brown sugar
1/3 c butter, melted

Mix together brown sugar, sour cream and pecans. Set aside.

Mix together egg, milk, pumpkin, brown sugar and butter. Mix in flour, powder, spices, and soda.

Fill a sprayed muffin tin with batter. Top with pecan mixture. Bake for 20 minutes at 400.

*note*
For the pumpkin, you can of course used canned pumpkin. I had a pie pumpkin kicking around, so I roasted that for 45 minutes, scooped out the flesh and pureed it. So yummy.

And I made my muffins in a mini muffin tray, so I baked them for less time.

Enjoy!

a little more

When we first moved to Brooklyn we lived at the edge of a neighborhood that was predominantly African American. And. I have to say, that was hard for me. It was a safe, beautiful neighborhood. It had trees and playgrounds and kids. But I felt really white. Walking around I worried that my neighbors were wondering what I was doing there.

I took the bus to work everyday and I was often the only white face. I knew that I could just as easily take the subway and not feel like I stood out so much. But I liked the bus. I liked being above ground. I liked seeing the world go by on my way to work. And so, stubbornly, I got on the bus every morning. Some days I worried that someone would ask me to stop taking the bus. But no one did.

I took the bus to my job. Teaching. At a charter school. And most of my students were either African American or West Indie. My first year in Brooklyn was also the first year my school was in session. And when the parents found out how many teachers were white, they were not pleased. They wanted African American role models for their children. And there I was. With my white face. I remember feeling apologetic and desperately wanting to win them over.

At some point, in my first year, I forgot to check to the bus for white faces. I forgot to worry about standing out. I forgot my students weren't white and they forgot I was. One day one of my students came up to face staring at me and said, "Mrs. Rice! You're eyes are blue! Can you see out of them?" When Andrew was born and I took him into school to meet my students they could not get over that he was white.

It's been fascinating and good for me to take a better look at race and a better look at color. I've learned a lot about myself and I haven't always liked what I learned.

Anyway, this is coming up now because I made the 41 bus for my quilt. Turns out, it's an important little piece.



And then not as important, but still pretty fun: the ice cream truck!


This is our bagel place and a faux subway stop that is suppose to represent our trains and neighborhoods. The little buttons are suppose to look something like this.


And it wouldn't be a Brooklyn quilt without a row of brownstones.

quilt update.

I have been embroidering up a storm this week. Mostly making signs for the quilt. I don't know much about embroidery. I just poke my needle in and out of the fabric and hope for the best. I think there are more sophisticated methods out there...but I don't know them...yet.

So...let me explain...




When you drive into Brooklyn, there are these signs on the highway that say, "Welcome to Brooklyn. Believe the Hype." or "Welcome to Brooklyn. Everybody is from here." And then on your way out the signs say, "Leaving Brooklyn. Fuhgetaboutit." So, I made two. One for "Welcome to" and one for "Leaving".

You might be asking yourself: "Do people really say fuhgetaboutit in Brooklyn?" And, I'd have to say: yup. They do. Not everybody. But a lot of people.



This might be my favorite part of the quilt so far. This is my Fresh Direct truck. Fresh Direct is the company that I order groceries from. Dave and I have tried all kinds of different ways to acquire groceries. Farmer's Markets, Food Coops, local grocery stores... Before we had kids, I would make a list and Dave would go and get the groceries and lug them home. They were crazy heavy (think: milk, juice, bags of flour...it adds up!) and once kids came along, our method just didn't make sense. So I did some price checking, and Fresh Direct looked pretty appealing.

The groceries were the same price as in the store (though that might not be the case anymore. I haven't checked in a while). There was a 5 dollar delivery charge, which I was completely willing to pay. And, get this, the groceries come right to my door. For a while my delivery guy was from the Dominican Republic, so I got to practice my Spanish each week. All kinds of perks with Fresh Direct! So now, every Sunday I place my order for groceries. And every Monday they arrive. Andrew thinks this is how everyone gets food. A man brings it in boxes.

We don't get our produce from Fresh Direct. We get a lot of it from a CSA and the rest we get from our local produce stands. There is probably a produce stand on every other block. We are in no way lacking for corn or green beans.

Anyway, cute truck. No?



And! One more thing and then I'll leave you alone. In this photo you can just barely see a yellow pick up truck that says "taxi". This is the truck that brought me to the hospital when I was in labor with Isaac. You can read about that here.

Ok. I'm done.

city quiltin'

Hello, City Quilt. I love you.

I have been wanting to work on a city quilt for years. I thought it would be a cathartic experience. I thought it would be good for me to spend some creative time and energy processing my urban home. And I love building and house shapes. They are just adorable and fun to work with.

This seed was planted years ago, but I kept putting it off. There were other projects I wanted to work on. Things I wanted to make for other people. And I wanted my city quilt to be just right. So I wanted some more concrete ideas before I began.

Last fall, I don't remember why, but I found myself in a fabric store wooed by fabrics that would be perfect for my city quilt. So, I bought them. And then I went back and bought more. And last Spring I sat down and started cutting out some buildings. And I hated them.

I packed up my fabrics and thought I'd give it more time to percolate. I had a list going of the buildings and vehicles and other details I wanted to include. And I had a final size in mind. And I really wanted fabric with text for the windows.

Then, last week, while I was working on a baby quilt for my friend, I got bit by the sewing bug and thought I would try again. I thought I would try sewing paper on the buildings for windows. And I decided to not worry about my final size until later. I just wanted to start.

This was my first building. I was experimenting with my process. With sewing paper on the fabric. And I liked it.


So this was my second building:

I wanted to make a school that represented the school I taught at. The school I taught at looks nothing like this, this is way cuter. But, I gave myself permission to take lots of artistic liberties.

This is our church:


And a row of stores.


I plan on embroidering names and whatnot on these cuties, so these are not finished pieces. But, you get the idea...

urban baby

Today was the urban baby shower. And it was fantastic! We threw the shower on the mom-to-be's friend's roof deck in Dumbo. As a side note: Dumbo stands for "down under the manhattan bridge overpass". It's a neighborhood in Brooklyn with gorgeous views!

It was a beautiful day and we had great weather.

Here's the dets:


mini quiches



Brooklyn bagels and cream cheese



The cookies were a huge hit!



And a New York cheesecake with fresh cherries. Another huge hit. I love huge hits.



And here is the mom to be in her "urban baby" wear. Can you believe she's due in 3 weeks? You can barely see the baby! Amazing.

holiday weekend