Roasted Pears with Feta

I peered into my refrigerator at lunchtime today and hoped for something adventurous. Something that would rocket me past an ordinary peanut butter and jelly sandwich and into a slammingly productive afternoon. I saw a small container with a few crumbs of feta cheese. I saw a pear. The back part of my mind told me that it had once seen a recipe combining these two ingredients. The front part of my mind said "Ick. Why would anyone put those two together? That's a little too adventurous for today." But nothing else looked inspiring, so I did a google search on "pears feta" and came up with a very simple recipe: Roasted Pears with Feta. The reason I ultimately tried it was because it's stupid easy and didn't have any extra, fancy ingredients, only the ones I already had.

I halved the pears. I cored them, messily. I didn't have cooking spray, so I slathered the fronts and backs with a bit o' butter. I sprinkled them lightly with pepper and salt, all the while wondering why I was going along with this crazy nonsense. Pepper on a pear??! Unheard of, at least, in my little world. I popped the halves into the oven and waited for 20 minutes, listening to the butter pop and crackle and wondering again if I would have the nerve to actually crumble the feta over the top before eating them.

The timer went off. I pulled out the baking sheet and stuck it on top of the stove. I studied the pear. I sniffed it. I rolled my eyes, shrugged my shoulders, and transfered it to a cute plate. I cracked open the container of feta cheese and crumbled it artfully over the fruit. At least it will make a pretty picture, even if it tastes gross, I thought.

I procured a fork and knife and sat the plate gingerly on my computer desk. Siiiiiiigh. Okay, taking a bite...

Oh my.

That's not bad.

In fact (nom nom nom) that's pretty good.

But don't take my word for it:

Roasted Pear with Feta

1 bosc pear

1 1-inch cube of feta, cumbled (or it's container equivalent)

salt and pepper to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 425. Wash, halve, and core the pear. Spray each half with cooking spray (or slather with a bit of butter). Place on baking sheet, skin-side down. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper. Bake for 20 minutes.

2. Remove from oven. Allow to cool slightly, and then sprinkle with feta.

3. Eat, while feeling incredibly gourmet.

Apples to Apples

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to pick a boatload of not-quite-ripe apples from a neighbor of my mother-in-law. It sounded enticing, picking apples from a tree. I succumbed and soon brought home two grocery bags full of beautiful apples. Apples that I didn't know what to do with because, like before mentioned, they weren't quite ripe. And because they were much smaller than I prefer. Everything I usually do with apples involves peeling and slicing, even just eating them raw, because the kids don't like peels. And who wants to peel and slice a bunch of really small apples? Not I.

But I soon decided that they were good for something else--decorating. They really are beautiful.

So I piled them in one of my new vintage baskets and in no time flat, I had a new centerpiece. I felt brilliant. I felt creative. I felt very Country Living.

I started noticing how the wire of the basket matched the wire on my chandelier...and how that matched the wire on my lanterns. Oh, I was feeling really full of my own magnificence now. So coordinated was I that I could hardly stand the coolness.

Until suddenly, I awoke to one small flaw. My really cool centerpiece, full of not-quite-ripe apples, was irresistible to my two-year-old boy. And because I knew that we wouldn't be eating them, I hadn't washed those beautiful apples. Thus they were still possibly covered in pesticide. And spotted with insect holes here and there (those were undoubtedly the ones my children had "helped" me pick--right off the ground, probably). Basically, they were food, but food that shouldn't be consumed. But a two year old doesn't know that. He just sees a huge basket of summer's bounty, finally placed within his reach. And he thinks "Yay Mama! You're so smart!"

So after two or three times of catching him with a small sliver of apple core, I gave up and removed them from their adorable place on the table. Sure, I could just wash all ten or fifteen pounds of them. But the insect holes would still be there. And two year olds don't know how to check for insect holes.

I am happy to report that my two year old is still healthy, with no apparent signs of poison.

I am sad to report that I haven't found any local place that is selling pumpkins yet. And that even when I do, a pumpkin probably won't look quite as cute in my basket as the apples did.

It's a hard knock life. mock dramatic sigh

A spicy little interlude

I think is about where we started with the spice rack yesterday.

My spice rack came from a garage sale as well. Many years ago, I was sorting through a variety of somewhat-uninspiring items when I came across this unique little shelf. At the time, it was greenish or grayish or some less-fresh color. The tag said "10" and since I was a novice garage saler, I planned on forking over the full ten dollars for my treasure. As I prepared to pay, I was startled to hear the woman ask me for ten cents. I checked the tag, looked back at her face (sure that she was pulling my leg) and then asked that most intelligent of questions, "What?" She repeated, I handed her a dime, and walked away with a goofy grin and thrill in my heart. Matt spray painted it white and it lived in our bathroom as a shelf for my bath products for several years.

When we added a different mirror to the bathroom, complete with built-in shelves, I decided my vintage darling needed a new home.

Sometime after the relocation, Grandpa Kimble gave me part of his huge bottle collection. More than half of it is still safely in its box. The other half gained acceptance as part of my spice collection. I happily applied some labels I'd been saving and starting the grueling task of transferring all the spices to their new homes. Really, what is better than being able to find a way to use a collection in some practical way? I love being able to use old things. (Which is why it took me so long to plunge into collecting delicate teacups I'd probably never use. But I'm a tea drinker, darn it, and I'm going to celebrate it in my decor.)

Doesn't it just do your heart good to see all those little bottles, filled up with spices? happy sigh

Thank you for ignoring my finger shadow. Oops. Made you look.

Attack of the Teacups

This is the first of my many new acquisitions from a two-day binge at a local garage sale. My wonderful husband agreed to accompany me the first time, and then the second day, I snuck out at naptime (yes, even Matt was sleeping). I've had requests to show off the goods and I am nothing if not a people pleaser. My favorite thing about these vintage wire baskets is the way they mix practicality with adorability. (Yes, I know that's not a word.) I don't know what to do with all of my baskets yet, but just you wait.

This one demonstrates the beauty of having sides you can see through: perfect for piling textiles in, in this case, summer scarves and flowery hats.

My copper teapot has been a well-loved member of the family for a couple of years now, as has the silver tray. But the tiny creamer and the teacups are all new.

Oh right, the spoons. I have a huge bag of interesting spoons that I don't know what to do with. Most of them have state names on them, but a few are just pretty.

All of my tea cups were 25 cents each. The blue ones below have a castle inscribed with the word Heirloom on the bottoms.

This one is pastoral, but has no markings on the bottom.

I've got two of these darlings from England. I love how so many of my teacups have designs on the inside.

This one is cracked but it's from Bavaria and who can pass that up?

This blue-flowered dame is also unmarked, but struck me as a perfect present for someone close to me, so she got to join the others.

This one appears to be from Japan, and hopefully not in the typical "made in Japan" way. But even if it is, the cup can at least pay homage to Matt's heritage.

This baby is half the size of the others and claims to be fine bone china from England.

This plate is unmarked, but I love tea saucers with a little personality.

I didn't think to take a picture of the delicate pink-flowered French number that I gave away to a dear friend, but trust me, she was the shining star of the bunch. I would've even shown you a picture of the bottom mark, it was so...French.

And finally, a side-ways picture of my spice rack which refuses to turn. Noteworthy are the wildflowers I've so artfully shoved in my hanging basket. My children just have no appreciation for such refreshment, as demonstrated by the way they complained loudly and with vigor when I repeatedly stopped on the way home to gather more Queen Anne's Lace.


And now, some appropriate quotes to close:

There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. ~Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady

Another novelty is the tea-party, an extraordinary meal in that, being offered to persons that have already dined well, it supposes neither appetite nor thirst, and has no object but distraction, no basis but delicate enjoyment. ~Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, The Physiology of Taste

The mere chink of cups and saucers tunes the mind to happy repose. ~George Gissing, The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft

Tea to the English is really a picnic indoors. ~Alice Walker

Find yourself a cup of tea; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things. ~Saki

As the centerpiece of a cherished ritual, it's a talisman against the chill of winter, a respite from the ho-hum routine of the day. ~Sarah Engler, "Tea Up," Real Simple magazine, February 2006

The perfect temperature for tea is two degrees hotter than just right. ~Terri Guillemets

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company. ~Author Unknown

The library

I love the library. I have always loved the library.

Let me back up. I should not be writing right now. I have places to go, things to do. My children want blueberry pancakes, because they never eat enough breakfast. I have no time for writing right now.

But it's been so long, and I've so wanted to write. So I'm throwing caution and time management to the wind. Besides, I happen to know that the two adults who will be waiting on me if I'm late would really like to see a fresh post on this here blog. In fact, they've probably long ago given up hope that I will ever type another line again.

On we go.

The pictures on this post do not come from the library I'm writing about. I didn't take a single picture, although I wanted to. But there were so many exciting things to do, that I didn't get a chance.

There are two library branches in our town: South Branch and Main Branch. I've almost always gone to the Main Branch, especially in the last ten years or so. But then my good friend Edie told me how wonderful the recently-remodeled (ahem, as in ten year ago) South Branch is. So last week when rain seemed imminent, I packed up the children and headed off to investigate. But I was a little skeptical that anything could surpass my own Beloved Main Branch.

I must say, in general, that I would probably love any library. The shelves and shelves of books, the quiet tables, the children's section. But my Beloved Main Branch has that special smell. Do you know what I'm talking about? Maybe it's just me. I know I'm extremely scent oriented. I especially love the smell of their elevator.

So when I entered the South Branch, I knew that none of those special smells would be there, and I assumed that this would stunt my experience. But then I saw the gleaming wooden shelves, the brilliant organization (which I'm also a sucker for), and the children's section. There was a tree in the children's section. A TREE. (Yes, it was pretend. But it reached the ceiling and looked real.) And a two-level clubhouse that had built in bookshelves, cushions for reclining on, and an observation deck. I never wanted to leave. Oh yeah, and the kids loved it too.

The windows of this library (and I'm guessing, the light fixtures as well) had been inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, and did a fabulous job of bringing the outside in (that's a Country Living term: "bring the outside in." I'm practicing to be a caption writer for that magazine. Or maybe Better Homes and Gardens.) And unlike my Beloved Main Branch, this library was surrounded by grass, trees, and sky. Not buildings and streets. It was enchanting. Did I mention I never wanted to leave?

There was even a Snack Zone, which seemed so amazingly rebellious to me, because at my Beloved Main Branch, you were never allowed to enter the library with so much as a stick of gum. Cokes were right out. To have an actual Snack Zone (yes, I understand the importance of protecting books from snacks. Yes, I know how many parenthesis I've been using. Yes, and italics. I feel strongly about libraries.) seemed so progressive, so too-good-to-be-true. Because really, is there any better combination than books and food?

Time is getting away from me, just like it did there. The kids have eaten their pancakes and now need to be dressed.

All right, I think I'll end this renegade post with another plug for the dreamy children's book The Library, by Sarah Stewart. All of her books are somewhat magical, but this one is my absolute favorite. Even adults like having it read to them. Go check it out today.

Nelleigh's Room

I have this adorable teenage friend named Nelleigh. She has the coolest room. She picked the boldest, most glam color of purple for her walls, henceforth renamed Audrey Eggplant (nod to hannaH).

A while back, Nelleigh gave me permission to pretend I was a photographer from Better Homes and Gardens (or Country Living, if that's more your style--yeehaw!) and snap away at her stunning digs.

Black and white photographs pop against the bold wall color while the hydrangeas keep everything balanced.

Her shoes match her room, and incidentally, bridge the gap between playful girl and sophisticated young woman.


Another brief glimpse at the little girl lingering within...

More clean white adds freshness and pop.

Can anyone else feel the love of all things Paris?

Other than the thrilling purple walls, one of my favorite parts of her room is her converted closet. The inside walls have been painted with chalkboard paint and filled with personal chalk inscriptions:

Behind her bedroom door, her necklaces multitask: organization meets decor. Ah now, here's a girl after me own heart.

A curved mirror tops off her antique dresser, both of them helping to balance all the white accents. Near her ceiling are painted Bible verses, keeping them within sight at all times. I love the way the pink paint of yesteryear is allowed to seep through and create a perfect vintage patina. Love.it.

A glowing Eiffel Tower and some white Christmas lights create an ethereal atmosphere.

Ah Nelleigh, thank you dear, for letting us peek into your room. I know that I'll be back whenever I need a little aesthetic refreshment.

"Paris is always a good idea." ~Audrey Hepburn

Songs of Joy

During my recent unplanned absence from the blog world, I can assure you that I haven't been doing this:

Not too much of this either:

What in the world have I been doing, you ask?

Well, it is true that I received a trip to a masseuse as an ultra-early Mother's Day gift from my amazing mom. But other than that, I've mostly been weathering an Indiana winter with four children who are alternately whiny, sick, fighting, stricken with cabin fever, whiny, sick, disruptive, messy, and whiny.

The last couple of weeks have been somewhat rejuvenating, even though we've weathered two more bouts of sickness. The days have been getting just warm enough for Matt to work in the yard this week, which has allowed the kids run off a smidgen of five months of steam, which has allowed me to actually devote a bit of attention to housework, which has in turn given me the energy and clearer head I need to return to writing.

I also just finished Beth Moore's Psalms of Ascent bible study, which has filled me with fresh inspiration. This study has given my hearts wings and spurred me on to love God with a passion and dearness that I've not experienced towards Him before. I feel like my eyes have been opened a little more to see evidences of the deep love He has for me. He is so tender and patient.

Ending a bible study is always so hard for me...the daily journey in that particular segment of Scripture is over. But this study feels different because it has driven home to me that this Christian road I walk is all about pilgrimage and that I have both travelling companions and a Protector along the way. I know I'm better equipped than I was before.

"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." ~Louisa May Alcott

Psalm 126

A song of ascents.

¹ When the LORD brought back the captives to Zion,
we were like men who dreamed.

² Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.
Then it was said among the nations,
"The LORD has done great things for them."

³ The LORD has done great things for us,
and we are filled with joy.

⁴ Restore our fortunes, O LORD,
like streams in the Negev.

⁵ Those who sow in tears
will reap with songs of joy.

⁶ He who goes out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with him.