Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it's you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do we surrender
to what the mind cannot think past?
Where is the evidence I will learn
to be good at loving?
The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond
for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies.
There are violet hills,
there is the covenant of duskbirds.
The moon comes over the mountain
like a big peach, and I want to tell you
what I couldn't say the night we rushed
North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers
and the way you go into yourself,
calling my half-name like a secret.
I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper's bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.
I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude.
The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries.
Fireflies turn on their electric wills:
an effulgence. Let me come back
whole, let me remember how to touch you
before it is too late.
By Stacie Cassarino, from the book Zero at the Bone. Thanks also to The Writer's Almanac
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Make it up as you go:
1/2 a small watermelon, cut into chunks (~6 cups)
Lots of basil (1/2 cup), thinly sliced
Hunk of ricotta salata, cut into chunks (1/2-3/4 cup, depending on your taste.) You could also substitute feta.
Juice of one lime
Splash of champagne vinaigrette
Salt and pepper
Open up those windows or head outside to eat. Summer is here!
Monday, June 06, 2011
Aren't these the most perfect love stamps ever? Designed by Jose Ortega, and just been released by the Postal Service, these stamps add a festive and amorous touch to every letter sent. They even brighten up the bills!
All thirty-five of my wedding invitations were sent with the King and Queen of Hearts love stamps, which are pretty oh-so-pretty too:
Kind of makes you want to send a letter, doesn't it?
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
My mom was in town over the holiday weekend. For three days we dashed back and forth across the city like crazy women. She was on a mission to help me get wedding details finalized: we picked up the dress, scouted ribbon and other fineries, bought lipsticks and lingerie and honeymoon clothes and met with florists, bakers, and event managers.
At the end of each day we were very, very tired, craving food that felt like home.
On the first night, I made her dinner. Eating out in San Francisco is thrilling, but there's something immensely satisfying about cooking a full meal in my own house for the woman who, over my lifetime, has fixed me thousands of dinners. That doesn't mean I didn't put her to work -- I did. She peeled and chopped garlic for the roasted garlic and walnut vinaigrette. She peeled and chopped the golden beets for the salad. She set the table with my grandmother's china.
Meanwhile Sean stirred and stirred the risotto. Inspired by the green pea risotto at a M.F.K. Fisher event in Sonoma a few weeks ago, I'd found the recipe in a recent Food & Wine Magazine.
And what was I doing while all this kitchen madness unfolded? I can't really remember. I opened the wine, yes, but that came as we were serving plates. I watched the setting sun push its light all the way into the back corner of the kitchen. I stared at the flowers in their vase on the dining room table -- the antique glassware I bought to use as our wedding lunch centerpieces.
I didn't really cook dinner. I orchestrated it, watching as a simple springtime meal made its way to the table with the help of three tired and hungry cooks, and much anticipation of more good meals to come.