Pieces of You
Last month my husband and I went to the beach for eight days. It seemed so ridiculously luxurious, the two of us escaping for that long with absolutely nothing on the agenda except to arrive back in Atlanta tanned, relaxed, and holding the key to the perfect margarita recipe.
Besides basking for over a week in great conversation (seriously, we might’ve solved the debt crisis—at least in our own household), fabulous food (raw oysters and chocolate croissants, I could eat you every day), long beach walks (stumbling upon Stephen King’s dwelling on Casey Key was a nice surprise, the spooky guy in the Sea Oats scaring the you-know-what-out-of-us … not so much), and catching up on stacks of books and magazines both of us had been meaning to read, we didn’t do a thing. There was one final kicker—neither of us worked!
In the three years I’ve owned danapop, LLC, that’s never happened. Like most folks who run a small company, you answer phone calls at unexpected times and work when it’s required. But, coming home after that holiday from my everyday life, I’m not exaggerating when I say I feel like an entirely new person.
T.M.I.
Our lives are constantly flooded with images, opinions and chatter. I wrote those words in 2008 for the About section of dp before the site launched. Here we are, three years later and it’s more abundant than ever. Social networking sites have multiplied and when you work in the realm of media, particularly as a journalist with online outlets contributing to your mortgage, you’re required to add Facebook, Twitter, Google +, blogrolls and RSS feeds into your reading rotation. But, lately, frankly, I’m bored.
Stripes & Colorblock
I’ve had a penchant for stripes for as long as I can remember. You can see in exhibits A through C and honestly, I could likely go through the entire alphabet with pieces tucked throughout my closet (I haven’t even shown you scarves, sweaters, tees) if I needed to really draw up a case. It’s embarrassing, and admittedly I need to employ a little fashion editing in this department.
But, from home goods to clothing, the somewhat French, somewhat nautical simplicity of a stripe gets me every time. So, it’s no surprise my eyes keep wandering towards summery stripe patterns and its cousin, colorblock this season. Here are a few structurally lined things I’d like to add to my overflowing existing collection (with restraint, of course).
1. Sheer Cotton Scarf, Esprit
2. Stripe Mixed Fabric Maxi Dress, Oasis
3. Heather Grey Stripe Cotton Butterfly Sleeve Top, Cielo
4. Marie Top, Fossil
5. Multi Stripe Skirt, Topshop
6. La Pochette Clutch, Clare Vivier
7. University Black Rope Sole Classics, Toms
8. Winston Colour Block Espadrille Wedges, Topshop
An Ode to Otis
Otis on canvas by Augusta Hyland Wilson
Summertime is the only time I feel sorry for Otis. It’s hot and he can’t handle it. And other than the stretch from June to August, that dog doesn’t have it so bad. Not in the slightest. But, boy, come June, you’d think he was dying from a heat stroke with the drama that ensues after he’s out back … he’ll throw himself under the ceiling fan in the living room like he’s dying, then go to our mudroom and dunk his entire face in his water dish, look up pitifully with water dripping down as if to say, “It’s so rough out there, you have no idea.”
I wanted a dog most of my life. I spent every birthday hoping for one, but it never came. When my brother (who’s the oldest) was a baby, my parents had Basset Hounds, Buck and Maggie, but they eventually had to put Buck down for violently biting my brother, and later, they gave Maggie away. I think the heartbreak from both was so devastating they never got another dog. But, that’s just my theory on the matter.
Tomato, Peach, Caprese
Right now I’m up to my elbows in both tomatoes and peaches. The first, because I planted four different varieties in our garden this past spring and they are just beginning to turn from pale green into a vibrant red relatively at the same speed (minus the one shining star ready for picking). The second, the peaches, because I bought a half peck in south Georgia en route to Atlanta from Florida.
I’ve thought of all sorts of things to do with both … there’s a tomato jam recipe (here) that I’d like to try, and the peaches will be good in just about anything (an oat-crusted crumble, piled on top of homemade vanilla ice cream). But, I keep coming back to the caprese. The simple Italian insalata trifecta of sliced tomatoes, basil, and buffalo mozzarella drizzled with good olive oil, a pinch of salt and pepper—perfection.
I’m certain I could eat this daily for a great length of time for lunch or dinner and never tire. Then, I stumbled upon a recipe (here) for peach caprese, and well, wow!
Wishing I would’ve bought another peck.
Freedom
Stepping away from the computer and replacing it with raw oysters, sweet corn, champagne, fireworks, the metronomic sound of ocean waves, hot and humid three-mile runs, and quality time with my husband. Independence Day (err seven day) bliss. See you next week.
Roots & Wings
Jim Bailey’s stunning photograph captures a storm cloud over Baxter Springs. See more of his work at jimbaileyphoto.com.
We’re heading to the beach next week to spend the 4th of July holiday in Siesta Key, Florida. And it’s reminding me of where I watched fireworks (in spirit) for several years growing up. While we didn’t take many vacations as a family, we did annually stay in my dad’s hometown of Baxter Springs, Kansas for a pow-wow to celebrate Independence Day with lifelong family friends and tribal leaders. In lieu of bottle rockets, oohs and ahs, there, we were surrounded by drumbeats and feathered regalia in ceremonial dance.
Ottawa Nation pow-wow in Quapaw, Oklahoma
My family has strong ties to that three corners region where Missouri, Oklahoma, and Kansas intersect—my great-grandparents Raymond and Fey, met and married in Baxter Springs. It’s just 13 miles from where my father was born in Joplin, Missouri’s St. John’s Hospital, which was hit by the tornado that devastated the area on May 22.
Movie star Tom Mix visiting Baxter Springs, riding my great-grandfather’s horse, Diamond.
All of this reminds me of how much has changed in my life since the last time I’ve been and how much folks in that part of the country are still sifting through. But, I know energy and ancestry runs deep in the land, so I’m hoping for a little tribal dance, a flutter of hope in their honor.
Sunshine Playlist
It’s hot in Atlanta. Feels-like-August-although-it’s only-June hot (and humid). But, this is always the time of year I want to listen to some good music, drink in hand, playing with the dog, outside. Or it’s the time we load up the car and head to the beach. Either way, you need a good playlist—here’s mine.
The Sound of Sunshine by Michael Franti & Spearhead (My yoga instructor plays this in class and there’s something fantastic and powerful about doing a bird of paradise pose against a reggae beat).
Homesick Blues
L-R: me, twin sister, older sister, older brother
I’ve been in Atlanta for 11 years now (almost to the day as I moved here Memorial Day weekend in 2000). And mostly, this feels like home. That’s the interesting thing that happens when we’re adults and no longer dependent on our parents; when the home you grew up in isn’t home anymore. Last year we toyed with the idea of many other places becoming our home—our hometowns made the cut (Cincinnati, Kansas City), as did NYC, LA, and Chicago. Even Richmond and Boulder were in the mix because of potential job opportunities.
But, that wasn’t where we were supposed to be. We’re clearly, for now, meant to be here, in Atlanta. Though that doesn’t make the missing any less rough. Lately I’ve been incredibly homesick, and I’m not certain what it is that I’m missing. My mom? My sisters and brother? My nieces, nephews, and grandmother? The unrealistic notion that my family isn’t scattered throughout the country?
My first Thanksgiving in Atlanta my twin sister visited and brought along her college roommate with her son who was about four at the time. My twin also invited her on-again-off-again high-school boyfriend and we cooked the turkey with the bagged innards still inside the bird (whoops), watched half of “Fight Club” just before bed and I had an epiphany in the middle of the night, woke my twin up and asked her to tell me the truth, “Is Tyler Durden real?” But that’s a whole other article. Anyway, apparently when they left, my twin’s college roommate’s son (ahem–this story is really a friend of a friend, plus a cousin, isn’t it?) said, “I miss everyone.” Meaning the chaos and all the fools (myself included) at that Thanksgiving in my teeny apartment.
And that’s where I am, as profound as a child, “I miss everyone.”
Ossabaw on my Mind
The 1975 documentary on Grey Gardens and the HBO film in 2009 exploring this property in East Hampton, New York (once owned by mother and daughter, both named Edith Beale) are excellent. If you have a moment, the New York Times photos here are stunning and haunting at the same time, as is the Washington Post piece here. Earlier this year, Atlanta Magazine featured an incredible article on Ossabaw Island, the second largest island off the coast of Georgia in the barrier chain, the Golden Isles, and from the first word on the page about its sole property owner, ninety-eight-year-old Sandy West, it reminded me of Grey Gardens. You can read the full article here about West’s family selling the island to the state in 1978.
The string of land surrounded by water along the Atlantic shoreline is part of the reason I was intrigued to move to Atlanta in the first place. The notion that I, a landlocked girl from Kansas could live within a four to five hour proximity of the ocean is baffling. But, it’s true, and there are a dozen islands off the Southeastern part of the state, several with which you are probably familiar—Jekyll (frequented in the early 1920s by the Carnegie and Pulitzers as a winter retreat from Manhattan), Cumberland (John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette wedding), Tybee (numerous movies shot here), St. Simons (its famed first lighthouse has served as a beacon since 1807) and Sea Island (30th G8 Summit in 2004).
I’ve gotten to about a third of them and they all are special in their own way, but the one I want to visit next for certain is Ossabaw. Back in the 60s, West ran the island as the Ossabaw Island Project, an artists’ residency to rival the prestigious Yaddo in New York. There is something drawing me to want to work and write there, even if just for a week. It’s uninhabited mostly, barring West and those on her estate, and you can only get there by private boat and they’d like it to remain that way, preserved and rustic. My twin sister and I have been chatting for a while now about a joint artists’ residency with her sculpture and my writing to see what we can create, so perhaps this is the spot where we’re supposed to be? I do know there’s something drawing me there and I’m listening to that and hoping the untarnished image in my mind matches what I’ll discover.
