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Carmen Miranda, my Latin (letter) lovah

Thursday, April 26, 2012

I like to go to the Post Office. It reminds me of summer  visits with my Granna, and riding along in the Cadillac while she ran errands around her small town, and how the clerks at the Post Office smiled to see her because they knew that her postage would always be just right.

She weighed all her letters, that Granna.

I like to go to the gorgeous Post Office downtown, the one built in 1936, because there are old cubbies inside. (Also: there is never anyone there.)

I stopped by recently to buy stamps (something else I love to do), and the clerk spread all of my options across his counter.

When I saw these, I started laughing, and he could not understand why:

He showed me the “love” stamps again — apparently I seem to be the girl who would want those.

“I want the Selena stamps,” I told him.

“I don’t think they’re supposed to be funny,” he said.

“I know,” I said, “I’m laughing only because they’re so much fun. This stamp has a drawing of Carmen Miranda with bananas on her head, and Carmen would want us to be happy.”

In the end, the clerk agreed, and he let me have my stamps. Now, when I slap a stamp on my thank-you notes, I kind of want to dance.

Latin Music Legend postage (oh, Tito, my love) is online here.

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Two lemon cakes and Arizona peonies

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Sometimes, my friend Lynne leaves things on my doorstep. One recent week, it was a homemade version of Starbucks lemon cake.

This weekend, it was peonies — peonies that grew in her garden.

In Phoenix.

And bloomed this week.

And survived.

Quelle miracle.

The note from her said she was sharing her prize blooms, “because you love them as much as I do.”

The vintage jar she used as a vase says “Queen.”

Their presence on my kitchen counter made the whole weekend beautiful.

So on Sunday night, I made my own lemon cake  — the Barefoot Contessa version, complete with a lemon syrup poured over the warm loaves — and then lemon icing on top of that, to boot.

On Monday morning, I packed one up and left it at Lynne’s — to share the particular thrill of opening the door and finding a lemon cake on the step, waiting to come inside.

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The ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing

Monday, April 23, 2012

I have a writer friend with whom I like to close down restaurants. Once, I sat with him in a cafe for three hours and did nothing but drink a glass of water. He teased me, after — but it’s also the slowest I’ve ever seen a person drink a cup of a tea.

I’m celebrating something — a thing only another writer can understand, and this weekend, when we were the second-to-last people to leave another restaurant, he brought me a celebratory gift: a book of Kerouac’s advice for sentences and general human existence.

He has a copy, he explained, and the pages are starting to get wrinkled.

 

Genius treasure friend.

 

(Post title from one of my favorite Kerouac lines, which I have framed in giant proportion at home.)

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A bit of earth, or Spring in Utah

Friday, April 20, 2012


Growing up, I read The Secret Garden once a year, staring at the flowers on my wallpaper. After, I’d spend afternoons wandering through my dad’s roses outside, dreaming of Mary Lennox and Dickon and the magic things that happen in the sunshine that none of us can see. (I think I even made me brother act it out with me, and he refused to say “wick,” Dickon’s word for “alive,” and so I had to give up.)

It’s springtime here in Utah — where I’m speaking at a conference today, and I was walking the grounds at Thanksgiving Point when I found a tunnel covered in branches that lead to an arched door.

I felt like I was 8 years old again, and I didn’t realize why, until I pushed the door open — and found myself in the pages of  my beloved book.

The Secret Garden, brought to life:

 

 
 

Later that night, I read about how the woman who started Thanksgiving Point dreamed of a Secret Garden, too — and what magic, for the rest of us, that she did.

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Weekend on Coronado

Monday, February 27, 2012

I’m in San Diego working on a few stories for the newspaper and spent the weekend at my friends’ place on Coronado. Being here as a journalist reminds me of my summer as a very young reporter for the LA Times, when I’d spend lonely evenings on the beach watching sunsets and thinking big.

This view has always felt like my personal reset button.

Some scenes from the weekend:

A drippy yellow plum . . .

. . . enjoyed with this view.

The grande dame of seaside hotels, which is across the street:

A visit to Seaside Papery to indulge my paper-hoarding problems:

Blushing piles of blood oranges at the Sunday morning farmer’s market:

A morning walk around the island to admire the things that grow wild in people’s front yard — enormous calla lilies, even:

The chandelier at the Hotel Del:

Easter-egg-hued hydrangeas at my favorite garden shop:

This morning, the beach is cold and gray — just another kind of beautiful. I’m wearing two sweaters to my interview — which is kind of a gift.

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Bits (that’s British for things you don’t need)

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

My British friend Angela has a gorgeous accent and a charming vocabulary. I love her word for the little fripperies we haul home from our travels together: “bits,” she’ll say, filling her carry-on with teacups and earrings, or paper straws.

Bits = the small, inexpensive, pretty objects of life.

I love bits.

(Angela’s husband has ordered her to not bring home any more bits.)

I keep telling myself the same, but can’t obey. Some new favorites:

A vintage silver salt cellar in my cupboard of bits.

A miniature clock for inside the medicine cabinet — yes, late again. (From Kitty, something like $12.)

Ty’s Sunday morning donut ritual under a mini silver dome from The Grey House, my favorite antique store in Tucson.

And little Miss Scarlett dancing in my living room in her pink nightgown — the best bit of all.

 

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A book to love

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Book love

The first sentence of a newspaper story is called the lead. Journalists have been known to obsess about crafting a clever offering until they drown in a pot of coffee or Diet Coke, depending.

In books, I use the first sentence as a gauge. If it’s good enough, I’m all in.

JR sent me William Boyd’s “The New Confessions” to read, with his highest praise.

First sentence:

“My first act on entering this world was to kill my mother.”

So there you go.

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I heart Arizona

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Happy 100th Birthday, Arizona. I do love this weird, wily place and am proud that my ancestors helped settle the state. It’s still home to the people I love most.

Scarlett and I made Arizona a birthday cupcake, and I scoped out a few more valentines to Arizona below.

(And here’s why Arizona’s birthday is on Valentine’s Day: We were originally slated for statehood on Feb. 12, but the calendar czars in Washington, D.C. thought that would be disrespectful to the memory of Pres. Abraham Lincoln, since Feb. 12 is his birthday. And Feb. 13 seemed unlucky, so the 14th it was.)

Arizona Valentines:

State love, $30.

Mirror, $135.

Roots, $40 (available in many colors).

Grand Canyon dreaming, $15.

Wear your love $17.50.

City skylines, $20. (Tucson also available.)

 

Because no one is really from Arizona, $30.

Say cheese, $40.

Vintage map print in sunset colors — download and print your own, $4.

Customize to your personal color palette, $25.

Cities on the grid: $12.50

Couch love, $158.

Home is wherever I’m with you, $17.75.

 

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Recipe: Strawberry Pavlova with Creme Fraiche Whipped Cream

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Valentine’s Recipe: Strawberry Pavlova with Creme Fraiche Whipped Cream

There exists a dessert named after a tutu and somehow it escaped me.

The Pavlova — an airy puff of meringue filled with whipped cream and berries — was created by a chef in Australia in honor of a visit from ballerina Anna Pavlova.

It’s gorgeous.

It’s also as fussy as the worst prima ballerina that ever danced across the stage. I made SEVEN, in one week, trying to get the meringue to obey.

The key, if there is one, is to have your egg whites at room temperature and to use fine baker’s sugar or caster sugar. This recipe is the one that finally worked for me. For the whipped cream, I use 1 1/2 cups cream, whipped with 1/4 cup sugar and 1 tsp of vanilla. Right at the end, whip in 3 Tablespoons creme fraiche. It’s as good as whipped cream gets, I promise.

Toss one pint of sliced strawberries with 2 Tablespoons of sugar about 30 minutes before spooning on top of the pavlova. Serve immediately.

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Valentine scenes from my house

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

V-Day: I’m into it.

I believe in heart-shaped dinner plates and leaving presents from Cupid on the doorstep. I send Valentines in the mail and make ridiculous desserts.

I love Love.

What the holiday has looked like at my house, thus far:

Eat-your-heart-out-fudge.

Vintage peek-a-boo glasses that won my heart from across the store. My heart rate actually quickened. (Thanks for the shopping trip, Christina and Sarah.

Tulips in a vintage mercury glass ice bucket.

Pink-striped candy ribbons from Hammond’s. They’re cherry-flavored and delicious and feel like the kind of glories my Mom might have bought as a girl at the St. Johns drugstore soda fountain.

Lazy cake.

A topiary turned hostess gift — found at Trader Joe’s, dressed up with burlap.

Tulips at Puddinn’s house.

Vintage his and hers statues from Found. I like his outfit better.

My paper straw collection is getting a bit insane. Heart-dotted versions from the Alt hotel sweet shop, also at Crate & Barrel.

Australian Licorice in a candy dish for Mark and Angela’s visit. (We’re all so obsessed that last summer, in Lake Tahoe, we had a licorice tasting.)

I love to watch people’s faces when they look at sparklers. Everyone grins. I’m putting these mini hearts on V-Day dessert. (From Kitty at the Scottsdale Quarter)

The Valentines my nephew made for his kindergarten class:

(And I love my sister, for teaching her little boy about celebrating l’amour with homemade things.)

 

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