hearts

heart dress, heart earrings.

valentine outfit

i'm a valentine's day grinch.  in the tradition of julie, i'm practicing a more positive attitude about this dreaded holiday and embracing hearts.  

i gave cecily these earrings for valentine's day this morning, then immediately borrowed them.  

sorry, cecily.

kork-ease mary janes.  i didn't check the heel height when i ordered them online.  i'm a giantess in these heels.

if there's one thing i can't get enough of in a shoe it's a) red and b) mary janes. i have to stop myself from buying more red and more mary janes, trying to diversify my footwear.  

my tights are looking the worse for wear, but i don't want to invest in new ones at season's end.  


valentine recipe

molten lava cake.

i know this cake is a cliche, but i make it almost every year.  it's so easy and, if you're a human being, you'll love it.  i used paula deen's recipe, minus the orange liquer because i'm not a fan of orange and chocolate together.  i also added a pinch of salt.  

i always add an extra pinch of salt to every dessert. try it!


valentine date

george bernard shaw's pygmalion at provo's echo theatre.

pygmalion at the new community theatre in provo, the echo theatre.  my first show at the echo.  can't wait to check it out. 

and i've never seen a production of pygmalion before.  


valentine poem



tons of love poems at the poetry foundation.  if you want to get your feet wet with poetry, their website is the perfect place to explore.

A un Desconocido

BY LORNA DEE CERVANTES

I was looking for your hair,

black as old lava on an island   

of white coral. I dreamed it   

deserted you and came for me,   

wrapped me in its funeral ribbons   

and tied me a bow of salt.

Here’s where I put my demise:   

desiring fire in a web of tide,   

marrying the smell of wet ashes   

to the sweet desert of your slate.

My intelligent mammal, male

of my species, twin sun to a world   

not of my making, you reduce me   

to the syrup of the moon, you boil   

my bones in the absence of hands.

Where is your skin, parting me?

Where is the cowlick under your kiss   

teasing into purple valleys? Where   

are your wings, the imaginary tail

and its exercise? Where would I breed   

you? In the neck of my secret heart   

where you’ll go to the warmth of me   

biting into that bread where crumbs crack   

and scatter and feed us our souls;

if only you were a stone I could   

throw, if only I could have you.

treat queen

every day is a surprise with ingy home.

one of the best things about christmas is having ingrid home.  she makes everything more fun, sparkly, festive, and happy.  she really seems to have a handle on happiness.

and on the fact that cake makes everything better.

i haven't been to seattle's icon grill for years, but i remember the towering texas sheet cake with the frosty little bottle of whole milk on the side.  now they have a new towering cake, the candy cane cake, and ingrid suggested we make it over the holidays.

so she put on her fluffy apron and baked it up for us & served it at the locust salon.  thanks ingy, for cake, ruffles, lipstick, hilarious quips, and helping me keep perspective through baking.

no plans for new year's eve?  bake up a towering cake to serve to someone you love.

icon grill's candy cane cake.

Icon Grill Candy Cane Cake

You will need to make each element of the cake before putting it all together.

White Chocolate Cake

2 oz white chocolate
2 egg whites
1/3 cup plus 2 tbsp milk
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 tbsp sifted cake flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 tbsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
4 tbsp unsalted butter

Melt white chocolate in a small glass or metal bowl over a pan of slow boiling water. Set aside to cool. Whip butter with sugar until fluffy with an electric mixer. Add vanilla and mix thoroughly. Sift together flour, baking power and salt in another bowl. Mix egg and combine on slow speed. Add half the milk mixture and combine on slow speed. Scrape the bottom of the bowl with a spatula. Add the remaining dry and wet ingredients separately. Do not over mix. Slowly add in the melted white chocolate while the mixture is running. Place the batter into one 9" buttered and floured cake pan. Bake in a 300° oven for 25-35 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. Place on a cooling rack.

Red Velvet Cake
1 cup buttermilk
1-1/4 cup sifted cake flour
3 tbsp red food coloring
1 tsp cocoa powder
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
1-1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp white vinegar

Mix vinegar and baking soda and let settle. Cream together butter and sugar until fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl thoroughly. Add one egg at a time, allowing each addition to mix completely before adding the next. Add cocoa, salt and vanilla and beat until fluffy. Alternately beat in flour and buttermilk. Fold in vinegar mixture at the end. Pour batter into one 9" buttered and floured cake pan and bake at 300° for 40-45 minutes. Rotate cake as necessary, cooking until a cake tester can be removed clean.

Peppermint Cream Cheese Frosting
1 lb cream cheese
1/2 lb unsalted butter
2 lb powdered sugar

Beat butter and cream cheese in an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Scrape the sides of the bowl well. Begin adding the powered sugar on low speed, mixing thoroughly before the next addition. Finish by adding the peppermint extract and whipping for 10 minutes on high speed.

Peppermint Simple Syrup
1/2 cup boiling water
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup peppermint schnapps

Pour boiling water over sugar and schnapps and mix until sugar is dissolved. Cool completely.

Putting it all together
1/2 cup crushed peppermint candies
Mint leaves
Maraschino cherries

Cool both cake layers thoroughly and cut each horizontally into 3 equal sized plates, for a total of six layers. (If this seems daunting, try cutting each layer in half to make two equal-sized plates for a total of four. A finished four-layer cake will still look great.) Place a layer on a serving platter and lightly brush with the peppermint simple syrup. Frost, repeat for all layers and frost the outside of the cake. Garnish with mint leaf and stemmed maraschino cherries for a holly-like effect.

vintage

two rad 92 year-olds, grandma beth and grandpa woody on christmas day 2012.

a strand of thought that emerged over the holidays:

why are the 90-ish year-olds so cool?

i had the good fortune of spending time with a handful of ninety-plus year-olds in the past week, including my amazing grandma beth, and i always marvel at the special-ness of this particular demographic.  i don't think it's just generic wisdom obtained by a long life.  i do think there is something unique about that generation, and the economic hardships, the wars, the sea-change in technology, medicine, and nature that these people have witnessed.

there's a humanity, and a privileging of people over things, that seems especially present in my 90 year-old-ish family members and friends.

one of my aspirations this holiday season was to learn how to make the plum pudding i've heard so much about from my grandma beth's recipe box.  last night, aunt bonnie dug out her recipe box and found the crumbling newspaper clipping with the recipe.

i vow to make it before new year's, (i need to find citron and suet--will probably have to go to salt lake for it) and i vow, in 2013, to spend a lot more time with my favorite generation of people.

vintage plum pudding recipe:  cannon plum pudding

when served mrs. lewis telle cannon's famous plum pudding for dessert, guests are happy.  santa claus could do no more.  this is how:

4 lbs. raisins
3/4 lbs. citron
2 lbs. pecan meats
2 pints light molasses
2 pints ground suet
10 c. flour
2 level t. soda dissolved in 1/4 c. boiling water
1 T. salt
1 1/2 t. each of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg

add soda water to molasses.  gradually mix in suet, milk, flour, spices, and lastly fruit dredged in part of the flour.  steam 3 1/2 hours.  serve with lemon sauce.

many utah recipes stem from foreign lands, handed down from mother to daughter.  take sparkling mrs. effie evans of  665 e. 1st s., whose home is seventen miles north of edinburgh, in the village of kelty, over here on the exchange-teacher program.  

"i'm amazed," she said, "at the amount of salads americans eat and the size of the steaks.  and we have chicken only on very special occasions."

Rock Star Women Sing About Jesus

Lara, here's more for your present-wrapping soundtrack.

1.  Emmy Lou Harris and the stellar McGarrigle sisters. (Kate is, of course, Rufus Wainwright's late mom.)

2. Joan Jett, who needs no explanation.

Like Lara, I'm thinking a lot about this past year, and what I've learned from blogging about it nearly every day. One thing I immediately think of is the 2012 stands out in sharp relief from other years--I feel like I remember so much more about it and can gaze back on it as having dimension, an arc?
This sounds inane.  And it doesn't sound like much.  I must keep thinking.

Two Tunes

I'm not sure what to blog about today.  The past couple of weeks have been a period of tying up lose ends, ordering stuff online (and then not being able to find them at their delivery location), and tucking things into a Xmas box for my mommy--which MUST be in the mail by tomorrow. (Right?)

So I found myself recently in a holiday song YouTube hole and thought I'd post my favorites from now through the holidays.

It's still Hanukah, yo, and we are celebrating it.  As a matter of fact, I have Day 4's lame gift for the kiddies at my side.  (One upside, we do have the best hand-rolled beeswax menorah candles that were purchased on sale at ABC Carpet and Home on 1/1/12.  Can't believe that year is almost over.)

So here's one of the few good Hanukah songs on the market.  I'm not kidding about that.  Get to it, Pink.


And here's a little ditty I'd never heard until tonight. It's quite charming really, but it's all too easy to find a charming Xmas song.  

lighting

anna looked stunning, of course.

here's a look at the hanukkah partay.

if you need something fried, eva's your woman.

the "kids" did an amazing job of preparing a dinner and party for a big group.

latkes & brisket.

they're precocious, those kids.

just a small part of the spread.

anna's brisket was perfect.

at the grown-up party.

moses and cecily were so excited,

though moses laid down to take a little nap at 8.30 and didn't wake up again until this morning.

no holding still, ever.

which was probably to everyone's benefit.

anna did candles, d.j. was a kitchen god.

legwear:  grape tights.

inspiration:  marjorie perloff.

looking forward: to the lessening of pain.

mockery

moses, doing his best to stay focused.

does anyone else have children who mock them constantly?

today my kids mocked/complimented my outfit and then mocked my blogging.

as in (in sarcastic voice) :

"here's mom's blog post today:  1)  took kids to christmas party.  2) went to smith's to get mo's haircut. . . ."

so, not wanting to disappoint them or anything, plus because i don't have anything super interesting for you today, here is "mom's cheesy blog post":

1) kids to church christmas brunch.  it was quite charming.  members of the congregation shared some pretty hilarious anecdotes from holidays past.  and the children sang.  there's moses, singing and wiggling, and wiggling some more.

2) picked up two boxes of apples from allred's.

3) picked up two gingerbread house kits, in the hopes that eva and anna will come to provo tomorrow and make them with us.  and also make sufganyinot with me.

4)  worked on seminar paper.

5) got car inspected, registered, and oil changed.

6) mo's haircut so he can look fabulous at hanukkah party tonight.

7) grocery shopped.

8) rearranged furniture.

9) ate 99 cent fish taco from del taco.  surprisingly good on account of super finely shredded cabbage & fresh lime.

10) picked up hostess gift for tonight.

cecily, chatting up santa.

still to do:

11)  make apple sauce and apple crisp for party tonight.

12) get kids dolled up for party.

13)  get lula to do my party bun and make-up.

i'm feeling manically festive today.  and i woke up with 5.30 a.m., unable to sleep any more, so i'm definitely in something like a manic moment right now.

gotta reign it in.

or enjoy it.

not sure which.

*

legwear:  pink tights

inspired by: stories, shopping, kids

looking forward: to party after party.

pocket-sized, baby-o

student tights, photographed at sammy's

in honor of poem in you pocket day, i did three things (i've really tried this year to emulate my festive co-blogger, who observes so many holidays so very well):

1) read sections of christopher smart's enormous, rambling, mad, brilliant jubilate agno.

2) had my poetry students find and agree upon one small poem to distribute to the pockets of walden students.  they chose this blake poem.

3) printed out this diane di prima poem.  it is pocket-sized, with it's tiny lines and it's condensed emotion about the outsized mother love that even a crazy dame like d.d.p. is not immune to.  also found out that she's having health problems and actress/poet!!! (i didn't know tamblyn was a poet, did you?)  amber tamblyn's been holding a fundraiser for diane di prima, who has been touted as the "only feminist beat poet."  do we know if this is the truth, that di prima is the only feminist beat, my scholarly friends?

 anyway, here's the poem:

Song for Baby-O, Unborn

by
Diane di Prima
 

Sweetheart

when you break thru

you’ll find

a poet here

not quite what one would choose.

I won’t promise

you’ll never go hungry

or that you won’t be sad

on this gutted

breaking

globe

but I can show you

baby

enough to love

to break your heart

forever

 ---

the first stanza kills me!  the criteria for liking a poem shouldn't be that it says something that you would say, but that's how i feel about it anyway.

& here's something di prima wrote about motherhood (pardon the french), that also reflects my own feelings, at least in part, on the matter:

“I wanted everything—very earnestly and totally—I wanted to have every experience I could have, I wanted everything that was possible to a person in a female body, and that meant that I wanted to be mother.… So my feeling was, ‘Well’—as I had many times had the feeling—‘Well, nobody’s done it quite this way before but fuck it, that’s what I’m doing, I’m going to risk it.’”




 

inspiration: julie's devotion to festivity

legwear: no tights, just boots

looking forward: to cecily's violin recital, then a break from lessons. . .

6th Avenue Tights/Hippie Maundy Thursday

The tights are textured.  6th Avenue and 43rd Street

The Hole

Fake pastoral at The Hole

Someday I will learn to blog before 11:00.

My day was:

1.  Publishing party at S's school.  Biked from there to subway to . . . 

2.  Work.

3.  Reunioned with a high school friend and her family at Les Pain Quotidien by Bryant Park.  I hadn't seen her since Reagan's first term in office.  (Had the ricotta and fig tartine.)

4.  Biked to S's school.

5.  Easter/Passover errands:

     a.  Russ and Daughter's is sold OUT of chocolate matzah.  The gal said they would make more.  But WHEN!

     b.  Crepe paper and pipe cleaners to make flowers for Easter bonnets to wear at Sunday's Easter Parade.

     c.  Bulbed flowers for Passover table.

6.  Dropped by The Hole to see the current show.

7.  Home.  Spring break starts tomorrow! 

8.  Went to nearest church in the Catholic/Episcopal (Most Holy Redeemer) to check out signs of Maundy Thursday.  There was a small gathering chanting in Spanish.

I came to Maundy Thursday in my mid-20s when I lived in Salt Lake City.  I love all night vigils, which is the Maundy Thursday tradition.  I also love the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, which my parents vigorously criticized when the film version came out in 1973.  They did not want Jesus' last week set to a rock soundtrack, even if it was by the decidedly tepid Andrew Lloyd Weber. And they certainly didn't want Jesus played by that hippie, Ted Neeley.

Here's the Maundy Thursday scene from the film:  

The Patron Saint of the Mentally Ill

St. Dymphna's on St. Patrick's:  11:00 am and relatively calm

Every St. Patrick's Day--for over a decade--I try to get to St. Dymphna's, an Irish pub in my neighborhood.  (I don't think I made it last year, though.) When St. Patrick's falls on a Saturday, this can be difficult.  Today the entire city today was teaming with revelers (they're still out there, of course) looking for a spot at an Irish bar (or a bar riding the Irish bandwagon for the day) or an Irish table.  Most of these revelers were reveling  in green tees and "wacky" socks and/or jeans (although I did see a few pairs of green tights), and annoyingly (as I'm a bit of an aesthetic fascist), headbands sprouting shamrock antenna.

As you know, I love holidays, but I hate the whole tacky Americanization of this holiday, and so try to stick close to the rusticity of St. Dymphna's, which was teeming with Guinness-swilling revelers and more than one NYC firefighter fresh from the 5th Avenue parade in their dress uniform.

By the way, do you know about St. Dymphna?  Her story is so tragic!  According to her story, she was the quintessential girl in a tight place.  And so I honor her this very trying month.

At the bottom, I've embedded a video from fellow neighborhood parent and Irish recording artist Susan McKeown singing with her daughter.  Another good song for my March.

(Don't forget to click on the twitpics below to see them bigger and better!)

I photographed this group for nearly an hour.

   

On the outside looking in.  Vinegar on the tables!

Irish breakfast, veg version.  No blood sausage here!  Note the pot of Irish breakfast tea and the basket that came filled with soda bread.

   

St. Dymphna's at 4:00 pm.  

   

Webster Hall at 11:15 am was teaming with white generic millenials.

 

Mary O's on Ave A.  Mary O is a lovely Irish national who is always friendly.  Note how basic Irish cuisine is.  Folks making do with what they had:  potatoes, cabbage and more potatoes.  

Indulgence and Penitence Envy: But I'm Not Giving Up a Thing, Are You?

Our harried server dumped a bucketload of beads on our table.

In my zeal to celebrate all holidays--even those that don't have ostensibly to do with me or are not part of any cultural tradition I grew up in (Diwali, anyone?)--I was determined (almost as if someone would prevent me from doing so) to observe Mardi Gras tonight with the kids.

It took me well into adulthood to be consciously aware that Mardi Gras is really part of the Catholic Calendar--a night of revelry and over-indulgence which kicks off the Lenten Season, the long stretch of denial and penitence and tightness (if you will--am I getting this right?), leading up to Easter Week and eventually Easter morning (when you can re-indulge in your sugar, cigs, pickles, Facebook, again).  Mormonism has none of these rhythms and it's really a shame.  Because what is a year without cycles and rhythms, indulgence and penitence?  Just an endless succession of days?   And the fact that I grew up a Mormon in a low desert meant that I not only lacked the rhythms that the many Catholics around me had, what with their extended Christmas season and Lent (getting ashed on the day after Mardi Gras--not fair!), but I also could not look forward to any significant change in the seasons.  But that's another not so interesting story.

Anyway, this year I planned several days ahead.  I had a family lined up to meet us at a restaurant, and the mom suggested the tiny Cajun-themed Great Jones Cafe, which she hadn't been to since the '80s.  We arrived at six sharp and not a moment too soon, because by 6:30 the place was packed with the bar four deep with bodies.  

(It's actually harder than you might think to find a kid-friendly place to celebrate Mardi Gras without a fat cover.)

But we had a table for five!  (I am beyond dorky that I take so much pleasure in avoiding a wait.)

As we were pleasantly jostled in our seats by passing bodies, my friend and I ordered, over the cajun music in the background, jambalaya that came with jalapeno cornbread; the girls got burgers.  We tentatively asked for beads and the server dumped two luxurious handfuls on our table.  For dessert, we had key lime pie and chocolate pudding, although traditional king cafe was available.  

And now we are home listening to Amy Winehouse, natch.  I've been sitting here wondering about my love of holidays.  It it the obvious?--that it gives one license for a bit of escape?  That one's place doesn't feel so tight anymore, if only for a day?  

Do you observe Fat Tuesday and Lent?  I'm all ears.

The menu's on the wall!  CRAZY!

Everything went as planned!

babraham lincoln

ingrid as abe lincoln

on the eve of the day of presidents, here are two little tributes:  a picture of ingrid from halloween '11 in one of the best costumes i've ever seen.

and, a few poems from abraham lincoln.  my favorite is the bear hunt, but it's a bit long to post here, so i'm linking it instead of pasting in.

here are two interesting ditties from the prez:

Abraham Lincoln

Abraham Lincoln

his hand and pen

he will be good but

god knows When
 

AND

To Rosa

You are young, and I am older;

      You are hopeful, I am not—

Enjoy life, ere it grow colder—

      Pluck the roses ere they rot.

Teach your beau to heed the lay—

      That sunshine soon is lost in shade—

That now’s as good as any day—

      To take thee, Rosa, ere she fade.

total submersion: whitmanesque

david hockney, 2 figures

i did exactly two productive things today, because i don't suppose binge-watching 6 episodes of sons of anarchy on netflix counts, does it?  (unless, of course, it's "research" for a "creative project" i'm "working on.")

1)  i took the kids swimming at the provo rec center and

2) i did a first read through on a batch of poems for a poetry contest i'm judging.

and there was some overlap between the two events.

i was dreading that moment when you take off your wet swimming suit and change into dry clothes.  i hate the rolling down of it the, wriggling around of it, and the cold air of it.  i'm a gal who likes her comforts.

in the olden days, i loved swimming and spent many hours a day in the pool (my mother, with her seven kids, had a great scam going with the city swim program.  she signed us all up for every kind of available lesson--water ballet, stroke technique, diving, jr. lifeguarding, swim team--so we would bike to the pool at seven a.m. and return home around noon with green hair and red eyes having learned how to shell, pike, butterfly, racing dive, give mouth-to-mouth, dolphin kick, interval train, and squeeze visine into our eyes).  as an adult, just plain old swimming such a troublesome activity for me.  perhaps this hearkens back to my post from yesterday about hating unscheduled days.

i got programmed early on to push, push, push--the stop watch, the reps, the technique, practice, and life saving.  it all seemed urgent and important and absolutely unthinkable to say, "i don't like this."

so, there i was today, floundering in the existential pool of a saturday afternoon in february, and in the outdated and not very exciting actual pool of the provo rec center with a few other people who didn't have anything better to do on president's day weekend, when i decided to teach my kids the games we used to play when i was a kid--those would be silence, marco polo, water ballet, handstand, peace pipe, and shark tag.

then i tried something i used to work on obsessively as a kid: walking down the slope of the pool into the deep end.

you can't do it, but you can try.

as i submerged over and over, i loved the muffled underwater sounds and the changed way of seeing that happens when you try to peer across the pool while underwater.  the sudden shift in all sensation  that takes your full attention--you immediately see, hear, feel, and breathe differently.

it's dramatic and full-bodied.

when i arrived home, my batch of poetry contest poems was in the mailbox;  i got nervous opening them.  it feels like a big responsibility knowing that you're going to be the source of disappointment for 95% of the poets in the envelope.  & i try to be a fair and conscientious reader.

so i went through the list of criteria in my head:  attention to image, attention to sound, attention to line, attention to language, maybe even form if the poem is not too obnoxious in its formality.

then i remembered that sensation of sudden submersion i had at the pool today.

& realized that's what i want to feel when i read a great poem--a sudden change in every physical senstion, an absolute attention to the poem, and that satisfying feeling that it's just you and the water, or you and the poem, and if you could, you'd stay like that forever.

if i come across one like that in the batch, i'll give it a first.

so here's a poem that always, and, utterly, sensates,  & takes my breath away, & submerges me in the here and now.

hope you love it too:

from The Sleepers

by Walt Whitman 

I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked through the eddies of the sea,

His brown hair lies close and even to his head, he strikes out with courageous arms, he urges himself with his legs,

I see his white body, I see his undaunted eyes,

I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on the rocks.

What are you doing you ruffianly red-trickled waves?

Will you kill the courageous giant? will you kill him in the prime of his middle-age?

Steady and long he struggles,

He is baffled, bang’d, bruis’d, he holds out while his strength holds out,

The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood, they bear him away, they roll him, swing him, turn him,

His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is continually bruis’d on rocks,

Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

legwear:  grey jeans

inspiration:  underwater time

looking forward:  to c. coming home 

p.s.--another text that really submerged me this week was julie's post about her kidney-shaped pool lie.  it's been haunting me.  read it if you haven't already.

An Off Day On

Every year I'm blindsided by the arrival of the MLK Jr. holiday, which makes no sense as it's a very big deal at the public school I've been a parent at for going on ten years.  In fact, it's the only holiday they celebrate and do so with gusto:  Every year, there is at least a 2.5 hours performance held in the evening where every class in the school acknowledges the issue of civil rights in some fashion:  play, song, slideshow, etc.  There are always quotes from Dr. King woven in, as well as a finale and warm and emphatic greetings from the school's principal who consciously founded the school around the ideals that Dr. King lived and died for.

So why am I always scrambling the morning of trying to find an act of service for the family to engage in, because that's what MLK Jr. Day officially is now, yes?   And why is this always so difficult:  Most of the events seem to be held in New Jersey, the Bronx, or the nether reaches of Brooklyn (places that seem to daunting to access during in typically frigid weather), and I never seem to be able to plan far ahead (because maybe King's birthday falls so soon after the holidays?) to create something from scratch.

So this morning, we listened to the King-related broadcast on the public radio station WNYC (I would link this, but html links don't seem to be working here anymore), and finished watching the Fonda/Parton/Tomlin vehicle 9 to 5, which we started last night.  (More twisted and violent than I thought it would be, its theme is decidedly King-like:  refusing to accept a sexist boss and the resultant unjust working conditions.  Lara also recently wrote about it.)  Then one kid of mine and I headed over to our neighborhood's local non-profit radical lefty volunteer-run bookstore to hang out and drink warm beverages.  (It's been frigidly cold for the past couple of days.)  Along the way, I picked up a few handfuls and deposited it in the appropriate receptacles.

Not the most ideal day, but we did what we could.  Lara (read below!)  pulled today off far better than I did.

Pointed the camera at the ceiling at Bluestockings Cafe and Activist Center

Speaking of which, I often used to listen to Phil Schaap, "one of the world's leading jazz historians," on MLK Jr. Day.  A deejay at Columbia University's station, he always emphasized that today always should be regarded, not as a day off, but as a "day on."  What Phil doesn't know is that I'm trying to treat every day of 2012 that way.  But some days go better than others.

What did you do today?  Give me some ideas for next year!