40 in forty: Know your limits

I have been full-on extroverting all week, and while I have felt very happy and energized, by this morning I could tell that if I didn't spend some time by myself, quiet, recharging my own batteries, I might burst. And not in a good way. There may have been tears during coffee this morning. I'm just saying. Let's call them the final Code Red warning sign.

40 in forty tip: To thine own self be true.

I rarely go biblical, but those are some true-ass words. 

People, at the end of the day, you have yourself, and if that self is a pale, wan, deflated balloon of an entity, you don't have much to work with or go on. Feel me?

I was almost obnoxiously happy yesterday, so after I dried my tears this morning I decided the next best step would be to get dressed in nice clothes so that at least my exterior would look polished at the Middle School tour for parents starting at 9. 

It was lovely to see familiar faces and catch up with friends I don't cross paths with often enough, but by the gym locker room viewing, I'd gotten the drift, had my fill, and was feeling borderline bursty.

Not that many years ago, I'd have stayed. Obligation, decorum, a sense of politeness would have prevailed. But today, I acknowledged that I've already seen what we were about to visit and so politely shook hands with the principal, thanked her profusely, and went on my way.

I ran some errands, changed clothes and high-tailed it to my yard where I ignored every beep from my phone, unearthed hairy bittercress (funny how the nemesis weed of Jack's toddlerhood is still with us), planted some bulbs, rued the depleted soil, amended it with everything I had available, visited with a neighbor and then baked Ol's birthday party cakes for tomorrow.

I was by my lonesome for a good six hours, and sister, did I need it. I am so much better for knowing my limits and needs and honoring them. Do it, y'all!

Recipes by rote and riff: jazz in the kitchen

I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to live in such a neighborly neighborhood. Yesterday, I made blackberry pies for some of the folks who've been incredibly warm in welcoming us. We have more to make and thank, but in the meantime, the boys took it upon themselves last night to shower, comb their hair (bless his heart, Oliver combed so dramatically that he appeared to have the most extreme comb-over possible. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he looked anything but dashing.), and dress in suits so as to look their nicest as we took our tray o' pies around.

I could whip those pies up on a busy afternoon because doing so is second nature now. When you love to cook, come from a pie-making family, married an ardent pie lover, and have one child who requests birthday pie, you get good at making pie.

And an absolute pleasure that is. Did I tell you about the time I made a pie at a friend's house during a playdate? Because the mood struck and I could? Delightful.

My 40 in forty bit of wisdom for today is thus: master a handful of favorite dishes such that you can make them pretty much anywhere, anytime.

Do this, and you won't need a recipe because your hands and heart know just what to do. You've got the appropriate pots, pans, utensils and ingredients because since you make these dishes so often, the basics are on hand.

The great thing about gaining such fluency with a cadre of beloved recipes is that without realizing it, you also gain greater fluency with general cooking. You can start to riff on dishes, tweaking flavors and textures, personalizing and making them your own. 

Any good recipe was inspired by many others and will influence more to come. Isn't that connectivity with both past and future delightful?

If you're baffled by the idea of mastering five recipes and tucking them in your pocket, start with those you've always loved. Childhood favorites? A great place to begin. The pies I made for our neighbors? Nanny's blackberry pie of course. 

The Brussels sprouts I made yet again tonight? They're my rendition of Blue Duck Tavern's crispy Brussels sprouts with pecorino, capers, and lemon. I first experienced those more than two years ago and knew that I could never go without them as a regular guest in my life. Necessity is the mother of invention, n'est-ce pas?

Candied kumquats? A must for ricotta (also a must). I make both as often as possible. Gumbo? Yes, thank you. Plum tart during plum season? Daily. I have plums on my counter now, just waiting until tomorrow which is when I've willed them to be perfectly ripe. 

Not once will I need to look at a recipe, or if I do, to worry about the instructions or whether or not I have the right ingredients. These are such familiar friends to me now; we pick up right where we last left each other: an empty plate and a licked-clean fork.

40 in thirty-eight: Find Your Soil

And the days keep flying by, and one week from tomorrow, my baby turns 7 and I'm that much closer to 40 and we leave for Rome. That's another story for another day, not least because it's overwhelming to think of packing. Which, as you likely know, I loathe doing.

Today was breathtakingly beautiful- sunny, warm, breezy, not humid. It was perfect, really; the sort of spring day for which we've all been pining with increasing intensity as of late. 

I worked in the yard for as many spare minutes as I had, ripping out the insidious ivy that looks nice until you realize it's suffocating all your other plants and threatening to take over your yard a la The Blob. 

Despite my awareness that we're not yet past the possibility of a temperature dip into the frostly region, I went to the nursery for some herbs, arugula and flowers. Just a few things, just enough to keep the work needed to plant them in a reasonable realm, just enough to brighten the yard and start making it feel like ours. Just enough to sate my appetite.

Yards and gardens are like blank canvasses. They'll happily remain bare, colored in only by what occurs naturally be it ivy, weeds, or dust. But they'll also provide a thrilling slate on which to paint, if you're so inclined. 

I can tell this yard has been treated with chemicals and wasn't ever loved in the way I loved my last yard and gardens. I haven't yet found an earthworm, and Jack got a blazing rash after rolling in the grass yesterday; his sensitive skin has always been a bellwether for what is tender and what is not. 

So, there is work to be done, and that thrills me, for where do I lose myself so amnesiacally as I do in the soil? Nowhere really except perhaps in words. 

This is my bit of wisdom for you today, three days into the 40 in forty countdown: Find your soil. 

Putz and dally, look under and in, try and come up short, dip your toes in and find the grail. Do whatever you can to find your soil, the loamy black goulash into which you can pour your feelings, worries, hopes and frustrations. Into which you can knead your anger, sadness, joy and secrets. 

Find the soil in which you lose track of time and place and need to set an alarm so you don't forget to pick your kids up from school. Find the bit of earth in which you literally do not care how hot, sweaty, smelly and dirty you are because you're so deeply lost in the happy trance that plot fosters.

When I was little, I hated being dirty. I did not enjoy sweating, and I loathed bugs. In short, yard work was most definitely not my cup of tea. But I've always loved flowers (Nanny and Mom always had/have fresh flowers in their homes, mostly those they grew/grow themselves) and I've always seen how much satisfaction my parents and Nanny derived from working in their gardens.

When Tom and I moved into our first non-apartment home, we had a small backyard. Maybe it was nesting, maybe I was avoiding something, maybe I just wanted it to be pretty. I don't know but I planted flowers, and they grew and made me happy every day. I've been gardening like a fool since.

My thumb isn't totally green yet: inexplicably I am incapable of growing basil and rosemary which for most people are akin to weeds that require zero thought or tending. But I'm coming along, and I am telling you that when we moved, we left approximately 9 zillion fat and happy earthworms wriggling through the organic yard I'd turned it into. I enjoyed every bit of the process. 

I found my soil. Find yours!