Spring, grilled cheese, and the birthday ball starts rolling

I have meant to write each of the past two nights, but y'all, my yard. I can't even get out of it because spring has sprung and the sun, it has been a'shining.

Tulips turn their heads to the bright sky every morning and open their arms wide to receive the light and warmth. The phlox perks up and stands at attention, the poor hydrangeas dare to bud for the third time since spring started hinting at its coming, and the hostas start their cheerfully aggressive takeover of valued garden space. 

The chosen ones aren't the only things bursting from torpor to life. The weeds and I have been engaged in a full scale battle for a week now- hairy bittercress, clover, the one I never can identify but which sprouts with wild and initially pleasing abandon. I am quite certain that my neighbors must think me obsessive at best, for there I am again, crouched in a yogic squat and tossing uprooted weeds into Oliver's orange plastic sand pail with glee. 

As always, I commune with the worms and roly polys, welcome the birds into the spray from my hose, attempt to save neighborhood bunnies from Nutmeg's innate predatory instincts, and lose all sense of time and other responsibilities. 

Yesterday was National Grilled Cheese Day, and I took a break from gardening to speak to MacKenzie Smith, sandwich expert for About.com and founder of the blog, Grilled Cheese Social. Sara Lee had asked her to concoct some special sandwiches for the day, and I wanted to ask about her favorite cheese combos that Tom and I may not have yet tried as well as to seek advice about convincing my boys that a good grilled cheese sandwich is hard to beat. So far, they are not fans, and to be honest, I cannot understand. 

Anyway, during our brief chat, MacKenzie shared her favorite grilled cheese trio -young goat cheese, muenster, and taleggio (all of which I bought today)- and we waxed rhapsodic about the importance of using full-fat salty butter liberally on a good grilled cheese. She swears by any salty European butter while I go even more specific and vote for Kerrygold. #ofthegods

MacKenzie's three Bs for a winning sandwich include, of course, butter, but also base (a good, thick bread that can withstand heat and melting cheese; she likes Sara Lee Artesano, and I like brioche) and blend (the best grilled cheeses benefit from a blend of cheeses with varying melt points, salt contents, and flavor profiles). 

I know what I'll be having for lunch tomorrow, thank you!

For lunch today, my dear friend, C, took me to the Iron Gate to get my birthday ball rolling. 41 happens Sunday, y'all. 

It was a beautiful day, and we sat in the courtyard, shaded in a perfectly mottled way by a large canopy of established wisteria. Despite a ludicrous drive downtown which culminated in me climbing a ladder OUT of a parking garage WHILE in heeled sandals and then skirting a delivery truck in the drive pad to exit, it was a perfect, lovely, relaxed date.

Heading into the Iron Gate which is mysterious and charming and I want to go back because the interior spaces are even more inviting than the front.

The menu is gorgeous and intensely seasonal. Though I had a hard time choosing, we ultimately shared two dishes -the spring pea bruschetta (OMG) and the beet, black walnut, dill, and yogurt salad- before branching into the gemelli with chiles and swiss chard pesto (C) and the farro, dried cherries, feta, pine nut, and red wine vinaigrette salad for moi. For dessert, lemon curd with meringue two ways, candied almonds, and cardamom ice cream. Perfection!

Happy weekend, friends!

Anne Lamott and other thoughts

Do y'all remember when I blogged EVERY day? For four straight years, if memory serves, I submitted a quotidian offering. How did I do that? And why?

I think I thought I had to, as if daily posts were a precondition for "successful blogging." And in many ways, I am so grateful I wrote with that frequency because, having no formal writing education on which to fall back, committing something to page on such a regular basis taught me that writing is the training of a muscle as well as the fanning of a creative flame. 

It is rare now (minus the February lulls and periods of political malaise) that I sit in front of an empty page without what feels like magic starting to percolate. Even if my thoughts go nowhere or read as awfully mundane, there is some shift internally that draws me always back like moth to light, like me to sunshine.

Last night, I met a group of women at the Strathmore arts center to hear Anne Lamott talk about mercy and grace and present her newest book, Hallelujah Anyway.

I have been an enormous fan of Anne's since first reading Operating Instructions more than a decade ago. It's one of those books that legitimately made me wheeze with stomach-cramping laughter and cause Tom to repeatedly ask, "What is going on over there?" It also made me think and tear up and feel grateful that slightly-zany Anne of the smart, progressive, troubled parents found her way to writing and got clean.

Then I read Traveling Mercies and thought as deeply as I'd laughed in Operating Instructions and highlighted and notated with the mad desire to not forget the wisdom she seemed to be spilling on every page and wondered about her devout Christianity even though she explained it so well. 

Other than the timbre of her voice not sounding precisely how I'd heard it in my mind, Anne was so totally herself last night, and I found that marvelous. Barbara Kingsolver was, many years ago at the National Cathedral, not at all what I'd imagined, and I remain crushed. Because The Poisonwood Bible. 

But anyway, Anne. Her hair was lassoed with both ponytail holder and hair band, but I could nonetheless discern the wild, blond frizz she's described so many times. She talked about Pammy, and her Jesuit friend, and Sam, and Veronica, and I felt myself nodding, as if she were talking about mutual friends. She was funny and deadpan and loopy and candid. She despises Trump and teaches Sunday school and told us to care for the poor more times than I could count. She is smart and anxious and beautifully imperfect, and as through her pen, wisdom spilled from her voice.

It is both powerful and comforting to encounter such an open, authentic being. I felt the sort of gratitude that comes when you can really trust someone, not least someone who has so bravely shared her flaws and fears with the world. I am always drawn to her sort of honesty and lack of pretense. Really, it's the way I want to go about in the world. It seems both efficient and connective, and I appreciate both.

Just before she opened the floor to questions, she read a passage from Hallelujah Anyway about a friend's son committing suicide. I want to leave you with this tonight as I found it a truly profound reframing of what is often considered a heinous, selfish act and also a truly profound use of writing to teach and provoke. 

Then Ann, at peace and in grief, stood up trembling and shared the note he had left for her. Like most suicide notes, it said, I have to do this. I'm sorry. Please forgive me and release me. Don't be sad. And I love you; love you. Then she called forth Jay, in baby baths, at the beach, on a trike, at the prom, and here, smoking and resting among the flowers. She gave thanks for the gestational period of ten months they'd spent together at what turned out to be the end, for the communion and care he received and gave to Ann, for that time they had needed so badly, an intimacy most of us cannot imagine.

In the garden, where he had walked, paced, rested, we were holding him and releasing him, inside the ring of trees, ferns, rosebushes, a cherry plum. ...How could this have happened? How can such pain exist? ...How could doctors not help him, with all those meds and treatments, not help him get free of that bad brain any other way? He was at the mercy of it, of bad brain, yet he held out so long, for Ann, to help her. So mercy has claws, too, that don't easily let go.

...Every release inside us releases whatever energy inside us tethered Jay here, to this realm that was just too awful for him. We were saying, This is hard, but not as hard as it was for you here, weighed down by the anchors of so-called reality. So go now, go, unfettered.

Stunning, huh.

To bask in sunshiney warmth.

After a truly horrendous trip from D.C. to Lake Charles on Friday (twelve hours total; last flight had no water in the bathroom), we have relaxed in the most wonderful ways. 

Early morning fog over the bayou

We awoke yesterday to the most glorious cape of fog draped over the bayou's shoulders. It burned off and then the rains came. Dad and I went to the SW Louisiana garden show where we attended a fantastic session on growing herbs. Did you know that dill is a solo performer? Dill is not friendly! Plant it by itself or with at least a foot of space all around. 

When we emerged from the expo, the sun was shining, and the remainder of the day was a stunner. Dad and Oliver took the canoe out and tipped it around the bend from home. It took them a long while to bail out, and Ol later told me that he was worried the entire time that a hibernating alligator would wake up and eat him. Poor kiddo. I must say those beasts scare me too.

An enormous pelican glided down the bayou, his huge brown wings arcing out and over, tips just piercing the water's surface, a slight wake left in its path.  You don't often see pelicans around here. It was such a beauty.

The brown pelican is LA's state bird.  

It paddled back down at a rapid clip before edging out of sight. Meanwhile, a bluebird peeked out of its house and then picked through the grass for food and nest materials. A lizard sunned in full camouflage on a long amaryllis leaf, a graceful white egret fished on the shore opposite us, and a majestic blue heron swept by repeatedly.

Today was another beaut, and the warmest yet. We had a lazy morning-I spent most of it in a super comfortable reclining chaise in the yard-before being picked up by some of my parents' friends for an afternoon on their marvelous pontoon boat. I am telling y'all- this weather and natural beauty and wide open space are all desperately good for a winter-weary soul.

I never tire of Spanish moss. 

I'm in bed already, tuckered out in the best way after two full days of sunshine and family. Hope y'all are well!!