Holy Cow! Shut the Door! That image is hard to turn away from, right? I mean you must have a dog who you would like to make this warm/cute/sad, no? If so, you can purchase your very own doggie cowl at the etsy earthwalkers shop. . . and if that photo doesn't do it for you (because either you're all dead inside or you care more about your dog's dignity than its cuteness), then maybe this next regal pic will make you think again. . .



Go buy a cowl. Your puppy will thank you (probably because his increased cuteness will make you snuggle him way more frequently than pre-cowl ownership. Trust me. You'll see)!

Nightime Chicago

a dream of Chicago. How I saw it when I was away for years. Back then, I thought I would leave Chicago, move back to the country and sleep like I had never slept before--without the noise of honking cabs or the crowd at Wrigley or the Red line rumbling past a half block away from my bedroom window.

My first night back in Athens, all I heard were crickets and frogs and the creak of my tiny house on the hill, shifting in the wind blowing up from the cemetery across the street. It was louder than anything in the city and I tossed and turned all night. I immediately regretted the move. . . I'd settle in over time, enjoying grad school and the new friends I made there. Folks who knew the town better than I did introduced me to swimming holes and hiking trails and haunts in town I hadn't found during undergrad.

But nothing replaced Chicago. It took me five years to make it back, and that whole time, I dreamt about the train and the guy who mugged me once at the back of the Addison station in the early morning on my way to work and the burritos from the little ma&pa taqueria on Lincoln across from Rax Trax, and the way the lake tried on a new look everyday--pale green and still one day, steel grey and breaking in ocean waves up against the turn and snake of Lake Shore Drive toward the formal red glare of the Drake.

I really do love this place--the good and the bad. . . all of it is lovely.

Last Residency Wednesday

This past Wednesday was Daniel's last January residency date at Uncommon Ground.


Dan's last night was a round robin "Sad Bastard" song night. I unfortunately didn't get a picture of everybody. . . little fun camera was on the fritz. But Scott Richardson, Sneza from Good Apples, Steve Mulcahy from Honest Engine, Eric Zeigenhagen, and my sweetie, Dan Zapruder Point all played the world's saddest songs. Everyone was great and it felt like our own private fun-party.


And I don't know what's up with Eric Z. . . but every time I take a picture of him when he plays, he looks like an angel or a saint. Maybe he is one? Check it out.


And on the way home, Navy Pier off Lake Shore Drive in the cold and ice and snow, like a traveling circus just opening up on the edge of town.

Valentine

I love Chicago. I say that a lot here, but I think I go through swings with Chicago throughout the year. I never ever hate it, but I think I'm constantly going back and forth between being madly in love and simply taking it for granted.

Before I lived in Chicago, I imagined the different ways people might live in a big city--maybe hating living in the hustle and bustle or maybe loving it and having the luck to take advantage of all a big city has to offer. But I don't think any of my imaginings were correct. Truth be told, living in a big city is a lot like living in a mid-size city or even a small town. It takes longer to get from here to there in Chicago, but otherwise, I go to work and come home and hang out with my husband and dog and do housework and read and cook and lead a life.

But occasionally, I look up from my life and realize that I'm looking at the Willis Tower (nee Sears Tower) or that my office is on Michigan Avenue or that the Art Institute is always just a lunch break away during my work day. And I am struck by the fact that the place where I live is actually a place where millions of people decide to go on vacation every year.

My home is also a destination.

So, I am in the midst, again, of one of those moments, wide-eyed, a little in awe, certainly, suddenly, in full bloom love with Chicago. I mean, look at it. Who could blame me?

Wow, right?

The hotel workers have been on strike at the Congress Hotel for over 8 years. I can't recommend it as a place to stay. But it has one of THE best marquee signs in the city--not just old, but an old version of what someone once thought was modern. . . which is a special kind of old that Chicago specializes in.

And this final blue blur of photo. . . the shake of my hand turning Chicago into a dream, and the rear lights on the back of the Metra car into tiny hearts.

Maybe Chicago loves me back. . .

Chicago, Harinezumi and Memory

I bought a little Harinezumi 2++ camera this past summer. I meant to shoot a film with it for work and didn't. I took a bunch of pictures on vacation--a number of which I posted here--and then the memory card hitched up and I couldn't get the images off the camera. And as those things go, I set it aside and forgot about it.


But this past weekend, I unearthed it, messed around with it, wouldn't take no for an answer and I got the images from the beach off the camera. And rather than dwelling too long on seeing pictures from the sunshine-y North Carolina September seaside on the coldest day of the year in Chicago, I pushed ahead.

And it's all worth it, because here's the thing. I think digital cameras are great for a million different reasons--primarily because you can shoot and shoot and shoot and you will instantly know if any of the images are any good before going through the expense of printing them. But truth be told, I think they're a little soulless. Their images are so crisp, so high-def, so crystal clear. The images they produce are like actually seeing, rather than like remembering. And I think I want photographs for remembering.

When I was a kid, all photography looked like memory--not the crystal clear clarity of the original day as you experienced it, but the way memory faded and played tricks on you and turned a pale hazy blue around the edges. No. Those pictures from the 70's weren't perfect records of the day, but they were kind to your nostalgic view, they didn't jar you with images that were clearer and more immediate and still trapped in that moment of time than your memory could be. . . they aged into the blue and lavendar and green/yellow of your faulty memory. And looking at those images feels right. They feel long ago and that makes me wistful, not sad. There's my dad with a full head of hair and me two feet tall. There's my brother with his big fluffy bowl cut and my mom all slender and grace and smiles. And I don't think, "where did the time go?" I think, "Awwww, look at us back then."

Digital images don't allow for or create that distance. . . except for Harinezumi photos. Digital, but meant to mimic a 110 camera (my childhood camera. anyone? the weird little flat placard at the bottom that you had to push in with your thumb to advance the film foward and the hazy window in the back that would tell you what number picture you were on, if it wasn't fogged up with humidity. And then trying to space the roll out and save shots to stretch the whole vacation because Mom and Dad had only bought you two rolls of film because they could only afford to print two rolls of film. And the oddly shaped pictures at the end, with white edges all around and the light leaks that created dreamy splashes of lavendar or yellow across the center or corner of the photo. anyone?). And so I'm back on board with the little H 2++, because I capture strange, lovely, atmospheric images like this:

This is my city in winter.
This is the city I want to remember in years to come.

Celery

Celery is beautiful. Truly. It doesn't have loads and loads of flavor and lots of people hate its stringiness. But is there a better, more natural boat-shaped vehicle for peanut butter and raisins? And when I was a kid, my parents put leafy celery into colored water and a day later the celery leaves had turned deep blue. Magic!

And celery can be pretty helpful in print making.

Exhibit 1:


The shape of the end of a celery is the perfect thing for printing cabbage roses on paper or fabric. If you can do it with potatoes. . . why not with celery?

Exhibit 2:


Close up, its colors are subtle and lovely. Sort of like slices of lemongrass.

Cooking is more fun if you enjoy the process. . . if you slow down long enough to take note of the ingredients you're using.

I promise it's true.

Wings

Dan has been going through a buffalo wing craving phase. Who knows why. . . this is a first in our eight happy years together. But all of the wings he's ordered from local restaurants have been pretty bad, and it's hard for me to watch him eat frozen TGIFriday's wings.

So, a big football game today and I thought I should probably try my hand at spicy wing cooking.


I don't deep fry food, so I baked them. Coated them in flour, then egg, then panko. Once cooked, I doused them in a sauce made of butter, Louisiana hot sauce, cayenne pepper, honey, worchestershire sauce, paprika, garlic powder and a tiny bit of salt. And they were awesome.


It was oddly satisfying to make. . .


and L.P. sure wished he could have some. I love the desperate, sort of haunted look in his eye here. He would have been sorry if we had shared, though. Dogs and spicy are never a great mix.

Future Woolly Blanket

I use wool yarn to make everything I sell on Etsy. The toys are wool. The cowls are wool. The mitts are wool. Wool is durable. It cleans well. If it gets wet, it still keeps you warm. I think it's magic.

But all of that wool yarn going through my hands every year. I have lots of left over bits I don't know what to do with and they end up in an ever growing pile.

Problem solved. Now, between projects, I'm slowly knitting those bits of yarn into mitered squares for a future snuggly wool blanket.

I think the final blanket will be lovely (once I have enough squares and I figure out how to piece them all together.)

The Cold Isn't Joking Around

The last few days, the temps in Chicago haven't gotten much above 10 with wind chills of about -25 degrees. Ridiculous.

Needless to say that when you get up at the crack of dawn to go to work and see this. . .


it's hard not to crawl right back into bed and snuggle up in down comforters with a big cup of tea, a good book and warm wiggling dog.


The one upside is that some things do become more beautiful. . . like the window of our usually pretty non-descript back door.

I would like to take the remaining cold days of the year off from work to stay home and make things and watch the snow fall from the safety of my toasty warm house.

Go Bears!

Chicago is deeply entrenched in Bears-y football fever. I'm not a big football fan, but I'm excited for the city. Plus the young guy who sits next to me at work is from Milwaukee and is therefore a huge Packers fan and it's fun to talk about the Bears and yank his chain.


But little felt christmas ornament bears is really the closest I've gotten to the fever.

Fish Pie

It's going to be crazy cold tomorrow. . . freeze the nose right off your face cold. 8 degrees is the expected high with "sub zero windchills" predicted. Wish I could skip work, stay at home, and whip up another batch of the fish pie I made this past weekend.

It's Jamie Oliver's recipe. . . I can't claim credit for thinking it up. But, man, was it good! It's actually an "upside down" pie. Truthfully, it's not a pie at all.

Spinach cooked in olive oil, lemon juice, salt and minced garlic cooked in the pan first. Add a layer of freshly cooked polenta on top of that. Then lay out fish (this time I used shrimp, mussels, cod, and perch) that have been tossed in lemon juice, lemon zest, sea salt, pepper, spicy red pepper and thyme, and cook in the oven for 15 minutes.

Shut the door! It's the yummiest comfort food ever, and I swear it's better the next day as leftovers. . . even heated up in a microwave.

The Very Brilliant Hollie Chastain

I had a great Christmas--wonderful time with family, nice to be out of town, and I received more than my fair share of amazing gifts. But one of my very favorite-est gifts has to be Hollie Chastain's print, "Something We Shouldn't Be Doing."

My sister gave it to me. . . and unlike most of the art I buy or am given that languishes in a pile for a year before I get it into a frame and hung on a wall, this one was framed right away--beneath a gorgeous deep grayish brown mat. I swear it glows. It makes you stop and think about years ago. It makes you dig deep down into your memory and dig up warm and nostalgic impulses. It's a joy to have in my home.

Check out the very brilliant Hollie Chastain's work in her etsy shop, and treat yourself to one of her prints. You'll be thrilled that you did.

Is It Weird to Love Felt So Much?

Is anyone in the same boat as me? I think it's similar to the love of sequins still in containers waiting to be sewn on? Or maybe like loving rows of embroidery floss all lined up together in rainbows? Or maybe like coveting shelves of jewel-toned high cotton fiber content papers?

It's the future promise of beautiful things. . . the potential of the things and your creativity making something marvelous, if given time.

I've started working on a project that takes both into consideration. . . my guess is that the final products will be Christmas ornaments, but for now, it's just the fun of laying woolen colors against one another.

Zapruder Residency

So, my talented husband, Dan Phillips of Zapruder Point is smack dab in the middle of a month long residency at the Wrigleyville Uncommon Ground. He's been playing every Wednesday, along with a guest of his choosing.

First week, Eric Ziegenhagen
Second week, Justin Roberts
Third week, Deanna Varagona
Fourth week, free-for-all, hoot-esque Sad Bastards evening.

This past Wednesday with Justin was lovely. I got to sit and listen with some of my best friends in the cozy space while Justin and Dan's voices filled up the room.

only really needed one picture of the boys for the this post, but the first is better and yet I couldn't resist how happy D looks to be playing so beautifully with his buddy.

You should definitely check him and Deanna out this Wednesday. Details (And some video of last week's show) at zapruderpoint.com.

Book 2

Second completed book of the New Year. I am in quiet competition to read more this year than my mother--who is retired (her favor), but very busy (my favor), but a blindingly fast reader (she'll probably beat me).



This week it was Carlos Ruiz Zafon's The Shadow of the Wind. It's a good story. A page turner. Am glad to have read a novel set in post-WWII Franco Spain--feel like I have a better sense of that time period. But I hate to say that even though I liked the book, I couldn't shake the feeling that the writing felt sloppy. It felt like a narrative trying to take on both the magic and beautiful formality of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It hits the magic, but trips up on the formality--letting a kind of modern day vulgarity of language slip in from time to time, so that it neither feels like a piece from the 50's or the 30's. . . or even the 60's where it ends up. And it has very strange point of view problems that tripped me up repeatedly. A writer can't just put something in italics to explain a shift of narrative voice within the context of letter that one character has written another. It's a lazy convention.

This sounds like I wouldn't recommend it, but I would. It's an interesting story and a decent read, it was just a bit less than I was expecting.

First book of the new year completed. I never took a class with Chaon, but I was lucky enough to be at Ohio University while he was there. I would hang out with him and my buddies from the MA/PhD Creative Writing program at Casa Cantina. I probably never spoke to him, but I listened to his stories.

Loved loved loved Await Your Reply and highly recommend it for either fans of pulp fiction or literature--it's a brilliant merging of the two. A little violent. A little heartbreaking. And it lingered with me for days, making me think about all of the lives I could have had had I made different choices. Check it. . .and if you like it, immediately get You Remind Me of Me next. YRMoM is easily on my top ten books of all time.

Happy New Year

the customary New Years brunch in the Stewart/Phillips household.
homemade danish puff pastry, eggs, sausage, orange juice, tea or coffee.

I love New Years. My husband and I are both patently bad at the partying part of New Year's Eve, but I love the fresh feeling of a new year. It's a time to begin again. To cuddle into the couch and look through the last year's worth of magazines to figure out what needs to be kept and what needs to be recycled. To make plans and dream about what the new year will bring.

And this year, I have decided to give up on resolutions and have traded them in for a list of projects that I hope to complete in 2011. I'm not likely to change any of my entrenched bad behavior, but I do like to check tasks off lists. So I'm hoping that I really will re-paint the dining room and swap out a few light fixtures in the house and come up with a fabric design and finally use the beautiful felt I've had in storage for two years in 2011.

I've already cleaned my office and kept it clean for a whole week. So, I think there's hope.

Happy New Year!