The Golden Ticket

During the fall and winter, Jon applied to seven graduate programs for Film Studies. For a while now, we've known the outcome of six of those applications: Rejected by five schools and waitlisted at one. Things weren't looking too good, but we were holding out hope that the last school -- also his #1 choice -- would bring us good news.

Then last week he was alerted that the final decision had been mailed. Every other school had told him their decision via email, but not this one. It would take about a week for the letter to arrive through the post. This school is so cruel.

So it was a waiting game. I was so nervous. For the first time ever, I actually checked the mailbox every day (I'm notoriously bad about doing this -- I'd never get the mail if I lived alone), and went day-to-day with tapping feet and twiddling thumbs, waiting for news.

Then finally, with Jon at work and no one around but a menagerie of animals, a letter arrived.

And then it sat on my desk for two hours. Taunting me.

I could do nothing but stare at it while I waited for Jon to respond to my frantic Come home right now! text message. Well, actually, I man-handled that envelope within an inch of its life -- holding it up to the light and slamming it around -- but couldn't make out the most important part: Yes or No. I'd promised him I wouldn't open it, especially if it were a small envelope, which, of course, it was. Small envelopes usually mean "rejection" while a large envelope or packet usually signifies "acceptance", but I still wasn't sure. But I understood: he wanted to be the one to see if it was a rejection, not someone else.

Well, he didn't come home, but he did eventually call, to which I told him that, yes, it was a small envelope but I still had a good feeling about it; the words I could make out didn't sound like one on a rejection letter. So -- with his permission -- I opened his mail.

ACCEPTED!

Then I proceeded to lose my mind with excitement. All of Jon's hard work had paid off. We finally knew where we were going to be living come fall of this year. We finally had been set on course with a plan.

It felt so good, and still does.

Today, Jon mailed in his acceptance of their offer for admission into a two-year M.A. program for Film Studies at Dodge College of Film and Media Arts at Chapman University in Orange, California. It is the college where my sister received her undergraduate degree in Film Studies and Screenwriting, and it is the program we felt was most in alignment with Jon's interests in film genre and history, as well as a great start to his plan on becoming a university professor.

We could not be more thrilled or more relieved, and I'm actually looking forward to exploring a new place and being around friends I've hardly had the chance to see over the last several years. And, after eight years, I'll finally be living within 1 1/2 hours of my sister. 

Now, onto the next challenge: Finding an apartment in Southern California on a single-income/student budget. Luckily, though, we have a little bit of time to relax.

A Homemade Life — Molly Wizenberg

Molly Wizenberg's blog, Orangette, is my favorite on the internet. She is my favorite writer writing online today. She is also co-owner of one of my favorite restaurants. This is probably the dozenth time I've mentioned her over the last five years. All that said, I'm embarrassed to admit that I've only just this recently finished reading her first book, A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table.

I didn't even buy the book with my own money, you guys; I received it at Christmas from my dear friend, Kait, who devoured it on her trip to Belize in November. Despite two straight years of walking past its seemingly-permanent home on the pretty cookbook table at Elliott Bay Books  (near the café, in the back!) and thinking, It really would be cheaper for me to buy it on Amazon... I still never followed through. I really am a terrible fan. And I'm ashamed.

All my personal guilt aside, let me tell you just two things, followed (naturally) by many other things:

1. Read this book.
2. Don't be afraid to buy it, from that local bookstore you like, at full price.

I'm drinking wine now, and it's late in the evening. I wish that I had some chocolate Winning Hearts and Winning Minds cake—a recipe that Molly shares at the end of her heartwarming book—to round out my Wednesday night. In addition to craving multiple sweet and savory recipes, her personal stories continue to linger in my mind, weeks later. They're told so naturally, it feels as though this is your closest friend telling you the story of their life on your back porch over grassy-green tea and lemon-laced cookies. The sun is just starting to set and there's a cool breeze. The dogs smell like dirt and a cat jumps lithely onto your lap.

She's a vivid storyteller, and it's easy to imagine the city of Paris, where she studied as a junior in college and experienced an entirely new culture of food; the expanse of Oklahoma, where she grew up with a father, Burg, who loved to experiment in the kitchen; the rainy grayness of Seattle, where she now lives with her husband, Brandon. But it's her descriptions of food that leave your mouth watering as if you can see, smell, and taste it as you read. She makes cabbage sound delicious—on two occasions!—which is a true testament.

The stories flow well and progress naturally into a corresponding recipe. It doesn't rush, and never feels forced. She shares things that surprised me; I know that sharing heartbreak and weaknesses can be difficult and frightening, especially when you know strangers will read. But for Molly, she weaves through events in her life without ever falling into melodrama, yet you're kept wanting to know more. Maybe that's why she's the #1 food blog on the internet.

People initially click on the link to her site for personalized recipes, like how to tweak Marion Cunningham's fresh ginger muffins just right, but they stay for the honest stories, kind disposition (so much as writing can convey a disposition), and stunning amateur photography. With the exception of the photographs (Molly, won't you please include personal photos in your next book? Pretty please?), you'll find the same in A Homemade Life.

Much of the book centers on her father, who died when she was in her mid-twenties of cancer. (If you've read her blog, ever, you know this. I swear I'm not ruining anything.) He's complicated and a true character, and it was difficult to read about her personal account of watching him die. It's possibly one of the most honest things I've ever read. Conversely, the portion of the book which documents her starting her blog, meeting her now-husband through said blog, and getting married makes what might seem like a simple and common life into something of a fairy tale.

It was a pleasure to read, and it will be a pleasure to read again. Oh, and cook from, of course. A few favorites from the book, now on my to-make list:

• Banana Bread with Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger
• Hoosier Pie
• Coconut Macaroons with Chocolate Ganache
• Bread Salad with Cherries, Arugula, and Goat Cheese
• Cream-Braised Green Cabbage
• Slow-Roasted Tomatoes with Coriander
• Butternut Soup with Pear, Cider, and Vanilla Bean
• Chana Masala
• Pickled Grapes with Cinnamon and Black Pepper
• Little Corn Cakes with Bacon, Tomato, and Avocado

I know. I'm hungry, too.

****/*****

Signs of Life

Look.

See that half-barrel? The one full of dirt? For the past month, that big bowl o' dirt has been my pride and joy.

Why, you ask?

Well, back in February, Jon and I took an afternoon to wander around my new favorite meditation zone: Alden Lane Nursery in Livermore, CA. Two of my poor houseplants (Charlotte and Diana) bit the big one, so I wanted to find a new plant or two to pot. Well, what was meant as an hour-long errand turned into several hours of us wandering around, imagining having a yard large enough to plant blueberry bushes, peach trees, and grape vines. We looked at fountains and grasses, and discussed just how easy it would be to grow our own herbs and peppers.

Then, as I passed a display full of dahlia bulbs, I couldn't help myself. I bought 4 bulbs and a barrel. OK, a half-barrel. And lots and lots of soil. I planted them the moment I got home, and I followed the instructions carefully. I've kept the soil moist and I (meaning Jon) moved the hefty load to where it could get the most sun during the day.

And then I waited. I checked every day, getting more and more worried that I'd planted them wrong. But last week -- guess what!

Signs of life. I am one happy clam.

Distractions

Lately, my work space has consisted of a cushy chair and a tray table in the corner of the family room, right up against the new media stand. With the office project going on upstairs, I've had to retreat to a less paint fume-y location.

The problem with not working in the office (which has a door) is that I'm distracted much easier. Always, always, always there are distractions, usually in the form of four-legged fur balls.




What jerks.

Great progress is being made upstairs (no more red walls!), but I haven't had much time to work up there because of my actual work. I had to travel to Scottsdale for my job, which meant two full days away from the project. Then my grandfather came to visit, along with my boyfriend's mom and step-dad, to see a community theater play that Jon and my mother are doing together. A great weekend, full of good company, good food, and good wine, but no time for painting or cleaning.

Also, my sister arrives here tomorrow. So much to do, so little time. But that doesn't mean I can't offer you a sneak peak.

Good-bye red walls...




Primer up! It was amazing how immediate the change was -- it was so bright! I almost didn't want to add the new color to the walls; it was so strange and wonderful how much light came into that room without dark red walls sucking everything up. But white walls aren't part of the plan, so before we could add colorful paint, the ceiling and 'closet' were next...




This lovely sand color is "Cattail" by Eddie Bauer for Vaspar. I actually managed to convince my mother that it wouldn't ruin her life to paint the ceiling something other than white. And how pretty will the ceiling look when we add crown molding?

Lots to do before then, though.

For now, here's a sneak peak of our new wall color. And my feet.

More soon. Stay tuned.


* Images property of People Just Float

Let's Begin

I have several running checklists right now. Books, home improvement projects, recipes, workouts, TV shows to catch up on, restaurants to eat at, cocktails to make, stuff to sell... I'm drowning in to-do lists and, to be honest, I kind of like it that way. I'm not the most organized  person, but making to-do lists puts my priorities in perspective, all while reminding me that my time is not best spent watching "House Hunters: International" again. My boyfriend would eagerly testify that despite any on-going checklists, there is still far too much HGTV being watched on a nightly basis.

But hey, I consider it ultimately productive.

One big project we have coming up this weekend is painting my father's office. Or, for the time being, my office (since I'm working at home). Painting is the first step to a complete overhaul. It's easy to see why when, up until about two weeks ago, it was looking like this:

Yep. Those are red walls. But what you sadly don't see here (since Jon tore them down the moment I gave him the go-ahead) were the half dozen or so movie posters for Academy Award-winning greats from 1996 to 2003. This even includes the 3 Lord of the Rings posters which, due to lack of wall space, were unceremoniously stapled to the ceiling.

Oh yeah. You read that right: stapled. To the ceiling. We were classy teenagers.

Now I know what you're thinking: But Stacy! This room looks like total horse turdies! How can you even bare to admit this room exists?

Good question, friend. You see, I'm working on being less of a perfectionist and control freak, which means I need to admit when (and be OK with) things not being exactly how I want them. Showing the pitiful beginnings of a project I've had brewing for years now is the first step to actually, you know... finishing said project. Every room re-do starts somewhere, and even though it pains me to show you this messy clutter bucket (not to mention my terrible photography skills), it's the first step to transforming what you see above into something more like this:

via Apartment Therapy

... or this:

via Design*Sponge

... and maybe a little of this:

via Vogue

Or, you know, I don't know. Maybe it won't look anything like that. We'll see. The possibilities are endless!

When my family moved to this house in 2003, this bedroom acted as my sister's and my movie and computer room. (Hence the ever-changing selection of posters.) It was dark, it was moody, it had a big cushy futon, and it was perfect for watching movies or playing video games late at night when my parents were asleep. However, when we went off to college, this room was never used. No one slept in it when we returned from school, and as my parents transitioned to using laptops instead of their desktop computer, this room became nothing more than a catch-all for boxes of old books, filing and storage cabinets, printers and shredders, and an "overflow" area for my dad's insanely large library (most of which lives in the garage).

Frankly, it's a clutter nightmare.

It took some convincing to get my parents to agree that investing actual money into making a nice office space would eventually be worth every penny. My mom, usually my accomplice in anything "decor" related, doesn't really use the space, so it wasn't high on her priority list of things to change. My dad, though, doesn't care about decorating at all, and wasn't quite convinced that, even if it were a really nice space, he'd ever really use it.

But they did finally agree, probably because I pointed out the fact that my father has taken over the dining room table and claimed it as his office with piles of paper.

So we did what anyone in our position would do: we bought paint. Buying paint is a commitment and it's a great excuse to gut a room of all the crap it's accumulated over the years. Both of my parents came with us to Lowe's and we scoured the paint chips. Amazingly, my dad and I agreed on a paint color, which is a good sign. He trusts me.

So that's this weekend. Step 1 in revamping my parent's house.

I can't wait to show you how it turns out.