Demo This

It's Monday morning and Buford Hwy is flooded. It's been raining in Atlanta for so long I've lost track of the days. Rainy weather is a good excuse to stay indoors and that's just what we did last weekend. There was no cozying up on the couch. Instead, we demolished the bathroom. Photos and commentary tonight.

Staying Alive

Having worked at this Southern institution for 1/6 of its life, I have to share this video filmmaker Joe York made to celebrate Square Books' 30th anniversary. It seems like just the other day I was getting dressed up for the 25th anniversary at the old Off Square Books location.

Square Books was my home for 6 years. My boss Lyn teased me about having a cot in my office, since it seemed I was there when she left in the evening and when she returned at 8:30 every morning. On my last day, a few of the senior employees gathered at City Grocery's bar (our official bar) to say there farewells. There, Richard Howorth and his wife Lisa presented me with a necklace upon which hung a golden key. "So you'll always have a key to the store," he said.

Enjoy Joe's work and check out more of it here.

SQUARE BOOKS 30th Anniversary Video from Joe York on Vimeo.

Napping Lately

Mondays hit harder than a hangover. In our home, we sleep later during the week than on the weekends. For good reason: we like to maximize our time together.

Last week witnessed the purchase of a new car to replace my Camry, which was totaled following a three year battle with a leaking trunk. I was more happy that I would get the coveted carport spot, than actually driving the car itself. That excitement alone belongs to Chris.

We also ate with Tex and L. on two occasions. The first night, we ate a late supper chez Mary/Chris that was more of a collaboration. Pork loin on the grill served with coconut rice and sauteed soy broccoli. Later in the week, we dined chez L./Tex and devoured plates of baked goat cheese salads, pan-sauteed halibut topped with a simple, but summery, tomato relish, and Chris' coconut rice.* I contributed the remains of peaches and raspberries, which I fashioned into a cobbler.

By Saturday, our stomachs full, we set out to work on the bathroom. With the tiling finished, Chris and his dad rebuilt the toilet (a fairly disgusting task that occurred while his mom and I fixed lunch.) On Sunday, I removed the existing bathroom fixtures and commenced to scoff at the layers of wall paper beneath that wreaked of 1960. I would have pressed on but I was weirdly unmotivated and decided to nap.


*The one dish I've washed my hands of as a cook is rice. It was one of things Chris made for me on our first date. Although it was a little mushy because I was late, since then, he's proved to be the official Rice Cooker in the house.

A Room of a Different Color

(The Color Changing Room)

We have still not painted any of the rooms since I moved in. However, the botched tile work has been repaired, so this weekend we may pick up the brush. I stress over everything, and the color of the bathroom is an equal opportunity for scrutiny.

As happenstance has it, my boss left an article on my desk and the opposite side has a brilliant (though somewhat dated) story on color. "There's a wish for a more home- and nest-like world, particularly in terms of more natural chromatic color versus the high-tech color that saw an extensive movement in the late 1980s and much of the '90s," Margaret Walch, director of the Color Association of the U.S.

Ms. Walch was correct. Just shortly after the publication of the article, Chris painted his house hues reminiscent of twigs and "dirt," my sister bluntly put when she first visited. The trend followed suit in other areas, namely clothing fashion. Does anybody remember the coterie of bridesmaids donning chocolate gowns? When the love faded, you would always have pictures of your friends dressed as giant-sized chocolate bars.

The brown stuck. It's the predominate color in our house, revealing both comedy and truth in my reference to Chris' "man cave," and it's also a blaring (despite the muted tone) reminder of our pasts, which were without the other. Color, as much as tchotchkes, invoke the past, but we rarely acknowledge this fact. When I moved into A.'s old house on Pierce Avenue in Oxford, Mississippi, I purposefully left the bedroom the blue she and her sister painted it. The color reminded me of her. The rest of house was washed in color that had significant meaning, too. The Tiffany blue kitchen a nod to my prized Tiffany box that lived under my bed; the pink bathroom and curtains a farewell to girlhood.

Our house in Atlanta is warm -- cozy on most nights -- and though I still remember falling softly asleep on Chris' brown bed linens for the first time, since then we've arrived at a different color. We'll start with the bathroom first, and see where it leads us.

From the Cry Baby Room: Hot House Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire*

(Do we take care of plants or do they take care of us?)

The other day I moved my plants to the window and booked a flight to Isla de Mujeres. After a few evenings with Hothouse Flower and the 9 Plants of Desire by Margot Berwin, it was the only thing to do.

Lila Nova is a thirty-something ad woman in NYC disillusioned with the way her life’s unfolded: divorced, demoralized, and lonely. She moves into a nondescript apartment near Union Square’s greenmarket where she buys a bird of paradise. It’s an unusual choice for the location, but doing so brings color and drama to her lackluster life.

First, she’s introduced to David Exley, an attractive but rustic plant dealer at the greenmarket who tells her about the nine plants of desire. Then she stumbles on a Laundromat that doubles as a greenhouse where she meets its proprietor Armand. He offers her a cutting of a fire fern, one of the nine plants of desire. Lila takes advantage of Armand’s generosity and the result is devastating. In an attempt to make amends with him and with herself, she departs for the jungles of Mexico.

This is not Mexico for tourists. Instead, it’s a place steeped in magic and ritual, untamed and uncertain. As Lila goes deeper into the jungle she gets closer understanding her life. What is that she wants? What is it that we all want? More to the point, perhaps we all have a little Lila in us, that yearning to attain all that the nine plants represent (love, immortality, fortune, fertility, sexuality, life force, magic, freedom, adventure).

This is a captivating debut from Berwin, and one I debated whether to rush through or savor. (However, a quick search divulges more of Berwin's writing not to be missed.) If Hothouse Flower does anything, it asks us to slow down and consider that which we desire. And for those of us with a thumb more brown than green, you’ll think of your plants as beings, not just things.


*The guest room, where all the books in our house live, was affectionately dubbed the "cry baby" room when I moved in with Chris. The way I remember it we had our first argument and I went to the guest room (where my old bed resides) to sulk. It didn't last long. We made up, and since then, we reference going to the cry baby room when either of us need a little breather, or in my case, a good book to read.

Everything in Its Place

(Felder Rushing - A Study in Pratice & Patience)

C. wasn't kidding. I haven't posted in quite a while, and for good reason. No internet the last week (though I did sit in the parking lot of a chain pizza joint to download emails), and the house has been abuzz with activity.

My friend B. stopped by the third weekend of August and spent the night. We made Moroccan: steamed cod, couscous, and spiced French lentils. Then, proceeded to drink a bottle and half a of wine between the two of us so that a few hours later brownies seemed like a good idea. They were indeed, though I don't recommend making brownies while inebriated. I doused the mix with too much baking soda. B. was gracious as usual, and complimentary about the house, which had been frustrating me. We gave B. "the tour" and his enthusiasm for what we have planned charmed me. It reminded me of my first date with Chris. He gave me a tour of his house, and afterward, I was convinced I would be around to see all his ideas come to fruition.

The next morning we woke up early, said our farewells to B., and immediately began to work on the basement. By early afternoon, we were covered in dust and ready for lunch. Such hard work deserved - no, required - a hearty lunch. We split burgers at Vortex, then headed home for a long afternoon snooze.

Other distractions to date are a couple of articles I have due for Delta Magazine on the newest cook book Simple Fresh Southern from the Lee Bros. and the artist Jere Allen, a pushed back deadline for The Book, and preparations for first foray into volunteering for the Decatur Book Festival. I'm also still hammering out the details for Golden Apple Media.

I'm adding a new feature to The Blog. While I was out grocery shopping I ran into fellow writer, Itabari Njeri, who has a short story coming out in a noir collection edited by Dennis Lehane, as well as her first work of fiction from Akashic Books. Since writers need more support than ever, especially in the South, I'll be including book reviews in future posts, which seem appropriate for a blog from someone whose guestroom is actually The Bookroom. Up first will be Hot House Flower and the 9 Plants of Desire by Margot Berwin. Ms. Berwin's book seems incredibly appropriate to the South considering the relationships many of us have with plants. I'd like focus on books bent towards home or the idea of place, so let me know of anything I shouldn't miss.

(Image Source: NYT)

Head-to-Toe Vegetables

(Home is where the hearth is.)

A friend recently asked me where I get the inspiration for my posts and it's often the pictures I've collected (and failed to properly organize) on my computer. Sometimes they're recent, sometimes they're old. In fact, I'm planning to download all the images off my old computer and will be able to cull from that cache as well next month. I have a particular penchant for photographing other people's homes over the years, and I have amassed a healthy supply of narrative photographs.

(Tilapia with Green Onion Sauce and Basil Mint Pesto Penne Rigate)

This week, though, Chris suggested that I post images from our meals together. I had thought about doing this before, but it seems like a lot of people do it and I wanted to focus on the oft overlooked parts of the home, i.e. the bedroom, closets, gardens, etc. But after dinner tonight, when Chris bit into the tilapia we made together, I knew I had to document what has proven to be the "something" that keeps us in tandem with one another. I won't be able to document everything, but here is a start.

(Pickled Green Onions)

Inspired by the summer surplus of vegetables and fruits that turn before I have a chance to enjoy them, I've gotten into pickling again (remember the lemons.) Pickling adds another dimension to whatever fruit or vegetable you use, and in return, you get a couple of more weeks out of them (assuming you can resist using them before the week is over.) Following a simple recipe for ramps, I pickled the white parts of scallions. Most people throw the white part out and use the green, but with an Asian-style pickle, you can top rice or grilled meat to add a sweet and tangy finish.

(Balsamic Peaches)

The other condiment I made today was balsamic peaches. I simmered three whole peaches until I could slip them out of their skins, then halved them and returned to the pot with 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar, 1/2 water, and 1/4 cup sugar, a cinnamon stick, and 1 T black peppercorns. I turned the peaches over once and waited until the liquid reduced by half. They're best consumed within a few days, preferably with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a sprinkling of crushed amaretti cookies.