Since I have all these new renovation projects at our house (I hope to post pictures of the kitchen soon!), I've signed up for an Audible account. Painting and removing wallpaper is much more fun when you have an audiobook to listen to.
One of my favorites so far has been Stardust by Neil Gaiman.
Everything about this book was right up my alley. The full title is Stardust: Being a Romance Within The Realms of Faerie and that is exactly what you get. A charming, old-school fairy tale packed with adventure, magic, and romance. I admit I was skeptical with the billing "a fairy tale for adults," but I fell head over heels in the first ten minutes.
The story follows Tristan Thorne, who is determined to do whatever it takes to win the heart of the girl he loves. When she suggests (rather flippantly) that he catch her a fallen star, he crosses over into Faerie to do just that. Only the star is nothing like the cold stone he thought it would be, and Tristan's journey causes him to rethink everything he knows to be true in the world.
Intertwined with Tristan's story are the stories of other (more dangerous) travelers who are also searching for the star. As you can imagine, all the plot lines come together in an exciting, highly satisfying climax.
To top it all off, Neil Gaiman has to be the most charming audiobook reader around. I don't know that I'll ever be able to read another book of his in paper format, and believe me, I am a paper format kind of girl.
Highly recommended for anyone looking for a bit of love and magic.
Okay, so I'm a little picky about my desserts. For example, I've never found a lemon bar recipe I was fully satisfied with. Until now.
This week, I tried a concoction I found on Leite's Culinaria, and if you have been looking for the perfect lemon bar recipe, look no further. Sure, it's more time-intensive than the boxed version, but this lemon filling is melt-in-your-mouth perfect: super fresh and not too sweet. The shortbread bottom uses powdered sugar instead of granulated which makes it a little bit softer, and if you let the edges of the crust brown, you get a crisp, delicious, butter crunch. Yum!
I made a few modifications to make things easier (and I rarely bake with salt, so I took that out of the crust, but left the pinch in the filling). I also made a few notes in the text of the recipe. If you want the original version of the recipe, please head over to Leite's Culianaria.
Melt-in-your-mouth Lemon Bars
For the crust
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar, plus more to decorate the finished bars
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened but still cool, cut into 1-inch pieces
For the lemon filling
7 large egg yolks, plus 2 large eggs
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2/3 cup lemon juice (from 4 or 5 medium lemons), plus 1/4 cup finely grated zest
Pinch of salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
3 tablespoons heavy cream
Confectioners sugar
CRUST: 1. Spray a 9-inch square baking pan with
nonstick cooking spray (Note: I use butter for better flavor and texture).
2. Place the flour and confectioners’ sugar in a food processor and process briefly. Add the butter and
process to blend, 8 to 10 seconds, then process until the mixture is
pale yellow and resembles coarse meal, about three 1-second pulses. (Note: I did this by hand.)
Sprinkle the mixture into the prepared pan and press firmly with your
fingers into an even layer over the entire pan bottom. Refrigerate for
30 minutes. (Note: I refrigerated for 15.)
3. Adjust an oven rack to the middle
position and heat the oven to 350°F. Bake the crust until golden
brown, about 20 minutes. (Note: I cooked it a bit longer until the edges were brown.)
FILLING:
4. In a mediumbowl, whisk
together the yolks and whole eggs until combined, about 5 seconds. Add
the granulated sugar and whisk until just combined, about 5 seconds. Add
the lemon juice, zest, and salt; whisk until combined, about 5 seconds.
Transfer the mixture to a medium saucepan, add the butter
pieces, and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden
spoon, until the curd thickens to a thin sauce-like consistency, about 5 minutes.
Stir in the heavy cream; pour the
curd into the warm crust immediately.
5. Bake until the filling is shiny and
opaque and the center 3 inches jiggle slightly when shaken, 10 to 15
minutes. Cool on a wire rack to room temperature, about 45 minutes.Cut into 2 1/2 inch squares, wiping the
knife clean between cuts as necessary. Sieve confectioners’ sugar over
the bars, if desired.
KCRW recently hosted Irish singer Lisa Hannigan live in the studio. I know her beautiful voice from Damien Rice's albums, but I had no idea that she recorded a brand new solo album in 2011. It looks like I need to come out from under my rock and go listen to it. What a voice!
Every year, I'm on pins and needles to find out who won the ALA awards. The Newbery, Caldecott, and Printz Awards are like the kidlit Oscars, and I'm the giggly fangirl who can't wait for all the celebrity gossip.
So you can imagine how much I loved Publishers Weekly for printing an article on where the winners were when they received "The Call." I love being privy to the details: Jack Gantos' brief hope that it wasn't going to be his mom on the other line, Chris Raschka's search for his lost cell phone, John Corey Whaley's shock when he received a second call.
And of course I have to hoot and holler for my favorites. Chris Raschka: Hooray! Two decades after its first publication, Charlie Parker Played Be Bop is still in my Top 10 picture books of all time.
Last week, when I was stuck on the couch with a cold, I watched tons of old movies, including the 1951 classic, An American in Paris. When I need a pick-me-up, there are few things I like better than to watch Gene Kelly dance. And while I love his more serious pieces, I'm partial to the moments when it seems like he's just goofing around. Somehow, in the sillier pieces, the athleticism and originality seems all the more stunning (and of course, fun).
I listened this weekend to Etta James' Mystery Lady: Songs of Billie Holiday and it put me in mind of Corneilius Eady's poem about Billie Holiday. I love the anguish of this poem. The wish to take back sadness and pain, to change the course of history. And the realization that, like it or not, our histories--where we come from and the things we go through--shape who we are. They shape what we bring to the world.
Kevin told me over the phone this morning that Etta James died, and my sister emailed to say "I just heard the news...thinking of you guys!" Isn't it funny how the musicians, writers, and artists we love can become such a part of our lives that we think of them almost like family? We carry their words, songs, and images with us into the most important moments of our lives. They become part of our own stories.
In December of 1999, I was finishing up my last year of graduate school. Kevin and I had been dating for a year, but he had finished his degree the previous spring and moved back to Los Angeles. He wanted me to come visit for his birthday, but I (ever frugal and goal-oriented) dragged my feet. It would cost a lot. I had my thesis to finish. Come, he said. It'll be worth it.
When I arrived in L.A., I opened a newspaper and gasped. "Etta James is playing at the House of Blues this weekend!" I cried. "Let's go!" Kevin shook his head and pointed to the SOLD OUT notice stamped on the ad. Besides, he had other plans for that night.
Plans, indeed. First, he took me to a swanky restaurant where I had the most elaborate dessert of my life. A cream puff swan in a pond of caramel next to a chocolate gazebo. I kid you not. It was art of the most delicious kind. And with my dessert, the waiter delivered a sweet anniversary card Kevin had made up ahead of time. Aw.
Then, we went to the Griffith Observatory, my favorite place to visit in L.A. Not only does the park figure prominently in "A Rebel Without a Cause," but it also has the best view in L.A. (you can actually see stars--the real kind), and it has endlessly fascinating scientific games and exhibits. Unfortunately, the Observatory was closing in 15 minutes, so I made a beeline for the scientific games. I wanted to check out at least a couple exhibits and get a look through the telescope before the building closed.
Kevin had other ideas.
In fact, Kevin had been acting weird all night. Sweaty palms, easily distracted. And now he didn't want to look at the scientific games. He wanted to walk up the hill. The hill? But the telescope would be locked up in a matter of minutes! Kevin pulled me away from the crowd so we could look up at the stars. And then he went down on one knee and held out a sparkly ring. Honestly. After a few tearful kisses, we even had time to go look at the moon through the telescope before the park closed.
As we drove home, we neared the House of Blues and I sighed. The night we'd had was better than an Etta James concert, but still...
And that's when Kevin turned into the parking lot. He'd had tickets to the concert all along. We walked in, a new ring on my finger, a flutter in my heart, and listened to Etta James sing. Only she didn't just sing. She crooned, she howled, she poured everything she had into those songs. Honesty, frustration, sadness, and joy. I will never forget that on one of the most important nights of my life, Etta James let it all out for us to share.
“A lot of people think the blues is depressing,” she told The Los
Angeles Times in 1992, “but that’s not the blues I’m singing. When I’m
singing blues, I’m singing life. People that can’t stand to listen to
the blues, they’ve got to be phonies.” (From today's NYT)
This is my favorite version of the great Ellington tune "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," recorded in May 1940. At that time, it was an instrumental piece called "Never No Lament." After it became a hit, Bob Russell wrote the lyrics we know and love so well, and the song title was changed to fit the lyrics.
I have a simple, stripped down version of this tune that I love to teach my piano students because invariably, they fall in love with the melody and the swing. Even the ones who normally drag their feet when presented with a tough new piece break down after a minute or two and exclaim, "This is FUN!"
Last week, Walter Dean Myers was sworn in as National Ambassador for Young People's Literature. I was so pleased with the previous two choices for this position. Jon Scieszka, the nation's first Ambassador for Young People's Literature is a comedic genius who is particularly good at capturing the imaginations (and funny bones) of boy readers, and Katherine Paterson has a depth and beauty to her prose that has been transporting readers for decades.
The choice of Walter Dean Myers as the 2012-13 ambassador is equally inspired. Myers does not shy away from tough material. His work is varied, but his young adult books often deal with the grittiest realities of urban life: gangs, prison, war, drugs. He's not overly graphic, but he deals honestly with the emotions and intensity that many kids live through each day, and he manages to infuse his work with a sense of hope and strength through the struggle. We need this type of honesty as much as we need laughter and beauty.
It's not surprising, then, that Myers plans to take a brutally honest, hard line in his approach to the ambassadorship. There's a short interview on NPR with Myers in which he says his motto as ambassador will be "Reading Is Not Optional." He explains that too often we think of book as "nice, but not necessary." But the world, he explains, has changed. The job options for non-readers are disappearing fast, and Myers believes you can no longer do well in life without reading well.
I'm certain that Myers will make an impact as ambassador, and I'm interested to follow the work he will do to reach children who are not being reached today.
I've been in bed for a couple days with a bad cold, so I'm going to keep this post short and sweet. For those of you who asked where I got the wall decals in my new music room, I found them on Etsy.com, of course. Be careful, though. Browsing Etsy can turn into an addiction!
For the singing birds above my piano, I mixed and matched two of the bird decals available at Planet Wall Art's Etsy shop. Here are the birds (I flipped the tree around and swapped the birds once they arrived, and you can choose your colors, so I chose royal blue and navy), plus couple other fun designs I bookmarked in case I ever need a stack of elephants in my house:
This Monday, I'll be teaching and singing some songs of the Civil Rights Movement at the Bowdoin College Children's Celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.
Children's book authors Charlotte Agell and Rohan Henry will join me for a program of "illustrated storytelling",
music, and crafts in remembrance of Dr. King.
The program is geared for ages 5 and up, there will be refreshments, and admission is free. What's not to like? I hope to see you there!
Monday, January 16, 2012
10:30 a.m. - 12:00 p.m.
Daggett Lounge, Thorne Dining Hall
Please check the Bowdoin College
website or call 725-3000, option 3 for event information in case of inclement weather.
Here's one of the songs we'll be learning (though no one can shred like Sister Rosetta, especially not me!):
These days, I'm working on a rough draft of a new novel. The toughest thing for me is that I have a brutal inner editor. The needling kind who reads over my shoulder and whispers constant insults until I end up spending three hours on three sentences.
That's no way to write a novel. So this month, as part of my long list of New Year's Resolutions, I'm attempting to kick that little guy out of the room. As my inspiration, I've been revisiting Anne Lamott's book on writing, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.
Yesterday, I came across this quote that I particularly loved. It's helpful to know that all writers (probably all human beings) have that rotten inner editor. It also made me laugh...a helpful reminder to loosen up and have fun with the process.
“I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully
and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down
routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them
writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but we do not
like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or
that God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned
this to my priest friend Tom, he said that you can safely assume you’ve
created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the
same people you do.)”
One of the first things I wanted to do in our new house was create a beautiful music room where my students and I can easily find inspiration
Even though it took a monk's level of patience to take down the wall paper, and my arm felt like it was going to fall off from putting four coats of paint on all the dark trim, and the banner was tedious and overly-ambitious, it was well worth the effort. In fact, I'm so pleased, I have to share a few before and after pictures.
A few weeks ago, Kevin and I drove up to Damariscotta to pick up an old 1960's stereo console we found on Craigslist. This weekend, we got the turntable working and I've been having a blast playing through old records. That familiar hiss and pop is like a time machine: instant childhood nostalgia!
The first record I pulled out was by Erroll Garner, one of the musicians who helped jazz music cross over from bars and clubs into concert halls in the 1940s and 50s. It always amazes me to remember that he was self-taught and never learned to read music. In fact, I once read a story about how a Pittsburgh musicians guild refused his membership for years because he couldn't read notation.
Happy 2012! Over the past few months, I've taken some time off to get settled in my new home and finish a revision of my novel. There are still plenty of boxes to be unpacked and writerly tinkering to be done, but I'm back in the blogosphere and excited for the new year!
To kick things off, here is a poem by U.S. Poet Laureate, Philip Levine. In 2012, I hope we will all remember to "love this life because it is like no other."
Let Me Begin Again
by Philip Levine
Let me begin again as a speck
of dust caught in the night winds
sweeping out to sea. Let me begin
this time knowing the world is
salt water and dark clouds, the world
is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn
comes slowly and changes nothing. Let
me go back to land after a lifetime
of going nowhere. This time lodged
in the feathers of some scavenging gull
white above the black ship that docks
and broods upon the oily waters of
your harbor. This leaking freighter
has brought a hold full of hayforks
from Spain, great jeroboams of dark
Algerian wine, and quill pens that can't
write English. The sailors have stumbled
off toward the bars of the bright houses.
The captain closes his log and falls asleep.
1/10'28. Tonight I shall enter my life
after being at sea for ages, quietly,
in a hospital named for an automobile.
The one child of millions of children
who has flown alone by the stars
above the black wastes of moonless waters
that stretched forever, who has turned
golden in the full sun of a new day.
A tiny wise child who this time will love
his life because it is like no other.
I thought for sure by fall I'd be all unpacked, moved in to our new house, and raring to go.
And yet.
Here we are in October and most of my home is still in boxes or strewn about. I've even resorted to using the word "squalor" to describe my current emotional and household affairs. As in: "I am living in SQUALOR!" Which isn't entirely accurate (I have a lovely roof over my head), but feels awfully satisfying when you shout it in a voice filled with dramatic despair.
This all goes to say that my blog break will be a bit longer. Until I can tamp down a bit more of this squalor.
Last night, I attended a talk by legendary musical theater lyricist and songwriter, Stephen Sondheim. It was fascinating to hear stories about how he started writing for musicals (and TV and film) and his encounters with Oscar Hammerstein, John Ford, and Leonard Bernstein (or, as Sondheim called him, "Lenny").
Last night, I loved the story he told about bringing the first musical he ever wrote to Oscar Hammerstein. Sondheim was 15 at the time, and the play was all about little events at his high school (it included songs like "I'll Meet You at the Donut"). He told us he could hardly sleep the night he handed off the play. He was convinced that Hammerstein was going to be so excited to produce it that they'd get started right away and of course it was going to be a Broadway sensation: Fifteen Year Old Writes Hit Play! Here's the rest of the story as told to Adam Guetell:
This week, I'm back to blogging after a long hiatus from all things online. Kevin and I moved this summer so I decided to take some time off. And guess what? It can be done, people: I did not blog, tweet, or facebook for nearly three months! (Well, barely. I did log on to write a post about my ill-fated softball career for the ACLA Summer Reading blog.)
While it was good to have a break, I'm glad to climb out of the avalanche of (still) unpacked boxes and return to some semblance of normalcy and routine. And speaking of the ACLA, I'm back to my schedule of writing monthly book reviews for them as well. Hope you all had a great summer!
One of my favorite reading experiences this summer was actually not a reading experience at all. While I was pulling vintage 1980s wallpaper off the walls of what is now my new music room, I listened to the audiobook of Catherynne M. Valente's The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making.
Here's what you should know: everything about this book is remarkably endearing.
One day, a young girl named September finds herself whisked away from Omaha and into Fairyland by the Green Wind. What follows is a quest story that is full of so many unexpected and marvelous twists and turns that I hardly noticed my messy wallpaper task at all. I was completely caught up in September's new world.
Words that pop into my mind are: delightful, wonderful, joyful. But these words can be saccharine and aren't what I mean to say at all. Valente's book is filled with delight and wonder and joy in the old-fashioned, hushed sense of the words. Like a walk through the woods when the sun is slanted just right through the trees and that odd noise could be a deer, or a trick of the wind, or the strange laughter and music of an honest-to-goodness fairy circle.
Valente's Fairyland is fantasy, but it has more in common with old-fashioned Faerie stories or Tolkien than it does with the modern fantasy stories of Harry Potter and the like. It is surprising and challenging and very, very strange. Valente manages to create a sense of wonder that feels like it's from another time, and yet September is so relevant, so likable, droll, and modern, I'm certain kids of all ages and times will be able to relate.
Apparently, there are plenty of people out there who did not like this book. Well, that's why there's something for everyone, I guess. (For more on this, you can read the effervescent Betsy Bird's review and discussion of the divisive nature of Fairyland at her School Library Journal blog.) As for me, this goes into my 5-star top-ten for the year category. Hands down.