Finny,

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day! In high school, part of my student council responsibilities included fundraising. My junior and senior years, I led the March of Dimes walk-a-thon team and coordinated coin drive contests between the classes. This provided a great chance to be on the morning announcements daily, and of course, because I was far too secure and far too silly, I did these announcements in an Irish brogue, pretending to be the Lucky Charms leprechaun. By the end, I usually had the principal laughing so hard at me (and with me) that she had to stop for a moment before she could finish with the lunch menu. Some 3,000 kids at my high school and I’m doing an Irish comedy act on the morning announcements; my mother wondered why finding a prom date from a different school was really the only option.

Of course, still overly secure and equally silly, I am wearing a green dress today and passing out the loaves of Irish Soda Bread I baked for our One Yard Wonder + Recipe Challenge. Even with matching correspondence, this seems like a lurch toward normalcy by comparison. I added cranberries, cinnamon and pepitas to the recipe. I’m not a huge fan of the messy, knotty loaves, but they smelled amazing coming out of the oven. Next time, I’ll bake them in a bread pan.

It’s a good thing you love your friends a green shade of ridiculous, lassie.

Wishing you luck and rainbows (in marshmallow form),

Kelli

I feel like that should be an extra verse in the Beastie Boy’s “She’s Crafty!” No surprise I love that being “thrifty” is once again a prized virtue. In an odd way, I feel like I’m honoring my grandmothers and their struggles through the Great Depression by honing my own frugalista style today. Not to mention my mother is the creator of the coupon. Kinda like Al Gore is the creator of the Internets. One of my most distinct memories as a child was playing secretary and writing down each item she’d buy at each grocery store to save pennies with coupons. The thrift of that woman is unbelievable. I’ve got a couple girlfriends who are fine tuning their couponing skills as well and the pennies are stacking up. Mini spends 1/3 of what she used to feeding her family by sticking with coupons. One third!

With this spirit in mind, I took an hour after church Sunday to comb a couple new-to-me thrift stores to see if I could find some champagne glasses and cake stands for the upcoming Spring Party. I don’t have the room or the patience to buy stuff just to buy. If it isn’t pretty and useful, I’m not going to make room for it in my already otherwise full kitchen. Also, until recently, I’ve been anti-collection. Collections of tea cups, beanie babies, blue glass, quilts and a dozen other nicknacks grace my parent’s home. To me, they seem like yet another shelf to dust. To my mother, they are a life of decorating a home with things that she finds beautiful.

In contrast, I own little. I dust rarely. I like to think I could flee in the night in my car and get 95% of what I love materially in the trunk.

That said, I’ve decided a collection of cake stands — think depression era glass and other prized antiques — would be perfect to display on top of the fridge. Alas, I didn’t find a single one. I did find champagne glasses and racks and racks of vintage linens, many of which are hand embroidered. I had a hard time deciding which to purchase and had to be mindful of how I would use them. (Also, it made a sad to think of the linen closet cleaned out after an older woman’s death and dropped off at this store. There was so much fine needlework discarded and I couldn’t help but think of the many happy events where these linens had graced the table.) I wanted to take home all three racks. But where would I store them? And really, how many embroidered napkins does one girl need?

Apparently the answer is 11, including two from Vera’s line and several that happen to be embroidered with my last initial. Any guesses on the grand total for: 1 vintage Pucci-inspired apron, 2 embroidered pillow cases, 11 napkins, 2 table cloths, 2 embroidered bread cloths and 11 champagne glasses? (And a partridge in a pear tree…)

With the $4 I spent on Oxiclean to get these babies back in bright white shape: $40. Giddyup.

Everything for the Spring Party is coming up roses, and I hope there is a sweet little old lady looking down from above and smiling wildly that her artful hard work is being celebrated.

~K

There was a knitting frenzy underway the last couple of days. A knitting frenzy that makes me blush a bit with confusion. I simply don’t understand why people stare like I’m crazy for knitting in public. It’s KNITTING. Not porn. Not flossing my teeth. Not clipping my toe nails. We are talking about two innocent needles and a ball of yarn. It’s a silly hobby and certainly not that archaic. I’m not carving wood, staining glass or weaving a basket. (Although, to be honest, those do sound fun.) Knitting in a bowling alley, at a stop light, waiting between yoga classes, before church starts? This makes as much social sense as everyone on a smart phone in the same settings. But I end up with a cute hat.

I went to a fun baby shower yesterday and have several more I’m looking forward to. I mentioned a few days ago that I wanted to replicate a cupcake hat I’d seen online. Here is my take — complete with a cherry on top. (Cupcake Baby Hat pattern pdf, for those interested.)

And this adult bell hat is another reproduction from an REI find for my friend Tiffany. She found a hat at the store she really liked, but it was stupidly priced. She took a camera photo and asked if I could make something similar. I don’t know how to crochet, so I called my mom in Texas and we agreed to work on it together. I knit the cap, mailed it to my mama and she added the crochet edge. It is one of my favorite colors and I hope it will serve Tiff well in the cold Midwest. I’m hoping she sends a photo!

~K

In the process, I ran across some pretty fabulous photos:

My parents are so damn cute in this photo! My mom says it was taken at the state fair when they were in high school. I love how soft focus glam my she is and how long my dad’s hair is.

Speaking of hair — mama mia! This is her high school graduation photo. Meow! So pretty!

Back to my secrets,

K

Talked some friends into joining me for dinner this week at Gallo Blanco. If you live in Phoenix and haven’t made it in for a meal yet, andale! The food is great, the staff is kind and the atmosphere is eclectic.   The fish tacos, in particular, are my favorite. Also, the guacamole is so, so good — rivals that of the locally famous guac at Barrio Cafe.

These chilaquiles were gone before I could come up for a breath. Yum.

~K

I’m hosting a small brunch in a couple weeks to celebrate Easter. These invitations are what spurred the idea.

My take is less colorful, but inspired. I’ve had my eye on the bird stamp for a while. Now, to hunt down some champagne glasses, table cloths and cake stands. Ebay? Borrow? Any great sources or suggestions?

If I’ve learned anything from the community dinners of the last few years, it’s not to be intimidated by hosting small gatherings. As long as there is is food and good music, nearly everyone will be happy. (And those who aren’t? They may not ever be, under any circumstance.) The extra details — like those above — are simply icing on the cake. In truth, most just want to come, relax and not think about whatever chores they have waiting at them home and work.

I’ll be putting together a tutorial for how to host a fun, practical and memorable gathering; apologies to those who find this pretentious, but I’ve had many inquiries in how to throw a party on a budget. Really, having others over doesn’t require a lot of money, but the creativity to buy, borrow and improvise as necessary.

Now, someone talk me out of buying this. And this. And these!

Choking on my own words,

Kelli

Yesterday, our sermon was focused on compassion. The minister — Jeff — said compassion is often confused for charity or pity. Really, compassion is trying to understand the other side and find similarities, not providing platitudes or feeling superior by providing for someone less fortunate.

My weekend included a blur of work and fun. The choreography of my schedule lately has left me running from one thing to another and not paying enough attention to what I’m saying or how I’m acting. (Yes, I’m my biggest critic.) After having fun with friends at the ASU basketball game Saturday afternoon, we ended up at our friend’s sports bar drinking wine and eating nachos.

Come on, who wouldn’t want to drink with that adorable face? Bec and I sat outside on the patio enjoying our time while the boys went back to the game for the second half. We hadn’t caught up in a while and it was so nice to enjoy the weather and just have girl time. Then I looked at my watch and realized I was to be at a debate about a mile away in 10 minutes. Of course, I’m wearing heels and jeans. Saying a quick goodbye, I raced (teeter tottered) through campus to Gammage Theater to hear Karl Rove debate Howard Dean.

(Cameras weren’t allowed and this is the best I could do without a flash.)

When Karl Rove took the stage, I joined in the frenzy and booed. I’m not proud of it, but in the moment, with a couple glasses of wine under my belt and a lot of anger about the war brimming in my heart — I screamed along with the rude masses. My friend Juliann sat next to me with disgust. It was fairly immediate that I realized I was acting like an idiot and should have given the man a chance to speak.

In fact, the debate brought out the ugliest in the crowd. While I then limited my reactions to appropriate clapping, there were dozens of interruptions from people shouting from the balconies. It made me sad that Tempe portrayed itself in such a crass way.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning, still confused and angered by a lot that was said at the debate, that I realized finding a common ground politically in our country is going to take heaps of compassion. I should have been merciful. I should have been kind. I should have listened more clearly for the similarities, rather than clapping at each of the differences I thought made me superior.

So, I don’t like a lot of Rove’s policy decisions. I remain steadfast that war isn’t the answer and that there must have been another way to handle our conflicts with Iraq and Afghanistan. I also think the amount of money we are spending on warfare is criminal and could be the final straw for our economy’s back. But, there were things he said that I did agree with too. I am a big believer in personal responsibility first and foremost. I think government should be smaller and community should be strengthened to help citizens in need. I think our immigration policy is failing wildly.

I look forward to having lunch with my friend Dena this week; she was at the debate and our political views couldn’t be more different. I plan on speaking less and listening more. There has to be a middle ground.

~K

Angel food cake for the golfer in the guest room*; Matty starts a new tournament today. Go Pink Golfer Go!

Current Mind Candy List:

~A friend of a friend has a book coming out this week that looks pretty fantastic. I’m all for supporting new novelists, and hope to get my hands on a copy of this soon. Doesn’t it look great?

~I have a whopping total of 10 billion friends having babies this Fall. In all seriousness, I anticipate making/buying a least a dozen gifts between now and Thanksgiving. Watching my girlfriends transform into mothers is magical. I marvel at their maturity and selflessness. Plus, all these little ones mean more tiny toes to kiss and wee ones to rock. I’m hoping to create my own pattern for a baby hat that will look a little something like this.

~The garden is growing like mad. The recent rains we’ve had have pushed the chiles, planted by seed, and the tomatoes, transplanted, into awkward pre-pubescent teenagers, with limbs arching one way or the other and maturity right around the corner. Once upon a January, I thought a nursery of 23 tomato plants was a smart idea. We are soon to have an overgrown dormatory — a teeming tomato hedge. I think an Italian dinner party or two is in store.

~And finally, I’ve been wildly disappointed in myself because of the dozen Lent-related habits I planned to change, I’ve kept with only a few. I know I’m not super-human, but I never cease to push myself to cape-worthy behavior. Then this morning, during another drippy yoga session, the solution dawned on me. Rather than spend time beating myself up (a hobby I’d really rather abandon all together), I could simply start over. If Christianity is about anything, it’s about your choice to start fresh. So today, I reset. And you know what? I feel remarkably less unencumbered. Reminds me of a brilliant bumper sticker I saw in traffic last week: “Faith is a journey, not a guilt trip.”

Giddy up!

~K

* The Golfer in the Guest Room sounds like a torrid Jackie Collins’ book, right?

That Bikram yoga challenge* is, in all seriousness, doing some good. Today was class 38 of 60. I’m down a couple pounds, have newly discovered muscles in my stomach and an empowered state of mind that I can imagine is highly annoying to those who spend time with me outside of the sweat lodge yoga studio.

Recent observations:

1. If there is an instructor you truly dislike, it is probably because he/she pushes you to be better. Give in. Suck it up. Keep taking his/her class.

2. Figure out where the scapula is on your body and keep this in mind. I’ve taken plenty of science classes and had no idea . It’s pointed out as an area you should be thinking of about 10,000 times per class. Scapula = shoulder blade. Got it.

3. If you are taking an afternoon class, eat at least 4 hours prior. (Better yet, just take the morning class.) Otherwise, the first Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Janushirasana** – Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee Pose — will result in revisiting your lunch. I haven’t yet figured out the best timing, which means I’m eating less; nothing is worse than vomiting in public.

4. My car smells like yoga. My closet smells like yoga. The workout clothes I wore last week and have since washed twice smell like yoga. It is a particularly distinct combination of sweat, feet and incense. Sounds disgusting, but in a very weird way you begin to love it.

5. Coco water is just about the most refreshingly powerful thing I’ve ever drank. After class, I sip one of these 60 calorie containers and it’s like someone plugged my battery back in. The potassium is high so you don’t cramp and it is all natural.

6. Aside from the physical and flexibility stuff I can do all of a sudden, the mental side of this challenge has been a bit of a roller coaster. There are weeks where I am so fired up. I race in the door, throw my sticker on the 60-day challenge chart and burst into class ready to namaste it like the best of the spandex-clad monkeys. And there has been one week in particular where it took sheer grace to get my completely exhausted frame to class each day, pushing through one sore pose to the next. Thankfully, I didn’t give up.

I couldn’t.

There are stickers.

And a chart.

And if there is one thing this type A spandex-clad monkey loves, it’s public accountability and a challenge that seems pretty insane. Even if I have nightmares where people randomly shout “LOCK YOUR KNEE!”

yogi in training,

k

* I almost titled this post, “Namaste that, Bitches!”

** Trying saying that three times fast. Jeez, Bikram. I bet you rock at Scrabble.

The March recipe is Irish Soda Bread — to celebrate St. Patrick’s command that all snakes be banished from Ireland. (Any man who hates snakes as much as I do is worthy of homemade carbs.)

(Modified) Cook’s Illustrated Irish Soda Bread:

Ingredients:

Directions:

Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat oven to 400 degrees.

Whisk flours, sugar, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt in large bowl.

Work softened butter into dry ingredients with fork or fingertips until texture resembles coarse crumbs.

Add buttermilk and stir with a fork just until dough begins to come together. Add dried fruit.

Turn out onto flour-coated work surface; knead until dough just becomes cohesive and bumpy, 12 to 14 turns. (Do not knead until dough is smooth, or bread will be tough.)

Pat dough into a round about 6 inches in diameter and 2 inches high; place on greased or parchment-lined baking sheet or in cast-iron pot, if using.

Place the loaf on a cookie sheet and cut a cross shape into the top.

Bake until golden brown and a skewer inserted into center of loaf comes out clean or internal temperature reaches 180 degrees, 40 to 45 minutes.

Remove from oven and brush with melted butter; cool to room temperature, 30 to 40 minutes

I look forward to hearing about your baking and sewing adventures. Don’t forget to post to the One Yard Wonders photo pool!

Fin, let us know what the sewing project is!

~ K