Verbum, Verba: The Studio Version

{Words To Go With Pictures}

Below, a few words and pictures from the studio yesterday. (Another Verbum, Verba post here.)

piebald |ˈpīˌbôld|

adjective
(of a horse) having irregular patches of two colors, typically black and white.

 

chela 1 |ˈkēlə|

noun ( pl. -lae |-lē; -lī|) Zoology
a pincerlike claw, esp. of a crab or other crustacean. Compare with chelicera.

 

torpid |ˈtôrpid|
adjective
mentally or physically inactive; lethargic : we sat around in a torpid state.
• (of an animal) dormant, esp. during hibernation.

 

victual |ˈvitl| dated

noun ( victuals)
food or provisions, typically as prepared for consumption.

 

obeisance |ōˈbāsəns; ōˈbē-|

noun
deferential respect : they paid obeisance to the prince. See note at honor.

Jump Shot

{Trampoline Antics at the Studio}

Before my sister flew back to San Fransisco she came to the studio to see my new paintings for an upcoming show. 

We looked at the paintings. We talked about what was good. What wasn't working. Where it was going.

We talked about Susan Rothenberg and how she never made the same painting twice.

We split an orange.

We listened to the Cowboy Junkies as the first rain clouds in six months rolled in over Joshua Tree.

And we jumped on the trampoline as the rain started falling. My sister jumped higher and higher.

There is nothing better, she decided, than jumping on a trampoline when it starts to rain in the desert. (There is nothing better, I decided, than being with my sister when it starts to rain in the desert.)

Paper Stars and Pumpkin Pie

{Thanksgiving at Roxaboxen}

I am all alone in our little house. Just me and the dogs. I'm supposed to be at work in the studio, and I'll go there soon, but I am enjoying this lukewarm cup of tea and the sweet, lingering feeling of having just had a big party. Both P's family and my family flew from all over the country to have Thanksgiving in our tiny desert house, and with everyone's help it was a most magical feast. Now the house is very quiet, but starting last Tuesday it was full of sisters, laughter and bags of groceries.

First, there was the moving of furniture and the hunting and gathering of candlesticks, chairs, and plates. There was the using of mason jars because we didn't have enough water glasses. Everyone cooked. Everyone did dishes. Everyone snuck scraps to the delighted doggies. Everyone loved the desert and the desert loved them back.

There were paper stars cut from kraft paper and hung from the ceiling by little sisters. And place mats cut from burlap because we didn't have enough real ones, which is what my grandmother used to do for big parties on her farm in CT. She thought rough burlap and heirloom silver made for quite a marvelous contrast on a table. I agree.

There was a handsome husband who was no longer in Iraq but in fact sitting in a red wicker throne across from me, and a reading of Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation from 1863. There was the holding of hands and the saying of grace. There was so much to be thankful for.

 

Then there was much toasting and laughter, and very good champagne. Here are the elegant hands that should have belonged to a French court calligrapher but belong to my sister. She is lucky to have such beautiful hands. I am lucky to have such a beautiful sister.

 

There was a low-riding corgi, gleefully scavenging for errant crumbs.

 

There was a whole table just for deserts. There was pumpkin pie, apple-cranberry pie, and a bourbon-soaked bundt cake. All utterly made from scratch by my father-in-law. And I wish I could give you a spoonful of that spiked cardamom whipped cream because it was *so* decadent. 

 

There was a very happy, very full daddy who got lost on his way back from the kitchen after clearing his desert plate. He was rumored to have fallen asleep on the sofa. Which appears to be true.

But most of all there was the joining of two families at one table and the eating of a free-range turkey stuffed with apples and rubbed with butter and herbs from my tiny desert garden. There was the ritualising of old traditions and the establishing of new ones. The reuniting of sisters and brothers and parents, and the breaking of bread with new friends. And the giving of thanks. So much thanks.

I hope your Thanksgiving was marvelous, and that no matter the size of your table or feast it was a blessing. Indeed.

Down What Road You May Be Traveling

{Happy Thanksgiving}

My family and P's family arrived in Joshua Tree late last night. The air was cold. The Pleiades paraded across the desert sky like sisters joined hands and dancing.  A neighbor's wood fire tickled my nose as I unloaded the last of the groceries from the truck in the dark. Even the dogs seem to anticipate something wonderful, something momentous about to happen. There is so much to be grateful for.

Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you are, down what road road you may be traveling.

Frivolous Stamping

{Letter Stamped Place Cards}

Martha Stewart makes me nervous, the way Stilton cheese makes some people nervous. Both are potent, rich, and not for the faint of heart. But I have to thank Marfa for these rad stamps she makes because now I have place cards for our Thanksgiving dinner.  P and I are having both our families out to the desert for T-gives, plus some friends, so suddenly our tiny house and my tiny hands are responsible for hosting and feeding FIFTEEN PEOPLE. I'm making bourbon maple sweet potatoes this very moment, and am about to start on the desert fig-cranberry sauce. So the ten unnecessary, frivolous minutes it took to play arts and crafts and stamp to my heart's content was a joyful respite from the kitchen (which looks like Quentin Blake's illustration from George's Marvelous Medicine).

 

Also, you won't believe where I found the stamps and where you can probably get them too (don't judge; we have limited options in the hi-dez). Maybe you have some creative ideas for place cards? Do tell! I loved this idea from Sunset Mag.

And P.S. my sister's name is actually Hope but everyone just calls her Hopie. I CANNOT wait to see everyone tomorrow!

Outrageously Delicious, Exceptionally Easy

{Ginger and Roasted Carrot Soup}

Happy almost-Thanksgiving! Please forgive me for being such a negligent blogger last week while I was on the road; posting from my Blackberry is simply beyond my blogging skill set. I'm hoping to make it up to you with this soup, which has quickly become our autumn staple because it is soo delicious and so easy to make. I roast the carrots and an apple, which gives the soup a deeper flavor, and saute a sweet onion and a diced tuber of ginger, throw it all in the food processor, add chicken stock, a bit of orange juice, a dash of curry and a tiding of cream. Heaven. I'm telling you, if you need a soup to keep everyone happy and warm this week give it a shot and I promise you'll be quite pleased with yourself. Cheers!

GINGER and ROASTED CARROT SOUP:

In roasting dish: Mix a little olive oil and salt and pepper over a jumbo bag of baby carrots plus one peeled and chopped MacIntosh apple. Roast on the middle rack for 1 hour at 400 degrees, tossing once if you remember.

In large stock pot, saute in olive oil until acids have cooked off:
1 good-sized sweet onion, diced (Maui, Vidalia, or Walla Walla)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 to 2 tablespoons fresh ginger, minced

In food processor, blend contents of stock pot plus apple and carrots until even consistency is achieved (depending on the size of your food processor you may have to do this in a few batches), then pour back into stock pot. The texture of this soup is wonderful, so don't over-process into mush.

On medium heat, add 2 32 oz. cartons of good chicken stock (if you make your own, awesome. I use Wolfgang Puck's free-range hormone-free chicken stock because it tastes like your mom made it and doesn't have all those nasty preservatives or that metallic taste.) Throw a few sprigs of thyme in there and a confident dash of good curry powder. Stir occasionally, letting soup thicken and the flavors ripen. Add a splash of orange juice if your carrots aren't sweet enough. Just before serving, add a cup or two of cream if you like (I like).

Serve hot. For an A+ presentation: in each bowl add a wee swirl of cream or sour cream or Greek yogurt, a crack of black pepper, and a leaf or sprig of whatever live herb you have on hand. Crusty rustic bread is a must. Enjoy!

Snowshoeing is for Maidens

{A Ya-Ya Weekend in Breckenridge}

I'm back after a weekend in Colorado where I celebrated my favorite pickler's impending mawwiage with snowshoeing and hottubbing. For most people the epithet "bachelorette party" evokes acid flashbacks of Hungarian male strippers and one too many tequila shots, the likes of which this weekend most certainly was not. So let's just call it a ya-ya weekend. (Which it most certainly was.)

 

There was the radiant Cowgirl Bride, awash in alpenglow as she sipped contraband whilst wearing The Marvelous Ring. Her Intended had the ring made in Egypt, sewed it into his pocket as they painted a house in Holland, and slipped it onto the Cowgirl Bride's finger as they picnicked in Paris.

 

There was a jackalope with Coralinean button eyes.

 

There was a very old clapboard house with icicles.

 

There were woods, lovely, dark and deep. And promises to keep.

 

There was a snowshoeing adventure. With goat brie, rosemary crackers, snausage, and Bailey's.

  

There was even yak jerky. Yes, from yaks, which are among my favorite even-toed ungulates.  The Cowgirl Bride and I met in Mongolia, and we enjoy the unusual pleasure of having bonded over yak-related activities. (See yak, milking of; wrangling of; nuzzling with). A friendship borne of yak-riding is surely a friendship for life. Although I was delighted to try some American-raised yak jerky, I must admit I was slightly dismayed that this yak-related activity involved yak, eating of. 

I hope yours was a good weekend. Perhaps it involved a bottle of Bailey's, too. I am still rosy-cheeked, windblown, and miss the Cowgirl Bride and the snowshoeing maidens most intensely.