You Know Farmers' Markets Are Trendy When...

They inspire a whole line of toys available through the Pottery Barn catalog... including your very own play-reusable cloth shopping bag.

Not that I'm not all down with that – but maybe not in regards to a room full of playware at Pottery Barn prices. Certainly ads ammunition to the "farmers markets are elitist" backlash out there.

Meanwhile, I stopped at Whole Foods last night and had to go past rows and rows of tomatoes from Canada and – I think – even New Zealand (?) before I could find something grown locally. In the Mid-Atlantic in September. There was a measly little display of picked over, underripe tomatoes tucked away back near the fruit section (I know, tomatoes are considered fruits, but really). I bet it would have been easier, and tastier, to walk back outside and start knocking on people's doors to find a real tomato.

Reboot

Life throws crazy things at you... and while the last nine months haven't been (mostly) tragic, they've been life-altering and exhausting. Here's to rebooting the blog, and rebooting my life to boot.

On Forgetting

Today is the 65th aniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and if I hadn't pulled up the local paper on my computer this morning I would have had no idea. Sure, I probably would have heard something on the radio later today, but the date itself is something I never remember, the event a minor blip on my radar, if even that. I'm guessing that it's that way for a lot of Americans — especially those of us who weren't alive in 1941 — and it is just plain wrong. Whatever happened to the day that was supposed to live in infamy? Does the same fate await September 11th? Already the pain and the shock has diminished, the date invoking more of a dull ache instead of a sharp chill up my spine. And that's natural, I suppose — all trauma fades with time, and we would be in tough straits as humans if it didn't. But we shouldn't forget these things, shouldn't let the raw truth of history get swept under the rug while we debate celebrity misdoings and plan vacations for long weekends meant to mark solemn occassions. Which brings me to my next question — how do we remember? Making a day a national holiday merely creates a vacation day, a day with the kids home from school and parents shuffling child care, a day when those employed by the service industry have to not only work, but work harder to fill the demand of the vacationing middle class. Can you imagine what kind of shopping day Pearl Harbor Day would become? Only 18 days until Christmas — I can see the sales fliers now. So what do we do? How can the lives lost be unforgettable, how can these things become sacred? How can we never forget?

Specimen Days

I wish I could see the world like Michael Cunningham. Or at least read like him. Because who else could spin such fantastical novles out of Virginia Woolf and Walt Whitman, two celebrated writers that I struggle with reading? I was lucky to be pointed towards his work over a decade ago, and have been bowled over by each of his novels. His first two books were more domestic in nature, coming-of-age stories that spanned decades and told the tales of families both born and made. With The Hours and Specimen Days his work has become more literary and more complex (not that this makes them better than his first two books, but you can see his style and skill evolving). His thoughts are wrapped in this neatly wound prose but then suddenly something explodes out of the swiftly moving storyline and you have to stop devouring the pages and let it wash over you. I thought The Hours was impressive and well-written, and I couldn't put it down, but I prefered the sweeping nature and overpowering emotion of Flesh & Blood. Something about The Hours was ultimately a little too neat for me, a little too clever. But Specimen Days has simply astounded me. The first two stories are amazingly thought out and perfectly crafted, and lines of Whitman dance through the pages and bowl you over with their context—not to mention the ways that they are interpreted by the characters. The third story wasn't as powerful for me, which may be a matter of taste, but the first two still haunt me. I feel as if I am still absorbing their impact, their meaning.

Thankful for...

• My husband and son
• Trees and flowers
• The beauty of water
• Good books
• Yoga (especially my favorite teacher and studio)
• People who believe in me
• Yarn and art supplies
• Millions of colors
• The science of baking
• Warm hearths

What are you thankful for?

Extreme Yoga

Is what happens when you do yoga with a four-year-old. Turns out you need a lot of props, and when you least expect it a train comes roaring through. Ever tried to meditate while riding on a pretend speeding train?

Decades of sophisticated technological advancement...

and I still can't find a cough medicine that my child will actually deign to put in his mouth.