Apple Pie Redux

We had an amazing dinner last weekend that got me dreaming about apples. Our friends L. and Tex invited us to dinner at L.'s family home in Stone Mountain. The home over looks a lake, but the real sight was the kitchen island where L. and her dad were slicing apples to caramelize for a pork loin.

Dinner came quickly-- sauteed kale with pan-seared tenderloin and caramelized apples, and amedley of root vegetables. Since Chris had been in Chicago, this was our first non-restaurant meal in a few days and it was good. Dessert reminded me -- in taste at least -- of the birthday cake I made for Chris some time ago. Lots of chocolate, mousse filling, and ganache. Heavenly.

Unfortunately, I came down with a cold that very evening and for the next few days it was chicken soup from wherever Chris could procure it (my favorite was Poncho's.) While I was sick, Chris finished the grout work in the bath with Al and installed our toilet -- a funny thing with two buttons for flushing.

This weekend, we head to Big Canoe for a wedding. More importantly, and perhaps selfishly, we will also be celebrating our first anniversary of knowing each other. As I told him, all other options were off the moment I met him.

Which brings me back to apples. On our first date Chris cooked for me. I wanted to contribute something to the dinner, so I surprised him by bringing an apple pie that I made just a few hours before I headed to his house. Initially, I drove to my friend's house in Atlanta from Spartanburg, SC, with a cooler full of cut up apples and fresh pie dough. A few hours later, I arrived with my pie in a red plate and heart full of hope.

Tea Time

Feeling a bit under the weather despite the appearance of good weather over the weekend. My Tea Time post is a little early today. I plan to leave the office an hour or so after my lunch so I can sweat out my cold in bed.

This week's post comes from Newsweek about the trend of people staying put in their homes. The story is particularly relevant since Chris and I have talked about moving to Portland, OR., but being close to family trumps everything -- at least for now.

Speaking of Progress

(Before)

I still can't believe I grew up in a house with 8 people who shared one bathroom. Before my dad even had a chance to cut off the car's engine, we'd all pile out and race to the front door to be first in line. Today, I have the luxury of my own powder room -- although, as you can see from above, it remains under construction. We are so close to finishing the project. In fact, Chris installed the tile floor with the help of a friend. The walls have been painted "Ghost Ship," a blue shade of gray, and we are in the process of finding a pedestal sink. Soon I won't have to wait for my turn to do my hair in the morning and guests won't be forced to trespass our bedroom to the other bath.

(Almost after.)

Trayed Not Tabled

From the rusted tin tray destined for the garbage that holds a few select perfumes (Narcisco Rodriguez, Paloma Picasso, and Tea Rose), a red metal dish my mom made circa the 1960s in shop class, and our his/her watches to the chinked porcelain dish upon which six Moroccan tea glasses rest, I've found that trays bring order to my life. More are stashed in cupboards for when the opportunity calls for a pink painted floral or gold-flecked Fire King platter.

"Arranged on a tray," writes Rita Konig in an article on the subject of trays, "[things]feel less like a group of random objects and more like a collection of treasures."

Send me pictures of your favorite trays...

Tea Time

Sometimes we need a little inspiration. I started reading E.O. Wilson's The Creation yesterday, setting up a palette on the front lawn. After a week of downcast weather, I needed a little sun. I'm starting to think about ways to bring the outdoors inside for the coming months, and this book has me thinking green. It's Wilson letter to a Southern Baptist preacher on why we need to put aside our literal reading of the Bible that the end is nigh and consider our earthly home (which if you are of the religious bent, the home God created.)

I've been reading a lot lately - from magazines to other peoples' blogs - and I've decided to post links to articles that I've read that explore ideas of home. I'm doing this every Monday. Mainly because I need something to look forward to on Mondays and I'm sure you do too. (Especially at 4 p.m. when you begin watching the clock.) I'll being calling these post Tea Time after the job I once had at the National Trust in London. Every day we stopped working to feast on dainty cakes and sweet cups of tea. Book chats and reviews of the latest plays, films, or bands, were highlights of our conversations.

Today's post comes from Slate.com. Two writers pose the question: Can a writer invest a random, worthless item with value by inventing a story about its significance?

Then check our the the duo's website. I'm thinking of all those trinkets that have begun to fill a vintage chest of drawers and the stories they could tell.

October Haiku

The day was dreary
waiting for the autumn sun.
Then I came home.

Bad Idea

As it happens, Tweeting my life does not work for me. In addition to some technical glitches, I simply couldn't submit to sending my schedule into the ether. We just got back from a birthday weekend in New Orleans. I hadn't been there since 2005, so I was amazed at how bright the skyline was coming into the city later Friday night.

We took a break from working on the house, but Chris will be finishing the floors this week. I'll have some photos of the progress up this week.