The commitments.

As much as I love squeezing between cramped lines of clothing and muscling my way into the racks at vintage stores, I almost never walk away with anything. A few items at Retropolis almost made the cut: an art deco-style necklace with staggered rows of black and clear rhinestones, a 1940s black dress with periwinkle and pink appliques and some pink pleating, and wispy chiffon nightgowns reminiscent of old Shadowline or Vanity Fair styles. But I just couldn't commit.

Our favorite way to shop is to split up for a few minutes, make mental inventories, and then take turns leading guided tours of the highlights. There's simply no other way to do it. The overwhelming quantity of stuff at Retropolis almost defeated me, though. I nearly forgot half of what I intended to show Andy.

Recently I've had problems committing not just to clothes, but to books, too. I entered bookstores with a long list of wishes and leave empty-handed and entirely dispirited. I want to take some risks, just not pricey ones.

So today I applied for a library card from my childhood library. Entering a location I knew intimately as a child usually causes me to see double: both how large and cavernous a place seemed long ago and how average and comparatively unimpressive it seems now. It's hard to see the space for what it is, instead of just how it looks in relation to a memory. I used to hang out underneath the library staircase after school, and today I noted how small of a space I was crawling into (and how annoying this must have been to the librarians, who probably didn't appreciate that we dragged books under there with us).

The library cards were the major change. Back in the 80s, my card was printed on a typewriter and stuffed into a clear plastic sleeve. Now, of course, it's shiny and colorful and has a ridiculously overblown title ("the knowledge card"). But it still does the same thing, and after such a long hiatus from library use, I felt especially thrilled to browse and finally check out a book. I was already planning some interlibrary loans on my way out.

I came home with Juliet, Naked, which I'd only hesitated to commit to because it's still in hardback, and made myself some hot chocolate.

Later, we streamed Encounters at the End of the World on Netflix and were absolutely hypnotized by its beautiful scuba sequences. Although sometimes heartbreaking, it reminded me of how much I love exploration narratives like Tony Horwitz's Blue Latitudes or David Grann's The Lost City of Z (I loved the original article in The New Yorker so much that I photocopied it and gave it to Andy when I first met him). The documentary closed with a forklift operator charmingly paraphrasing Alan Watts: "Through our eyes, the universe is perceiving itself. Through our ears, the universe is listening to its harmonies. We are the witnesses through which the universe becomes conscious of its glory, of its magnificence." Really wonderful.

In search of treats.

Back and forth across town to track down various Asian grocery items. We didn't buy anything that we had on our list, but we discovered new treats.  Small moon cakes with lotus...

and a taro pastry, because I can't resist buying anything with taro in it.

Also on our 4-hour drive, we pulled over to photograph some bright colors.

Finally, our daily visitor. He comes by every day, and each time I make a mad dash for my camera (usually nowhere to be found right when I need it most) but can't quite make it in time. Today, however, he wandered by at twilight and paused on the fence as if asking to be photographed. Maybe he wanted to point out his resemblance to the lion, or perhaps he just took pity on me after days of watching me scramble. Either way, how kind!

But I wish he would let me pet him.

Spicy parsnip soup.

Or "parsnip snoup," as just about everyone said at one point or another.

The best thing about parsnips is the way they look when sliced.

Carrots usually taste too sweet for me, so the milder and slightly spicy qualities of parsnips were really appealing.

 

Not beautiful, but a welcome treat on a cold day.

Novelties.

Long ago, before mega-cinemas took over, we had to drive for fifteen to twenty minutes to get to the nearest cinema. Now we can hop in the car and be in line to buy tickets in five minutes (but nothing's perfect: we have to pay for parking). For Christmas, however, we received gift cards for the distant AMC cinemas, and so this afternoon we time-traveled back to high school and took the freeway to another part of town for a matinee of Youth in Revolt. On our way, we admired the color and kitsch.

The movie was especially enjoyable because only about ten other people saw the movie with us. Sometimes being at a full showing is thrilling and magnetic, but there's a certain charm in being the only person laughing aloud in an almost empty room. (And even in a crowded theatre, it's always interesting when you're the only one who laughs at a joke. At moments like that, can you not wonder why you're the only one laughing?)

--

My maternal grandmother had a fondness for giant pendants on heavy chains in ambiguous metals. As a child, I kept one of her zodiac necklaces in a little plastic display box that was (inexplicably) filled with a mysterious ash-like substance. Something probably disintegrated in there long before I arrived on the scene, but -- and this is one of those wonders of childhood -- for some reason I never bothered to clean out the box. Even though the gray dust creeped me out just a little, it seemed like a part of the necklace and wasn't to be disturbed.

So when I stumbled upon a strange, heavy pendant a week ago, I was totally captivated by it. I didn't know if it was terrible or wonderful, but once I picked it up I didn't want to put it down. All the same, I thought it was too expensive and decided to wait on it. On a third scouting mission this afternoon, I was sorely disappointed to discover that the price hadn't been reduced. But my mother said that my grandmother would have wanted me to have it and sweetly insisted on buying it for me. I think I've decided that it's not terrible or wonderful alone, but instead wonderfully terrible or terribly wonderful. But either way, I'm wearing it. Happily!

 

Winter afternoons.

Andy made this lovely potato and leek soup from a Thomas Keller recipe last night.  As he cooked, the scent of herbs filled the kitchen and living room and made the cold house feel just a bit cozier.

He used white pepper as seasoning and garnished it with vegetarian bacon and croutons.

It was time to get (somewhat more) serious with my work, so I reluctantly spent some time at the library.

 

Although I always feel slightly lost within the Rice library, they've really made the outside relaxing. It's too cold to enjoy it much now, but I paused for a moment as I made a dash from the warmth of the library to the moderate warmth of the car.

On the drive home, we examined the disastrous results of leaving a sprinkler system on at night. It looked as if ice cubes had been scattered over the lawn. Lovely, but a bit sad.

Grow-a-Cat: Results.

One of my Christmas gifts was a tiny pink novelty cat. Its package promised me that if kept in a bowl of water for 10 days, the cat would grow up to 6 times its original size. I just had to verify this claim, so into the jar she went.

As kids, we played with little plastic pills that would burst open in water to reveal thin dinosaur sponges. Animal-shaped sponges seemed pretty awesome when I was five, but these grow-in-water toys have come a long way since then.

 

Sure, they're slimy and there's not too much you can do with them. But, just like with every order from the Scholastic Book Club in elementary school, the longer we have to wait for it, the more thrilled and the more frenzied we are when it finally arrives.

And waiting 10 days to have a slightly larger, slimy pink cat feels pretty, pretty, pretty good.

Presto change ... no?

Down to the courts this afternoon to file our request for name changes.

The district clerk's web site reveals almost nothing about how adults should go about changing their names. So when we filed our petition downtown, we didn't expect the office to be quite so surprised that we asked how we would know when our court date was. We had to rephrase the question three or four times (and suffer through some are-you-just-stupid stares) before they finally wrote down a number for us to call. But upon calling the number, we were informed that the case number we'd been give wasn't even a valid one.

So back to the first office, where another employee told us that we weren't supposed to be given any information over the phone. The phone number they had given us was, in fact, quite useless.

The only option was to go straight to the source for an in-person interview. We headed upstairs to the court, wandered around in confusion until a kind woman pointed us in the right direction, and, finally, learned that we have to send our fingerprints off for a check before anything can get underway. And then, of course, we need to come back to the court in person to see how things are going.

It occurred to me that perhaps their persistent refusal to help is their way of encouraging us to keep the names we already have.

Although our attempts to work some magic on our names failed today, every respectable magician needs a black bow tie. I did indeed wear a black bow today, but unfortunately I removed it before going to court (it seemed the professional thing to do). Maybe that was my mistake. 

Back to work...

but with small pleasures like this from Sketches by Boz:

But the streets of London, to be beheld in the very height of their glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, murky winter's night, when there is just enough damp gently stealing down to make the pavement greasy, without cleansing it of any of its impurities; and when the heavy lazy mist, which hangs over every object, makes the gas-lamps look brighter, and the brilliantly-lighted shops more splendid, from the contrast they present to the darkness around. All the people who are at home on such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves as snug and comfortable as possible; and the passengers in the streets have excellent reason to envy the fortunate individuals who are seated by their own firesides.

Also, this beautiful new calendar by Snow and Graham.

London Highlights, Summer 2009.

When I arrived in London in 2009, I resolved that I was going to conquer my fears and try all sorts of new areas and shops. Usually I wander all over the city, looking in but rarely going in, and I wanted to change that. So 2009 became the summer of food. Once I started trying new bakeries, I couldn't stop. In addition to all the cupcake bakeries I discovered, I also visited Baker & Spice, the Nordic Bakery, Wonderful Patisserie, Louis Patisserie, and Ladurée. 

- For years I took buses past Ottolenghi in Islington nearly every day. With each trip to and from home, I peered longingly in the window at the beautiful meringues and colorful salads and pondered going in for lunch. I finally did in 2007, and for the next two summers we had breakfast there three days a week like clockwork. In 2008, it was fresh mint tea and a croissant, but after we split the French toast and oat porridge for the first time in 2009, there was no going back.

At the end of our stay, they finally persuaded us to have dinner there. I don't think any other meal has made me so happy.

-I made it my mission this year to find the best cupcakes in London. I couldn't try every bakery, but I sampled cakes from the Hummingbird Bakery, Buttercup Cake Shop, Crumbs and Doilies, Bea's, Ottolenghi, and Waitrose. I eventually gave up on English cupcakes, because they were largely unappealing, dry hunks of cake with sugary icing. Bea's had very nice cupcakes, however, and Ottolenghi had a to-die-for raspberry and lemon cupcake.

The icing is super-creamy, soft, and substantial, unlike any other icing I've had. Several years ago we bought their enormous blueberry and lemon cupcake and ferried it to St. John's Lodge for a dessert picnic. I loved it so much that I still look for it every time I visit Ottolenghi, but I've never seen it since.

- Once I discovered Bea's of Bloomsbury, it became a daily challenge not to hop off the 19 near Gray's Inn and sit down for some tea.

- The pavlova from Bea's is a tour de force of deliciousness. When I cut into it, the bright passion fruit filling was a glorious surprise.

I'll probably daydream about this for the rest of my life.

- We stayed for a few weeks east of Hampstead Heath, and I became very fond of taking the bus over to Hampstead High Street, where Gail's has a little shop. I had so many wonderful treats from there this year, but the standouts were the chocolate cake with lingonberries and the bread pudding.

 

Lingonberries in Texas just aren't the same.

- As always, Ev.

Just as lovely as the first time we went.

- Monday nights after work at My Old Dutch in Holborn.

The crepes with ice cream tempted me, but I only gave in a few times. Lemon and sugar crepes seem like they might be too plain, but they have a perfect, simple sweetness.

- The sticky rice with vegetables and the spinach and mushroom dumplings (reminiscent of adorable little fish) at Ping Pong almost made up for the disappearance of the sweet corn and coriander dumplings. The menu felt more limited for vegetarians, but we were so pleased with the options they had that it didn't prevent us from returning again and again. And we had vouchers for free cocktails.

Lately I've been thinking about that sticky rice and wanting to make it (or, rather, have it made for me). 

- Princi feels hectic and noisy, but their desserts are so visually appealing that shouting our order across the counter didn't seem like such a hardship. The orange ombre glaze on the cheesecake was magnificent.

And I don't know what they do to their pizzas, but we swooned.

- Paul A. Young's chocolates cost an arm and a leg (even with a better exchange rate), but the flavors were so inventive that I usually overspent when I was there.

 

Melt's chocolates were just as good. They really convinced me that salt and chocolate were destined to be together.

- As a child, I adored greengages, but they appeared quite suddenly at the greengrocer's and then vanished just as quickly a few weeks later. I spotted them off of Hampstead High Street this year and couldn't resist.

- I feel as though I'd been waiting my whole life to see Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan in Waiting for Godot.

But we also took in Stoppard's Arcadia (one doesn't turn that down) and A Little Night Music (and a few other productions). I finally understood the appeal of "Send in the Clowns" after that production.

- Although initially I was slightly underwhelmed by the Richard Long exhibit, I really began to appreciate it the more time I spent looking at the art. I ended up going back several times and in the end really loved it. I didn't take these photos, but I certainly would have taken many pictures if I could have.

The artist's annotations have stayed with me, and his ideas make me want to run outdoors and explore and experiment:

My work is about movement and stillness, the walking and the stopping places. Sometimes I make a sculpture when I stop to rest. I suppose my art covers a wide range, from works like these which could be practically unnoticeable or disappear in minutes, like a water drawing or dusty footprints, to a long-lasting work in a museum. The world is full of relatively permanent things like rock strata or the sea, but also transient things, like the life span of a butterfly, or the endlessly changing patterns of seaweed on a beach. I would like to think my work reflects and uses this rich complexity and reality.

- Although small, Telling Tales at the V&A had a rich, feast-like quality to it. Brilliantly surreal and enchanting.

The Fig Leaf Wardrobe and Robber Baron Standing Lamp were highlights for me.

- The Barbican's Radical Nature exhibit featured this incredible tea house. We arrived before it opened, so we loitered by the fountains until someone unlocked it for us. Totally worth the wait. I could have stayed in their for hours.

The Viktor & Rolf exhibit last year was more thrilling, but this summer's main exhibit was remarkable in other ways. I hung out at the Barbican all the time as a child, so I'm delighted to have lots of new excuses to go back.

- The Hayward's summer exhibits are my favorites, so I was super-excited to see Walking in My Mind.

Of course Yayoi Kusama's polka dots, Thomas Hirschhorn's Cavemanman, and Chiharu Shiota's After the Dream stood out, but Charles Avery's The Islanders really fascinated me, too.

- And for its Missoni exhibit, the Estorick decorated its gate in gorgeous bright colors.

- The garden of the summer was definitely the Pergola and Hill Garden in Hampstead Heath. I've always neglected Hampstead Heath and headed instead for Regent's Park or Kew, but since I was staying practically across the street from it for a few weeks, I decided I'd explore it a bit more. Finding this particular part of the park took some work (I was sure I was trespassing at one point), but it was so worth it. The first time I went, I had it all to myself, and every time I returned the garden was similarly quiet.

This is the most magical garden I've found in the city. There's nothing else quite like it.

- This year at Kew I fell in love with the echeveria cante. I've been to all sorts of nurseries to find one, but none of the echeverias have this bright pink edging. I've found some with pale pink accents, but nothing quite this stunning.

I even went to a succulent fair, but no one there knew where I could get one.

- I already liked Would I Lie to You?, but this year we watched and loved Peep Show and That Mitchell and Webb Look.

 

- Finally, it was a great summer for books. I read Sarah Waters's The Little Stranger late at night in a dark, empty attic room with a sloping ceiling. I felt just a little bit scared now and then.