tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11911593986428719902024-02-07T20:05:44.197-05:00StoryerMCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-43498583598832684502013-01-07T16:56:00.000-05:002013-01-07T16:56:29.989-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">For Barbra.</span></div>
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(the first of many letters)</div>
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by Mary Courtney Blake</div>
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I am not really sure what I am sitting down to write at this moment, but there is something inside me without words aching to be consoled. And, so here I sit. I will not likely finish this in one sitting, yet I must start somewhere. My soul is aching to tell of love and cruelty, these are my tears in letters spilled across this paper on behalf of my neighbor.<br />
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I do not yet know how to be an advocate. I do not know how to paint picket signs or implement public policy. I often do not know what to do in the face of cruelty or injustice. I, too, have let my inadequacies silence my voice. But, this must be said: there is too much pain in this world, too many tears of sorrow, too many fists.<br />
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Your neighbors are weeping but you are not near enough to witness the agony. They are being bruised and beaten. They are dying outside of your emergency rooms and hospitals. They are huddled under the bridges you drive across going to and from. They do not have enough to eat.<br />
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Yet, somehow, it is you who are worse for the distance. It is you who has forgotten how to love. It is you who no longer sees God in the eyes of the stranger, because it is you who cannot meet their gaze. Distance is costing you your love, your freedom, your compassion; it is costing you your humanity.<br />
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I weep for you, dear friends, because you have missed a chance to meet God face to face.MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-90418068616894778212012-08-13T00:37:00.001-04:002012-08-13T00:38:08.182-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Remembering How To Fight.</span></div>
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by Mary Courtney Blake</div>
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This may seem like an odd sort of article for a pacifist to pen, an yet, I am learning so much these days about what it means to choose what sort of person you would like to become, even to let yourself be the sort of person you are. I suppose, though, that I am rambling. Let me put it this way, though I may never throw a punch I am learning to stand firm in myself and to stand beside my neighbors and that takes greater courage than pulling any trigger.</div>
MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-60613960954038724382012-07-04T23:00:00.000-04:002012-07-04T23:01:56.790-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Consider Glory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Mary Courtney Blake</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I encounter life and try to navigate through its marshes, I usually draw inspiration from some story heard, book read, or movie seen. Stories act like a compass in these often complicated journeys of our lives.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">However, for as many times as I have looked to story to guide my decisions, to tell me who I should be becoming, I have found that there are stories that lead astray. There is a tendency for them to skew the cost of our souls should we follow their advice.</span></span> We think to ourselves, "That person was happy at the end and I too shall be happy if I <i>[insert life-lesson here]</i>." This is not always true. Some stories only show us new ways of hiding our neurosis, of masking the pain that life has dealt. They tell us that work, lovers, discipline, family, money or creed will solve our problems. And, to be honest, these things are not necessarily bad in themselves. It is when we expect for them to save us that they turn sour... but, culturally, our stories often fail to address this sad fact. So, we search on, looking for some new protocol for happiness, because isn't that what we all want? Happiness.<br />
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Many of our stories center around the pursuit of happiness. We use happiness as a shallow excuse for all sorts of vices. We even let our search for peace or comfort oppress others. And, perhaps these stories are true. Maybe you will be happy, but what sort of person will you be? Is a hollow happiness all there is to be gained?<br />
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I would like to offer this: consider the weight of glory instead. Humanity has a great capacity for beauty, splendor, magnificence. There is more to our hearts than happiness. We have an immeasurable ability to love, to sacrifice, to overcome hardship, to create beauty, to transcend. What if these were the stories that we let shape us? Perhaps in significance, we might even get happiness thrown in.</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-80730452147311171692012-05-08T23:59:00.000-04:002012-05-09T01:03:13.829-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">We Are People, Not Politics</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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by Mary Courtney Blake</div>
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I sat down to my computer with the hope of writing some eloquent apology, or perhaps some poetic insight into the great wrongs that have been committed towards my neighbors tonight. But as I sit, no words can contain my grief. We are people, not politics. Have we forgotten this? Tonight I weep with my neighbors. I weep with those who will wake in the morning less than when they laid down their heads. I affirm your suffering and I will be your sister in sorrow.MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-45430407367361238602011-09-05T15:24:00.002-04:002011-09-05T16:19:33.542-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Come, Share with Me Your Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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I don't know how it is that I have become a writer. All through school, writing was the bane of my existence. In fact, I have been known to say that writing was the reason that I didn't go further into academia. The thought of writing long discourses on philosophical matter seemed annoying at best, painful and vexing at worst. I still feel this way, and yet, there are days where I am compelled to write, to share my stories, to create.<br />
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Most days, my creations have no known audience and yet I still create. Why is that, you may ask... why create for the void?<br />
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Creating is humanity's way of reaching out, of staring boldly into the face of death and daring to say that "I am more." It is our way of contending with eternity. The authority of the artist lies not in the power to shock, or even to create beauty, but in the ability to help us see beyond ourselves. Sharing our stories makes us more than who we are because it allows us to become a part of one another, to see more wholly.<br />
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Even in telling my stories I become more. Because, in the telling I find meaning and beauty where I found them lacking before. I have to organize my thoughts and examine my heart. This sort of self-reflection that is focused outwardly helps us to release both joy and pain, to no longer harbor these things within ourselves. It is like painting a beautiful painting, but not knowing who will see it or how it will speak to them. The only thing that the artist knows is that she must paint. Her heart compels her to create, to speak, to connect... to present her stories. Once presented, these things can stand on their own for the world to witness. We can see them more objectively and celebrate them for what they are for now they are outside of us.<br />
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So here it is, my painting. I urge you, dear readers, release your stories and find your voice. Not so that you can scream and never listen, but so that you can whisper and move the mountains in the souls of man.MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-40889054297755261932011-08-05T12:01:00.008-04:002011-08-06T11:45:35.741-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Every Once And A While...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">... you realize that you are older than you thought you were. Or, at least, that others are younger than you thought they were.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have had several of these moments lately. Little things like overhearing a hostess at the restaurant where you are eating talking about being assigned her college roommate when not 3 minutes before, you thought that she was in your age bracket... now you realized that you are nearly a decade her senior. Or meeting some young up-and-coming in a suit and tie then finding out this is their first real job, and you think to yourself, "If you are 21, what do I look like to you?" The list could go on and what I have realized is that I have absolutely no concept of how old I look or where I am in relation to someone else's life stage.<br />
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All of this is not written to sound depressing or to be some diatribe against aging. I know that I am very much still young and inexperienced as some of you are probably thinking that I am crazy for realizing that I am older than some when I am still younger than so many. What I am really getting at, however, is that this is one of the first times in my life when I have realized that I am all grown up. It's an odd feeling when one first discovers it. And, thinking about it, I would have thought that this realization would have come upon me much earlier in my life. I have been out of my parent's home since I was 17, and though they supported me though college, it's been a few years more since then. I have been a high school teacher, a professional designer, a starving artist and now a restaurant worker... and I am just now realizing that I am an adult.<br />
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In a lot of ways this makes me wonder about what I am doing with my life. Shouldn't I have accomplished something a little more substantial by now? I picked up a local arts magazine a couple of months ago only to realize that one of my former high school students was on the cover with her husband promoting their band (yes, that's right, I said husband). I have written Air Force Academy recommendations for former students and bumped into others in social situations only to realize that they are catching up to me. College friends are making families and settling down, while others are finding critical acclaim with their work.<br />
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I might have become overwhelmed by all of this, or maybe a little too introspective, if I had not also stumbled upon a young woman's list of dreams. It was a picture essay of sorts, shared with myself and the world no doubt as some sort of youthful statement of identity and independence. But, I found it to be lovely. A young girl not unlike myself, yet so different.... She shared all of those dreams to come, things like places to visit, libraries to be gained, food to be made and love to be felt. And, as I sifted through her visual study, I realized that I was looking at many of her aspirations from the other side. I have visited that particular castle. I can make that delicious treat. My living room is filled with books in wrap around bookcases and the beautiful laughter of friends and family. I can drive a stick shift. I have learned not only to love but that love is a choice to give, not the annihilation of your loneliness... I have failed, I have succeeded, I have become.<br />
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I do not envy the youth of others. Rather, I revel in the wisdom and understanding that experience and age have brought me. There is joy in the thought of growing older, of continuing to become. What a wonderful thought to know that when lines gather in the corners of my eyes, they are only the visual reminder of the smiles and laughter I have had, that the creases in my forehead will tell of the sorrows I have borne and overcome, and that the scars on my hands will recount the pies I have baked and the people I have fed. But most of all, there is wonder at the thought of the joy in my heart that will share the peace that comes from living and learning. If there is any moral to these ramblings at all, I suppose it is this: Growing up is very hard, but it gets much easier with practice and for me becoming a grown up has been and continues to be well worth the effort.<br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-27019650945364619032011-08-04T21:53:00.001-04:002011-08-04T21:54:14.566-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Flatbread Pizza On The Fly.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(or Yummy Goodness that's Good for the Whole Family)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZooHl-piPuxxNZ9wE2B9akcBH6P8pgREGbNO1tkHS3C34oS2EVnrmXBGdyJDm2mL8-iKhb4PC4_mnoTFf7Aj6n2-JKwMGFkVmFcgdH-Y3X0aZOk9NT54ZrOhBVi0MBgB1WtfURYxpa9k/s1600/DSCN1918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZooHl-piPuxxNZ9wE2B9akcBH6P8pgREGbNO1tkHS3C34oS2EVnrmXBGdyJDm2mL8-iKhb4PC4_mnoTFf7Aj6n2-JKwMGFkVmFcgdH-Y3X0aZOk9NT54ZrOhBVi0MBgB1WtfURYxpa9k/s400/DSCN1918.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After last week's grocery adventures, I came home to find that, in my excitement, I had bought Naan twice, at two different stores. This left me with the challenge to find interesting and yummy things to do with this Indian flatbread. Mostly, I simply and deliciously ate it as a side with my meals as it is more or less intended to be eaten. However, as I was sifting through the remnants of the week's food in the refrigerator, hungrily trying to find any ingredients that might make up a meal, I had a wonderful thought... Naan looks an awful lot like prepared pizza dough, except it is yummier and and much more nuanced.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, I dug out all of those little bits of leftover veggies and random ingredients that were left over from an variety of other lunches and dinners. Here is a list of the bits of things I found:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Almost Wilted Broccoli</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kalamata Olives</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Red Onion</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Capers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Goat Cheese</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Garlic</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Prosciutto </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and lastly Hollandaise Sauce (don't be intimidated... this is not a staple of my refrigerator and in this scenario, olive oil will do quite nicely)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Being that this little improv is "Pizza on the Fly", meaning it can and should be able to be done quickly, the construction is straightforward. Simply set your oven to 350 degrees F. Get out your stoneware or a baking sheet and lay out your Naan. Brush your Naan with butter or olive oil. Top with all of your refrigerator goodies. Sprinkle on a little salt and pepper and place in the oven for about 10 to 15 minutes (until your cheese is all melty or your pizza just looks sizzling yummy and hot all the way through). When your pizza is ready to serve, drizzle olive oil across the top (or hollandaise in my case) and enjoy!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-73429229728881323332011-03-28T21:06:00.001-04:002011-09-05T16:21:55.237-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I Should Not Be Trusted To Grocery Shop Alone.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(confessions of a foodie)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I actually like living on a tight budget. There is a thrill in knowing that I am in complete control of my financial future. I do what I love for a living, and for me that means I don't always bring home a great paycheck. But, I have learned that with careful planning, I can thrive as if I had a fortune. I should also admit, since none of the things that I really like doing promise much money, I have decided the best way for me to be able to follow my whims is to retire young. So with every penny saved I think to myself, "One penny closer to retirement." And, this always makes me smile.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There is one flaw, however, in all of my careful retirement planning: food... and not just any food, delicious food. I should not be trusted to enter a grocery store without a chaperone. Let us use tonight as an example: I forgot to pick up salad greens yesterday while I was at the store doing my weekly shopping, so I made a quick trip tonight to pick up <i>one </i>bag of arugula. What did I walk out of the wonderful Trader Joe's with you might ask? My one bag of arugula, and a dozen eggs and a bag of romaine and some blackberries and some french sparkling berry lemonade.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">What's so bad about that you say? It's not so much.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">That wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't spent <i>three hours</i> at the grocery store yesterday! And I'll admit, I needed eggs after using the last of them to make hollandaise, but <i>sparkling berry lemonade</i>? Sure, it'll go nicely with that salad that I will now top with blackberries... but I <i>already had stuff for the salad</i>! I bought that yesterday as I wandered from grocery store to grocery store in ethereal bliss.<br />
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The good news is that there is one very nice benefit to my undisciplined grocery escapades: more delicious meals. And, I must say, sitting down to a wonderful meal and experiencing the magic of feeling like you are special enough to be given such beauty makes one feel somehow more human... more cherished.<br />
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Perhaps this is why, despite my frustrations, I continue to allow this passion to run free (within some limitations, of course). Because, at the end of the day, I know that it's all of these little things like sparkling berry lemonade that make the day seem more beautiful and nights at home more cozy. Without beauty in our lives, without feeling like we are important enough to splurge for sometimes, we would slowly become hollow. What would life be if we did not cherish each and every day.<br />
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So, yes, I am planning for retirement, but I am not forgetting to live on the way there. Feel the freedom to do the same. Be wise with your resources and take care with your days, knowing that part of that is letting today be delicious, just like tomorrow.</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-64630207853986932942011-03-14T17:38:00.002-04:002011-09-05T16:23:26.062-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Save The Daylight.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(or spring's petition)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;">I will admit that fall is my favorite season, however spring is making a strong case for itself as I watch the blossom petals fall like snow from the trees outside my window, swirling through the soft breeze, laughing at the thought that there could be anything more important than dancing on the wind. There is something quite magical about watching the world wake up from its long winter's sleep. It lets hope into corners of our hearts that have been resting in the shadows, as if the extra daylight somehow lights our insides as well.<br />
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I suppose I write all of this sentiment simply to say that I am glad that spring has decided to visit Carolina a little early this year. Open windows and ceiling fans make me happy. I am looking forward to farmer's market adventures, cook-outs and cricket lullabies. One could almost say that as the world is waking up, I am waking up, ready to start some new adventures and ready to get on with some old ones that have been hibernating through the winter with me. I am going to seize my extra daylight and do those things that I just didn't have the energy to do in the winter's darkness... things like writing more and throwing delicious dinner parties and making art. And, who knows, maybe I'll even find some new adventure to embark on.<br />
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So, let the beauty of spring inspire you. Decide what you'll do with all of your extra daylight.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-25132340654157159492011-01-28T13:42:00.002-05:002011-09-05T16:27:00.587-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Bottles & Jars</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(or thoughts on kitchen vessels)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjNrWtli4TJIFGi4DydqQGBuckq3acMs1XK4rV_whvhqTsshMD4YKamLrXdSsEiTr_YgpW_zo-4oNo_gOp3P98ye0DcRHgw19sK0SZi5y3MoUT_M1uNABkpoKM7ntj5EkhX0eeZo9nJI/s1600/DSCN1808_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjNrWtli4TJIFGi4DydqQGBuckq3acMs1XK4rV_whvhqTsshMD4YKamLrXdSsEiTr_YgpW_zo-4oNo_gOp3P98ye0DcRHgw19sK0SZi5y3MoUT_M1uNABkpoKM7ntj5EkhX0eeZo9nJI/s400/DSCN1808_2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have recently become enchanted by bottles and jars and such. Now, hear me out, this is not some fleeting obsession of a collection crazed neurotic... no, this is the excitement of an artist discovering something beautiful in something that she has never taken a moment to notice before. I should add that my fascination is not merely aesthetic but is also firmly founded in the practical.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I work in a restaurant. And, restaurant kitchens, as you may imagine, need to be extremely well organized and need to adhere to all kinds of codes and restrictions that our homes would simply never imagine. As it turns out, my brain is the kind of brain that has a very hard time with organization. After throwing out yet another round of forgotten foods, I recently decided that it was high time for my home kitchen to adopt the system that I have come to know in my restaurant kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There is really nothing mystical about restaurant kitchens... in fact, if you have never experienced one I am afraid that you would probably be sorely disenchanted if you did. Everything is clean (if it is a restaurant worth its salt - pun intended) but so well used that it is hardly recognizable to the normal human eye. Sautee pans look more like horrifyingly beat up miniature woks than your beloved frying pan at home. The metal on the stove has been irrevocably discolored due to heat exposure creating a kind of tarnished stain that no amount of bleach will remove. And, the refrigerators are filled with countless plastic containers of varying sizes covered with masking tape labels that remind one of doctor's charts containing all of the patient's vitals. All in all, I prefer the aesthetics of my kitchen at home. However, my kitchen does not have the organization and ease of operation of a professional kitchen, that is, until now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">At one point in time I do remember buying stacks of tupperware. There is no evidence, however, of this memory anywhere in my kitchen. What I have whittled down to over the years, as leftovers have walked home with neighbors and rubbermaid sandwich containers graduate to holding bits of art supplies or become traveling doggy dishes, is a mismatched and often incomplete set of mostly ineffective plastic things that I really should just send to the recycle bin. Thus is born my jar journey.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was mincing garlic a few weeks back so that I would have some on hand whenever I might need it (another carry over from the restaurant... mise en place). Riffling through forgotten containers for something to store it in, I came upon one of those little jars that at one time probably held jam or honey but was most likely saved to hold renderings from the stove that would need to be thrown out. I took that little jar and filled it with my beautifully aromatic freshly minced garlic. Searching for masking tape to label my jar with my newfound convictions, all I could find was blue painters tape leftover from my living room accent wall endeavor. So, I boldly continued with my label, marking not only my jar's contents but also the day they were prepared. In the restaurant I would also include my initials... but I thought that might be a little redundant in my own kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There it was, my tiny jar of garlic with its blue label and clearly marked vital statistics. I felt proud. This was the beginning of a brand new era in my home. An era where food would not be forgotten and where accidental science experiments would no longer take place in my refrigerator. This is when I noticed that my jar was not all together visually unappealing. In fact, it had a certain air of noble humility, like the grace of work worn hands. And, with each passing day and subsequent use of my garlic, I liked my jar more and more.<br />
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So I began to search for other interesting jars. Olive jars that would normally be sent to the recycle were suddenly being washed with loving care and stored for future delectable endeavors. Large glass containers brought home from work had dreams of holding homemade noodles or yummy soup leftovers that could feed the neighborhood. I even spent an embarrassing amount of time online researching antique and unusual jars and bottles. I had visions of antique milk bottles holding sweetened iced tea or freshly squeezed lemonade.<br />
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All of these tangents have led me to the conclusion that, though decorative or antique would be interesting and I may one day add some to my collection, the more humble and simple the bottle or jar perhaps the better... I think maybe the food gets to shine that way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-38274362049763567832010-12-14T19:08:00.002-05:002010-12-14T19:12:53.736-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Stranger Comforts.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(or Creating Cozy)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">When hosting celebrations, gatherings and dinner parties, it is important to make strangers (and for that matter, friends) feel at home and welcome. I suppose there are very few things that inspire that specific kind of awkward that comes with being the new person in an unfamiliar surrounding; and, it’s up to you, the host, to ease that from your guests.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps this holiday season you are inviting new neighbors to your home, or maybe even new family, or your guest list might just be friends tried and true. Whatever the situation, here are a few tips, in no particular order, for creating a warm and cozy environment for any time of the year.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Have something that smells good in the kitchen. </b> If you are throwing a dinner party, this part is easy because hopefully your dinner has already accomplished the yummy smells. If you are not throwing a dinner party, this can be as simple as putting on a pot of coffee or throwing some take-and-bake cookies in the oven. Whatever you do, you will be amazed at how welcoming tasty smells can be. Also, having some sort of refreshment, no matter what the occasion really lets your guests know that you are happy they have come over. It also gives your guests something to do with their hands which is nice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Background Noise.</b> Okay, I admit, you are not a department store. The goal with this is not to make people feel like they are stuck in a giant elevator or that they need to go buy something. The point of the background noise is to eliminate the inevitable “awkward silence.” This can be accomplished in several ways. I tend to put on an old jazz record or create an iTunes playlist of fun, unobtrusive and good songs. In my experience, ‘90s music gets a particularly happy reaction. However, football games, random cartoons or even an open window (if the weather is right) can be great background noise as well.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Warm lighting. </b> This probably seems strange, but cozy can be really helped by warm lighting. Stick a floor lamp in the living room or put on a fire in the fireplace if you have one. You will be amazed at how welcoming non-direct lighting can be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Clean, but not surgically so. </b>This will seem odd to both my untidy and my OCD readers. For my untidy folks, people do not want to come over to sit in your pig pen, it makes them feel awkward and uncomfortable. For my OCD folks, your guests would like to be able to sit down and relax without feeling like they are 5 years old again and their grandmom is going to send them back to the kids table if they get anything messy. I find that the healthy medium is that bathrooms and kitchens be clean and nothing anywhere covered in pet hair or dirt, but that things like shoes at the door, blankets on the couch and books on the table help to remind your guests that real people live here and they have not come to the museum for dinner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Contact, ask genuine questions and be excited to hear what they have to say. </b>This seems obvious, I know, but you are the host, you have lots to do and it is easy to get caught up in all of the great things you have planned for your guests and forget to connect with your guests while they are there. I find that real interest in your guests will cover a multitude of flops in your dinner planning or hosting skills. If your guests are new friends, you can ask about their interests and hobbies, or if they are old friends, you can get caught up the latest news. One of the best ice-breaker questions I have ever heard, coined by a college friend, is “What inspired your look?” You may use this too if you wish.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Places for people to sit or stand if they’d like. </b>Basically, this means that there are some obvious places for your guests to go. Imagine you are coming to your house for the first time, look around the room. Where do you sit? Where is a good place to stand? Can you sit or stand and comfortably be a part of the conversations in the room? Pay attention to these and add chairs or re-orient furniture if necessary. Your goal is to make it obvious where to go and where to sit so that your guests feel free to move about the room without asking and free to choose whether to sit or stand, etc.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Give them something to do. </b>Nothing helps inspire a casual and comfortable environment like letting your guests get involved in the hosting. Giving them something to do helps your guest feel useful and can make them feel comfortable and at home if they are feeling a little awkward or don’t know what they should be doing. This doesn’t need to be anything major, they are the guests after all. Simple things like placing things on the table, putting out silverware and taking drink orders are good examples of things you might ask your guests to help out with. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Have something for you to do. </b>Having things for you to do helps you to ease your own awkwardness. If you are anything like me, you can easily run out of things to say or find yourself sitting silently in the midst of new people. If you are the host, this can create a boring and uneasy gathering to say the least. So, my solution for this is to give myself things to do. These can be as elaborate as preparing dinner or as simple as getting coffee for your guests. Whatever you decide, it is best if you can complete your tasks and still interact with the people around you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">These are just a few tips from the top of my brain. Take them as you will. Whatever you do to celebrate, even if it is only the ancient ritual of celebrating Tuesday, cherish your time with friends and family because they are the most important people you will ever know.</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-10890511922632146172010-10-20T14:49:00.000-04:002010-10-20T14:49:17.421-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Public Art</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(The Fountain)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYt6AQC5T_nXDQH7uLqzEYVZ_Et34-9R2OjbJEk8NoHtW9GN6JD2BY53HBpbwM91Gb04rSyHdRzJJMwkmiaCXoE-GnMTKWSYVJgcnth6TwSv5Y2Id0ErX0ISztSGNWuHuFTbtOceDx88/s1600/BubblyFountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYt6AQC5T_nXDQH7uLqzEYVZ_Et34-9R2OjbJEk8NoHtW9GN6JD2BY53HBpbwM91Gb04rSyHdRzJJMwkmiaCXoE-GnMTKWSYVJgcnth6TwSv5Y2Id0ErX0ISztSGNWuHuFTbtOceDx88/s400/BubblyFountain.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Bubbly Fountain photo by John Kaneklides</span></td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was walking the dog as I always do in the mornings when I turned to behold this wondrous sight. It made me laugh for the rest of the day... that's what I call successful art!</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-84225069556194410342010-10-10T16:33:00.000-04:002010-10-10T16:33:46.697-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Little Log Cabin BBQ and Heritage Day.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span>(Barbeque, It's a Noun)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3EP2WcWvwvt7ke5DcZjiNutRHxfsZn6MInYA8vU_BxtHN7WZyOS0xnQGuy8CbhyKzix0j3hhm6edIKjDK4y4JBph91zuBcrpYHCCdufGbyWR8IELC_NemZK8zJ9RdcSIvwCgqrsjv_g/s1600/BBQ1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3EP2WcWvwvt7ke5DcZjiNutRHxfsZn6MInYA8vU_BxtHN7WZyOS0xnQGuy8CbhyKzix0j3hhm6edIKjDK4y4JBph91zuBcrpYHCCdufGbyWR8IELC_NemZK8zJ9RdcSIvwCgqrsjv_g/s400/BBQ1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Last month, I had the great pleasure of attending the Barbeque and Heritage Day held by the Lower Providence Community House Log Cabin... or the Little Log Cabin to friends of the family. It was an event filled with history, crafts and above all, Barbeque (BBQ).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the South, Barbeque is a noun. It is also a great equalizer and a great divider. It is an equalizer because, 'round these parts, everyone loves good BBQ. It's a great divider because, though we all love it, each region has their own particular style. Here is a brief, not unbiased, cursory introduction:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The things we agree on</b>: smoked pork. Yummy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Traditionally "low and slow," usually over some sort of wood chip. I would say the most popular in these parts being Hickory chips. If you wander far enough out of the Carolina region you may find some people who use charcoal... but that's not how we do it here.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The biggest thing we disagree on</b>: sauce. Also yummy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Depending on where your loyalties lie in North Carolina, you may prefer a variant of 2 different types of sauce. There's the vinegar and pepper sauce of the east and the slightly sweeter tomato based sauce of the west. The sweeter tomato based sauce (sweeter because of the tomatoes and/or ketchup) is said to originate from Lexington, North Carolina, providing the Piedmont (the hilly part in the middle of the state) and the Mountains with our particular identity. Thank you Lexington!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now that's just North Carolina. If you head south a little bit into South Carolina you will find a wonderful mustard based sauce to accompany your BBQ. Kansas City also has a variant coming out of the Lexington tradition that is tomato based but much sweeter and thicker having usually included molasses or brown sugar (this is what most people around the country think of as BBQ sauce... the KC Masterpiece sauces of the world). Memphis also claims to have their own sauce identity that is a variant of the Lexington style.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The other thing we might disagree on</b>: pulled, chopped or sliced. Still yummy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This part is usually not quite as contentious as the sauce debate, and you can sometimes find more than one style of serving in one area. Chopped or pulled would be the most popular in my hometown and usually what you get from a truck or local dive around here would be chopped.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">All that being said though, my honest opinion and advice is simply, "eat BBQ." So, with that, I leave you with a small pictorial tour of my Barbeque and Heritage Day Adventure.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFyPuy3BNEmpOcPB8mJx9GA1VhuTZ2V2583BGYb2vArfCXvFmKRmAxXtqdst72OdF7z6dTr-40kQ0W_FcWlsVoue_tIc5nA-kCVjauX2QBs33Y2-xh7N_ggbkLO3GltRvkdpUI8bGm_4/s1600/BBQ2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFyPuy3BNEmpOcPB8mJx9GA1VhuTZ2V2583BGYb2vArfCXvFmKRmAxXtqdst72OdF7z6dTr-40kQ0W_FcWlsVoue_tIc5nA-kCVjauX2QBs33Y2-xh7N_ggbkLO3GltRvkdpUI8bGm_4/s400/BBQ2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8N6w5s_WPkfW9SzuTb5oaYPmrlGJF1ibdyVZSZrh7ChVSdrq1d0hsJYsx8-D7u3_hVXUCHyYUcGfP6aBVgbEcS-N1E8lUeEaFrHJvj867-Ho2mNQLn_ga7O2VmH5JBDzGM1TJp7J44bE/s1600/BBQ6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8N6w5s_WPkfW9SzuTb5oaYPmrlGJF1ibdyVZSZrh7ChVSdrq1d0hsJYsx8-D7u3_hVXUCHyYUcGfP6aBVgbEcS-N1E8lUeEaFrHJvj867-Ho2mNQLn_ga7O2VmH5JBDzGM1TJp7J44bE/s400/BBQ6.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-36798295827374692392010-09-23T20:06:00.000-04:002010-09-29T20:08:29.439-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">We Found This To Be Humourous... </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqje0CYLPg6XIn0ydxagnRml1HvcuFwr94PcsBFZjLfeFPV4lEO-jYvO3xuEoeCvofVp38PvQ9CzxdCSbOZqB-316K3-n494wYMKTKGfYn1h2VAub4W-qJYQESUXhZ-wLzBuXphm3RDFI/s1600/DSCN1144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqje0CYLPg6XIn0ydxagnRml1HvcuFwr94PcsBFZjLfeFPV4lEO-jYvO3xuEoeCvofVp38PvQ9CzxdCSbOZqB-316K3-n494wYMKTKGfYn1h2VAub4W-qJYQESUXhZ-wLzBuXphm3RDFI/s400/DSCN1144.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;">I came home to find a leaf resting on my front doormat. It made me smile. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Welcome Autumn.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-76952833035829081822010-09-04T22:16:00.003-04:002010-09-04T22:24:58.181-04:00<div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Dishes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(or Discovering the Beautiful)</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePNFYND8Iq2yWLaMylNSqkyZLbMl9xG4cWlmEpls3PUapzj_24VCGjzd5fTJzb4296w5kul-_kQG1zo7pccWOKKMJ2uCikaCkdGkJ83MlBWJ3LAKgdB5Ww_-DezoFRZCqeNPz2jeVB4c/s1600/DSCN0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePNFYND8Iq2yWLaMylNSqkyZLbMl9xG4cWlmEpls3PUapzj_24VCGjzd5fTJzb4296w5kul-_kQG1zo7pccWOKKMJ2uCikaCkdGkJ83MlBWJ3LAKgdB5Ww_-DezoFRZCqeNPz2jeVB4c/s400/DSCN0963.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">by Mary Courtney Blake</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Prior to moving, I used two different sets of dinnerware. Neither was particularly special to me, both were inherited. When it became apparent that I was going to be moving, I decided that I would start to look for new plates and things for the kitchen. Being the seasoned dinner host that I am, I thought it high-time that I get some dishes that reflected my personality and this move would be just the occasion.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I set out to my local plates and bowls stores and set my fingers to work on the internet all in search of dinnerware that said “Eat off of me, I am cute and vintage-y and will make guests feel welcome and will be a perfect addition to your tiny artsy home.” Surprisingly, there are a few plates out there that do say this. So, I added the logical criteria of a color or pattern that would look good in my kitchen, my previous kitchen being a sunflower yellow and my new kitchen being a bright-yet-soothing green. Since I knew that the new kitchen was not going to be yellow, I thought that the dishes would be a great place to take it with me. I just think that yellow is such a wonderfully welcoming and cheery color.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is when I noticed that the pattern of one of my sets of dinnerware, specifically the one given to me by my grandmother when she moved, was a beautiful shade of golden yellow. Interestingly enough, I had never noticed that before. Perhaps this oversight was due to the fact that I had grown up with these dishes, not only had my grandmother used them, my mother also had a matching set when I was young. To me they were nothing particularly special, just the regular everyday, hard to break, great for kids dishes. That is, until that moment.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The more that I stared at the pattern, the more that I loved it. How is it that I could have grown up with these plates and had them in my own home for several years and never noticed how beautiful they are? They are simple, late 60’s or early 70’s Corelle Dinnerware by Corning. You probably have some in your own home or did at some point in time. Virtually unbreakable, not particularly expensive, they can go in the oven or the freezer and they look as good as new after 40 years of use. But, more importantly, or at least equally so, they feel delicate and look charming with their stylized alternating flowers and butterflies in the perfect shade of yellow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I suddenly became proud of my dishes, and I remain so as I continue to use them daily in my new home. They say, “ I am cute and actually vintage. I have held many wonderful meals and will continue to do so for years to come. I welcome the stranger and help them to become family. I still remember the lost art of bringing people to the table. I am lovely.” What a wonderful gift to discover something beautiful and to realize that it had been there all along.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div></div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-79199772164401908162010-06-16T16:28:00.006-04:002010-06-16T17:08:23.376-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Let's Talk Salads.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Blackberry Avocado Salad)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oIWEJ3yBej4vM4EAjOZcGeQ1frA-MyZsBf_5TqY3hHyqRIq5E6wpj-bbmLRsuvSc0qV1KtGu2rEt-_uLRzLD5IrdtvkYCbzQyWpIh6yFwuHbitZnJF7L3RCUpe2kPsiTsdkmCwjsiZI/s1600/DSCN0797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oIWEJ3yBej4vM4EAjOZcGeQ1frA-MyZsBf_5TqY3hHyqRIq5E6wpj-bbmLRsuvSc0qV1KtGu2rEt-_uLRzLD5IrdtvkYCbzQyWpIh6yFwuHbitZnJF7L3RCUpe2kPsiTsdkmCwjsiZI/s400/DSCN0797.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is summertime in the South and what I crave more than anything in our sauna-esque weather are salads. However, salads can be tricky in their simplicity and I often get caught tripping over the same old savory story. My mother, on the other hand, has a way with salads. In college I used to say that my mom could make a salad that you would crave. So, this week I have taken a cue from my mom to toss up a beautiful and quirky summer salad for you to impress your friends with at your next dinner party.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ingredients:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Pint Fresh Blackberries</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Ear Corn on the Cob</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Ripe Avocado</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Head of Romaine Lettuce</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Orange</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 Lemon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Approx. 1 Tbsp of Honey</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Olive Oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Salt to Taste</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Salad:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Start off by washing all of your fruits and veggies and peeling your corn on the cob.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Chop your lettuce. For Romaine I tend to just take the head and cut it perpendicularly across in 3/4 inch sections so that I end up with strips of lettuce 3/4 inch wide by however wide the leaves are. Take your chopped lettuce and put it in your serving bowl.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cut the corn kernels off of the cob directly over your lettuce by running a knife down the cob lengthwise (just like your grandma used to do for you when you were tiny). Uncooked corn adds a delightfully sweet and crunchy surprise to this dish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cut your avocado in half and remove the pit. Now take a knife and cut each half into 1/8 inch thick ribbons. Place your avocado on your salad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Top your salad with the blackberries.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Dressing:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Juice your orange and lemon and put the juice in whatever container you will be using for your dressing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Add the honey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now add probably somewhere from 1/4 cup to 1/2 cup of olive oil. Start with a little and go from there because you don't really want an overly oily dressing for this salad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Salt to taste. Stir/Shake thoroughly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Enjoy! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-27459290609331210622010-06-13T15:37:00.006-04:002010-09-04T22:28:00.926-04:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Patronage.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">by Mary Courtney Blake</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This weekend I attended a jazz performance. The music was very good, but something was off. It was about three songs into the set before I realized what was missing -- no one was dancing. Being a patron of the arts is in some ways an uncharted course because it is not always apparent what one is to be or to do in the presence of art, whatever the discipline. Enchanted or captivated is of course a great start, however, I would like to propose that art cannot become great until it moves you.</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You see, you are the completion of art. You, the patron, are the one that determines whether art is (dare I say) good or bad, successful or unsuccessful. This is not to say that you must like the art in order for it to be good, but you must consider it and respond to it. Great art inspires us, it teaches us, it enlightens us. Some will shock us, some may anger us, and some may cause us to dance... but whatever it is, great art changes us.</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So next time that you find yourself a patron of the arts, allow yourself to consider and respond, allow it to move you. Get out of your chair and dance.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-33696159168897224832010-04-29T09:00:00.002-04:002010-04-29T09:04:56.686-04:00<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What do you call that? Delicious.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> (Petit Strawberry Tartlets)</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBy72PNT7dXkk5xBvKXYcwuOtRuIueXOJRgjil3utUZSk2zd3g57HEuqxi8HFG7ttJSe2LgC5__BhQSMydiwnAxJmE1Kxr7cx1H7mWFFWcWiLfTERdxZHvKrUO6xvCwzxUbqN_jKKEtE/s1600/IMG_1533_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBy72PNT7dXkk5xBvKXYcwuOtRuIueXOJRgjil3utUZSk2zd3g57HEuqxi8HFG7ttJSe2LgC5__BhQSMydiwnAxJmE1Kxr7cx1H7mWFFWcWiLfTERdxZHvKrUO6xvCwzxUbqN_jKKEtE/s320/IMG_1533_2.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;">by Mary Courtney Blake</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">On one particularly sun-filled day this week, I found myself suddenly pulling into the parking lot of my local farmer’s market, my mouth watering in anticipation of deliciousness. I was not disappointed. This happens to be the glorious time of year in Carolina when the Piedmont blooms red with strawberries.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Purchasing my pint of perfectly ripe strawberries, I rushed home to transform them into one of my friends’ favorite springtime treats. I use these pastries when I want to impress, when I want to really offer something special. I offer them now to you, my faithful readers so that you too may impress.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><b>Petit Strawberry Tartlets</b></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Ingredients:</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Puff Pastry</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Strawberries</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Cream Cheese</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Chevre/Goat Cheese</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Powdered Sugar</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Vanilla</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Spearmint Leaves (optional garnish)</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Roll out your favorite puff pastry to a thickness of approximately 1/8” to 3/16”. I suggest that you make your own dough as you can make it up to a day or two in advance. However, if time is a concern use a store bought dough if you must.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydA8YvhBY5fh-dAvUjJp6KKzsgvwMtO5rkKD0algiQtkGZBJk_RSoOr2F2g_B9pb940rH86N7wmR8KAHhOPkDR2FGeyY0k-4oSZ5YN_x6FQODizhZGDTjTo0z7kzdBGUHi3qPNDRABaQ/s1600/IMG_1500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydA8YvhBY5fh-dAvUjJp6KKzsgvwMtO5rkKD0algiQtkGZBJk_RSoOr2F2g_B9pb940rH86N7wmR8KAHhOPkDR2FGeyY0k-4oSZ5YN_x6FQODizhZGDTjTo0z7kzdBGUHi3qPNDRABaQ/s320/IMG_1500.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">Using a cookie cutter (or the lid of a jar or rim of a glass) cut out circles that are approximately 2” in diameter.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09qFS2zgrI6WvsYSwFQd7Gyq1MkvbkVu9br2C6r3wEeqTI5c_Ljk2JAOz-1NuOnsf-uUIy4Q6hybk0kWy1oniRgguRBy6ApwUnFDkAuKSDKEXb7GKh0VnA-hhM5OzrghEgSfQK9dO2gE/s1600/IMG_1504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09qFS2zgrI6WvsYSwFQd7Gyq1MkvbkVu9br2C6r3wEeqTI5c_Ljk2JAOz-1NuOnsf-uUIy4Q6hybk0kWy1oniRgguRBy6ApwUnFDkAuKSDKEXb7GKh0VnA-hhM5OzrghEgSfQK9dO2gE/s320/IMG_1504.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lay out your pastry circles on a baking sheet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_uGPCQKCRScRRkzXjpmnpMeqgNUy4eMUb_rXiTzRkXG_u1SqO6TR7lw6Zk6kU6QPGAs-Dt4X76pLPFte-ZWQjE80acJHYDUFQj8lcIdNBxAj1BKg19947owQTpMVXQIlQWFfizAsJn4/s1600/IMG_1506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_uGPCQKCRScRRkzXjpmnpMeqgNUy4eMUb_rXiTzRkXG_u1SqO6TR7lw6Zk6kU6QPGAs-Dt4X76pLPFte-ZWQjE80acJHYDUFQj8lcIdNBxAj1BKg19947owQTpMVXQIlQWFfizAsJn4/s320/IMG_1506.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Bake them at 400 degrees for about 10 minutes until they have puffed up and are slightly golden.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While your pastry is in the oven, gather your ingredients for the cream cheese frosting: Cream Cheese, Powdered Sugar and Vanilla.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Put the cream cheese in a bowl (I use 4 oz. for 16-20 pastries) and vigorously stir in powdered sugar and vanilla to taste. (A little vanilla goes a long way.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwx2Vne24f7Y2ETTo9WvRCZJrvbWDupVwRkJe_plOwJBG2bECUS96hOaap8WyCii6UpIUgTj4r0c_f_GtRbUoPVgcZR_IdmAqjFdpgTaEELsRlwtMrrW_8Xnj6URjb8IGZygtX0LifkI/s1600/IMG_1522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwx2Vne24f7Y2ETTo9WvRCZJrvbWDupVwRkJe_plOwJBG2bECUS96hOaap8WyCii6UpIUgTj4r0c_f_GtRbUoPVgcZR_IdmAqjFdpgTaEELsRlwtMrrW_8Xnj6URjb8IGZygtX0LifkI/s320/IMG_1522.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now it's time to gather your strawberries!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHX-8dgv1zsQQWGGQmXUe8PO_SCRLATD-0VB-PhW2zfhWPxwQpLhfEUPHS1vJX8qV3OTzDZjgqsZosZtH17vGWL8ue44DpE3Wgt-b1dgbjuVE59hh253bv_KgLX4Wn35siPcnb1ZhT7Yw/s1600/IMG_1512_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHX-8dgv1zsQQWGGQmXUe8PO_SCRLATD-0VB-PhW2zfhWPxwQpLhfEUPHS1vJX8qV3OTzDZjgqsZosZtH17vGWL8ue44DpE3Wgt-b1dgbjuVE59hh253bv_KgLX4Wn35siPcnb1ZhT7Yw/s320/IMG_1512_2.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Placing them on a cutting board, take a sharp knife and cut off the tops of your strawberries then slice them length-wise into approximately 3/16" widths.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAmXmdO0YvGQoWjGEBCedrLn4Bro6zZzXzCzoRGEszP45JaCr3BjnxB2QgSH-xOPVOHolh6W2jU7337Ag3OJ1kXzcRhG3WDQ9D29DGkztsljZs0yawcmjOHxAFoANh8MKfIkifuR_9uY/s1600/IMG_1516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAmXmdO0YvGQoWjGEBCedrLn4Bro6zZzXzCzoRGEszP45JaCr3BjnxB2QgSH-xOPVOHolh6W2jU7337Ag3OJ1kXzcRhG3WDQ9D29DGkztsljZs0yawcmjOHxAFoANh8MKfIkifuR_9uY/s320/IMG_1516.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, it's probably time to take your pastry out of the oven. Remove the baking sheet from the oven and transfer your pastry circles to a cooling rack.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiw5SEM-HXvr-vl_M2DJs_uic6oygBsOgzPP-xognmmGvJZoIpKedfY7cU27svCwFlHZkuXHL6SnhCB0albL0p3OPHFf6NCH5HeDtGoJZHCzbc3mcGIjB6cG6RUcHcuo8m7fqMftbDD9Y/s1600/IMG_1518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiw5SEM-HXvr-vl_M2DJs_uic6oygBsOgzPP-xognmmGvJZoIpKedfY7cU27svCwFlHZkuXHL6SnhCB0albL0p3OPHFf6NCH5HeDtGoJZHCzbc3mcGIjB6cG6RUcHcuo8m7fqMftbDD9Y/s320/IMG_1518.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">While your pastry is cooling, load a piping bag with the cream cheese frosting (if you don't have one, a quart sized zip-top storage bag with a snipped corner will do). Once the pastry is cooled, frost liberally.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3G4PiLETCPygSEnPTacdnbDgst1wV___yirdNN9O9hy4Phin0EIq1IMf29jejvv7ARVT0Ddv2uu4UB3r8oQcsvDviCgIUKeu6qoa6Fu_Tczk2vcShtC6N9H5lrQxQYtUMIP8AOgjACF4/s1600/IMG_1525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3G4PiLETCPygSEnPTacdnbDgst1wV___yirdNN9O9hy4Phin0EIq1IMf29jejvv7ARVT0Ddv2uu4UB3r8oQcsvDviCgIUKeu6qoa6Fu_Tczk2vcShtC6N9H5lrQxQYtUMIP8AOgjACF4/s320/IMG_1525.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Assemble your Petit Strawberry Tartlets by placing a strawberry slice vertically (wide end down) into the frosting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJV8spPwdhUEyClzAHRXGD_tWJKzc_HvxdcdjH5gXymakWl0fQPVV3oZenwLaWD5gFrRH9EzCoFZieCG-w8VXClrBR2iAQxaj7lkOJGTmgx0ZG2ooewKZWFUfV4bSVisgAXm0ViQSfxs/s1600/IMG_1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJV8spPwdhUEyClzAHRXGD_tWJKzc_HvxdcdjH5gXymakWl0fQPVV3oZenwLaWD5gFrRH9EzCoFZieCG-w8VXClrBR2iAQxaj7lkOJGTmgx0ZG2ooewKZWFUfV4bSVisgAXm0ViQSfxs/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now take the goat cheese and scoop tiny dollops next to the strawberries using a 1/8t measurer. Garnish with slivers of fresh mint. Enjoy!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF98rLquZTZv8kD6x6CxAWfcfA8b2-UYc2MEvtb-t6GhzL_KhwFfTvB23Y1RnwNlBLyIuFNsWghck3cp7e5geROPFTZzVyrdmliWynIXw03TadNFUTZa7-TpeMKwBt3TbLOXKngz30wbY/s1600/IMG_1534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF98rLquZTZv8kD6x6CxAWfcfA8b2-UYc2MEvtb-t6GhzL_KhwFfTvB23Y1RnwNlBLyIuFNsWghck3cp7e5geROPFTZzVyrdmliWynIXw03TadNFUTZa7-TpeMKwBt3TbLOXKngz30wbY/s320/IMG_1534.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1191159398642871990.post-9720791607900449042010-04-21T17:42:00.008-04:002010-09-04T22:29:26.873-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Playing for Others End of Year Speech.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">by Mary Courtney Blake</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">As the Visual Art Director and as a Committee Advisor for Playing for Others, I was asked (along with the other seven Advisors) to give a short speech at this year's End of Year Celebration.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Here is the speech:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><br />
</span></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">This past weekend I went out of town to visit an old friend who was having an art show. This friend of mine is a painter and she had created a show around the idea of Home. To her home is not so much a place as it is the moments, memories and feelings that make up our lives. As we ate dinner, we caught up on all of the big things that we had missed in one another’s lives since the last time that we had seen each other. All of the big life lessons, the great art shows and the dreams for the future. And then I turned to her and said, “So, tell me about the important things in your life.”</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">At first she looked at me a bit confused, and then she smiled as she began to understand my request. We began to talk about the simple moments that we as people tend to overlook but that often end up being the most important moments of our lives; the moments of sharing meals, serving others, laughing, walking the dog, finding the perfect cup of coffee.</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">It is easy to count our lives in the big moments and achievements. It is easy for me to look back over this year and discuss the art show, the concert, the musical and the check presentation. But those things are not what make us who we are, who we are is what makes those things. We determine who we are in the small moments when no one is watching.</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">Art has the power to heal, the power to change perspective and to create understanding. I was very proud of all of your accomplishments with this year’s Arts Festival Week. It was great to present the awards for the art show and to present the sculpture to friends, family and strangers. However, these were not the moments when I was most proud. I was most proud of you when I happened to be walking through Amelie’s one day after our show and heard and entire group of people discussing the impact your art had on them, or the evening when I invited two women to add their comments to the sculpture and was able to sit with them and learn from their hardships and journeys, or even the day that I was taking down the sculpture and was able to discuss what it meant to love our friends with the seven year old girl who helped us load the truck.</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">You see, your art was not great because it was big, flashy or made the newspaper. In fact, it wasn’t even in the craft, design or execution, though those things are important. Your art was great because it opened the door for others to share their secrets, joys, pains and lessons. It caused, if only for a moment, people to reflect on their own lives and even to grow from stories that we shared. For this I applaud you. </span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';">You have a great responsibility as artists to present new ideas and understandings to the world. Just remember, the goal is not the big moments we create, but rather letting who we become in the small moments to impact those around us.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><i><br />
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</i></span></div></div>MCBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05504596604065284396noreply@blogger.com0