I started reading a new book last night, A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg. I'm only a couple "chapters" in (I use that term loosely, for reasons detailed in a moment), and already, I'm smitten. This was one of those impulse "It's-a-gorgeous-Saturday-and-I'm-at-Barnes-and-Noble-yearning-for-something-new-and-relaxing-and-interesting-to-read-during-the-summer-that-will-help-me-feel-inspired-and-ease-thoughts-of-wanting-to-slap-everyone-I-come-into-contact-with-on-a-daily-basis" kind of purchases. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It might not happen at the same time of the year for you... for me, it's always late spring/early summer, when things are finally starting to calm down, and the magnitude of the uber-stressful school year finally hits you as it comes to a close. But I'm sure you've felt that before, too. When I feel that way, I begin looking for an escape. Luckily, my escape-route isn't through alcohol (well, maybe a little) or hard drugs... And oddly enough for someone who has always seemed to live and breathe music, even the most beautiful of melodies and harmonies isn't quite enough when I'm feeling this way. I really do want to be inspired, and I find that the things that inspire me the most these days center around people who find ways to turn their passions into something easily accessible through every-day-living, and they take the next step of sharing those things with everyone else. Those stories make me feel good. It's that "sell everything and move to a beautiful country cottage in France and tell you all the wonderful things you can do to bring that same joy into your world" kind of story. I especially love the ones that delve into some sort of creative pursuit (art, writing, food, and yes, music), and that's how I stumbled upon this little treasure of a book.
They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but there was really no possible way for me to look at that cover (seriously, go look at it) and not feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. The aesthetic felt like it would have that "ahhh factor" for me, and the color combination is currently my favorite (actually that's what my living room looks like, though I'd simply die to actually be allowed to paint the walls that shade instead of the much lighter version of it that they are currently). Then I discovered she was sharing recipes and telling witty, charming, and heart-warming stories to go along with them... and it seemed perfect. And I'm happy to report that a few chapters in, my theory is holding true. It's a combination memoir and cookbook. Though I rarely stick to someone else's recipe, I absolutely love reading them. I love the process of cooking just as much as the final product. How wonderful it is to start with a list and pile of separate ingredients and see them develop into a perfect pumpkin cheesecake with bourbon-caramel-pecan sauce. I love morphing the original plan to come up with something more interesting (see aforementioned sauce) that turns out great. (I'm sure there's some tie-in here with my love of putting furniture together, though I do follow those instructions to the nose, lest I end up sitting in a crumpled heap of wood fragments and tiny allen wrenches instead of the beautiful dining room chair I just tried to assemble.) The whole thing is just great. And this author, Molly Wizenberg, describes that process and her time in the kitchen to perfection.
Each chapter is built around a recipe. But it's not like "bam! here's the recipe, and here's something quippy about how happy it makes me." She explores all the joy and pain that we associate with family memories - we all have those. Some make us cry with laughter, and others make us feel like we've been punched in the stomach. And in her family, all of those memories could be associated with family time in the kitchen, and she uses this book as a way to weave together tales both of great humor and the pain she felt as she watched her father battle and eventually lose his life to cancer. Before getting into the recipe, she starts each chapter with a story... and it's not just about how wonderful the recipe is going to be, but she almost uses it as a way to validate the importance of the recipe. And I mean that in the best way possible. Like, it might just be potato salad to someone else, but to her, it was a perfect reflection of a father that she absolutely adored.
That all sounds fun, right? But my favorite part is her honesty. She didn't have to bare her soul when she talked about her mom's poundcake, but she did. She didn't have to tell these tales like a normal person - she's a published author, after all. But I mean, she actually used the word "ballsy" to describe the amount of dressing used in her dad's potato salad. It made me laugh out loud, in the quiet stillness of my room. (Yes, it was one of those awkward ones, because I was by myself and it echoed all around the room.) Anyone who will just be that open about salad dressing is going to get my vote. Just saying.
The best part of this discovery is that she also has a blog. In fact, the blog is what started the journey to the book. She writes a column for Bon Appetit magazine (a subscription to which my dad has given me as a Christmas gift for several years now), but I didn't make the connection. Who knew? Anyway. The blog is also super fun and has lots of pretty pictures that make me feel happy. You should check it out too: Orangette.
I guess the next question for me is what am I going to do with this new-found inspiration? There's a part of me that just doesn't have the energy to try to undertake the things that people like this somehow manage to do, and then write about, so beautifully. But I love doing stuff. And I love writing about doing stuff. I just don't do it because I feel like things in my life take up my time. But what am I really doing with that time? Am I being productive? Am I being creative? Am I doing anything that brings joy not just to myself but might also have an impact on someone else? Usually not. I'm usually wasting time - time that I can't ever get back - on something that doesn't really feel important. Then again, you could argue that in the vast expanse of the universe, maybe a food blog isn't important... but it sure has created a wonderful opportunity for this person to share her experiences and create a shared community for like-minded folks to connect. In the vast expanse of the universe, nothing any of us does can really be significant, but in our own little worlds, this is all we've got.
So I don't know... I guess it's time to do more. My problem is never the idea, it's the follow-through. And it's not that I'm incapable of follow-through. After all, that's what I get paid to do - come up with an idea or a vision and make it happen. I'm actually really good at it. But I have a paycheck and job security as motivation, whereas in my own real life, there's no one but myself to push me. And sometimes myself would rather spend time stalking someone on facebook or watching some mindless reality show. But stories like Molly Wizenberg's give me some perspective. I have dreams and ideas and hopes. And those are things I can pursue, even if I don't quite have the resources to make them all happen at this point. Maybe it's time to try to set some things in motion. It seems like everyone has a blog or some random corner of the information market these days. I don't know that I really have so much great information to share, but maybe sharing things more regularly will also provide inspiration for myself to do things more regularly. Who knows. The wheels are turning though. The wheels are turning, indeed. Thanks, Molly Wizenberg!
