I know today is the first of the year and the time for resolutions and healthy recipe searches, but while we were in Ohio last week, Tim got talking about some chocolate chip cookies his mom used to make, crisp…
My friend Leslie runs a Chicago-based jewelry business called LittleGemsUSA, from which 50 percent of all proceeds go straight to charity. Today it is our pure honor to feature that business here, alongside a recipe for the homemade graham crackers…
A few Wednesdays ago, sitting at our weekly dinner with Tim and his brother, Nate, I quizzed them about their favorite Christmas memories. Tim and Nate are two of three children, their older sister still in Ohio with her husband and three kids, and, as two boys only 13 months apart, they shared a room until the day she left home, when they were ages 16 and 17. They stayed housemates, first in Ohio, then in Tennessee, until the day Tim and I got married and he moved out to live with me. So I like asking them together about their childhood because, in the way that your best friend remembers things about that summer road trip that you forget, the two of them round out each other’s stories. “What were some of your favorite Christmas foods?” I was asking the two men that people still call by each other’s name. Tim said pasta. Nate tried to think. But before long they were telling me about the piles of cookies their mom made every year, from cathedral cookies (marshmallows peek out between layers of cookies, creating what looks like stained glass) to kolachkys (a favorite in my childhood, too) to what Tim referred to as “color cookies,” something I’d never heard of before.
“You remember them, Nate, the ones that had food coloring in them? Red and blue and gold and green?”
When Tim and I came home from Maine, it was with three or four local publications in tow. Between the food festival, our hotel, and a few Portland kiosks, we’d managed to wind up carting around copies of The Portland Press Herald, Down East Magazine, Green & Healthy Maine, and, amongst some other pamphlets, information packets, and a city map, the source of today’s recipe: Northeast Flavor Magazine. This was partly because people kept giving us the content and partly because I can’t turn a glossy magazine or fresh newspaper down. I’m a sucker for pretty packaging, I’m not ashamed to say it, which is at least part of what’s drawn me so deep into the blogging world, as well as why walking through Anthropologie is my idea of a good time.
Tim and I woke up screaming in the middle of the night last week. I didn’t check the clock when it happened, but it must have been 2 or 3 AM, the only noise the hum of our air filter, the only light our neighbor’s driveway flood lamp. Even with our blinds closed, the flood light still filters in, our unavoidable night-light while we sleep; we’ve said many times that we should buy drapes to make the room darker, but, two years in, we haven’t. The first thought I had was, I’m screaming! The second was, Tim’s screaming! He’d been having a nightmare, his explanation came out in a slow mumble. In the midst of it, he was about to fall off the bed, bringing our blue quilt with him, but just before he could, his legs kicked and his eyes opened and he screamed, louder than I knew he could scream, and right in that deep-sleeping moment, my body joined in.
The next day, after we’d replayed the entire experience for each other, right down to the way I nervous-laughed for about seven minutes after waking up, imagining our poor upstairs neighbor wondering what was going on, I finished my work hours and Tim said, Go do something that refreshes you—Go bake! And I made lemon curd.
I got the idea because someone I follow on Instagram made a lemon curd tart recently, saying how it’s the simplest set of ingredients, just egg yolks, sugar, lemon, and butter, and the day after the Screaming Episode, simple seemed like just the thing.
“A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short.” Andre Maurois
You may assume a couple that works from home together shares a great deal of time—and, in fact, they do. In our daily routine, Tim and I prepare joint breakfasts, raise questions to one another from across the room, share work snacks of chopped apples, almond butter on celery, warmed-up leftovers from the night before. Most afternoons, when one of us receives a question about schedules or planning, there’s little of that lag time between initial query and checking with the spouse because answers come quick when the spouse is but an arm’s length away. And I’ll tell you, quite candidly, that once you’ve tasted this kind of immediacy, it’s a hard thing to let go of, so we’re prone to say how much we hope we never will.
Still, though, time is not time.