Love Garden

Tending
Our old love garden -
Watching a season
Slip through my fingers.

Entire forests
And fields
And a celadon sea
Pulled through my chest.

Open hole,
Tenderly waiting
To be filled.

{Jill Lurie 10/31/11}

Teacups

You are the milk
You are the honey.
You are fine porcelain on linen.

You are the gourd
And the straw
And the fingers that formed them.

You are the ceremony.

You are the leaves and earth.
You are the sun and rain.
You are a field of green
As far as the eye can see.

You are the teapot
And the tea.

You are the body that contains
All this beauty
Though nothing could compare to
The sweet, overflowing vessel
That is your healing heart
Which I now carefully cradle
In the palm
Of my thirsty hands.

{Jill Lurie}

Chef Crushes – plenty of Eye Candy without a single calorie

It’s Saturday morning, which for many means cartoons and a bowl of cereal. But for those of us who like to indulge in cooking shows, it means a new week’s worth of shows. Yes!

I love watching cooking shows, and have been doing so since I was probably 10 years old. Those programs got me interested in good food and cooking techniques beyond the iceberg lettuce, ground beef and taco packets my well-intentioned Midwestern mom would serve (sorry Mom!). Since culinary school was never on the horizon, those shows were as close to Le Cordon Bleu or CIA as I was ever going to get.

When I was a kid, PBS was where you’d find all the good cooking shows: Today’s Gourmet with Jacques Pepin, The Frugal Gourmet with Jeff Smith. PBS still has a great line up of shows, broadcasting new programs with some of the chefs I watched as a kid (Sara Moulton, Nick Stellino and Lidia Bastianich, to name a few). Now, with the addition of Food TV, you are never at a loss for something good to watch.

That said, since I’d rather be cooking or eating instead of sitting listlessly on the couch, I am pretty selective about what (and who) I watch. Of course I’m interested in the ingredients used and preparation techniques, but with some of the male chefs out there these days, there’s plenty of yumminess to be had, and I don’t mean what’s on the plate.

What is it about cute male chefs? All that prowess in the kitchen, with an end product you get to put in your mouth. Sounds good to me.

Halloween is in a couple of days, so here’s my Top Five list of TV chef crushes – plenty of eye candy without a single calorie:

5. I have to give this to Jacques Pepin, the grandfather of cooking shows. He started it all for me. I love his accent and beautiful French food. He’s passionate about cooking and has been doing it for decades. I love a man with talent and dedication.

4. This goes to Andreas Viestad. He’s a little preppy for my taste, but adorable nonetheless. I’d love to meet him in the snow-capped hills where he films his shows for a cozy meal by the fire. His happy attitude, fresh, rustic food, and knowledge of history and nature definitely get him on my list.

3 & 2. This is a tie between my two favorite judges on “Chopped”: Aaron Sanchez and Chris Santos. Believe me, while I enjoy the show, it’s not just the contestants I’m watching. Aaron is more of the pretty boy and Chris has a raw appeal, but they are both covered in tattoos and have a polite but commanding presence when judging the food placed before them. I’ve told my husband that I wouldn’t mind being a judge on that show, sandwiched between Aaron’s appetizer and Chris’ dessert, if you know what I mean. That’s when my hubby just rolls his eyes and asks me what’s for dinner.

1. I know this is totally predictable, but I’m going with Tyler Florence for my number one choice. Cute, creative and a family man – what more could you ask for!

It’s all just good clean fun, and there’s nothing wrong with a little ‘admiration’ for all the hard work those chefs put into their craft. In the end, my handsome hubby wins the prize – he’s extremely adept at boiling water, doing dishes, and taking me out for a nice restaurant meal from time to time. Love you babe!

Following breadcrumbs..and the pursuit of pleasure

Some of the crumbs left out on the trail

One crumb may end up being just a tiny piece of grain, but when two or more start to line up, I know there’s a trail I’m supposed to follow.

I should back track for a moment to say that I love books. My life would not be what it is today if it weren’t for countless books I’ve read over the years. Thank you to all the authors who gave up their personal and family time to pen the words that I needed to read, which often landed at exactly the right time, sometimes even hundreds of years after they were first written.

Second, I should say that I love libraries. I think that it’s such a gift to have access to thousands of volumes on hundreds of topics – absolutely free. Libraries are also a sweet reminder of my late grandmother, who was born in 1913 and volunteered at her local library well into her 80s.

Ok, back to the original story…

Last month the idea popped in my head that I’d really like to read the book “Chocolat.” I’d seen the movie many times but never read the novel. A couple of days after thinking this, I found myself in Westwood with five minutes to spare before a meeting. I noticed a public library that I’d never visited before. I walked in the lobby and my eye went to a large brown box that contained a stack of old books that someone had dropped off – free to any takers. On top of the stack was, you guessed it, “Chocolat.” When I opened the inside flap of the book, I saw that the previous owner had hand written her name: it said Jill.

Earlier this week, I stopped by the library just down the road from me to return some books. As with the other location, a box of old used books was there for the taking, set out by the entrance. There were many interesting volumes in that well-worn box, but I was intrigued by one in particular called “Healthy Pleasures” written by two doctors in 1989.

Though one is a novel and the other is a sort of ‘prescription’ for well being, the message of both these freebies was loud and clear: life is too short to not take every opportunity to experience pleasure. Set in a small town in France, the main character in “Chocolat” is committed to a life of creating beauty, culinary delights, and sharing it with others. In “Healthy Pleasures” the premise is that counting calories and logging miles on a treadmill is less impacting to your overall health and well being than enjoying daily pleasures.

As someone who wakes up every morning asking “What fun and magical thing is going to happen today?” before my feet even hit the floor, I might not seem like the person who needs reminding to have a good time. The truth is, though, even I have glimpses of guilt or doubt in the midst of doing the things I really love. There is sort of that illogical fear that if I allow myself to completely indulge, it’s all going to disappear. Or, sometimes I feel bad because I know that others might be struggling when I’m at home painting a picture, cooking something yummy or playing with my dogs.

I think back to my grandmother, who, like me, had a very fiery side. Unfortunately, she was probably born in the wrong time, because I watched her keep herself contained most of the time, as she probably imagined a ‘proper’ woman should do. I wonder if she’s looking down on me now, from her big library in the sky, leaving a trail of books on pleasure for me. Maybe she’s realized just how much she neglected her own desires. Maybe she’s graciously reminding me (and anyone else reading this) that in the end it all slips away anyway, so you might as well do what truly brings you joy.

That's my grandma on the left, at 19, with her ultra conservative mom

The Morning I Met You

You could disappear
For the next one hundred years
And return
With white hair
Down to your knees.
And still,
My desire
To love you
Beyond reason
Would be as fresh
As the morning I met you.

{Jill Lurie}

For the Love of Garden Shops

Some people like to complain that LA is just a big concrete jungle. But anyone who’s a gardener in this city knows that’s simply not true.

I had the pleasure of visiting a plant nursery this morning and was reminded of how these often-hidden shops really are the little gems of the city. The instant you enter one, you forget about the endless six lane roads, LED billboards and mini malls, and become completely engulfed by a lush and fragrant little world.

I’d say that there are a dozen or so nurseries on the Westside, where I live, and each one has its own character. Some are more polished and ritzy (yes, even plant stores can be high-end here) but I tend to gravitate towards the gritty, less-travelled ones that are tucked away and over-grown.

Today I visited one just off Venice Boulevard, a few minutes from my home. Hidden behind a car wash and fast food restaurant, once inside, you’d never know that you’re still in the middle of the city. The air is suddenly cleaner, bees and dragonflies abound and the light reflecting on all those little green leaves seems to sparkle.

I spent a good half hour there, coffee in hand, walking through the gorgeous plants and observing the antics of all the guys working there. The watching is part of the fun for me, too. Watering, shoveling gravel and top soil, deadheading old roses – I could be anywhere, at any point in time. It also reminds me that not all people here are preoccupied with their cars or perfectly styled hair.

As simple as it seems, each time I visit one of these little nurseries, I feel refreshed and re-energized. Even optimistic. I’m reminded that even with all the craziness of living in Los Angeles, there is still much beauty (and even nature) to be enjoyed, if you know where to look.

Not a hike in Topanga Canyon, a plant nursery 5 mins from my house

The messy parts are just as appealing to me

Garden Path

Restless Hearts

Touch me
Or don’t.
I still feel you
Deep inside.

Paint me a picture
Or leave the canvas
Pale as snow.
I’d know
Your golden light
In the shadows
Of the night.

Read these words
Or forever close the book on me.
The bond between
Two restless hearts
Can never
Be severed.

{Jill Lurie}

Dog People: Part Two

Though you wouldn’t know it from last week’s dog post, I live with not one, but two hilarious hound dogs.

Introducing, Jones:

Jones will be a bee this year for Halloween

Jones is a ‘lemon’ color Basset Hound who is four years old. He is really more of a butterscotch color, but lemon is the term given to the breed to denote his particular shading. We think that ‘lemon’ often describes this dog. Though not technically defective, his antics really do sometimes make us stop and wonder: “What goes on in that brain of his?”

Jones spends 80 percent of his time sleeping, and about 19 percent of his time on his back, waiting for someone to pet him (sometimes doing both at the same time). Seriously, he’ll gladly wait a minute or two – upside down – for me to finish what I’m doing just to give him a little rub. The problem is that when you bend down to reach for him, he springs a leak and often times ends up ‘wetting’ both himself and the floor around him. Lemon.

There's Jones, in the corner of my bedroom

Sometimes he does manage to stir from sleep and make it into the big ol’ world. When that happens he goes straight outside to spend a few minutes investigating the back yard. Almost every time, he’ll walk directly to the patch of worn out grass to roll his entire body in the dirt, so that he resembles a walking canine corn dog. Lemon.

Also, there have been many occasions where I’ve caught him just staring at a wall. To my untrained eye, I don’t see anything happening on the wall, but there’s Jones, staring at it. Lemon.

But what Jones lacks in street-smarts he more than makes up for in other ways. Yes, there is lemonade in this story (sorry, I couldn’t resist).

Basically, his body is comprised of 96% love (the other 4% is ears). When Jones makes his way through the world, his theme song is most definitely “All You Need is Love” by the Beatles. He’s that adorable.

He will stop anything he’s doing to give you a kiss. Anything. He could be eating his breakfast or chewing on his favorite bone or even sleeping, but if he senses you are near, he’ll gladly turn from what he’s doing to look you in the eye and slather you with his tongue.

Also, he’s extremely loyal – both to the humans of the family and to Sara the Beagle, who is pretty much his best friend/spouse/main squeeze. During his sporadic waking moments he follows her around like a Hound-in-Waiting. You can tell he adores her and is willing to look past her, ahem, shortcomings (‘recycling,’ stealing his food) just to give her love and to rest by her side.

He’s also very generous in spirit. Jones is sort of the Gandhi of dogs. Whereas the Beagle is always on the take, Jones would gladly give you the proverbial shirt off his back, just for a warm bed and a kiss goodnight. His joy is to see others happy.

Aww, Jones, I’m sorry; it turns out you’re not a lemon at all.

Jones' tail says it all: Why ask why when you could be giving someone love instead?

Garden Club – The Learning Curve

They say that teachers learn as much as they teach. I definitely think that’s true. While I’m certainly not a teacher at my son’s school (I leave that to the paid saints), as a parent volunteer I do assume the ‘instructor’ role for a few hours each week during Garden Club, which is now in full swing.

Last year I was lucky enough to have a partner to co-run the operation – a friend and fellow parent. But now that she’s moved out of the city and on to greener pastures, it’s just me and 20 kids each week making our way through the dirt, weeds and worms.

I’ve definitely learned a lot, even in the past few weeks since school began:
1. Things turn out a lot better when you have no expectations…at all…whatsoever.
2. Let other people help you. Repeat: let other people help you.
3. Things don’t need to be perfect for them to turn out exactly as they are supposed to.

Since there is no way for me, as one person, to do everything or get it right every time, things have been a lot more fun and relaxed once I gave into the flow of Garden Club, rather than trying to perfect it. If my intention is for everyone to have a positive experience, then it really doesn’t matter if someone gets a wet shoe, a dirty fingernail or if an eager little hand accidentally breaks the limb off a tiny plant. Shoes will dry and plants will grow back.

I’ve also learned to be less harsh on myself. Specifically, I no longer feel I have to do EVERYTHING on my own as I originally went into this thinking. Nobody likes a martyr, least of all me. To this end, I’ve gently asked some of the other parents to step in from time to time to help fill watering cans, move tools or assemble the kids when it’s time to line up and plant. Yes, even I can learn. Sometimes the parents are willing to help, and sometimes they just aren’t in a space to do so. Since I’ve let go of how it needs to turn out, I’m not attached to who helps and who doesn’t. I’m grateful when someone can step in, and quickly move on when someone says they don’t have time to help.

I’ve also been amazed by the kids. Either by luck, or chance or thanks to the garden fairies, we haven’t had any more trouble since our initial watermelon incident. The kids have been excited, sweet, helpful and curious. Their enthusiasm and gratitude is, truly, adorable.

A couple of weeks ago, when we did our Fall-themed planting, I thought to myself that I wish I’d made time to stop at the grocery store to pick up a pumpkin to decorate the planter box. But I didn’t have time, and I decided that was ok. As luck would have it, one of the girls just happened to bring a home-grown pumpkin with her that day to decorate the garden. Go figure. When I asked her what prompted her to bring the pumpkin, she said, simply, “It just seemed like the right thing to do.” I love that.

This past week, while I did make it to the nursery to buy more plants and the hardware store to purchase new watering cans, I simply didn’t have the energy to go to the thrift store, as I’d originally planned, to purchase clothes to spruce up the scarecrow. I made the decision that it was more important for me to arrive at the garden – and the gaggle of kids – with enthusiasm, patience and energy than complete an errand that would have only worn me out.

As ‘luck’ would have it another student just happened to bring a shirt and hat for our scarecrow. It worked out perfectly, and now that little girl will be able to look at the garden and see a piece of herself in there, too. In allowing myself to not have to do everything, it creates a place for others to find their place, as well.

In the end, it is just Garden Club after all. Mother Nature’s had the whole system worked out perfectly for thousands of years, it’s us humans who are just catching on.

I love that a "Garden Angel" keeps watch over the plants

Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Till It’s Gone

When it came time for me to leave for college, my quiet but very sentimental dad offered me two things: safe transportation of all my stuff in the back of his old but beautifully maintained 1977 two-door Chevy Blazer, and a mixed tape (made by him) of Joni Mitchell.

That tape became one of the anthems of my college years, in part because the songs were so beautiful and in part, of course, because the music connected me to my dad. My dad lived and breathed music – and when he chose specific songs for me, I took notice. Maybe the lyrics said some of the things that his loving but detached personality was unable to say.

One song that always stood out was “Don’t It Always Seem to Go.” Even though musically it’s not one of my favorites, the message has stood with me all these years. “Don’t It Always Seem to Go…That You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Till It’s Gone,” Joni professes in this very 70s song.

I’ve kept those words close in the nearly 20 years since I was gifted that tape. Trying to be less ‘busy’ and enjoy more of what matters to me, so that when ‘it’s’ gone (as all people and things eventually will be) I’ll know that I really appreciated everything to the fullest, while it was still here.

Joni’s song started playing in the back of my head this past week when I arrived at the site of the Thursday Farmer’s Market here in LA, held at the Veteran’s Garden near Westwood. This has been one of my all-time favorite markets for the past few years, which is saying a lot, considering that I live in a city where a market is held every day of the week (and I’ve been to all of them).

It was the smallest market I’ve visited, tucked away in a magical, quirky, overgrown secret garden that’s run by Veterans. The entrance of the beautiful garden was peppered each week with a handful of stands selling vegetables, flowers, dried fruit, essential oils and the most delicious food stand, run by a local family.

Driving over, my mouth was watering, thinking of the flowers I planned to buy and the food I was about to eat. Each time I’d order a Pupusa with Loroco and cheese, spicy salsa, slaw and a big glass of homemade strawberry lemonade – all for just $4 – which in Los Angeles is basically stealing. The stand was run by a young man, his aging mother (who I accidentally referred to as his grandmother once) and a rotating cast of cousins and friends.

After I’d purchase my little plate of heaven, I’d sit under the enormous fig tree to enjoy my ridiculously delicious lunch with the faint sound of live music in the background. Simple pefection.

You can imagine my shock when I arrived at the site last Thursday to find a ghost town. Where there used to be a mass of parked cars, colorful tents, music and steam erupting from the corn roaster, there was absolutely nothing. Not even a trace.

I saw one security guard sitting in an adjacent lot. I went over and asked him what happened. “The last market was held three weeks ago. They simply weren’t making enough money, so they had to shut it down. It was costing the farmers more to set up than they were actually making.”

My heart sank. In a moment it was all gone. Just like that. No more strawberry lemonade. No more salty, cheesy, crispy pupusas. (I have no idea where else this family sells their food). No more watching my son dance to the music at the edge of the secret garden. No more watching the sweet old veterans mingling with the farmers and customers. I know I can still visit the garden, but it just won’t be the same.

And yes, there are many more markets here in LA, but this one can never be recreated. It was that special. The hidden garden location, the random mix of vendors. Truly, there was nothing else like it.

I think I did know what I had, even before it was gone but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss it.

I snapped this photo of my son over the summer in the Vet's Garden