Blogging, Version 2.0

For as long as I can remember, a large part of my identify has been defined by writing. My first memory of churning out a relatively impressive combination of words was in Mrs. Duerr’s third-grade class, where we were assigned a project that required a short, one-page story (with an accompanying illustration), wherein we were to imagine ourselves as passengers on the Mayflower.  My resulting piece, scrawled carefully in pencil on clean, lined notebook paper, won a blue ribbon at the county fair (ah, the Mayberry-ish benefits of a small-town childhood).  I was presented with a cashier’s check for a WHOLE DOLLAR, which my dad promptly framed and hung in my bedroom – after handing over the cash, of course.

In high school and college, I bought hardcover journals with ribbon bookmarks, and wrote intently in tiny letters.  I wrote about friends, boys; I wrote horrible, Jewel-inspired poetry, and a particularly teenage-esque entry titled, “Annoying Things Parents Do.”  (Much to my chagrin, the adult me now disagrees with about 99.9% of it.) I filled pages upon pages with heartbreaking dialogue of hatred against my own body – a body that I would kill for now; a body that I desperately miss as I tumble, headlong, towards middle age.

And then, though I don’t remember exactly when, it dried up like so many old flowers. I married the boy of my dreams, had a son, owned two lovely homes.  I started a graduate program; I planted a vegetable garden.  I dreamed of going to Europe for my 40th birthday.  But I didn’t write.  Somehow, writing only seemed fitting back when I was an eager 18 year-old – when the world seemed like one endless Oriental rug at your feet, rife with the color and designs of possibility.

 

Darlin’ Darlin’

As an Xennial (born in ’81, I refuse to be lumped in with the notorious M-group), I came to Instagram rather late. Since I journaled my way in pen through pre and post-adolescence with my trusty Five Star notebooks, in adulthood, the IG feels like a fun, updated digital diary, complete with photos and animated stickers.

Although I find “influencer” a slightly irritating title that is seemingly bestowed upon anyone these days, I’ve also discovered a number of Insta accounts that I eagerly anticipate updates from. (I’m looking at YOU, Caralyn Mirand and Girl with Curves!) Chief amongst them is a lanky, honey-voiced sprite who happens to hail from the same area my mother grew up, in northwestern Wisconsin. Devyn Crimson is a Patti Boyd-doppelganger who writes, models, curates thrifted clothing for sale on Etsy, waxes poetic about classic rock, and just generally blogs and films snippets from her everyday life as a vintage-loving chanteuse. She leads a seemingly charming existence, cohabitating with her Brian Jones-esque musician boyfriend (of course), who apparently proposed to her in pre-COVID days with an antique ring; their engagement photos look like something out of a 1969 issue of Harper’s Bazaar.

Ms. Crimson also frolics with a group of girls reminiscent of Frank Zappa’s GTOs, the Runaways, Goldie and the Gingerbreads, and the Shangri-La’s, all rolled into one leggy, miniskirted, go-go-booted, cat-eyed ball of a group named The Knee-Hi’s. Their debut single, “Darlin’ Darlin,'” is adorably addictive, like a haunting new perfume you never realized you needed: top notes of sweet harmonies and jangly guitars; bass notes of classic doo-wop pleas.

I would have fallen head-over-chunky-heels back in my teen days for these ladies. They would have been exactly what I needed in 1995, with my Beatles posters and faux patent-leather knee-high boots languishing in my closet, and the ratty old acoustic guitar that my mother kindly paid to have restrung at a music store nearly an hour away from our hometown. I poured over books of Lennon-McCartney tablatures, but never quite stuck it out long enough to learn to play anything other than a solid G chord. Sigh.

For 2020, the staunch independence, girl-power, and free-to-be-you-and-me ethos that these ladies exude is just what today’s teens need: in a world of Kardashians, be a Knee-Hi.

(The Knee-Hi’s debut single, “Darlin’ Darlin,'” is available on Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube Music.)

Diggin’ My Potatoes

When I was growing up, my sister and I spent our Thanksgiving vacation with our Gram at her house on Prairie Lake in Chetek, WI. This particular holiday meal is etched in my mind like a piece of glass art … turkey breast (no one in the family ate dark meat); mashed potatoes with gravy; “dressing,” (stuffing, in the northern Wisconsin vernacular); the ubiquitous green bean casserole; Brown ‘n Serve rolls; pumpkin pie; and a cranberry salad, which Gram made using a charmingly old-fashioned manual grinder that attached to the countertop in her cozy kitchen, with its big, blonde-wood-framed windows that overlooked the lake. (This is the closest dish I could find that resembles my memory of the actual recipe.)

The next day, when there were various leftovers wrapped up tightly in the fridge, Gram would use the cold mashed potatoes to make what she called “potato patties:” essentially just small portions of the leftover potatoes pressed into pancake shapes in a skillet, and fried golden-brown in a little dab of butter (or, being that this was the 80s/90s, it’s more likely that it was margarine. Blech).

This was one of those Gram recipes that was just so shining in it’s simplicity – quite a lot like her grilled cheese sandwiches, which she always referred to as “toasted cheese;” they were the most basic combo of her favorite English muffin bread, Kraft singles and her little toaster oven, but they were somehow the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the universe.

We had a heap of mashed spuds leftover after Thanksgiving, so I used them to make Gram-style potato cakes for a quick weeknight meal. I decided to deviate from the OG potato patty by adding two beaten eggs, 1/4 cup of flour and some dried chives to the mix, just to create more binding action, and stretch the potatoes a little farther.

I pulled out the griddle for convenience (it WAS a weeknight, after all), but in hindsight, my beloved Lodge cast iron skillet would have given the cakes a much better golden crust.

Regardless, they turned out delish, and we had them topped with sour cream and applesauce. I made some roasted chicken breasts as well, but these could definitely be a meal in themselves – or good with some spring greens in vinaigrette on the side.

Either way, I’m thinking Gram would be proud. 🙂

Down South Camp Meetin’

Well, not really down south. Just south of Madison, but that’s good enough to warrant using a Benny Goodman song title, right?

We got Elenore out a few times before the summer got away from us, but that was mostly  because it was hot and humid and horrible for most of July and August. Joe’s a little more tolerable about that sort of thing than I am, but before we even started looking for a vintage trailer, I said I’d sleep in the pseudo outdoors during the worst of Wisconsin’s sticky summers over my dead body. We also cancelled an early July reservation at Brunet Island State Park to instead spend the sweltering, 90-degree weekend at the downtown Chicago Hilton. (We Vivianis are nothing if not well-rounded in our leisure time interests. 😉 )

We finally snagged a campsite on a late August weekend with the most perfect weather imaginable (read: comfortable), and took Luca on his first camping trip to Yellowstone Lake State Park.  It’s about an hour’s drive southwest of Madison, and I was expecting it to be pretty mundane, but we were pleasantly surprised: the campsites were clean, quiet,  and full of gorgeous white pines; the lake was warm and there was an adorable little ice cream shop/diner on the park property.

Yellowstone Lake is also unique in that it has literally hundreds of bat houses scattered throughout the park, so I honestly didn’t see ONE mosquito. It was absolutely heavenly. Viva la Eleanor!

Glass Onion

I’m super proud of our garden this year – it’s really exploded over the last month! We did a section of herbs, and a then a few veggies: zucchini, summer squash, red peppers and cherry tomatoes.  I also scooped up a few these amazing thornless berry plants, which can be grown in large pots on the deck, easy-peasy.

I planted a row of rainbow chard, simply because I think it’s pretty to look at, but also because it’s my not-so-secret mission to love eating rainbow chard. Every time I go to our local co-op grocery store, I get taken in by those colorful gorgeous greens like they’re a bad boyfriend. And then they either wilt in our crisper drawer, or get passed along to a chard-loving friend who can give them a better home than me.

During my last dalliance with rainbow chard, I went to great pains to re-create this recipe for garlicky greens and polenta. Normally, Bon Appetit’s Carla Lalli Music and her “Bin It to Win It” videos are my jam, but even this recipe just could not turn greens into anything that didn’t taste exactly like the dirt they were grown in. (Sorry, Carla.)

But then I came to a glorious realization – I can use my chard to make PESTO. Omg. If anything can make a bland old plant taste like heaven, it’s heaps of toasted pine nuts and a butt-ton of freshly-grated parmesan cheese.

I loosely followed this recipe, but I think pesto is pretty much up for interpretation, as long as you have a food processor. I’m a pine nut freak, so we usually always have a container in the house, and the rest of the items (garlic, parmesan, olive oil, etc.) are usually things most people have on hand.

From backyard garden …

to glorious green pesto! This was about 3 big handfuls of rainbow chard, minus the stems.

I used the pesto in a super easy dinner of grilled salmon and fresh egg pappardelle, but there are so many more uses for it that I have to try – my friend, Jen, who is a regular recipient of my cooking experiments, used it in a quesadilla with roasted veggies.

Next up: some research on zucchini recipes, because we will be BURIED in them once August rolls around. 🙂

Walking the Floor Over You

Of all the jobs that Elenore’s renovation required, I was the most excited to see new flooring. The original linoleum was about what you’d expect (gross), and somewhere along the line, the previous owners had applied a dark peel-and-stick tile that was trying really hard to come across as a reasonable improvement from its 1968 vomit-colored predecessor.

We knew we wanted to do a vinyl plank, for ease of installation and the fact that it’s virtually water-proof and easy to wipe clean. We went with this floating vinyl plank from Menards, which was a pretty good deal at under $40 a box; this project required about two full boxes.  I was really surprised at how quickly the process went – it took Joe most of the day to measure, cut and lay the flooring, but by about 4pm on Saturday, the only task that remained was to nail in the trim!

I was particularly proud of the solution Joe came up with for the the old heater grate. After we removed the gas heater, I thought the empty space would be perfect for a trash can, and planned to rig up a fabric curtain to hide it. But then we realized that it would be more useful and aesthetically appealing to somehow use the original grate, so Joe attached hinges and magnets to create a little drop-down door. I love that we could keep the original look of that spot, while still making it more useful in a modern sense (i.e., a spot to store a trash can instead of a deadly carbon-monoxide-emitting heater. Definitely a win).

It’s honestly just SO much fun to see everything coming together. I love how the green stove pops in contrast with the clean white and the pecan finish of the floors.

There’s only a handful of projects left, which is exciting, because our maiden voyage is scheduled for June 14! Joe and I are heading up to Perrot State Park (Luca will be with Nana & Bapa), to check out their kayak trail and of course get some delish supper club fare at Sullivan’s. I’m only mildly concerned that I swatted away my first mosquito on May 15th.

 

Paint It Bl – er, White.

Elenore has been home for a few weeks now, with her brand-new frame parked right outside our house! She’s noticeably sturdier when we step inside, even without the stabilizers in place. Joe got sick of wrapping her up like a ginormous gift in the world’s largest tarp, so he ordered a rather nifty RV cover, complete with zippered door for easy access without cover removal. So far, it’s held up nicely to a few rain showers, a thunderstorm or two, and a couple inches of wet snow (ahhh, spring in Wisconsin).

I’ve been using the pronoun “we” a lot in these descriptions of Elenore work, but by “we” I mostly mean “Joe.” I’ve been chief designer and child-wrangler, which really suits our personalities best (Joe likes things done in very specific ways. I love the boy to bits, but he’s definitely an excessively careful worker, whereas I’m much sloppier. But it works for us, so whatevs).

The limited work time that we can get at the moment has been devoted to priming and painting the walls and cabinets. I’ve mentioned it before, but Shasta purists are aghast at folks who opt to cover the original paneling – which, in my opinion, works just fine with the earlier Compact models (pre-1965), because they had a beautiful, rich, amber-colored birch interior – a little fresh shellac would probably do the trick. But for some reason, the style of the later 60s was a lighter paneling, which I liken to a cross between a pale tan and a sallow grey. It’s just … icky. On a Mendards trip, we found Dutch Boy’s Split Banana, which I thought would bring a lot of light and space, without being too starkly white. I’m absolutely loving it.

 

The next (and super exciting) step will be flooring, which is a vinyl plank and corresponding shoe molding that Joe got on sale at Home Depot (you can see one plank laid out in the photos above). The previous owners covered up the original, hideous 1968 linoleum with an equally hideous peel-and-stick tile, so we’re hoping that the new flooring can just snap in on top of the current monstrosity. Given how drastically new floors can change a home aesthetic, I’m incredibly excited to see the difference a floor-facelift makes in the teeny space that is Elenore.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

I went to the gym this morning, and also managed to have a light brunch with a friend without ordering mimosas. (Although, we did give the hand-squeezed grapefruit juice salty dog cocktails next to us a healthy dose of jealous side-eye.)

Anyway, when you only spend $18.55 on brunch for two at a super cool east-side spot (ahem, Mint Mark, my new true love), you deserve to check out the famed $1 vintage jewelry sale at Retro Revolution, one of my very favorite spots in all of Madison.

Retro Rev has an amazing selection of midcentury artifacts, and everything is shockingly affordable – we found a 60s (faux) Danish walnut-veneer lamp and a very Dick Van Dyke Show-looking end table there for under $70. The jewelry sale comes along once in awhile, and basically requires you to dig through several bins of vintage jewelry, each one in its own little plastic bag, and each for a mere $1.

I snagged mostly necklaces, but also a few brooches for my crocheted turban hat designs.   Such a satisfying shopping trip for under $12!

Orange Crush

Although it’s super weird for winter in Wisconsin, we haven’t had any snow to speak of this year until last night, during which a snowstorm dropped several inches (and turned our relatively modest, 25-minute Friday evening commute into a snails-pace, hour-and-a-half ordeal. Ugh).

But this morning, all ’twas a winter wonderland outside our windows, and, pretty though  it might be, it also had me feeling COLD. I like to start my Saturdays with a little cooking or baking for breakfast, so I found this sunny, citrusy, whole-grainy, carroty recipe online, and let me tell you, YUMMMMM. I love orange-scented baked goods, because they remind me of these simple yet wonderful orange cookies that my Gram used to make when I was little – something a bit like this, but of course, nothing will compare to Gram’s original handiwork.

Luca is always happy to help with baking, and luckily, grating carrots is a favorite activity, because I was loathe to get the food processor out and wash that beast.

There just so happened to be a few random oranges in the refrigerator, and because we are a Montessori household, we have not one but TWO child-sized citrus juicers (another messy yet satisfying Luca pastime).  There’s only about a tablespoon of zest and 1/3 cup of fresh OJ in this recipe, but the resulting orange flavor is super bright and sunny. Viva la orange!

Heart of Glass (or, that time I became obsessed with resin jewelry).

When we moved into our home in Madison two years ago, we left behind an old Evansville farmhouse, that, despite its agricultural pedigree, was pretty bereft of attractive plant life. The first spring we lived there, way back in 2007, some errant yellow and white tulips appeared on the side of the goat barn-turned-garage, and I was ecstatic. Over the next ten years, we managed to plant some sad lilacs that never bloomed; a teeny, raised-bed vegetable garden that yielded not much more than overgrown cherry tomatoes and a few herbs; and a brilliant, deep-pink peony plant that first bloomed the same week Luca was born in 2014.

So we were surprised when our citified, 1979 two-story boasted gorgeous plant life: scarlet climbing roses; mature and fragrant lilac bushes; lush, drooping peonies; delicate bleeding hearts that reminded me of my Gram; charming, tall irises, and a large, white flowering crab tree that covered the front yard like a swath of bridal tulle.

This fall, I started noticing resin jewelry pieces on Etsy and Pinterest … I’m so captivated with the artists who use natural flowers/plants/other findings from nature in their baubles. I’m not exactly a green-thumb kinda gal, but I’ve always had an affinity for beautiful things; for traipsing around in the woods and picking random floral treasures (this goes waaaay back to my childhood, when my sister and I used to play in the woods adjacent to our house, and pick honeysuckle and the forbidden white petals of the state-protected trillium flower. Whoops).

I picked up some polyester resin and catalyst at Michael’s, along with a cheap silicone candy mold; we’d taken Luca on a walk at Aldo Leopold Nature Center that weekend, and I had collected some dried winter plants and berries. Joe helped me mix up the resin and cast the molds – we discovered that polyester resin, while cheap, also happens to smell like absolute crap.

 

I left it alone for a few days, and our garage still smells like a chemical plant. The result wasn’t exactly the resin pieces of my dreams, but it was definitely a successful experiment.

Looking forward to trying the process with epoxy resin, which is reportedly less lethal-smelling (albeit more expensive) and some much prettier molds/jewelry bezels. For now, these pieces are headed for sanding, and then some plan to make them into pendants or pins.

Baby Got Back … end rot.

I had really high hopes that Elenore’s frame damage would be confined to one side, and then repairs would be done in a jiffy, enabling us to take a maiden voyage this fall. I mean, I had a vision, people.

But, as we’ve quickly discovered with vintage trailer restoration, one problem usually leads to another … and another … aaaaand another.

Upon further inspection, it turned out that the entire back end framing also needed to be replaced. We begrudgingly authorized the work, and I admit that I was way more excited than one should be to see brand-new wood and insulation.

So now I have to wait out the agonizingly long Wisconsin winter to have a crack at any further work, let alone having our first Lucy and Desi adventure. But Luckily, Elenore gets to languish in the cozy garage at Custom RV Services, scot-free. Bring me the head of the first person who accidentally cracks one of her precious jalousie windows in the meantime.