Years ago some dear friends and I collaborated on a group blog called the Transpacific Sketch Project where we shared bits of beauty we found throughout our days. It was wonderful. These friends of mine showed me the glories of the PS22 Chorus (how can you not fall in love with a group of schoolkids singing their hearts out), the Sound of Music Flashmob (I still watch this to cheer me up when I'm having a bad day), and an incredible amount of good poetry, art, and music. I miss those days of unapologetic earnestness.
We were very young then, just as we are still quite young now. What I miss most about my younger self was my complete willingness to be overcome by the beauty of things. Small phrases, lost coins, the feel of pages beneath my fingers. Nothing was too small to be noticed. I savored words, craved them, sought voraciously for them. I found poetry this way.
Back then Mary Oliver filled my days, as did Li-Young Lee. With their voices in my head, the world abounded with possibilities, language took on a rich, surprising flavor. And over the years, I now understand that I have lost poetry by refusing, or neglecting, to pay attention. By allowing myself to become absorbed with the mundane, the external. So here is my attempt to resurrect the part of me that has lost its way. Today is for spring and for poetry.
*In an attempt to shake my mental creative black hole, my goal is to create a new printable most Fridays. Check out the free printables page to see if any strike your fancy. Share to your heart's content!
For years, making roast chicken terrified me. How on earth did that slimy, nasty raw bird become a glorious, crispy-skinned feast? Too afraid to try roasting a chicken on my own, I satisfied my craving with frequent Costco runs. Honestly, Costco's rotisserie chicken is hard to top. But there is something wonderful about roasting a chicken in your very own oven.
The first time I tried it, I used Ina Garten's Perfect Roast Chicken recipe. It is, indeed, perfect. Hints of lemon melding with thyme and hearty roasted root vegetables. Plus, I felt like a bonafide adult having conquered the roast chicken. Here's the thing no one ever told me: roasting a chicken is super easy. Just watch the other master of roast chicken, Thomas Keller, as he shows the world his easy method:
Since I love both Ina Garten and Thomas Keller's recipes for different reasons, I decided to combine the best of both worlds. The result is a roast chicken so crispy, so savory, that it recalled the rotisserie chicken Warren and I shared on the steps of the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, a dreamy little mount in Paris. We bought our chicken from a butcher at the bottom of the hill. He was a slight, bearded fellow with rosy cheeks. He wrapped our bird in white paper and asked us to sing Amazing Grace with him. How could we refuse?
When we unwrapped the bird after the slight hike up to Montmartre, the smell made my mouth water. We didn't have utensils so we picked the juicy meat off with our fingers. We were a hot mess when we were done but it was so worth it. The chicken was rich and buttery with a paper thin skin that snapped when you bit into it.
Oh, Paris... It's hard to believe how clearly I can recall nearly ever meal I ate there. Remember the hash brown crust quiche? Friends, let's all board a plane to France, like, stat. I should say that the secret to making this roast chicken with super crispy skin is corn starch. I know, it sounds weird, but it helps dry out the skin, which makes for a terrifically crisped bird.
4 medium carrots, sliced at an angle into 1 inch chunks
olive oil
a few sprigs of thyme
About 3 hours before you want to eat the chicken, rinse the chicken and pat dry with paper towels. Mix the cornstarch and table salt in a small bowl. Rub the cornstarch/salt mix into the chicken skin. Salt and pepper the inside of the chicken and stuff the cavity with a quartered onion. Let chicken come to room temperature.
About 1.5 hours before you want to eat, preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Meanwhile, chop the vegetables and place in a large roasting pan with the quartered lemon and the second onion. Drizzle with olive oil. Sprinkle with half of the lemon zest. Salt and pepper the vegetables and mix so everything is covered. Prepare the chicken for roasting by tucking the wing tips under the body and tying the legs together. See Thomas Keller's method in the video above. I don't bother trussing the bird, just use a strip of foil to tie the legs together.
Rub a little olive oil on the chicken and sprinkle with Kosher salt, the rest of the lemon zest, and thyme. Place the chicken on top of the vegetables. Roast the whole kit and caboodle for 45-60 minutes, until the juices run clear when you cut above the leg. Take the chicken out of the pan and let it rest for 10 minutes covered loosely with foil. Continue roasting the vegetables until they look brown and caramelized. Carve the chicken and serve warm with a hunk of crusty bread, French peasant-style. A smear of good, grainy mustard doesn't ever hurt.
___________ I imagine this chicken would taste devilishly good with a little leftover Gorgonzola fondue. Sandwich the meat in between two thick slices of Peter Reinhart's focaccia with leftover Gorgonzola fondue and I pretty much guarantee that you'll be loving life. Just saying.
Anyway, Rebecca Skloot's talk was wonderful. She discussed not only her writing process for Henrietta Lacks but also her journey to become a writer. She was kind of a wayward student but somehow managed to get obsessed with Henrietta's "immortal" cells back in a high school biology class. Her curiosity got the better of her and she spent nearly a decade researching and writing about HeLa cells--Henrietta's cervical cancer cells, which were the first human cells to successfully thrive in the lab. Henrietta's cells opened the door to tons of research and led to, among many things, the polio vaccine. The book is completely fascinating. If you haven't read it yet I highly recommend putting it on your reading list.
My favorite thing she said all night was almost an offhand comment. When explaining how she wrote the book, she simply said, "I was just following my curiosity." Her high school obsession with HeLa cells stayed with her through her college creative writing classes, her graduate thesis, and finally to this book. And it all came down to being curious. I love that. It was such a great reminder, not only as a writer but as a person who is interested in the world. It's amazing how such a seemingly small thing--a human cell--can open up a whole universe of thought. What is your latest obsession/curiosity? I seem to have a new one every week but lately Warren and I have been really into ants. Terribly fascinating creatures, ants.
One more awesome thing about Hill Auditorium, which seats 3,538 and is known for having perfect acoustics. The architect's granddaughter related the following: "Hill Auditorium was nearly finished when I was fourteen or so. My father and I went to Ann Arbor. Father stood up in the last seat of the second balcony, and I went down on the stage. On my word of honor, I dropped a pin and he heard it." Awesome, right? The good folks at Sun Dog Lit were kind enough to publish a guest post I wrote called "3 Writerly Do's and Don'ts Gleaned from J.J. Abrams' Alias." I love doing these Pop Culture Writing Lessons and can't wait to write more.
Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper. Swoon, right? The Wonder Years is one of those shows that I go back to again and again. When I first moved to Iowa I was homesick out of my mind. My dear friend, Patricia, was also similarly marooned in a grad program thousands of miles away. For a few blissful weeks that first lonely semester we would video chat and watch The Wonder Years together using the modern marvel of YouTube.
Kevin, Winnie, Paul, and the whole gang became our surrogate circle of friends. We laughed with them, cringed at their every awkward moment, and cried. I will never forget the night we watched "The Accident." No matter how you feel about Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight" (I firmly approve), the final moments of this episode are so beautiful and true that they restored my faith in humanity.
And so I dedicate this Friday to Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper. Since this wouldn't be a true homage to The Wonder Years without a few of its iconic songs, here is a playlist to help you sail through to the weekend.
Click on the button below to get the Kevin and Winnie printable.
In an attempt to shake my mental creative black hole, my goal is to create a new printable most Fridays. Check out the free printables page to see if any strike your fancy. Share to your heart's content!
While this will ultimately be about these incredibly delicate, lacy Speculoos cookie butter thins topped with crushed Heath bar, I wanted to first make a detour and revisit our too-short weekend in Washington, D.C. We were craving French fries by the time we drove into D.C. so we made a pit stop at Good Stuff Eatery to indulge in Spike's ridiculously good rosemary village fries and messy (aka, fantastic) burgers. Note how happy Warren looks upon receiving the hefty bag o' burgers and fried goodness.
While Warren busied himself at his conference, I caught up with dear friends and wandered around the Mall to visit some of my favorite old haunts. When I first moved to D.C. my friend, Thelma, introduced me to the gorgeous and serene Freer Sackler Gallery which houses Whistler's Peacock Room.
Couldn't you just while away a million hours reading in this lovely place?
Patricia was kind enough to keep me well fed and entertained. And the eggs benedict at Del Ray Cafe was amazing. Especially with a little crab thrown in. We spent a lot of time crafting and basking in the glorious spring weather. Seeing that it snowed in Michigan while we were away, I was pretty glad about life in D.C.
One of the best parts about driving around D.C. is that you often get lost and run into things that remind you to take a deep breath and appreciate everything you have. After the tragedy at the Boston Marathon this week, looking at this weekend's photos of the Iwo Jima Memorial is a moving reminder of both the despair violence creates and the grace so many individuals carry. I am grateful that I was able to spend this weekend with family and friends in a place that I once called home.
It's true that cookies seem kind of frivolous in the wake of disaster but they are also one of the simplest and homey comforts for me. For a lot of people, probably. The scent of freshly baked cookies is the smell of childhood, of Grandma's house, of all that is good and lovely in the world. One of the first kinds of cookie I learned to bake was the classic 3 ingredient peanut butter cookie. It was so easy that even I could produce a golden batch in a half hour. These Cookie Butter Lacy Thins revisit that familiar recipe with a few excellent additions; namely, Speculoos Cookie Butter and Heath English toffee bits. They are easy enough for kids to make and tasty enough to make all involved parties happy.
So today, go forth and bake. Be comforted. Be well.
COOKIE BUTTER LACY THINS TOPPED WITH HEATH ENGLISH TOFFEE BITS
Mix the first three ingredients together and roll into 1 inch balls. Chill the rolled dough for at least an hour. Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a cookie pan with parchment paper. Transfer chilled dough to the cookie pan. Use the bottom of a fork to flatten the cookies down a little. Sprinkle each cookie with a little extra sugar and a teaspoon or so of Heath toffee bits.
Bake for about 10-12 minutes, until crisp on the edges and slightly underdone in the middle. Allow to cool completely before eating. As a note, these cookies spread a bit but that just makes their crispy lacy-ness all the more alluring. I used my lacy cookie as a makeshift spoon to eat a big bowl of vanilla ice cream. Highly recommend. Makes about a dozen.
Hard work. That's a phrase I have never liked, mostly because my standard operational mode is permanently set on "lounge." Even as a kid I did not like getting my hands dirty. I whined when I had to do yard work or wash the dishes or pretty much anything else that looked a bit like work. This attitude has not served me well. I am perhaps the laziest adult alive.
I should amend the previous thought: I will put my heart and soul into something that matters to me. I will work--and work hard--if I care. But if I don't care? Well. I become cranky. I hem and haw. I stall. I want to be more cheerful when I work. I want to be able to grin through the hard part so I can get to the fun, easy part. Because every single thing that I have actually worked at--and worked through the evil difficult part--I have ended up enjoying quite thoroughly.
Case in point: cooking. For whole decades of my life the only things I could properly cook were fried potatoes and eggs. Cooking was so ridiculously hard for me. So many nit picky directions and fussy methods! It seemed downright Draconian. But after a lot of fails and a lot of practice I now find cooking delightful. Cooking lets you conjure something out of nothing. It is pure magic. It is much easier for me to cook dinner today than it was when I was a bumbling, crabby twenty-year-old.
I want this cooking story to be a sort of catch-all fable for everything I'm attempting to work at in my life--finding fulfillment, creating meaningful things, learning how to live more staunchly in the moment. But it is, like most fables, too clear. Too easy. Perhaps it is the difficult part of learning something new that makes the easy part that follows all the more meaningful. Perhaps the fulfillment comes from the hundreds of hours dedicated to mastering a skill, an art form, a singular risotto. Perhaps, after all, it is the hard work that makes anything worth it.
This is something I need to remember, particularly when it comes to the hard--very hard--task of writing. So I made you a little something that might make it easier to remember. Because everything feels better in watercolor. Feel free to download and share to your heart's content.
*In an attempt to shake my mental creative black hole, my goal is to create a new printable most Fridays. Check out the free printables page to see if any strike your fancy. Share to your heart's content!
Friends, I have found the holy grail of leisurely weekend lunches: fluffy pillows of Peter Reinhart's focaccia bread smothered in to die for Gorgonzola fondue. Add a few tart slices of apple and snappy green beans and, well, there are simply no words.
I mean, just look at those gorgeous, airy pockets of awesome in this focaccia. Glory in the golden crust that sparks in the mouth with Kosher salt, Parmesan, garlic, and herbs. Rendered speechless, right?
Warren and I first tried Gorgonzola fondue at Sweet Lorraine's, a great little restaurant our friend Stephanie introduced us to. It looked so unassuming, this creamy white bowl of cheese standing guard over a stack of steaming focaccia. We ended up practically licking the bowl clean. At a recent Sweet Lorraine's girls' night out, we slathered the fondue onto our burgers and dunked our fries into it. I'm telling you, this stuff is lethal. And perfect. I had to figure out how to make it at home. My version is a little thicker and a little cheesier. But there's no harm in that. Not one bit.
This fondue is not for the weak at heart. It is robust and rich. It enjoys a challenge. Warren, despite his lactose intolerance, could not ignore its siren call. He popped a Lactaid pill and hoped for the best. After his first bite, he promptly crowned it The Best Thing Ever and used half the pan of focaccia to soak the Gorgonzola fondue up.
I won't put Peter Reinhart's focaccia recipe here since it's quite long but it is, without a doubt, the best focaccia I have ever made. It's sticky and seems involved, but it's actually quite simple, just super time intensive. You'll want to set aside an afternoon to make the dough. Then it needs to be in the fridge overnight before being baked. It's perfect for a lazy weekend at home and it is worth every single minute. I used Brown Eyed Baker's version of the focaccia.
3/4 cup half and half (you could also use heavy whipping cream for even more decadence)
1/2 cup chicken stock
2 tablespoons cornstarch
5 oz. tub of Gorgonzola cheese
1/2 cup shredded Italian cheese
1 tablespoon parsley
1 teaspoon rosemary
pinch of white pepper
Rub the garlic clove on the bottom of a heavy pot. Add the half and half and chicken stock. Bring the liquid up to a slight simmer on medium heat. When steam starts rising from the liquid, pour 1/4 cup of it into a measuring cup. Stir the cornstarch into the 1/4 cup of warm liquid until dissolved. Set the cornstarch slurry aside.
Add the Gorgonzola and Italian cheese to the pot. Stir until melted. It takes a few minutes and will seem very watery. Never fear, the cornstarch slurry will turn it into a lush pot of melted goodness. Add the cornstarch slurry to the pot. Bring to boil for about 30 seconds, or until the fondue has thickened.
Take off the heat and stir in the herbs and white pepper. You can use a few grinds of black pepper instead. Serve with fresh focaccia, fruit slices (like apples and pears), and vegetables. Feel free to pour the leftover sauce onto anything that strikes your fancy. Serves 2 as a hearty lunch with some leftover, or 4 as an appetizer.
Before I entered the painfully real world that is office work, I was an adjunct writing professor. This was an absolute ideal gig for lazy-bones me because its flexible schedule encouraged all sorts of napping and Hulu watching. But it didn't allow me to tackle my student loan as aggressively as I wanted, nor build a savings account. Off to the real world I went.
While I love my job for many reasons--it provides stability, structure, and is way better than my former stint in sales--it is, through no fault of its own, a little soul-crushing. What I mean is that it has become increasingly difficult for me to stay in a creative mindset after spending the day running financial reports and clawing through a pile of paperwork that just won't end.
As a result, I pretty much stopped creating. Perhaps you can relate. Maybe you're not stuck at a desk job. Maybe you are elbow-deep in diaper changing, or wrangling teens, or struggling to find your purpose. I've noticed that a large part of my day happens on autopilot. But when I'm creating, I am paying attention. So maybe that is how we kick ourselves out of autopilot? Worth a shot.
So, three things we might try this week to cultivate a stronger creative atmosphere--despite any sort of 9 to 5 drudgery:
1. Use Your Breaks--and your sick/personal/vacation days: They are yours. Use them. I have a habit of foregoing all breaks (or sick/personal/vacation days) to a) leave work earlier or b) save them for a rainy day. However, banking all this time does nothing for me. It is far kinder to indulge in more frequent--though shorter--breaks during the day and throughout the year. Use these breaks to read your favorite blogs for inspiration, do a 15 minute free write or sketch, or sew something--whatever creative act floats your boat. Even after a few minutes of doing something that I love, I find that I can attack my stack of papers with more vigor than before.
2. Set Boundaries: For instance,I do not check work email after hours. Everyone I work with knows this. It may bother them but I would much rather devote any non-work time to things that I want to do, such as dink around with HTML or Gimp. For me, that is worth the hassle of doing a massive inbox purge every morning. I know that when I leave work, I am mentally done for the day. This frees up much needed mental space to devote to creating things. Not everyone has this luxury, particularly parents, but do try to carve out some sort of boundary--however flimsy it might be--that allows you a second to breathe.
3. Strategically Slack: It is perfectly okay not to be your office's energizer bunny--you know, that person who always volunteers to do stuff, to organize birthday parties, and to be an all star team player. Value yourself and your skills by not stretching yourself too thin in the name of ambition. Saving stress in this way gives you time to either invest in what you do well at work, which also has the added benefit of increasing your confidence away from the office, or to zone out for a bit. Zoning out is underrated. This is the time your brain needs to unconsciously mull creative projects over. Strategic slacking allows you to maintain and sometimes even increase mental energy so you can use it after work to make/do something you love.
What about you? How do you battle mental autopilot in your life? Check out more Life Tips by reading How to Deal with Failure.
When I lived in Iowa, I would go on weekly road trips to find the weird, the odd, and the amazing. A. Kendra Greene was my partner in crime for Tuesdays with Iowa and I am delighted to present her Festival Friday guest post for your well-deserved end-of-the-week enjoyment.
The sauerkraut at Lisbon Sauerkraut Days is free. You’ll have to pay for anything to put it on, but rest assured there are burgers and brats to be had. There is also, for that matter, cotton candy and lemonade and funnel cake so good that, when my partner Dustin and I were there, we seriously overestimated our tolerance for fried food and went back to order a second wandering spiral of dough. It was, in the tradition of fair food, a thing of beauty: hot and staining grease through the paper plate while supporting a positive drift of powdered sugar. But that second helping was also the origin of what we now refer to as The Funnel Cake Rule, wherein the consumption of any one funnel cake must be preceded by a one year waiting period since the last, and which we have strictly observed ever since.
In a town of 2,000 people, I imagine there’s not a great deal of traffic diverted when Lisbon, Iowa closes the main street to cars and sets up food stands and carnival rides instead. Indeed, within five blocks the store fronts turn to residences, and from my seat in the concert stage bleachers I stare across the street at the drawn curtains of a private home, wondering if there is always a Confederate flag in the window or if it could possibly have some connection to sauerkraut.
Iowa, you will be gratified to know, leads the nation in sauerkraut festivals. Lisbon, Ackley, and Blairstown, Iowa all celebrate annual Sauerkraut Days festivals. Illinois hosts similar cabbage-based celebrations in just Frankfort and Forreston; while Utah, Minnesota, and North Dakota each have one event apiece.
In Lisbon, it literally takes a week to indulge in all the LSD festivities*, from praise service to biggest cabbage weigh off to chicken chip bingo. I don’t even like sauerkraut, but I do have a weakness for outdoor movies, running events with names like the “Kraut Route 5k,” and street dances. Which is why, after dropping in the Lisbon Historical Society for a brief history of the festival that included a lot of tee-shirts and one Cabbage Patch doll, Dustin and I pass through the beer tent to hear the live band.
The Large Midgets is a cover band with its heart in the 1980s and a lead singer that, in between songs, hurls tee-shirts and thong underwear printed with the band’s logo into the crowd. Lisbon, the night we visit, is more a sit-and-listen than a get-up-and-groove kind of audience, but Dustin and I determine to join the diehards in the middle of the street and dance. The singer is aiming a thong at a group of high school girls near the stage who seem to be in the midst of babysitting, when a man from the beer tent approaches us. His path to us is not a straight one, but when he reaches us he holds out a bottle cap, presumably from the bottle of beer in his other hand, and announces to me and Dustin, “I wish I had two of these!” He continues, tapping us each on the head with the bottle cap, “If I had two of these, I would crown you king”—tap— “and queen” —tap— “of dancing!” At which point we know the night cannot get any better. And when we are too tired to dance we walk back to the car, with sticky fingers and sweaty backs, with breath like pickled cabbage, and, in honor of our recent coronation, as regal a carriage as we can muster.
*not that anyone at Lisbon Sauerkraut Days abbreviates it as LSD
I was first introduced to the gluttonous magic that is Panda Express in college. I know, I was so late to the orange chicken party. Needless to say, whatever addictive additive they put in their food had me hooked. Panda Express is what I crave more than any other fast food, with the exception of Five Guys. Before I realized that their two-entree meal could comfortably serve a family of four, I loved to treat myself to a hefty orange chicken, beef and broccoli, and chow mein combo. Such wonderful, glorious carb overload!
Now that I'm older, my body can't quite handle that epic meal so I had to figure out a way to satiate my fast food Chinese take out craving at home. My first foray into beef and broccoli was such a fail that I couldn't even sit at the table while Warren tried to choke it down. But then, praise be, I found Iowa Girl Eats. And her beef and broccoli recipe is pretty spot on and terrifically simple.
To accompany the beef, I wanted to try and replicate one of my favorite take out dishes--green beans and shrimp. Since I'm terrible at stirfrying everything, I went for my favorite veggie prep method: roasting. This meal takes about 20 minutes. Serve on a bed of steamed white rice and you will be one happy camper. Unless you don't like seafood. Then I would highly recommend making beef and broccoli by Iowa Girl Eats. Or just omit the shrimp to have a lovely Asian-inspired veggie side dish. Regardless, this meal is a total win.
CHINESE TAKE OUT STYLE ROASTED GREEN BEANS AND SHRIMP
1 pound fresh green beans, poky ends snapped off
6-8 oz. frozen cooked shrimp (large), thawed in warm water
1-2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon fish sauce
sesame seeds for garnish
Preheat oven to 425. Dump green beans on a rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with vegetable oil and grind pepper over the beans. Stir with a wooden spoon to make sure all the beans are covered. Roast for 10-15 minutes. Add thawed shrimp and roast for 5 minutes more. Drizzle pan with sesame oil and fish sauce and toss to incorporate. Sprinkle with sesame seeds and serve over steamed rice. Easy peasy. Bonus: This is a totally satisfying gluten-free meal and won't leave you with post-Panda Express lethargy. Win!
A note on fish sauce: yes, it smells disgusting but it doesn't taste fishy once it's in a dish. It has that umami thing going on that makes this dish sing. You can easily find Thai Kitchen brand fish sauce in pretty much any market. It's kind of a weird thing to have on hand but if you want to explore more Asian-style cooking, it's a great ingredient to have on hand.
Kathleen Kelly ruined me. The second she opened the doors to her wondrously cozy book shop in You've Got Mail I knew I was done for. Shop Around the Corner was, for me, the Platonic ideal of a bookstore. It embodied warmth and imagination with its checkered floor, its kid-height shelves stuffed with cheery picture books and plush stuffed animals. As an unreformed bookworm, I wanted to live there forever. It seemed tailor made for dreaming and reading.
Whenever I walk into a new bookstore I wonder if it will sweep me away as thoroughly as Kathleen Kelly's fictional paradise did. I can't say that it has happened yet but I am still hoping. Still, going into any bookstore or library has a way of making me feel like a kid in a candy store. And going into a used bookstore is infinitely more exciting. There is just so much possibility.
Michigan's oldest and largest used bookstore is located in the heart of Detroit. John K. King Used & Rare Books is housed in an old glove factory and is stuffed from head to toe with books. Rows and rows of stacks. Shelves bowed under the weight of books. Miles upon miles of books. It is amazing and a little overwhelming.
The store is so massive--four stories plus a basement for your perusing pleasure--that you could get lost in there for hours. Some of the floors are dimly lit and dusty, a little bit like being in an old fashioned library. There are step stools to reach the highest shelves and charming hand drawn maps that point to this section or that.
My favorite section, obviously, is just for tweens. It is a Tween Studies dream come true.
All the books of my youth are here. Those classic hardcover Nancy Drews. The whole gang from Little House on the Prairie. The Bobbsey Twins cavort up and down the aisles. Books glorying Boy Scouts, Motor Girls, and general youthful adventures abound.
I just adore these vintage hardcovers. The simple line drawings and letterpressed bindings are fantastic. I could fill entire walls in my home with these gems.
While John K. King Used & Rare Books is certainly not the cozy, intimate Shop Around the Corner, it is one of my favorite places in Detroit. Because when you find your own little spot by a window and open up an old favorite, it feels a little bit like how I imagine Kathleen Kelly's glorious shop must. The whole place has that lovely old book feel. Worn in and comfortable. A little frayed around the edges. A place worth knowing.
Doesn't all this talk about bookshops make you want to cozy up with a really good book? I'm thinking about cracking open an old favorite like The History of Loveor Anne of Green Gables.
