Here's to Halloweens past

I love me a good dress-up! For me, Halloween has never been about the spooky — it's only been about the opportunity to go out and be whoever it is you dream you would be. I think my costumes of Halloweens past put my state of mind and being pretty much out there for all the world to see, wouldn't you agree? (Duh: Cindy Lou Who and a Springtime Wood Nymph Diet Coke Spokeswoman!)

Dreams

Dear Jenny Packham,

Thank you for feeding my so-out-of-reach dreams.

Sincerely,
Drooling.

Unicorns

I was feeling down, and what did
a friend just say to pick me up?

"I want to give you
all the unicorns!"

Consider a smile back on this one's face.
Oh, and let's not forget this.

Blondies do have more fun

Last friday, I hosted a Halloween bash for my college amigos, complete with: a vat of turkey chili, caprese salad, garlic bread (to ward of Vampires, of course), hot and spiced apple cider, and warm-from-the-oven graham cracker blondies with vanilla ice cream. I'm telling you – these blondies are so easy, and so yummylicious... I just can't get enough of them. They're practically perfect in every way! And such a crowd-pleaser. Everywhere I turned I heard "yummy" sounds — what more can a hostess ask for in a dessert?

Dress up

I don't know why I don't share more wedding gowns — Lord knows I stare at them at least 18 hours a day. Here's one from Monique Lhuillier's fall 2012 collection. Beautiful, amiright? Sigh. There will definitely be more where this (wedding gown pretty) came from. Until tomorrow, then.

Stormy weather

What we've got outside is just that: stormy weather. And this dance number, featuring the
Nicholas Brothers, is from the 1943 movie, "Stormy Weather." Now, me? I'm a Fred Astaire fan.
I adore Gene Kelly. I think Donald O'Connor totally holds his own with Gene in "Singin' in the
Rain." Eleanor Powell is, I think, probably the best female tapper I've seen in the movies — with
Ann Miller and Vera Ellen close on her heels. So look at me — the old-time-musical-lover, and I
don't know a lick about the Nicholas Brothers — and (sadly) it's surely because they were black
entertainers in a time when inferior white talent always got top billing. I'm not in any way saying
that my opinion of Fred, Gene, or Eleanor has shrunk in the past 3 minutes and 11 seconds — but
these guys sure are something. So let's hear it for stumbling upon new-old talent, and give 'em a
standing O where it's due; take it away, boys!

Awesome stumbling

Today I stumbled upon Bespoken Art: Your voice printed on canvas. How crazy, out-of-this-world is that? I love the idea of "Love" hanging above the bed, or a his and hers "I love you," seeing how the two images differ based on their own unique voice. Something to keep in mind, as gift-giving season is just around the river-bend.

C'est bon!

Once upon a time, a few weeks back, I made these French Breakfast Muffins from the Velvet Lava Cafe — though I actually made them for dessert. Oh my gosh. To. Die. For. The consistency was springy and satisfying, but not too heavy. Take 'em hot out of the oven, roll 'em in melted butter, then roll 'em in a mixture of cinnamon and sugar — like I said: To. Die. For. They're best served warm. The Boyfriend ate two of them for dessert, and the next day informed me that he woke up at 4 in the morning and ate a third. We warmed them in the microwave for breakfast, and they were just (well, as near as nearly can be) as scrumptious as right-out-of-the-oven. So easy and pretty, I can't wait to make them again! Perhaps for the holidays? I think yes. Om nom nom.

Love me do

Check out this mash-up of 22 Beatles love songs by Grant Woolard. Neat!

Castle on a cloud

"There is a castle on a cloud.
I like to go there in my sleep."
_Les Miserables

Prague Castle, Czech Republic.
One of the oldest and largest castle complexes in the world — you name the style of architecture, this baby's got it: Baroque, Gothic, Romanesque? Done and DONE.









Peles Castle, Romania.
Located in the Carpathian mountains, it's safe to say the world built this castle. Queen Elisabeth of Romania said, "Italians were masons, Romanians were building terraces, the Gypsies were coolies. Albanians and Greeks worked in stone, Germans and Hungarians were carpenters. Turks were burning brick. Engineers were Polish and the stone carvers were Czech. The Frenchmen were drawing, and the Englishmen were measuring." Talk about a group effort!







Neuschwanstein Castle, Germany.
This beauty was designed by a theatrical set designer, rather than an actual architect. This explains it's stunning location and fanciful feel — only a play-maker and dreamer could have envisioned such a lovely sight.

Spontaneous subway dance

Over the weekend, I was lucky enough to venture to the great city of New York. We made the journey from the Midwest to visit a couple of friends who recently set up residence in The Big Apple — and to celebrate one of our own's engagement with a bachelorette party and bridal shower of surprises. We planned the party to epic proportions, complete with the Almost-Newlywed Game, "Celine Dion: A New Day" playing in the background, a scavenger hunt, a lollipop bouquet, and royal wedding inspired fasniators made by Erin and I with nothing but a couple trips to Michaels and some $2 hot glue guns. But one thing we didn't plan was the greatest surprise of all: a spontaneous dance party on the New York City subway.

There we were, 2 A.M. and minding our own business, when a band of Cuban musicians boarded the subway car, their guitars, accordion, and mustached lead singer in tow. My Spanish-speaking amigas took the reigns and asked these musical gents if they would serenade our bride-to-be. Oh, and they did. And it was beautiful. Magical. Wonderful. Immediately following the bridal serenade, Colleen (our resident Maid of Honor) got up to dance with the lead singer while the others played a peppy, instrumental little ditty. Colleen eventually pulled Shea (the bride) up to dance and spin, while the lead singer twirled Rachelle. Moments later, the shortest and squatest little man came to ask for my feet in dancing — and I of course said yes. Eventually, the entire car was either up and dancing or filming us on their mobile phones. When we reached our stop, we tossed lollipops into the air, shouting "Thank you!" and "Gracias!" as we sped off the train. I really do thank those gentleman, for more than just a subway ride that didn't include my being nauseous — I thank them for a lasting memory, one that I know I'll cherish forever and ever. (Amen!)

Start spreadin' the news

I'm leavin' (at 1:30-ish) today! From work, that is. To go where? NEW YORK, NEW YORK! (It's a wonderful town!) — That's right. I may or may not be a baby bit excited like whoa. And I wish I had more time to write all the dirty details, but I guess those will have to wait until I return. For now, let me just share a pic of a pretty cake I made for our "Old-fashioned Cake Walk" at work today. That's right. Old-fashioned. In our so-ugly lunch room. With numbered paper plates for people to stop on as they walked. Sigh. At least they had some old-time-y fair music playing on a tape recorder a-la Musical Chairs. And, at least, everyone loved my cake — huzzah! Ohhh, the joys of baking. But now, I must jet to that jet plane. Wish me a bon voyage! Catch you on the flip side.

Kristy Mitchell knows pretty

Kristy Mitchell is a fashion photog, and boy oh boy — are these ever pretty! Kristy hails from Kent, "the garden of England," so it's little surprise that her photos center around the garden. The pictures below are from her "Wonderland" series — and I'm slightly obsessed.

Bah!

((Photo courtesy of Flickr and Dragan*))

Spiked sauce

A couple weeks ago (yes I'm playing catch up), I made tomato sauce from scratch for the very first time — complete with vodka. Yep. I somehow managed to assemble the blender — which we bought at the beginning of summer, with every intention of becoming a smoothie-drinking family — and concocted this recipe from 6 Bittersweets by way of Food Gawker.

Oh. My. Gosh. The girl said in her blog post that her boyfriend asked her to never stop making this. I will tell you right now — I took it upon myself to ask me to never stop making this. It was out of this world yummy! I made the recipe as stated and had enough for half a box of spaghetti — and that made enough for Boyfriend, myself, and a bit leftover (like enough for a pasta-on-the-side for my mom and dad the following night — not enough for an entire second meal for two). I would definitely keep the recipe as is — not change a thing — but be sure to double it for an entire box of spaghetti for feeding four people. If you are serving more than four, triple it (why not?) and add another half-box of pasta. There's nothing wrong with having leftovers!

And speaking of leftovers — it might even make sense to just make extra sauce all at once, and add it to your pasta to taste. That way you can store the sauce for future nights and not have to get out the blender again — huzzah! I definitely can't wait to make this again — so worth it. And somehow, the vodka makes it so, so wonderful. I don't understand how, but it does. Yeah hi, I'm now salivating and I'm an hour away from lunch.
Oh help!

T.P. gowns and such

T. P. = Too Pretty? Totally Prettiful? Toilet Paper?

Well, yes, actually, all of the above. Thanks to TomAndLorenzo.com, I got a taste of the Cashmere bath tissue's couture collection (made entirely of toilet paper) for breast cancer awareness. How awesome is that? See more here!

Pumpkin pancakes

The other day, I stumbled upon a blog called What Megan's Making — and let me tell you: Megan's making lots of fall yummies. So i followed her recipe yesterday morning for pumpkin pancakes, and boy were they yummy! I personally I enjoyed them with oodles of butter, powered sugar, and cinnamon on top — om nom nom. We doubled the batch to feed five people and have only four pancakes leftover. If you have hungry hippos who want at least three flapjacks each, then for sure double the batch!



((Photo courtesy of What Megan's Making))

Puppy love

There's nothing more to this than my saying "Isn't Pippin just the cutest darn puppy
you've ever seen?!?!" This weekend was a rough one chez moi, and this little guy sure
got me through. That little peanut sure is this (wo)man's best friend.

Yes, please.

Clearly somewhere Grecian.
I want to go to here. Le sigh.

Countdown

Beyonce is like a perpetual countdown to Awesome. It's like Zooey's hair (I know, I know, I keep referencing The Zooey) — she makes me want to be a better person. Or at least a better entertainer. Not that I'm really an entertainer now in any way, shape, or form so as to be able to get better... but whatever. What it comes down to is that Beyonce is a force to be reckoned with. How does she move her body that way? How is it that she is preggers whilst moving her body that way? She kind of makes me wonder how any woman can ever feel sexy again after seeing .5 seconds of any one of her music videos. And yet, strangely enough, doesn't she make us all feel incredibly sexy and empowered? It's a mystery. Heavy sigh. Beyonce, you have done it again.

Yarning

Stumbled upon Yarn Bombing — awesome.
Can't not put a smile on your face; Love it!

Beautiful mess

This blog, A Beautiful Mess, is much like Zooey Deschanel's hair: it makes me want to be a better person. Or dresser. Or crafter. Or hair styler. You know. Just everything. And this blog has got everything: "projects, outfits, treats, beauty, photography, decor" and I'll add "things-that-are-drool-worthy." I just drool over it all. What a great thing to stumble upon. Now, I wonder if my hair will do that whole hair-bow thing...



((Photo courtesy of A Beautiful Mess))

Stuff it

The first meal I attempted off Food Gawker was this Kaytucky Chicken from Kayotic Kitchen. Om nom nom: it was finger-lickin' good! Oh wait. That's KENtucky chicken. Whatever, all I know is that it was yummylicious and I want it now. (Yes it's lunch time at the old orfice.)

Things to note: There was a LOT of dough: try to cut back by trimming the puff pastry pieces to just fit around the chicken breasts, and avoid major overlapping.

I would almost double the filling, but that's just me. I like a lot of yummy, ooze-y stuff. If nothing else, make sure you spread the filling all over the chicken to ensure you have some stuffing in every bite. I tried it the recipe's way — cutting a slit down the center of the chicken and stuffing in the filling (not so easy), but I wonder if next time I wont just spread the stuffing around to coat the entire top of the chicken breast — since it's going to be wrapped in puff pastry anyway... I like to think it won't go oozing everywhere, right? (We'll see!)

Add whatever you want to the stuffing. I added some basil and extra onion, and sometime I might try spinach, tomatoes, and mozzarella. Also, make sure you salt and pepper both the chicken and the stuffing GENEROUSLY — it will really bring out the flavors.

In the end: Yummy! I don't think I knocked it out of the park on the first try, but it only took once to at least note a few things I would like to try differently in the future. I'm definitely going to try this Kaytucky Chicken again — will report back when I do.

Gawking at foods

It is time. Time to start discussing my gawking at foods; Food Gawker, that is. Yes, everything on this site looks so scrumdiddlyumtious that I just want to dive head-first into each picture, swim around in it all day, then come out of it completely food coma-ed and sleep all night. Food Gawker might just be the greatest stumbling I've ever stumbled upon. Not only are the pictures to die for (and really, a picture is worth a thousand "this is so yummy!"s), you can make a list of "favorites" to revisit. I've made three yummies off the "most favorited all-time" list so far, and I'm hungry for more. I think, for my own reference and future cooking sanity, I'm going to start a new label: Om nom nom. That's right -- recipes, pictures, my own changes, reactions and everything in between. Let's jump right in!

Question

It is possible to want to go to a snow-globe?
Because I've always wanted to go to there.

I know, I know... I just wrote about falling for fall — yesterday. And today I'm posting snow globes and saying how I've always wanted to go to there — a winter wonderland. I'm getting far ahead of myself, and I know I'll regret my wintry dreams come January. But I stumbled upon these charming little snow globes and I was transported to a world two months from now, when Christmastime will be in full swing — for despite this sunshiny day and the fact that the trees have yet to fully turn, there's been much talk of Christmas chez moi.

Just yesterday, Pippin ran out of my mom's room proudly brandishing a piece of red tissue paper — how he found it, we'll never know. "He's going to be a handful come Christmas," my mom mused. My dad joked that we should just cut the top off the Christmas tree and mount the bottom on a card table — that way Pippin couldn't cause any mischief. I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not — luckily, he was.

There's also The Boyfriend, whose holiday plans are so far up in the air I wonder if they'll ever drop. His parents are living in Switzerland, his sister in New York, and his grandparents in India — talk about going global. So where to spend the holidays? Lord only knows. And his family doesn't seem to be in any hurry to decide. Myself? I must remain patient — time will tell — but I shall keep my fingers crossed that maybe we'll get to spend Christmas and New Year's together. (These hopes aren't helping me remain in the present... But looking ahead: that's the point of hoping, right?)

And then there's the fact that I haven't been to "The Nutcracker" in years, and I'm dying to go. I've told my mom for what seems like ages that some year, we've got to go. She always smiles and agrees — but the plans have yet to be put into motion. I know. It's expensive. And there's always so much else to do around the holidays. But maybe we'll actually go this year — I adore the ballet. The sets, the costumes, the music — don't get me started! In fact, I've started far too much in this post. Time to put away my snow-globe dreams and focus on fall. There will be plenty of time to love the snow — and probably, if you ask me in January, too much time.

Kibosh

"Kibosh (KY-bosh or kih-BOSH) noun
Something that puts a stop to something else. The phrase 'put the kibosh on'
has beenaround since the early 1800s, and it means to stop something dead
in its tracks (similar to 'nip it in the bud')."



Let's be honest, the letter K put the kibosh on my Whatchamacallits. I don't really know why — K is a great letter! It's the start my name, my mom's name, my brother's name, and (God bless) Kurt, for krying out loud! And then there was this great bit on TomAndLorenzo.com all about the Kardashian's new klothing line. (Yukk.) Like I said: K is a great letter. So why it stopped me dead in my tracks for my Whatchamacallits is beyond me. Time to get back in the saddle — we're finally to "L is for Lollygag!"



((Photo courtesy of Hummadeedledee.))

"Turn down these voices inside my head"

I admit: I just got on the Bon Iver train after hearing bits of tunes on 88.9 Radio Milwaukee and being introduced to "Hadestown," complete with Justin Vernon. And this song has been ringing in my head since stumbling upon it, through a friend's Facebook link. Bless that friend, because this might just be the most tragically beautiful thing you or I will lay ears on for a long time. Enjoy — and grab the Kleenex box.

Falling

Every autumn when I was growing up, my family took a trip up north to Lake Superior and Bayfield. Not just my immediate family, but my aunt, uncle, grandparents, and assorted stuffed animals. We'd pile into the van at 4:00 in the morning, intent on getting a start on the day. I'd clamber into the back seat, kick off my shoes, and huddle under a pile of blankets (all cozy-like). I'd stare out at the falling moon while Mom played "Winter Solstice" CDs over the speakers — I always wanted to stay awake for the moon and the music, but both eventually lulled me to sleep. I'd wake up a few hours later upon our van's stopping for breakfast — eggs, sausage, french toast — at the Country Kitchen. My brother and I would even get hot chocolate to drink, complete with whipped cream topping; it was then we knew we really were on vacation.

Once stuffed and after a trip to the bathroom and snagging a peppermint or two, we were back on the road. Mom would play some more pick-me-up type of tunes: "The Beatles 1," for instance, or maybe some "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat." As I got older, this was the time, I told myself, I would get some homework done — and as I got even older, it was the time I put on my headphones and disc-man to listen to the Goo Goo Dolls or "Wonderwall." The mid-morning went on forever, the passengers dozing in and out of sleep until we reached Ashland and our next foodie pit-stop: Sandy's.

Sandy's was a large log cabin, with rustic carved statues of Paul Bunyan-types, bears, and fish. I always ordered soup and I loved the strange woodsy smell of the bathroom, surely from some scented air freshener. Out back, Sandy's had a big wooden mural — the kind with the faces cut out so kids could poke their noggins through. After lunch, my grandpa always made us venture back to the mural and, video recorder in tow, filmed my brother and I taking on each of the backwoods personas — the Paul Bunyan-type (again), some sort of stocking-hat-wearing fisherman, and a bear sitting up on its hindquarters. When we'd completed this ritual, it was time again to climb back in the van (which now seemed more stuffy than cozy) and trek the last half-hour to Bayfield.


I remember the van would stop at the Visitor's Center or some such place — Mom had to pick up the key to the condo we had rented. Waiting for her to get that key always seemed to take ages, especially when the condo was within sight. But she'd finally get back in the driver's seat and take us the rest of the way — we'd unload the mountains of luggage and climb the flight of hallway steps all the way to the top landing (a whole three floors). Once inside, it felt Home. The decor was all shades of blues, whites, and tans — and overwhelmingly nautical. It was unlike anything we had in Milwaukee, and is unlike anything I would ever want for my own house, but here, in Bayfield, it worked. The striped couch stretched on for miles and was as comfy as sitting on pillows. The ceilings in the living room: vaulted, and a bedroom loft looked out over both the living room, kitchen, and dining area.

My brother and I would run upstairs to the attic room, with its peaked wooden ceilings, little windows, and mattress-like couches for us to sleep on; our own little hideaway. My aunt and uncle would take the loft bedroom, but when they weren't occupying it, my brother and I would sneak in and peer over the loft into the great room below. From above, we could see what Uncle Bob was watching on TV and what Aunt Diane was cooking in the kitchen. We could see Grandma seated on the porch, talking to Mom as they both looked out over the lake, and Papa with his video camera, capturing every moment.


My dad couldn't always come Up North with us — his job didn't allow the time away. But some years, he would surprise us. We would always leave on a Wednesday, and I remember one Friday morning in Bayfield, he was there for breakfast. My mom was so happy; my brother and I were ecstatic. Dad is always good to have around when you're walking The Path through the woods, finding walking sticks, collecting fallen leaves, and prodding at path-side tree frogs. Mom, on the other hand, was good for shopping. Bayfield is a tiny place, but we never tired of bumming around the small-town shops. There was the Yuletide — a shop dedicated to Christmas (and the ornaments were adorably tacky) — and the Unicorn that sold artsy things, greeting cards, and woolen hats. There was the shop with all the jams and jellies (and samples galore!), the shop with stuffed animals and potpourri, and the shop that was entirely Scandinavian from their doo-dads, to their picture books, to their molasses cookies.

After a day in the woods or a day in town, we'd come back to the condo to find Aunt Diane making beef-wrapped-bacon, mashed potatoes, gravy, and homemade applesauce. My mom would put her Christmas music on in the kitchen as she helped my aunt finish the day's dinner. It was warm and cozy, like the van at 4 A.M., and smelled of cinnamon. For dessert, there was always pie or cake, or maybe smores roasted over the stove. Later at night, we might take a walk — and one time, we actually saw the Aurora Borealis . It was like the Emerald City, glinting just over the horizon. And later at night, after everyone was asleep, Aunt Diane would stay awake, sitting out on the porch overlooking Lake Superior, and just take in the stillness. And the next day? She'd be up at dawn to once again take in the still. But Bayfield was often still, and we liked it that way.


When we weren't walking in the woods or the shops, we'd drive to a cemetery just outside of town. Some of the tombstones dated back to the civil war, and Uncle Bob, being a Civil War buff, was immensely fascinated by it all. There's something romantic about a cemetery in the fall, fire-red trees all around. And after the cemetery, we'd walk to The Bridge that overlooked a lovely ravine, all golden in the dappled sunlight. My brother and I would climb on the rocks to Mom's shouts of "be careful!" — we always were. And all the while, Uncle Bob would tell us tales of ghosts, fairies, UFOs, and how the munchkins caused all sorts of mischief on the set of "The Wizard of OZ." (Uncle Bob was more than just a Civil War buff.) Eventually, we'd head back to the condo for egg salad sandwiches — though one time, our lunch was postponed due to a so-friendly yellow lab who followed us home. Never fear, his owner wasn't far behind — like I said, Bayfield is a tiny place.

A tiny place, but one we were always sad to leave the following Sunday. We didn't pile back into the van at 4:00 in the morning — we stayed for breakfast, in no hurry to leave this beautiful autumn oasis behind. It still makes me sad to think about waving goodbye to the lake, the condo, the Visitor's Center, the Yuletide, The Bridge, and another family vacation — but it was up, over the hill, and away. Away back home. There's nothing so cozy about a van that's taking you away from such a lovely place, but we could always say, "See you next year!" as we passed Bayfield's city limits into Ashland. But now I'm grown — I haven't seen Bayfield in years. Not since just after Grandma passed away and Papa was too old to capture everything on film. Just memories of fall pretty — that's all I've got. Maybe some day I'll make it back to Bayfield, though I might have to do the driving instead of the back-seat-huddling. It's amazing to me how vivid a place can be, even when you've been gone from it for so long. The smells, the sights, the sounds of Bayfield are so real to me at this time of year — I can't help but smile and thank those days for making me love autumn and all its wonders.

"Nothing's going to change, Jo."

This weekend felt long and fall-ish, despite a notable lack of brisk weather (excuse me, Wisconsin?) and absence of outdoor escapades. On Saturday night, I had the pleasure (or displeasure) of nursing my couch-ridden, common-cold-infested Boyfriend back to health. So, I attempted tomato soup from scratch for the first time in my life, paired with a grilled-granny-smith-apple-raspberry-honey-mustard-and-cheese sandwich. Boy oh boy, I will tell you, it was yummy! And for dessert? Mulled apple cider and French breakfast muffins (as seen on Food Gawker, but my new obsession with them is a whole other post entirely!).

Sunday was full of football, baseball, and Mom's slow-cooked turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn, and home-made applesauce to boot. Talk about your harvest feast! The only thing missing was hot apple pie. (Oh wait — we had cranberry-apple pie for dessert, and a la mode, no less. Problem solved!) But back to the sports — it was a great day to be a Wisconsinite! Packers victory, Brewers victory — and I'm not even what you'd call an avid sports-fan. For those avids out there, cheers to you!


And to top it all off, a viewing of what is surely one of my all-time favorites: "Little Women." Not the Katherine Hepburn version, nor the Elizabeth Taylor version (though shouldn't we know it as the June Allyson version?), but the Winona Ryder/Christian Bale version. Heavy sigh. In this movie, Christian Bale has got to be the most swoon-worthy lad in the history of swoon-worthy lads. Please note that I'm not calling him hot, sexy, or even a swoon-worthy man. No, this Laurie is boyish, charming, exuberant — though I'm a fan of Peter Lawford, I'm just not sure he ever quite captured the Teddy charisma and spark. Christian on the other hand — don't get me started. And Winona? Friends, that is Jo to perfection. And the way it's filmed? Also perfect. Mix it all together, and you've got a movie that never fails to move me to tears. My post-sports Sunday night had been so empty — thanks to "Little Women" it's "not empty now."

Out-of-season pretty