Creating a New (Accidental) Tradition

originally published in The Leaf Chronicle on Dec 1, 2013.

As I am writing this, the dressing is waiting in the crock pots, the pies are cooling on the sideboard and the cranberry sauce is at the ready. Mom is rending the meat of the baked sweet potatoes from their skins and preparing to top them with dried cranberries and almonds. All is (mostly) right in my world. I am, however, a day behind in composing my column and not even sure they will be able to insert it in the Living section, but feel compelled to sit down to write.

I love preparing meals for the holidays—almost more than eating them. I enjoy planning menus and table settings; I love cooking. Yup—pretty much the entire process ranks rather high on my list of things I like to do. The funny thing about Thanksgiving preparations though, is that—although a month separates them—they go hand-in-hand with Christmas planning.

As I prepare my menu for Thanksgiving, I am conscious of the fact that I will be preparing similar offerings for the Christmas meal(s). With a collection of more than fifty cookbooks, one might think there is no way duplicates should even be offered, but it’s difficult to not fall back on the tried and true. I like to experiment with new recipes, especially when we are entertaining, but have not venture too far from my standard menus for the past few years.

One new development I noticed yesterday was when I was rifling through my cookbooks to find a recipe I typically use; Mom opened the kitchen cabinet to look at the notes from last year’s menu. I know they are there, but it just occurred to me how helpful that is. (Evidence that my inability to throw things away is, in fact, borderline brilliance—it’s not the cure for cancer, but will aid my sanity.)

If you open the cabinet door where I keep my spices, you will find the notes and menu plans for the week of Christmas 2012, just under the plans for Thanksgiving 2013. I think most of us write out our menus for special events like this. Ours has notes about who will be preparing which dishes and which Southern Living Annual Recipes book contains the Bourbon and Chocolate Pecan Pie (it’s 1998, by the way).

Notes like these have already proven useful this year, but I think there are added benefits.

For instance, when I say things such as, “You know, I would like to try cooking a beef tenderloin for Christmas,” and my mother looks at me like I’ve got lobsters coming out of my ears, she will be able to back-up her “are you nuts” look with my own hand written menu from 2011 as evidence. (For your amusement, I will confess that this memory lapse actually happened last year, all expect for the “evidence;” we don’t have that menu taped to the cabinet. The fact remains, however that I completely forgot having prepared a beef tenderloin—a cut of meat which is to dang expensive to forget!)

So, through happenstance, I’ve decided this will be a new tradition for the King Kompound. I will now purposely keep these notebook pages taped to the insides of cabinet for two years. After which they will be retired to a page protector in my black three-ring recipe binder, for posterity and reference. My kids will likely never need/want to reference them, but I like to think they might. I know I’d love to have something like that from my mother, but at least I’m making these memories with her.

I hope you enjoy (and remember) your menu planning this holiday season.

“Falling” Productive

This is the column I wrote for The Leaf Chronicle, which appeared in the Sunday, Oct 20, 2013 edition.

As I sat down at the computer to write my column for this week, I posted my confession on facebook. I was there (on facebook) and elsewhere looking for inspiration. I had several suggestions for topics for my article, but mostly just some friends aiding and abetting my delinquency. I did have one friend who made a suggestion which was along the lines of what I was thinking already, so Ruta, here you go . . .

I am finding, as I usually do this time of year, that I am rather productive. There is something about fall that motivates me; even the rainy days. I’ll take a rainy day in October over a sunny day in August every time! Perhaps it is the cooler weather, the fresh breeze blowing through the shop and the house or the excitement of the coming season. Whatever the reason, it seems to come in the nick-of-time each year.

At the shop, I’ve finally started clearing out some of the “stuff” I’ve allowed to accumulate over the years. I’m boxing up some of my creative supplies to take home or donate. I’ve found I don’t have a lot of time for creative activities while at work—well, at least not this type of creativity. This will have the added benefit of clearing some shelves so we can lay-out our Christmas inventory and get it ready to move to the floor in a few weeks; yes, I’m sorry . . . I’m a retailer.

At home, I’ve been trying to accomplish some of the same. I’ve got a donate box, a storage box and the trashcan! As I transition to my fall décor, it is the perfect time to do a little weeding. Of course, this is a slower process than at the store; things are pretty clear cut there—get it on the floor to sell, donate it or throw it away. At the house I slow down. There’s so much more to consider. I’ve got children getting ready to move out of the house—eventually—so I have to consider things which might be useful in their first apartments.

Then, of course, I have to consider the Antiques Road Show. I know you know what I mean. You’re looking at that pitcher that Aunt Ethel gave you for your wedding. You’ve never used it—not even to hold flowers. This time it’s getting donated, but . . . as you place it in the box you notice the marking on the bottom. What does that say? “W. Germany.” Then you’re thinking, where did I hear something about that? If there is a “W” that clearly means is once belonged to the former President, right??? No, that wasn’t it. Think. Right, it means “West Germany.” That place no longer exists! I’ll bet it’s worth something! Wouldn’t that be a shame to donate it, to later watch as some stranger shows-up on the Antiques Road Show with the pitcher Aunt Ethel so thoughtfully chose for you?

So, umm, yeah. Back to how productive I’ve been.

While my daydreams tend to gain some footing, I still feel like I’ve made great strides at the shop and at home. I’ve been slowly adding decorative fall accents throughout the house; they will be firmly in place until after Thanksgiving. Christmas does not encroach on our orderly observation of holidays at the house. (Heck, I’m lucky to have the tree decorated by December 25^th!)

Since I like to share ideas for transitional décor you might want to use in your own home, I’ll close by sharing a picture of the mantel in our dining room. This is one of my favorite places to focus our seasonal décor for several reasons. It is the first room I see when I walk out of our bedroom, it is where we do most of our entertaining and I can also see it from the room where I spend most of my waking hours—the kitchen.

Several weeks ago, I was ready to remove the summer accents I had used to adorn it for the season, but not quite ready for Indian corn and pumpkins, so I decided to add some items that would carry through until Thanksgiving, while giving a nod to the fading summer days. I started with a few books stacked on their side—choosing those with colors that reflected my transitional theme. Then I added brown pillar candles and a hand decorated emergency candle (similar to the one I gave instructions for last week), as well as a few rusty iron accents. The final touch—the hydrangeas I dried a few weeks ago. I left them in the aqua ball jars, because the colors worked so well with the shades of blues and greens in the hydrangeas. I loved this display so much, I was hesitant to take it down for my full-blown autumn mantel, but I do look forward to using the dried blooms again next year.

Next week, I’ll share more pictures of my home and how I decorate for this most wonderful time of year.

Retiring Thoughts

This is the column I wrote for The Leaf Chronicle which was originally published on Oct 6, 2013.

Last week I was fortunate enough to steal away for a long weekend with my husband, so we traveled south to visit friends in Fort Walton Beach, FL. This is our fourth time visiting them in two years, which is a lot for us; between the business and my husband’s jobs we just don’t get away much. By comparison, however, we have traveled to see these friends with more frequency than any others and not just because they have a house on the water (wink, wink). The truth is that neither of us are really “Florida people,” but we love the Florida people we go to see.

 

 

 

 

 

When we met at college in NC, we both agreed that neither of us were very fond of the idea of living in the other’s home town. My husband is from Pompano Beach, FL and I’m from Fairfax, VA. Florida is too hot for me and has too few seasons; Fairfax is too congested and expensive for him.

Shortly after graduating, we married and my husband joined the Army, so we’ve lived wherever Uncle Sam suggested. Virginia and Florida never made the list. Landing here in Clarksville has been a great blessing and we feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to purchase our dream home and become entrenched in a community. Any subsequent thoughts of retirement have featured our old house.

We’ve always thought our retirement plans would involve the eastern shore of Virginia. It has been our number one vacation destination for years and years, but now we plan for vacations in the Florida panhandle. What the heck is going on here?

Darren on the beach in Coles Point, VA

Well, I haven’t completely figured it out, but I’ve pieced together a couple factors to consider. Number one on the list of considerations: What do you do when you get there? I mean “long term,” not during a week-long vacation. Those vacations on the eastern shore are wonderful, but they are low key. We don’t do much, because there isn’t much to do; which is great for a week, but any longer than that and I’ll go nuts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It takes a lot of this . . . (above), to get to this . . .(below).

 

Bill and Darren doing what they do best; Haedyn, too, for that matter.

 

Next consideration: the weather. The climate was my number one reason for putting the kibosh on Florida so many years ago. I need some variations in temperatures—hot being my least favorite. While I love the change of seasons, I really do enjoy being on the water; in a month or two you won’t be taking a boat out on the Chesapeake Bay unless it is your job. We were on the Choctawhatchee Bay in the middle of January last year. So, as much as we love the Virginia eastern shore, the window of water enjoyment time is really about 5 - 6 months; in the Bay area of Florida, you can hit the water year round.

(Can’t you just see that metaphorical scale tipping?)

One seemingly minor consideration, but worth adding to the list: the seasonable weather during months with “r’s” in them. Oysters taste better while seated at an outdoor table and outdoor dining on the Virginia coast in during the months of November – April is almost unheard of. Further, both areas have oysters, but the fresh oysters available in Florida are ginormous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some JP Penney poses as we arrive at the Dockside Grill in FL.

The biggest factor weighing in this new found fondness for the sunshine state is reality. The reality is we cannot afford two households. So, when we make the decision about where to retire, it is there we will be. No weekend houses or summer homes for us.

 

Fortunately, however, this is not a decision for anytime in the immediate future. We’ve still got a high school student we need to push through and some college tuition to take care of, a few house repairs to tend to and so on. Suffice to say that I look forward to seeing you Wednesday mornings when I’m taking advantage of my senior citizen discounts at Kroger on Madison Street; be sure to stop me and say, “Hi!”

(Of course, none of it matters without this . . .)

Strong Backs and My Weak Mind

This is my column for The Leaf Chronicle which was originally published Sep 22, 2013.

Time to write the column.

Don’t worry; this will not be another scary dive into my not-to-sub-conscience. Yet, I do feel I need to acknowledge all of the emails, Tweets and face-to-face commentary from my numerous kindred spirits. It is wonderful to know I am in such great company, especially when it comes to my occasional struggles with focus. I am glad you enjoyed last week’s column.

This past week I have been all about fall decorating. The shop has commanded most of my attention, but I’ve made a few changes around the house, as well. We are in the process of a few house repairs and improvements, which have my mind and time somewhat preoccupied.

About a month ago, I wrote about the fact that we—by “we” I mean “my husband”—wanted to extend our patio walkway down the side of our house so it would link to our front porch. I was not very keen on this idea, but I decided that I could at least appear to give his idea some thought before I squashed it like the ground under a cherry picker.

Which brings me to the reason there is a new walkway in our side yard—the ground which was squashed under a cherry picker. Oops, I mean, “man lift;” and while we’re on that, why “man lift?” Shouldn’t it be “person lift?” Okay—squashed ground—the area where we installed this new walkway was the site of a gazillion ton person lift making 20-point adjustment turns for two weeks. The lawn in that area suffered considerably; not that it ever produced the thickest, most durable grass. So I decided that the new pathway might be a good idea after all.

Enter the young, healthy backs of the guys we hired to relocate the dirt and lay the new walkway. They arrived eager and ready to get the job done. Three days later, when they are still trying to break through the gravel and occasional outcropping of concrete, they seemed a little less eager and frankly, a little deflated. It appears that the area we had chosen for our walkway extension was exactly where a gravel driveway had once been located.

This is when it comes to me . . . that herb garden I planted the first year we moved into our house is located along the same path and I now recall the difficulty I had digging the bed for that garden. (In my defense, I can’t remember why I walked into the pantry instead of the laundry room this morning either.) My only explanation is one akin to child birth; no new projects would be tackled in our old house if we were actually able to recall how difficult the last one was.

Of course, my husband is the guy who laid the rest of our pathway and patio, not me. Perhaps he did not-so-sub-consciously recall encountering the gravel, which is why he suggested that I engage a contractor to do this portion of the walkway. Hmm.

Anyhoo, this is where I eat my words and admit, though I begrudgingly gave into the idea of the pathway extension, I l-o-v-e it; or rather will, l-o-v-e it, when I can plant around it. My husband is still working on painting on this side of our house and there is no point in planting a bunch of flowers to be crushed by ladders and size 11.5 work boots.

In the meantime, I will use strategically placed potted ferns and mums (see how I pulled it back around to fall decorating?) to distract my eyes from the bare ground.

Jiminy says, “I tried.”

This is the column I wrote for The Leaf Chronicle, which published on Sep 15, 2013.

Writer’s note: Every now and again, I just have to write what is really going on; the struggle of my internal “Jiminy Cricket vs. Paige-nochio.”

Sit down. Calm your thoughts. Write.

You have a lot to get done today, so go ahead and write your column, you can then spend the rest of the day (God willing) working with customers and on your fall displays.

You have the best ideas. Let’s get started.

Let me just open a word document . . . wait a minute, what’s that? “Someone” left Facebook open and, look, Rebecca Townsend has written a new blog. I’ll just read that quickly—who knows, it may spark a thought for my article . . .

. . . Well, that was a beautifully written commentary on our National Day of Remembrance for the tragedies, bravery and sacrifices of September 11, 2001; poignant and personal. Rebecca has done so much for this community (especially our service members and their families) and doesn’t even give herself credit for it. I should write her a note—now, before I forget.

Okay. That’s done. Get busy.

How can you expect me to work with the desk such a mess?

Are you kidding me? If you take the time to clean this desk it will turn into the Gilligan’s Island equivalent of the “three hours cruise.” Mayhem and mishap are sure to follow and you will be frantically trying to think of something to write about 8 hours from now. In all actuality, you will likely only have succeeded restacking your paperwork into reasonably neater piles.

“Hi. I’m Melissa, your sales rep from Two’s Company,” says the peppy young lady walking through the door.

Dang it, Paige. You started the day by going to a non-existent appointment you failed to confirm; now you realize you forgot about scheduling this one. Well, there goes two hours.

I’m ready to write. I think I’ll tell folks about the extension we’ve added to our walkway. It is looking great. Hey, it’s Jimmy my UPS delivery guy. Ooh, he’s bringing me new inventory. I wonder what it is.

Stop right there missy! You know dang well it’s full of scarves—you saw the invoice yesterday. Get back to writing and you can open it as soon as you click “send.”

So, that walkway I mentioned a little over a month ago—well, it is finally under construction. I had a friend, Martha, who showed me pictures of the similar paths in her parents’ yard. Oh yeah, that reminds me, I need to call Parks and Rec to tell them about the lights that are out on the Upland Trail.

Unbelievable. We will never get this done. And stop looking at those boxes.

I really don’t think this is going to go anywhere. I should wait to write about the new walkway when it is done and I can share pictures.

So what you’re now admitting is that this stream of consciousness blather was a way to trick yourself into writing something without actually writing about anything.

I am not prepared to say that was my intent at the onset, as I really hoped I’d hit upon something along the way. Then I could go back and delete all of the “blather” and edit myself into a coherent presentation.

Oh hold on just one minute . . . you “coherent;” when, if ever? You’ve got people who are actually going to try to muddle through this nonsense. What do you have to show them?

Well, I shared a kind word with someone very deserving. I found an invoice I’d been looking for and hopefully, I won’t be walking in the dark tomorrow morning! Now, leave me alone, I’ve got boxes to open.

All I ask is you go back to the beginning and at least warn the readers so they can make an informed decision to waste 10 minutes of their day. Oh and make sure they know I am the voice of reason.

A Harvest Banner How-to

This is the column I wrote for The Leaf Chronicle which was published on Sep 8, 2013.

Well, I’ll bet you had a hard time sleeping last night as you eagerly anticipated this promised “how to make a pennant banner” article. Thank goodness your sleepless nights are over, ‘cause here it is.

I hope this is something you’re as interested in as, apparently, I am. I say “apparently,” because as I was pulling out some of my fall decorations for the house, I came across another pennant banner I made for my Thanksgiving mantel décor. I then I started mentally listing all of the banners I’ve made: “Grateful” for Thanksgiving; “Gloria” for Christmas; the banner of vintage photos of kids in their snow outfits for winter; “America” with crinkled crepe paper fans for the Fourth of July. It was there that I discontinued my mental list, but I think I’ve demonstrated my affinity for this quick-and-easy to make decorative accent.

If you think you’d like to make one as pictured here, the supplies you will need are:

Cardstock (color of your choice, I used parchment)

Burlap

Letter stencils

Acrylic paint

Sponge wedge or foam paint brush

Glue

Jute twine

Hole punch

Reinforcement stickers

Optional—trim materials, such as lace and accent materials, such as raffia

1. Cut your base triangles from the card stock. I use 11 x 8.5” cardstock and am able to get three pennants out of one sheet. (photo A)

2. Cut seven pennant triangles. Punch a hole in each of the top (short edge) corners.

 

 

 

 

 

3. Cut a template for a triangle about ½” smaller overall. (I cut one extra of my base triangles, folded it in half—lengthwise—and cut ½” from the short and long sides.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4. Use this smaller template to trace seven triangles onto your burlap and cut them. (Let me say here and now—treat yourself to one good pair of fabric scissors. Do not allow anyone to use them on anything—even if they say they need it for fabric—they are lying to you and preparing to go cut a coaxial cable. I am sure of it. I have a pair at the shop and at home—both have “warning” tags on them assuring of a variety of pains that await the perpetrator if I catch them being used on anything other than fabric. So far, the threats have not had to be acted upon. So far.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. Back to our pennant banner.

6. Pour a little of your paint (I used Traditional Raw Umber acrylic) on a plate. Center your H stencil on the burlap triangle. Dip the sponge into the paint (do not overload paint), then holding the stencil in place, tamp the paint into the stencil and violá—only A-R-V-E-S and T to go!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7. While the paint dries, you can add trim to the outside edge of your base triangle. I like using cotton lace when I’m using burlap—kind of fancies it up, but not too much. I pre-cut all of the lengths I needed (I am not looking for precision here—just get it close). Use an old, small paint brush to “paint” a thin layer of glue around the perimeter of your base triangle and apply the trim. By the time you finish this, the paint on your burlap pennants should be dry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8. Apply another thin layer of glue on the base triangle (inside of the trim) and stick the burlap to the base. Allow to dry completely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9. Apply reinforcement stickers to the backside of each of the holes on the base pennant.

10. Now you’re ready to string you pennant banner together. Run the jute twine through the hole starting on the top left of the H, running the twine behind the base triangle . . . oh you get the picture.

 

11. I added the raffia accents to give my banner a little more interest. You could also add a few pieces of mini-Indian corn between each triangle.

Have fun with this project, but be careful, the next thing you know you will be cutting more triangles and stringing pennants to welcome your friends to your guest bathroom.

The first day of September—color me happy!

My column for The Leaf Chronicle, originally published Sep 1, 2013.

My love/hate relationship with our Mulberry tree continues—having just gotten over the black flies and berries, we are now dealing with the falling leaves (which will continue until February). The gardens are a mess—weeds are rampant in the flower bed and the perennials are getting leggy. The lack of rain has wreaked havoc on the gardens and yard; yet I am crazy about this time of year!

Our “above ground pond” is closed for the season, so that is one less thing to worry about. Pretty soon we will be able to open the windows and enjoy the fresh air. Soon, mums and pumpkins will adorn front porches all over Clarksville. Yep—soon it’ll be fall y’all!

In typical fashion, however, I am loathe to push the seasons. Owning a retail shop makes me hyper aware of the changing seasons. You will note that most retailers already have their Halloween décor on the shelves—fall colors, in the form of faux leaves and pumpkins, having been added in July. I have always pushed back at the suggestion that I need to do the same thing at my shop, but I have had to succumb ever so slightly.

I think that, by August, everyone has had enough “summer” and most consider the start of the school year the start of the fall season; however, the warm weather will stick around for a while, so let’s conjure some ideas for making a transition.

This is the perfect time to cleanse the decorating palette. I like to move into neutral tones before I introduce the rich colors of the harvest season. The neutral items will then provide a great base for the future riot of orange, gold and red.

Here’s how I will start. I have a tobacco basket on the front of my house—where I often hang my wreaths. I put it up last fall and decided to use it as the “base” for all of our entryway décor since then. Until recently, a swag of herbs with a garden trowel and bird’s nest was hanging there, now it is the backdrop for an armful of dried oats, gathered together with a knot of burlap. In a few weeks, I will add a pennant banner to hail the harvest season (I’ll be sharing tips on how to make your own next week). For now, the neutral oats will set the tone—then I will add pops of color and seasonal references.

Dried flowers and grasses are a great way to make changes in the house, without pulling out the pumpkins and gourds just yet. Hydrangeas are my favorite dried flowers and my friend, Ruta, just gave me tips for the best way to dry them. If you have a bush with blooms you are still enjoying, now would be a great time to cut a bunch and bring them inside to dry. (If you don’t have your own hydrangea bush, wait until it is dark and sneak into your neighbor’s yard to cut his.) Don’t harvest new blooms—choose the blooms that are already starting to feel papery. Cut a good length of stem and remove all leaves. Then place the blooms in a vase that is filled to about 1/3 full. Add your blooms—don’t overcrowd—then enjoy them until the water evaporates. You should then have beautiful dried blooms. Keep them out of direct sunlight during the drying process and afterward.

The Bourbon Trail portion of the weekend

This is my column originally published in The Leaf Chronicle, Aug 18, 2013

Last week I wrote about the yard sale portion of the yard sale and bourbon trail weekend I recently enjoyed with my sisters, mother and a friend. I closed by promising to share some insight from our visits to the distilleries; however, my editor took liberties when she changed my closing sentence, to include the phrase “bourbon-soaked portion of our trip.”

(This portion was omitted from my “defense:”  I don’t know about other writers, but I rarely read my own articles when they are published; I guess I should start. Imagine my surprise upon arriving at church Sunday morning to be greeted with comments such as “Well, I’m surprised to see you here;” and “Have you recovered?” Fortunately, I attend Trinity Episcopal, where an occasional drink is not frowned upon. I know that the comments were good, old fashioned ribbing, but really, I didn’t understand the cause, as our trip was anything but “bourbon-soaked.”)

So, please, gentle reader, fear neither for my soul, my liver, nor those of my traveling companions. We were quite responsible and reasonably restrained. So, back to the debauchery . . .

When we decided to combine our visit to the “world’s longest yard sale” with a tour of some bourbon distilleries, we started by researching The Kentucky Bourbon Trail® online (kybourbontrail.com). We then found those distilleries closest to Route 127. As we had Nikki and Jessica driving in from Virginia to meet us the first night, we found the one closest to I-64, the route they would be traveling. And set that as our first destination.

Most distilleries close around 5 p.m., but we found that Buffalo Trace Distillery (buffalotrace.com) in Frankfort, KY (not on the official Kentucky Bourbon Trail®) offered a ghost tour at 7 p.m., which not only meshed with our travel schedule, but piqued our interest, too! Upon arrival at the grounds of the Buffalo Trace Distillery, we were immediately enthralled. The 130-acre property, set along the former buffalo migration route, is speckled with four centuries of architecture. Still family owned and operated after 200 years, the distillery and the grounds actually proved to be our hands-down favorite. The ghost tour was an effective means for access to many of the historic structures and learning about the history of the distillery. Our tour was followed by a tasting of our choice of two of four spirits offered. Mom stuck with the Dr. McGillicuddy’s root beer and Kendall enjoyed the Bourbon Cream liqueur. The rest of us sampled the straight bourbon or the white dog—which is the pure distilled alcohol product before it is aged in the oak barrels. (I prefer the aged version.)

The next morning we traveled a winding road, through a vast horse ranch, into a valley in Versailles, KY where we found the lovely setting for the Woodford Distillery. Unfortunately, the yard sale called, so our visit here was brief; hindsight, proved we should have stayed! We did not take a tour, but they did have a very thorough and attractive visitor’s center, where we learned a little about the processes employed by this distillery. We each tried a small taste of their copper pot-distilled straight bourbon whiskey, save Mom (who indulged in a bourbon truffle, which was offered to her). All I can say it, “Smooth.” woodfordeserve.com

After too many fruitless hours spent at the yard sale, we then headed to Four Roses Distillery in Lawrenceburg, KY. We, unfortunately, were joined on our tour by a rather large group of young ladies supporting a bride-to-be (evidenced by one of those mini-veils clipped in her coif), as well as a chatty group of 30-somethings who were more engaged in their own conversation than that of the tour guide. (You know you’re getting old when you throw unmistakably dirty looks at rude people even though you don’t have your 6’2” husband there as your “muscle.”) The distillery was not operational during our visit (another downside) and most of the tour consisted of a movie. Again, the setting was lovely, but this was, unfortunately, our least favorite stop along the Trail®. I feel I must confess a prejudice against the logo—I’m not a fan of rose illustrations and I am put-off by even numbers; three roses, yes--better). Regardless, we did taste the bourbons offered—a magnanimous gesture, to be sure. Our assessment of those we sampled were in keeping with the tour—our least favorite. Fourrosesbourbon.com

From there, we headed to Bardstown, KY. We had reservations in a quaint motel, which they had done their best to update, but it still suffered the odiferous remnants of its obviously former incarnation as a facility which allowed smoking. Other than that, it had a charm that I feel sure I appreciated more than my traveling companions. We enjoyed a lovely dinner, followed by entertainment at the Old Talbott Tavern. I’d have to say that, if any part of our trip came close to being “bourbon soaked” it was here, as they offered a sampler tray of bourbons, which we happily ordered . . . twice.

The next morning we explored a bit of the downtown area, but found most shops closed. We found one shop, The Old Mercantile, open and manned by the friendliest, most informative Texas transplant! A few souvenirs later, we left for a quick drive thru My Old Kentucky Home on our way to our next distillery, Heaven Hill.

Heaven Hill, located in Bardstown, is where you will find Evan Williams and Elijah Craig bourbons aging in oak; the stills are actually located in Louisville. It is also home to the Bourbon Heritage Center. This was our last stop and I was a bit skeptical, as outward appearances would lead one to believe that we had arrived at a prison camp. Surrounded by numerous seven-story white-ish buildings wearing petticoats of black fungus, the Center was actually an oasis of lovely construction and landscaping. Upon our arrival, we joined a tour, already in progress and began to learn a lot about the process of distilling bourbon. The tour of the rick house was fascinating—those buildings are constantly shifting, engineering marvels! Our tour guide, Holly, was an informative and witty delight and the tasting that followed was educational, as well as delicious.

All-in-all, the trip was wonderful. I won’t bother with the yard sale the next time; I’ll just try to get a few more stamps in my Kentucky Bourbon Trail® Passport.

Some of the loot we returned with from the Bourbon Trail.

World’s Longest Yard Sale

My column for The Leaf chronicle, originally published August 11, 2013.

The life and times of a barely-holding-onto-her-forties shopkeeper can appear, to the casual observer, as a lot of fun. I often have folks in my boutique say things like “I would love to have a shop like this one day;” or, “You must have so much fun!” Most days, I will answer these comments with affirming replies such as, “It’s just a matter of putting your mind to it;” or, “Oh yes! I love putting together the displays and selecting the merchandise.” But more often than not, I am thinking, “NO! Don’t do it!”

As for the fun, last weekend was supposed to be all about the “fun” of finding vintage merchandise for my inventory. My mother is still visiting, so she, my sister, Kendall, and I set out last Friday morning with our destination being the “World’s Longest Yard Sale” along the 127 Corridor. The concept being that folks all along Route 127, which runs from Illinois to Alabama, set-up for a collective yard sale the first weekend in August. The sale starts Thursday and runs through Sunday.

This is something Kendall and I have been talking about doing for years, so we were naturally quite anxious to see if it was everything we had imagined. Due to the fact that we had arranged to meet our other sister, Nikki, and Kendall’s best friend, Jessica, in Frankfort, KY at 5 p.m. we decided to start our yard saling (did you know that “sale” isn’t not verb-able?) adventure in Russell Springs, KY.

After departing the parkway for 127, we stopped at the visitor’s center for an actual map (the kind printed on paper and not just doled out in portions explored via Mapquest.com). The lady at the center assured my sister she had been crazy busy, although she appeared well into her solitaire game on the computer monitor. Regardless, our sense of urgency started to increase, afraid that everyone else already beat us to the good stuff. Upon perusing the selection at the first venues we came upon, we decided we were decidedly later. Even though we arrived relatively early on the second day of the sale we felt like we were arriving at the end.

Most of the stuff was exactly what you would expect to find at a yard sale: clothing (mostly labels from a certain chain that also sells food and hardware); new-ish glassware and dishes, in singles or odd lots; videos and dvds; and, an enormous selection of items jumbled in dusty boxes which were obviously intended for the dump, but were accidently stored in a garage or shed, so they were pulled out for the big yard sale. There were a handful of true vintage/antique vendors, but overall, we were disappointed. We had been led to believe (by people who had been to this event) that we would find something more akin to the flea markets we enjoy so much.

Now, in defense of this enormously popular event, we were only able to explore a small section of the yard sale. It did seem to improve north of Danville, KY, but we only had the time available to park and visit two of the larger venues. The vendors we talked to were a little disappointed, as well; by mid-day Saturday, things were not selling as they had in previous years. One vendor, in particular, though in the “better” area (by our estimation) stated he regretted having moved north from his previous location of Crossville, TN.

(I’m including some photos from one of the better stops we made.)

The good news is we had combined this yard saling (yup, I did it again) adventure with visits to a few of the distilleries along the Kentucky Bourbon Trail. That portion of our trip was a complete success and I’ll share a little about that part of our trip another time.

Feb 10, 2013--Pleasant Surprises

Mid-February and mid-fifties!  Are you kidding me?  I want winter weather.  I want at least one, really good snow day when we’re all forced to stay home in our PJs, watch movies and bake cookies.  You know you want one, too.

Instead I’m watching in dismay as my daffodils bloom and my winter urn arrangements appear incongruent in this tropical oasis.  (Slight exaggeration, but it helps to emphasize my point.)  As I sit typing my fingers to the bone (more emphasis), the 10 day forecast is predicting more of the same.  I see no snow days in my near future.

I do see, however, some baking in my very near future.  This week I will bake my first King Cake for Fat Tuesday.  We don’t really make a big deal about Mardi Gras around the King Kompound—it usually means Pancake Supper at Trinity Episcopal and that’s about it.  This year, however, I promised my patrons some King Cake, so I better get busy!

Last year we went to celebrate Mardi Gras with my sister and brother-in-law in Northern Virginia.  They host a grande fête each February and one of their guests brought a couple dozen cupcakes, each embellished with a plastic baby figure—like the one found inside a proper King Cake.  I absconded with at least half-a-dozen, so I am set in that regard.  What I need to find, though, is a recipe.  I’ll also be making Pralines for the first time.  I’m actually looking forward to it and will let you know how I make-out.

As we’re going to run headlong into Valentine’s Day, too, I’ve worked-out some plans for that, too.  I really want to go see “Always . . . Patsy Cline” at The Roxy, but we are a going to have to wait until next week for that.  Rather than fight the crowds to dine-out (rest assured, we do our fair share of that), I think I’ll make a nice, romantic dinner for the three of us (you will remember we still have one bird in the nest).  I’m going to make Coq au Vin—it was the first “fancy” dish I ever made for Darren.  I don’t think, to be honest, it was the hook that caught him, but I remember the excitement of preparing such a special meal very fondly!

Does cooking do that for you?  Do you hold onto those memories like I do?  I can tell you the first time I made a lot of meals.  For instance, the first time I made Stromboli I failed to remove the paper casing from the salami, so with every bite, Darren was discreetly pulling the casing out from between pursed lips.  (That one was after we were married, so he gave me the appropriately hard time!)

I really enjoy planning and preparing meals, which is another aspect of my creativity that has been thwarted over the past few years.  Every now a then I have bursts of culinary creativity, but they are far too infrequent.  When we were trying to figure out what to do with some leftover ham the other night, I told Darren that I would use it to prepare Spaghetti a la Carbonara.  His response, “But I didn’t pick-up any of that at the commissary.” 

“Harumph!” said I.

So, last Wednesday, I came home from work and immediately set-about  browning the onions and mixing the half-and-half with some egg yolks.  Thirty minutes later, he was pleasantly surprised that I was not only still able to cook from scratch, but that the results were rather tasty.  (Added bonus, I used a lot of leftovers and we needed nothing additional from the commissary!)  I think I need to surprise him, as well as myself, a little more frequently!

I hope this week holds pleasant surprises for you.

Jan 13, 2013--Displacement Cleaning

Two trees down, two to go . . . plus the mantel(s), staircase and kitchen décor.  Anyone else feeling overwhelmed by the post-Christmas un-decorating process?

I’ve been using the fact that my husband was gone during the holidays to justify my leisurely approach to returning the house to its pre-Christmas blah-ness, but (if you’ve been a faithful reader) you know this is my perennial lament.  I really like my house decorated for the holidays.  I like the glow of the lights from the trees and staircase.  In fact, as I write this I am sitting in an otherwise dark room—the only illumination being my computer screen and our Christmas tree.  I love it and hate to see it go, but go it must, because I am also disconcerted by the furnishings and art work the Christmas paraphernalia displaces.

I’m ready to return my treasured art, created by local artist Billy Renkl, to its place of prominence on the wall which is currently blocked by a 9 foot artificial tree.  I am ready to have the table, which belongs in the same general area, back in place—to reload it with the “moments in time” we have captured and framed; to slide the vintage chest into place and re-stack my collection of magazines.  And that is just one 3 square foot area!

So, you see, it is not as though I will be de-cluttering the house in order to return it to some minimalist domicile; nope—never been accused of being a minimalist.  What I actually do is displacement cleaning and arranging.  By “displacement” I am referring to the physics definition; in the end, there will be the same amount of stuff, it’ll just be redistributed. 

Now, wait a minute, didn’t I just write a column about celebrating my minor successes?  Indeed I did.  I need to give myself some credit for off-loading at least a year’s worth of magazines (just one title—kept the other three, of course).  I’ve even allowed two of my subscriptions to lapse; the counter balance to this effort is, however, the fact that I’ve subscribed to a new magazine.  I will end up with a net of -1, which is, in this case, desirable.   

Regardless, by the time you read this, I hope to have packed away the family tree ornaments, but as I am still in the planning stages of this action, I need to let you know something—that way I’m more likely to do it.  This year, I am packing all of the ornaments the kids have been given over the years, into their own boxes, where they will stay until they have trees of their own.  I decided that this is the year to do it because I am starting to forget which ornament belongs to whom.  (We’re talking about a lot of ornaments—collectively, a minimum of 52—that’s allowing for gifts from relatives.)  I feel awful if/when they break.  I’d rather go ahead and put them away now, so they can break them on their own in their future homes.  So, with some help identifying each designated ornament, they will go into boxes, marked with their names, until they claim them for their own holiday celebrations.

You realize, of course, this means I’ll need more ornaments for next Christmas.