Southern Living Indeed

When I lived in Knoxville, my good friend/pretend big sister always had issues of Southern Living lying around her home. As a New Englander/Midwesterner, I tend to stick to geographically vague periodicals and was a bit suspicious of a magazine produced below the Mason-Dixon line. However, I always enjoyed leafing through the issues at her house.

Recently, this same friend treated me to a gift subscription of Southern Living. For the sake of good recipes and decorating tips, I was willing to set aside my New England allegiance. Only two issues in and I am not only hooked, I have learned a lot. 

First, to be a truly classy professional decorator in the South, you have to give your children pretentious and/or ridiculous names. The designers interviewed usually have kids named Tinsley, Sterling, Cashmere and so forth. I tend to like more simple, classic names, although I do like the name Finn for a boy and Evan for a girl. Those may qualify. I may fit in yet.

Second, good Southern decorating means covering every inch of your home in...stuff. Thus far, there are no modern, minimalist designers featured. The rooms the magazine features are beautiful, but there is furniture, knicknacks and wall art covering every inch of every space. I find that claustrophobic personally, but it makes for a beautiful photo spread. Most importantly, it gives you a plethora of examples on how to mix and match textures, shapes and styles.

Third, it is good style form to pick three colors, generally one neutral and two bolder hues, and decorate your entire home in them. I feel like this must not include your kids rooms, though. Your daughter wants to paint their room orange? Too bad...it doesn’t go with your Old World Caribbean theme. Your son is into Cars and Batman? Too bad...his room is getting aqua wallpaper with a coral motif. I think exceptions are probably made here.

Fourth, Southern Living is published for busy people, probably mostly homemakers with kids. It was a bit of a scandal, after years of subscribing to Bon Appetit, to see recipes that include cans of cream of mushroom soup and canned green beans, but most of the recipes are actually really delicious. I’ll probably still make my own cream of mushroom base and will always be faithful to fresh (in a pinch frozen) produce, but the end result will be the same: good, hearty food. And anyone, Southern or otherwise, can appreciate that. 

I may not want to exactly copy everything I see in the pages of Southern Living (moose antlers above my bed? No way.), but it is full of inspiring craft, decorating and cooking ideas. If you haven't checked out this magazine before and are sitting in an airport or hanging out at a bookstore coffee shop, I highly recommend picking up an issue. It just may surprise you.

Beauty and the Bathroom

I’ve decided that much of my love for accessories revolves around my love of ritual. 

For example, I have long wanted a dressing table/vanity. I enjoy my morning ritual of putting on makeup, choosing jewelry and applying perfume, and a vanity is the perfect way to streamline these acts. Instead of bouncing back and forth from the bathroom to my bedroom, a vanity provides a single, designated space in which to primp.

I'm pretty sure I'd look more like these ladies if I had a dressing table.

Since entering my mid-twenties I have also developed a pre-sleep skin care ritual (I love  Botanics products) that I find incredibly enjoyable. It's almost therapeutic to wash away the day's grime. Removing my makeup, washing my face and applying lotion are as important to my nighttime routine now as brushing my teeth. And, of course, accessories make this process all the more enjoyable. How, you ask? Let me explain...

Last month I found a lovely soap dish and shower curtain that have the clean, simple look I like in my bathroom. I like soap dishes. They are both practical and aesthetically pleasing. And a nice shower curtain can really set the tone of a bathroom (in my old apartment I opted for a fun fish print...now I’ve gone with white). 

Now I am now looking for a decorative container for the little cotton pads I use to remove my makeup. Popping the lid off a pretty jar is much more appealing then the nightly rustling of plastic packaging.

 Bed Bath and Beyond offers a variety of simple bathroom accessories, but for 
a more unique look I prefer using repurposed or found objects.

This mercury glass jar from Anthropologie is filled with a candle,
but once the candle is used would make a great storage jar for the bathroom. For a fun project you can also learn how to make your own mercury glass objects.

At $91.99 this onyx jar by Selamat is out of my price range, but antique shops and estate sales often have similar items at much lower prices.

Never mind that I don’t like clutter and will therefore keep the jar out of view in the cabinet. In fact, my boyfriend thinks I’m crazy. If it’s hidden why bother shelling out the extra money? But I don’t care. It’s kind of like wearing your favorite underwear...no one else can see it but it just makes you feel good. 

Maybe I’m just overcompensating for having little personal space, finding power in having control over my daily rituals and their attending accoutrements. Or maybe I just like pretty things. Whatever the reason, when it comes to my rituals, I'll opt for beauty every time.

New Years Resolutions

I don’t make New Years resolutions, at least not in the traditional sense. 

Towards the end of the year I often make a list of things I want to accomplish (as I did in September’s post “The Land of Misfit Projects”). But I do not pledge changes to my lifestyle. I will not pledge to eat healthier or take up yoga, join a book club or take the extra 30 minutes to walk to work instead of drive. These are all worthy causes, but if we are really serious about improving ourselves we wouldn’t procrastinate until December 31st to take action. 

For example, a few years ago I vowed not to use any “voluntary” products (aka makeup, household cleaning agents, hair and body care, etc.) that test on animals. I really don’t think cats and dogs need to be poked and prodded and hurt just so my mascara is less clumpy or my hair can be shinier. It’s something I really cared about, so I didn’t wait until December 31st of that year to make the change. I just did it. 

I’m sure we all have such examples. If something really grabs us as important, we make the change ASAP. As such, the vows we make as New Years resolutions are probably things that thus far haven’t been important enough for us to bother with. So why do we feel that a new calendar year will suddenly imbue them with new value?

Let’s be honest: the reason we make New Years resolutions is because the holidays make us feel guilty. We spent too much money. We ate too many cookies and mashed potatoes. We killed too many forests to make our presents look beautiful. However, these excesses are a fundamental part of what make the holidays special. It is our indulgence that sets the holidays apart from the rest of the year. If we are generally healthy and financially prudent the rest of the year, why not give in to a little temptation?

Guilt-driven resolutions are hard to stick to. Once we hit February and our holiday guilt has been swallowed up by the more pressing concerns of everyday life, our resolutions suddenly don’t seem as important anymore. And we shouldn’t feel bad about this! January doesn’t have magical powers, so let’s not start the year off by lying to ourselves about who we are. When it becomes truly important to us, we will make the resolution and stick to it no matter what date the calendar boasts.

So if you are thinking about making New Years resolutions, make sure they are being made for the right reasons. Guilt: bad. Genuine caring: good. 

Happy New Year! 

Poinsettia Pillow

I generally avoid projects that require me to sew a lot. This is primarily due to my mother’s crotchety old sewing machine, which we refer to as “the devil machine.” Every few inches the thread bunches and tangles and is a general pain in the butt. Every so often, though, I am willing to make an exception.

A few weeks ago my mom and I were doing some Christmas shopping and saw a Christmas pillow at Pottery Barn we both fell in love with:

Being artistic, resourceful individuals, we looked at the price tag and looked at how it was made and decided to make copycat slipcovers for the throw pillows we already have on our sofa. Not only is this less trouble than having to stuff and fluff and de-lump a scratch pillow, but slipcovers take up minimal storage space after the holidays.

In doing some pre-craft research, I discovered that we were not the only ones who had taken a fancy to that particular pillow. In fact, a number of websites and blogs offered ideas and instructions for making replicas of what is, apparently, the most popular pillow ever. Some were nicely done, others not so much. Many violated the (my) cardinal rule of fabric crafts: if you use cheap quality material, the end product will look cheap. And as much as I love a bargain, I don’t want my holiday decor to look like a kindergarden project.

This leads me to my first pointer for others who want to create replicas of this, or other, felt-based holiday pillows: pay a little extra to buy good quality felt, not the $1 craft sheets. In this application, it will make all the difference. In total it cost me about $18 to make three pillows...much cheaper than buying the pillows from Pottery Barn ($29 each) and the end result is less "homeroom craft."

My second pointer: don’t frustrate yourself by trying to imitate the original exactly. Make it your own. In our case, mum and I used burlap for the pillow instead of linen. We liked the contrast of color and texture it provided against the felt. In addition, we liked the idea of a more rustic looking pillow to contrast with the shiny, reflective finishes of the silver, gold and mercury glass decor we used in the rest of the living room. To tie them in with our other decor we chose a mixture of silver and gold bells for the center and silver/gold thread for the stitching on the petals. Have fun and make the project your own.

In the end here is what we created:

Simple and fun...that's the way we do things here at the Pink Milk Crate!

We’re Not in New England Anymore, Toto

A few weeks ago, my family went back east to New England to visit my grandfather. Every time we go we stop by the local cider mill to buy cider (my hands-down favorite beverage of all time), freshly baked cider doughnuts, buy local apples, taste test the homemade wine and watch the family that runs the mill operate the old-fashioned wood press that still produces all their cider. The whole things reeks of New England-ness and I just love it.

The press. For more info go to http://www.bfclydescidermill.com/

When we returned home, mum and I decided we would take a trip out to a cider mill here in the Kansas City area. We had heard lots of good things about it and were craving more doughnuts and apples...those little locally grown ones have ten times more flavor than grocery store apples. It’s like comparing apples and...well...apples.

An hour’s drive later, we pull into the gravel parking lot of the famous cider mill. It was all downhill from there. Far from being a quaint destination spot, it was more like a roadside attraction. I expected to see a sign boasting “two headed cow around back.” The parking lot smelled so awful I kept gagging...it was like someone had eaten a ton of cheese then vomited it all over. Gross.

The “mill” itself was a stainless steel, mechanical contraption you could watch from behind a fingerprint-smudged Plexiglas wall. A band straight out of the movie Redemption played country music on a makeshift stage, and a food truck from the local church was serving food. Exchanging disappointed looks, we went into the gift shop to poke around. Nothing in there was local. The apples were all from Michigan, and the snacks, beverages and knickknacks were all national labels you could buy in any grocery store. 

In a last ditch effort to salvage the trip, we bought some cider and “fresh, homemade doughnuts.” While I’m sure the doughnuts were homemade, they were chewy and cold, having been pre-packaged in paper bags and piled behind the counter for the cashiers to hand out. 

We contemplated checking out the corn maze next door, but would have had to walk across the vast, cheese-vomit wafting parking lot. In the end, we drove back home after spending less than 15 minutes at the cider mill. 

This was not our first attempt to seek out the charms of New England in the grasslands of Kansas. Last year we went blueberry picking, one of our favorite past-times in New Hampshire when I was little. The picking itself was really fun, although my mother’s competitive streak meant I spent most of the time trying to keep up with her as she zipped from bush to bush hunting for the best berries. Not really the relaxing bonding experience I had expected. 

All was going well until we made our way back to the gift shop/weighing station to pay for our haul. Inside the shop was a large replica of Noah’s Ark made from popsicle sticks (okay...arts and crafts...cool). Then we started reading the signs posted on it: explanations of how Noah could, and did, bring dinosaurs on the ark (red flag, red flag). Suddenly the large dinosaur statues that dotted the farm made a lot more sense (I had thought they were just there to entertain the little kids).

Apparently, Noah had collected 2 of each kind of dinosaur egg, making for much easier transport than taking live dinosaurs onboard. A sensible argument minus the fact the timeline is off by several millennia.

There wasn’t a sign describing the specifics of dinosaur egg selection, so I’m still baffled as to how Noah knew which eggs had boy dinosaurs and which had girls dinosaurs inside, thus ensuring a pair capable of mating and propagating the species. I nearly asked the nice young girl behind the checkout counter but decided against it. 

Boy and girl eggs...

All in all, I think we’ll stick to New England for satisfying our foraging desires. I love the Midwest, but in some categories it just can’t compare.

End of an Era

It’s been a while since The Pink Milk Crate has boasted anything new...the past few weeks have zipped by at lightening speed. I am ashamed to have missed out on posting during what is perhaps the most important nesting season of the year. But I’m back on track and excited to share all the decorating, food and crafting things I’ve been up to lately.

Perhaps most interestingly, I should tell you that my pink milk crate will be of no use to me this holiday season. I have been disenfranchised. 

Let me explain.

My mother isn’t exactly a holiday Scrooge, but she’s close when it comes to the trappings and trimmings department. Getting us into the holiday spirit with holiday decor was always my dad’s department. He would carve pumpkins with me and my brother and make a Halloween dummy out of an old shirt and pants stuffed with leaves. He would hang Christmas lights on the house and take us out to the tree farm to cut down our own tree. My mom has always been more of a Home Depot-tree kind of lady. 

Since my dad passed away, generating holiday spirit has been left to me. My mom and brother like the results but don't care enough to put the work into it themselves. I generally carve Halloween pumpkins on my own, decorate the house for Thanksgiving, plan the holiday meals, and fight for the right to put up Christmas lights and a real tree. It has become my annual duty and pleasure. It's a way for me to feel close to my dad again and to express my creativity.

This year, Halloween progressed as usual. I carved pumpkins and used the remote-operated flameless candles my mom insists are more sensible than real tealights (they are actually pretty cool, I must admit). Since my mom, brother and boyfriend were all working, I handed out candy to the kids on my own. Then, a week later, just as I was preparing to launch into my holiday Martha Stewart mode, my mother had a moment of clarity.

I was sitting in the den flipping through Pottery Barn magazine for decorating ideas when my mother came in and flopped down in a chair. “Eliza,” she said, “I think my problem is that I think all the holiday trappings are a hassle. And when you think they are a hassle, they become one. This year I am going to get into the spirit.” I was elated. 

Then the other shoe dropped: “I’m not very good at it though, will you help me?”

The famous mom-phrase. Here is the thing about my mother: she is incredibly artistic. She really just wants a sounding wall, not help. So this is how our “will you help me with something artistic” conversations usually go:

Mom: “I need some ideas.”

Me: “How about x, y or z?”

Mom: “Hmmm...I’m thinking more f.”

Me: “Well then we could a, b, and c to get that look.”

Mom: “Or how about this?"

Me: "Okay."

Mom: “I just don’t know. You do it, you are better at this than me.”

Mom leaves. I start doing my thing. Mom re-enters the room.

Mom: “That looks great! How about we do it like this though?” *fiddle fiddle fix fix fix*

This formula is so predictable it’s become a running joke in our family. Needless to say, the house looks great for Thanksgiving, but I have been relegated to support staff rather than director.

She went with a "natural" theme. The white bowl had a lovely arrangement of pine cones, mini gourds and large acorns but the cats thought it was a buffet, so it will, sadly, remain empty until Thanksgiving dinner itself. Then the serving pieces will hold food. Ah, form AND function.

From the other side. Note the adorable owl pitcher and the small candle-filled urns along the windowsill. Our Thankgiving tablescape will have a similar vibe.

Dried arrangements made from the last of our hydrangea's fall blooms are scattered around the house in cat-proof areas. The colors of the blooms are amazing!

It’s taken some adjusting and a lot of patience, but overall I’m glad. It’s nice to have another holiday-enthusiastic person around. We have already discussed doing an “Old Hollywood” type theme for Christmas, with crystal candlesticks and lots of gold, silver and white. There is talk of roasting a duck and making the calorie splurge for our favorite gruyere-smothered brussels sprout dish.

And my mom hasn’t even once mentioned getting a fake tree. Now THAT is progress.

An Ode to Autumn

I love the word "autumn." It captures the beauty of the season...the change in the light, the crispness of the air, the colorful foliage. Unlike "fall," which evokes images of endless leaf raking and the trading in of blissful summer freedom for homework and early bedtimes. 

So autumn it will be on this blog. 

This is my favorite time of year. I love everything about it: the weather, the scenery, the clothes, the food and the promise of holidays just around the corner. I'm a bit sad to see summer go...it was a short one this year for me. But I've moved on now. Bathing suit, what? Hand me that sweater.

I am already thinking about decor themes for Thanksgiving and contemplating what hearty new recipes to try. In particular, I've been thinking about all the ways I can use squash in my cooking. My thought process as I fall asleep is akin to Bubba's from Forrest Gump: baked squash, grilled squash, squash soup, squash hashbrowns, squash kebabs...

Squash, to me, is the ultimate comfort food. With such a widevariety of flavors and textures, it is one of my superfoods: butternut squash soup, pumpkin pie, zucchini bread...need I say more. This versatility, fortunately for me, means I can put it in almost anything I make. Sadly, my boyfriend does not share my appreciation for this culinary chameleon. My mission this autumn is to change his mind, one squash at a time. 

I will start with familiar territory: pumpkin pie. Although I am a huge proponent of cooking from scratch, taking a pumpkin from gourd to pie-plate has always seemed a bit extreme. However, today I bought a pie pumpkin and will be turning it into a real, homemade pie soon (stories and pictures to come). 

Next I plan to lure the boyfriend into a false sense of security by using spaghetti squash as a pasta substitute, smothering it in italian sausage, sundried tomatoes and a sage-brownbutter sauce. If that doesn't do the trick I don't know what will.