Heartland

In the mood for love: valentining

2012-02-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

It's nearly Valentine's Day, and I'm in the mood for love. I'm not usually much of a romantic, but my heartstrings were pulled when I received an invitation to a "make-your-own-valentine" party at Lady Gregory's in Andersonville.

We made a mess.

We also made some valentines. Mind you, it was at a bar. My projects started off really ambitious, like this 3D card I made using a leftover gift box, some markers, cut out letters and sticky hearts.

A fellow party-goer suggested crinkling up some card stock paper, Slinky-style, to make "springs" for the letters to jump out from. I liked the result so much that I made another one.

But after stopping to eat, drink and chat, my valentines were decidedly less sophisticated. Here's matching cards for my parents, or "Ma" and "Pa".

Our homemade valentines were mostly improvised on the spot, and materials were collected from what we each had lying around. It helped that our sweet hostess, who runs a pre-school out of her home, came equipped with all kinds of pink and red paper, old fashioned stickers, lace, ribbon, heart hole punchers and glitter. If you organize a similar party, I highly recommend inviting a pre-school teacher.

It comes as no surprise that DIY valentines are all the rage this February, and there are abundant sweeter than sweet designs to be found online. I say making your own is a fitting response to a holiday propagated by advertising companies, and generally designed to be a let down, like New Year's Eve or V-Day's bastard sibling, Sweetest Day. Plus, it's a good excuse to get together and drink with your buddies and you need those excuses in February, in Chicago.

The best part was that, while getting into the lovey dovey spirit of things, my day-of plans also came together. While folding tiny Slinkies and sipping wine, I learned that one of the valentiners was going to be a featured reader at the Chicago Reader's annual heart day celebration. The theme? "Anti-Valentine’s Day Party: Twisted Tales of Dating in the Windy City." Perfect! Now I can mail my valentines out and get a healthy dose of snark and cheek, too.

"Because without the bitter, baby, the sweet just ain't as sweet."

Sew what? Sew buttons!

2012-01-24T12:01:00.000-08:00

If you're like me, you don't know a bobbin from a bias. After receiving a hand-me-down sewing machine for Christmas, (to provide some context, my grandma looked it over and commented that she hadn't used a model like that in "decades." Ouch.) I set out to change that. I signed up for a beginner's "Sewing 101" class at The Needle Shop in Bucktown.

While I don't see myself becoming a seamstress extraordinaire, the ability to fix clothes and make handmade gifts is something I'd like to be able to do. Not only useful, the urge to sew is becoming more popular with young women again - I overheard one such lady in my lesson saying to her friend that she hoped sewing would be an entryway into domestic womanhood for her, as she'd "failed at everything else, like cooking." With any luck, you can also find a community, or sewing circle, to learn from. In Paris, where any activity can be stylish when paired with a smoke and un café, sewing aficionados tailor their creations in tandem at the SWEAT SHOP.

The Needle Shop seeks to grow such a community in Chicago, and offers pretty robust class offerings that teach you to make something new each time - and bring the finished piece home with you. Since mine was a beginner's class, we started with an orientation of the machines followed by a hands-on lesson for sewing a zippered pillow.

To be honest, I was a little worried about what I'd signed up for when I arrived. The lesson was to last 4 hours, and we began at 10am on a Saturday - not my brightest time. We were lead downstairs from the fabric store and into a brightly lit basement with a U-shaped table where five sewing machines sat at the ready. Aprons, slippers, bags, quilts and pillows - energized with offbeat patterns of city buses, farm animals and, of course, birds, hung from the walls. Our instructor Cheeri quickly announced that, as we would be spending 4 hours down here, drinks and snacks would be provided. Breathing a sigh of relief, I settled in and waited to begin.

We started by practicing a few stitches on scrap paper before tackling our pattern. When the actual sewing commenced, I was completely engrossed, child-like in my intent to learn how to do this stuff. Seriously, it is a magical thing to "reveal" your zipper after sewing it in through the "wrong" side of your fabric. A very dramatic moment for all of us.

Here's my new throw pillow:

Making something that you would normally pick up at Crate & Barrel for $30 is incredibly liberating. After I finished this pillow, I felt like I would never buy home furnishings again.

Not so fast, Cheeri reminded me. A few words of wisdom from our instructor to remember:

1) Instant gratification is key
When you're starting out, aim for simple projects (like pillows) that are doable within a few hours so you can finish and flaunt your skills right away. This will give you a sewing "high" that leaves you craving more.

2) Don't worry so much
Although sewing is precise, it doesn't always have to be perfect. And mistakes can nearly always be corrected.

3) Practice
The Needle Shop offers FREE studio time to their students.

I will definitely be hitting up The Needle Shop for another lesson. And maybe upgrading my machine to the 21st century, too.

Postcards: Christmas in the Heartland

2012-01-05T11:28:00.000-08:00

Christmas was a little different this year. I didn't bake cookies, put up a tree or send holiday cards. The week before was spent in sunny Mexico, where it was all pina coladas and xtabentun, but not so much Feliz Navidad. Don't get me wrong; going low-key on the holiday planning and prepping this year suited me just fine. But by the time Christmas Eve rolled around, I was really looking forward to being at home and cozy in Michigan, where the family traditions more or less stay the same.

Where the only china we use is red, with little green trees on it.

And the daily menu reads:

Breakfast ... Egg casserole

Lunch...Leftover casserole

Dinner...Green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, cheesy potato casserole.

I could go on, but you get the gist.

Santa comes not once, but twice: on December 25 & 26

Anise flavored candy cane, holly leaf, and star-shaped cookies are served

alongside decorated butterflies, scottie dogs, and apples.

And everyone dons their trees with these lovely, hand-made

ornaments by Grandma.

On a side note, Grandma's ornaments were featured this holiday season at Trend 440 in Monroe, Michigan. I'm so proud of her - at 87, she is still making beautiful things and seeking out new challenges. To build her brand, I enlisted the help of my very talented friend B and together we designed a logo specially for Grandma. I had it made into a stamp for her to try out on Christmas Day.

"Made with love in Erie, Michigan by Betty Mae Smith"

Here's to taking a cue from Grandma, and filling 2012 with creativity, generosity and fearlessness.

Pie in the sky

2011-11-18T09:13:00.001-08:00

Pie in the sky, or on the corner in your hipster hood. The timeless art of pie baking, like all things homespun, homemade and handed down, is being revived and refashioned in kitchens across the country.

In New York you can find the Elsen sisters serving up their grandmother's pies with new flavor twists; their shop, Four & Twenty Blackbirds, offers standard fruit pies but also salted caramel apple, bourbon pear, salty honey, and black bottom oatmeal. Looks like their take on pie baking has been well received; the website emphatically states they've been fully booked for Thanksgiving, and kindly requests customers to respect a two-pie-per-person limit. A slice of pie is a piece of heaven, it's true, but get greedy and the flavor you end up with tastes more like humble.

Ok, that was bad. The idioms stop now, I promise.

In Chicago, the Bang Bang Pie Truck has decided to park its wheels in Logan Square permanently. Married couple Dave and Megan Miller only began serving slices in July, but have already found a willing enough pie lovin' population here to set up shop. Similar to the Elsen sisters, Megan adapted her pies - grapefruit curd and plum brûlée are two on the menu - from her great-grandmother's recipes. The restaurant won't be like dining at Grandma's house though; the duo plans to lend a vintage circus theme to their restaurant's decor, centered around a bearded lady named Bang Bang, of course.

Though it seems trendy now, pie lore goes back quite a ways. Pies are often associated with American culture, but the very first pies are believed to have risen in ancient Greece. Pie bakers of old filled their crusts with a variety of stuffings, ranging from duck, to magpie pigeon, to mussels and seafood. Bound and sealed in pastry, pies made good sense - food was preserved and saved from spoiling in a tasty, flaky package.

Pie also connects us to a more personal lifeline. Who doesn't have a favorite flavor, usually cooked special for us by a mother, an aunt or a grandmother? Like the pie entrepreneurs above, I've taken two pie baking lessons with my own grandmother and let me tell you; it's hard. I won't be advertising my creations any time soon. But I will keep working on them. Starting with trying to roll out the dough.

What's clear is that pie is here to stay, despite evolution or any competition from cake. What's also clear is that I'm hungry. Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

Photos taken from:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/21/dining/21pies.html
http://www.dailycandy.com/chicago/article/109344/Bang-Bang-Pie-Coffee-Food-Trucks

Postcards: Baldwin, Michigan

2011-11-07T11:44:00.000-08:00

Late fall cabin stay in Baldwin, Michigan with family and great friends. Full of: bright leaves, misty mornings, pine nettles, deer, red wine and Michigan brews, cook-outs, dance-offs, touch football, long walks, dark nights, wild turkey.

How does your urban garden grow?

2011-10-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

Me and Grandpa, in matching overalls, sometime round 1981.

Hopefully better than mine. As the granddaughter of a farmer, instinct tells me I should be a natural green thumb. This year I planted a small garden of herbs and a few veggies - dill, parsley, rosemary, lavendar, cherry tomatoes, cilantro, basil and, just for kicks, ancho chiles. I was delighted when little green sprouts showed up, even while there was still frost on the windows. I greedily imagined a bountiful harvest for summer and fall, with M. and I plucking dinner ingredients fresh each night.

Turns out that instincts can be wrong. Dill and parsley wilted, rosemary never made it past puberty, lavendar didn't bloom, cherry tomatoes were ravaged by pilfering city squirrels and cilantro never showed up. My once green farm, which I'd incubated in tiny, moisture-enclosed houses all spring, dried and browned in the summer sunshine and heat, and all I produced were a few scarggly basil leaves. Ah, the farming life is fickle indeed.

I chucked it all, and resorted to a summer and fall using the same old grocery store dried herbs and vegetables. There's a food revolution under foot but sadly I wasn't going to be a part of it. And, at the rate the global population is growing, my efforts signaled a failure to provide for me and mine, should it ever come to that. I despaired. Until I found this note from my landlord, an avid gardener herself:

What! A real life fruit? I confess that I had forgotten entirely about the ancho chile plant, having left it to its own devices after it failed to thrive on my sun porch. I had parked it outside, in my landlord's backyard garden, a verdant space practically teeming with life all summer (in stark contrast to the death valley I was harvesting upstairs) and hadn't visited since. Any water it absorbed was due to rain. Any protection from squirrels came from our landlord's tall sunflowers, not my defense efforts. Surprised, excited and a little guilty, I made my way down to see what was there. And, behold: one, gnarled but green and alive ancho chile:

I plucked it right away and headed straight to the kitchen to - you guessed it! - pose for a bunch of photos with my fruit.

Me and ancho. Looking creepily in love with the lil guy.

We entertained fantasies of using the ancho for something creative, like ancho-infused alcohol, but ended up just chopping and throwing the pieces in chili. Probably not the best use of whatever flavors the little-plant-who-could carried.

My landlord must have sympathized with my failed efforts, because I found this note attached to the largest cucumber I have ever seen in my mailbox a few days later:

Kind person that she is, our landlord has since encouraged us to take whatever we can use from her garden, which boasts sweet smelling mint and lemongrass, a variety of brightly hued peppers, bushy tufts of kale and swiss chard and basil leaves the size of your fist.

I'm resolved to try again next year. Maybe I'll see if I can help my landlord out, or volunteer. Or maybe, I'll do the planting and leave the rest up to nature. Farming's in my roots after all.

Any suggestions for cooking kale and swiss chard, or bringing an urban farm to life, send 'em my way!

Fall Throwbacks

2011-10-08T17:01:00.000-07:00

Listening

"Leather & Lace" by Stevie Nicks & Don Henley

Doing

my hair like a 70s Stevie Nicks. Sense a theme?

Starting

a monthly book club. "Open City" by Teju Cole is our first read.

Traveling

to a cabin up north for Halloween. Spooky.

Along the trail: running and thinking

2011-09-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

DuPage 12K at the Danada Forest Preserve

Last month I ran my first trail race on a gravel path through the Danada Forest Preserve. The race was a long one for me, in more ways than one.

I'm not certain what it was that got me running again.   The first time I tried, after a decade-long avoidance, I couldn't get over how heavy my body felt. These stiff, stony limbs weren't what I remembered as a pliant seventeen year old. There was no bounce to my step, no deer dance to the finish. It was more of a shuffled waddle and then I'd be doubled over, panting.

Writers often chronicle how their exercise regiments supplement their writing. John Cheever swam. Haruki Murakami runs, and even wrote a whole book on it. I haven't read it, but am intrigued by the connection that thinky, internal people have to their physicality.

Writing and running share some essential traits. Writing is solitary and can be boring, like running. It's also an act of determination. For me personally, even if I'm writing something short, it's a haul, a long-distance feat. You have be sure footed about placing words in just the right order, and maintain a high level of endurance to see the thing through. And then, a sprint to the finish. Collapse.

Aside from the commonalities, what do writers get from running? According to Murakami, it's something like meditation for him:

"I try not to think about anything special while running. As a matter of fact, I usually run with my mind empty. However, when I run empty-minded, something naturally and abruptly crawls in sometime. That might become an idea that can help me with my writing."

I've love to draw from the same creative source Murakami does, but that's not gonna happen. But I do let my mind go empty, which is rare, and it has benefits. I don't notice much about the world around me when I run; I focus on where my foot lands, how my shoulders are placed and the the tightness in my hands. The concentration is a reprieve from my usual set of obsessions, worries, hypothetical disasters, ect.

Maybe it's my finely tuned brand of procrastination that gets me out there. I remember my thesis adviser's good advice to simply stop writing when I didn't feel like doing it.   Visit a museum, buy flowers, or call a friend instead, she said, since the writing will be crap if forced.

Now when I don't feel like doing it, I run.

Yarn bombing: when domesticity and rebellion collide

2011-06-23T12:56:00.000-07:00

Image taken from The New York Times

Who knew knitting could be so gangsta? On June 11, crafters across the country and beyond "yarn bombed" objects in their neighborhoods, cities, streets and buildings.

When my grandmother handed me a collection of her favorite knitting patterns, bound in a handmade book entitled "How to Knit," there were instructions for blankets, shawls, and socks but not bike rack cozies. This movement has me thinking that I need to expand my knitting horizons. Inspired by grandmothers and graffiti artists alike, yarn bombing combines knitting and crocheting skills with the urban practice of tagging. Bombers weave spools of brightly colored yarn around anything in sight - a sign post, a bike rack, a bridge, a tree, even New York's Charging Bull.

The art form is said to have originated around 2005 in Austin, TX when shop owner Magda Sayeg got bored one day and knitted a cozy around her door handle. Magda now completes yarn bombing installations all over the world, as documented on her website, Knitta Please.

The yarn bombing movement has lots of followers, and some have emerged as stars in their own right. Brooklyn-based artist Agata Olek (known simply as 'Olek') is gaining notoriety for covering urban spaces with her wild-hued, camouflage patterns. That's her work on the bull above. Olek takes her craft further than most - even hiring a performer to ride the L train in a full-body knitted suit. Knitting is personal for her, as she told one reporter that, "Life and art are inseparable." That's as fine a manifesto as any to describe the motivation behind yarn bombing. Here's a few images from her website.

Personal sidenote: Olek lives in South Slope, my old hood, so it was really cool to see old haunts re-fashioned by her.

Yarn bombs don't neccessarily have to be large-scale pieces. Some of the most charming projects I've seen are tiny; one article shows a Parisian sidewalk crack that was given a pretty little red crochet cover. Plenty of hobbyists do it on the regular at home, conjuring up a cheerful surprise for their fellow subway-riders, pedestrians and neighbors.

I think I'll let Grandma in on the newest of knitting trends. Who knows - maybe she'll want to start tagging the farm machinery.

Planning a summer on the prairie

2011-06-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

Inspired by NPR's book blog, I'm planning to spend the summer on the prairie. Here's my reading list:

Published 1918. Taking me through Nebraska.

Published 1974. First in the Sackett series spanning across England, Appalachia, the Great Plains, the Rockies and ending in California.

Revisiting a favorite. Published 1996. An Englishman's view of Montana.

Go progressive: spring dinner party

2011-05-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Grandma in her kitchen, 1951

As a kid, my mother spent every Christmas shuttling between the houses of her family members. It wasn't that tough considering that my grandfather and his three brothers lived between two little towns, Erie and Ida, which sit side by side along the Michigan/Ohio border. Everyone has their Christmas Day ritual; theirs was an extended family progressive dinner, starting in the day and lasting long into the night. My grandmother told me recently that they would begin the first course around 4pm and often wouldn't be eating dessert until midnight.

I know not everyone will think this sounds like a charming relic from the bucolic past. But my mother's memories aren't of harried aunts swirling around a hot kitchen, or of stale gatherings she was anxious to escape. She remembers the parties as lively and fun, a chance to play with her cousins' new toys and also show off her own. For her, the food came second to the company.

Potluck mashed with obstacle course
I always loved the notion of a mobile dinner party, and wanted to try doing one with friends here in Chicago. Progressive parties were popular in the 50s, but have since faded from fashion. With the slow food movement gaining momentum, I figured now was a good time to ask people to hop on their bikes and spend the day together enjoying some of our favorite recipes. When I asked several friends if they'd like to be in on it, I received a few confused looks. "So, like a potluck?" Or worse, "Will someone be selling insurance?"

Well, no. Progressive dinner parties are like potlucks in that everyone contributes, but a little more sophisticated. Here's the deal: there are usually four courses to the meal (appetizers, vegetables, main course, dessert) and each is served at a separate household. The tricky part is in the preparation. Planning a dinner party is hard enough, but how do you serve up delicious fare when you aren't entirely sure of when your guests are arriving? There's only so much that can be done in advance, unless you're ok with having soggy, lukewarm dishes. Saving all the to-dos for the moment your guests arrive won't work either, since who knows what shape you'll be in after enjoying a cocktail or three during the first course. My enlisted dinner companions and I weren't sure how we would pull it off, but we wanted to try. Think potluck mashed with obstacle course.

The auditions

My messy kitchen, 2011.

M. and I spent our Easter Sunday drinking wine and trying out recipes. We had signed up for the second course - vegetables. I wanted to try farm house style green beans (kitschy), an herb leek tart (classy), roasted rosemary potato and beet salad (color) and sweet potato fries (classic). It was a lot of work! I am usually in awe of my grandma, but the experience added yet another layer of appreciation for her talents and effort. M. and I both complained of sore hands after all that chopping, mixing and dish washing.

We sampled as we went, and everything came out ok apart from the leek tart - it was so artisanal that I wasn't able to find all the correct ingredients in the local grocery store. I figured we'd just wing it on the morning of the dinner (if you think that sounds like an ominous hint for how the dish turned out...you're right on).

l-r: roasted rosemary potato and beet salad, farm style green beans, sweet potato fries, incomplete leek tart

Course One: Appetizers, 4pm

Our friends B. and R. supplied course number one, the appetizers. One the menu: creamy pesto cheese torte, cuban mojo deviled eggs, blue cheese stuffed figs wrapped in prosciutto, smoked salmon red bell pepper appetizer, walnut goat cheese red bell pepper appetizer, champagne and cucumber moijios. Their dishes were delicious and photogenic:

Part of the fun is playing with everyone else's toys, so I had to get a shot of B's spare bartenders:

What a crew! B. inherited these dudes from his grandparents

Course Two: Vegetables, 7pm.

Ok, our time to shine. We biked home after enjoying a few mojitos on B and R's rooftop and then made a mad dash to get things ready before everyone else arrived. On the menu: farm style green beans with onion, tomato and bacon, roasted rosemary new potatoes and beet salad, sweet potato fries, herb leek tart, riesling, pinot noir and later, homemade (not by us) tarragon cerrano pepper pineapple tequila. Yeah.

The herb leek tart looked pretty enough. I made it that morning, and confess that I do not know my way around a leek. Have you ever seen one? It looks like something Mario would have protected Princess Toadstool from in Super Mario Land. Needless to say, it didn't turn out how I wanted. The leeks weren't cooked enough, the mustard was too sour. My dinner companions claimed it was good; I claimed they'd had enough tequila to think so.

I did channel Grandma when decorating for the day.

before

after!

Course Three: Entrees, 11pm
After several hours of eating, talking and drinking we were a jolly bunch by the time the main event rolled around. We shared a laughter filled cab ride to J. & M.'s, our last stop, in which B. and I sat on the floor of the cab-van. I'm afraid my state affected my documentary efforts, but the food was lovely. We had pulled pork slow-cooked in vinegar, olive oil cole slaw, and Portuguese rustic rolls. J and M very kindly also supplied dessert: gelato from the parlor down the street, with fresh coffee. Here's my one food shot of the delicious pulled pork, mostly eaten:

As the evening closed, we traded war stories. R. had been assigned the job of chopping the deviled eggs by B. but had sliced them sideways, rather than longways, causing their contents to tip and spill. It didn't affect the taste, but B., the chef d'jour, was dismayed to say the least. I had been irritated at M. that morning when he did his homework rather than help me chop. He made up for it with a last minute beet run for me. J. and M. joked about stuffing the large pork butt into their small crockpot, with M. commenting that the meat did indeed look like two flushed cheeks being squeezed into a tight spot.

Though the preparations may have tested our teamwork at moments, we delivered successfully. And it was lively and fun - we spent hours together and yet it felt like a new party each time we arrived for the next course. Plus, we had these two characters to close the night with:


Gravy & Biscuit, J and M's extraordinary Siamese cats

Plans were made for a summertime progressive where we hope to extend ourselves further with a fourth, equally decadent course.

Road trip: Detroit

2011-05-08T20:07:00.000-07:00

Pixies live in Detroit

When the Pixies announced they would play their "Doolittle" album live this spring, a group of us quickly committed to go. They didn't have a Chicago stop, so seeing them at the Fox Theater in Detroit was the next best thing.
I grew up 30 minutes south of the Motor City, but haven't spent much time there since leaving Michigan. I've followed the recent news stories with curiosity; the urban decay captured in glossy photo essays, the vicious city politics, the spread of urban farming, and the tales of an artistic resurgence. When I've heard talk of Detroit's comeback, I'll admit to feeling skeptical. If you're from Michigan, you know that the problems in Detroit are not new - it's been a rough, hard place for a long time.

My quick visit was like peering through the car window while passing by a place you used to know. I caught only glimpses, but they were telling.

Inside the Fox Theater

The weather was typical of Michigan in April - cold, damp and grey. I think there were even a few hail balls. But with the Pixies show, a Tigers game and another music act at the Magic Stick, the people were out roaming Woodward Avenue. We ducked into the Fox, a welcome shelter at that point. I forgot how stunning the 1920's era theater is. It's hard to believe that my grandparents used to come here to see movies. "Going to the show," they called it. The building is grand. In the lobby, it seemed all concert-goers were looking up, at the giant faux organ above our heads, at the ocean blue ceiling. Inside the theater, we were shown to our seats by tuxedo clad ushers. The proscenium is decorated with golden flowers and exotic animals and topped with an elephant, his trunk curving up. A huge crystal chandelier hangs over the audience.

I am old enough now to appreciate a rock show held in an elegant place. And the Pixies more than lived up to the historic stage.

Pixies at the Fox Theater. Detroit, April 2011.

We celebrated after at Grand Trunk Pub with some fancy microbrews, and then went slightly less fancy with coney fries and dogs at Lafayette Coney Island. It was late - we reached Lafayette by 2AM - but each spot was cozy and dense with activity. Outside the pub, groups of smokers congregated and packs of twentysomethings teetered by, dressed in their Friday night best.

Lafayette Coney Island at 2am.

Lafayette was packed. The restaurant is a cavernous and warm place. My Detroit friends had argued its merits over the next door arch rival, American Coney Island, and I was anxious to see what the fuss was about. The kitchen is located right at the front, by the entrance, so a wave a hot grease greets you the second you walk through. The cooks work with rhythmic precision, even at that late hour. Sizzling fries and hurried voices carry into the dining area, a modest, brightly lit room with standard cafe tables and chairs. We slid into a window seat and ordered our coneys. A large group sat in the middle of the room, laughing and telling stories. They looked like a family. At the end of the table was a young African American couple who also joined their conversation. I couldn't tell if they were a part of the group or not, but at the end of the night, just before they left, an applause rippled round the table. "They're getting engaged!," a woman shouted, gesturing at the couple. Our coneys were delicious.

I snapped this shot just before we left and a cook, watching me, smiled. "Good photo," he said.

Who knows if a transformation will take place in Detroit yet, or what it will look like if it does. I read somewhere recently that the city could be viewed as a "blank canvas" for young artists looking to make an impression. At the time, the remark irritated me. How can a place that holds sentimental value for so many be viewed as blank? Detroit is still a rough, hard place, but there are people there who sell drinks in tuxedos, who serve up microbrews and slap together coney dogs, who become engaged in crowded late night restaurants. Those were the images I saw, bright and vivid. The city ain't blank.

Spring forward

2011-03-12T12:48:00.000-08:00

Flying Pictures by Daniel Gordon

I came across Daniel Gordon's "Flying Pictures" in a recent edition of National Geographic. The images are striking for obvious reasons; a human being flying, temporarily suspended in midair with arms and legs outstretched, over an overwhelming space like a Californian cliff or snow covered hill. Is he Superman? No. Was he hung there through the magic of digital editing? Wrong too. The figure in the photos is the artist himself, and he is really, actually flying - momentarily. Here's how he described his process in the article:

To fly, I always worked with a friend. I'd find a location, set up my large-format camera on a tripod, and compose the landscape, making a Polaroid of the setting to figure out where I wanted to appear in it. Next I'd walk up to the horizon line of the landscape. My friend would shout to me when I'd reached the place I'd chosen on the Polaroid. Then I'd get a running start and just jump forward, up, and out into the air. My friend would snap the shutter. I'd do this over and over, making one photograph per jump. Of course I'd come crashing to the ground over and over too.

Yikes, that must have been painful. But the resulting images are startling, evocative. The amount of space devoted to the landscape in most of "Flying Pictures" shows a real enchantment with the natural world. In some of the pictures, Gordon is just a tiny, airborne speck in the distance, like a bird. His attempts to fly also communicate something aspirational that we all feel; a yearning to defy our limitations. Here are some of my favorites:

At the end of the article, the artist reminds us of the unseen accompaniment to the soaring moments captured. "The photographs in this project may show an instant's victory over gravity," he writes, "But in the end, I always crashed back to Earth."

All images shown here were taken from Daniel Gordon's website.

The human voice

2011-03-08T14:07:00.000-08:00

Studs Terkel, mourning the loss of the human voice. And what a voice!

Studs Terkel StoryCorps

Slow ride

2011-03-06T13:56:00.000-08:00

Since April of last year, I've been at work on a three-part series describing my experiences aboard several long distance Amtrak trains. Thought I'd share an excerpt here. "Slow Ride" takes place aboard the Empire Builder, which I took from Portland all the way to Chicago. It was a strange time for me. I had just moved to Chicago in September, and was unemployed and unsettled there. I was feeling dull and static, and this piece emerged out of a yearning to simply MOVE, somewhere, anywhere.

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Slow Ride

Traveling by Train

“It’s not too bad,” my new friend Jenny assured me from across the aisle. She removed the towel wrapped around her head and began to wring out strands of long, wet brown hair. The smell of shampoo filled the tiny cabin. She gestured towards her feet. “I kept my sandals on, though.”

Of course Jenny, a sharp-eyed Corrections Officer from Pasco, Washington, had the foresight to bring sandals to wear when using the communal shower stall. I had not. It was my first morning aboard the Empire Builder, Amtrak’s Northwest long distance train, and already I balked at entering the coffin-sized space unprotected. I wondered if I could stand going without bathing for the entire three-day journey back to Chicago.

Train travel was rugged but not without grace. Though the accommodations were spare and small, and the washroom facilities lacked privacy, the accompanying scenery was majestic. I boarded in Portland the afternoon before and was taken aback when we entered the Columbia Gorge, a deep, narrow river canyon wedged between Oregon and Washington. I found myself surprisingly moved by the unexpected landscape. It was feral, untouched, exquisite. How can this exist in America, I thought, and I’ve never even heard of it? Waterfalls pushed over mountain sides and plummeted hundreds of feet down into the Columbia River below. Oak trees wove together and formed a green carpet along the bank. There was abundant wildlife to spy; I overheard several passengers mention later that they saw a herd of kingly elk grazing in the early twilight. I didn’t doubt them, since the train sneaks along the canyon where cars don't, placing everything outside your window astonishingly close.

My sleeper car remained respectfully solemn as we navigated through the gorge. I rose from my seat to sit in the opposite cabin for a different view. I stood at the rear window and watched the reverse zoom of the tracks peel out from beneath the belly of train. Like a metronome, the repetitive clack of the locomotive lulled me into a reverie.

You could say I was searching for something on this trip. I had just relocated and had been out of work for six months. Feeling restless, I sent for Amtrak brochures on a whim. They came in the mail featuring panoramic photos of landscapes that were lush and mountainous, flat and spare, urban and dense, and all very beautiful. At the heart of each one a silvery train chugged along, the dividing line between land and sky. I envisioned myself peeking out from one of the tiny windows. The idea of traveling slowly appealed to me, of taking the time to see just how far you’d come and how different things could be from one place to the next. The simple act of moving along can be a powerful tonic when you’re otherwise stuck.

The junk collector.

2010-09-29T10:43:00.000-07:00

A lesson in seeing what others miss.

My great Aunt June describes herself as a "junker." She regularly scans newspaper ads for local garage sales, barn sales, estate sales and flea markets and then goes hunting for "treasures." Aunt June is my Grandma's younger sister and, like Grandma, has a keen eye for detail, for color and for texture. She is my mother's favorite Aunt and I can tell why; she's hip. Whenever I visit her treasure trove, I leave with an appreciation for Aunt June's unique way of seeing the world.

Occasionally, Aunt June's barn becomes too rich with treasures and she has a sale of her own. I've accumulated some of my most beloved possessions in this way; when I moved into my first house, in college, it was Aunt June who supplied me with the wooden nightstand with a painted rose on top, the antique mirror with gold molding and a set of white eyelet curtains.

Aunt June found herself in the mood to part with some of her findings this September. The timing was lucky; I had just moved into a larger apartment and needed some things to make it feel like more like home. Needless to say, I made out like a bandit.

Aunt June's treasures: chairs galore, vintage tins, blue glass, quilts, pottery and dust bins.

I saw many things I envisioned bringing home with me - a man's barbershop shaving kit made of tin, painted white and flecked with rust; I could imagine it retailing for $50 in an East Village boutique. There were brightly colored aprons from the 50's, cheerfully decked out in gingham and printed flowers - great gifts for a wedding shower or birthday present. She had rows of mason jars in different sizes and colors - they too are en vouge right now, and can be used to hold flowers, food and candles. During a recent shopping trip, I saw similiar blue tinted ball jars priced at $20 in the Chicago neighborhood Andersonville. Aunt June's price ranged between $1 - $5, depending on size.

I was really digging this feather hat, but couldn't make up my mind. My mother has since informed me that it left with a more decisive buyer.

Aunt June dispensed background information on all of her junk. You could tell each piece had earned it's place in her barn through some kind of connection Aunt June had forged with it. A few were family heirlooms. A gigantic pair of roughly hewn wooden scissors hanging on the wall were crafted by a distant relative, my aunt informed me. They were custom-made to remove hot clothes from the laundry basin.

My treasures

Gradually, I honed in on what I wanted and loaded up the car. The grand total came to $48; I think I may have gotten a family discount as well. Mom, Grandma and Aunt June were amused at the items I picked out, like this cream colored birdcage and tarnished candelabra.

Despite some initial protests at home over the legitimacy of of my new treasures - What did we need a birdcage for, anyway? - I tried to weave them in with our more contemporary items:

Lace curtains and metal curtain holder for my office.

Barn mirror - my Aunt said this was hanging in the barn for the cows to get a glimpse of themselves. Now I look in it everyday. Moo!

Birdcage with no bird.

Fur collar

Duvet cover

Inspired by Aunt June's junk collection, when I got back to Chicago I picked this up for $5:

It's huuuuge! Push-pin map of the U.S.

Up north

2010-09-22T19:01:00.000-07:00

Going "up north" is the Michigander's summer tradition. The term generally refers to anywhere in the state that's north of Mount Pleasant and near to some body of water, whether it be a Great Lake or one of the smaller, but equally as pleasant lakes sprinkled throughout the area. For my family, going up north meant renting a one room beach-front cabin in any of the little towns surrounding Lake Michigan. My parents never seemed to have a plan when we set out; they just sort of packed up the car and started driving north on I-75. Once we reached Glen Arbor, on the Leelaunau Peninsula, my father would make a beeline for Art's Tavern, a no frills bar & grill. After feasting on fresh whitefish sandwiches, Dad would navigate our car up and down the green, hilly peninsula - uncommon terrain for most of Michigan - looking for a spot to rent. We always found something. One thing about going up north is that not many people from outside Michigan do it. They have no idea what they're missing, and to be honest - we kind of like it that way.

Up north was an exotic place to me as a kid. The sugar fine sand dunes and rough lake waves starkly contrasted to the farmland, factories and urban sprawl that made up my part of the state. You know how you can spend a whole day swimming when you're a kid, literally in the water from sun up to sun down? I remember pitching my body over the waves in Lake Michigan and exhilarating in the piercing cold drench. "We're polar bears," my father would yell. "Only polar bears can swim in this lake!"

Now, as an adult, I find myself attempting to recreate those childhood trips whenever I visit. No return trip is complete until I've hiked the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes and counted the number of cars in the parking lot; canoed up to where the Platte River meets Lake Michigan and jumped from the warm river water to the icy lake; and of course, had a whitefish sandwich at Art's.

We said goodbye to summer this year with a mid-August trip up north to Beulah. Along with some friends, we rented a rustic cabin overlooking Crystal Lake for a blissed out week of doing nothing but eating, drinking, swimming and sunning. We visited many of my childhood favorites, but also found some new places to explore. Here's a few shots from our trip.

Pit stop: Beers at Saugatauk Brewery

Arrival at Hume's Cabin in Beulah. A gorgeous Michigan sunset and our bonfire pit.

Camp cooked breakfast sandwiches

Swimmin' in Crystal Lake after breakfast. I liked jumping off this raft (below).


Bedroom view at Hume's. I've always liked the idea of a clothesline.

Backwards B. Canoeing down the Platte River.


The river leads right into this beach on Lake Michigan.

HUGE lake waves!

Wine tasting at Black Star Farms

Champagne tasting at Mawby Vineyards

Crystal Lake sunset

Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes

Midwestern manners

2010-07-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

This is perfect.

"I had no idea his constant barking was a problem. Thanks for letting me know you're bothered by ... at The Cartoon Bank

Taking a cue from the middle

2010-07-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

From the NY Times:

Old Movie Houses Find Audience in the Plains

By PATRICIA LEIGH BROWN

Published: July 4, 2010

A grass-roots movement is trying to keep Main Street movie houses, with their jewel-like marquees, at the center of community life.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/05/us/05theater.html

Summer digs

2010-06-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

It's been all muggy sunshine, thunderstorms and lightening here in the Midwest. I love how the variance in seasons introduces a new aesthetic. In the summer, I feel like being a little salty, a little earthy and little dirtier than at any other time. It's suddenly alright to leave your house without putting on make-up or brushing your hair and wearing loosely draped nighty-like dresses.

Some summery things I'm digging so far:

Denium shirt from Banana Republic. I've been wearing this over everything lately; to the beach, over a sundress, even to work with a skirt. Comfy country style.

Return of the fishtail braid! I can thank my high school volleyball coach for never playing me in weekend tournaments that I have still retained this skill. Tip: It's much easier when hair is wet.

Thao Nguyen and the Get Down Stay Down "Swimming Pools". Laid back voice and sound, summer style.

Spring break 2010: riding the rails-to-trails

2010-03-29T08:24:00.000-07:00

I'm back after a brief hiatus, feeling energized by Spring (or the near-ness of Spring). I visited St. Petersburg, Florida this month which may have something to do with it. Though it wasn't perfect weather for the beach, it was sunny and comfortable enough for a long day spent bike riding.

We set out for the Pinellas Trail, a 34-mile ride which starts in urban St. Petersburg and glides up the coast until reaching Tarpon Springs.

We rode just a tiny quarter of the whole trail, but it was far enough to see the city streets fade into the background, only to be replaced with a series of eerie industrial parks. A few were still working; peddling past, we saw a lone machinated assembly line hoisting mounds of corn or soybeans up what looked like a rickety old roller coaster. Most of the buildings were abandoned and desolate, their walls covered with graffiti. Some had colorful large-scale murals painted on their sides, seemingly dedicated to the cultural life of St. Pete - an underwater ocean scene, a violent tropical storm, the Grand Prix finish line (the Grand Prix is held here each year). Another showed a scene from the movie "Field of Dreams" and, seeing no obvious connection, I guessed the artist must simply be a fan. The backdrops provided excellent photo shoot material.

Industrial parks alongside Pinellas Trail

Grand Prix mural

Field of Dreams

A rusted track of railroad weaved in and out alongside us, appearing for 200 yards or so and then gone. The bike shop owner had mentioned we would see the old railroad, and that it was pretty cool to ride your bike on top of it. There were several signs posted along the trail that gave more detail; formerly a 34 mile CSX corridor, the railroad had been abandoned for some time. The city, in conjunction with a non-profit group called the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy had adapted it into the bike path (although it is still being worked on - the Pinellas Trail website says carefully that the whole vision has not been competed just yet). This discovery made sense; the industrial parks were probably served at one time by a freight runner, and after passing a red brick building with arched doorways and an engraved "Established in 1918" post over its entrance, I surmised that it must have once been the station.

Railroads crisscrossed their way across the US in their heyday, connecting city to country and coast to heartland in a more meaningful way than planes do now. They not only served as a means of transportation, but also as a venue for viewing foreign landscapes and tasting the distinct regional cultures of the United States. Rather than just dropping in from out of the sky, travelers had a real sense of where they came from, what lands they crossed and just how far and how long it took them to do it.

New York City recently experienced a stunning achievement with the High Line, a green space built along a section of formerly elevated railroad track. Similarly, the Rails-to-Trails Program has been refashioning derelict railroad track since 1976. Recognizing the historical importance of preserving America's railroad lines, the organization has worked diligently to create innovative ways of viewing it. Rails-to-Trails operates throughout the country, and includes paths like the one I road, that are paved alongside a former railroad, and also some called "Rails-with-a-Trail", where the public path converges with an active railroad line. Ever fantasized of riding with the sound of a frenzied freight train bellowing at your heels? Here's your chance.

Though it may not have been the most scenic bike route I've taken (since we didn't make it to the coast) knowing that we were tracing the path of a former railroad line added a sense of importance to the trip, an earnest curiosity. What had it been like when it was a bustling web of activity, industry and work? Had vacationing passengers, traveling from the city to the coast, once viewed the same scenes with eager anticipation of their final stop? Not only was riding on the railroad "cool", but it sparked a connection to what came before, and the pleasure of seeing things the slow way.

For more information on the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy, visit their website at: http://www.railstotrails.org/index.html

Pinellas Trail Map taken from the following website: http://www.dep.state.fl.us/gwt/guide/regions/westcentral/trails/pinellas_trail.htm

Christmas cookie trade-off

2009-12-24T12:46:00.000-08:00

A new holiday tradition

I read Mildred Kalish's exuberant depression-era memoir Little Heathens over the summer, and was so inspired by her family's spirited ingenuity in times of dire need. They were inventive when it came to special occasions like Christmas, and gave one another homemade scarves, pies and toys as gifts. Throughout the book, Kalish never gives the impression they suffered for want of better things; rather, it seems that her family relished in the work, and had fun doing it. Fun is not something you would normally equate with the Great Depression, but that's what makes Kalish's perspective unique.

I wanted to apply a similiar can-do philosophy to Christmas this year. Being unemployed has meant that I have more time to devote to the holidays but less money to spend. I've been an industrious knitter, and most people on my list will be receiving homemade gifts. Although I wish my circumstances were different, designing and crafting presents for those I care about, with my own two hands, has me looking forward to Christmas morning more than in years past.

In keeping with this theme, some friends and I decided to have a cookie trade party, where we all produced a recipe and its essential ingredients and came together to bake and share.

My friend Kate makes amazing sugar cookies, and had them prepped for us to decorate once we arrived. We used some traditional Christmas cookie cutters, but also a shape that was closer to our hearts.

We made over a dozen batches of different cookie recipes, working from 4pm to 9pm straight. We were so engrossed in our baking that we didn't even notice when it started to snow outside.

When we finished, we each had at least 3 dozen cookies to give as presents and eat at home and new recipes for next year. The ingredients for my recipe cost a grand total of $30.00, and were mostly things that you would have in your cupboard anyway.

Tins from a local consignment shop completed the gift. Tip: My mom always throws a couple slices of bread in with her cookies while storing them. It keeps them fresh and soft.

A long time gone.

2009-11-10T13:28:00.000-08:00

Since moving back to the Midwest, I've been enjoying a much quicker commute home than I'm used to. For 30$ I can hop on the Wolverine Route from Chicago to Ann Arbor. Train travel is slow and somewhat antiquated, but also relaxing. I appreciate having the time to think and be quiet. The whooshing sound of the train rumbling beneath me and the passing countryside make for soothing accompaniments, too.

It's common to get lost in your past when visiting home after a long time gone. I tend towards the weepy and sentimental - I'll catch myself wallowing away in old photos, journals and yearbooks. Thankfully this time, on bike rides with my father and solitary walks around my grandmother's house, I felt flooded by more sensory details. November is such a beautiful time in the Midwest, and my hometown is no exception.

Bike ride down Strasburg Road, November 2009.

Had I never left, I'm not sure I would find it the same way. Peddling past the well spaced homes, I remembered people and moments I hadn't thought of in years. There are streets in my hometown where I can identify someone who lived in each house (though they may not live there now - my memory is stuck somewhere around 1997). I can visualize the insides of their homes as they were then, and recall the ones I liked to stay over at and the ones I preferred to go home from instead.

As I rode along Erie Road, and then on to Cemetery Road, all was quietly at work. Leaves raked that afternoon were burned now in barrels, sending a campfire smell wafting across the fields. Neighbors tooled around in their barns, tended their lawns, fed their animals. It was about a quarter to five, almost dusk, and I guessed that the late day industriousness was a result of waiting for supper to begin. Each person waved as I passed, not because they recognized me but because that's what you do. I waved back. A few gunshots broke out to my left; not an alarming sound in Erie, I took them for a hunter's target practice.

Barns in shadow, November 2009.

I took a walk, just across the field from my grandmother's house to my parents'. Heading up the lane, I saw animal tracks in the sand and remembered scampering up there as a child. I thought of my six year old cousin, who had just told me that although he would visit me in the city, he would always be a "country boy" (his words). His little voice sounded articulate and wise for his years when he told me that he couldn't "imagine not going out in nay-cha." I agreed with him, and was comforted by it then, wandering through my grandfather's fields at dusk, alone.

Down the lane, November 2009.

Grandpa's fields, November 2009.

Fall throwbacks.

2009-10-26T14:51:00.000-07:00

Pumpkin patches

Your childhood copy of "Where the Wild Things Are"

Shawls and Velvet

Dried Lotus Pods

Copper and Amber

Apple recipes

Apples for breakfast

Cut up apples (leave skins on)

a couple tablespoons of butter

a couple tablespoons of brown sugar or honey

fry in skillet

sprinkle with cinnamon and add some apple juice to the mix

serve hot over pancakes, oatmeal, yogurt or waffles.

Patti Smith's "Horses"

Honey Sticks!

pictured here: clover, pina colada, peach.

It's back to the country for Chanel in spring 2010

2009-10-07T06:45:00.000-07:00

Emphasizing a "natural and honest chic" fit for tough economic times, the Spring 2010 Karl Lagerfield Chanel show took place in a barn, amid bales of hay and piles of dirt.

There is something undeniably strange in seeing the famous Coco Chanel emblem planted over barn rafters. But it's provoking. I can't pretend to know enough about fashion to comment on the clothes themselves, but the unique stage (in the article below, the Times fashion reporter expresses her incredulity over the presentation) definitely speaks to a yearning for stability, a time when things made sense and people felt useful and authentic. Who says that can't include feeling pretty at the same time?

Link to the New York Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/07/fashion/07REVIEW.html?_r=1&hpw

Art project: antique Pepsi-Cola box as spice rack

2009-09-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

I've seen this done in restaurants before, and wanted to try it out at home. I like the old wood and the way that it adds some texture to my otherwise bland kitchen wall. I found a shop in Lakeview called Haymarket that sells these antique boxes and was able to barter my way down from 20$ to 17$. Mike said it wasn't a very good deal for an old, dusty box. Maybe you'll have better luck negotiating than me.

It took some time for me to figure out the best way to hang it - the wood is fragile, and not very sturdy (you can see how it dips and curves, which, although charming, can present a logistical problem). At first I tried hanging it up with hooks, but it stuck too far out from the wall. I finally decided on a combination of double sided tape (I attached three strips to each side, and along the middle) and two nails to keep it upright. The support was just enough for a few cooking spices, a candle, some matches and my good luck pig.

If I can find a cheaper deal, I'm planning to put up another shelf box in the dining room for wine glasses.

How to make Grandma's two crust pie.

2009-09-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

My grandmother makes a terrific homemade two crust pie. For as long as I can remember, her pies - cherry, apple, blueberry and peach (my favorite) - have been a staple at every Thanksgiving, Christmas and family get-together. I've wanted to learn how to make her pie for a long time, and after a few failed attempts on my own I finally scheduled a pie baking lesson with her.

To start, my grandmother pulled out a tattered and worn Betty Crocker cookbook. She mentioned that she received the book as a newlywed (in 1945!) and that it had been her guiding principle when first learning to bake and cook. She followed the recipe, and then added in a few of her mother-in-law's tricks along the way. My grandmother lived in the same house as her in-laws for the first five years of her marriage, and her mother-in-law would spend every Saturday baking bread, cookies and pies.

My grandmother keeps bins of flour, sugar and brown sugar in a cupboard below her cutting board. She began the process by scooping flour into a bowl, and adding salt. Each time she added something new, she just tossed it into the mix, instinctively knowing the exact amount to add without having to measure. Grandma, I said, I need specifics. Here's what I got:

Two Crust Pie

2 cups sifted Gold Medal Flour

1 tsp salt

2/3 cup shortening (add about 2 tbsp if using hydrogenerated)

4 tbsp water

First, you combine the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. Cut in the shortening (my grandmother pours water into her measuring cup to avoid having the shortening stick to the sides. Seriously, she's like an Indian - nothing goes to waste in her kitchen). Sprinkle with water and mix together.

Here's Grandma expertly mixing up the dough.

Next we have to round the dough into a ball and then roll it out in a circular shape. This was the trickiest part for me. My grandmother did it in a snap, however. Watch the video below for her method.

Once you get the dough rolled out to your standards, (mine was a little oblong, like a football, and when I said I wanted to try again to make mine look like hers, my grandmother replied matter-of-factly, "I don't think that's going to happen." I had to agree with her) ease it into the pie pan and fill with your choice of insides.

A note on the filling: My grandmother makes this from scratch as well, and it's actually really easy. For peach pie, you take 5-6 ripe peaches, peeled and sliced (appx 5 cups), 2/3 cup sugar, 3 tbsp flour, and mix lightly together. Grandma also used a little Tapioca pudding to lend the mix some texture. For apples, follow the same instructions but also add 1/3 tsp cinnamon.

Trim the edges of the bottom crust by using the dull side of a butter knife (this way you won't snag or cut the trim erratically). The top of the pie crust needs to be rolled out the same way. Once you've got it, you need to create some ventilation. My grandmother slices two slits near the center and then uses a knife to wedge holes in a circle. I tried to duplicate the design as best I could.

Fit the top over the filling, pinch the bottom and top together to seal the insides from escaping during bake time. For a fancier presentation, you can choose to flute the edges of the pie using your thumb and forefinger.

Bake the pie at 425 degrees for 55 minutes. One of the tricks my grandmother learned from her mother-in-law was to rub some milk over the top of the pie before baking for a golden colored crust.

After waiting an hour or so, we pulled the pies from the oven. Mine turned out pretty good, although some of the filling bubbled over and escaped from the pie due to the awkward shape of my crust. My grandmother dismissed it as a beginner's mistake, reminding me that it just takes a little old fashioned know how.

Voila - my first two crust peach pie.

UPDATE: I made my first pie without my grandmother's guidance over the weekend, and my technique was far from flawless. I had to throw out my first batch of batter due to using too little shortening (the batter was too dry). Also, I had difficulty rolling out the batter again and after balling it up and re-rolling it became even more dry and tore easily. Finally, I re-mixed it using 3/4 cup of shortening rather than the 2/3 cup called for in the recipe. This definitely made the dough much more malleable, and I was able to roll it out easily.

When I reported back to her, Grandma reminded me that she always uses a little more shortening than what the recipe calls for, and that the dough should never be too hard to manipulate. Also, she said that it's best to only roll out your dough once, whatever shape it may take, since the additional flour will cause the crust to lose its moistness.