my kitchen window

I can't see out of my kitchen window because I don't currently have one. I hope to one day (dream house you will be mine!). In the meanwhile, I enjoy from my kitchen the view afforded to me by my double-paned patio door, which can yield, if the universe is feeling so inclined, glowing sunsets and signs of every change in the seasons.

Immediately in my line of sight is a great big tree that stands lushly green in the spring and summer, yellows dramatically for fall, and finally strips down to its bare branches for winter. Just a month or so ago it stood flaming orange against the hot pink sunset and it was stunning. Then almost what felt like a split second later, it heaped all of its leaves into a soggy yellow pile on the earth below it while the sky leaked with much-awaited rain.

At night I see twinkling Christmas lights and, once the sun goes down, a whole lot of black sky. Occasionally a sunset won't breath its usual hot pink and orange fire but will fall cool into dusk instead. Such sunsets highlight the horizon yellow and the sky above it gradients upward from a light blue to the black of the stratosphere. I think of these muted sunsets as the sun's way of bowing out quietly, of yielding to the crisp December cold.

In the mornings the view outside my window is simplest. If the sky is clear, I can see the jagged trunk and branches of the pond tree. And what a tree it is! It grows no leaves all year round and rises stalwartly high into the sky to provide a landing pad for head papa goose to survey his pondy kingdom. I can see General Papa Goose from my patio on most days before the geese migrate south, and on days that I can't see him, I can hear him, trumpeting away at his humble fowl contingency.

Also I see roofs, but those are less poetic. Unless I remind myself of Bert's roof jaunt from Mary Poppins.

So goes the view from my third floor patio, from which there is more majesty than I ever would have expected.

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i'm joining up with the #lifecapturedproject

Mornings lately.

The jingle of my alarm stirs me awake and I force my eyes open. It's 6:30 in the morning and still dark. Rain rushes steadily down outside, a heavy downpour to usher in the daylight. The bedroom window is cracked just enough for cold to crawl in and make the sheets and blanket feel especially luxurious. I decide to wait for the second alarm and snuggle my head deeper into my pillow. Jesse stirs to ask groggily what time it is, surrendering back into slumber as soon as he hears, "Six-thir-" As I am closing my eyes, I feel light pressure, first at the foot of the bed and then all along my right side; paws navigating the folds in the blanket. The pressure settles into a ball by my shoulder and I reach my arm over to give it a scratch on the head. My fingers discover soft, short curls. I rest my hand on the soft bulge of Sophie's curled up flank and snuggle into her. She sticks her snout in my face and hovers her nose in front of mine to take in my morning scent. I feel a soft lick on my nose and fade back into sleep.

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I'm joining up with the #lifecapturedproject. 

lately

lately, i've been...

+ digging deeply into my childhood and middle school years to recover memories lost or otherwise suppressed. i’ve been looking at my old yearbooks, reading my old journals, and journaling anew with some kind of fury. i’m trying to reconnect all the pieces of me.

+ i’ve been thinking a lot about identity and what my identity is. what does being Russian-American mean to me? where does the Georgian part of me fit in? where does the writer, the artist, and the athlete fit in? the parent? the career woman?

+ baking nutella brownies.

+ buying fall dresses.

+ wondering if i’ve passed the bar. i’ll know next week.

+ looking forward to my birthday, which falls on the day before Thanksgiving this year.

+ reading, and reading, and reading some more. currently number one on the docket is this book. next up: this one, this one, and this one.

+ reflecting on my friendships, lost and current.

+ taking tennis lessons (the first of any kind of official lesson i've ever had in my life!) and seeing improvements to my game; toying with the idea of playing in a club. 

+ pot roasting pork shoulder.

+ running in the early mornings with Sophie.

A man and his tea

My man, he gets tea.

me: hey honey, do you like the peachy green tea?

j:

me: isn't that what you're drinking?

j: i guess?

me: well i mean, do you like how it tastes?

j: i guess so.

me: well how much of it have you consumed?

j: 'bout half the cup.

me:

me: so i mean...do you like it?

j: yeah it's fine.

j: all the tea kind of tastes the same to me.

me: i suppose that's fair. herbal teas and green teas do kind of taste alike. but you can tell the difference between black tea and green tea or herbal tea, right?

j:

me: ...because black tea has a completely different flavor than green or herbal tea...

j: really they all just taste like however much sugar or honey i put into the cup.

My Personal Ode to the California Coast

how many times have i been up and down the California coast and yet these jagged rocks aren't any less impressive on this umpteenth viewing. this coast never changes. there are always heavy winds when i get out of the car, and my hair blows every which way, and i struggle to see the rocks for the sunlight glinting off the water. always i can hear the ocean breathing, it's waves rushing and crashing and rolling. no, this coast never changes, only my state of mind does. i've traveled the coastline with many different companions over the years, at times feeling vulnerable, at others impatient. this time i felt neither. this time i felt loved, and like all the time in the world was mine.

* * *

inevitably the road winds away from the coastline and through overgrown farmland and abandoned stables that once were worked but now stand untouched by all but those who crawl or lope. cobwebs crop up, moss thickens, grass sprouts with wild abandon. on each drive through this landscape i marvel that people used to live here and that some still do. this is not as untamed a wilderness as other parts of the united states but it is a wilderness nevertheless, far removed from california's hustle and bustle. 

* * *

structures like these are california zen. this: a non-denominational chapel meant for individual prayer and meditation. please respect it's sanctity. it makes me wonder, did a lifetime of california living birth my non-denominational spirituality or is it a happy coincidence that my heart feels thankful that places like this exist here? this chapel is dedicated to the memory of a young navy aviator, artist and zoologist, and designed by james hubbell, a self-proclaimed leader in the use of green building materials. this space couldn't scream california any louder. it is maintained; it is pristine.

* * *

i don't know why i was surprised to learn that california has a lost coast. isn't it just like this cheeky state to have a twinkle in its eye? here: sunrise on the lost coast at shelter cove, witnessed on the side of a cliff.

* * *

after breathing the sunrise in on top of the cliff, we climbed the stairs to the beach below. i walked along the beach with j and my two favorite quadrupeds. the sand was not fine or worn but black with rocks and strewn with groupers. sigmar and sophie bounded up, down, and around the rocks like native mountain goats. they bothered the seagulls, disrupted the tide pools, and rightly avoided the colony of sea lions sunbathing on the more immersed rocks offshore. all the while, i inhaled the salt air and enjoyed the warmth of the sun as it fell that very particular way upon the beach, unadulterated and so very golden.

Chunky Split Pea Soup: a man's guide

I tried getting J to guest post but apparently I am the writer in the house so these duties fall to me and to me alone. So here's an interview with the master chef, and a recipe, as dictated to me by J.

Leila: I can't remember what inspired you to make split pea soup, can you?
J: I remembered eating it at Anderson's Split Pea soup in Southern California when I was young and I've always liked it. I couldn't find any versions I liked in stores though so I decided to try to make my own.
L: How do you like your split pea soup?
J: Chunks of ham, chunky vegetables. I like it thick enough that you can scoop it with a piece of bread and it'll come up with chunks.
L: You like it super thick, almost like stew.

Following is what I consider to be the vaguest and most imprecise recipe on the planet so I've added some edits. It works though. It really works. The soup is great on a cold day and yields plenty of leftovers. 

+ Soak the peas for as long as you're willing to let them sit on the counter (we usually soak a full 16 oz bag for about 5 hours).
+ When you're ready to start cooking (after the peas have finished soaking), pour some olive oil and a couple cloves of chopped garlic into a giant pot and turn it to medium heat. Let the garlic simmer while you chop up any available potatoes (2-3 Russets usually) into small cubes and throw those into the pot and stir. Let those cook since they need to cook the longest.
+ Grab some carrots (not the baby kind but the kind where you might get some dirt or a piece of stringy vegetable hair off of them) - the nice, big kind. You chop those into circles and toss them into the pot, stirring occasionally so nothing gets burnt. At this point you might want to add a gob of butter to the pot so that nothing sticks to the bottom.
+ Grab some celery and chop that up into half-inch slices, the chunkier the better. Stress that it should be chunky. (L: Yeah, I definitely got that in there.) Toss those in and continue stirring.
+ Now grab a whole yellow or white onion and chop off the ends. Cut that into reasonable sized chunks. At this point it's probably a good idea to start adding some spices to your mound of vegetables. Grab the heavy grain salt (sea salt) and put a healthy covering of it on. Grind some pepper for 10 or 15 seconds too. You might want to add Spike because Spike is amazing - about half a bottle....no I'm kidding. Give it about 10 shakes.
+ Now add some of the cubed ham. Chop it into small pieces because small chunks distribute better and you want those in every bite. Throw those into the pot. Right about now your house should be smelling like warm, buttery vegetables and people who walk in the room should be saying, "Mmmm that smells good."
+ Finally, grab your soaked split peas and pour the whole container of peas, including the water they've been soaking in, into the pot. Continue to fill your pot with water until it's 2/3 filled and stir it all up. Partially cover the pot with a lid. Bring the mixture to a boil and let it simmer until the water is cooked off and the soup thickens. Stir occasionally to make sure nothing sticks to the bottom of the pot. You probably need to turn the heat down at some point too. Turn the heat down to medium or medium-low somewhere in the 2 hours that it'll take to cook the soup. Serve with artisan sourdough bread.

SoCal 2013: Chasing Gulls, Waxing Sentimental

I stood on a sandy shore in Malibu this weekend, my toes digging into the soft sand, and couldn't help thinking, hey man, my life is pretty groovy. Behind me, my best friend and her husband were enjoying the shallow waves crashing into the shore and J was running around terrorizing filming seagulls in slow motion.

We were all having the kind of day that is only possible when you make no plans and let the universe lead you from one serendipity to another.

We started out taking a casual stroll through Gardens of the World, where we found an extremely harried little squirrel trying to collect materials for the harshest and coldest of SoCal's 65 degree winters. Imri pointed out flowers and smells that we would otherwise have passed over, and I attempted to get my iPhone to bokeh, with some success.

We covered the gardens in a hearty twenty minute ramble and were left wanting more without having a clue as to where to go next. Dror threw out the possibility of checking out the Getty Villa in Malibu but all the time slots for the next four hours were already booked. Instead we thought we'd check out West Lake, rumored (by Dror's dad mostly) to be a hidden gem in the Westlake Village hills. Siri informed us that the lake was nearby and we drove to it, but we could only gawk at it from the safety of our vehicle because the man-made lake is surrounded by a private community in which you may not park just to access the lake. Thwarted, we decided to drive around the surrounding hills and canyons to find a hiking path to meander on. We did that for about a half hour, driving further and further up and into the windy canyon, until we were forced to give in to the fact that there were no public hiking paths on this road and that we might as well just continue driving until we hit the beach.

That's how I ended up wistfully wondering how in the world it was possible to have such a pleasant day in such ideal company while waves crashed at my ankles. It truly is a shame that this kind of day cannot ever be a regular occurrence. To bring the four of us together takes a 15 hour flight from Israel and a six hour drive to SoCal. Dror tries to make the flight at least once a year but it doesn't always happen; the last time we saw each other was October 2011. Imri usually stays in Israel unless a special occasion brings him to the States with Dror. Yet here we were, getting on as comfortably as family. This was J's first meeting with Dror and Imri and only my second time spending time with Imri, yet I felt like we'd all known each other forever.

The day ended all too soon but will be one I'll remember for a long time. Maybe it will be more special to me because it is such a rare occasion, but also I think it will be a glaring reminder that I am extremely lucky when it comes to meeting and keeping quality people in my life. Here's to many more rare days together, dear friends.