Monday, August 30, 2010

I spy with my little eye...




...the most darling aprons in the whole wide world!




I have had my eye on these two little frocks for some time and now that I have checkerboard black and white flooring in my kitchen...I think one of them is pretty much a "must have".



Now, which one will it be...hmmmm. Any thoughts on the matter?





Friday, August 27, 2010

heavenly chaos



This is what our life looks like right now.

Lots of boxes. Lots of Sharpie pens. Lots of FRAGILE.

The smell of cardboard has been wafting in our noses for days. I can't help but love this smell. It reminds me of moving. It reminds me of Christmas morning.


As Mr. Kelly and I loaded boxes into the trunk last night, he said simply, "I love this." And I asked, "you love what?"

He said, "this".

I know, Sugar. Me too.





Welcome, friends. To the new Casa de Kelly. I also like to call it the Kelly Love Shack.




The beauty of our new backyard! I was supposed to be lining our kitchen cabinets...but this golden light beckoned me outside to bask.

Had you been there...I think you would have done the same.




First things first. After basking in the sunlight, of course.


1) Get the music flowing.


2) Move some boxes from car to house.



3) Mark this house as ours with our "Kelly" sign.





It's all about the details. Old door knobs. Old windows. Old floors. Old doors. And the view from my kitchen window.



Be still my beating heart.




Getting all my baking gear in place.


I think Esther likes her new home. She was smiling all night.




And then a dance party in the hall way.



Partly, because I needed a break.



Partly, because I am just one big happy girl who finds it hard to contain herself at times.



Partly, because we all need to just get it out occasionally.



But mostly, because the The Rolling Stones were on the play list, all night. And the Stones really do something to me.




Game day, a.k.a rent U-Haul and move all the big stuff, happens tomorrow.

And our last night at our sweet Lindenwood house happens tonight.

Today, Rosemont dwellers. Tomorrow, Tahoe Park residents.

Amazing how such a big change can happen overnight and although our legs and arms are weary, our hearts are full.

Full of love. Full of optimism. Full of gratitude for the yesterdays and hope for all the tomorrows.





Thursday, August 26, 2010

Ever, ever, always.

Everest.

A.K.A. Everest Bradford, Ever, Ever Bear, lil' fella, Winston Churchill, Punkin Pie, Baby Ev, or the cutest Ring Bearer EVER.





I love this little boy. So much.





And today, I miss him. So very much.




He is so kind, so boyish and very clever. He looks really smashing in the color orange, which I think must be rare. And he is so much like his mother-easy to please, likes to read, digs Chipotle, loves nature and music, enjoys a ride in the car or a walk to the park.








Also, like his mama, Ever never fakes a laugh. Ever is careful with his smiles and laughter - reserving them for true happiness and glee. No courtesy laughs here. Which I think is just plain honesty at its best.





Ryan affectionately call Everest "Winston Churchill" because at times, he makes the funniest face where he furrows his forehead, purses his lips and appears to be deeeeeep in thought, as if he were contemplating a conspiracy within Parliament.





He calls me Tante and it warms my heart every single time. I will never forget walking down the aisle, hearing Ever shout "Tante!". Or the first time he said "Tante". I will also never forget the day he arrived. I was so happy, knowing that I would get the chance to love and watch a baby grow, from the very beginning. How very special.





Close to my heart he will be. ForEVER.







Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Chez Trela

Meet Tracey and Dela. Or as they call themselves "Trela".


*Please excuse the "picture of a picture"...but isn't this hilarious?

They bought a house on the lovely Cabrillo Way...




And after months of remodeling, painting, wood-staining, and cabinetry agonizing, they threw a party to celebrate it's completion.

What a gem this home is! It was so clear that every detail of this remodel had been painstakingly thought about. And I love that they did most of the work themselves.

At the party, a huge TV played a slide show of all the photos they took during the project, from beginning to end. Isn't that a great idea?

That Tracey. She can make Sangria and throw a great party.

Hello Sangria (spoken in a "hello loverrrr" type of voice).



And this little beauty doesn't like to miss a party. Meet Adriana. a.k.a Miss Babies, otherwise known as Christy's niece.

Fell in love with her I did. Get a load of those cheeks!





Miss Babies likes to frolic in the green grass. And so do I! So frolic we did.





She also has a major obsession with shoes. I can relate.




And she has the most beautiful lashes...I asked what her secret was, but she refused to share. Hmpfff!




Three generations of Azevedo ladies all on one porch!







Later, Christy and I biked over to 64th Street to check out the new Casa de Kelly. It was just a hop, skip and a jump away.





We can't wait to join the neighborhood and we look forward to many more Sunday evenings at Chez Trela.

Trela really turned an ordinary house into a "somethin' special" home. And we are so very happy for you...Bravo!

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Meet Esther.



My new BFF.


She is fast, efficient, curvy and has the most beautiful complexion.


I think we are going to get along just brilliantly. In fact, we may actually become kindred spirits.




Over the weekend, we set out on our first adventure with one another. After some small talk, and a "getting to know you" period, we decided to join forces and make double chocolate almond cookies for Trela's housewarming party.





But alas, they were a complete flop.


I don't know what happened but the wet to dry ingredient ratio were ALL kinds of wrong. They wouldn't bind. They were too buttery. Too sugary. And they ended up in the trash can. Of course Mr. Kelly was appalled to see chocolate cookies in the garbage and insisted on tasting them. He thought they were amaaaazing. I assure you, he was blinded by love and a deep seeded affection for chocolate.



For the first time, Ina let me down. At first, I refused to believe that Esther could be responsible for this culinary catastrophe. But maybe she didn't want me to get cocky. Maybe we still need to work out the kinks. Maybe she wanted to remind me that she is not a miracle maker. Who knows. It hurt a little. But it can't all be rosy and peachy, right? And I suppose it's possible that I botched the measuring...I am only human, after all.




Esther and I agreed to shake it off and avoid playing the blame game. Good friends we will be, it was decided.



We will be back.



Stay tuned friends.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Change is a comin'.



This is what Saturday morning looked like out my front door. And I was just tickled.






My wise Mother has reminded me not to wish away the days (i.e. count down the minutes to Fall), as they are so fleeting. And she is right. As she most always is. So instead of counting down the days to Fall, I am embracing the "in between". The moments that remind you that the seasons are beginning to change.


One is parting. Slowly. One is arriving. Surely.

This morning was the first cloudy morning I have seen in a long while and I loved waking in the morning to find that the open windows had welcomed a crisp, cool air. I love realizing that it is not yet time for Uggs, but that flip-flop season is indeed waning. That it may be too soon for chili and pumpkins, but apple pie seems appropriate. And "back to school" advertising and paraphenialia is every where you turn.



I thought about how lucky we are to live our year in four different parts of unique weather. Can you imagine life otherwise?? I can't. And I am so thankful.


Thankful for today.

Thankful for the in-between.

And thankful for the tomorrow that promises crunchy leaves and cloudy mornings.



Thursday, August 19, 2010

Tart.


Thursday is for Tart.


French Apple Tart, that is.



As the tart baked, I thought about how much butter this recipe required (16 tbsp - yikes!) and decided to go for a loooooong run so that I wouldn't feel so guilty about eating a corner when I got home. I mean, I can't bake and not try my product, right?


And because I am having lunch with my dear friends, the Wessels today, I thought I would share the tart love and wrap up a little tart to go package.


Partly, because I don't want to be left with a slab of tart. Partly because I had this darrrrrling ribbon. But mostly, because I just love the Wessels and I know they heart apples.




I hope they like it.




P.S. Just in case you were wondering-only 34 days until fall arrives. Can I get a "WOO HOO!" ?

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Seesters

Today I am missing my seesters. And I am wishing that sixty miles did not separate us. I wish that I could just drive a block to borrow a cup of sugar or some hairspray. Or invite them over for an ice cold Pepsi before bed. Or ask them to "stop by" really quick to sing me a song, to make sure my undergarmets are not visible through my skirt or to roll out my pastry dough for me.


Sisters are invaluable resources. And are really fun to be around.


When I say my sisters are fun....I mean, like really fun. And if you have sisters or daughters or cousins or really cool girlfriends, you know what I mean. When I am with these two, I feel completely odd and normal all at the same time. And I feel like I never, ever have to grow up...as clearly evidenced by these photos:


Sisters and any siblings really, are just so cool and make you feel so connected. I mean, who else do you share the same memories, the same history and the same origin with? Sisters know one another inside and out. And I am so lucky to have these girls.


When we are together we giggle like school girls, and we act VERY silly. We call one another "Pookie". We laugh, sing, dance, occasionally bicker, roll our eyes and then just laugh some more. Because that is how we sisters do it-no argument too big, no pretenses, and no holding back. Just the good stuff. The real stuff.

***************************

Here are a few things that have recently reminded me how cool seesters really are:



* they offer to help you move. Seriously. Sweeeeet.



* they are your dilligent maid of honors at your wedding. One sings a beautiful tune at your reception and the other carries all the fixins' for an entire bridal emergency kit in her dress pocket.



* they throw you the king of all bachelorette parties. Not kidding. Check it out here.



* they bring you soup, homemade soup when you are sick.



* they send you beautiful colored pictures from a Snow White coloring book in the mail. Just because.



* they put up with all your bridal fretting and wedding mania for EIGHTEEN MONTHS.



* they adopt your husband as their brother.



* they dance with you, even when you are the only ones on the dance floor.



* in place of "hello", they break into song, loudly singing "they say when you marry in Juuuuune", every time they see you.



* they offer you the earrings and sunglasses off their face at your bridal shower when you freaked out and forgot your own.



* they drive all the way from Napa to decorate your house before you return from your honeymoon. They stock your fridge, bring flowers, give your cat some love, and park your car at the airport for you.


**********************************


Here is to sisters.



And a special shout out to mine.



I love you so.


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Basic instincts.


Today, I met Ryan for lunch at a sandwich shop.

On our way out, Ryan was ahead of me as a smelly old man shot me a lecherous smile and then deliberately altered his step so he would brush my side. So disturbing. I turned my head and said, "Excuse me!" He ignored me and walked on.



Out the door I decided to keep my run-in with the smelly old man to myself, and Ryan and I began our goodbyes, which usually involve a hug, a kiss and well wishes for a good day. However, our parting was interrupted by the smelly old man shouting vulgar expletives in my face as he saddled his bike. Everyone turned to see the mayhem.


I was speechless. Ryan was not. He instantly got in front of me and shouted in his deep, manly voice, "THAT IS MY WIFE you are talking to and I don't think you want a problem with me!!!!!!!!!" Or something along those lines, I was kind of stunned by the "my WIFE" part. It still gets me everytime. And this time, it was particularly hard hitting.


As the man continued his insulting rant, I realized that this was a crazy smelly old man and urged Ryan that we should just leave. Luckily, Ryan agreed. As we turned, a nervous smile crept over my red, nervous face. I tried to stifle it, but I failed.


My husband was protecting me. And I liked it.


I always knew that he would, but of course I never wished a circumstance to arise prompting him into action. He was so fired up and I witnessed this primal, very basic instinct come over him, protecting the one he loves.


I am not gonna lie. It was hot.


But it doesn't take a crazy old man verbally assaulting me to remind me how hot my husband is to me.


Later, Ryan sent me a text that simply read: "I was going to take that old man out if he took one step closer to you".


I know, my big, gentle giant and I thank you. But I prefer a Husband free of felonies.



That, and prison jumpsuits don't really do it for me, Darlin'.



Monday, August 16, 2010

Kitchen Pre-Season.


I can't believe how much I enjoy a day alone to cook and bake. I don't even mind all the dishes, which is truly a shocker. I call this time in my life, my kitchen "pre-season". This is where I try out recipes and make notes, with Ryan being my guinea pig taste tester, before the "big game" or in other words, before I invite you all over for dinner.

I love deciding what I will make, and heading to the market, list in hand. I come home, don an apron, crank up the A/C and some beats and get to work. It's quiet, well, aside from the Michael Jackson or Stevie Ray Vaughn, blaring through the speakers. Yesterday, it was all Michael, all day. Lately, the only thing better than a baking day alone is a baking day with someone else who likes to bake and date night with Ryan. Well, any night with Ryan actually.

Sooooo...I am officially addicted to the bread machine. It is trouble. Big trouble. But is is so fun! Honey Wheat bread on Saturday and cheese bread sticks on Sunday...

And for the record I am not ignorant to the fact that this blog should really be titled Lauren.Love.Food. Please don't mind me and my food posts.

Anyway, bread sticks...



The farmer's market had some great deals on strawberries today, so I thought I would whip up my first pound cake.

I had been dying to try out our new bundt pan that the lovely McGurgan's gave us for our wedding. They are dear friends of the Kelly family and are just about as sweet as any fine confection. I will never forget at our engagement party, my dad and I were lamenting with Mr. McGurgan about the anxiety of walking daughters down the aisle. In a comforting tone, in his lyrical Irish accent, he told my dad and I an old Irish phrase that had brought him comfort. He leaned in like he was telling us a secret and whispered, "you know, a son, is a son until he meets a wife, but a daughter, is a daughter for all your life". So tender.

And at our wedding, as I danced with Mrs. McGurgan she lovingly recalled our wedding vows and told me that I was the only person she had ever met that could smile and cry at the same time. I will never forget that either.

So this cake was for them...and us.

There were also some beautiful heirloom tomatoes at the market this morning. And they were just begging me to take them home with me and make Mr. Kelly's favorite: blue cheese dressing. How could I say no?

I thought that Mr. Kelly would appreciate something warm to eat when he got home, so I decided to make Ina's Parmesan chicken...I am telling you, in this kitchen, when it's not one of Colette's recipes, it is all Ina, all the time.

And of course, what is a meal without some spuds for my strapping Irish lover.


And who am I kidding, I am a fan of the spud too.



Saturday, August 14, 2010

Ring Pop.


Friday night I got the call. A last minute sittin' gig. Lucky me. I love these kiddos.

After supper, coloring time and homework, we hit the pavement for a walk.


Because I am a "Disneyland sitter", I was treating to ice cream...Hard to beat a Thrifty cone. But of course, the ice cream counter was closed. Pretty heartbreaking to report this news to two very excited five year olds.

We re-grouped and found our way to the candy aisle. The kids chose RING POPS. One of my all-time favorite candies and my "go to" road trip treat.


The candy made for some very complacent, happy children and when I spotted this bench and rose bush, I knew it was the beginning of a photo shoot. But my-oh-my! Taking pictures of kids is hard! The candy helped A LOT. But I really feel for all you mamas. I think I took about 50 pics and just got a few good ones. How do you do it?? Are your cameras on sport mode all the time? It seems that kids move at lightening speed.





This last one is one of my favorite pictures that I have ever taken.

We were headed to the park and I suggested that we all have a quick seat with our ring pops. I haphazardly set the camera on the stroller, we plopped down and ten seconds later, the timer "clicked". And this is what the lens found:


I love when photographs surprise you. After I took it, I thought it was a flop...but as I uploaded it, Ryan turned is head towards the computer and told me what a cool shot he thought it was. I looked at it in a new light and felt quite proud. Compliments from Husbands are the best kind I am convinced.

I know it is not technically well-done, and another viewer may find it silly, the lighting is harsh and I had to do some editing, but I still love it and I assure you it has nothing to do with the fact that I am a part of this picture.

I love the position of the trees in the background, and even the light post, which just helps make this shot something special to me.

I love that Madden's legs are positioned in a much more ladylike position than mine. Five years old and already a lady.

I love the spontaneity with which this picture was taken.

And most of all, I love that Jackson's shoes are on the wrong feet.



Who knew Friday nights with five year olds could be so fun. Especially when Ring Pops are involved.



Friday, August 13, 2010

Carrot Craze

On the nights that Mr. Kelly works late, I try to eat lite, so that I can fully enjoy those "square meals" (you know, meat, veggie, salad, carb) that we eat when we are together.

Lately, carrots have been doing the trick...



Slice those beauties up, add a pinch (or two) of salt...



Time to add some thyme...


Olive oil, pepper and a shake of brown sugar...and voila!

Dinner for one.


De-lish.




Now if I could just find a stick of cheese...

Gotta have a bit of protein, right?

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Keepin' it real


Before you start thinking that my life is full of prancing unicorns, double rainbows and fluffy chocolate covered macaroons at every turn...


behold...


my dirty, little secret.



In the last few days, I have learned that somewhere in the span of the last three years, while living in a spacious home that is loaded with closet space and a two-car garage, I decided to become a hoarder pack rat of treasures and trash. Not my finest moment. Apparently, I have turned into one of those persons. You know. The one that believes in "out of sight, out of mind", i.e. stuff it in a closet and forget about it. The one that saves my school work from second grade, stashes extra BBQ's and gas cans, and hides loads of glassware and old jeans, "just in case" or "for a rainy day". Good theory for pennies, not so much for stuff.



THIS is what we now have just fourteen days to pack, organize, sort, and determine the answer to that pesky little question that constantly rattles around in my brain...."can't live without it, or, donate it?"




That's right....we are moving.



We are beyond excited to be moving to a quaint little neighborhood with a big back yard, friends for neighbors and... wait for it.....hardwood floors! But you see, I am nervous. Very nervous.



I always start a move ambitiously, thinking about life's big changes and the excitement that fresh paint and empty rooms bring. As I begin packing, I try to dress the part and trick my mind into thinking we (meaning my brain and I) are having fun by wearing Keds and a red handkerchief in my hair, dreaming of the day that overalls will be fashionable again while picturing us eating Chinese take-out on our new floor among piles of boxes. But this rosy outlook never lasts long. You see, I have been scarred.




My last move was from a itty bitty 600 square foot apartment and didn't even require a moving truck. But in the midst of packing, I had a complete meltdown and didn't subside until my dear (and far less dramatic) sisters drove to the rescue after recognizing from the sound of my voice the psychological crisis fragile state I was in. They walked through the door and looked around the place with eyebrows raised. After they got over the horror and made fun of me for about five minutes, they rolled up their sleeves and just began kindly giving me orders direction. When I say that I could not have done it without them, I am not kidding. So they saved the day, and I was left scarred. Swearing that I would never move again.




And yet, here we are.



Last night, we headed out to tackle the garage. I stood in the doorway for a moment with that same frozen look on my face, the one that my sisters witnessed three years ago. I thought about how I can not let "stuff" cloud my landscape, and I began filling the garbage can and garage sale pile. Soon, Ryan followed suit. It was a frenzy of paper, old socks, dust and clutter. We packed, we organized and when we were done, we laughed because it looked like nothing had changed. Ryan assured me that we will survive this move, and all the others to follow, marriage and sanity intact. I believe him and we toasted to "hope and optimism" with a big glass of wine and lots of guacamole.



So despite my seeping pessimism and nervous twitch, I am hopeful that I have matured in these last three years, that I gained some insight and that my excitement for hardwood floors will ease the burden that weighs on me. After all, moving is exciting, right?



And did I mention how much I love hard wood floors?


Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Under the freeway - Part two


There seem to be lots of surprises under the freeway.

But on this Sunday, the first Sunday of every month to be exact, "special things" were everywhere, but not in the form of perishables this time.

The antique flea market was the event, under the freeway, the venue.


We like to call days like this "work", since my Mama has a space in an antique shop, but really it's just F.U.N.

Buttons, watches, stamps, pretty glassware, vintage clothing, furniture, gorgeous fabric, jewelry, silver, pottery...it is endless. Eye candy awaits at every turn.



My Mama and Grandma traveled up this way for the occasion.

Check out my Mama's cart - isn't she just the cutest? Most of the time I think that she is so cute I could just dip her in chocolate and take a bite.

But I would never try that in real life.


I remember when I was young, my mom would often pull over the car for a garage sale or a quick stop at the antique store. I THOUGHT IT WAS SUCH A BORE. I used to think, "why are we here", "what could be so appealing about all this junk"? I was such a miserable child at times.



I wonder if my mom knew that one day her girls would enjoy the very activity we used to equate with torture. I now see the appeal: there is so much mystery in vintage treasures, so much joy in finding something special among the funky and aside from that, there is so much style and charm in the old. And it's "green"!



As we weave through the rows, I like to wonder about the woman who once wore that apron while sipping mint juleps, or who got married to the love of her life wearing that hat, or who baked cakes using that bowl, or who once admired that silver mirror on her dressing table, or who fed her babies in that high chair, decades, upon decades ago. Her name is always Eleanor in my head and she looks a lot like June Cleaver. Except she is a brunette. There are secrets behind her polite smile and feminine posture. She isn't as perfect, or as good as she seems. But she is always a true "lady". She has mastered angel food cake, loves her Mister fiercely and she refuses to wear stockings.


Don't mind me and my wicked imagination. We are pretty close.


My dear Grandmother. Sometimes we all need to take a load off...



Mama brought egg salad sandwiches for lunch. One of our favorites. This is what my mom ate after she spent hours laboring and birthing me, without the use of drugs I am compelled to mention. She said she was starving (it seems so wrong to deny a laboring woman food) and the sandwiches she packed tasted so gooooood. I can only imagine how very good they tasted.




I like to think that long after the umbilical cord was cut, my mom and I are still connected through egg salad sandwiches. Every time we eat them together, I ask my mom to tell the story of my birth day and her picnic lunch and I listen and smile like its the first time I have ever heard the tale. Dramatic? Maybe. But I think its just good nostalgia.



Who knew so much fun could be found on a sunny morning, under the freeway...


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