A Book Club Party: A Room With a View

I hosted my book club party this weekend.

It was perfectly wonderful.

I admit, putting together an outside party in 90 + degree heat wasn't my favorite thing to do, 

but it all came together, and it turned out to be just the kind of party I had envisioned.

Actually, it turned out far better than I envisioned.

Take a look.

We read A Room With a View, by E. M. Forrester.

I admit to suggesting that book with this party in mind.
A major part of the book takes place in Italy, and a summer time, Italian themed dinner seemed like it would be so much fun to create.
It was.

What made it truly amazing though was working with my partners, Brianne and Kristin.
Kristin is an incredibly talented photographer, and Brianne is an incredibly talented stylist.
Together they have been featured on numerous blogs, in magazines, and are downright famous.
The chance to host a party with them was pretty great and I knew to expect something out of the ordinary.

But even so, I was rather blown away by it all.
The attention to the details, both large and small, is beyond impressive.

To give you an example, Brianne pulled up in my driveway, opened the back of her van, and said to me with a smile, "I don't mess around, Greta."
And then she started wrestling that yellow dresser out the door.
Who brings a dresser to a party?
Brianne is pure awesomeness!

She also brought that huge chalkboard, the window sitting atop the dresser, and heaps of other props: books, lanterns, wooden boxes, even mustaches for the glasses.
My back yard was transformed into a wonderland.

The Italian soda bar was a huge hit. 
Kristin did all the artwork--she's more than a photographer--including these directions for making the sodas.
I now believe that every party should have an Italian soda bar.
Forget the booze bar--Italian sodas are way more delicious.
Maybe I should just have an Italian soda bar set up in my backyard all the time.
I do love that yellow dresser. 

We had favor bags for everyone.
There were Italian candies, candles, and painted mason jars, like the ones scattered around the party.

 There were Italian cookies for after dinner treats. (bought from an Italian bakery--we didn't do everything ourselves)

And there was candlelight everywhere.
Molto romantico.

 Our menu was a spread of Italian themed appetizers.

There was bruschetta, pasta salad, these roasted tomatoes, caprese salad, melon and prosciutto, roasted peppers and squash, and the most amazing crostini I have ever had. (recipe tomorrow)
All the food looked so pretty together.

We were running a bit late, so everyone was pretty happy when we finally let them into the backyard.
There was lots for them to look at.

For a bit, we all just walked around taking pictures.

 And then we ate.

My favorite part of the night, though, was when the sun set, and the candles really began to glow.
We sat around the table and talked about the book.
No one loved it as much as I do.
But I'm OK with that.
I was just happy for the chance to discuss it with fellow book lovers.

And doing it under the lights, outside, around a long table, drinking this for dessert, and lots of laughing together was just icing on the cake.

How fortunate I am to be part of a group of women who are so creative and interesting, so interested in living a beautiful life.
I like to think we are doing a pretty good job at living out George Emmerson's creed: 
Beauty, Joy, Love!
Here's to our literary society!
And here's to Brianne and Kristin, for helping to create the party of my dreams.
You girls are amazing.
Evviva!
Love from,
Greta
For more pictures, go here.  Kristin did an amazing job capturing the beauty of the night.

Summertime Breakfast

William asks for pancakes and bacon, to be eaten on the patio, almost every Saturday.

Lately the mornings are too cool and overcast with our typical June gloom to eat on the patio.

And often we're just too busy for making pancakes and bacon.

But today was the first time in a long string of Saturdays that we weren't hosting a party, heading out somewhere, or had a big project to conquer.

And the sun was out!

So breakfast on the patio it was.

Oh how I love a sunny, summer, Saturday!

To make things even better, we had our first peaches from the bare root tree we planted last year.
And I put some of our black berries in the pancakes.
I think they were the best pancakes I have ever had.

And, I'm feeling better.
Not 100%, but about 80%, and that feels about a million times better than I have for the past 3 days.
No more body aches and fevers.
Instead a mommy who feels like getting up and making breakfast.
Breakfast together at the turquoise picnic table?
It's one of my most favorite things.
Ever.

Good idea, William.
You are a boy after my own heart.


Now I have the rest of the day to enjoy.
I'm going to try to resist the urge to get things done since I am feeling better.
Instead, I'm going to play chess with William while the baby naps and the rest of the family is out looking at a vintage fridge.
Yes, that's right.
A vintage fridge.
I'll keep you posted.
Happy Summer Saturday!
Love from,
Greta

March Photo a Day --Week 2

Hey friends!
Here's week 2 of the March Photo a Day Challenge.
I should spread these posts out over the week and pretend I'm blogging with some regularity again, but I'm not going to.
It's fun to post, so I'm going for it.


March 8, 2012:
Window

Davy spends a lot of time at the windows.

He watches his bigs playing outside.

He climbs on his knees and bangs on the glass with his palms.

When he gets tired, he slides to his bottom and still sits there,

watching.

And waiting.

He's waiting for his turn.

Soon, Davy, too soon.

March 9, 2012:
Red

A tea party with my little lady.

She said to me, 

"there's a party in this basket."

And she sat it up on the table.

Water in the cups and pretend cakes.

She loves a tea party.

March 10, 2012:
Loud

Lilly had a sleepover at her cousin's house.

Things were so much quieter with just 1 kid gone.

4 kids are loud.

March 11, 2012:
Someone I talked to today

I talked to this guy today.

And I asked him to stop sharpening his teeth 
on the coffee table.

That grinding sound of teeth on stone, 
might be one of the worst ever.

You're killing me, David!

March 12, 2012:

Fork

Best salad ever.

Fresh greens from the farm.

Homemade dressing.

I can't wait to have a garden.

March 13, 2012: 
Sign

I've been looking for this sign for 4 years.

I saw it then and had no camera with me.

Time passed and I could not recall where it was.

And then one day, 

coming home from baseball practice, there it was,

waiting for me.

"The sign!" I yelled 

and pulled over immediately.

My kids think this is totally normal.

I love old signs.

March 14, 2012:
Clouds

8 am.

A cold and cloudy morning.

They didn't let that stop them.

"We just want to play some catch, Mom."

Sometimes I love them so much it hurts.

There you have it.

Another week done.

If you're playing along, leave a link to your blog or instagram or whatever, and I'll check you out.

I'd love to see your version of these pictures.

Love from,

Greta

Photo a Day Challenge

I decided to take part in a photo a day challenge.

I know most people probably started last month.

It's OK.

Having 4 kids has helped me become accustomed to being late for everything.

I'm over it.

There are a bunch of different challenges out there.

This one, from this blog, seemed like a good one.

Here's my list for February.

Taking a photo a day is no problem for me.  
It's a rare day when I don't take a photo.

It's a rare day when I don't take a lot of photos.

Editing and posting each day might be a different story, though.

I may post a weeks worth at a time.

We'll see.

Ultimately I think it will be fun to have a year's worth (ok, 11 months) of photos and then put them in a book.

What a great little memory book for 2012, right?

You should join in!


So here's my photo for February 1st, 2012.
My View:

William

Waiting for his very first baseball practice.

I love this boy.

And I think I'm gonna love this photo a day thing.

Love from,

Greta

Making Lunch WIth Love

Every morning I send my husband off to work with his lunch packed in his vintage, metal lunch box.

He found it at the flea market a year or so ago, and he'd much rather use it than some soft-sided, nylon cooler bag.

That's his way.  Aesthetics matter to this man.

(he also has a thing for vintage thermoses and has quite a collection of them)

This week as I was packing his lunch, I thought about how many posts I read about doing special things for our kids, our friends, our fellow blogging buddies and the world in general.

But unless it is Valentines Day, I can't recall that many posts about special things we can do for the men in our lives.

That's messed up.

Maybe lunch isn't your man's thing.  But my man loves a home made lunch.

He'd much rather have home made than buy a burrito off the lunch truck or even grab a ($6) sandwich from Starbucks.

So I make his lunch for him.  Almost every day.

Can he make his own?

Of course.

But that's not really the point.

I can take out the trash cans.  But I don't like to.

So Aaron always does.

And I am sure, if Aaron were to pack his own lunch, he'd be always be eating pb and js  or getting lunch off the truck.  He just isn't a lunch maker.

Besides, I like to do it for him.

His favorite lunch is a salad. 
(I always think of this Seinfeld episode when I eat just a salad)

I make him one each morning, loaded with veggies and a few treats like: feta cheese, Kalmata olives, sunflower seeds, dried cranberries, or avocado from our tree.

I make some dang good salads--they are one of my specialties.

And since Aaron has a problem with hoarding Tupperware, I stopped packing his lunches in plastic containers and switched to these glass, Pyrex containers.  

I have quite a few of them since I always keep an eye out for them at estate sales, garage sales and thrift stores.  As long as you don't buy them in sets, they are affordable.

Not only are they more aesthetically pleasing than a Rubbermaid container, Aaron also knows he'll get on my bad side if he leaves them in his truck for weeks (yes weeks--i told you he was a hoarder) at a time before bringing them in to be washed.

They work like a charm.

Making him a fresh salad for lunch really doesn't take much time.  Maybe 10 minutes--tops.

But there are mornings when everyone is starving and clamoring for my attention and I still want my coffee and I just need a couple extra minutes to get those carrots chopped.

Enter the love notes.

We don't do it every day.  

But at least a few times a week, the boys and I slip notes, cards or drawings into Aaron's lunch box to tell him how very much we love him.

I love to surprise him that way.

I haven't been doing it for long and I wonder why I never thought about it before.

I'm glad I do now.

The notes are not long.  Sometimes all I can manage is an "i love you."

The boys are more elaborate, and often give him drawings or sweet little notes.

This actually works in my favor because instead of sitting at the table asking for breakfast while I'm chopping lettuce, they are busy drawing pictures for daddy.  

It's a win-win.

And so, as he heads off to work, I can hand him his lunch box, his steaming cup (or thermos) of coffee and he can know in one more way that he is loved.

That he is appreciated.

That we are thinking of him all day long.

It's just a little thing really.

But I think that it's the little things that are often the nicest.

Besides, I have to fill that lunch box for him.

It goes so perfectly with his vintage ties.

I think I am going to try my hand at 5 minute artisan bread today.

Maybe it will make it into Aaron's lunch box tomorrow.

I'll let you know.

Love from,

Greta


PS. I have to give credit to my mom for teaching me how to love my man in this way.  She always went out of her way to pack my dad a nice lunch because she knew that was something that was important to him in the middle of a long work day.  Much like Aaron, my dad would rather have a homemade sandwich than stop in at McDonalds for a Big Mac.  In fact, I think both of them would rather starve than stop for a Big Mac.
We all show love to our men in different ways, but in my family, a home made lunch is a sure fire way to say, "you matter to me."
Thanks Mom!

Favorite Recipes: Grandma Georgia's Strawberry Shortcake

A few months ago, the boys and I were making biscuits. As we worked together, cutting out little circles of the sticky dough, James paid me one of the nicest compliments I've ever gotten.

"Mommy," he said, "you're not a store cooker. You are a home cooker."

O how I love that boy.

He's right, you know. I would much rather cook up something homemade than buy that same something from the store. There are lots of reasons for this, not the least of which is the stories, the memories and the history that is a part of the homemade things we make in our kitchen. It's like I said here, cooking is about so much more than eating, isn't it?

It's one of the reasons I love this strawberry shortcake recipe. I got it from my mother-in-law, who got it from here mother-in-law, who got it from her mother. That was Great Grandma Sundberg. But I didn't know Grandma Sundberg. I knew Grandma Georgia, and so I call this her strawberry shortcake.

When we make, it gives me a chance to tell my kids a little bit about the great grandma they never got to know. I didn't know her all that well either, but what I knew I loved. She let me call her grandma from the beginning. She asked me to. I thought that was sweet.

I liked all her stories about growing up in Iowa, and moving to England with her husband and the Air Force. I love the story of the telegraph she sent her husband, out in the field, when Aaron's Dad, Scott, was born. And then how an officer friend arrived at the hospital with martinis and cigarettes to celebrate. So 1950s.

Some old pictures we have of her show her always dressed beautifully with her hair done--even with little kids running around. She seemed like a classy lady.

And she was a good cook. My mother-in-law still uses a lot of her recipes.

And I'm glad some of them have been passed down to me.

Like the strawberry shortcake. Now some people like their strawberry shortcake with biscuits. But I prefer cake. I like the moistness, the soft crumb of a cake mingling with those strawberries and the cream. It's better, I tell you.

But a cake that will be covered in strawberries and cream must not be too delicate. It has to stand up for itself. This cake does. But it is still moist. The top gets just the lightest bit of crunch to it, while the inside stays soft, yet firm.

It is good enough to eat on it's own. It's terrific at breakfast with a cup of coffee.

However, to fully appreciate its greatness, you must take it to the next step. So after the cake has cooled a bit, whip your cream and slice your strawberries.
And please, I beg you, do whip your cream. Homemade whipped cream is essential. It's also magical. James was do delighted as he poured the cream into the mixer.

"I've never made whipped cream before. I never even knew you could make whipped cream."

It's a wonderful world out there, James, when you are a home cooker.

So please take the extra 2 minutes and whip your cream. Every one will be glad you did.
And after that cream is whipped, cut a generous slice of cake and then cut it in half. Cover it with sliced strawberries and a healthy dollop or two of whipped cream.

It is the perfect Easter dessert. Light, sweet and full of the goodness of spring.

Grandma Georgia's Strawberry Shortcake

1/2 cup butter

2 cups sugar

3 cups flour

3 tsp baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 to 1 1/2 cups milk

Cream butter and sugar

Sift all dry ingredients together and then work into butter and sugar with a fork.

Add enough milk to soften. Batter will be thick.

Grease a 8 1/2 by 11 baking pan and pour batter into it.

Bake in a moderate oven (350) for 30 - 40 minutes

Let cake cool.

Serve with strawberries and whipped cream.

Notes

I used a metal baking pan. Glass would probably work fine, too.

You could use a slightly bigger pan, but your cake would not be as tall. The cake is pretty rich. You don't need huge slices.

It is also perfect for 4th of July served with blueberries, strawberries and whipped cream.

Meeting Molly --Part 2: In Which I Feel Like I am an 8 Year Old

In 1984 the San Diego Padres went to the World's Series. It was a great time for Padres fans. Which we were in our house. Staunchly loyal, through good years and bad.

But 84? Oh yes, it was a good year.

We didn't have a tv growing up, but at that time my grandma was living with us and dad didn't deprive her of tv like he did the rest of us. So we'd huddle in her little bedroom upstairs, around her tv and watch the televised games. I still remember one of the games in the pennant race when Steve Garvey hit a critical home run. We screamed and yelled and my dad threw me up in the air so high my head hit the ceiling.

That Steve Garvey. He was my favorite. I loved him. He left our bitter enemies, the Dodgers, and joined the Padres. I desperately wanted his autograph, or even better yet, to get a letter, written and addressed to me, from my favorite first baseman. (at least I think he played first)

So I devised a plan.

One exciting night we got to go to a Padres home game at Jack Murphy stadium. We arrived early and Dad, Ben and I headed down to the dug out to call out players names, begging them to come sign our hats and balls and autograph books. I, of course, called Steve.

And he came. I held out my hat for him to sign (I still have it) and when he handed it back to me, I gave him a letter. He looked a little surprised.

"It's for you," I said.

"Well. Thank you. Thank you so much." He smiled at me and put my letter in his back pocket.

I was thrilled.

I am no longer clear on all the details of that letter. Except for one part. The song.

Yes. I wrote Steve Garvey a song.

And I put it in the letter. Not that he'd be able to know exactly that it was a song, except that it said, "Here is a song I wrote for you." Really it would read more like a poem. A poem by an 8 year old. It's not very good.

I still know every word and the tune that goes with it. I could even sing it for you. But you'd have to make it very worth my while.

Throughout the rest of the game, everyone made references to my letter in Steve Garvey's pocket. When Steve was on third and Carmello Martinez was up to bat, my dad shouted, "Greta! Did you see that?"

"What, what?" I asked.

"Steve Garvey just called Carmello's name and then he patted his back pocket. Where your letter is. Just watch. He'll do it again."

He did it a lot through the rest of the game. I missed it every time.

Steve never responded to my letter. Even though I did put my name and address in it. But it didn't really matter. It was enough to know he put my letter in his back pocket. I do hope he read it and knew that some little 8 year old girl thought he was just the best.

I kind of felt like I was reliving the whole Steve Garvey incident when I saw Molly. I don't mean to sound like a freaky stalker, or an 8 year old girl with a crush (though that is the better of the 2) but it was really, really cool to hear Molly talk about her book and her blog and to see this person whose writing I read every week, whose recipes I try and who helped me begin this blogging thing I do that is now a hugely important part of my life. (wow. That sentence is a paragraph)

She gave me my voice. It was always in there, but she helped me find a way to get it out.

So yeah, it was a big deal.

She began by reading the first chapter of her book. Which I love. It is sweet and poignant and dear and moving. I cried. I am a pretty harsh critic of books, and I love her book. Her writing speaks to my heart.

She talked about her blog, her book, the restaurant she and her husband have opened in Seattle. I felt just like I do when I read her blog--that she is a girl I'd like to be friends with. She was great.

After the questions, they set up a table and she signed books.

When it was my turn, I smiled, handed her my book, and a silver envelope.

"This is for you."

"Oh thank you! How sweet." Or something like that.

And I felt just like I was 8 again. Really, very, very dorky.

But you know what? I had to tell her that I think she is the best.

And I like to think that she doesn't mind hearing that.

I really wanted to ask to take a picture.

But I chickened out.

Then I went back.

I waited until the line was gone. I swallowed my pride and summoned my courage.

"I'm back." I said. "Can I get a picture with you?"

She didn't even look, not for 1 second, like I was a weirdo. She just smiled an said, "sure."

Thanks Molly.

Greta

PS. I owe my courage, in part, to Aaron. Several years ago he went to the Sundance Film festival with our friend, Brian. One night at dinner, he saw one of his favorite actors, James Coburn. Aaron couldn't believe his eyes. He wanted so badly to speak to him, to shake his hand and say, "I really like your work." But he didn't. Everyone at his table said no, don't do it, leave him alone, people don't do that here. Blah, blah, blah.

He really wishes he would have.

I remembered that.

So I did it.

And really, who cares any way? I am sure we all think about ourselves far, far more than anyone else does. So, don't be afraid of what other people are going to think. Risk feeling a bit of the dork and go for it!

If nothing else, it will make a good story.

PSS. For my enite life I have been made fun of for my eyes when I smile. Now you know why.

Oh, and one more thing. Strawberry short cake recipe is on it's way. just in time for Easter. See you soon!
PS.  You can read part 1 here.