If you're ever having a gloomy day, here's my reminder to you: there is a place, that exists, where books are free.

The solitude in this heavenly place is sweet balm to my soul, and the youthful time of year warms with its abundance my often shuddering heart. Every tree, every hedge is a nosegay of blossoms; and one would wish to be turned into a cockchafer, to float about in that sea of fragrance . . . 

and find in it all the nourishment one needs.

- Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther


I'm waiting, albeit patiently, for that "youthful time of year."

On that same note, I'm just finishing Julia Child's My Life in France and it seems like perfect timing. I enjoyed the book from the beginning, but midway through her voice began to shine and I completely fell for her. She inspires me in culinary pursuits, of course, but also with her outlook on life—so intelligent and determined, yet silly and thoughtful.

Happy late Valentine's from Julia and Paul Child!

Scan from Child, Julia, and Alex Prud'homme. My Life in France. New York: Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., 2006. Pgs. 218–9. Print.

Valentine's Day was very relaxed here yesterday. Sam becomes nervous at checkout counters, so we ended up with both salmon and a bag of crab legs due to the shouting of the fishmonger. We steamed the crab and dipped it in garlicky butter, which was unbelievable—exactly what I remarked after each bite—and made salad, salmon, and pudding with whipped cream. We danced to records, and laughed; shared little gifts, and watched a couple episodes of Seinfeld. Then, we just chatted for a while, over glasses of water to counteract the (now empty) bottle of port. The whole evening seemed to me like something from a movie, but more flawed . . . and silly . . . and human.

(I don't usually take photos in absence of natural light, but I've been so impressed by life lately that I want to document everything. It's such a curious little thing, I think often, to be living.)

I've been baking a lot lately, sweating in my kitchen even though its snowing outside. The Chocolate Lavender Pie was for Lisa's birthday, and the Whole Wheat Raspberry Ricotta Scones for a brunch that Amy hosted today. I'm feeling very thankful lately for some amazing women in my life.

Molly sent me a card with a Maira Kalman illustration on the front, which I can't get over. I love to see it there on the shelf every day, and it reminds me that Molly knows me so well and that's a good feeling. In the same corner of my apartment, I've been enjoying drinking miso soup in the mornings with its lightness and warmth—exactly what I want when it's still cold and dark out.

I first got the idea of this salad from Alice Waters, who has completely changed my idea of what exactly a salad is. I've been devouring The Art of Simple Food lately, reading it through like a novel. But Alice was a little vague about this recipe, only giving me the bones, so I turned to Ina Garten for the specifics.

GRAPEFRUIT + AVOCADO SALAD Serves 4–6
• 1 Tbsp dijon
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 1-1/2 tsp sea salt
• 3/4 tsp black pepper
• 1/2 cup good olive oil
• 4 avocados
• 2 grapefruits

Whisk together first five ingredients for dressing and set aside. (At this point I quartered the recipe, cutting only enough fruit for one lunch serving: 1 avocado and 1/2 grapefruit.) 

Cut avocado in half, and then each half into four large slices. Lightly toss slices in dressing to avoid browning. Remove all pith from 1/2 grapefruit and cut each segment from the membrane. 

Arrange avocado and grapefruit on a plate, lightly drizzle with dressing, and serve.

Have I mentioned how much freedom I feel I've gained from having a vehicle? I only take advantage of it two or three times a month, but it makes things like a last-minute trip to Milwaukee possible, or at least more likely. The idea of an overnight popped into my head as I was getting into bed on a Thursday, so I messaged Sam, knowing he was a couple beers in and my chances were more likely. His exact reply: "This Saturday? Yes!"

Things we did and loved in Milwaukee:

WOODLAND PATTERN BOOK CENTER | beautiful books and broadsides (I was recommended this by a man on staff, with a "Here, you seem like you'd be interested in this," and it's wonderful.)
MITCHELL PARK CONSERVATORY | giant plants growing in giant domes
HONEYPIE | dinner and dessert
BURNHEARTS | Wisconsin beers and a neigborhoody vibe
AT RANDOM | an attempt at late night drinks (but they weren't open, hence the name)
ALTERRA ON THE LAKE | breakfast and coffee in a gorgeous space
MILWAUKEE ART MUSEUM | closing and reopening of the Calatrava "wings" at noon
ANTIQUES ON SECOND | three floors of everything
KOPP'S FROZEN CUSTARD | uh . . . frozen custard

I want to transport you to this time, the smell of that tea, the sight of the winged bullet flying toward me while I worked, just a streak of red, and then its orange-beaked partner.

I want to apologize for the window panes and screens in the case of the last photos, but I'll stop myself. Because an easy alternative would have been a wall, and if that were so, I wouldn't have had any idea they were there beside me.

I want to thank you, universe—for windows.

I spent a couple of hours in my favorite Chicago secondhand store this week. It amazes me that things can look so mundane in a thrift shop pile, and then take on a new life at home. Finding a use—the perfect use—for something that's been discarded gives me the same satisfaction as creating. I guess because I am creating. I'm creating context.

Bits of this haul: marble trivet and little ceramic pot, textiles, clothing, faux fur cap, and a rug for our snowy boots. (And here's one from last year.)

My apartment's empty this weekend, quiet compared to last. The beer is gone, the air mattresses deflated, and the dishes making progress. It's nice just the two of us, but I wish Ally lived down the street. And I wish Molly lived down the street. And I wish Ashlee lived down the street. And I wish Ellie lived down the street.

I've made New Year's goals as always, but my mindset has changed in some ways. I still love a challenge, setting specific goals and crossing them off a list—it's a game I play with myself, which I find enjoyable and rewarding. But, in other parts of life, I'm prone to an all-or-nothing sort of attitude, which I don't find enjoyable or rewarding. (I owe a good deal of thanks to my friend Molly for always recognizing the medium between extremes, and pointing it out to me, too.)

So, this year is all about doing the things that make me happy, about making soft progress. Wishing everyone the very best.

2013 GOALS

Daily
• run one mile
• cook something
• arrive to work early

Weekly
• watch a film
• write and mail a letter
• visit a museum or attend a cultural event

Monthly
• read (at least) three books
• knit or sew something
• stick to a budget and pay extra toward my student loans
• learn a new skill (guitar, crochet, ceramics, etc.)

Annual
• camp at least three times
• build a garden plot
• watch Seinfeld beginning to end
• learn more about jazz
• give everything a proper place in our apartment

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.
-William Morris

I still love this quote despite its overuse (especially for his choice of the word "believe"). A few lovely Christmas gifts I received this year: menswear pajamas, tiffin lunchbox, enamelware set, mortar and pestle, vintage watch, and slippers.

I visited my folks in Missouri over the holiday, where I spent time baking pies and dancing with my nephew. It's nice to go back, but I'm always happy to return to Chicago. My smile starts as the Brown Line weaves through the skyscrapers in The Loop, and continues to widen as it continues north to my neighborhood, which sometimes feels so much like a small town. Then, I unlock my door, and my mailbox, and the next door, and there it is—the plants, the noisy radiators, the pieces here and there of journeys that have passed. It feels so good to be where I am.

Thanks to two of my best friends: Ally for a beautiful hand-painted card, and Molly for the amazing package (above). I wish they both lived next door.

Everything is covered in snow these days, but we visited the Chicago Botanic Gardens on a November weekend when things were brown and green and blue.

Driving and detouring, and the end of our California trip.

Sam and I headed to the coast after our time in the redwoods, looking to camp, but never finding a suitable spot. We rented a room at an old, retro motel instead, with poor amenities and a sliding door opening right to the beach—it was perfect. We ate seafood on the pier that night, listening to the sea lions howl, and I actually watched the sun slip below the horizon, folding under its surface. I would have drawn that sunset out a few more hours, if I was able, and that stay to a few weeks.

We had coffee in the morning and a chilly walk on the beach before we left, when most of these photos were taken.