Homeschool Preview

Studying the greats with Daddy.

Farewell February!

It's Sunday evening and we're in that zone of both relaxing and gearing up for the coming week. Things have been pretty low key around here this weekend. We got to stay home for one thing, and for another, No Snow! The probability of those two things happening simultaneously has been quite low of late. And even though February went up in my estimation when Miss Katie Mae was born (on Valentine's Day!) two years ago, I can still say that I'm not too sad that it's reached it's end this year. How is it that the shortest month of the year feels soooooo long?

Anyway, a good weekend all around. Saturday, Kate stayed with my Grandmama (how lucky am I to have folks who call me up and insist that I go out and do something, anything, whatever, just so they can spend the afternoon with my little one?), so I got in some serious browsing at the Habitat for Humanity homestore and my favorite antique store, The Tobacco Barn. I brought home a milkglass vase and several books for my new etsy shop. I can't wait for the spring yard sale bonanza!

Saturday night we played at the Blue Mountain, a restaurant here in downtown Weaverville. Mark's best buddy, Milan, was in town from Nashville, so he sat in. And Milan's lovely wife Melanie came along too, which is always fun for me because I come away with a huge list of books to read and movies/tv to watch. Like this. And this.

And that's pretty much it. Excited to welcome March, one step closer to spring.

Happy Birthday to the Man in Black

In the midst of all the shampoo hoopla, I neglected the most important thing about today! Shame on me. Today would have been Johnny Cash's 78th birthday. Okay, I didn't technically know this until I got in the car and turned on the radio, but still. I bet you would be hard pressed to find a country/Americana artist who doesn't claim Johnny Cash as a major influence. I grew up singing so many of his songs, from "Boy Named Sue" to "Fulsome Prison" to "Sunday Morning Coming Down." Although Willie Nelson was the unchallenged favorite in my house growing up (we've often referred to Willie as the patron saint of our family, which probably doesn't do much for the concept of sainthood....), Cash held a prominent role as well, and his deep melancholy growl is etched into the furthest reaches of my memory.

As much as I love Johnny, what I really mean is that I love Johnny and June. It's hard for me to think of them separately. Two such polar opposites: dark, somber Johnny and bubbly, effervescent June. I suppose Walk the Line was a tolerable movie (I didn't hate it, although some parts were cringe worthy for true fans), but all in all I don't think any biopic could accurately reflect the magnetism and charisma those two had, both individually, but especially together. I think these two pictures of the real deal capture that much better than any star-studded film ever could. Especially the bottom one, when they are older. It gives me chills.

This is one of my favorite Johnny Cash performances, and by "favorite" I mean I find it powerful, poignant, and heart-wrenching beyond words. Johnny died less than four months after June, but during that brief window of time he worked incessantly, as June had urged him to do before her passing. The combination of frailty and raw power in this performance stuns me every time. Happy Birthday Johnny.

*In related news: Today, to coincide with Cash's birthday, American VI Ain't No Grave, was released. I heard the song, "Redemption Day" written by Sheryl Crow and covered by Cash on this record, on the radio on the way home today, and oh my. Exquisite. I can't seem to find a streaming version of this to link you to, but you can listen to Sheryl perform it here. I can't decide which version I like better. The Cash version is more subdued and reflective, which makes you better appreciate the lyrics, but Sheryl's version is pretty rockin'. Check them both out if you get a chance.

Poo-Free

A little beauty talk today. First off, I've never really been into the whole beauty product/makeup scene. In fact, for my first date with my husband, my makeup guru sister "did my eyes up" and it's possible that my daughter may owe her very existance to Laura's handiness with eyeliner and shimmer shadow. Left to my own devices, I'm generally a sweep of powder, dash of mascara, lip gloss kind of girl. Eyeliner scares the devil out of me, and for those fancy occasions where something more dramatic than Rosebud Salve is called for, I've used the same lip color since high school (Clinique Black Honey). So, you see where I'm coming from.

But I'm not going to talk about makeup today. Nope. Today, it's all about hair, and how much I hate dealing with mine. Since Kate was born, I can't tell you how many times I've been tempted to just chop it all off. Just after she was born, I did succumb to the Katie Holmes bob craze. I was punk'd. It looked okay I suppose, but the whole theory behind the shorter hair thing is that it should be easier to manage than long locks. Unless you have Katie's in-house styling entourage, this is an utter falsehood. Get this: I was expected to use a straightening iron! Seriously! I missed my ponytail something fierce. So, I've given up on the notion of short hair. For it to be truly easy, I think you have to go way short, and while I love that look on some people, I don't think I could pull it off.

Okay, this is turning into quite the ramble for something so trivial, so I'll move it along. Style wise, ponytail/chopstick bun is where it's at for me right now, and that's cool. The real problem of late has been these wretched tangles, and just all over ickiness my hair has been suffering from. I recently stumbled upon this amazing blog, and seriously, Amy Karol is my new hero. She is a DIY goddess. She makes her own underwear and deodorant, for heavens sake! I can only dream. But, while perusing the archives, I came across a blurb about being poo (shampoo, I probably didn't need to explain that, but there you have it) free for over three months. I followed the link to here, and read up on it, and low and behold I've decided to give it a go. We'll see. I had some skepticism. Won't my hair be greasy? And won't a vinegar rinse send my vinegar hating husband running away from me holding his nose?

As I type this, I just got out of the shower after my first poo free hair washing, and I must say, the early results are very favorable. I used two mason jars (glass in the shower might not be the best suggestion, but it was all I had on hand at the moment): one for the baking soda "shampoo" which was two cups of water and two teaspoons of baking soda (I have long, thick hair, so if you have shorter, finer hair you might just need one and one), and one with the same ratio of apple cider vinegar (organic, unpasteurized for me) and water. The best thing I noticed right off the bat was the lack of tangles, which was new and refreshing. I've always had to pile on the conditioner, just to be able to get a comb through, but today, seriously, it just slid right through. Very interesting. And as for the vinegar, while it smelled in the shower, after I rinsed off I didn't notice it anymore. We'll see. I'm going to research and see about adding essential oils to the vinegar rinse, but what I don't want is vinegary smelling lavendar, peppermint, or what have you.

So, we're still in the experimental phases here, and I make no claims to longevity, but I like the idea. Not only of avoiding nasty toxins and damaging chemicals, but also not having to buy shampoo and conditioner. It seems so rebellious. I think I'll keep it a secret from the family for now though, lest they start worrying that I'm turning into the "dirty hippie" they always suspected I might become. :)

Northern Exposure

So, what with this crazy long, cold, snowy winter we're having, it goes without saying that we spend a lot of time indoors. A lot. Cabin fever has hovered over us for the past month or so. But, one of the advanages of so much indoor time is free reign to indulge in the quiet, peaceful, more sedentary activities that get thrown by the wayside during the busy spring and summer just around the corner. Just around the corner. If I say it enough, it WILL be true. Bear with me.

Anyway, we got rid of our cable last year, because we didn't want commercials and newscasters intruding into our family time. Besides, even without that, there just wasn't anything on worth watching. Not being big reality tv or sports fans, it really wasn't much of a sacrifice at all. But, lest you get the idea that we spend our evenings engaged in deep, intellectual conversation, let me add that we're hardly purists. In fact, we probably watch the television just as much (if not more) than before, but at least we control what's coming in. Netflix is my most favorite thing in the whole wide world, and we watch oodles of movies and tv shows on DVD (or instant play if we're lucky!), probably more than we should, especially in the winter.

Our favorite thing to watch lately has been Northern Exposure. Do you remember that show? It first aired in 1990, so I was, let's see, nine years old. I vaguely remember my parents watching it, but I never paid any attention to it. Even my dear hubby, who has (ahem) a few years on me, only faintly recollects watching the show. Well, my friends, we are making up for lost time. I don't know if they make television shows like this anymore or not, but I don't know of any (not that I would). It's perfect! I love shows that center around an entire town or set of characters as opposed to one or two main characters, and that's exactly how Northern Exposure is. Interweaving through the lives of the townspeople of tiny Cicely, Alaska, you get a peek at small town eccentricities combined with the rugged Alaskan wilderness lifestyle.

There's Joel, the neurotic, fish out of water New York doctor whose disdain for the rustic, backwoods ways of the town evolves over the course of the show. Then there's Maggie: the Amelia Earhardt-esque bush pilot (few people could pull off that haircut, but Janine Turner manages to do it, and still look gorgeous). Joel and Maggie's love/hate relationship drives the first few seasons.

Holling and Shelley, the May/December It couple of Cicely and owners of The Brick, the local watering hole (where one can order both breakfast and bourbon).

Then there's Maurice, the former astronaut, town bigwig, whom you can't help but love despite his grumpy, egotistical demeanor.

Ed Chigliac is a young Native American who dreams of joining the ranks of Woody Allen and Stephen Spielberg as a filmmaker. Ed's tough to explain, but if you know the show, you love him to pieces.

Marilyn Whirlwind is Joel's assistant. Her quiet wisdom is a perfect foil to Joel's neurotic, "educated" sensibilities.

And then there's Chris. Ahh, Chris. My hubby has been very tolerant of my growing crush on Chris Stevens, Cicely's DJ, minister (ordained by an ad in the back of Rolling Stone magazine), mystic, former convict, and all around sexy man of God. Perhaps it helped that I told him he looked a little like John Corbet. And he does. :)

Oh, indeed, we've become quite fond of these folks, and sometimes find ourselves talking about them, like they're real people we know. What, you've never done that? :) We're currently in the middle of season 4, and I'm getting a bit sad at the thought that there are only two more to go, but hopefully that will be just enough to get us through the rest of the winter, and then who has time for tv anyway, right?

Snow

Snow, snow, and more snow. This is easily the longest, coldest, snowiest winter I remember in my adult life. It's the kind of winter kids dream about: each day a fresh dusting of snow, a beautiful, magical winterwonderland, a world that mirrors winter storybooks and old Christmas movies.

I'm trying very hard to continue to see it that way. I live in the mountains of western North Carolina, and while we're no stranger to snow (we even have a few ski resorts nearby), this is still the south, and we're just not prepared for this kind of snow and cold. In our former mild winters, I would dream of a good old fashioned New England style winter.

Well, we sort of got one of those this year, and ever fickle, I'm longing for spring more than ever. In the grown up world, snow brings not only magic and beauty, but also oodles more responsibilities and difficulties. There's wood to be brought in, fires to be stoked, water pipes to worry about, treacherous roads to travel (if one has to go out to work, which Mark does, every day, although I will say that snow has been most polite, seeming to be most intense on the weekends), not to mention the crazy school schedule that has everyone from teachers to parents going insane and depressed as they kiss spring break and summer vacation goodbye.

But, despite all that, I can't help but feel that first initial wave of giddy enthusiasm when you wake up and find the ground (still!) blanketed in white. Spring will come, and before long we'll trade in these cumbersome snow jackets and mittens for sundresses and sandals. Until then, another cup of cocoa and a warm, crackling fire, and all is well.

Chocolate Chip Cookies and A Wee Bout With the Plague

We're digging out of a full week of the plague around these parts. I started the whole wretched affair, of which I'll spare you all the gory details. I firmly place blame on the communal yoga mat I used at the Y the other day, against my better judgment!!! Oh dear. I get sick so rarely, and it's a good thing too, because I'm not very big and brave about it. I don't try to keep going or muddle through or anything so noble as that. Before Kate was born, if sickness struck I would cowardly slink to the bedroom, burrow under a mound of quilts and blankets and hibernate for as long as it took to return to normalcy. As it turns out, Mamas are not allowed to be sick, because hibernation ceases to be an option with a little one to care for. And, in the course of caring for said little one, you end up infecting her as well. So, the nasty little germ made the rounds, laying us all up for the better part of last week.

Whining aside, we're much better now, and since saltine crackers and chicken noodle soup have been the cuisine of choice lately, yesterday Kate and I celebrated a return to wellness by making a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Ever so humble, there's nothing in this world quite like a chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven. I tried a new recipe (you can find it here), and was very pleased. As a connoisseur of chocolate chip cookies, I'm a bit particular. I was initially skeptical about using cold butter and the fact that the cookies are baked at 300 degrees for 18 minutes (most recipes I use are more of the 350 for 10-12 minutes variety). My skepticism veered into cynicism as my mixer strained and whined during the creaming of the butter and sugar (to be fair, my mixer is an inexpensive handheld one, veering into middle age), but when they (finally!) came out of the oven, I was pleasantly surprised. This cookie is deliciously chewy, yet remarkably light. The walnuts added in are perfection, and really, you must toast them first. It makes all the difference in the world. And probably the best thing about this cookie is the high chocolate chip ratio! A winner for sure.