my week in objects (mostly).

five little things that made my week.

1. these forget-me-nots.
{because they're transplanted from connecticut and doin' just fine}.

2. this earl grey.

{because it's much fancier than i usually buy, but an emergency tea stop meant fancy tea}.

3. this tiny herb garden.

{because i finally figured out which herbs can thrive on a low-light windowsill. more here}.

4. these loppers.

{borrowed. and used to take the little shade garden out front to the next level}.

5. this posy.

{because even though i didn't photography it before it got droopy, it was nice to have all week long}.

other things:
this dungaree dress.
photos by snail mail.
this perfect pencil case.
this little round collar.
these ferns.
midsummer!

things by me in other places:
herbs that can grow (almost) anywhere.
considering the fiddle leaf fig.
lilacs.
shaking things up.

homemade pizza with caramelized onions, blue cheese, and spring greens.

This is a sort-of recipe, but mostly it's a plea for you to whip out your pizza stone (or cookie tray), fire up your oven, and get to baking yourself homemade pizzas before the summer temperature rises and the thought of voluntarily making your apartment warmer sends you running.

I had the craving for pizza last night at 6:30 pm, so I did what any reasonable person would do and headed to my local pizzeria for pre-made dough. Next stop, the grocery store for a vidalia onion. And homeward to find the last nubbin of Point Reyes blue cheese and two bags full of greens: pea shoots and arugula.

Here's what happened next:

I sliced up my onion, added it to my cast iron skillet with plenty of olive oil and let the pieces cook down and caramelize for the better part of 45 minutes. In the meantime, my oven slowly cranked its way up to 500 degrees. Somewhere in there, I poured myself a glass of a red wine. Not necessary to the process, but helpful.

Next, I washed and spun dry several large handfulls of pea shoots and arugula and crumbled my blue cheese into dime-sized pieces.

When the onions were good and browned, I covered a cutting board with cornmeal, stretched my pizza dough into a circle and scattered onions and dots of blue cheese across the dough. I drizzled the whole thing with olive oil and slid the dough onto my preheated pizza stone. After 10 minutes, I opened the oven and mounded the whole thing with more arugula and pea shoots than really looked reasonable. This is the best measure I have for you: pile on lots of greens, then add more. Drizzled again with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, I slid the pie back into the oven for another two minutes.

The pizza was ready when the greens had wilted down to a beautiful jewel-toned mess.

And there you have it: a springtime pizza that almost has me wishing this cool spring would last just a little bit longer.

Now your turn. What are your favorite springtime pizza toppings?

< two fifty: life in a tiny apartment.

Approach your tiny apartment joyfully.

My mom and dad are hands-down the cheeriest people I know. It's not that they don't sometimes get annoyed, or grumbly about driving in traffic (ok, fine, that's really just my dad), but when those kind of annoyances crop up, that's about where they end. They surface, but before you can blink, the concern is over. There's no dwelling, there's no worry, there's no sustained hemming or hawing.

I once called my dad in a panic about something or other. I needed advice. Or more precisely, I needed to hear myself talk. After I'd finished talking myself down, I said something along the lines of, "Okay, I can do it."

To which my dad replied matter of factly,

"Bear, we don't worry, we just do."

Written here it looks almost like an admonishment, but I assure you that it is more of a credo.

I get more notes than I can ever respond to in a timely manner about small apartment worries. Most of them hinge on the fear of an upcoming move to a tinier place. The particular concerns vary, but here's the one bit of advice that I can offer universally: approach your tiny apartment joyfully. See it as an exciting challenge and not as an impending nightmare.

The first apartment that James and I shared together was enormous. It was five times the size of this place and then some. There was an entire room for our washer and dryer. It wasn't fancy, but it was spacious. We rattled aound in it. After six months of living there we moved to an apartment that was significantly smaller and significantly lovelier.

For the three weeks between signing our lease and making our move, I panicked about how we would fit everything into the apartment. I hemmed and hawed. I made James make a phone call to the current tenant to ask if we could visit the place again. I begged her to leave a massive shelving unit, just in case we needed more storage. I worried that our recently thrifted bedroom furniture wouldn't fit. I worried that no one would buy our couch which wouldn't fit up the stairs. Thinking about adding two surf boards to the mix nearly sent me over the edge. I literally lost sleep worrying about it.

Everything fit. What didn't, we sold. The shelving unit was wildly unnecessary and we moved that out too. We'll probably never have as awesome an apartment for as little money. Life was good.

Life in your tiny apartment will be good too. Just skip the worrying part.

PS. Photo above includes Ma and Pa Boyle + sister and husband + world's most adorable Oliver + me + James, who we forced to stay in the loft. Just kidding. Kind of.

morning walk.

Just a few photographs of what morning walks have been looking like lately.