Seedlings

For the first time in my entire life, I'm cultivating green things. That are more or less thriving. Okay, there was the oregano plant that probably got over-watered and didn't have a hole in the bottom. And the growing space is very limited - a fire escape and part of a roof that are next to air condensers and other machinery coming from greasy restaurants mean the air quality is probably pretty terrible.


Two months ago I bought three geranium plants and stuck them in a window box. Since then our little adventure in horticulture's expanded to include herbs, more flowers, three kinds of tomatoes, a lettuce plant, and a banana pepper plant that's completely taken off.

Today, I harvested the first pepper. The first thing I've ever grown - and not killed from laziness or neglect. Working from home gives a splendid excuse to take a break and climb out the window to check on the plants. Having an awesome partner who often helps with watering is another significant factor in ensuring plant success rates.

The geraniums and marigolds amaze me. They bloom for a few days, then wither in the sun. Run fingers through the heads to shake off and remove the spent flowers (dead-heading - it's actually a term!). Initially they look a little barren, but given some time, water and sunshine, and I wake in the morning to a brand new patch of fiery red blossoms, greeting me in the morning sun. They've grown. They're thriving.

It's a metaphor, probably.


Good things take time. I'm historically short on patience - Keith referred to me the other day as Hurricane Jenny. It's probably one of the reasons I've killed so many plants - results didn't happen right away, and other things took over the importance of water, sunshine, and time.

Building a community is a lot like cultivating a garden, I guess. At this point I'm still tilling the soil. Not sure what's gonna go where.

But the physical manifestation of tiny tomatoes in my hand is a good reminder that's it's starting to all come together. Water, sunlight and time will help us strengthen our new roots.





Smitten.




Henry demonstrates being upside-down
The last month and a half flipped my world upside down. It's equal parts refreshing and disconcerting. Baltimore is like looking in a distorted mirror at Cincinnati - a concave one (is that the one where things are bigger?)

There's just.. more. More neighborhoods - and more to each neighborhood. I feel paralyzed with indecision, frantically paging through my Yelp bookmarks, each time we decide to go try someplace new. Cincinnati has a finite number of choices, many of them delicious.

Stepping outside my new apartment lands me in the middle of dozens of options within walking distance - never mind where we can go on a bike, bus, or car. What if we choose wrong, and waste money and calories on crappy food? So far there have been more hits than misses, but it's still overwhelming. Privilege problems? Perhaps.

Everyone I talk to echoes many of the same sentiments about Baltimore that I do about Cincinnati. "There's so much to do here! Every weekend there's so many choices! All the neighborhoods are so great! It's so small town - you run into all sorts of people you know!" Nice to know it's not just Cincy.

Making friends as a grown up is hard. Making friends as a grown up in a new city when you work from home is even harder. It's pushed me to become more outgoing - every time I'm out is an opportunity for someone to smile back - for a conversation to begin, and maybe turn into something more. We've met a few people, who are awesome and genuine and fun.

view from our rooftop. 


Baltimore is refreshing. There's a lot that needs fixed (as in every city), but so far, it seems... they're doing a lot of things right. Maryland as a whole is focusing on important things to help its citizens. The tax rate is high, but the parks are great, there are bike lanes everywhere, neighborhoods are stabilizing, the've passed progressive policies at the state level (healthcare, gay marriage, raised minimum wage, decriminalized marijuana, universal pre-K to name a few). It's a glimpse into Cincy's future- what it's like to have a truly bustling set of core neighborhoods. (hint: the parking SUCKS.)

it's okay to just. be. still. 
It feels wrong to say it... but... it feels good. To be here. to focus on enjoying my little life - planting flowers, making friends, decorating the apartment, living with my guy - instead of tearing myself in two lining the ranks of fighting for tiny victories. The fights back in Cincinnati are important, and are bringing people together - encouraging new people to step up and be heard - giving a sense of purpose and belonging to those in its midst - and it's wonderful to see it continuing on. Without me.

I left my love in good hands. Is it okay that I'm crushing a little on something new?

This season in my life is letting some stillness back in my world. To be okay with a slower pace. To not have all the answers, yet. To renew my sense of wonder, discovery, and even fear. To stretch and grow and see what's inside my overstimulated, Cincinnati-driven little mind. There's a fine line between keeping up with back home and remaining too attached. Like an overprotective mother letting her kid play on the playground by itself, I bite my tongue and work to let go, just a little.

You guys are taking good care of the city. Thanks for that.


Ohio, I'm leaving. Ohio... I'm gone?


 The moment I've been anxiously awaiting for months is now arriving at the end of a short week. Months fly by, even when the hours and days seem to stretch on. Moving Day is almost here. I made a list of people to see (and places to eat) back in January - every thing and one is nearly checked off the list.

By delaying departure until mid-March I was able to squeeze a lot of Cincinnati into a short amount of time. Loving on people, being able to wrap up experiences that defined so much of me for so long. Choir concerts, tutoring, fitness training, political parties, and even Bockfest - one of the liveliest, loveliest weekends in OTR - have all happened. It's been awesome to overcommit for just a little while longer.

I've made a promise - to myself and my guy - to not get involved *too much* in Baltimore for at least six months. Just teaching classes (hopefully), joining an inter mural sport, and perhaps the neighborhood association. No need to conquer the scene or flood the calendar with commitments. Beginning in B'more will be quieter and slower than the pace I've been used to - which is probably for the better.

It's been a delight to savor the mundane details around Cincy - trying to take the time to appreciate and enjoy all the quirks that make Queen City majestic. The men sharing Swisher Sweets and stories on the sidewalk outside the barbershop downstairs. The way the sun catches on the buildings as winter twilights give way to spring evenings. Smiling at strangers and friends/acquaintances alike - we've been sharing this neighborhood for a while now - community is contagious.

Anticipation mingles with sentimental longing and affection as I continue to put things into boxes. I can't begin to count the number of ways I've been blessed by the city - moreso by the people in it. People who've stood up for me and beside me, fighting to make Cincinnati better. People who've given me hope and encouragement, both when my crazy plans have fallen through and when they've (sometimes) succeeded. Mentors and role models. Partners in crime and team mates. Roomies, friends, frenemies, bar buddies, business partners, inspiration and consolation, all. I owe you for the countless drinks, hugs, compliments, love, support, and advice.

You are the ones who shaped my city. You gave me chances and helped me back up when I fell. We've rallied behind causes, started and supported new ventures, and contributed to the success and joy and excitement that the center city is finally experiencing.

I sit here, completely overwhelmed with every Cincinnati experience that has led to today. Were I to list names they would fill a book. This feels like a fucking Oscar speech. Whatever. I am so grateful for you - if you're reading this and thinking "does she mean me?" the answer is yes. Thank you.

Someone once told me that the best ambassadors for Cincinnati are the ones that no longer live here. Us ex-pats can tell the world about how lovely and important it is- which comes as a surprise to so many, but hopefully not for too long.

"You can always come back." It's what we say to those striking out for new ventures, or even to those of us *gasp* thinking about it. And it's true. It's the goal, to boomerang and land butter side up back in the city that stole my heart.

I hope, after all is said and done and settled, that any mark I've made here has been a positive one. I'm going to continue to update here - things I've been ruminating on/doing that haven't had time to be written down - and thoughts and experiences on a new adventure. Hope you stick around for the ride.

Rounding the Corner, Headed for Home


I did it! Kinda. In 24 weeks, I made 18 out of the 20 pies listed by the New York Times as the "Twenty Pies to Make this Summer."

It's no longer summer. But not all of them were pies. I'd say that evens things out a bit.
Between Midpoint Pie and now I made three last desserts:

Butter Pie

A Butter Pie, to which I added cranberries, chocolate chips, and pecans. This was taken to a Friendsgiving at Sarah's house, which was super delicious. It would very sugary and rich, to no one's surprise. But I rocked the crust out!

A Pear-Pomegranate Pie. This got made twice, because it was THAT good. The crisp pears and the pomegranate molasses was consumed at two additional Thanksgiving celebrations. I used the Smitten Kitchen's All-Butter Crust for this recipe, and made a lattice top. It was beautiful - probably the crown jewel in my quest.

I was all proud of myself for making 18 pies, but while coming up with this post realized I'm a dummy who can't count - I had missed the Mixed Berry Almond Crunch Crumble! So on December 23 I scraped together everything I had in my kitchen and came up with this dessert, which was very, very good- and got eaten in a bar during a concert. A tip: drain frozen fruit before you bake it. Why didn't I do this before?!

Two pies remain: an Apricot and Almond Tart, and a Rose-Scented Berry Tart with Almond-Shortbread Crust. But screw those pies. No way. I'm done.

Pear Pomegranate Pie
Why I am not making the last two pies:

1. They are not pies. they are tarts.
2  They will collectively take over 8 hours to make (including chill time)
3. French butter, apricots, frangipan is expensive
4. Pretty sure I’ve gained five pounds and eating pie has contributed to this
5. My last two pies were easily some of the tastiest and had the prettiest/best crusts. Mission accomplished.
6. I DO WHAT I WANT, NEW YORK TIMES. I refuse to be guilted into completing a faux contract filled with desserts that weren’t even pies to begin with.

Top 10 best pie moments:

1. Deep frying peach pies for my streetcar friends
2. Pie-stravaganza!
3. Diner - en - Blanc tart - most complicated and super pretty - I couldn’t believe that not only did it turn out, I didn’t drop it on the way to the picnic
4. Grandpa’s pie - probably one of the last desserts he got to enjoy before he died. Also, sister bonding time is awesome.
5. PIENADO. most fun group outing. 
6. Brown Butter Nectarine Cobbler/Lumenocity was fun to share with strangers and the easiest/tastiest to make
7. Giving away berry crumble at a rock concert the day before Christmas Eve.
8. The first crust I made that didn't fall apart - Plum Crostada
9. The alone time I got to spend working out complicated recipes
10. Spreading sweet dessert goodness amongst lots of friends, family, and strangers. 


Pie Superlatives:

Best pie-eating spot: Washington Park
Worst pie: Lazy Sonker. Not a pie.
Healthiest pie: Pear Ginger Crumble
Farthest-away pie: Cherry-almond crumble (sang happy birthday to Katy in England)
Least healthy pie: toss up between Butter pie (added chocolate chips) and tarts (SO MUCH BUTTER)
Total pounds of butter used: 6
Total pounds of sugar used: 5
Pie participants: over 50
Best filling: Plumb Chutney Crumb Pie/Peach Pie
Prettiest Pie: Fruit Tart/Raspberry Hazelnut Tart
Ugliest pie: Pear Ginger crumble


What Did I learn?

Patience. Planning. How to roll out a great crust (keep it cold, use lots of flour). Adding savory herbs to fruit is really tasty. Pears are hard to find ripe. French butter is a thing that exists. Recipes are annoying but sometimes necessary. Dessert is best when eaten with friends. 

The Climb- a short story

The cold wind mussed our hair, causing jackets to be zipped closer, hats pulled down tighter. Standing in a lopsided circle on damp ground in the back woods of southern Ohio, the 56 of us looked quizzically at each other and towards the wooden monstrosity waiting some 50 yards away.

The picture doesn't do this terror justice, but you get the idea.

"Welcome to the Alpine Tower," shouted the genial, bearded dude, decked out in climbing harness and carabinered water bottle. Randall explained the process, describing how several dozen of us were going to scale the 65-foot tall structure, outfitted with dangling ladders, precariously placed footholds, ropes and metal jiggers holding the thing together like a giant's game of Jenga.

I cracked a smile to the girl standing next to me. Tanja and I had walked the trail up to the Tower, comparing notes on big-sisterhood and growing up in tough situations. We promised each other it would be no big deal, that despite our mutual trepidation of heights, we'd both scale the tower and have a great time doing it.

The entire day at Camp Joy was comprised of a variety of team building exercises and facilitated conversations on vulnerability and leadership for the group of us- C-Change, Class 8. I'd participated in weekend retreats in a similar fashion, but never as an adult. I'd broken down some of my barriers and already learned a ton about changing my attitudes and opening up as a way to lead from behind. I had no idea how vulnerable I'd make myself in the next hour.

I adjusted my helmet and watched as 4, 6, 10 of my new colleagues sauntered up the poles. Connected to ropes with a dedicated belay team, there was no possible way anyone would hurt themselves. Those of us at the bottom shouted encouragement and advice to our friends who were trying to make their way up the tower. After some careful observation, and with a sinking feeling in my chest, I cheerfully volunteered to be the next to ascend the structure. Fake it til you make it, right?

I don't do heights. Being on the edge of bridges makes me dizzy, and while I enjoy roller coasters, it's only because I do so completely encased in a metal cage. My friend Jamie's trapeze birthday was an exercise in courage, and it was only 30 feet or so up in the air. Yet, here I was. The only way out was up.

I slowly clambered up the first telephone pole, making it about 25 feet in the air, and then froze. The ground was too far away, and I was completely unfamiliar with the rock climbing hand and footholds that were my only access to moving up the thing. They seemed too small, too unwieldy to support me. I clung to the wood like an overgrown koala and tried to breathe without crying. There was no way I was going to make it.

An actual few minutes spent clinging to the base, debating my options, considering giving up, felt like hours. My new classmates were shouting encouragement to me, and I felt like a failure. One voice, I don't know whose, floated up to me: "Keep looking up! Keep going!" I awkwardly flung a leg over a connecting piece of the puzzle, and began the climb again.

It was ridiculous, really. I stopped and started no fewer than five more times before reaching the top, flinging colorful curse words and unbridled shrieks of terror to the wind whenever I felt I'd made a mistake. The team on the ground never gave up on me. I was sure they were laughing at the absurd spectacle I was making of myself - I was perfectly safe; there was no reason for fear. But taming my inner lizard-brain was incredibly difficult.

I don't remember exactly how I ascended to the final platform - it was some combination of my anxious beached-whale kicking and the patient climb instructor hauling on my harness. But the yawp I released -full of triumph, fear, joy, adrenaline- could be heard the next county over; that, I remember. I warmed my frozen fingers with my breath, waiting on the platform with new friends comparing notes, and flung myself voluntarily over the edge of the precipice to zipline to the ground below.

Other challenges that lie before me are comparatively, cake. Bring 'em on.