Introducing Sweet Pea

I didn't intend to take a 3-week hiatus from blogging, but I went to Florida to see a man about a horse cat and only returned to France yesterday. Why go all the way across the ocean to adopt a cat? A very good question I asked myself several times in the long process of getting Miss Sweet Pea ready for import (microchipping, rabies shot, paperwork from the vet, special stamps from the USDA's office, to name but the highlights).
I'm still not sure how I got swept up into this situation, but the story is this: my parents found the kitty in their front yard one day and after weeks of feeding her, decided they would take her to the local shelter. But after a word of warning from a neighbor that the shelter's supposed no-kill policy isn't enforced 100% of the time, they had a change of heart and took her to the vet's to be spayed instead. Only after the anesthesia had taken affect did the vet realize she'd already been spayed. So my parents brought her back to recover and once inside the house, Sweet Pea made herself at home. Why didn't my parents just adopt the cat themselves?

Kitty is why. Kitty hates cats. Kitty hates cats so much that she up and left her home of nine years when the owner got another one (which is how my parents ended up with her). Kitty took one look at Sweet Pea and declared, in no uncertain terms, that violent bloodshed would be the only result of cohabitation.  My parents devised a method of keeping the two cats apart by letting one in while the other was enclosed in a bedroom and then letting the other loose in the house while the former was out on the porch room -- this went on for several weeks while they looked in vain for someone who could adopt Sweet Pea. My mother would sigh and say if only I lived closer, she'd be the perfect cat for me. And I'd sigh and agree and that would be that. But it wasn't until I mentioned to Benjamin that Sweet Pea was a Russian Blue and supposedly good for people with allergies (such as Benjamin) that he suggested I actually go ahead and get her. I booked my plane ticket almost immediately after.

I'll confess, when I met my future pet in the flesh, it wasn't love at first sight for either of us. She'd try to bite me if I pet her, she was aloof unless I was offering butter (her favorite treat), and after growing up with a big fluffy Persian, it took me a while to appreciate her sleek, seal-like coat. Of course, now I think she's the prettiest little princess fur-baby *insert incoherent baby-talk babbling here* and she's warmed up to me enough that I've gained status as her favorite cushion.

It remains to be seen if she'll be happy here in her new home. We're both recovering from jet lag and adjusting to the different space and I'm pretty sure neither of us was ready to give up the balmy Floridian sunshine for chilly Parisian drizzle, but we are making the best of it.

 Here's to beginnings and hopefully beautiful friendships.

The Un-Love List

Though I will post a list of things I'm loving on Friday, as per usual, today I thought I'd do something a little different.
I'm currently in the midst of the lovely Susannah's Blogging From the Heart e-course, and she is gently prodding us to open up, be more honest, and take a few risks. I've been thinking about what I reveal about myself in this space, and the answer seems to be: very little. My goal is to create a positive, pretty environment, but in trying to do so, I seem to only skim the surface of my life, leaving unsaid all the things that aren't easy to wrap up and present with a ribbon on top. If I didn't know me and read this blog, all I would come away with is a rather vague impression of girl who lives in Paris, takes photos, eats a lot of pretty food, and likes sparkly pink things.
So in an attempt to show a little more of the whole picture, I'm starting with a list (because I love lists) of the not-so-pretty aspects of myself I would normally try to hide. Here goes.

10 Things I'd Rather You Not Know About Me

1. I don't find babies cute. Kittens, lambs, chicks, baby animals of all kinds: heck yes, but mini-humans: not so much. 
2. Speaking of kittens -- I have a deep distrust of people who say they don't like cats. No matter how lovely a person you turn out to be, if you dislike cats I fear that we differ too much on a very fundamental level for us to ever truly 'get' each other.
3. I'm not religious. I am spiritual, in a woo-woo, airy-fairy kind of way.
4. I feel like a foreigner no matter which country I'm in. Even (especially?) the US (where I was born).
5. I wasted four years of my life recovering from a breakup with someone I'm now immensely grateful I didn't marry.
6. I got so good at suppressing pain that I'm now worried I've lost the ability to properly feel anything.  My default emotional setting seems to be... apathy.
7. I worry a lot. I worry I won't be able to write my book. I worry about the constant, nagging pain in my abdomen. I worry about not learning French fast enough. I worry I will never fit in or make friends here. I worry I'm disappointing everyone. I worry I will never feel as strong and healthy again as I did as a teenager. I worry something will happen to my boyfriend. I worry it's already too late to live up to any potential I may once have had. I worry about more big earthquakes happening in Japan. I worry about pigeons getting run over in the street. I worry.
8. I find politics deeply irritating, but for the record, I'm a registered Democrat.
9. When I was six I wrote/drew a story about a princess named Princess who had horns on her head and was mean to everyone she met. I very much identified with Princess.
10. I'm a strong advocate of self-love/acceptance, but cringe every time I look in the mirror.

Phew. Well that was hard, but better out than in. If you're still here, thanks for listening.

xoxo,

L

Saturday Night Fièvre

Over the weekend I attended my second housewarming/costume party since coming to Paris (apparently this is a thing here). The hosts requested that we dress in "dance" wear -- anything from flamenco to hiphop. So at my insistence, Ben and I went in classical ballet gear (I am always looking for an excuse to wear thigh-high leg warmers).

I may have felt a teensy bit nekkid at first walking around in just a leotard, but when Monsieur Madonna showed up I was no longer the only one.

Wait, let me show you the full-length version...

(The man has great gams.)

In addition, there were hippie chicks,

cowgirls and disco/80's hybrids,

a flapper, a goth, a member of ABBA,

and, um, not exactly sure what this was, except that she looked AWESOME.

There was an endless stream of champagne, of which I partook... copiously.

And music and dancing until well into the early morning hours.

And if you've ever wondered how Parisian ladies get down, well, it's pretty much exactly like the rest of us do...

How I Want it to Feel

I want my day to feel like a birthday party at Disneyland with no lines to wait in.
I want kissing to feel like hot mulled wine on a winter's night.
I want my next success to feel like getting an A+ from my most demanding professor.
I want my body to feel like a prima ballerina at the height of her career.
I want smiling to feel like the first day of spring.
I want my friendships to feel like cashmere sweaters and home-baked muffins and disco balls and whispered midnight confessions.
I want my nervous system to feel like a direct conduit to the universe.
I want my neighborhood to feel like what people dream of when they dream of Paris.
I want my integrity to feel like Yosemite.
I want my money-making to feel like a well-tended organic garden brimming over with succulent, nourishing veggies.
I want my word to feel like a sailor's knot.
I want my laughter to feel like popping a bottle of pink champagne.
I want the end of the day to feel like a cat basking in a patch of sunlight.
I want my philanthropy to feel like planting seeds in rich soil.
I want my challenges to feel like a beautiful, complex 1000-piece puzzle.
I want my love to feel like a murmuration of starlings.
I want my writing to feel like Jane Austen and J.K. Rowling got together for a game of laser tag.
I want my ideas to feel like giant unfurling peonies.


*Writing prompt from Danielle LaPorte's Burning Questions series.

January Photo-a-Day Part 2

We've come to the end of January and it's time to share the second half of the instagram photo challenge. It's official -- I am an instagram addict and I need an intervention.
Speaking of addictions, one of the photo prompts was "guilty pleasure" and I have to confess mine is probably dairy. I don't drink milk, but every other dairy product is my weakness. I am convinced all those "healthy living" advisors who encourage people to give up dairy just don't have access to the good stuff like we do in France. Cheese is an artform here. And if eating heaping spoonfuls of unpasteurized double cream with strawberries is wreaking havoc on my health, I'm too enraptured to notice.
Do you have any addictions or guilty pleasures?

a. Light: repurposed xmas lights
b. Lunch: post-Sunday-market haul of breads, cheeses, eggs, + bacon

c. Where You Sleep: new cloud-like white sheets from BHV
d. Morning: the view from the bedroom

e. Something You Bought: books!
f. Sweet: tarte au pomme + cinnamon ice cream

g. Something You Made: my Paris photograph, looking all fancy in it's new matte + frame
h. Guilty Pleasure: all things dairy, including cheese, fromage blanc, creme fraiche, + petit suisse

January Photo-a-Day Part 1

Somehow we are already two weeks into the new year and I'm just now composing my first post of 2012.  I've been a busy bee trying to organize myself -- every year I try to use January as a launching pad to embark on new projects with a fresh perspective, so this means making lists and journaling and hashing out my goals for the months ahead.

One of the things I've done for the past three years is choose one word to describe what I want out of the year; something that will inform my choices and keep me focused. Last year's word was LOVE, and if I say so myself, that turned out rather well for me! I'm keeping it close to my heart for now, but I'll be sure to let you know next January how well this year's word worked out.

What I can tell you is I'll be undertaking two large projects, one of which is revising the heck out of my gangly first-draft novel. The second is something I shall be revealing shortly -- hopefully next week? I'm pretty excited about it, and super eager to share it with you.

But for this week I have a little something else I've been playing around with to show you: my first half of the instagram-based Photo-a-Day challenge. Since Santa (a.k.a. Benjamin) brought me an iphone for xmas, I've been snapping photos with it like it's going out of fashion. I think the very first app I downloaded was for instagram, and I've been hooked ever since. 

I've been doing the daily prompts out of order and have skipped a few, but here is what I have so far:

a. Breakfast: fluffy yogurt + banana + maple syrup + cayenne

b. Something You Wore: my aqua polka-dot apron + sequined Moroccan slippers
c. Daily Routine: cooking dinner for two

d. Makes You Smile: neon pink

e. Something You're Reading: Parisian Chic by Ines de la Fressange

f. Close-up: my loyal coffee mug

g. Something You Adore: travel! (and travel photos) This is from our afternoon in Monte Carlo.

h. Favorite: the ocean (technically the Mediterranean is a sea, but close enough)

i. In Your Bag: Japanese coin purse, Ultra-man keychain (keeping my keys together since 1997!), Korres lip butter, fluorescent pink pen, handmade notebook, and iphone

Are any of you on instagram? And what are your goals for this new and shiny year, if any?

More soon!

xoxo

Lilie

10th Anniversary-Stravaganza + First-Ever Giveaway

So the 10-year anniversary of ye olde blog came and went unheralded last March (I was too busy moving to Paris to notice), but in the spirit of better late than never, I thought I'd host a wee celebration now. As much as I'd like to have you all over for tea and eclairs, plane tickets are expensive this time of year (when are they not?), so instead we're having:

The Prize: a bead necklace from my color story collection + a Parisian postcard + delectable French bonbons + any other sparkly notions i can fit in the envelope.

To Enter: leave a comment telling me what your favorite book is, and if you're so inclined, what you love about it.

Details: open internationally. A random drawing will be held and the winner announced and notified at the end of September.

This isn't really a promotional sort of giveaway, so if you'd like to tweet/facebook/blog/skywrite about it, that's lovely and appreciated but not required. Mostly I'm hoping that you'll stop by and say hello --  I'd love to hear from old friends and get to know new ones even better.

Now, to properly commemorate Lilie Green's 10th anniversary, it is only fitting I do a top 10 list. So, after pouring through the archives, I present to you:

• 10. the sad tale of how i tried to file my taxes in japan 
• 9. the hardest $100 i ever earned
• 8. a day in the life of an English teacher
• 7. waxing poetic about the soundtrack of life
• 6. my 7th anniversary post (still applicable)
• 5. super-saturated photo-logue of tokyo
• 4. epic NYC post is epic
• 3. tooth-achingly frou frou, PINK, and alarmingly preoccupied with cake
• 2. firsts
• 1. and from all the way back in 2001, my stint as a kindergarten teacher in the japanese countryside

*a special mention for the sense and swoon-ability post, which is by far the most popular, and continues to receive a bajillion hits every month (that Jane Austen, hogging all my traffic)

Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you'll continue to support my photo/travel/design/personal/can't-make-up-its-mind blog for several more years to come :)

Life in Paris: la premiere semaine

flowers lining the entryway to my apt.

I've been away from the ol' blog for over a month, and to the (small but lovely) group of regular readers I apologize for the unintentional hiatus. The thing is... I moved. To Paris.
Believe me, it took me by surprise too. It hadn't even been a year since I picked up and headed cross-country to California, but... l'amour called (in the form of an awfully cute Franco-Japanese boy) and I followed.
So here I am; ensconced in a cozy sixth floor apartment overlooking a semi-residential neighborhood on the western edge of the city, eating way too much yogurt and trying to dredge up my memory of French verb conjugations learned in high school.

my corner bakery, a.k.a baguette dealer

Just over a week has passed since I landed at Charles de Gaulle. Here are a couple of the highlights I've experienced so far:

my welcome-to-France-dinner, a six-course meal at Youlin

A tiny French-Japanese fusion restaurant where the menu is decided by the chef; sit back as artful plates of delicate, delicious morsels are served to you one by one. Easily my new favorite dining spot in Paris.

a housewarming/costume party

Meeting new people, especially when you don't speak their language, can be a wee bit intimidating. But. Parisians dressed as Darth Vadar, the Pope, Super Mario, and a (male) belly dancer with massive fake cleavage? Not so intimidating. Also, there was a crepe buffet. Which was pretty much made of WIN.

behold the tower of crepes!

and did I mention the Nutella!

The rest of my first week consisted of more brunches and lunches and afternoon teas with new friends, a lot of walking around and exploring, breathing in all the blossoms on the spring-green trees, and experimental cooking with French ingredients (basil leaves are tiny! romaine lettuce is half the size it is in the US, and also much softer. and let's just say I won't be making any baked potatoes, unless I'm cooking for a dolls' tea party.)

All in all, (to borrow a line from Annie) I think I'm gonna like it here...

Two Thousand and Zen

A look back at the year that was...

In the first half of the year I:

• flew to New England and tried raw oysters for the first time
• cavorted around NYC for a day, and met up with friends I hadn't seen in 10 years
• got stuck in an airport for 11 hours
• attended my college reunion and discovered all bitterness had faded, leaving only nostalgia and laughter and deep affection

In the second half of the year I:

• packed up my things and moved to California
• re-learned how to drive
• spent a heavenly week in the woods of Paradise
• was presented with my first DSLR camera and lenses
• went to my college roommate's wedding in Connecticut
• saw my friend's band play at a dive near my house, a week before they suddenly became famous
• played dress-up and took photos with my high school best friend
• walked the beach for days, getting tan and collecting seashells
• had a few dozen amazing meals with my family
• received more generosity than I could possibly ever try to deserve

Thanks, 2010. In the end, you were rather wonderful.

Eleven Things

December 11. 11 Things 
from Reverb 10

What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

I don't need:

1. timidity.
2. to recoil in horror when I look in the mirror.
3. to doubt my own tastes. If I like it, I don't need someone else to confirm that it is good.
4. to be so effing terrified of writing/drawing/painting.
5. these extra 5lbs.
6. to feel inferior to all the talented, stylish, successful, witty, charming bloggers I follow.
7. procrastination.
8. to wish for mythical best friends who are always there for me (like Carrie & co.). Kindred spirits abound, and there are good relationships waiting to be cultivated.
9. impatience.
10. the fear of being alone forever.
11. to be the moth. I want to be the flame (damn it).

It's a Thing That Happens to You

Earlier this month I flew back to New England for the wedding of a friend I first met at the start of my freshman year at college when she and I and a third girl were all lumped together in one small dorm room.

The weekend began with a wine tasting at Saltwater Farm Vineyard, where the wedding would be held. For the record, trying out five different wines on an empty stomach is perhaps NOT the best idea one could have.

The ceremony began with two readings by friends, including this excessively poignant excerpt from the Velveteen Rabbit (only the knowledge that my eyeliner was not waterproof helped keep the tears back at this point):

 "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get all loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

A handfasting was performed, involving multi-colored ribbons -- each color signifying something lovely that I've since forgotten.

 The Posse

There was much taking of photos (somehow I refrained from accosting the photographer and running off with his awesome camera).

And finally we all moved inside to end the evening with dining, dancing, and dessert.
Everything was beautiful; fresh, friendly bouquets of sunflowers, organic vegetables and coffee, a carbon-offset donation for every guest in lieu of party favors, a father-daughter dance to Fleetwood Mac that brought pretty much everyone to tears, Sara's ah-mazing dress, and most of all the contentment of all being together again -- that friends-forever connection that feels like family.

Sara and Matt performing their patented Goldfish Shimmy

Wedding Weekend Slideshow

The only constant

1.Untitled, 2. blueberries overboard

...is change.

For those keeping score, this is probably the fifth or so incarnation of the blog since it started out as 'Slumberland' more than nine years ago. I thought 'Lilie Green' was going to be it for the long haul, but as I was designing the new banner and icons for autumn, it just didn't feel like me anymore. So I tried my name -- my real name -- and it just snicked right into place. With the -an tacked on the end it becomes the perfect descriptor of what this site is meant to be: of or pertaining to me (with a nod to my anglophile tendencies). It is my first name, and only now do I feel like I may finally be growing into it. There is a solemnity to it, a weight; for years I eschewed it in favor of lighter, more cheerful noms de plume like Liz, Lily, Betty.
Moving across the country to start anew in my home state, thinking about what I would like to find here, how I want to decorate my new space, what my priorities are going to be -- self-reflection is unavoidable.
Some things are obvious right away: I want an uncluttered room, painted white, with a windowsill lined with succulents and old blue mason jars. I want to walk for hours along the Pacific ocean and buy a beach cruiser to go biking with my cousins.
Other decisions are still fuzzy: I know I want to work so I can afford to pursue my (expensive) passion, but what do I want to do? what am I willing to do?
With each question and answer the picture of who I am (who I want to be) comes slowly into focus. The beginning of identity is one's name, and by claiming my own (in bold, red letters), it is a step towards recognizing and appreciating my own unique voice.

1. Mirage, 2. 118.

Queen of Tartes

 I am a self-professed tarte-baking queen, and today I thought I'd share my methods for whipping up  an easy-peasy, yummilicious fruit tarte. A tarte may look expensive and complicated and like something better left to expert bakeries, but I promise you, once you make your own you'll never want to buy one again.

Any self-respecting cookbook will tell you that when you're baking the crust, you need to weigh the center down with coffee beans or those weird steel disk thingies, but I say: just prick the heck out of it with a fork, freeze it for fifteen minutes before putting it in the oven, and Bob's your uncle (or I would say that, if I were British and could get away with it). We are foregoing perfection in favor of ease here, and no one is going to be able see that the crust is ever so slightly convex once you pile on the toppings.

For the filling, you have a few options; sometimes I'll do a custard, but my favorite is the cream cheese. A drop of liqueur -- rum, the pictured Drambuie, or something like grand marnier -- adds a subtle complexity to the flavor.

Choosing the fruit to top the tarte is absolutely the funnest part of the process. There are no rules. Try every combination you can imagine. Mangoes with grapes? YES. Kumquats and pineapple? Heaven. Seriously, go wild. Aim for a juicy, colorful combination. If there's nothing in season, a can of apricots or peaches is just as lovely.

Start from the outside edge and work your way in towards the middle when arranging the fruit. Each piece should overlap slightly. Ideally you should have at least four different colors of fruits for visual interest (kiwi green, strawberry red, blueberry blue, mandarin orange orange), but if not, try alternating the direction of the circles (clockwise, then counter-clockwise) to create a more dynamic impact.

The last step is the glaze. Apricot jam or jelly works best. Scoop some into a shallow bowl, pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, then get your glazing brush and coat each and every piece of fruit. I cannot recommend the rubber glazing brush enough (I found this one in Michael's baking goods section). In the early days I used to try to glaze with the bristle brush we use for basting the Thanksgiving turkey, and boy did that not go well -- fruit nudged out of place, blueberries rolling off onto the floor -- not good. But with the rubber brush, everything stays where it's supposed to and the glaze goes on a treat.

Tarte Shell

1 cup all-purpose flour
5 tbsp butter
2 tbsp sugar
1 egg

Whisk flour and sugar in mixing bowl. Work in butter with fingers. Stir in egg. Knead dough into ball, wrap in cellophane and chill in refrigerator for 15 mins. Roll out dough and press into 9" tarte tin (or 9 mini tins). Prick crust all over with fork and place in freezer for 15 mins. Preheat oven to 380°F. Bake 10 mins. Lower heat to 350°F and bake 10 more mins.

Cream Cheese Filling

1 pack cream cheese (I use Philadelphia)
1/8 cup sugar
2 tsp milk
1/4 tsp vanilla
drop of liqueur

Mix all ingredients together and then spread into cooled tarte shell. (It helps if you leave the cream cheese out to reach room temperature before mixing.)
Slice up any bulky fruit and then arrange prettily. Heat up your apricot jam and glaze the fruit. Admire your handiwork and then put in the fridge to chill for an hour or so. Serve up and feel smug when everyone goes into raptures. Enjoy!