Just call me Picabo Street

I'm going skiing on Saturday for the first time, along with three friends. All but one of us are beginners, and to hear us talk, you'd think we were headed for the Olympic runs at Lake Placid. So, behold....

Things We Have Actually Said While Discussing Our Upcoming Ski Trip

"As long as we all make it out without any broken bones, I'll consider it a successful day!" 
"Really? THAT's the measure of success we're using?"

"How much should I expect to fall down?"

"....What do I wear?"

"Difficulty-wise, is this much like ice skating? Because I'm TERRIBLE at ice skating."

"Everybody remember to bring your health insurance card."


Seriously, though, I'm excited. We're taking a lesson and then attempting the easy trails, so I'm confident we'll have a great time and a lot of laughs. Learning to ski also happens to be a Life List item, so I'll be documenting it. Details to come!

The Life List: Memorize 25 Poems (#2)

For Christmas my grandparents gave me Good Poems, an anthology of poetry edited by Garrison Keillor. I've been reading a poem a day, and this one made me laugh.



Routine 
By Arthur Guiterman

No matter what we are and who,
Some duties everyone must do. 

A Poet puts aside his wreath
To wash his face and brush his teeth,

    And even Earls
    Must comb their curls,

   And even Kings
   Have underthings.

The Life List: Learn to make Yorkshire Pudding

Of the assorted nationalities that comprise my family tree--French, German (I...think?), Irish, English, who knows what else--I'd say the one that I felt most tied to growing up was English. This was in large part because my great-grandfather, who I remember a little, immigrated from England, and my grandmother still has family there who I have met. Both my grandmother and great aunt, despite having lived in the U.S. their whole lives, still have distinctly British qualities about them--habits, preferences, etc--many of which have rubbed off on me.

Not the least of these is a deep and abiding love of Yorkshire pudding. England is not exactly known for its dazzling cuisine, at least in comparison to the rich traditions of places like France or Italy, but no food says England to me quite like a traditional English Roast: roast beef, roasted veggies, Yorkshire pudding, and gravy.  During my semester abroad, I spent many Sunday mornings exploring the various churches and cathedrals in London, returning home for lunch at our local pub, which--like many pubs--boasted a delicious Sunday roast dinner.

For Christmas this year, we decided to forgo the usual turkey with all the trimmings and, instead, pull out another family favorite: roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.  And since learning to make Yorkshire pudding is on my Life List, it seemed like the perfect time to give it a go.  So I enlisted my father, our resident Yorkshire pudding-making expert, to teach me (with some assistance from the Joy of Cooking). And as it turns out, it's pretty easy to make, so without further ado....


Yorkshire Pudding
Traditionally, Yorkshire pudding was cooked in the same pan as the roast, allowing the drippings to fall into the batter as it cooked.  It was also used as a sort of "filler" course amongst poorer families who couldn't afford much meat.  Nowadays it serves as the starch, alongside the roast, root vegetables, and gravy. We also double the usual recipe, because you can never have too much Yorkshire pudding.  There were five of us at Christmas dinner, and we ate every last crumb of it.

Start with all your ingredients at room temperature.

The Life List: Memorize 25 poems (#1)

My first encounter with Emily Dickinson, at least that I remember, was in ninth grade English. Our old, strange, awesome teacher, Mr. Colonell, had us explicate a bunch of poems, including several by Dickinson, and in most cases, I only remember the first few lines.  But this one stuck with me.


1129
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —


*In the interest of full disclosure, I did have to look up capitalizations and the poem number. 

The Life List: Sweet Caroline

So you know what's awesome?

Boston. Boston is awesome.

The Life List: See Dolly Parton in concert.

On Sunday night, two petite blonde superstars performed in/near D.C. One of them was Britney Spears. The other was, in all ways, the anti-Britney.

See Dolly Parton in concert. Check.

As an Appalachian girl, I grew up with an appreciation for the force of nature that is Dolly Parton. I went to Dollywood. I sang "9 to 5" with my high-school girlfriends. I defended her to those who made fun of her hair and, um, unusual physique (not that I need to--she makes plenty of fun of herself). Because the truth is that behind the Botox and under the bleached bouffant is a funny, kind, generous, brilliant woman who has written and sung some amazing songs. Dolly IS east Tennessee, and when you're from there, it's second nature to defend her with everything you have.


I went with three friends, all fellow Appalachia natives, to see her last night at Wolf Trap. We took an old quilt and a picnic. The stars were out, a light breeze kept the hot summer night comfortable, and an incredibly diverse crowd filled every available seat and spot of grass in the 7,000+ capacity venue.


Dolly performed for 2.5 hours. "This sounds like home!" my friend Shelley cried, as the first bars of the first song started. Dolly played all her old favorites, songs from her new album, and some excellent covers. She, rather awesomely, rapped. She played nine, yes nine, instruments (fiddle, guitar, banjo, auto harp, dulcimer, recorder, piano, harmonica, and, to our great surprise, saxophone). She had every last person in the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand.


It was unforgettable. She is unforgettable.



If you can forgive the shakiness, this version of "Coat of Many Colors" was recorded at the show I saw. Song starts at about 0:30.

The Life List: Eat at Le Bernardin. Buy a hot dog from a street vendor.

Okay! So. New York. Pardon the delay. The thing about traveling with your friends is that you never know who ended up with which photos, until you get home and realize you have four hundred photos of seafood from the fish market....and very little else. Hence, I've been tracking down pictures from my traveling companions. So without further ado...


Last month's New York trip was a rousing success for many reasons, not the least of which was that, in the first 12 hours, I knocked two items off the Life List:  

Eat at Le Bernardin. Check.

Buy a hot dog from a street vendor. Check.

In fact, pretty much all we did in New York was eat and drink stuff:

The Life List

For a while now, I've been working on assembling my Life List -- things to do, experience, or achieve before I die.  At first it was a little daunting, but it ended up being rather enjoyable. 

The great thing about a project like this is that it's always active, and I can continually add and update things.  In my case, the list is also retroactive.  I've been fortunate enough to experience certain things in my relatively short life that--if they hadn't already happened--I would have included anyway.  They are listed as completed items. So without further ado.....