A festive spirit goes a long way: 40 in forty

"Mama, you are always up for a party," Oliver said to me as I prepped for our Academy Awards fete last month. 

"Right you are, Ol," I replied, pleased that he's noticed. "A festive spirit makes life more fun."

I attribute a great deal of my spirit to having grown up in Louisiana where pretty much anything --from birth, marriage, and death- are cause for some sort of celebration. I think there's much to be said about a place where parties are thrown so regularly and where even the saddest funeral is lightened with laughter over fond, shared memories at one point or another. Second lines, wakes, weddings, Mardi Gras, Christmastime, all infused with music, food, drink and a varying degree of fancy dress...well, suffice it to say that Louisiana is an animated place.

It is also true that I've always enjoyed bringing people together and that doing so causes me no worry or stress. Mom used to pay me to worry for her before parties she threw; easiest job I ever had because the preparation didn't vex me in the slightest.

There are moments in which I've regretted planning a party, or felt overwhelmed by the timing of it, but I've never lamented actually carrying through with the plans.

I've also found that a merry nature can make the dullest meeting more pleasant, enable me to get to know others in ways I might not otherwise, and make less major moments feel special and joyful. Half-birthdays, a random Tuesday, you get my drift. This spirit of embracing and celebrating is something I try hard to pass on to my boys. I think they're doing a fine job so far.

Life is hard, the weeks can feel awfully long, and sometimes all it takes is popping a cork-of champagne, wine or sparkling apple cider- and using stemware or asking a few friends over for dinner or channeling your inner kid to bring some needed lightness to it all.

Time spent laughing is never time wasted. And joy shared is a lovely gift for all involved.

Ol's 7th birthday party was today

His character name was Darth Leprechaun. I do NOT worry about this kid's spirit.

Ol's Pot of Gold cake

40 in forty: Know your limits

I have been full-on extroverting all week, and while I have felt very happy and energized, by this morning I could tell that if I didn't spend some time by myself, quiet, recharging my own batteries, I might burst. And not in a good way. There may have been tears during coffee this morning. I'm just saying. Let's call them the final Code Red warning sign.

40 in forty tip: To thine own self be true.

I rarely go biblical, but those are some true-ass words. 

People, at the end of the day, you have yourself, and if that self is a pale, wan, deflated balloon of an entity, you don't have much to work with or go on. Feel me?

I was almost obnoxiously happy yesterday, so after I dried my tears this morning I decided the next best step would be to get dressed in nice clothes so that at least my exterior would look polished at the Middle School tour for parents starting at 9. 

It was lovely to see familiar faces and catch up with friends I don't cross paths with often enough, but by the gym locker room viewing, I'd gotten the drift, had my fill, and was feeling borderline bursty.

Not that many years ago, I'd have stayed. Obligation, decorum, a sense of politeness would have prevailed. But today, I acknowledged that I've already seen what we were about to visit and so politely shook hands with the principal, thanked her profusely, and went on my way.

I ran some errands, changed clothes and high-tailed it to my yard where I ignored every beep from my phone, unearthed hairy bittercress (funny how the nemesis weed of Jack's toddlerhood is still with us), planted some bulbs, rued the depleted soil, amended it with everything I had available, visited with a neighbor and then baked Ol's birthday party cakes for tomorrow.

I was by my lonesome for a good six hours, and sister, did I need it. I am so much better for knowing my limits and needs and honoring them. Do it, y'all!

Recipes by rote and riff: jazz in the kitchen

I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to live in such a neighborly neighborhood. Yesterday, I made blackberry pies for some of the folks who've been incredibly warm in welcoming us. We have more to make and thank, but in the meantime, the boys took it upon themselves last night to shower, comb their hair (bless his heart, Oliver combed so dramatically that he appeared to have the most extreme comb-over possible. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he looked anything but dashing.), and dress in suits so as to look their nicest as we took our tray o' pies around.

I could whip those pies up on a busy afternoon because doing so is second nature now. When you love to cook, come from a pie-making family, married an ardent pie lover, and have one child who requests birthday pie, you get good at making pie.

And an absolute pleasure that is. Did I tell you about the time I made a pie at a friend's house during a playdate? Because the mood struck and I could? Delightful.

My 40 in forty bit of wisdom for today is thus: master a handful of favorite dishes such that you can make them pretty much anywhere, anytime.

Do this, and you won't need a recipe because your hands and heart know just what to do. You've got the appropriate pots, pans, utensils and ingredients because since you make these dishes so often, the basics are on hand.

The great thing about gaining such fluency with a cadre of beloved recipes is that without realizing it, you also gain greater fluency with general cooking. You can start to riff on dishes, tweaking flavors and textures, personalizing and making them your own. 

Any good recipe was inspired by many others and will influence more to come. Isn't that connectivity with both past and future delightful?

If you're baffled by the idea of mastering five recipes and tucking them in your pocket, start with those you've always loved. Childhood favorites? A great place to begin. The pies I made for our neighbors? Nanny's blackberry pie of course. 

The Brussels sprouts I made yet again tonight? They're my rendition of Blue Duck Tavern's crispy Brussels sprouts with pecorino, capers, and lemon. I first experienced those more than two years ago and knew that I could never go without them as a regular guest in my life. Necessity is the mother of invention, n'est-ce pas?

Candied kumquats? A must for ricotta (also a must). I make both as often as possible. Gumbo? Yes, thank you. Plum tart during plum season? Daily. I have plums on my counter now, just waiting until tomorrow which is when I've willed them to be perfectly ripe. 

Not once will I need to look at a recipe, or if I do, to worry about the instructions or whether or not I have the right ingredients. These are such familiar friends to me now; we pick up right where we last left each other: an empty plate and a licked-clean fork.