Eat your fruits and vegetables.

When I was younger, you could not pay me to eat my vegetables. One evening after my mother had served me mixed vegetables at dinner (the absolute worst punishment that could be inflicted upon my eight-year-old self), I came up with a grand idea. Instead of trying to hide them underneath the potato skin again (my parents were becoming too smart for this technique), I would just occasionally drop a carrot or bit of corn onto the floor. Of course, once all of my vegetables had landed near my foot, there was the question of how I would get rid of it, as we didn't have any pets around the house to help remove the evidence. My young mind started to panic. What do I do? I began to stomp the vegetables subtly with my shoe, as to not alert my sisters or shake the table. I dared not look down to see the mess I made - the veggies would just evaporate, right? As we got up to clear the table and my mom made a passing comment that I ate my vegetables rather quickly and without complaint for once, I disappeared into our den to watch The Cosby Show. About midway through the witty Huxtable banter, my mom came into the room.



"Lizzie, come into the kitchen with me." My stomach dropped. Maybe my naive mind thought the vegetables would eventually just exit the kitchen on their own, that they would do me a favor just this once and am-scray. Turns out, the vegetables had no such intentions. That night I didn't get any dessert. Instead, I was stuck on my knees, picking up the smashed green beans, carrots, and corn from the linoleum, cursing the day vegetables were born.

Vegetables and I have long since reconciled our differences. While I wouldn't necessarily say I daydream of cucumbers or fantastize about my next dish of peas, I can certainly recognize vegetables for what they are: natural, nutritious, and beautiful. I took these pictures from a farmer's market in Kansas City over the weekend. The beautiful heaps of fruits and vegetables piled next to each other put a smile on my face. The friendly merchant's smiles, the handwritten signs, the colorful displays - I loved it. It was perfect. It was simple. It made me want a salad.

A joyful photo

The Magic Tree

Columbia, Missouri

Ode to Ira

I'm not the type of girl who has many crushes. Occasionally I'll lift an eyebrow in the general direction of a male, or in a rare instance I'll be so enamored with a beauty of a waiter that I'll drop my fork and forget how to say "water" at a busy Mexican restaurant. But, in general, crushes take too much effort and I'm either too practical or too boring for them.

With one major exception. I adore, nay, LOVE Ira Glass. If I had a crush list, he'd be in the top five, easy. It could be his glasses or soothing Thursday night voice. Maybe it's his charming demeanor or cute dopey grin.

Mostly it's just that after an episode of This American Life I always find a renewed interest in something, whether it's the episode's topic or just a desire for conversation. In college, I used to wonder what kind of conversations my professors would have with their partners at the dinner table. I always imagined it to be incredibly intellectual, something that despite nearly 20 years of schooling, I can't quite replicate during my own meals unless I get a little help.

I'd bet Ira Glass has a few things to say come dinnertime and he's been generous enough to share the topic with me once a week. For those of you who aren't already in love with Ira, you can always join me here. Let's discuss afterward.

Le gâteau de joie

Recently I'm finding that I have a lot to be joyful about. Everywhere I turn there's another joie de vivre just around the corner, maybe because I'm actually looking for them rather than letting it slip by.

Today's joie de vivre is unexpected cake.

...that a friend bakes for you just because comps are over.
... from a recipe you randomly mentioned to her just once that you wanted to make but were too overwhelmed to try.
... that is so delicious and pretty it's almost art.

I don't know about you, but for me, cake is absolutely a philosophy of life. Because it's sure difficult to complain about much of anything with a dessert like that sitting in your kitchen.

I speak for the trees.