Enchantment Learning & Living Blog

Welcome to Enchantment Learning & Living, the inspirational space where I write about the simple pleasures, radical self-care, and everyday magic that make life delicious.

On Giving In To Doing Less

May 19, 2014

It is one of those days where life won't let you do anything but take care of yourself--despite the things you had hoped to accomplish before traveling, the things you had wanted to cross off your to-do list.

No matter now.

Your body has decided that you need a day to curl up in bed and read your favorite books, to eat chicken noodle soup and drink hot cups of tea. There are still things to do, but your exhaustion has caught up with you. Nothing is as important as resting.

It is as if your body wants to recharge your batteries, store up your energy for vacation--tapas in Sitges, early morning walks along the Seine in Paris, tea in London.

Soon you will be up and about again, but for now, you give into doing less. You close your eyes and snuggle deeper under your blankets.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Watching Old Movies All Day

May 18, 2014

You are feeling positively lazy.

It is a Sunday built for lollygagging. You luxuriate in this feeling and this absence of things to do. Your normal Sunday routine when teaching is one of cooking up your weekly breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But you don't have to worry about that now or give to the fear of not having time or energy for three healthy meals a day. Now, you have all the time in the world.

It is a divine pleasure to snuggle up on your couch and watch old movies. You start with your Marilyn Monroe stash--The Seven Year Itch, Some Like It Hot--paying as much attention to the outfits as the plots, although you've seen both a million times. Then you move to your Audrey Hepburn movies, getting swept up in her adventures in Sabrina, Funny Face, and Roman Holiday. In each movie, you marvel at her transformation from young naif to polished sophisticate, drooling even more at her glamorous evening gowns and posh day wear (yes, even as you enjoy your own pajama pants and tank top).

Eventually, you might even talk yourself into a beer and a book on your patio. But for now, you snuggle deeper under you knitted blanket on the couch, awash in Technicolor and black and white dreams, feeling as if everything is positively right with the world.

On Kitchen Sink-ing It

May 17, 2014

You must get creative with the food you have, using it all up before you pack your bags and head out on your next adventure.

It took all your self-control not to over-shop at the grocery store, despite the perfectly rounded artichokes and thick stalks of asparagus staring you in the face. You bought only the bare necessities: coffee and wine. It took even more reserve not to go to the farmers' market; that would only lead to a fridge full of spring's bounty--tender lettuce, red radishes, and if you were lucky, garlic scapes.

You know mustn't do that, hard as it is. Everything but the kitchen sink must go, so you pile your plate with all manner of strange meals. You are traveling soon--that phrase playing round and round your head, a constant reminder--and have to clean out your fridge of anything and everything that won't last till you get back.

It has been a series of creative lunches and kitchen-sink dinners. There was the breakfast omelet with one and a half bell peppers and small wedges of several different kinds of hard cheeses; the lunch of quick pickled carrots, radishes, and cucumbers; the simple dinner of crudités and aioli to use up those eggs and any stray vegetables at the bottom of your crisper. Everything must go!

Then there is the carton of half and half that you try to ration out across the next four mornings, so you don't have to buy another and have it go to waste. There is the watermelon you had forgotten about--the one you intended to juice. A watermelon cooler must be made, perhaps several. You will diligently work on whittling down the contents of your fridge until it is nothing but bare shelves and butter, mustard jars and a wine bottle.

It's as integral to your travel preparations as packing your bags and boarding that plane. Yes, this is kitchen sink-ing it.

On Polka Dots

May 16, 2014

They are the flirt of prints, just as pink is the coquette of colors.

They have bounce and boom and beauty--you can't resist them--not the smattering of little dots across your dress nor the playful pattern on your scarves and blouses. You prefer the haphazard prints as if a painter has taken her wet brush and flung dots of paint across your clothes--no clear rhyme or reason to the pattern, just a series of dancing dots.

The ones that make you sigh are lined up in neat little rows as if to take the bounce out of the dots, the flirt out of these bouncy discs. Surely designers would understand that polka dots are not for the understated; the demure organized lines of one circle after another are begging to be shaken up. They must dance on your dress, move with the folds and the sway of your skirt.

Polka dots are a walking invitation--for mischief, for kisses, for fun. You don't wear them unless you are ready to be as playful as they are. They are your homage to the grace and strength of the Flamenco dancer, more than the polka music they were named after--emblems of pure movements spread across your body.

There is simply no such thing as too many polka dots, only not enough polka dot wearers.

On Wild Hair

May 15, 2014

It simply can't control itself.

Twice a year you get a stylist to tame it--snip snip with scissors, woosh woosh with the blow dryer and rounded brush to iron out those kinks and curls into smooth perfection. For a few days, you have movie hair.

But it's not your real hair. More like a wig or an outfit that isn't really you but one you sometimes put on anyway, just in case it is--and know full well it never will be. Like that prim sleek office dress that holds you too close.

No, your hair is a riot of half-formed curls and twisty waves that never quite commit to being corkscrew ringlets or soft waves. It simply wants to have both and so colonizes your head with thick, wild waves going it whatever direction they want to.

It abhors barrettes and hairspray, too many hair clips and hair straighteners. It rebels against too much product and not enough down time. Even when you coax it into a sophisticated up-do for work, you know it only temporarily subdues itself for those hours between teaching and grading and then, once home, practically pushes the pins out of its sultry coils.

It will not let you be anything but you. And when you look at it first thing in the morning--a twisted riot of auburn curls half-smashed from hugging the pillows all night--you realize that this is you. You are your loud curls that don't like to be contained, your thick hair that is more comfortable naked than tamed into politeness with those pomades you never really know how to use.

You are bare feet and uncombed curls. Wild thoughts and wild hair.

On Welcoming Spring (Again): Or Saying Goodbye to Winter (For Real...Hopefully)

May 14, 2014

It snowed yesterday. In May of all months.

It wasn't a big snow, with fat, blustery flakes and a thick carpet of white velvet on the ground. It was more of a quick, dirty snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. Still, your basil plant was not happy, nor your tomatoes who sat in the corner of your patio shaking in the cold, wishing they could pull their little yellow flowers back in their buds for safe keeping.

Even your halfhearted attempt at going out for your morning walk was quickly squashed by the wind whipping around your home, pushing you back indoors. What happened to spring? Where was your gorgeous morning filled with bird song and coffee on your patio? Where was the sunlight streaming into your apartment in the afternoon, coating everything in a magical honey glaze?

You got a day more at home in winter instead: a dark, hushed morning, followed by an afternoon tucked safely inside your house, feeling more like snuggling on the couch and drinking tea than letting as much of the outdoors in as you could. Even your plants stayed inside. You hauled them in one by one, reviving them with the warmth of the house and your tender words until your writing space looked more like an indoor garden than a place for prose (though who is to say which is the plant and which is the story? Both take warmth and time to grow). You went to bed wondering if your spring would even come back.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of your loud little finches and the sun kissing your cheeks. Spring was back, the snow was gone. You could once again enjoy the simple pleasures of the season. You returned your plants to their proper place on the patio. You opened the doors to your home to let the light and air in. You drank coffee on the patio. Winter was gone. And all was well.

On Writing in the Second Person

May 13, 2014

It's uncomfortably intimate at first, the you.

Then before you know it, it seduces you, wraps itself around you and holds you tight. So tight, you couldn't let go if you wanted to.

You. It makes you wear the experience like a second skin until you are there--experiencing that afternoon tea or that long walk or that conversation with the birds at your feeder.

You. You shouldn't be afraid of how the word draws out your readerlyness, even when the writer you read invents words--especially so. It reminds you that you too create this world, this picture of patio gardens and long naps, evenings cooking in the kitchen and staying up late reading novels. You are no longer allowed to be just a voyeur--you must live the experience as you devour each word on the page like it is a fat grape bursting with juice, filling your mouth with its tart sweetness. Yes, you taste this too, even as you read it.

To read is to invent, to imagine what the writer's words look like when they lift from the page and become your reality. You do this. You. The one reading this right now. You. I reach across my page and thank you for reading, for bringing my words to life, for being willing to wear your you so that I can bridge the gap between writer, word, reader.

On Maximalist Fashion

May 12, 2014

You must go boldly into this world--remember that.

You have long since outgrown your need to dress in muted colors, in perfectly matched ensembles of various hues of nude or gray or that one non-color so popular among the faint of heart. No. You no longer feel the need to fade into your surroundings--that was another lifetime, one you gladly shed in favor of your peacock feathers, bright a sin, strong as steel.

For you, the real you, your wardrobe is a work of art. Each day you prepare your outfit as a painter would her canvas, tenderly, one brushstroke at a time. Or as a gardener determining which flowers to plant in an open plot of dirt, only to decide it must be a small grove of wildflowers in all colors, all types, the seeds tossed about with abandon. Your outfit is a living, breathing piece of art made up of layers of bright colors and loud jewelry and unapologetic joie de vivre.

You must go boldly into this world without fail. Your mustard heels and turquoise jewelry and purple dress and bright green scarf remind you of this--it is not enough to fade into the background, not enough to simply show up to life. You must embrace it, bite into it with zest as you would a ripe peach.

Your wardrobe is a walking advertisement for who you are, an embodiment of who you are not afraid to be. You must wear it as your armor, your hard shell that refuses to be anything less than what you are. Let the world know:

You must go boldly into this world each and every day.

3 Citrus-Ginger Gin Fizz

May 11, 2014

In honor of my wonderful patio garden, I had my family over for dinner last night. It was a perfect garden party (albeit a patio garden party) filled with the bounty of spring. We had radishes and young beets in our salad, asparagus and roasted lamb seasoned with herbs from my garden on our plates. There was also fresh pesto crostini for appetizers and, of course, a beautiful view of my potted plants. Naturally, when you have a garden party, you need a cocktail that tastes like spring in a glass, which is why I developed my 3 citrus-ginger gin fizz.

A traditional fizz is simply gin, lemon, a little sugar, and sparkling water--an absolutely refreshing way to wind down a warm spring day. I've added a twist to this recipe by using three types of citrus--grapefruit, lemon, and lime--and the addition of ginger simple syrup in place of the sugar. There are few combinations as heavily as citrus and ginger in my book--they play on each other's brightness. Make sure to use freshly squeezed citrus juice--the bottled kind doesn't have as bright a flavor and contains lots of hidden sugars. You can also skip the gin and have a refreshing mocktail, as my pregnant sister did.

Even if you aren't hosting a garden party anytime soon, I'd recommend enjoying this cocktail to kick off your Saturday night!

Ingredients:

Juice of 1 grapefruit

Juice of 1 lemon

Juice of 1 lime

6 ounces (3 shots) ginger simple syrup

Sparkling water

Combine three juices together in a mason jar or other container. In four glasses, add one shot of the juice mix to each glass and 1/2 shot (.75 ounces) of ginger simple syrup. Top with ice. Fill the glass to the top with sparkling water and stir. Enjoy in a shady grove, patio garden, or other lovely outdoor space. Serves 4.

Ginger Simple Syrup

May 10, 2014

Ginger is one of those epic all-around healing foods that I can't get enough of. It adds brightness and spice to everything from a good Asian stir-fry to my morning quinoa. This time of year I absolutely love it as an ingredient in the sunny warm-weather cocktails & mocktails that become so appealing after a day spent outdoors. You can also mix it with sparkling water to make a light, refreshing soda. In either case, my ginger simple syrup is an ingredient I like to keep on hand for those impromptu fancy drinks that feel like summer in a glass.

Ingredients:

1 cup sugar

1 cup water

1/4-inch by 1-inch chunk of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced thinly

To make the simple syrup, bring water and ginger to a boil. Stir in sugar until fully dissolved. Reduce heat. Simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool completely. Strain out ginger and pour syrup into a mason jar. Store in fridge for about one week. Make approximately 1 cup of syrup.

On Preparing for Vacation

May 9, 2014

It is more than just packing your bags or finding someone to water your plants while you are gone. More than confirming your plane reservations and outlining your day-to-day plans, a loose collection of potential adventures.

It is in slowing down the weeks before your trip, allowing for time to rest, to play, to nourish the spirit of joie de vivre. You must let your brain begin to breathe, your mind to expand beyond the work desk, or else the shift from your daily routine to far-flung adventure is too much, so abrupt so that you might find yourself in your proverbial business suit on a beach in paradise.

No. You must respect the transition.

Your preparations must include weekends goofing off, long afternoon naps, evenings doing nothing but enjoying your garden. In this, you learn to respect your need to heal, the importance of moving slowly, of doing less. Yes, you are preparing for your vacation by cultivating the pleasure of being less busy, unwilling to commit to a firm schedule or days packed with one event after the other. You court your next adventure with quiet days and impromptu lunch dates, evening cocktails and long mornings drifting through the fun parts of the weekend newspaper. You exchange your work heels for sandals, that business uniform for loose dresses and little makeup.

Only then can you begin to pack for your trip, finalize those little details, and be ready for fun.

On Spring Rain

May 8, 2014

It only lasted a few minutes--here and gone in a flurry of wind and rain and hail--leaving light and soft earth in its wake.

Even now there is hardly any sign that it has rained at all, save for one or two stray puddles and an extra sweetness in the air. Still, you know those few minutes calmed the earth and tamed the dusty winds that have rolled through town these past weeks, stirring up trouble and dirt. The fat plops of moisture fell to the ground, coating the dry earth in a silky blanket, allowing the seeds in your garden to drink deeply and the thick yellow pollen to leave the sky and make its home in the ground.

This rain, gone too soon, makes you want to run out and play in it; it is rich, violent, bursting with life in a way that compels you to dance in the puddles and twirl in the rain as you once did so long ago. You want to feel these nourishing drops kiss your face, wet your eyelashes, and dribble down your chin. You want them to slap your palms and mat your hair with their thickness as you gaze up at the clouds that have rolled over the mountains and covered your city.

This is your desert spring rain, a flashy foreshadowing of the monsoons with their thunder and lighting and lovely, lovely rain that grace your home in the summer, nourishing the earth, cleaning your soul, feeding your heart.

On Toast

May 7, 2014

It is a humble offering to the morning, but so delicious.

You had a lazy start to the day, luxuriating in the fact that it is mid-week, but you, you with your summer teacher schedule, can sleep in and treat this Wednesday as a Saturday or Sunday. Even the thought of whipping up an egg or making some oatmeal is too much. It would disturb the slow tranquility coursing through your veins.

But you must eat. And toast, toast is the answer.

It is only worth eating if it's made from quality bread--in this case, a whole wheat loaf from your favorite bakery. You slice off a thick piece and pop it in the toaster, making sure it gets that nice brown crust, not quite burnt but thick enough to leave a soft center underneath that crispy shell. Then comes the butter, liberally slathered on--you mustn't be stingy. You know some then prefer jam, but for you, the magic is in that simple marriage between toast and butter.

You take your treat, along with a fresh cup of coffee and a small dish of blackberries, to your patio, where you linger over the morning paper, the little finches greeting you with their trill song. You take a bite of toast, letting the earthy flavor of the wheat and butter roll over your tongue. You offer a bit of crust to the birds--but not too much, as you want to savor this treat yourself. Bite by bite you devour your simple breakfast until there is nothing left but a few crumbs on your fingers and a little butter on your chin.

You gaze wistfully at your plate: empty save for a scattering of crumbs. Before you can talk yourself into another piece of toast, you press your coffee mug to your lips and sip the decadent brew. Your coffee, your berries, the cool morning air remain your consolation, now the toast is gone.

On the First Swim of the Season

May 6, 2014

It is probably still a touch too cold for a proper swim--and windy--yet the sun and bright green of the trees beckon you outside. You will just go and check the water, just dip your hand in and feel if it is warm enough, you tell yourself, even as you put on your bathing suit and gather a towel. You've made up your mind without quite knowing when that happened.

Outside you are seduced by the turquoise of the water, reminiscent of one of those tropical beaches you've read about in magazines. No one is around but you. You slip off your flip flops and sundress. You enjoy the sun's caress on your back. For a brief moment you feel terribly naked, your skin unaccustomed to the elements after a long winter buried under sweaters and scarves and mittens. It is hypersensitive as if you've peeled back all your layers of skin until you are left with a newer, more tender shell.

Yet the water still calls to you. Gingerly, you place one foot then another into the water, feeling a thrill run through you. It laps around your toes, egging you on. You let your legs dangle over the sides of the pool, enjoying the cool water on your skin, a sharp contrast to the warm sun on your back.

You've reached the point of no return--there is nothing to do now but slip into the water's embrace. You go under, letting the cool water embrace you, then break to the surface again. You gasp and wipe the water from your face, then plunge headlong into a series of breaststrokes, enjoying how this liquid silk flows over and under your body.

The breeze races across the water, raising goosebumps on your arms. Too soon to take the plunge? Perhaps, but oh so worth it.

On Antiquing

May 5, 2014

You hadn't planned on it, but before you know it the afternoon has become one long stroll through your favorite antique store.

You get lost on the embroidered handkerchiefs and bits of lace loving washed, ironed and displayed. The tea cups and tin flour sifters seduce you with images of afternoon tea and freshly made scones. The old books beg you to touch their spines, allowing your fingers to caress the ridges on the tooled leather of their binding. As if that weren't enough, you marvel at the old bottles and jars--clear and green and blue mason jars, old apothecary bottles, even crystal perfume bottles. Each one holds its contents like a distilled piece of history; here the jar of buttons in every shape and size, there bits of dust from another lifetime ago, in another German glass glitter so shiny it makes your eyes hurt.

It is the writing desks and vanity tables that then call to you, throwbacks to elegance and the slow mediation on simple tasks like writing a letter or readying yourself for the day. You luxuriate in the spools of ribbons on display, too and the piles of ancient typesetting and the retro paintings of fruits and vegetables growing in your garden at this very moment. Each object makes up a piece of this extravagant tableau, this impression of life as art, of life as beauty, of life as enjoyment.

When it is time to go--after you have wandered from room to room and around again--you leave the shop feeling refreshed, vibrant, as if the world suddenly has just a little more magic in it.

On Watching the Birds in Your Bird Feeder

May 4, 2014

It is a quiet afternoon. You've given yourself over to reading on your patio, your only company the birds--sparrows, finches, doves--swooping in and out of your bird feeders.

They used to be shy creatures, forever dissuaded from your patio by the cats with the hungry eyes in the patio above yours. You courted them night and day with bird seed and three homemade feeders you crafted out of small colorful colanders and fishing wire. You wanted to thank those birds for their songs, their morning chatter that serves as your natural alarm clock. Finally, after hanging your feeders beneath your herbs--as far away from those cats as possible--and filling them up with thick, black sunflower seeds, you find the little birds at home on your patio.

You pause momentarily, lifting your head from your book to enjoy the quiet spring afternoon. And then a red-breasted finch swoops into the turquoise feeder closer to you, swaying gently in time with the rocking of the feeder. It eyes you as if afraid you might chase it away or take its seeds. It is fast and efficient, cracking the thick sunflower shells and gobbling their flesh in gluttonous delight. Another bird flies toward the same feeder, this one a dusty brown but just as small as the finch splashed with red--its mate, perhaps. You keep still; you don't want the flutter of a turned page to frighten off your friends. They are so much more graceful than the pigeons and doves that swoop into the feeders as big as they are, forcing the metal colanders to clack and cling against your patio railing. No, these little finches nibble and sway in time with the feeders.

Without thinking about it, you set your book down. With that one swift movement, you startle the finches and they take off with a quick flap of their wings, nothing but spent sunflower shells scattering in their wake.

On Cleaning Your Home

May 3, 2014

It becomes a meditation on your life, never just about wiping off the dust from your writing table or sweeping away the cobwebs on your patio. It is about sweeping off those same cobwebs from your mind, clearing away the debris from the week, ironing out the wrinkles in your thoughts as you iron them out of the flouncy dresses you so love to wear.

You use your baking soda to scrub away bad thoughts and any mildew on your shower wall; your homemade vinegar spray kills the germs in your kitchen and bathroom as its sharp scent, mixed with lavender, clears the head. Your vacuum sucks up the dirt and stress that your shoes have dragged in, leaving behind only tranquility and fresh air.

As you clean, as you tend to your things, your home, you remove all doubt from your mind, cast away anything that does not actively nourish you, fill your spirit with light and well-being. You create your sanctuary, a reflection of the life you choose to lead, free of dirt stuck in corners and grunge in the mind.

You fill your space with light, with warmth, with clean thinking and clean air. You know your home is a living breathing thing that does not flourish unless well-tended. Together you nourish each other, creating a life worth living.

On Being Out in the City Early

May 2, 2014

The air is still crisp. The morning quiet.

The dawn was greeted by yoga and plant-tending before you head out to an early morning meeting. You cruise down the hushed streets--one part a half-awake bustle to get to work, another sleepy-almost-the-weekend energy. Country music plays softly on the radio, punctuated by spurts of local news. You cruise past the railroad tracks downtown into the oldest part of the city. Your way is paved by adobes and the bright colors of a city not afraid of its own loudness.

You find yourself early for a breakfast meeting--happily next to your favorite bakery. You cross the street, already anticipating the homey comfort of this little shop almost as old as the city itself--there are others yes, but only one real panaderia. The smell of freshly baked bread greets you as you walk through the door. You are seduced by the rows of fresh loaves and empanadas stacked one on top of the other.

What a morning! What a treat to have some spare moments to get fresh bread for your morning toast. What a treat to have some time for a cappuccino. What a treat to be out in the city before anyone but you and the bakery is entirely awake. You order a multigrain loaf and your drink, then decide to splurge on a cherry empanada for later.

Outside, you settle into a patio chair and savor your fancy coffee, feeling almost as if you are back in Venice, savoring a morning cappuccino before the day sweeps you up in a flurry of art viewing and sightseeing. You enjoy the caress of the cool morning air on your skin, the soft chatter of birds and one or two other customers. As you finish your drink, you watch the city shake off the last of its sleepiness just as you shake off yours.

Bathe Like an Egyptian Bath

May 1, 2014

Legend has it that Cleopatra used to bathe in milk and honey--the perfect recipe for soft, hydrated skin. Naturally, I thought of this as the perfect antidote to the dry skin the change of seasons can bring on. It feels purely decadent to soak in this rich liquid and your skin feels incredible afterward. The lactic acid in the milk gently exfoliates your skin, while the honey helps it retain moisture and acts as an anti-inflammatory agent. I recommend full-fat milk since it is mega-nourishing for your skin--so save the two percent for drinking. Organic is also a must--who wants anything treated with unnatural things on their skin? Plan to take some time in the bath: grab a good book, drink a cup of chamomile tea, and feel as pampered as an Egyptian queen! And feel free to imagine scantily clad buff servants fanning you with big palm leaves as you soak.

Ingredients:

2 cups whole milk

1/2 cup honey

Favorite bubble bath (optional)

Pour milk and honey under running water. Make bath water hot but not too hot. Add bubbles if desired. Soak in bath for at least 30-45 minutes. For best results, exfoliate before bathing and slather on your favorite body butter after. Enjoy!

Note: be sure to clean your bath after so you don't leave traces of milk and honey in it.

Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra in the 1963 film by the same name. Bathing never looked so glamorous!

When Life Slows You Down

April 30, 2014

It starts with an unexpected errand or a long overdue checkup, then an afternoon at home moving your plants back outside after an unexpected frost forced them indoors.

You want to do this and that, zoom here and there because that is what you are used to doing. Now with your schedule opening up--only two more days of the semester left--you are tempted to keep adding to you day, filling up those extra hours until you are at your limit.

And the life stops you. You oversleep first, a gentle reminder of how tired you really are. Then you need to create space in your day for a checkup. Then your car, your trusty cruise-mobile, needs more TLC than you can take care of on your own, so phone calls are made, appointments penciled in, and you are required to slow down. The big pre-vacation plans go out the window in favor of slow days tending to yourself, your things, your life.

You are grateful for these reminders, these little stops put in place to help you unplug from unnecessarily busy living. You take your breather over your canteen of lemon water as you wait for your car to get polished up. You pause in the waiting room of the doctor's office to listen to your heart beat in a steady tattoo. You allow yourself the time it takes to move your plants in then out of the house.

Slowly, always slowly. There is nothing worth doing that isn't done slowly.