Starbucks, Spring Flowers, and the Devil's Strip

 This is the strip of earth under the windows at my local Starbucks:

The flowers change with the seasons. They always look so pretty:

Mu Shu and I approve. We wish more stores would step up and care for the flower beds and trees outside their front doors.

Thank you, Starbucks! You may be an overpriced, overexposed chain store, but you got the flowerbed thing right.

By the way, what do you call the strip of land--often grassy--between the street and the sidewalk? I've always called it the "Devil's Strip." The Hubby thinks this is odd; he's never in his life met somebody who calls it this.

Photo of Devil's Strip, Courtesy of Gardening in a Minute

Me: Whatchoo talkin' 'bout? Lots of people call it the Devil's Strip!
The Hubby: Really? Name one.
Me: Well, my folks did...
The Hubby: You learned it from THEM!
Me: Well, there's our kids....
The Hubby: They learned it from YOU!
Me: Hmmph.

Yesterday The Hubby called me to say he'd gone online and learned that, according to the Urban Dictionary,  the "Devil's Strip" is a term unique to the area around Akron, Ohio.

Whaaaat?

I went online and found a little website called "Summit County Myths" that insists it's not true. It's actually a term unique to a larger part of Ohio.

Ha ha haaaa!

Yours Truly grew up in Dayton, Ohio, from the age of three years until I was six. Before I was born, my folks lived in Dayton for a number of years, too. My guess is they picked up the phrase from the locals, and it became part of our family's vernacular.

So long as it's planted with flowers, I don't care what you call it.

My French Writing Desk

Years ago, I rescued this couch off the street. It was torn up and nasty, with an ugly Chinese-inspired fabric and godawful Asian-style fretwork between klunky legs. I had it torn down to the frame, reupholstered, and rebuilt with more graceful legs. After it was finished, it graced a sunny alcove in our master bedroom:

But when the Lovely Daughters #1 and #2 moved into the Funny Looking House, they took the couch with them. (They needed it more than we did.) To fill the hole left, I decided I'd love a writing desk. In the ample light filtering in through the alcove's Palladian window, I imagined myself composing an old-fashioned letter or gazing out the window at the waving wall of green ivy beyond.

Yeah, my windows look just like these in a scene from the 1940 movie, "Rebecca." Juuuust like this:

Here's the first Mrs. deWinter's writing desk. Moire-silk matching address books, menu book, and diary. Oooooh!:

 (Have you seen this movie? It's a terrific, spell-binding story! Rent it, please.)

But I digress.

As I was mulling over the idea of a Rebecca-deWinter-style writing desk, this article caught my eye. I tore it out and carried it around in my purse for a while (thus the dog-eared appearance):

Five great desks: Perfect! I especially love the color of this one, from Cost Plus:

But at $200 it's a little pricey for being so very plain. And really, it's just the color that I love.

Then I saw this display through a shop window:

A darling, curvy desk and chair, and a vintage telephone and typewriter. Adorable!

It looks like the desk of a French woman writer. There are a few gorgeous books about women and the Louvre and dogs, a beautiful leather tote, a cup of tea, and even a fuzzy critter sitting on the chair!:

I love everything about this inventive display. I love how it seems to conjure up a certain woman, living in a certain city. But the desk is beyond what I'm willing to pay.

So I kept the French writing desk idea in my head as I poked through some catalogs. I love this twisty-legged beauty from a major interior decorating firm. But it's $1,599 before tax and shipping!:

Umm, no, thank you. So I hit the local charity shops, my go-to place for finding style on a shoestring. Then one day, I saw this desk and blurted out loud, "There's my desk!" It was far less than the $200 Cost Plus desk and had a lot more of the French feel to it:

It has three functioning drawers to hide lots of mess, a generous tabletop, and pretty brass drawer pulls:

And it has all the curvy lines of the white desk in the shop window:

It needs a coat of paint. I haven't decided what yet--glossy white? Chalky French blue? I'm still debating.

But I'm thinking, I can re-create that French writing desk display in the shop window. I already have the books of French museums. I own a vintage typewriter:

And re-creating the cup of tea and fuzzy critter in this house? Pshhht: Piece of cake! Also, I found this adorable map of Paris (actually a sheet of gift-wrap paper) for $5 at a local, French-flavored coffee house/gift shop. I am thinking of applying it, decoupage-style, on the desktop:

Cute, huh? And from the same shop, I nabbed this appealing version of the Eiffel Tower. (I've been wanting an Eiffel Tower sculpture since Lovely Daughter #2 and I spent one glorious week in Paris back in 2007):

Now all that's left is painting the desk. Oh, and the chair, you may ask?

I found it for free on the street.

The Canyon

Twice a week, my friend C. and I take our dogs and hop in the car for a short ride up a main boulevard in our city.

We pull off on a side street and head out on foot, dogs straining at the leashes in excitement.

They know they're going to The Canyon. First, they surge up this hill:

In a minute, they look out on this view:

A city of three million people lies at their feet, but here in this canyon, they see only bushes, trees, and distant blue mountains:

Our dogs know they're going to meet lots of other dogs on the trail:

Dogs walking. Dogs jogging:

Dogs standing quietly by as their owners get in a few calisthenics:

The sound of birds fills the crisp, clean air:

And around every bend, there's a friendly pooch to greet:

All the dogs brim with excitement, released for a bit from the cement and asphalt of the city that has dropped away below them:

At the hike's halfway point, there's a refreshing fountain made just for canines:

And then it's off to say Hello to more new friends:

 The path descends, back into the neighborhoods that cling to the canyon's sides:

The bushes wave their goodbyes, the blue skies float overhead like a benediction:

As C. and I tell ourselves how lucky we are to live so close to such an unspoiled bit of Nature in the heart of a big city.

Midwinter Citrus Sorbet

It's a blessing that, in the middle of the dullest part of winter (no more holidays! boo!), citrus fruits are fresh and plentiful. Here's a wonderfully easy recipe you can make to celebrate this bounty and remind you that sunny days are ahead. (The recipe is at the end of this post.)

Grab some citrus fruits--lemons, limes, tangerines, oranges, or grapefruit--or any combination of these. (You'll need the equivalent of about 4 or 5 lemons' worth.) For this recipe, I used lemons and tangerines.

Bring equal amounts of water and sugar* to a boil on the stove. Remove from the heat and cool (I put the pot in the fridge while going on to the next step.)

Next, grate the rind off the citrus:

Yummy! Fresh citrus zest smells so upbeat. Especially in the middle of winter.

Next, cut the fruits in half and juice them (I use an old-fashioned glass reamer for the job):

Strain the juice through a sieve, stirring gently with a spoon to help move the pulp aside.

Add the zest to the juice:

Give it a stir:

Pour the juice/zest mixture into the cooled sugar water:

Give it a stir again, then turn it into a flat glass baking dish. (Make sure you pick one that fits in your freezer!):

Put the dish in the freezer, and stir up the mixture with a fork every 30 minutes or so to distribute the ice crystals as they form.

In a couple of hours, you will have a beautiful, frozen dessert that is bursting with flavor. (Sorry I forgot to photograph mine before it was devoured by eager guests!) Heap into wine glasses, champagne flutes, or small ramekins and serve immediately.

Citrus Sorbet
Original recipe courtesy of Emeril Lagasse, 2003

Ingredients
1 cup water
1 cup sugar*
1 cup fresh citrus juice (about 4 or 5 lemons, for instance)
1 Tbsp. fresh lemon zest

Instructions
Bring the water and sugar to boil in a small saucepan, remove from the heat, and cool. Stir the juice and zest together. Combine the syrup with the juice/zest mixture; pour into a shallow baking dish (8"x8" or larger). As the mixture freezes, stir it up with a fork every half hour or so until it is entirely crystalline (this might take 3 hours or so).

Store leftovers in a lidded plastic container in the freezer.

*If you don't use any lemons, decrease the sugar by a bit to keep the sorbet from being overly sweet.