Then the other day, a friend brought me a bunch of carrots from the market that made me swoon as if they were roses — or even my favorite, peonies. Seriously! These weren't just any carrots: They were a rainbow of carrots, from deepest ruby red to creamy yellow, with every shade of orange in between. They had in their favor the surprise factor (I'd never seen such carrots!) and the fact that they happened to be variations on my favorite color. Their flourish of leafy greens didn't hurt, either. Those carrots plumb made me happy.

 

And those carrots got me thinking... what would happen if I opened my eyes and heart to other unexpected "bouquets" that might be waiting to be stumbled on in a given day?

 

 

It’s a mishmash of photos, postcards, kids’ artwork, buttons and other random bits that have caught my eye. I’ve always kept a board like that. As I tack things up over time, it becomes less cork and more mirror, a reflection of the gal sticking in all those pushpins.

 

Want to know what it told me today?

 

 

"Granola" seems to carry as many connotations as a bowl of it has ingredients – few of them having to do with breakfast. (Didn't Birkenstocks and Berkeley politics cross your mind?)

 

I don't know how the world's best cereal became the icon of a lifestyle, because any of us can enjoy this hug in a bowl. The word, for me, conjures up wooden spoons, thick crockery, pure whole ingredients, and home — and when made from scratch, a satisfying sense of accomplishment. Even a non-Julia Child like me, an Aga wannabe with a suburban stovetop oven – can create a batch of homemade granola worth yumming over. And it's easy. Come watch!

 

 

 

Two recent discussions have reminded me how much our attitude influences our quality of life. Unlike circumstance and hard knocks – things you can't always change — attitude is something we get to pick. It's the place on the self-tuner where we choose to set our emotional dial. (Hmmm, will I pick wallow-on-the-floor-in-a-pity-party-for-one today? Or will I put my energy toward counting blessings and getting the laundry done?)

 

One of my recent attitude-bending conversations was with my sister-in-law, a woman who should know something about stress. Her six kids fall between ages 4 and 13 (all hers by birth, btw, and every single darn one of them entering this world between 10 and 11 pounds!). Her 80-something parents live in a wing my brother built onto their house for them.

 

Until shortly before he died last year, Laura (that's her below) had my dad living in her house, too, in her former reading nook, a room she gave up so my brother could convert it into a main-floor bedroom for Dad. (Even more generously, she gave up her pantry so he could turn the space into a shower in the adjacent bathroom.) And did I mention the two dogs? Two cats? The garden? The part-time job as the church pianist? The nightly cooking for 10? Like I said, she knows from stress.

 

 

Anyway, Laura (who is as cheerful and calm as they come) told me her new motto is...

 

 

Anna Quindlen famously wrote how her fellow teenagers, circa 1964, were divided among "Paul girls," "John girls," "George girls," or "Ringo girls." The four "Bonanza" stars didn't define and consume my adolescence the way the Beatles did hers, not least because by the time I discovered the show, it was already just in endless re-runs. But among its loyal fans in any year – and I suspect there are fresh ones hatching — there's one Cartwright for whom your heart beats faster during the rotating horseback cameos in the opening credits. You're an Adam girl, a Little Joe girl, a Hoss girl, or a Pa girl.

 

Joe girls – the biggest group – are the ones who like ‘em cute and flirtatious, usually because they're cute and flirtatious themselves. Hoss girls tend to be bold renegades making a statement (it's the equivalent of the "Ringo" pick). Pa girls are mostly grandmothers (mine, for instance).

 

We Adam girls are different. We long for...

 

 

Entirely of potholders.

 

Not the comfy-coziest of quilt materials, I admit. But here's the more specific reason I love it: The amazing variety of potholder patterns I came up with for the squares. A bag of raw material, time to tinker, the courage to try, allowing yourself the freedom to make mistakes, and voila! Possibility! No such thing as one kind of potholder. Looking at things in new ways is the best kind of momentum I know.

 

 

For example:

 

I'm writing this looking at a lovely teapot on my desk. I own an inordinate number of pots and pitchers. I've always been drawn to them. I never understood why. After all, you can only use so many pitchers in an everyday kitchen. It's not like I have to haul water or keep one handy at every washbasin, for example.

 

Partly, pitchers and teapots are farmgirly icons: Utilitarian, comforting in their  roundness, often pretty, too. But I now think I'm also drawn to the concept of a pitcher: You fill it up, pour it out, and repeat as needed. It's versatile: Tea, water, juice, syrup, cinnamon sticks, bread sticks, a cheering bunch of flowers, a thought-provoking spray of branches. Pitchers brim with the potential of what might come next.

 

 

That's my interpretation, anyway, and I'm sticking with it. And I know something of both pitchers and transitions. Here's what's happened, oh, just this past year, for instance:

 

A couple of posts ago I wrote about Christmas decorations. Last night we trimmed the tree! Almost every ornament is handmade by 1) These amazing women in my family, 2) My kids (I once wrote a column in praise of clever teachers, Brownie leaders, and Sunday school teachers and the wonderful ornament crafts they think up!) or 3) Other craftspeople (whose ornaments I've bought as souvenirs or received as gifts).

 

Uh, notice my own name is absent from that list?! I can't make anything! How is it that some people just miss out on the crafty gene?

 

 

Yep, dolls!

 

Admittedly it's not the kind of gift you can give everybody (or most anybody!) on your list. And — big sigh —  my three girls are outgrowing their doll years. But when you have the right recipient, and (this is key) you're a "doll girl" yourself, like me – why there's nothing more fun to give.

 

Dolls can be so much to a girl: Confidant, role model, co-conspirator, pal, loved one to nurture, loved one to nurture you. It's a real shame kids think they want to abandon them earlier and earlier.

 

 

(Hard to imagine there are any farmgirls out there who go for an artificial tree — are there??)

 

Welcome to December, that season I wait all year for… yet which inevitably sneaks up on me way too suddenly, just the same. There I was, perfectly content in the whole cornucopias-and-crunchy-leaves groove of the last holiday when, overnight, my pumpkin-and-brown color scheme is all wrong wrong wrong!

 

When do you typically make the pilgrims-to-Santas switch?