Magpie's Page

My bag is packed.

I've been reading posts hither and yon, along the lines of "you'll know me by my smile/pump/laugh" or "I'll be the one burping/gesticulating/sweating". And one that scared me - apparently there's a secret handshake.

The Aussie Chick is ready to go. I've got my cards (they match my new header). I know where I'm staying (not at the Westin). I think I know how to get to the conference. My iPod is loaded, and I've got stuff to read on the plane(s).

I am, however, a bundle of nerves. What possessed me to do this? Why on earth am I going to a conference about blogging? Do I really have to worry about my shoes? Oy.

And, even though it's a blogging conference, I think I'm going to leave my laptop home. So, see you on Monday, unless I start emailing posts under the influence.

Not so long ago, I read a column by Libby Gruner about books for babies. She wrote eloquently about picking books as a gift for a friend's new baby, and about the deeply ingrained memories that each fondled book recalls. When you've read something over and over to your own child, the words sear themselves into your brain, while your hands recall the very shape and heft and texture of the book itself.

At the grand old age of four and two-thirds, Miss M. is largely past the board book stage, though a few creep out from time to time. Her bookshelves were overflowing and it was time for a culling, time to make room for new books. For lack of a better way to begin, I took out all the baby board books and put them aside. But while I was doing it, I had to make a separate pile for the Margaret Wise Brown books were talking to me.

We've got six. Some are new copies, given to Miss M. over the past few years. A couple are "Little Golden Book" editions from my childhood. Another came from eBay. I could read them all, each and every night.

There's a calm poetry to her books, with idiosyncratic repetition and alliteration amid the prose. Phrases like "wild green world" and "purple as violets / purple as plums / purple as shadows on late afternoons" and "the sun went down beyond the river / the sky grew wild and red" and "and in all that brown, the sun went down" get repeated or paralleled. The words demand a soothing tone of voice, a slow cadence, just right for the wind-down before bed, "in the big red barn / in the dark night sky".

I can't bear to put them away. It would be too sharp a sign that my baby's no longer a baby.

When Noble Pig decides to host a potato Ho-Down, and I have potatoes in the kitchen and herbs coming out my ears, all begging to be made into herby, tangy potato salad, I can't help but climb on the potato Ho wagon, even though my Ho name is so not a good Ho name. Whatever. This is the best potato salad ever.

The thing is, you can use whatever fresh herbs you have, and whatever onion/garlic family member floats your boat. I had parsley, basil and scallions from the CSA (on the right), a bag of freshly dug new potatoes from a farm stand, and thyme, sage, tarragon and oregano in my garden (on the left). I also had some cilantro from the CSA - but I was making this to eat with my mother, who is in the cilantro-tastes-like-soap camp, so I left it out.

I washed enough potatoes for two people, and cut them in half, mostly so they'd cook a little quicker. I dropped them into nicely salted boiling water. When they were done (stick 'em with a fork), I drained them and dumped a bowl of ice cubes on top of the cooling potatoes, still in the colander. Then I sliced the scallions and minced up all the herbs together. All the greenery went into a bowl. I then whacked the now room-temperature potatoes up into cubes and dumped them in the bowl. Everything got dressed with salt, pepper, a couple of tablespoons of olive oil and a couple of tablespoons of red wine vinegar. Bang zoom, you're done.

Yes, Virginia, there is no mayonnaise. If you wanted to be fancy, you could whip up a nice emulsified vinaigrette instead of just splashing in the oil and vinegar. If you have no tarragon, so what? If you have red onion in lieu of scallions, sure - use some. Really, it's the easiest thing ever, and probably the most forgiving. And, did I mention that it has no mayonnaise?

I keep mentioning the mayonnaise because I loathe mayonnaise (even though I think I should like it, and I keep trying it because I think I should like it). But mainly because the lack of mayonnaise means that it's a good potato salad to make in enormous quantities for a big summer party, like W. and I did for our wedding thirteen years ago.

Do you really want to know my (first pet/middle name) Ho name? Schwartz Catherine. It's a good thing I'm not walking the streets.

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There'll be a Potato Ho-Down round-up at Noble Pig on July 16th...plan to go visit!

Is there anything better than watching your kid run around at dusk catching fireflies? Oh maybe if she's wearing a pair of sailor suit pajamas that were her uncle's some forty years ago.

She was actually really good at it.

The newsletter from my CSA this week included a recipe from one of my favorite cooking blogs.

And the Times ran a front page story about community supported agriculture.

And while my CSA wasn't in the Times article, my sister's was. And the farmer at her CSA is married to the daughter of my high school flute teacher.

It's a small world.