Short report, it seems: I steered clear of thrift this month, with the exception of one green-and-white safari-looking camp shirt from the Village of Value, in honor of our anniversary excursion to the San Juans, and in honor of camp shirts, really — who doesn’t love ‘em? In addition, my Mommo second-lifed a cropped, bright-bright teal jacket which I attempted to wrest from her in July along with the other round of handmedowns. She’s good people, Ma Mère.

As we roll into fall (it starts early here in the Northwest), and as I see all of those gorgeous mustards and burnt oranges and rich reds and blues parade down the runways, e.g. at Marc Jacobs (may I invoke the vernacular OMG here?):

I’m hoping I have the wherewithal to resist letting Pantone (and Marcky-Marc) dictate my wardrobe.

But I’d look so lovely in burnt orange. And rich red. Even mustard, as long as it isn’t too close to my kisser.

Four months left. Four months left. Four months left.

More, More, More Year of No New Threads:

The Pledge1 Mo. Down2 Mos. Down3 Mos. Down4 Mos. Down5 Mos. Down6 Mos. Down7 Mos. Down

How Now, Mignon Cow?

August 27, 2008

You’re a green eater. You buy local beets, local honey, local babka. Now, take the local food moovement one step further with your own miniature cow! Via London’s Times Online:

For between £200 and £2,000, people can buy a cow that stands no taller than a large German shepherd dog, gives 16 pints of milk a day that can be drunk unpasteurised, keeps the grass “mown” and will be a family pet for years before ending up in the freezer.

The Dexter, a cow that originated as a “cottager’s cow” in south Ireland in the 1800s, is twitterpating both city slickers and small ranchers alike, according to the Dexter Cattle Society: UK registrations of these bantam bovines have doubled in the past eight years.

Seems reasonable to me; not only do the cows crop the grass (goodbye, gas-powered mower!), they provide backyard-local dairy and, for the carnivores, a fine flank steak. While I’m not sure that in-city cattle farming is legal in Seattle — what with the methane and the lowing and (ahem) cow pies — I’m all for sustainability. Plus, with a herd of tiny kine, I could re-enact Lonesome Dove on a Living Small scale. Cattle drive, anyone?

Need an slick space to store your syrah, Captain Smooth? Look no further than this multifunctional piece for the art-loving, small-space-living vinophile: A convertible mini bar/side table from the MoMA Store. Okay, so this is a bit chichi, but I’m all for double-duty furnishings like this; plus, the dollars (450 of them, to be exact) support art. Good for the community. Good for the space. Good for the soul (and for the social hour).

This weekend, I mourned the years-past requisition of our record player to its lawful owners, my parents. The Living Small house is an iPod-only establishment — yes, easy on the small space (no CDs or albums to store), but a little less cush, perhaps. Records have history, and for this little Smaller, history = bonus points for both the second use and the ramifications thereof. (Liza Minelli could have touched this copy of the Cabaret soundtrack!) Sure, I could grab Liza’s belt-tastic “Maybe This Time” from iTunes. But where’s the retro fun in that?

So, today’s big Small query: Where can I get a tiny turntable? I’ve got a brick of unused 33’s loafing in my (parents’) closet. Things like Maria Muldaur and Blood on the Tracks and Zither Extravaganza! (which iTunes doesn’t have, by the way. What gives, Steve Jobs?). Not good, not good, right, clutter busters? If I’m not listening to them, and Moms and Daddy aren’t — they aren’t really zither people — shouldn’t they either get moving or get grooving? This is my Hobson’s choice: find a small-space player and devise some record storage, or let the other bizarre instrument lovers in the world get their zith on.

I choose bite-sized record player. Or, if I were flush, a vintage bubble from Electrohome, shown here in vegan cookbook author Sarah Kramer‘s awesome Vancouver home:

Any resources you can recommend for baby tables? Your attic, maybe?

Moreoever, how do you listen to your music? Are you iPod’ed out, just like us? Still listening to LP’s? A bit of both? Let’s hear it — preferably in high fidelity.

Adorable edibles alert, thanks to the eagle eye of the Living Small Mom: personal pies baked in canning jars, via Not Martha, a fellow Seattleite who likes to “make things.” Here’s what you need:

  • Standard issue, wide-mouth canning jars. Not Martha proprietor Megan used 4 oz. quilted can-or-freeze Kerr jars.
  • Pie dough. Mr. Living Small is the Pieman in our house; he prefers Cook’s Illustrated‘s vodka pie dough recipe, available here at Smitten Kitchen.
  • Pie filling. Canned or homemade. Whatev.

All you gotta do is assemble the pie (see Not Martha’s post for errata), cap ‘n’ freeze, and then thaw and bake right in the jar when you start jonesing for a mini-treat. Simple Simon! Easy as … pie, in fact.

Next on the list (heads up, The Choir): bacon cups. Do you think I can make these with veggie Bacon?

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