Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 50

fall fashion

What does fall mean to me?



New jackets.



Fun sweaters and belts.


My first infinity scarf.
The Night Circus made me do it. I wanted black and white stripes.
And that's also why I wore this outfit today.

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All black and white with one pop of red. In the book, they wear red scarves.But my red scarf isn't here yet,so I wore a striped scarf and a red bracelet.Fashion: IT'S ALL ABOUT LITERACY.

And if I can find the time later,I'll take some pics of my new hats and boots.I never cared about fashion until...oh, about last year.
But now?
I love pretty things.
Having kids taught me to treasure the momentswhen I am entirely myself,without having to plan my wardrobe aroundholding hands, wearing baby carriers, orstuffing my pockets with tissues.
I might even wear a dress today.
Dare me?
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the other kind of cougar + an art crush

biscuit: Mommy?
me: I AM NOT THE MOMMY. I AM A TIGER.
biscuit: You are not!
me: I so am.
biscuit: But you have armpits.
me: Tigers have armpits.
biscuit: But tigers don't have toes!
me: Sure they do.
biscuit: You don't have stripes.
me: Excellent point. I AM A LION.
biscuit: You don't eat those deer-things.
me: You present me with an antelope, a dibatag, an oryx, or a gerenuk, and I WILL SO EAT IT.
biscuit: You don't have a mane.
me: LOOK AT MY LUXURIOUS MANE.
biscuit: YOUR MANE IS BLACK! Lions have yellow manes.
me: Fair point. I AM A BLACK PANTHER.
biscuit: You don't have green eyes.
me: I do so.
biscuit: You don't climb trees.
me: I DO SO.
biscuit: You don't have fur.
me: Check out my arm, dude.
biscuit: (visibly frustrated) MOMMY, YOU ARE NOT A PANTHER.
me: UNTIL YOU CAN PROVE OTHERWISE, I POSIT THAT I AM.
biscuit: UGH. I GIVE UP.
me: YAY! I WIN! I'M A PANTHER!
biscuit: Oh, Mommy. You are *so* weird.
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Also, I have an art crush.
I want this guy to illustrate ALL MY BOOKS.
The paranormal romance about the steampunk Victorian circus caravan?
The middle grade about the all black-and-white world where they have to wear plague masks all the time and are chased by thylacines and eohippi?
The middle grade about the mice that live in the attic and are really people?
All of them. Illustrate ALL OF THEM.
You, sir, are the artist I wish I had been.

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cross your ampersands

Please keep your fingers crossed for me.
I can't tell you why.
But let's just say there are several hints in this picture that you won't understand for at least a few months.
Onward to adventure, my friends!
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an unruly education

Looks like we had lots of similar reactions to Columbus Day yesterday.
Reactions along the lines of WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE and WHAT ARE THEY TEACHING OUR CHILDREN?
Which made me start thinking about banning books and censoring what our children are allowed to read. Banned Book Week was September 24 - October 1, and since most of the people I follow on Twitter are in publishing, it was a big deal. Lots of books that I love have been banned. Harry Potter. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian. The Hunger Games. Twilight. The Golden Compass. Not to mention loads of classics, like The Catcher in the Rye and Bridge to Terabithia, books that helped form me as a person when I was young.
So I thought I would share a few books that changed me.
Milestones in the life of a writer, if you will.
King of the Wind by Margeurite Henry- The first full-length book I read in one sitting in 2nd grade. Significant because I realized I liked books more than most of the kids I knew and that a story was the perfect escape.
Watership Down by Richard Adams - I saw the movie at the video store, and my dad wouldn't rent it because it was "too violent." Mind you, I'd seen JAWS and Piranha!, so I was desperate to know how a cartoon about rabbits could be worse than that. The school librarian wouldn't let me read it, as I was in 3rd grade and it was in the 5th grade section. So I "borrowed" it secretly and returned it when I was done. To this day, it's one of my all-time favorites.
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle - The rest of the class was reading something I'd already read in 5th grade, so the teacher gave me this one, a banned book. I still remember the way I felt when that folded up skirt explained time travel. My little mind was blown. Blown, I say!
Pet Sematary by Stephen King - I remember my mom devouring this book while suntanning in the back yard, and when I asked about it, she told me I couldn't read it. So of course I waited until she was done and secretly borrowed it. I had no idea things like that could be written-- sick, twisted, terrifying. It was delicious. And it gave me nightmares. And I loved it. That was 6th grade.
IT by Stephen King - Same as Pet Sematary. I was 13, and I thought it would be cool. It completely messed me up. I am still terrified of clowns, of rain gutters, of spiders. But as scared as I was, I COULD NOT STOP READING. Even at the time, I was amazed at the power of a story, of a good book.
My daughter saw the movie in Target yesterday and asked me about it, and I said, "It's the scariest thing I've ever seen, and you can't read it until you're at least 13."
Valley of Horses by Jean Auel - My mom gave me Clan of the Cave Bear, which was fascinating. I picked up the sequel at a used book store. I mainly remember reading it in the middle school library, getting to the first... scene... and thinking, OH MY GOD. PEOPLE DO THIS? DO THE LIBRARIANS KNOW I'M READING THIS? HAVE THEY READ IT, TOO? I think the most important issue here is that it was a gentler introduction to sex than the other kids' conversations, than music videos, than movies, than pornography. It was extremely explicit. But the relationship was warm, kind, caring, generous. It was a good way, I think, to learn about such things.
The Awakening by Kate Chopin - I read this in high school and felt like I'd found kinship in a book. And, of all the books I've ever read, it was almost the most damaging, because it gave me dangerous ideas that luckily didn't come to fruition. But do I think it should have been banned? No. No. No. The book wasn't the reason I wanted to kill myself. It just showed me I wasn't alone in feeling hopeless, like an outsider.
Outlander by Diana Gabaldon - One of my best friends and my long-time mentor recommended this one to me, and I thought, "Me? Read romance? HA FREAKIN' HA." But as with so many things, she was spot on. I bought this one in a used book store and read it so fast that I was back there before the doors opened the next day, sleepless and starving for the sequel. Outlander taught me that romance can be more than romance. It can be a gripping, well-written tale rich in historical details. It can be a saga, the story of people we come to deeply care about. Outlander was my gateway into quality romance that's more than romance.
And now, here I am, waiting for my first book to be published next Spring.
My dear hope is that, like Outlander, it's a romance that goes beyond romance, with a story and characters that will appeal to men and women alike. My dearest hope is that WICKED AS THEY COME will touch someone in the way that these books touched me. Not a huge, life-altering change, but maybe it will make someone reconsider the romance or paranormal genres. Or maybe it will provide them the escape they need from the frustrations of everyday life. I'll be happy if it just makes a few people smile.
Maybe, one day, it will even be banned.

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Columbus, shmolombus

biscuit: Mommy, why don't I have school today?
me: I think it's part of a larger plot to drive me crazy.
biscuit: No, really, though?
me: Well, it's Columbus Day.
biscuit: I KNOW THAT GUY. My teacher told us.
me: What did your teacher say?
biscuit: He found something.
me: Eh... not really. See, he lived in Europe, and his king and queen didn't know that there was land on the other side of the ocean. So they sent Columbus over here, and he landed in the place that's now the United States, and he stuck a flag in it and decided he'd discovered it.
biscuit: THAT'S WHAT MY TEACHER SAID!
me: Yeah, but buddy, people already lived here. The Native Americans had been here for thousands of years. They had towns, families, tribes. So is it possible to discover something that's already been discovered?
biscuit: Yes! No! But my teacher said...
me: Your teacher knows a lot of things, but she's not always right. You can't own something that someone else already owns. What if somebody walked into our house right now and said, "I FOUND THIS HOUSE! I OWN IT!"
biscuit: Then daddy would use jiu-jitsu on them?
me: Exactly. We wouldn't say, "Oh, okay. You found our house. You can have it. We'll go somewhere else."
biscuit: But I thought Columbus was good.
me: Eh... I think he thought he was good. But you'll notice there are a lot more white people running around than Native Americans. Columbus wasn't so cool to them.
biscuit: Oh, I REMEMBER them. They're called INDIANS.
me: Eh... let's just call them Native Americans for now, okay?
biscuit: But my teacher said...
me: Your teacher isn't always right. Remember when she told you that you should get her a present because it would be her anniversary if she wasn't divorced?
biscuit: YEAH, WE WERE SUPPOSED TO...
me: No, we weren't. The thing is, there are two sides to every story, and I think Columbus Day is one of the most ridiculous, horrible holidays on the planet. Half the people go to work or school, the other half don't, which means only half the people can do their job. There's no mail, which means my Harry & David gift basket won't be arriving. There's nothing to celebrate. It wasn't a real accomplishment. Or, at least, the accomplishment of sailing across the ocean was canceled out by the genocide. And now they're force-feeding it to you in school, and I have to basically tell you that your school, or your teacher, or your government is lying to you, which is a lot to take in when you're five.
biscuit: Um... so what do we do?
me: We relax and have a nice day off, regardless of why.
biscuit: Okay. I'll put on a dress and draw a heart for you.
me: That will officially make it the BEST COLUMBUS DAY EVAR.
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for the dreamers

Continuing a week where I squeal over things that make me happy,I can't recommend this book highly enough.
It's magical.
Simply magical.
I know I take odious joy in awful movies and frivolous books, but this one is a keeper. Beautiful, lyrical, deep, dreamy, luscious, with just a few token tears at the end.
It's about a magical circus that randomly appears and a star-crossed love that defies logic and reason. I bought it for my Nook, but I'll be buying it in print, too.
Whoever says print is dead couldn't be more wrong.
For something this spectacular, I'm happy to pay twice.
Signed,
a rêveur
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what passion tastes like

The primary reason for my trip to Oregon this past week was to visit the Harry and David factory and learn about what they do, which is grow pears, make candy, and craft gift baskets. But, really, it's so much more than that.
What makes them different is passion.
The man in charge of the candy kitchen isn't a faceless entity. He's Charlie, a 3rd generation chocolatier with a ponytail who has spent the last 30+ years of his life at Harry and David, dreaming up new ways to make sugar special. This is a man who, along with his team, went through over 160 trials before developing the perfect shade of pink on those breast cancer awareness pears up there.
And if you one day order their cashew toffee brittle, you can rest assured that I participated in early stage taste tests. It was fabulous but needed more salt, in my opinion.


One of the most fascinating discoveries for me was that people who work for big companies could still be completely passionate for their work. It's not just the artists and writers and musicians among us, toiling at home alone who feel driven and in love with their jobs. It's Charlie and Tim and Dom and Chrystina and Matt at Harry and David, too.
And they wanted to share their passion with us.
Instead of taking us out to a fancy restaurant, they coordinated an intimate and striking meal in the barrel house of RoxyAnn Winery, another place filled with people passionate about their work. Harry and David's Culinary Director, Tim Urban, made extraordinary sandwiches for us out of local artisanal beef, while Roxy Ann director Michael Donovan paired his favorite RoxyAnn wines with every course, each of which included Harry and David products.


And then there was the Roussanne.
It's not in the picture because I drank it all. Twice.
I've never had Roussanne wine before, but I've never tasted anything like it. Complex, sharp, sweet yet flowery and rich. I inhaled it so often that my seatmates began to laugh at me. The scent and taste were so amazing that it brought my synesthesia out to play, and I tried to describe it as an evening's spring rain dripping down a window onto that light-yellow clover I used to eat as a child.
For as long as I live, I will remember what that wine, what that dinner, made me feel.
Because these people felt passion for their work, I began to feel passion for it, too. Everything I ate and drank that night became a part of my story. The lights twinkling overhead, the smell of wine barrels, the sound of wind outside, plate after plate of amazing food.
We loved the Roussanne so much that even though it's not available for sale, they're going to send us a bottle. And do you know what I'm going to do with mine?
I'm going to invite my friends over for dinner soon, cut up a Harry and David Royal Riviera pear, put out some Rogue River Blue cheese, and break open my bottle of Roussanne.
I want them to feel the passion, too.
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oh, pear.

So... I won't be joining the ranks of the pear-dippers any time soon.
It didn't look so good, but HOLY CRADOODLE, it tasted AMAZING.
I was much better at all the other things we did today.
Sample delicious food at Harry & David? CHECK.
Stop the tour group in order to snap a photo of a painting of two lobsters fighting in Shakespearean kit? CHECK.

Note: LOBSTER HAS AN EYE PATCH.
Ahem.
Take a photo by the pumpkins while hoping that my luggage wasn't lost? CHECK.



Buy a hat, some new perfume, and an AMAZING almond marzipan cupcake from Larry's in Ashland, Oregon? DOUBLE-BILLION-GAZILLION CHECKS.


Have a delightful plane flight discussing books with a bibliophile named Barbara? CHECK.
Bond with a fellow Southerner over the fact that our route through the airport was so oddly deserted that we were waiting to hear either zombies or banjos, then go to Rogue Ales Public House for a kickass Kobe burger? CHECK.

In conclusion:
Absolutely adored everything about this trip from the people to the food to the passion of everyone who works at Harry & David? Want to stay in Oregon for another week? Deeply dig peppermint-covered pretzels?Be super happy?
CHECK.
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adventures in Rogue Valley

I want to remember this.
I know I say that a lot. I know I forget a lot. But I felt things tonight that I want to remember, so I will try to record them to the best of my deeply flawed ability.
1. I actually look like a grown-up sometimes. I felt like I was masquerading as a journalist today, but it turns out I actually *am* a journalist. I can legally call myself a writer. It takes a surprising amount of effort to remember I'm technically a grown-up.


2. Oregon is beautiful. Orchards are beautiful. Pears, dammit, are beautiful. And that piece of fruit, that simple pear, is a complex marvel. There is a man awakened at 2 in the morning who drives 20 miles to the orchard and sets fire to hundreds of smudge pots, just to make sure your pear doesn't die on the vine. There are fences set up to keep elks from tenderly lipping that pear off the tree.
That pear, friends, is a work of art.


3. Sometimes, I pretend to eat your oh-so-holy pear. So there.


4. There's also a barn. It is very pretty. On one side, there is a pear orchard. On another side, there is a plot of medical marijuana guarded by a stoned-looking dog. On another side is a boat, and beside the boat is a chicken coop, and chickens, and they're all standing under a pink umbrella. And that, too, is beautiful.


5. Sometimes, dinner is more than food. Sometimes, food is a gift.
Tonight, I tasted so many amazing things that my synapses feel like they're braided, curled and twined as intricately as honeysuckle. The red cow beef sandwiches and Roussanne, the cheese and cinnamon bread and rich, red wine. The smell of the air among the wine casks, the lights twinkling overhead. Talking to a third generation chocolatier who once lived in a teepee for two years. Discovering port for the first time and trying to put into words why it made me think of the soft, tender ears of puppies.
Ye gods, what a gift. Just having the time to experience such a thing. I am humbled.
And grateful.


6. Also, sometimes pears grow as big as a human head.
And then they are called FRANKENPEARS. And they look like this.


7. Lastly, I made my own gift basket.
I think it's important, to give gifts to yourself. And I can't wait to tear into my goodies when I'm back home, hundreds of miles away from the magic of Oregon and Harry and David


These trips are a gift. To myself, from myself, from circumstance, from the people who come together to make it possible, my husband and parents and all the strangers who become friends on a tour bus. Traveling and trying new things makes me feel so alive, so young, so invigorated. I find myself fascinated with things I'd never imagined before, with questions on bees and kaolin and popcorn varietals and wine casks. I find myself waking up, wanting to learn and soak up knowledge.
And then, sometimes I find myself half-drunk and smelling of skunk at 9:56 Pacific time, deeply grateful for everything. I look at pictures of my children and smile, thankful to my core for my family and also for the chance to remain a separate being.
This, this, this, always. Skunk smell and all.

could you be more pacific?

Guys, I'm in the Pacific Northwest for the first time in my life, and even though I haven't left the hotel room yet, IT IS AWESOME.
I didn't do much traveling as a kid, but today, I flew all the way across our country, and I saw many fascinating things that, frankly, bored the crap out of me in school. But I admit it: geography is kind of cool, when you're experiencing it firsthand.
First there were the fields. Seen from the sky, they're pure art.
And every now and then, I saw one that looked like Pac-Man.


And then we moved into the mountains.
Not piddly, "rather a large rock" mountains like we have in Georgia. Big mountains. Rocky mountains. Manly mountains. Mountains that look like Mother Nature's unfolded laundry.



Next up, there were strange marshes that made me think of the Neverending Story, before Artax gave up and I started to cry like a little girl. They looked so untouched, so pure. I can't believe I got all geogra-swoony over a little ol' swamp. But it was so pretty. The guy in the seat next to mine probably thought I was a moron.



And then came the most mysterious sight of all.
I couldn't figure out what they were. But they were beautiful.



"What is that?" I asked myself. "Sand? Cotton? Desert?"
So I looked at the little in-flight map.
And I pushed my stewardess button, because I am a brazenly curious girl.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask, "What are those large, white, water things near Salt Lake City?", I abruptly smacked myself in the face and asked her a question about my luggage instead.
Because I swear to gosh, guys. I AM SMART.
Let's just say that I was very impressed with the salt lakes around that city.
Ahem.
But what was the most beautiful sight of all?

The lovely gift basket from Harry and David, because after traveling since 5am on nothing more than a donut and some coffee, I was starving.
Let me tell you, guys. Moose Munch? THE HYPE IS TRUE.
I can't stop eating it.
The pears are also quite nice.

So that's today's installment of Unruly Adventures.reported to you live from Oregon while eating Dark Chocolate Moose Munch out of a bathtub.
Tomorrow: Visiting the Harry and David pear orchards and Moose Munch factoryon behalf of Cool Mom Picks, because my bosses are really awesome.
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