Stacks and Serendipity: A Love Letter to the Library

 

Some people when they chose to retire, they start to paint.  When my dad retired, he became a thespian. He started to perform in local shows and had a blast doing it. He also became a DJ for his community radio station.

My mom and dad were also great advocates of literacy and reading.  My mom was a volunteer in the NYC Library who worked with children on their reading skills.  Both of them volunteered at a NJ elementary school to help children to read.  They made it fun and and from all accounts, were popular with the young children.

Not only did they help with reading skills they were themselves avid readers and that carried over to my entire immediate family.  After sharing dinner together, all of us would disappear to our favorite corner of the house.  My Mom and Dad could be found in the family room, Dad on his favorite chair, my Mom on the couch.  My Grandmother would read at the kitchen table.  My brother and I would be up in our respective rooms.

There were no eBooks back then. We had physical books that we generally picked up every other week from the library.  The library was one of my favorite destinations. There’s a particular hush in a library that feels sacred—not silent, but expectant. It’s the sound of possibility of stories waiting to be found. Of minds lingering in quiet communication with words.

I’ve always loved old things, and the library is full of them, books with softened spines, faded checkout cards, and the scent of paper that’s lived a life.  You go in looking for one thing and leave with three others you didn’t know you needed.

To this day the library is one of my favorite places to go. Sometimes I wander the stacks without a plan, letting titles call to me like old friends. A novel with a cover that reminds me of a book I once loved. Cookbooks where I find ideas for meal planning or Do Dad Dinners.

The Monroe Township Library meant so much to my parents—they were regulars, familiar faces in every corner. At one point, the library even asked them to make a PSA. I hadn’t watched it in years but revisiting it now felt like opening a time capsule. I wanted to share it with you—not because it’s polished or profound, but because it’s joyful. Here is the link Monroe township library. I thought I would share it with you. Another example of my Dad expressing his thespian side.

I also want to recommend a book that I enjoyed, The Library, by Susan Orleans a captivating blend of true crime, history, and personal reflection that centers around the devastating 1986 fire at the Los Angeles Central Library. I found it to be a love letter to libraries and to the people who keep them alive.

Holiday Hosting Hack: The Pull-Apart Pie

 

As the holiday season approaches, so does the art (and occasional chaos) of entertaining. Of course, we all want to please our guests—but dessert? That’s where things get tricky.

Why dessert? Because Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners tend to follow tradition: turkey, ham, maybe a roast. Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, sweet potatoes—the usual suspects. But dessert? That’s a whole different story. Especially when it comes to pie.

Let’s set aside sweet potato and pumpkin for a moment. I’m talking fruit pie. I love apple. But half my relatives swear by blueberry. So, I find myself in a pie-based moral dilemma: I’m making dinner, so shouldn’t I choose apple? But then I think, all the Smiths and Youngs love blueberry, and I want to be a good host.

Enter a brilliant idea I discovered thanks to Delish: the Pull-Apart Pie. It’s genius. You make (or buy) multiple pie fillings, create open pockets with pie crust, bake, and you’ve got a pie sampler. Everyone gets the flavor they love, and I don’t end up with three half-eaten pies lingering in the fridge.

It’s festive, flexible, and solves the great pie debate with style. Honestly, it might become my new tradition.

Here is the link for pull-apart pie

In Pursuit of the Perfect Croque

Croque Monsieur served at Land & Monkey Turenne in the Marais arr.

There’s a well-known line: “Man shall not live by bread alone.” It’s a partial quote from the Bible, appearing in both the Old and New Testaments. Bread, in this context, symbolizes the essentials—food, shelter, money, the things that keep us alive. While the statement carries deep spiritual meaning, I’m taking it quite literally here. And I’d like to amend it slightly: Women shall not live by bread alone, either.

That said, I’m perfectly happy to eat bread alone. There’s nothing quite like a fresh, crusty piece—warm from the oven, golden at the edges, and fragrant enough to stop conversation mid-sentence. But what elevates this already delicious staple to something truly sublime? Cheese.

Recently, I traveled to Paris. Yes, I wandered the charming streets, admired the architecture, and soaked in the beauty of the city—but I also had a mission: to find the perfect croque monsieur, France’s answer to grilled cheese. It’s a glorious union of bread, cheese, and ham, often topped with béchamel and broiled to a bubbling finish. A sandwich, yes—but also a statement. Proof that bread alone may sustain, but bread with cheese? That’s living.

I know I have previously spoken about favorite sandwiches, one being the reuben.  But I think the grilled cheese will always hold the number 1 place in my heart.

The Perfect Croque Monsieur

This French bistro favorite is elegant comfort food, with layers of richness and a crisp, golden finish:

• Bread: Sturdy white bread—soft but strong enough to hold the fillings.
• Ham: High-quality, thinly sliced cooked ham—Jambon de Paris is the gold standard.
• Gruyère Cheese: Nutty, melty, and deeply flavorful. Often used both inside and on top but feel free to change it to something else.   Just make sure the cheese melts well so the sandwich is ooey gooey.
• Béchamel Sauce: The creamy crown jewel. Made with butter, flour, milk, and a touch of nutmeg and white pepper. Some recipes melt Gruyère into the sauce for extra decadence.
• Dijon Mustard (optional but magical): A whisper of sharpness inside the sandwich to cut through the richness. I personally omit the mustard.  I am not fond of the taste of it.
• Butter: For toasting the bread to a golden crisp, like a French grilled cheese with a PhD.

Just a small tip: Spread béchamel on top of the sandwich before broiling—it creates a bubbly; golden crust that’s pure joy.

I am still on my quest for a good croque monsieur.  I will keep you posted!

And by the way, tell me if you have ever eaten a croque monsieur and your opinion of it.

Ghosts, Gourds, and the Glow of October

 

The tradition of decorating for Halloween started a very long time ago. Halloween decorating began as a way to ward off spirits during ancient Celtic festivals and evolved into a playful, spooky tradition in 20th-century America. By the early 20th century, there was a shift from Halloween being a solemn, spiritual observance to a community-centered celebration. Our neighborhoods in North Carolina have many who love decorating homes with jack-o’-lanterns, ghosts, skeletons, and witches.

The Mint Hill area is no exception.  Check out this short video

Witches, Vampires, and Long Drives: My Audiobook Ritual

Once again, I found myself facing a long drive. Without satellite radio, I’m at the mercy of local stations that fade in and out as I cross state lines. To pass the time—and preserve my sanity—I’ve turned to audiobooks. What a lifesaver.

On a recent hunt for something new, I ran my hand along a shelf of audiobooks and stopped on A Discovery of Witches. Coincidence? I think not. It did make me wonder: why am I so drawn to books about witches and vampires?

One of my recent blog posts was on The Lace Reader—if you haven’t seen it yet, go take a look. I also just finished Nora Roberts’ Morrigan Trilogy, which, yes, features witches and vampires again. Maybe it’s the lingering hype from the Twilight saga (though I’m thoroughly over the whole KPat drama). I was never a big fan of Cedric from Harry Potter—though I’ll admit I was a little sad when he got snuffed out—and Kristen Stewart always struck me as a bit gloomy. Or maybe I’m just naturally drawn to the genre, especially since I have a few Wiccan acquaintances.

A Discovery of Witches suggests that humans aren’t alone. Witches, vampires, and demons walk among us. The story begins when Diana Bishop, a scholar researching alchemy, calls up a long-lost, bewitched manuscript at Oxford’s Bodleian Library. No one has seen it for centuries—and its reappearance stirs things up. A lot.

This book is fun and engaging, especially this time of year when life gets busy and you crave something immersive but not too heavy. Just a heads-up: it’s part of a trilogy. I’m currently reading the second book (Shadow of Night) and will keep you posted.

Appraised and Adored--Antique Roadshow

 

Chas Parker Coffee Grinder from 1890's

I love old things. Visiting places like Monticello and Williamsburg gives me a thrill. Why?  Because I   can't help but image all the people who once lived in the houses, ate at the taverns and built our government in buildings.  It’s almost as if I feel their presence—ghosts of history lingering in the woodwork, walking the halls and whispers in the walls.

That’s why I adore watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. According to the producers, most guests choose to hold onto their treasures, which makes perfect sense to me. The items that appear on the show are often steeped in family history—objects that have lived in homes, witnessed holidays, and quietly absorbed generations of stories.

It must be thrilling to learn that something you saw every time you visited your grandparents—maybe a vase on the mantel or a painting in the hallway—is not only meaningful but valuable. Then it passes to your parents, and you see it even more often. One day, your mom asks if you’d like to have it, and you don’t hesitate: “Of course.” Imagine taking it to Antiques Roadshow and hearing an appraiser say that this piece of your personal history is worth a small fortune. Would you give it up? I wouldn’t. I’d enjoy it for as long as I could and only consider selling it if my daughter said, “There’s no way I want to keep it.”

I have several pieces I’d be hard-pressed to part with—even if they turned out to be worth a lot of money. Most likely they’re not, but you never know. My aunt and uncle, and my mom and dad, were big antique people. I caught the bug from them. And now, every time I walk past a piece with a story, I try to picture them and their story.

I'd really love to know if you are a more modern style person or do you go for vintage?

A Porch, a Book, and the Quiet Joy of Raindrops

 

It’s Monday, and at last, we’re getting some much-needed rain. I must admit—I don’t just like a good rain, I love it. There’s something oddly satisfying about sitting on my glassed-in porch, watching the raindrops fall like its nature’s version of reality TV.

Most people worship the sun like it’s their personal life coach. But me? I’m perfectly content with a moody sky and a cup of something warm.

Rain doesn’t ask for cheerfulness. It grants permission to feel a little foggy, a little soft around the edges. It’s the kind of weather that lets you be quiet without apology, reflective without explanation. And if a few tears slip out? No one can tell—it’s just good camouflage.

So, if you’re wondering where I am, you’ll find me on my back porch, wrapped in the hush of falling rain, warm drink in hand, lost in a good book.