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Yep, it’s a tiny bowl filled with tiny pine cones (seriously, they’re each approximately the size of a fingertip).

I felt compelled to pick hundreds and scatter them across the mantel. Instead, I gathered five and left the rest for squirrels to throw at one another (that’s what I like to think squirrels do on their days off).

This is the last Wrangler jacket that my grandfather ever wore. (He bought a new one every year or two since, as you can see, he wore the threads off of them.) It was really the only thing I wanted after he died.

I have trouble picturing him in my head without a threadbare blue jacket.

Although he obviously took it off every once in a while.

It makes me happy to see it hanging in the closet. It makes me happier to slip it on, noting that it’s too big for me, but not THAT big, and sort of regretting that it’s so squeaky clean. (Historically, the blue denim jacket had any number of stains on it, mostly consisting of, but not necessarily limited to, mud and tractor grease.)

I think I love this jacket so much because it holds absolutely no value for most other people. It’s torn and faded, and offers little protection against the cold.

It offers nothing but memories.

Don’t let other people choose your heirlooms for you. You may be surprised how much the most ridiculous things will mean to you in the long run.

The lesson from my previous post was that you don’t necessarily have to hold on to things to hold on to memories. A refinement to that lesson: The fewer things from the past you hold on to, the more accessible memories will be.

Some lessons bear repeating.

During a visit with my mom in August, I “rescued” an old jewelry box from her Goodwill bag. I really have no idea how long she’s owned it, but she’s had it for at least as long as she’s had me.

I had plans to do a little renovation (the top arch is hinged and is constantly falling over, which seems to be a constant reminder that it really doesn’t belong there) and maybe repaint the boring brown wood a more exciting color.

I embarked on my last semester of graduate school a week after I returned to Huntsville, and haven’t had time to give the jewelry box much thought.

It hit me last week: I don’t love this item. I love the memories associated with it. When I was growing up, it was a permanent accessory on Mom’s dresser, and each drawer held a different treasure. A tiny gold bracelet that belonged to me when I was a baby. A large, exotic cameo pin. Mom’s class ring.

It was a mysterious treasure chest filled with things I didn’t get to see every day.

Without those items, indeed, without those MOMENTS, it’s just a big wooden box. I don’t even have a good place to put it, much less things to put in it.

Higher purpose time: One of my favorite local animal rescue groups, A New Leash on Life, recently donated $10,000 to Huntsville’s low-income spay/neuter program. The organization’s thrift store, called Market Place, made this donation possible. People donating their gently used goods make the Market Place possible.

As for Mom, she would much rather see her jewelry box sold to help animals than for it to linger on my closet shelf.

And the lesson repeated? Don’t think you have to hold on to things to hold on to memories.

Fall brings open windows and interesting scents.

What’s within two hours of Huntsville and is so much fun that I forgot to take any pictures except for this one shot, complete with a thumb in the viewfinder?

Arrington Vineyards, just south of Nashville. The husband and I met a group of friends there on a recent Friday, and great fun ensued.

After a complimentary wine tasting, during which we each got to choose six wines to sample, we gathered on the patio for a picnic lunch, wine and brilliant conversation. Gloomy Bear, pictured above, even got in on the action.

I understand that the place is ridiculously crowded on weekends, so it’s probably worth your time to take a weekday off for the journey. Definitely bring a picnic, a mascot and a group of hilarious friends, and appoint one of them as designated driver.

And whatever you do, have some blueberry wine. It’ll make any day taste like spring.

The downfall of my attempt to make Lemon Blueberry Cheesecake Cookies? Frozen blueberries.

And when I say downfall, I don’t mean that they were inedible. On the contrary, they were delicious, with a cake-like consistency that made them very much like tiny, round blueberry muffins.

The recipe didn’t specify whether to use fresh or frozen blueberries, but I’m pretty sure fresh blueberries would have held up better. I added the blueberries while they were still frozen, so they held up well during the mixing process. No matter how careful I was when I rolled the dough into balls, however, I inevitably broke a blueberry, resulting in a slippery, slimy ball of dough.

Next time, I think I’ll leave the blueberries out of the dough entirely, and then mash a couple of frozen blueberries into each ball of dough before baking. Mushy problem solved.

Asking me to name my favorite ANYTHING is a lesson in frustration.

Favorite color? Dark green. Or maybe light orange. Light green. Maybe the orange on my edition of The Chicago Manual of Style? Possibly peach.

Favorite song? Whatever I just listened to without skipping.

Favorite movie? Whatever I just watched without mockery.

Favorite TV show? Sons of Anarchy. Or Breaking Bad. Possibly Buffy the Vampire Slayer if we’re talking all-time favorites.

It depends.

Favorite part of Huntsville? Please. It SO depends.

But the Rocket City Bloggers want to know for their latest Blog Carnival, so here goes:

  • I love the fact that so many people in Huntsville get outside and exercise. Seriously, I moved up here one January when the temps were hovering in the upper teens, yet when I looked out my kitchen window every morning I saw JOGGERS. At 7 a.m. With DOGS.
  • SO many people are serious about food discussions here. I can chat about quinoa, cupcakes and pit barbecue without skipping a beat. People love to talk about what they’re cooking and what they’re planning to cook after that — it’s like Louisiana without Tabasco sauce. Except sometimes there IS Tabasco sauce. And restaurant rumors abound.
  • Ditto for cocktails. You folks know your brews and your liquors.
  • Huntsville’s nerdery knows no bounds. It’s not enough that the space program originated here. No. The first party the husband and I attended featured a Rubik’s Cube-solving contest. I can walk into any room and discuss the intricacies of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica or Jaws. Several people in any setting will understand one of these utterances: “10 points for Gryffindor” or “Roll for damage.”
  • There’s so much green space up here. And mountains. (Smallish mountains, but still.) And caves.

Now, I have some cooking to plan and a cocktail to make before I discuss my horrible movie-nerd crush on Duncan Jones. Who wants in on that?

Poor Franz. He’s been stuck in 1980s beige and gold ever since I rescued him at an estate sale a few years ago.

One trip to Michael’s and $9 later, he’s looking tres dramatique in black and white.

I love cheese. I love cheese balls. I do not love the awkwardness involved in slicing off a small, bite-sized piece from a large, cold, hard-to-carve cheese ball.

Problems, problems. I know.

Anyway. If there’s anything I love better than plain old cheese, it’s goat cheese, so when I saw this recipe for Goat Cheese Pops with Herbs, Pecans and Bacon on Pinterest, I knew I had found a new culinary mission. Luckily, two events popped up on my social calendar this weekend, giving me an excuse to make a fancy cheese dish.

I did not put my goat cheese balls on lollipop sticks, so I can’t technically call them goat cheese pops. I also neglected to serve them with apple slices, since apple slices start turning brown the second you grab the paring knife and the parties I was supplying snacks for both had a relaxed buffet-type thing going on, meaning everything had to be stable at room temperature for a couple of hours.

Besides, every other apple I buy, any time of the year, turns out mushy and halfway tasteless.

If I make these again, I’ll probably use more goat cheese than cream cheese (the recipe linked above uses a 1:1 ratio of goat cheese to cream cheese — I’ll probably make that a 2:1 or even 3:1). The cream cheese probably helps with the consistency, but I think it also slightly masks the tangy flavor of the goat cheese.

I wish the weeping willow wasn’t notorious for invading sewer pipes. I would love for my back yard to be covered with this gorgeous canopy.