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June 16, 2013

Day 204: He’ll Make it if it Starts with “P”

As part of my job, I occasionally blog for ShopPerk, an app created to help people shop smarter and live better. While the app is in development, the food blog is in full swing.

Earlier this week, I wrote an ode to my Dad and “P” foods. In honor of Father’s Day, it’s reposted below.

(And Dad, thank you for being such a good sport about seeing your private email conversation posted on a public blog. I learned my good-sportedness from you).

He’ll Make it if it Starts With “P”

My dad is really good at making pancakes. Pancakes with bananas, pancakes with blueberries, pancakes with chocolate chips—you get the picture.

Actual picture from Betty Crocker.

On the occasions when my mom was out of town, he would expand his repertoire and make my sisters and me other foods starting with “P.” We’d have pizza (pepperoni with green peppers for good measure) peas (of the frozen variety), popcorn (unbuttered but lightly salted) and pancakes for dinner instead of breakfast. Apart from the peas, we loved dad’s cooking.

In preparation for this blog, I emailed him and asked him to remind me what other “P” foods he made us.

Here’s how the exchange went:

Me (10:43 a.m.): Hey Dad, I’m writing a blog for ShopPerk about the different “P” foods you’d make for us when we were kids. Pancakes, pizza, popcorn… what am I missing?

Dad (11:09 a.m.): Hi Ash. Pasta – as in macaroni and cheese (made in hot dog water). Later, I added Panera to my list. I will probably think of some others and will let you know. Have a great day!

Dad (11:20 a.m.): Be sure to add peanut butter (and jelly). Occasionally a pop-tart made the menu as well.

Me (12:19 p.m.): Thank you! Keep it coming.

Dad (2:04 p.m.): Pastry.

Dad (2:06 p.m.): Polish sausage.

Me (2:37 p.m.): I don’t recall you ever making a pastry.

Dad (5:27 p.m.): Didn’t I buy you a doughnut?

Me (8:05 p.m.): Good point. Thanks!

And that, my friends, is a good dad.

To all you other dads out there, may you get really good at making foods that all start with the same letter. And may your kids love you even more for it.

Happy nearly Father’s Day!

– Ashleigh

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June 4, 2013

Day 192: 7 Tips for Writing Better Grants

My first real job out of college (aside from my brief and miserable stint as a hotel sales coordinator) was as a development associate for Arts Midwest, one of the best arts organizations of all time, ever. In my role, I got to write a lot of grants. And as I developed my own art, I became more and more immersed in the fund-seeking world.

Recently, I’ve been given the opportunity to participate in the other side of the grant world—as a grant reviewer. It’s been an eye-opening and highly educational experience. For those of you out there trying to raise money to support the beautiful and world-changing artistic work you do, here are seven things you can do to make your grant applications stronger:

1. Describe your project like you’d describe it to your parents’ neighbors. There’s no use in being artistically ambiguous or pretentious in your project description. The reader wants to understand what you’re going to do, how you’ll do it and why it’s important. And they want to understand it quickly.

2. Don’t wing it. If you’re not sure how to complete a component of the application (a timeline, a line-item budget, etc.), do some research (Google). The world wide web is filled with examples, so go out and find them. You’ll start to see the differences between the good examples and the bad examples, so model your work after the good ones.

3. Read the questions. Then answer them. It’s as simple as that. If you find yourself writing the same answer for question 7 that you wrote for question 5, you missed a detail somewhere. Go back, figure out the differences between the questions and be specific in your responses.

4. Ask someone to proofread your work. Remember that friend in college who was super nit-picky about commas? Bribe her to help you out. If you’re the only person who reads your proposal, you’re 97% likely to miss a silly error. (I’m almost positive that’s a real statistic.) Anything you can do to make your proposal clear and easy to read will improve your chances.

5. Demonstrate capability. The reader assumes that if you can plan your project, you can (probably) pull it off. So if the application asks how you’ll evaluate the success of your work, don’t say you’ll figure it out later. Make a plan and describe it.

6. Craft and edit your artist statement. Your statement doesn’t just describe what you do; it contextualizes it. It should give the reader insight into your creative brain and make them want to experience your unique creations. Why are you making art? What inspires you? It’s okay to get a little cerebral, but keep your parents’ neighbors in mind. Be brief and clear.

7. Take it one step at a time. Grant applications can be long and a little overwhelming. Give yourself ample time to read the guidelines and the questions before launching into your narrative. It’s easy to separate the thoughtful proposals from the ones written at the last minute.

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May 19, 2013

Day 176: When a Mom Gets Sick

When a mom gets sick, it’s a very confusing time. Because moms don’t get sick. They’re basically superhuman. Dads don’t get sick either, for that matter.

My mom is sick. It’s not life-threatening, but it is uncomfortable. She’s in the hospital and having surgery on Tuesday, 2,000 miles away from where I live.

Discombobulated, I’ve now asked three of my relatives whether or not I should fly out there even though she told me not to. I finally stopped asking when my dad admitted that since they just moved in to their new place, I would be more stressful than helpful. (Although I do feel like I’d be an excellent drug runner… in the sense that I’m really good at picking up legal prescriptions from the pharmacy.)

When I had minor surgery a couple of years ago, my mom was my hero. She stayed with me, she propped me up on the couch and brushed my hair, she lined up a slew of trashy TV shows for me to watch (I think that’s when I got hooked on The Millionaire Matchmaker), and she made me delicious and healthy meals. If memory serves me, she also put together a really complicated table from Ikea for me. It was during the height of my drug-induced “look at all the pretty colors” phase, so I’m a little foggy on that part.

I’d like to assure my mom that her codeine hallucinations aren’t real while I put together her furniture, but instead I’m stuck here. Blogging. And it’s not that I don’t trust my family—I know my dad, grandparents, and aunts and uncles are all excellent TV show-pickers—but I’m finally old enough to recognize all the amazing care-taking my mom has done for me, and I want to pay her back.

So, mom, I’m sorry I’m not there. Don’t worry about putting anyone out or asking for too much. Tell our family what you need and they’ll get it for you. Call me when you’re bored in the hospital and I’ll tell you all about my latest OkCupid date. And Taylor and Paige and I will make you a list of good Netflix movies that don’t require constant concentration.

Also, don’t worry about all the unpacked boxes in your new home. Dad will put everything away in mysterious places and you’ll spend the next five years trying to decipher his unpacking logic. It’ll be fun.

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May 15, 2013

Day 172: Sit and Smile

Sometimes you have a day that feels a little bit long (if for no reason other than that you stayed up too late watching The West Wing on Netflix). And sometimes, at the end of those long days, you just need something that makes you sit and smile.

Here it is (thank you, Jess).

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May 7, 2013

Day 164: Stuff and Things and Letting Go

Things strangely collect our emotions.

I posted a couple weeks ago about how giving away my loveseat on Craigslist was a tearful disaster (more because of the recipients than the item—but still). And today, my parents are moving. They packed up their Chicago house and are headed to the northwest.

We’ve never been a terribly nostalgic family when it comes to structures and stuff. Growing up, we moved more often than most of our friends, and settled ourselves in different parts of the country for the sake of adventure. We collected people and shed things every time we left a house, and always (almost) enjoyed the newness and excitement of reorganizing somewhere new.

But this move feels a little different. My parents are doing it without my sisters and me. We don’t have our own bedrooms in the new place (much to my mom’s chagrin), and there will be no school orientations, no track meets and no yearbook functions. It’s an adult move and they’re paring down.

Even our old art projects, skating ribbons and American Girl dolls aren’t going along for the ride. The remaining evidence of my sisters’ and my youth is heading into a storage unit outside of Chicago, where we can come and pilfer as we have time and space.

So for the last couple of months, my parents have been selling, donating and free-Craigslisting (sans tears) many of their belongings. I’ve seen the “come and get it” Facebook posts and waited on the phone as a 9-1-1 fallback while strangers picked up their couches and end tables. I was well aware that their things were going to new homes.

And I was fine with it until my mom posted a picture of my dad’s charcoal Weber grill (the one he received for college graduation and has been using ever since), and called it up for grabs.

Instinctually, I grabbed. Out of sheer terror. I mean, what would my parents be without the Weber? I grew up understanding its timelessness, its durability and its knack for producing the perfect, patiently grilled steak. I knew I had to hang on to it for them, lest their personalities disappear completely with this move.

There she is.

Two text messages with my mom proved logically otherwise. They don’t need it anymore. And I’m a vegetarian living in a one-bedroom apartment with no outdoor space. Though I remember the grill being a fine roommate when it had a deck to itself, in my current arrangement it would coat my wispy curtains with soot and be the centerpiece of my living room. And it doesn’t do so well with veggies. She gave it to a grateful neighbor instead.

The bottom line is that stuff gets you sometimes. And then you have to let it go.

Because really, stuff is nothing without people.

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