Stephanie Burt Williams's Blog

Breakfast for Dinner. Where was your mind?

But really, it is kind of a "big deal." See, last week I received my bacon in the mail. That's right. My bacon, the one I created in a Bacon Making Class in December. Well, it spent its time in the smoker, and now, it is spending time on my dinner table.

I will say (humbly of course) that it seems I am a natural bacon-making goddess. My bacon, cured with curry, fenugreek, sorghum and dried figs, makes breakfast for dinner an event. Kudos to Tim Peters, to Caw Caw Creek, to the humble cast iron skillet on my stove. This was worth the wait.

You know, I wouldn't blame you if you thought that Pinterest was just a waste of time. In many ways, I agree with you.

The system has gotten a hold of it like everything else. That being said, I don't necessarily mean "the man" or any great consipiracy, just the idea that wow, people do like this, and we can use this for our own good.

But I would attest that I can use it for my own good as well. Case in point -- visualization.

Now, I know that this is the time of year when people such as Gabby Bernstein are showing off their visualization boards on Instagram. I think it's awesome -- I totally endorse this practice, except for one thing -- I have never been motivated to do one. That is, til Pinterest.

Last year, I started an abundance board on Pinterest. I wanted to think about good things, to visualize good things, the things I want in my life. One of the first pins I added to this board was a particular painting by the Haitian artist K. Estigene. I'd first seen this artist's work in a home in Key West, and I had to see it, to sit by it, for at least a while.

Well, through a series of small, seemingly unmeaningful, amazing events, the actual painting from my abundance board is now ... right now ... hanging in my living room.
The painting as hanging in my current residence
I'm amazed, thankful, and above all, love that many mornings find me standing in front of the painting, brushing my teeth. Beauty. And it's not the end all, or the thing that will make me happy. But it is a gift for me, and it is a wish fulfilled.

Now onto the next abundance pin ... or shall I maybe try for one of those pins I have on the board "The Land Beyond McDreamy"? I can't help but smile ... you never know "who" might be sitting in my living room this time next year!

I got a mini-tour of the South for my latest article for The Local Palate, out in this month's issue. I talked to people in Atlanta, Nashville, Virginia, New Orleans and South Carolina, which was a lot for one article!


As a writer, the challenge for this piece was weaving a connection between each of the interviews. Yes, all of these people were using food to help others, but I wanted to try to map how each of them suddenly realized that they had a resource -- food -- that could be used to help.

We so often say, "But what could I do?" Well, these 5 people answered, and we're talking questions that ranged from urban blight to flood victims and more. And they all answered with "I can grow something or cook something."

Read an excerpt of the article here, and then pick up the latest issue and see all 5 stories of change through the catalyst of food. I hope you'll be as inspired as I was.

Today I put a thimble in my finger again. It's been more than 10 months since I last sewed, and I wondered, would I ever want to do it again?

I didn't pressure myself.

I enjoyed the sun, the beach, dinners with friends and late nights in courtyards where the bourbon flowed and friends were easy. But it got cold last week. Not fall cold but winter cold, at least winter for here.

I wanted to sew again, pull a thread through cloth no matter how unsexy that seems. I did it so much as a distraction to my unhappiness. I cried for that woman, the woman who sewed and sewed and sewed so she didn't have to think.

Of course she still did. Think, that is. And that's why I am here.

Here I am, on the other side of things, and the feel of my granny's thimble is still fresh on my finger. I like it. It's like going home again, though not til I was ready. And not frantic or by default or any other such label. Just sewing. Like I have in intermittent ways since I was 7. And I am covered in the quilt I am making, it not defining me or vice versa. Just being.

I am thankful, mostly every day, living here, and, well, living.

I see lengthening shadows behind spanish moss hanging in a tree in the parking lot of where I get my hair cut ...

I really like vegetables, not in a snobby, condescendingly healthy way. I just really like them ...

That being said, cookies are amazing ...

Lana Del Ray is always a good choice for an evening drive, where the sun is setting behind the construction crane on Meeting Street near the Piggly Wiggly ...

Good friends make my heart smile ...

Sometimes, Sonic ice is all you need, especially if it's at the Royal American ...

How can Spotify be free? Shhh. I don't want to know, I just want to keep it happening ...

I say I want a TV but I am too busy or preoccupied to buy one ...

Lavender and roses and the smell of fresh cut limes ...

I can rock it in high heels ...

If I like you, I am mostly likely barefooted at your house or mine ...

Knowing serendipity is more than just that ...

Evangelina Jones, publicist for Stephanie Burt, has released the following statement on behalf of her client:

Although I was on the guest list for the wedding festivities of Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel that took place in Southern Italy this week, Justin and I felt that it would be too painful for both of us that I attend, however thoughtful the invitation was.

It is true that in the past Justin "told me I was beautiful and I dated him on the regular." Our relationship was pretty low key, "going to a flick and stuff," and "meeting in a club," so we were able to stay away from media scrutiny. However, we had strong feelings for each other and cherished our time together. It is best that the past remain the past.

I wish J & J all the happiness and joy in their new lives together. Timbaland has called and asked me to get some carryout, so at this time I will not entertain any further questions on the matter. Thank you.

It's been a wonderful run, running this freelance thing life full-time. But at some point, some point a while back, I got tired. It was more than that, though. I got weary -- beyond tired of having to piece things together every month to make the bottom line balance.

Well, I am happy to say that the Little Desk is spending sometime at a new Big Desk. I have accepted a position as Social Media Director of Momentum Marketing, and so far, it's been hitting the ground running, but I like the people I work with, and the work is promoting local businesses, a niche I understand and enjoy.

The Little Desk is not going away. I will still be here, but I will only be accepting the fun writing assignments and giving myself a little more time to breathe. To see family and friends. To work on my art (yep, it's coming). To watch some football, some basketball.  But I will still be writing about it all, so please stick around. I like seeing you.

Every year around this time, my name has started being invoked in print. I mean, I'm not mad about it, but it's been nine years, so I think I can say "invoked" and be happy about it. I am honored, I am smilingly proud, and I am a hometown girl.

I am the Charlotte ghost lady, such as it is.

Ok. It's true that I have moved on personally -- there is no "Williams" any more, but I've also moved on professionally. I've quit writing so much about the subject of ghosts and moved to the more universal subject of food (we all love food!!), but I remember that time long ago when I wanted to be remembered for something. Well, now it looks like I am remembered for documenting that weird shadow on the stairs ... or that stale scent of cigar smoke.

If that's how it is, ok.

It's that time of year, so I am happy to report my little book, Ghost Stories of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County: Remnants of the Past in a New South  is once again in the slick pages. Thanks to Charlotte Magazine  for your kind inclusion of three of my stories and multiple quotes. There ARE ghosts afoot to be sure this time o' year -- I just hope they are interested in reading about pickles, cause that's what is hot in 2012. Well, that and pimento cheese. So I hope they're hungry.

It appears that I am late to the the party. And a locavore party, at that.

But nevertheless, I have finally made it, and I am positively giddy.

I don't know how I missed other issues until now, but I did. However, when I spied the latest edition of Dirt, Charleston City Paper's guide to local food, I opened it up and had an Alfafa moment ...

You know, Alfalfa from The Little Rascals?

How many goat cheese producers are on Johns Island?!
Yep, that's the expression. I couldn't even process it ... Look at all this great information! Wow, this is exactly what I would want! I want to read every article! I am going to keep this and mark off farms as I visit, etc! I mean ... this thing is perfect!

I have saved it for a treat to sit down with, to read slowly about the local food I love so much. It's not only good reading, it's a useful resource first and foremost, and where City Paper was already my go-to for restaurant gossip, it's now upped its food reporting into a class all of its own.

Get it, and get eating your local food. Good stuff.

Last year this time, my life was a mess. My closet was too.

I didn't know what to do about any of it, knowing that something had to be done, but more often than not, having no ideas of how, or if, to begin.

And then my sister, Courtney, came to town for a visit. I plied her with wine, and suddenly, one evening, she perched on my bed, facing my closet like she was watching a movie. "Just pull everything out, piece by piece, and we'll start here."

How did I know this was the beginning? In short, I didn't. It was just that first something.  I didn't balk -- I listened. And we got started.

Sometimes, you have to first know what you don't want before you know what you do, and for me, that first started with clothes. It's about being conscious, thinking not only how other people saw me, but most of all, how I felt when putting something on. Did I love it? Did it make me feel good about walking though the world? Or did I feel frumpy, or blah? Invisible, or silly, like I was wearing some sort of costume?

What I realized was that most of what I had been putting on was about being on hold, being a place holder, not who I was (whoever that was) and not who I wanted to be, but just there.

You can say that it is just clothing, that it doesn't matter, that I am shallow for even considering my appearance. But you are wrong. I am sorry, but that is not true. For me, it was the start of something, the first step that I didn't even know at the moment was a step in living consciously, of living, instead of reacting.

In that moment, supported by a sister who sat on the edge of my bed on a Saturday night, I decided I just didn't want to be someone "there." That night, on a bed scattered with white metal hangers, she helped me put more than 75% of my clothing into garbage bags, to be donated the next day.

It was stuff given to me, purchased on clearance, left over from events, or different sizes or eras. It was just there, filling the space of what I thought I needed.

Now, 75% is a lot, a space between hangers that had never been there, drawers now easily opened where they have been forced open ... but we discovered clothes that I had, good pieces, that I had never worn because I was waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know, but whatever, wherever I was living, at that moment, did not deserve that perfectly cut dress. It couldn't possibly.

Getting rid of that many clothes is more than just cleaning out your closet. It is about feeling unsafe without a bloated fullness, of feeling vulnerable with fewer choices, of feeling, well, exposed. And in the next few days, I knew it was freedom.

There was no more wading through -- I could get ready much faster. Every time I left the house, it was in something I enjoyed wearing, not just a filler piece. And the lack that was there started to feel like abundance.

Yes, this dress by Ranna Gill was one of the 25%. I was waiting to wear this. No more.  Plan to see me still wearing this at 81 years old.
The road I've traveled now is long compared to that day, but I've come to embrace fashion as an extension of my personality. It's not that serious, but I always know that it is still a beginning. At this point, that means a beginning of my day's focus. Do I want flirty? Artsy? Meaning business in black stilettos? Going to the beach?

I answer these questions with the 25% percent that somehow feels like more than 100. What is the 25% of your life that is you? How do you begin to make that your 100%?