And Then There Were Flowers
NAPERVILLE - WHEATON - GLEN ELLYN - ELMHURST - GENEVA - ST. CHARLES - BARRINGTON - BARTLETT PHOTOGRAPHER
Indigo Elegance - Alicia Staley Johnson
Happy Sunday my friend!
What a week.
Before New York decided it wasn't quite ready to let us leave—which you'll read much more about below—we managed to squeeze in some truly wonderful things.
If you're headed to New York anytime soon, we found a few things I would absolutely put on your list. The Costume Art exhibit at The Met was awe-inspiring. I could have wandered through it for hours studying the craftsmanship and artistry. We also visited the Arte Museum ARIRANG exhibition, an incredible immersive art experience that completely surrounds you with light, sound, movement, and imagery. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, and one of those experiences that's difficult to adequately describe until you're standing in the middle of it.
And if a Broadway show is on your list, I cannot recommend Operation Mincemeatenough. It was funny, clever, incredibly creative, and easily one of my favorite Broadway musicals we've ever seen.
Then we came home.
Eventually.
To storms, power outages, a flooded basement, large branches down, garden destruction, and what feels like approximately six months' worth of chaos packed into a few days. Somehow, between all the rain, I also managed to squeeze in a senior session in Chicago and two more locally.
I'm tired just typing that.
But this weekend brings something much happier: Saturday we celebrate Dan's 29th birthday...again.
And after this particular week, celebrating him feels especially appropriate. Dan really is the anchor of this household—the calm in our chaos, the one who figures out what to do when the rest of us aren't quite sure, and the person who quietly keeps so much of this little life of ours moving.
So this weekend, we'll happily turn our attention to him. Because if anyone deserves to be celebrated after this week, it's our favorite 29-year-old.
Happy Sunday, friends. Grab something warm to drink and settle in. There's a lot to catch up on this week.
Some BTS from last week.
Soft Focus: And Then There Were Flowers
A few weeks ago, I wrote about beautiful interruptions.
The little moments that derail our carefully made plans but somehow make life richer in the process. A grandchild arriving when there is work to be done. My dad needing something when I am halfway through something else. The ordinary disruptions of sharing a life, a home, and a family with the people I love.
I still believe deeply in those kinds of interruptions.
But after this week, I feel I should probably issue an amendment.
Because sometimes an interruption is just an interruption.
And sometimes it is an absolute pain in the ass.
We were supposed to fly home from New York on Monday.
Our flight was delayed three times, which honestly didn't bother us much. We've traveled enough to know that delays happen. Weather happens. Plans change.
Eventually, we boarded the plane, and almost immediately it became apparent that there was no air conditioning while we were sitting on the ground.
It was 94 degrees outside and sunny.
Every seat was filled, and the airplane grew hotter and hotter. We taxied away from the gate, only to stop on the tarmac, where we sat.
And sat.
For two hours.
I was next to the window and could actually feel the heat radiating through the side of the airplane. When they announced that we might be sitting there indefinitely while waiting for clearance from air traffic control, so I kept reading my book, trying to distract myself from the heat and the little bit of panic beginning to creep in.
After all of that waiting, they told us we were returning to the gate.
I don't think I've ever been so happy to have a flight canceled. I wanted off that airplane and into air conditioning more than anything at that moment.
What followed was exactly what you'd imagine: hundreds of people trying to rebook flights and find hotels at the same time. We found a room. We found another flight for Tuesday evening. I rescheduled the two photography sessions I was supposed to have Tuesday, and my clients were incredibly gracious about it.
Not ideal.
But manageable.
And then Tuesday morning, New York offered us what I can only describe as a peace offering.
We walked out of our hotel and discovered that, completely by accident, we had spent the night in the Flower District.
The sidewalks were overflowing with hydrangeas and roses, branches and greenery, buckets upon buckets of flowers spilling out from the wholesalers onto the street.
If our flight hadn't been canceled, I never would have seen it.
And this is probably where I am supposed to tell you that suddenly it all made sense.
That the canceled flight was a gift because it led me to the flowers.
Except...
No.
It was still terrible.
I would have happily traded those flowers for an air-conditioned airplane that delivered me safely home on Monday night.
I can appreciate an unexpected gift without pretending I needed the hardship that brought me to it.
Apparently, that was an important lesson for me this week.
Because New York's peace offering lasted approximately a few hours.
Later that day, my sister called.
"If you aren't in the basement, get down there immediately. There's a tornado headed your way."
Except we weren't home.
We were still in New York.
Suddenly I was frantically calling everyone back in Illinois.
My dad was at the bowling alley.
I couldn't reach my mom.
My son wasn't answering.
My daughter had already been sitting in her basement with her two-year-old for twenty minutes.
My daughter-in-law and our four-month-old grandson were safely tucked into her sister's basement.
And Dan and I were hundreds of miles away trying to account for everyone we loved.
We pulled up our Ring cameras to see what was happening at home.
Everything was offline.
There are moments when your mind offers you two possibilities and you deliberately choose the one you can live with.
Either something had happened to the house...
or the power was out.
We decided the power was out.
Thankfully, a sweet neighbor eventually confirmed that we were right.
The house was standing.
Everyone was safe.
The power, however, was definitely out.
And if you've followed along here long enough, you might already know where this is going.
Three sump pumps.
Zero electricity.
One basement.
Water.
By the time we were back at the airport waiting for our already-delayed flight home, our son Kyle called to tell us an alarm was sounding in the basement.
Dan and I immediately knew what it meant.
Kyle spent much of the evening driving from store to store looking for a generator while Dan tried to troubleshoot everything from an airport hundreds of miles away. Five stores later, Kyle finally found one in Batavia.
Then, over the phone, Dan walked him through getting it set up and running.
And thank goodness he did.
The pumps started working again.
But by then, the water had already made its way inside.
At this point, I had a photography session scheduled for 10:30 the next morning in Chicago that simply couldn't be moved.
So I did what I suspect most of us do when life becomes completely ridiculous.
I started doing math.
If the plane leaves at this time...
and we land at this time...
and we get our luggage...
and drive home...
and clean up the most important things...
I could maybe sleep for...
three hours?
Perfect.
Except our flight didn't leave on time.
Of course it didn't.
Eventually we boarded. The airplane had air conditioning, which at this point felt downright luxurious, and the flight itself was wonderfully uneventful.
We landed at O'Hare.
Home.
Except there was no gate available.
So we sat on the tarmac.
For another two hours.
You truly cannot make this stuff up.
This time, exhaust fumes were making their way into the cabin while Dan and I sat there knowing exactly what was waiting for us at home.
We finally collected our luggage, found an Uber, and walked through our front door around 2 a.m.
No electricity.
No air conditioning.
A hot, humid house.
A wet basement.
Welcome home.
Three hours later, my alarm went off.
I got up and started getting my gear ready for the shoot. Thank goodness for the power bank I'd purchased after our last outage, because Dan was able to charge my strobe lights while I did what I could around the house.
Then I got myself together, picked up my camera, and we headed into Chicago—through pouring rain, naturally—to photograph a high school senior.
And somehow, I did.
I showed up.
Maybe that's what I've been thinking about ever since.
We hear so much about finding the beauty in difficult things. Looking for the silver lining. Finding the lesson. Trusting that everything happens for a reason.
I understand why we do it.
I do it, too.
I'm the woman who walked outside after a canceled flight, saw a street overflowing with flowers and immediately thought, Well, maybe this is why we were supposed to stay.
But I'm beginning to think there is also something important about allowing a hard thing to simply be hard.
Not everything needs to become beautiful in retrospect.
Sometimes the flight really was miserable.
Sometimes the basement really did flood.
Sometimes you are exhausted and frustrated and worried and there isn't a lovely metaphor waiting underneath it all.
And acknowledging that doesn't make us ungrateful.
Because perhaps gratitude isn't pretending the hard thing was secretly good.
Perhaps gratitude is being able to see the good while the hard thing remains hard.
The canceled flight wasn't beautiful.
But the Flower District was.
The tornado wasn't beautiful.
But knowing my family was safe was.
The flooded basement certainly wasn't beautiful.
But our son driving from store to store looking for a generator for us was.
Arriving home at two in the morning wasn't beautiful.
Neither were the three hours of sleep.
But my gracious clients were.
Our neighbor answering the phone was.
Dan talking Kyle through that generator from an airport terminal was.
Kyle refusing to give up until he found one was.
Maybe that's the difference.
We don't always have to transform the interruption into something beautiful.
Sometimes we just have to notice that even in the middle of something decidedly not beautiful, beautiful things are still happening alongside it.
People show up.
Someone answers the phone.
A son drives to five stores.
A neighbor checks on your house.
A client says, "Of course. Don't worry about us."
A plane eventually lands.
The house is still standing.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, New York gives you one unexpected morning filled with flowers.
Not because the chaos was necessary.
Not because everything happens for some perfectly packaged reason.
Just because both things can be true at once.
It was a hellacious week.
And there were flowers.
*This essay and more can be read on my Our Cozy Compound substack
WHAT I’M LOVING THIS WEEK
Inspiring Follow: @expedition.ola
This week's Inspiring Follow is a little different from the accounts I normally share here, but somehow I have become completely invested in @expedition.ola.
Expedition Ola is Nick and Alli—two humans traveling in a camper with their dog Bodie, on a mission to rescue street dogs and give them the medical care, love, adventure, and eventually the forever homes they deserve.
And then there is Birdie.
Oh, sweet Birdie.
Nick and Alli found her in Mexico, paralyzed in her back legs but getting herself around on her two front legs with what seems to be absolutely no awareness that life had dealt her a particularly difficult hand. They got her a wheelchair, and watching this little girl discover just how fast she could go in it is about the happiest thing you'll see.
Birdie quickly became part of their pack—and somehow I became ridiculously invested in her life.
Maybe it's because of what we went through with our Tallulah Blu and her amputation after osteosarcoma, but watching Birdie's journey has brought back so many emotions for me.
Recently, Nick and Alli made the difficult decision to partially amputate Birdie's back legs because they continued to drag and develop sores when she used her wheelchair. What followed has been a scary stretch of complications, an infection, and an inept emergency animal clinic, and I've found myself checking their page far more often than I'd like to admit, hoping for another update on this sweet dog I've never even met.
There is something incredibly special about watching two people rearrange their lives around animals the rest of the world might have overlooked.
And perhaps what I love most is that their page isn't simply sad rescue stories. There is so much joy there. Mud and beaches and camper life and dogs learning to trust, play, run, and simply be dogs again.
If you're an animal lover, be warned: you may become every bit as invested as I am.
And sweet Birdie, I think you have an awful lot of people out here rooting for you.
What I’m Loving: THIERRY LASRY OLYMPY Sunglasses
I am generally terrible at splurging on myself when it comes to things like sunglasses, jewelry, handbags, or shoes. I can admire them all day long, but when it comes time to actually buy them for myself, I almost always talk myself out of it.
Which is probably why Dan had to buy these for me.
We were wandering through Lourmarin, France, when we found the cutest little boutique and I tried on a pair of Thierry Lasry OLYMPY sunglasses. I loved them immediately. Dan apparently knew me well enough to know what would happen next—I would admire them, put them back, and leave without them.
Instead, they came home with me.
And I'm so glad they did because they have become, without question, my favorite sunglasses I've ever owned.
The OLYMPY has this beautiful round shape that feels a little vintage but still completely modern. They're substantial without feeling heavy, beautifully made, and somehow make even the simplest outfit feel a little more artsy and pulled together.
Mine are the OLYMPY 258s, and yes, they're absolutely a splurge.
But they've also reminded me that every once in a while, it's okay to own something simply because it's beautiful, you love it, and it makes you happy every single time you put it on.
Although I'm still glad Dan was the one who made me buy them.
Local-ish: Hardware Gastropub
This week's Local-ish takes us to North Aurora and a place Dan and I have visited a few times—and one we always leave wondering why we don't go more often.
Hardware Gastropub is a sustainable gastropub and brewery built around the idea of changing the way we think about eating local.
And when they say local, they really mean it.
Hardware grows produce year-round in its own greenhouse, with the goal of being completely self-sufficient in lettuce and herbs. There is a micro-orchard and gardens where they grow fruits and nuts, and even a 1.5-acre hop farm that supplies hops for their own BBGB beers.
They've thought about sustainability all the way down to the water. A 250-foot well into an underground aquifer supplies water for their brewery and irrigation, while rainwater from the roof is reclaimed to water the greenhouse and patio gardens. Even reclaimed materials have been incorporated throughout the restaurant's design.
And then there's the whiskey.
More than 1,000 different whiskeys from around the world. (Dan may find this part slightly more exciting than I do.)
But honestly, as much as I love everything they're doing, none of it would matter quite as much if the food weren't good—and it is. We've eaten at Hardware several times now and have loved everything we've tried. The atmosphere is warm and interesting, the food feels thoughtful and fresh, and in the warmer months, the gardens and patio make the whole experience even better.
It's exactly the kind of place I love finding for Local-ish: something close to home that feels a little unexpected and is doing things in its own thoughtful way.
If you haven't been, put this one on your list.
FROM MY KITCHEN
I've been making this quiche for 34 years, since Dan and I first were married. Somewhere along the way, it stopped simply being "the quiche recipe" and became Mimi's Quiche, which may be one of my favorite promotions I've ever received.
While we were in New York, we ordered quiche at several different restaurants for breakfast. And every single time, after a few bites, Dan would lean over and say:
"Yours is better."
After 34 years, I’ll let him feel like he’s qualified to judge. ;)
So I thought this might be a good recipe to share.
I still remember making this quiche for my Grandpa Diez years ago. He had absolutely no idea what quiche was and thought the whole thing sounded a little suspicious. One bite later, he was completely sold.
It's rich and comforting, with a creamy filling, smoky bacon, Swiss cheese, spinach, and just enough onion tucked into a buttery pastry crust. It's one of those recipes that makes a brunch table feel special without being particularly fussy—and apparently, according to Dan, it even holds its own against New York City.
Mimi’s Quiche
Serves: 8
Ingredients
1 unbaked pastry crust for a 10-inch pie
8 ounces cream cheese, cubed
1 cup milk
4 large eggs, beaten
¼ cup finely chopped onion
1 tablespoon butter
6 slices bacon, cooked until crisp and crumbled
1 cup shredded Swiss cheese
About 1 cup cooked spinach, well drained and squeezed of excess moisture
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
On a lightly floured surface, roll the pastry into approximately a 12-inch circle. Gently fit it into a 10-inch pie plate. Turn the edges under and flute as desired, then prick the bottom and sides of the crust with a fork.
Bake for 12–15 minutes, or until lightly golden. Remove from the oven and set aside.
Reduce the oven temperature to 350°F.
Meanwhile, combine the cream cheese and milk in a saucepan over low heat. Stir gently until the cream cheese has melted and the mixture is smooth. Remove from the heat.
Gradually whisk the warm cream cheese mixture into the beaten eggs until well combined.
In a small skillet, sauté the chopped onion in the butter until soft and translucent.
Add the sautéed onion, crumbled bacon, Swiss cheese, cooked spinach, and a generous sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper to the egg mixture. Stir gently to combine.
Pour the filling into the partially baked pastry shell.
Bake at 350°F for 35–40 minutes, or until the filling is set in the center and lightly golden on top.
Allow the quiche to rest for about 10 minutes before slicing and serving.
Mimi's Pepperoni Variation
For another version we've loved over the years, replace the bacon and spinach with:
4 ounces pepperoni, chopped
¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese
½ teaspoon dried oregano
or:
4 ounces ham, chopped
green pepper, chopped
onion, chopped
Prepare and bake the same way.
with love and light,
Alicia Staley Johnson
of Alicia’s Photography
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