That was, until my friend stumbled upon the most hilarious (and cute!) book title at one of the coziest bars in Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood. Sitting the dim light of Bathtub Gin, over delicious drinks, she pulled a title from the bookcased lined walls and proceeded to read to me. And crack me up. For about twenty minutes. “Read it again!” I cried.

Granted, I was a bit toasty, but I looked at the book again online tonight and will be ordering it.

Bigfoot, it turns out, has just the same problems as you and I. His musings are priceless.

On problems with neighbors:

How many times I have explain? I pee over there, over there and over there. Technically make it Bigfoot territory.

On depressing birthdays:

It me birthday and nobody came… Bigfoot decide do something nice for self for big day and sneak in they house at night and pick out own present and blow out flickering candle of life in they brains. Make a wish, jerks.

This work of mega-primate literary gold is by Toronto-based illustrator-writer Graham Roumieu. His watercolors and empathy into sylvan angst are truly remarkable.

Spokane still retains some of its charm, in a grittier, hard-to-see-past-its-flaws way. It has the melancholic feel of a place that has been on the edge of really making it onto the map and mattering, only to lose steam time and again. Bustling trading post… One-time major railroad stop… Center of early twentieth century mining wealth… Birthplace of Father’s Day… Proud host of 1974 World Fair/Expo 1974… But now, kind of a dreary place awaiting its next better turn of fortune.

But in 1993, a really cool movie came out that highlighted its best qualities.

Back in the 90s as grunge was starting and the Northwest was getting on the national radar, movie director Jeremiah Chechik, coming of the success of 1989′s classic National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, took a quirky story and a cast of budding stars to film Benny and Joon in Spokane.

In the movie, a handsome young Aidan Quinn plays Benny, brother of Mary Stewart Masterson’s mentally disabled artist character Joon (Juniper). An ensemble of talented actors playing an eclectic circle of Spokanites went on to be famous, including Oliver Platt, William H. Macy, CCH Pounder, and Julianne Moore, ironically playing a has-been B-movie horror film actress-turned-waitress (at Spokane’s very-cozy Milk Bottle restaurant).

Most significant was the star turn by a young Johnny Depp, who plays Sam, a savant-comedian of the Buster Keaton/Charlie Chaplin school. Sam bonds with Mary Stewart Masterson’s character after he ends up being taken in by the brother and sister and, with his quirky ways, stirs up their sad existence.

Locations includes scenic shots along the Pend O’Reille River outside Spokane, downtown Spokane’s Riverfront Park, where Depp acts out an amazing spectacle of physical comedy with a hat, and the modest-but-charming, under-the-bridge-and-down-by-the-river neighborhood of Peaceful Valley. It’s the kind of movie that makes you reimagine your hum-drum hometown and think, “It’s actually really nice there!”

The movie would also make famous the big hit “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by the Scottish band The Proclaimers and have a great soundtrack that included music by Joe Cocker, John Hiatt, and pre-Pearl Jam/pre-Soundgarden Eddie Vedder/Cornell collaboration band Temple of the Dog.

The movie was a modest success and launched some great careers. Its cast, themes, and soundtrack seemed to capture the early-90s zeitgeist on film. It is a cute, but not overly-cutesy film that I enjoy every few years and like to mention to my friends who have questions about my hometown—ever the ambassador that I am.

Cute little place, isn’t it?

To the best of my knowledge, the French term buvette would typically desribe a small bar or even a casual refreshment stand. But this particular Buvette looks sort of like a French cafe in miniature, or maybe a cozy wine bar. No reservations, open almost constantly, and serving just ten tables.

It looks like it’s the coziest place in the West Village for delicious small dishes prepared and served with a lot of care and passion.

I’m not planning a trip to NYC in the immediate future, so I’m just oggling their website. I’m intrigued by the boiled eggs wrapped like presents with little packets of tumeric-fenugreek or smoked paprika-garlic salt to taste… Wanting to savor their crusty croque monsieurs…  To pore over their amazing-looking pop-up menus… It’s cute-French chic! The food (not to mention all the terrific-looking wine) seems so unpretentious and slightly rustic. As Liz Lemon would say, “I want to go to there!”

Read the New York Times Diner’s Journal piece about Buvette Gastroteque or, better yet, check out their website.

This woman is so beautiful and French-looking. She hated that I was taking her picture, but I was enraptured by all the beautiful scenery at the counter of Boulettes Larder.

Mr. Cozy has neglected his blog! I’m sorry, friends.

March and April came and went, with a few minor discoveries I would have shared on the Cozy Blog, had I a moment to spare.

I’ve enjoyed dining at three Ethan Stowell restaurants here in Seattle—Staple and Fancy, Anchovies and Olives, and How to Cook a Wolf—enjoying the latter two the most.

I also recently paid a repeat visit to the Boat Street Cafe, my favorite little hidden-away restaurant, and have come to ♥ chef Jacob Wiegner’s tiny Blackboard Bistro in West Seattle.

Most notably, I had a terrifically fun whirlwind trip (and maybe romance?) to San Francisco, where I enjoyed the most relaxing strolls through the Ferry Building and the Saturday market, and have so much to share. Soon! Soon!

As I prepare to re-commit to these cozy pages, I thought I would share a great photo from one of the more picturesque shops of the Ferry Building from last month’s trip.

Photo: Tony Cenicol, The New York Times

I’m a sentimental sucker for stories like the one of Rudy Resta, who lost a wallet full of photos and random tiny documents from his life as a young art director in the promotions department of The New York Times.

Forty years later, Mr. Resta’s wallet was found, having been long ago stripped of its cash and stashed in a wall, until it was recently discovered by a security guard in the abandoned Time Square offices of paper. The unlikely story of how wallet and owner were reunited after so many years is remarkable. And the meeting to claim it and meet the guard who found it is touchingly captured by the paper. So, too, is the rediscovery of its contents.

It amazing how old, seemingly everyday objects can transport us and flood us with memories. How Mr. Resta’s wallet became a time capsule, recalling memories of his young wife, of his father, and of the 60s during which he was in his prime…

What was in that wallet? A yellowed newspaper clipping of Senator Teddy Kennedy’s eulogy of his brother, Senator Robert Kennedy, that is still inspiring to this day. A glamorous photo of his wife taken in Prospect Park — still very much alive and still very much the darling of his eye. A very early (purple?!) American Express credit card. A photo of his father, who passed away in 1965, and his father’s Catholic mass card.

The funny thing is, Mr. Resta always knew the value of the odds and ends in his wallet was far more than whatever cash might have been inside it that day in 1968. Check out this great article and companion video of a man reunited with a piece of his past. Love it!

Proceeds from The Wild Unknown's "Home" print benefit artist Kim Krans' sister and brother-in-law, whose home was destroyed by fire.

My friend Marcee is quite the aesthete. She follows her design blogs, knows about design trends, and curates quite the home interior. She’s always the first to show me super-cool stationery or a hip blog with an ironic take on fashion or pop culture.

But… One of the more folksy and quaint finds of hers was the charming Brooklyn-based artist couple of Kim Krans, her musician/web designer husband, and glass artist mother, who do business as The Wild Unknown.

Pre-holiday season, Marcee had discovered Krans’ silkscreened and hand-watercolored calendars and tipped me off. I fell in love with some of her melancholic prints of musicians and their famous lyrics, like Dolly, Willie, Kurt, and John & Yoko. In fact, I bought my ex—a massive Bob Dylan fan—a hand-watercolored Dylan drawing, featuring a shaggier, 70s-era Dylan profile.

All of The Wild Unknowns’ objects feature a delicate, but not overly-precious illustration style that captures leaves, flowers, twigs, birds nests and other exquisitely intricate details, like the texture of vintage Bob Dylan hair.

Interestingly enough, The Wild Unknown seems to reference the Dylan song “Isis” from his 1976 album Desire.

Anyway, Krans and her creative hubby aren’t just super-trendy Brooklyn hipsters, but take their artistic queues from a truly cozy sense of appreciation for the unique, the delicate, and the handmade. And they have an awesome rustic Catskills retreat that I want to show you soon.

Our work is inspired by summers spent in the Catskill Mountains and
on the shores of Lake Superior. We hope The Wild Unknown items bring you moments of solitude and wonder, wherever you are.

From The Wild Unknown’s website

I think Krans’ and her associates’ work really evokes those feelings. So cozy! Check them out.

Mr. Cozy, House Painter. Here I am seen "cutting in."

I hope you had a restful and uplifting holiday season. Mine was busy. Not only was I preparing for my mother’s visit from out of town, but I was trying to prepare the house for said visit. Mainly, I was painting my small home’s two upstairs bedrooms every spare moment I got.

I had never embarked on a household painting project, unless you count staining the back deck, so I was worried about how smoothly the process would unfold. But the thin smear of uneven basic white applied hastily by the former owners was driving me nuts and the gunk of re-painted upon re-painted upon paint drips hanging off trim and door hardware was too much for me to take any longer. With new blinds on order and deserving of fresh walls and trim, I was taking painting into my own hands.

The color part was easy. That decision making had gestated in my mind for months. In my bedroom, a calm, peaceful shade… Not the blue of my childhood bedroom. Nothing bright. Something easy to wake up to. Gray! And for the second bedroom that I use mostly as my office space, something brighter, but still subdued and appropriate for the light of Seattle. Perhaps green? Not a minty or basil-y green, something warm, but very light and subdued green. Maybe with an ever-so-slight tinge of blue-gray. And for the charming original wood doors and detailed trim that were dingy, a nice just slightly warmish white in glossy eggshell.

Martha Stewart Living's line of paint worked great.

This was the palette I had in mind when I went to neighborhood Home Depot to shop for paint. I was brand agnostic upon arrival, but knew I was interested in low-VOC paints, the type that have fewer of the smelly, potentially unhealthy fumes that come from the pigments. One of those lines was the Martha Stewart Living paint. The store display was especially nicely arranged (of course!) and the color palette was exceptionally well-curated (or course!). I took numerous swatches of gray–all beautiful. Morning Fog (too blue)… Dolphin (too light)… Nimbus Cloud (too earthy)… A-ha! Driftwood Gray, the perfect gray-gray. Not too cement-like, but solid and masculine, and very peaceful. For the second bedroom, I was immediately drawn to Spring Melt, a subdued buttermilky green-blue. Matte wall paint selected, I chose a warm white called Talc in a high-gloss eggshell finish for my trim and doors and bright and basic Pure White for the ceilings.

Taping off with 3M painter's tape is critical for the neat look.

I bought coveralls, disposable plastic sheets for drop cloths, and other mess-handling supplies, but I scarcely needed them. The Martha Stewart paints applied so smoothly! With the ceilings painted and having covered well with minimal retouching needed, I was mentally prepared to tackle the walls. I had the hang of it! The dark gray of the master bedroom adhered great, requiring only minimal retouching, while the lighter Spring Melt green of the second bedroom needed a second coat. The lighter color seemed to be trickier when it came to covering, but I didn’t even have to prime over the basic white of the prior paint job and my walls were relatively smooth, so painting was still a breeze. My meticulous taping paid off and everything looked so neat when I finished with the trim.

The final product. Doesn't it look sharp?

Painting has made my house feel like my own. It has refreshed the energy and style of my home. Preparation and the right tools are essential and good paint is essential. There were no strong odors and the paint was resilient enough to withstand the indignities of my sloppy post-holiday red wine drinking, which ruined a computer keyboard, but which thankfully did not ruin my paint job with a tannic trail of drip marks! Tip 1: If you spill red wine on paint, just mop it up and then use rag dipped in a solution of one-part bleach, one-part water and blot the stain out. Worked like a charm. Tip 2: Late-night blogging and wine drinking do not mix.

Anyway, the painting success emboldened me to try other aesthetic-improving projects. For starters, I went to a local lumberyard and bought perfectly sized pieces of hemlock to secure to the bottom of my bedroom and closet doors, lengthening what had been made high-water years ago to accommodate high-pile carpet, which is thankfully long gone down to beautiful original hard wood. And I also bought a drill and installed new door hardware to replace the yellowing 1940s plastic knobs. Satisfying stuff.

What are you favorite interior paint colors? I like tones that match the brightness and tones of the area and its nature and what you see out the window, the palette of the Pacific Northwest, where I live. Color that doesn’t try too hard and seems to fit, but might be quirky or “off” enough to seem unique. Mark my words, Spring Melt is the on-trend color for 2011–at least on Mr. Cozy’s walls.

Sprout and Mr. Cozy hope you and yours had a wonderful holiday.

I hope you all had a beautiful holiday. There is something very cozy (and perhaps melancholic) about the last few days of the year.

Guests have departed. The house is quiet. The tree is at its height of evergreen-y aroma, slightly dried out, and ready to be taken down. The fridge is full of leftovers and there’s still plenty to nibble on.

It is the time to rest before the madness of New Year’s Eve and the ambitious push to fill the new calendar.

So, relax, reflect, and rest up, my cozies, as another year winds down.

Mr. Cozy’s “tree” is L.L. Bean’s traditional balsam tabletop tree. The perfect solution for the all-too-tight confines of a tiny shoebox home at the holidays. (Mr. Cozy’s mama loves her L.L. Bean!)

The latter is especially miserable in my own old house every winter, especially since it’s so small that you’re always near a window. So instead of spending a third winter shivering on my sofa as I feel little whiffs of air moving through the room, I decided to install replacement windows.

The windows that I’m about to replace are 1960s aluminum windows, that were themselves replacements of the original single pane wood windows, with an annoying awning style. If there’s a screen on the window, it bumps out the inside profile and interferes with the blinds, which mean that they have to be mounted out from the window leaving annoying gaps. And opening the window means putting your hand through a wicket-style opening in the screen, opening the latch to push the window out, and then closing the little wicket door again. Having a built-in screen with an easier up-and-down opening will seem like a luxury.

There are so many choices when selecting windows. Single-hung or double-hung; vinyl, wood, fiberglass, or even the relic aluminum replacements; grids or no grids. If my home were an architectural gem or dream house, wood windows would have been my choice. They are truly beautiful. Vinyl is inexpensive (a relative term with a total-home replacement project), but they are bulky and can look cheap. Fiberglass can offer color options and less unsightly visible frame, but are expensive and have fewer manufacturers. I even looked at aluminum replacement windows, trying to achieve the narrow depth of my existing windows, but the energy rating was just not up to snuff.

For most homeowners, the white vinyl window is the new standard, it seems. It’s hard to imagine without some kind of amazing CGI representation, exactly how the new windows will transform my house. Will they look out of place? Will slightly thicker white frames look out of place? How much will the installation scuff my outside trim? So many questions. Even though I try not to be overly-precious with my simple little house, I don’t want to betray its character.

I think that overall replacing my windows will prove a good investment in the comfort of my home, if not it’s resale price (in this terrible market). If you take advantage of the expiring 2009/2010 $1,500 federal tax credit on ENERGY STAR-rated windows with at least a U-factor of 0.30, it can make even more sense. But if you’re thinking of taking advantage of this savings, act fast. Factories are slammed with tons of orders from people with exactly the same thought and windows must be installed by the end of the year to be eligible.

My windows will hopefully be installed by Thanksgiving. Here’s to the furnace switching on a little less often this winter; to the house not being quite as frigid rising out of bed each morning; and to not being forced under a throw or an afghan in order to just enjoy some TV time!

An energy-efficient house is a cozy house indeed!

I don’t always like this, but I get it. He’s lonely, we’re a “pack” of two, and I’m pretty much the sole source of intellectual and social stimulation he’ll get until the next time company visits or we go to the dog park on the weekend.

Sometimes, if I’m feeling especially guilty about being away from the little guy so much, I think that it might be particularly comforting for him (and cozy for me) if I let him sleep in my bed. If I can’t give him enough time in my 18 waking hours of the day, why not try to make up for it during the night!

However, this is a rare occurrence.

Growing up, my childhood dog wasn’t allowed to sleep with me. I resented this, but it was also impractical in my small twin-size bed with my restless miniature schnauzer. We would sometimes take naps together on the floor or the top of the bed and I enjoyed the heat that he threw off like a little space heater. I always imagined that someday, when I had my own house and dog of adulthood, that my dog would sleep with me every night.

Flash forward to today and my little rat terrier sheds terribly—or, rather, drops short black hairs on every surface, requiring constant vacuuming, Swiffering, or sticky rollering. Hosting a nightly sleepover in my bed would be a mess. My compromise has been to allow him to sleep in the bed only on the night before I change my sheets.

If little Sprout had his way, he would migrate to the bottom of the bed near my feet, curled into a hard little ball. (I don’t know how he finds the oxygen down there!) However, I don’t like waking up to a mass at my feet or a prodding wet nose, so I often drag him back up toward the top of the bed, where I flatten him against me with his back to my chest—spooning-style. He usually lets out a deep sigh, as if he’s annoyed, but resigned to this compromise to enjoy the privilege of his master’s bed. And I enjoy the warmth and the feeling that he is keeping watch over our cuddled nest in the darkness of my creaky old house.

The arrangement, as I mentioned, is not the norm—only once every week or so. And it’s strictly by permission only. I don’t even invite him up, but rather call him to my bedside from his little bed in the corner of my room and tell him to sit. He knows the drill and waits for me to scoop him into my arms and tuck him in. It’s quite precious, actually. Sometimes, I read a bit, but I sleep quite soundly with him and his breathing and his little chest rising and falling.

And in the morning, when I get up, he must get up. There is to be no lounging in my sheets while I’m off to get ready for the morning. However, there have been two times where I’ve found him back on my bed when I came out of the shower and quite grumpy about having to leave his perch. And that’s when I worry that I’ve created some sort of confusion in his little doggy brain about what is mine and what is his.

But this confusion is rare and I appreciate having some way of extending a closeness to my best friend when we have been too long apart or when the travails of my week have been too brutal to sleep alone. And, unlike my boyfriend, Sprout cannot admonish me for my snoring.