hats off

 I never wore hats growing up. My sister jokingly told me I looked weird in hats in middle school and it stuck with me. I always trusted her word so every time I put one, on my mind would reiterate her voice. I'd think, "it does look weird," take it off and place it back on the shelf.

Come fall while lingering around Soho one day I came across a black felt hat that didn't feel too weird. In a good mood, accompanied by a new fellow I decided to go with my gut. He gave me the thumbs up and in my "you're too cute to disagree with" mood I handed over my debt card. The fellow didn't last but the hat did. Certainly an impulse buy that was worth the price tag. I haven't been back to the shop since but there were two left, one camel and one hunter green. If you need a push here's one from me- indulge a little and hats off to you.

pickup + go

I rarely just pick up and leave. More so lately though I haven't many reasons to stay. On the only snowy day thus far this winter I put on my coat, stuffed deodorant, my toothbrush and a clean tee in a bag and headed to Grand Central Station. A best friend of mine met me there. Two sugar brioches, a shared coffee and several hours later we were brushing off the snow of a pickup truck. Keys left for us, bumble bee hanging from the rearview mirror.

No plan. No internet. No television. No cell service. No problem. Problems. Why we left all along. 24 hours of silence and snow. We made chili from scratch. A recipe that I've been jonesing for ever since she first set a bowl in front of me. "Easy," with a shrug of those bird-like shoulders. Bon Iver cooning and chopping up vegetables. Monk the cat chatting away in cat language. Simmering olive oil, boiling water, small glass of wine.

Hard to remember the heavy heart who left the city. Here all we were were hands chopping, stirring, pouring. Feet shifting weight. Bodies light, minds lighter.

24 hours of smells. Wood fire, red wine, homemade chili and snow. The chili, I swear it fixes everything. Bad days, bruised hearts.

Kate's famous

 
1 can of tomatoes
1 green pepper
1 white onion
1 butternut squash
1/2 bag of frozen corn
1 can of white beans
1 can of red beans
1 can of kidney beans
1/2 lb of turkey
chili powder to taste
salt and pepper to taste
olive oil
1 cup of white rice (optional)
sour cream (optional)
cheddar cheese (optional)

Dice your pepper and onion. Throw it in a deep pot with simmering olive oil. Put in the turkey. Mix and brown. Dice the squash and boil it in a second pot with water until soft. Add corn, tomatoes and beans to the main pot. Add chili powder. Add squash once soft. Add a little water if necessary. Cook a cup of white rice (optional). Let everything cook. When ready to serve, put rice in bottom of bowl, then chili, sour cream and cheddar cheese. Enjoy.

In addition to making chili, Kate is a photographer. Check it.

hero

 

When I was young my dad used to pull splinters out of my hands and feet. I don't know where I used to play where this was a common occurrence but I remember him putting my hand under a big magnifying glass in the garage and using a needle. He was unnaturally gentle and being the wimp I am, it takes a ton of trust especially when I'm hurt, to allow anyone to touch me. Quick and painless, the splinter gone and there was instant relief. His reassurance of fixing up his daughter was easy for me to read, it spread across his face. I learned dad liked being the hero.

I know all this modern woman stuff is telling us all to buck up! who needs a man when you have a college education, smart phone and good pair of shoes. Me. I'm the one shyly raising my hand. I'm not tall enough to reach the top shelf and strong enough to hang that 50 lb. mirror that I bought last spring. The truth is I miss that feeling I used to get where dad would get the splinter. When his pride and happiness from helping me filled me up with love. I could have gotten it eventually but seeing him help me was so much more rewarding. That hero moment- it's not just little girls and disney stories - I truly feel guys like it too.

Because let's be honest, when you help someone else, their appreciation and gratitude fills you up and you feel just as good. You can tell me to ask for the help of a girlfriend but it's not the same benefit. Sometimes whether it's opening a jar or pulling out splinters, a part of me wants that hero-like outcome. I'm not "modern woman" enough to say it.

the clog

My bathtub has a tendency to clog. One day I'll randomly look down to see my feet submerged in water. I get out, towel off and by the time I'm dressed I have already forgotten about the clog and the excess water has drained. Until the next time which will be when I'm especially late and am left with sudsy feet and a mental note to pick up drano on my way home from work. I always forget to deal with the clog until it's so bad that it takes a bottle of extra strength drano and at times, the maintenance man to snake my drain. This, for those of you know who know me and how OCD I can be know that this isn't about cleanliness but about addressing the problem. At 25 years old, I am incredibly good at ignoring the problem until like my bathtub, I am filled to the brim and overflowing.

I know that it's there but each day is less convenient than the last. I forget until something else adds to the pile and I remember that I had poor feelings at all. I look down, I look up and wonder how the water got so high. Time and time again I curse myself for not taking care of it right away. Letting it build and allowing it to get more about more out of hand. My feet prune-like, my heart heavy.

Once the clog is gone and my feet don't slip on suds, I go back to my daily routine, thank the maintenance guy who murmurs on his way out in half English, half Spanish that next time to him call earlier. "Don't let it build mami," as he walked down the hallway, "one day it will not be fixed." 

This post is dedicated to Kate. xo

xs

Unless you're one of the few New Yorkers who live in real estate heaven - odds are your apartment is smaller than what is deemed appropriate for an average adult. You stay because it's either in an awesome part of town or because somehow you scored an amazing deal. In my case, I love my location. Yes it may seem far uptown to others but I'm between 2 parks and it's quiet and clean. It is however small. Rather than see that negatively, I've actually learned that small isn't always a bad thing.

1. The anti-hoard: That sweater I wore once? Donation box. Those extra heels that hurt but I swear I'm planning on breaking in? Sayonara. I clean out my closet and dresser each season and donate everything that I don't wear or don't plan on wearing to Goodwill. My beauty cabinet is slim as well. Because honestly why do I need 6 half full bottles of lotion when I only really use one.

2. The buy-only-what-you-can-carry: I used to buy vegetables and stock up on soup in college because I figured if it was there I'd have to eat it and skip out on burgers and beers. Wrong. It sat and spoiled before it was eaten. Now I only buy what I know I'll eat that week since my cabinet and fridge space is coveted. No excess buying because 4 blocks and an avenue is too far to haul anymore than you have to. Side note: I once went to BJ's and overbought. Out of stubbornness I walked from the train to my apartment with my groceries. By the time I got to the door I was in tears with welts up my arms from my bags. I learned my lesson nonetheless.

3. Only the useful can stay: You don't need 16 coffee cups, 7 cookies pans and 4 ladles. Living in a small space makes me buy what I need only. On the flip side I spend a little more on that perfect set of gold flecked coffee cups (thanks Dani) than normal since I can only have 2 and not 6.

All-in-all I feel that living smaller brings quality over quantity. Since it's just me I can easily get by on my weekly trip to the market, 2 perfect coffee cups and a simple wardrobe. One things I refuse to skimp on are pillows - the more the merrier and with that said, time to get up and get going.