subway soiree

I am standing on the platform at 23rd street eating a rose macaron, my favorite flavor from my most adored cafe. Whenever I have something to celebrate, I turn to this particular rose macaron. I find myself visiting this cafe quite often, dedicating a macaron to relationship milestones, personal achievements such as making a new friend or even bad days, the irony of honoring the survival of a particularly hellish 12 hours. 

I finish my macaron and shift my bag from one shoulder to the next, careful not to crush the neat stack of papers that signify a new professional beginning. The bottle of champagne, a gift from a colleague, was not intended for this particular celebration but just maybe. It’s cold enough that I can see my breath but not cold enough to make me want to hibernate. However, It’s hard to tell when my body is pulsing with equal parts of excitement and fear. 

The news is sacred and precious to me in this moment. I am doing normal New York things but I feel anything but normal. I look around at others standing with me on the platform thinking somehow they know what’s in my bag and understand that I’ve just been handed a fresh start and a new aspiration. The train pulls into the station and I step into my car wishing for one more rose macaron but quickly reminding myself not to overdo it, not to jinx my ambitious undertaking.

the great plains

I went on a coastal roadtrip in 2012. We drove from Los Angeles to the Redwood forest and back. On the way there we crept along the cliffs, winding down roads. Sometimes I would sink low in my seat so I didn't have to see the upcoming twists and turns in the road. When you're in a car, this is easy. When this is your life, there's no sinking out of sight.

Then there was the drive back. Deciding that we had enough of the cliffs and the edge of what seemed to be the world, we took the straight and flat road home. We didn't see any accidents on our way up the coast but on that simple road, the wind whipped like hell against the car. So hard that I remember popping snacks in Matt's mouth for him because he couldn't take either hand off the wheel. There were a ton of accidents. We even saw some mini tornados out of dust and dirt. The cliffs were much more scary. At any point you felt like you were going to just tip off the edge. How funny that when everything was lain out simply before us that we were in much more danger.

I have arrived at the straight and simple. I'm not rising or falling. Much like a photograph that is unsaturated and flat, I keep flipping through the days, work, people, routines without much excitement or interest. I've lost interest in the organization of my things. My work seems to continue without any concern or creative satisfaction. Time moves and I watch it go. I sip water because nothing tastes particularly good or bad, mostly bland. I don't really watch out for cracks in the sidewalk. I haven't felt high or low but mostly medium. So where do I go from here knowing that if I take my hands from the wheel for one minute that I may flip over and end up worse off than where I begun.

I've seen the photos, I've heard the gossip. I knew it before I even discovered it. It dissolves in me and settles to the bottom. Nothing surprises me anymore because I've already imagined and reimagined it a million different ways. I saw you and it took me a full week to recover. I ended up flatter than before. More disinterested in what was around me, more disgusted with the situation.

I have a beautiful view of the city. I wake up around 4 or 5am everyday to the sun coming up over the city. My first thought is a split between how wonderful the colors are and how I don't understand how I got here. I haven't been here writing because I don't even have the real interest in putting it down anymore. After writing for days on ends, filling up notebooks and scribble pads with this and that I've run out. I got a cold and I ended up extremely exhausted. All the twists and turns were tiring and now that I'm on the flat, I'm more worried than ever.

a new york heart

There are people everywhere. There is construction, shopping bags, fire hydrants, taxi cabs, traffic signs, mailboxes, pigeons and umbrellas. Bikers that race by, runners that clip your shoulder. Smokers who blow out just as you pass and dog owners that don't pick up droppings. No wonder New Yorkers walk around with their heads down, sunglasses on and rounded shoulders. We're constantly protecting ourselves from what is spinning around us.

This is the only city I've lived in but visiting others I've taken a few notes. Chicago's people walk around and smile at each other. Philadelphians puff their chests out in a very confident, "no-mess" attitude way. The people in Denver seem to move in slow motion with shoulders down and a heaviness to each step. Everyone in LA wears heels or sneakers so they seem to bounce along the sidewalks. New York stands alone with the curve of the spine, shoulders hunched and forward march look. This morning while riding the elevator up to the 16th floor in the Empire State Building where I work I suddenly had the urge to bend half way over on one foot and extend my hands towards the back wall. Otherwise known as warrior three in yoga.

Since my upswing of practice I've been noticing big and subtle differences in the way my body moves. One of the biggest changes however is my posture. I'm conscious to push my back into a chair and not slouch, to walk with shoulders down by back and not up to my ears, to look others in the eye and not avoid small smiles or conversation starters. But walking quickly into work this morning I arrived tense and protected, awaiting for someone to run into me or play dodge with tourists entering the building. I pulled my shoulders away from my ears and pressed my chest forward. Some of the most difficult situations we put ourselves in are when we are vulnerable. It's much easier to stay on guard and protect everything you have. However then you don't grow, you don't trip a little and know that next time you need to be more aware of your surroundings, you don't learn a thing.

As a very long, stressful week wraps up I move into the weekend which are typically harder for me than the week. Filling my time with work, yoga and errands seem to space out during Saturday and Sunday and leave me feeling vulnerable and like I have endless time on my hands. There's no need to protect myself from this feeling. Why are we so scared to be alone with ourselves? It's just you.

lucky

I walked down the subway steps at Marcy Avenue yesterday and caught the eye of a guy about my age. He was at the bottom clearly waiting for someone, something. He smiled - his whole body smiled. For a split second I thought that he was of course waiting for me but soon realized that I've never seen this person before. His girlfriend trotted down from the steps into his arms. The kissed in the way that seemed comfortable but also a bit passionate. I felt a bit embarrassed to witness their public display of affection. Maybe because I'm ultra sensitive to everything right now, especially people touching.

I thought it was so nice that he waited for her. A simple, small gesture. I know that I'm in this cycle of overanalyzing everything but I'm trying to just let thoughts come and go like my breath. Breathe in a bit of sadness because no one was waiting for me, breathe out acceptance of this time to build myself up a bit.

I got home and Jack followed me into my room. Jack is my roommates 85+ lb mastiff pitbull mix. He mostly represents a hippopotamus because he moves so slowly and stiffly. He looked at me and I told him we could hang out in the living room but not my room, I ran into the living room. Jack stiffly ran and half jumped onto the sofa and flipped himself into me and took half my arm into his mouth. He does this when he's so happy you are there that he wants to actually bite you but he's too gentle to actually cause harm. He made me feel a bit better. I went to yoga (yup, still at it daily) and settled into poses which were held for 5-8 minutes each. Something about bending over my knee made me cry. Tears trickled down my cheeks as my toes went numb and I breathed as deep as humanly possible. I kept coming back to the question of, "When will someone be waiting for me?"

My friends were waiting though after yoga. I collected them at a bar and we went to another to get burgers. We sat and talked about past jobs, current relationships and other people's love lives. It's hard to hear of unhappy relationships right now. I keep coming back to wondering if people know how lucky they are. I felt lucky every single day when I was in a relationship. It's easy to lose focus of that when you're arguing over who needs to take the trash out or if there are shoes on the floor that you tripped over or whatever else makes you annoyed with the other person.

The guy from the subway, he knew he was lucky and I think that's what pulled at my heart strings. Because no matter how lucky you are, sometimes things just don't work out. But the only thing you can do is go home, sit on the sofa with the dog, go to yoga, meet friends for burgers, go home and put yourself to bed. You need to keep going, but don't forget to remember how lucky you are. No matter what situation you find yourself in.

just kids

My roommate has two children. The oldest is 8, the youngest just turned 6. They were at the apartment yesterday when I arrived home. All limbs, hair and smiles. Little bird hugs and back to making paper robots. Their energy and stone cold honesty is infectious. I love when the oldest is brutally honest without even knowing that her words ring insanely true even at such a young age. The youngest stuck a piece of paper on his forehead with an eyeball drawn on.

"Look I have three eyes!"
I turned to my other roommate, "We've been working on that for how long? (We both just got home from yoga) And look, Issac already knows exactly where his third eye is."

They tumbled onto my bed not wanting to get into their own. Matching pajama sets that I must admit I was a bit jealous of. Screaming bloody murder and rolling around laughing not wanting to go to sleep just yet. Tickles work wonders and so do carrying them upside down to their bed. Goodnights and see you soon's, they leave this afternoon to go back to their mums.

It made my night. It reminded me of flying down the hill with my sister and two cousins at my grandparents house when we were little. We were Indians, we were princesses and queens. We were whatever we wanted to be dressed in vintage scarves and dresses tied up with hair bands and pins. Mommom would take us to the candy store down the street. Bags of sugar gummy candies for us and cigarettes for her. I learned to drive at age 6. I sat on her lap and drove down the street and down the driveway. She taught me again at age 16. There were swings underneath their tall deck. I always hated the concrete feel on my bare feet. We'd leap from the peak of a swing into the grass. Our hands would smell like lighting bugs, our hair like grass and woods. The weeping willow tree served as a guest home. I used to walk down the street to sit with the neighbors horses, daring myself to slip onto their backs every day. I never did. I'm glad I waited until my own mum taught me to ride. All four of us rode our ponies. All four of us playing endless hours of whatever we could dream up.

The kids last night reminded me of my own loving family. We're all well into our adult lives and carving out our own places in the world. Watching those two last night made me realize that even though we're all getting older, we should never stop playing and creating.

thirty days

I feel sort of mixed up. This was something I started to give myself a sense of belonging. When you lose the sense of having somewhere to go and someone who expects you everyday, it can leave you feeling heavy and overwhelmed. I gave myself one hour and a half to not think, to be and to do. I showed up everyday for myself.

Today is day 30.

It was the worst class in the bunch. I expected to be perfect, balanced. It was a reminder that you work everyday but each day requires more work. No matter how many good days there are - bad ones can come on unexpectedly. It was the worst and the best.

I cannot expect perfection from myself. I cannot criticize bad steps. Sometimes poses that were easy for weeks suddenly strike as difficult. Never expect things to fall into place. Sometimes you lose balance.

I woke up sore. My body changed greatly in 30 days. I feel a bit of sadness that my 30 days are over. What I need to be conscious of is that it is not an end but a beginning. There really is no end because there is always work to do.

I am proud of myself. I am allowing myself this happiness when all I have felt lately is guilt and disappointment. Yoga shows me that I can still push through and find a place to belong. I belong in the exact place I am right now. With these people, in this time, with this awareness.

I found the notebook I had lost for a few days. I was writing down all this newly found knowledge from my classes. Thinking that every time I had a negative thought I could re-read them and feel a bit better. Something more significant happened though, I didn't need them. The wall was behind me as I peeled my legs up into a headstand but I didn't need it. I knew it was there and that was enough. I trusted my body and understood that I was so much stronger than I had originally realized. My body will hold. The biggest smile spread across my face. It was ridiculous - upside down and smiling. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I kicked down to my tippy toes and went into child's pose. I squeezed my feet, a little massage to myself.

Written on Sunday, September 1st

fine

"I'm fine. When is this over?"

Paul, August 13th

Bend down and touch the ground with the palms of your hands. If you aren't a gymnast like most of us, use your fingertips. Are you there? Good, okay. Feel connected. How is it? Oh, fine? Fine, but when is this over? How many times a day do we say that? This is um, fine but when the fuck is this going to be over. It hurts? Why are you letting it hurt, you're doing it. Do something a bit more comfortable. We came here to work but we didn't come here to work in pain. Listen, most of us only get to practice yoga like what...once a week or whatever? Just enjoy it. Do it but enjoy it. Do it and don't think "oh this is fine." Because then it's not fine. Why don't you just do something that feels good and you enjoy. Do yoga, take drugs. I shouldn't say that but I'm more of a drug addict than anything but you know what I mean. We're all thinking everything is fine but - when the fuck is this over.

I actually was asleep 97% of this class. I let go so much that by the time I realized I was practicing yoga I was standing in front of the juice in the grocery store blocks away.

tried + true

When I was in middle school I realized pretty quickly that girls were complete bullshit.

They would tell me that they liked my jeans and two seconds later tell someone else how terribly they looked and how I thought I was cooler than everyone else. I developed a good sense of which girls were full of shit and which were going to stand by me.

Today, it's not really any different. I've met more people in my life that have stabbed me in the back than who have held my hand. I'm not going to deny that I've probably done it to a few as well. I never really felt like I had to belong to a clique. I was perfectly fine having fewer friends. I also realized that I preferred having guy friends because they didn't stab me in the back. If they were going to be jerks, it was straight forward and forgotten about 2 minutes later.

At 27 I overhead someone once tell another, "Toni doesn't have a lot of friends."

At 27 I felt like I was 12 because it made me terribly sad. I went home, shut the bathroom door and I let myself cry just for a second. Then I went back to bed and to sleep. I thought about it again over the weekend as I sat with a coworker and friend at my new apartment.

"I can't get over this view," she said.
"Well I had to lose everything to get it," I said.

But I didn't have to lose any friends. When I needed them, they were right there. An army of people who were fucking pissed off and ready to help in anyway they could. I always knew but I re-realized, I don't have many friends maybe by other people's standards but the friends I have are some of the most interesting, honest and beautiful people I've ever met. The saddest part is having to call on them for help when I should have been calling on them for happier reasons the whole time. We make time when it's convenient and when bad things happen but it's hard day in and day out when everything is going swimmingly to remember that these are the people that actually do mean the most. Everyone is guilty of it so nobody really blames anyone else. It's something to be conscious of, something to work on.

"We should do this more often," she said.
"We should have been doing this since the last time," I said.

Reach out to someone you haven't spoken to in a while today just to say hi. Because girls can be such bullshit but if you're lucky enough to have those in your life that will stand by you when you need them and when you don't, hang on, those are true blue best friends. I'm so proud of mine.

over the loudspeaker

There is not one person I know that isn't going through some sort of challenge in their life this year.

Before I hit "post" I usually ask myself why I'm writing what I am and why I am sharing it publicly. Some of you may feel that some information would be better kept private or within a relationship, friendship, family, etc. The truth of the matter is, every time I put myself out there it has the potential of reaching someone else who is going through a challenge in their own lives.

Maybe you've come here to look at a recipe, to stalk me a little, to get to know what's going on in my head or simply by mistake. Or maybe you come back because I'm here saying that sometimes shit is really fucked up and that makes you feel a little bit better.

To everyone who has ever sent me messages about the blog, thank you for reading. For those who haven't, thank you too for reading and sticking it out with me. Much love going into the weekend.

no-bake recipe

I haven't made anything in over 2 weeks. I step into the kitchen and the only thing I've been able to grasp is a glass of ice water. That's all I'm capable for right now. My love of cooking and baking blossomed over the past two years by trying new recipes, trusting that messing up is okay and let's be honest, having someone to help me and feed at the end of the day. I've stopped feeding myself by means of my kitchen.

I feed myself by waking up each day and smiling. Making myself smile first before anything else like a crazy person who has lost their damn mind. I smile no matter what - sun up, sun down, rain or shine. For a week I woke up at 4am everyday to smile. If I start with a smile, the day is already on its way up. It's my body saying, "Okay, another day. Be grateful, be honest. Try." It's my mind saying, "You're okay. Even if you aren't, that's okay. You'll get there."

I feed myself by riding my bike. The movement helps me. While everything around me seems to be shaky and scary I was able to do this thing. I was able to pedal my legs and trust that my body would take me there, even if my mind didn't want to. There is so much to be said about physically being able to do something that emotionally you can hardly handle.

I feed myself by practicing yoga. I practice breathing everyday, all day.

Others are feeding me. Friends who ask how I'm doing. Hugs and hellos stitch me together. Family to lean on. I have the strongest people around me, it's like being fed steak and potatoes everyday. Take a bite of their kind hearts and rebuild yourself.

I had a taste of a coworkers quiche yesterday and it made me long for the quiche I make myself. But I'm not going to force it. I'm not ready but when I am I know that the ingredients can be found and the time will be set aside. For now I'm working on my no-bake recipe.

your attention please

I saw you and you saw me. We've never met but we know each other. I don't know the sound of your voice or how you pronounce simple words like tomato or coffee. But for an instant, we saw each other and we couldn't figure out how we were connected - until we did.

Is there a name for this? Is this something that happens to most people now? We're so connected on a non-personal level that our personal face-to-face selves don't even have to say anything, we just keep going, keep walking, keep pedaling.

There was a conversation about continuous partial attention. I like to think of myself as a mega multi-tasker. I can organize a closet while designing a project in my head. I can go for a bike ride and map out the rest of the week and make a grocery list. The problem with this is I'm only partially connected to what I'm doing. My mind leaps from task to task without fully being engaged. One wave of thought crashes into another, while the other builds directly behind it. If I set aside time to organized the closet, then time to design a project - the two may turn out to be more enjoyable and effective. Not convinced?

I'm at dinner with a friend while texting another under the table. All while thinking of what I need to tell my mom when I'm done with dinner. I'm not fully engaged in the person in front of me who may really need that connection. I really need that connection but I'm so used to only being partially focused at any given time that I see this as multitasking, not as a problem to which there is a solution.

I knew you because I saw your photos online from a friend, of a friend, of a coworker, of a friend. How confusing. I'm not even sure how I got there. I know your name, I have already made up my mind of what sort of person you are, I have passed judgement about you and your friends simply because I scanned your gallery. I am partially connected to you, partially engaged. We will never meet, we will never have a conversation but as I passed you I knew you, and you knew me.

I'm working on not allowing my thoughts to leap from one to another so quickly. To sit down and finish a task before moving to another. To understand what it is to be flexible but to also understand what it is to be focused and engaged with my surroundings. Because I passed you and my mind flipped through a million ways that look could play out. I want to be conscious of myself - of others. Not to pass judgement and to have a steady stream of breath which allows myself to let things be as they are, the grace to accept and the confidence to let go.

to lose

 

"It's okay to completely lose your shit for a while. You'll get it back."

Mallory, August 2nd

a balancing act

There are things about us that are different. There are things about us that are the same.

I said, "I think it's a balance."
You said, "I don't want to be balanced."

It vibrates through me everyday. I fell to my knees in the street, I sat on a cool subway train and weep in the presence of strangers, I take unnecessary trips to the bathroom at work and sit a while until my flush face fades.

The hardest part of leaving is knowing that it may be the right thing. It doesn't make it hurt any less and it doesn't make it easier. I shifted closer, you further.

I fill my lungs with air and try to remember that I've been here. That my situation is not less or more challenging than of those around me. That daily life brings us challenges and every so often, heart break. I'm letting go of what I do not need while you find what you do. I hope you find it, I hope you fill the void. 

To those who know me personally, Thank you. You've gone to great lengths to pull me up as I fall down. I love you forever.

coffee courting

The 14th of February is approaching whether you like it or not. Last year I was semi-single and not expecting much on the day. I made small heart pins for some of my co-workers to help spread some love around. I was surprised when I asked a few people and they said no! That they were against any sort of Valentines Day celebrating… it never occurred to me to take such a strong stance. Nevertheless, those who accepted the heart pin wore it around and I think it made them feel just a little bit fuzzy that day.

I said "semi-single" did you catch that? I was crushing big time but it was a bit difficult having that we worked about 10 feet from each other. My day usually began with Chris and I going to Starbucks to get our coffee and to spend a few minutes being flirty (he) and giddy (me). We were very conscious to not bringing any sort of relationship into the workplace so that morning coffee was sometimes the only time of the day where I could blush and not be embarrassed or feel that I had a dozen eyes on me. On Valentines Day I came into work expecting for the normal routine when I saw that my drink was already on my desk. My heart sunk into my butt.

So if you're in a relationship or not come the 14th, do something nice for someone you know. Even if it's a friendly gesture. Who knows in a years time what that could turn into.

two

 I feel like one of those parents who says good morning to their child and then half way through the day looks at the calendar to realize that today is their own child's birthday - and they forgot. Hurry to the store and get a cake, what was that something they wanted from that store, do they like chocolate or vanilla, over spend, over decorate, happy birthday! no we didn't FORGET we've been planning to surprise you all along!

Today is suddenly lovely's two year birthday. I've written 162 posts inspired from my past, present and future. They are babbles of mine that have turned into a place for me to recall recipes, places I've been and people I've known.

From the past year, below are the three posts that stuck out most to me.
The most truthful: Don't Stay
The most delish: Scrumptious Scone
STILL the most read: Naked Truth

I still am completely taken back when people reference suddenly lovely. It means so much that someone (anyone really) reads this. Thank you for reading, putting up with my bad grammar and spelling and for saying little things here and there to me about a post or picture that stuck with you. I hope that for maybe a few minutes a day at work while you have your lunch or need a break you can click around here and find something that you enjoy.

less is more

I awoke from the sun beaming in from outside. A cool fall breeze from the window and in the arms of a man who loves me very much and all I could do was whine and complain.

I had no makeup, deodorant, clean clothes, face wash, comfortable shoes. My head hurt, my arm hurt from a flu vaccine days prior, my jaw sore from my apparent teeth grinding sleep. I could hear how annoying, bratty and selfish I sounded but I kept going on and on. Why was the sun so bright and why did the landlord choose Saturday morning to replace the siding (this was the only fair complaint since they began hammering at 8am). Chris, my boyfriend who spoiled me with a movie and dinner the night prior, listened and didn't interrupt as I went on and on. After a pause in my banter, mostly because I was probably looking for other things to bitch about he simple said, "Maybe you need too many things."

I fired back that I didn't think clean underwear was too much to ask but throughout the day and entire weekend the question stuck with me - do I really need so much?

With the change of the season I've found myself wanted more things. Hats, shoes, gadgets, beauty products, jewelry, everything really. I want these times but what is more alarming is that I feel I deserve these things. Why a $60 candle? Well because I earned it. I work hard goddammit so if I want my room to smell like one big fancy rose, so be it. When I come back down to earth I realize how stupid that line of reasoning is. You know what I really need? A big reality check.

I need the basics. Food, water, shelter and a job. I do not need $25 lipstick, $60 candles or an $800 watch. I have plenty of clothes to layer for the fall and winter, a heavy jacket, a hat, a cabinet of soup and to be honest, too much lipstick already. Having all I need is a blessing I seem to lose touch with all too often. My ego gets the best of me and the situation, convincing me that these things will somehow improve my life quality. What will however is wanted less. A current yoga lesson brought up the idea of taking less. Taking only what you need so there is more for everyone around you. Why does that sound so simple and easy but when I'm standing in the middle of Bloomingdale's I have this incredible pressure that if I do not have that DVF scarf that would mean no groceries for two weeks that I can't keep it in the front of my mind?

So it begins - the constant mantra of needing and wanting less. Taking what I have and seeing it all as blessings rather than burdens. And most of all to stop whining so much. No one wants to hear that.

the paper trail

 Growing up I knew I was lucky. My mom was cast from early on as the "cool mom." Always requested and selected to chaperon field trips and tag along during hangouts with my friends, I knew she was cool and calm unlike some of the other moms. We'd go to Washington D.C. for museum trips and while the other parents drilled their groups on facts that they learned that day - my mom would take us outside for a non-cafeteria lunch and we'd watch her bargain down a tee-shirt vendor for whatever matching designs my friends and I were after. She was an idol to other girls my age. My mom listened to all our 12 year old issues of boys, parents, clothes, growing pains and she would take us seriously. She never spoke above our 12 year old selves and only offered advice and snacks. I trusted her so much that I knew that when I ran into trouble in 6th grade that she would hear me out.

We weren't allowed to pass notes but since I could hold a pen, I was writing letters. With multiple pen pals and pretty stationery, I was a 12 year old note rebel. Others however, not so much. When a schoolmate dropped a note of mine in the hall and Mrs. Kraft picked it up I already had a strike against me. The fact that it claimed that she was a class-a B**** (yeah I was a badass note passer but I didn't swear) was a sure sign that my parents would be called.

I was pulled out of study hall, told to serve multiple detentions and that my parents would be notified of my actions. While I was mad I got caught, I never felt bad. I knew that once my mom had heard what had happen that she'd understand. Flash forward to coming home and telling my mom the truth. What happened, what I wrote and the detentions. Most importantly though why I felt the way I did about Mrs. Kraft. She put kids down. She didn't encourage learning, she encouraged humiliation. Picked on kids who were timid readers and played favorites to those who were typical class pets. My mom went to talk to Mrs. Kraft.

She first asked if the note had been addressed to her and when she said no, my mom's point was made. If it wasn't addressed to her then why did she read it? It was none of her business and that it was a shame that a 12 year old hurt her feelings. I would not serve detention and the matter would be dealt with at home.

The matter was this - mom agreed that Mrs. Kraft was indeed a bitch. What I learned - if I truly felt a certain way I could tell my mom honestly and she would listen. Her reaction wouldn't be tarnished because she was the adult and I was the child. We were a team and a family. That I could trust her but also not to do thinks that may lead her to distrust me or disappoint her. I already knew she was the cool mom but her standing up to Ms. Kraft made my heart swell and still does today. Aside from all that I also learned one last thing - never leave a paper trail.

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