that's a wrap

As the year wraps up so am I. All of my projects seem to be coming to a close at work (new ones on their way no doubt), I'm crossing off errands and year long to-do lists are getting shorter and shorter. Even my Christmas shopping is near complete, something that never usually begins until about December 15th. I've shared so much on suddenly lovely that I feel that a change in my life should be somewhat ceremonially put into words and up on the blog. I am physically wrapping up everything I own, I am moving to Brooklyn.

A little over a year ago I wrote about my then current roommate's decision to move out of our cozy 2 bedroom upper west side apartment to an apartment where her and her boyfriend would share the space. Looking back at what I had wrote, I can assure you that I've become one of those absolutely crazy s.o.b.'s that claim "when you know you know." Because now I know and guess what, it's true that another borough has enough room to house both our physical and emotional space.

My first ever apartment (student housing for a summer internship) was in Brooklyn Heights right off the Clark Street stop on the 2, 3. I loved everything about that neighborhood. I was scared to death to use the subway, spent Saturday and Sunday mornings along the water just admiring New York City and it became a definite reason why I returned to the city once I graduated college. Coming up on 4 years of working in NYC I am thrilled to be returning to Brooklyn of a new neighborhood. East Williamsburg is an up and coming neighborhood which I've come to love and will soon call home.

I currently reside in a smallish 2 bedroom apartment on the upper west side. I say smallish because to anyone unaware of the typical/affordable NYC apartment, my place is hellishly small but to someone more aware of the apartment situation in the city and the absurd rent then my apartment isn't so bad. I live a block from Central Park and the American History Museum. I am chatty with my neighbors, my grocery store clerks, the trainers at my gym, the supers on my entire block and the bodega owner. I've been there for 2 years now which is just long enough for me to soak up all that I can of the neighborhood. Plus, in moving to Brooklyn I gain a private deck with so much potential for a garden.

More so than the garden, I gain the experience of living with my significant other. Both of us being designers means we can equally geek out at the wonderful studio space we are setting up in the second bedroom. As we combine our things and bring the apartment to life I can't help but look back at the space between and wonder who that was writing the post. Who knew so much could happen in a year. Maybe in 12 months I'll be looking back at this post and wondering the same thing. Time will tell. Hello Brooklyn.

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.

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.

the space between

Living in a city where space is money, I've began to think at what age is it appropriate to still have a roommate? Isn't it sort of odd to think that you live on your own yet you still share a home with others that you are just friends with? In some sense, it's really nice. You can be single and still have the comfort in knowing that someone is there when you come home from work. In another view it seems very juvenile to have a "roomie" at age 25, 27 or 30. When does it cross over from being necessary to disheartening?

This stems from the fact that my current roommate will be moving out and into an apartment with her boyfriend come February. Aside from the sadness I feel in losing her as a roommate, I felt this odd sense of abandonment like we were breaking up. Who would wake me up after I accidentally turn my alarm off during the week? Who will make sure I make it home at night? Then my mind turned to the haunting thought of; will I ever want someone else in my space?

Let me define my interpretation of space. Space is both physical and emotional. If you are physically in my space this may be a problem because of the smallness of city apartments. I don't want to bump into you because this will cause both of us to become grouchy. If you are emotionally in my space it means that you are more than just a friend. You ask me where I was and what I am doing the second I walk in the door. Your energy directly effects me because I am emotionally involved with you. Can there be enough physical space for all the emotional space we together take up? Following me?

Much more than a roommate, when do you decide that it's actually time to move in with someone who is more than a friend. I'm left with this question because I've never had the mere thought of doing so with any of my previous boyfriends. Others say that it just happens and that it just seems to suddenly make sense. I cannot wrap my head around that. All I know is that I need a lot of physical space to hold all of the emotional space I take up. Maybe I should start thinking about moving to another borough.

thumbless

Out of all the skills that were passed down from my parents, being able to garden was not one of them. No matter how hard I try, my plants always die. My mom has sent/gifted me dozens of plants for birthdays or housewarmings and no matter how hard I try, they always die within a few weeks. I have managed to kill both a cactus and a bamboo plant which is seemingly impossible. I have the anti green thumb which made me wonder where that saying came from. There are many different stories but one that seems to make the most sense is when gardeners handle pots which have green algae around the base and outside, their fingers (thumb) become stained green. I'm trying yet again this year to grow both basil and mint. So far the basil has sprouted but the mint stays hidden (probably dead before I even planted it). I am determined to have one plant live long enough so that I can harvest it for a pizza, drink, salad, etc. Here's to hoping and maybe a light green thumb.

red in a book

In January I posted about my "blessed journal" where I was writing down 5 things at the end of each day that I was happy for. I was using a ratty small notebook that for a while was lost in the move, found again, spilled on (tea before bed), etc. For my birthday my wonderful roommate, Valerie gifted me with the Kate Spade "Spade Journal" which now has replaced the old journal. The fabric cover with gold stamped spade is the perfect addition to my bedside collection. I'm not a fan of books that aren't spiral because I feel the pages fall out too easily but because I'm not using it for more that a few minutes a day, this one will probably last the test of time. Thank you Valerie.

country chic

Two of my favorite things are in this photo, a gray horse & a chandelier. Safe to say that if I were still riding I'd be bugging my father to hang one in the barn. I've been an equestrian for going on 14 years now. My mother introduced me to the sport and a mere month later I had my first pony. She looked much like the pony in this photo. She was a DuPont pony who had more fire in here than I knew at the time. She always took good care of me though, only dumping me off a handful of times, never too hard. Although that's easy to say now with all the bumps and bruises healed. From her it was a spiral of horses; Libby (Thoroughbred), Digger (Quarter horse), Michael (Thoroughbred although he looked more like an Appendix) and for a few months there was Groovy (Thoroughbred) who was a random Christmas gift from my mom. I think back and growing up in the middle of horse country I thought it was pretty normal to have the luxury of riding my own horse whenever I wanted. Now I understand how lucky I was to have, and still have, this experience at my fingertips. With the weather as terrible as it is right now, I'm looking forward to the spring and trips back to Pennsylvania to ride.

picture perfect

Shopping with a purpose? Say it isn't so. Here's the real reason I'm posting this photo, I obsessively keep shopping bags with exquisite printing, fabulous design and unique paper. The problem is, they sit in my closet and collect dust. But when I came across this little ditty, my heart bloomed. I wish I had a great walk in closet to where I could frame all my goodies and set them on display. Sigh, one day!