Eye Spy

Curled up in my window seat I watched the world from cruising altitude, the lights of the cities below twinkling bright white and gold, and I couldn’t help but think how quickly the landscape turns into a starry night sky from above. My window was foggy, my face pressed up against the glass as I descended towards the west coast. I was home. There is always a wave of relief when I touch down on home turf. Heels are replaced with Danskos; fitted blouses are traded for polar fleece, and messy hair and black down jackets are accepted at all high-end restaurants.

A close family friend once told me that our eye color is based off the places that we love most–places we are meant to be. For example, if your eyes are a deep forest green, you long for long walks on muddy trails, sticky pinesap between your fingers, and twigs in your hair. If your eyes are amber brown, you yearn for arid desert trails, chasing rattlesnakes high into the mountains, the warm sun hitting your face. For those crystal icy blue eyes, you prefer flying down the side of a mountain, thrive off speed you can only get on the slopes, and look forward to gathering around a campfire to warm frozen fingers and toes.

As for me, my blue-green eyes dream of deep blue oceans, sea green waves crashing against the shore, a cold tide filled with plenty of kelp. My happiest place is walking along the edge of the ocean, with my yellow lab. With each step the sea foam washes up under my feet, my jeans soggy around the edges of my ankles, the salty air leaving tangles in my hair. The dark grey clouds clear the people off the beach and I am the only one for miles, wandering through the fog.

What is it about the ocean that can cure the head and the heart? Is it the wide-open horizon, a clean slate that calms the mind? It is the air? The salty, sandy, cold wind that clears the head. Is it the rhythm of the waves? The tide washing in and out that assures you there is something out there bigger than you–bigger than all of us. Is it soaking wet (happy as can be) Labradors that greet you here and there? Is it the small fires that dot the beach at night, huddled with friends, family, and strangers alike? Is it the loss of time? The days that last forever, from long walks, to endless cups of coffee, the movies and board games that last long into the night.

The year is coming to a close. It’s a time for reflection, a time for gathering and a time to be thankful. It’s a time to be home, in the eye of your perfect place. Here at the beach I am able to simplify my whole world into a long walk.  After a day wandering along the edge of the ocean, I sit and look out over the waves, the blue green of the ocean looking back at me, I breathe deep and take it all in.

 This cup is for Suzzie: What a tradition this has become, so lucky to run into you year after year

And Emma, Sammy and Theo: because you know exactly why this is my favorite place on earth

Because of You.

This week I can literally feel the weight of my heart. The ache is so heavy that the strength to carry it through the day feels almost impossible. This week the world lost two amazing individuals, two people that not only changed the world, but changed my life. This post is for them. With all love, from me.

I will never forget the first time we met. From the very beginning, you made it seem like we had been life long friends. You made New York feel safe. You made New York feel like a home. You made New York friendly. You made New York calm and normal.  Not a day went by that I didn’t look forward to seeing you as I made my way through the revolving glass doors. You would meet me, extending your arms out, pulling me into a hug, kissing me on the cheek, whispering, “How was your day” into my ear.

Your hundred-watt smile lifted me up on my worst days, and was contagious to everyone around you. You knew every face, every name, every person. No matter how fast I was running, you never let me get by without shouting my name, without saying hello, without reaching out to grab my hand. On days when I felt invisible, you made me feel like the most beautiful. On days when everything felt hard, you made everything seem easy.

I will never forget hearing the news of the Boston bombing crackling over the radio, your compassion and calm drowning out the chaos to the events that were unfolding. You held my hand, squeezing it tight and told me everything was going to be okay, that we must live everyday to its fullest.

I will always remember those afternoons, gathered around, sharing snacks and food. You always had good food. Where did all that food come from? Remember that day that you told me all about quinoa? You were so proud of your healthy snacks.

I will miss hearing stories about your family, weekends you spent with your son, and updates on your favorite movies, music, and newest New York hang outs. But most of all, I will miss you. You were remarkable. You were the brightest light and while 66 West 12^th Street will never be the same, your light will shine on–always.

This cup is for Will.

And Mandela–

You are the other eternal flame, the guiding light to every individual in this world who is striving for peace, freedom and equality. Your strength, courage and determination not only changed history, but changed the world.  We will carry you in our hearts and our minds–always–and uphold all that you gave us. We will remember what is important, that, “What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.”

It is our responsibility to carry on your legacy, to walk in your footsteps of the doers and the dreamers, to channel your determination and your strength, your wisdom and your words. Your legacy will live on in every living being as we continue to make this world a better place, for ourselves, and for generations to come. I am because you are. We are because he is. Ubuntu.

In honor of Will and to donate please visit : https://www.giveforward.com/fundraiser/yjl3/memorial-fund-in-honor-of-william-gary

Happy Anniversary

Today marks our one and a half year anniversary and I got to thinking about our relationship. You are the twinkling lights, the moonrise and the sunsets over the city skyline. You are the crazy storms, frigid cold, and snowflakes hitting my eye lashes. I blame you for those unbearable hot and humid days that make me feel like a limp, wet, mop. I get frustrated with you, your popularity, and the crowds that you attract. I crave quiet walks and calm, and I end up having to share you with everyone (and their little dog). You are so popular that the traffic is in constant gridlock, honking and yelling at the chance to get to you. No matter how fast I power-walk, I never get to you on time. You never hold my reservation. Sometimes, I wait for hours in lines for you and stand in heels on subway platforms wishing I was home. I always make it, but sometimes you force me to switch trains, to get derailed, to trip. You give me blisters that will last a lifetime. Some days I am lucky. I make the train right on time, I get a seat, and the car doesn't smell. The lucky days are the days when no one stops and asks me for change, whistles, hoots or catcalls. Why do you let them do that?

Sometimes you can be such a slob. You get gum on my shoe, the kind that ends up everywhere and no matter how much peanut butter I slather on, it never comes off. Most of the time you smell fine, never great, but fine. But sometimes you smell awful. Sometimes you reek of urine--and it never really goes away. You let garbage pile up all over the streets, and you never really clean up. You are the reason that air conditioners drip onto my clean clothes as I am walking to work. You are the one who lets black snow collect in the gutters. You are the one who let's the mosquitoes fly into the room and eat me alive. You don't flinch at the thought of a cockroach, and mice are your idea of the quintessential roommate. You are the one who doesn't recycle and probably dumps all that trash into the ocean for the next generation. But, even with all that, we're making it work.

My favorite days are Sunday mornings, wandering through the farmer's market. My favorite days are long walks in Central Park in the fall, when I can wrap myself in cashmere scarves and dance in the leaves. My fondest memories are staring up at the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center; wandering down Fifth Ave looking at the holiday window displays, ice skating at Bryant Park, and the impromptu snowstorm on my birthday with all our friends. Do you remember the scavenger hunt that lasted the whole day last fall? Do remember our midnight walk through the park during Nemo? Do you remember my excitement picking out my bracelet from Tiffany, and my delight as I held the little blue box tightly in my hand? My most favorite days are taking long runs along the West Side Hwy, countless dinners with friends, and meandering through galleries on Saturday afternoons.

No matter what, you always put up with me. I get grouchy. Your loud music drives me crazy. You're never a cheap date and you refuse to go home early. You prefer a night on the town to a laid back cup of tea and cozy movie at home. You’re the first long term relationship that has drained my account weekly (for $10 salads and $6 lattes). You're the only date that has cost me countless glasses of $18 wine. You club. I hate clubbing. If you were in charge, you would prefer that I wore heels day and night, and I'm sure you would toss my Uggs. You hate my Patagonia, my Nike and my Northface. You probably wish that I wore more makeup and put more effort into brushing my hair. If it was up to you, you would request that I got my nails done everyday, pointing to a nail studio on every corner.

I know how much you love me, but I wish we had a bigger place. I wish you would let me get a dog. I wish you would help me find a job. I know you think that the corner office with the glass windows is readily available, but it's not. I know you're a Democrat, but then why do we still fight about healthcare, our zip code and monthly budgets? I know you love the subway, but why can't I have a car? You're idea of a local brew is a bottled beer. You're idea of a large latte is a 12oz (and that will never cut it). You would prefer a limo, and I would prefer a bike. You’re impartial to mountains, but I miss them with my whole heart. You think that there are plenty of trees in Central Park, but I know, deep down, it's not a forest.

I feel so lucky to have a window. I'm glad I can drink water right out of the tap. I'm glad we have survived the really hard days, so that I can better appreciate the good days. You and I have come a long way. We have grown, both inside and out. I am not sure where this journey will take us--but, New York, I am so glad we have made it this far. New York, at the end of the day, I don't have any regrets. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into from day one, even though you continue to surprise me every single day. You shake me to my core. You rattle me. You get under my skin. You pull at my heartstrings and you push me in more ways than I know how.

I hope you continue to remind me to be thankful. I hope you continue to remind me how lucky I am, no matter how crabby I get. I hope, that no matter what happens between us, we always remain friends. Do opposites attract? I'm not sure (nor am I convinced). This relationship runs deep, and there is no one out there quite like you.

Dear New York,

Here's to us.

Happy Anniversary.

Love,

Me.

Game Time

I had a good friend who threw his pencil up in the air and walked out the double doors of his undergraduate career with less than ten weeks to go. At the time I remember thinking, Seriously? Buddy! You couldn’t hold out for just ten more weeks?! I tried to wrap my brain around his. What message was he trying to send? What could have been so bad that it left him hopeless and helpless and fed up with the system?

But this week I wanted to throw my pencil up in the air, shut down my laptop and walk. For the first time, I could finally understand exactly how he felt. Not because I don’t like what I am doing, but because this stage of the game is when you begin to question everything. If I make a play, what should it be? Where will it lead? Who is on my team? Am I ready for a curve ball? The stakes are high, the competition is fierce. My team is so incredibly supportive and we are all capable of winning, of scoring a home run, and everyone is cheering in the stands. But, under the pressure, I begin to question: Do I want to be in this game?

Deep down I know that I do. I know that not every hit will be a home run, but I’m in it for the long run. Maybe it’s just a matter of sitting on the sidelines to realize how much I value the game, and how win or lose, everything is bound to work out. But I can’t help but want to trade in my pencils and books for some dandelion picking, and cloud gazing–the kind of distractions I used to catch instead of the ball.

My parents never told me what I should do. They never forced me to stay in the game if I didn’t want to be there–they still don’t. Instead, the “shoulds” come from my own self-coach. The shoulds are bossy and I get the shoulds confused with the coulds, confused with the woulds.

            What you SHOULD do.

            What you COULD do.

            What you WOULD do.

The longer you’re in the game, the shorter the time span of the “would do” or “want to do” game plan is used–replaced by “should do” and “could do.” Where is the balance? How can you win the game and still follow your heart? Remembering the wants and not forgetting about the coulds and shoulds.

At the end of the day I think it has to do with less worrying and more doing. Just play and keep playing. Don’t worry so much about the scoreboard, the ranking, the shoulds, coulds, and woulds. Instead, focus on the now and don’t lose sight of why you’re in the game to begin with. Keep your eye on the ball. These are the reminders I need to keep telling myself. With my pencil in hand, game on!

This cup is for Diana–We are in it to win it! 

Soar

This has taken me a long time to write, a long time to process, a long time to find the words. But, yesterday I was at the park and we were at the swings. I felt the breeze hit my face. Little voices laughed and squealed as they soared toward the clouds. It was one of those cool mornings with a bite in the air. It was one of those mornings where the light hits the leaves just right, giving the park a golden glow. It was one of those perfect New York autumn mornings. My heart ached. I thought of you.

I thought of your smile, your infectious laugh that would fill a room. I thought of all the love and light that filled the warehouse when you walked in. I have fond memories of hiding in shipping boxes, the look on your face when we surprised you! I thought of all the times you would reach out for a high-five. I thought about all the times you made me laugh. I thought about the undeniable love that you held for Meaghan, the kind of love that I hoped to find someday. I thought about the dedication and positive attitude that you brought to every job, every task. I thought about how you made everyone around you feel like the most important person in the world.

And here I was at the park. Here I was gazing up at the trees, up at the sky. My throat felt raw. My heart. My heart. I thought of little Julius. I thought of little Julius climbing into the swing and soaring up into the clouds. I thought of him smiling and laughing as he swung higher and higher.

I hope that one day I can take him to the park. I hope that one day we can meet at the swings and I can tell him all about the old days at TOMS. I hope I can tell him all about his dad–what an amazing person he was, not only as a husband and father, but as a friend.  And we will swing. We will swing as high as our TOMS will take us, and we will be thinking of you.

This cup is for Hammer, I will think of you always.

And for Meaghan & Julius…I will be waiting at the swings. 

(If you would like to give, please visit: http://www.forjulius.com/)

Secret of Life

It finally feels like fall here in New York City. I got to spend the weekend with small friends and we had to hunt for socks and extra layers before heading out to the playground. Swinging in the breeze it smelled like fall, and on the way home we stopped for warm cocoa and snacked on crunchy apples. This is my favorite time of year. The mysterious puddles in New York begin to disappear, the mosquitoes head South, and I can finally pull my air conditioner from the window and throw all my shorts into storage. For me, this time of year is not bitter sweet. I am an Autumn girl through and through. This is my happy place. Hand me the heavy knits, pass the apple cider, bake me something with pumpkin, and pile the logs onto the fire–I am ready.

The farmers market is bursting with color and boot sightings are taking place on every street corner. It is all I can do to stop people and ask, “Where did you get those!?” Want. Need. Want. These are the days of foggy mornings and crispy leaves. These are the afternoons of long shadows and lantern lit bedrooms. These are the evenings for extra blankets and big coffee mugs. These are the days.

This month has been particularly busy, and I am feeling inspired. I only wish the days got longer and not shorter–more time for painting, more time for reading, more time for calm. I feel like I am lost in a corn maze of work, with no end in sight. Every turning point is another assignment, another task, another challenge. I am hopeful there is a cave for hibernating at the end of this corn maze.

In the meantime:

“This is the real secret of life–to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.”

–Alan Wilson Watts

This cup is for Caitlin and Eben–Cheers! And to Nathan, welcome to the world! 

Gathering

Lately, I have been thinking about gathering around the table. Last week I attended a small off Broadway play called The Kitchen Table, starring a dear friend who I also happen to share a kitchen table with. A play by Erin Breznitsky and directed by Tamara Winters, The Kitchen Table was a series of vignettes that told the story of what happens around the kitchen table–those deep conversations that take place, the tough decisions, the laughs, the tears, and the heartache.

I left the theater thinking about the kitchen tables in my life. My childhood kitchen table had a wooden lip along the bottom that stuck out just enough to bruise my knee every time I forgot it was there. I have fond memories of sitting under that table with my yellow lab and looking at everyone’s shoes, tempted to untie all the shoelaces. My childhood kitchen table is where I spread out the glue and the glitter for crafting and creating. It’s the table where stories were written, writers gathered together to talk, parties were hosted. That table is where we had long soup dinners, where I filled out my college applications, where we talked about vacations, current events, shared ideas, laughed, cried, paid bills, threw New Yorker’s, spilled, read, worked, and relaxed. That table was always set with candles–it still is. My grandfather always sits on the far end, and my yellow lab can still be found under it.

My current kitchen table is long, it can accommodate anywhere from 1 to 20 people. It always has a current issue of The New York Times waiting for the morning coffee drinkers. Occasionally it is adorned with small white tea candles or fresh flowers from the farmer’s market. That table has a long history, holds stories long before my time, and has gathered together people from all walks of life, from all over the world.

Someday I want a farm table. I want to feel the grooves and the splinters. I want to gather an array of benches for friends and loved ones. I want to make memories that will last a lifetime. This table will seat over a dozen, with lots of leafs, heavy, and sturdy. This table will be one of a kind; will smell of cedar and pine.

And sometimes I dream about who I would invite to sit at my dream farm table. Here is the list:

Barack &Michelle Obama

Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu

Vera Wang

Dar Williams

Nelson Mandela

Frida Kahlo

Donna Karen

Lyle Lovett

Dali Lama

Jodi Williams

Maya Angelo

Christine Lagarde

Amartya Sen

Mary Oliver

Eleanor Roosevelt

Wangari Maathai

Georgia O’Keefe

Billy Collins

Joan Baez

Nora Ephron

…The list is still growing and I am still dreaming…

This cup is for Mel, who brought a kitchen table to life on stage, and who I am lucky enough to share a real kitchen table with here at home.