October Notes

October and November blew through the year like a gust of wind...and so I am catching up.

“I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.” –Leif Enger, Peace Like a River

Did you know that bourbon and apple cider is what fall is made of? We made this discovery over the weekend, after we assembled a coffee table in our living room and channeled Julia Childe and Nora Ephron and made a chocolate torte and pumpkin spice cake to ring in autumn. I boxed up my summer dresses, downloaded all my Greece pictures from the summer, and pulled out my woolly socks and chunky sweaters. Fall has finally arrived to Brooklyn.

I have been feeling melancholy and settling into a lifestyle of simpler things, small groups, sharing a glass of wine with a close friend, taking part in intimate conversations about life, happiness and grand plans. I’ve spent Friday nights with my fancier kicks stored away in my closet, wandering the kitchen in leggings and messy hair, standing over boiling pots of winter soups, lighting expensive candles for no one but myself, and finding the quiet corners of home to be the most inviting.

In a city that never sleeps, it is up to me to find the time to hibernate. And with a new job that comes with the same 9-5 routine, I have made it a goal to find ways to make no day quite the “same” as the last. I refuse to set a pattern of same-ness in a world that revolves around “same.” And so I have started a list to throw “same” out the window, and take autumn by storm with new ideas, new routes, new recipes, books, ideas and plans.

• Change the way you walk to work; get off at a different stop, walk further, walk on the other side of the street, walk with your chin up, take your ear buds out, give life a listen, and get lost in your own neighborhood.

•  Add something new to an old recipe. This week I took a simple boxed cake and added chopped apples and cinnamon to give it a little extra chunk and a little more kick. I added bourbon to apple cider, and I added fresh chopped carrots to my chili.

•  Change up your routine. Run in the dark. The other night when I got home, instead of changing into leggings, I changed into my running clothes and headed out into the dark.

•   Instead of reading before bed, run through French flashcards. Learning a new language before falling into dream land can only help cement all those tricky verb changes right?!

  • Buy expensive candles. Lots. And keep rotating them. Most importantly, never save them for a special occasion.
 • Dump a toxic friend. Dump the friend who only makes you feel terrible about yourself, who never put in the time that you put into the friendship. Dump them. Life is too short and we are too old for this.

• Wear a different perfume. I bought a new perfume, it’s made from pine trees (can you tell I am homesick?) and I have worn it to work a few days in a row, carrying a small forest on my wrists.

• Clean in the morning. Sweep while the coffee is brewing, before you head out the door. You will be amazed what a nice surprise this is when you get home in the evening.

• String twinkle lights (that are supposed to go outside) inside, and put them in your kitchen, above your sink and counter, in a hap–hazard arrangement, plug in, and enjoy. You will find that you actually do spend more time in the kitchen enjoying them.

These are just a few of the changes that I have made (so far) to ensure that no day is the same, because routines and same-ness is so yesterday.

This cup is for fall. 

Savings Account

This fall I am starting with a clean slate. August was like that thread in the sweater that you pull and the whole thing begins to unravel into a big heap in your hands. No amount of mending could begin to fix the holes, and so, with a heavy sigh, I start over. This is all prompted by the fact that I lost my laptop to a series of unfortunate events. In the end, I lost two years of images captured from all over the place, pages and pages of refugee research and peace-keeping solutions to humanitarian problems that plague our world, and folders filled with things I can’t even remember (but that I am sure were extremely important, detailed, and could have been famous someday). Alas, it is lost, and it made me take a step back and think about everything that I still have and the all the other ways we manage to collect, document and save memories. 

After I lay on my hardwood floors, mascara running down my face, sobbing like an uncontrollable five year old on an airplane, I sat up and realized that nothing was truly lost. I didn’t need my computer to remember my life for me. That zipper that doesn’t align on my shoulder bag I got in the market reminds me of that afternoon in Vietnam, drinking Fanta and dodging scooters. The journal filled with watercolors of the pacific reminds me that all those salty summers are still logged. Calling up a friend to reminisce about that time we got stuck on a tinder boat in the middle of the Mediterranean brought back that queasy feeling deep in my gut. Wandering into my Brooklyn kitchen and reaching for a fresh bag of ground coffee brings me right back home. As summer winds down, I can’t help but notice that my tan has faded, but that mosquito bite at the base of my ankle has turned from a scab to a scar that will be there for the rest of my life, reminding me of that perfect night that we cooked out on the esplanade overlooking Manhattan. That scratch on the hardwood floor is when we thought it would be a good idea to drag the dresser (without taking the drawers full of clothes out) the day I moved in. The postcards that decorate my kitchen wall are a timeline of zip codes, thoughts and happenings from friends and loved ones who have managed to track me down as I nomad from place to place. There are so many other ways to collect memories of the things that are important to us besides the digital world.

With all that in mind, I challenge you to print something out. I challenge you to write something down with a pen and paper. Pull out the sharpies and thumbtacks. I challenge you to get your hands messy, to stain your shirt, to drip paint on your jeans, to tape something onto the wall, to nail something into your foundation, to leave a mark that will never fade.

This cup is for Claire, because you get it. 

August

I want to meet you for mussels. Will you meet me in Manhattan, at my favorite mussel place across from the park in the east village?  Did you ever think I would say those words? Manhattan. Are you stunned that I made it out east all by myself? Looking back, it is hard to imagine. I know! You would have been right up the road.

I could order wine because I am old enough to drink now and you would be so surprised by how tall I am when I stand up to give you a hug as you walked through the door.  My hair is blonder, I pierced my nose, but you would spot me instantly because you know me, and I look the same. Remember, we have the same walk? I would recognize you anywhere. You are sporting your baseball cap, classic button down shirt and jeans. You smile that hundred-watt smile and we sit down.

I would take one long stare, looking deep through the frames of your glasses, and then down, the pen and paper that you always kept in your breast pocket, studying your hands. I miss those hands. Those hands that built.  I would reach out to touch your arm, reminding myself that this moment was real. Where would I even begin?

There are so many days, so many moments, celebrations, shenanigans and heartache that you have missed. Knowing me, I would probably end up telling you more about President Obama (how I met Brent in the freezing cold at Inauguration) then about my recent graduation from my MA Program. Yep, this girl got her MA. Your niece (who would never leave home, not even for sailing camp) got an MA in International Affairs. Your niece who (at age 7) closed her eyes when you put on Speed for movie night wants a career in post-conflict peace building. I will probably forget to mention that I sailed around the world, but instead pull out my iphone….You instantly want one. I would tell you that Nest is no longer available, but PAPER is sure to intrigue you.  You would be surprised that we both lead nomadic lifestyles, and you would appreciate and understand why I can’t settle down. I lived in LA. Can you imagine? I learned how to parallel park the Subaru in Venice Beach. Oh, and I worked for Bill Clinton, and if I had mentioned that you two had previously met, he would have remembered. Who would have thought, right? And! And! I am a Beaver! Granddad will never live it down! I am the only Beaver in the family! I know! Crazy. But don’t worry, I still cheer for the Ducks.

I am going to take some time to gossip about the family. I am going to lean in and tell you all the things that drive me crazy, the stuff that would make you laugh. Your laugh, I can hear it. It’s perfect. You won’t believe some of it, your eyebrow is raised. Believe me, this shit happened. What a weird world, right? Don’t you wish you could have seen this for yourself? Aren’t you glad you weren’t around for some of this? I know. I know.

Guy, the squid polenta in Croatia, it was jet black and I tried it! They have peeps for every occasion now, even the 4th of July, they come in blue and red! And they have mini–peeps! And, there is this cheese called Humboldt Fog that will change your life.

I wouldn’t share the dark memories. I would resist telling you how much I hate August. I would skip over the details from that summer where all I could manage to keep down was chocolate soymilk. I won’t tell you the feeling I felt lifting the mask off my face in the intensive care unit so you could have one last look–the extreme loss I have felt every day of your absence. I won’t go there.

You’re dipping the crust in the salty mussel broth. It’s so good. The wine is almost gone. There is not enough time to get through it all. Everyone is still sailing along. I’ve missed you. I will always miss you. And I wish you were here.

This cup is for Guy–SNF. 

Currently Submerged

Follow the motion of the ocean.
The shock of the first dip.
The cold pacing through every nerve ending
And slowly subsides as arms and legs adjust to the current.

Neck deep.

The current.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.

Follow the motion of the ocean.
The saltwater settling into my hair.
Exfoliating my skin, sinking deep into every pore.

Neck deep.

The current.
Try to keep up.
Float.
Meander.
Splash.
Breathe.

The horizon.
The power of tranquility.
The depths of the ocean.
I'm suddenly small.
A bottomless, blue abyss.
I'm in deep.
Submerged.

Follow the motion of the ocean.
Tred. Focus. Relax.
The tides. The waves.

Neck deep.
Push. Pull.
Blue on blue.
The saltwater residue sits on my lips
stings my wounds, tangles my hair.
Hands and feet turn to wrinkled prunes.
The shore is calling.

The current.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.
The sloshing of the tide.
The motion of the ocean.

"The sea, once it casts its spell,
holds one in it's net of wonder forever."- Jacques Yves Coustean

Follow the motion of the ocean.
Submerged.

Knee deep.
Touching land.
Looking back for
one last salt water breeze.

To Real Love

John Lennon once said, "love is real, real is love." This week I understood exactly what he was saying. Before a backdrop of blue on blue, with a saltwater sea breeze, the sun hitting my face, I watched two friends define real love. 

Not only are these two the definition of real love, they turn dreams into reality. Never could I have ever imagined standing on a volcanic island, champagne in hand, baby's breath in my hair dancing to "You and I" with my best friend. Everything about it was real. 

I will be the first to admit there have been times in my life where I forget "real love" exists or what it looks like. The kind of love that stops you in your tracks. The kind of love that shakes you to your core, pumps through your veins, fills your chest with butterflies, pushes and pulls you in all directions and overwhelms your head and heart. This kind of love can only be felt when you find the perfect match, your other half, your companion... your forever person. But this week I remembered what "real love" looks like because I saw it, I felt it, and was fortunate enough to be part of the definition of "real" in the context of the week (which was all love). And so to this real love, I would like to give a toast. 

To real love. To Emma and Sammy. You inspire me everyday to live life to the fullest. You remind me to slow down and live in the moment. You are the energy that I hope to channel everyday. You are the creativity, the wanderlust, the warmth that I want to emulate. You are the partnership that I hope to find someday. You are the laughter, the stories, the beach walks, the sandy dogs, the saltwater, the meals, and the adventures that I will remember and cherish forever. You are the happily ever after. You are the definition of "real love." Here's to you.

Stomp. Stomp. Clap! This cup is for you! 

Mixing Bowls

We shared a single mixing bowl of fresh pasta, ripe cherry tomatoes and greens, with two forks and a bottle of wine. In the midst of major transitions, it almost felt like a normal mid summer evening. 

We had spent weeks wining and dining in some of New Yorks finest hotspots. We had our fair share of the pricy, the chefs choice and tasted the latest in review. All to say that I think my favorite meal took place on my back patio, barefoot, messy and tired, eating al dente out of a Costco Tupperware.

This week I'm thinking about France. Hunched over boxes and throwing away papers I'm imagining a green landscape. Bubble wrapping prints I'm thinking of inky fingers and transparent creations hot off the press. Lugging bags to and fro I stay cool remembering long afternoons lingering over gelato, wine and cheese. This month I am sending a slew of messengers to France while I make my way to the Greek Islands. 

I am looking forward to the Mediterranean. I am hopeful that the salty air will clear my head. I can't wait to celebrate two amazing friends. I am ready for an escape to calm and quiet. 

Summer is the time to reboot, to soak up some much needed vitamin D and gather. It's a time to explore, adventure and collect your thoughts. Summer is the chance to throw together a meal in a mixing bowl, get your arms sticky with peach juice and smell fresh cut grass. 

These are the things I have to remember as I complain of having to wear shorts, wait on humid subway platforms, slather on sunscreen or endure spaceship sized mosquitos. 

This summer I am going to make time for picnics, read good books, journal, and roam the farmers market. This summer I am going to make a point of slowing down, breathing and checking in with my head and my heart. This summer is a clean, white page of new beginnings and more mixing bowls filled with goodness. 

Make a Mixing Bowl of Goodness:

Gluten free pasta

Olive oil

Fresh sliced cherry tomatoes 

Fresh Arugula 

Feta cheese 

Salt and Pepper

Cook pasta to al dente  

Toss with olive oil, tomatoes and arugula

Add a generous amount of feta 

Serve in a mixing bowl with two forks

Grab a friend, a mom, a roommate, or a neighbor, a patio and a bottle of wine 

Enjoy slowly

This cup is for my mom, aunt Nancy and Chris-- thinking of France with love. 

On the Move

a year from now we'll all be gone


all our friends will move away


and they're going to better places


but our friends will be gone away

nothing is as it has been


and i miss your face like hell


and i guess it's just as well


but i miss your face like hell

been talking bout the way things change


and my family lives in a different state


and if you don't know what to make of this


then we will not relate


so if you don't know what to make of this


then we will not relate

rivers and roads


rivers and roads


rivers 'til i reach you

                                    –The Head and the Heart

As I peel the photos off the wall and put books into boxes I can’t help but play this song over and over to fill the empty space that was my home for the past two years. This month, we are all moving on… to better places, new chapters, new zip codes and new horizons. As recent graduates, some of us are growing up, signing leases, getting engaged, and investing in house plants (the ultimate sign of nesting) and settling down.  Others (like myself) are floating, becoming nomadic, carrying the weight of multiple zip codes and trying to keep track of where all the boxes are stacking up before finding the perfect landing.

The current issue of Kinfolk talked about nesting and home, something that I have always cherished and find to be one of the most important cornerstones of life. For the past 15 weeks I have had three different zip codes, four different rooms, and have made a home in a suburb, a city, a downstairs, an upstairs, a cubby hole and a couch. These various homes I have shared alone, with a family, with a friend, with a roommate or with 25 other roommates. And this has been the month of homes and moving. 

This has been the month of closing chapters, turning new pages, and gathering. This month I sent out a change of address, which has already expired and will no longer apply by the time you read this post. As the last post card went out the door I decided to move (again). This week I am packing up my little nook on East 15^th street and heading (hopefully) uptown to quieter corners. This week I am packing up my home in DC and coming back to the island that I am not quite done with. This week I am taking down two years of postcards and pictures and boxing up books from graduate school that I will fondly flip through once in a blue moon and keep on a coffee table someday.

For East 15th I will miss most:

• My window that looked out onto the street, where I curled up to watch the snowfall and the blossoms bloom
• Cider on the stove on chilly fall nights
• Late night cups of tea with friends gathered around the table
• The rooftop and all the conversations that took place there (the Empire State Building lit at night)
• The countless friends who were always up for an adventure (Nemo will always be a favorite)
• My creaky hardwood floors and my built–in bookshelves
• My late night walks down East 15th
• My running route to the Westside Hwy.

For DC I will miss most:

• My roommate (who finds beauty in every found treasure and cooks me amazing food)
• My backyard, where I could sit on the sunny top stoop and sip a cup of fresh brewed coffee
• The space to host, where I could gather all my friends
• The proximity to the mall, where I could run happily for hours
• The quiet of a neighborhood and knowing your neighbors

This week I am thinking about new chapters. This week I am thinking about change. This week I am nostalgic. 

I am now officially a graduate who has yet to find a zip code, but has a master’s and is extremely excited to be back on this crazy island with all my people. New York City, you pulled me back.

This cup is for my MILANO family, with whom I share it all 
And for every home who has opened its doors to me–thank you.