Lovely summer days with a light breeze through my hair
To be recognized for my writing
A fresh manicure so I don't pick at my nails
A good camera
To take great pictures
A clean apartment
A lovely closet and everything organized
Antiqued frames with pictures of flowers hanging on a previously blank wall
A venti iced anything to hold as I run errands
Vases of flowers
Arms full of fresh things; vegetables, flowers, fruits
Nights of entertaining friends
Veggies and dip
Full wine glasses and delicious foods
Warm, wet, passionate kisses
Full journals and sore hands
To be thin
Alcohol induced buzzes and a table of good friends to share in it
An always made bed that I can't wait to unmake as I climb into it
The seasons to change on time
To devour books, so I can read them all
To send and receive cards and letters
To do lists with things crossed off
Weekends with nothing to do
Saturday, June 30
Lovely summer days with a light breeze through my hair
Wednesday, June 27
I hardly ever pick favorites. I don't really have favorite movies, favorite songs, favorite artists or even really a favorite food. I usually say it's because I'm fickle. I change my mind too quickly to pick a favorite. But now, maybe its more related to fear or laziness. Why can't I just hammer down what I like best and stick with it? What happens if my favorite changes? Can't I just say I have a new favorite? Is that better than not picking one at all? Isn't one of the joys in life to have a favorite something and relish in the enjoyment of getting it, hearing it, seeing it?
So here is an exercise in favoritism- where I try to pick some different favorites, just one of each. Okay maybe sometimes two... finally*.
I thought about this a lot today in preparation for writing this post. I finally picked one. "You Can't Always Get What You Want" - The Rolling Stones. Maybe its because every time I hear it I think of my Dad's story about hearing it played on the radio for the first time. He was young, rebellious, out on the beach smoking with his buddies and the DJ garbled over the airways something about a new one from the Rolling Stones, the soft instrumental introduction and then "I saw her today, at the reception..." They were silent listening to it, and then the cops busted them. No one allowed on the beach after dark, especially not a bunch of "kids" smoking. As they drove away they turned the radio up as Mick sang, "You can't always get what you want..." Maybe because I can listen to it over and over and not get sick of it. But mostly because its a damn good song and certainly good words to remind yourself of.
For a really really long time my favorite movie was Empire Records. I watched it constantly. In high school we got a used Nordic Trak from friends and I would come home from school, get on it and watch 40 minutes of the movie, until I finished it and then I'd just restart it. My brother would just sit and watch it with me, and we would have contests to see who could speak along with the movie the best- really it just became us yelling over one and another. To this day I can't watch the movie with other people because I uncontrollably just speak along with it and it drives them crazy. I haven't watched it in years, so maybe its not my favorite anymore? But I really don't know what to replace it with. There are so many movies I can watch over and over, so many movies I get excited to see are on TV even though it means commercials and I could easily just pop my DVD in instead. There are so many classics I haven't even seen and could probably easily become a favorite. So for now I'll stick with Empire Records. It holds some great memories of snow days or sick days or any old day with my brother, yelling out the script in each others face without even watching the actual on screen action.
How do you pick? I find this one to the be the hardest. So many books touch me, and always in a different place and way. I could read something that totally blows my mind and feel so passionately about and two weeks later finish another book that totally blows my mind in a completely different way and satisfys me even more fully. But, I think the book that may have affected me the most was "She's Come Undone." - Wally Lamb. I would wrap myself up in a chair in my living room for hours and just sob as I read his words. I would often, probably every other sentence, turn back to the author bio just to make sure it was actually a man capturing these emotions so truly. I was in high school when I read it, maybe only 14 or 15 and just starting to truly expand my literary repertoire and yet, to this day, I'm not sure any novel has given me the same feeling as that one. I never wanted it to end. He so beautifully captured her passage through life, not only her coming of age, but her coming out of the coming of age and just being. I would cancel plans, or not care if I was stood up for plans if that book was in front of me, and when you're 14 or 15 and a freshman in high school- what you do on Friday night is everything. I remember sitting and waiting for some guy friends to come over one Friday night, what was to be the highlight of my week, hanging out with my crush and his cool friends. I picked up the book to pass the time and they never showed up. But I didn't care. At any other moment I would have been absolutely crushed. Sure, I've read many many amazing books since then. And some honorable mentions are deserved.
"The Hearts and Lives of Men"- Fay Weldon
"One Hundred Years of Solitude"- Gabriel García Márquez,
"The Unbearable Lightness of Being"- Milan Kundera,
"Everything that Rises Must Converge" - Flannery O'Connor
But in the end, I believe it was this book that gave me the understanding that a novel can change you, can make you more whole, and it opened me up to that and deserves the favorite spot.
I've always loved Gerbera Daisy's. The vibrancy of their colors matched with the simplicity of a daisy appeals greatly to me. I feel warm when I see them. I want to fill rooms with their colors, matching decor the yellows, fuschias and reds.
They are by far my favorite flower. However... there is a strong contender in the Peony. Their soft, subtle grace and beauty. How they explode with layers of petals in bright pinks and white. And their smell. It fills a room so smoothly and isn't overbearing like the Lily can be. I love how peonies fit so perfectly in rounded glass vases, like they are meant to put in small vases and set on coffee tables, counters, bedside tables and on bathroom counters.
So this is a really really hard one. But I have to pick, so, it will have to be pasta, all kinds with all sauces. When I'm in one of those moods where you're hungry, but tired and bored and just don't know what you want, its always Pasta that sates me. I love it. The carbs, the fats and dairy's you can mix it with. I sometimes am happy when a stomach bug has its grips on me and I can only eat pasta... what a great excuse.
When I got home last night, Matt said, "Okay, I loved your post (He's always trying to get me to pick my favorites) but I have some questions. I want to know more." So he asked me who my favorite athlete is. First I picked Drew Bledsoe because it was he who got me excited about the Patriots and ultimately made me become a football fan. But since he's not a very good athlete anymore, I decided to pick someone more current. It was actually easy, David Ortiz. Yes, yes, I'm a Red Sox fan. I grew up in NH, and went to school and lived in MA for 8 years and come from a family of Red Sox fans, its in my blood. People marvel at how a Yankees fan and Red Sox fan can make a relationship work, well we're living proof, but that's off topic. I've always loved Big Papi. He's a fun player to watch, sure he can only hit, but when he does, man it is good. He's very likeable too, that smile, his size, he's like a big teddy bear. And, one time I touched his fur coat when he was celebrating his birthday at a bar I was at. Sigh. I to this day want only for him to pick me up and bear hug me. So he is definitely my favorite athlete.
Favorite TV Show-
This was a toss up, and I ended picking a current favorite and a syndicated favorite. The Office is my current favorite, although really it would be one of the reality competition shows I watch but I figured I had to pick a "real" show. I really enjoy Steve Carrel, I think The Office is a witty and fun show, and I got a bit choked up when Jim came into the conference room and asked Pam out to dinner. YAY. My favorite syndicated show is Friends. It was close tie with SATC, but Friends always gets me. I've watched that show since high school and still enjoy every minute of every episode I've watched 30 times. I would get excited for Monday and Tuesday night TBS marathons when they were on. There are sometimes still episodes that I've missed pieces of and I get so excited when I'm watching something I don't remember seeing before. Sometimes I even think, could this really be an episode I've never seen before?? But then I see something I recognize and remember, there is no way I've not seen an episode.
*As I think of new favorites I will add them to this list so it truly becomes a collection of my favorite things
Monday night, we lay in bed together. You pretending you're going to bed in order to sneak in some pillow talk with me. Me, knowing you are pretending and letting you come chat with me as it helps me fall asleep, until you are too chatty and I have to kick you out of bed. But anyway.
I fantasize with you about our upcoming CFW (commitment free weekend) also our 7 year anniversary weekend. I declare that Sunday will be the day.
"I'll wake up, and we'll go get bagels. Then, I'll work out, come back, clean up, shower and then get into bed. Well, maybe I'll go for a run first, and you can go get bagels.."
"No," You interupt, "We have to get the bagels together, that's part of the thing." "Okay, you're right. I'll go work out, we'll get bagels, come back here, clean and then get into bed."
"What about taking a dump?" You joke.
"I don't take dumps."
"No, I poop."
"Oh, just poop? How does that work?"
"Every morning, I get up, I putter around until I'm ready and then I poop. Then I get ready for work, and leave. When I get to work, I have my coffee and then I poop again."
"You only poop twice a day?"
"Yes. I don't use it for sport like you do."
You crack up, loving that we're talking about poop.
"I might make this a blog."
You laugh again.
Sunday, June 24
The ants crawl around the buds as the petals press hard against their green skins. Eager for release, to let their thin layers explode into the June air. Looking towards the sun, their blossoms tilted up even as they lay against the brick walk way, brought down by the rain and the weight of their petals. Each so delicate, so soft, yet together heavy with beauty. The ants help in the process, pick away at the outer shell, enabling, allowing, the pressure relieved. They have a symbiotic relationship. The ants help the peonies bloom, the peonies give the ants a livelihood, a meal, a purpose. When you bring them inside, the ants follow. "There are ants all over the counter now." I observe as my Mom comes in to admire the arrangement. "Yeah, I find they don't last long in the house." They're not house ants, they're peony ants.
As I drive back to New York, one climbs onto my hand. The peony buds I've taken have carried him in. I flick him off and watch as he climbs along the dashboard. Lost. I want him to find the peonies I've brought. He won't.
I open the window, hoping he'll find his way outside. I'm driving fast, but maybe he'd survive the wind. He approaches the open window and gets low against the sill. I watch as he lifts just his head up, his antenna expanded, weighing his options, taking in the change in scenery. He lays for a while, letting the wind speed over him, figuring out his next move, the peonies a distant memory. Now, all he knows is getting back to the green he sees outside. I let him sit like that, wanting him to find his own way, not wanting to intrude too much, feeling guilty that it may indeed kill him. I don't dislike this ant, because he's a peony ant, he's part of the beauty of the flowers. He makes his way closer. I give him a little shove, finally. I need to put the window up, my ears are popping from the pressure. He sneaks into the space between the lowered window and the door, and then begins to climb back out and that's when the air takes him. I see him cling for a moment to the rearview mirror and then he's gone. I roll the window up and look at the peony buds in their vase next to me, they're starting to bloom.
Thursday, June 21
As I texted my Mom I walked to meet Hannah and Deidre. I started to cross a smaller street and realized that a red hand stood firm in front of me, I then looked to my right and saw a car careening towards me, eager to make the green light, I had just enough time to hop, skip, run to the other side of the street. "oops," I thought to myself.
After meeting them we had to update our 4th, Allie, who was still at work as to our change of plans. "I'll text her." I offered, "I can text and walk." "Oooh" they both mocked. I paused, about to tell them what had just happened to me, but decided against it- there were two more people who could watch out for cars for me now. "Adrienne," Hannah asked, "Are you a serial texter?"
We sat at dinner, well really drinks, later that night, still on the subject. Hannah was relaying her disblief when she had started dating at the prevlance of texting. "Every guy would just text me, never call. Why can't he just pick up the phone?" She had gone deep into texting as primary commnication with one, her first, serial texter. "He'd call when we were on like opposite corners of an intersection to say, 'Where are you? Okay, I'll come over.' That was it." We all shook our heads. But Hannah had learned to turn the tables, she had gone deep into texting and learned some secrets along the way.
"I started texting him first. I would write 'What are you up to?' and he'd respond, 'I'm downtown at a bar, I'll be right there.' It was completely instant. If I called, it went to voicemail and I had to wait for the text reply, but if I texted him first, bam."
All three of us had our phones next to us on the table, and when we'd pause in conversation, we'd look down at them. I was waiting for Allie to let us know she was on her way. Deidre was waiting for a call, not even a text, from a recent dated. Hannah, had just received a text and was eagerly trying to not respond too soon. She'd open her phone every once in awhile and look again, maybe for another one, maybe to will herself not to type anything in response. I'd just hit a button to make mine light up, seeing if the new message icon was displayed. We'd all read the text Hannah had gotten and approved it as sweet, interested, and not blowing her off. She was musing over what to write back. We'd help her edit it later.
I got a text back from my mom, a long one, and mid conversation with Deidre was texting her back while responding to questions, offering advice and listening. Really, I was doing it all at once. The alcohol, topic of conversation, and ease of friendship combined made it okay.
Later, I would sit on the 6 train home and think back. Texting was the theme of the night. Sure there were various topics of animated conversation, our phones were put back in our bags as we walked to the next bar, our concentrations mostly solely on those present. But still, hours had been focused on what to text back, if the person had texted yet and, "Oh, let me just read you this text I got!" Maybe we were all serial texters?
Monday, June 18
When I knew I was moving to New York without a job, but enough money to sustain for at least a month, I dreamed of just writing all day. Sitting in my apartment, sitting in coffee shops, typing away, pouring my memories of the last year into a memoir. I lusted after that vision, wanted so badly for that to be what I was able to do once I arrived. Of course it didn't work about that, unstructured days turned into lazy ones, spent on the couch, my typing doing little more than entering email address and sending off resumes. Which, of course was necessary, but I didn't write.
Now I'm lusting after that vision again. Now that I'm working, planning, filling my days with structure again, I want to go back to the dream I didn't fulfill. Here's how it plays out in my head.
I want to clean my whole apartment, really scrub it clean. Get under the couch, pick up all the little things that are left in odd places on the floors and shelves. I want to feel dirty with my apartment clean. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Then I'll shower, a long hot shower.
I'll wrap my wet hair up and put on comfortable clothes, my bathrobe on top. I'll pump up the A/C, then shut the bedroom door, pull the blinds to the top and climb into my double comforter bed with my little laptop. I'll spend the day there, a tray of drink and food next to me, my phone on my bedside table, and I'll write.
Sunday, June 17
I feel the urge to write about his Father's Day, as last years so was close to the death and I was still so raw and unhealed from my Dad's death. It is my hope that this one is a sign, of what each coming Father's Day will feel like, be like, how I'll experience them.
I woke up early, to fit in our Sunday morning bagel ritual. We walked down an eerily quiet Park Ave. towards 86th and made our way East from there. The sidewalks were wet with dew and hose water, doormen were still just peering out from their buildings. I felt awake, happy to be out, anxious about time. I had a 10:00 appointment I didn't want to be late for. I'd made the spa appointment anxiously earlier in the week. I'd said for weeks that I would be doing a spa day on Sunday, since I've heard and read that when you don't have the parent to celebrate you should do something for yourself. Now, I had to actually live up to it.
I had looked up the spa online and found the prices expensive but reasonable, mostly because a sibling of the owner worked at my company and I'd get a discount. I almost didn't do it, I almost convinced myself that just getting a manicure and pedicure would be enough. Then, I just picked up the phone and booked it. I felt good after, excited.
I had an anxious stomach all morning, i.e. the runs, and I associated it with going to a place I'd never been, having an experience I'd never had. As I walked to the train, alone this time on the quiet UES streets, I realized why. A sadness came over me, I was doing this because my Dad was gone. I didn't have him to celebrate today, or maybe I didn't have him to celebrate with, because I certainly celebrate who he was. It was really the only time sadness would overcome me.
I got to the appointment right on time. I was taken back, to a low lit hallway with small rooms to the right and left, treatment rooms, locker rooms, a nook with comfortable pillowed couches and lime infused pitchers of water.
I lay on the facialists table and let her massage countless products into my skin, and then skillfully remove them with warm towels, the feel of her hands on my face amazed me, relaxed me. I felt my body melt into the table with the first treatment. "Oh," I thought, "this is going to be nice." And it was. I felt completely relaxed and refreshed after and floated through the manicure and pedicure. I dove into my book and before I knew it, my time was up and I was thrust back into the hot June Sunday. But, it was okay, I continued to float through the rest of my day. Shopping, Sushi, quick train rides home, an afternoon in my white linened, walled and softly sun lit room. I finished my book, had my favorite snack and cuddled in bed. I let a call from a friend go to voicemail and when I listened later she said, "I hope you're doing okay today, I just want to let you know I'm thinking about you today." "Oh," I thought again, "that's right, it's Father's Day." My mom called later and asked, "How sad were you today?" And that's when I realized, only this morning, on the walk to the train.
Friday, June 15
Back in the day, aka freshman year of college, I was a pretty hardcore "protester". I was in all the "Peace" related groups like "Peace Works". I hung out with people who smelled like dirt, sweat and vegetarian soups. I sewed patches into jeans, and wore screen printed t shirts with fists, and groups of smaller fish eating the bigger fish. I really believed that we could make a difference, we would make a difference, that the IMF and World Bank would topple with our voices. I also enjoyed being around people who were so passionate about what they were fighting for, who wanted to plant trees, tend to community gardens, raise awareness, sign petitions and hand deliver them. I joined MassPIRG and started sending in video petitions to BP to stop the drilling in Alaska, recycled Post Cards to support Tree Farms. I couldn't afford to give money, so I gave time and energy. I rode on a school Bus to DC and stayed in the lobby of a church to protest the IMF and World Bank meetings. I saw people sprayed with tear gas, and throw themselves in front of traffic to get their message heard. It was all very exciting, passion inducing and thrilling at the time. I look back on the pictures I took and think, I did that?
I started to get disillusioned as time passed and I didn't feel any differences had been made. Instead of getting heard for what we were in DC to stop, we were heard for the chaos a select few had caused. Unruly kids cause a ruckus and getting themselves imprisoned, instead of passionate young adults who are rising up to make change where it matters. And the people I had surrounded myself with would judge me for not becoming vegan, not living in their commune, not buying in to everything they were espousing. Sure I wanted our environment to be protected, I wanted to help stop the increasing poverty line, I wanted to fight for a lot, but I knew I couldn't, I knew I had to pick what really mattered to me. To them, everything mattered and you had to put your all into it all. That wasn't what I wanted, and wasn't this all about individual choice and having the freedom to make that choice and live by it? Why was I different because I wanted to drink milk and live in a comfortable room? Oh, and in addition, I did have to attend school. It suddenly became more about the image of being passionate for causes, then about actually doing productive work to make a difference.
I stayed with MassPIRG because there I felt like I was being productive, I could send in the petition and see that the bill hadn't passed, I could watch the people going into grocery stores donating their money so we could buy formula and diapers for Worcester's poorest.
Overtime that interest faded too, and I focused on graduating, writing a thesis and enjoying my last year with all the friends I'd found at school. I'm still passionate about protecting our environment, that was always the cause that interested me the most, but anytime I would try to put energy into it I got confused. There were so many organizations, so many people who needed the time and money to protect the oceans, the endangered species, the trees, the air, the soil. I can still see myself now, walking through a room of environmental organizations my head spinning with all the campaigns, the needs, the endangered. Who did I give to if I couldn't give to everyone? I just didn't give. I avoided it. I walked out of those fairs with lots of pamphlets but not decisions. Instead I signed up for a credit card that would give back to environmental organizations with every purchase I made. It was easy, I could feel good about it. It still wasn't enough though.
When One.org started gaining momentum I was excited, it was an idea I could get behind- except not what I was the most passionate about. Then I heard about Earthshare.org through BzzAgent. Here I can give and know that my money could be helping everyone. I don't have to pick and choose, I can just give.
And they have some great ways to give. You can check out their Market Place . I'm probably going to buy the Dutch Tulips, its the best way to raise money- give the people something they can see, something they would probably want anyway and let them give back.
To make this long story short- It feels good to find a way for me to finally get involved and give back without the group pressures, the unease of knowing if its the "right" organization, or the worry of picking and choosing.
So, are you going to give? Do you give? How? What do you think about Earth Share?
Thursday, June 14
I was standing at the sink brushing my teeth this morning running through a list of things to write about and it became a list of my week thus far.
My sample sale and dinner night last night, walking back to Union Sq. feeling like I fit here.
Booking my spa day on Sunday, why I booked it, how I feel about it, etc.
Taking the time to soak my feet and exfoliate them a couple of nights ago but staring at my eyebrows every morning and night for the last week thinking how I have to pluck them and not doing it.
That last night I had to yell to Matt to come into the bedroom to kill a bug I saw, when if I was living alone I would have just gotten it up and done it myself.
Noticing the little routines I've started like, packing my gym bag each night, putting my clothes on the bed when I put on my sleep clothes, but only putting them away when I come in to actually go to bed.
How much fun I had spending all day Saturday in the park and how calm and light I felt walking back home along 5th later that day.
How with all of that sometimes I still feel like I'm just kind of floating through and not really living here. Like, is this it, am I living in NY? I guess its only been 3 months, but sometimes it still doesn't feel real to me, and yet when I look back on the list made up of just this weeks doings and thoughts, I am living here, this is my life now, those are my daily routines, and my comings and goings and how I'm living. This is it.
I mean its not IT, but I'm here, I'm doing it. Maybe I'm still in the adjustment period of the change, maybe in another few months it will really feel concrete and real, maybe not. I don't know if I really prefer it either way, cause I'm really happy and having a ton of fun and I don't think that will change either way and I do think that that is really what matters.
Tuesday, June 12
For months after my Dad died I was drawn to the sky. It was so big, so vast, so beautiful. The summer was turning to fall and the clouds were different everyday. I would sit at my desk at work and stare out the window into the sky, the cloud formations, the changing colors as the sun was setting, always mesmerized, not necessarily the beauty of the sky or the shapes the clouds were making, just drawn to staring at it.
I was completely baffled by how I hadn't noticed how expansive the sky was. Sure, you know the sky is big, but all of sudden it was completely striking to me how far it went on for, how uninterrupted it was even in Boston. I remember sitting in my car driving West on the Mass Pike one evening just totally taken by the sky, how far it stretched for beyond the city and suburbs around it, how interesting the cloud formations were and different in various parts of the sky. I took picture after picture wanting to capture it, doing so to some extent.
I've stopped looking at it as much, maybe its because I'm in a bigger city, maybe I just move too fast now to remember. I found the pictures I took that evening and it got me thinking about the sky again, how taken I was with it months earlier, how much a part of my daily life it was. What did it mean? I have some hypotheses, but it all points to the passing of time and how it changes you, heals you, gets you to a place where you don't have to look up as much to know where you are.
Friday, June 8
This is a Cool Hunting post I've been meaning to get to for some time, so finally, here we go and it is my 100th post!
So, as many know I recently moved. Not only was this a big move because it was from Boston to New York and it meant finally moving in with Matt after 6.5 years of living in separate cities (besides an 8 month stint in adjacent cities, Cambridge and Somerville), it was also the first time I would get to decorate with all my own stuff, which really meant a lot of shopping. mmm, shopping. I thought it would be fun to highlight the places and things I'm most proud of just in case you need some new furniture, you feel like redecorating, or your bored at work and want to internet window shop.
Duh! This is where many many 20-somethings go to purchase items for a new apartment. I <3 Billy Bookshelves- They were easy to put together, sturdy and look really sharp
Hemnes Bed Side Tables- I'll admit, one has a drawer that doesn't sit right on the rollers, but overall, they're sleek, stylish and have tons of storage. I've always wanted matching bedside tables!
365+ Dinner Ware- I love clean white dishes with no frills, but I didn't want to be totally boring and get the typical circle dishes, or go too retro and get square dishes so this style was perfect. They were cheap enough that I stocked up for those long periods between running the dishwasher and the typical "oops I broke a plate" moments.
Poang Arm Chair- This was probably our biggest splurge at Ikea since we don't sit in it, but Matt was really gung-ho about it and I didn't want to pollute his small bit of Ikea love so we got it. It is really comfy, and totally completes our living room, and right now it's a great storage place.
2. Crate & Barrel-
I really really love C & B. I think they're products are classic with a great contemporary feel and they have a great outlet and often the prices aren't that ridiculous. I really see myself buying more and more C & B products as I move in to bigger places. We got a lot of little things there since I used my Amex points to get gift cards, but the most favorite was-
Leaning Bookshelf & Leaning Desk: I don't know what it was about these, but years ago I saw them and immediately wanted them for my NYC apartment. Luckily with skillful designing and great space management I got to purchase both of them. I honestly really think they make the room. I have a lot of "things" (not quite chotskeys) that I needed a place to put and the leaning bookshelf was a perfect solution for that. The desk has worked out really well, and is a great space solution since it has two bookshelves on it to keep other "things" (really they're not chotskeys).
3. Pottery Barn-
Pottery Barn is a bit of a guilty pleausre for me. Most of their home goods are a bit too expensive for my budget, but I often find myself browsing their sale pages online, hoping for a great deal. Its what I found when I came upon the following-
Office Organization Daily System: I immediately knew that the letter bin and office organizer would be perfect for our short on space, big on height apartment. Not only a place to put our keys and other various items we need to grab quickly on our way in and out of the apartment, but somewhere to put take out menus, magazines and have some space for a decroative box or two also! They're still on sale and have a lot more pieces than just the two I got. If you need to decorate or are in the process of putting together a home office, kitchen, entryway or even a bedroom these are great pieces to have. Bonus, they were really easy to put up too.
4. Totally Furniture: Our kitchen, while being big for standard and having all the appliances we need, only has room for you to stand in it. I quickly came up with the idea of getting a breakfast bar table that would fit along the wall next to the kitchen and not only be a table when we needed it, but also extra storage. Online searches took me to one I loved on Amazon.com, but it the shipping was ridiculously expensive. I searched more, hardly ever coming up with what I wanted, most tables only came with two stools and I wanted four, most were light wood and we were going for dark. Then, I found this site and the shipping was dirt cheap.
The Winsome Breakfast Bar Table- was exactly the same as the amazon.com one and the shipping was $60 less. It has been great. Not only do we have a table when we want to use it, but a lot of extra surface space to put mail, etc. I love this table. If you are short on space, or are truly looking for a breakfast bar table, this one is great. The stools, I heard, were pretty difficult to assemble, but that's the only complaint! If you are also looking for furniture to order online and overstock.com doesn't have it with $2.95 shipping then come here next, its worth it.
So those are the finds, deals and favorites from the move. Some places that provided many shopping opportunities and deserve honorable mention were Target (of course), Bed Bath and Beyond (can never go wrong there), and Marshalls/TJ Maxx/HomeGoods (I miss being able to hop in my car and drive to one or all of them when the shopping bug got me).
Enjoy the internet shopping fun and let me know if you end up buying anything suggested and how it works out for you!
Thursday, June 7
This isn't a rant, nor am I complaining, but I just gotta write about it.
I made plans with 3 different people on 3 different nights this week and all 3 of them canceled/rescheduled. After the first two, I thought, "Okay, there is no way the 3rd isn't sticking." And then, this morning when checking email I got the note- "Can we reschedule?"
I'm all about canceling. I've always been pro-canceling. If I don't feel up to plans I'd made for whatever reason, I'm going to cancel or reschedule. Sometimes it was detrimental, when plans are rescheduled again and again and just never happen. I do regret that, but eventually you finally get together and then you have the perfect jumping off point for the time together, "Can you believe how long it took us to get together?"
If you need to cancel, just cancel, I'm totally okay with it. I became even more flexible about it after my Dad's death, I would make plans to fill my evenings and then ultimately get to the plans and back out, too fragile, too tired, etc. I was told by multiple people who'd experienced great loss, "Making plans feels good, but if you have to cancel, just do it, its okay, taking care of yourself, whatever that means, is most important." It wasn't just for myself that I became more pro-cancel, but if other people needed to cancel too. That's why these plans all falling through is cool by me, I'm not upset. I just think its a bit crazy that all 3 people who are normally not cancelers at all, one even said, "I'm not usually flaky!", had to reschedule this week. Why is that? What is it about this week?
I'm finally back in NYC for the foreseeable future, no more trips, etc. I've got a job, a routine, a life I'm starting to really live here. Going out with friends, exploring different parts of the city and building these new relationships is a big part of that, I was just starting to get into it. I was really looking forward to all the plans, admittedly the ones Monday night were refreshing to have canceled since I was completely exhausted. Why is it the all were changed? Sure I got some more free time and I'm relaxed and well reseted this week. I got to spend more time with Matt which I never stop enjoying (duh, I moved in with him) and I got more time with myself and saved some money along the way. I guess all of that is why I'm okay with canceling, there's always an upside for me. So I don't get to catch up with an old friend, I'll get some r & r on the couch with my man.
But seriously, all 3 in one week? Come on!
Here's to plans made for next week!
Tuesday, June 5
At night the buildings look like a stage backdrop. The light of the city mixed with moon light filtered by darkness falls just so that they're muted and almost look fake. Some lights stay on well into the night, but not so many that it over exposes the picture and causes them to stick out, more real than they are. The world is my stage, I suppose. And, if I'm continuing down that path is the bedroom where the main action takes place? Its where I found myself lately doing my best thinking. Just laying in my bed, staring out into the night, letting the thoughts melt into me, around me, out of me.
When I lay flat against the bed, my head hilted towards the window I can look up through the last fire escape and see the bursts of blue sky, bright against the rusty green of metal. A fitting juxtaposition to city and nature. I find my body yearns for the green of grass, ongoing neverending grass, and the blue of sky, unbroken big country skies, the comforts that natural setttings provide. Yet I feel at home in this city, THE city. Maybe the mixture is just right here, enough vibrance and ongoing "stuff" to keep me statisfied and the bursts of nature and sky just outside my bedroom window give me comfort and cleaner air to breathe. The gardens behind our apartment are no blooming with life and spring time greens. The trees cover most of the outdoor living spaces and if we open the windows at night wind chimes lull us to sleep, masking any city noises. Maybe it is just the right blend. As I lay and look out I see a flicker of black wing and beak against the green tree, I just miss it in my vision as I move fully into unobstructed view to catch it.
With the window open last weekend I could hear voices mixing together with music, a party in a back yard patio. What a perfect way to spend an early June night, sitting together with buildings rising above you and trees blocking the views from windows. Good food, good drinks and most of all good company. Maybe I could live here into my adult years, although a patio would have to be part of the deal.
A balloon floats into the sky above, lost from a child's grip.
Sunday, June 3
Saturday, June 2
We walked slowly up the short blocks to 5th Avenue. I taking in the people strolling by, the couples walking hand in hand, the young parents with their small children some in, some just out of strollers, the older marrieds their comfort with each other obvious. He talking of places that used to be, a coffee shop with a triva question each day providing the right answer with a free coffee, an ice cream store that had a phone to make local calls with. We walk into the park the light low, the shade comfortable in the heat of the first June weekend. We stand on the resevoir track, gazing at buildings across the park, musing how easily you could never know this existed here. I watch an elderly couple crest the stairs, remarking on what they've found. "I knew it was here, I just didn't know it was here". They walk across the track and stand next to the fence looking around, taking it in. Each wearing a neatly pressed button up shirt and khakis. There hair similar length, their smiles as they look around. I lean against a stone wall, marking the boundaries of this hidden water, watching them. The runners silently jog by, in synch with my breath, thinking of life, living and the future. The urge to close my eyes and take in the surrondings fills me, I lean my head against Matt's shoulder and slowly close them, slow my breathing and smile. I hear the crunch of the gravel, the soft voices of people walking by below us and around us, I hear the breeze fluttering through the trees that curve into each other, branches forming crosses and twists, I can almost hear the water laping against the concrete that holds it in, holds it back from rushing the streets below. "Do you know why this is here?" Matt asks. "No." I say opening my eyes and looking up at him. I smile and focus just on him, just on us here together. "It used to be the Mayors bath tub." He turns to me with a straight face. I laugh and close my eyes again, leaning my head back into him.
Friday, June 1
3 young boys, riding down from the Bronx, maybe 9 or even 11 years old in blue button up shirts with ties. They passed the sports section of the newspaper back and forth. Glancing at other pieces, but always turning back to the sports. At each stop, as the doors would open and passenger would exchange places, coming and going, the middle boy would lift his head up looking to see which stop it was, nervously awaiting his own so he could pull his friends off and make it to school on time. I wondered who had woken them that morning, rushing them to get dressed, their shirts still wrinkled in some places. I thought of Matt and his friends, riding the train to their school so many years before. I pictured them doing the same thing, passing a newspaper back and forth, filling up on sports news, passing over the world news, looking up at each stop, ensuring they didn't miss their own.