This year started with me rediscovering cook and the joy of it. Unfortunately it waned in the later part of the year, I'm not going to worry too much because I have a feeling it will pick back up. I remain very interested in recipes and cooking, I just have lost my desire to get up and do it. I'll get back there. In the meantime this is a segway in to a blogger I only discovered this year and who has helped to keep me excited about cooking and also reinvigorated my love of photography is The Pioneer Woman. Her love story drew me in, and I stayed for the food, photography and most of the time her odd personality and quirky style of writing. Who can complain about all her giveaways too? Here's to reading her in to 2010 and cooking and clicking along the way!
After I realized how perfectly situated the sun was for not only an early evening stroll through the park, but some great light for pictures I took Matt and my Camera for a walk in the park. As we strolled along East Side Drive we talked about all the things we still had to discover around us. It felt good to be out together, exploring our City, spending time not in front of the TV, it felt refreshing. I'm starting to really fall in love with The Mall. I love how the city peeks over the ancient trees around you as walk it, I love that it is still a gravel path, I love how it feels like I'm in a special place and that millions of other before me have felt the exact same way. I hope my pictures were able to capture it.
Sometime the city feels small. A few minutes of walking and we were on the Upper West Side, just like that. Why don't I walk across the park here more often? Everything was just the same, families spending time together on play grounds, runners stretching on benches, Kevin Bacon walking his dog. I could still be back on 5th Avenue walking south, but I wasn't, and I felt a world away and yet not. I'm rambling. When you talk about these neighborhoods, they seem so far away and apart. They have different personalities, a different feel to them. An expanse of green, and actually a body of water separates them. When I'm home, on the Upper East Side, I feel far away. But then as I walk across at the top of the reservoir, I hear myself exclaim as we reach the West Side, "And just like that, we're here!" But I don't say it out loud, I keep it to myself, it feels dorky. Sometimes my excitement at discovering things here, at falling in love with little pieces of the city feels that way, but hey I'm a dork. The most exciting discovery yesterday was crocuses, just about to bloom. Spring is on the way and I can't wait to discover it all over again here in New York.
Sunday, March 2
I did it! Just like I planned and wanted to. I spent the better part of the afternoon writing. I've pushed through the section I was avoiding because of my spotty memory, and I think I did an actually nice job of summarizing a summer that is a complete fog to me. I'm gaining confidence with this new kick of writing inspiration. I went in to writing about my Dad's death wanting to chronicle one year and I think I will remain with that and maybe summarize a kind of where I am now at the end. The point is, I'm close and I feel myself being able to finish writing it all down soon, and then the editing begins. When I was antsy, I read some things on nytimes.com, and posed for some self portraits that capture me in my writing zone, I found a great new place to write, that doesn't require me schlepping myself to Starbucks so I can focus, that is a bit more comfortable than the living room and I get to look out our bedroom windows, most of all our bedroom always calms me and is a great place for writing. The second Sunday posting of pictures in a row, maybe a I'll start a weekly thing...
I smiled to myself as I neared the 90th St. entrance, "Thank God I've got another year here," I thought, "I need to promise myself to utilize it more." Walking through the park gives me such a sense of calm, joy, privilege and belonging, why wouldn't I make a promise to myself to go more often. Today, I walked paths I didn't know about, saw secret spots with lovers cuddling on benches, sun drenched rocks occupied by someone with a book in hand, small clearings with bird watchers eagerly waiting for their favorite to come feed, I heard yells of German, French, English and Spanish as children rushed down snowy hills and parents watched on with glee. I don't know if the pictures do it justice, I guess you have to be there, but I tried.
I went back to school last night. As I left work, on the way to class, I realized how unprepared I was. I should have brought a backpack, instead I was carrying my purse and a notebook and pen, but maybe that's how its like in school now. As I thought about my lack of preparedness I realize it was because I was a little nervous about doing this and thus I ignored it and did not accurately prepare. Its not like I enrolled in an MBA, or any kind of a program, its a one time thing, a photography class so I can learn more about the technical aspect of taking pictures and become better at something I think I'm already pretty good at. I left work a little early, anxious about getting there on time, and was there too early. A bunch of us stood around in the hallway leaning against lockers waiting to get into the class room. Finally one guy just pushed the door open and we realized not only was it not locked, there was no one in the room. A typical first night of class move, no one wants to take the initiative in the first place, and as soon as one person is just standing outside the class room everyone will be. The room was crappy, I'm not going to sugar coat it. I was kind of expecting a more "state of the art" facility. Clean, roomy, white boards, overhead projectors, camera equipment, nice desks. This was the opposite. Tags all over the black board (yes, black board and chalk), tags on the desks, trash from other classes. The teacher says fuck every other word. And loves that its part of "who he is". He calls himself "a scary guy" I just think he's making up for some lack of self-confidence and its going to get grating to watch him do it for 3 hours every Monday for 10 weeks. But the teacher knows what the fuck he's talking about and he's good. I'm going to learn a ton...and I don't have to lug my camera with me every night, I just have to make sure I practice when I get home. When I went to get a water on the break the guy at the bodega gave me eyes. But they have seltzer and I'm probably going to have a secret admirer to deal with every Monday night now cause I'll definitely go back on breaks, you gotta leave on breaks- right? As I left I passed a ton of Baruch students leaving their night classes, and the 6 train at 23rd street filled with them. It felt kind of cool and new to be part of the group of students getting on the train. Its fall, I'm back in school and it feels good!
People move more slowly here. I'm moving a bit more slowly. We stay up late and sleep late, we move through the day at our own speed. Having lunch at 3 and dinner at 9.
We sit in air conditioned rooms and talk, we walk through hazy hot streets and comment on the Spanish moss trees. We grill every night and comment on how good it tastes, how Kate and Eric are going to grill every night even after we leave.
We stood and watched the fireworks over a crowd of people and drank beer out of plastic cups, our own beer, it's allowed here. I put $1 into a juke box and we didn't hear my songs, but it didn't matter. We walked three blocks too far in the heat only to find what we were looking for across the street from where we started, but it didn't matter.
We sit in Adirondack chairs under the shade of old trees while we watch dogs play in wood-chips. Everyone knows each other via the dogs and all watch throughly entertained as two bigger ones wrestle. Its enough amusement to fill a lazy afternoon.
It was just as I wanted it to be. Bagels, Clean Apartment, Sunny Bedroom, Inspiration, and a Computer in my lap. Now all I have is a two day work week. Driving down to Savannah to see Kate and Eric on Tuesday. Great way to start what is looking like a great week.
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.
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.
I have no problem writing about my life in many different forms, but I always have trouble with About Me sections. I can't sit still for very long, I read, I write, I love being outdoors, I'm athletic and competitive if I allow myself to be. I love my family. I live life to its fullest and always try to stay in the moment. I find that I'm a grown up all of a sudden, and I'm loving being one.
