a thanksgiving visit. a half-week party.

my parents came to visit last week.

a few things you should know:

1. i've lived in new york for 5 1/2 years now

2. i worked extra shifts over this holiday so that i could ensure a week's vacation at home (in texas) come christmas time

3. in all those 5 1/2 years i don't know that my parents and i have ever had a truly successful visit, here

i cried on the phone to my mother two nights before she came. there is this thing known as guilt, of which, as a catholic, i am well versed in. and usually the visit is an experiment in how guilty i can feel for not having enough time or energy to give to my family.

but the monday before the arrival i cleaned and scrubbed and bought new champagne glasses, and thought, come what may, i'm ready.

it got off to a rocky start when my parents arrived too soon, and i forced them to wait in the car until i had arrived home and arranged some flowers--in my mind the flowers were more important than anything else. but they took a catnap and seemed in good spirits. so i pulled out the new glasses and we toasted family, togetherness, and stolen naps.

from there we walked to the new leaf cafe, which truly set the mood for the entire trip. the restaurant was gorgeous and unlike anything we've ever experienced here in the city (which became the theme for the rest of the week). it felt like we were dining in an over-sized cabin nestled into wooded green. the food was delicious and we left giddy with excitement over our find.

thursday morning found the three of us around the television watching the parade (my absolute favorite thing to do as a child) before we set off for aunt mary beth and uncle steven's home where we would join with three of my cousins: sean, ryan, mike--and sean's fiancee sarah--and of course my brother, connor, who drove down from his new home in boston. thanksgiving day was filled with laughter, copious amounts of delicious food, and the tail-end of the movie Rudy (only one of the greatest films, and no doubt the greatest soundtrack ever), not to mention a rousing round of celebrity (a game much like charades that's now become a family tradition).

i worked all day on friday, as i had on wednesday, but my nuclear family came into the restaurant for drinks, before i sent them on their way.

after working a half-day on saturday, i joined mom and dad in the west village where we were going to see the a production of thorton wilder's our town. it was there, next to the theatre, wait for me, that my parents stumbled across the restaurant one if by land. let me first say, the it is located in aaron burr's old carriage house. you know that i love history, yes? and aaron burr was one of the names i contributed to our game of celebrity (mentioned above). the restaurant was perfection. to be fair, we stayed only at the bar, but the lit christmas tree in the corner, coupled with the live piano music, the vintage couches, and the sense of history...well, i was in heaven.

one if by land was followed by a remarkable our town, a rousing round of gelato, and walk through the west village.

this visit was divine. it felt like we all showed up for the party, you know?

and now i'm counting down the days until i get to go home. 19, to be exact.

what about you all, how was the holiday?

thanksgiving

"YOU SAY GRACE BEFORE MEALS.

ALL RIGHT.

BUT I SAY GRACE BEFORE THE CONCERT AND THE OPERA, AND GRACE BEFORE THE PLAY AND PANTOMIME, AND GRACE BEFORE I OPEN A BOOK, AND GRACE BEFORE SKETCHING, PAINTING, SWIMMING, FENCING, BOXING, WALKING, PLAYING, DANCING, AND GRACE BEFORE I DIP THE PEN IN THE INK."

G.K. Chesterson

i am so thankful for all the things i get to say grace before, and all the people who taught me that grace is an act of love.

just a reminder.

cool autumnal air is pouring in through the the open windows, battling with the radiator (over which i have no control).

the candles are lit.

and the room is clean.

john legend is playing on the stereo. john legend is best played in the winter months.

the vase is clean, waiting for the flowers i'll pick up on my way home from work.

my parents arrive tonight.

i'm hoping we'll go to dinner at the new leaf cafe which by it's own description serves "seasonal modern American drawing inspiration from local green markets, upstate New York farms and New York City's community gardens" and the proceeds go to support Fort Tryon Park, the surrounding community, the 55 NYC community gardens, and four sponsored city parks. i'm realizing that what we eat, on a daily basis, affects everyone--the choices we make are important. it's not just about what we want in any given moment, it's about what's best for our health as well as the environment (but more about that later).

the whole point of this post was to re-post this:

You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.

Buddha

i began repeating these words to myself yesterday, and each time i did it was like hitting the re-set button. it made me stop, breathe, and send a little love my own way. and because of this...the room is clean and the candles are lit and john legend is playing on the stereo and i can feel love in all its many forms as i sit on the my stool and type this.

happy tuesday. enjoy this day.

image of new leaf via google search.

or so i feel.

there's this line from the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society that i keep thinking about:

"What did he look like?" I asked, for I wanted to picture the scene. I expected it was a futile request, given that men cannot describe eachother, but Dawsey knew how. "He looked like the German you imagine--tall, blonde hair, blue eyes--except he could feel pain."

sometimes i think, just for today--just for today i will be the woman with the perfectly manicured nail beds who does crossword puzzles to completion and listens to this american life on a regular basis.

just for today i'll be the woman in the three-inch-pumps who woke at seven for her five-mile-run. and who can smile just-so and melt the heart of many-a-man.

just for today i'll be the girl who doesn't need months to warm-up to someone, for whom shyness is not a reality, but something read about in literature or dissected in art-house movie theatres.

who sits down to a meal. by herself--without four years of ghosts trailing just beyond her field of vision.

for whom sadness is a singular event--occurring intermittently at best. who can speak three languages and laughs sans snort. who cuts her grapefruit gracefully and and prepares her meals in advance. who always responds to emails and calls in a prompt fashion. who mails thank-yous the days she's finished writing them. by hand. whose handwriting doesn't deteriorate to scribble. ever.

who knows what day of the week it is when she wakes in the morning. and how much money she has in her bank account--wait, scratch that, who has money in her bank account.

but i'm not. i am not that woman. not today. not tomorrow. probably, not ever.

but today--today i can feel pain. and that's something.

understanding the bard. and bed. bed, too.

last night i dreamt of a man.

he placed his hands, open palms to my shoulders, equidistant on my back.

and they were clammy.

and this is how i knew he loved me.

and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

and i awoke thinking my world would never be the same. sensuality and shakespeare elucidated by a single dream? ha, a mystical mind have i!

breakfast confession.

i wish i was the girl who didn't mutilate her grapefruit in an attempt at consumption.

but i am.

and such is life.

(though i think with that teapot,

i would not be a grapefruit mutilator,

and all would be well with my life.

image via visualize.us)

the nesting urge has moved to the kitchen. but i can't cook.

i want a house. it doesn't need to be big. in connecticut maybe? just outside san francisco? you tell me where, i'll go.

i want the kitchen to have black and white tiled floors. with a cuisinart on the counter. and none of that terrible fluorescent lighting. i'll employ lamps if i have to. or chinese lanterns. and i will make guacamole from scratch. always. because, this i can do. and a three tiered apron will i wear as i sit in front of the oven, willing the bread to rise. you will peek your head in and laugh. and i will throw mine back. and there in our tiny kitchen under the christmas lights and hanging pans, we will dance. circling ever closer to the curly-corded phone that you will raise to your ear and dial for take-out. and then, i will laugh. and you will catch me mid-guffaw. with a kiss. and with that kiss you will swallow my laugh. and sustenance will i have provided.

and that will be our kitchen.

umbrellas across a bridge.

perfection, no?

found here.

morning.

i love the early morning.

it feels sacred.

pulling the cold coffee tin from the freezer i feel God.

and i feel Him as the light angles across my wood floor inviting me to dance, to stretch, to give praise for this movable body.

He sits with me as my palm cups over the mug, allowing the drink to breathe into me before ever raising it to my lips.

this is all contingent upon me being able to get out of bed. of course.

metanoia.

i believe it was during game two of the alcs championship--you know that five hour, ten minute game?--that my metanoia occurred (how's that for a word?).

i was sitting there watching the game, anxiety plinking (is that a word? oh well, is now) away at my oh-so-many-emotions, when i thought, hold up, stop. the story is already written. the answer has been told. if my boys are meant to win, they will win. no need to worry or stress, just sit back and enjoy the game. feel the experience.

the story is written.

already.

but that doesn't mean my boys got to ease up. they had to fight for the win--fight for their lives--every step of the way.

and win they did.

i've been thinking about this a lot lately. how somewhere out there i'm living a life that's already known. the answers are just in front of me, waiting. no need to worry, just enjoy the experience. but fight, fight through every step, scuffle, double-play.

the thing is... in baseball the answer is simple: score more runs than the other team and you will win. but how does one win in life--what exactly is one fighting for? and because the answer is ambiguous at best, it's hard to tell if you're attempting to re-write the story or just fighting for your life with more resilience and courage than you ever knew possible.

it's mucky. tricky. no clear lines.

reading recap.

okay. so here goes. quick write ups and recommendations.

A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF STAGGERING GENIUS

by DAVE EGGERS

i might make a lot of non-friends by saying this, but i didn't like it. i took it to australia with me and it took an interminable amount of time to get through. i think it really is just a question of taste. yes, it was well written, but i lost track of the story being told and felt like i was just moving in circles with a marginal amount of forward movement (interestingly enough, this was the very reason i didn't like WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE {the film} co-penned by eggers). i will say, all the reviews and critics commented on eggers anger, while i was struck not by anger at all, but a profound sadness--which raises the question how different are the two things, really?

WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR

by DORIS KEARNS GOODWIN

one of the great things about the high school i went to was the caliber and frequency with which we received really unbelievable public speakers. and to this day, doris kearns goodwin (presidential historian) remains the best i've ever seen. this fact, combined with my love of baseball and history made this book a must-read for me (i'm actually surprised it took me so long to get around to it). while goodwin is not an unparalleled writer, her words are simple and clear and the story itself is lovely. i've come to realize there are two types of books i like to read--those that i read in bed in the morning or before sleep, and those that i take on the subway. the books i like to read on the subway tend to be more information based and this was certainly a great subway book. not to mention the love story of her mother and father was particularly moving--i blogged a wee bit about it, here.

THE HELP

by KATHRYN STOCKETT

my mom insisted i read this debut novel by kathryn stockett and i'm really glad i did. it's the perfect in-bed read. stockett does a fantastic job of giving voice to a diverse group of women. set in a segregated mississippi, the novel depicts the relationships between an entitled upper-class and the women who care for them (and in most cases, raise their families).

SOUTH OF BROAD

by PAT CONROY

you know how i love pat conroy. if you don't, well now you do--he's just about my favorite. however, this book was not. while i liked it, conroy seemed to be trying too hard--reaching, a bit. but you should keep in mind, i wasn't that keen on prince of tides (which he seems to have garnered the most praise for). again, let me say, if you are new to this author, you must read beach music and the lords of discipline.

THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY

by MARY ANN SHAFFER and ANNIE BARROWS

i picked this one up on the recommendation of many of you lovely people. and i must say, good choice, ladies. i loved it. i mean, i really, really loved it. i read it quickly--unable to put it down and not since elizabeth bennett in pride and prejudice have i more wanted to be a character than that of the main voice here, juliet. it is the story of a writer and lover of literature as she learns about of the occupation of the channel islands in world war two.

EATING ANIMALS

by JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER

so this is what i'm reading now. i'll write more about it when i finish the book.

you know how i love pat conroy? well, the greatest threat to his status as my favorite author is jonathan safran foer (author of extremely loud and incredibly close {hands down, the best book i've ever read}. this book, eating animals, is about animal agriculture--its effects on the environment and our health, as well as what the animals experience. as someone who's had a tenuous relationship with food for a while now, i figured it was about time to start learning about food in the larger--societal sense--moving the idea from "me" to "us"--because believe it or not the choices we make about what we put in our bodies affect everyone.

apple crisps

new york is cold and gray this morning.

and i am in love with the city for this reason alone.

because from the confines of my room--my home, with my desk lamp all aglow, i am thankful for this next day, this new season, for the impending holidays that herald this weather as their calling card.

this writing business is a tricky thing.

ideas come often.

well, relatively often.

nagging, little ideas mostly.

usually an idea comes to me and it sits for awhile.

and then another idea will come. and another.

and once i've collected four or five seemingly disconnected notions they start moving around like in the spin cycle of a dryer.

and after just enough to time to lose a few socks to who-knows-where, i begin to write.

but if i let the ideas collect for too long--if i have too much to say, the dryer stops turning, the socks stop warming, and i am the one who's lost.

i suppose that is the point where i just choose one idea and begin. work it out in words. even if i don't think i have words. even if words fail.


i've been in such a funk. a little over a month and a half now. the great debacle of 2009, my little funk.

ned. oh ned. really, we're back here?

after australia things were so good. it was all in perspective. and i started to feel beautiful. my god, for the first time in four years i felt beautiful. and then ned. and you know what? i didn't want to write about it because i thought, been there, done that. no one wants to know. the story's been told. it's boring. and honestly? i was embarrassed, ashamed. by the humanity of it--by my own fallibility. but this is how it works. you go in circles and move forward only to be sucked back by a current you couldn't see. and then you break free again. and you find new waterways. and you reexamine and rethink. and one of these days, one of those thoughts might just change my world.

some of my friends threw an apple crisping party on tuesday night. apple crisp and ice cream and wine.

i wasn't going to go. the funk prevails.

but the party was so close (a miracle, since i live far from almost everything) and i was cooped up in my room. and i have some very lovely friends that know my habits and knew some coaxing might be in order. so i got on the bus and went. and i didn't put any makeup on, or change my clothes. i didn't feel beautiful. and the funk carried on.

and then i got there. and i felt so unbelievably lucky. for these people that couldn't have given two shits what i was wearing. for these people who have seen me at my worst and still invite me to their apple crisps. for these friends who make me laugh and offer me wine and say, this too shall pass.

and pass it did. or at least lifted a little.

the twist.

i think the boy who runs the corner store might just be in love with me.

he knows i love baseball and has determined (quite injudiciously) that 1. i am beautiful and 2. that these two qualities warrant his affection.

but the thing is--

my soda water (for this is what brings me to the corner store) always bubbles over explosively upon the twist of the cap.

and i can't determine if that is reason enough to marry him on the spot, or never return.

image via sabino.

you're welcome.

i know i've been a bit absent lately.

let's chalk it up to the great, month-and-a-half-never-ending-funk that might just have ended last night at an apple-crisping/let's-welcome-fall party.

so, let me say, i'm sorry.

here, have this as recompense:



his name is joe pug. you're welcome.

oh for a book and a shady nook.

with the return of my computer (thank you paul from the apple genius bar for your goodwill and patience) and the restoration of my rightful place in the world, i have been scouring the internet in search of the one thing i would like for christmas, a reading chair.

olivia rae, author of everyday musings, gave thanks a few days ago for her morning coffee nook. i was taken by the image immediately. and then the idea. and since i secretly want to be her (desperately, actually) i realized i too must have a morning coffee nook/all-day reading corner.

and so i'm scouring the internet for ideas. turns out, this is glamorous, is a veritable treasure trove of reading-nook templates.

oh for a book and a shady nook, either indoor or out.

with the green leaves whispering overhead,

or the street cries all about.

where i may read all at my ease,

both of the new and the old;

for a jolly good book whereon to look,

is better to me than gold.

john wilson

ps: my imposed regression to a time before technology actually allowed for the discovery of some lovely reads. suggestions to follow shortly.

to my one-day-pal,



you are a very lucky man.

why?

because nothing unburdens my soul quite like cleaning house.

however, you'll have to put up with said burdened soul.

and cook. you'll have to cook, because i can't.



love, love,
me

ps: i had to beg, borrow, and steal (all three) a computer just to get this note to you.

away from computer.

computer broken. stop.

earliest appointment at genius bar, tuesday evening. stop.

will return when fixed. stop.

have no idea when that will be. stop.

ah. stop, stop, stop.

there must be an end to the string of bad luck i've been having.

hmmm.

the world series. history.

im sitting here. on the futon. legs hanging over. watching mariano rivera's long run in from center field.

the man is unflappable. someone asked him what he hears when approaching the mound. silence. he said. he comes to do his job. and he does it.

i can't imagine what it must be like to be there at yankee stadium right now. the noise, deafening. the energy, full and tangible--a moving thing.

baseball was my first love. the field, my first home.

my father was raised in the bronx. the booze for my grandparents wedding provided by three yankees of the day. my destiny was tied to the team long before i ever entered this world.

but it was the summer after my junior year of high school that i began the slow and steady apprenticeship of becoming a true lover of the bronx bombers.

my uncle (the phillies fan, ironically enough) taught me the bulk of it. and my aunt the yankee die-hard and devotee of past great center fielder, bernie williams, added her own. i spent that summer falling in love with new york city and all it had to offer, most especially, its most decorated--most storied baseball team.

it is the history of it all that really gets me. it tells the history of this country. of my own childhood. and i am indebted to the sport for that alone.

there it is. line drive to jeter for the first out of the ninth inning. the yankees lead seven-three.

two to go.

the last time my boys were in the world series was the year of my apprenticeship. they lost. i have yet to see them win the world series. for me this story is new. this is a new part of my history.

i know many think baseball is boring. but its like the equivalent of a strip-tease. it's all about tension. give and take. gentle undulations.

fly to right-field. my boy swisher gets it for out number two.

hideki matsui got six rbi's tonight. seven runs we have, and he drove six of those babies in.

the whole stadium is on its feet, but my legs are dangling. off of the futon. kicking a bit wildly at this point.

there it is!! they did, they just did it.

their bodies coming together in one mass huddle. bobbing in a sea of green.

i love baseball. i'm so proud of my boys.

november is the month, indeed.

lipstick pick.

yesterday joanna posted about red lipstick. 

and it got me thinking.

about my own pick.

the past year or so i've taken a great liking to lipstick.

because my left eye leaks (a lot lately) spending any time on eye makeup tends to be a waste. 

so i do mascara and a strong lip.

but lately i've been wanting something a bit more natural--like a lip stain, but not quite.

i've been feeling very low maintenance. 

so my pick for the season is laura mercier's hydrating tint in "berry." 

it's actually more vibrant than it appears in the picture and as it wears off it definitely has a stain quality.

so there you go. 

my two cents because i know you wanted to know (what?). i'm talking crazy now.

but seriously. after working for a cosmetic company this is what i know--yes, those girls and guys are informed, but nothing beats spending a few hours in sephora and trying everything on. you know what looks good on you. or you'll learn. either way... win, win.

november brings good tidings.

i'd like to wipe october from my slate.

start again.

fresh.

so november first came.

sunday morning.

my friend kate and i ventured to the east side to catch the nyc marathon.

if ever you find yourself in the city on the day of this gorgeous event, you must watch--participate--partake in some way.

there's nothing quite like it. 

people. everywhere. from all over. doing something so unbelievably difficult and miraculous. each with a story. running together. a moving quilt covering the blacktop streets. an endless stream of wordless music as their feet meet the pavement.

kate and i were walking across 62nd street towards first avenue, approaching the party, when we saw runners. moving at a speed you can't even imagine. whoosh. whoosh. woosh. followed quickly by a news camera on a dolly. whoosh. and we realized, oh that's the lead pack. we just saw the very front-runners. live and in person. i took this as a very good omen for the month. had we arrived a minute sooner we would have been inside and walking up the stairs and missed their passing. a minute later and we wouldn't have had any idea. our timing was... fortuitous. 

a tiding of all the good things to come. i think.

i hope.