getting over the hump.

a little mid-week eye candy to get us all over the hump that is wednesday...


this tumblr is right up my alley. {especially this one. and how bout this?}

holy heck, this wedding is one of the most beautiful i've ever seen.

uh-oh, i best start reading. and really fast.

this girl just gets it. talk about wisdom.

so does this one: it's all going to be okay.

political and religious views aside, this is really something. (in the end it's all about love).

one of my very favorite noah & the whale songs in perfect video form.

i'm gonna level with you, my mind keeps coming round to these two blog posts: first this one. and then the central notion of this one--that two people have to come to a relationship after choosing, fighting, working for personal happiness.

(image found here).


here's to the rest of the week!

tip-of-the-tongue.

i got off the A train at 181st street around midnight last night.

from the train platform to the entrance of the street is nine stories. you can choose to take the stairs or long escalator up.

i hurried off the train last night, toward the towering, long escalator, and found myself in step behind a taller man, blond, dressed in an impeccable suit. and walking behind him i thought, this man reminds me of someone.

but i couldn't put my finger on it. couldn't dislodge it from that proverbial tip of a very real tongue.

it started to drive me nutty, who does this person remind me of? it wouldn't come. there were murky images and half-formed thoughts, but still, even now this morning as i sit with my coffee, a lit spiced egg-nog candle just off to my side, i haven't really a clue.

the strongest thought or sense or notion, is more that it's someone i've yet to meet. not the man i followed behind, this really has nothing to do with him, it's that he reminds me of someone i've yet to meet.

nonsense.

and yet.

not.

i don't know.

it's been happening a lot lately. this pervasive feeling that i have exciting news to share and then thinking, well, what is it? and coming up blank.

everything feels so on the cusp. just over the ridge. beyond that next hill. so close--closer than ever before.

but what if it's not?

you know when you've can hear a really great song in your own mind? and it sounds so good rattling around up there that you attempt to sing it aloud. it's clear as a bell to you, perfectly crystallized, but when it comes out, oh dear, hideous. the journey between your mind and the mouth, the surfacing that has to happen, it distorts, mistranslates.

i feel like that's where i am: a song surfacing. coming through water for air. on the way up, so very near to the surface. but what comes out, well, that has yet to be seen.

it could be nothing short of disaster.

or not.

i don't know.

i just feel like i'm nearing the end of this nine-story-long-escalator. and as for my sense of what's waiting at the top when i get off? murky, half-images, at best.

on beauty.

i am so honored to be over here today. talking about beauty. and how it has almost nothing what to do with what i look like and definitely nothing to do with what the scale says or how my thighs do or do not jiggle when i attempt a morning jog (or walk).

i think reachel is glorious. all you have to do is read her about section to know why. and this series? well, if only we could all put down the pages of glossy magazines, cease the comparisons, and hook into what makes us--each, individually--really gorgeous.

trading thursday for saturday. and turkey for fish.

thanksgiving is my favorite, you know?

i'm not entirely sure why. maybe because it's so known. it's always the fourth thursday. it's always a half-week event. maybe because it feels like the beginning--because it ushers in, invites a season of such joy. 

i'm pretty sure it has something to do with the feel of the air, the holiday's hallmark colors, the falling leaves. the lack of expectations or demand of gifts. it is a holiday predicated on giving thanks. on taking the time to sit down, to dinner, as a family. it demands a dressing up of the dining room table and departure from the usual. 

the holiday is a trumpet calling us in from the fields to eat.

the funny thing is my love for it has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the experience (yes, yes, which the food is a part, of course). but i don't eat turkey (i'm a vegetarian) and even when i did, i didn't care for it. mashed potatoes don't really do it for me, nor does stuffing. but a good acorn squash? heaven help me.

this year i had to work the majority of the day. it was less than ideal but bearable. my parents came over in the morning to my clean apartment and we watched the parade while eating clementines, banana bread, and drinking our respective morning drinks (tea vs. coffee).

my real holiday happened saturday. my parents and i went to the theatre, took in Other Desert Cities-- such a beautiful, arresting play--the very finest of what theatre has to offer (the writing is so damn fine that i've seen it twice). we then sought out one of our very favorite haunts, One if by Land. there we saddled up to the bar and let the live melodies of the piano wash over us. and in a moment of throwing caution to the wind we threw out our original dinner plans to remain there. to sit at a beautifully set table, fresh flowers everywhere, and eat our way through the four-course menu.

people come to new york to see midtown. radio city and times square. the lights, the endless lights. they want to take a carriage ride in central park and see the tree. and i don't blame them for this. i understand the impulse. but i would argue that it is a relatively recent development in new york. i know, i know, it goes back to the fifties and beyond, but this is a city of such history. boston gets all the historical glory, but new york holds its own (just rent Gangs of New York to know the veracity of that--also because Daniel Day Lewis is a genius). 

this is all to say...give me the old new york. the fringe new york. the underground new york. with it's exposed brick and lit candles. it's easy to love a new york that's all glitz and bright lights, but it's so obvious. i want the underbelly, the hidden pockets, the tucked-away-corners.

(One if by Land is in Aaron Burr's old carriage house) and it is everything i love about this city. it may have made for a less than traditional thanksgiving and i certainly missed gathering around the table with so much of my family in colorado, but it was so special, nonetheless.

thanks-giving, indeed. for this, i give thanks.

it happened two days ago. the day before thanksgiving. a preparatory miracle, for the holiday.

i awoke and i knew. immediately, i knew. before my swollen feet had even hit the cool, creaking floor, i knew. it had passed, lifted, moved on.

or perhaps it had simply moved through.

this bout of blue was done.

it sounds so naive, doesn't it? so simple? you wake one day and it's no more. but that's how it was. that's how it is.

an energetic shift, a tilt. like moving your weight from your heels to the balls of your feet.

what struck me this go round--in the immediacy of the lifting fog--was the absence of fear that colored the last three months. that was the difference.

i awoke without fear. the kind that presses in on your chest, makes breathing difficult--a low grade panic you learn to deal with, resign yourself to.

but upon waking two mornings ago, i felt fearless, unafraid, filled by such faith. faith that all will work itself out. that i will find meaning, find purpose, fulfill a calling, be filled with such love as is written and talked about and dreamt of.

and in the presence of such faith, the other things fade. it's not that they disappear or have no place, but the focus shifts and they recede, find their proper place. it is the turn of the lens and the subsequent clarity.

order restored.

and the return of words. suddenly the delicious, glorious onslaught of words! welcome back, old friends. welcome home. 


i can't tell you for sure what caused the shift. whether it was the fresh flowers i bought this week, or the new haircut. i don't know if it was the popcorn and small glass of white wine i had the night before last at one in the morning after returning home from work.

maybe it was the moment a month ago when i literally felt God unfurl himself within my chest. great flaps of wings spanning the width of my shoulders.

the week in texas helped, i'm sure. walks on the bayou. walking, moving, energizing the body.

maybe it was the necklace that's meant to symbolize open-heartedness that sits flush against my chest. or the men's gingham shirt that i got from the gap and makes me feel sexy in a way few dresses ever have.

maybe it was the consistent and constant love of those who so kindly support me.

i don't know which of the small things did it, which of any of the things i've done day after day over the last three months caused the shift. perhaps it was the accumulation of all of them.

it's alchemy. magic. or just a moving through.

the trick is not forcing the shift. it's preparing for it. being ready so that you can catch it as it rushes past you. and then holding on as it takes off. a willingness to go along for the ride.

does any of this make sense?

hmm. maybe it doesn't need to. maybe some things are best left in that realm of half-sense, half-absolute-miracle.

the red dress.

did i ever tell you that i blame a red dress for the fact that i am so darn tall?

because i do.

and i blame charlize theron.

more specifically, i blame charlize theron in that red dress.

you know the one i'm talking about. you must.

hmmm. okay, yes, i see your point. now that i look at it i realize it's not exactly red (the footnote says bronze). but you get the point. 

i mean, come one, is she not heaven in that dress?

this spawned a certain love affair with ms. theron, such that, i took to googling. and what i remember is that i was particularly taken with her height. 

five feet, ten inches. 

glorious! huzzah! yes, i would be that height as well then. i was old enough to know that the chances were pretty good that i would be tall, so might as well really be. 

so i took a sharpie, pulled out a tape measure, and charted out the distance on the frame leading into my bathroom. 

growing up i would stand there. against the molding, mark how tall i was, how much progress i had made, and how far i had yet to go. 

and when all was said and done and all the proverbial cookies had crumbled (puberty and growth spurts and the joys of teenage-hood) don't know you, i stood right up against the frame, put my hand atop my head, stepped away to look where it had landed and...BLAM. 5 foot 10. 

some things are willed into existence. of this i'm almost nearly, just pretty sure, nursing a strong inkling that yes, indeed, that is true. 

the funny thing is. i'd give a few of those inches back. because this is what i know now: men are short. particularly those in drama school. particularly on the east coast. and the thing is i'm like anyone else: i wanna wear heals! i want to feel small and demure and lithe next to my beau! 

then again, this too is true: it's great for concerts, and...

oh, gosh, that's all i've got so far, it's great for concerts. 

i've been working on it though. of late. i've been working on pulling my shoulders back, unfurling the full width of my chest, holding my neck high. because for better or worse it's not just ms. theron's story, it's mine. and when i'm surrounded by family, and the tall women we boast, i know it's part history, part heritage, part love-story.

but do send your really tall guy friends my way, won't you?

life slice #5.

lying there, wide awake as he slept, she angled herself close, put her nose right up under his mouth. and there she remained, all night, fed by the sweet breath that sleep slipped out.

i believe...

in stemless wine glasses. in the feel of the bowl in my palm. i believe in white wine. sauvignon blanc, of the new zealand persuasion, imbibed barefoot in the kitchen--vegetables roasting in the oven.

i believe in men who can wear a sweaters. in over-sized oxfords and penny loafers. that cauliflower is the most interesting and versatile vegetable out there. that truffle oil pairs nicely with almost anything worth having (popcorn).

i believe in laughter and big, rolling tears--the need for both, the importance of of both, the beauty of both.

i believe all things aspire to music.

i am learning that a lease hardly ends the moment you are ready to leave. and so a shuffle-step ensues. of learning to live around those things that elicit frustration and unease. and that sometimes an expansive room and a jaw-dropping view are not enough to tether one to a place.

i believe in buoyancy. in the calm that comes from dusting. or reading. or long, hot baths. that we've all failed. and we're all flawed. and that happiness must be found on one's own. separate of anything or anyone else. because everything ends, eventually, everything ends. and most things, given enough time, enough space, enough heaven-sent perspective reveal themselves as blessings.

i believe that no gift is greater than that of sitting in silence and listening. really listening. and that we get to choose our friends. and as we grow and get older, discernment is vital.

i believe in peanut butter. an on an intellectual-level i believe in peanut butter in moderation. but on an experiential level i only believe in peanut butter in moderation when it's already too late.

i believe in the attempt. in the leap. and that things happen the very moment you think they never will--the very moment you give into that, accept that, make peace with that (easier said than done).

i believe in the return. in coming back. in coming home, wherever home may be.


image.

home.

i barely took out my camera while i was home. when i did, it was to document our adventures in food, which (believe it or not) was only a small portion of the trip.

i love going home. and i love returning to new york. (pick your jaw up off the floor--yeah, i said it: i love returning to new york. and that is true. because, for now, it's home as well).

but man oh man is there something about returning to that place you grew up. that place you made your first mistakes, had your first kiss, first failed, first flew, first loved. there's something to returning to that place that marked you--imprinted itself.

it helps me find my axis. my center. the very core of who i am.

because when in texas there is knowledge and remembrance in getting behind the wheel, cranking up the radio and pressing my foot against the accelerator. or walking along the bayou and touching the part of me that's a low-country-gal--one who grew up on the ranches of friends, alongside horses, swinging across creeks and rivers, fostering imagination in skeleton houses.

and then there's the immediate and tangible love of family. and well, that's one of those things that i've yet to find adequate words for.


















(i must say that i love looking at these pictures because i'm reminded that food is 80% adventure in color. and yes that percentage is made up by yours truly, but you get the point).

(and can you find the hidden allergy medication? that's one of those things that translates from place to place. that and funky seasons . houston is warm, new york is warm, but definitely our actions are not at all responsible for changes in weather patterns. nope, global warming is definitely not happening). 

and back again i go...

perhaps once i unload my suitcase, settle into the apartment, and have a good little mope about being homesick, i'll finally return to this blogspot-lover-of-mine. time to rekindle the romance. 

xo

meg

image via.

it's good to be home.

image. 

one more day...

new york can be a difficult place to describe. never has a city of so many paradoxes existed. there are moments i feel this indescribably deep love for it. and then moments and days and months where i can barely breathe here, where i want to run screaming from my own skin.

i've been hating the city of late. and so everyone asks me the same question, when was the last time you got away? when was the last time you went home? away? august to chicago. home? march. 

i'm overdue. 

all new yorkers know you must constantly flee this place in order to sustain and cultivate your love for it. 

tomorrow, if i can wake in time to make my flight, i'll wing my way toward that great state of texas. and there i'll spend near a week so that when i do return...well, the hope is i'll be a bit more palatable (for everyone, to everyone, including myself). 

what all this really means is just one more day to keep that wicked jaw in check. wish me luck. 

here's to beating the monday blues...

"I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of 
people and then me, on the outside. Because how do 
you meet a new person? I was stunned by this for many 
years. And then I realized, you just say, 'Hi.' 
They may ignore you. Or you may marry
them. And that possibility is worth that one word."

Augusten Burroughs

resurfacing.

i cried in whole foods this week. there was a woman who made me cry. she was unkind and i lost my voice. so i cried.

but it wasn't really about her.

and then again on the subway platform the next day, at one in the morning, waiting for the train. i turned into one of the green pillars, with no one around, and quietly sobbed.

few things have felt better.

last night as i climbed out of a cab at an unreasonable hour after an unreasonably long day i handed the driver the cab fare in all singles. many, many singles. and i apologized for all the ones. but he smiled, said in his culture, such a thing was good luck. i laughed, good luck for both of us then, i replied. good luck for me having unwittingly, unknowingly passed good luck onto you.

i sat down this morning to write about these last two months. about the sadness that pressed in and what i know now. and i got some stuff out about it, but not enough and there's not enough time today. never enough time anymore, it seems. though, maybe there never was?

all i can say is that today, end of this week, i'm okay.

i don't like uncertainty. and much as i attempt to explore the virtue of the unknown and life's multitudinous shades of gray, i'm mostly at a loss. i am mostly undone by the gray.

my mother asked me this go round what the catalyst was for this bout of blue (or whatever you want to call it because surely no name really ever does it justice) and i told her some things are sacred. and secret. and must remain as such. that this time, the answer to that question, was yes, in fact, known, but mine. and mine alone.

sacred. and mine.

tom granted me a gift yesterday. sitting in his office, talking about it all, he looked right at me and said, you know, i think it had to happen. just as it did. it was absolutely vital and necessary. and it couldn't have unfolded any other way. 


and there was breath in that moment. life. as i come back to myself now, that moment resonates.

today thinking on it, tom's language strikes my ear as unusual. i think mostly because, being the good therapist he is, he never really speaks in absolutes. most usually refrains from confirming or denying much of what i spout.

but he offered that up yesterday. without prompting. he handed me that absolute.

it had to happen that way.

all of life, all of my life (and i venture all of anyone's really) has to go just as it does. has to. there's comfort in that. a real comfort and release in that.

had to happen. that way.






(don't think this song in this week's parks and rec episode didn't make me cry. and lord help me, aren't april and andy just the best?).

i've had this on repeat all morning.

Disappearing

     "The day he first told me he 
was starting to disappear I
didn't believe him & so he stopped
& held his hand up to the sun & it
was like thin paper in the light &
finally I said, you seem very calm
for a man who is disappearing &
he said it was a relief after all
those years of trying to keep the
pieces of his life in one place. 
Later on, I went to see him
again & as I was leaving, he
put a package in my hand.
     This is the last piece of my 
life, he said. take good care 
of it & then he smiled & was
gone & the room filled with the
sound of the wind & when I
opened the package there was
nothing there & I thought
there must be some mistake 
or maybe I dropped it & I 
got down on my hands &
knees  & looked until the light
began to fade & then slowly
I felt pieces of my life 
fall away & suddenly I 
understood what he meant 
& I lay there for a long 
time crying & laughing at
the same time. "

Brian Andreas
Story People