today i am stuffed.

with the salad below. (euf, so full!)

with gratitude.

with love for friends new and old.

with undeserved kindness.

with peace.

and the knowledge and faith that life has a way of working out. (ps: remind me of this the next time i think the sky is falling, as invariably i will at some point in the near future.)

(note: ignore the strange look on my face. i think it's the product of nearly finishing the salad {yes, the ENTIRE thing}, which left me careening toward food comatose. and ignore my poor hair--that's a product of dying hair dryer.)

dear mallorie,

thanks for giving me my first cafe rio experience. and for the trip to wal-mart for a new hair dryer. my hair thanks you. let's play again soon.

xo,

meg

helloooooo, utah!

i had the loveliest afternoon. yup, the loveliest. there, i said it.

the gorgeous emily of la vie en rose treated me to gelato on provo's center street (we both had pecan) and then took me on a walking tour. she pointed out the best places for mexican food and milkshakes (diego's and sammy's {separate stops}).

i had so much fun and laughed and laughed and instantly i felt a little more at home.

oh, did i mention that when she came to pick me up she brought me a jar of jam? a jar of my very own. for the fridge. and yes, it's homemade. swoon. and yes, i've already had some on toast. and yes, perfection, it was.

thank you emily for giving me such a gorgeous welcome. (and for being patient enough to post for the obligatory picture-taking session). i can't wait to do it again!

ps: camilla of champagne bubbles posted this and it came as such a surprise. it kinda made my month. actually, no kinda about it, it did. it made my month. especially because i want to claim camilla as a real-life friend, desperately.

a picnic along the tribeca waterfront.

my gorgeous (and unbelievably talented) friend, erica lives in tribeca with her clark-kent-of-a-husband, chris. (i blogged about their wedding, here).

oh, tribeca! to live in tribeca where the air is fresh and the crowds are sparse! (and the rent is sky-high).

they live there (at a great price, as luck would have it) in a single bedroom (in a hotel). the catch is..

there's no kitchen.

this would deter most.

not erica.

she cooks. without the kitchen.

and when i say cooks, i mean...really cooks.

erica being brilliant (as she is) has created a kitchen-of-sorts in the bathroom and a blog to go along with it.

today we met up in union square which (while i'm not really a fan of because of the huge crowds) has a massive and versatile greenmarket. and from there we headed home and the cooking began.

what i really love about erica's take on food is that she's adventurous about simplicity. and she believes in educating herself about what it is she's eating and why it's good for her.

i'm starting to think there's nothing like a time outdoors, good food, and girl-talk (intelligent girl-talk, at that!).

to see why i gush about this girl check out her very new and very exciting foray into blogdom.

when i grow up.

the most darling camilla has been doing a wonderful series entitled "when i grow up" on her blog, champagne bubbles. and it has got me thinking. a lot. about what i want. and i figure that if men can't help looking at a gorgeous woman (and science will defend that for them), then i can't help dreaming about the future or googling photos of brooklyn brownstones.

so here is my list, as inspired by camilla and all the gorgeous woman who have submitted to her series:

i want a neighborhood cafe. around the corner. with strong lattes and fresh bread. i want to know the names of the faces behind the counter and i want them to know the names of my children.

i want early evening walks in the neighborhood and after-dinner story-time.

i want hard wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. banisters on the staircase and hallways of family photos. built in bookshelves and sprawling desks.

trees in the neighborhood.

i want season tickets to the closest baseball team.

i want to travel the world. to live in different countries. to speak spanish fluently. and dabble in a little french.

i want sharp knives, a kitchen aide mixer, and a large cuisinart.

i want saturday morning pancake breakfasts. and sunday nights spent in the kitchen as i listen to the hustle and bustle of everyone preparing for the week.

i want the love of my best friend and the promise of a whole life together.

i want things to get clearer. {a little, at least.}

i want the idea that will write the book.

i want to do what i love.

i want to love.

these photos are via google's image search.

i might just die for that kitchen.

i mean really?

look at it.

look at all the green out the window.

it may be small, but it might also be perfect.

love, love, love.

{vic and i remembering to take a picture just as we were saying goodbye. it was freezing last night, can you tell?}

i spent this weekend celebrating valentine's day in the best possible way:

with my girlfriends.

saturday night brought a wine bar followed by dinner followed by sweet treats.

we spoke of boys and success and fear and all those things so important to women in their twenties who are learning and working and figuring it all out.

and when i got home. i turned out my lights, got into bed, and thanked the universe for the love of good women--for their insight and understanding, their strength and support.

and when i talk about my girlfriends yes i mean erin and vic who shared their saturday with me and angela who i always see on sundays and so many others, but you all too--you all who read this silly thing and leave comments that continuously floor me. you all who challenge me and make me want to work harder and fight harder and love more.

so thank you.

and a very merry valentine's day to you.

monday maven.

i am so very honored and humbled to be featured here as this week's

monday's maven.

vanessa's blog is such a delight and anyone who lives by the mantra "i never grew up" is exactly the kind of person i'd like to be connected to.

thanks for letting me play, vanessa!

saturday night.

it's saturday night.

and i got home early.

so i whipped up my second batch of spelt biscuits .

and am about to crawl into bed with my book.

yes, i am the girl that bakes spelt biscuits on a saturday night. and i am okay with that. in fact, i kinda like it.

(ps: the biscuit is on a cupcake plate. can you tell?! yes, a cupcake plate given to me my most wonderful mother this Christmas. isn't she just so tuned into what is cool?).

this was a good week. i survived. flourished even. and reveled in the good news of others.

i happened to attend a rotary club meeting in buffalo once upon a time. {i know... don't ask.} but they have this thing where they put a dollar into a hat and with that dollar they get to share news that brings them great personal joy.

so, two dollars, thank you very much. two dollars have i just placed in the hat.

the divine micaela just got herself a husband-to-be!

and the lovely jess brought her brand new girl home from the hospital!

congratulations, ladies, i feel so lucky to be connected to you both (even if it is through this strange and bewildering thing known as blogdom).

an experiment in poverty.

cutest pictures ever of jasmine and her t0-die-for-boyfriend, levi

have you seen, have you seen?

the loveliest of lovelies, jasmine, featured my fun with proust on her always delightful blog, an experiment in poverty (which also happens to be the title of the memoir i pen in my head each morning).

i couldn't be more honored or flattered.

and yes, yes indeedy, i think we would make fantastic "real-life" friends!!

oh, i'm just giddy with excitement about it all!

what nie has done for me.

when on that fateful day i clicked the "create blog" button i had no idea what i was getting myself into.

my parents were so opposed to the whole thing. 

so i dragged my feet. occasionally posting (posting, what is posting?) a quote or an old picture, but nothing more. 

i was testing the line. the line between what other's told me was right or acceptable  and what i thought i might just enjoy. 

and then there was this article. in the new york times (go figure). and it was about this woman. a mother. a wife. a blogger. who had been in a plane crash. who's sister had taken up her cause. and around which the entire blogging community (community, what?) was rallying.

and i thought. my God. i want to be a part of that. 

i remember reading somewhere--probably a cup of jo (yeah, yeah, go figure) about what blogging does for a person a year in. and let's put all our cards on the table--blogging is not for everyone. a lot of people love reading them, hate making them. and i get it. i do. but i happen to love it. 

and i'm nearing that first year mark (about two months out, really) and what comes to mind is...

well, so i visited a life coach the spring break of my second year, when it became abundantly clear that things were not going so well. and i remember her asking me to make a love list (something that oprah has now made famous as only oprah can). the idea being that you list things you think are important in a mate. and from there you can break them down into categories: deal breakers, icing on the cake, and so on. and by giving a name to these things, by recognizing them, you begin to attract them into your life. 

so i made the list. 

will stay up all night and play video games with me (this was once done and let me just say, the guy won mad points for it).

can keep up with me when we ski. or maybe even, dare is say it, go faster? ha, not likely.

plays a mean game of foosball. or air hockey. 

adventurous.

likes to travel.

willing to make a fool of himself on the dance floor.

many of the qualities i sought were things that would balance me out. i needed him to be more socially adept to make up for my lack of prowess in mingling situations, louder to balance out my until-you-really-get-to-know-me soft spoken tone.

but what i realized was that in listing the qualities i hoped to find in my partner, i was giving a name to those things i loved about myself. my God, i loved something about myself?

yeah. 

yeah, i love that i want adventure. and that i can play a mean game of pick-up baseball. i love that with enough encouragement i'll dance at a wedding like no one is watching. and yes, i can ski. well. quite well (got my mom's genes on that one). i love that i laugh loudly and openly and get giddy and even that i cry at the most inopportune times. 

and so the thing is...that's in many ways what this blog is. it is my list. it is me giving a name to those things about myself, about my life which (and oh how taboo i once thought this was) i love. 

and that list, this blog is bringing me back from the edge. it's revealing me to myself. slowly, each day. 

i was so humbled by nie's recent post. 

Mother came with me instead. We talked about angels, family, children's names, hope, and other things Mom's and daughters talk about including how I hurt when I wake up in the morning. Cindy (my mum) asked me when I was going to post a picture of me on the blog.

things Mom's and daughters talk about...(my mum) asked me when I was going to post a picture of me on the blog.

i read that. and it was so simple. and i'm quite sure my mom asked me the same question about a week ago. though she said something along the lines of, so when are you going to stop hiding behind goofy faces and cropped shots and post an actual picture of yourself on the blog?

and there it was. 

now let me be as clear as words will allow...i cannot even begin to understand what stephanie is going through and i am only equating my situation with her's on the most primal of levels. the level of a love between a mother and daughter and also what it feels like to not feel at home in your body.  what i mean to say is...here is this woman that i have never met, who lives across the country, and comes from a world so different than my own, who has suffered something that goes beyond trauma, something that i cannot (and God help me, never will be able to) imagine. and  some eensy-teensy, infinitesimal part of me understands what she might feel when she looks in the mirror. because in the wide spectrum of human experience there is a set gammut of human emotion. our emotions, though felt to different degrees and in different ways, connect us. and isn't there comfort to be found in that? and comfort to be found in the fact that moms and daughters talk about the same things?

i have looked in the mirror and failed to see myself. i have literally been shocked by the image. and yet i know it is me. i have mourned for life. i have mourned for a part of myself usurped by something that while i can try to give a name to it, will always be so much bigger than anything language can give breath to. chekhov got it right when he had masha say, I am in mourning for my life. but chekhov was a comedian. and i daresay he believed in life. and the little things (which really are the big things, aren't they?) that blogs tend to celebrate.

I had a simple glimpse of me coming back. I get to create a new "me" whatever that entails. It hasn't been easy having to reinvent myself. I have (and still do) mourn for Stephanie. Where did she go? Now I look in the mirror and see someone else, but it's still me. It's...well...weird. I have to learn to be me again. I have to accept and hope. And I should stop saying "should" and replace that with "get". I GET to have a second chance at life. I get to enjoy my children even if my fingers don't work. I get to change the way I look at life and how I can somehow help someone else in need.

i'm coming back too. i didn't even know i was gone. but i'm coming back. and i look at myself in the mirror. i look at this body that i've loathed for so long, this body that has felt alien, this body that i thought was suffocating me, and i'm learning to love it. to love me. ned was the enemy, but my body... well, my body never was. and the thing was, i thought it was the other way round. i put ned on the pedestal--built him a shrine, and berated my body, every chance i got. but my body never failed me. my body took it. and insulated me. and loved me. and waited patiently for the day when i would come back. 

nie posted a picture of her eyes. 

the courage. 

it bewilders me. 

leaves me without words. 

i thought, okay, me too...what can i do that will display a fraction of the courage she conveyed in that so-not-simple action of revealing her eyes? and i thought, i'll post a full length shot...no problem. 

but i can't. i'm not ready. not quite. but i will be nie, soon. i will learn to, as you say, accept and hope. and love. and give thanks. to this body. to an infinite, all-knowing power. to my mum for asking the simple questions. and to you. you for your unimaginable courage and example. you who already helped someone in need. you, who i have a sneaking suspicion has helped countless just like me.

so thank you. truly, that's all i know to say...thank you. 

this is absolute perfection.

about the ants.

this look of consternation? that's because of the ants.

there were five on the windowsill. the first night. 

about two nights ago.

i thought i'd deal with them in the morning. 

then in the morning they were all over the wood floor. 

many. many, many. 

even some in the kitchen.

tonight i found a whole slew on my dresser. 

my dresser for goodness sake!

hmph.

i'm not okay with this.

i have cucumber peels on the window sill. 

and cucumber peels on the floor. 

but there is no discernible trail to speak of.

traps are next. 

better ants than maggots.

i had maggots once. 

my first apartment.

three in the morning. insomnia. 

reorganizing room. move bed.

maggots. 

product of dead bird just outside my room.

 in the space where the air conditioner could of gone. 

the space that should have been covered. 

dead pigeon in fact. 

do you know that pigeons really do mate for life.

 loyal little lovers they are.

at the time i didn't know it was a dead bird. 

i didn't know what could have brought the maggots. 

so i threw out an old pair of sneakers. 

green sneakers. huge emotional attachment. 

huge.

maggots trump emotional attachment. 

i killed each one. each maggot. 

at three in the morning. all by myself. 

all by my lonesome. 

never have i wanted a boyfriend more.

 but need a boyfriend? nope.

 i took care of them, no boy

necessary.

i'd rather have ants than maggots. 

but ants move faster. 

and they seem to multiply.

what to do...what to do...

more room cleaning tonight...

explanation of above photo:

Helen over at the Museum Cupboard

(wish her luck on defending the

thesis for her MFA)

tagged me. 

Take a picture of yourself right now.

No preparing or primping.

Load the picture on your blog.

Tag some people to play along.

Well, I'm a little late in responding, 

but no primping was done. In fact this

is after a seven hour shift. And 

I didn't photoshop (sweet lord

above--never again will

you see unaltered photos)

your turn...

Thao at Prosecco and Lemonade who's getting married soon

Veronica at There's a Holiday Every Day--giving us a reason to celebrate, always

and Sarah-Lucy at My Brave New World--her writing is just that, brave indeed

about *him*

last week i found the following:

After working a fundraiser at Mongolian BBQ -complete with the cheap hat, apron tied around his armpits (he's tall), and hair curling in every direction from the heat of the grill-- he gave me the slow look over, winked, and said "you know you like a man in uniform."

He dresses for his own entertainment. He showed up at my door wearing a pink paisley tie, vest, and a newsies cap. And he looked good.

I was falling asleep leaning against a wall- waiting for his friends to decide which bar to go to. He opened his arms and gave me a look. I stared at him blankly. "HUG ME." I walked up to him and dropped my head into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. One of his friends commented that technically, I still wasn't hugging him. "I know. This is hug rape."

Last summer, he was bored. He then completed the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Run. During the run, he hallucinated and a saw miniature horse and then a koala bear waving at him.

He gave me dancing lessons in Kohls. The dances included tango, waltz, and polka (to name a few). I think the polka was his favorite.

He once asked me if I would like to smell Egypt. I now know what Egypt smells like. There were no bodily functions involved.

After he does anything especially dorky- he'll look over at me, make sure he has my attention, then say, quite seriously, "you like me" while pointing at his chest. He thinks he's reminding me... like I could've forgotten.

i found it here, on technical support. isn't it perfect? it's entitled "about *him*"--doesn't *him* sound delicious?

it prompted the following letter:

dear husband-to-be,

i would like to smell egypt.

love,

you-know-who

roots.

i found this beautiful poem written by la chrysomele reveuse's Dia and just had to share it with you all...

I woke up with a sweet pain in my left arm.

I thought the vernal sun beams mistook their way to the soul,

trying to sneak in.

But when I touched the burning skin

I felt long delicate strands protruding.

Thin strands throbbing in the rhythm of my heart.

Touching them didn't hurt,

but gave me an agonizing feeling of longing.

And I remembered that these last two days

we stood close to each other, our arms touching.

Adventitious roots are growing to reach you.

a feeling i know so well in words i wish i had written.

and on another note: i cannot thank you all enough for your kind words, insightful thoughts, unbelievably touching comments--they mean more then you may ever know. i cherish my memories. i love them all, even the bad ones. and i thank God each day for this because i can't imagine a more agonizing death than simply ceasing to feel. 

photo found here; and they found it on flickr