Closing the door on 2012.

So, here it is, my annual 38 question round-up, that helps close the door on the year that's ending...and gets me looking forward to the year that awaits, just hours away - 2013. 
2009, 2010, and 2011 are linked if you're interested.  


1. What did you do in 2012 that you'd never done before?
Traveled to Spain and Portugal, started - and stuck with - an actual running planning; working my way up to running 5k, took a job where I'm managing people, went apple picking.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
This is what I wrote last year for the start of 2012:

For 2012? I'm pretty much looking to do more of the same as I was last year, so those resolutions continue. And, an addition. To make time. We only get 24 hours in a day. But I really want to work at using those 24 hours wisely - of being aware when to slow down and take it all in...and when to hurry up and trek along at a steady clip. If I figure it all out, I'll let you know.

I'm about to talk about how 2012 was, yet again, the fastest year of my life, so I didn't exactly make more time.  But, I do think I made very good use of this year - I did, saw, and accomplished quite a lot.  So I'm going to check the "success" box on this one.

Now, 2013.  Oh, 2013.  The other day a friend was telling me about how she doesn't make resolutions, per say, but "intentions." She picks one aspect of her life - friendship, health, etc., and decides to make that her focus for the year...and the resolutions for that aspect sort of fall into place after that.  I like that idea.

So with that in mind, I intend to focus on my heart in 2013; taking time to listen and trust it, remembering that it's just as important as the rest of me as I go through my daily existence.  There are times, when I let the "what-ifs" take over...and I talk myself out of things; I avoid putting my heart out on a line for fear of it getting hurt.  I'd like to do less of that in the coming year.

More reading time is a necessity for 2013.

And then, the usual - more writing, more running and yoga, making time for the things that matter.  Basically, keeping up and maintaining the things I got right in 2012.   

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yup.  My cousin had a daughter in January.  My friend Jen also had a baby boy in January.  My friend Kate had her second child in June, my friend Libby had a son in July, one of my best high school girlfriends had her second son on my birthday in September, another college friend had a baby girl in September, and my lovely friend Beth had her second son in December.  There's probably another friend/baby combo in the mix there too that I'm forgetting about - 2012 brought along a lot of healthy, sweet little bambinos.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
I have been so, so lucky that I've never had to type yes in response to this question since I've been doing this year-end round up.  I'm grateful.

5. What countries did you visit?
Spain and Portugal in May.

6. What would you like to have in 2013 that you lacked in 2012?
 A significant other that's a best friend too.

7. What dates from 2012 will remain etched upon your memory and why?
A lot happened in 2012, and the timeline of all unfolding events is pretty clear in my mind, but I wouldn't say there are any specific dates that stick out in particular.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Getting a new job in October, sticking with a running program long enough to actually build up some sort of an actual running routine, increasing my yoga practice, filling my days/weekends/time with a lot of things I really wanted to do.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I wish I'd read more.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Thankfully, nothing beyond the minor cold.


11. What was the best thing you bought?
my round trip plane ticket to Madrid.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
any time there was an outpouring of love, support, and hope from communities around the world when unspeakable tragedy struck.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Oh, where to begin?  Every year this question always seems to come back to the politicians, doesn't it?  So, 2012... how about Rush Limbaugh's re: his unacceptable Sandra Fluke comments.

14. Where did most of your money go?
the usual - rent, insurance.  Vet bills since my cat's diabetic diagnosis in August.
 
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
traveling abroad, visiting my family and friends, weekend adventures, seeing The Lumineers twice in concert, my Dad ultimately not moving out of NJ, my new job, great books, good TV - Downton Abbey, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead.

16. What song will always remind you of 2012?
Oh, a little number that goes something like this - "Hey, I just met you.  And this is craaaaazzzy....but here's my number..."
Yep.  I think I heard that song a couple of times this year.


17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
a) happier
b) thinner
c) richer

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
More reading.  More writing. More dating (the right person.)

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Wasting time and thoughts on things that don't necessarily matter all that much.


20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I was down in Atlanta for Christmas, at my Mom's house.  My brother and his girlfriend, my Dad, and two dogs were in attendance as well.  It was nice to have a full house for the holidays this year.

21. Did you fall in love in 2012?
Nope.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
Breaking Bad.  Because it is one of the most well written shows I have ever watched.  Also, it is awesome.


23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No.

24. What was the best book you read?
I don't think I can pick just one.  A few favorites of the year: The Fault in Our Stars - John Green, The Imperfectionists - Tom Rachman, This is Where I Leave You - Jonathan Tropper.
I'm not yet finished with The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon but I have loved the first 600 pages...

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Oh, this one is easy -  The Lumineers, The Lumineers, The Lumineers.  No question.

26. What did you want and get?
to travel, no summer weekends spent in the sweltering city, a new job, to fall into an exercise routine that works for me, to not lose my connection/a home base in my hometown.


27. What did you want and not get?
A year ago today, I thought I was in a serious relationship.  A year ago tomorrow, I learned I wasn't.  So...there was that.


28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Probably Argo.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 33 in September, a Friday.  I was at work, with two stellar co-workers (and real life friends) who made the whole day feel special.  Four of us went out for lobster rolls at lunch, then they surprised me with Graters ice cream back at my desk.  After work, two friends and I went for burgers and fries in my neighborhood and then over to a bar where different friends dropped in and out throughout the night to say hello.  Around 10pm that night, I got a text from my friend Meg, announcing that my birthday wish had come true - her son arrived on his due date and he and I now shared a birthday.  

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
This year started out as a doozy and I was initially not the biggest fan of 2012.  But, things turned around, (as they eventually, always do) and the year has turned out to be pretty great.  So I don't really have any requests to make things immeasurably more satisfying.  Like a lot of people, I'd like to find that special someone to be in a relationship with...but, that too will eventually turn around.  Things always do.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2012?
Pencil skirts, nautical themes, infinity scarves, statement jewelry, cocktail rings, polka dots, and, of course, stripes.

32. What kept you sane?
My friends.  My family.  Running, yoga.  Writing, reading, music, solo road trips.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Well, I've become a touch obsessed with The Lumineers and have pretty much listened to their album non-stop throughout the year. My Kate Middleton girl-crush continues, of course.  And, I suppose now is a good time to come clean about my growing crush on Norman Reedus, the actor who plays Daryl on The Walking Dead.


34. What political issue stirred you the most?
I feel like this year was ripe with politics, issues, and insane current event after insane event.  Still, I can't not mention the terrible events of Newtown, Connecticut even though I wouldn't exactly classify it as "political."  Not a day has gone by since December 14th that I haven't thought about or prayed for the families and friends of the victims.
  
35. Who did you miss?
At the start of 2012, I missed the guy I'd been dating last year who moved to Oregon.  But, then we ended things and I decided not to linger on that any longer.  My good friend Hannah moved to New York in the fall, I miss her like crazy.  My brother, who lives too far away in San Diego, my family who is spread across the US, any of my friends I didn't get to see enough throughout the year.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
My favorite Brit, the lovely, talented, and hilarious Sarah Smizz. 

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2012.
Keep going.  You must always keep going.  Even if you take things one single, tiny step at a time. 

and...an old favorite:

"Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it."

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
The Lumineers - Stubborn Love

It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all
The opposite of love's indifference
Pay attention now, I'm standing on your porch screaming out
And I won't leave until you come downstairs

So keep your head up, keep your love
Keep your head up, my love [x2]
Keep your head up, keep your love

And I don't blame ya dear, for running like you did all these years
I would do the same you best believe
And the highway signs say we're close, but I don't read those things anymore
I never trusted my own eyes

When we were young, oh we did enough
When it got cold, oh, we bundled up
I can't be told it can't be done.

Love, Actually.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

- Martin Luther King Jr. - 

I am reading a great book.  The other night, as I stepped off the train at my subway stop, I was only a page away from finishing a chapter.  Instead of tucking a bookmark into the pages as I normally would, I kept reading while I was walking out of the station - taking the subway steps slower than usual, focusing more on the drama unfolding on the  pages than where I was actually walking.

"I couldn't put that book down either," said a voice behind me.  I turned to my left to see a businessman walking up the steps next to me.  He nodded towards my book.  

"It's so good isn't it?" I said.  "I just love the stories he weaves together and it's so well written...I'm almost thankful I'm only half-way through at this point -- so much more to enjoy."  The man smiled. "And it just gets better," he promised.  "In fact, now I'm inspired to go re-read it myself."

By this point we'd reached the top of the subway stair case.  I was headed toward the right, he to the left.  "It was really nice talking to you," I called.  He nodded.  "Same to you."

As I walked home after that encounter, I clutched my book a little tighter to my chest, allowed a small little smile to grow on my face.  In a week of so much utter devastating sadness, this brief, chance encounter with a stranger had warmed my heart for the first time in days.  

******

I've been an admirer of Anne Frank for as long as I can remember.  Often, I find myself thinking of a line from her diary: "I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart." This past week, like most of the nation, I've been unable to turn away from the news.  I'm searching for some sort of answer or understanding or peace that I know will never come.  And yet I take small comforts in learning of this great, awesome, inspiring, outpouring of love for the community of Newtown.  I see it in the people interviewed, I hear it in the first responders voices, I notice it when the normally stoic, unemotional newscasters voice catches.  I read about children as far away as Texas, California, Brazil, Prague sending messages of love and prayers, mailing teddy bears, making snowflakes to decorate the new school students will attend in January.

There is so much kindness out there, there is so much love, there is so much heart.

Earlier this week, I was lucky enough to visit some very dear friends and meet their newest son, a tiny little guy only ten days old.  I soaked in his baby smell and baby sounds and marveled over his tiny little toes, hands, ears.  His parents and  I giggled over take-out Thai food while their babies slept, laughing over the silliest, most random things.  It was a soul-warming evening, yet another glimmer of so much love and kindness that exists.  And so, I thought to myself driving home from their house, after I gave my hugs and kisses and promises for another visit in the early new year, another new, beautiful little life has begun.             

******

I pray in the coming days the families of the victims and the town of Newtown find peace, solace, and comfort.  I hope they know how many people are thinking of them, praying for them, loving them.  With Christmas just a few days away, I hope we all hold those near and dear to us close, and for a few days at least, we lead with our hearts.  We make way for love, for kindness, for faith and hope.  And perhaps, most importantly we remember that we are all in this together.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

Heart Heavy

For as long as I've been putting pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard, I've taken solace in the power of words.  Writing has always helped me clear my head, allowed me to unload my thoughts, my feelings, and whatever emotions may be running through my heart.  I think often, whenever I carve out even a few minutes of the day to write, of the Flannery O'Connor quote - "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."  However, as I sit at my desk, with the rain pouring outside, I find I am at a complete and utter loss.  Tonight, all words seem to be failing me. 

I realize I am not any different from the rest of you who are grieving over the devastating news and events that unfolded on Friday morning in Newtown, Connecticut.  The news about those poor, innocent victims, has left a whole in my heart I can't imagine ever being filled.  I have been spiraling down the rabbit hole with thoughts for those poor children, all of the victims, and their families.  Like everyone else I wish there was something I could do, that any of us could do, to bring those twenty sweet, little, innocent first graders and six heroic educators back, that there was some way to reverse the utter, wasteful tragedy of Friday.

The speeches that have come out of vigils and the tributes that are unfolding throughout the week are far better written, executed, and said than anything I could say here on this tiny little blog.  There are so many heartbreaking stories from these families, and oh, I can't even begin to imagine the pain and hurt and loss they are dealing with every minute of every hour.  My heart breaks into pieces whenever I think about any of them. For some reason one of the most haunting thoughts, one I cannot seem to shake, the thing that seems to break my heart over and over and over when I think about it, is how, surely, many of those parents had already tucked away their little one's Christmas presents, how many special surprises from Santa were hidden away in basements or a neighbor's garage or a grandparents attic, all for naught.

Those gifts... 
Those feet running excitedly down a hallway...
Those family dinners...
The bedtime stories...
The birthday parties...
All of those silly, giggle, adorable six and seven year old moments...

And so many firsts that will never come to be.

Oh, my heart.

All of our hearts.

I am just so sorry.

If you would like to donate or help the families and town of Newtown, CT, CNN has posted several sites and more information here. 

In watching all of the news coverage I keep thinking how easily Newtown could have been my hometown.  How easily it could have been any other town in these United States.

President Obama may have said it best last night, during his speech in Newtown High School:

We know our time on this Earth is fleeting. We know that we will each have our share of pleasure and pain; that even after we chase after some earthly goal, whether it’s wealth or power or fame, or just simple comfort, we will, in some fashion, fall short of what we had hoped. We know that no matter how good our intentions, we will all stumble sometimes, in some way. We will make mistakes, we will experience hardships. And even when we’re trying to do the right thing, we know that much of our time will be spent groping through the darkness, so often unable to discern God’s heavenly plans.

There’s only one thing we can be sure of, and that is the love that we have -- for our children, for our families, for each other. The warmth of a small child’s embrace -- that is true. The memories we have of them, the joy that they bring, the wonder we see through their eyes, that fierce and boundless love we feel for them, a love that takes us out of ourselves, and binds us to something larger -- we know that’s what matters. We know we’re always doing right when we’re taking care of them, when we’re teaching them well, when we’re showing acts of kindness. We don’t go wrong when we do that.

Stripe Continuum

Once upon a time, in talking about fashion choices and wardrobes at the office, a co-worker remarked upon my love of all things striped.  "It somehow just doesn't feel like a normal work week if you're not wearing nautical stripes at least one day during the week." she said.  Sadly, - or not really, depending on your overall opinion regarding stripes - I agreed with her.

So, then, earlier this week this happened:

I found nautical-esque striped ornaments at Crate and Barrel!  Which obviously I purchased, and are now obviously hanging on my adorable little Christmas tree.

How very merry indeed.

City Mouse/Country Mouse

I was up in Vermont this past weekend, visiting some old friends from college, seeing their brand-spankin' new house, meeting their second child, and reuniting with their first one.  It was a nice visit, albeit a quick one.  In the past few years I've grown beyond appreciative of the friendships that allow you to pick up right where you last left off, no matter how much time has lapsed since your last reunion.  So it was with these two friends of mine.

Vermont is nothing if not picturesque this time of year, and the drive north early on Saturday morning was particularly soothing even with its misting rain and foggy views.  Despite all of my annual qualms about the heartbreaking transition out of the warmer summer months, even I will admit there is something calming about these late fall, almost winter days that I like very much.  Mostly, I think I just appreciate the quiet.

There are moments - their urgency growing or waning depending on my mood - when I am tempted to pack every thing up and head to the mountains of Vermont, or the woods of Maine, or the farmlands of my youth, never to return to city life.  It is no secret that there is a country girl within me, with a voice all her own.

And yet.


Many years ago, when I was probably 12 or so, my family and I were in Manhattan around the holidays.  We'd spent the day strolling through mid-town, taking in the decorations, the window displays, the holiday sights.  At some point we wandered into a Crate and Barrel - a store that was then not nearly as common as they can be now.  Inside the store, I split up from my family, wandering among the kitchen appliances and holiday decor on my own.  While eyeing a bin of ornaments, I noticed a woman shopping.  She was older than me and looked so professionally pulled together with her long black coat and scarf bundled around her neck.  Her hair was smoothed back, she was wearing a dress with tights, and as I watched her fill her shopping basket with ornaments I imagined she'd come directly from work - what was surely some glamorous, exciting job - and was positive that when she finished shopping she would head back to a cozy little apartment of her own, high up in the sky.

That's what I want, I'd thought to myself in that moment before that woman walked away and I headed back to my family.  As sure of it as I was anything else in my world, I knew that some day that's the kind of life I want to live.

Of course, we all eventually grow up and we realize that life isn't always exactly as easy as the movies or novels might make it out to be - and that there are no guarantees.  It's usually a long, long climb through some annoyingly tedious jobs, apartments are far more expensive (and smaller) than one would think shared with too many roommates, and there may or may not be a Prince Charming waiting for you back in that expensive and small apartment.  With city living comes parking hassles and public transportation woes and rodents and drunken homeless men and at times too close for comfort neighbors and an overall sense of grittiness.  It is noisy and crowded and expensive and can at times, for some tiresome living.

But it also provides an energy unlike anywhere else.  There is a hustle, a bustle, a feet on the sidewalks kind of frenzied passion that I love.  It often seems that anything can happen in cities.  And this sense of wonderment, excitement, and a sort of game of chance is probably what has kept me living an urban life as long as it has. 

Last night, after an extremely long day at work, I hauled myself over to the Crate and Barrel in Back Bay, determined to get a little bit of Christmas shopping done as I am woefully behind.  I wandered among the three levels of the store, stopping here or there to peruse gifts and kitchen appliances.  Ornaments were on sale so I stopped for a moment to pick through their bins, looking for a few potential stocking stuffers.  At one point in my searching I happened to glance up, catching my reflection in a nearby hanging wall mirror.  And suddenly there was that long-ago glimpsed woman from Crate and Barrel.

Except this time, that woman was me.
     

November Reads

Well, well, another month came and went where I only managed to actually read (and by read I mean finish) one book.  What is going on with my schedule lately?  I suppose a more appropriate title for this post would be November Read, singular, but that's just depressing. 

So, here's to carving out more reading time in the future...the end of December could be promising, as the holidays wind down...or there's always 2013, where more reading time - beyond my daily commute - clearly needs to be a priority.

Anyway, onward.  Because one book read (and, ahem, a pile of magazines and another book very eagerly started) is better than nothing at all.

  People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks

I'd had this book on my "to read" list for at least four years.  Unsure what sort of mood I was in after finishing my last travel-based read in October, I figured I'd finally dive into Brook's highly recommended novel.  You know how, sometimes, people really talk up a movie or a t.v. show?  And you're so excited to see it, because you've heard so many wonderful, fabulous things about it?  And then, when you finally sit down to watch it, you're left feeling a little...um, underwhelmed?  And you kind of think to yourself. 'that's what all the fuss was about?'

Well, I hate to say it, but...that's kind of how I felt about People of the Book.  I mean, the book had its moments, no doubt.  In the beginning we meet an Australian (how appropriate, no?) book-expert who is tasked with restoring a recently recovered, famous religious manuscript.  Through her work, the history of the book is traced across generations, wars, and cities.  There are stories about each book's caretaker layered within Brook's tale, with our central present day (1997) Australian acting as the tie that connects each layer of history the book unravels.

Really interesting concept, right?  Particularly once you learn it is based on a true story, especially for someone like me who holds printed books, first editions, and the like in high regard.  And there were some stories/sections of the book's history that I really enjoyed.  But others...eh, they kind of left me wishing I could just skip along to the next portion.  And, sadly, I wasn't terribly in love with the sub-plot of our famed Australian character.  Much as I wanted to love her, I found her a touch annoying at times.

Which, really, is sort of how I felt the whole time I was reading People of the Book.  I wanted to love it, really I did.  In the end, though, I found myself just kinda (insert shoulder shrug here) liking it. I suppose this makes the next book I've picked up (soon to be revealed when I do my December wrap-up...) even more amazing - because it's the kind of book I'm already totally in love with, and I've still got 500 pages more to read. 

But we'll get to all that next month...   

The Mysterious Case of the Burnt Pencil Skirt

Dear Readers,

It is not generally my habit to post close-up, washed-out photographs of my outfits, but I have a mystery that I'm just burning to solve.

First, a bit of background: Yesterday, I wore one of my newish pencil skirts to work.  I say newish because I actually bought the skirt during an end of summer sale, so it has been in my possession for a few months.  However, yesterday, marked the second time - in my life - that I have worn this skirt.  (I feel this is the most appropriate time in this post to mention that l fell in love with this skirt the minute I found it, thanks to its fabulous electric blue color.  But I digress.)

Now.  Let me set the scene.  Inspired to do a bit of color-blocking yesterday morning, I pieced together what, in my mind, was a rather fun outfit for an idle Tuesday, complete with said electric blue skirt.  Around noon-time, I left my desk to head to work place's cafeteria/kitchen, to heat up my leftovers for lunch.  As I stood in front of the microwave, patiently waiting for my lunch to heat up, a woman I have never met nor seen around the office before came up to me.  "Excuse me," she said, "but I just wanted to tell you there's something weird going on at the back of your skirt."

"Huh?" I asked, puzzled; immediately twisting around to look at the backside of my skirt.  "Oh my God, you're right!" I exclaimed.  A friend that had been standing nearby came over to see what all the fuss was about.  The stranger continued: "Yeah, my friend and I were sitting over there actually admiring your outfit and then I noticed the bottom.  I just wanted to come to tell you so you'd know."

I thanked her for alerting me to the issue and immediately started to wonder aloud what in the world could have possibly happened to my worn once before, never even been washed, skirt.  Because, look:    

I mean, seriously.  WHAT IN THE HELL?
Want to see another slightly more close-up picture?
Here:

Is this not the weirdest thing you have EVER seen?  (Relatively speaking of course.)  I mean I know there's some weird stuff out there but this is just totally boggling my brain.  As I mentioned above I have worn this skirt one other time since I purchased it.  You should know too that I ordered the thing online and had it shipped directly to me, making the issue of it being somehow cut up in a store impossible.  The first time I wore it was earlier this season and I didn't have tights on due to the mild weather.  This makes me think surely I would have been able to feel the holes on my legs - had they actually been there from the get-go. 

After the initial wearing earlier this fall, I came home, changed out of the skirt, promptly hung it up on a hanger and hung it in my closet along with the rest of my skirts.  (Skirts that do NOT have holes in them as far as I am aware.)  The skirt has not been touched, moved, or anything else since...right up until I decided to wear it yesterday.

So, again, I ask, what in the hell has happened to this thing?  It doesn't look like any sort of fabric-eating moth damage (and I've had clothes damaged by those stupid moths before so I know what their terror looks like) and the fact that the holes are in that weird circle shape is just BIZARRE, right?  It looks like I leaned against something that burned those holes (see where I was going with that burning to solve joke in my opening lines of this post?) but I simply do not understand when or how that would have happened given my limited, completely sober, only at the office use/wear of the skirt.

I am beyond perplexed.  Tell me you know what happened to my poor skirt.  Or offer a suggestion of what the source of these holes could be, please.  At the very least tell me something like this has happened to an item of clothing you own.  I need some solidarity in the craziness, gang. 

And in the meantime, if you need me, I'll be over here in the corner, mourning the loss of my barely worn - but oh, it was such a fabulous color - skirt.  

Giving Thanks.

It seems that my list of 100 happens every other year.  I've never intentionally planned it this way, but digging through my archives, I've noticed a trend.  So, without much fanfare and adieu, I present my (apparently bi-annual) Thanksgiving tradition of listing 100 things - silly, serious, big, small, and all sizes in between, that I love, appreciate, and for which I am absolutely grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

1.  My family.
2.  My friends.
3.  My health.
4.  My education.
5.  My new job.
6.  My new office - a door to shut!  In the location I wanted, exposed brick and all.
7.  Clementines.
8.  An exercise routine that (fingers crossed) seems to be working really well for me.
9.  Hot Water.
10.  A Clean House.
11.  Electricity.
12.  All of my friends having happy, healthy babies and safe, healthy pregnancies.
13.  Catching a whiff of my Mother's perfume when out in a crowd. Makes it feel like she's standing right beside me.
14.  Down comforters.
15.  Stripes.
16.  New clothes.
17.  Reading a passage or line in a book that totally resonates.
18.  Visits with my Grandma.
19.  Breaking Bad.
20.  My yoga membership at the fancy studio that's normally very much out of my budget.
21.  A really good glass of red wine, served in a big glass that lets you swirl the wine around like a sommelier.
22.  Paris.
23.  Finding bargains.
24.  Lingering over dinner with good friends.
25.  A good night's sleep.
26.  The Lumineers.
27.  The Couch to 5K App/following a running program for the first time in my life.
28.  Sneaking off to a movie when I've really got a million other things I "should" be doing.
29.  Sitting in the dark quiet of that movie theater indulging in a bag of overpriced popcorn.
30.  Playing "Words with Friends" with my 94 year old Grandmother.  (I play on my phone, she plays on her Ipad.  Because she is awesome.)
31.  Road trips with no traffic or delays.
32.  Ice Cream.
33.  The smell of Aveda hair products.
34.  My beloved Jeep.
35.  Hot Coffee.
36.  Olives.
37.  Fires roaring in a fire place.
38.  TRAVEL.
39.  My Dad's new house.
40.  Decluttering.
41.  Taking chances.
42.  Brand new sweatshirts.
43.  Anything Chocolate.
44.  Seltzer Water.
45.  Summer days.
46.  Observing.
47.  Trusting my gut.
48.  Getting a box of chocolate truffles (the best in the world!) from Reily's candy in my hometown from my Dad on almost every holiday or celebration.
49.  Swimming.
50.  Making people laugh.
51.  WRITING.
52.  Subtle, gentle reminders that we're all in this together, that the universe knows exactly what it is doing.
53.  Sitting with a very dear friend outside in Ohio this summer, eating Grater's ice cream and talking away most of the afternoon.
54.  Art.
55.  Live music.
56.  Clear skin.
57.  Libraries.
58.  The smell of fresh cut grass.
59.  Spending time with my parents.
60.  Lululemon yoga pants.
61.  The other blogs I read regularly.
62.  Books/Reading those books.
63.  My family and friend's good health.
64.  Still having connections and friends in my hometown.
65.  Living in American/being an American.
66.  Actual, hand-written letters and packages arriving in the mail.
67.  Frequent, mini-reunions with my three favorite high school friends.
68.  Fresh NJ summer blueberries, eaten straight out of the container as they've warmed in the sun.
69.  My Boston neighborhood.
70.  The woman who greets me at my local Dunkin Donuts every morning, with a "Hi, honey." and who never forgets my standard, daily order.
71.  Fresh flowers.
72.  Knowing just the right word to use at just the right time to describe a situation perfectly.
73.  My Cats, Nolan and Sophia.
74.  My childhood/where and how I grew up.
75.  Downton Abbey.
76.  Bruce Springsteen.
77.  Mani/Pedis.
78.  CAMP.
79.  Lakes.
80.  Really good gel ink pens.
81.  Christmas Cards.
82.  The quiet that befalls the city right before a major holiday - Thanksgiving and Christmas in particular.
83.  Fage Greek yogurt.
84.  Clean drinking water.
85.  That I am, by and large, free from need.
86.  Good co-workers.
87.  Having exact change.
88.  Remembering to do the thing that matters.
89.  Spell check.
90.  The Jersey shore.
91.  Paid vacation days.
92.  Snowstorms that muffle and quiet the noise of the city.
93.  The very rare occasion of having a parking ticket dismissed.
94.  The Walking Dead, my Sunday night guilty pleasure.
95.  Daily emails from my Mom.
96.  A cold beer, sipped near a body of water, with good friends, on a sunny, warm day.         
97.  Cracking open a new calendar or planner for a new year. 
98.  Arriving at an airport knowing someone is waiting there to pick me up in person versus taking a taxi or dealing with public transportation.
99.  YOU.
100.  Remembering I am right where I'm supposed to be.
      

Sunday Night Dinner

A very dear friend of mine moved to Maine a few years back with her husband.  Thankfully I see her here and there still - usually at friend's weddings or baby showers or any other sort of celebratory occasion that brings this particular gang of friends together for an afternoon, an evening.  It is rare these days that I get much one on one time with her though, given the nature (wonderful in and of themselves of course) of these gatherings and the literal distance between our daily lives and routines.  As these things go, of course, their move could have been worse, could have been further.  Still, what used to be a quick 20 minute subway ride between our apartments became a 3 hour drive north.  Our spontaneous date nights spent together at favorite restaurants in the city, or catching a show at the theater, or grabbing a glass of wine at the end of a long day at the office gave way to planned road trips and weekend visits carved out months in advance.

So when she texted me last Thursday night, spontaneously suggesting we could meet for dinner in Portland Sunday evening as a sort of "in-between" for our two dwelling locations, I was immediately intrigued by the proposition.  She prefaced the whole idea with a multitude of disclaimers.  She knew it was a haul, she knew it was last minute, but still...it was a thought.  A lovely thought.  Of course, when I first read her text, I thought of a million reasons why I shouldn't go.  There was the long drive, the late Sunday night which meant I was sure to start my week tired, 800 different "to-do" projects I could tackle at home instead, and the list goes on.  We can always talk ourselves out of anything if we want to.  Which means we can just as easily talk ourselves into something.

I love my friend.  I miss my friend.  Our lives seem only to be getting busier, the days, the years move faster than I can honestly comprehend.  As I hit reply to her message, I knew that at the end of the day, at the end of what I hope is a long, healthy, life, I can guarantee I will not be lamenting the fact that I went to work a touch tired on a Monday morning or that I clocked a couple of hundred miles on my Jeep on a bit of a whim.  But I will be forever glad I seized a rare opportunity for a few precious, uninterrupted hours of catch-up, discussion, laughter, and shared smiles over a delicious, cozy meal with one of my closest friends, a kindred spirit.

Sometimes, in this life, I think the point is really just to go.  To always keep going. How lovely, how blessed then, are the times when we know there's a friend waiting for us at our destination.

Teenage Wasteland

At the risk of having every recent post on my blog sound like I've turned into an exercising nut, I would like to tell you that I live for my Wednesday night yoga class.  I've recently started attending classes at a yoga/core fusion studio in Boston (courtesy of a friend's discount, I might add, as this place is way out of my normal budget.)  After a month or so of "trying out" various instructors and classes, I can say without question that the 6pm Wednesday class is where. it's. at.  The class is called "Music Yoga Flow" and online, it's described as a class geared to the seasoned student who likes to sweat and be challenged both physically and mentally.  Set to great music, including rock, reggae, hip hop, blues and world beats, each flow class offers an inspiring message and a deeply relaxing finish.

As you can probably imagine, I wasn't quite sure what to expect the first time I set foot into the studio.  Turns out, the instructor of that class?  Really knows her music.  I have been continually impressed each week as she figures out a way to have us moving into our downward dogs while Willie Nelson croons or going through a flow to one of Jay-Z's songs.  I know it sounds crazy, and maybe even a touch un-yoga-like but it is flipping awesome and the work-out is just the right amount of challenging.  She times her playlists perfectly too so we're transitioning into the next routine just as a new tune is starting up.  The only downside I've been able to discover is that at times I find myself so engrossed in the music she's playing that I loose my concentration in a pose.  (Ahem.  Not that that happened last night when she played a certain song sung by Robert Pattinson, which caused me to get all flustered thinking about my little crush on him or anything.  I mean, I'm just saying hypothetically it could, people.  That's all.)

Anyway.

Yesterday was the first day I was back to feeling a bit more normal after dealing with my first annoying cold of the season.  So I was thrilled to feel as if I had enough energy to swing over for this class.  As we cooled down near the end of the class, our instructor dimmed the lights in the room and we ran through our final flow before Shavasana to one of my absolute favorite songs (Runaway) by one of my absolute favorite bands (The National). Maybe it was just the darkened room.  Or maybe it was the eventual, subtle movement into our final pose, lying on our backs preparing for Shavasana, eyes closed. Perhaps it was the music's volume - just loud enough to feel like it was washing over me completely.  Or, most likely, it was a combination of all of these things.  But for the first time in a very long time, I found myself recalling with utter clarity and perception how many evenings I used to spend in my bedroom as a teenager, sprawled on my bed staring up at the ceiling, letting whatever my current song obsession was at the time play over and over again, the music washing over me.  What a luxury those nights were!  To have the time, the ability to not worry about my unfinished homework or my messy bedroom or the need to get to sleep for an early morning; to have absolutely nothing to focus on but a favorite lyric or beat, to think of nothing further than my white bedroom ceiling, staring into space, zoning out, and listening to everything all at the same time. 

Now it wasn't like I had some profound revelation about all of this last night, and in fact, this essay doesn't really have any sort of lesson learned or final point to make beyond the fact that sometimes, somewhere, something triggers a memory or a feeling you've long since forgotten you had tucked away in your brain at all.  I am always grateful for those moments.  I do my best not to miss them, when they're gifted my way. 

And I guess sometimes, it's just nice to feel like a teenager again - at least for a minute or two.  

What We Talk About When We Talk About Running

This week I have come down with a rather annoying sinus cold. I brought it on myself most likely, as I always tend to, what with my scurrying around with a too busy schedule, but I'm also pretty sure the freakish weather (snowstorm on Wednesday, spring-like temps this weekend?) also didn't help matters very much.  Anyway.  The point of all of this is to say that I haven't been feeling so hot the past few days.  I've still made it into work, but I've had to cancel some evening plans, and I've been retiring to bed quite early in the hopes of recharging my immune system.  Thankfully, I'm feeling better this morning, though still not quite at 100%, which means I haven't allowed myself to do any sort of exercising since Tuesday evening.  No yoga classes.  No jogs.  And I miss them both.  A lot more than I'd have ever guessed. 

Over the past few months I've fallen into a pretty great routine with a nice balance of running and yoga on alternating nights.  I have been feeling stronger, healthier (well, right up until this cold hit at least) more aligned, balanced.  So, basically, all the benefits they tell you over and over and over that come with consistent exercise.  The yoga doesn't surprise me much, for I've been in love with that practice since my very first class taken my freshman year of college.  But.  The running?  Wow.  
Ladies and Gentlemen, I can barely believe it as I type, but I am actually desperate to feel better and get over this cold so I can lace up my sneakers and step out onto the pavement for a jog.  I know, I know.  I barely recognize myself.  I mean, I hate running.  Always have. 

Call me a convert but this whole Couch to 5 K program I've been following?  It's been the game changer.  I know there are plenty of people who really love running - they're the 10K-ers, the marathoners.  I doubt I'll ever be one of them.  (I mean, I don't love it that much...)  But, what I do love is how manageable, how actually do-able the whole thing has become.  I work at it three days a week, I've built up to running 2.5 miles in a little under 30 minutes...which is just perfect for my schedule, my exercise regime, and my sanity.  There are still moments when I don't want to do it, when I'd rather just skip a run.  And it's still hard work for me.  But it's hard work in a good way, a still attainable sort of way.  And it's not all rainbows and kittens, there are moments during the run when I get a little bored, when I would rather just hurry up and finish instead of looking down at my app and realizing I've got at least 15 minutes more to run.  I have really great days when I feel like I could keep running for another 30 minutes straight and others when I feel like I might collapse on the sidewalk and never move again.  BUT.  Good or bad run, I always feel so much damn better afterwards.  And so I keep going.  I keep pushing.  I keep moving.  I keep running.   

Well, just as soon as this cold decides to move on to its next victim at least...  

Election.

More often than not, politics and politicians leave me feeling frustrated, annoyed, and jaded.  Like most everyone I know, I've grown tired of the mud-slinging, the finger-pointing, the incessant bickering and all the rest of it.  I've said for weeks now that by this point I'm just ready for the whole thing to be over.

And yet.

This morning there was an almost palpable feeling of electricity in the air. It's chilly outside, the air crisp, and the sun is shining brilliantly here in New England.  My polling location is literally at the end of my street, and as I walked past on my way into work, I saw that the line of voters was already curving outside of the community center, weaving its way onto the nearby basketball courts (thus prompting my decision to return after work to cast my vote).  Still, the sight of a line of people - all different sizes, ages, races, and creeds waiting in line on a sunny cool day stirred a sense of political excitement in me that I'd long thought dormant. 

For all of the never-ending political ads, the arm-fulls of voting flyers, and the incessant news coverage, it is finally here.  Election Day. 

Now, I've never really been one to be drawn into heated political debates.  I don't like the screaming or the yelling, and I don't see much point in trying to convince someone they're wrong and you're right...for I have yet to see a political discussion end where someone is swayed to change their viewpoint.  I have always been a firm believer in the old adage of avoiding discussions involving sex, politics, and religion in mixed company for a multitude of reasons. 

In just a few hours one party and a very large group of people will be elated, another will be crest-fallen.  Regardless of the outcome there is bound to be endless news coverage - weeks spent dissecting campaigns, hours upon hours speculating changes, shifts, policies.  It is a bit of a mind-blowing phenomenon isn't it? Right now, as I type this, on a Tuesday afternoon in November, I have no idea who the next President of the United States will be.  And by the time I crawl into bed tonight (assuming we do not have a repeat of anything like the 2000 election) I will.   

So here we are, all of us together, in the calm before the storm.  Right now, before the numbers start rolling in, before lines are drawn, before large maps are filled in with reds and blues, I'm just happy to savor this little moment, this election day.  Up until my walk to the T this morning, as I passed the lines of voters, I'd sort of forgotten how exciting an election can be. For what a truly amazing thing - that every single citizen in this great and vast country of ours gets the chance to cast a vote.  That people will wait in long lines and will travel near and far to mark a piece of paper, to do their part. What an immense privilege voting is. What an honor. 

This morning as I made my way to the steps leading me underground to the subway platform, I passed a woman holding a sign for a local Massachusetts candidate.  She and I made eye contact for a brief second, I smiled.  "Don't forget to vote!" she said happily.  I nodded, grinning.  "Oh, I won't. Wouldn't dream of it."

Happy Election Day, my fellow Americans.

October Reads

Another month over with only one book read.  Anyone want to guess what I need to make more time for in 2013? Yeah.

So, yes, I only managed to talk one book during the month of October.  Le Sigh.  Although I would also like to state for the record that I did manage to finally - finally - finish the tome that is the September issue of Vogue as well, all 928 pages of it, which I read cover to cover.  (Girl can't help it.)

In a Sunburned Country - Bill Bryson

In a Sunburned Country had been sitting on my bookshelves for five years, completely unread and unattended.  An Aussie friend of mine mailed it to me as a "going away present" as she was moving from Philadelphia back to her homeland Down Under. 

Newly energized and determined to make my grand Australian adventure happen sometime in 2013, I figured Bryson's book was the perfect place to start my research.  I've read two other books by Bryson in years past, which I enjoyed quite a lot.  In a Sunburned Country has risen to the top of the list though as I found this book utterly charming, side-splittingly (new word?) hilarious at times, and exactly the sort of read I was in the mood for this month.  Australia is a massively large country/continent, and I felt Bryson did a stellar job of emphasizing just how incredibly big this country is, while also covering quite a bit of territory. 

My favorite kind of travel essays/travel writing is the kind that makes you want to pack your bags immediately and book the next ticket off to where ever you are reading about.  Bryson's book fits that bill entirely. To be fair though, it's not like I needed all that much convincing to begin with...

My Garden State

Oh, New Jersey.

Deep in the heart of the state, past the North Jersey exits that act as feeders into Manhattan, beyond the Citgo oil tanks lining the NJ Turnpike - the ones made famous in The Soprano's opening credit sequence - past the Newark Airport, the Turnpike rest stops the high numbered exits, and the throngs and throngs of cars, things begin to slowly change. I promise you they do.  It takes a while to get to and it is nowhere near a highway, for it's a well-kept secret, this beautiful, quiet part of New Jersey I know;  a little gem in the Garden State. 

If you were to visit my hometown, and then, by chance, you found yourself with a sudden desire to get to the Jersey Shore, you'd need to know this.  Stay straight.  No, really.  That's about all there is to it.  You keep driving along the two land road that runs straight through my town, passing through that sleepy little 4-way stop.  Continue on past the family-owned General Store, and then...just keep driving.  It's a straight shot really, provided of course, you don't miss the one necessary left hand turn at the family-run hot dog stand on the corner. (No, I'm not joking, nope, you can't miss it.) In aproximately 40 minutes you will find yourself at the Jersey shore, Long Beach Island, specifically.

LBI (for no one ever calls it Long Beach Island) is the beach I grew up going to, the one I know the best of all the beaches in the New Jersey area.  Countless, the amount of hot summer days when Mom would pile me and my brother into the car with promises for a day at the beach, at the shore.  The Jersey Shore.

Ocean City, if you'd rather head there, is a touch further South - though only another 20-30 minutes depending on the traffic. It was here we'd go when Mom wanted to change things up a bit on our day trips, or as a newly minted high school graduate, where I got to spend an unchaperoned week with some of my best girlfriends in a shore house we rented, just blocks away from the boardwalk.  Ocean City is where one of my closest high school girlfriend's family has had a beach house for as long as I've known her, where my friends and I still gather every few years, a spot I recently reminisced about with an old guy friend, one I hadn't seen in over ten years, learning for the first time that that crush had been mutual after all, those many years ago.  It's a house that stands on the same block as one that Grace Kelly's family used to own, a fact that intrigued and mystified me the very first time Meghan told me this news, one that still stirs a few starstruck butterflies even now, as a 30-something.

If you've driven this far, you out to go see Atlantic City, for it's only 20 minutes away.  I can't tell you much about the casinos, the gambling, or even point out shots from Boardwalk Empire here. But I can tell you that, as a kid, my Dad was a boater.  He lived and breathed for weekends spent on that boat, and would often take my brother and me out for leisurely day trips from our dock in Mays Landing all the way out to the shore line of AC.  Depending on the weather, the timing, his mood, he'd even drive us down to Egg Harbor Bay where we'd could watch the Ocean City ferris wheels in one direction, and in the other, we could study the skyline of Atlantic City, begging for a chance to strap on Dad's binoculars, my brother and I eager to "spy" on the tourists wandering the boardwalk.  Bobbing in the ocean, listening as Dad pointed out Ocean City and Atlantic City landmarks, I found myself starry-eyed.  Out there you couldn't see the seediness that fell on the outskirts of AC. Instead, you just fell under the enchantment of the boardwalk itself. After all, I can't be the only girl who came of age singing the song from Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken under her breath day in and day out, can I? 

So the news today, the coverage of the overwhelming devastation to hit New York City and that beloved Jersey Shore of mine, well it saddens me immensely.  I have literally been near tears as I watch shot after shot of flooded homes, swelled beaches, landmarks crushed.  I have audibly gasped as I recognized former landmarks, like the Seaside Heights amusement park, now washed away into the ocean.  I know this isn't exactly the first storm to hit the East Coast, I'm well aware there have been worse.  But this one, Sandy, she hit home.  She hit with a vengeance.  And it breaks my heart.

Thankfully, my father is safe, warm, dry, and with power.  Most of my friends and my friend's parents still living in the area where I grew up aren't so lucky.  I haven't heard back from my friend Meghan, the one with the family beach house in Ocean City, yet.  I've been checking my phone all day, hoping to hear from her, hoping they, the house, are all okay. 

Of course, I'm aware my reminiscing and my musings won't mean anything to most of you.  After all, these are my Jersey shore memories, thoughts of my home state.  Still, I wish you could pull up a chair, I wish you could glance through my old photos albums with me, that we could laugh together over old and new memories formed along the Jersey Shore.  Because I've got some really great ones to share.   

And I will tell you this.  They are good people down there.  It is a good spot.  A beloved spot, a treasured one.  If you can help, this website provides a multitude of options.   

On the Board Walk in Atlantic City
Life will be peaches & cream.
Cinderella you will find your fella
Someone waiting for you...
In romantic, enchanting,
Atlantic City...
Down by the old New Jersey shore.

The Perfect Storm

In the summer of 2011, the day before Hurricane Irene was scheduled to hit the Northeast, I was on the Massachusetts/New Hampshire state line taking a riding lesson.  It was a gorgeous, dry, summer morning and it was difficult to imagine that in just a matter of hours a massive storm was headed our way.  Still, I headed all warnings - I stocked up at the grocery store on my way back into town, I made sure my Jeep was filled with gas.  I carried in all of my plants from my back porch, turning my kitchen into a sort of green house, I stacked my porch furniture up against my building as best I could.  I filled buckets with water, I had flashlights at the ready.  And then...nothing really happened.

Because of that lack-luster storm it was initially hard to take impending storm Sandy all that seriously.  I went up to Maine on Saturday, and as I drove along the highway on a gorgeously warm and lovely late fall day, it seemed nonsensical that in a mere 48 hours or so the weather could change so dramatically.  Oh, but that's the thing about mother nature isn't it?

Sunday morning, as I sat at the kitchen table in my friend's old Maine farmhouse, sipping coffee with our group - the majority of whom live in Boston or Connecticut - our chatter turned to Sandy.  Reading updates aloud from our phones, hearing about schools that were already cancelled for Monday, well...all things Sandy began to feel a bit more serious.  When I initially left Maine, making my way back to Boston, people and things still seemed rather calm.  However, the closer I got to the city, the more ominous things felt.  The grocery store near my house was busier than I've ever seen it, with bread, batteries, and water flying off the shelves.  Determined to get a run in before the storm arrived, (I know, I barely recognize myself these days with the running...) I headed out yesterday evening in the mist and damp.  As I made my way through the streets around my neighborhood, I watching people tying their trashcans to fences, families bringing in their children's bikes and lawn toys.  And I have to admit, there's been a strange sense of impending excitement and thrill in the air, the sort of electric energy that flows through people anytime Mother Nature decides to throw out one of her curve-balls.

I've once again stacked and secured my porch furniture as best I am able.  Though I've been lucky enough to have never lost power in my apartment, (yet) I do have candles and flashlights at the ready.  My company has closed the Boston office today in anticipation of the storm, so I am home, tucked away in this little one bedroom apartment of mine, for the foreseeable future.  It's grey and windy as I type, with a misting chilly rain.  According to all of the reports I've been following the worst is yet to arrive.  So now, as ready as we can be, we wait.  

It's. Just. A. Couch!

So. I have hatched this wild and crazy hair-brained idea to redecorate my living room.  It's been a long time coming, as I've been a bit weary of my current look and color scheme for the past, hmm, year or so. It's not that my current set-up is all that terrible, of course.  It's just...well, I've had the same look and all the rest of it since my very first 5th floor walk-up, one bedroom apartment, way back in 2004.  After 8 years, I've grown a touch weary of cranberry and khaki.  (No offense, cranberry and khaki.  You're nice colors, I swear.)

Of course, redecorating a living room - even if it's in an apartment - isn't exactly something you just do overnight.  Particularly when things like new furniture is involved.  Speaking of which, I'd like to update you on my ongoing couch hunt.  But first, a quick tale about irony.  At times, I've been known to use an analogy about couch-shopping when talking about the ever-curious, often times maddening world of dating.  I personally don't think I'm too picky (just wanting them to have a pulse doesn't count as picky, right?  Ha.  I jest.) when it comes to men and dating, but if the conversation ever steers that way among friends, I usually explain the following.  "You can be sure," I'll tell my friends, "that I'm going to be picky about who I date.  I mean, imagine how much homework, research, and comparison shopping I'd do if I was buying a couch?  And that's just a couch!"

I've even been known to take the couch/dating analogy a step further when friends want to know why I'm no longer seeing a guy and/or have declined further dates.  "If I know I want a yellow couch," I say, "why would I spend anytime looking at the red ones?"  (To which one of my friends once replied: "But maybe a red couch would be the perfect thing and you don't know it because you never even looked at them?")  Maybe.  Though I like to think one of my strong points is being self-aware.  And I know I don't want a red couch.  Coral?  Maybe someday.  Not red.

But anyway!  Here I am, finally, actually, talking about my search for a real, honest to goodness couch instead of liking a potential suitor to one.  And I'm here to tell you, couch hunting, it turns out can be just as utterly frustrating and maddening as the world of dating.    

First off, these suckers are expensive.  I'm lucky in that I've never had to buy a couch before, having been given the same couch my mother had in her early apartments back in the '70's.  But dude.  The sticker price on some of these?  I'll be eating pb&j for weeks to make up for it.

Second, I think there can be such a thing as too many options.  Have you ever wandered into a furniture store or done an online search of these things?  Sleeper or No?  Square legs or round?  Square arms or round?  Slipcover or no?  Color?  Fabric? Size?

Third, when you're investing in something like a couch, you have to know you're going to have it for a long time.  (Case in point, please see above. I'm using the same couch my mother bought when she was 25.)  Which simply adds to the pressure of picking the right one.  See what I mean about it being a lot like dating?

Fourth, on Sunday I drove out to suburbs intent on finding a furniture store my mother recommended.  I had the address, I had directions.  And despite my eight attempts driving along the four lane highway, I could not find the store.  I know, I know.  It sounds crazy.  But I swear, "625 Worcester Avenue" does not exist.  There's a Nissan dealership at 621 Worcester Ave and right next door there's a Whole Foods, conveniently numbered at 631, but no 625.  Frustrated to the extreme after my sixth pass, I called the store to make sure they hadn't relocated.  "Oh, no we're still at 625," the salesclerk told me.

"Ok.  Could you give me some sort of landmark or something?  I seem to be driving right past it."

"Um.  A Landmark?  (I heard her muffle the phone, asking someone else what sort of landmarks were around.  (Ahem, to which I wanted to scream - HOW DO YOU DRIVE TO WORK EVERYDAY AND NOT KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING?) But before I could ask that, she came back on the line:"Oh, well, where are you now?"

"I'm in the Trader Joes parking lot, in between Trader Joes and Whole Foods."

"Oh, okay. You have to come back.  We're before Whole Foods."

"Before Whole Foods is a Nissan dealership."

"Yes, in between."

This is the part where I shake my head as I type and do my best to stop my blood from boiling again.
Because, dearest woman who was of no help, I can tell you for sure that THERE WAS NOTHING IN BETWEEN.  I even drove through the car dealership wondering if somehow they'd tucked an entire furniture store in the back of the building.  Frustrated, I gave up, thinking to myself as I made my way back home that maybe my current couch was just fine after all...at least I could find that one.

And again, I repeat myself.  Couch hunt =  dating.  

My 3rd Week in October, in Random Quick Review

Yesterday, all day long, I thought it was Friday.  You can imagine my slight disappointment, when just a few minutes before 5pm, I realized it was, in fact, Thursday...

No real matter though, because although it's felt like a rather long week, it's been long in a good way, with lots of progress in the new gig, an evening spent catching up on the yes-I-know-I'm-behind-but-it's-still-amazing-season 4 finale of Breaking Bad, a few nights of yoga, an evening spent with friends, sipping prosecco and wandering through an art exhibit, and a lot of in-between.  

Anyway.  Some highlights:

A latte so pretty, I just had to take a picture -

On Thursday, the new pair of glasses I'd ordered online (for only $76, which blows my mind every time I think about the $350 I dropped on my most recent pair, purchased more than two years ago...) arrived.

And, on Friday, the other new pair I'd ordered online (this time for only $32!) arrived, despite the fact that I'd actually ordered them first...(obviously before finding and subsequently falling in love with the above mentioned $76 ones.)

I mean, no new glasses for 2+ years due to the exorbitant cost of prescription eye wear and then, bam.  Two new pairs, both of which I find quite adorable, for $108, total.  My God, bargains make me happy.

 

And...a low light:

Coming home late last night after the above mentioned art museum stroll with friends, I happened to notice a white envelope on my car.  If you live in a city, particularly one as parking ticket hungry as Boston, you know this is never a good sign.  It's also never a good feeling to think to yourself, "is that a ticket on my car?" And then, as you walk closer realizing, "Indeed.  It IS a ticket on my car."

The only thing that makes getting a ticket even worse is when you cannot for the life of you figure out why you were served said ticket.  You've got a parking permit, there was no street cleaning, you weren't blocking any driveways, fire hydrants, small children, etc, etc, etc. 

So that was/is a bit of an annoyance I now have to deal with. Seriously, metermaids. I do not understand your logic.

 

But then I wore my fabulous and cheerful new red jeans to the office today, and suddenly everything was a highlight again. 

I mean, really.  With pants like these?  How could the week not end well?

Pop

Because the first day officially in my new editor position totally calls for heels like these...

 

And a "back to school" notebook, like this...

 

Oh hey, first day of the rest of my life.  It's nice to meet you.

Prime

Years ago, when I was deep in the midst of navigating my move out of New York and back to Boston, when I'd spend my weekdays couch-surfing among friend's apartments in the city or taking the commuter rail out to Connecticut to stay with my then-boyfriend's sister for the night, when I'd take the train down to my Dad's house in New Jersey for weekends, I often found myself exhausted, unnerved, and stressed the hell out.  I was, for all intents and purposes, at the end of my rope.  For not only was I navigating the apartment shuffle, a move between cities, and transitioning from old jobs to new jobs, but that above mentioned boyfriend and I were in the midst of what became a very long, very drawn-out, very messy, eventual break-up.  It was, to put it mildly, probably the most mentally exhausting, physically taxing time of my life.

You couldn't pay me enough to ever go back to those weeks in my life.

I clearly remember, one Saturday afternoon while I was home with my Dad during that time, running errands together in his pick-up truck.  It was late November and almost all of the trees had shed their leaves, the sky threatened rain.  I leaned against the passenger side window, staring at the pine trees we drove past and thought to myself how much easier this would all be if I just wasn't here, if I could just disappear, if I could simply find a way to extract myself from the stickiness of a break-up, from the drama of landlords and apartment moves, from the unsure arena of job hunts.  I'm not telling you this in the hopes of catching some belated sympathy, I'm not looking for empathetic nods. I am just stating the facts.  I was tired, confused, and exhausted.  My heart was very heavy, I was sad and frustrated, and I couldn't, for the life of me, catch even a remote glimpse of any sort of glimmer of light through the dark tunnel in which I found myself.  

As I sat there in the car with my Dad, I found myself close to tears.  My Dad, a stoic man if there ever was one, asked if I'd like to take a ride up to the bookstore.  "My treat," he said, offering one of the few well-known, cure-all solaces for my bookstore loving soul.  I nodded, grateful for the offer.  When we got there, we split apart, and I found myself wandering among the fiction isles.  Walking among the stacks of books, I remember thinking to myself: "Well. I have this.  I will always have this.  And there will be more books that are published that I want to read, and plays to discover, and new bands to fall in love with, and fashion styles to watch, and a -surely- some sort of future that I can't even quite imagine will unfold.  And then I will have that."

******

Last night, the weather was much like it had been all those years ago during the drive with my father. As I cleaned up my kitchen after dinner, I thought back to that car ride.  But as I was thinking about those trying months during that trying fall years ago, I was singing along with a band I love so much it borders on obsession and dancing around my cozy little kitchen, grinning like a fool, all by myself.

Of course things got better.

And now, I have this.

Call it a newly minted 33 honeymoon, blame it on something in the air, or maybe The Lumineers really do just make me this damn happy, but wow I've been in a good mood as of late.  Can we bottle this stuff up somehow? I'm happy to share it.

A few weeks ago, I got a new job within my company, one I'd been gunning for for a few months.  I had to keep mum about the whole thing, informing people on a strictly need-to-know basis lest I jinx anything.  It's an exciting gig, one I know will be filled with hard work and a bit of craziness, but that's the kind of stuff I thrive on, after all.  And oh, after a few years in my current role, I am so excited to dive into a new position, with new challenges and new opportunities.        

Of course, my apartment is a disaster. I mean, it's the worst I've seen it since I moved in years ago.  There are 8 millions piles of I don't even know what everywhere you look, mostly because I have yet to find an afternoon where I can sort through these piles and organize.  My closet is in a state of disarray as I try to do the (dreaded) summer to fall wardrobe swap.  I've got a dresser sitting in the middle of my living room because I haven't had time to sand and paint the sucker.  Like I said, a disaster.   It's not even organized chaos at this point.  And yet, even that can't bring me down.

I'm just buoyed by this sense of wonder and contentment these days, a feeling I so *hoped* I'd discover when I wandered through that bookstore all those years ago, but wasn't totally convinced I'd ever find again. Determined to always be grateful and appreciative, I stop often to soak it up, to take it in, to look around at this life of mine.  Because this is what I have.

A friend of mine got married this weekend here in Boston.  As I spun around the dance floor - in my one of my favorite polka dot dresses - late into the evening, all I could think to myself was how lucky I got, how grateful I am, and how I will always, always have this.

September Reads

Well, hey, October. Thanks for showing up so suddenly.  I swear, yesterday was just the end of August, wasn't it?  In a month that flew by (I know, I know, they all do...)  I managed to read two books.  Which means, I've improved ever so slightly from my summer trend of one a month. 

Here we go:

Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn

Everyone and their mother seems to have read this book recently.  I first read about it in an old issue of Entertainment Weekly, which informed me that this was THE book to read this summer.  Well, that and the 50 Shades series...but you and I both know that was never going to happen.  So, after spending time with one of the great American novels in August, I decided I was due for a thriller, murder-mystery of sorts. 

Without question, Gone Girl is a page turner and a perfect beach read.  The chapters alternate between the husband's point of view and his missing wife...which means just as soon as you finish one chapter, you're desperate to read the next one...and on, and on, and on.  I really liked Gone Girl - I was gripped from the get-go and found myself sneaking off to a quiet corner of my office building to read on my lunch break simply because I couldn't wait to find out what happened.  It's sort of a crazy psychological tale that makes you wonder how well anyone really knows the person that they're married too.  I appreciated some of it's twists and turns...but I have to say, in some odd way, I found the end of the book a touch unsatisfying.  I guess because Flynn had spent some 300+ pages building up tension, throwing in plot twists, and all the rest that by the time I came to the final chapter I really expected a huge, earth shattering revelation.  But...and maybe this was the whole point actually...instead the novel wound down to a sort of gentle fade to black, the last words left to subtlety settle and linger on your brain.  

This Is Where I Leave You - Jonathan Tropper

I sort of can't believe I waited as long as I did to read this book - I'd picked it up months and month ago in a secondhand book shop - because I pretty much fell in love with it on the opening page.  Judd Foxman's father has died and his last request was that his family sit Shiva together, pulling the family - and all of their dysfunction - under the same roof for seven days and nights.  Equally heart-breaking and heart-warming, this book had me laughing out loud in one moment and biting my lip to hold back tears in the next.  Extremely well-written, it had moments of sheer comic brilliance coupled with some of the most heartfelt, sincere emotions I've ever seen put to page.  In short, it's a book about a family - their imperfections, their craziness (because what family isn't at least a touch crazy, right?) and at the very core, its love...even if it's shown in unconventional forms.  I adored this book - certainly one of my favorite reads of the year thus far.  I'm already eagerly looking forward to the next thing read by Tropper.  (An author I clearly have developed a bit of a crush on...)