Sono Libero!

American Again: Thanksgiving with the Kennedys

2011-12-06T00:51:00.001-05:00

Two Tuesdays ago I traveled about four hours by train from Montpellier to Paris. The next day, Thanksgiving Eve, I tackled another 15 hours or so to get from Paris to San Diego. Nope, I didn't go back home (not yet!) to Virginia, but instead to San Diego to surprise my boyfriend, Conner, to finally meet his family (with whom I'd been plotting for nearly four months!), and spend a lovely, lovely Thanksgiving week with all of them.

I spent my last night in Europe with my friends Maria and Giulia in Paris and then left Maria's adorable little apartment near the Eiffel Tower early Wednesday morning to head to Charles de Gaulle airport. My flight left at 11:30 am, and after one connection in Dallas and lots and lots of overflowing anticipation, I arrived on the west coast at 7pm (4am France time).

"I knew you'd be here!"

Conner's dad picked me up at the airport and drove me back to their house, where I was to finally, finally surprise Conner and see him for the first time since May 18th. And [kind of] surprised he was! Actually, he claimed to have started to figure it out that morning, but I stick by my belief that he just hoped and fantasized about such a wonderful thing happening, and I still hold to the success of the surprise! :) I had first emailed his mom in August back when I was in Mallorca about orchestrating everything, and since then both his parents and younger sister, Cassidy, were all in on it with me. And so it was just wonderful finally being able to meet the three of them that night. And I just can't tell you how perfect it was to finally be able to see and be with Conner again.

happy thanksgiving!

The next week was filled with family, and turkey, and ten pounds of mashed potatoes (literally), and the beautiful California sun, and happiness. We spent Thanksgiving at his Grandpa's with the family and his aunt. The next day we drove up to Santa Monica and LA to see more aunts and uncles and cousins and explore the pier and Hollywood. We saw lots of beautiful sunsets, and walked on many big, beautiful beaches (they are so big, especially compared to the little calas I'd grown used to in Spain!). Conner and I even watched a magnificent sunrise while climbing up a mountain way early one morning.

sunrise at the summit of Cowles Mountain

sunset at Mount Soledad

I've been home in Virginia now for five days already. I arrived early Thursday morning after my overnight flight from San Diego. I was so sad to say goodbye to everyone--it was pretty much just the shortest week ever.

santa monica

On the bright side (ha! like there's an un-bright side after getting to spend a whole week with Conner and the Kennedys, and after spending six months on the traveling adventure I'd always dreamed of!), Conner will be coming to Virginia just a few days after Christmas to visit. We'll even get to spend New Years in the City together! So let me know if you'll be around then, too!

merry christmasing!

Now it's on to the most Christmas-y month of the year! I'll be spending it reveling in Christmas cheer, planning for the spring (apartment searching and textbook buying), getting a head start on my senior thesis, planning a semi-more-professional blog to focus on food, cooking, and life-y things, and, of course, reveling in my time back with family and friends and boyfriend.

Happy December, everyone!

the last days of the great adventure

2011-11-20T12:20:00.001-05:00

So Friday finished my five weeks at the bakery. After having two relatively light days, Friday was busy, full of activity and things to do, which was great. My boss gave me a sweet thank you note and an invitation to return anytime, along with a surprise gift. I felt kind of sad walking home that afternoon.

That evening I met four of my friends from the bakery for dinner and a had a great last evening with them eating moules frites. I walked away from that so happy to have had the opportunity to work at such a great place, meet such great people, and learn such great, new things And I also left with two other thoughtful going-away gifts (the Adele album, and a recipe book of 80 specialty breads. Goat cheese and olive bread, anyone? Yummy!). And I was a little sad again.

But before I finish bakery posting (again, sad), I promised you a film-y, celebrity-y thing number two: Josh Holloway came into the bakery twice during my second-to-last week. For those of you who need a reminder, that's Sawyer from Lost (!!!). He was in town for several days filming a movie with Chris Brown, too. Apparently quite a few movies have had scenes shot in Montpellier.

WELL! Today is my last full day in Montpellier. I just ate an egg on toast for breakfast in bed with my windows thrown open to the world, savoring the last-ish moments of my French life (for now). To-do today: see a couple friends, find a few last minute things, finish the packing that I half-heartedly started a week ago "just to see if it would fit in my suitcase."

Tomorrow around noon I'm off to Paris! I'll stay with Maria for the night, and then Wednesday morning, I'm States-bound from Charles de Gaulle.

?!?!

Au revoir, mes amis et ma petite boulangerie!

Medieval Villages and Pretty Days

2011-11-18T07:58:00.001-05:00

In my last week of French life (slash European life in general!), I've been trying to make to sure to accomplish or see or just revel in as much of this as possible. My host mother recommended Carcassonne as a great day trip from Montpellier, and this past Wednesday I finished work by 8:30 in the morning and made it to the station to catch a late-morning train.

Besides getting another three-hour roundtrip train ride in (gotta love those trains, especially rolling around the south of France), Carcassonne was just beautiful, historical, and interesting. Everything I read about it said to prepare yourself for massive crowds of tourists and all the gimmicks and annoyances that come with that, but I was able to simply disregard all of that. Here's my advice: go in November. You may miss a summer festivals or markets, but instead it's crowd-less, quiet, charming, and the colorful trees and vineyards outside the fortress walls are gorgeous.

Carcassonne is composed of the lower, newer city, and the infinitely more fascinating upper city (La Cité). La Cité is a medieval village surrounded by these huge fortress walls with something like 52 towers spread throughout the two miles of walled perimeter. The entrance is complete with a crooked drawbridge (a tactic to slow down intruders) and deep moat (another one of those tactics, obvi).

Fun Fact: the castle on the inside (with its own separate draw bridge and moat) of the fortress was the scene for 1991's Robin Hood film. I left New York City six months ago and feel like I've run into more film-y, celebrity-y things here than there! Okay, just two (the other instance: coming soon to a blog post near you), and sure this was the olddd Robin Hood film. But still. Cool.

So my beautiful day in Carcassonne was possibly the last of my day trips and was followed by my last two days at the bakery. Sigh. I am so blessed.

Southern France: The Tour

2011-11-06T15:41:00.000-05:00

Just last weekend, I took my last little trip inside my big trip of the past several months. And this one--to the Côte d'Azur and Provence!--I did solo! Toute seule. Luckily, I had absolutely perfect weather the entire weekend, which gave me enough sunny-fuel to get through last week (and this forecasted week) of rain, rain, rain, storm, rain, and more rain in Montpellier.

The shores of Nice! I arrived Saturday afternoon after a delayed train from Montpellier.

The iconic Hotel Negresco on Nice's Promenade des Anglais. I walked by many of the Nice beaches and well-known views on the way to my hotel and back to the train station to take the quick trip up the coast to....

Monaco! I spent the end of the afternoon, and then the gorgeous sunset, in Monte Carlo. Here, in front of the casino. James Bond took the photo.

The next morning I was up early to stroll the quiet, amazing, pebbly beaches with a little brioche breakfast (I wanted to compare another boulangerie's with ours back in Montpellier...ours is better.) and the newly-risen sunlight before going back to the train station once again. My last real beach opportunity of my wonderfully extended (5 months!) summer.

This photo of the view from my train window en route to Aix-en-Provence does not do the region's beauty justice.

I loved Aix's moss-covered fountains on many of the charming streets. Aix was just charming everywhere.

Cezanne's Atelier holds many of the original objects from his paintings in the room in which they were painted. It has big, floor-to-ceiling windows and is surrounded by lots of garden paths.

A few minutes walk up the mountain from his studio and I found the same views that Cezanne himself used for eleven canvases featuring the mountain Saint Victoire.

And a few minutes bus ride outside of Aix, to Vauvenargues, I hiked through Saint Victoire, too! In Vauvenargues, a very small village just on the outskirts of Aix, I made some new friends. Louise invited me in for coffee and then offered to drive me back into Aix after my mountain-exploring. Her home is just too charming, she (and her neighbor, and daughter, and dog Lulu) is just too sweet, and Vauvenargues is just too magnificent, nestled right into the Saint Victoire. If you're ever planning a trip to Provence, consider staying with Louise and her family in their bed and breakfast guest room!

La petite boulangère

2011-10-23T14:18:00.000-04:00

Tartes aux pommes, tartes aux legumes, brioche au chèvre, speculoos, chausson aux pommes, chausson au nutella, jeanettes, et éclairs are just a few of the pastries and little boulangerie treats I've been making between the hours of six a.m. and noon the past week. I've also been eating plenty of pain au chocolats, croissants, brioche, et baguettes courtesy of my new little home. Yum.

My bakery is on this cute little rue just off this even cuter little square, and it always has a long, happy line out the door. The two people with whom I mainly work are Carine and Lucien, who is the owner of the shop. And I love that they started me right in the making and baking day one last week!

I get lots and lots of practice speaking and listening to French (I wasn't sure that I would--I assumed everyone goes into morning mode like I tend to, meaning very little talking. As it turns out, since I've been diligent about going to bed between nine and ten each night--which I actually kind of love--my morning mode is pretty cheery too.). And much of the French is in the typical southern accent here, aka really, really difficult for me to understand. But they say if you can understand the southern French accent, you can understand anyone. So, here's to four more weeks of fluency-developing and brain-straining!

Week two starts tomorrow. And today marked me precisely one-month out from my return to the States. (?!)

"Paris is always a good idea."

2011-10-16T12:12:00.002-04:00

Last weekend I bittersweetly departed my summery, sunny paradise in the South of France to spend four days of fall in Paris. It was cold and rainy but a perfect autumn and the perfect dose of New York-y weather and trees and city to satiate me until January.

I adapted at record speed to my inner Parisian Thursday morning just walking the winding, hilly streets of Montmartre, and then down through the café-lined streets of St. Germain-des-Prés before meeting my friend Giulia, whom I mentioned in the previous post, for the first time in four years (!). We rendez-vous-ed in front of Notre Dame and walked up and down Rue Mouffetard--a steep street full of university life at the bottom of which are these beautiful open markets--stopping for a while at a café, bien sûr. We had dinner back up in Montmartre at Café des Deux Moulins, which anyone who's seen the film Amélie will recognize.

Caroline's arrival Friday was pushed back too many times due to lovely flight issues and delays. While waiting for her, I took a coffee at a little café's terrace and met a lovely little French man (and film score composer) with whom I was able to practice my French conversational skills about all things from comparative city life, to politics, to what I should really do in Paris with only two days left.

caroline dengel photography

Finallllly, Caroline arrived! We strolled through Montmartre (it was right near our hotel) eating crêpes before taking le métro into central Paris. Strolling down the street on the lookout for a nice little bench on which to enjoy our baguette sandwiches we stumbled across the sparkling Eiffel Tower. Every hour in the evening, the tower lights up and from top to bottom and sparkles continuously for five minutes. It is the most beautiful man-made creation in the world in those moments, I think.

caroline dengel photography

We spent the evening in the Eiffel Tower's neighborhood at my friend Maria's apartment with her and her mélange of Italian and French friends celebrating her birthday and everyone's reunion. I can't describe how great it was to see her and Giulia again after so many years.

Saturday was Versailles day! The little town of the palace, just outside of Paris, was beautiful and perfectly autumn. It reminded me a littttle bit of Princeton, New Jersey. And then there's the actual château. The absolutely beautiful, excessively ginormous château. Oh, and it's gardens and lesser-known smaller châteaux, Marie-Antoinette's estate, and farm (!) that take hours upon hours to somewhat-sufficiently walk through. One particular tour guide says that if you go one place in Europe in whole life it should be Versailles.

We had escaped it long enough, but Sunday we experienced a very typically autumnal and wet Paris. The rain led to extraordinarily long lines at the Musées Louvre et d'Orsay, so instead we simply walked, ate a few macarons, stopped into Galeries Lafayette, and had an espresso while watching Paris pass by.

Sadly enough, the weekend had to end, and Caroline caught her train to the Netherlands to visit another friend, and I met Maria once more before catching my train back to Montpellier.

Guess which of the above-described days I ate three pain au chocolats.

C'est la vie...à Montpellier!

2011-10-05T18:14:00.000-04:00

I'm in the midst of week three in my new, small-town, charming, Mediterranean, culture-filled, Languedoc-Roussillon, French life. And it is lovely. Such the loveliest, if you will.

My city is Montpellier, which is in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France, just west of Provence. And I don't think I've ever lived--or spent much time--anywhere where the same woman I meet in a bookstore one day, I run into on la rue outside la boulangerie regularly. See those words! I am learning.

My host mother hosts me in a wonderfully quaint flat in the vieille ville with old wooden floors, big elegant wardrobes, a quintessential French country kitchen, and two beautiful terraces to soak in the mid-fall summery heat with views of neighboring rooftops and the church steeple.

Right now I'm taking three hours of French classes every morning with my afternoons and evenings free for walking, talking (en Français, bien sûr), shopping, eating, beaching, and all things fun and French. The Mediterranean Sea is only a 20 minute bus ride from Montpellier, and in last week's perfect, 28-degree weather (Celsius? Who am I?) I took full advantage of the big beaches and clear, clear water.

At the end of my first week, I went on a day trip with a group from school to a beautiful little village in the mountains called St. Guilhem le Désert. We visited its teeny tiny town, medieval church (and Cloister-like gardens), mountainsides lush with little creeks, olive trees, and fig trees (seriously, where are all the figs in the States?), had a little tapenade tasting, and went for a swim in the river .

Yesterday, I had my second entretien for my stage beginning in just about two weeks here in Montpellier. Good news! I'll be interning at the oldest, most charming (et très très connue) bakery right here in the center of the old town! I might be more excited about this job than most any past job or internship.

And to follow exciting news with exciting news: tomorrow morning...in just over six hours...I hop a train to Paris to spend the weekend with Caroline, and Giulia, and Maria! Caroline was my roommate two years ago in New York. Maria was my roommate four years ago in Paris. And Giulia is another great friend from Paris (We met in Paris, although Maria and Giulia are both Italian beauties.) four years ago!

Bon voyage à moi!

Glossary of terms & phrases:
la rue: the road
la boulangerie: the bakery
vieille ville: old town
en Français, bien sûr: in French, of course
entretien: interview
stage: internship
très très connue: very well-known

The Whirlwind Family EuroAdventure 2011*

2011-09-22T08:57:00.001-04:00

So I am all settled in my new, perfect, southern French flat in Montpellier! But in between this and that--that being my departure from Madrid--was a whirlwind 9 days avec la famille in France, Italy, Switzerland, and then France again. Initially, I wanted to write about each of those as they happened, but I was too busy living them instead. So now, I'll at least give the highlights of the whole week (ha. as if that makes the task any easier or quicker...).

I arrived in Paris early on the morning of Friday September 9th. I've been following the site MyLittleParis for a while now, and it recommended Le Petit Vendôme for having the best baguette sandwiches in the city. So, I tracked it down, and brought my deliciously fresh goat cheese (with a little olive oil and pepper) baguette to Jardins aux Tuileries. But the main thing I wanted to be sure and fit in during my only full day in Paris for now was a visit to Montmartre. So my first day of the week ended with a walk up to the Sacré-Cœur and then winding down the neighborhood streets to le métro.

Saturday, my mom and dad and brother arrived in Paris! So we had lunch together and squeezed in our visits to La Tour Eiffel, L'arc de Triomphe, et Notre Dame (which led to a lovely walk through the fun and cultural Latin Quarter, too) before rushing off to our overnight train to Florence.

Florence was simply beautiful. We went museum hopping from the Uffizi to Accademia. The highlight? Michaelangelo's Naked David. The highlight of the city? Maybe up on the hill, where the Fake Naked David is (where the original was created to be), overlooking the city with such the best city views. City and mountain and history and loveliness. It (the Firenze highlight) was either that, or beginning our gelato extravaganza (gelato at least once, maybe twice, a day, anyone?).

The next morning we took the train into Venice for the day. It's just as pretty and canal-y as the photos in some places, and even more so in others. We went straight to the very gold and very uneven--seriously, I don't understand how its foundation hasn't crumbled with all the flooding damage--Basilica di S. Marco, which was extraordinarily busy thanks to the two cruise ships that had pulled in that morning. Maybe some other time I'll talk about my musings on what seems to me to be the paradox of extravagant cathedrals and churches. Afterward, we went next door to the Doge's palace, basically the seat of old, old Venetian, horrifying politics (yes, King's community, more horrifying than having a Democratic president *gasp!*). We're talking secret tunnels, paths, and bridges to usher people to their secret, execution-style deaths.
Later, we took a boat over to the island of Murano where the famous Murano glass is made and then retuned to the main center of Venice to wind our way back through the streets, by the canals and rivers, and over the bridges back to the train station to return to Florence for one more night.

Next was the train trip to Santa Margherita on the Italian coast! Our first train was the short trip to Pisa (really, that building should not still be standing), and then we hopped back on the train to Santa Margherita.

We arrived mid-afternoon and were checked in to our little family-run hotel by the cutest little old, Italian man. Seriously, he's straight out of a movie. We walked around town that evening by the perfectly clear water and then took the ten-minute bus ride over to Portofino--Mom and Dad's favourite destination, I think, decided when they visited six years ago for their 25th anniversary. Portofino is tiny, but magnificent, with beautiful, old, painted buildings, perfect coastline water, marvelous mountains, and gelato. Really yummy gelato. We had dinner back in Santa Margherita. I've never been one to eat pasta all the time (strange for a college student?), but I could probably eat that spaghetti with clams every day. Probably.

Santa Margherita

yummy!

Cinque Terre! This next day was one of village-hopping and endless beauty. Riomaggiore, Monterroso, Vernazza--google them. I still need to check and see if the WWOOFers have a farm in Cinque Terre somewhere...a tempting post-graduation plan. I could live on one of those seaside mountains, harvesting grapes from a vineyard, fishing from the transparent sea waters. Why not? Back in Santa Margherita, we took advantage of the pebbly Mediterranean beach for an hour or so before taking a ferry to a neighboring town, Rapallo. Naturally, there was more gelato involved. Who can identify the theme of the week? ...or my life. Back at our little hotel, cute Italian man reminded us to pack that night so we didn't miss our train in the morning--so we did (pack, not miss our train)!

Riomaggiore

Vernazza

Thursday, we traveled through Milano to Lugano. This is the beginning of A) a dream come true for me, and B) the most beautiful scenery you will ever see, possibly anywhere. Have I claimed that too much? I have been in love with Lugano and have had plans to live there one day ever since reading the book Bloomability in elementary school. You can read more about the effect that little novel had on me here. So, first thing in Lugano we went to the TASIS campus. I met one of the teachers/summer program directors who showed us around the incredible campus and talked with me more about their summer programs. I applied last year for this past summer's program and am considering re-applying for next summer. After the TASIS tour, I dragged everyone down the Collina D'oro a bit to the church of St. Abbondio, another Bloomability landmark. Incredible. Back in Lugano (the school is just by central Lugano in Montagnola...in the Ticino, in Switzerland, in Europe, on the planet Earth.), we strolled along the beautiful, beautiful, green-blue-clear (green-blue unlike the green-yellow-not clear of the ocean so often, you know?) Lake Lugano under a canopy of trees toward Monte San Salvatore. Although we didn't go to the top of San Salvatore until the next day.

view from the yard of St. Abbondio

That next day we took the ferry across the lake to a little, incredible, mountain-lake, fishing village, just on the Italian border called Gandria. It was basically built into the mountainside of Monte Brè--another Bloomability notable endroit. I loved walking right by this surprisingly substantial yard plot (surprising because you wonder at first where a thing such as a yard could be in a town build straight up the side of a steep, cliffy mountain) with its inhabitants harvesting figs from the tree--and throwing one to a passerby--and tending to their big, lovely garden. Back in Lugano, we went straight to San Salvatore for the next funiculare ride to the top (you guessed it--a Bloomability adventure yet again. This part of the week was my own personal pilgrimage.) And the funiculare really does go straight up to the top! You have to switch cars in the middle to a different one that goes up an even windier, steeper track than the first. And the views from the peak are just breathtaking. Lugano and its lake and Switzerland, and Italy--straight to Milano!--are all seeable. Back at the base of the mountain, we gathered and regrouped again for another train ride. Off to Geneva!

view from the peak of San Salvatore

We arrived in Geneva that evening and made our way to our hotel, in which we were upgraded (because they had given away our original room) to an apartment. A big, beautiful apartment overlooking the city! Not that we spent much time there anyway. We went out to dinner at a cute little restaurant called Chez Ma Cousine per the recommendation of my friend, Spencer, who lived in Geneva. The next morning, we went out bright and early (or not so bright, it was raining--our first day of less-then-perfect weather in the whole week) to explore the old town of the city. The stops: Cathedrale de St. Pierre, L'auditoire de Calvin, et parc de Bastions. Samuel and I played wizard's chess in the park. Guess who won. The rest of the afternoon was filled with walking and shopping and eating chocolate croissants and crêpes, bien sûr. Mid-afternoon, we boarded what was my last train for a while.

It was raining when we arrived in Montpellier Saturday evening (a rare occurrence in my charming, little Mediterranean town :) ). We simply walked what has become my everyday path to school and to my new flat, and then around the city center a bit. The next day, I moved in to my new home for the next few months. :) Je l'adore!

*We missed you, Aldi!

Hasta luego, España.

2011-09-11T16:25:00.000-04:00

This past Thursday, September ninth, marked my last day inMadrid and my last in Spain. The girls went back to school on Wednesday and Ispent the last of my time saying bittersweet goodbyes—to the family and to thewonderful friends I’ve made this summer.

I know there are opportunities galoreto not only keep in touch with my new friends, but to see each other in thenear future, so it’s really not so bad. All us au pairs especially have alove of adventure, and travel, and exploration in common, so we’ll all be looking for that next trip to Estonia, or Denmark, or the UK, or New York!

Coming soon: updates from the midst of a whirlwind week of travel (France! Italy! Switzerland!) with myparents and brother!

Sipping tinto de verano and eating figs fresh off the tree in Avila, Spain.

Islanding and Sea-swimming

2011-08-30T16:58:00.000-04:00

I spent the last three weeks in Mallorca of the Balearic Islands, officially rounding out my multi-city Spanish adventuring. We arrived in Palma the morning of August fourth after the shortest plan ride of my life and settled right into our little rented flat. The flat was one of many flats and chalets in a development that are either owned as summer homes or rented out. We had seven different pools (!) in which to dive and teach little Laura to swim while we were there.

The seventh pool! My favourite.

We were on the island for 20 long, summery days, all filled with visiting different calas (the small, beautiful beaches with soft sand and clear, cool, perfect water), pool time, siestas, and staring in awe at the port with all its impressive yachts lined up.

Rosie and I at Cala Egos--our home away from home away from home away from home (the beach away from the rented flat away from the flat in Madrid away from home home...in case you were confused)

In one of the first days I was lucky enough to meet Rosie, another au pair, with whom I spent lots of time on the beach, in the sea, jumping of cliffs, and, of course, searching out our best wifi spots to contact everyone from home (a touristy restaurant serving Thai, Indian, Indonesian, and American food named Indiana Johns? Why not...).

Some of the calas I went to: Cala Egos, Cala D'Or, Cala Mondrago (all worth googling). Cala Mondrago is part of a beautiful natural park on the island, and I went there with the family in our first week. On the way, we stopped at this beautiful family farm growing tomatoes, pumpkins, peppers, eggplant, and more. Here, I ate my first almond from the tree and my first fresh fig--also right off the tree. Loved them! I would really like to have a fig tree.

Another day, the family drove up to Deia, this small, absolutely breathtaking mountain village. I learned that Michael Douglas has a home there and that I would love to have a home there. There is no town center or anything, just beautiful, winding mountain roads connecting cozy-looking homes perched on the side of the mountain with flowers and vines growing grapes or kiwi or just leaves and flowers everywhere and infinity swimming pools overlooking the valley.

Mallorca is a major tourist destination for the British and Germans in addition to the Spanish. And in our development there were lots of wonderful little British families. It was the first time I'd heard so much English in two months. And seeing several of them having dinners together out in their gardens with their teenaged children just made me think of my family (although there are technically no more "children" in my family anymore? Weird.). *Sigh* Did I mention that Mallorca marks the first time I've been truly homesick? Ever?

Once, I was laying out in the grass near one of the pools reading when I was shocked--or really, refreshed (it was hot!)--by cold water thrown on my back. I turned around to a teenage boy laughing uncontrollably, holding his hands up, saying "It wasn't me! It wasn't me." His grandfather, also laughing, came up to me a few minutes later to apologize--he had thought I was the boy's sister.

Another time, Rosie and I were walking on the rock cliffs in front of her house (right. on. the sea.) when we met this adorable little old English man. He was dressed in head-to-toe baby blue--blue linen pants, blue shirt, blue shoes, blue hat--and was just the friendliest human being ever. So we made a little small talk about where we were all from and the riots in London. The next day, there he was again! This time in yellow linen pants, a yellow shirt, yellow shoes, and a yellow hat. Fishing. <3

So, twenty days, lots of homesickness and missing, many beach trips, plenty of pool dipping, some siesta-ing, one new friend, and several shades of tan later, we returned to Madrid. Things are back in the regular schedule--Laura starts school again Thursday and Paula, next Wednesday. And I fly to Paris to meet Mom, Dad, and Samuel next Friday! 9 days!

"This is not Spain. This is not France. This is Basque Country!"

2011-08-03T18:28:00.000-04:00

^A friendly reminder to tourists from the Basque Country liberation groups.

Alli's last weekend in Spain was a beautiful, beachy, hikey, paddle surfingy, San Sebastiány one.

The train trip was just over five hours (woot!) and San Sebastián had the most perfect weather and the most wonderful beaches. Saturday afternoon we spent our time criss-crossing the streets of the historic city center, checking out all the tapas bars that the city's famous for and walking up a pier with the most delicious banana split and dark chocolate ice cream cones. We walked around the base of the mountain--all along the sea with its crashing waves against rocks, fishers a fishin', and sailboats a sailin' on by--that we would hike up the next morning.

Our test of San Sebastián's reputation of great tapas that night had murky results at best unfortunately. Oh well.

Sunday morning we hiked up that mountain to meet Jesus! Well, one of the many that always seem to find themselves perched on top of Spanish mountains. It was a beautiful hike with even better views and we traipsed around the castle up there--hidden from view until you're there pretty much, which was kinda cool--a bit before returning to beachland.

Playa de Ondarreta was the beach closest to our hotel so we spent the afternoon there right up until begrudgingly going back to the train station. Possibly the best part of the weekend was stand up paddle surfing for the first time. I wish we had photos, but sometimes you're just too busy living life to photograph it. Or you just don't want to drop your camera or iPhone in the ocean.

If you don't know what stand up paddle surfing is, google it. And then try it! And if you can, you'll try it in San Sebastián.

Now, Alli is back in the States--I spent the night in her flat last night, and she left Aravaca this morning. Tomorrow--or rather, in six hours--I'll be up and on the way to Mallorca with my Spanish family for the next three weeks! Hasta luego!

Flamenca! Sevilla!

2011-07-29T19:04:00.000-04:00

Alli and I couldn't wait to get our train fix in this past Saturday morning--another two-and-a-half hour, first class (thanks again, Dad!) trip, this time to Sevilla. Our cute little hotel (side note: with a shower that had six shower heads that spray out at you right from the wall, but none above your head?) was in the corner of an adorable, quiet plaza. I loved the many plazas we found meandering through countless small, cobblestoned paths and alleyways. One of the paths was even covered overhead by grapevines. Yes, please.

Saturday, we spent lots of time just walking and exploring with two general goals: investigating the option of seeing a flamenco show that night and finding beautiful pottery and ceramics with which to spice up our kitchens. We bought tickets to a show for that evening, but didn't have much luck with the type of pottery we were looking for, save for the identical garlic graters we both bought (garlic, cayenne pepper olive oil with your baguette, anyone?).

The cathedral of Sevilla was at the top of our to-do list, as it was one of Alli's favourite things about Sevilla from when she lived there four years ago. It's now our favourite cathedral in the world. It is huge and gothic and breathtaking. Especially in the evening. And the views from its bell tower are perfection.

My initial impression of flamenco was that it was a sort of angsty, tapping, temper tantrum. But really, after the hour I had definitely recognized the skill, rhythm, control, and emotion necessary for the dance. I would probably just explore other styles first were I to venture out into new dance genres.

The alcazar seemed unimpressive at first until we wound our way into the ginormous maze of gardens on the inside. The heavy Arabic influence brought beautifully tiled walls and great arches at every entrance, exit, or pathway.

Making fun of the tourists posing for photos with objects like plates (plates?) by laying on the floor of the alcazar next to a projected image:

Our lunch before we headed to the train station again was one of the best tapas meals yet, including baked goat cheese--our favourite!--with an orange wine on top (orange wine is made in Sevilla and everyone says it's not very good, but you have to try it--it was definitely good on top of goat cheese).

The only thing I could possible regret about visiting Sevilla is not succeeding in plucking an orange from one of the many many orange trees that line the streets anywhere you go.

Next up: San Sebastián! Off to Basque Country tomorrow!

I read this

2011-07-19T11:28:00.002-04:00

shortly after doing some leaving of my own:

And so my prayer is that your story will have involved someleaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses bloomingout like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing,about getting something beautiful born inside you, about learning to love awoman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself aroundwater, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others morethan we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God.We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established theelements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crimenot to venture out, wouldn’t it?

It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change,to shine out.

I want to repeat one word for you:

Leave.

Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is abeautiful word, isn’t it? So strong and forceful, the way you have alwayswanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don’tworry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will havechanged.

[Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts]

Barthelona

2011-07-15T07:39:00.000-04:00

Last weekend Alli and I took our first weekend trip--this one was to Barcelona. We traveled by the AVE high-speed trains courtesy of the currently much-loved Eurail Pass (thanks, Dad!). I. Love. Trains. The trip there was shorter than I would have liked basically, but that's okay because Barcelona is beautiful! I probably prefer it to Madrid from that short visit, but that opinion is based almost solely off Barcelona's seaside location.

We stayed in a great little hostal right in the center of the city owned by a friendly Australian man. Saturday, when we arrived, we walked and walked and walked, visiting Las Ramblas, La Boqueria (where I drank kiwi juice and we ate pineapple and coconut--yum!), the Christopher Columbus monument (this was kind of on accident, but since he supposedly discovered America it's probably good that we saw it), the Gothic Quarter, Parque Güell, and La Sagrada Familia.

The last two stops are creations of Gaudi--the best representative of modern Catalan architecture. The park is a beautiful, whimsical, gardeny land full of colorful and oddly-shaped structures and benches and landscaping, all perched atop a rather large hill that's rather exhausting to walk up. The simple description of the park is that it looks like a Dr. Seuss setting come to life. La Sagrada Familia is a big cathedral made by taking [giant] handfuls and soaking-wet sand and dripping it into towers and walls and peaks. At least it looks like that. Who else has made those sand castles?

We spent Sunday morning traveling up to Tibidabo--one of the oldest amusement parks on top of a mountain on the outskirts of the city. We walked up part of the mountain through the beautiful neighboring towns with beautiful views of the city. Up at the top, in addition to the amusement park, is a magnificent church. You can see the church and the big ol' Jésus on top of it from many places beneath the mountain in Barcelona.

We had lunch in a neighborhood near the sea at a tapas restaurant highly-recommended by a local Barcelonian--a friend of Alli's host parents. Naturally, a beach siesta followed. If only topless beaching were more widely accepted in the States. Swimsuits would be half as expensive, and no one would have to even think about unsightly tan lines. Seriously.

I'm loving these weekend trips, but it's clear that none of them will really be long enough :)

P.S. The title for this post is "Barthelona" in honor of the wonderful Spanish accent, for any who thought it was a typo.

Fun Fact Numero Cuatro

2011-07-08T11:54:00.004-04:00

This is the swim suit summer. I practically live in a rotation of a couple different suits--minus one after I discovered one morning at the pool that it's see-through when wet. But still, I suppose it's not quite as bad as that one summer in elementary school when I went Nazarene camp for a week and walked, talked, slept, and ate in my swim suit--one swim suit--the entire time. The. Entire. Week. I probably showered in it too. Or maybe I just counted swimming as a shower. Every kid does that at some point, right?

Fun Fact Numero Tres

2011-07-07T08:26:00.001-04:00

If a kid is ever dragging his or her feet when you're in a hurry--or you'd just rather he or she not be walking 20 steps behind you--all you need to say is "I'm gonna beat you!" or "I'm winning!" and voilà! Off they go, all of a sudden "beating" you to your destination. Losing is winning.

The Au Pair Chronicles: 1

2011-07-05T11:51:00.002-04:00

Last Friday was a day of debacles, beginning with breakfast. After refusing several of my breakfast offers, Paula surprisingly quickly agreed to having toast with jelly and milk. A few minutes later, I brought her the toast to cries of "Nooo! That's not jelly! That's mermeladaaaa."

Knowing that not only is there this little thing called a language barrier between us, but that jelly, jam, and marmalade are all in the same general family, I said "Okay. Will you show me the jelly you want? Either show me the jelly and we'll make a new one, or you need to eat this." She proceeded to eat.

We had little issues to deal with throughout the day, all of which seemed to somehow involve the jelly issue again.

That afternoon, when her dad came home with a pack of strawberry jello, I learned that in Spain "jelly" is jell-o. Now I understand why she so readily agreed to the breakfast of jell-o.

My [Summer/New/Current/whicheverwordimpliesthatitdoesn'treplacenewyork] City

2011-07-04T10:50:00.003-04:00

Alli and I spent the past two days exploring Madrid for hours on end as this was one of the two weekends in which we will both be in the city together (we are traveling all around Spain for the other three!).

Saturday morning we had breakfast in Plaza Mayor before supposedly aimlessly--supposedly because we somehow ended up everywhere on our to-see list by accident--wandering through the city for a few hours. We saw beautiful stone streets galore complete with buildings full of shutters and wrought-iron-railed balconies and overflowing flower boxes. I'm a sucker for overflowing flower boxes.

Early in the afternoon, we walked in on a wedding in the royal Cathedral, and moseyed along to the Royal Palace.

Isn't it weird that some people used to live in palaces and it was normal? A whole palace for one family? I could live in a palace for a bit and enjoy it very much, I think. Then I would just feel silly. And sad that so many people don't have homes and here I am with a palace full of rooms. If I had to choose between living in a one-bedroom little cottage or a royal palace for the rest of my life, I would choose the one-bedroom little cottage.

We went back to Sol in the middle of the day, which is basically the center of the city, and found Chocolateria San Gines--a famous little churro and chocolate shop in Madrid. So, naturally, we had churros and chocolate before further wandering our way through the Gay Pride Festival (the biggest in Europe, maybe the world I hear?), eventually making it to Museo del Prado.

We saw Goya, and Diego Velazquez, and a Rembrandt (a single Rembrandt), and other painters and sculptors. I think, at least. We were too tired after close to eight hours of walking at this point. The one painting I do remember is this one. You see why. If not, definitely look up a larger image of "San Bernardo y la Virgen."

After more walking (Madrid is a hilly city, too!), and dinner, we didn't get back home until 10:45 or so.

Sunday, we slept in, getting back into the city just after noon. It doesn't take more than 15 or 20 minutes by bus or train to get right into the center of Madrid from Aravaca, the residential neighborhood that we live in.

We spent the afternoon at El Mercado del Rastro, which is a big, outdoor, Sunday flea market in Madrid. We also managed to activate our Eurorail passes at Atotcha train station and book our seats for next weekend's trip to Barcelona.

After unsuccessfully searching for Ernest Hemingway at an outdoor, Strand-resembling, book market and strolling through the beautiful Parque del Retiro, we headed home, already exhausted once again.

And, in case anyone was wondering, Madrid's version of MTA > New York MTA. No question.

Segovia

2011-07-03T18:49:00.001-04:00

Last Friday (yes, before my last blog post that was already a week ago, I know), I went on a litte afternoon trip with the family to Segovia--a province about 45 minutes north of Madrid in the Castillan region. It's in the mountains, and old, and has it's own castle, and is filled with Arab and Roman influences--including these incredible Roman aqueducts--and is b-e-a-utiful. The castle is said to be the inspiration for the Disney logo Cinderella castle. And legend says Walt himself was Spanish.

My host family took me to lunch at José María--a traditional Castillan restaurant. Last time they were there, Victoria Beckham was also. She ordered fish. You are supposed to order pig. Conchinilla is a whole, baby (five days old!) piglet.

Also, I finally bought the perfect, classic, wide-brim straw hat I've been searching for for far too long. I can't wait to take it to Mallorca in August!

A Spanish 21

2011-06-26T18:52:00.002-04:00

A birthday in Spain is fantástico. At least, mine was. Probably for every year that I am home for my birthday, there is at least one year that I am not--whether I be at the beach, New York, Paris, or Madrid. And this Spanish birthday was truly lovely.

I was able to have a relaxing morning, sleeping in a bit after having a hard time getting to sleep in the Sahara-like temperature (seriously, this weekend, the wind and heat came in off the Sahara. Everyone will make exclamations like "Wow, it's 40 degrees at 10pm!" as we sweat out more than we drink in in the dry, dry heat, and I respond with "Mhmmm! Hace calor!" having no idea what 40 degrees is in American temperature (wannabe-cultured me wishes I was more adept at naturally using celsuis and the metric system, but alas, American me is stubborn, it would appear.) but being more than aware that it is hot. For the record, 40 celsius is 104 degrees fahrenheit.

Mom was up early so I was lucky enough to skype with her for a good, long time before getting ready to go into the city for lunch with the Spanish family. We went to Casa de Valencia--the best paella in town, according to Mariano. And it was delicious!

Shortly after lunch, I went to meet my sister who just arrived in Madrid this morning. And got lost. I had to ask some kind, restaurant man to call a cab for me and explain to the driver where I wanted to go in order to meet Alli in time and without passing out from hiking around in the Sahara all afternoon.

I met her and her new Spanish parents to go to a bullfight in the city. Horrifying. I thought it was really, terribly sad most of the time. Murder is entertainment? Those poor, poor, bloody bulls. Bullfighters here are the equivalent of American celebrity athletes.

The fighter in the photo above is just 22 and was flipped over by one understandably angry bull in one of the rounds.

I had a great birthday dinner up on the private roof terrace at Alli's beautiful flat. Her parents, Pedro and Marta, are very sweet and were very generous taking me to the bullfight with them and having me for dinner. Marta talked a bit about her horror at bullfighting dissipated a little after realizing how the bulls are bred carefully and raised like kings out in the country being fed only the best. So despite their dramatic end, they have charmed bulls' lives it seems. And, although I still find angering and repeatedly stabbing bulls until they die rather unattractive, comparing their lives and deaths with that of animals of the food industry who are raised to be killed, but raised in a despicable environment and fed chemically-engineered and harmful food their whole lives did seem a reasonable argument to lessen my distress about the "sport." At least a little.

We enjoyed our beautiful terrace dinner at 10pm, complete with birthday candles on pizza. :)

2011-06-22T18:39:00.001-04:00

Spanish culture says you greet everyone with two kisses--one on each cheek. And you bid adieu with just one. So far I tend to forget to greet anyone with any kisses and it takes me until someone is way too close to not know what they're doing to remember, and then I go ahead and try to be culturally well-adjusted by going for two when I say goodbye. Awkward.

Fun Fact Numero Dos

2011-06-22T17:34:00.003-04:00

(see previous post for my newly-labeled Fun Fact Numero Uno):

Apparently I live just a neighborhood or two over from Cristiano Ronaldo here. That will be more interesting to some of you than others. And likely more interesting to some of you than me.

Day 2

2011-06-21T10:23:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I had a minor freak out over a little snafu involving blowing a fuse and being unable to find the electrical box or communicate over the phone to my host mom what I was looking for. I couldn't leave until I fixed it or everything in the fridge and freezer would have gone bad. Luckily, Mariano, my host father, happened to stop by home and saved the day, showing me the electrical box in the last single place I hadn't looked yet.

In the afternoon, I finally met the Estonian au pair, Marleen, in my neighborhood with whom I've been communicating before my arrival in Spain. We then met up with Shelley (English teacher from UK), Whitney (another American au pair), Mia (au pair from Denmark), and Elise (au pair from Switzerland) and had a beautiful, hot afternoon at the pool.

Around 5, I went with Susana to pick the girls up from school (the finish on Wednesday). Paula's school is just two buildings down from the school that the prince and princess of Spain go to (Fun Fact Numero Uno). Paula and friends and I spent the evening at the pool before having another delicious Spanish dinner with the family and going out for a bit with the girls I met earlier.

Although I was in bed around midnight, it took me until close to 3am to fall asleep. Pushing through my first day apparently didn't eliminate the jet lag as thoroughly as I thought it did.

Things I've noticed in Madrid:

- The climate is basically that of a desert. I welcome the utter lack of humidity for the most part, but the hot hot heat and dry dry air makes for a constantly dry throat and dry skin--minus the sweat. I can never drink enough water.

- Every apartment building's hallways are dark unless you flip a hallway light switch or walk far enough into them that an automatic censor is triggered. Nicely eco-friendly.

T-minus THERE!

2011-06-19T05:58:00.001-04:00

I've gone from this (Monday--when I thought I'd be ambitious and "start packing"):

To a finally packed suitcase 5 days later (okay, maybe 6)...

To now sitting in seat 19C on an Aer Lingus plane nonstop to Madrid. In fact, by the time I get a chance to actually post this and you get a chance to read it, I’ll be well in Madrid! I'll be landing at 7:35 in the morning. That's 1:35am New York and Virginia time. 10:35pm California time. I have just over three hours left in my flight and the odds of my getting much sleep at all are unfortunately slim.

---------------------------------------------------

I'm now safely in España, having successfully received my first stamp in my new passport and then met the very sweet family I'll be living with as an au pair the next two-and-a-half months.

I'm already unpacked and settled in my new room, so here's a shot of my little nostalgia corner :)

What's better than August in the Hamptons?

2011-06-06T18:01:00.002-04:00

August in the Balearic Islands!

Just a little teaser, thanks to Google:

Bloomabilities Ahead

2011-06-02T01:25:00.002-04:00

Hello!

So this blog has had quite an array of voices and seen a hodge podge of postings the past few years, but as I prepare over the next couple weeks to move to Europe, “Sono libero!” lays the perfect foundation for my adventures.

The phrase means “I am free” in Italian, and I just love it. As the title of my blog, it is derived from my long-time favourite book Bloomability. Bloomability tells the story of a young teenage girl who finds herself in a boarding school in Lugano, Switzerland. It follows her relationships, adventures, bloomabilities (a fellow foreign student’s attempt at saying ‘opportunities’), and struggles to be interesting (we are most interesting when we are struggling, Dinnie concludes). Reasons this story immediately became a lasting favourite: I can relate to Dinnie’s quiet thoughts and evaluations of other people and herself. I also identified with her easy adaptability to new places and situations (in fact, I rather love exploring and traveling and learning new things and places). I always hoped I could go to boarding school in Switzerland, too, or at the very least live abroad. Finally, her good friend Guthrie is one of my all-time favourite characters in any novel—I often find pieces of him in my relationships. In fact, most of my closest friends have always seemed to share a decent portion of his spirit of adventure, free spiritedness, optimism, care, and genuineness.

Now that I’ve given a little introduction—only semi-tangential!—to the story that has inspired a fairly impressive percentage of my life, this blog’s title included, I’ll move on to my focus for the rest of the year :).

On June 18, the day after my brother Samuel’s high school graduation (He’s on to Seattle in September!), I’ll hop on a plane to Madrid to meet my host family for whom I’ll be working as an au pair through the beginning of September. We’ve been communicating via email for the past several weeks and I couldn’t be more excited to meet all four of them, including two little girls, an eighteen month and five year old!

My sister, Alli, will also be working for a nearby family for about a month of the time I’m over there, so I’m so excited to explore Madrid with her and have a built-in travel friend. I’ve never been to Spain before and don’t speak Spanish save for the bits and pieces I’ve picked up on previous travels. So I’m expecting a challenging and extraordinarily fun adventure on which I’ll hopefully pick up a third language, at least conversationally :).

After my Spanish stint, I’ll make my way over to the southern French town of Montpellier to study the French language and culinary arts. My plans for this portion of the trip are still being solidified, but my leave of absence at King’s is in, so there’s no turning back!

I’ll post again once or twice mid-preparations, probably, but the next two-and-a-half weeks will be much reveling in the Virginian summertime sweetness: swimming, sunning, picking strawberries, and family festivities galore.

Cheers!

Forgiveness. Happiness.

2011-05-27T12:25:00.000-04:00

Dealing with your rage and grief will give you life. That is both the good news and the bad news: The solution is at hand. Wherever the great dilemma exists is where the great growth is, too...I hope you have gotten sufficiently tired of hitting the snooze button; I know that what you need or need to activate in yourself will appear; I pray that your awakening comes with ease and grace, and stamina when the going gets hard. To love yourself as you are is a miracle, and to seek yourself is to have found yourself, for now. And now is all we have, and love is who we are.

Anne Lamott has been one of my favourite writers for years now. She speaks truth vulnerable, raw, and graceful. And that I find beautiful. And reading the above quote of hers around the same time that I found a recent blog entry of Donald Miller's (I have no idea why it took me so long to start reading him, especially when he's often described as a sort of male counterpart to Lamott, but I just finished Blue Like Jazz and read A Million Miles over Christmas.) was like finding one big bundle of written truths just when I most needed reminding. I try so hard (Sometimes, at least. Admittedly, other times I don't even think about it one bit.) to work to be happy, content--dare I say, joyful--where I am, as I am. The difficulty is finding the balance in the juxtaposition of choosing such joy in the present while not letting go of the quest to be more the woman God made me to be. And Lamott talks about that in the same article I took this quote from (I know it's in O Magazine. Don't judge. I think it's lovely that she'll reach a further audience than the "raging liberal Christians" that so many like to label us Anne Admirers). The real issue is perhaps not necessarily to become who we are, but rather to learn to stop being who we're not. A thought-provoking, nuanced idea, I think. One that I know my best friend Lydia and I would end up staying up all night talking about, crying about, telling stories about how this is so true and real, and then make fresh squeezed orange juice and drink it before getting a few hours of summer sleep in the city that never does--if we were there together again.

Forgiveness is obviously such an ongoing process, and one in which I feel as though I'm regressing far too often. It is in no way a nice little quick fix (you know, one of those solutions that only solves the symptoms, and only temporarily at that), but I've learned that it really is the key to moving on, gaining peace, and allowing joy and grace into my life. It was simply too fortuitous to read Miller's entry the other day right in the midst of my dwelling on my need to really, really forgive those who have hurt me and while I have also been solidifying some senior thesis ideas (working topic: The Philosophy of Happiness in Modern Urban versus Rural Communities. More on that later.).

So to learn to stop being who I am not and learn to really forgive. I think that must be the foundation to living a worthwhile life while I'm on this earth. And I hope and pray that those I love will know this too, because I can't do it alone. And neither can you.

2011-05-21T00:34:00.000-04:00

that's the first thing I would do I swear that I would
do my best to follow through
come up with a master plan
a homerun hit, a winning stand
a guarantee and not a promise

Why Thinking About Death Isn't Morbid At All

2011-05-07T14:46:00.001-04:00

I am perplexed by the concept of a life without grief. Perplexed and almost envious, but finding myself incapable of envy somehow. Without my eyes having grieved such grief, they wouldn't be clear as they are but continually more hazy. My times of despair (Kierkegaardian and otherwise) were necessary. And will be when they come back, I must trust, because they will.

So I cling to the joy, the beauty, the love while it shows itself so fully right now. I am blessed, and what I'd like to believe is that all my grief is part of my blessing. I'm not so clear-sighted to be able to claim that fully, but I find it impossible to deny and more so every day.

After the last three years I find myself wondering when the phone rings on any given day who may have been in an accident or been diagnosed. How would life would change, yet again, if I were to find out another someone I loved was dead? But I am also full of hope, reaching for what's to come and what joy and adventure I have in the people and places that are defining and will continue to define much of my life. I am not convinced that this would be the case had my eyes, my heart, remained griefless.

In this week's issue of New York Magazine, Cristina Nehring writes beautifully on death and its best effects (my title is her subtitle):

For death is not merely a scourge and scoundrel; he’s a teacher. For centuries he has taught poets and peasants alike to ‘seize the day,’ as the phrase goes: to live more intently and intensely and to love more gratefully, generously, vocally, and urgently. Death teaches us to write letters to absent parents, like O’Rouke—or to absent daughters and husbands, like Joan Didion...If we’re lucky, death even teaches us to write love poetry while those we cherish are still at our sides...life at any length can be rich...Every object—and every life—is beautified by an awareness of boundaries. It is not because a haiku is shorter than a novel that it is inferior. Mortality, is no butcher. He may, in fact, be an artist.

summer children

2011-04-17T23:52:00.000-04:00

The air smelled of freshly-cut grass and summer evenings of tag in the neighbors’ yards.

Bare feet.

Those dusks always happened barefooted, and I am sure that then was when my feet were cleanest. What’s unclean about good, real earth?

2011-04-17T19:56:00.001-04:00

"softness and illumination"

2011-03-26T00:10:00.000-04:00

Tonight I went a little crazy editing a personal essay (for my own enjoyment!), and researching all the yoga classes I can take the upcoming weeks. Particularly after we pull of this dance show April 9th...

New adventure plan for the sometime-future: an exotic yoga retreat.

The Want of Peace

2011-03-22T23:49:00.000-04:00

All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman's silence
receiving the river's grace,
the gardener's musing on rows.

I lack the peace of simple things.
I am never wholly in place.
I find no peace or grace.
We sell the world to buy fire,
our way lighted by burning men,
and that has bent my mind
and made me think of darkness
and wish for the dumb life of roots.

Wendell Berry

2011-03-15T23:45:00.000-04:00

2011-03-10T02:29:00.000-05:00

I am itching to live. Yes, I know, the fact that I am writing seems to be an indicator that I am "living", so I'm sure someone would like to respond by telling me that that particular itch is in the process of being scratched. I'm not dead; I'm alive. I'm rather aware of that, thank you.

But really, I am dying to live. All this time indoors with my head in books, or in laptop (sounds so unromantic compared to books, but don't most of our twenty-first century luxuries ultimately sound unromantic?), and all this reading and talking and grading and learning is good and lovely. More good and lovely than I allow myself to revel in.

And maybe it's because the opportunity--bloomability!--is ever filling up my whole line of vision--peripherals and all!--but I need to get out and into the fields of France, the mountains of Switzerland, the air of country. See things and learn things. Actually experience people and culture and love instead of philosophizing about each. Education is beautiful, but real virtue and wisdom comes from active living, participating in this Creation we're given, doesn't it? And the more difficult it gets to participate, the more that's all I want to do.

See, I think I could really, honest-to-goodness LIVE in a place like this:

Right. Now.

2011-03-07T15:24:00.001-05:00

I watched a video on the best way to cut a pineapple for my little break from editing my Descartes paper this afternoon, and now all I can think about is how much I want pineapple.

forgiveness and flowery binding bands

2011-02-25T00:08:00.001-05:00

You know what else takes a lot of work? Forgiveness. I'm learning what forgiveness is. Or at least, I'm learning that I alone am fully incapable of it. Dependence is something that I must allow Him to teach me. More on that later. For now, poem memorization.

For tomorrow morning:

Endymion, Book I
John Keats (by the way, I still really want to see Bright Star. It's been at the top of my "films to-see" list for a while, now.)

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.

2011-02-24T20:04:00.000-05:00

"Nobody is born great. It takes work. Lots and lots of work. When I first started writing, I wondered if I had something special, if I could be like Steinbeck. I was hoping there was some magical ability within me that would shine out and get discovered. But these are foolish thoughts. The best way to get discovered is to work very hard, very long hours and get good. People discover what is good."

[Donald Miller]

2011-02-17T00:53:00.001-05:00

Tonight, instead of reading for school (and it's Melville!), I did crafts, watched Grey's, made lunch, bought Burt's body wash and razors, went to Red Mango, went swing dancing, watched more Grey's, and walked around my empty apartment picking things up and looking out the windows.
What is wrong with me?

4B6

2011-02-07T10:42:00.001-05:00

Nearly three years had passed, but I didn’t need to look at the outer right arm of that couch to know that the burn mark we tried so desperately to hide was still there. It wasn’t our fault, the discolored piece of furniture was already sitting in the apartment when we got there, I swear. I don’t know why we tried to cover it up. All the bed skirts and sheets thrown over the slouchy sofa in the old photos look so haphazard—not whimsical like I must’ve thought they would.
The new freshmen keep it even messier this year. I didn’t mind the mess so much that first year in New York, but my best friend did. She stayed up all night cleaning and Cloroxing. I hated that smell. Now—although I am still morally opposed to Clorox—I understand. In the apartment above the diner I keep it clean because I want it cozy and comfortable. It’s my home and the longer life goes on (and damnit, does it ever) the more I see the value, necessity really, in really creating your home, just like you create a life for yourself. All good things come from this deliberate intention, I’m convinced. I’m choosing to build a properly-ordered life. I’m choosing to love. I’m choosing to forgive. I’m choosing Him. I’m choosing to create. A home. Even if that means relocating and reshaping my home in three different neighborhoods of Manhattan in three years. Funny, really, that that first apartment is still more home than any other in New York. I wish I’d known that then.

2011-01-14T00:28:00.000-05:00

Especially among Christians in positions of wealth and power, the idea of reading the Gospels and keeping Jesus' commandments as stated therein has been replaced by a curious process of logic. According to this process, people first declare themselves to be followers of Christ, and then they assume that whatever they say or do merits the adjective "Christian."

Lord, may this disgraceful reality apply specifically to me less and less until it can no more.

I haven't read Wendell Berry's Blessed Are the Peacemakers: Christ's Teachings of Love, Compassion, and Forgiveness yet, but it has quickly jumped to the top of my list--in fact, most all of his writing has.

Winter Solstice

2011-01-13T23:47:00.000-05:00

Another favourite moment of Winter 2010: being woken up at 2am to lay on the frozen ground with the family and blankets and watch the Winter Solstice lunar eclipse. Rumor has it that the last time one occurred was when Jesus was alive...or something.

2011-01-13T18:51:00.000-05:00

It's also worth mentioning that over this break I finally finished the seventh, and last, season of Gilmore Girls. Seven seasons, nine months.

Winter Revival

2011-01-12T23:48:00.001-05:00

Winter holiday has been long and luxurious in ways that only impossibly busy and masochisticly "yes"-prone people could understand. I arrived home on the 16th of December and won't be back in the city until the 15th of January. And it's the feet of snow blizzarded down on New York that I have to thank for my three, extra, transitional days.
Even amoung all the driving and visiting, exploring and adventuring, moving and shaking, there have been countless precious moments of sitting and planning and reading and writing and being. I've read A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Sex, Economy, Freedom, & Community, The Merchant of Venice, the beginning of The Prince, excerpts from Leaves of Gold, The Bible (one year plan. finally. And yes, I've hyperlinked the Bible--that's the new one I chose!), and even Master Your Metabolism.

This time has also been reflective as well as framing. What kind of person have I presented to the world this last year? Am I content with this? How do I want the next semester and year to be different from the last? What must I do to ensure these changes? All of this is somewhat exhausting, time and brain-consuming, but I've always been a determined person, and I am determined to succeed beyond how I ever have before this year. I could go on and on about what this "success" looks like, which would probably be helpful considering the extent to which such a term is thrown around in modern society, but it can all be summed up in my need to become more Godly and graceful. If what I do will fit under these descriptions, I will be successful. I will be happy.

December and January have not been only for introspection, though. Life would not be up to par without a few adventures here and there (or everywhere).
(Spending 24 hours in the car to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Staying home and actually relaxing all Christmas day. New Years Eve in DC and Baltimore. Applying for and dreaming about my dream job. Visiting Seattle for the first time and falling in love. With Gig Harbor and Queen Anne also. Marveling at the Puget Sound. Seeing the most magnificent sunrise that exists--it was over Mount Rainier. Thinking of how incredible it would be to climb all 14,000 feet of that mountain. Getting snowed into Virginia for three extra days. And the resulting Amtrak ticket--I love trains!)

Questing

2011-01-01T14:21:00.004-05:00

I didn't realize how joyful I'd be to welcome in 2011 until the last few hours of 2010. 2010 had its good (and great) parts--a New York summer with my best friend, Real Simple, Appalachian trail hiking, the end of my junior year, new friends, new neighborhoods--but mostly I am looking forward to the next twelve months and saving the looking back for some unspecified time in the future. Actually, I'll say I partook in enough retrospection of the year while it was occurring (retrospection while it was occurring? Is that possible? Years are long. I say yes.) to last me a lifetime.

2011 holds beauty, joy, adventure, friendship, grace, fulfillment, New York, Montpellier, and Lugano (fingers crossed!), and I couldn't be more excited! It's no longer so much about leaving the past behind, but embracing what's to come--and the future's unknowability. Yet it is still purposed. He promises it.

There are many, many words I'd like to use to define my upcoming year, but seeing as one of my main writing critiques has always been wordiness, and new beginnings seem like they should inspire all sorts of improvement and self-betterment, I'm going to limit myself to one mot juste:

purpose

purpose in schoolwork, purpose in friendships, purpose in the pursuit of faith and God, purpose in love, purpose everything I choose to do, purpose in every single one of my quotidien choices, purpose in identity
And right now I understand my purpose as needing to discover God's purpose for me in all of these things and beyond.

Here's to the quest of a lifetime!

Leaves of Gold I

2010-12-25T19:18:00.001-05:00

Such as do not grow in grace, decay in grace. There is no standing at a stay in religion, either we go forward or backward; if faith does not grow, unbelief will; if heavenly mindedness doth not grow, covetousness will. A man that doth not increase his stock diminisheth it; if you do not improve your stock of grace, your stock with decay. The angels on Jacob's ladder were either ascending or descending; if you do not ascend in religion, you descend.
T. Watson

(Who is T. Watson?)

2010-11-25T23:38:00.000-05:00

This Thursday has long been a favourited day of the year. There are no unneeded garnishes of trees, sky fires, hearts, and things. Family and things to eat are all we really need--family can be of all sorts and the things to eat should be good and whole.

Just be. I am a tired soul.

eight hundred-some miles

2010-11-20T16:22:00.000-05:00

My best friend writes the most beautiful letters that have ever existed between friends, I think. It is not an accident that her second name is Grace.
She writes the kindest words to me, expressing sentiments I surely do not deserve, but which strengthen me still.
"You are the most resilient woman I know, and your loveliness transcends the empty ambition and backwards, shallow capacity for love displayed by those around you."
If only we all believed that to be a little more true than we must (clearly, through our actions, our lives), then maybe--just maybe--there would be a little less empty ambition and shallow love in this world, making the idea truer and truer.

2010-11-07T18:12:00.002-05:00

Tonight for dinner, I cooked apples with cheddar and made tomato basil soup with cayenne pepper.
Here's to the end of a cold!

2010-10-14T21:49:00.000-04:00

Greek figged yogurt and sea salted dark chocolate are the newest reflections of good, pure taste.

hallelujah

2010-10-14T21:47:00.000-04:00

Every time I feel this way
This old familiar sinking
I will lay my troubles
Down by the water
Where the river
Will never run dry

Hallelujah Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted, I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Bye and bye
I will lay my troubles down by the water
Where the river will never run dry

It’s been said and I do believe
As you ask so shall you receive
So take from me these troubles
Bring me sweet release
Where the river will never run dry

Hallelujah Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted, I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Bye and bye
I will lay my troubles down by the water
Where the river will never run dry

There is a river
In this heart of hearts
With a knowingness
Of my highest good
I am willing
I will do my part
Where the river
Will never run dry

Hallelujah Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted, I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Hallelujah (I’m gonna let myself be lifted)
Bye and bye
I will lay my troubles down by the water
Where the river will never run dry

Where the river
Will never run dry
This river
Will never run dry

2010-09-25T22:57:00.002-04:00

I miss the days on decks and the naps in hammocks, dripping those pool drops dry. Where did those starry nights go? Could never miss them, top-down driving with the lights flashing yellow all the way home. Virginian grass plenty and cool on my naked feet. New York green is condensed--maybe to make you new friends; they all want to sit on that last patch, but no one wants to be friends. Where were the crickets this year? September, October already, and I never heard a single cricket creak. This city left me with sounds of cars and work and work and never rest. The were no sunflowers after June. Just empty pots à fleurs. No lavender either, not in window boxes. My garden of herbs was never born on the fire escape.

2010-09-25T22:55:00.001-04:00

I want to be surrounded by fields of lavender. To have wildflowers taking over boxes hanging outside my windows. Give me a rustic kitchen and natural, raw sustenance to make art out of. A comforter made of clouds and a warm hearth for cozying close and full. The curtains in the windows will flutter sheer as day, romantic as dusk. And don't forget that moment (it's fleeting enough) just to lie outside, warmed by the sun, basked in the shine, contented in my soul. When I grow up I want to be happy.

prologues

2010-09-21T00:04:00.002-04:00

Why shouldn’t I crawl into sleep at dusk instead of staying up ‘til the dawning parallel, despairing my way into further oblivion? Good morning, sky. Break open shining like the yolk of a cracked egg...prologue to sunrise.

2010-09-15T17:36:00.000-04:00

I am trying to determine the best translation of the Bible before I buy a beautiful new one that will make me never want to put it down.

last retreat

2010-09-12T23:16:00.002-04:00

None of us wanted the tears. Some of us wanted to be broken. Others wanted just to remember what it was like to be whole. I felt love. Love thick and whole. I felt hope. Hope in the saving grace of my G-d. I felt pain. I still felt pain. Heart-shattering and body-shaking. I felt peace. Peace in knowing He has good for me. He has me for good. I was broken. I am broken.

But He said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

2010-09-10T07:39:00.000-04:00

mix that garden into those eggs and wash it down with juices orange peach and mango

2010-09-07T22:44:00.001-04:00

Yellow flowers are happiest--that's why I am drawn to sunflowers, and daffodils too, because Mimi was. Sunshine is always something to smile about, I think, and something to bask in. Yet I love a good rain--just like a good cry, but don't expect me to want to show you tears (although inevitably I will). I will never buy a smoothie--I like to drink nature so only mom's or mine will do. Taste one; you'll know. I wanderlust. What is it to go and settle? What draws contentedness best? I'll save the world, one breath at a time. Sometimes I think I've opened all these doors just to walk away from them, outside where there aren't doors, just life. Goat cheese, creamy and tart, is delectable rosemaryed. Montpelier and I were meant to meet, and there I will learn the art of taste. Là, je fleurirai. I used to catch fireflies and put them in jars during those warm, grass-stained, Virginian summer nights. The holes we poked in the lids were so they could breathe. They all still died, one by one until the last butt stopped lighting. The garden's tomatoes were firmest those days. Jordan knew it too. We saved dandelions from the lawn mower--the same creating machine of the unmistakable fresh-cut green fragrance of acres of yard. Those yellow, happy flowers. You can't save all the happiness from the lawn mower. New York City exhilarates and exhausts me.

2010-09-06T00:01:00.001-04:00

The quest for grace means staying away from you. At least for now, imaginably forever.

2010-08-30T00:00:00.001-04:00

Ground flaxseed and berries blended is all too reminiscent of high school dawns and Daniel days. What does it mean to be "all too" anything? This time, it is good.
Mom makes smoothies best.

2010-08-25T23:42:00.000-04:00

I am thrilled that, despite my malfunctioning Quicken, I can still keep track of my checking and other finances in excel spreadsheets!
Someone needs to teach me all the tricks of this thing.

2010-08-21T23:35:00.003-04:00

i wish to live deliberately. thoughtlessness leaves the mind and soul idle--yielding to the body's whim and whim again all the while my heart stays hurting

volatile are the thoughtless and unintentional. these mistakes manifest in the scars on my soul, sorrowing and strengthening simultaneously. summer weights me heavy, like you once did

one day i will love again and he will know my scars and know me all the more, but this day i choose idle choicelessnes no more--see my steps onward (always onward) with awareness and intention

2010-08-08T23:59:00.000-04:00

Summer afternoon…the two most beautiful words in the English language.

Henry James sees into my soul.
If I can't be on the water in Puerto Vallarta, I'll take the less scorching, but equally as bright, sun shining over grassy Central Park with a good book any day.

2010-08-08T21:18:00.000-04:00

Suffering and pain are always obligatory for a broad consciousness and a deep heart. Truly great men, I think, must feel great sorrow in this world.
[Raskolnikov in Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment]

This scene and conversation between Raskolnikov and Porfiry in Part III is where an already engrossing great novel just became that much more captivating.

Orange Juice and Arms

2010-07-27T10:53:00.000-04:00

Young moms have great arms. All that toting around small children that don't feel so small after an hour with them in your arms really does something for a woman's upper body physique.
But once the child passes the toddler stage of constantly being picked up and carried around, how does one maintain that strength?

Orange juice.

Any mom that regularly works to make absolutely fresh-squeezed orange juice for a family will always have beautifully shaped and strong arms. And will need an orange grove in her backyard.

2010-07-27T02:18:00.001-04:00

Where does the love go? Where do you put it??

...and then it all becomes this big, stupid tragedy.

It's nights like these that make sense of things by talking through the senselessness of everything.

Delightful Décor: Baroque Bookshelves

2010-07-21T23:52:00.005-04:00

I really, really want these bookshelves from Graham & Green in my first, even semi-permanent, apartment with space for them.

2010-07-20T22:34:00.002-04:00

You would look at the man one day and you would think, I loved you, and the tense would be past, and you would be filled with a sense of wonder, because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done.

2010-07-17T20:04:00.003-04:00

Did anyone else know you can fish in the middle of Manhattan?

And they'll give you a rod and bait for the day for free.

2010-07-14T23:46:00.003-04:00

“Not only is every life worth writing about, but...writing...is a healing and developmental process for the writer. There is something precious in the telling of every tale.”

A Tree Full of Angels

2010-07-13T14:22:00.001-04:00

All too often we bemoan our imperfections rather than embrace them as part of the process in which we are brought to God. Cherished emptiness gives God space in which to work. We are pure capacity for God. Let us not, then, take our littleness lightly. It is a wonderful grace. It is a gift to receive. At the same time, let us not get trapped in the confines of our littleness, but keep pushing on to claim our greatness. Remind yourself often, “I am pure capacity for God; I can be more.

[Macrina Wiederkehr]

2010-07-11T22:47:00.001-04:00

Wanderlusting.

2010-07-11T00:24:00.002-04:00

This was the view out my window when I lived in Paris. There's just something about prettily painted shutters that's so quaint and homey. I want painted shutters someday. And flower boxes.
All of the above in France would be lovely, too.

2010-07-10T16:17:00.001-04:00

"So Grandpa, what's new in the world today?"

"As usual, it's going to hell in a hand basket."

"It's nice to have something you can always count on."

2010-07-08T17:49:00.000-04:00

Tree House Hotels?!

Yes, please!! Why aren't there more of these?

Milan Kundera

2010-07-07T21:34:00.001-04:00

This symmetrical composition—the same motif appears at the beginning and at the end—may seem quite “novelistic” to you, and I am willing to agree, but only on condition that you refrain from reading such notions as “fictive,” “fabricated,” and “untrue to life” into the word “novelistic.” Because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion.
They are composed like music. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms a fortuitous occurrence (Beethoven’s music, death under a train) into a motif, which then assumes a permanent place in the composition of the individual’s life. Anna could have chosen another way to take her life. But the motif of death and the railway station, unforgettably bound to the birth of love, enticed her in her hour of despair with its dark beauty. Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of greatest distress.
It is wrong, then, to chide the novel for being fascinated by mysterious coincidences (like the meeting of Anna, Vronsky, and the railway station, and death or the meeting of Beethoven, Tomas, Tereza, and the cognac), but it is right to chide man for being blind to such coincidence in his daily life. For he thereby deprives his life of a dimension of beauty.

2010-07-02T12:06:00.004-04:00

I'm lucky. So much of my time at work is spent blog-browsing, searching for inspiration for home design and organization, weddings, gifts, and interesting new products.

I always find beautiful photos and ideas with which I inevitably fill my email inbox up as I send them to myself to remember.
Here is a wedding party photo that particularly struck me:

(seen at: http://www.forgetmeknotweddingsblog.com/2010/06/real-wedding-sarah-andrew.html)

And did I mention that I would really, really like to venture into the cake creating business? How cool would it be to be able to make homemade wedding cakes for my friends--or myself?!

I love the idea of decorating with herbs and flowers:

20

2010-06-28T17:12:00.002-04:00

My third decade of existence began on Saturday.
And I hope it foreshadowed what the next many, many years will be like as it was one of the more fantastic, problem-free, stress-free, happy days I've had in a while.

I went to sleep on the early side the night before, and then woke up to go meet one of my very best friends for brunch down in the L.E.S. Nolita House has been one of my favourite places in the city since just a few months after making the move, but I had never been to their bluegrass brunch on the weekend. It was delicious and fun and reminiscent of our spring break AT hiking trip!

After brunch, we walked a few blocks down to Lydia's apartment, which I had yet to see since she moved in this summer. On the way, we stumbled upon a 'garage sale' and I picked up a great, big, antique mirror with a wooden, white frame and two smaller, empty brown frames. I think they'll be perfect for the wall above my couch that has been glaring at me in all its vast emptiness for the past month.
When we got to Lydia's apartment around the corner, I was slightly surprised considering the false, negative reviews I'd heard from other people. It's in one of my favourite neighborhoods, there's plenty of space in the living and kitchen area, and a decent one-person-sized bedroom, in my humble New York opinion. Loved it.

Lydia went off to work, and I walked down to SoHo to meet Amie and do some Topshop shopping courtesy of my dad. Unfortunately--and surprisingly--Topshop was less successful that usual, but walking through SoHo on such a beautiful day was simply enjoyable anyway.

In the evening, I met up with a lovely, new friend for delicious popsicles in the village, which turned into a five hour night of great conversation and getting to know a very interesting person.

When I got back home for the evening, I shared Red Velvet cake that my parents and Lydia had so secretly orchestrated ordering with a few friends.

Welcome to adulthood. I like it.

Books Before 20: I'm almost 20!

2010-06-25T23:06:00.003-04:00

So I originally wanted to read 5 books before I turned 20. Well, I have approximately 7 hours until I'm officially 20 (6:06 AM), and I have read 4 books since whenever I started this venture. I'm in the middle of Virginia Woolf's Jacob's Room...and have been for the past month or so. For some reason, I'm really having trouble getting into that book. But I haven't yet given up!
Anyway, I did read an article while I was at the beach Memorial Day weekend that really struck my interest. So, as my fifth piece, I'd like to offer up "The Power of Story" from Sojourners May 2010 issue, written by Katherine Paterson.
She discusses her belief that our world is sorely lacking in wisdom, compassion, and love and respect for ourselves and others, and that all of these deficiencies are related to society's lack of reading and relating through the written word.
Through reading, one can really draw the reader's attention, knowledge, compassion, and even action toward worthy causes, or at least toward worthy character.
The little dek of the story is: "Reading may not change the world--but it changes the reader, and that's a start."

I simply found Paterson's whole take and presentation on the ever-increasing importance of reading as we have an ever-decreasing love for it very intriguing and very persuasive. It's even more reason to pursue my writing and make it accessible and relatable, and use it for the betterment of the reader. However, I don't think this comes through the intention of improving the reader--it comes through well-written prose derived from the heart and hard-work.

Books Before 20 #4: The Secret Lives of People in Love

2010-06-25T22:47:00.006-04:00

“When a person is loved, they are granted the strength of all seas.”

Simon Van Booy writes the entire collection of stories beautifully in this book. This is actually my roommate's book, but its title piqued my interest from our bookshelves, and I couldn't help myself. Although I found the reading a little slow in some of the pieces, the stories were wonderfully all-too-realistic, broaching the many heart-wrenching facets of love and love lost.
I particularly enjoyed his creation of urban-international characters ranging from Germany, to Poland, to Paris, to California, and, of course, New York.
One of the most mind-imprinting stories for me was an especially short, two-pager description of a French artist's (this part of her identity only gleaned from the title of the essay) death--her thoughts and experience as she lay trapped under cement in darkness. You see the bits of her life that must've been part of the 'flash' right before death consumer her.

So many people have realities that we--for some reason--only believe really exist in stories like this that we read. We rarely stop to consider the possibility that the person we just cut-off on the sidewalk in our rush to catch the train (4 minutes after which another identical one will come) is separated from their family, or is the only surviving member, or is raising the daughter of his love who abandoned them both. If we saw people more often for who they are, or just might be, the world would see much more peace I am convinced. We are sadly selfish.

“I wonder if things can happen too early or too late or if everything happens at exactly the right time. If so, how sad and beautiful.”
152

Books Before 20 #3:Here is New York

2010-06-13T17:16:00.003-04:00

I finally read one of the books that's been on my to-read list for far too long: E.B. White's Here is New York.
This book is really just his collection of thoughts and observations about the city that ring so incredible true having lived here for almost two years now. It was a quick read, which encourages me to flip through it again soon--probably even before summer is out.
New York is just such an intriguing and diverse place, it's always fascinating to read others' perspectives of it, particularly from different decades.
I'll never be bored of this city. Perhaps one day I'll be ready to move on, or maybe just take a break, but the man who says he is bored of New York or that he has seen it all is a liar.

A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive.

Dear Avocado Toast

2010-06-11T08:55:00.003-04:00

Dear Avocado Toast,

Thank you for being so unbelievably delicious, particularly on end pieces of bread.

Love,
Ariana

and also....

Dear Circles & Timing,

Thank you for coming around fully and making sense in the end. At least partly enough to more than satisfy.

Love love love,
Ariana

2010-06-02T16:35:00.003-04:00

It's good to be back :)
And even better to be living in my first real apartment with only one wonderful roommate!
Yesterday was a crazy moving day. Drove up to the city with my parents and we spent hours putting together the bed, wardrobe (our bedroom has no closet...apparently in Virginia it couldn't legally be considered a bedroom!), and organizing galore. After finally trying the renowned 5 Napkin Burger, my parents didn't get to start the trek back home until about 8 pm. Long day! I have such the best parents :)

This morning I ran around the city a bit shopping for shelving, hooks, curtain rods, and other odds and ends. This afternoon, I put all the purchases together and made myself into a handywoman. Photos of the place to come when it's finally organized to its full potential! I already love Hell's Kitchen.

Tonight, off to see some good friends new apartment in the Financial District and going for a lovely stroll to Brooklyn Bridge Park.
This city is always beautiful, but summertime is particularly magnificent.

2010-05-21T21:38:00.002-04:00

and death is at your doorstep [again]
and it will steal your innocence, [again]
but it will not steal your substance [never]

give a little love

2010-05-17T23:44:00.001-04:00

my love is my whole being

The Beginnings of a Poet: 4th Grade

2010-05-16T23:40:00.002-04:00

Ha my grandma found this poem of mine from a decade ago and sent it to my mom--I knew I loved horses, but never knew I had such eloquence in expressing my affections for them:

They run through the fields
wild and free. Jumping and
grazing how can that be.

Neighing and whining the
noises they make. Some are
real, & some are fake.

They are so beautiful with
long flowing hair. When one
is a mom it is called a mare.

Just like you & I they
wear shoes. You can tell when
they have the blues.

Their head hangs low, their
face is smug. They feel much
better after a hug.

They love to eat oats,
barley, & hay. And I love when
they nuzzle at the end of the
day.

Oh, I love horses so very
much. I love how they feel
when them I touch.

2010-05-15T23:37:00.004-04:00

smooth cool green blades grow between my toes
hardly
I run
ruffling the air to rustle the maytime grass
new trees to fill my childhood yard
make it breathable
breatheeee
fresh
scraped skin
must've been the baby branches
"wipe that dirt off your shin!"
dirty feet are summer's symptom

Dear Beautiful Day

2010-05-15T16:41:00.002-04:00

Dear Beautiful Day,
Thank you for being beautiful and shining down buckets of warm, browning sunshine on my skin.
Love,
Ariana

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume V

2010-05-14T00:06:00.001-04:00

We...write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it...to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth.

design and decorate!

2010-05-13T20:56:00.006-04:00

Mom and I went on another nice, long walk today into town. We ended up checking out this new adorable little home consignment store on Church Street and had quite a bit of luck! We bought our items, but had to leave them there until we could walk the few miles back home and bring the car back for them.

I found this beautiful, old, rustic-looking painted shutter, which I think will look great hung over our bedroom window in Amie's and my new apartment:

I had just been talking about how I'd like to find a really pretty basket to use for produce in my kitchen this year, and then we stumbled across these tiered baskets--and for a great deal!

Finally, I scooped up two "flower jars" that could pehaps be hung out from a wall or even just set upon a table and filled with flowers, or even a candle. Lovely.

Plenty of other furniture pieces or decorative items caught my eye, but a girl can only purchase so many additions to her home before she even starts moving in--especially when it's for a New York apartment, which can easily shrink in size once you start filling her up with things--no matter how vintage, rustic, elegant, or precious they are.

The shop we were in today is called REfind (a cute, clever name!) and their blog showcases a lot of the great stuff they have on any given day:
http://refindconsignment.blogspot.com/

honeysuckle

2010-05-12T16:51:00.002-04:00

I plucked and tasted two sweet honeysuckles on the walk home from the flower market today.

Mom and I walked into town with our wagon to pick up some plantable herbs, vegetables, zebra grass, and yellow flowers, and walking back home I couldn't resist the yellow and white little flowers hanging over the sidewalk, right in front of my face.

When I was a child, I remember having difficulty sometimes pulling out the little stem with the drop of honey on it without losing the honey somewhere in between it's protrusion from the bottom of the bud and my lips. As I got older, I prided myself on being one of the neighborhood kids who could get that honey without a problem--thanks to all the practice our backyard tree, David, gave me.
This morning, my years of practice paid off again. Mmmm.

2010-05-11T20:27:00.001-04:00

I want so to live that I work with my hands and my feeling and my brain. I want a garden, a small house, grass, animals, books, pictures, music. And out of this, the expression of this, I want to be writing (Though I may write about cabmen. That’s no matter.) But warm, eager, living life — to be rooted in life — to learn, to desire, to feel, to think, to act. This is what I want. And nothing less. That is what I must try for.

[Katherine Mansfield]

Vienna waits for you

2010-05-10T19:45:00.004-04:00

Well, I've been back home in Virginia for just over two days now. It's May and sunny, but I still had to wear a sweatshirt on my walk around town with Mom this morning.
So far my summer life has consisted of sleeping, eating real, healthy meals again, and slowly unpacking and dispersing my way-too-many possessions. I swore that I would move back to New York at the end of this month with half as much stuff, and by God's grace I intend to follow through!

I can't wait to see my friend, Danielle, this weekend and support her new charity, FashionEastA, on the quest to downsize my closet. (http://fashionforeastafrica.com/).
For $100, she'll come and go through my entire wardrobe with me, working to create more outfits and eliminating everything that doesn't belong or isn't needed or wanted anymore. All that we get rid of will be sold to a consignment store. All the proceeds from the consultation fee and the consignment sales will go toward an orphanage in Uganda: The Green House, which is run by two native Ugandans who were orphaned themselves. They began the orphanage when they were eighteen and twenty-one and now have over 50 orphans children residing with them.

It's going to be a restful and peaceful few weeks here--in my own room, with a yard, and my family, in the town I grew up in. As anxious as I was to move out and get into Manhattan--and as anxious as I feel now sometimes to get out of the city, or the States--there's always something very comfortable, and comforting, about returning to your beginnings.
I'm especially grateful as I know those who are returning to houses they've never called home since their parents moved into them after they left for college, and as I have a friend returning to his hometown without any definite place to stay due to circumstance.
So:

Dear Vienna,

Thank you for being the place I grew up and still being the place I return to to be with my family for now. Especially after such a tumultuous last 2 years, it's particularly kind of you to allow me to recharge for life here with those that have always been with me and always will be.

Love,
Ariana

It'll also be nice to have this time at home to get some more writing and reading done that I've been trying to do for months, but, without fail, it always gets pushed to the wayside during the semester.

At the end of the month though, I'm headed back up to the city to move into my new apartment in Hell's Kitchen with my new roommate! It's beautiful, and of course, the best part is the beautiful, brand new kitchen. I don't intend to ever stop cooking once I get settled in there :).

Discovery of the Day: http://thxthxthx.com/

2010-05-09T23:11:00.003-04:00

I think such grateful expressions of self are well-worth emulating! So here's my first one:

Dear Trader Joe's Fennel, Propolis, and Myrrh Antiplaque Toothpaste,

Thank you for tasting like sweet, black licorice and somehow still allowing my whole mouth to feel fresh and clean after brushing with you.

Love,
Ariana

2010-05-02T22:38:00.002-04:00

It would appear that something went horribly wrong. But I have to trust that it's for some horribly beautiful reason.

"This is what the past is for! Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see."
[Corrie Ten Boom]

for the last time, I'm not your mother. and I was only 19; I'm still a firefly

2010-04-27T22:42:00.002-04:00

Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.
Hans Christian Anderson

In just over a week, I will have space and time enough to relearn what sunshine and freedom are! And I intend to do so with with a little flower as well. Or many little flowers. Perhaps a big flower or two. I do love flowers. And I'll go on to relearn the art of writing what I want to write instead of simply posting quotes that I find quite lovely.

2010-04-14T00:31:00.001-04:00

And as to God, we must remember that the soul is but a hollow which God fills. Its union with God is, almost by definition, a continual self-abandonment--an opening, an unveiling, a surrender, of itself.

Oh, Lewis's eloquence.

2010-04-11T01:41:00.001-04:00

I always forget how much I like the feel of a new, fresh toothbrush on my gums until I buy a new one.

yes, yes you did, my dear

2010-04-07T17:17:00.001-04:00

tremble for yourself, my man,
you know that you have seen this all before
tremble little lion man,
you'll never settle any of your score
your grace is wasted in your face,
your boldness stands alone among the wreck
learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck

page 159

2010-04-06T23:40:00.001-04:00

"A big heart is both a clunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through."
[Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird]