Lately

I've been working hard on new items for the shop, and I'm getting excited about the big reveal. I'm planning it for the beginning of March, with possibly some Valentine's Day items up before then. It can be difficult, juggling a full time job with a side business (and now a second job—at an ice cream shop!), but I'm hoping this is the year I can figure out a balance. I had a couple big milestones in 2014 (my first sale! finally getting serious and ordering business cards!), and I'm ready for 2015 to be the year that I create (and meet) tangible goals for myself and my business. One of them is to share more here and document this time in life.

Resurfacing.

I welcomed the New Year in the company of old close friends and acquaintances, bonded by this biennial gathering in Saratoga Springs, NY. I was coming off a refilling week in Georgia with my family, despite going to bed late and waking up with the sun. We stayed up until 4AM playing Clue with my sister, brother-in-law, and their friends! Their children were all asleep in various piles in the living room while we feverishly tried to figure out who, where, and with what.

This year started with no less anticipation or genuine excitement for a clean slate, however manufactured, mental, or arbitrary. So here we are, starting again. Not sure how we ended up with a new year after the last one had seemingly just begun, but isn't that the mark of getting older? Mike and I were watching Friends the other night (on Netflix! We're in the future!), and Chandler said something about being 29 and not being ashamed of enjoying going to bed earlier than he did at 21. (Though he mentioned nothing of still having roommates at almost-30?) The last time I watched this show, I was in high school, unable to imagine ever being 29, let alone ever being on the cusp of 29, living with my boyfriend of four years, my college days getting ever smaller in the rearview. So many people made jokes about it being the year of the hoverboard, but it is a little strange to be here. We are living the future that had always felt too far to dream about. What does it look like? What will it look like? Hopefully not just a speck to the girl five years from now, in a winter far ahead and just around the corner.

Reading | Delancey & A Homemade Life

I think my favorite new genre is the cookbook as memoir. I've been reading, simultaneously, Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life and Delancey. The other afternoon at the library, while picking up a book I'd put on reserve, I grabbed one of the cookbooks from the metal cart right next to the checkout desk, as has become my tradition. In weeks past, it was The Vegan Scoop and Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream at Home. This week it was Dinner: A Love Story. I haven't made anything from these cookbooks yet, but I've found myself wanting to spend more time in the kitchen. Rather than poring over Pinterest to find a new recipe, I've been using tried-and-true base recipes as jumping off points and getting creative.

I suspect I like these kinds of books for the same reasons I enjoy blogs (in fact, I'm reading Molly Wizenberg's books as a result of being a long-time reader of her blog, Orangette). They delve into the daily and the mundane in a way that makes it seem less humdrum and more of an art. In the way that Martha Stewart made meticulous planning seem necessary to entertain, this genre and its authors are stripping those airs away.

It's strange for me to read about people who come to cooking later in life. Growing up it felt like we were always cooking, always preparing for the next meal. Now that she's older, my mom is a fan of cooking all day so we can have food for the days that follow, but when we were younger, I remember her most clearly in front of the stove, all of us kids fluttering around her asking to help. So many of our pictures include my sister and I, elbows deep in flour and sugar, standing on our dining room chairs cutting out sugar cookies. One of our favorites is of me standing and staring in awe while my sister Bea operates the Easy Bake Oven, my NKOTB t-shirt reaching my knees. I'm grateful to be able to say that as far back as I can remember, there have always been home cooked meals, big messes, and piles of dishes.

These days, my mom and I spend the majority of our phone calls recounting our meals to one another, planning menus for my next visit home. These aren't fancy meals. Often, we're talking about how we buy bananas just so they can rot and we can make banana bread—the same recipe she's been making for us since I was a toddler. I bought two single slice packs of Spam on sale at Target the other day, and I can't wait to call and tell her about the musubi we plan to make with it. For Mother's Day, Bea and I went in on a charcoal grill and all the accoutrements so she could make her famous ribs and marinated chicken. She cried when they unveiled it to her.

When I read the first 20 or so pages of Dinner: A Love Story, I started to see these early days of Mike and me living together as I might 10 years from now—the start of tradition, of ritual. Our weekly meal planning and grocery trips, our monthly BJs hauls, our sporadic and often fruitless attempts at couponing, our little green card catalog on top of the fridge that holds our favorite recipes scribbled on index cards. These are the beginnings of what will be the backdrop of our family's daily lives; no matter where we live or work, these are the things we will always do, a sense of routine we can rely on no matter what life throws at us.

I'm so happy to see a celebration of the power of food. There have been a lot of books and documentaries about the harmful and destructive aspects of the food industry, and I think these stories—Molly's and otherwise—are a way to reclaim the nourishing and positive powers of gathering some friends, fresh ingredients, and eating.

Around here | Spring edition.

Have I shown you how our camera wall has grown? I first wrote about it when I started this blog, and it was a humble six cameras. Since then, we've kept collecting vintage cameras and interesting frames, and every once in a while when Mike is feeling crafty, he adds to it. We've joked that one day it's going to extend onto the ceiling, but looking at these pictures, that joke may become a reality if we live here much longer.

When we first moved in together, I realized how much stuff Mike has. He's a big collector. The past seven months, he's been actively getting rid of things that he doesn't need or love, making room for the things that he does love. We also have a display wall of his View Masters, but I'll share that another time...

I'm going out for a coworker's birthday tonight, and I decided to give Joy the Baker's latest cookie recipe a try for the celebration. They're pretty incredible (but again, what with "double chocolate" in the title isn't?). 

We've been on a major Spring cleaning tear lately. Just beyond this photograph are bins and boxes that Mike's going to sell at a flea market and put into storage. Our apartment is a good size for us now, but we're making an effort to make it more spacious by parting with things that don't really fit this space. 

These little succulents have been threatening to die for a few months now, but ever since I moved them to the kitchen window and have backed off on watering them, they've slowly been looking better.

And this guy. He doesn't complain much until I forgot to water him for ohhhhh about a month. (What! And people want me to get a dog?!) But after two straight weeks of keeping him watered and in the shifting sunny spots around the house, he's starting to look more like himself again. 

Don't let the sunshine in these pictures fool you—we're back down to the 30s and 40s this week, but I'm thankful for at least some warmth when the wind isn't blowing.

On weddings.

By the end of this year, a good percentage of my closest friends will be married. It blows my mind a little that the season we talked about in hypotheticals is now upon us. Bridesmaids dresses, bachelorette parties, gifts! And then there's the mental preparation for such a shift. I find that the abstract shifts are the ones that require the most mental preparation. These changes aren't marked by a new grade or title, but rather by the passing of the days all leading up to one.

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Did I tell you I'm officiating one of my very close friend's weddings? She asked me over gchat one day while we were at our respective jobs, discussing various details about her wedding. "Would you do it?" she typed. "Would you officiate our wedding?" A hot flash went over me—the excited nerves of being put on the spot.

There's something you should know: I'm known as a crier among my friends. It's become an inside joke (with more people on the inside than the outside), and through the years I've learned to own how easily I am moved to tears. This is what gave me pause when she asked me.

"Will you be able to do it without crying?" she joked.

"I would be honored to do that for you. If you wanted that, I would love to do it for you," I typed with clammy hands. We joked that we'll do a bunch of dry runs—her walking into a room wearing her wedding dress, music playing low while I sit watching her enter and re-enter until my eyes are dry.

This was several months ago, and the idea has become another detail of their upcoming wedding. I no longer get clammy hands at the thought of it, and I've begun researching how to become ordained (it's surprisingly easy). I've been watching wedding videos, reading wedding blogs, flipping through poetry books looking for any bit of inspiration where I can find it. I haven't written much more than a very rough draft, but I trust that all these little bits will come together in the end, much like the wedding itself.

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It's interesting to track the evolution of the language I use with my closest friends; the conversations we are having now that we have never had before. Over dinner and wine, Meg turned serious and said, "I'll want you to be my maid of honor." It had begun as a joke and suddenly we were in an emotional moment. She is not engaged, but there we were, planning her wedding.

This past weekend, people came into town for pre-wedding activities for our friend Nicole's wedding in July. Friday night was my second bachelorette party ever, and I found myself turning to Crysty and yelling over the music, "I feel like I'll never be this happy again!" We laughed at the absurdity of that sentence, at the idea of being the happiest I'll ever be at a drag show in a seedy-looking bar in the middle of Bay Village, but there was some truth in it, too. After college, we all drifted to our various chosen cities—some of us to several chosen cities since then—so these big life events are finally what has brought us all back together again and again.

When someone asks if I think Mike will propose anytime soon, I smile and say that I'm not sure, but I'm cherishing being fully present for this part of several of my friends' lives. I'm thankful that I'm not distracted or preoccupied by planning my own wedding so I can relish the anticipation of theirs. And the truth is, I want this phase in our lives to take its sweet time, for these reasons to keep bringing us all back to my living room, to Jenna's kitchen, to Jacque's Cabaret for as many years as possible. There's no rush as long as we're all together.

Journals | in the muck of winter

This weekend, we took advantage of the warmer temperatures and set out walking. We made big circles around our neighborhoods, taking the long way there, the long way back. Friends came for meals on Friday and Saturday, and we sat around chatting until it was passed our normal bedtime. We'd been binging on Breaking Bad the past few weeks and had caught up on Friday evening so we were TV-free all weekend. In the winter, it is so easy to fall into the routine of curling up on the couch with something good on television until it's time for bed. At the start, as Autumn closes, my energy is still up, and I make us tea or hot chocolate in the evenings; we curl up with books, under blankets, and hold hands to warm up. But as the winter drones on, I grow annoyed with the burden of finding the thickest socks, of making my way quickly from the warmth of bed to the questionable warmth of the shower, of drinking hot tea or coffee just to warm my fingers. At this point, we are just hanging on until it is over, braced against the wind and the snow, grabbing ice-slicked fences to steady ourselves on slippery sidewalks. I've been trying to be more mindful of the food I eat and how much activity I get in a day, but somedays all I want is a warm brownie with cold ice cream. Some nights—like last night—all I want for dinner is a hot baked potato with butter, cheese, and sour cream (fine, I used yogurt). I've been biding my time with yoga and home workouts, but this weekend was such a sweet reminder of what is to come. That this season is passing even as we are in it, and though my muscles are getting tired and my mind antsy of staying indoors for so long, this rest, too, is welcome and needed. Soon enough, the days will feel wasted inside, and I will find relief in a rainy or breezy day.

This morning, the light is noticeably brighter when we leave for work. The birds are noisy and have left a mess all over Mike's car. Even in the 20 degree weather, my face tucked into a scarf, I can see the beginnings of a spring that will usher this winter away.

How to enjoy the Super Bowl when you know nothing about football.

I was excited last week when multiple recipes for chicken wings popped up on my Bloglovin' feed. Just assuming it was a coincidence, I pinned a couple of them. Then, when Super Bowl squares went up for sale at work, I realized that it wasn't just the world catching up with my love of chicken wings—the big February football bash was imminent.

I unapologetically care nothing about football. College, professional, flag—I don't understand the rules and I don't really plan to anytime soon. Now, what I can get behind is a night of finger foods, beer, and the chance to randomly win some money. So I bought four squares, and planned to make some baked wings and "seven" layer dip. (I say "seven" because Mike doesn't like sour cream—I ended up using Greek yogurt anyway—so it was missing a layer, but delicious it still was.)

I started by making the Pioneer Woman's recipe for pico de gallo, then threw some of that in some mashed up avocados with lime juice. I'm telling you, if you're like me and always assumed you knew what you were doing with pico, just take a look. She gave me the courage to throw in way more cilantro than I've ever dared and I'm never going back. The equal parts of the ingredients takes it way beyond salsa. Try it.

Next up were the wings. I wanted to make something comparable to the ten cent wings we get down the street at Midwest Grill, except not deep fried. Tall order, huh? Apparently not for Joanne of Fifteen Spatulas. Her recipe for crispy baked chicken wings is hands down the best I've ever made, and actually pretty simple. Whether you're a chicken wing addict like me or you just want to watch some sports without trekking to a bar, give this recipe a try.

Right, so how do you enjoy the Super Bowl (or any sports event that you couldn't care less about)? In three simple steps: Start the day with a great workout (my Pure Barre trial is almost up! review to come!) and an encouraging bus stop sticker; make some delicious food; pick not one, but TWO winning squares so your Monday consists of an envelope of cash; and when all else fails, cozy up on the couch and knit.

Film | K&E wed, November, 9, 2013.

I'm officially at that age where multiple friends of mine are engaged or married. I was honored to be a bridesmaid in Katie and Emily's wedding last November, and though I was technically on Emily's side, it never actually felt like separate sides. We spent the morning running between hotel rooms, borrowing bobby pins and make up, and then we all rushed downstairs for pre-ceremony photos together. I was nervous all day, practicing my speech in whispers in the bathroom with clammy hands, but once those doors opened and we were all parading down the aisle in a statement of love and support and commitment to these two, all nervousness and fear was gone. Amidst the dancing and the wine and the multiple cupcakes and the group trips to the bathroom, giggling, I whispered to Katie and Em, "I'm afraid I'll never be this happy again!" 

It wasn't a real fear of course, it was just the realization that the love of others and your love for them all bunched up in one big room—well, I imagine it's similar to some kind of drug. If I'm having this much fun at friends' weddings, I can't imagine how much my cheeks will hurt at my own. 

Life lately | A weekend for movies.

It's been a long sick weekend for me, so I'm really glad I opened up the shop on Friday instead of this weekend like I was planning. We've watched almost all of the movies I've been meaning to rent from Redbox (The Conjuring, In a World, and Girl Most Likely) and went to the theatre this morning to see Her. It's been a busy one.

The Conjuring scared us out of our wits, so we watched Girl Most Likely instead and saved the scary one for the next morning. Girl Most Likely was really funny, as was In a World. The sister relationship in that movie is spot on, as are pretty much all of the other relationships in it. Apparently getting a cold makes me a movie critic.

This year has been good to me so far. We have plans for lots of travels this year, and I followed through on my dream to open up an etsy shop! Our anniversary (three years!) follows the holidays pretty closely, so we decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner and some massages and a hot tub soak on the long weekend. It was a nice local retreat from the wintry weather and a great gift we could share. On our actual anniversary, we took a few pictures to document the moment. I know all too well it'll be our fourth anniversary in no time.

 That one's nice, but these are probably more accurate depictions of us.

I hope you're having a great weekend so far! Seen any good movies lately?

The ones who came before | Part III

It wasn't until I sat down to write this that I realized—I haven't written about you since you left. My last memories of us are a blur of packing and preparing—you, literally, to move across the country, and me, in all the other senses of the word.

My first memory of you as the person you became to me was Fourth of July that first year we knew each other. We were both at the bar where we worked; Meg was there and a handful of other servers, hostesses, a manager. It was one of the slowest nights I can remember; one man sat at the main bar eating a big meal. When the fireworks started, we left him there with his meatloaf and potatoes, and we all poured onto Mass Ave to watch. I've always loved the Fourth of July because Central Square becomes a ghost town, Mass Ave a sidewalk. We all put our arms around each other in camaraderie, and I remember you ever so slightly squeezing my hip. It was so slight that I assumed it was my own burgeoning feelings toward you that felt it. It wasn't until months later when you mentioned that as your first move on me that I realized I hadn't made it up. I had read the signs right.

We were friends and coworkers for a long time before we were anything else. We were both seeing other people—you more seriously than I—and so I had resigned you to being a friend. Even as I write this I feel that there is too much to write. You were my first realizations of all that I could want from a person.

We were a slow burn, sizzling under the surface of our friendship until we jumped in. We scrambled back out a few times before jumping back in and staying there. You were fresh out of something long and meaningful; I was fresh out of something short and sweet. You had just decided to pick up and move back to southern California, where you'd left some pieces of you that you needed back. At the time, it seemed like the worst possible moment to start something, but I know now that it was perfect. It was a collision of sorts; we came at each other fast and milked it for all it was worth. We said goodbye at the peak.

There were bad nights, too. The night we met at The Miracle of Science and you told me that it was too soon, that parts of you owed it to her to try again. The night you invited me over after work and all of your friends were there. We stood in your room and you said with regret, "I can't ask you to leave this late at night." There were those looks you gave me, as though I were a fragile vase you didn't want to be responsible for. I understand now those conflicting feelings—we were on different pages, learning very different lessons about ourselves in the process.

Our set expiration date was an unrecognized gift because what it boils down to is that you were not the person I could confess myself to. Sometimes when I'm singing Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs, I think of what you would say if you could see me. You would laugh jokingly because you are not cruel, but I know that it would change the way you see me, your opinion of me, how seriously you would take me. And that's it, isn't it? We all need that person we can pour ourselves out in front of without having to hold anything back or cover anything up.

The smell of industrial cleaners and old beer puddled under taps still remind me of you. Those songs that you, Meg, Taylor, and I would all sing together; the deep scent and burn of whiskey; Central Square really early in the morning on my bike in the cold.

To the newest year.

Well it's 2014. We're all here stating the obvious, scratching our heads at how we got here, but here we are. I've been ready for this year to begin for some time now, knowing I needed that artificial reset button to get myself into gear. I took a good amount of time off from various things—this blog included—and now I'm back and feeling ready to dive in. This knitting business is slowly blooming in front of me, and I'm itching to put it out into the world. For now my fingers are busy busy busy each night getting ready. The single-digit and negative temperatures have made knitting my number one priority. So here's to the newest year.

Life lately | Coffee & knitting & etsy sneak peek

Lately I've been snuggled up next to our space heater and this sweater (it's my favorite). The temperatures have dipped low, and so my baking and knitting habits are in full force. Last week, I baked a chocolate pecan pie and a regular pecan pie for Thanksgiving at work. They were both delicious and the leftovers are still mocking me sitting in our fridge.

I've been knitting up a storm so I can finally open up that etsy shop I've been talking about forjustaboutever. If you want a different outcome, you have to change your strategy so that's what I'm doing. I'm done just reading about artists and designers and feeling inspired, and I'm jumping in and learning all I can. My plan is to get at least one or two of everything I plan to open with ready to ship before I open up, so I have about a week left to go. If anyone has tips on opening an etsy shop, marketing, shipping, anything, I'm all ears! I've been scouring the etsy seller handbook and getting excited for this new venture. Needless to say, this year, I'm thankful for new beginnings.

Went | Fresh Pond

It's been a jam-packed couple of months. Usually it's summer that is busy, and then fall—Festa, the Big E, my birthday, and suddenly we are in the great lull that takes us into winter and the Holidays. But this year has been different. Between engagement parties, bachelorette parties, and weddings, we are only now finding our slower rhythm that accompanies colder weather. We are making home cooked meals again, finding time for the gym, and going to bed before 11. I am well into my third and fourth knitting projects, and I am sighing the great sigh of Autumn. 

This is all to say that we had a brief lull at the beginning of November. It was the weekend between the bachelorette party and the wedding, and though I had a second bachelorette party that night and Mike had a conference the next day, we spent a quiet Saturday morning wandering around Fresh Pond. I work down the street from this place, and only recently realized how expansive and beautiful it was. We caught it right at its peak, and I'm so grateful we got a glimpse of it before all the leaves are gone. 

Smell my feet

Happy Halloween, y'all! Everyone's in great spirits here because of the big win last night, but I'm giddy at 7 in the morning because it's a day I get to dress up in a ridiculous outfit, plop a huge bowl of candy on my desk, and not disappear into my headphones and email for a day. I hope yours is full of all that Fall has to offer, and that at the very least, someone gives you some candy for free.

All of the burnt oranges.

Maybe it's just the awareness that comes as you get older, but this has been the most spectacular Fall I've experienced. Every day, just walking to work in the morning or walking home in the afternoons, I am struck by a certain patch of light or pile of leaves. This past weekend, which we spent in Brooklyn, I woke up each morning in awe of the view of Brooklyn and the ever shifting sunlight.

All photos taken with iPhone 5s.