a very-merry-start to the Christmas season

Last night was one of those perfect, perfect nights. I got to spend it with my friend Alisha, who may very well be the smartest person I know, as well as the funniest. We went to a really lovely party and had just enough booze that we decided it necessary to head crosstown for a baked potato and spinach dip. And because I am a person who almost always has a massive camera in her purse (and who almost always never takes it out), we thought it really important to pose along the way--just as ridiculously "model-esque" as we could.

The results were, inevitably, spot-on.

We're thinking about sending these out as Christmas cards...obviously.

the season of gratitude

(Bright lipstick for skating confidence).

(Sometimes it's the littlest things I love: dried flowers, lit candles, homemade banners. Sometimes it's the little things that remind me who I am).

(The corner nursery is now suddenly full of trees and wreaths and the whole neighborhood smells of the holidays).

(Brooklyn Flea Market find)

(NOTE: that leg FELT as though it was much higher than it appears in these photos).

(Lots of giddy smiles and laughs).

My new job is more traditional in that I always have my weekends off and I cannot tell you how miraculous and special this feels (it's the simple things right? But after so many years of that not being the case, a normal schedule is anything but simple). Of course there are errands to run, but I do them with my Canon in my purse and a bit of adventure in my heart. I am always attempting to make a vacation of the ordinary. I bring the latte and I take the long-scenic-route-of-a-walk and I give in to the girlfriends who suggest that we do the most touristy of things on a Saturday night: ice skating in Rockefeller Center. Living in New York is hard--I'll be the first to say this, but it is upon occasion, unparalleled. And to enjoy it for all that it can be, you have to do the off-the-beaten-path-things and then temper those things with the most renowned, like  ice-skating in one of the world's most famous venues.

Thanksgiving is without a doubt my very favorite holiday. And everywhere I look right now I see things to offer up gratitude for:  a good job, and a beautiful flat, and Saturday mornings with nothing to do. Old friends and new, the ability and willingness to forgive, white wine and truffle fries, words, words, words, small and meaningful flirtations. Long walks, good books, deep laughs, the ability to dance and try again. And again.

Life is one delicious event of unfolding and circling back--finding that part of yourself that straps on a pair of skates and remembers what it is to laugh in a way that belongs to cold weather and ice rinks. And very good friends

Girls' weekend

A few months ago a dear old friend from Texas (from middle school or some such long-past time), Mairi-Jane, messaged me to say that she'd be coming to New York for the weekend and was I in? Yes. Yes, yes, I said.

Mairi-Jane and I have the sort of conversations that everyone should have (I think, at least). Which is to say, good and far-reaching and unapologetic and occasionally revelatory.

Our mission for the weekend was mostly that of any vacation: lots of food, lots of wandering, and the occasional necessary purchase--velvet skirts + red lipstick.

We drank lattes (for me), tea (for her), tried not to think too much about the most recent men and the still-soft-heartache, showed each other our favorite music videos on youtube, drank margaritas on the Lower East Side, ate pesto in the West Village, explored Central Park, and when Sunday night came round far too fast, we retired from the wet day and long weekend with classic New York pizza and old episodes of The West Wing.

Sometimes I think life in New York is like anywhere else. The backdrop is remarkable no doubt, and there are the occasional incidents that feel so unique to the city, but mostly life here is made by the friendships and personal history and the late-night conversations that happen in dimly lit bars, and the willingness to say yes to small and ordinary adventures.

And there is a salve in that.

my new york: window boxes, fall shadows, and halloween

I'm gonna level with you. I am tired. Really, really tired. Between starting a new job, taking the GRE this past Saturday, and particularly sweet set of growing-pains, I am bone tired.

Waking up this past Sunday with the test behind me, I went for a long walk with only my camera in hand. I wanted to see fall--fall in New York, fall in my small and perfect neighborhood. I wanted to see how the sunlight cuts through the trees and creates a sort of lattice-work against the brick. Wanted to smell that thing that means the in-between of the seasons.

I went in search of fall and then treated myself to brunch. (I sat at the bar reading an Aurelio Zen mystery as I ate--some version of heaven, for sure).

When the time came for me to get onto the train to head into Manhattan, it was only upon sitting that the full weight of exhaustion hit. This is the in-between season of my own life. This is the I-don't-know. And that is both grounding and terrifying. The train is going somewhere, I just don't know where. But I suppose I'd take movement over the alternative, always.

my new york | the brooklyn promenade, the green before the leaves turn, and the sort of red vespa that makes me swoon