my new york | the one where christmas steals in and colors absolutely everything

my new york | the one with street art, full coffee shops, and hanging lights everywhere

My good, good friend Alisha and I met for coffee this afternoon. I suggested Peels because it was warm enough out that we'd be able to grab lattes-to-go and then wander. Waiting for her to arrive, I hung out on the corner just outside the restaurant. Funny thing about New York, there are certain places in the city that make me feel so very uncool. When I was in college it was any part of SOHO. Now, it turns out, it is the corner just outside Peels on the Lower East Side. The New Yorker in me was born and bred on the Upper West Side--where sweaters and button-downs and penny loafers are still, by-and-large, the norm. And coming from Texas--where women wear pearls and men gingham shirts... well, my style leans toward a certain blue-blooded-Americana. Sure, every once and a while I'll pull on an oversized hat or some distressed biker-boots, but if you drop me off in certain parts of downtown Manhattan or Brooklyn, I mostly feel wildly out of place--like everyone is in costume and I've missed the memo.

Today I discovered that the corner outside Peels is one such place--a place where everyone seems to be just a little too good looking--where everyone knows each other and wears expensive retro sunglasses and Native-American-inspired-caftans. It's the sort of corner populated by people who seem to ooze too-cool-for-school.

And here's the thing, as I get older, I have less and less patience for just those sort of people. Because the hipster thing has happened. Am I the only one who's ready to see what happens when hipster grows up? An evolution or aging process is in order, no?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'd take authentic over glamorous any day of the week.

I've gotten off topic.

This is all to say, that when  Alisha arrived, I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the opposite direction.

The air had quickly turned from cool to cold and it seemed that every coffee shop we passed was packed--the people looking all cozy and warm (and firmly planted) inside. Which is how we found ourselves in the basement of a coffee shop in Chinatown.

I like Alisha because she doesn't have time for the nonsense of "cool" either. Also, she's one of the very smartest people I know (she was home-schooled, so a huge kudos to her parents).

In that tiny coffee shop basement we grooved to good music, and sipped lattes, and talked about life's big things. She groaned when I told her how I lacked a certain amount of courage when doing something-that-as-of-yet-will-not-be-discussed-here, and I smiled as she told me about the first time she ever laid eyes on the man she's now married to. And then we talked about faith--faith in a higher power, in ourselves, in the lives we're now living, and in the people we hope to be.

And then we wandered--me with the big camera, her with her good eye for street graffiti.

I think the very best thing about my very favorite girlfriends here in New York is that when we're together we're constantly mistaken for tourists. And we're okay with that. We treat the city like it's an explorer's adventure.

No room, nor time for cool. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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.