Saturday, December 18, 2010

now playing

A movie for sitting by the tree wrapping presents,
drinking eggnog, waxing nostalgic.


Friday, December 10, 2010

lessons: getting over it

What's important?
It's that time of year! I am obsessively making lists, checking them twice (times a million), decorating, wrapping, socializing (sort of, it's me afterall), and reflecting on 2010. Man, I'm looking forward to 2011, but have been trying to think of all the good things that have happened this past year. One thing stands out in particular: I am learning to "get over it."

My parents love to taunt me about my ability to hold a mean grudge. What I don't know if they understand is that I am not holding a grudge, but rather I have made a decision about something and damned if I'm going to change my mind and make myself feel like I was wrong. This stupid character flaw has cost me friendships and opportunities, and caused a ridiculous amount of unwarranted stress. However, I realize that in the past few years, more and more frequently I just "get over it." I feel a new sense of Zen and the huge relief of being able to let go.

Let's use Rachael Ray as an example of how I have improved. I know many people do not like Rachel Ray for various reasons. My original reason was that I thought she inaccurately represented her background by claiming she is from the Adirondacks. Clearly, Lake George is in the Adirondacks, but to my NoCo country self, I felt that claiming you are all down to earth because you are from the Adirondacks when you are from touristy Lake George was not fair. I know, ridiculous. From there I decided I couldn't stand her accent, and I especially couldn't stand the way she would use the abbreviation "EVOO" and then say "extra virgin olive oil" right after that. Why would you bother to abbreviate if you are just going to say it?

I now will freely say: I like Rachael Ray. Her 30 min meals can be tasty. She doesn't seem to be a jerk. Most importantly, EVOOextravirginoliveoil does not affect me. Who cares if she says EVOOextravirginoliveoil?

This is a metaphor, of course, for the stupid snap decisions I have made over the years. I am happy and proud that, dare I say it, I am much more laid back than I used to be. I feel more at peace with the world and am enjoying my ability to just get over it. I feel good when I discover that I enjoy something I used to dislike, that I have a friend in someone whom I realize has not wronged me; that it is ok to change my mind and I don't have to be a weird hard-ass and stand by my own irrational feelings for eternity. Perhaps at the heart of it, I've learned to forgive myself for making stupid judgements.

[Note: Do not be afraid, this post is making it sound like I hate everything and everyone, which is certainly not true. I simply mean to highlight my ability to get over superficial roadblocks to being happy! Chances are I love each of you reading this...]

In closing, I like a lot of things. I have wonderful, wonderful friends and family. My head is filled with lovely thoughts for you this holiday season, and a bright outlook for 2011.

PS - My friend asks a good question about how to live our lives. Ah, it's the time of year for reflection.

Monday, November 8, 2010


Tangled up in blue? That song is PHENOMENAL. Phenomenal.

Bad Company? Monster band. 1975.

1973 saw them at the Garden. PHENOMENAL.

Stevie Nicks? PHENOMENAL. One time a bunch of my buddies rented two boats in the Virgin Islands; one for singles the other for the married couples. We sailed around for 13 days and before we were there? Stevie Nicks. She was getting heavy then. I guess all she did was paint watercolors the whole time. Man, that group, they were like a family. They cheated on each other, but they loved each other. Phenomenal.

[Note: Although I arrived early for my train, there was no room for me in the quiet car.]

Thursday, November 4, 2010

rocky raccoon, we never knew you

Raccoon 2.0: Roni

P and I have returned from our northern adventure. We had a lovely time with the Along the Ausable blog lady, and we learned a lot, too!

For instance, not only is Roni the Raccoon, mascot of the 1980 winter Olympics, named after the AdirRONIdack [sic] Mountains, but this poorly-spelled fellow was actually the mascot understudy. The internet tells me that, originally, a real live raccoon named Rocky was destined to welcome international visitors and athletes to the AdiRONIdacks, "but he died." Rocky died too soon and wasn't able to fulfill his mascotty duties. So, in steps Roni the fake raccoon. Nice save, Roni! In the photo above, Pete sports Roni's "new" head now used for parades, as I understand it....

AtA and L spend time with the Beaver of Lake Placid Lodge.

AtA took us on a grand tour of Lake Placid including a stop to spend time with the pine cone animals of Lake Placid Lodge. Based on the nightly room rate, I would estimate that the three of us spent $150 of time wandering the Lodge. Maybe even $150 per person.

In conclusion, great fun was had with our tour hostess (thank you!) and family members, hockey was won and lost, and the beavers of Lake Placid Lodge continue to pose silently under their dramatic lighting.


Thursday, October 21, 2010

10,000/4 = we like hockey

potentially apocalyptic

I grew up in a town of 10,000 people and four ice arenas. We like hockey. I like it so much that I'm willing to head north where there is already snow in order to watch my favorite childhood team play my alma mater. [Note: I will have a new tubular Michelin Man-style down jacket to protect me from the north.]

We like hockey.

When I decided to transfer to St. Lawrence, the deal I made with my father was that I would still root for Clarkson. The decision seemed easy at the time, but now I find myself passionately ambivalent while watching these teams play (Do you know how painful it is to be passionately ambivalent?!). P is fascinated by this duality that tortures me to this day.

Anyhoo, in the past we've taken the educational/historical approach to Halloween. This year, we will go a more traditional route and watch men bludgeon each other, scream in terror and delight, and freeze our butts off. There will be mayhem. There will be blood. May the best team win.


Thursday, October 7, 2010

in transit

Latest update: delivered

Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I just wanted to share the excellent news that my L.L. Bean Wicked Good Moccasins have arrived and are waiting on my doorstep. This is excellent news because my eleven year old pair of slippers were deposited in the trash last night. I am very pleased with the timing of this delivery. Also, I have spent an inordinate amount of time hitting "refresh" on my browser waiting for my UPS tracking update.

Finally, I can get some work done.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

cures what ails you

Follow these super easy directions when brain power is low.

I'm home alone. P is galavanting somewhere Out West. I'm feeling quite sorry for myself, as I have a nasty cold. Before you start playing the world's tiniest violin for me, I thought I'd take this opportunity to reflect on the age old tradition of using booze to fix your problems. [Note: To clarify, I do NOT advocate using booze to fix problems other than colds.]

My mother introduced me to the hot toddy one sniffly evening, and I will forever associate it with her compassion for the sick. When I resort to the hot toddy, I know I'm really craving my mom's sympathy. It's a good stand in sometimes.

A hot toddy is one of those old-fashioned, I-just-came-in-from-the-moor comforts (or I imagine I would like one if I had just come in from a moor). When you've got the sniffles and are skulking around in your ancient Irish sweater, you probably need one.  Luckily, I usually always have lemons, honey, whiskey/bourbon, and water on hand.

And so, last night I hunkered down with my hot whiskey, wool sweater, bad tv, and sorry for myself attitude. I didn't feel so lonely anymore. Today, I am fueled on the more modern remedy called Dayquil. It's not as pleasant and I wouldn't mix a hot toddy and a Dayquil, but you do what you must to get by.

P.S. Usher and Jay-Z also like the hot toddy. I think they might be using a metaphor though...

Wednesday, September 8, 2010


The classic bibliophile is one who loves to read, admire and collect books,
often amassing a large and specialized collection...

L&P like books. One could surmise that P likes them more based on sheer volume, but I think that we actually like them equally; I am just more methodic in book aquisition and ruthless in my willingness to sell back or donate any book that I A: don't deem worth finishing, or B: am embarrassed to display on my bookshelf. I am often ridiculed by family and husband for my aversion to used books, which also helps cut down on the number I possess.

However, quantity is not necessarily the best measure of love is it? Inspired by the recent impending hurricane that never was, I now have a library card, and it is AWESOME. I realize that this will not add any colorful new tomes to my shelves, but I've rediscovered the long-forgotten joy of borrowing a book, and the urgency that a due date instills [Note: I am very law abiding and will do anything to avoid a penalty, even a ten cent late fee.]

I remember that dusty library smell. I remember my favorite spot in the library as a kid: on the floor in front of the shelf of Anne of Green Gables, Madeleine L'Engle, and Nancy Drew mysteries. A few years later in life, I realized I could borrow Teen Beat, which was fantastic since I wasn't allowed to buy Teen Beat.

By golly, the library sure is modern nowadays. I got an email from my library letting me know that my "speed read" book is due tomorrow. I can go to all the museums in Boston for free with the help of my library. I can use a fancy laser gun to check myself out, borrow movies and audiobooks, sit and enjoy the wi-fi on an umbrella-covered patio. My books don't smell like must.

I think Pete is afraid that my library love will eventually lead to the elimination of our ever expanding collection of books. Do not fear, P. I have every intention of amassing a large and specialized collection that I do not have to return. Ever.


Sunday, August 8, 2010


It began innocently enough...

While Pete was away on business, I had an affair with a French Tomato Tart. I wasn't expecting this to happen, but when I arrived home on Monday night and discovered I had such limited ingredients at my disposal and minimal motivation to leave the apartment, it just... happened.

...but then things progressed...

My cheating was so blatant that I even used a frozen pre-made pie crust. I proceeded to devour this tart over the course of my next three meals: dinner, dinner, breakfast (and would have been another lunch had I not forgotten a slice at home).

How could I resist?

Upon Pete's return I confessed everything, the words just tumbling out. I told him about how I didn't leave the apartment so that I could lie around and eat French Tomato Tart. I told him I ate the entire French Tomato Tart and that there was none left for him. I told him about the fake pie crust.

A real man makes his own crust.

Pete just made me another tart. He made his own crust, which was so very attractive, and used an empty wine bottle as a rolling pin. I love him.

PS - Three is the magic number, love. Happy Anniversary week.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

up, up, and away

When you think about it, isn't it absurd for grown men and women to climb into a tiny basket tied to a flamethrower, and rise into the sky just to see where the wind might take them?

Or, is it a beautiful act of faith and wonder and simplicity?


Monday, July 12, 2010



So, I just MadMen'd myself. What do you think? I think I look like my mother (that is a good thing). I want to see what you look like. Entertain me.
Good fun at 4:30pm.


Friday, July 9, 2010


I keep meaning to write, but somehow I always seem to be caught up in other things.

Like lobster and byo beer at a sunny picnic table.

Thinking about boats.

Staring at the horizon.

Celebrating the noble crustacean.
Ok, "noble" is a stretch -- how about "delicious."

P and I have perfected our beach routine: parking strategy, walk-on pass, spf, umbrella, chairs, blanket, towels, cooler, sandwich pick-up. Sorry that I have been distracted.


Thursday, June 17, 2010

in a...


Pete has been wanting to make pickles for quite some time now. He has had the perfect pickle jar waiting empty on a shelf. Neither of us has wanted to deal with canning, although I do love the idea of it. Very Anne of Green Gables, but I'm afraid I don't have the patience for it, and I am a tad afraid of giving myself and my loved ones botulism.

Our problem was solved when we recently adapted this recipe for easy refrigerator pickles. We added a bay leaf and some corriander seeds, et voila!

Easy, no listeria, keeps in the fridge for 6 months!

So, until I have a pantry in which to keep my currant wine and pickled sundries, I will keep them in the fridge.

PS - Just fyi, I know that some of you reading this are very adept at canning, pickling, and jar-ing; I eat your preserved foods without fear. In fact I welcome the opportunity. It is only my own skill I question.
PPS - Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

coming home

photo: PJV

I just came home on Monday night. I'd been gone awhile, out of my element, in another language; different landscapes, different food, different light switches, different way to flush the toilet, say hello, tip, dress, hold your fork, count on your fingers.

Coming home, I was acutely aware of the smell of warm wood in the stairwell, the feel of my key in the lock, the weight of my suitcase, the layer of dust, the wilt of my plants, the familiar feel of my own bed.



Greetings! Upon review of comments from people wishing to pay it forward, I discovered that only 4 people really qualified once eliminating (1) husband (2) me (3) Courtney (PiF originator who will receive a special thank you). So, I've decided that I'm going to send the remaining 4 commenters a special tiny treat from my recent travels: June, Tera, Alison, Katie. See, June, I told you your odds were good.


PS - I cannot guarantee timeline of treat delivery, and will be in touch for mail details.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I accept multiple currencies

Remember the golden era of Haley Joel Osment? The time when he was still a sweet little man-child who could see dead people, hold his own against Michael Caine, and and asked audiences: "What did you ever do to change the world?" While the 90s have come and gone, isn't that question still relevant, perhaps now more than ever? [Note: I despise the phrases "now more than ever" and "new and improved."]

Well, perhaps together we can answer HJO's question -- we can do a bloggy pay it forward. That's what. I was the recent lucky recipient of Courtney's good will and part of the deal (and because I really wanna) is that I now must pay-it-foward. I will select 3 lovely people who will receive a treat from me and a personal note telling you how wonderful you are. Pretty sweet, huh?

Here are the rules:
  1. You must comment on this post. The comment must include something positive and/or awesome (about anything you'd like; it just needs to be happy!).
  2. If you are a winner, I ask that you pay-it-forward however you'd like, in-person, online, in writing, whatever...just commit to doing something nice for three people in the spirit of paying-it-forward. I am not picky, you can pay in any currency you like. I will not check up on you. However, if you don't intend to pay it forward, please don't play.
  3. If selected to pay-it-forward, you must trust me enough to send me your address (I'll ask for it later). If you don't trust me enough to send me your address, you'll just be the recipient of good vibes that I will mentally send your way.
A few will play and THREE will win! I will tear up pieces of paper with numbers on them, put them in Pete's straw hat, and then have him randomly draw three people. Let me tell you that your chances of winning are very good, as 3 is a very high percentage of my total reader population.

Love and good vibes to you all...
PS - I will announce winners after June 7th!

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

dipping into the box of nostalgia

Pete has a box that he keeps in our basement storage room. It is filled with mementos of his travels, souvenirs and photos. It is labeled with a piece of masking tape that reads: "NOSTALGIA."

Pete often refers to his box of nostalgia (and how I make him keep it in the basement). I don't collect that many physical souvenirs anymore, but I definitely have a very deep mental box of nostalgia. [Note: a "mental box of nostalgia" is admittedly even weirder than an acutal "box of nostalgia." Bear with me.] 

The Manhattan, the perfect birthday cocktail.
He makes 90 look good.

Many members of my mother's side of the family traveled to Delaware this past weekend to celebrate my grandfather's 90th birthday. Unexpectedly, we stayed near the same town that we used to visit on vacation when we were kids. I haven't been there for over 20 years.

I was nervous to visit the boardwalk, which in my box of nostalgia is just about the shiniest, most-perfect childhood memory. I was afraid that it wouldn't live up to the scenes I'd stored away. I was afraid it would be in decline, dingy, run down. Sometimes, I am very happily surprised.
My favorite ride.

Much smaller, but other than that, perfectly preserved. I caught my father looking around at all the little kids running about and saw that he was reliving happy memories, too. My mother went on these rides, my aunt and uncles fit in these same tiny boats.

Then we went on the bumper cars and ate crabs.

Another one to put in the box:
a porch swing, a friendly dog, cold beer, good company.


Monday, May 3, 2010


St. John, USVI

Some of you have been asking where I've been. Well, I was here, floating around, doing nothing. It was fabulous.


Sunday, May 2, 2010

problem solved

What is this magical device? Why, it's a Poach Pod.

A few weeks ago, I documented my trials and tribulations attempting to poach eggs. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my dear friend Anna for saving me hours of frustration, saving my husband from my ruined-egg induced wrath, and for being so thoughtful. A paid me a visit two weeks ago and presented me with the above, Poach Pod.

Float: As you can see, I accomplished the first step quite easily.

Hot pods: extracted pod with poached egg.

This is what I was aiming for...

Perfection. Dear Anna: I am so very grateful. Thanks, too, for the tips regarding PAM. My white plastic bowls will never be stained by chili or spaghetti sauce because of your sage advice. Love, L

I'm adding the Poach Pod to my list of obsessive products, which includes the AeroGarden and the SodaStream. I know the Poach Pod is bound for global success because while stopping in a grocery store on St. Thomas before hopping a boat, I captured this image:

Solving poaching problems worldwide.


Saturday, May 1, 2010

post time

Happy Derby Day

Celebrating my favorite holiday today with good friends and good spirits (get it?).


Thursday, April 15, 2010

very good

Was just reading a blog post reviewing a particular product and happened to notice in the comments section someone simply wrote "very good."

I wonder, is the reveiw good? Is the product good? Are they just telling the writer "good job?"

I kind of love it.
PS - Just fyi, I don't think the product is very good, but then again, I am opposed to Bed Bath & Beyond in general.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

new institution

Song of the day
One of my coworkers recently told be about an alumni relations shop that starts each morning with a "song of the day." This involves blasting music and dancing around the office to set the tone of your day. I guess its sort of like an American version of those Japanese calisthenics.

I think I will be instituting the "song of the day" in my life. It makes a difference. After I parked this morning, I rocked out in the car with an ice scraper and Boston love. Life is good.


Saturday, April 3, 2010

egg jacuzzi vs. hot tub time machine

egg jacuzzi

The other day, I made an egg jacuzzi. It was unintentional, and pretty revolting.

I just wanted to poach an egg so that I could make a springtime meal that I've had on my mind. I have had varying degrees of success with eggs in the past, so studied up to make sure that I would not waste a dozen eggs. I sometimes feel like eggs and I are in a personal fight with each other, and I have developed a compulsion to throw out any egg that does not come out to my liking. Pete has rescued many an egg from my wrath.

I watched a video. I checked out multiple websites, blog comments, and consulted the Joy of Cooking. I was ready, but then my tragic flaw kicked in: I have no patience.

I decided I would make 3 poached eggs at once. End result: egg jacuzzi. Yet another sign that if I can become more patient, I will be rewarded with perfect poached eggs, less wrinkled clothing, and better relationships.

One: not the loneliest number.

Patience is a virtue.


Saturday, March 27, 2010

leave this to the professionals

I have a love/hate relationship with cobblers. The things I love include shiny new looking heels, tap-tap-tapping with a little hammer, the cluttered old-fashioned atmosphere of a really good shop, the stories that cobblers tell about Eastern Europe. I love the idea of repairing my tattered old treads so that they end up being sold in a vintage store someday. [Note: this is pretty funny since I actually get grossed out by shoes in consignment shops. I know, I know -- personal quirk.]

I don't like:
  1. being chastized for not taking better care of my shoes -- I live in a city with cobblestones, what do you want from me?

  2. being criticized for buying cheap shoes that they then must repair -- this does not make sense to me since if I didn't have cheap shoes for them to repair all the time they would be out of business.

  3. listening to 25 minutes of stories about Eastern Europe when I have, in actuality, only 10min of time to drop off my shoes to have them repaired.

In the new frugalista fashion that is all the rage these days, I was thrilled to buy a pair of shoes that actually came with replacement heel tips. I had ground down my favorite pair of heels and was keen to use my own tiny hammer to fix them up.

Heel one was a breeze. I happily admired my handiwork as I sat in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by pliers, my tiny hammer, and bits of plastic.

Heel two, um, not so much. I am now left with one heel that looks lovely and which I satisfyingly replaced on my own, and another that is maimed beyond my own repair and may need special surgery from a real cobbler. A real cobbler who will berate me for attempting to do this myself. I have learned my lesson. I will leave this to the professionals and pretend that a little gnome (Gnome? Elves? Who fixes shoes?) is working behind the scenes with a tiny hammer and a song....


Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Do you like me? Please check this box...

I'm bored, so I've been thinking -- I'm going to ask this guy out. I would like him to take me on a date. I can plan it, but whatever, I would still like him to take me on it.

Pete, will you go out with me?



I will go out with you if your husband turns you down free polls

I hope he will say yes, especially since I am asking him in such a public forum. OK, I am waiting.

Fyi, I am free both Friday and Saturday.


Monday, March 15, 2010


not good

Please note on the map above that I live almost directly under the yellow splotch. It's been a bit rainy here. In fact I am home minding the bowls that are catching the drips that seem to be coming through the walls. No joke. Three of our east facing windows are leaking. Ah well.

Then, there's this:

much better

Looking forward to enjoying daylight savings for the first time -- I'll be able to actually see the sun set an hour later!


Friday, March 12, 2010

life is a highway


Pete and I decided to save a tree from our google map printouts and pony up for a Global Positioning System to send us on our way. Yet another step deeper into the 21st century for us. Poor Pete, we bought it last weekend and I have refused to let him use it yet (we have only gone to work, and I know how to get there, sigh).

Before we set out, I'm looking forward to giving our Garmin a personality. Would we want a Yeti to guide us? I was looking for Mr. T...

We're looking at a rainy Saturday so think we'll take a roadtrip somewhere to test it out. Any ideas Boston folks? Where is that "book mill" place...?


Friday, March 5, 2010


Voted "most useful kitchen tool..."

Yesterday, as we left the apartment to head to work, Pete threw my umbrella out with the recycling. I was waiting for him around the corner from our bins. He rounded the side of our building, said: "Your umbrella is in the recycling," and seemed to want to continue on his way.

"What do you mean, 'your umbrella is in the recycling'?" I asked.

"I don't know, it was just in the recyling and so now it is in the bottom of the recycling bin. You must have put it in there."

We stared at each other for a bit. "Let's just leave it," Pete sort of half-asked.

Incredulous stare from Leah.

I am a bit slow in the morning. I had just fixed my umbrella, was quite proud of it and knew durn well that I would not have accidentally put it in the recycling which resides in a small trash can under our sink, rather than in the closet or on the doorknob where my umbrella typically hangs out. Very confused.

Now, picture the two of us, in our work clothes, carrying our respective purse and manbag, peering into the depths of the 4' deep recycling bin at my poor umbrella. It was pretty empty so the umbrella was way far down there. I looked at Pete. He knew this meant: get my umbrella out of there.

We sort of half-heartedly tried to reach into the bin without touching the side. I started rocking it and tipping it to see if I could get the brella to roll up the side a bit. I traipsed around the building looking for sticks to fish it out with, but to no avail.

More staring at each other. Wondering what we could use to get it out.

"Get the tongs," I said.

He did. He got the tongs and he rescued my umbrella. They really are the most useful tool you can have in your kitchen. Still no idea how the umbrella went in the recycling.



Thursday, March 4, 2010

instant gratification

Zappos free overnight shipping upgrade
DiGiorno pizza
Snapfish pick up photos in-store
friend blogs

Sometimes you just need a bit of instant gratification. What are your go tos when you need a fix?


Friday, February 12, 2010



When I was a kid, a favorite summer pastime of mine was to take my mom's planter that looked like a cauldron and use it to cook stuff. By "cook stuff" I mean I would hang it from the lowest branch of our mountain ash tree, fill it with berries, chives, grass, puddle water, and Indian paintbrushes, and then mush it all up with a stick. I have no idea why my mother let me do this.

I remember taking great satisfaction in the end product: a stinky pulp that would dry in the sun and solidify in the planter. Witch's brew. Again, Mom, did you know I was doing this? Disgusting.

It didn't seem disgusting at the time, though. It was an engrossing activity with a thoroughly remarkable (again, at the time) result. I wonder if this is why I now will happily spend hours waiting for an assortment of ingredients to stew until they magically change into something else. Something that is the sum of all the characteristics of its differnt parts, and which smells way better than my "witch's brew."

speeding up the process...

Coq au vin for when you have 2 cold winter days to stay inside and work on it...
from Les Halles Cookbook, by Anthony Bourdain (I love this man, although my mother does not).


Thursday, February 11, 2010

munchkin land

Baby J

Hi, folks. It's been awhile! I've been meaning to write about my weekend spent feeling very tall and very old, surrounded by tiny people.

Pete and I were lucky to snag a visit with Anna, Theron, and Baby J, while T was in town to check out expensive dental drills and wander the streets of Boston. I have to say, while his parents are pretty great, Baby J was downright delightful.

Unfortunately for Baby J, as far as I'm concerned he will be Baby J for the rest of his life. Never just J, but Baby J. When Baby J is 25 and coming to visit his mom and his aunties with his new girlfriend, I can just image us, a bunch of boozy old ladies, yelling: "Baby J, bring me another martini! Did you tell your friend you used to go through 12 diapers a day?" Baby J might be 6' 2" with a beard and tatoos, but too bad for him. Still Baby J. Actually, a huge tattooed guy called "Baby J" sounds like he might be the kind of guy who carries around a crowbar...

Ha, ha! We are funny.
Poor Baby J is going to have to deal with
Mommy's embarrasing friend.

As if lauging at a poor, defenseless little baby for a few days straight wasn't enough entertainment, we fastforwarded a few years to attend K's 3yr birthday party. It involved mimosas, balloon bending Venezuelans, and the pinata that wouldn't quit. We survived the bat wielding 3yr olds to party another day.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

Phew! I'm not sure where I was going when I started this post, but here's the end: thanks to Baby J and his parents for visitng -- come back! Thanks to tiny K for turning 3 and for the fabulous princess cocktail ring and magic wand.

Until we meet again...

Saturday, February 6, 2010


riding the rails south
two feet of snow looming near
blizzard misses me


Monday, January 25, 2010

order out of chaos

stage 1: empty out

I don't like chaos. I'm not messy. Pete is not messy either, but he is ok with temporary chaos.

Being married to someone who is patient and accepting of chaos as a means to an end has been a good lesson for me. The ability to tolerate chaos is intrinsically linked to patience, which is a quality I hope to develop someday. As for now, I must rely on Pete's patient nature to ensure that projects are done thoroughly. [Note: P suggested I start another blog on how to half-ass everything. I am notorious for rigging things up with funtak and pushpins.]

long story short, we spent Sunday entirely emptying our office in order to accomodate a sleeper sofa (guests, come visit!), and then reloading it all. If it weren't for Pete, I would have left everything in the office, and then taken twice as long to rearrange things while clamboring over furniture, breaking things, injuring myself, swearing, etc.

stage 2: sort and put back in

Now, things are looking pretty good, I think. Everything fits, the bed opens while still leaving room to maneuver, the desk is back in shape, and cables are on their way to being tamed.

stage 3: what to do with newly empty walls?

What I did not yet capture with my amazing camera phone (perhaps I will update later) is the newly exposed expanse of wall space. The 2 walls not shown here are bare. They are bare and almost the same color as the sofa. Hmmm... I thought about just hanging a huge piece of art, perhaps suspending curtain panels form the ceiling, but am feeling uninspired. Any ideas?


Friday, January 22, 2010

winning streak

The popover forest...

Doesn't this scene look like the place where I had my snowball fight last weekend? Know what? I won it. Yup. After a bad stretch of losing stuff -- a sentimental earring, my work phone, my sanity -- the tide has turned, my friends. I am a winner.

It all started when the nice Along the Ausable blog lady offered a fun prize. I was posty and quick and now I have this pretty vintage present tacked up to gaze at. Makes winter look desirable. Sort of.

Then, I won a t-shirt as part of the Trek. THEN, I won 30 minutes toward my trekking goal. [Note: This prize makes me feel like I'm cheating on myself though. How can you win exercise time that is in the past and that you dind't actually do? It's imaginary.]

I'm making sure to take great pleasure in these tiny bits of luck. They add up.


Sunday, January 17, 2010



Right now, I am making popovers. In fact, please hold on a moment, I need to take them out of the oven. Oops, not quite done yet. I'm back.

This morning I woke up obsessing about January and how far away January is from summer. Determined not to get out of bed cursing New England, I forced myself to focus on embracing winter. What's good about winter? Ice skating, hot chocolate, reading by a window on a weekend afternoon... Then I got hungry and my mind fortuitously skipped to a passage in Little Women where the sisters discuss this magical food called "popovers."

The Excerpt to which I refer (from the play not the book)...

I don't know that I've actually ever eaten a popover until today, but clearly I had carefully stored away this literary memory for a winter morning just such as this. (Am I writing strangely? I am pretending I'm in Concord with my sisters and we're going to go eat popovers and have a snowball fight. I might be wearing a fur muff which was a gift from my rich great aunt, and carefully mended gloves...)