So Tired

I got nothing.
Sorry.
More tomorrow, I promise.

saturday afternoon

There are few things more lovely than a wonderful saturday afternoon at home. It's raining out but we have books and good wine and we aint movin'

Luncheon at Smythson

Last night after shopping my friend and I went to dinner.

We were talking about the past year-- all the changes and such and how in many ways I'm living an entirely different life than I did last year or even in May.

I said, "Sometimes I look around and think, 'whose life is this?' Feels too nice to be mine."
She replied, "It's yours my darling girl, yours."

I'm Irish. I don't like to tempt fate or anything like that, but I'm quite sure I've never been this happy before. Maybe once, maybe the summer my brother David was 1 and we joined Overbrook. Perhaps the 2 weeks on Cape Cod the summer after my freshman year of college. London after college, of course. Even the summer of 2007 when I bopped around the eastern seaboard. Still, those were more like anomolies.

This. This current life I have. This lovely little life. It's just too much for words. This sort of sustained happiness and contement. It's just delightful.

And I am grateful for it each and every day. I really am.

I hope that counts for something.

I Can Get It For You Wholesale

I love a bargain. Not gonna lie. One of the best parts of my job is my discount. One of the other best parts of my job is the discounts I get at other places. And today was one of the sweetest. $88 for a dress originally $278.

Whooppee!

Today's Bright Spot

This made my day--

I leave for London Nov. 25th. taking the 6.10pm Virgin flight out of JFK
Turns out my squash buddy is on the same flight.

Woo hoo!

Remembrance

In 53 minutes it will be the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year.

In the US, it doesn't mean much. Just another minute in another day. In the UK, it's different. Businesses stop and the country is quiet for 60 seconds as Britons take a moment to remember the fallen soldiers.

It's powerful. In the weeks leading up to today paper poppies pop up on lapels around nation-- a throw back to the days when wounded Great War veterans sold actual poppies in the Tube. It's startling, a stark reminder of those who've given their lives for their country.

I spent September 11, 2002 preparing to move to London. I was shocked that day, and have been shocked in years since, by the lack of co-ordinated commemoration in the US. We're a hot mess-- all over the place with moments of silence here and totally forgetting to do anything there. It's as though we don't care. You know the knock knock joke:

Knock knock
who's there?
September 11
September 11 who?
You said you'd never forget!

I'm not much of a "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" kinda girl, my sentiments run more towards the "what if they gave a war and no one came"? Perhaps it's my Philadelphia upbringing and the Quaker influence, perhaps it's the fact that I grew up with Boomer parents who protested Vietnam, opposed Desert Storm and that I was against both of our current wars. Perhaps it's just who I am.

Still, I can't get over the solemnity and magnitude of an entire country stopping for 1 minute to honor the dead. The gravitas I felt cannot be over stated. A public acknowledgement of a shared trauma. It's important.

Monday FUNday

So, it's that time again.
Another day, another $0.30 per word.

This time it's product descriptions.
I haven't decided if I am more or less intimidated by them than I was by the bios.

Time will tell, I suppose.

For now it is I, my dinosaur of a computer and my living room couch.
And the blank screen.

Wish me luck!

Sunday evening

The party last night was a success!

I love how easy it is to throw these things together. A cocktail, some munchies, turn off the lights, light some candles and put some music on. Et voila! Un Fete!

Now I'm crapped out on the couch listening to Christmas music (what? My mother starts the Christmas music in October) and enjoying the last few hours of the weekend.

we're having a party!

Nibbles are out and we're setting up the bar, it's a Saturday night in the city!

Come on over!

Mo Dowd Makes Me Cry

Mo Dowd did it again.

I'm sitting at my desk weeping.
And praying my boss doesn't walk into my office!

I don't always agree with her, but when I do, it's spot on. And this week, we're spot on.

Oh this week. This emotion filled, exciting week.

We've been joking that now we won't have to say we're Canadian when we travel abroad.

It's so much more than that, though.

The presumptive president-elect (it's not officical til the electoral college says it's so) may stumble. He may not be able to do what we hope.

But, today, we have hope.

And that's a lot.

A Pinch or a Dash

I was asked to participate in an email recipe swap. I immediately began running through my mental recipe index. My tomato sauce? Cauliflower gratin? Sauted green beans? White bean soup? Oh the possibilities seemed endless!

Except for one thing:I don't actually have recipes. I have...ideas. I use enough butter, some basil, slightly too much mozzarella. You get the idea. I can cook, I just can't tell you how to do it.

Which make participatin in a recipe swap difficult.

Oy vey!

We Did It!

I spent last night in Rockefeller Center.
I am too tired today to write anything substantial.

But we did it! And it feels great!

Today

Expectant waiting.
That's what I'm feeling today.

I voted before work after standing in a line that stretched out the door and around the block.
People were laughing and smiling.

I wanted to say, "don't laugh! don't smile! don't tempt fate!"

'Cause it ain't over til it's over.

The Morning After

I'd forgotten, or perhaps blocked out, the abject fear that comes from submitting something you've created.

This blog doesn't count. It's nicely anonymous-- I have no idea if anyone reads it aside from a few friends. Friends, it must be said, who have already told me I write well. This is for fun, shits and giggles as it were. There's no one judging this and nothing happens if I don't write for months on end.

Last night, after I'd emailed the essays off to the editor, I fell into a deep panic.

Was it crap?
It was, wasn't it?
Total crap!
Pilfered crap at that-- not even original crap!
I combined 3 previous essays to make that one!
Oh, God!

etc. etc.

And then this morning, a note back from the editor using words like "a marvel" and "thank you so much" and "good job."

And I think, so what if it wasn't prize winning material. I completed the task. Did the job.
It's not, I suppose, about hitting it out of the park each time. Sometimes it's enough just to get on base.

Or, failing that, at least not striking out!

On Deadlines

In college I had a professor who said he assigned term papers to give his students a chance to do their laundry.

That's the thing about deadlines, when you have one you'll do whatever you can to avoid it.

Sadly, my laundry is done. My kitchen is clean and my baseboards shining. There's nothing to do but write the flippin' things.

That's why I'm blogging.

500 words. It's not so many, not so long. This isn't a thesis or even a term paper. I'm 10% done-- I have 50 words written and yet I'm paralyzed.

I haven't had a writing deadline since the spring of 2002. I'm out of practice. I can't churn things out any more. Still, a journey of 1000 miles start with one step, an essay of 500 words with a sentence.

I have to keep my eye on the prize-- the way it will feel when it's all done!

Update: It's 7pm, well, 5 past. I have 138 words. 362 left to go. Say a prayer, gang. Say a prayer.

Update, 2: 4 minutes before 8 and I have 250 words. I'll get to 400 easy, 500 may be a stretch. If I can get it out by 10, I'll be happy. Dear Lord, how do people do this for a living? I'd go barmy.

Update, 2.5: 8:28, 300 words. Yee haw!

Walking Girl

Well the frost is on the pumpkin and hay is in the barn.

Or, rather, the homeless guy is burning trash and the radiators on.

I guess James Taylor lyrics don’t really transfer from the Berkshires to Manhattan. Le sigh.

Indecision 2008

HELP!

I've been afflicted with a terrible disorder.

It's interfering with my life.
Robbing me of my sleep.
Doing away with my appetite.
Making me question my sanity.

I'm watching the prices fall on airfares. $539 return to London. It's fallen $15 dollars since Monday and $49 since Friday.
I'm obsessed with it and have put off buying a ticket.
I'm like Ebenezer Scrouge here.
Ebenezer Scrouge and Hamlet, a combination of the two. A Victorian miser and a Danish prince who may or may not have been insane but certainly couldn't make up his mind.

This is no good my friends. No good.

Do I bite the bullet and just buy the darn ticket, falling prices be damned?
Do I fly into Gatwick or Heathrow?Do I leave bright and early Monday morning (as is my custom) or do I take an afternoon/evening flight and give myself another day?

Please, give me insight oh wise ones. Or just, you know, make the decision for me!

Immature

Several years ago, round about my (first) junior year of college I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that all the families for whom I baby-sat got together and gave me a child. They presented it to me, faces beaming, saying, “we know how much you love children, and how upset you are that you can’t get pregnant. We decided to give you a baby.”

I remember the feeling of panic, of thinking, “yes, of course this is what I want, but not now. Now is not the time.”Of course, what I said was, “I can’t have a baby now! I get drunk on a regular basis!”

Clearly articulates my position, no?

There seems to be a bit of a baby boom happening. The Clinton D. Kemps, The Devin L. Burgesses and, of course, The Mary-Knight T. B. Youngs (Mr. David B. Young), are all pregnant.

Babies, they’re on my mind.

Last night, I walked home from the gym. At the grocery store I realized I didn’t have my keys with me. Oh, and my roommates weren’t home. So, I did what any normal person does in such a situation:I entered my apt building through the restaurant downstairs.I went to my downstairs neighbor’s apt and climbed out her window and up the fire escape. Yes, that’s right, I climbed into my apt through the fire escape.

I CAN’T HAVE A BABY NOW! I CLIMB UP FIRE ESCAPES INSTEAD OF USING THE FRONT DOOR!

going mobile

Blogging from my blackberry! Will wonders never cease? Will this prompt me to post with greater regularity? Stay tuned...

8,760 Little Hours

A film came out a while back, I’m not sure how long ago, entitled Things We Lost in the Fire.
I never saw it, I think I may have seen a preview, but I’m not sure.
In any case, I have the impression the film is about more than the material goods that burned.
It deals with the “everything now is different” experience. Life was X it is now Y and it is Y because of Z; the fire in this case being Z and providing a line of demarcation between X and Y.

I am, given my general personality, inclined to view lines of demarcation in a negative way. Before I got sick. After my grandmother died. After I crashed my car. Rarely do I highlight the positive changes. After I moved to London. After I redid my apartment.

This summer was, of course, filled with change. For that matter, so has this year. It’s puerile, I think, to mark this change as “new job” or “family death.” It doesn’t capture exactly how different my life feels in now from before, the exciting and (mostly) positive ways in which it is different. Today though, I think I stumbled upon it.

It’s Thursday. The Thursday before pay day. I asked my assistant if she was going out for lunch and rolled her eyes and said, “nope, brought.” Then it dawned on me. Of COURSE she brought her lunch. Tomorrow’s payday who has lunch money today?

So that’s it. I’m now living AFTER I stopped worrying about having enough money to buy lunch.

This feels good.

Extemporanious

In 4th grade my mother gave me a book of poetry by Judith Voirst (she of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day fame). If I Were in Charge of the World was the title and my mother inscribed it with the message, "Don't you wish you were!"

What can I say? I like to hear myself talk. I also like to tell people what to do. That I am the eldest daughter of 4 children is not unrelated. But, I digress.

I especially like to hold court as it were (ed., perhaps that's why I have a blog). Give me a drink or two and well, my usually loose lips come unhinged.

Fortunately for me, my roommate adores these ramblings and calls them my “Dr. Seuss’s Guides.” As in “Doctor Seuss’s Guide to Having an Affair and Managing a Business,” the title of one of my more recent monologues (ed., I am neither having an affair nor running a business). I make pronouncements, give advice and make commentary on a variety of subjects. Monday’s subject was, predictably, relationships. The details of these lectures are always fuzzy for me, but apparently the phrase “corn-fed thighs” came up, several times.


Corn fed thighs. Just the phrase makes me laugh.

Tune in Tokyo

Hi hi hi!
How are you?
Sorry for the radio silence.

Things have been....I don't know, nutty? I hate to use work as an excuse because, really, do you want to know how much time I spend goofing off? So, yes, while I am working harder and longer and more diligently in my new position, I still have plenty of time to write goofy emails.

I'm kinda pre-occupied. Still trying to find my place during a time of upheaval. Whereas I spent last summer jetting off each weekend to the beach and loving every minute of it, this summer I'm just trying to get through it. Not in a bad way, really, but more in a, "if I put my head down can I just wake up at Thanksgiving?" kind of way. There's still so much left to learn, so much about which I am unsure, I just want this part of the job over and done.

Make sense?

Soon enough,though, it will be fall and I'll have 3 months under my belt. Don't know why that sticks in my head, it's just, well, 90 days is long enough to not be the newbie.

It's more than the job, though. I feel like I spent the past year or so preparing for a big change. I don't know what it is, but I feel something coming. Not in a scary way, in a good way. Like I'm being carried along by the tide and I'm not exactly sure where I'm going but I know it's somewhere good. At the same time, however, I'm in a stream of moving water so it's, you know, a good idea to be braced for things like rocks and driftwood and the occasional beer bottle.

Bye Bye Birdie

All morning I've had "One Last Kiss" running through my head.

It's been a week of "lasts." That bittersweet time in which one takes a moment to look around and say, "hey, this has been my life for the past 2.5 years and now it's over."

This is a good thing. I worked very hard to bring about this change and I'm excited for the future. But still, it's never fun to say good bye.

--
Apologies for the melancholy tone. I promise that I'll be back in top form soon. I'll regale you all (all 3 of you) with witty tales after the weekend.

Cent

For Nina, because she speaks for the tress that have no tongues.

This is my 100th post. I feel unprepared. Would that I had a special post waiting to go. Alas and alack, I do not. Instead, I'll have to make do with this snippet:

Me: Ah, summer dinner parties, they'll be the death of me.
Him: You gotta die of something. May as well be summer dinner parties.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

It's too darn hot.
And last night I was too darn stupid.

It's easy to forget, when you live in a walking city, that much of your daily activity is actually exercise. It doesn't feel like exercise, it feels like going to work or the grocery store. It is indeed exercise, especially when the temperature is 95 degrees.

Which brings me to last night.

I left the office at the normal time and had a leisurely walk home-- popped into a few shops along the way and chatted with friends. When I reached the park, I called my mom and chatted with her for a while. As we talked, I walked the perimeter of the park. 3 times. Or, roughly, 1.5 miles.

So, to recap, between walking home and walking around the park, I logged roughly 3 miles in 95 degree heat. Except! It didn't feel like exercise! And since it didn't feel like exercise and I wasn't thirsty, I didn't drink any water when I got home.

Then, because I am a gluten for punishment, I decided to go for a run. A nice 2.5 mile stretch of the legs along the Hudson River. Sounds great, right? Yeah, it was great until about 1.5 miles into it when I realized, quite dramatically, that I had not drunk enough water.

My right leg cramped up and down I went. Slapt on concrete sidewalk of the West Side Highway, right in front of the delightfully good-looking gentleman running behind me.

Because of course, if you're going to fall down in fit of dehydration and muscle cramps, you want to make sure you do it in front of the most handsome man around. It's just common sense. Or a complete lack there of.

Oy vey.

Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?

Mo Dowd. I heart you. Muchly.

I still have the articles I cut out of the New York Times during the whole Monica Lewinsky affair. I have the piece you wrote about your mother after her death. It contained one of the greatest pieces of advice ever. When I'm feeling sad or scared, I buy something red and wear it as my badge of courage. This has worked far better than anything else I've tried.

And so, thank you once again. Thank you for writing, in the paper of record, just what I needed to hear:

"She didn’t lose because she was a woman. She didn’t lose because America isn’t ready for a woman as president. She lost because of her own — and her husband’s and Mark Penn’s — fatal missteps."

Really Saying Something

I am going to say something nice about Hilary Clinton.

And I am going to mean it.

There is something to be said for being the first. By virtue of being the first she has made it easier for all those who come later.

And that’s really saying something (ooo wada wada)

Hand on the Telephone

My cable is out. This, in and of itself, is not an unusual occurrence. Time Warner is my cable service provider and I’m not afraid to say it out loud (or in print), but they suck the big wazoo.
The events of yesterday evening were, however, decidedly unusual. And I, history freak that I am, was without cable. Time Warner had rendered me impotent, and, just like Cher, I hate that.
What to do? What to do?
No cable. How would I know what Lady Macbeth, err, the senator from New York, was saying?
Aha!
Picked up the telephone and dialed the 10 digits.
The gentleman in Cambridge, my Guy Friday.
“Hey, it’s me. Cables out, are you watching?”
“Of course”
“Well, what’s happening?”
And that, my friend, is how I spent the evening.
I listened to Obama claim victory as the presumptive democratic candidate over the telephone.
One phone in Cambridge placed next to the television, me in my own little bed in Greenwich Village.
The wonders of modern technology married to the wonders of the democratic process

Thunderstorms in January

I'm at home today.
I went to work yesterday, but turns out that 1 death in the family + 1 v. strained relationship with 1 v. disturbed family member= up all night long.
Oh, and hives to boot!

I love how I react physically to any and all stress in my life. Makes things so....interesting.

Anyway, I'm at home. Checking emails and the like (I'm available, just not at the office. Semantics, folks).
And there's a full on THUNDER AND LIGHTENING STORM. Right outside my window.

This is AWESOME.


----
PS- If anyone feels like giving advice, I need help on being the bigger person. I'm not particularly good at it. How to deal with a toxic personality and his wife for 5 days? Without losing the plot. Actual concrete suggestions. Current favorite: address the situation head on, that is, walk up, shake hands, give my condolences and they stay as far away as possible for the remainder of the trip.

Nanny Pat

Today's phone call-

"Hey, Ma? You know how you said you'd buy me a new black suit for the funeral?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, don't you think Nanny would like it better if I wore my old black suit but came to her funeral with blonde hair?"

*laughs*

"Okay, make an appointment and get your roots done."

--
My grandmother died Tuesday morning. I'd just spent a wonderful week with her in CA. I said everything I needed to say-- she knew I loved her and I know she loved me.

We should all be so lucky.

Culture Shock

When I left LA yesterday morning it was 72 degrees.
Temperature in NYC upon arrival, 27 degrees.
Somehow it felt colder.
When I got home I checked the weather. Turns out while the temperature was 27, with windchill it was 4.
Oh goody.

It's a good thing I LOVE New York.