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.