back to basics.

today i am unbelievably thankful for:

the fresh fall weather invading new york

the endless entertainment provided to me by 1. burn notice 2. true blood 3. nurse jackie 4. entourage

my brother's new job which will bring him to boston and thus far closer to me

now a reason to visit boston and a place to stay

avocados, sweet potatoes, nectarines. they make the quest for six + fruits and vegetables a day feasible

that today's second trip to the pool was a hundred times easier than the first. 

breakfasts at fairway with my friend angela where we plan our futures and impending marriages to actors alexander skarsgard (true blood's eric, hello?) and his father stellan. in our fantasy i marry stellan making me angela's stepmother. we're not quite sure why, but this running joke provides us with endless entertainment.

for tomorrow (it's a day off, ya know?).

photo via one of 

thank you...or so i feel.

how can i thank you all for your unbelievably kind comments? your unwavering support. your understanding of something that is so far beyond understanding?

perhaps our greatest strengths lie in those things we think make us weak? perhaps it's all a matter of perspective?

one of the very first things i did at juilliard was attend a memorial service for a drama student who had been killed the year before. it was devastating. and i cried. i didn't know the girl, but i cried for lost love and lost life and lost beauty.

one of her classmates read the following during the service and i'll forever carry it with me.

my blogspot address (or-so-i-feel) is taken from it. so, as a thank you i want to share this once more (it was one of my very first ever posts {back when i had not a clue what i was doing or getting myself into}) but it's worth it to post it all over again...

A Poet's Advice

e. e. cummings

A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through

This may sound easy. It isn't.

A lot of people think or believe or know they feel—but that's
thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is
feeling—not knowing or believing or thinking.

Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single
human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think
or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the
moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.

To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night
and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest
battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.

As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working
just a little harder than anybody who isn't a poet can possible
imagine. Why? Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like
somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the
time—and whenever we do it, we are not poets.

If, at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and
working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem,
you'll be very lucky indeed.

And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do
something easy, like learning how to blow up the world—unless you're
not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die.

Does this sound dismal? It isn't.

It's the most wonderful life on earth.

Or so I feel.

the photo is from on of my absolute
 favorite blogs, Una Bella Vita A Beautiful Life...
the images and quotes always move me.

I Am Thankful...

for hitting the jackpot in the lottery of parents, even if they think blogging is a bad idea.

for Victoria who convinced me to start this thing.
for Rob and the fact that he had his picture taken in only his briefs the first day i met him.
for the sound of rain. It's my favorite thing in the world. Sometimes I'll close my blinds turn on my hour long soundtrack of a thunderstorm and just pretend.
for Steven, who's given me the tools to begin chipping away at that all consuming thing known as ego.
for my love and indulgence in verbose and histrionic language.
for books, books, books. Most especially those by Pat Conroy.
for travel. It just doesn't get any better than that.
for Greg, my second brother, my childhood tormenter, and my great love affair across the Atlantic all in one.
for Connor my actual brother who's going to make millions in the next five years.
for those few glorious years we had Jared.
for chocolate, coconut haystacks. You haven't lived until you've tried one. You'll find them at the sweet factory in Port Authority.
for NYC and all its eccentricities. Even if I feel like I need a break from it every two days.
for my huge four poster bed. A girl could get lost in there for days. In fact, I have.