All I want for my birthday is a Bunny Cake.




And as luck would have it...my mom is coming to town. Tuesday in fact. Nothing beats time spent with your absolute best friend in the entire world. 

Not sure when the bunny cake tradition began, but it's carried on strong for over ten years now (oh, scary thought). So good. Two cakes in one. Best frosting ever. Candy. Oh, so much to look forward to...

I wish there wasn't an age limit on trick-or-treating.


Every year before my birthday we used to get a Halloween catalogue in the mail. Inside were pages and pages of the most beautiful costumes any little girl could ever dream of. So one year, weeks before my birthday, I began a campaign. Each day I pressed just a little bit harder for that gorgeous, puff of a gown that Belle had worn. Well, I guess in truth it was just an imitation, but it didn't matter. It was better. So much better. My birthday arrived. Gift after gift. No dress. And then there was one. I tore through the paper. Pulled back the tissue. And there it was. That hint of gold. A dream fulfilled. I don't know if I've ever felt so beautiful as when I got the chance to be Belle.



I'd give almost anything to be eight years old again. Holding my dad's hand. My brother by my side. Braving the unseasonably cold October air in pursuit of treat after treat. 

I used to think it was all about the candy. Now looking back, it was about so much more. 

I can't get out of bed this morning.

I had forgotten that when the weather turns chilly its so much harder to get out of bed. Maybe that's because in my previous life on the Upper West Side the heater was so overbearing I almost succumbed to the hand of heat stroke at least twice a day. Damn nonadjustable heating system.
Oh yeah...and all I've been craving lately is a really good foot massage. Not one of those pansy pedicure ones. But an all out invasion on the muscles of my feet. Where does one find such a thing?
And because I'm thinking of it and if I don't write it down here I might forget. Random posting ideas for the future...Sam Shepard, my NY apt. horror stories (the heating was only the tip of the iceberg), and Halloween/ birthday reminiscences (they're coming up you know).

I had the best day ever...

...because my absolutely gorgeous friend Naomi so graciously invited me to see her and her unbelievably dashing husband speak at their church. It was humbling and beautiful and really moving to see what makes the Mormon faith and culture so special. I think its unbelievably courageous and nothing short of an act of love to stand up in front of a group of people (strangers and friends alike) and reveal yourself. To share your beliefs, dreams, hopes, regrets, thoughts, reflections, and thanks. So thank you for sharing that with me.
And then something truly remarkable happened. We made pizza. Naomi is a domestic goddess. She claims she isn't but my keen eye sees otherwise. I mean c'mon she made the dough from scratch. That's right, scratch. And then when she realized she didn't have a rolling pin, did she panic? No, no. A lesser woman might have. But not Naomi. She opened the cupboard pulled out a drinking glass and started rolling away.
The only thing better than seeing this woman in action was seeing it while she recounted the unfinished love story that is her and Josh. Oh yeah...and there were some chocolate chip cookies involved. That might have helped.
I laughed and marveled and satiated my bottomless pit. It was a good day. A very, very good day.
so she waved her wand and came up with this...

good lookin' cookin'
voila... (okay, so maybe it looks kinda scary, but I think its just the angle of the photo)
besides, the beauty of the table more than made up for it
naomi, you are a goddess. look at this picture. now look at how thin my arm looks. thank you, oh thank you!
the father face strikes again. ah, will I ever have a normal picture? josh looks normal, what's wrong with me?
what's this you ask? i'll tell you...
...only one of my favorite parts of the day.
 
Naomi taught me that to avoid the tears onions undoubtedly bring on (always) one should just keep a piece of bread in your mouth. I wondered at this. My mother had shown me a way to stop the tears...run your hands under cold water. But to avoid them altogether? Impossible. Or was it? Well... the jury's still out. We tried, but this is how it went down.
Bread in mouth.
Attempted conversation...garggled sounds....giggles...laughter. Bread removed. Translation of noises. Followed by tears.
Oh, the tears!
So next time, we'll keep the bread in the whole time. I have a good feeling about it. I think she might just be right.
So thank you Naomi. Thank you Josh. Thanks for being my friends.
La, la, la...my life is really good!