my manhattan: time in the kitchen, old friends, new friends, and colored tiles

the weather in new york this week was such that i threw open every window of the apartment as often and as quickly as possible. with an uncharacteristic amount of time on my hands i took to the kitchen (where, as it turns out, the cuisinart is changing my life). i made sweet potato pancakes, peanut butter from stratch, a vegan version of mac and cheese, and--the now tried and true--banana bread. i was also fortunate enough to visit with my absolutely stunning (and smart, to boot) friend, monica who this summer will tie the knot with her charming love of six (seven?) years. sigh. where did that time go? and the week rounded out with a dinner party in brooklyn where i met with some of the most intelligent and charming women i've had the pleasure to know in quite some time. when my father asked me what such forward-thinking ladies speak about when gathered together for an evening of good food and lots of wine, i replied: boys, of course. 

domestic determination.

i'm not sure when exactly or even how it happened...

but.

i find myself falling in love with the kitchen.

cooking.

and baking.

(mostly baking).

and i suddenly woke one day to find that i'd amassed so many different types of flours (quinoa, coconut, garbanzo) and powders (cocoa, carob, and on) that my kitchen shelves were out of control.

though a quick trip to the container store and a swish of chalkboard paint and things are looking a little better. not totally organized, but certainly on the way there.

anyone got any good recipes for me?

to my one-day-pal:

dear love,


i get blue. sometimes. often, maybe. i lean in that direction. and then, sometimes more, i lean into it. the blue.

and when i do, i can be convinced--or rather, i convince myself--that, well... a change in hair color can change my life.

yes. hair color.

and the thing is. it doesn't. and i end up hating it. and spending far too much time scrub-a-dub-dubbing it away in the shower.

so in those moments--those quiet lulls when you feel me fading, pull me close, kiss my lips, and promise that you won't let me touch my tresses--because you think they're perfect just as they are.

hell, you think i'm perfect just as i am.




love, love,

the girl with the hair with the auburn cast (for now)

hudson heights.

when i was a little girl my father was constantly traveling to russia.

he'd return with beautiful items from the one of the country's many outdoor markets. small wooden toys. intricately carved santas. hand-painted matryoshka dolls detailing native fairy-tales. and from these items i gleaned what i could from a country that felt a world away. a lifetime away, really.

i remember once dreaming that i was there, in russia, swinging on a swing set. i went to jump off (as children do at the peak of a swing when you're young and without fear) and off i flew. and off i fell--off the edge of the world--i disappeared from the image. as though the world was two-dimensional and i had died. (think old-school video games).

that was my impression of russia. that the world was flat and russia was the edge.

sometimes that's how i feel about my little corner of new york. aslant on the hill. just next to the river. quiet.

and at the edge of the earth.

as though at any moment i might simply fall from the screen.

lovely.

happiness is always a by-product. 
it is probably a matter of temperament, 
and for anything i know, it may be glandular.
but it is not something that can be demanded 
from life, and if you are not happy you had
better stop worrying about it
and see what treasures you can pluck
from your own brand of unhappiness. 


robertson davies woulaok