the red dress.

did i ever tell you that i blame a red dress for the fact that i am so darn tall?

because i do.

and i blame charlize theron.

more specifically, i blame charlize theron in that red dress.

you know the one i'm talking about. you must.

hmmm. okay, yes, i see your point. now that i look at it i realize it's not exactly red (the footnote says bronze). but you get the point. 

i mean, come on, is she not heaven in that dress?

this spawned a certain love affair with ms. theron, such that, i took to googling. and what i remember is that i was particularly taken with her height. 

five feet, ten inches. 

glorious! huzzah! yes, i would be that height as well then. i was old enough to know that the chances were pretty good that i would be tall, so might as well really be. 

so i took a sharpie, pulled out a tape measure, and charted out the distance on the frame leading into my bathroom. 

growing up i would stand there. against the molding, mark how tall i was, how much progress i had made, and how far i had yet to go. 

and when all was said and done and all the proverbial cookies had crumbled (puberty and growth spurts and the joys of teenage-hood) don't know you, i stood right up against the frame, put my hand atop my head, stepped away to look where it had landed and...BLAM. 5 foot 10. 

some things are willed into existence. of this i'm almost nearly, just pretty sure, nursing a strong inkling that yes, indeed, that is true. 

the funny thing is. i'd give a few of those inches back. because this is what i know now: men are short. particularly those in drama school. particularly on the east coast. and the thing is i'm like anyone else: i wanna wear heals! i want to feel small and demure and lithe next to my beau! 

then again, this too is true: it's great for concerts, and...

oh, gosh, that's all i've got so far, it's great for concerts. 

i've been working on it though. of late. i've been working on pulling my shoulders back, unfurling the full width of my chest, holding my neck high. because for better or worse it's not just ms. theron's story, it's mine. and when i'm surrounded by family, and the tall women we boast, i know it's part history, part heritage, part love-story.

but do send your really tall guy friends my way, won't you?

life slice #5.

lying there, wide awake as he slept, she angled herself close, put her nose right up under his mouth. and there she remained, all night, fed by the sweet breath that sleep slipped out.

i believe...

in stemless wine glasses. in the feel of the bowl in my palm. i believe in white wine. sauvignon blanc, of the new zealand persuasion, imbibed barefoot in the kitchen--vegetables roasting in the oven.

i believe in men who can wear a sweaters. in over-sized oxfords and penny loafers. that cauliflower is the most interesting and versatile vegetable out there. that truffle oil pairs nicely with almost anything worth having (popcorn).

i believe in laughter and big, rolling tears--the need for both, the importance of of both, the beauty of both.

i believe all things aspire to music.

i am learning that a lease hardly ends the moment you are ready to leave. and so a shuffle-step ensues. of learning to live around those things that elicit frustration and unease. and that sometimes an expansive room and a jaw-dropping view are not enough to tether one to a place.

i believe in buoyancy. in the calm that comes from dusting. or reading. or long, hot baths. that we've all failed. and we're all flawed. and that happiness must be found on one's own. separate of anything or anyone else. because everything ends, eventually, everything ends. and most things, given enough time, enough space, enough heaven-sent perspective reveal themselves as blessings.

i believe that no gift is greater than that of sitting in silence and listening. really listening. and that we get to choose our friends. and as we grow and get older, discernment is vital.

i believe in peanut butter. an on an intellectual-level i believe in peanut butter in moderation. but on an experiential level i only believe in peanut butter in moderation when it's already too late.

i believe in the attempt. in the leap. and that things happen the very moment you think they never will--the very moment you give into that, accept that, make peace with that (easier said than done).

i believe in the return. in coming back. in coming home, wherever home may be.


image.

home.

i barely took out my camera while i was home. when i did, it was to document our adventures in food, which (believe it or not) was only a small portion of the trip.

i love going home. and i love returning to new york. (pick your jaw up off the floor--yeah, i said it: i love returning to new york. and that is true. because, for now, it's home as well).

but man oh man is there something about returning to that place you grew up. that place you made your first mistakes, had your first kiss, first failed, first flew, first loved. there's something to returning to that place that marked you--imprinted itself.

it helps me find my axis. my center. the very core of who i am.

because when in texas there is knowledge and remembrance in getting behind the wheel, cranking up the radio and pressing my foot against the accelerator. or walking along the bayou and touching the part of me that's a low-country-gal--one who grew up on the ranches of friends, alongside horses, swinging across creeks and rivers, fostering imagination in skeleton houses.

and then there's the immediate and tangible love of family. and well, that's one of those things that i've yet to find adequate words for.


















(i must say that i love looking at these pictures because i'm reminded that food is 80% adventure in color. and yes that percentage is made up by yours truly, but you get the point).

(and can you find the hidden allergy medication? that's one of those things that translates from place to place. that and funky seasons . houston is warm, new york is warm, but definitely our actions are not at all responsible for changes in weather patterns. nope, global warming is definitely not happening). 

and back again i go...

perhaps once i unload my suitcase, settle into the apartment, and have a good little mope about being homesick, i'll finally return to this blogspot-lover-of-mine. time to rekindle the romance. 

xo

meg

image via.