Posts Tagged ‘glory glory’

i’ve put words to something over the last few days, the last few weeks, something i’ve known for a long time but just haven’t articulated:

everybody’s got my back.

i work with incredibly devoted, competent, well-intentioned, exceptionally brilliant people who care about the same things i do, whose priorities and motivations are completely above-board and entirely aligned.

i have a loving boyfriend who appreciates my vocabulary as much as (well, probably more than) he appreciates my pretty underwear, who is an equally good partner at cranium and beer pong (even though, frankly, i am way better at spelling backwards than i am at throwing a ping-pong ball into a solo cup of bud light), who accompanies me to the symphony and wipes applesauce off my chin when i’m anesthetized and can’t feed myself properly.

i have friends all over the country, all over the world, who would, at a moment’s notice, pull out all the stops for me if i needed it.

i have a slew of sisters who are all incredibly different and equally supportive in entirely unique ways, who love me and are rooting for me and in whose footsteps i’m proud to follow.

and i have wonderful parents who are surprised and amused, i think, by all my crazy adventures, and who are exceptionally generous, intelligent, kind people.

i am the luckiest girl in the world.


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there is a sweet, sweet corner of my heart given over to the month of may.  but i confess, august/september is rapidly becoming my favorite time of year.

on a sultry summer evening when all i really want is an orange and a glass of ice-nine, it’s hard to summon up the courage to braise, saute, or roast. in fact, it’s hard to make a grilled cheese sandwich.  i do love smoothies and cucumber salads and tuna sandwiches.  but when that first touch of cooler, dryer air comes, it comes as a relief, because in another few weeks there’ll be chilis and gumbos and fall-weather foods galore.  at the moment i’m lovingly anticipating a blueberry-banana bread the likes of which this town has never seen.

i’ve been telling myself that when i find myself wishing i were buying school supplies come august, that i’ll know it’s time to start applying to grad school.  but this year at least, the impulse was supplanted by a need (and, well, a desire) for household goods. my beloved roommate is moving out this week, and taking with her assorted items she purchased: the dish towels.  the measuring cups.  the matching set of coffee mugs.  i’ve got a list going of things that need replacing, but today I gathered the indispensables, and along the way i allowed myself a splendid little teapot.  autumn is the time for teapots.

it may be sunny and in the eighties today, but i’m going to go have myself a cup of tea — possibly iced — and a slab of banana bread.

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a dear friend of mine was stranded at the airport yesterday and is crashing on my couch until she can resolve her travel dilemmas.  yesterday was the first time she had ever been to my house. she had never seen my beautiful sunshiny kitchen, my spare but homey living room, my warm, sand-colored walls.

my roommates had made lemon sangria blanco (a friend informs me that clarico is the argentinian term for sangria made with white wine, which i think is lovely: clarico de limón).  we feasted on cheese and crackers and kettle chips and annie’s bunny grahams (which i insist on calling “honey bunnies”), and drank ourselves silly.

my guest was overjoyed.  “your life is amazing,” she told me.  “this is paradise.”

she caught us at a particularly good time; we don’t make fancy drinks with limoncello every night.  but i am completely, breathtakingly humbled by how fortunate my life is.

my heart races when i think about how pretty my home is, how challenging and rewarding my job is, how filled with love my life is.  my family and friends are healthy and happy and extraordinarily supportive.  i have enough money.  i have my health.

really.  what else do i need?

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there are buds beginning to ripen and burst all over my neighborhood.  from the forsythias on my block, to the peach tree that belongs to that sweet old man on warner street who offered me fruit from his harvest when i first moved here, there’s been a little more life around these parts over the last few days.

i’ve had a lot of life around me for the last week.  last wednesday some of the people i love best spent an evening with me over cocktails and/or steak fries in celebration of my birthday.  last saturday some more of the people i love best helped me fill my house with laughter and food and plenty of good cheer.  and on sunday i spent the day drawing with crayons and eating dinner mints with an almost-six year old who showed off his brand new tooth and proclaimed that if he were president, he’d help people avoid foreclosure.

after staying late at work for a few days in a row, i decided i was entitled to leave a mere half-hour late today.  i took the opportunity of arriving in my neighborhood while it was still 80 degrees and sunny to explore a bit.  tried on a marvelous peach dress that broke my heart when i found it was made for someone two inches shorter and fifteen pounds lighter.  sipped a thai iced tea at diesel cafe, the place that made me feel least like a transplant when i first moved here.  walked by signs heralding microbrews, the red sox, and a dozen types of homemade ravioli at the corner bar, and smiled to myself thinking about my plans for tomorrow: d. and c. make ravioli, la troisième fois (est la bonne?).  moseyed home in my flip-flops.  leftover gazpacho, day three — still just as good, this time with a dollop of sour cream on top, while i sat in my room and watched the daylight fade into a warm spring night.

this is my favorite time of year for a reason.

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today i had a happy tryst with milo down by the pond.  this would more exciting if milo were not my ipod, but it was pretty exciting nevertheless.

i paid twenty-five cents to light a little white candle…

i sat and sang and dipped my feet and watched the ducks dive deep, watched dozens of almost grown bullfrogs skim the surface under tangles of branches at the water’s edge, looked on while a circle of girls shared a loaf of bread and a pint of strawberries and a bottle of rosé.  lived vicariously through a dear friend who shares the same longings and doubts that i do.

i am a writer, writer of fictions,
i am the heart that you call home…

milo sang about valerie plame and leslie anne levine and told cautionary tales of mothers and county linemen and crooked uncles gutshot running gin.  i must say, i had missed that.

on the old left bank, my baby in a charabanc
riding up the width and length of the champs-élysées…

i accrued enough vitamin d and ultraviolet light to last me for the next few weeks.  and i beg to differ, naysayers.  raccoon face is extraordinarily attractive.

come join the youth and beauty brigade…

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today it seems the sun has taken it upon himself to be utterly glorious.  and so for a lovely hour, i am going to lie here in his warm afternoon embrace, and i am going to have my fill of him.

and oh my, the breeze just turned this little tryst into a ménage à trois.  what a pleasant surprise…


(fortunately sun and wind aren’t the jealous types, because i admit i am also devoting some attention to a very interesting book on populism by michael kazin.)

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