it's in the blood

In my opinion, one of the beautiful things about life is how, while each of us is unique, we are essentially an amalgamation of the people we get to know and love. This truth is evident physically--I have my mother's dimples and complexion; I mimic elements of my aunts' and grandmother's style (how I love a good shoe!)--but, more importantly, it peeks through in personality.

I was reminded of this last night, when, after devouring ten shelter magazines and going through two books in one evening, I promptly announced to my husband that I am obsessed, obsessed, I tell you, with this new house decorating project I have undertaken. He just smiled indulgently and good-naturedly pointed out that this is how I get about everything.

The man is right. And as I thought about it more, I know precisely who to blame (or credit, depending on my mood): my dad's side of the family. Growing up, I learned by example that there is no reason whatsoever to settle if one is patient and thorough. While this has mentality has its downside (an awful lot of time wasted, for one, and a nagging fear that, despite my meticulous research, I have missed something), it gives me the benefit of knowing that I have found the very best thing for me. So yes, I looked at over twenty apartments before signing a lease, but I still think of the garage, granite countertops, and location with fondness. Michael wanted to kill me over the sheer number and shapes of wine glasses we analyzed before I put some in our registry, but boy do I feel great every single time I use them. I had a ridiculous number of crushes growing up, but I knew when I met Michael that he was the one. There was no looking back.

It's an approach that doesn't work for everyone, but it works for me. More to the point, it's a quirk that I appreciate in myself because I've seen it all my life in the people that I love. And when I get to know other people and begin to appreciate their quirks, it's heartwarming to know that they're that way because of people that they love. It's an identifiable yet intangible continuum that makes life and relationships special, and it's a way for people to live on in our hearts. And that is a wonderful thing.

turncoat

As some of you may already know, my New Year's Resolution was to read 365 books this year. At 141 and counting, I am a little bit behind, and I have one thing to blame: magazines.

Prior to my early Christmas present of an iPad, I was choosy about my subscriptions: Vanity Fair, Town and Country, Real Simple, Bon Appetit--done. But then I discovered Next Issue. It's an evil thing really, providing innocent civilians like me with access to current and back issues of much too many magazines to read. I had to stop my subscription after the holidays because it was proving to be too big a distraction from school, but now that that is over and done with, since I graduated, in fact, I'm back to the habit. It's awful (and wonderful)! Instead of reaching for a book first thing in the morning, I choose my iPad instead. The variety is endless---do I want to read about clothes, interior design, travel, or food today? So much lighter and easier to finish than a book. And now that home decor is on my mind all the time, it makes so much sense to start another magazine rather than crack open that Zelda Fitzgerald novel. I mean, it's "research." Uh oh.

There's space to love them both. Right?

{image via}

a lesson learned at the catbird seat

One of my favorite songs is John Mayer's 3x5—its main message is leaving the camera behind and focusing what's around you (hopefully with the one you care about) instead. I remembered that lesson when we went to The Catbird Seat for our anniversary last week. (In case you haven't heard of it, Catbird is hot stuff on the foodie circuit these days garnering tons of praise from publications like Food and Wine and Travel + Leisure.) Michael patiently let me snap a shot before we enjoyed each course. After the very last dish was done, we were already having trouble remembering the details of course #3, so I pulled out my iPhone and headed over to Instagram.

Nothing.

You can imagine my dismay. When I expressed this, Michael simply shrugged and grinned, saying we would have to rely on memory just like we did our wedding (we deliberately chose not to do a wedding video because I preferred to remember my version of events). I had to smile back because oh what a memory this night would be… The delicate, amazingly fresh salmon tartare, a tiny sliver of fried chicken skin, the creamiest and cleanest cold potato soup I've ever had, firm grilled swordfish with sea urchin sauce (I wanted an entire bowl of that sauce; I have a love affair with sea urchin), fresh lavender yogurt on perfectly cooked duck breast (with peas! nothing says spring like perfectly cooked peas), custard that came in an actual egg shell… These were only some of the (badly described) dishes that we savored, dissected, and really, truly enjoyed. The piece de resistance was the first of three desserts… coconut "fluff" (foam) hiding plantain puree, milk chocolate ice cream, and tangerine dots, with a perfectly-sized eucalyptus crisp adorning the whole thing… Just thinking about it makes me happy.

The only thing better than the food was being able to talk about it with Michael and take in how much he enjoyed everything. I think that's why we love going to restaurants so much. For two people who like doing very different things and have opposite temperaments, the dining table is a place where we sit down and share---our food, our time, our thoughts---and then build memories. At the end of the day, that matters so much more (and truly cannot be conveyed) by the pictures.

Psst! What assisted my amazing rendition of the menu was an actual copy of the menu (which they give to each diner at the end of the evening). Here's a peek of that… (So much for "no pictures," right?)

the gift of time

This weekend felt different. Lighter. Freer. It was the first weekend that I truly had to myself (to share with the husband, of course!) after two years of being a working graduate student. I knew it was different when, by noon on Saturday, after spending the entire morning running errands, I contentedly arranged flowers for a good thirty minutes while humming along to Carla Bruni instead of frantically calculating all the time I had already lost. On Sunday, I was languidly puttering around the kitchen, taking my time with dicing and slicing and experimenting for a surprise brunch. I felt happy, relaxed, like I could focus on precisely what I was doing and nothing else. After constantly juggling, rushing, and stealing moments from one pot to place in another, I no longer felt like I had to bargain with time.

Time is a funny thing. As a child, I had oodles and oodles of it. I remember long, lazy days swinging on a hammock, listening to the surf, the sun warming me to the point where I just had to jump in the water. (Most of my summers were like this, making it my favorite season.) During the school year, I was typically lying down by five, the A/C whirring, either on the phone with a friend, watching cable, or reading a pile of books. I never thought about time. I had so much of it. Even in college, although we all complained about deadlines and pressure and stress, the luxury of going to bed at four in the morning, showing up at an 11am class in rumpled pjs and a jumbo cup of CoHo coffee only to head straight back to the apartment for a catnap... Time was still mine.

On one level, I know and understand that it will never be that way again. As we get older, we have more responsibilities and a different understanding of life. (Five-year-old me, for instance, would not be fazed by a bathroom that hadn't been cleaned in weeks and dishes in the sink. Twenty-seven-year-old me would beg to differ.) One day, hopefully, we'll be blessed with a baby, and how we perceive life and time and balance will really change then. But right now, I revel in knowing that I'm in a good place where I can appreciate the little luxuries that some extra time brings like an impromptu, winding brunch with the husband on Sunday, guiltlessly reading books all afternoon like I used to, or sometimes, just lying in bed, cocooned in a fluffy comforter and doing absolutely nothing at all.

i still do

Two years ago today, I put on a beautiful white dress, my aunt's wedding veil, and earrings from my grandmother. I held a bouquet of ranunculus that my good friend had made for me and walked down the aisle, first with my brother and then with my father, to Michael and the rest of my life.

It wasn't until my own wedding that I understood what people meant when they said that these events are celebrations of love. Looking all around me and seeing the faces of close friends and family, happy because we were happy, was unforgettable. As was the moment that Michael read the third line of our vows (mine are in italics) and everyone started laughing.

I love our vows. I love how they encapsulate the people we were when we fell in love and how within them there is room for us to grow. I already looking forward to every May 22nd that we will read them to each other and remember our special day. Here they are...

...

I vow to always cherish you

I vow to always cherish you

To buy you lots of books

To indulge your gaming side

To go on spontaneous adventures with you

To remember you need to relax once we get there

To kiss you good morning every morning

To cuddle you at night every night

To be adventurous in trying new food

To play video games with you

To take us wine tasting around the world

To let you sleep in and make you coffee on Sundays

To always remember to buy you fresh flowers

To take joy in our differences

To make the perfect home for us

To fill it with laughter and children

To always support you

To be thoughtful and kind

To hold your hand when we cross the street

To appreciate your little acts of kindness

To enjoy your singing

To indulge your jokes

To write you love letters

To treasure every word

To make every moment count

To tell our grandchildren how we fell in love

To accept and love you for who you are today, tomorrow, and forever

To accept and love you for who you are today, tomorrow, and forever

And to continually work to be a better person for you

And to continually work to be a better person for you

You make me want to be a better man.

You enable me to dream big dreams.

Do you vow to be my wife?

I do. Do you vow to be my husband?

I do.

...

pomp and circumstance

{missing MH, Ker, J}

On May 10th, I, along with some of my favorite people, was cheered on by some of my other very favorite people, as we crossed the stage and accepted our diplomas. It was a bittersweet feeling. I think we were all in accord with our desire to be done with the classes and the papers and juggling work commitments...but we weren't quite ready to say good-bye to each other.

This graduation was especially important to me because I didn't get as much closure with my undergrad ceremony. I'd made the decision to accept an internship that began before graduation and ended up walking one year later. (The only upside to this is that I have my cap and gown photo with my then-boyfriend, now-husband since he also chose to defer to walk.) That messy, whirlwind, "I don't really care" ending was the complete opposite to this amazing weekend that I had, and the fact that my dad and my in-laws (parents and grandparents) made an effort to be there made me feel very special.

Closure this time around did not come in one fell swoop but in trickles... First came the end of finals, then graduation, then the end of any work commitments, along with saying farewell to friends one by one as they continue to depart on different days. (Two, thankfully, are staying.) I think this has made it easier to end this chapter and slowly but acceptingly move on.

Will I miss the deadlines and the stress? No (and I'm sure I'll get that from my job)! But I will miss the learning. The amazing gift that formal education gives is that it opens your eyes to things you really would have had no compunction to discover otherwise but that nevertheless change you.

I will, of course, miss my friends the most. I will always remember the good times: the late-night dances downtown, the nervous, daring looks we give each other before downing that shot (which we already know will be a mistake five hours later), the contentment of being in a car and just driving somewhere together. I am sad to know that, other than some planned and already-anticipated adventures in the future, these have come to an end. I console myself with the thought that I carry each of them in my heart, and their examples of thoughtfulness, kindness, grace under pressure, how to be giving, how to love others better, and how to accept myself are the most important things that I have learned in graduate school.

graphology

It's been over a week since a childhood friend of my mother's posted this photo on Facebook, and I still can't stop thinking about it. Seeing my mother's distinctive handwriting out of the blue--I haven't met many people who lost their parents young, but I assume that what I feel, the sharp, sudden pain of loss even after all these years, is not special. Others must feel it too. But it is surprising, how I can be perfectly fine one minute, savoring the spring weather, the feel of a new linen sundress, giddy from a shared joke with a husband, and then all of a sudden, remember and grieve.

I could write endlessly about my mother, books and books even, but what this photo prompted me to do is reminisce about her handwriting. Even as a child, before I began daily penmanship lessons in first grade, I knew my mom's handwriting was beautiful and unique. She was raised in a time when you could tell which private school a girl went to by her script, yet hers did not look like anyone else's. I loved the exaggerated curves made by her hand as if it signified the bubbliness she had within. I remember being so excited when I would write one word out of tens of sentences that looked just the way she would write it---I thought this was a sign that I would be just like her.

Graphology, the art of analyzing handwriting, has fallen out of favor scientifically; however, to this day, I am inordinately pleased by the fact that my script now resembles hers when I make a conscious effort to write properly. What does it mean, I wonder, that she wrote so beautifully without even trying? I like to believe it is a reflection of her spirit, and I am comforted by the fact that when I try, in a sense, I maybe, hopefully, share some of the beautiful characteristics that endeared her to so many. Thoughtful, big-hearted, easy to laugh, and easy to love... All of which are evident not just in the content of her many notes and letters but also in how she wrote them.