I'll keep this brief, because it's cold outside. The window of the living room is ajar and the gusts of air are icy. My wool blanket is helping. (So is the glass of prosecco.) But my bed upstairs is no doubt warmer, and I'll cozily tuck the edges of the comforter around my sock-clad feet.Read More
WHAT I'M DOING
- Booking a ferry trip for Sunday afternoon. Orient Point --> New London. I'll drive the winding roads up past Hartford, then cross into Massachusetts. My heart will constrict when I pass the Vermont state line, then slowly settle into calm contentedness with each mile that brings me closer to Norwich and its tiny general store and quiet roads and New England style.
Life is always happening. There is no pause button, no daily translation of pausing on a run for quick breather while you stretch your quads, and certainly no real-life version of holding onto the side of the pool wall when you can't tread water any longer. Or need a sip of your sunbathing friend's strawberry daiquiri. Oh wait! There is essentially a real-life version of that and it is called wine and it is currently in my left hand while I type this with my right.Read More
And to think that here I was, wishing the year would just turn to autumn already. Maybe it's because I haven't made my monthly work trip to Vermont (I know, I know, my life is tough!) since August. I've been dreaming about the resplendent foliage that turns the rolling hills a blazing red and vivid orange. I've been remembering the heavy, sultry smell of wood smoke, and how it hangs in the air, promising cozy scenes of porch-wrapped white houses: a golden retriever snoozing by the hearth on a soft rug and families sprawled on the couch after dinner eating cake and laughing.Read More
When I was younger, I considered museums and poetry to be in the same category: things I should appreciate but have to really fake enthusiasm for. One summer in high school, I spent a month living in Spain with a group of other American students. We lived for 2 weeks all together in a gorgeous rococo-style apartment just off the park near the Arc de Triomf, discovering the joys of Nutella-smeared bread and ogling cute European boys and giggling at the topless, gorgeous Spanish women who confidently sunbathed on every beach. You know, being seventeen.Read More