The other week I took a run for the first time in…well, I’d really rather not say if that’s alright. It was blustery and cold and rain sluiced down my face, plastering strands of hair against my forehead. I blinked the water out of my eyes as I ran, and as I got to the last few blocks, I picked up speed and sprinted the final minute, ending up at the pier. I pulled off my running shoes and stripped down to my sports bra and undies (yup!), shivering as I did so—the wind was picking up speed and whipping droplets so hard that I looked up to see if they had maybe turned into hail. I raced down the dock and leapt into the water. In my opinion, this is the only way to approach a swim you expect to be quite cold: just dive in without letting yourself think about it too much.
Read moreOLIVE OIL CRACKERS
I love a good cocktail hour. Not necessarily one at a cocktail party (too much small talk, never enough elderflower-spiked Prosecco), but the golden pre-dinner time around happy hour. I like the calm that the evening holds right around then, as if the day is slowly exhaling its breath. I like the sensation of having been active for hours, and maybe just having finished a run or a swim or a bike, and being clean and showered and dressed for supper.
Read moreCHEESY HERBED ZUCCHINI WAFFLES
I'm sitting on the front stoop of my house, my feet resting on the third brick step and my back leaning against the glass-paned front door, which is slightly ajar. On either side of the door are two oversized slate pots filled with basil plants: an unconventional choice over flowers but a welcome scent to come home to. A woman passes slowly on her bike, stopping a few feet beyond the house and resting one slim Converse-clad foot on the pavement. She's wearing a fitted white t-shirt with a French phrase (one I can't translate) across the front in a pretty block font, and crispy navy Bermuda shorts. Her graying hair is beautifully layered and brushed behind her ears. She waves and calls out tentatively, asking if this is the baby she hears often from her back porch.
Read moreBASIL MAYO + A SUMMER SANDWICH
You, reading this. I don’t know who you are, or where you are. I don’t know if you’re just starting your day, padding in socked feet into the kitchen to boil water for the French press, pulling out eggs and cream as you toast an English muffin. I don’t know if you’re still half-asleep, rolling over in a tangle of white cotton sheets to fumble for your phone on the bedside table and read a few blogs to wake up, assiduously avoiding the news for now.
Read moreBUTTERY HERB CRACKERS
Traveling has been a given for so much of my life—and I’ve been thinking about it lately, in the way we’re all wont to fixate on things we can’t have (at least, in this case, for the foreseeable future). I’ve been so lucky to visit far-flung places starting at a young age. And there have been plenty of adventures closer to home too, thanks to an ever-rotating roster of family vacations. We’ve flown in big commercial jets and wobbly prop planes or driven hours in our old blue Volvo to get to places like the tiny island of Pine Cay or the waterfalls in Hilton Head or the turquoise shoals of the British Virgin Islands or the cool, piney forests of the Poconos. We’ve hiked and biked and kayaked and sunbathed.
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