Some weeks feel like they stretch into months; others fly by in an instant. The long ones require a little more patience, a little more effort—I have to stop and notice my impatience or mood, and recalibrate. I think about how nice it is to have the luxury of time at home without too many meetings or travel or appointments. I think about things I reliably like (cold cream poured over warm homemade chocolate pudding, the smell of shallots cooking in olive oil, showering with Molton Brown’s bergamot and orange body wash, listening to Sam Cooke when I prep dinner, putting on just-from-the-dryer socks) and I practice shifting my mindset from “what’s coming next” to “where am I right now”.Read More
It’s a brighter day than yesterday—my mood is sunnier, but not light. Sometimes I’m struck by this particular sensation: Of being calm and content but having a gentle, insistent feeling of so many little anxieties hovering at the edges of your mind. They whisper quietly now and again, and aren’t loud enough that you can’t hush them, but they’re there.
Other days those shadows aren’t there; you’re unfettered in your happiness. Or you’re mired in a crisis—work stress or a fight with your sister or nerves over an impending trip—and that’s all you feel.Read More
Viciously cold outside today. Winter is clinging to the city with a fierce grip. “Let go!” I want to shout at it. “My skin is cold! My hands are cold! Let go,” I silently plead to the sky above. On my walk home last night, I optimistically waltzed into the little ice cream shop on 81 and Amsterdam. I sampled the newest flavor (cherry heartbeet!) before realizing that I was in too wintry a mood even for ice cream. (I know! Who says that?)Read More
It is decidedly not warm outside. After a spate of truly frigid weather, we were thrown for a loop with one odd day this week where the temperature nearly reached 60 degrees. The warmth was accompanied by a downpour of rain all day, leaving the city feeling sodden and slightly sticky, everyone wandering about looking a bit disoriented by the whole affair, shaking their damp umbrellas on each other and tracking water all through the shops.Read More
The scent of warm bread fills the kitchen. There's sugar and spice too—cinnamon and sugar and a hint of festive, fragrant flavors like nutmeg and cloves. I sniff the air. “Butter,” I think, picturing myself early as I methodically sliced two sticks into pale yellow pats and dropped them into the bowl of my stand mixer. A faint yeastiness hints at what’s rising inside the oven: a gorgeously browned brioche loaf, prettily domed with a curved surface as the hillocks of pale dough puff in the heat.Read More