75 Degrees and Sunny

We came home from work and school, and it was light. It was warm. We ate a dinner quick to prepare: cheese omelets with shredded zucchini sautéed in garlic; roasted potatoes made yesterday, rewarmed; vinegary coleslaw. All veggies CSA sourced. And, in that way, our dinner selection was somewhat forced. (I am ready for summer's bounty—or at least more spring spinach.) 

We cleared the table enough to put dirty plates out of reach of the pets (not that the cats haven't ever jumped on the counters) and went outside in flip-flops and bare feet. We flew planes, pushed swings, dug dirt, played lacrosse and acted out Power Ranger situations. We chatted with neighbors on both sides of the fence. It was a sweet evening, light and warm.

Tomorrow, I hear, it may snow.

Simple Pleasures

I've been a cranky bitch lately but I gotta give myself credit where credit is due: I'm a lot more grateful for life's simple pleasures than I was, say, 10 years ago. Three examples:

I felt lucky as hell to have a private yoga session at lunch.

I wasn't going to go to yoga today—too much to get done—but a meeting was wrapping up just a few minutes before I had to run down the hall (how freaking lucky is that) to the class, if I was going to do it. Then I realized that today was the last day for my unlimited pass (read: "free" class) so I went for it. And—no doubt because it was 50 degrees and beautiful today—I was the only student who showed up. Jane read an piece by

Pema Chodron

(it included  "dog poop" - awesome) and then led us through a invigorating flow. She  helped me figure out how to get into a headstand, balancing on my forearms instead of my hands. It was super fun.

My friend Holly bought me the sweet vintage apron (hanging over my face) a decade ago.

I wear it to wash dishes because I'm super messy. 

I was totally psyched to get my hair trimmed.

When to comes hair changes, I'm usually not satisfied with subtle. (This once led to a major hair disaster 2 weeks before my wedding.) Again and again, I grow it long mostly so I can lop it off into a pixie. Total makeover. Dopamine rush. Before that I started that cycle, I used to have Nathan streak it with shades that varied from high-contrast blonde to crayon red. I aim for a high-impact change. But right now I'm  growing it out so all I got was a trim—which usually just leaves me bored. Tonight, I was just happy to hang with Hannah. And I do have less of mullet than I did at 5:59.

I'm actually digging an evening work session.

Even though I generally love what I do for work, second-shift sessions can be a drag. Tonight, though, while I type in this room (taking some time to procrastinate by writing this post), Olin is working on his computer in the next one. The Clash is on the radio. I'm sipping chai and eating chocolate. He's drinking Dogfish. We took a time-out so I could show him my new headstand—and he could one-up me with his fancy side crow. Whatever, dude.

My Husband's Squad

I didn't share a childhood with these people. But we've grown up together.

I married into the most fantastic group of tight-knit, solidly awesome grade-school friends. Who all married the most amazing of women. And then spawned a bunch of pretty special kids.

I wasn't there when these guys played video games in middle school or threw parties in their parents' basements after high-school football games - but I was around for Round 2, in the three-bedroom Queens apartment they rented post-college. The one where John and Dan shared a room with two twin beds. The one where I ended up after an evening at the Irish Cottage, one April night in 1999.

Without this crew's acceptance, no doubt, I wouldn't have lasted long. And when Olin left for Cali, these people kept me company: taking me to cooking classes and on bike rides through Flushing Meadows Park, packing my shit into a U-haul and then navigating it through Manhattan. 

We've danced at each others' weddings and celebrated new starts at celebratory showers; knit gifts for fresh babies and and offered tips for dealing with obstinate kids and tricky situations.

Now, on the rarer times when we're together, we eat and drink (far too much) and pass the time with fun and games -kid-friendly themes by day, irreverent ones by night. We laugh. And we laugh and laugh, realizing all the while how lucky we are to have each other. 

Our 15th February 14th

In the 15 years Olin and I have been together (10 of them married), we've created various Valentine traditions. We've gifted underwear (which is way less sexy than it sounds - fancy cold-weather first layers, like long johns, are favorite picks for this). For a number of years, we did 7 am breakfasts at Penny Cluse, saving the evening of 2/14 for our Platonic Pancake Lovefest. This was a pancake party for all of our friends - singles, couples, kids, whoever.

The most memorable of these happened 8 or so years ago, when 2 feet of snow trapped most of our guests at home. Not S and A. They snowmobiled over. Right down North Ave. And two single friends made it. Now they are married and expecting a baby. Like I said, Lovefest. Back then, when we were newlyweds. Or, at least, back then, when we were kid less and had more time for dates.

Today, our love looks more like this:

He is driving because the snowy, icy roads are dicey and that makes me super anxious.

He who remembered my mentioning months ago that I love the Vermont hats from Syrup Shop  and bought my favorite one, even I never told him the colors.

He who has been listening to me, for at least a week, obsess about my lower back pain. What if it's a kidney infection and not a snowboarding-induced strain?

He'll give me one of his kidneys, he jokes. And then, noticing real worry on my face, he listens to me read, aloud, a list of symptoms from WebMD.

He who pushes me to get behind the wheel at other times when I'm scared, to head back to the mountain when it'd be easier to just stay home and make the chili. Because he knows I'll be pissed at myself if I don't. 

And he cares.