Tuesday, June 26, 2012

The thing about New York

It's big city and yes, you share it with over 8 million people.
But the thing is...
The thing about New York is there's a place for everyone.
There is room.
There's a park bench, a coffee shop, an open window.
A library alcove, a spot of grass, a back corner booth.
It may be a nook here or nook there, but it's still a piece of New York, inviting you to stake your claim.
In a city of millions with a myriad of tourist attractions, it's wonderful to take a deep breath and say to yourself...
This spot, tiny as it may be, is mine.
My own New York.

Friday, June 22, 2012

of late




Dough on kitchen countertops, feelings of home.
Berries, a delectable treat.
Flowers, colorful reminders.
Topical analgesic, a pesky, persistent cough.
Andrew James, my father & friend, celebrated.
Justin Rigoloso, keeper of my heart.
Margaritas, words shared between soul sisters.

Summer has come.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

hands at work + a family recipe

Hands are some of my favorite features.
The stories they tell of hard working days, of feeding children, of clothing them.
Of tender comforting. Of happy pastimes being fulfilled. Of giving life.

My dad's hands, filled with character, tell mountains of stories.
Never idle, always busy, ever piddling around.

On my last trip home to Alabama, he graciously cooked breakfast for my mom and me.
Creamy, buttery grits. Eggs. Sausage & bacon.
Biscuits in an old cast iron skillet, from scratch and absolutely perfect.
My Mudder, his grandmother's recipe.

Mother's Day came and we celebrated with real whipped cream, fresh strawberries and pound cake.
Our version of a build-your-own strawberry shortcake.
His hands, at work again, celebrating all the women in his life,
my mom and grandmothers and aunt and me.

I look at my own hands and I hope they'll become more like his.
Eager to help, willing to serve, happy to celebrate.


Aunt Hilda's Pound Cake
8 oz cream cheese
3 sticks butter
3 cups sugar
6 large eggs
3 cups plain flour
1.5 tsp vanilla

Ingredients should be at room temperature.
Mix together butter, cream cheese and sugar until creamy.
Alternate adding flour and eggs.
Add vanilla last. Mix well.

Your oven needs to be cold. Do not pre-heat.
Bake at 300 degrees.
1.5 hours for a tube pan. 1 hour for 3 loaf pans.
1 hour for 11x14 traditional cake pan.

Gather 'round your friends and family and celebrate the hands that made you who you are today.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

the space between

This week hasn't been anything spectacular in the way people tend to think
life is all GlitzyGlamAllTheTime living in NYC.
This is not a complaint, but rather, an explanation of sorts to the silence on the blog this week.
There's only so much fanfare that could surround things like...
I stopped counting the mosquito bites after five and declared an unofficial, but totally legit war.
The new rug we bought for the kitchen. Some moments it feels Moroccan and I dig it.
Other times, it just looks like a beach towel laying there mocking me.
It's been one of those weeks where you open the pantry door believing, miraculously, food will materialize and grand offerings will appear only to see months-old lifesavers staring back at you.
We haven't been totally without, though...

Amber came over one night and we made chicken carbonera. Right on.
The Moroccan beach towel in all it's glory/mockery featured above.

backyard bbq prep

grilled kabobs and corn on the cob


Two things I know for sure:

No. 1
The in-between spaces of everyday life, the parts sandwiched between all the Big and Exciting Things,
those are good times, too. So very good.


No. 2
Lifesavers do not a delectable meal make.
Off to the market I go.

Friday, June 1, 2012

hot fun in the summertime

last day for wearing a blazer this season, mid-May 2012, with the girls in Brooklyn

The time is fastly approaching.

The time of sticky days where the least amount of clothing while still being appropriate becomes the only criteria for getting dressed. Where I actually hope for a cold shower just to get a reprieve. Where food is almost an afterthought and really the only thing I can utter is, for.the.love. give.me.water. ice.cold.water.

I know the time is fastly approaching because we've taken our first walk to the subway in complete silence. I have a hard time concentrating on making words come out of my mouth when there's sweat dripping down places I was raised not to discuss in polite company.

I also stared this season in the hot, sweaty face the other night when we went to dinner with friends. I chose a cute colorblocked silkish shirt to wear, verging on fancy, inclining my ear for a compliment from my man. By the end of the night, I had made a vow to anyone who would listen that I'd never ever wear anything silkish ever again unless icicles were hanging from my nose.

It's not that I dislike summer. I just dislike being hot and sweaty. And I have a hard time not being those things when it's 90plus degrees and 89% humidity in a city where our mode of transportation is our feet.

So if you see me around New York City over the next three months, I'll be the girl sucking back water, uttering very few words, wearing anything other than silk, begging the beads of sweat not to puddle around my lady parts.

Welcome, June.

Please be nice.