Tag Archives: Family

A Merry Little Christmas

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Wishing all the best, from me and mine, to you and yours.

Image 6Warm fires after cold walks,

Image 3 Butter and sugar, in their best, bite-sized forms,

Image 7Image 18Cut with sips of your favorite wine,

Image 23Image 41Twinkling lights,

Image 21Image 22Flickering candles,

Image 20And a dining room table [with a fancy feast], seating those you love.

Image 31Image 45Image 44Christmas Eve is a quiet affair around here. Just us, the scrabble board, and a few hours spent drifting between our favorite stories and their subsequent belly laughs.

“I have come,” said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him.” 
— C.S. Lewis

Merry Christmas Everyone!

A New York Thanksgiving

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Something a little magical happened last week. One by one, my [almost] whole family made their way to New York to celebrate Thanksgiving together.

Some came Tuesday, some Thursday, some even wandered in Friday…but by week’s end there we were, smiles plastered on our faces and giggles constantly tickling our ears.

Thursday morning my younger sister and I threw butter, brown sugar, apples, and maybe even a little sour cream together to make Martha’s glorious [heavenly and amazing also applicable] Apple-Sour Cream Crumb Pie.

I can’t even talk about it, I’m not ready.

I also can’t talk about the burn striped across my hand. Temptation got the best of me and convinced…begged me, really…to reach my hand in the oven a bit early.

Know what…I can’t talk about running through Grand Central Station with a hot pie and thousands of harried commuters either…

Either way, we made it out of the city and the festivities began. We ate [oh god, we ate], we drank [excessively?], and the latest anyone saw was just shy of 10 p.m. [wasn't me].

The chefs [undoubtedly also frontrunners for host and hostess of the year]–Uncle Dan and Aunt Kim.

Kim’s most crafty creation…and my downfall…Ginger Margaritas.

I’ll be honest…because this is most certainly an honest forum…and I mean…well, whatever…I didn’t make it to pie.

That pie I slaved, sweated, and darn near cried once singed, over? Didn’t eat it until I woke up at 3 a.m. after a 7 hour slumber [meaning an 8p.m. bed time], padded down to the kitchen, and grabbed a fork.

Thanksgiving won this year, but I’ll be back next year, you be sure.

The next morning was a bit groggy, but nothing some fresh air couldn’t fix.

Arthur Avenue got paid a visit, for its tiny Italian markets and fresh oysters. We popped in and out of shops, loading down our bags with fresh cheese, sausage, and breads…all to gluttonously cart home and gleefully tuck into.

And when we returned…these were waiting…just waiting…for us all.

The afternoon was spent between sips of these, games of dice, and cat naps on the couches.

If there’s a list of things we could all use a little more of…lobster bloody mary’s, games with grandma, and naps have to be creeping ever closer toward the top.

Saturday started classy enough with a magic show at the Waldorf Towers…but decimated rather quickly as we bounced from the Spice Market to Rosa Mexicano and finally, Hill Country Barbeque Market…all in a party bus…[wait, your family doesn't do that?].

You like brisket? What about ribs? Meat in general? This is your place [and mine!].

The sisters have already darted off to their respective cities…leaving a dull ache somewhere relatively close to my heart…but I’ve got Dad here until Wednesday and Mom until Friday and therefore have to go myself.

I hope everyone’s Thanksgiving was equally rewarding–from the memories to the necessary spandex wardrobe ;-)

Meeting in the Middle

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My older sister came to town this weekend. Our birthdays are only 8 days (along with a few pesky years…) apart and we thought we’d celebrate together.

You know…simultaneously hand each other gifts, stay up late giggling stories from one pillow to the next, bounce around the 5th avenue shops, and gather all our nearest and dearest for a night out…

Here are some photos from our too short, too sweet, and much-too-soon over weekend.

An afternoon spent with L.A. Burdick hot chocolates and shopping…most agreeable companions, if you ask me.

A long dinner, set to the tune of clinking glasses and belly laughs.

We popped over to Empellon Taqueria in the West Village and higher remarks can’t be given: great margaritas, excellent service, and all the tacos my grubby little fingers ever hoped to grab.

(You should go! You should also make a reservation, frequent the bar for a house margarita, and order the skirt steak tacos with a side of smoked cashew salsa…)

And then a farewell and “see you soon” brunch at Resto. Surely, it was our impending separation motivating our orders…

House-made granola with greek yogurt, real bacon, and baked eggs swimming in tomato sauce and positively begging for the companionship of that crusty bread.

And then she was off (to Boston) and so was I (to work).

I miss her already. My small apartment is sure to feel too large when I return home tonight. She one’s of my favorite people; outrageously funny, peculiar (in all the right ways), and she laughs until she cries…which just might be the best quality one could have.

Feels Like a Holiday

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I adore holiday traditions. Somehow the anticipation of doing the same things every single year sucks me in far more than any promise of something new and foreign.

Growing up, this weekend was spent cheering on my mother in the neighborhood Ham & Eggs Tennis Tournament from rafts in the kiddie pool. Popsicles, barbeques, watermelon wedges, and falling asleep snuggled under beach towels color my earliest memories of Labor Day.

Tennis elbow eventually got to mom. We outgrew the kiddie pool. And the chances of dozing off on a plastic pool-chair are now slim-to-none. While the slow disappearance of traditions would normally incite panic and sadness…the spirit of the weekend remains the same.

Family.

Friday night we donned our preppiest duds and headed out to the country club for some golfing. Sadly, these were my best shots of the night (wink-wink, pun intended).

Because upon wielding a club, be it a driver or a pitching-wedge, scenes quickly changed from this,

to this.

My poor, poor father battling the elements to recover each stranded Titlest XL.

Many years from now…this is how I will picture my father. Ten paces ahead of me, “walking with a purpose” down a lush fairway.

The rest of the weekend has been spent gathered around my mother’s ever-impressive array of food.

I’m trying to remember a time in which 5 o’clock arrived in this house without a similar looking antipasto platter…but I’m coming up short. We are a family that loves cheese. And olives. And grapes…shall I chalk it up to food in general?

And as the women snacked, regaling grandma with tales of graduation, dad manned the Weber.

Pork tenderloin marinated soy sauce, fresh garlic, sugar, cayenne, vinegar, and onion, all wrapped in…wait for it… bacon. Sigh. Delicious.

Coupled with all the best summer veggies marinated in Italian dressing.

I hope everyone is having an equally delicious and relaxing weekend! Please remember to give thanks to the men and women serving this country that make weekends of leisure so possible.

Off to (or from) College

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Prepping for my last finals week has me feeling nostalgic. Remembering freshman year, all the eager anticipation I showed up with, and all the crazy things that led to today, four-years the wiser, is what prompts this post.

So for some, this is an open letter of what to expect when you ship off to college in the fall. For others, I hope it is a welcome look back.

Dear Freshie,

First, congratulations on graduating high-school. For some of you it may have been a struggle, for others it was a breeze. Accordingly, your parents are either very proud or sincerely relieved.

As hard as it is to pack up and say good-bye to your family and friends-since-forever, remember to be excited. The most important chapter of your life is about to start; going in with your chin raised high and your cheeks dry from tears is important.

College has a way of laughing at your idea of who you thought you should be and showing you just who you really are. Don’t worry, you’ll like this person more.

Don’t take yourself too seriously. You’re young exactly once; growing up is nothing to rush into. Stay out a little too late. Laugh just a bit too loud. Do something embarrassing every now and then. It’s okay.

Don’t be surprised that the first year is hard. This is normal. So while being far from home hurts your heart in unique ways, be mindful that everyone on your hall feels similarly.

Bond over this.

Don’t wallow. Go out, help each other get ready, share clothes, be generous with compliments, take lots of photos. Someone wants to throw a theme party? Get into it.

The only way to look stupid at a theme party is to act too cool for the theme.

Time will scoot by faster than you can imagine.

By October, you’ll have the famous freshman flu (hot tea, lemon, and a big squirt of honey cures all).

By November, you’ll have run out of money and Ramen noodles will be your new best friend…especially when they’re eaten with your other new best friends.

By the time Christmas rolls around, you’ll throw on some antlers (please no sexy Mrs. Claus outfits), organize a secret Santa (with a strict price limit), and stay up all night before heading home to a mom sure to gasp at how thin/fat you have gotten.

Take this with a grain of salt, whether you gain or lose weight its temporary.

And that’s it. You survived your first semester. The rest of them will pass far too quickly. But I don’t want to ruin all the surprises so instead, I’ll leave you with a few final survival tips.

1. Choose your friends wisely. You need them now more than you ever have before.

2. As exciting as these new friends are, remember the ones you left behind. Call frequently.

3. That goes for siblings as well. If you’re like me and all of you are close in age, there’s a chance your locations now dot various far-flung cities. Stay close, have group texts, send pictures, visit as often as possible.

4. It’s okay to miss class. Skip a couple, sleep in, stay in bed, go for a walk, take a long weekend, go to that concert even though its two hours away. And please, if the cute boy from the party last night asks you to breakfast, say yes.

5. Have a wonderful, wonderful time.

Jack and The Road

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“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Every Christmas my father gifts each of us a book. And in the mysterious ways fathers work, it always ends up being one you’ll need that year. Two winters ago, I woke up to Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, The Original Scroll.

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Immense pressure set in immediately. My father harbors unparalleled love for the Beat Generation. His life was different before and after reading Kerouac. Burroughs, Ginsberg, Cassady, and Kerouac are four men he willingly gave in to for enjoyment and sought out for inspiration. I grew up knowing that.

It was the first book laced with expectations. He wanted me to like it. But even more, he wanted me to understand.

Christmas break at home, with family events and holiday parties, simply wasn’t the proper setting, I reasoned. Then school started and the flood of assignments and practices began, I said. And so it sat until June. When, as it turns out, is exactly when I needed it.

I was offered a teaching opportunity in Vietnam that summer. I accepted. And suddenly, On the Road was the most fitting title on my shelf.

It survived the 35 hour flight itinerary. And the rough bus rides on unpaved roads. And the many afternoons spent playing the waiting game with torrent monsoons. It went where I went. And I soaked up every word.

299 pages. No paragraphs. No chapters. No breaks.

I have never read anything like it and I don’t suspect I, or anyone else, will again any time soon. The first word kicks off at a breakneck speed that lasts until the last punctuation mark. Slowing down is never an option. No good stopping points or moments to catch your breath exist. Because really, there is no stopping…or breathing, for the most part anyway.

“Explored” isn’t the right word; every city, state, and highway they meet is conquered. Neal and Jack exist in an ecstatic vigor largely unknown to my generation. They are unabashed consumers of life. And to your pleasure or dismay, they feed it to you every moment you’re with them.

I can’t imagine you exist unaware of how Kerouac and the other Beat writers altered American Literature and culture. If, however, you do… immediately take off for your nearest bookseller, purchase Allen Ginsberg’s A Definition of the Beat Generation, read, and respect (please).

And yet none of this captures why I love this book. It doesn’t explain the humidity-swollen pages or why the spine must cling for dear life every time it’s opened. No, it doesn’t even come close.

My love for this profound piece of literature is rooted right next to my love for my father.

This is where I met him. The him before me. At the turn of every page, he stared. Young, unafraid, irresponsible and so wholly consumed with the adventure of life.

Finally, I understood.