But Slenderly. . .

Like Fawkes, only less awesome

Hello there, old pals. I return, like a phoenix!  WHOOSH.

 

(well, maybe like a retiring phoenix, not particularly grand-like, with plumes aglow and firey eyes of anything.) (what? I'm a demure phoenix)

 

All has been going quite swimmingly since I last wrote.  It serves me right that when I finally sit down to write, I'm overwhelmed with the events to talk about.  It really has been an embarrassment of riches. I mean, it's not as if every moment has been sunshine prisms and unicorn dreams, but still, my January malaise has skirted off to the shadows with its tail between its legs and I feel . . . well, I feel good.  The sun is shining, the grass is growing, birds singing etc.  Except this is New York so it's more: the sun is shining, I've seen the occasional blooming tree along the Westside highway, and just yesterday the cat spotted a pigeon from the window and nearly died of kitty joy.  A quick (ish?) summary of Things I Have Enjoyed, Both Big and Random:

 

• The rest of Barcelona was divine - we ate and drank and arted and walked and seasided and just generally enjoyed life. D and I were on the same vacation wave length wherein it was heavy on the leisure, moderate on the arts, and light on the imposition.  Rarely have we eaten so well, seriously. Barcelona is one of the most wonderous foodie fantasy lands, and for (relatively) cheap.  By the end, we had all but forsworn Paris.  Plus art galore, a beautiful, walkable city, side trips to the beach and the mountains for hikes in inappropriate footwear, concerts in perfect gems of concert halls, snuggling under blankets to watch Barcelona kick Bilbao's ass in football and listening to the whole stadium break out in song, shopping in the boqueria, cheap, mineraly glasses of cava.  We left feeling refreshed and kissy and happy as clams. 
• Pizza making lessons.  Dakin gave me the world's best fifth anniversary present wiith a six hour lesson on making perfect pizza in your own home.  Mark (pizza man extraordinaire) is perhaps the sweetest man in New York, took us all over Little Italy and Chinatown to show us the best places to buy the freshest and best mozzarella, sauce, ground pork.  And then took us up to his fifth floor walk up apartment to learn how to make seriously awesome dough.  He was patient and funny when my dough rolling efforts proved to be . . . ineffective, and while we all polished off some wine, helped our little six-person class make some of the best pizza I've ever eaten.  I keep trying to find out if he's single (seriously ladies, he is smart, sweet as pie, passionate about pizza, affable, hunky with forearms the size of small trucks) because he is basically a dreamboat and I secretly want him and my friend Emily to meet and fall in love and raise little pizza loving kiddies. 
• I ran a half marathon two weeks ago in Brooklyn.  I actually sort of in my own half-assed, non-scientific way trained for it, so while it hurt and I was tired and really really happy to see that balloon-festooned finish line on the Coney Island pier, I think I ran a good race.  I did not, sadly, meet my secret goal of running under two hours, I was close at 2:03!  And shaved a solid eight minutes off my last half-marathon two years ago.  Age! It does a body good.  (um. that or sort of training this time around).
• Baby!  No, damnation, not one of my own, but I became the very proud Aunt of Grace Calloway just two days ago.  My nephew is thrilled as it cements his place as the Big Brother.  My three year old niece Vivian (Vivi) is less enamored.  She informed my sister that "Mommy, you need to come home RIGHT NOW, but that baby has to stay in the hospital.  And not come to our home.  No."   I have a feeling she'll warm up to her teensy little sister soon enough, but thus far, the mighty Viv is deeply suspicious. 
• And I luckily got in M's baby shower this past weekend.  I have to say, it was awesome.  I have been insufferable for weeks now with my VISION and made the invitations, had DK buy 100 vintage alphabet blocks on ebay, hand-stenciled and bound a ABC book that everyone helped illustrate (I shameless stole Maggie's idea), made tissue poofs, bought Charlie Harper flashcards to decorate the favors, cooked etc etc.  It goes to show, you can take the girl out of Kansas City, but there is apparently no taking the need to throw themed ladies' luncheons out of the girl.  It was a lot of work, but my younger sister S and I pulled it off and M looked radiant and happy surrounded by friends and family celebrating her.  I find I get closer and closer to my sisters as we get older and no one but no one can make me laugh so hard. 

It is finally a beautiful night after days of rain.  I'm heading out early, yo!  Plus, I'm leaving for DC tomorrow to see my best girl from college; she's taking me to a Korean spa tomorrow and I'm trying to mentally prepare myself.  Do you guys know what I'm talking about here?  I've been to a few in NYC and well, it is no peaceful, zen experience.  But it is BRUTALLY effective.  Exfoliation?  Uh, wow. Yes.  Holy moses.   Modesty must be checked at the door, but you leave with baby-soft skin.  Anyhoo, totally excited to catch up and barbeque and brunch and shop and talk talk talk. 

Hope you are well.  I missed this little nook, damn it. 

 

Barcelona Day 2

Hola!  Buenas noches!  We are in Barcelona and getting settled in, my language mishaps notwithstanding.  I really wish I was one of those people who picked up languages easily and within a week would be nattering along in somewhat broken, but understood, Spanish.  But, alas, as my Madames from French class from grades 3 through sophomore year will tell you, my tongue makes sounds that would give any native pause.  (After spending a month in Paris as a sixteen year old, living with a family who spoke limited English, I finally eked out an accent that didn't grate, but man oh man, it doesn't come easily). 

I'm feeling a little sensitive about it, because I really long to pronounce things correctly and have been listening to Spanish language podcasts and reading a grammar book on the subway and making DK (who is pretty much fluent in Spanish, sigh) listen to me playact making a reservation on the phone.  But preparations aside, I can get a case of the nerves and fumble over my carefully practiced phrases and next thing you know, the waiter is asking me if I'd like the English-version menu.  And don't even get me started on trying to figure out the Catalan v. Castilian, which just throws a monkey wrench into the whole confused works of my brain.  It is but Day 2, so I have a little time to be as a sponge, right? 

In other news: Barcelona is fabulous.  We arrived early Saturday morning after a looonnngg flight (which was made better by a surprise amenities kit DK put together for me that included honey lip balm, my favorite tea, antibacterial wipes, a water-face-spritzer thing, orange tic-tacs, mints, a granola bar, ear plugs etc.  – in other words, holy moses, is he sweet).  Unfortunately, our apartment was not ready for an early check-in, so we wandered about the little medieval streets in La Ribera and La Bari Gotic, the narrow stone twists and unexpected turns and beautiful ironwork a good match for our sleepy, dreamy moods.  The city was remarkably empty, save for the occassional little red and white city bicycles whizzing by (I love that this free bike program exists; we talked about whether it would work in NYC, but since it seems to runs on an honor system, unlikely).  We ate incredibly fresh sautéed wild mushrooms and golden grilled calamari, with perfect mineral-y glasses of cava at a counter in the wild Boqueria, which was pretty much heaven.  Finally, having stalled to about 2:30, I was zombie-like with sleepiness and we went to throw ourselves at the mercy of the rental company to please please let us check in.  As very good luck would have it, not only was it ready, but they had upgraded us to a lovely two-bedroom on a higher floor in the same building since there was apparently some issue with the hot water in our original. 

We are right by the Plaza Catalunya and our place is large and lovely with a balcony that looks out over the rooftops in both the living room and master bedroom and big French doors everyplace.  After a very critical two-hour nap for me, we went to the grocery store for food and came home fat with fresh shark steaks and tomatoes and crusty baguette and mango yogurts and baby lettuce and arugula and raspberry jam.  We cooked dinner, had a big glass of cold wine and watched Persepolis (the apartment has a DVD player and DK, somehow knowing this, carted over our netflix) and proceeded to sleep until noon the next morning.  NOON.  I honestly cannot think of the last time DK slept for than four hours in one go, so this was an unprecedent miracle (and much needed; I worry, you know?)  

Today we got ready (big mugs of tea, more crusty bread with real butter and jam slathered on it) and spent hours in the Picasso museum, then more wandering, then another totally absurd tapas lunch (grilled foie gras on ginger bread?  Well hello, sailor!), then relaxed on the couch reading before we headed out for Moroccan curry.  We're pretty much playing the trip by ear, which suits me just fine so long as it includes lots of jamon and a little bike trip I've been secretly imagining.  There's so much I'm excited to see and then we hope to get a few days to head out of the city for a few day trips.  Now if I could just get the accent down. . . .

Eh, it'll come with time.  In the meantime, I'm all about enjoying this seemingly perfect city. Adios! 

Cough.  Did I say everyday?  Well, only if this everyday can be read very loosely to mean "everyday that I feel able."  Though, truthfully, even that is a stretch given I spent the weekend basically recovering from my week of insanity and barely checked me own wee blackberry.  ["barely" in the case meaning "not all the time like a neurotic chicken."]  See also: "up" in this case meaning "down" and "left" = "right" but only if you look backwards at the sun on Tuesdays.  All clear?  Excellent. 

So my studious plans got interrupted by a Very Important Case that took up all of my time and energy and frankly, was a headache and a delight at the same time.  Some of my cases have gotten a bit stale (to me), as the court sits on papers or the same old discovery disputes arise and the same old letters get written again and again – which, by the way, if you are ever in need of a slightly frosty, vaguely indignant and indisputably correct 2-3 pager, man oh man, am I your gal Friday.  So, I something of a rut and then 'lo this new case comes up and it's a very frenetic pace and a big ol' team and new partners! new faces!  I was working like a dog, but felt a little bushy tailed being part of something.

Note to self re: disposition: You are an extrovert who likes change.  You know those various tests floating around about whether you are an I or E or D or whatever that people can get quite rabid about (I'm looking at you three 2nd year associates who regaled me for an entire all-attorney lunch with why your date with X was totally doomed since he was a BIOIUE and you were clearly a IEOUX – frankly, I think I missed some of the details there).  Anyway, in the questions about whether spending time with a group of people exhaust you or energizes you?  I am emphatically energized.  Yes! People! Good!  I like you, people.  And I thought back to my last month and how increasingly isolated I had become and put one and three together and realized that perhaps I had lit upon A Factor. 

But then my case unexpectedly settled and pencils down and all that, just as the weekend loomed, so I instead tended to the home fires.  DK and I had a lovely weekend of walk-around and little shopping and buy a Spanish book (me) and do the crossword (us).  I made a big lot of pizza dough and we baked three pizzas and opened champagne and gossiped about the Oscar dresses.  It was nice.  Oh, and I bought a pair of cheap skinny jeans and it didn't all end in tears and recriminations.  I've secretly wanted a pair for over a year, but I am also well aware that I have such things as a bottom and a general pear shape and felt they were not a wise way to go.  Plus, I just felt generally unwilling to plunk down a hundred and some dollars for a pair of unflattering pants.  For that money, I feel like your pants should flatter, should minimize, should all but hand out promotional materials extolling the virtues of one's figure.  Anyhoo, DK ended up sticking a pair of Uniqlo skinny jeans in my hands and I tried them on and turned this way and that and tucked them in my boots and thought . . . not so bad!  On the slim side!  And they were cheap, yo. 

Today has been somewhat insane as I just got home (10:30 pm) and am waiting for an email to alert me that I can review something before it goes out the door.  Essentially all my neglected cases from last week chose today to fuss and primp and ask petulantly why I don't come around no more.  Pouty, high maintenance PITA cases aside, I'm about to send out my twinkly little "reminder" vacation email to all and sundry to make myself feel better.  Friday!  Twinkle shiny sparkle!  Baaarrrr-thhhheee-llllooonnnaaa.  (look at me effecting the lisp and everything).

So. Tired.

Man, it's late, I'm still at work and a little overwhelmed at my growing to-do list.  Eh.  I'm going to head home to snooze and wake up a little more refreshed.  A sleepy brain is a stupid brain in my case, unfortunately.

But before I go, a cat tale.  Topo, our mad muffin of mischief, has recently become a terror.  He stalks us at night, laying in wait under the table for me to innocently wander by to get a glass of water with bare vulnerable legs, and BLAMMO.  I'm pounced on by a minature, rabid polar bear, fangs and claws bared -- who then sprints away to hide in the bathtub.  He pushes poor DK around something awful and tortures him by streaking over to our beloved red chairs and scratching until one of us shrieks and makes a grab for the water bottle spritzer.  And don't get me started on trying to cut his nails.  He's like a growling cat possessed and inevitably  DK and I, bloodied and dishearted, give up after a few talons.  

So, something had to be done.  I ordered some books ("Twisted Whiskers!" and "Psyco Kitty" to name a few) and I made the sad realization that all this bad behavior was pretty much user error.  So we're trying to correct our misdeeds by having more active play time before bed, getting a scratching post, covering the red chair hot spots in contact paper.  But the coup de grace came last Sunday I sprinkled a little loose catnip in a large paper bag.  Topo was on it like white on rice.  For a solid hour, our little hellion was as mellow as a college boy at a Phish concert.  He was all, duuuudddeeee and heeeeeyyyyyy and whoooaaa, is that a brush oh my god are you going to brush my fur mmmmmm  I felt a little badly basically introducing our innocent little kitten to a once-a-week foray into a kitty drug euphoria, but he seemed pretty happy and chill, I must say.  Sorry, Nancy Reagan, we're saying YES.

As for me, wow, the sleep just hit me.  Needs must call a car to take me home, pronto.  

Warning: Road blocks ahead

So, my creative font has ALREADY been stymied.  Since I'm leaving for Spain in a mere two weeks, I thought I should try to keep myself a busy beaver at work, especially since every day I read some horrifying thing about the economy and jobs and blah blah doomsday prophesy.  But friends, wow, did I choose poorly.  One half-idle conversation with a partner pal on Thursday about wouldn't it be great if I could find a very short term something to keep me a little busier after one of my cases settled mutated into me agreeing to be staffed on a Very Intense Hearing In a Week case that has consumed my every waking moments since Friday. 

What? You noticed a coincidence between me being work crazy and a sudden cessation of blog entries?  A cause and effect?  A yin and a yang?  You don't say.  

Anyhoo, worky weekend, a semi-lovely, semi-shitty Valentines.  I do secretly get into such schmaltzy things and have a dormant crafty side, so I had a lot of fun making a 3-D valentines card-mobile that DK hung up in the study and it pleasingly spins when the heat comes on.  And he loved the present (I finally decided on one)  -- I found a great class run by an NYC cheese-haven institution Artisanal (think Murray's Cheese) on Spanish wine and cheese that occurs right before our trip.  And I bought hothouse tulips and decorated the table with bud vases and cut out hearts in different papers and fanned out strawberries to serve with homemade buttermilk waffles.  All that is the lovely part of the day. The shitty part is not worth getting into, except to note that DK and I both got hit by the stress stick and we (cough) (that is me being diplomatic; I am internally screeching HIM HIM HIM HIM) (but maturity? hello?) (fine, WE) did not deal particularly well.  Which made for us eating the Chinese food and fancy champagne I brought home in separate rooms, in stony silence.  Love! It makes the heart sing.  

Don't fret; we made up one shrimp dumpling and an episode of Gossip Girl later (though it really took another day for me to forgive him in my heart to be totally honest).  In the past day or so, I managed to get a little perspective and having someone who wakes up early to bring me cups of tea to help me get out of bed in time for an 8am conference call (on a Sunday, good lord) and fix dinners and scratch my back?  Who checks in and writes silly notes and kisses me until I go weak in the knees?  Who tucks the crossword into my bag so I'll have something fun to do on the train to the client's?  Well, that someone is a year-round Valentine.  Done and done.  I think I have an expectation problem which makes me flirt just a little with my genetic birthright of Gagy-"Burnt Toast Is Fine For Me"-Robertsonesque martyrdom (I can all but feel her on my shoulder sympathetically clucking as I subconsciously create a mental checklist of How I am Long-Suffering and Wonderful and How He Is A Cad Who Didn't Even Buy Me A Card, Egad).  Oh Gagy, I mean this is the most loving way: please go stick it.  

I'm out.  Here I am saying mean things to my poor dead granny in heaven and outing (our) bad Valentine's behavior.  Clearly, bed calls.  There are miles to go of work before I sleep, but frankly, those miles will be there in the morning.  I'm going to grab the shut-eye while it's in the realm of the possible.  Nighty night.  

Day Three: Gratitude

Do you know that I only just this minute realized it was Thursday?  I've been tootling around blithely thinking it was the solid middle of the week, even writing on my little post-it list by the side of my keyboard, "To Do: Wed. Feb. 12" – despite having read something on the train this morning clearly labeled "Thursday Styles" and calling-in to a regularly scheduled Thursday conference call and having managed to call yesterday Wednesday without issue.  Well.  Huh.  Thursday, you old so-and-so, smashing to see you. 

 

Maybe I'm distracted by all the creaking and groaning my building is doing.  It is a very blustery day out, evidenced by my extra five minutes of curly hair time this morning being rendered utterly pointless as I walked three blocks to the subway in a wind tunnel.  Temperate, yes; aggressively gusty?  also yes.  Anyway, I work up on the 49th floor and I'm a little convinced that I can feel a very slight swaying.  Like being rocked to sleep, little bye baby style, and OH MY GOD THE BOUGH IS BREAKING AND BABY WILL FALL forty-nine floors.  (Note: what is up with that song?  The bough breaks?  Cradles fall?  WTF?  That's right up there with "should I die before I wake" in childhood creepy factor).

 

Speaking of bluster and nighttime prayers (such a graceful segue, twinkle-toes!), my parents had a good little nighttime routine down with us.  Mom would take turns saying prayers with each of us at night (thankfully, she bowdlerized the ol' "Now I lay me" version to omit references to DEATH and DYING) and I remember very clearly her fresh-from-the-bath smell and soft pillowy skin and slightly ratty long pink silk nightgowns that she had for years and years while I recited every member in my family, preschool class, pets, vegetables in my grandmother's garden that I wanted blessed.  To be honest, I'm not in the slightest bit religious now, but I can still pinpoint that feeling of total security, in bed, snuggled up to my mother in my blue room with the wall of books and horse figurines, wishing blessings on the people I loved.  (I guess you can still do that without the God business, since it's really more about voicing your gratitude.  Note to self: remember to work that in somehow with kiddies.)

 

We also read a lot of Winnie-the-Pooh when we were little and I had no idea how much it had infiltrated me until I find myself casually dropping references to it being a "blustery day today" or when opening my umbrella, joking "tut tut looks like rain!"  I regularly query my cat, "Who's a little heffalump?  Who?  Are you a little heffalump or are you a little Roo?  A little Roo-de-roo, de roo!"  (note: the cat looks at me with horrified eyes when I board this particular train, but so help me, I cannot stop).  And my family mercilessly teases my father about his Eeyore-esque tendencies and mock, "Good morning Pooh bear.  If it is a good morning.  Which I doubt." 

 

It's nice to have connected with my sisters as adults, to have gotten through the sometime murky hazards of teenagedom (I was insufferable – if there was a moral high ground, man, I was up on that stump proselytizing to all and sundry why they were hypocrites and racists or misogynists or just really against all that is right and good in this world; whereas my sisters had their own respective charming traits).  But now I feel so proud and thankful we're grownups:  they are both so sweet and smart and decent.  Having S (and her husband J) over for a last minute dinner of take-out Indian and on-the-fly chocolate soufflé was exactly where I wanted to be – we ate around the breakfast bar, me distractedly cooking dessert while stealing bites from my plate, DK teasing, drinking red wine and finally, too late, remember to sing happy birthday.  We'd already eaten the soufflés (the recipe in the Times yesterday was easy-peasy and good), so I stuck a candle in a pot with a stump of a dead plant in it and we all sang to her while she made her wish. 

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ps. thanks for your comments and well-wishes; I've been thinking lately about why forging connections, big and small, is important in forming the kind of (in Karen's words) authentic life I'd like to have and have really appreciated feeling linked in. 

Day Two

Spring has seemingly sprung the last two days in New York, which feels amazing.  I'm suspicious, however, as I've been burned before by banishing the boot prematurely, usually on the day that a freak snowstorm hits.  "Ha ha!" says sleety rain to my blue ballet slipper flats, "Not so adorable now with water stains on your precious little toe-flower!" (wow, sleety rain is mean).  So, I've learned that Hubris + Vengeful Gods = wearing boots for the next month just in case.

 

I did, however, actually haul myself out of bed to go for a run this non-frigid morning.  It's the same old four miler trek DK and I did regularly this past summer/fall, but before last Saturday, it has been a solid two months since I so much as loped along the Westside highway.  I huffed and puffed a bit, bobbed along to some Kayne West, weaved among people walking down the sidewalk, skirted past a cab or three, narrowly avoided several spit-blobs in the street (so. gross.), enjoyed the view of the Statute of Liberty on the way back in and generally felt a little more alive.  Verdict: my shin splints are mildly cankerous, but the lingering feeling of virtue worth it. 

 

My goal for the day is to find the right Valentine's day gift for DK.  I'm going for the experience gift over the bricks and mortar variety (which actually neatly fits into category three of my Master Heal Thyself List: "(iii) get out and enjoy the city"), and have been almost ashamed to see how much wonderful stuff is out there.  Cooking classes taught by David Bouley, wine and cheese tastings at Artisenal, free Juilliard-student performances at Lincoln Center, small theatres, readings by favorite writers, concerts.  Well, well, what do you know, New York has stuff to do.  Of course, I managed to find the most perfect Valentine's day present for myself (concert to see Paul Simon on Saturday), but am passing since I'm pretty sure this holiday is really about telling the person you love how very much you love them.  And as DK finds my grand affection for PS a little perplexing (in my defense: Hearts and Bones), I'm going to find something we'll both like.  He makes my heart so full and happy and is a damn fine valentine.  Even if he on occassion drives me up the wall.  Usually when he's got a lint roller in hand and a crazed critical look in his eye. "I. Will. Tidy. The. Girl. MUST. TIDY. GIRL. TIDY. CLEAN. GIRL." 

 

I'm a little overwhelmed by all the options but am determined to press go on at least one of the offerings.  It's a little par for the course for me to relentlessly research and then peter out without a decision – but not today, hand to heaven. 

 

In other news, our cat is seriously insane, I made ten tons of butternut squash risotto last night, and am now going to go in search of some hot chocolate downstairs (they put in this fancy steamed milk machine that whirrs and buzzes and has flavoring options and makes a mean cocoa).  Then push through on my work to-do list and call my little sister.  She is in a similar . . . emotional state (and is currently looking for a job, which is a terrible bummer) and it's her birthday coming up.  I think I'll invite her to have dinner tonight and make her a little chocolate soufflé before she heads to Philly.  Who can stay bummed out in the face of a soufflé? 

Mea Culpa: in which I come clean

The problem with writing an entry and then not posting because you "just want to tinker a little bit more?"  And then delaying and using the entry as a springboard to discuss various capital-I issues with spouse and friends?  Well, for starters, when you open said post back up again to read the Very Sad Tale of My Troubles, they just . . . well, let's just say they no longer seem quite so au courant.  There's a reason the newspaper is such a welcome friend first thing in the morning, and so ho-hum (except for the crossword) at night.  Because, dude, that shit is old news. 

 

So here I am trying again, my post written last week during a particularly low moment safely tucked into my "drafts" folder.  But so we're all on the same page, to recap: funk, woe, irritable, job = fine but isn't life more than this, my god, my friend just jetted off to Cambodia to help prosecute former members of the Khmer Rouge funk, loneliness, no exercise, blah.  See also, perhaps not the best of times to repeatedly try to discuss the Two Recurrent Issues In Our Relationship with DK as one questionable tone from him and I'm in the bathroom crying my little swollen eyes out and he's wondering why it's so wrong to suggest going to the movies (but what if there was a baby in that movie, you beast).  Anyway, I have been low, but have now written two mission plans to get back on course and talked about it ad nauseam with a few friends, the cat, DK and the bathroom wall. 

 

And I'm kind of ready to move on.  My melancholia, like a rueful teenager, frankly just needs to be treated with a stern hand.  I have a plan, I have the resources to make that happen, and I don't like feeling this way.  Also, and maybe the most true, when push comes to shove, I'm a little cowardly about really getting into it all on the Internet.  It's all well and good to lightly allude to some malaise, but it all feels a little terrifying to have the warts and all just out there.  For god's sake, I kept secrets from my therapist because I found it a little shameful not to be totally together on certain points.  Many things I am as an open book; other topics are . . .  well, Fort Knox springs to mind.  (Oh pride, you are a funny little thing.)  At the end of the day, I just need to get back to being comfortable in my own skin.  And frankly, that will need a little bit more than a to-do list and a good cry.  But many many little things can help, as my moods can mercurial and my spirits buoyed by something as mundane as running into a co-worker I haven't seen in a while on the stairwell. 

 

To that point, on the master list was harnessing some of this inward bile and rather than write a nasty comment to a nasty comment on some random  blog (sidebar: I can count on one hand the number of times I have commented on anyone's blog in the past year and yet I felt compelled to leap to the defense of three girls who write an entertainment blog?  To fight snark with some really heavy duty snark?  For pete's sake, self), I am committing to write HERE every day this month.  Every day.  My own personal NAMPLO (I can't actually remember the acronym, but you all know what I'm getting at).  Yipes. 

 

I'm quiet when I'm sad, so now I'm going to be chatty as I try to pull myself up by my proverbial bootstraps.  Life is good; I just need to get my head out of my ass long enough to remember that. 

 

Um, I hope you are well? 

Happy 2008! What? I can't hear you! La la la lalala

I am in denial that it is almost mid-January.  My ostrich-sand approach thus far to pretend I am still safe in 2008 has not been entirely successful, but sheesh, I'm just not ready for 2009.  Oh, I gave it the ol' college try.  I made resolutions, I sighed over my extra holiday pounds, I made feeble overtures to turn over a new leaf, get energized, approach my work et al with newfound enthusiasm and drive.  But the whole thing just made me feel tired, not brave new world.  I was so insanely busy for so many months this fall/winter, I'm clinging to my relatively quiet existence of plodding along. 

The catch is that I'm not particularly good at plodding along.  Don't get me wrong, I am tres excellent at dithering about, aimlessly surfing the internet, procrastinating.  But the protestant work ethic/guilt complex doesn't let me really enjoy my sloth.  I worry, I fret, I despair that I'm not doing.  DK found me in my closet yesterday morning muttering rather nasty things to my bottom and tummy and I only began to feel better after changing out and reorganizing my spices.  I've comfort-cooked up a storm (cassoulet and pop-overs? check.  artichoke lasagna? check.  roast chicken and chocolate bread pudding with challah? yes, ma'am.)  To make things worse, DK is a sniffling, snorting sickie who is similarly unmotivated to get out into the freezing weather; so we've done a lot of football watching (him) and drinking seemingly endless cups of tea (me) leafing through the newspaper (us).  So basically, boooorrrinnnngg.  [Note: DK disagrees with my assessment; he thinks we're just having a nice quiet weekend and whoa, what is your problem, girl?]

I admit, it could be worse.  Yesterday, I curled up on the couch with one of my favorite Christmas presents, a first edition of Mastering the Joy of French Cooking and marveled at the amount of butter called for by a spirited and informative Ms. Child (love) in the "sauces" section (it helped that I was nibbling angelically on a spinach-quinoa  salad) and thought, "You know, this is pretty nice."  And a jammy glass of pinot and steaming bowl of white bean, chicken and fennel stew made watching the snowfall cozy indeed.  And there is that little thing of Barcelona to look forward to . . .

Wheeeee!  If Spain isn't a cure for the blahs, I don't know what is.  We went to Spain for our honeymoon (five years ago in May) and blissfully tooled around most of Southern Spain.  I've always wanted to go back and see more of the North and, well, this is a little embarrassing, but those On the Road Again episodes on PBS with Mario Batali, Gwyneth Paltrow, Mark Bittman and Claudia I-can't-remember-her-last-name-but-totally-hot pretty much tipped the scale.  Have you seen that show at all?  (I know everyone loves to snark on Gwyneth Paltrow, but I have been completely charmed and won't hear a word otherwise).  Plus, I dare you to watch one episode and not to book a flight to jamon-land immediately.  

After some debate re: Galicia v. Mediterranean coast, we decided to rent a flat in Barcelona for ten nights and take some side trips up the coast.  We took the plunge on flights last weekend, and after seemingly looking at every possible apartment available online and plugging in numbers on the calculator, finally decided on one with a balcony and nice big kitchen.  I even bargained over the price, which is um, not my strong point.  As a lawyer, I can be pretty aggressive (I mean, polite, but I'm pretty firm), but on my own, I'm pretty much "just pay the nice lady what she's asking; I'm sure she's only asking what's just and fair oh my god I can't have this conversation!"  Ahem, anyway, we are booked and for low season rates and 10% more off the top.  I cannot, cannot wait.  February 28th, baby. 

January blahs be gone!  Ho, ho, ho.  

Jolly Holly Ho Ho ho

Happy December! I can barely wrap my head around the idea that 2008 is almost finished, that Christmas is next week.  But sure enough, all the signs seemingly point to that conclusion.  The streets are overrun with shoppers, there are parties galore, and I'm struck with my annual affliction of holiday fever.  Thus far, however, my attempts to Christmas-fy our home have been relatively unsuccessful.  Tree? Mais non.  We have a sad little wreath that I decorated.  It does smell like heaven when you walk in the door, but it is not quite the same as a twinkly, ornament-adorned tannenbaum.  Decorations?  Um, well, our box of Christmas fun remains somewhere in the basement of my parent's house in Kansas City, a casualty of our move from a spacious townhouse in Texas to a wee apartment in New York over four years ago.  I did put out a strand of white and red colored glass bead things I bought in a fit of desperation at ABC a few years ago that Dakin loathes (note: we have struck a deal: it stays until something concrete – as opposed to forward-looking promise of a replacement – actually is purchased).  I have put out our Christmas cards.  A few weeks ago we made our own Christmas cards that I am only this weekend getting around to filling out.  My attempt at Christmas cookies last weekend went . . . poorly.  At least all of our Christmas presents/stocking stuffers are done and done, right? 

But this is the first weekend in basically the last two months that has been really chill.  DK is in Switzerland for more work on his show, and I have had a low-key few days.  I mean, well, I've been busy at work, naturally (though there is a dim little light at the end of the tunnel in that regard: January will be hell, but the last two weeks of December look to be very quiet, she said very very quietly so as not to anger the gods of fate who look upon such statements as outrageous acts of hubris).  And I had a lovely pre-birthday dinner on Wednesday with DK before he left, the firm's holiday bash on my birthday proper where I had a great time and even boogied a bit at the after party before retiring at a respectable 12:30 (I have apparently learned a little something in my 33 years on earth), and dinner with friends to celebrate said birthday on Friday.  (This year, I am subscribing to the Twelve Days of Nancy's Birthday if you couldn't tell). 

But yesterday, I slept in, toddled around in my pajamas, met my sister and brother in law for brunch at Prune (famous bloody mary? check.).  We found a most excellent Japanese toy store in the LES that was filled with serious treasure for the 6-yr old contingency in our family.  Then went to a totally silly movie (Four Christmases) and spent the evening blissfully by myself listening to music while I wrapped presents and worked on holiday cards with a glass of wine.  I'm pretty excited by the loot for DK – some of it he knows about, but I think I've managed a surprise or two.  I had a hard time coming up with a list for myself this year – the economy being what it is, it's tough to think beyond the more utilitarian ("I'd like someone to pay for the new wallpaper we were thinking about adding to the foyer." "I'd appreciate it if someone would cover our common charges fees for a month.").  But DK gave me the most awesomely gorgeous bag for my birthday and I have been swanning around for the last few days reveling in its black-patent leather glory and great hardware.  As he said, "I know it's just a thing, but sometimes there's pleasure in having nice ones."  True, that. 

We leave for Philadelphia on Tuesday for the rest of the week.  I'm excited to see the entire crew en masse, but am very thankful for a respite of quiet now before being thrown into the cacophony and zip-zing-zoohah! of a Robertson family Christmas.  My family is many wonderful things; laid-back is not one of them.  Hope your holidays are joyful and happy; my goal is to carve out time from the hectic to appreciate how lucky we are and hug everyone a little closer, for a little longer.