Month: March 2012

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Spring on the East River

When sun pours into the narrow, buckled-cobble streets of Soho and my eyes water for it, I think of the land across the water where change was slow and small. We're crazy about the season changes here. It is 6pm and bright in March, and we are thrilled. Spring. We ate cheese plates this weekend---soft and melting, with pear compote. Birdsong flicked us in Prospect Park, and we sat by the water just holding the hint of salt on the river outside our home. Sun shot in swaths across it and little ti…

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Pi Day, Late A Day

I am walking into this post with an armful of reasons to like March, and I shall dump them upon you. Evenings are renewed with light, and there is light for taking photos again. We walked through a gaggle of robins (ok, maybe four) in Prospect Park the other day. And had ice cream. Oh glory, in March the shop reopened, and we had ice cream from the best place we've ever tried. Mine ginger, his strawberry colada (mine was better). Spring flung herself through the skies this year a bit too hastily…

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60

Life isn’t fair, and I’ve known since I was a little girl whose dad made up songs for her that I was extra-extra blessed. I thought long and hard about how my life could be back then, and always came back to the decided conclusion that I had the best of all possible worlds. That was because of where I was placed, the family I was given. And this weekend was such a celebration of that goodness. My dad turned 15 on Leap Year, and Walker helped me plan a 60th dinner incorporating all this favorite …

Who knew! (or, New York, I am starting to like you)

There are things they don’t tell you about living in New York. I try to notice as I walk to work each morning. Scribbles on the subway columns. The wanted posters for grand larseny. Hairstyles and shoes. I spend buckets of time analyzing shoes, and usually conclude that my feet are happier than theirs. This post doesn’t know what it’s about—perhaps an ode to a place that does, it turns out, have things that are endearing. Here is what I didn’t know, and what I’ve grown already to forget are nove…