Yes, I Will Take You

The Thing Is
by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

from Mules of Love (c) BOA Editions, Ltd., 2002.

Well, I Didn't See That One Coming

Coronavirus (COVID-19) started as a news item from a distant land called Wuhan, China. I was pretty sure it would stay there. I don't know why, except when these types of things have happened before, that's kind of how it's gone. Then it was on cruise ships. I would never go on a cruise ship so, still distant land. Then there were a few cases in Washington state and it got very bad in a nursing home, which again, seemed very far and didn't apply to me.

Then there was a man in New York who had it. Actually, he lived in New Rochelle and the more I heard about it (he went to a gathering at his temple and a lot of people caught it), at some point I realized he lives in the same town one of my best friends from college grew up in. Her parents go to his temple and live in the quarantine zone. They are ok. But still, all of the sudden, it was getting closer. 

And after living and working in New York City for more than a decade, I was clear that any kind of highly contagious virus that also has along life on surfaces was bad news. I started to worry. Not that I would get it, really, though I did stop touching things so much and start washing my hands like crazy. I started worrying about work. 

I work for a restaurant group that runs seven large restaurants in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. We started upping our clean down protocols as per CDC recommendations. That was one thing. But then something funny happened that I never saw coming -- people in the news starting telling people not to go to bars and restaurants. People on social media started to say how irresponsible it would be to go out. Very quickly, the restaurant industry became a casualty of Coronavirus. It turns out that highly contagious viruses that become public health crises intersect with hospitality in a big way.

The next 10 days felt like running from an avalanche that we weren't sure was an avalanche til about day 5. There was no leadership from our federal government. The state was slow to move also. The cities are restaurants were in started putting restrictions on our hours and operations -- same day restrictions. Which is unprecedented and completely insane. Also necessary, but I think we may never see a chain of events like we did ever again because people will look back and think, wow, we could have done that better. 

This is a confusing time for everyone on the planet. It just so happens that our industry and my company were at the front of the fallout (well, behind the healthcare workers of course). I have been super keyed in to it because unfortunately I had no choice not to. Now that I am home with my family quarantining and I have some time to process and reflect. 

It is challenging to support the company I had to lay myself off from while also homeschooling by two daughters who are 4 and 8. Their teachers threw together a remote learning program in 72 hours. They go to a Montessori school which is very much about a prepared environment and tangible learning materials. So it's possible that being stuck in my house which is also under construction is not exactly the best place to try and learn. We do what we can while also learning how to all share our days and our space in a constructive way. We practice simple Spanish over crudite platters.  

Half of our downstairs is cordoned off because after 5 years of living in this house we finally pulled the trigger on renovating our kitchen. So our refrigerator, amongst other things, is currently in our living room. And we are trying to stockpile food that will last us days. We are doing dishes in our bathroom. All things considered I think we are handling it much better than we thought it would. 

I know people who have gotten sick from it. It is scary. I don't want anyone to have to go to a hospital right now for anything. 

I have a similar feeling to how I felt on 9/11/01, when I was a student at NYU living in a dorm on Union Square, or when Trump was elected in 2016. I grew up in the 80s and 90s when it seemed like nothing mattered, nothing was ever going to happen, and history was over (there was even a guy who wrote a famous book called "The End of History"). And these events make you realize that you are very much living through history. Personally, I feel like this is 9/11 times 1000. 

We don't know how long we are going to be quarantined at home. We don't know how long our businesses are going to be closed. We don't know what the fallout will be from this virus -- the sick, the ones we will lose. The economic casualties. Will I be one of them?

I keep thinking of my grandmother who grew up on a farm in the Depression. There is a part of me that just thinks, if this is it, if all the boom-times are over, I can deal with that. It might be harder, but it might be simpler. I might have a clearer idea of where I stand. I might be able to focus on other parts of my life that have taken the back seat. 

There is another part of me that feels the calling to work in government. It has come up for me a few times in my life. One of them was at the Women's March. When I was leading people off the boardwalk into Bradley Park, I saw my brother and stopped. He remarked at how amazing it was. As thousands of people walked by me, chanting, empowered, I turned to him and said Jim, "I think I could be president." And he said, "I think you're right." 

Maybe that's ridiculous. But I believe government is important, really important at times like these. I believe I have a calling to serve. I believe I'm smart enough to figure out almost anything. I believe I can broker compromise like it's my superpower. I know how to communicate, and I can give a damn good speech. I don't know if I have the stomach to run for elected office, but I have such a yearning in me to be a part of that world, I think it will be the next chapter of my life. 

. . .

We started a coloring club at work to support the workforce that we had to lay of on Wednesday March 18 because of the government mandated response to COVID-19.

As a business, all our intention is on reopening when this is over. That will be a feat for many restaurants, many won’t survive. However if I ever had to bet on a team, I’d bet on ours at Smith. Pulling off the impossible is our specialty.

So many need support at this time. This problem is bigger than any one person, group, company, or industry. We are dealing with a human problem and all our lives are at stake. With this stunning cascade of events, in this international emergency, our 7 restaurants at Smith had to close their doors last Monday for the health of the public and our employees. Our biggest imperative is that we open up as soon as is feasible when this is all over. When? When. Until then, we are taking it one day a time. 

The thing I have grown to cherish most about the hospitality industry is that a healthy, thriving restaurant requires all different kinds of people in order to function like a well-oiled machine. The breadth of backgrounds, ages, races, professional and education experience, the hard-knock tales. The tales of incredible triumph and transformation. When given an opportunity, a restaurant is a place where a person can rise above wherever they came from to create a new future for themselves and their family. It's usually the person you never see coming who ends up being your champion.

The reality in this country is that most Americans have little-to-no savings for the kind of a head-spinning, lightning fast crisis like the one we find ourselves in with COVID-19. Not for medical bills, not for sudden unemployment. Which is why we wanted to put something out there in the world that might highlight the incredible love and generosity spreading around the world, and create a cushion for our staff in this time of emergency. 

I don't know how you choose where to give right now. I don't like having to ask for handouts. But I do like to color.

https://smithrelief.fund 

P.S.

If you made it this far, don't you agree now's a great time to pass Medicare for All? Call Congress now. 202-224-3121

Knock Knock

Just waiting around for this baby girl: three days past due and three pretty good false alarms in. I'm handling the wait much better this time around, trying to enjoy myself and my time. Yesterday we saw "Dope" at 2 in the afternoon because why not? And today we took the little one to see "Inside Out" at 3. Her first movie. Trying to get in as much quality family-of-three time as possible while the fourth takes her time.

About halfway through the movie I started getting contractions, about 5 minutes apart. Without thinking too hard about it, I really thought that was it! When we got home I put my phone charger in my bag, packed my toiletries, started timing my contractions on the app on my phone... And that's the kiss of death. I should really never do that again. I know that if I'm really going into labor I will know because the contractions will get more and more intense. But I can't help myself. Technology! It's a temptress.

Tomorrow morning is first day of gymnastics lessons. Then maybe some free time as the kiddo hangs out with her gram. What to do, what to do? I feel like I've gotten almost everything done that I can conceive of. Maybe I'll finish my book (The Lighthouse by P.D. James), go pick up an Ergo baby carrier at Babies'R'Us (aka the worst store), wash the curtains in P's room, see another movie?!!!
There's a new "Terminator" out!

All Is Well

I was talking to a close advisor of mine about the sensation of tuning into truths that have always been there. 

Lately I have been experiencing a sense of inner peace that I don't believe I've ever felt -- certainly not as an adult, or without the aid of any substances. Not joy, not contentment, not accomplishment, not mania. What it feels like is this: I am going to be OK, no matter what anybody says or does or what happens. I am going to be OK.

On the "You Made It Weird" podcast with Pete Holmes, which is usually quite bawdy and funny, Deepak Chopra said something that I can't stop thinking about. When he said it, it was like it infected me, and I'm grateful that I'm at a place where wise messages can get inside and transform me, rather than just be something to intellectualize. He said: "I don't have bad days or grumpy days because, essentially, I don't mind what happens. I mean, I don't control the total universe. And yet every moment is a conspiracy of the total universe. So why would I fight the whole universe? Once you've let go of your idea of how things should be, nothing ever goes wrong. So in my world, nothing ever goes wrong."

Hillary Clinton said "Take criticism seriously, but not personally." Yes.

Lou Reed wrote, in "Magic and Loss" (which I personally believe is more powerful as prose than song):

They say no one person can do it all,
But you want to in your head.
But you can't be Joyce
so what is left instead.
You're stuck with yourself
and a rage that can hurt you.
You have to start at the beginning again.
And just this moment
This wonderful fire started up again.

When you pass through humble,
When you pas through sickly,
When you pass through
I'm better than you all,
When you pass through
anger and self deprecation,
and have the strength to acknowledge it all,
When the past makes you laugh
and you can savor the magic
That let you survive your own war,
You find that there is a passion
and there's a door up ahead not a wall.

Resonant messages from those who have passed through this thing before me. I share them here in case my future self needs reminding. I share them here with you.

Grandma D, 1925-2014

I had the honor of speaking at my paternal grandmother's memorial service in Indianapolis this past weekend. I wrote out my remarks because I tend to cry a lot at funerals (even for people I didn't know) so I wanted to have a script to keep me grounded. Below are my remarks. 

Thank you everyone for being here to celebrate the life of my grandmother, Margaret Lou Dellinger. It is a real honor for me to speak on behalf of my family, and it means a lot for me to be here, in Indianapolis, the family seat of the Dellingers.

I was born and raised in New Jersey, but I came to Indianapolis twice a year for most of childhood, and have a lot of great memories of this place. The first time I got on a plane was to come to Indiana, but who could forget the 12 hour drives each way across the great states of Pennsylvania and Ohio with my dad. Those trips were like Dellinger Cultural Immersion programs, with the books on tape and geology lectures from my dad as we drove through the landscape.

It is in Indianapolis that I played Hearts with my aunt and uncles, walked with Uncle Roger’s dogs around Eagle Creek, and first met my cousins. I met Matt, the youngest cousin, when he wasn’t quite yet walking, an incredibly joyful experience for me as I was used to being the absolute baby of my family. I got to know Jerry and Jimmy meet their children, the ever open-hearted Amber and Dustin. For me, Indianapolis is where the Dellingers come together.

So I understand my Grandmother’s reluctance to leave her Indiana home late in her life. Though she spent many years raising her family outside of Buffalo in Tanawanda, New York, she was a Hoosier to the core: raised on a farm in Mays, she ventured into Indianapolis during the war and met her husband, Hartley, there at a dance. She brought all four of her kids home from the hospital to her house Speedway. She made a real presence for herself in the community with her volunteering, the Presbyterian church, her neighbors, her bridge circles, and her friends.

That said, Margaret Lou was always comfortable to stand on her own. When I brought my husband, Kris, out to meet her, we expected our long weekend visit to be spent almost entirely altogether. But she had different ideas. She was very eager to make sure that we were busy exploring the area, but preferred to be left alone in the house to read her books and listen to basketball games on the radio, and could we please just let her know if we’d be back for lunch and dinner. And maybe, if pressed, could we bring her back a sandwich from Arby’s.

This was the hardy stock of the Greatest Generation: born in 1925, and raised by her mother on a farm in the Great Depression. They had an outhouse until she left home to go to the big city. It’s a story I tell anyone who will listen. I’m proud of where I come from. It’s not something you hear everyday in 2014 New Jersey.

To me, some of the best things about my grandmother to me are hallmarks of her stoic upbringing.

She recycled greeting cards and envelopes, which I remember fondly, as we were penpals since as I started writing until she no longer could. She sent dispatches on the unpredictable local weather, her family visits and social engagements, and her family history.

She made her own bread, left to rise in coffee cans on the counter. To this day, any time I smell or taste fresh homemade bread, I am transported back to her breakfast table.

She had huge blueberry bushes in her backyard and we would walk out back to pick enough to make a blueberry pie, and eat it, still warm, with vanilla ice cream melting on top, in the heart of Midwestern summer. She grew rhubarb and squash and a whole lot of other things that I didn’t pay much attention to if they didn’t make good pie filling.

She took absolute joy in the simple pleasure and steady company of books, and read voraciously, keeping a catalog of all the titles she read, a habit she started as a girl, to show that the few dollars that went towards her obtaining her library card were well worth it.

She was notorious for, in her 70s and 80s, raking and bagging her own leaves. This was very alarming to learn as her long distance relatives, but I always quietly admired her spirit and gumption.

And though we did live far and couldn’t see each other as much as some grandparents and children too, I thought the world of my grandmother, so much so that I once wondered out loud if she didn’t wish that she wasn’t born at a different time, when she would have been afforded all the opportunities of a modern woman. Because in my opinion, she could have done anything -- taken all her smarts and self-assuredness and made a big splash in the career world. I meant it as the utmost compliment. But she went out of her way to tell me that she had no regrets or bigger wishes, and that she took umbrage at my suggestion. She had absolute fulfillment in the impact she made on her family and community, and would not have had it any other way. It was a communication that has stayed with me, and a lesson that I will never forget. Don’t ever sell short the contribution that you are to the people you touch in your lifetime. That is the real work.

There’s a photograph of my Grandmother in the front of a canoe, in a sleeveless blouse and pleated skirt, paddling into a lake in the North Woods. I love it because it captures just how proper she always was but, at the same time, how bold and out front she is in that moment. My Uncle Roger pointed out that she couldn’t swim. And there was no life vest. Grandma was a brave woman, with an indomitable spirit, and it is with gratitude that I honor such a great woman who went before me here today. 

10 Things

Last week I learned on Facebook that the boy that was my freshman year of college passed away, "suddenly and unexpectedly," to quote his obituary. We drifted apart in college and I haven't talked to him since we graduated, more or less, which was ten years ago. Though I probably would have never talked to him again -- I even hid his profile from my Facebook feed, because our friendship seemed outdated and lopsided, like I would always care more that he did -- I feel the loss tremendously. 

He was such an unbelievably self-possessed spirit. When I met him, along with a few other truly excellent individuals on the sidewalk outside of the Rubin Dormitory on 5th Ave & 10th Street, it felt like I found my people. He loved music, and we spent the year of 1999-2000 going to live shows in the city or blasting music in our dorm rooms. He went on to be a live music sound engineer, and he travelled the world in that capacity. I don't know what exactly took him from this Earth so soon, but I suspect it wasn't good. 

In trying to find some meaning in his death, I thought about my life when I knew him. I dove headlong into memories, and read almost every page of my old journals and poetry books. I found email exchanges with old friends, and was washed over with the person I was more than a decade ago. I was searching for something, or someone, who could go with me through this life, steadfastly. For one short period of time, my friend Adam was that person. 

The fierce openness with which I searched for something to fill me up scares me now. I would never want to go back to that, but I do miss that feeling of not knowing what will happen next, or who I might meet that would bend my life. When a piece of paper 7 inches wide and 1 inch tall fell out of my journal with a list of things 10 things I wanted to do, I saw a reflection of a girl that I forgot I was. 

I've had my head down, in a lot of ways, for a lot of years. I've been plugging away. At what? Inner peace, love, family, sophisticated ladydom, tax paying... Adam's death has me picking my head up and wondering, what do I really want? I used to feel like I had nothing to lose and a real sense of what I could be. Now that I have a lot of things that I want, it's hard to resist the temptation to hold on too tight. Can I throw my hat up in the air of adventure to see where it lands in 2013 like I did in 2003? It's started an interesting conversation.

10 things --
1. learn how to use quark
2. be a hard core babysitter of jamie carly alexandra
3. take really long bike rides
3. get freckly
4. find an excellent apartment
5. write for the new yorker vogue nyt magazine jane
6. find a nice guy
7. start a dance troop
8. drive through canada, mexico
9. go to cuba and speak lots of spanish
10. move to rome

If you'll notice, my list of ten actually consists of eleven, as I have two number 3s. I've never been as conscientious as I pretend to be.

I'll miss you Adam. You were a kindred spirit, a spitfire and a savior. I loved you, like so many others.

Best Friends

It's funny. I started out with the intention to write about my passport. It was expired, and I renewed it. I got it expedited and it now reflects my legal, married name. I was nervous my paperwork would get rejected, but apparently there are some parts of the US government that still have the ability to function like well oiled machines.

I am traveling for work this fall. I am going to Eastern Europe. Twice. I may be going to more places than that in other parts of the globe. In the space of a year. I had a travel bug, and it's being satisfied. It's also taking me away from Mr. and Baby SevPrez. You get what you want and it's not always in the form you expected.

If you read Treehouse Chatter, like I asked you to, you would know that she just shared what she wants in life. What she really wants. And I am so inspired by that. She is my real friend, one on my best real friends, one of the only people in this whole wide world of 6 billion people that I am willing to share my whole story with. All the gorey details. When something ugly reveals itself in my life, I call her. Because I know she will listen to me, and be there for me, without any judgement. She's also hilarious and fun and smart and intuitive and wise. There is something about her soul that my soul has recognized as being A1. You don't let those people slip away.

She is also my blog friend. I love blogs. I love professional blogs written by professional bloggers. There is a blogroll on the right side of this page that I espouse. But I'm not that, even as much as I aspire to be. I think I'll never be willing to sacrifice my privacy. This blog exists as much as a personal journal as it does a vehicle to share my life with my friends and family and world at large. So Treehouse Chatter is my real network, and my blog network, and I want you to think about what she wrote.

What would you write?

Here's what I left as a comment, that totally trumped my post about going to Romania and Poland this fall. But just so you know, if you stay tuned you'll get fun travel photos.

I want people to know what they want, and get it. Thank you for sharing your hopes and your wishes. It takes courage to roll your eyes, then answer.
I want to be a free bird. I want us all to be free birds. Nothing’s wrong. We are alive for a second; we are playing the game we make up.
I want to have direct communication with the people in my life. No more beating around the bush, filters, or acting out of guilt, shame, and obligation. Let’s everyone stop being nice, and let’s be great. Let’s make a difference in each others lives. Let’s see each others’ blind spots and stab each other in the front. We are fucking geniuses, if we could just get out of our own ways.
What I really want, most above all, is inner peace.
Now vote me Miss America.

Scribbles From An Earlier Self

New mantra.

I was flipping through my little scribble pad and was so pleased to find these little drawings and remember how I was feeling when I made them. Further proof that even when you feel like what you are doing is ugly/dumb/pointless/worthless, one day you will look back and be glad your previous self made a record marking where you were.

In order to get full, you have to be empty.



Riding a commuter bus without headphones can be like staring into the void.

Yard To Table

Boston lettuce, collard greens, and romaine lettuce.

Mr. SevPrez was inspired to plant a vegetable garden in our backyard this spring. I was extremely skeptical, knowing that I wouldn't have much to contribute. Until two weeks ago I was getting home at 7 every day, with not enough time or energy to take care of my existing obligatgions. And my track record is not good. I have killed cacti. I have barely been able to keep potted flowers on our deck alive... I always start out with the best intentions, but with plants I tend to have the wrong instincts.


Thankfully Mr. SevPrez refused to listen to my nay-saying and went ahead with the garden. He chose a sunny spot in our yard, measured a plot around 4 by 16 ft, and started digging. Apparently, it's all about the soil. And we knew we didn't have good soil, as we can barely grow grass in spots of our lawn. Somewhere underground there is a pool that previous owners filled in when they had a baby. So we have issues. But he dug on, and double dug, and got a few bags of good soil from the nursery, and started composting. And it seemed to be working: Mr. SevPrez announces with great pride and excitement everytime he finds a worm. Apparently attracting worms to the garden party means you are doing something right.


Flash forward a few months and we have been enjoying the "vegetables" of our labor. All three of us have had collard greens sauteed in garlic and oil. Our lettuce varieties are growing fast and furiously so we've had lots of crispy salads, which is extra fantastic because even though I love salads, I hate buying salad greens at the grocery store because they always end up going bad before we can eat them all.


Is there anything worse than having to throw out spoiled vegetables? Not only did you manage to avoid eating the healthiest thing in your fridge, nature's bounty went to waste. Double whammy. I have really enjoyed composting because if I am forced to throw out any spoiled product, I don't feel so bad knowing it's contributing to future harvests. We also generate a lot of peels from making homemade baby food so it's very satifying to put it all somewhere that it will do more good.


Aside from all the herbs we've got going on, we are looking forward to beets, zuchini (Baby SevPrez's favorite veggie), leeks, onions, bell peppers, and jalapenos. Tomatoes will come in late summer. We planted blueberry bushes that should yield a couple pie's worth of berries in about a month. And we have a little pot of strawberries that the birds kept beating us to before we got nets.

The early bird gets the strawberries.

I am happy to say I am a garden convert. It's amazing to watch all the veggies grow before your very eyes. And there is nothing, nothing more exciting than being able to say, "I'll be right back, I'm going to pick the lettuce for dinner." Nothing.

Mr. SevPrez wanted me to share this quotation from the book that inspired it all, The Earth Knows My Name: Food, Culture, and Sustainability in the Gardens of Ethnic Americans by Patricia Klindienst: "If you cannot see where your food comes from, you are doomed to live in ugliness." Pretty heavy. But when we haven't gone grocery shopping all week and manage to throw together a healthy salad for lunch because we can walk outside and harvest our own lettuce, it all feels very light.

P.S.
Thanks to my readers who asked me where I've been. Sorry for leaving you hanging! More to come!

What's Going On?

Please excuse my absence. Lots of soul searching and life living going on. And stomach bugs. Spring has sprung and all this sunshine has been inspiring me to walk around SoHo and take pictures of things other than my incredibly adorable 8 month old. 

Cherry blossoms on Bleecker, my office building all the way on the right.

Mini Pies, $10, Dean & Deluca.

I identify with these caged daffodils. Too dramatic?

Enjoy your spring holiday weekend. I am a pagan but the ideas of rebirth (Easter) and freedom (Passover) are really speaking to me this year. I seem to have a complete nervous breakdown every March (always for different reasons), and I am I starting to think I should anticipate it and commemorate it like some sort of religious holiday. All my self-torment inevitably leads to incredible personal insights. Breakdown to breakthrough, as they say.

Stuck A Feather In His Hat

I was compelled to make place cards for our Thanksgiving table. Thanksgiving turkeys always lead me to feathers.

They will be immortalized in our Thankful Book. Every year we all write what we are thankful for on slips of paper and stick them in a pitcher, then after dinner (but before dessert) we pass the pitcher around, reading the entries aloud and trying to guess who wrote what. Looking back through the years always causes a few chuckles, as well as a catalog of who made the pilgrimage and who stayed home. (Brownie points distributed accordingly.)

A Must Read

I cried several times when reading the article "Letting Go" by Atul Gawande, in the August 2nd issue of The New Yorker. It's about modern medicine and the art of dying, or rather, how inadequate modern medicine is at preparing people for death. A must read for anyone who feels that meditating on the end of things is a powerful way to live, or anyone who's life has been touched by a terminal illness. It made me want to be a Hospice nurse, or go find some Hospice nurses, look them in the eye, and shake their hands. 


You can read the article online here. It's pretty long, but life is short, and if you read the article, it'll make sense why you should take the time to think about it. 


I didn't want to be a downer and post the link on Facebook, but then I walked by this storefront on the way back to my office at lunch, so I took it as a sign that I should share it somewhere.


Frivolous side note: neon pink masking tape is awesome. Must get my hands on some.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

We drove about as far northeast as humanly possible in one day and arrived at our destination. We had glorious weather for a week. We forgot about our regular life. We didn't worry about how much time we had left. We were both lazy and industrious. 


We were view junkies. 

We ran, we hiked, we biked, we baked, we canoed, we climbed, we ate and ate and ate.

All in great company. It's really a shame for the rest of the world that the best B&B in Maine doesn't take reservations. You have to know somebody, and man am I sure glad that I do. 

From the top: Hiking up Giant Slide on the way to the top of Sargent, Acadia Nat'l Park; Mr. & Mrs. SevPrez admire the views at Great Head, Acadia Nat'l Park; Lobster Rolls three ways at Cafe This Way, Bar Harbor; Chez Frick, Orono.

Shades

Drawing is a meditation on seeing.  


I had this image in just an outline, and I think I still prefer that look, but I wanted to take on the challenge of showing shades and reflections. At first I was confused, how am I going to do that? Then I realized I just have to draw what I see. 


So simple, yet so mind-blowing. The practice is coming along.

What's For Lunch?*

Some big changes are afoot in the SevPrez household. Mr. SevPrez is embarking upon the road to another career and going to grad school in September. As such we are switching gears from a couple of bon vivants to a hungry student and a starving artist. Only I don't think we'll actually be all that hungry or starving, because we have been cooking up all sorts of great meals at home in lieu of dining out. Our spirits will be hungry and starving, not our appetites. I'm looking forward to the change.


I've started bringing my lunch to work instead of dining at fine establishments in lower Manhattan. This affords me more time to do other stuff on my lunch break (which I still get, and take.) Lots of walking, park-sitting, reading, sun bathing of the shins (a fruitless endeavor, for sure), taking pictures, and drawing.


These last bits have been inspired by my purchase of the Maira Kalman retrospective book, Maira Kalman: Various Illuminations (of a Crazy World). I got over my grief of narrowly missing her exhibit at the ICA in Philadelphia enough to carry the book from the shelf to the register of McNally Jackson. The book is a gigantic reminder of the things I should be doing with my life: things I will be happy to have done on the day I die. Lucky for me, these things don't require that I quit my job and start over. All I have to do is work on a little something every day.


I've been reading lots of good, inspiring things and trying stuff that I don't think I'm all that great at in the hopes that one day I will be better. Mainly I am searching for ways to call forth my life. The resulting pursuit is quite enjoyable, magical even. 


This is all a preamble to my request, dear readers. Please bear with me as I post some of the proverbial fruits of my lunch breaks. You may follow the blog for other reasons, or not enjoy the first drafts of my artistic endeavors, but it's helpful for me to share, and sharing is why I have a blog in the first place. Nobody likes a miser.

It has to be stated that I drew this Vaseline jar from memory, since I could have googled the label on my Blackberry when I wanted to remember it better. I had to draw it after I read a rant by Dave Eggers and got that old Flaming Lips song stuck in head. 


*PB&J on whole wheat. Ate it at 11:30 and it hit the spot in a big way!