These here things are reusable “paper” towels from the Etsy shop mamamade, handmade in a bunch of patterns. My inner tree-hugging hippie absolutely loves them and I just use them for nightly kitchen clean-up and toss them in the wash. I have no idea how many paper towels we have saved, but our consumption has significantly decreased. You attach them to an old cardboard roll and voila, they are “just” like what you are used to. [via linthemorning, thepreppyhippielife]
Remember way back when- I let you all in on my deep, dark secret of paper towel hoarding? Yeah, this just might be the perfect solution…
except without the chevron pattern. I can’t deal with anymore chevron.
Do you all remember the first time you felt like a true honest-to-goodness adult?
I do (though I was far from it at the ripe old age of 13).
It was July 1996 (I only remember the date so vividly because I flew into LaGuardia – alone – two days after the TWA disaster). I was visiting my Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin Jane for a long week and had plans to hop from Greenwich to Manhattan and Quogue before ending up in Washington, DC to meet up with the rest of the family.
I don’t recall the specifics of that trip but strangely enough some of the most minute details [movie night in Quogue with Jane complete with Twizzlers, meeting Robert De Niro at her Tribeca office, a shopping spree at the REAL Saks Fifth Avenue, learning how to put gas in the car thanks to a complete stranger on the LIE] all still stick out fresh in my mind like they were just yesterday. I felt special. Very, very special. Pretty Woman-ish only without the prostitute part. And the falling in love bit. Okay, maybe it was more Eloise than Pretty Woman.
This flood of memories was all brought while reading the New York Times and learning about the death of Kenneth Battelle. That very same trip, I was treated to a serious big girl haircut (and I don’t think I’ve had one that fancy since) at Kenneth Salon in the Waldorf Astoria. Though I’m sure the tides have turned and it’s not nearly as booshie as it once was, I remember it as the Taj Mahal of hair salons. Kenneth himself had styled Jackie O. and Marilyn (imagine managing that book to be sure the two paths never crossed!) and what a treat it was to feel so grown up.
What are some of your favorite memories as an adult go-between?
I’ll spare you all the gushing- it was beyond perfect. I left the beach [& my parents] yesterday feeling refreshed and relaxed (though, with big fat tears in my eyes) for the first time in weeks. I was able to unwind and take it easy which I very much needed. It appears as a though the salty sea air was good for my soul and while I’m ready to tackle another week, I’m not super sure I wouldn’t rather be somewhere else…
guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles
I hope all of you Mommies out there had a very special day yesterday. While I did have a rogue “feel sorry for myself moment” I whole-heartedly realize that my Mother-in-waiting status is exactly where the good Lord intended for me to be right this second. But for the record, Windsor & Blake did treat me to an obnoxious teetering sea salted caramel ice cream cone on our way home from Sunday supper with the H’s.
Which- in my eyes- makes all right with the world.
breathe, stretch, shake, and take it easy on yourself, kid
Where do I even start with explaining this? I had a revelation of sorts on Monday. The stress, the pressure, the feeling of constantly having to raise the bar that I’ve placed upon myself has got to stop.
I- for as long as I can remember- have been my own worst critic. I constantly feel that I’m the only person in the world that can really push myself as far as humanly possible. That I’m the only one [deep down] that understands my true wants, desires, and goals. Not that this is a downfall of any sorts (because it’s made me aggressive and I rather like that trait in myself) but I can be overbearing on pushing myself to go farther! dig deeper! make it work no matter what! Call me intense. Anyone that has ever met me in real life will agree; and let me raise my hand and second that nomination.
After all the shit I’ve carried on my shoulders for the last 6 months, I have learned to let go of the external things I can’t control. And now it’s time to take it easy on myself. To throttle back and just coast for a little while.
I realize that I can’t always be the best at everything but- for the longest time- that hasn’t kept me from trying. Even when the odds were insurmountably stacked against me I was bound and damn determined to make a go at it. Which sounds rather foolish at this point doesn’t it? Why not just cut my losses and save the energy for something that I’m really good at?
Which is exactly what I plan to do moving forward. I can’t do it all. I can’t constantly make everyone happy and it’s time that I learn to accept that [before we make life real crazy when children are added to the picture]. And that’s okay. No one expects me to. Rather, I expected it of myself.
So this week I’ve tried to scale back on everything. I’ve pushed myself a bit less on my runs— which have actually accounted for slower miles and more enjoyable alone time for me. I have started a regular yoga routine [with a high school bud of mine at the helm as my yogi]. I’ve taken some time for me to read and cook; two things that bring me great joy and balance.
And that leaves us here. On a gorgeous Southern Friday morning with the sun shining and a whole weekend ahead.Me- a gal with no plan for much of anything except wading [knee-deep] into her own happiness.
On Sunday morning, while waiting over an hour for table at Toast (who by the way has the best head sized biscuit I’ve ever tasted & homemade apple butter that I don’t even have words for), we wandered around a yet-to-be-explored neighborhood and happened upon the most adorable little alley.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been to this Southern charmer of a city — and yet it still continues to amaze me with it’s little undiscovered [to us] nooks and crannies.
striped tee:Gap (love this Ella Moss option) // white skinnies: DL1961 // straw fedora: J.Crew (similar) // tote bag: Longchamp // flip-flops: Havaianas // necklace: Gorjana // sunnies: an outlet score (love these) // watch: Anthro (similar)
(ps- I think my husband has an affinity for photographing my backside)
Though Saturday evening was a wash, Friday evening was quite spectacular.
We caught up with dear friends over cocktails @ Rutledge Cab Company where I discovered the greatest Gullah Gimlet that has ever graced the Earth and then high-tailed it The Macintosh for the most consistently fantastic meal I can remember.
Let me preface the experience by saying this- I was totally bananas in my overzealous excitement during my jaunt to Husk. So much so that, looking back, I realize that overall I was pretty disappointed with the experience. Half of my joy with food is the taste- and the other half with the experience itself. So, yes, I raved about how wonderful everything tasted [minus Mr. H’s duck which he still claims ruined game in his eyes forever] but our experience sucked. The service was sub-par and the waitress hardly wanted to talk to us… much less dive into the creative behind the dishes and the reconstruction of the SC grains that has become Chef Sean Brock’s calling card.
thumbs up for the meal thumbs down for the service
All that to say that Macintosh delivered on BOTH fronts. The food was so good that I literally put down my phone to really enjoy every bite. Thus- no photo of our second course. Blake had the Deckle and I the Pork Shoulder. And while I could carry on about both for hours, I won’t. If you’re ever in Charleston, take my firm suggestion to skip Husk and go straight to The Macintosh. And order the “Mac” potatoes. And unbutton your pants because those damn things are so decadent you’ll want to lick the Le Creuset dish they are served in.
first course: fried pork brik dough with meyer lemon aioli ((in retrospect, I wish we had also tried the ramp cavetelli))
the finale: peanut butter and flourless chocolate cake with salted caramel infusion. yes, those are peanuts sticking to dark chocolate covered mound. holy caloric intake, batman.
Also a must-visit? Stars Rooftop and Grill Room. They have wine on tap [and I repeat- Wine. On. Tap] and one of the best views of the city. Enough said (& thanks for the rec, Jenny).
I was just sitting down to fill you all in on my weekend in Charleston…
more specifically- to complain about how I got sick immediately following the Masami Ranch Wagyu Beef Tartare portion of Saturday evenings 4 course meal
about how we had to re-cork our fancy-to-us bottle of Syrah and brown bag it back to the apartment
me in ridiculous stilettos that had no business amongst cobblestone streets
only to discover that the event space below us on floor two had been rented out to a swarm of underclassmen that swayed badly in the Charleston night while bumping house music as I cuddled into bed [floor and head throbbing] at 9:30 pm
in my favorite city
and as I picked up my phone I saw a text message from Mr. H that read:
Thanks for the great weekend. I sure hope we can do it again soon
And I realized what a selfish idiot I am.
Sometimes life is about enjoying the moments you have with the ones that you hold dear. Even if missing out on miniature rack of lamb and a frozen brioche parfait is in the cards.
Last week, after being engulfed in the sadness and fear that struck all of our hearts following Monday’s events in Boston, I received two of the kindest emails.
They arrived in my inbox almost simultaneously. From two very different individuals in two separate parts of the country. It was overtly obvious to me that these notes hadn’t been synchronized in any fashion. Only, the authors both had something on their minds.
The subject of this rather personal prose need not be shared. The point all together is this:
kindness- in whatever means it arrives- is always appreciated. whether dropping a line to say hello, picking up the phone to say I love you, holding the door for a stranger, or paying it forward in whatever means you see necessary
last week, I struggled as I watched evil unfold in Boston. My heart broke for the city. For those families that were shattered; changed in an instant.
I wish with all my might that all people could be good at heart. Sometimes it takes turning a blind eye. It takes a lot of hard work to uncover a heart seemingly made of stone. Not everyone is cut out for it- but I’d like to think that we all could make a difference if given the opportunity.
So my rambling (yes, you can call it that) here is to simply let those two people know just how much their messages meant to me. And to tell you all that despite a seemingly cruel, unjust world…
kindness is alive and well.
reminding myself that in the midst of this chaos, inhumanity, and suffering…
beauty, laughter, and peace are still all around.
happy Friday, friends
why I can’t take myself [too] seriously
I was having one of “those” days yesterday. One where I’m off in my dreamland and not paying a whole hell of a lot of attention to what’s going on around me. I had already aced a 100 person presentation that morning [YES!] and was floating around in my lala land while grabbing lunch to-go.
I walked out of the restaurant with my diet lemonade in hand, unlocked my car, and hopped in.
Immediately I was hit with a “well, my car smells kinda funny” sort of feeling. I thought little else of it, put my drink into the cup holder, and buckled my seat belt.
Thankfully I took a quick glance into the back seat to look for my purse [hadn’t I JUST left it on the passengers seat? where is the stupid thing…] and caught eye of not one but TWO car seats.
I hadn’t gotten into my car after all!
The twin SUV that I climbed into had left their doors unlocked and I just wasn’t paying close enough attention to realize it until I was literally locked, loaded, and ready to drive away with my char-grilled chicken sandwich in hand.
Can you imagine what the person inside was thinking as they saw me climb into their car?
I couldn’t do anything but burst into hysterical laughter, gather my goods, and sneak back to my car. What makes the story even better? There was a gal sitting in the car next to mine that saw the entire thing unfold. I- at this point- had huge tears streaming down my face from laughing so hard.
Moral of the story is twofold here, y’all:
1- Don’t leave your car unlocked at Chick-fil-a because some dummy (such as myself) might assume your car is actually theirs
2- Realize that a good, hysterical laugh [at yourself] on a Tuesday afternoon is a serious game changer.
I think I’ll be paying a bit more attention to my surroundings form now on. At least in the immediate, foreseeable future…
oh hell— who am I kidding?! we all know I’ll be back to daydreaming this afternoon!