9.  Wash the dog and get her updated shots.

8.  Finish a Pampered Chef party for my friend Alice. (If anyone is interested in participating please email me!)

7.  Start blogging again.

6. Clean out my closet and dresser drawers for a complete wardrobe/closet purge.

5.  Start working out at the gym (I just got a great deal for a two month membership on Groupon!).

4.  Lose 5-6 pounds on Weight Watchers.

3.  Have someone new over for dinner at least one night each week.

2. Open my Etsy shop.

1.  Make a new effort to love my husband in practical ways that mean the most to him.

The morning air was cool and damp against my skin. It was a balmy 69 degrees, a welcome change from the recent heat wave. I decided that weather this good warranted a run. A half hour later Lindy and I were pooped, but ready to take on the day. After a shower and washing some dishes, I pulled out my sewing machine, unfinished projects, bias tape, thread, pins, and ironing board. I had so much fun scattering the dining room table with fabric and notions and matching up color combinations. I finished making 12 baby bibs in about 3 hours. I felt a great surge of accomplishment and joy in my creative work. I even enjoyed cleaning up!

In the evening, Brannon and I took the G train down to Park Slope to hang out. We ate at a tiny Thai restaurant called Beet and walked hand in hand down streets lined with brownstones shaded by full grown trees. Even the busy streets felt peaceful.

Back at home I made tea, lit candles, and settled into EB White’s Letters. Jazz was playing low on my great grandfather’s radio. By the time I closed my book my eyelids were heavy. I sat listening to the radio and watching the candles flicker.

It was a truly delightful day from beginning to end, and I’m sure I will sleep well tonight.

Goodnight!

I heard the silence echo

against steel and stone.

I have a habit of observing people’s feet on the subway.  It is a strange ritual, I know, but feet seem to be the perfect starting place when taking in the full image of an individual.  A large African-American woman sat across from me.  Her feet were swollen and discolored.  Black flip flops clung to them, leaving deep imprints on her skin.  After a few stops they nearly slipped off her feet, just hanging onto the ridge of her toes.  She had bright mustard polish on her toenails.  My eyes naturally traveled north to observe the whole person.  She wore a lightweight, calf length dress with large yellow flowers on it.  Surprisingly, she had long, almost slender fingers, which were further elongated by two inch nails painted the same mustard yellow as her toes.  She clutched a purse in one hand and a tabloid in the other.  I wondered about her life; where she lives, where she works, where she was going so early in the morning.  Her deep set eyes looked wearied and sad, and her round cheeks sagged slightly. Even through her general look of exhaustion, there was a touch of kindness in her face.  She looked up and caught my gaze.  I smiled at her softly and she nodded back.

As I walked down 56^th street toward the office, the shopkeepers were opening their graffiti covered gates and rinsing the sidewalks.   The water made light brown puddles just over the curb.  The air smelled of garbage and cigarettes. I crinkled my nose and sighed.  Some things I will never get used to, I thought.  Then I looked up and saw the sun casting golden streaks across the black glass of the Trump Tower.  It was beautiful in its own way.

Today  I finished Brenda Ueland’s book, “If You Want to Write.”  I thoroughly enjoyed it. This book is somewhat unlike other writing books I have read.  Brenda’s theme focuses more on developing the freedom to write confidently, rather than outlining the rules of plot and character development.  This book is very encouraging to the aspiring writer/creative. She tells stories of her writing class students and how they overcame their fears and blocks on the road to becoming writers.  She uses samples of their writing to further illustrate her point.  I found it very interesting to read what other aspiring writers have written while they learned the craft.  She also demonstrates several helpful exercises to help jump-start or refine the writing process. I would certainly recommend this book to anyone who wants to tap into their creativity and put words on paper. However, one must keep in mind that Brenda Ueland has a somewhat flaky, new age tone throughout the book.  One example of this is that she repeatedly grants a sort of deity to things that are not God, such as the imagination or the conscience.  Take these quasi spiritual references with a grain of salt. Otherwise, it is a fantastic book about writing.

Olive Street (view from my bedroom window)

This morning was different. There was a quiet snow falling slowly, steady, and with purpose.  It wasn’t messy or overpowering. Two inches on the ground made the world look shy and delicate. The city was a great sleeping creature with soft fur like that on the back of a cat. It seemed to me that if I reached out my hand the snow might raise up and stiffen under my touch. I enjoyed walking in it.  My feet squeaked rather than crunched.  My cheeks were filled with a rosy chill, but to my surprise I was perfectly warm.  I could stay out here for hours, I thought.

I reflected on the early January mornings in Germany when I would wake to fresh snow covering the surrounding fields like a blanket.  The sky would be bathed in white and only a small gray silhouette revealing the mountains in the distance.

It is no where near as quiet here.  But this morning was still a welcome pause from what feels like constant noise.  Life feels like constant noise in the city.  I suppose it is, to some degree.  I miss the quiet places.

I’d only finished half of my tea before I was putting on my coat again. We were off to Manhattan. I bundled myself with extra care because my ears were already hurting from the morning walk. I know I looked absolutely ridiculous, but when it comes to extreme cold I have no shame. I doubt any other New Yorkers have either, for that matter. After all, people here wear sheer panty hose as pants around in public and don’t think twice. I layered up with two long sleeve t-shirts, a sweater, my thick Yale hooded sweatshirt, pashmina scarf, stocking cap tied tightly under my chin, matching mittens, and black trench coat — sweatshirt hood up.  I could still feel the wind in my ears twisting like tiny knives.

The trip was worth it to find Brannon a spiffy new pair of glasses though.  While we were waiting for the lenses to be cut he didn’t want to go anywhere because he was so disoriented from lack of vision. This is very unlike him, because he is usually curiously exploring whatever 20 block radius he finds himself in. Our little adventure took up the majority of the day. Brannon went straight to work when we got home (what a trooper), and I took a short  nap. Today was by far the coldest day I’ve experienced since we’ve been in New York.  I hope the temperature only goes up from here.