Times like now

Sometimes I have a little story I'm dying to tell you but don't have quite the right photos to go along with it. Other times I have some pretty little photos I want you to see but nothing quite right to say along side them. Most of the time, even if I have both a nice story and some photos for you, the only way I can even write anything is to pretend like you're not reading this at all. Times like this, times like now, I tuck my head down and soldier on.

I was walking to the old train tracks along the border of Elmwood's property when I saw this truck parked. A glorious green little 70s baby, historic plates and a collection of turkey feathers gathered along the dash. Unlocked, windows down. Pretty much perfect.

I walked along the tracks until I reached the trestle and saw a pair of boys fishing down off the path. I blindly took some photos of the pond, just to have purpose for being there. One boy saw me and made his way up to say hello. We chatted for just a moment, something about the number of bugs and how the day's forecast had been wrong, no rain but just humid haze. He was a baby, but baby handsome, too, and in a way that was completely unaware of how many boys in Brooklyn romanticize a life like that. I turned and walked back along the tracks, happy to know that other people put turkey feathers along their dash, too.

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The end of February

Today, February 28th, marks my emotional end of winter. Sure March and even April can be misery to the extreme but for now, I'm rejoicing in rain. Real, proper, flood your house when you leave the windows open even in February rain. Yes, I do. (Heating be damned.)

Winter has been treating me better than even my seasonal affective disorder could have hoped for. Begonia's bloomed and I've been downing 3 shot lattes twice daily thanks to theee most useful christmas present ever gifted by a human. A week ago a surprise heart appeared in my morning foam. A sign? I'll take it.

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A eulogy for ranunculus

Any florist worth her salt could talk about dying flowers for days. We all pretty much do anyways, because flowers are at their most intoxicatingly potent a day after their prime. The painterly bend, the crinkle, the fade. Flower drunk- most of us girls have been there. It's almost to the point of trite to talk about the ephemeral beauty of these things but watching a flower open, then open more, then open so wide its petals have nowhere to go but backwards is basically everything.

I've developed a habit of buying non-work flowers for my apartment. Shoved willy-nilly in an old vase, no fussing with frogs or foam or even making proper arrangements. It feels almost embarrassingly decadent, even more so because I'm such a proponent of others having flowers in their homes.  Finally practicing what I preach? For the sake of genuine floral authenticity, my dedication knows no bounds.

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Chocolate cake

Yesterday was a snow day. A celebratory snow day, even if our Big New York Blizzard petered out into only delicious swirls the night before night and a bright, sunny morning. No work was done. No emails were sent. No worrying happened except over which way to best avoid responsibility. We went the flourless chocolate cake route.

The cause for celebration was two-fold. First, Micha arrived safe and soundly after a harrowing 8 hour trip in the swirls at 3am. Second, an article I wrote was, for a brief shimmering moment in time, on the Yahoo homepage complete with a big photo. Above a news piece about Sarah Palin. True fact.

We talked and sipped and schemed. We had our cake and yes, we ate it too. I was really happy that the article I had originally written for my friends at Bundle was picked up first by CNNmoney and then by Yahoo. Wow. Just wow. My inbox is in a state of shock and so am I. You guys are the best.

My biggest hope for this next year is pretty small. Nothing radical, just to feel the beautiful or sad or exhilarating a bit more clearly. It's easy to sweep past, on the the next, up and at 'em and moving right along through both the good and bad. I practiced yesterday and let me tell you, cake has never tasted so sweet.

*Side note- Tired of checking back frequently only to find I haven't posted? I've added an email subscription form to the sidebar so you can sign up to receive updates in your mailbox whenever I get my act together enough to write something for you.

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Happy New Year

I'm not sure if I can describe how happy I am to say goodbye to 2010. Not because it was awful, on the contrary. I am a sucker for a fresh start, clean slate and new beginnings. It was a busy year and I think I did okay for myself.

I almost burned down my house. I didn't tame my cats. I made my first bridal bouquet. I saw flowers in my sleep.

I worked on 40 different weddings. I dated a nice boy for a while. I relished living alone. My heart fluttered once or twice.

I was really hurt by someone I respected. I drowned my sorrows in quilts. I moved on and came out all the wiser.

I tried to take the high road. I talked to my sister late at night. I woke up early and had coffee with my mom. I memorized my favorite pie dough recipe.

I learned the hard way. I forgot to close my windows during thunderstorms. I got burned out and I had breakdowns.

I screamed and stamped and sobbed in anger. I wore out my favorite jeans. I kissed kittens to make everything better.

I wore floral dresses. I focused on my own thing. I made some really great friends. I fell hard for lily of the valley.

I rubbed rose petals on my face. I didn't get a sunburn. I stopped hiding from the camera. I daydreamed about Elmwood.

I listened to Leonard Cohen on repeat. I switched him out for Neil Young.

I traveled Europe with my sister. I ate more cheese than is reasonable. I felt small, but in a good way.

I killed my fair share of plants. I got a fly fishing lesson from my father. I saw a pair of foxes on the beach. I received surprise acts of kindness from people I admire.

I was inspired. I took classes. I took day trips. I sat in bed for days and felt miserable. I felt miserable for feeling miserable about myself.

I missed my grandfather. I went on hikes alone. I had a stellar Moroccan dinner. I wore mens shirts and highwaisted shorts. I channeled Annie Hall and Ali MacGraw as best I could.

I splurged. I saved. I bought things I didn't need. I got rid of a lot of stuff. I never kept my house as clean as I would have liked. I dumped the extra stuff in my closet when people came over.

I didn't make my bed. I took naps in the sun. I was humbled. I got really excited thinking about the things that are in store for this coming year.

Most of all, I woke day after day and was grateful to have my family, my friends and you by my side.

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Whole Living

I've been meaning to do this post for 7 months now. I just kept on putting it off and getting distracted by antiques and flowers and oh look there goes a cloud shaped like a turtle. 2010 is rapidly closing and gosh darn it, I'm going to spit this out before the year changes.

Whole Living magazine did a really nice 2 page profile on me for the June issue. Yeah, last June. I clearly suck at posting these things in a timely manner. It was really overwhelming to be thought of (by no less than Joanna Goddard, who is basically every blogger's gold standard of stylish sweetness).

Funnily enough, in the intervening months since the article came out a lot has changed. I turned 26, I'm no longer working for Saipua, I'm starting my own little business and most importantly, duh, I gave up knitting that grey sweater dress. This new year I promise to keep you better informed about my epic knitting failures and magazine articles, too.

*You can read the article here.

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5 years

Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of my accident. 5 years! It seems like a million and just last week, too. (If you are new to an apple a day or want a refresher course in the importance of motorcycle helmet laws, please start here.)

I spent all day feverishly working so I think I managed to escape any PTSD flareups this time around. I took a mini break from work in the afternoon and ended up buying Micha and I plane tickets to Paris and Holland. How's that for a celebration of survival? We leave in 12 days. Clearly, I can't be trusted with a credit card.

Honestly though, I'm feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for my lot in life. My seven fingers have turned out to be mighty lucky and you're a big part of why.

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And now, a message from my original sponsor.

Big and exciting changes are afoot around an apple a day and here to tell us more about those changes is my mother. Yes, she knows this is going on the internet. I think.

The main thing is that my job at Saipua recently came to a bittersweet close. I wasn't quite ready to go, but we have to learn to accept even the unexpected endings with dignity and grace. (New mantra, repeated several times under breath.) I had a wonderful year and a half being a member of the family and have so much respect for what Sarah, Eric and Susan have built together. I worked hard there, learned more than is conceivable and broke approximately 483 vases and one very expensive rolling security gate in the process.

Now it's time for new visions and new seasons, as my mom so sweetly wrote. What is it that the kids are saying these days? Let's get this party started? Yeah. Let's try that.

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Scenes from a birthday

On the 6th I woke up completely overjoyed to be at Elmwood and out of the city and then promptly fell back asleep till 8:45am, which is like a big deal for me. (Also, I must admit I am no bed-maker.) I lolled around with a cup of coffee and made a daisy chain. Mom showed up at 10am and we put on our swim suits immediately because it was so darn hot.



26 is being nice to me so far. Presents have been out of this world- transferred Super 8 home movies, Erie Basin treasures, vintage dresses, Tolkien nerd stuff and dum-a-dum-dum-dum, the shirt off a boy's back. Could have been worse. In fact, not sure how it could have possibly been better.

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Victory is sweet

June being nearly over is cause for celebration in the floral biz. Each weekend has been stuffed full with weddings, we've made flowers for 13 brides this month. After our last June wedding I devoured a piece of blueberry cheesecake from Baked in about 2 minutes as a "celebration". I did not know it was possible to eat so fast while basically sleepwalking with exhaustion.

I can honestly say I still love weddings. It's beyond sweet to be a part of a couple's wedding day and I never get tired of of seeing a girl in a white dress looking nervous or thrilled or dazed.

That being said- it is not lost on me that all of these weddings have turned my life into the "before" of a bad 90s romantic comedy. Quirky girl spends her days making bouquets for weddings and romantic boyfriends and then goes home to disheveled apartment filled with long haired cats and floral dresses. And eats a lot of cheesecake in the process.

(And honestly- a house to one's self and lots of cheesecake sounds just as good if not better than this so-called "marriage" thing people keep talking about.)

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Ode to Patrick

They say that when one experiences acute withdrawal symptoms, the body goes through several worsening stages of physical and emotional distress, only to hit a plateau of hell at the bottom. Then, slowly, your symptoms begin to dissipate as your body acclimates to it's new equilibrium. Only when you reach that equilibrium can true personal growth begin.

But then the Time-Warner cable guy comes and reconnects you to the internet after a week of cyber solitary confinement and all of a sudden, thoughts of personal growth are pushed to the back burner as you spend a consecutive 5 hours looking at cute terrier mutts on petfinder.

So yeah. I have the internets again. It's good to be home.

This is Patrick, my cable guy. He walked into my apartment and looked at my internet situation and said "I see you're interested in the whole antiques thing. Is that why you have an antique modem?". It was kind of amazing.

He wants to start a cable guy blog about the crazy houses/people he sees day to day. He showed me some photos on his phone of potential subjects. Some had floor to ceiling Star Wars figurines. One had a 5' tall head of Michael Jordan. Crazy appliance hoarders abound. He took a few pictures in my place (do I fall into the hoarder category?!?) and in return I snapped a picture of him for you to appreciate. Thank you Patrick for saving my internet, you were a riot.

Now that I'm back I promise to continue infrequently and erratically posting to this blog about topics of nonimportance to all.

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