moving

Living each day as my last.

13 months in London.

I’ve surpassed my 6 months in Aix-en-Provence and 12 months in Brussels. And this time, unlike before, I don’t have an end date on the horizon.

So how am I faring?

Moving.

Moving through tiny patches of homesickness. Not big ones, just little ones that catch me off-guard. Like last night, as I cycled home from the Wimbledon train station, I thought about how my colleague gushed about his trip to New York and what a visual feast the hip areas are. And I started to think of all of the bits I miss… dinners with childhood best friends, lazy Sunday brunches even if it’s after waiting in long queues, feeling like a fount of knowledge on everything from where to get the best burger to cheap massages (even if you don’t want to strip down in a large room with strangers to have Chinese women climb on the table to leverage their weight as they chat with the masseuse next to them).

Moved to nostalgia and momentary doubts of if I should move back, but once the panic settles, I feel sure that the only bags I’m planning on packing are my carry-on for Norway for next week, my large case for Turkey for the week after, and lots of boxes later this afternoon because I’m…

Moving for the 17th time in 9 years!!! Next stop Fulham, a gorgeous part of London on the Thames. It’s going to be great. Just would be nice at some point to be unpacking for good.

Moving my body and getting closer to running, finally, after two years of injury and many, many physical therapy appointments.

Moving, but not there with the whole community thing. Even after 13 months, I still struggle with feeling like I have intimate friends here and feeling surrounded by a community. But I also wonder at the ways that I have been able to break into the London scene and make connections. Through communities like Artisan Initiatives and church, I have met some incredibly talented people here… like high level directors at fashion labels, photographers, writers, producers and fine artists. My brain, works in such a way that it instantly begins exploring the dark recesses to see who the person standing before me should meet. And the people gathering in the recesses are starting to add up.

Making a move. I had a drink with a friend of a friend who is directing an incredible film called Africa United. And I might just be able to make a major connection for her. I’m so excited. I have no idea where it will all end up, but I’m in awe of how I’ve been put in certain positions to do so!

funeral

The best funeral ever.

advice

6th January: Day 85 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

On to even more serious stuff… Hats.

I’ve been searching around the world for one that will look good on me. Well, in London and New York.

The thing is, I just won’t give in to the fact that I’m not a hat person. But I leave each story empty handed every time.

So when I found two that I thought might work, I thought about my sister. She is a superstar seller. She says the key is being honest.

So I decided to give a Banana Republic seller the opportunity for success as well.

I brought forward the two hats that I had finally considered possibilities after months of surveying the shops.

I tried on both and asked for the girl’s honest opinion.

And honest she was. Neither, she said.

I was deflated. These were my closest I’d come!

But then it occurred to me… was I really going to not buy the ones that I liked… the ones that I was comfortable in… and spend another year looking just because this woman I don’t know didn’t fancy what I tried on? Or was I going to trust my own instincts?

So I made her a successful saleswoman…. twice over… just not in the way I’d expected.

babies

30th December: Day 78 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

26, the Golden Age.

Meaning, my friends are having gorgeous babies. And I’m not.

I get to hold them for a glorious and very snuggly twelve minutes and as soon as the wails begin, I hand over the little bundle of non-joy.

So I spent my last day seeing some beautiful Brooklyn babes…

bachelorette

29th December: Day 77 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

Two years ago, at some point during the course of watching twenty-five men nibble sweets off my beloved colleague’s neck…lace, it occurred to me. What’s the point of having a bachelorette party when it’s too late to have fun? Why not do it now with no strings attached?

I filed this notion away, only to come back to it now that I was released from the prison otherwise known as Brussels. With two years of perspective and great wisdom, I realised that this brilliant night of celebrating singleness with reckless abandon was probably just the same thing as being a slut. And that I probably didn’t need a posse if I really wanted to up my snog tally. But still. I just set myself up for a “rose by any other name would still be a rose” response…. but I just couldn’t help thinking, “what the hell, why not!?” Especially since for the real bachelorette I would much prefer a great adventure with my very best friends free of any cheesy bridal paraphernalia.

So I began emailing my craziest NY friends… not just ones that I felt I was comfortable enough with to slip a rhinestone ring on and make a fool of myself in front of… but ones that would be on the front line, with a lifesaver t-shirt in hand, cheering me on.

And so, you may be wondering, just how many gorgeous NY men did I trick into smooching me for one last big hurrah?

Do you REALLY want to know?

It’s probably, actually more fun not to tell.

But I’ll tell you anyway. none. not one.

When push came to shove, four days after Christmas was really not the greatest timing for this all-important mission. Not if I wanted any friends there to be a part of the support team.

So instead, I had a really great night of drinks and work gossip with two of my very favourite NY work friends.

But I’m still not deterred…

cupcakes

22nd December: Day 70 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

I seriously love, love, love cupcakes, fairycakes, whatever you choose to call them.

And I love finding new cupcake shops. Even if they aren’t as good as the homemade ones.

Since I had to make up for lost time in New York, I bought five cupcakes today!!!!

First, I stumbled upon a festive chocolate Christmas cupcake in Dean and Deluca. I was about to visit my former colleague J… and after years of us fighting over which bakery was best, I had to pick this one up for her!

When I saw J, she had to send me in the direction of her new favourite: The Little Cupcake Bakeshop, a gem on Third Avenue in her new neighborhood, Bayridge, Brooklyn. They had so many amazing flavours that I bought four to taste. (I ended up chucking two after I took a nibble… I can’t believe I was that strong!)

The verdict:
Red Velvet: the best one. Moist cake, yummy cream cheese frosting. Almost as good as mine.
Peanut Butter: good frosting. Average cake.
Coconut: ok. Not a huge fan of the marshmallowy frosting. Average white cake.
Strawberry: yum. Tasted like my 7 & 8 year old birthdays! What a flood of memories within one cupcake paper!

They had quite an array, though not as many as two sassy Miami chicks who bake the likes of: I think you’re marbelous (marble cake), You had me at Nutella, Frosting Gone Wild….

My favourite cupcakes still remain the following, though:

……I can’t believe I’m revealing my recipe source!!!!

Red Velvet Cake / Cupcakes (from Cakeman Raven) with Cream Cheese Frosting (from Martha Stewart)
…V, I know you’re reading this… the cream cheese frosting is improved since I sent it to your sister for your wedding recipe book…

Cook Time: 30 min
Level: Intermediate
Yield: about 6 to 8 servings

Times:
Prep: 30 min
Cook: 30 min
Total: 1 hr 0 min

Ingredients

* Vegetable oil for the pans
* 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1 1/2 cups sugar
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1 teaspoon fine salt
* 1 teaspoon cocoa powder
* 1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
* 1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
* 2 large eggs, at room temperature
* 2 tablespoons red food coloring (1 ounce)
* 1 teaspoon white distilled vinegar
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* Cream Cheese Frosting, recipe follows
* Crushed pecans, for garnish

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly oil and flour 3 (9 by 1 1/2-inch round) cake pans.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, and cocoa powder. In another large bowl, whisk together the oil, buttermilk, eggs, food coloring, vinegar, and vanilla.

Using a standing mixer, mix the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until just combined and a smooth batter is formed.

Divide the cake batter evenly among the prepared cake pans. Place the pans in the oven evenly spaced apart. Bake, rotating the pans halfway through the cooking, until the cake pulls away from the side of the pans, and a toothpick inserted in the center of the cakes comes out clean, about 30 minutes.

Remove the cakes from the oven and run a knife around the edges to loosen them from the sides of the pans. One at a time, invert the cakes onto a plate and then re-invert them onto a cooling rack, rounded-sides up. Let cool completely.

Frost the cake. Place 1 layer, rounded-side down, in the middle of a rotating cake stand. Using a palette knife or offset spatula spread some of the cream cheese frosting over the top of the cake. (Spread enough frosting to make a 1/4 to 1/2-inch layer.) Carefully set another layer on top, rounded-side down, and repeat. Top with the remaining layer and cover the entire cake with the remaining frosting. Sprinkle the top with the pecans.

Cream Cheese Frosting:

* 16 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
* 1 cup confectioners’ sugar

Directions

1. Put cream cheese and sugar into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, 5 to 7 minutes. Use immediately.

p.s. – I may act like the cupcake authority, but clearly these ladies are.

bookie

21st December: Day 69 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

I made it!  Finally crashed at 2 am.  Woke up to even more slush and snow… way too early!

And spending an hour gasping at prices in Fairway (has it only been a year and a half absence for the prices to jump so?), I headed to one of my favourite places: the great American bookstore.

I love it, love it, love it.  Nowhere else do you have such an array of titles, comfy velvet chairs everywhere, a cafe, free bathrooms, water fountains…. actually, I’m starting to think I’d move in here, rather than the MET, if I were working through the mixed-up files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

Right. Not to lose focus. What an afternoon it was perusing the books I haven’t been able to get my grubby paws on in Waterstones. I took a stack to the author area and munched on digestive biscuits (they actually have no calories because they make your body digest as they move through) as I skimmed an entire book and paged through others.

Books now on my radar (not just from this store):
Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl – Nearing the end and love hearing the behind the scenes life of the former NY Times food critic

East of Eden by John Steinbeck – about to start

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin – to start soon – about a man’s mission to promote peace through schools

Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson – started on the plane – hard not to read this funny American’s silly observations on the UK and see that I’m starting to understand a lot of them!

Deceptively Delicious by Julia Seinfeld – making food substitutions for kids (or me)

American Test Kitchen Cookbook - that my former NY colleague J used to always swear by

Bird By Bird by Anne Lamott – purchased! a guide to the creative part of writing

Ella Minnow Pea - not sure if I’m really sold on this, but the eager Borders employee insisted he sells copy upon copy of this book after he detailed how he just finished writing a memoir about his year in Florida working in the adult entertainment industry at the same time as a camp for mentally retarded children. I’m thinking people may have bought the book to get him to stop talking. I took the book and then dumped it in a fiction aisle. I’m so mean. But I might consider it.

Reading Like A Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and Those Who Want to Write by Francine Prose – Clearly she had to be a writer with a last name like that

Why Men Cheat – I skimmed this book in Borders and while it makes good points that men don’t usually cheat with women hotter than their spouses and really are looking for appreciation and respect, it also felt like the woman had to bend over backwards for the man not to stray… depressing for women and quite negative towards men, non?

Lots more, but I’m going to wrap this up now…

oh, and p.s.: I hope you didn’t believe me about the digestive biscuits.

westbound

20th December: Day 68 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

It cost an arm and a leg.  But I’m westbound for the holidays, to a place where one watches, rather than minds.  I am so excited!!!

(and not going to worry about how I’m going to make it on public transport from Kew Gardens to the Upper West Side with two sizeable bags!)

The Piccadilly Line now offers a chunnel service.  Step in the train in South Ealing and step out in Jamaica, New York.  Brilliant!

carrie

5th December: Day 54 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

On Friday night I was in the binding closet, fidgeting with curly metal and hole punchers for a very uptight account manager until 7 pm.

When I finally finished that obnoxious request that came through at 4:30 pm, I thought about the fact that I hadn’t done my “thing” for the day and asked myself what I REALLY, REALLY wanted to do.

Drained from a long week and the news that twenty of my colleagues in New York were “made redundant” as the Brits say, I wanted comfort. And I knew the perfect thing: a bottle of wine, and this:

ikea

I’m going to be a cup-half-full-er with regard to Mark Malkoff’s recent shenanigan. His move into Ikea was clearly the realization of one of my dreams, harking back to one of my favorite childhood books, From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. In this book, two precocious New England kids run away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. By day they enter the mix of school group tours, by night they bathe in the fountains and nestle themselves under the covers of antique beds.

Mark Malkoff is living the dream (as opposed to stealing the fabulous idea) I have each time I walk through the alluring domestic scenes of Ikea-land.

merci(-ful)

It’s my last night in New York.  The sneak preview of 27 Dresses was sold out, so I did the next best thing: ripped off price tags and ditched plastic packaging in hopes that these few ounces will keep my suitcases within weight limits!

One of the last items to drop into my bag was my crimped copy of Eat Pray Love.  I just made it through Bali and find myself sad that the string of delicious metaphors that have swept me away on this magical journey has come to an end.  Yet, if I didn’t come to the end, I wouldn’t have read the last two sentences, the fifty-five words that express with depth and candor the emotions that are brimming up within me as I leave:

“In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in the world who sustain our lives.  In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.”

I have no delusions of being able to repay all of the pillow fluffing, Starbucks-treating angels from this break.  Instead, I will simply say, thank you, forever and sincerely.  Miraculous, without a doubt, was your scope of generosity.  Could not have done it without you all.   

ker xx 

spree

Saturday. Me + my debit card + Woodbury Commons + US prices = woman on a mission.

After seven hours of extreme bargain shopping I couldn’t help but think of a quote that my skittle-eating roommate L, won concert tickets from a radio station for identifying. Laden with six heavy bags, it seemed clear that Miss Piggy’s great bit of wisdom, “Never eat more than you can lift” should also be applied to shopping. Lugging my loot back from the Woodbury Commons shuttle to the Harriman train station to the Secaucus Junction to Penn Station to the 1 to the UWS was worth it though, even one atrocious item I caved and purchased. At least I only bought one of these two ridiculous things below…

sparkle

Let’s be clear: I have neither aspirations for the good things of domestic divadom, nor the life of cable knit wearing, tennis playing, luxury SUV driving, country club membership toting, picture perfect women of my hometown that quite literally spawned The Stepford Wives (no offense). Even still, my recent discovery of Soho’s CB2, the new and slightly more modern sibling of Crate & Barrel, was a thrill. I had just fifteen minutes before meeting up for dinner to peruse, completely absorbed, touching, rendering in my mind table settings for uber-fabulous dinner parties, picking new palettes, disengaging to go far away to my own creative world.

After a great week in Connecticut, resting up and lifting nothing heavier than a fork, it’s refreshing to be back in the city. I was reminded in CB2 of a recent email from my friend C. She said, “NY is unparalleled at this time of year for sparkle and shine.” In CB2 some sparkle – yes in a very literal sense – caught my eye:

C, has the power to get me to spill all of my scary artistic aspirations. I usually wish I could quickly inhale the words back into my mouth as soon as they have tumbled out. Yet C, an art director now living in Rome with her Italian fiancé, doesn’t bat even one of her beautiful long lashes. In fact, her two favorite words of encouragement are to fuck up – to stop thinking about all of the wasted paper, photos, words, strokes, scribbles, failed attempts.

So after a visit to Pearl, I have new material and I am determined to waste it! I have a hunch that like Van Gogh wrote his brother Theo, “the liberating breakthrough [comes] just by letting my pen go.” As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure I should bring my eraser along with my sketch book and pencils to The Met, as filling the pages with fuck ups just might be another way to reclaim some of that sparkle… (speaking of reclaiming sparkle, I witnessed a guy taping up lost engagement ring posters on 5th & 19th this afternoon…)

close to the heart

The place to be next Monday, 17th December is the Metropolitan Pavilion. You may have already caught on to the unbelievable momentum of Charity: Water. If not, here’s a quick clip to fill you in!

Monday night is the Charity Ball. Come mingle with Adrian Grenier, Jessica Stam and other socially aware party-goers. Whether you’re a close friend or an internet lurker, you’re all invited!

hot diggety

Today I visited the famous hot doggery, Gray’s Papaya, for the first time. During my three years of living in New York I had always managed to resist this gourmet hot dog shop, as I conjured Fast Food Nation-esque thoughts of the delicacy that has everything in it but the oink. But today, I gave in to the sign: “Broke? Hungry? In a hurry?”

Considering I paid for this lunch with just a few quarters (five to be exact), it wasn’t bad. It must be the greasy, salty flavor that keeps people coming back for more.  I think I could probably go another three years.