1. Get yourself invited to a party.
2. Stop at Cheesecake Machismo and select 12 individual slices arranged into a Frankencake for $40.
3. Prepare to be the most popular party guest.
Image: cheesecake machismo.com
I love Cheesecake Machismo. I don’t get there too often because I have no self-control when it comes to their cheesecake. If you were at my brother’s house last weekend, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about. Seriously, I don’t like peanut butter stuff yet still went back for a second forkful of the slice of PB cheesecake.
Beginning last Friday, I ate cheesecake every day this week, except for Tuesday when my stomach was feeling a little off. I’m pretty sure my belly ache that evening was actually the result of withdrawal, kind of cheesecake dts.
Of the slices I sampled (11 out of 12), my favorite was the green tea and chocolate. Or the caramel pumpkin. Or, maybe, the cookies and creme. Who am I kidding – my favorite flavor is the one on my fork.
Time to eat that last slice.
This is my first attempt at noting this weekly event so forgive me if I fail to acknowledge it appropriately. I’m a word girl and my crushes are literary, not literal and, since I’m a librarian, I’ll give them to you alphabetically.
The most local of my crushes and the only dedicated nonfiction writer is Paul Grondahl. Reading Paul’s work in the Albany Times Union has taught me an incredible amount about writing, my community and life. I wish I knew how many stories of Paul’s I read before I began to recognize a consistency in my response to his words, to note his byline. His ability to present human beings in an utterly nonjudgmental fashion is truly an art and we in the Capital District are so very fortunate to have access to his words.
Recently, Paul visited one of the schools where I teach and hearing him speak only caused me to admire him more. He shared his experiences along with his suggestions for conducting quality research and when he spoke disparagingly of Wikipedia, I felt my crush deepen. Absolutely dreamy!
My longest term literary crush would have to be John Irving. I believe The Cider House rules was my introduction to his work and, captivated by his talent, I quickly read each of his novels. After many years, I recently reread A Widow for One Year and was once again charmed by Irving’s ability to convey a story about individuals and, for lack of a better phrase, the human condition. His characters are both blazingly unique and potentially our next door neighbors. It’s magical.
Of the three writers I’m crushing on, John Irving is the only one I haven’t been fortunate enough to meet. Yet. He’s kind of overdue for a new novel and I would love to catch him on tour, so if you happen to hear about him being around (and by “around” I mean within a 150 mile radius), please let me know.
And my final literary crush? You know – I love Richard Russo with an ardor that rivals Band Aid Penny Lane’s obsession with Still Water. Really. What that man can do with words on a page is remarkable and I can’t imagine ever growing weary of their sound. His novel, Bridge of Sighs, just might be my favorite book ever. The voices of the characters are so true and honest when they narrate and the emotions they share so raw, that I find myself rereading this book almost annually. It moves me.
Exactly what one wants from a crush, right?
This place is so special. Feast your eyes on this morning’s beauty…
Is it me or have the cherries this year been terrific? I’ve really been enjoying them with plain Greek yogurt and granola as a light lunch or pre-run snack in recent weeks and will be sad to see the season end. Especially since I just bought a new kitchen gadget to make eating even easier. Meet my new favorite kitchen toy – the cherry pitter!
You may be familiar with my resistance to buying one-trick wonder items. I’m more into multitasking, you know. When I hit up Utilities in Provincetown for my annual shopping spree, though, I was willing to take a break from my usual state of efficiency to simplify my life by buying a cherry pitter. Of course, as always, when I go to a store seeking a specific item they were sold out. Boo.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to reside in the pits for long because Vineyard Haven has an awesome home store, Le Roux, that had exactly what I was seeking – in three different versions! I went with the Cadillac version in the hopes that I will never have to make this purchase again. At least that’s what the salesman promised.
So? How does it work? It’s pretty damn amazing! Stem the cherries and place them in the pitter and press. Bam! The pit drops out and you’re left with a nearly intact cherry. Easy-peasy, as they say. As a matter of fact, I just may pick up a couple of more to have on hand for gifts for friends who are tired of living in the pits.
As I walked past my car in our island seashell driveway, I noted the 5 consecutive years’ worth of Wellfleet beach parking stickers affixed to the rear window. It made me smile. I considered my previous car, also a wagon that had displayed at least as many years of evidence of our travels, and wondered how all of these summer road trips would be woven through the memories of my sons.
I would hope that one day my children will share the stories of their childhoods with their own families – and there are some good ones. After years of traveling together, we have a collection of moments which belong to us and can be taken out and polished countless times. Like sea glass, some began with jagged and sharp edges, but after years of repeated stroking they have softened and no longer have the ability to cut. They’ve become our treasures.
Projecting into the future, even beyond the expected years of my own life, I imagine my children telling their children these stories of us. The times spent with family, together, exploring new sights and revisiting favorite places. Ordering the same meals in the same restaurants in the same towns, not as an attempt to recapture that time, but instead, to pay those former days homage.
These days and weeks collectively combining to encompass months and months of our lives, are deserving of a chapter in our “story of our lives.” How about you, DelSo reader? What chapters are you writing in your own life?
The view, complete with hummingbirds, of the private deck from my bed.
The stained glass window hanging in the floor to ceiling window in the living room.
An enormous fish sculpture suspended from the ceiling beams.
The perfect outdoor light fixture!
Melodic notes from the biggest wind chimes I’ve ever seen.
A sink side compost bin and a tumbler to empty it in.
The rich colors of this gorgeous painting.
A charming tableau of mermaid and seashell which never failed to elicit a smile.
The siren’s call of this third floor deck.
Showering under the stars.
The sun is peeking out from the soft grey clouds and my private little deck beckons. Listening to the birds and the trees on a quiet morning while the rest of the house still sleeps, is one of my favorite times of the day. No one needs anything, other than the hummingbird who just cruised by the feeder looking for some breakfast. He’ll have to wait.
I’ve been visiting the Cape for 16 consecutive summers and the charm has yet to wear off. Sure, there are places I no longer find appealing (I’m talking to you, obvious consumption Chatham) but, in general, I still appreciate what this place offers me. Despite all the changing variables – where we stay, the layouts of the various houses we have rented, the time of the summer, the composition of our families, which friends visit, the most special thing to me about the Cape is how it itself remains constant. There will be fried seafood and sandy feet and predictable tides. The shoreline may shift and beaches and dunes will erode, but the sun will reliably drop into the bay in a blaze of orange and purple at the end of the day. This, is what I love about being here.
I can’t help but reflect on my boys and how their needs and interests have changed over the years. The amount of props they once required! Strollers and pack and plays, life preservers and diapers – all gone now, replaced by digital toys and, thank God, books. When I packed this year, in my usual style, filling Rubbermaid containers which can double as hampers after the clothing is hastily put into temporary homes in strange dressers, I got my own bin for the first time ever. For years, I’ve shared my bin with my youngest as I’ve placed the big guys’ clothes together. This year their stuff is all together and I have a smaller box just for me. It means something doesn’t it?
Life is changing – every day. Coming to the beach and taking the time to recognize, accept and honor that, while digging my toes in the sand, makes these weeks the most special of the year. I hope you have a place like that, too.
Time to feed the hummingbirds.