I’m getting kind of excited about spending some untethered time in NYC. I feel like circumstances are aligning. The sun is expected to shine in mild blue skies. The moon will be nearly full and, I predict, spectacular. I have a good idea about what I’m going to wear (cutoff shorts with footless tights, flat shoes for walking) and what I’ll need to pack (running gear, a cute dress for cocktails).
My plans are fluid but include a couple of stops on my way downtown – Macy’s, perhaps, Porto Rico Importers, definitely, Rocco’s more than likely. I’ll be dressed casually so I’m going with a backpack instead of an overnight bag. I like to have my hands free and travel light.
I’ll have a quality late lunch with at least one glass of wine, maybe my first rose of the season. My plans include a nap followed by a run. I want to head south down the lower west side to Battery Park through the Seaport and over the Brooklyn Bridge. The “blood moon” will be rising and whatever music I choose I know will be perfect.
A quick shower off, a little makeup and then there will be cocktails at a swanky place down on lower Hudson where, I believe, Sundays are “pants optional.” Fun will be had. I know how to do this. It’s going to be epic.
I just finished a wonderful novel, Counting by 7s by Holly Goldberg Sloan. It’s from the middle school library where I spend my mornings, but the unique voice of the main character transcends preadolescence in a distinctively refreshing way and I am completely in love with this book. In honor of Willow Chance and her fondness for the number 7, I offer seven observations she made which struck me.
- “I have given in. But that’s different from giving up.”
- “…says that nothing is for certain. That is the truest statement I’ve ever heard.”
- “books = comfort”
- “Life, I now realize, is just one big trek across a minefield and you never know which step is going to blow you up.”
- “Maybe that happens when you’ve been through a lot. All of your edges are worn off like sea glass. Either that, or you shatter.”
- “It happens as most things do, in the smallest of ways.”
- “…is life so filled with random action that the very notion of caution is futile?”
In a world filled with stuff to read, this little gem stands out. Read it.
Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about cheese. My earliest cheese memories center around my regular lunch order – Muenster on white with mayo. Simple, a bit tangy and the perfect balance to my other standard sandwich option, liverwurst. What can I say? I was raised by a German mother.
As I aged, I expanded my cheese horizons…there was cheddar and provolone, an array of blue-veined beauties, soft delights like Brie, preferably served warm and oozing. Cheese would most certainly prevent me from being a vegan. Ever.
While most of my cheesy memories are positive ones, there is one incident which will forever stand out in my memory for both the icky taste and the laughter it ultimately inspired. Many years ago, while visiting Alsace, we lost track of time and missed our opportunity to catch lunch service in the small French town we found ourselves in. Using my best parlez vous Francais, I asked if perhaps we might have some fruit, cheese and bread to tide us over until dinner could be had.
We were graciously indulged with a lovely plate of local specialties, including a couple of new to us cheeses. As we dug in, we shared our impressions of the fromage. One sample stumped my husband and as he struggled to find the words to describe it, I impatiently grabbed a (blessedly) small piece and shoved it into my mouth. What followed next was a comical series of sputtering, spitting and cursing as I exclaimed “You couldn’t simply say it tastes the way I imagine dog shit might taste?!?” Bad cheese, but great story.
Locally, the cheese universe has evolved tremendously over the years. From Cowen and Lobel to Old Chatham to the Honest Weight, cheese has grown into a specialized niche with plenty of devotees. When The Cheese Traveler moved into the DelSo bringing his enthusiasm and knowledge with him, I knew I would never again inadvertently place a crappy tasting cheese in my mouth again.
I have to confess, that I find myself gravitating to creamiest of Gorgonzola more often than not, but it is so good to know that I can surrender myself to Eric’s wisdom and explore other cheesy delights. Last week’s Soup and Grilled Cheese Tasting party was a fun way to sample some flavors which were new to me, including the killer combination of Flying Pigs ham, Fourme d’Ambert and Mingle’s kimchi – an explosion of tastes that I’m still thinking about days later. Here are a couple of terrific write ups from the event (or shop, in general) which go into far more detail about the grilled cheese offerings. There are a few upcoming Cheese Traveler events which look both delicious and educational, including Cheese School which begins in April and the fundraiser advertised below which is tonight. Follow him on Twitter to keep up with how to be your cheesiest best.
Valentine’s Day seems the perfect time to express my adoration for Winter. In all honesty, it’s a love I never imagined experiencing. Winter was always the cruelest of seasons, I thought. Endlessly long, yet filled with days which offered mere hours of daylight. Cold in a way that kept one indoors, in isolation. Yuck.
Our relationship was purely platonic at the start. It was a casual thing for many years, sort of a “friends with benefits situation.” If I had a little extra time, I could maybe work in an hour outdoors on my cross-country skis. Many people have a summer romance, but we had a winter fling. Winter certainly wasn’t something I was willing to build a life around. It was more a matter of convenience, a circumstance I’d be remiss to replicate in my romantic life, yet acceptable for a relationship physical in nature.
During the snowy years, we got a little more serious with each other and I found myself keeping my skis in my car “just in case.” I explored Capital Hills, familiarizing myself with the various trails, learning which spots tended to get icy and which direction to ski to witness the often stellar winter sunsets. I bought better cold weather gear and, repulsed by the false consistency of the treadmill, committed to running outdoors year round.
Winter challenged me and I responded with enthusiasm and devotion. Downhill skiing beckoned and I fell even deeper in love. The combination of adrenaline, fresh air and sunshine was intoxicating. Winter was no longer something to be survived, it became a season to savor. I realized recently that Winter has become my favorite season and I no longer wish it away as I may have in the past.
Sometimes we find love in the most unexpected places. Recognizing it, and embracing it with grace, makes our time here, and our hearts, feel remarkably full. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Filed under beauty, Exercise, favorites, holidays, Local, love, Normanskill, running, skiing, snow, upstate New York, winter, x-country skiing
If I think back on music from my childhood, The Beatles immediately come to mind. They were definitely the soundtrack of many car rides in my memory.
Freshman year of high school, I remember the painful decision of which album to pick – the Red One or the Blue One. I don’t remember which I ultimately chose. I know I loved it.
When my oldest son was born, 5+ weeks early, I didn’t have a pediatrician, nor did I know a single lullaby or nursery song. Or so I thought. Doing the new baby rock and walk, I found myself humming Beatles’ songs, sometimes even murmuring the lyrics.
My first digital camera had a memory stick that held about 8 images or a seconds long video. There was a mini movie of the oldest 2 Lilly boys singing their hearts out to Hey, Jude, including all the Judy, Judys and a perfectly timed and heartfelt “Ow.” I have no idea where that memory stick is and it doesn’t matter. I’ll never forget that moment.
My youngest child turned nine today on the very same day that marks 50 years since The Beatles invaded America. Perfect synchronicity. Quinn’s love for The Beatles is pure and relentless, just like him. He hasn’t yet tired of discussing the tragedy of George’s cancer or John’s assassination. He knows the words to countless songs and when he doesn’t, he enthusiastically makes up his own.
What remains inside of us is a wonder only second to what, in fact, comes out.
Words? Who needs words? Behold…
Ok, here are a few words in case the picture doesn’t tell the complete story. Pizza Carbonara: Caramelized onion, housemade pancetta, smoked mozzarella, (perfectly cooked) egg, Cafe Capriccio. Everything you could ever want from a pizza.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks for those of us who like to exercise outdoors. I mean, 5 degrees on the plus side just doesn’t beckon to me, especially when the skies are grey and the wind is kicking up. After nearly a week without a run, I finally got out last Saturday during a break in the deep freeze. Of course, it was kind of snowing and rather messy, but damn it the thermometer was finally in the double digits and I needed to run.
Yaktrax in the snow
I’ve enjoyed winter runs and consider a layer of ice on the sidewalk to be an added challenge, along with a bit of a core workout. I like it. Layering up may be time consuming, but I have the right clothes and I love the time outdoors, traveling at my own pace. Saturday’s run required 4 layers and the addition of a new foul weather friend – Yaktrax.
I originally bought these “slip-on” grip enhancers last winter, but they languished in my running drawer until the other day. My hesitation to use them was based on fear – I was afraid that my feet would hurt or that I would feel awkward running on these springy-things. Fortunately, I was wrong. Once I figured out how to put them on they felt pretty light and were actually fairly unobtrusive for the first 3-4 miles. I had a great deal of traction and didn’t slip or slide at all while wearing them. I began to become more aware of them during mile five, feeling some new sensations in my lower legs, which may or may not have been from the Yaktrax. Either way, I’ll use them again and try to remember to pair them with an outer layer with pockets leaving myself the option of taking them off, if necessary.
Sunday morning, I got an email from Pineridge Cross Country Ski Area, an awesome old school ski area on the other side of the Hudson. This place has some of the most beautiful trails I’ve ever skied on and I was thrilled to receive notice that they had 25 km of trail open. After consulting with my runner girls, we made a plan to get ourselves to Poestenkill for a couple of hours of outdoor fun.
Neither Karen or Chrissy had ever skied here before and I was so happy to share this beautiful place with them. Chrissy offered me the job of “Life Tour Guide,” a career I think I could really get down with if only it was a real option. Although it was only about 13 degrees, there wasn’t any wind and the sun was reasonably bright. There may have also been a sip or two of homemade limoncello that provided a nice warm glow to our afternoon. We had a fantastic time and I hope to get out there again next weekend. At less than $20 for a trail pass and only a slightly more than 30 minute drive from the DelSo, it’s a bargain indulgence. Get there!