happy

I could hear his heartbeat, with my head on his chest, watching Veronica Mars. The gentle scents of fresh paint and reheated stewed okra mingled in the air. . . . Whose life is this? So far away from where I was a year ago. Everything is different from two years ago. But this is how we spent our Sunday-- one year and 363 days after the Sunday we first met-- after we painted our new bookcase.

For all my falling apart lately, some days our life feels like a movie montage or a commercial for a home improvement store. How do I look playing one half of a Young and Happy Couple? I've been experimenting with new ways to braid my hair.

~b

nest

I want to flip through books of paint chips. I want to sew long, straight curtain seams and hang botanical prints and photos we took on vacation. I want to reupholster.

I need a two-tiered, wire bin for onions and potatoes and a magnet strip to hold my knives. I need a bench for the foot of the bed and a four-story shoe rack and a shag rug. I need an immersion blender, a stand mixer, and a set of All-Clad (sans Teflon, please). . . a waffle iron, a mandoline. . . an assortment of Le Creuset (I haven’t decided on a color). . . .

I want to make tiny brioche buns for tiny hamburgers, so we’ll need a tiny barbeque grill on a tiny balcony, overlooking a tiny garden (if you don’t mind). I’ll need a big tray to serve them and several pretty pitchers for offering refills. And I will probably need a crinolined-dress and an apron that was never meant to get dirty. . . .

We went to Crate and Barrel. And maybe I’ve been watching too much Mad Men.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to nest. That’s a thing, right?

I got the most adorable little lidded casserole. It will be so perfect for baked dips and maybe pasta for two and this strawberry clafoutis recipe I’m dying to try.

Hesitant at first, Ted then spent the next twenty minutes deciding on high-ball glasses. And we got some tiny martini glasses, because, even though Ted insists that I never drink, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have lived without them.

These are our first together-things, full of happiness and hope and potential.

Now we just need to buy some plants. . . and a muffin tin. . . and a new duvet. . . .



~beatrix

this might take some getting used to AND i'm not sure i'm willing to claim the napkin holder just yet

“I’m pretty sure you’re my person. I decided.”
“Yeah. . . I hope so. . . . Otherwise I’m not going to let you move in to my apartment.”

***********

At brunch, he was listening to me talk talk talk about what I might buy at Crate and Barrel with the coupon I have.

“And I need a sugar canister. My sugar keeps getting wet, somehow. But I want a fun one.”
“Like one that’s a frog?”
“Why would I want one that’s a frog?”
“To match our napkin holder.”
“Oh. . . . That sounds so funny, ‘Our napkin holder’.”
“I know. I was just trying it out.”

~beatrix

dirt footprint

Ted’s cousin has been dating his girlfriend for three months. They’ve lived together for two.

New York pushes you into people. It squishes you into subway cars so crowded I once spent most of a morning commute standing on one foot. Sidewalks are packed and grocery stores are tiny and you’re almost always brushing by someone.

When I was little I lived in a place too far from town to have cable. There was a dog and maybe some cats in the yard and ponies out back and trees and grass and a sandbox and a tire swing. Here, twenty-four apartments, an Irish bar, and a bagel place share the dirty footprint of this little building. Here, I pay loads for my tiny share of the earth, three stories below.

The most cost effective way to live here, or anywhere I suppose, is to get married, or at the very least shack-up, as the kids say. You can’t beat having two incomes but only needing room for one bed.

It had come up before, but never with a sense of schedule other than “future” or “later” or “one day”. ’Til now. It was breakdown of timing, not an invitation or plan, just a notification.

I’m already decorating in my head.

~beatrix

live blogging: new jersey afternoon

my boy said he forgets that when i'm with him, there's usually no new blog. so i'm making one for him. ta da.

i came to work with him even though it's in new jersey. there are some professional athletes who are kind of big, but there's also apple juice. and he bought me a sandwich.

i'm kind of sad for him because he has to work in florescent lights with a drop-in ceiling. i have to wear sunglasses to even be here, but i suppose there are trade-offs like all the juice you can drink and a coffee machine that speaks three languages.

i'm going to go draw him a picture and maybe look into this coffee contraption.

happy weekends all around.

~beatrix

Etc.

I’ve never done this, but these things seemed just barely worth mentioning.

A List:

-If you have pets or children, it is your responsibility to corral them. If you are on one side of the sidewalk and your dog is on the other, it is your problem that his leash is blocking the entire path. If you have four children, you are responsible for making sure they are not blocking the aisles at the grocery store.

-I love Jonathan Adler. (Dear Jonathan Adler, Let’s be friends, please. Love and air kisses, Beatrix) His manifesto makes me love him even more. (Dear Jonathan Adler’s boyfriend, Would the two of you like to join us for dinner? Let me know. I’ll roast some seasonal vegetables and bake a cake. Awkward, minimal-body-contact hugs, Beatrix)

-The armrest on the non-end seats of an airplane is neutral territory. It should be used minimally and never, under any circumstances, crossed.

-Sharing photos of your pregnancy test is STILL GROSS.

-Ted suggested we coordinate Halloween costumes, so we need some ideas. Clever ideas that aren’t too cute (no Anthony and Cleopatra or Jack and Jackie) are encouraged.


air kisses to all,

trix