Special Scout

The 55 degree weather in January made me re-realize how absolutely fantastic this is.

2012-01-25T00:10:00.001-05:00

I ride a bike to work every day.

Well, most days.

I have nothing to prove in thunderstorms

or umbrella-shattering winds.

It's a 20-ish minute commute from my apartment to my classroom.

I get to ride the elevator.

I park my bike near the window.

At least once a day, a student makes a comment or asks a question,

mostly out of fascination that a grown-up actually chose this.

But it's a very accurate observation.

I'm the grown-up who chooses this.

I get so excited when the sun comes out.

I have often shouted, like an eight year-old,

"Let's ride biiiikes!"

Because it's how I still feel.

As a kid, riding a bike was the first taste of freedom.

It was the first time I went anywhere

by myself

where my mom couldn't see me from the kitchen window.

I'm not sure about most things in this department, but I know this:

I want my kids to have that.

It gets cold here, you know.

Sometimes I wear two pairs of gloves on top of each other.

Sometimes, in addition to my regular winter gear,

I wrap an extra scarf around my head and over my ears,

babushka-style,

and put my helmet on top.

I think my floor limit is 29 degrees on a clear day.

I'm happy with that.

I ride at night, too,

with a blinking red light.

I carry the light in my bag

and clip it to whatever I'm wearing.

Sometimes I will walk into Trader Joe's or something

and realize ten minutes later that my butt is blinking bright red.

I can live with that.

Bicycle commuting has been one of the greatest discoveries in my New York life.

Truly.

I didn't think the city could get much better

until I started seeing it from a bicycle seat.

Now I think I'll have a bicycle no matter where I live.

If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere ...

I love thinking about the simplicity of a bike.

And how I power this thing to move with only my energy.

Friends. Seriously.

It really, really, really

does feel like flying.

This picture reminds me that it's going to be okay.

2012-01-18T20:59:00.000-05:00

And that I owe my mom a phone call.

And that I'm overdue for a haircut.

Onward.

2012

2012-01-12T11:11:00.000-05:00

The arrival of 2012 came unexpectedly to me.

I know this makes no sense.

Because January 1 is not supposed to be a surprise.

Because the days just go in order. And I know what a calendar is.

But here I am, caught off guard.

I look forward to life's little benchmarks,

moments to pause and write your own report card.

Evaluate yourself in the different categories of being

that matter to you.

I usually do this on my birthday.

Personal milestone time.

I had to think really hard about resolutions.

Hopes and visions and goals for 2012.

I want to believe that my future self will be better than the present.

If this holds true, then my present self is an improvement on the past.

And forward is the only way to march.

Amtrak

That grand perspective, however, escapes me sometimes.

All those non-birthday days.

And I need reminders.

Like what day it is.

So that's what I wrote for this new year. Reminders.

Here's my list, unintentionally ordered by importance:

Feel.

It's okay that your feelings exist,

and that they should guide you.

They seem to be right about a lot of things,

and knowing this gives you strength.

New Orleans

You can be very, very hard on yourself.

The universe is in a bad way when you get stuck like that.

Hang this on your wall:

I actually purchased this.

***

Teach harder.

The children love to learn and want more,

even if they don't show it.

My classroom

****

Talk on the phone.

There are a lot of people that you love and miss.

Plus, it seems weird that phones aren't used so much for talking anymore.

Sweet fan, West Village

*****

Saying no is okay.

Turning down people and plans for personal time might be necessary,

and is something you can allow yourself, guilt-free.

Everyone understands.

October snow storm

******

You want to learn more about taking pictures.

Do this by taking more pictures

and worrying less about being the girl who keeps taking pictures.

Olvera Street, Los Angeles

*******

Leave the house ten minutes before you think you're supposed to.

Perhaps one's sense of how long it takes to get places

in New York is never fully realized.

Garment District rooftop

********

Plan with finites.

Place goals and projects on timelines to help you reach an end.

The current books-started to books-finished ratio,

for example, is very high.

New Orleans shop window

*********

Draw the doodles you imagine.

They're worth noting, there's always a napkin somewhere,

and it feels like such a loss when you can't remember them the next day.

Living room, Little 42

You're looking good, 2012.

Let's get started.

Griffith Park on Christmas Eve

2012-01-11T08:15:00.000-05:00

We drafted a mini bucket list for our trip to L.A., to get out of Pasadena (but why?!)

and do some touristy things we hadn't done in years.

Griffith Park was high on the list, for me.

I remember going there a lot as a kid.

True story:

One time, our parents signed us up to do pony rides that were set up

around a track-like circuit in the park.

The dollars your parents gave scored you and your pony

two or three laps around the circuit.

It was a pleasant trot.

Leyla, however, was paired with the dud pony.

Her pony went absurdly slowly.

So slowly, in fact, that everyone stopped paying attention,

and she must've gone around and around at least eight times that day.

At the time, Leyla and the pony were a match made in happy slowpoke heaven.

We still laugh about the appropriateness of their personalities coupling.

Leyla and the daydreaming pony, just moving along.

We've all grown up a little, though.

Hahaha. Okay, maybe not.

I was extra hopeful to find the carousel.

It's my favorite part. It isn't always open.

Every year, my Girl Scout troop would take a trip to Griffith Park for the

Girl Scout Cookie Kickoff.

What kicks off a cookie, you might ask?

A whole bunch of young girls who are excited about learning things.

And are excited about each other.

And cookies.

But largely just excited about carousels.

Every detail was as beautiful as I remember.

And since it was Christmas Eve when we visited,

we got to hear its holiday tunes!

And I missed Lisa and Diane and Mrs. B.,

and thought about those Troop 124 days.

True story #2:

I learned how to tie a braid at a Cookie Kickoff one year.

Oh, the details of memory.

There were large pieces of plywood lined up in the grass,

and each one had a horse's behind painted onto it, very colorfully.

The tail was a mysterious hair material, sort of mop-like, that came off the plywood.

And you, the young Girl Scout, could style it.

How hilarious to think about now.

The life skills of styling a horse's behind.

But Lisa taught me how to braid that day.

A life lesson I still use.

nostalgia (n.): my students' favorite vocabulary word of the semester.

I can see why they smile when we review it.

After throwing a frisbee in the sun for a while,

we made our way up toward the observatory.

The top of this climb reveals one of the most beautiful views of the city.

It was unexpectedly crowded on Christmas Eve,

so we didn't go inside.

We tend to roll with it as it comes.

lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove

But this city.

Notice how beautiful complicated things look from a distance.

In the case of this crazy city, too,

as in the case of the crazy city I have presently chosen,

I like it even better up close.

And I'm kind of bummed out because I honestly don't know if we, as a family, can ever top this.

2012-01-06T01:17:00.001-05:00

Christmas in Southern California is a funny feeling

in the best possible way.

I've forgotten how to feel the holiday spirit when it's almost 80 degrees out,

and the desserts are being served under a fully blooming lemon tree.

This year, we celebrated all together.

We are many.

A head count at my aunt's house one night revealed 55 people,

which we casually referred to as, "just us."

The food never fails to disappoint, of course.

And this year's desserts were very impressive.

A little too impressive, if you were to ask my pants.

We even tried something new for 2011.

New for our family.

We held a white elephant gift exchange.

Each person brought one gift, and we took turns choosing them and stealing them from one another.

In other words, we sat in a circle and played a game by its rules.

I'm not sure you understand the magnitude of this.

It was harder to organize than any classroom of children I've ever encountered. Truly.

You guys. It was SO FUN.

Everyone brought really cool gifts!

And it took forever, because there are so many of us,

but we laughed so hard.

And then we laughed even harder.

And it felt so good to see how happy we all were to have only one Christmas present.

---

So. Okay.

I realize that I'm somewhat obsessed with my own family.

I might write about them a lot.

But the thing is, I think about them a lot, too.

How much I genuinely like them.

And weirdly have in common with them

even when we come from different generations and different continents.

And how it never feels like an obligation to spend time with them

because they're the people I'd choose, anyway.

And lately, we're multiplying.

There are new ones.

And we're so dang crazy about them, too.

It is not at all overwhelming to be around so many people.

I feel so lucky.

It's at least a little unusual, isn't it?

To belong so effortlessly to such a numerous and bizarre bunch?

It seems like the kind of thing to get excited about.

And be proud of.

And never take for granted.

And shout from the rooftops once in a while.

Mom only asked that we take one family photo, "just us."

#sorrynotsorry

just like the ones I used to know

2011-12-24T10:08:00.003-05:00

may your days be

m e r r y a n d b r i g h t

My high school history teacher subscribed to the idea that we should all circumvent the awkwardness of not knowing what holiday people celebrate this month by simply wishing everyone a happy Winter Solstice instead. He makes a point.

2011-12-21T23:00:00.000-05:00

The winter solstice is always the best news.

It comes right at the point in the year

when the darkness really begins to bum me out.

When it's seventh period and I know it'll be dark before I make it out of the building.

I've gone to bed very early a few times.

On accident.

My brain tricks my body into thinking it's the middle of the night,

when it's actually around 7:30pm.

My brain is terrific with these shenanigans.

My body was seriously convinced.

One of these mornings, I woke up very early,

and walked up the block to the park on the hill.

This winter was getting to me.

I hadn't had the chance, yet,

to feel festive.

The holiday spirit that seemed to be rushing over everyone else

hadn't hit me.

I wanted to decorate Little 42.

I've never had my very own Christmas tree.

Last year I made this pom-pom pole out of yarn

and hung it in the window.

I didn't get a tree this year, either.

That morning,

I was in St. Nicholas Park.

aptly named

There, I found a branch.

It was the best one.

I knew it when I saw it amongst the others.

Fairy tale style.

The one.

I brought it up the stairs

wrapped some of its branches with yarn scraps,

hung colorful ornaments from it,

and made it fit.

It's right at home, I think.

It's no Christmas tree, like the one in the family room at home.

The one with the Elvis ornament and the wooden cows

and the wonkers we made in Arabic school,

with the sequins and pipe cleaners and dried glue drips.

But I am quite happy with it. Here with me.

I wanted the rest of the apartment to feel cozy, too.

Maybe if I embraced winter, it would be easier.

And if it's always dark outside,

I could make my own light,

and bring it in.

These tiny lights have brightened my space and my mood.

Small changes to the way I feel about the passing days.

The way I present the winter. To myself.

Another of my brain's shenanigans? Probably.

I see mason jars filled with yarn and felt.

And buttons. And peppermint sticks.

Bowls overflowing with clementines.

Fresh flowers.

Ornaments partout.

I even got friends crafting, covering these ball ornaments with magazine pages.

I see an inviting message on the entryway mirror.

And one lone stocking hung in the living room mirror.

Mom embroidered my name in Arabic

and mailed it to me.

I can't get over that.

I see a paper garland in the kitchen window.

And a coffee table adopting the proper palette.

I see winter sweaters fighting it out for drawer real estate.

And handmade cards hung in the hallway,

where I can see them each time I pass

and give them their due appreciation.

When it's cold enough to keep my socks on

and too dark to take a good photo,

these tiny things

give me the warmth and the light I seek.

This coziness will carry me through.

And I'm very happy to know that moving forward,

every day has a few more minutes of light

than the day before.

jump down turn around shake it on a Saturday night

2011-12-20T07:40:00.000-05:00

A few hours before my friends came over,

every surface in Little 42 looked sort of like this:

When they were a few minutes late in arriving,

I made the mental decision that I would still be happy.

Even if all of my friends bailed,

at least my apartment was finally clean.

My ulterior motives for hosting friends

scare me a little.

I don't know if "party" would be the right word.

I mean, we used to party.

Frequently.

Expensively.

Embarrassangly.

We did.

But this Saturday night?

We baked cookies.

And watched "Love Actually."

(I always want the title of that movie to have a comma in it.

It doesn't, and I never seem to know enough about commas.)

"Guys, listen. I know we're in the middle of this batch and whatnot,

but we can totally come to a stopping point and go out at any time."

"No, this is fine."

"I know! It's great! But seriously. I'm just saying that it's Saturday night,

and there's nothing that says you have to sit inside my apartment

and use the oven."

"No. Really. This is kind of perfect."

They were right.

thatnicole!

It was.

Clean apartment?

Yep.

Terrific friends?

Got that.

Realizing that getting older is secretly awesome?

Heck yes.

Eating a cookie on every pass to the kitchen or bathroom?

Not great, but will work on that.

And let's not forget to mention that Instagram is going for a pretty serious takeover.

2011-12-16T22:18:00.001-05:00

This week was kind of a dragger, wasn't it?

I'm fairly certain I woke up to an alarm and went to work

more than five times.

I'd like a recount, please.

The last hour of the work week was spent staring
hopelessly at the fax machine

as it printed out the millionth "line busy" rejection slip.

Also, things might have gotten a little out of hand at home.

It's possible that every surface looks a little like that.

And this will become my resting spot again:

I'll feel better if you tell me that you do this, too.

That thing where you have to be out the door in 8 minutes.

But you'll try on all of the things in the closet first.

All of the colors. All of the patterns.
Direction? Purpose? Huh?

So it's Friday night, and I am happily staying in.

I got used to quiet Fridays during marathon training

because long runs were always on Saturday mornings.

So I'm keeping that up.

Except for the running part.

Heh.

I learned today that Fridays at 8pm is the optimal

time to visit Trader Joe's.

You pretty much have the place to yourself.

And everyone on the Upper West Side is at their nicest.

My checker-outer entered me into a raffle for bringing my own bags.

I got a little over-excited at the possibilities therein

and she laughed and said she hopes I win.

I felt cared for.

The weekend looks promising.

I'm labeling it low-key yet festive.

Holiday wish.

2011-12-14T07:11:00.000-05:00

It's hard to slow things down these days.

It's like we're all rushing toward the end of the year,

as fast as we can.

Once it's over,

we'll pause. and think. and make our reflection lists.

We'll consider new goals then.

The freshness of that time is something I really enjoy.

But I've been rushing around so much lately

that I want to slow down now.

I've been learning a lot.

And experimenting with things I make.

And trying new things in the classroom.

A lot of how-to.

Which I appreciate very much.

But my daily journal is full of holes

where I can find none in my calendar.

And my to-do lists are becoming ... well ... they're just ridiculous.

This photograph, I assure you, reveals the less embarrassing half of the page.

It unravels into more crazy towards the bottom, especially around the margins.

Productivity is its own reward, right?

While writing is something I feel I've neglected,

a task I've repeatedly abandoned,

I don't think of it as a chore.

It's part of my down-time.

my me time.

And maybe adding it to the to-do list

is just the thing.

This is a picture of someone very great. He is throwing a frisbee off a mountain.

2011-12-08T18:58:00.000-05:00

I didn't take this picture.

I wasn't even there when this happened.

But this week,

this picture is invaluable.

And inescapably captured in my mind.

I hope it's okay that I stole your photograph, friend.

Thankful.

2011-12-02T07:04:00.000-05:00

There's something humbling about belonging to a big family.

The numbers alone make you feel a lot smaller.

And with so many others always around,

and the noise level never really going down,

it's easy to wonder if it matters at all when you're missing.

Even when you are there,

it's so easy to fade into the background.

Behind the food and the kids and the laughter.

And yet, it's always so comforting to be home.

This year felt even closer.

Like time slowed down a little when we were all together.

This is the first time in a long time that I've returned from family time

and am back in New York

and can't wait to go back.

I made a little video about the weekend.

I must admit that I've watched it multiple times.

Seeing everyone really makes me smile.

and also,

two side tidbits about being Lebanese:

one

Mom is one of the greatest cooks I know.

This is her first turkey.

two

Our whole lives, Mom has pointed out every cedar tree

we've ever seen

(often from a moving car)

with a very dramatic gasp.

The gasp alone was always startling

ohmygoshissomethingwrong!?

but then we'd totally make fun of her for being really nerdy about trees.

Last weekend, in the car, I noticed a cedar tree.

And without thinking, pointed it out.

And immediately said, "Ohmygosh. Who am I?"

We saw a couple more over the following days.

I pointed them out, too.

Halloween is upon us.

2011-10-27T17:46:00.000-04:00

Everyone.

Halloween is a time to get serious
about things that are seriously un-serious.

Exhibit A: See Leyla.
She is so committed.

Exhibit B: See Sami.
Game face.

We revisited this photograph a few months ago.

Along with a few hundred others.

My whole family, squeezing onto the green sofa to get a look.

All of us laughing hysterically.

Tears rolling.

None of us able to recall exactly what Leyla was supposed to be that year.

Including Leyla.

Sami is definitely rockin' some of Mom's homemade yarn pompoms on his roller skates.

I love that that's how it went down.

A clown must skate.

And me?

You might not know it now, but

I was a preteen obsessed with cows.

That's right.

I collected things with cows on them.

Everyone knew this.
It was a hallmark of my identity.

I received cow-themed gifts.

Sometimes, people I don't keep up with too well
still send me bovine tokens

completely un-ironically.

It was very real.

I can give a nod of approval at
my preteen self in that cow costume.

(Although in retrospect, I can't believe I didn't hoof it out on my hands!)

I remember buying the fabric so that Mom could sew it for me

because the store-bought version had
enormous, pink udders on the front of it

and I found that completely unacceptable.

Halloween is again upon us.
Last year I was a peacock.

This year I've somehow convinced
some of the coolest people I know to
play along with an idea I've wanted to execute for a long time.

It needs a team.

And this year, it might just work.

I can't tell you yet.

For now, I'm off to go find some gold wrapping paper.

If a former student sends you this in the middle of a school day, it's okay to burst out laughing and feel generally good about the state of the universe.

2011-10-26T21:48:00.000-04:00

28.

2011-10-25T23:55:00.000-04:00

Sunday was my birthday.

Still in bed after waking up,

I was reminded that the day was not really mine to own.

All these years, I've been the one to celebrate it.

and how!

The anniversary this day recalls, though, belongs to my parents.

The memory of 28 years ago is theirs.

Their plans worked. Their lives changed.

I had selfishly (and maybe childishly?) never thought of it that way before.

I'm just the thing that happened. They're the ones who should be celebrated.

So the first thing I did was let them know.

I think they were confused by my message.

And so?

I'll continue to celebrate them on October 23 for the rest of the years.

--------

I made zero plans this year.

My day's fate would instead be controlled by these two:

It's funny, but I can think of nothing more comforting.

I was led onto a subway car and to a delicious downtown brunch.

My people were there to celebrate.

They let me order the junkiest item on the menu for everyone to share.

(Fact: The banana split waffle at Petite Abeille is extra-awesome with the chocolate sauce drizzle.)

A few hours later, Oliver arranged for the sun to come out.

After a quick cocktail at a nearby T.G.I. Friday's,

this was a New York first.

also a life first.

before noon.

and in general.

we took a Metro North train out of Grand Central.

I still didn't know where we were going,

but no one else seemed too stressed out about it.

An hour later the sky was a million times bigger.

The trees were brighter.

Fall colors haven't hit the city quite yet,

come oooooooooon!

and this was precisely what I've been so patiently waiting to see.

I smiled like a complete goon

when the taxi driver outside of the Croton Falls train station asked, "Orchard?"

I smiled because they knew.

And they made it happen.

This was exactly. exactly. what I wanted.

My friends had taken this Sunday

and made it a better gift than I could ever ask for.

A day where we could be outside.

In the fall.

Picking apples.

And solving a corn maze mystery.

And being very silly.

I was so overwhelmingly happy that day.

I woke up Monday morning still smiling.

I think I would have enjoyed this day at any age,

but something about it felt so right now.

In the midst of celebrating,

this birthday became a time to reflect

about the values I've tried to hold.

The ones I've always known,

in the face of all the other things I certainly don't know.

Because on this birthday,

I saw all of mine before me.

The day of birthday surprises that my friends had planned for me

was a mirror of the things that are important to my existence on this planet.

Like the happiness found in simple things,

and the importance of seeking it.

The ability to trust that your people know you.

And understand you.

And then, love you.

That I can appreciate what these relationships really mean

because they didn't develop out of thin air

and they've changed

and grown only for the better

so much over the years.

It's not lost on me

what it means

when my closest people

would drop everything

to be with me on my birthday.

At 28, I know how lucky I am.

Scraps.

2011-10-17T07:28:00.001-04:00

She was there the very first time I visited New York City.

We were only acquaintances then.

We've never discussed whether she did the same,

but I looked up the.entire.time.

I suspect she did, too.

I almost got hit by cars.

I moved slowly.

I annoyed my traveling buddies.

I paid attention to the minutia of the architecture

the placement of objects

the juxtaposition of

the things people had made

for hundreds of years

collected together here.

This heap of scraps.

The togetherness of elements that makes this place meaningful.

I could not take my eyes away from looking up.

I could not stop hearing Simon and Garfunkel in my ears.

I didn't try to.

I still don't.

Years after that first visit, we both live within ten blocks of one another.

We run into each other at the grocery store.

(the most pleasant of New York City accidents)

Meet at the gym.

Go for walks after hurricanes.

Together, we notice the details.

She doesn't mind her sentences being cut off

when I fail to resist blurting out:

"Dude. Those buildings right next to each other.

They're just right."

"Has that always been there?"

The details are not a small part of what it means to be here.

We get that.

--------

I thought a lot about details in the days and weeks leading up to her wedding.

About how seriously we take them.

And use them to define ourselves.

And why we agonize over them.

--------

Long before weddings were in our picture

and decisions about flowers, ribbons, and paper had to be made,

we spent countless hours, she and I,

with bigger thoughts.

Conversations figuring out how to keep going.

How to make answers for questions we can't understand.

And feelings we don't know how to feel.

We’ve failed.

We've fallen.

Sometimes, our people disappoint us.

And really, really hurt us.

And other times, we can't imagine where we would be

or what we would do

-- or who we would be--

without them.

Because little was ever handed over.

Few rules were truly prescribed.

We've never known our expectations

or owned our beliefs

until we learned them for ourselves.

Experience is not the easy way.

I think she would agree:

It's been hard to develop a sense of conviction like that.

We've laughed as we imagined that the sum

of our existence

is a collection of scraps.

It’s what we have.

It's what we've come to know.

It's how we understand it all.

The mess we’ve been collecting along the way.

It’s the pile of experiences we stand on.

The materials we use to build and rebuild.

The fragments that are left behind sometimes.

The scraps. We hold them out

in our hands

to show.

“This is what I found.

This is what I made.”

A sense of identity. A clarity of purpose.

The scrap pile can be overwhelming to look at some days.

It will never be alphabetized and indexed.

And it's hard to see what's what.

And it’s hard -- really, really hard -- to imagine your identity as this cobbled-together mess of circumstances and ideas.

Because what are you supposed to do with that?

We've even seen glimmers of the dream.

Magical real-life versions of possibility.

And we're faced again with our scraps.

And wonder what they'll ever amount to.

--------

A few times in our lives,

the scraps we've collected are exposed.

We want to share them.

Our loved ones come to see what we have.

What we are making.

It's exciting to show them.

To stand up and say:

These are my scraps.

This is what I have.

This is what I made.

It's a big feeling. An overwhelming thing to share.

She did it, though. She really did.

I wish you could've seen it.

I was one of the people who walked down the aisle before her.

And there, a beautiful, perfect combination of words happened.

And with the most appropriate song playing,

she and her husband led the way back up the aisle.

With only a few of us in the room now, we watched the newlyweds dance to their song

and I cried.

Only a little, at first.

But soon I wasn't stopping.

I kept going.

. . .

And then I couldn't stop.

It was uncontrollable.

A reaction not unlike this one.

Seriously. Watch that.

The best part is when she loses track

of when her actual birthday is.

This can happen.

It happened because it hit me.

Not just the name change.

Or the license.

I fully realized what I had just witnessed.

These are the scraps.

That this is what she had.

And this, down to the darnedest detail, is what she made.

And seeing every scrap she had chosen,

every element that came together,

and every person who supported every decision,

made me so proud to be there. To be a part of it.

(This is a picture of pride if I ever saw one.)

To see her hold out her hands and reveal what she's saved.

The relationship they've fostered together.

The life they've created.

From the scraps.

Because if these are the scraps?

The pieces of nothing we've agonized over?

Wondering what to do with them,

and how to make a life out of them?

This is them?

Then what is there to ever worry about?

--- Congratulations, dear friends. ---

thanks to Nora, for letting me snag a couple of her pictures, too.

You know those weeks

2011-10-05T23:24:00.000-04:00

where you have no idea how everything will ever get done,

this woman is a superhero. with killer sidekicks.

but somehow it does?

I've been seeing a lot of them lately.

I sort of love them.

I'm in my element here.

Landscape Architecture

2011-09-22T09:50:00.001-04:00

I've become strangely fascinated with the man behind the most beautiful space in my Manhattan.

In 1858, English-born architect Calvert Vaux won a competition to design
New York City's Central Park.

He had a significantly less-experienced sidekick who possessed brilliant social and political connections.

His name was Frederick Law Olmsted.

I'm fascinated by the sidekick.

Sometimes I go crazy for biographies. Lately:

- Andrew Jackson (never finished!)

- John Wilkes Booth

- and now, Frederick Law Olmsted

People are just interesting.

Especially historical figures we've glorified and named all our stuff after.

Or maybe just important men in the 1800s.

I want to know their stories.

Like how after his brother died, Freddy Olmstead went ahead and married his widow
and adopted her sons/his nephews.

Come on. I want to know.

Olmsted's mentor was Andrew Jackson Downing. You might know him as
The Father of American Landscape Architecture.

Fancy.

Downing believed that "a good house will lead to a good civilization."

I get weirdly nostalgic about that kind of patriotism.

Not the bumper-sticker kind.

The one where you were a good person

to make the world around you good.

Because you knew you mattered to more than just you.

They even told you so in school.

But anyway.

Downing died in a steamboat explosion near Yonkers.
And so Olmsted and Vaux sent in their little drawings for a little contest.

And they won it.
And then they made it.

And he didn't stop there.
He designed parks all over the place.
And college campuses.
And maybe most of North America.

And then, to my pleased little surprise,

I learned that his sons have contributed quite heavily to the construction of Piedmont Park

in Atlanta.

(This town just keeps winning, as I see it.)

I'm so drawn to these ideas of landscape design.

And that he passed those ideas on to his sons.

Ideas that a park is a space you move through.

And interact with.

And it's more than just a pretty space,

but it is one which is inherently good.

For everyone.

In health. In democracy.

It is a purposeful and deliberate space,

for people to enjoy.

Especially in cities that seem to have it all.

Because you can't just go out to the country on your lunch break.

But you can feel like you did.

And I'm glad that right in the 1850s and 1860s,

when we badly needed someone to know that,

Olmsted did.

I think I'm going to read this one.

Unless you recommend another one.

In which case I'll trust you more than the market.

And then I'll finally finally read this, too.

I know.

For no reason, really,

2011-09-06T20:58:00.000-04:00

except that I'm really glad they're around,

and know they're probably up to something righteous.

Melancholy for the Teacher Types

2011-09-06T20:44:00.000-04:00

Today was the first day of school.

And even though I get excited about that, too,

I also know that there's no going back.

Summer vacation has passed.

But it's in my head. For a moment.

I can't focus on planning ahead, though I desperately need to.

I'm stuck, in my mind.

I'm in the Appalachiacola River.

It's very far away. Down millions of unmarked side-streets.

Past Florida's smallest towns, through orchards and across forests.

I'm peering over the side because I want to see an alligator.

I heard they're all over the place here.

I'm already mentally prepared for my gator burger dinner.

I never see one.

But I'm not disappointed.

Because those guys want to invite us to the party.

And who are we to decline?

Soon, it's time to move further from town.

Well, not much further, really,

but it feels worlds away.

There I am, on the real-life Southern version of Disneyland's Jungle Cruise ride.

That's the best way it can be described.

The best way I can understand it as reality.

Because Disneyland is my schema for all things magical.

Traffic signs show through terrifying grasses.

Trees have knees.

And see that?

He's just lookin' out.

We're not all alone on the Appalachiacola.

I can't get enough of the houseboats.

Especially the ones that have no discernible land access.

Not a road or a driveway.

Out there, it really, really felt like vacation.

Not just being out of the city,

but being someplace so completely different from home.

Or any place I've ever called home.

It was so very removed. From all of the things.

And it was so beautiful -- so necessary -- to retreat.

{I'm steering this boat. I go my own way.}

The Big Deal Thing I've Been Up To

2011-08-28T12:36:00.000-04:00

I'd like to show you a recent outfit I've been sporting around town recently.

t-shirt with no collar and no sleeves. the old frisbee visor. ponytail.

orange-accent running shoes. breathable fabric shorts. a "fuel belt."

Clearly the coolest kid in the country's fashion capitol.

But, see, I'm working on this thing.
I'm training for it, and it's kind of a huge deal.

This year, I'm running the New York City Marathon.

Sorry. Let me re-attempt to convey that.

I'M RUNNING THE NYC MARATHON!!!!!

I'm so excited to be participating thanks to Team In Training,

which is probably the greatest organization of ... ever.

I feel so lucky to have this training.

These coaches. These mentors.

This ridiculous group of people to run with.

I'm not sure how I'd fare on my own.

This summer, we were able to leave our usual routes in shady Central Park to participate in Summer Streets.

Lauren and I saw the preparations happening in Astor Place a few weeks ago.

The city got nicely decorated for the event.

Streets closed to cars for a few hours on Saturdays, and filled with pedestrians and bikers.

It was a fantasy come true.

Also, did you see Bill Cunningham's Summer Streets slideshow?

It's awesome. I love him.

And I ran past him on Park Avenue.

I was a little sad that his camera ignored me as I waved frantically at it.

But so it goes.

This made for my favorite run of the summer.

I ran with a camera in my hand for 11 miles.

It went like this:

At 7am, I met the Team near the World Trade Center site downtown.

We discussed our routes.

We heard some tips for running in hot weather.

We listened to the Mission Moment, where a team member shares their purpose in running. Many people have lost close friends and family members to leukemia/lymphoma, and these moments are often sobering reminders of the cause.

And then we were off!

We began by crossing town, heading toward the East River.

We got on the Brooklyn Bridge.

And ran across to the other borough.

(there I go!)

Once in Brooklyn, we looped back up to the Manhattan Bridge,

and ran back across the East River.

Oh hello, city.

The bridge dumped us into Chinatown,

which forced some pedestrian displacement as we pummeled through.

Once at Lafayette Street, we began heading north up the clear streets!

Summer Streets is so well-organized.
There are volunteers everywhere!

Bike shops, running clubs, and other organizations set up tents
for people to learn, buy, or get involved.

We ran up past Astor Place,

through Union Square,

and up a carless Park Avenue.

For my 11-mile distance, I headed West at 30th Street,

and back toward the West Side Highway.

Once there, I followed the protected paths along the Hudson River

all the way back down to the WTC site.

But once here,
somewhere between 9.5 and 10 miles,

with the forthcoming Freedom Tower in my sights,

I thought I might not make it.

I finished. Somehow.

The joints are not so pleased with my recent decisions.

But I made it. And I will make it ...

... with your help.

Please consider making a donation to support my
marathon run with Team In Training.
My fundraising goal is $4,000.

Every dollar helps.

Visit my fundraising page here.

Your support is huge, and I thank you for it.

It's that time of summer.

2011-08-18T16:52:00.000-04:00

Time for a little change of scenery.

(photos by FPG)

Time for a road trip.

Time to take care of a little business.

Awww, shucks, New York!

2011-08-13T00:04:00.000-04:00

I feel just the same way about you!

chalkboard at Joseph Leonard, a West Village favorite

Contrasts in ordinary

2011-08-12T23:52:00.000-04:00

I looked up from my computer screen in the living room and saw the world had turned yellow.

The pictures haven't been adjusted. The yards and houses were hit with a yellow light.

It was just after 7pm in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia.

A time and place I've never found particularly interesting.

But then someone played with the lights.

I used to be a theatre nerd. I should know that often that's all it takes.

Lookatthat.

The ordinariness of this place became suddenly a little less ordinary.

I had to step outside in my turtle pants.

(Curious. Does everyone always curl their toes over ledges, or just those of us who were swimmers in our past lives?)

I stayed there for a minute.

This is extraordinary.

Later that night, during a lovely dinner with my family on the back porch,

I became infuriated by the unceasing racket of the crickets.

I couldn't concentrate on anything anyone said.

They would stop for a second and then start again.
They were truly testing the breaking point of my sanity.

Mom said the cricket songs are comforting to her.

They remind her of growing up in the mountains.

My brother agreed. He doesn't feel at home unless he hears them.

Meanwhile, there I was, ready to pull my hair out.

As I write this, in my room, I hear all of the following:

- a phone ringing upstairs, downstairs, or across the alley

- car traffic, including the occasional horn honking and squeaky brakes

- a group of teenagers talking and laughing

- a hip-hop beat I don't recognize

- a woman with a terrifyingly hoarse voice shouting something in Spanish

- pots clanging or dishes being washed in another apartment

All of those things. Right outside.

But I really had to listen for those. These noises don't strike me anymore.

It feels perfectly quiet in here.

This is the view directly outside of my bedroom window.
I can't explain, even to myself, why I love it.

Maybe I can. Another day.

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly what five years in the city has done to my senses
or to my appreciation of the natural world

but

I get it.
The contrast.

It's certainly throwing off my understanding of "ordinary."

It starts like a storybook.

2011-08-10T18:26:00.000-04:00

Once upon a weekend, a Mom got in her car.

She drove around the country, picked up her children, and brought them all home.

She had 300 miles to go.

It was rainy. Everyone was hurting.cranky.tired.

There was traffic.

And it took forever to find the stop we needed.

But we finally did.

And she succeeded.

She brought all of the children home

Alina is one of us

and she brought everything together.

Like she always does.