To-do's

Walks to the bay- check.


Dog patting- check.


Antique malling, cold turkey gorging, attic rifling- check check check.

Also noteworthy- consumption of 4 pies for 3 people in 4 days. If you do the math that comes out to be 1.333 pies per person. Taking in to account the fact that my mom eats like a bird, my dad and I shouldered more of the burden than the above figure represents out of the goodness of our hearts. Because we're nice like that.

Over the river and through the woods...


Since tomorrow is thanksgiving, I should be writing a very impressive post about making some insane appley, cinnamony, brown sugary, buttery, nutty, flaky, crumbly, yummy thing because I'm a real life domestic goddess. But then I wake up and remember I'm not. Instead, I'm curled up under my quilt at home in Brooklyn, delightfully alone.











My train home leaves at 5am tomorrow morning and I'll be puttering around my folk's house till sunday or monday. Activities include long walks to the bay, dog patting, antique malling and standing in front of the fridge, hovering over a cold turkey carcass. I have a lot of things to be thankful for, no?

Happy thanksgiving, friends. If I could share a piece of pie with you, I would.


Roses

I'm back, albeit begrudgingly. Does anyone else bore of the endless blogger/twitter/flickr cycle? Don't you want to just, oh I don't know, chuck the macbook out the window and take a walk around the block?


My exciting news is that I'm now working at Saipua full-time, arranging flowers and coordinating with brides-to-be. I'm in the love business, as Ginny would say. It's been 2 weeks already and I'm thrilled beyond all understanding. Best job ever.




It's bittersweet, though, because I had to leave my dear job at Moon River. I love that store and those people to bits. They threw me a surprise goodbye dinner party, complete with pretty dresses and a puppet show in 3 acts. A PUPPET SHOW.



I was at the botanic garden snapping photos when I realized I did basically this same rotting november roses post one year ago. Funny what a difference a year and a splurge-y camera make, even if the idea is the same.


This past year has been a total whirlwind, it feels like practically everything has changed. I'm now a live alone workaholic, with more jobs and less money. More readers but less to time to write. More pressure and less energy to cope. It's all terribly exciting and nerve-wracking.

Let's continue this tangent come next november's dying roses post, okay? I'm boring myself to tears with all of this existential dribble.

Busy bee

I owe you a real post but I'm finishing up last minute projects for the book, so you won't see more of me till, oh whenever I collapse in a big pile of done-ness. You know when friends start calling and saying "oh I was worried about you, you're not blogging anymore..... " that you've let it go on for too long.

Friends and loved ones- I am semi okay and I will not be returning any of your phone calls till the dust settles.

dried lacecap hydrangea



But I do have a bit of exciting news that will have to wait till I can do it justice.

Quilt change

Now that it's freezing and we are staring down the dawning of winter, I swapped out my summer quilts for my equally ineffectual but more woolly and plaid versions. All away for the next oh, 8 months. Except for the pinky, that one's for Francesca.

summer quilts

Last Saturday my apartment was shot for the design*sponge book. Including a 9am wet hair, no makeup, no bra portrait of yours truly because I lack foresight and acceptable "girl" sensibilities.... Buy the book next year and you'll see. Brutal honesty.

The funny thing about having photos taken of your house (or at least my house) is how clean but chaotic it leaves things. Random stuff gets shoved into very funny hiding places. My oven mitts got stashed inside the oven, which I promptly forgot about and I baked them for 20 minutes while preheating to cook dinner. Burnt and stunk. Life is such a comedy.

Dear folks,

You guys have been so unbelievably sweet and sincere and charming about my accident that I'm at a complete loss as to how to respond to such kindness.

craspedia

I had wanted to write a post where I was able to thoughtfully express how I'm really not brave at all and how touching your comments were. But I couldn't find words eloquent enough. So instead I'm forced to just give you a big old fashioned thank you.

yours sincerely,

me

My anniversary

So there’s something I haven’t mentioned in my two years of writing An Apple a Day. Not because it’s a big deal or I’m embarrassed or anything, it just hasn’t come up and I didn’t really think it worthy of telling. But I figure if you’ve taken the time to read this stream of silliness, maybe you’d like to know a little bit more about me.


Four years ago today, the first of November, I was in a motorcycle accident. While pulling away from a stoplight at 20mph, we got run over by an SUV. I was wearing a full face helmet, a proper jacket and padded gloves. The good news is that everyone made it out alive. The bad news (which seems minor and totally inconsequential compared with the aforementioned good news) is that, technically, I didn’t make it out in one piece.


I was pinned down by the bumper of the SUV and my hand got stuck in the spinning chain and sprocket of the bike. While I was conscious, two and a half fingers on my left hand were ripped off. I’ll spare you the gory details here, but if we ever end up sharing a bottle of wine across the kitchen table (and I hope we do), we’ll get to the good stuff then. Like the bizarre and almost comical things I said while waiting for an ambulance, the Frankenstein moment of taking off the bandage for the first time, the life changing shock of not being able to count on one's fingers for basic arithmetic problems and what phantom pain actually feels like; the stuff people want to know about but are generally too respectful and timid to ask.


But in all sincerity, I am so lucky that nothing worse happened. People have endured things a hundred times more painful and heartbreaking than loosing three dispensable fingers and I know my experience ranks remarkably low on the tragedy scale. I’m right handed and still have my pointer and thumb, which makes a world of difference. I’ve adapted so that I still knit sweaters, carry stupidly heavy pieces of furniture, french braid my hair, sew my own clothes, speak sign language with my mom, hang a chandelier and do a handstand. My right handed, 7-fingered guitar skills leave something to be desired, however.


After the accident, it took a lot of effort to keep positive and motivated. I remember my dad talking about the fine line between grieving a loss and feeling unduly sorry for one’s self. I panicked thinking “oh shit. this could turn me into a bitter, resentful old lady if I don’t start to come to terms with it.” I went back for my final semester of college at the start of the new year and continued to pattern, draw and sew my senior collection one handedly. That’s not to say I wasn’t insanely weepy about it. I didn’t leave bed for nearly 5 weeks after the accident (I had some other injuries that prevented me from, oh, walking, bathing, feeding myself and otherwise acting like a grownup) so I had a lot of time on my hands to mope. Luckily, I’ve since snapped out of it.


Even though I’d consider myself well adjusted on the whole, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that writing this was very hard. Tears were shed. Taking these photos was surreal; I hardly even notice my hand anymore that so seeing it as others do was sort of a jolt. But I love my hand and can honestly say I wouldn't change it back if I could. It’s quirky and goofy and me.


So now you know about my checkered past involving Italian motorcycles. We're closer already, don't you think?