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I just got back from a ski weekend away with my family. We stayed at my nana’s house, a straight-from-the-70s, wood paneled and green and orange colored schemed type of abode. A mix of old and new with a heavy emphasis on the old. And so familiar that I love it that way.

I said goodbye to the family and boarded a bus back to NYC this afternoon, as always a little wistful that I couldn’t instead hop in the car and drive back to Connecticut. My family house there is big and spacious, light and comfy. I’d love nothing more than to wake up in the morning and pad downstairs in sweatpants and slippers and pour a cup of coffee and sit on the couch and talk for hours with whoever else happened to be awake.

But today I went back to Brooklyn, to unpack and grocery shop and get ready for work. Maintain my “household,” do things that signify I’m an adult but really just mask the fact that I’m at a very transient stage of life. I don’t always know where I want to be, I just have to adapt to wherever I am. For tonight, it’s Brooklyn, and I’m actually surprised by how good it feels to be back.

Brooklyn looked beautiful tonight when I walked home from the subway. It was sunset and the sky lit up pink over a darkening park, reminding me how much I love runs at twilight. The air smelled slightly of spring, fresh and clear, and I got excited for spring in the city. I thought about the times when I decide I want ice cream at 10:30 at night and can just walk outside and down the block to get some (and then sit on the stoop to eat it and people watch).

And the times when I wake up in the morning and realize we’re out of coffee (or milk or eggs or oatmeal) and it’s not a disaster, we just head next door and are back in 10 min, food supplies in hand. Or maybe we do have the coffee grounds, but decide we want someone else to make it, so we head across the street for a tall iced drink, or take a stroll to our favorite orange food truck, parked outside a bustling farmer’s market, and get a coffee with the perfect amount of “just a little cream.”

Sometimes it’s hot and sticky, or mouse-y and buggy. Sometimes Often I’m frustrated by the lack of closet space and counter space and bathroom sink space and just about every kind of living space you can think of. And not having a car when you want to get away for a weekend (or even just go to Target!) is a big. huge. pain. But it’s okay, because Brooklyn’s a home. I love it here.


Books I’m Reading

Wuthering Heights

Mrs. Kimble

Little Bee


My Life with the Saints

Brave Companions

The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The Help

Lunch in Paris


Reading Lolita in Tehran

Pride and Prejudice

Rethinking Thin

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Friday Night Knitting Club

Best Food Writing 2009

Let the Great World Spin

The Middle Place

Northern Borders

In Defense of Food