big snow

I missed Snowpocalypse 2010 (the Boxing Day storm), so today's 19-incher was stupendous and awesome. I'll let you see for yourselves!

Morning snow on what's left of our tomato plant on the balcony



Manhattan Avenue, and what I believe to be a minivan



120th St. and brownstones



Morningside Park



The path I tromped up to get to the office



Out at Riverside Park, after lunch with Moira



...after which point there may have been one trip down the sledding hill.

winter warmer

It is snowing again in New York today; I hadn't expected it, they forecasted rain. But it was dumping fat flakes at 9 a.m., whiting out the buildings on Lenox Ave. that we can usually see from our living room. It has gotten a bit lighter, but no sign of stopping, and I consult the internets and discover that we are in the midst of a nor'easter with 6 to 10 inches expected. Okay, then.

I have been down with a persistent but not too terrible cold since Sunday -- the sort of puny winter thing that makes you want to sleep and not move around too much, but doesn't knock you out so thoroughly as to absolve you from your normal responsibilities. I find that I can keep pace with things if I don't venture out too much and keep something hot to drink around. Because our internet is out at the office today (which they notified us of via email, way to go, guys) and because I don't want to be that girl who is coughing a croupy-sounding mess all over a shared workspace, I am in for the day. Snow-watching and writing about sleeping sickness in Burundi, and considering what soup would be good for lunch.

But I have also innovated! My usual cold remedy is a half a lemon, tablespoon of honey, and a large mugful of boiling water; mix, steep, repeat. But I don't really love the taste of honey and lemon (like cherry flavoring -- thanks to Halls -- it always tastes like being sick). I do, however, like my fresh herbs, still going strong on the windowsill since I repotted them a few months ago with the neighbor kid. And so:

1/4 lemon, squeezed and left in mug
1 3-4 inch sprig rosemary, crushed gently with flat of knife
1 T honey, or to taste
fill mug with very hot water

It is divine, just the nicest hint of something interesting and tasty, and I am not coughing! Just breathing the steam is lovely.

I think I will try thyme in the next one, thinking of how nice it usually is with lemon.

Since it is already quarter to 1, this doesn't really count as an accomplished day, but I am somewhat pleased despite that.

happy happy

We rang in the new year with three kinds of mac & cheese (pepperjack, Martha Stewart's classic, and roasted tomato & mascarpone) and some fantastic St. Cecilia's punch.


Such as it was, the theme old-fashioned comfort food, and GC brought the makings of old-fashioneds, just in case we ran out of libations. We did not.



A good time was had by all, including the rhino.

various

Today, it is cold, again -- but not as bad as the folks have at home in Illinois (where winter is epic, ice-blasted, frozen-prairie, jesus). But we needed good apples, so I went out to the farmers' market anyway, and stopped by the dosa stand on the way back. I got a samosa bigger than my fist that was just perfect.*

And now, this is what I think:

1) Someday I want to write a recipe/story/column where I get to use the phrase "A samosa, yes! It's like an Indian knish."

which makes me think:

2) What are we ever going to do when we have to leave New York?

and

3) I miss the tiny, atomically awesome samosas in Dar.


Further, having been outside within sight of the Hudson and having felt the wind right through the arms of my super-trusty robin's egg blue down coat, I still maintain:

4) after reading this morning about how vests and leggings are the new winter wear, that people wearing only vests and leggings do not live in places in Manhattan where the wind actually blows. Or they have drivers. Or that story was written last week before it dipped below 30F.


And that's it for Thursday.





* second only in unexpected local snack food awesomeness to the steamed pork bun I discovered in a dinky tea shop on Broadway on Friday; Columbiana does not usually have such treats!

stuck

I am without my headphones at the office today -- thankfully, it has been quiet, and the work is coming along.

But in my song-listening head, it is not quiet. In fact, it is full of "Life During Wartime" by the Talking Heads, which, of course, I cannot listen to do banish the Ohrwurm, or distract myself with something else.

But if I whisper it into the reeds, in the blogging sense, perhaps I'll forget about it? Or everyone will soon have it in their head, too. There are worse fates!

(sacred to the memory of)

We knew this was coming, would come, but none of us were ready, really. There are so many of us, who love her, it has been a lot of emotion to get your arms around. But today I was thankful for the visitation, for the time there, for everyone being together for a few days eating, telling stories, holding onto one another. And the service today was hers, true and appropriate. We laughed; I fell apart suddenly during a reading from Lamentations; we held each other together.

For the last twenty-five years, she has been our matriarch, a generous hostess, tireless teller of family stories, recorder of seriously old photos, holder of an utterly charming twinkle in her eye, giver of wizzened quips that became more hilarious and comforting the older she got, and essentially, my grandmother. She never married, outlived her siblings and friends, and greeted some 3,000 newborn babies as they came into the world as a maternity nurse. She ate cookies for breakfast at Christmastime and would stay up late talking. She was not vain, but she was usually impeccable. She lived independently until she was 96. We unmarried women in the family always said that, if our worst case scenario as spinsters (sigh...) was to end up like her in our old age -- fiercely beloved, successful in her vocation, experienced in the world, surrounded by friends and colleagues, living her life as she chose to -- well, we said, we can handle that. She did what she wanted, and how, rock-solid and sweet.

But saying now that I will miss her does not begin it. I am so sad, but so grateful.

unintentional work haiku

In an email to Kolz just now, I wrote the following:

today is stinky. when do you think you'll be home? i need incentives.

...and then realized it was a very simplistic haiku.

today is stinky.
when do you think you'll be home?
i need incentives.

This pleased me, and made me remember how fun it was to be a part of my college friends' birthday haiku perpetual chain letter, though it has fallen off occasionally in recent years.

It also drove home how, while I love my office environment and my officemates, there are some days when the prospect of a long night here is as pre-emptively draining as setting off on a road trip after a bad night's sleep. (We could mix our metaphors here and say that the added business of the job market makes it a trip with an unknown destination, but...we don't have to).

And, anyway, there's only certain company that really makes that situation livable.