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I was out running a few errands when I saw the coat. It was in the front window of a store I pass almost every day but never go into. It was beautiful.
I actually need a new winter coat. I just bought one last year (a crappy one that started falling apart before the winter was over) though, and I kind of hate the idea of buying another one so soon. I've perused the racks of a few vintage/secondhand stores, thinking that would be a nice compromise, but nothing has jumped out at me yet.
So this beautiful coat; I had to go in and check out the price tag. It didn't matter so much that I was wearing a ratty t shirt, had wet hair and no makeup, and was carrying a bottle of grape juice with a picture of Grover on it. Just a peek.
I looked around a bit but couldn't find it on a rack, so I asked a salesclerk. "The coat in the window - where is it?"
"Oh," she replied. "It's made to order." You can try on the mannequin sample though; do you want me to take it down?"
"Um, that seems like a lot of hassle for you," I said. "How much does it cost?" ($200 or less, in my cost-benefit analysis, would make mannequin wrangling worth it)
"Well, you can choose which fabric you want the coat to come in. Wool is $980, a wool-cashmere blend is $1250, and all cashmere is $1600."
I left the store and walked home in a daze. Are there really people in my neighborhood walking around in thousand dollar coats?
Three years ago today we got married.
Two years ago today we ate dinner at a French restaurant. I had almost refused to go ("I'm not eating anywhere today that serves french fries" I hissed), but was more than pleasantly surprised. We ordered cocktails, appetizers, soup, dessert and coffee. Dinner too.
A year ago today I sat at my desk, squinting at the computer screen. A half-written paper stared me down and the mess of my apartment piled up around me. Oliver came home around 9, produced a Swiss yogurt from a grocery bag. "Happy anniversary."
"I thought we agreed -- no gifts," I said (and laughed).
Today I left for school just as he was sitting up in bed. I returned late to a semi-dark apartment. Celebrate? Not today, unfortunately.
So our anniversaries haven't exactly been the stuff of legend. I can handle that. We don't do super-creative, romantic gifts and grand gestures. Really, it's not a problem. The things I really care about - honesty, love, friendship, selflessness - we have those in spades. Oliver is my other half, and not in a left-half/right-half way. It's more like a swirling mixture. We're two separate people, but blended in a way that you can't take a bite of one of us without tasting the other.
I like being married. I like being married to him. Two things I like best about the concept in general:
1) Your partner's dreams become your dreams too. And vice versa.
2)You have the chance to show one person, over and over for the span of your life, that his/her life is sacred. Everyone's life is. But do we all have someone there to remind us, make us believe it? I like being that person.
A year from today we'll probably have another forgettable anniversary. But the 364 days that precede it - I look forward to those.
It was the fall of... um, 1999. November, maybe. My friend Jason and I went up to New York City for the weekend. It was my first time in the city. More accurately, it was my first time in the city without my parents. But being 19 and traveling to a place like that without any supervision is such an adventure in itself... it was my first time in the city.
We met up with Jason's friend on Friday night. She was interning at one of the many companies located in the World Trade Center. Jason and I stood outside and waited for her. While we waited, a pigeon crapped on his coat.
The three of us made our way to Chinatown for dinner. Jason's friend (Kristen? Katherine? I only met her once and have unfortunately long since forgotten her name) was great, and the three of us cracked jokes left and right. Things came to a head at dinner, where a combination of sarcastic banter, aggressive waiters snatching away our plates and an obscene joke involving Santa Claus drove us over the edge. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down Jason's cheeks. We were completely incapacitated for a good 5 minutes.
* * *
August 2002. I had just entered the world of work, and went out to Seattle for my first-ever business trip. It was a total thrill. Seattle had always fascinated me, and seeing it in person was even better than I had imagined. The work was great too - we were distributing 250,000 books to area nonprofits that worked with children from low-income families. The combination of working with my hands and doing this enormous "good deed" gave me a very wholesome buzz.
A coworker was along with me on this trip, as was her husband. He was a great guy, and his sense of humor matched up perfectly with mine. The three of us had a great few days, and in the car on the way to the airport the joke planets aligned perfectly. I don't remember exactly how the banter went, but I do remember holding my sides and wanting to die because if heaven was this funny, I needed to get there right away.
* * *
Late August 2008. We went up to Algonquin Provincial Park to meet up with friends from Canada. After canoeing to our campsite we promptly cracked open a few bottles of wine to celebrate. A glass here, a glass there and before anyone realized it the sun was beginning to set and we were done for.
The evening that followed might have been one of the greatest of my life. I laughed so hard, for so long, that I started to make this serpent-hissing sound. Someone else laughed until she fell off the log she was sitting on. Our alpha male got up at one point, stuck a 6-foot-long branch into the fire, then ran down to the lake where he beat his chest and doused the flame in the water. We all knew - at that precise moment - that nothing in the history of time had ever been, or would ever be, so hilarious.
* * *
Do I laugh every day? I don't keep track, but I hope so.
My neighborhood, Park Slope, has its detractors. Too many smug families! Too many overprotected children and yuppie/bobo moms with their organic, locally-grown baby food; mommy-and-me yoga classes; off-the-books nannies; thousand-dollar strollers. Most of these detractors come from Manhattan.
Maybe they're jealous?
Jealous because yes, the sidewalks do seem to be littered with stay-at-home moms in LuluLemon, but those same sidewalks are also littered with free things! People who don't want the hassles that come with Craig's List postings simply put things out on their stoops. Clothing, furniture, dishes, electronics, music, baby stuff, etc. Take a nice walk on a sunny day - you'll come back with a coffee maker.
I don't generally take. I leave. A flower pot here, an old picture frame there. It's so simple! And there's no guilt about throwing something away - it's all just a part of the circle of stuff.
To be completely accurate though, there is one thing I stop for: books. Free books! Good ones! Out on the street on any given day! I couldn't resist sharing my bounty with you (in image form only - hands off my books, villain!) - here are some of my best finds:
When I was an undergrad at AU there was no football. The school doesn't have a team and even if it did, no one would have gone to games. We weren't a school spirit kind of student body. Or more accurately, we bonded as students in a spirity way over the fact that we had no school spirit. This situation may not be for everyone, but I liked it.
When I came to Rutgers though, "football game" was on my list of things to do. I like football games. I like the atmosphere of a college football game. The undergraduate hooligans are fun to watch, as are the families and older folks who fill out the crowd. The marching bands are always great, with their halftime medleys of Led Zepplin songs. And maybe best of all, it's fall. The sky is blue, the air is cold, and I'm always brought back to my days as a cheerleader in junior high. I loved cheering for football games.
With all this in mind, I took Oliver to the Rutgers homecoming game this past weekend. I love giving him "authentic American" experiences, and what's more American than football? (a rodeo? trick or treating? the purchase of a pickup truck?)
Rutgers killed Texas Southern, 40something - 0.
I took pictures of the sky.
We sat - one in a tweed jacket and the other in a brown sweatshirt - in a sea of red. Oops.
A group of guys dressed in colonial costumes shot off a canon every time Rutgers scored. Fully sanctioned by Rutgers, of course. I think so, anyhow.
Oliver had the biggest smile on his face, ear to ear. He was so excited.
I've never been a big vacation souvenir person, but I found the perfect one in Bolivia.
I was in La Paz's Witches' Market when I saw Ekeko. The Witches' Market sells all sorts of things to be used in tribal religious rituals - llama fetuses, fake money to be burned in offering, powders, vials, etc. Some stands, depending on the time of year, also sell Ekeko dolls. Ekeko is the god of household wealth, and a steady stream of sacrifices and offerings to him is said to ensure good fortune (the money kind) for your home in the coming year. He is said to be a demanding god, and loves cigarettes and booze.
He also has a mustache. That probably isn't so relevant, but I think the mustache really sold me.
I bought this little doll for about $5 US, and became obsessed with protecting his more fragile parts from chippage and crushage as we moved from place to place. We had a 15 hour bus ride at one point, and I held him in my lap the whole time. It was worth it in the end - he made it back to Brooklyn with only minor damage. He is now sitting on a bookshelf, grinning out at us from under the weight of the car, house, money, confetti, and food that hang from his shoulders.
Tribal religious rituals! How cute!
Only since we got home, some strange things have been happening:
- I washed Oliver's brand-new sleeping bag (according to the instructions!) and it came out ripped and melted in little spots. Wha???
- Oliver broke a lamp while trying to close a window.
- I noticed a giant rip in our bedsheet.
- Our kitchen became infested with flour weevils, and we had to throw out all the grain-based products that were not sealed air-tight.
- I discovered a leak in our ceiling.
- One of Oliver's favorite pairs of pants basically exploded. The rips - the humanity!
- Ditto for his favorite shirt. A hole in the elbow.
How often do you have to buy a pack of Marlboros for a figurine? He's not a pack-a-day kind of guy, is he you think?
...
And while I'm at it, here is my other vacation purchase:
The best part? The llama didn't come with the hat. I sought that out separately because I felt this need (NEED!) to put a hat on it.
