These things I know.

I've had a memorable summer. Not in the sense that there were epic things happening at every turn, but in the sense that I will always, always remember - and fondly - the summer of 2012.

I'm a big marker-of-time. I always have been. Usually it's on New Year's, a birthday or maybe a landmark date (say the day I moved to NYC). But as I'm finally sitting down to write on the blog I've neglected, I'm looking back on the summer - from the beginning of May to now, the end of August - and marking the passing of time and events. Next week I'll leave for North Carolina, to spend the last week of summer vacation in the very place I began it - on the sand in Emerald Isle. A fitting bookend I think.

In May, as the lazy, hazy days of summer stretched before me, full of the bright promise that really only summer brings, I sat on a beach with my parents, my book, my iPhone (shhh!) and a smile on my face. 2012 was turning out to be a good year. Business, by which so many of us use as a litmus test to the times, was good, my personal life was rich with friends, a new relationship full of potential and excitement and chemistry was blooming, my family was as they always have been - supportive and inspiring and hysterical - and life was good.

This isn't a tale of how bad things got, or how quickly it all fell apart. Far from it. This is just a look back, a reminder of the events of that time in my life, the music that was on non-stop rotation on my iPhone, the people I knew and how lucky I was, and am.

So, I'm going to make a list of the highlights of Summer of 2012. Since this blog is for me, and the five family members that follow, you'll allow me this. A list is really all I need to remember how the days felt, the music sounded, the Txakoli flowed, of the conversations had, the bike rides taken, the plans made, the heat, the storms, the tears, the worries, then how they stopped, the sunsets, the nights + mornings that followed and the people. These are the things I know.

Kelli Beale Fletcher. The 'rents. Wendy Burns. Deby Pan. Jennifer Powell. Lil Bro. Dr. Shapiro. Patience (the bike, and having it). The view from the rooftop of 248 with Emily Williams. Emerald Isle. Jackson Hodges. Derby de Mayo. Txikifest. Lesa McHale. fun. Sundays at 10 Degrees. Steven + Tommy in NYC. Youth by Foxes on repeat. Midnight City cranked to e-le-ven. Kittypants. The Modern. Lesley, Mona, Helene + Emma. Sleepovers with ice cream - lots of ice cream. Heartbreaker (The film). Rooftop sunsets and sunrises. Kevin. A holiday in Vermont. Rosé, rosé, rosé. Florence singing her heart out at RCMH. Heirloom tomatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Micheladas. Sunday dinners with Marissa. Learning to sear scallops. Conversations and confessions over Turkish Eggs. Frenchie brunches and boozy lunches. Bandaids as accessories. Beach House. Floating in the pool. Nick of Time. Hours spent at Edi + The Wolf. Ryan Adams. Mallory + Jess. Betting, and winning. The Paris Wife. Revel + Riot. 6th Street CSA. Pulled pork 'n Maryland crabs. Foster the People under the stars at Central Park. Late-night, last-minute karaoke trips. Ameztoi Txakoli. "Yeah, It's all alright." And how it turned out to be.

And there it is. The people, places and things that made my summer 2012. And because I don't hate a sunset. Here's one of my favorites. Ever.

August 2012, 248 East 2nd St. rooftop.

And I know it well.

I spent last weekend with my sister + brother (in-law, but not a necessary descriptor) in Cambridge. There's something about Cambridge. I've felt it from the first time I set foot there with Kelli's cat in a box. True story.

But this time - this visit - was even more special. Maybe it was the rebirth of spring and its ever-fulfilling promise to renew. Maybe it was having been a long while since I spent good time with my favorite two. Maybe it was because we had weathered the winter, the last year and were finally facing the sun. It was most likely a combination of all, and each of us felt it.

There were picnics and playlists; long, honest conversations that only the closest of people can have and the silences made comfortable by the presence of loved ones. There was laughter too, and more rosé then we knew what to do with, but it was the conversations, the silences and the knowing that left its marks on me.

Perhaps that's why our Trifecta, never one for drawn-out goodbyes, said farewell-for-now listening to Blood Bank. Without knowing exactly what was in the others' minds, we were all struck by the same lyric. That's what happens when you know someone so well. And in return they know you as well as you know yourself - maybe better at times. I needed that reminder last weekend. And there, in the streaming Cambridge sun with my family - our heads down for the first time that weekend - I got it.

"And I know it well, I know it well."

Rose-colored glasses at Radcliffe.

In the future, fashion will be ___________.

It's no secret I'm enamored with Ashley Olsen. Though I can see this is a recent development in affection. I am not one of her "loved you since Full House" fans. My admiration stems mainly from her sartorial influence, her unabashed love for fashion, inherent personal style and just how damn cool I imagine her to be.

Last night I went to hear her and a panel that included Robin Givhan and Isaac Mizrahi, moderated by Cindi Leive Editor-in-Chief of Glamour, speak about The Future of Women's Fashion at 92nd Street Y. What an interesting, insightful evening made entertaining by a lively, fashion-centric panel. Hats off to Robin Givhan who with her witty responses stole the show. Perhaps the biggest surprise to me was Cindi Leive - the person I knew least about. "Knew" being a figurative term and concerning only things I have read in the media or opinions formed by collections, taste, etc. Cindi was clever and captivating and dressed in killer Louboutins. She epitomized everything a magazine editor (in-chief, that is) should be with a dash of approachability that was welcome.

Ashley Olsen, who second to only subject matter (and a close second it was) was the reason I got tickets, did not disappoint. Her dress (a production sample from The Row) was effortlessly chic and her. Shoes. Were. Fabulous.

On top of her outfit, her answers and commentary on fashion, her process and the road she's traveled were thoughtful and earnest and many resonated with me for personal reasons. She spoke about now being a great time for new creatives and entrepreneurs to go after their passion and dream. Couldn't we all stand a dose of optimism in the form of "go out and chase af

ter your dream"? She spoke about her boutique, deliberate process at The Row and her desire to keep it small and manageable. Refreshing! A designer (and a sought-after one) doesn't want to exponentially expand?

Ashley also cited her sister as her "no. 1 team." Ashley, the same goes with me. In life and now in work, my sister is my no. 1 team.

Thanks to 92Y for producing such an inspiring and informative event. Thanks to Cindi for rocking those sky-high stilettos and acting every inch the fashion magazine type. And thanks to a diverse and sartorially-brilliant panel.

In the future, fashion will be fashion and that's "exciting," "democratic" and uplifting.

Photo courtesy of Glamour.com

My sister still brakes for butterflies.

This one's for K. Beale. She knows about butterflies and metamorphosis and spreading your wings and flying. She knows about sugar and how a warm bakery can cure what ails you. She knows about change.

Listening to: Rise up with fists, Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins.

Image from Heaven on Main Bakery.

The view today.

It's raining. No - its pouring today. The kind of sideways rain (and wind) that makes mobility especially tricky. Adding an umbrella to my usual collection of carried items (phone, coffee, iPod, handbag, lunch bag) makes for a well-rehearsed juggling act. But I love the rain; I love its smell and the coziness it instantly brings.

Today the view from the second floor is cloudy - and not just because of the rain. This view that I've looked out and over on for three and half years might be changing. I might be leaving this office. (I use the word 'might' because it's still too difficult to proclaim 'am.') So today - through the rain - I want to remember this view.

There's the Wachovia "skyscraper" across the street and just behind my tiny Chrysler Building souvenir. (I used to think I needed New York to enjoy Raleigh. I know that's not true now.) Its ever-revolving door deposits people - businessmen and women, bank customers, wedding goers, even the occasional "character" - on Hargett Street in eye shot of my office. I've watched the window cleaners countless times, seen police rush to the scene, and even watched with awe as the new Wachovia sign was lifted to the top of the building.

If I lean towards the window, I can see the Historic Masonic Temple building on the corner and gaze up to its rooftop, which offers one of the best views in Raleigh. I've only been up there once, but will remember the fireworks in the distance as the Tres Chicas began to play forever.

If I look West I can see a pizza shop, law offices and a church in the distance.

I've watched cars come and go as I worked through writer's block. I've waved at friends walking down the street or called out to those driving past on a summer's day. I've stuck my hand out the window to touch snow and feel rain. I once saw a tent blow down Hargett Street, and have the picture to prove it. I've taken notice of many outfits - good and bad - of those passing down the corridor on the way to lunch or after-work drinks. I was here when Fayetteville Street was a mall and Hargett Street was one-way. I witnessed that change. I eagerly awaited for the Raleigh Times to open and I mourned its inevitable change.

Before I moved into my apartment, I spent more time in this office than necessary - I even referred to it as my "apartment in the city." It was my oasis, and I created the exact space I desired. If I was out for the night, I usually popped into the office for a split of champagne from the midge fridge and to reapply lip gloss. I checked email constantly.

It is the home of the "gpr Hot List." If I had to guess, I would say upwards of 200 playlists had been created in the gpr office, most shared with clients, friends, significant others, but many kept just for me.

I snuck two live Frasier Firs into this office for Christmas in 2006 and 2007, and showcased a brilliant red tree in 2008.

When I first took the space in 2005, the walls were white and the carpet was green. My intern, sjc, who would later become my first employee, and I painted one wall Cut Ruby from the floor to the ceiling including outlets, the chair rail and the trim. We painted that wall while listening to The Magic Numbers, Kanye West, Ashanti, Death Cab for Cutie and Interpol. The gpr red (as we've rebranded it) still brings me joy like no other colored wall does. The only thing on that brilliant wall is the george logo painted in white. It greets you upon entering the office.

I've seen 15 season changes from this seat. I love how the streets, buildings, people look in all of them. I moved here with one computer, am working from my second while awaiting the arrival of my third.

When my sister moved to Boston, the office was the only spot that didn't feel empty. I've rejoiced in good news and weathered through bad news while seated at this white laminate desk.

This has been a home to me. It helped craft my identity, give george public relations a "place" in the business world and prompted me to take part in Raleigh and its downtown reinvention. Which brings me to that word: Reinvention. Suite 200 did just that for me. Behind that solid wood door, was more than just pristine white carpet, a bold red wall, dozens of Paddywax candles, Daisy P cards, Designroom Group luxury ducks and Bella lip glosses. Behind that door was me. My words. My thoughts. My work. My successes. My defeats. My lessons. My contacts. My lists. My fears. My joys. My laughter. My goals. Me.

This view may change, but will always remain in me.

I caught my stride, I flew and flied.

About a Boy might have made it a humorous topic of conversation, but singing, eyes closed with wild abandon is nothing new to me. Music is such an integral part of my life, it's rare for me not to be singing. Thanks v. much to Grandma Beale and Grandma Joyce, both of which always had a tune on their lips. OK, so rare to not be singing might be stretching it, but I'm usually not without music between the apt., car, office and walking or jogging.

Since I've been back on my scooter, which was previously sidelined with a flat tire, I haven't had the opportunity to ready myself for the day with a touch of Feist or MGMT (still the darlings of my iPod). Instead I've focused on the sites on my daily route. There are the runners that I scoot past in almost the same spot every morning. The workers queued up for tasks at the Laborfinders office just before the railroad. The signs of progress by way of tall condos and refurbished warehouses that once were nonexistent and forgotten. There's the change in season. Leaves that were once lush and green are golden and have begun to fall. There are political yard signs multiplying in number, reminding me that another change is coming.

Then, if I'm running early, or even on time, I'll scoot over the Boylan Bridge and take in a favorite view of downtown in the morning; awake, shining, poised for the day. I remember when there were only two "tall" buildings where now there are four. And I remember when downtown seemed sort of foreign to me and now it's home.

But I digress back to the singing. Because music while in motion was running scarce, I took my car out for an errand. It was dusk. That perfect time of day, especially in the fall, when the sun is low and everything, everything has a glow. My sis loves this time of day and for good reason. It's as if you're looking through the proverbial rose-colored glasses. She helped me love this time of day. With the iPod on shuffle, anything could play. And it did. For Reasons Unknown by The Killers filled the speakers and I reached for the volume. That familiar feeling of excitement and nostalgia at hearing a song from your [recent] past hit me. For a moment it was fall 2006 and all of those memories flooded my mind. Having moved, separated, traveled and loved it was music, along with a solid crew led by my amazing sister, that got me through. It was For Reasons Unknown that kicked off the soundtrack to that pivotal season in my life. Forgetting the gas crisis, I drove well past my intended destination. Windows down, iPod on repeat, singing. . . with my eyes closed.

I said if destiny's kind, I've got the rest of my mind.

But my heart it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to.

And my eyes they don't see you no more.

Speaking of fall 2006, a toast to that crew.

For Like Ever

For Like Ever. One of my favorite phrases. Thank you very much to the super-cool foundry, village for putting that phrase on paper, making it a "larger, hopeful statement." For Like Ever, as told by village, is meant to signify the excitement and fear of a new beginning. Perfectly put, I think. New beginnings though filled with excitement are also wrought with fear and change. New beginnings show us exactly what we've got inside. With fall on the very near horizon, a move in the future and only the hope for tomorrow, I would say now is as good a time as any to begin my blog: view from the second floor.

View from the second floor is dedicated to the spot where I happily spend the majority of my time: the white haven (save one cut ruby floor-to-ceiling wall) that is my office. Looking out and over is one of my favorite pastimes. When I'm suffering writer's block, I find inspiration. When I'm restless, I find comfort. In what? In the street scape, the constant flow of people, and the occasional antic/fashion victim/familiar passerby/bank robbery. Oh, and I truly love the view.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention my dear sister, Kelli (also known as the best dancer) for it is she that For Like Ever belongs to. Sisters (thanks mom + dad) to roommates and best friends (thanks a to the k). Kelli just started off on her own new beginning in Boston. Taking with her, yep you guessed it, her very own For Like Ever print as a reminder. And a constant.

So, here's to new beginnings. To the excitement, fear, change, love, spontaneity, comfort, constants, restless desires and to the unknown. For like ever.