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.

March 14.

'Tis almost 'the Ides of March.' You're probably wondering what rock I've been under. Let's call it Paris. I've been living 'la vie du luxe.' And I've been cheating on the view. You know how it goes - life can get in the way and before you know it - BAM! - a calendar month or two has flown by without a post. And then the words just flow. Or so one hopes. I'll be back soon. Have much to tell. Many views to share. x

But for now, my most favorite view ever. The one from my rooftop.

I see London, I see France

Good is sticking with your New Year's goal (resolutions are so over) to go to yoga every. single. day. Not good is sticking to your New Year's goal and going to yoga wearing your most favorite (equally new) Stella McCartney high-waisted panties. Before I totally alienate all 7 male readers, these are 'granny panties' only on sight unseen. In truth they are the epitome of lingerie chic; gorgeous and leopard print. They are not, however, ideal for an intense hour and a half yoga class where one attempts numerous inversions only to come crashing out of one upon realizing there is more leopard than Lululemon showing. Center shaken, church laugh happened, maybe I swore. I definitely swore off any skivvies that may have been fashionably appropriate during 'Mad Men.'

Whatever.

Well, that happened.

Pulled out the old puffy coat for the first time this season. As it's not my most figure flattering outerwear, I attempted to counterbalance its bulk with wool tights and a pair of heels that I wouldn't want to chuck out the window after walking 15 blocks to the office. (Long blocks; avenue blocks.) It is here that I should thank my true friend Jennifer for convincing me not to get the ankle-length down coat my cold weather-averse Mother suggested. I believe her exact words were, "Do you want to look like a sleeping bag?" Point made. I'm not totally convinced today's puffy/slim combo was successful as I was 1) Sweating like a whore in church (Thanks Dad for that gem) when I arrived at le office and 2) Still wanted to send my Sigerson Morrison booties out the window. But there's Bon Iver on my iTunes (can't deal with Spotify's commercials + connectivity) and leftover collards in my lunch bag. So, the [immediate] future is pretty bright.

Happy New Year y'all.

For auld lang syne, my dear

It's no big secret that on the last day of the year you practically wake up in reflection. What was done, what was seen, what was felt over last year. Remember this... I'll never forget that.... It's human to at least glance back as we go forward. And there's nothing quite as 'forward' as the turn of a new calendar year.

I've always loved New Year's Eve. Less for the 'pomp and circumstance' and more for the 'tabula rosa.' It's another year - a new year - to experience the things we want, try the things we've always thought about, make goals and cross them off our lists. It's a new beginning. And what holds more promise?

When I moved to New York I began naming each year. 2010 was The Year of Anticipation. I wanted to be open, ready for what may cross my path - and excited. I was in a new city, new home, new lifestyle - anticipating what was to come. 2011 was The Year of The Real Thing. I set out expecting to find it in one place (and maybe did for a New York minute), but just as that year slides into the past, I know what the 'real thing' was for me this last year, and that I'll always have it. That's the thing about the 'real thing' it hits you just when, and maybe where, you least expect it.

The countdown's begun, 2012 is hours away. I'll be with my urban family, in the heart of my city, celebrating in style. Waiting to turn, fully, towards 2012 and all that the year will be.

Bonne anneé!

Happy Christmas, y'all

'Tis the MOST wonderful time of the year.....

Christmas in the city is grand, but I'm heading home, South to NC. Gonna spend Christmas in Dixie.

Two.

Today marks my two-year anniversary in New York. Let me just let that sink in for a minute. (For me, not you.)

It's not that I ever doubted this day would arrive. In fact, I'm more than sure there will be a three, a five and maybe even a 13-year anniversary. It's just that with each significant date, I'm the sort of gal that sits back and reflects. And today I'm doing that to a few songs and artists that have always reminded me of New York - my city, my home.

New York was in my heart long before I was in its streets. I'm not sure why, but it's a love affair that bloomed and endured over the years, the moves, the job, the heartaches, the successes and just about everything else that came my way. And like the really good love, it never wanes. So, even though these last two years haven't been a total fairytale, my love for New York is real and here to stay.

What I know now is that the city changes, and you better change with it. Fourteen months in is vastly different than nine (the approximate time I was considering packing my bags), your luck can change - maybe even by day's end - and sometimes the energy of the city is all you need. I've also come to find that New York can be a very small place. (It's true, trust me.) And that more often than not the city gives you what you need, but you have to work to get what you really want. And there's a beauty in that. And the hardest part is. . . is there a "hardest part?" Maybe it's knowing there is so much out there - so much to New York. How to feel it all?

I guess only time, and the years to come, will tell.

And to New York, borrowed from another North Carolinian-turn-New Yorker: "The world won't wait, so I better shake that thing right out there through the door, hell I still love you, New York. ~ Ryan Adams

View from my East Village rooftop.