Dakota is three!

Hard to believe but true, Dakota Wren is three! We celebrated her birthday on the farm with family and a beautiful butterfly cake craftily baked and decorated by Tricia.

Dakota is fascinating - she is so smart and interesting, curious and adorable. I feel so lucky to be her aunt.

Why not?

Barnegat Light

We used to go to the Jersey Shore every Easter weekend with Jack, Marcia, Katharine and Patrick. We stayed at their house in Barnegat Light on Long Beach Island – a very retro place with plaid swivel armchairs, wood beams, a large stone fireplace, and perpetual sand in the carpet. The garage and guest bedrooms occupied the first floor; I remember the tiles down there could be rather cold and uncomfortable in bare feet unless it was summer when they felt cool and refreshing.

The real action, like jelly bean hunts, took place on the second story. In the back were the bedrooms, but the front of the house was all windows with a deck overlooking the dunes and the ocean. It was basically one huge, open room with endless nooks and crannies in which to hide brightly colored pieces of sugar. Thorough though the five of us were in tracking down those jelly beans, you could still find some months later, in the deadly heat of August when they practically melted to the touch.

Along with the requisite bunny and miscellaneous candy, we always used to get a new jump rope and rubber balls, paints and a fresh book of painting paper in our baskets. Tommy probably got baseball cards, and maybe some comics. He must have been so bored during those weekends. Meghan and Katharine were practically one and I adored playing with Patrick who was so little, just a baby really.

At some point we would take a walk on the beach with the moms, wishing it wasn’t just spring but summer so we wouldn’t have to wear sweaters and jackets. Daddy and Jack no doubt took those opportunities to drink scotch and solve the world’s problems. I don’t know if Jack smoked cigars, but Daddy certainly did back then.

And we always went to mass on Easter morning. It could not have been easy to tear us away from our chocolate and toys, dress us in our finest and then convince us to be quiet and still for at least an hour. There’s some funny story about Patrick at mass one year but I can’t remember exactly what it is. I’ll ask my mom tonight.

The house is gone now, and Marcia died several years ago. We don’t see the Corrigans much anymore. Back then this seemed an impossible development, but life is funny that way.

No time like the Spring

Since today is the first day of spring, I thought it would be a good time to get back to this thing. Though the world did not bloom into spring overnight, it's grey and windy today, and though the leak in my kitchen is annoying me, NPR reminded me that all in all I have it pretty good since I don't work for Bear Stearns, I don't live in Iraq, and I am not caught in the middle of riots in Tibet. Good old Morning Edition.

The fall picture was taken in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, the day before I started work at the Met. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The second picture was taken last month during my walk to work on a very snowy Friday in Manhattan. It's so serene while it falls, but the perfect canvas can't help but eventually illuminate all the dirt and grit of the city. We'll have to wait for spring to let me know when it's ready for a closeup.

My turn to take a bite

It has been an insane few weeks. I went from dizzily unemployed to thoroughly employed in the span of one week, and threw a move to New York into the same mix for fun. I said it ages ago as a joke, in passing really, nothing to be considered beyond "that would be something", and yet it is now reality: "I'll work in the arts again, if it's the Met." Those fates, they do know how to work an IF like nobody else. I am living off the endless love and generosity of first and soon again no doubt my cousins (Christine, Matt and baby Molly - Park Slope, Brooklyn yo!) and now Deirdre and George (viva Hoboken!). I am humbled by how openly they have all accepted me, loved me, encouraged me, and I write only of my NYC patrons. My family and friends are just as amazing, chock full of encouragement and interest and unfailing faith. I miss my mom and dad dearly, for they were my constant companions and champions in the last six months. My sister is my lifeline, just hearing her voice makes me feel more sane and settled. I spoke to Tommy today while walking aimlessly around Columbus Circle and again the love came through the atmosphere and into my heart. I feel it from San Diego, and if I can just get my mermaid's tail a permanent place to splash I'll be set.

The photo: Monday night Lincoln Center had its official tree lighting ceremony and I got to watch from the Grand Tier of the Met. Happy Holidaze!!!

Keeping Busy

When I am not perfecting the art of the interview, from the interviewee perspective for those not up to speed, I have been creating a slideshow for my Aunt Charita's 80th birthday party. I came across this gem of my brother and me, a photo my sister immediately named "Waiting for Meghan". Good call on that one since no way was Tommy going to hang with me and that toy oven in the background. As it is the kid barely fits on the sliding board, already well on his way to 6'3".

Hace un ano...

Monday was it, the one year anniversary of my last day of officially-sanctioned, paychecked employment. It has been a hell of a year and I wouldn't change a minute of it, save for a few extra weeks in South America. But look at this face and tell me who wouldn't want to hang out with Dakota? She is now officially my homegirl and that's justification enough for having up and left behind everything about my adult life in California and returned to the east coast in a Corolla named Walter.

In honor of this milestone, let us consider some of the elements that made this anniversary week so great: I worked with Tommy and Tricia at the farmer's market on Sunday, and even though every cute guy there is either gay, married, or with a significant other, it's still a ton of fun; I went out to the farm Monday night and spent Tuesday playing with Dakota and enjoying killer strawberries courtesy of T n T's organic skillz and this insane October weather; I received a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from my friends for no reason other than they rock and I am lucky to know them, although the card indicated it was thanks for putting them up for the night; I made farm-fresh butternut squash soup with fresh cilantro as garnish and, later in the week, some killer pesto; I went to a members' only preview of the new Renoir exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art with my mom; I believe I went running every day, and am shocked it's getting easier; I had a few phone interviews with various wannabe employers; all in all I managed to enjoy myself immensely.

Meanwhile a serious potential job offer rustles softly under it all, delayed by requisite background checks and who knows what bureaucratic business, but I am content. Eager, but content. Lucky me.

The Economist vs. W Magazine

Last month I received a notice from United Airlines that the few miles I had on account with them were about to expire, but fear not for I could redeem them for magazines. I am a sucker for magazines, and for free things, so it seemed like a no-brainer. Ignoring the fact that in this household we already receive The New Yorker, Newsweek, Vanity Fair, The Smithsonian, Budget Traveler, Atlantic Monthly, The New York Review of Books (Daddy pretty much has this one to himself), and various alumni rags, I went ahead and ordered Conde Nast Traveler (I really wanted a cooking magazine but none were available), W Magazine, and The Economist. I have never read The Economist in my life, but it seemed like a good choice to balance the somewhat nonsensical point of W with the somewhat nonsensical (to me) point of The Economist. I would say my grasp of economics is wanting, to say the least. Why not subject myself, I mean open myself up to the challenge? A few things to note about The Economist: it has little advertising (rare indeed), it actually includes information about places like Latin America and Africa, AND it is a weekly. Oh my. Suffice to say that I am barely through the first third and I fear issue number two will arrive this afternoon.

I end with a confession and a goal. First, the confession: my first issue of W arrived yesterday and it was a fashion-filled respite from the rigors of global economics. Cate Blanchett looks gorgeous on the cover by the way. Second, the goal: stop writing about not finishing The Economist and go read The Economist. Well, perhaps after my run and after I make pesto, of course.