I may be a day late (I’m bordering on two days actually), but the message is still poignant.
That is all.
After five days of cold showers, grilled food, and the continuous rumble of generators, at 8:27 pm last night, there was.
Craig and I were so excited we were high-fiving like we won the Super Bowl. Imagine, two grown folks skipping (yes, we skipped) through the house, turning on lights and flipping switches just because we wanted to see the lights comes on.
Oh, little blog, how I’ve missed you.
Oh, Electricity, you fickle mistress, I promise never to take you for granted again.
What a week this has been! First the earthquake, and now, Irene is steadily making her way up the east coast, threatening to wreak havoc on the shoreline, homes and the general state of lackadaisicalness that comes with the end of summer.
We’ve lived through our share of hurricanes, no’r easters, and even previous Richmond earthquake. We watched Katrina ravage Louisiana. We watched Haiti and Japan get hammered. We even rode out one storm on a cruise ship after (Gabriel? Gabrielle? Gaston!) decided man-handle Florida a bit, tacking on an extra day or two of us floating at sea.
Since then, I’ve often said to Craig, “We should have an emergency kit,” to which he agrees and then we both go about the business of doing whatever it was we were doing the moment before I opened my mouth.
I got my recent issue of Parents magazine last week and there was an article in it about — you guessed it — emergency preparedness kits. I ripped it out, waved it under Craig’s nose and said, “We need to to this!” and he agreed. And then we both got on our laptops, him working on his Fantasy Football league, and me, trolling through Pinterest, the silence punctuated with the occasional “Oooh” from my end of the couch and a “C’mon man!” from his.
After the earthquake, I doubled my resolve to get the kit together and went as far as to make a list of what to put in. Craig agreed, yet again, and we planned to start putting things together this week-end. Irene decided to become more than just a tropical storm, subtly pressuring us to put up or shut up as far as supplies go.
This morning, I went out, just like every other over-zealous storm-a-phobe and stocked up. I don’t have everything on my list — Wal-Mart looked like it had been pillaged and burned — but I made a sizeable dent. There’s gas in the car, and let me tell you, navigating around anxious drivers on cell phones while trying to wheedle their giant Suburbans and Yukons into a grocery store gas station does not make for a fun time.
I got home in one piece. I unloaded the groceries, the precious batteries and waterproof matches, the propane tank, all of these things, while my stomach rumbled with hunger.
All of a sudden I was just struck with how fortunate I am. I live in a place where there are weather alert systems tracking and broadcasting the path of the storm. I live in a place where I can just get in my car — I have a car! — and go to the store to pick up what I need to keep my family safe and well. I have a home that’s sturdy and comfortable. There is food in my fridge so that when my “tummy is so grumbly” (to quote Coever), I can just pluck out something good. I don’t have to worry about where did it come from? How fresh is it? Is there enough for everyone?
My mind scrolled through the images I had seen from the news networks coverage of various storms and tragedies past. I was struck at the juxtaposition of where I was — safely ensconced in my kitchen/livingroom/far away from where it was. Talk about an eye opener.
So, as people prepare to batten down their hatches for whatever may come, I’ll be doing the same. If Irene decides to slap us around a bit or totally pummel us, we’re ready. And if it happens to just be some rain storms or nothing at all, I’m not going to complain that I was ready for nothing. What a waste of energy and why wish for a tragedy? I’ve got my supplies, thankful that I was able to get them, even, but I really hope I don’t have to use them.
Whatever type of weather you get, wherever you are, be safe and be thankful.
I can’t remember if it was Tim Gunn or Lloyd Boston who, when detailing the top wardrobe essentials, insisted that every woman must have a signature item of their very own. Think Posh Spice Victoria Beckham and her sky high stilettos. Anna Wintour and her iconic bob. Mariah Carey and her butterflies. Remember when Janet Jackson wore the hoop earring with the key in it all the time? I know, I’m dating myself here, but still, it was her signature.
In another attempt at self-improvement, I’ve decided to become more purposeful in my the choices that I make when it comes to things that I enjoy. I’m creatively choosing things that make me feel good about myself, that subtly leave the impression that, “Hilary was here.”
A lot of books that I’ve read often describe the protagonist associating a particular fragrance with an important person in their life. My neighbor told me that her grandmother always wore Chanel No. 5 and whenever she smells it, she’s instantly transported back to being six years old, watching her grandma spray her pulse points and behind her ears. One of my favorite uncles wears Grey Flannel and I’ve been known to cruise through the men’s fragrance aisle for quick sniff to boost my mood. Over the years, I’ve tried a number of scents: Clinique: Happy, Liz Claiborne: Caylx, Anna Sui: Secret Wish, even one of Britney Spears less nausea inducing perfumes (yeah, I admit it). Recently, I’ve hit upon this:
It’s light, but it stays with me throughout the day. And who doesn’t need a little Chanel in their life?
When it comes to food, I’ve got a savory signature dish and a sweet signature dish, both of which I could probably make with my eyes closed. For something fool-proof and delicious, my dinner dish is chicken piccata with capers served with garlic vermicelli and roasted broccoli.
I love to whip this out when my parents come to visit or if we’re having guests over for the first time. It looks complicated, tastes great, and there is never any leftovers.
And of course, a great meal deserves a great dessert. As my Rockbridge neighbors and others in the circle of the trust know, it’s all about the cake ballz! Yes, with a “Z”, ’cause that’s how I roll.
Mine, sadly, have not a spherical as this, but I think their more lumpy, nugget like appearance is way more charming. I’m only looking at it long enough to say, “Ooohh, cake ballz,” and then it disappears, anyway.
When it comes to accessories, I usually like the way they look on other people. The ropes of pearls and beads, the sleeves of bangles, the carefully placed hair clips? I find them all very cute, but when I try them out – -not all at once — the effect is more reminiscent of me playing in my grandma’s overstuffed closets. This summer, as I rotated through my uniform of layered tanks and skirts, I kept thinking that my outfits were missing something. My other necklaces felt too clunky or just “not right”. A friend of mine came over wearing her own initial around her neck, and I had an “aha!” moment. I have one of those! Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so Karen Sue, consider yourself flattered.
Fastening the “H” necklace makes me feel finished, like what my English professor described as “the box clicking shut”when you come to the end of strong piece of writing.
So, how do you leave your mark in the world, be it the kitchen, the workplace, the bedroom (yes, Mocha Peach, I’m looking at you!)? However you it, I hope it’s with a flourish.
I guess now my secret’s out. Of course, having Morgan and Coever shout, “There’s someone at the door! There’s someone at the door!” when I’m doing my ninja thing kind of blows my cover, too. Note to self: add ninja skills to the girls summer activity list.
I’m trying to push myself creatively with my camera and sometimes the girls are less than willing subjects. Today, however, I tried something that they were more than willing to help me with. The toughest part was keeping them in position because after every shutter release they begged me to show them the shot.
The expression on Coever’s face in these is hilarious. She’s all, “This ain’t no thing. I do it all the time. On one foot, too.”
Flutes Champagne Bar
New York City
August 2008
Why yes, we have been drinking!
A week-end trip to NYC.
Sumptuous hotel on 52nd Street.
Window shopping on 5th Avenue.
Dinner at the Perilla, restaurant of the first Top Chef Winner, Harold Dieterle.
Celebrity chef spotting!
Evening performance of Wicked.
Nightcaps at Flutes, Midtown, waiting for Chill Bill One.
More night caps at Flutes, Grammercy Park, because Chill Bill One can’t follow directions (which makes for a great story, long version).