on this last day of january.

my aunt is in town for work and i've been staying with her, waking up on a different
side of town these last few mornings, seeing a different skyline first and last thing each
day, trying on a different shade of life here, seeing how it fits.

and now, just one more sleep till february.

orange peels.

always craving citrus in winter and inspired by this post, i saved my clementine peels for a few
days and put them to good use on my lazy saturday morning. i only wish i'd been privy to this
idea at christmastime. my little home has never smelled so sweet.

a postcard

from this last week of january. already.

 

the week of fleeting winter, a milkshake for three, this song on repeat, and meaning to see 

the descendants and never quite getting around to it. but there's hope for the weekend yet. 

sweet mary.

i am all about hot drinks and interesting combinations, and the sweet mary (chamomile,
soy milk, honey, and cinnamon) at jack's is my favorite of late.

 

it's simple, slightly sweet, and a happy accompaniment to solitary mornings, winter afternoons,
and those times when a love's life advice is the most comforting thing in the world.

the month of letters.

few things make my heart swell like the handwritten letter, the sending forth
of one's words resting comfortably upon pages of endearingly flawed
script. such a sweet, timeless ritual it is.

so it thrilled me yesterday when a friend sent me an article on a delightful 
challenge offered by author mary robinette kowal:

“In the month of February, mail at least one item through the post every day it runs.  Write a 
postcard, a letter, send a picture, or a cutting from a newspaper, or a fabric swatch. Write back 
to everyone who writes to you. This can count as one of your mailed items. All you are committing 
to is to mail 24 items.  Why 24? There are four Sundays and one US holiday. In fact, you might send 
more than 24 items. You might develop a correspondence that extends beyond the month. You 
might enjoy going to the mail box again.”

a worthwhile endeavor, i think. care to join me?

honey beer bread.

i saw this recipe a few weeks ago and tucked it away for when it snows. 

and when it did snow, the fluffy, fastfalling, magical kind, only honey beer bread,

buttery and fresh from the oven, and iron & wine on vinyl and inviting friends 

over to share would do. 

winter.

at long last, the first snow of the season, maybe the only one we'll see this year. the tiptoeing

to the foggy window, fresh from a snowdream, sleepily watching it come true; the snow 

walks and snowbirds and never too old to play in the snow. at long last, new york is wearing 

her winter colors.

a postcard

from that night we went all the way to soho for dinner and all the way back

uptown for dessert.

funny what a couple of friends with chocolate cravings will think up on a january weeknight.

mint, chamomile, and hibiscus.

not a combination i would've dreamt up myself, but taken on the recommendation 

of the trusted barista at my favorite haunt. unexpected and tasty and quite pretty, too,

 it's just the thing for warding off that winter cold. 

jack's stir brew.

i always wonder about the city when i'm at work all day. i miss feeling part of it like i do when i'm moving about it or watching it from the window seat. i didn't have to work on monday and felt almost scandalous about it, like i was supposed to be somewhere but was just hanging out in the village instead. somehow a weekday to myself always feels so much more luxurious than a weekend. 

i loved waking up late, taking my time, and baking at home in the afternoon. my favorite part, though, was the discovery of maple cinnamon lattes at jack's stir brew* down in the west village. it's not that i mind the trip over to brooklyn for maple lattes; it's just that options are nice. 

*jack's supports local farmers and promises "only 36 hours from the cow to your coffee." i'm so glad places like this exist, you know?

may there always be

 

fountain coke and

songs so good and
comfy concert t-shirts and
stories to hear and
stories to tell and 

people to listen and
a sun to wake up with and
reasons to laugh and 

letters to write and
ink pens to write with and

weekends like that.