* SNOW *

My Minnesotan heart is rejoicing, for there is snow in Tunbridge Wells!  And not just flurries, but real, honest to God, stick-to-the-ground snow.  As I walked through town, giant snowflakes blew into my face, settled on my hair, melted in the bottom of my shopping bag.  It was glorious.  It is glorious!

> Photo & Scene <

He said that if he hadn't come here, he would have gone to San Francisco.  "Really? They're such different kinds of places."  I was sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee, blowing on it before taking small sips and trying not to burn my tongue.

"They're not so different to a kid in Iowa who only wants three things: a city, an ocean, a way out."  He counted these three things on his fingers, long and slender, capable.  Piano hands, my mother would've called them.

"I can understand that," I said, flipping over the menu and trying to decide if I wanted breakfast or lunch.  "I'm not from here myself.  Most people aren't, not in this part of the city, anyway.  We're all transplants, we come expecting to leave after our graduation or promotion or whatever, but most of us wind up staying.  We get sucked in.  Heck, I've been here eight years already, but I only intended for it to be three."  I skimmed through the specials.  Nothing sounded good but my stomach was hallow and the coffee was making me shake.  The boy from Iowa was folding a paper napkin into triangles with his shoulders hunched and his body resting heavily on the bar top. "So do you think you'll stay?"
 

"Too early to tell, I guess.  I got a kid sister back home.  She's not a kid anymore, not really anyway, but I'm all she has and I feel responsible for her, you know?  Like I should go back and take care of her or something."

"But you don't want to do that."

"No." He looked away, scratched his chin with the back of his hand.  "I can't go back. It just- I can't."

"How old is she, your sister?"

"Almost nineteen."

"That's not too young."

"No.  She's going to be alright.  I mean, she's studying to become a nurse and is living in some old house with a couple other girls.  They seem nice, a kind of makeshift family, I guess, but I'm trying to get her to move away, if not here than somewhere else.  Somewhere with opportunities, you know?  Chicago isn't far for her and she's bright.  She could get a job I think, she could be happy."  He trailed off, his eyes staring at something only he could see.  The waitress brought out a club sandwich and put it in front of him.  Without moving his gaze he raised a french fry to his mouth and took his time chewing it.

"I'll have one those those," I said, making up my mind and gesturing to his plate. "A side of extra ketchup too, please."

"You got it," the waitress said, feeling her apron pocket for her pencil and looking at the boy.  "You okay?' she asked, calling him back from the place his mind had journeyed.  "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he said absently.  "Everything's fine."  He picked up half of the sandwich and began to eat, still taking time with his chewing, still vacantly staring at the back of the bar.

"It will be," I said.  "You know that, don't you?"

He glanced over at me, skeptical, tired.  "I guess."  He wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for his wallet.  He put twelve fifty on the counter and began to eat again, faster now.  When he'd finished the sandwich he flashed me a weak smile and gave his shoulders a little shrug.  "I mean, of course everything's gonna be fine.  It has to be.  You know?"
                                                                          

Photo taken last year, somewhere in America.

Tuesday With Moi

Tuesday, January 15

Out & About

Sunshine, you guys!  There was sunshine yesterday morning!
I prepared my coffee with the sun streaming through the windows and a smile on my face.
I had big plans for my day.

Days with big plans call for a more thoughtful outfit than my usual sweater and leggings combination.  I dug through my accessories box and found this wonderful broach that a former colleague, and friend, gave to me.  I didn't wear it yesterday, but seeing it reminded me of my dear friend John and it made me smile.

After some internet wandering and homemaker-type things, it was time to decide on an outfit.  I almost wore this dress with a black turtleneck and wooly tights (winter white, so chic) but decided on pants trousers last minute instead.

I also decided to be a curly girl for the day.  Something about cold weather and wavy hair just feels right- feels jolly and bouncy and sweet.

Part of what made yesterday a big day was that I was dropping off my resume and applying for a position that I'd quit like to secure.  I won't tell you what it is unless I get it (fingers crossed, people!) but this was the envelope I delivered it in.

After the drop off, I did some shopping (accidentally, of course) and scored some beautiful pieces at Minimaya.  What's that, dear reader?  You want to know what I bought?
Well, I'll tell you.  I purchased two beautiful, locally made leather vests (Mother, you will be so jealous when you see them!) and a fabulously warm black scarf.  I won't even tell you how much I paid because you'll never believe me, the sale was that good.

I continued my wander through town, poking my head in shops and turning down streets I'd never noticed before. 
The sun was setting and the sky was beautiful!

And though it was cold- so cold!- my vintage rabbit fur muff kept me warm.

In the midst of my dinner, I had a terrible realization.
"OH MY GOSH MY RING, IT'S GONE!"
No, not that ring, thank goodness, but another one.  The simple wire ring that my parents bought on a trip to Australia and had given to me last Christmas had disappeared from my finger.  My ring was somewhere in Tunbridge Wells and I didn't know where!  I immediately turned into Gollum and started searching for the ring.  I turned my bags inside out, I retraced my footsteps, I sent a desperate plea to the people of Twitter to help find my ring, but I knew in my heart that it was lost.  Probably...

After a futile search, I returned home to prepare for my evening out.
I let my new suede vest comfort me in the midst of my loss.
The pockets of the vest reminded me of Bilbo Baggins which in turn made me think of Gollum, then the ring, my loss and my sadness.
Just kidding!  I was actually quite happy.

After walking back through town with my eyes glued to the ground, scanning for a bit of silver, I made it to my eight o'clock meeting with the Tunbridge Wells Writers.
We (because I'm a part of their group now) meet at The Black Pig every other Tuesday.

Over a few drinks we chatted about books and writing, politics and community, ourselves and others.

And it was really, really fun, you guys!

Eventually, our glasses were empty, our crisps were gone and it was time to say goodbye.

 I walked home feeling light and happy, my eyes haphazardly scanning the sidewalk for a shimmer of metal, but there was no ring to be found. 
When I arrived home, I kicked my feet up and told David about my night.  And he told me about his night.  And then we went to bed.


Now, I know you're really concerned about my lost ring, so you'll be delighted to know that I found it!  I remembered trying on a pair of gloves whilst shopping at Minimaya and thought that maybe, just maybe, my ring had fallen off in the finger of the glove.  Lo and behold, I was correct, and this afternoon I skipped down the High Street to retrieve it.  So la-di-da & happily ever after.

As always, you're a gem for reading.  A BIG HUGE PRECIOUS GEM.  And I love you.
xox

On the White Cliffs of Dover

You'd think these Minnesotan bones would be comfortable in the cold, would welcome it, even.  You'd think I'd know to always carry a pair of warm gloves and remember to regularly waterproof my leather boots.  You may assume that a functional coat with roomy pockets would be a go-to in my closet and I'd have a pair of earmuffs somewhere in my house, but no.  No, no, no.  I'm afraid I'm terribly unprepared for this wet and rainy winter.  Luckily, I'm still enough of a Midwesterner to be tough and though the wind blew mightily and the rain came down cold and fast, I still made the trek along the White Cliffs in Dover. 

Call me insane, but prior to our arrival, I assumed the walk along the cliffs would be leisurely, picturesque and enchanting.  I imagined David and I walking arm-in-arm under our red umbrella, pausing to take pictures as gulls called overhead.  I was spot on with the cliffs being picturesque and enchanting, but leisurely our day was not.  My lipstick, springtime brights and freshly done hair didn't prepare me for the mud, sleet, and wind, my ankle boots and pocketless coat did not protect me from the elements.  My coat collar is stained red from the uncountable times it blew into my lips, my hair was matted and torn by the wind (I'm still getting used to this long hair business), and my beautiful H by Hudson boots were almost ruined by the waterlogged earth.  But we survived, dear reader, with raw skin and dirty hands, with muddy feet and dripping wet coats.  We survived!  And we have some nice pictures to prove it.  

After the traipsing and trudging was over and our skin was beginning to warm, we stopped at a pub for a warm meal next to an open fire; a glass of wine was a happy sight, indeed!

A Treasure Hunt

It has come to my attention that I never shared pictures of my marriage ring or, rather, rings, with you.  Here they are, all banged up and well worn, almost one year later.  The bands are silver and the stones are tiny, rough cut black diamonds.  I chose to have two rings because I like the way they move together on my finger, the way it feels symbolic of how two people move together in a relationship- sometimes off-kilter, sometimes aligned.  I cherish my ring, love the way the light dances off the uneven surface of the diamonds, and admire the way the silver shows its wear.  It's a nice ring and I think it suits me perfectly.

Like many women, I was adamant that my ring fulfill some conditions, specifically:

1. The main stone could not be a white diamond. They just don't do it for me, you guys. 
2. It had to cost less than $500.  Marriage may be forever, but my style is not.  Perhaps one day I'll grow tired of this ring and will find something more suited to my evolved taste.  Perhaps I'll have a collection of fabulous marriage rings that I interchange and match to my outfits? Maybe I'll become a millionaire and wear a jeweled glove, instead.  Who knows!
3. It had to be made by a local designer.  Because I'm passionate about supporting local artisans and wanted something handmade and beautiful. Boston jewelry designer Michele Mercaldo suited my needs perfectly. 

Now that almost a year has passed since our nuptial soirée, I'd like to find an awesome local designer to make me a pair of earrings to match.  Something small and simple, something rough and elegant.   Let the treasure hunt begin!

I feel like everyone I know is getting engaged, or is soon to be engaged, so tell me, dear reader, what are your ring requirements?  How did you decide on your ring and have you ever fallen out of love with it?

Stuck in the Web

Welcome back to my weekly web round-up where I show you mine and you show me yours- but only if you want to, of course.  Cool?  Cool!  Let's begin:

Are any of you watching Mr. Selfridge, the new iTV period drama about that crazy American, Mr. Selfridge, who came to London and told everyone what's-what whilst opening the very best department store in the history of mankind?  Well, I sure am!  Even despite the fact that Jeremy Piven has an overabundance of pazazz and the bravado of his performance seems to suggest that he thinks he's performing onstage rather than on television, I'm still going to tune in Sunday for episode two.  Mr. Selfridge's blind enthusiasm reminds me so much of how my own grandiose plans were met with many a dull stare and curt shake of the head when I first moved here, so obviously I can't wait to see how the story plays out.  Plus, the styling is excellent.  Who knew 1908 was so chic?

Did you know that Dita Von Teese has a taxidermy Ostrich in her house?  Honestly, I'm obsessed.    She is such a lady, she makes me want to buy hot rollers and substitute saying "nail polish" with "nail varnish."  Le sigh... Her entire interview with Into the Gloss is totally worth a read if you're at all interested in fabulosity (which, of course, you are), and the pictures of her home are lovely.

I love this portrait of Anthony Bourdain by David Choe.  It has great energy and poise, and I keep enlarging Bourdain's twitter picture to look at it again.  It makes me wonder, if you could have anyone paint your portrait, who would it be? 

My friend Brent sent me this funny tumblr of Lady Edith with Googly Eyes.  Oh, Edith!  Bless.


Kathleen recently shared an update about her six months in the same jeans challenge and it has made me even more keen to get my hands on (and legs into) a pair of raw denim all my own.  David loves his Nudie Jeans, but I'd love to know if anyone else has any brands they recommend.  Have you ever worn raw denim?  How did you like it?

And lastly: I maybe vomited this morning in the middle (well, the end, because I stopped immediately after it happened) of a jog sidewalk flop.  Not hot.  Because I never ever ever want that to happen again, I've been looking into tips for beginner runners and was curious if you had any nuggets of wisdom to share, too.  Even if it's roll-your-eyes obvious, I'd love to know how you found your pace, kept your breathing consistent, and finally achieved that illusive runner's high.

xx

Photo via (edits by me)