I have purchased a bike! It is a red-brown Raleigh Sprite, with all it's original parts. Not sure what year, but it's in great condition and I've managed not to destroy it on the six rides I've made so far. Being a bike owner/rider opens up an entire new world for me. I find myself overcome with the urge to buy pants that stop mid-calf and the need for a miniaturized tool kit. Before you know it I'll have various body parts wrapped in reflective tape and dreadlocks. Viva la bicyclette!
Last night two new Couch Surfers arrived from NYC, Emily and Arielle. They brought me a gift: two slices of the most moist, flavorful, mouth-wateringly beautiful gluten-free carrot cake in the world. This cake can be purchased for a surprisingly non-exorbitant fee (surprising given its miraculousness) at Risotteria in Greenwich Village. They also serve GF risotto, pizza, panini, salad and BEER, amongst other desserts. Even the table bread sticks are GF!
The desire to cook continues to elude me. Though outside temperatures and humidity may be slighty improved my apartment continues to retain heat like ... like ... like water! (Get it? Because water has such a high specific heat? Just go in the ocean late at night, you'll feel it.) What I mean is I neither want to be inside nor do I want to be home, specifically. Though that part is unavoidable, packing must occur. I can't tell you how super excited I am for my new huge kitchen! Prepare yourself for an Autumn/Winter full of dinner parties and recipe experimenting!
I did help prepare a small, light dinner with good friends Sunday night - leafy greens with a vinaigrette, pan-roasted corn and tomato salad, oven-roasted asparagus, Caprese salad, blackberries, a cheese plate, and a glass or two of red wine. Enjoyed on the back deck with a relieving evening breeze. Parfait!
I leave you today with a poem. I wrote it for my best friend's wedding toast, as was my duty to compose and recite as Maid of Honor this past Friday. It is also the poem I will be performing at open mic tomorrow night sometime between 8-10pm, if you happen to be in the vicinity of the Cantab Lounge in Central Square, Cambridge.
Her love is Spring. The cheerful pastels of youth, the scent of warmth on each mild zephyr, the coiled energy in its name. And the determination of each new flower as it burst through the soil and proclaims "I am here!" The art of creation. The dimple in the year's cheek.
His love is Summer. The ever-present, life-giving sun, scorching in its passion and echoing with children's play. It makes and keeps the promise of hot, lazy, breakfast-filled weekends, settling into your belly with the warmth of home.
My love is Autumn. Ever-changing and unpredictable, a tumultuous jumble of color, punctuated with teasing winds. But hidden inside from this bitter exterior is a house filled with comfort foods and familiar aromas and a sense of settling down, readying yourself for what's to come next.
Our love in Winter. Still and calm. Uniform and reliable. Though piercing winds may lash at exposed skin it only drives us inward, back to the core of our being. Together, we can withstand any Nor'easter.
And your love ... your love is without season. It is the audible hum of life present on the longest and shortest of days, during drought or downpour. Your love holds the entire year in the palm of its hand. It stretches its fingers, reaches out, and nearly grasps eternity.