Man-Catchin' Beignets

When my sister told her children I was moving across the country again, one of them cried for hours, and one of them threw things and asked why I bothered to move home anyway.

You might wonder how two twin baby boys born premature just three months ago can do these things. The answer is that they cannot, although they both did start rolling over within the past week.

These were two of Vanessa's children, my niece and my oldest nephew, and they are not pleased. I tell this not to inform you of my status as the best aunt, in a please-don't-move-away-again-you're-my-favorite kind of way (and less in a has-lived-more-than-three-thousand-miles-away-for-more-than-three-years kind of way), but rather as a segue into what I did this past Friday.

To dry their tears and assuage my own guilt about moving away so soon, Patrick and I went to my sister's house to teach the kids to make doughnuts. We used this recipe, which I recommend. What I do not recommend is keeping the beignets in the oven for over an hour while you finish frying the rest of them. As my oldest nephew's teeth found out, 250* can really dry out what is supposed to be a light & fluffy beignet.

A few snapshots from the evening: Best served with baby snuggles, after mac & cheese, and during a Sounders game.

California Dreamin'

On such a winter's day. Oh, man.

Last Thursday, Patrick and I drove down to San Francisco with one New Hampshire native, five or six bagels, and one bicycle wedged inside my trunk. Our friend Harrison, who we met at UNH, is the kind of cyclist that bikes for 9 hours straight, the kind that wears "kit" (or "a kit" depending on whether or not you think "kit" is a non-count or count noun) when he rides, and thinks that the Tour de France is the most exciting televised sports program ever. Ever.

He's spending the next month in the San Francisco/Oakland area, training and riding on the California hills, at a time when his competition back in New England is still knocking snow off their car roofs at least once a week.

We're spending the next month underneath cascades and torrents of rain in the Pacific Northwest.

We stayed in Berkeley, with two of Harrison's friends from high school. I tried not to let the fact that Berkeley just rejected me from their comp lit PhD program and the fact that one of Harrison's friends was a current PhD in English student at Berkeley phase me.

(It did.)

We spent only one day in the Bay area, driving Harrison and his girlfriend Moe around the city, over bridges, down Lombard street, near City Light Books, to Golden Gate park. The sun was shining, it was March 9th, I was in a dress with bare legs and yes I did get cold at night but there was sun! On my bare shoulders! A bottle of wine shared in the park and a burrito at El Farolito later, and Patrick and I are moving to San Francisco, and living on a houseboat in Sausalito. If you'd like to come visit, please send your requested travel dates and a number to reach you at, and we'll get back to you as soon as we check the calendar.

Springtime/cleaning

A few weeks ago, I read a blog post about blog posts. I can't remember the blog or the author--I think I probably found it via Pinterest, read a post or two, then moved on--but it was a woman whose personal blog had become well-known and had acquired more followers and readers than her sisters (Hi guys!) and two overseas friends.

But because of her wide readership, or because the internet is a scary place where you never know who is reading or following you (virtually or in person...), or because you can should never be as honest as you want to be when putting something out into the world, her internet presence had changed, morphed into something not personal, something detached and distanced from her real life and self. Which for some, is okay. For others, it defeats the purpose of keeping a blog.

All of this to say, things are about to get personal.

I spent the last month away from social media, away from blogging and liking comments and perving on people's photos. I was still pinning crafts and recipes like a boss, but I hardly think that counts. In the past month, I have been poorer than I have ever been before, which has led to some creative meals and juggling of bills. And you all know how much I hate juggling. In the past month, I have lost my best friend of seven years and have been living in an empty apartment that is about to become even emptier. In the past month, I have quit my job at the underwriting firm and begun work from home as a program coordinator for a non-profit that provides tutoring to under-privileged children around the country. In the past month, I have had only two terrible hangovers, which, with the month I've had, is really not shabby.

In the past month, I have been rejected from the comparative literature PhD programs at both Berkeley (dashing my notions of actually being intelligent) and the University of Oregon (dashing my notions of being moderately smart). I'm still waiting on Chicago, but I'm not sure that this is my year, nor am I sure that I am ready to make the commitment to any PhD program, ranked number one in the country or fifty. We have had two visitors from New Hampshire in the past month, and decided that with my inability to not tell it like it is, New England is, for the moment, the best place for us. Nobody appreciates frankness better than a Bostonian, let me tell you. Plus at least in New England they can drive.

Truth be told, Seattle kicked my ass. Completely and unexpectedly. And I'd like to say I can take it, roll with the punches, give it one hundred and ten per cent and all that jazz, but I'm tired. And broke. And I needed to step back and breathe. It's early March now, and though it's not quite spring yet, and though metaphors of rebirth and regeneration are tired and wholly unnecessary, I am just glad the sun is shining, and that I'm starting to breathe again.