the luxury of my own experience.

some days ago now, my friend erin wrote me to describe a really fantastic latte she had sipped that very morning. "cardamom and bee pollen, of all things." this merry discovery was made inside a new-to-her coffeeshop in raleigh (42 and lawrence), described as the sort of place where bowler hats serve as light fixtures and a slogan sends you on your way: i sip, i salute, i am off!

i think it's really beautiful, the things that we notice. i think it's even more beautiful, the things that we notice and carve the time to tell others about. 

and i don't really know where this thought is carrying me on her wings, except to say that some days ago now, chris scooped francis into his arms and sent me off to write awhile and i strolled across chelsea before everyone was awake on my way to my own exquisite latte (stumptown, ace hotel) and i was hooked by a memory brushing up against me (a similarly bright morning, september 2010) and i like that going-on-nine years later, i can still lasso the feeling of it: the first morning in new york. 

west village, the eve of the eve of christmas eve.

from a stroll in the west village, bundled and laden with last minute parcels. it's exquisite, this tangle of streets singing of red brick and inky iron, fresh pine wreaths and wine-hued velvet. i would pass through a fir forest or by a particular townhouse, then retrace my own footsteps and pass once more, such was the unbridled delight. 

and then there are certain stories -- there are so many stories -- no photograph can tell, and not pictured here: the smell of garland wrapped and winding, the neighborly chatter spilling from bistros into the streets, the homesong spun by sight of a windowpane warmed by tree light, the feeling of christmas.

oysters and absinthe.

scenes from a traipse to williamsburg on a hazy-hot day. we wandered into maison premiere for oysters and absinthe cocktails and a sit in the garden. francis gummed his very first baguette and nearly broke his mama's heart with the sweetness of it all. notes of gypsy jazz floated on the air and, for all we knew, we might've been in paris.

making our way back towards the train, we stumbled upon a long-hunted, antique shaker spindle bench left curbside, and hailed a cab home for the grand total of thirty four dollars. as seen in local shops, the very same bench o'dreams would've cost in the high hundreds. one woman's trash, and all that...

snow in the city, two weeks before christmas.

eight winters in new york city, and this was the first snowfall before christmas. there was the year snowflakes dusted pumpkins halloween week, and also the year we saw a blink of flakes the second week of december. but it was never like this.

i went off for the morning to do a spot of holiday shopping, my belly bundled tight, christmas blend coffee in hand. there is delicious nostalgia in the city under a blanket of snow ever, but two weeks before christmas, and my eyes brimmed with falling tears. sidewalk tree forests, still and sparkling under fairy lights — neighbors scurrying this way and that, doing common errands and santa's work — pops of red velvet ribbon peeking out beneath piles of snow...such magic, such beauty, just the way the holidays ought to feel.

i picked up stems of berries for our table and warm chocolate chip cookies for us to share, and walked home slowly, happy to kiss my husband, happy to spend an afternoon wrapping gifts and watching the snowfall from the window beyond our twinkling tree, happy to know what it is to feel a baby kick on a snowy day, happy for the memories, even as i lived them.