An Apple a Day

Poppies

2012-01-28T19:18:00.001-05:00

I was at the laundromat yesterday, a place I don't visit as often as I should. It's a family run business where they sell bananas and houseplants and little brass charms at the counter next to single use packets of detergent and dryer sheets.

The owner's name is Rose and she is a pretty lady in her late 40s. She knows more about my personal life than most anyone else. She's watched my laundry pile in various stages of life- happily matching men's socks and then not and back and forth several times in the 5 years I've been on this street. She knows.

Yesterday as I was loading the dryers, she came up to me and suggested I redistribute them. Towels with the sweatpants and all of the sheets alone in another. She described, with obvious rapture, the look of a properly loaded dryer. The gentle tumble, likes with likes, lots of movement and a perfect, slow spiral. She said it was a thing of beauty, a dryer loaded with care and I swear I could see a difference. A mesmerizing, hypnotizing difference.

Dying flowers normally are that hypnotizing, unexpected thing for me. These poppies just gave up on my nightstand and started to collect dust and I let them stay until the water evaporated. Everyone has those little secret happinesses- the spin of a dryer or the droop of a dead stem.

A Wonderful Time

2012-01-20T14:55:00.000-05:00

Since you've seen the pretty film-y shots from Florida, now we should get technical. Behind the scenes. Sneak peak into the process. Etcetera. Since the bride had already had her official wedding ceremony and it was dreamy and romantic and elegant and rustic and all of the good things that come with throwing a very fancy party in the middle of the woods (see photos here and here), we decided to have fun in Florida.

I have long been obsessed with Slim Aarons, a photographer famous for taking photos of socialites in hotbeds of preppy perfection- Palm Beach, Newport, New York and beyond. His poolside portraits from the 1960s and 70s were the first thing that jumped to mind when Ashley told me about the party her mother was hosting at a bath and tennis club outside West Palm.

Finding Slim's book A Wonderful Time in a free pile on the street years ago was a highlight of my days in the West Village and his interest in preserving prep really made sense as a jumping off point for the party. Citrus, obviously, and mix-matched milk glass, too. We embraced Florida instead of fighting it.

Sourcing local citrus still on the branch proved very tricky. All of the growers we spoke to wouldn't sell branches cut since they were more interesting in next year's crop. (Understandable.) Also, November is quite early in the season for fruit, since most trees hit peak production in January.

We ended up shipping citrus from the West Coast that's grown especially for floral use, along with some other really beautiful California roses, ranunculus, celosia, camomile and tulips. The overnight fed-exing of flowers seems excessive even to me, but considering that nearly all flowers in your local grocery store were grown in Central America, buying from California is actually a more responsible solution.
The milk glass vases were sourced from antique shops and the internet in record time. Too scared to ship them down ahead of us, we bubble wrapped them individually and filled up our carry-on's to bring them on board. We lost a few and had to scramble for more when we arrived.

We ended up arranging the centerpieces in a spare room in the tennis club. We had a view of the ocean and kept spirits up with the cheapest of cheap mimosas around. André saves the day, always. The highlight of the job came after 10 hours of arranging, the executive chef brought us a surprise steak dinner on silver trays with silver covers. Food has never tasted so good.

Always desperate to get photos of arrangements, we dragged a few back to our house and took some snaps around the gardens. I shot most of a disposable camera roll which is what you saw last post. Getting photos is my favorite and also the most anxiety producing moment of any event. You always have a million other more important things to be doing but, oh, god, pics or it didn't happen. I will beg, borrow and steal to have a few moments alone with my camera.

The day after, with heaps of citrus still hanging around, I got a few more moments to snap away. I made a little bouquet with leftovers and had Micha change into a 1960s lemon yellow nightgown I bought at an antique store when we were searching for more milk glass. We took some shots and then packed up the car, cup holders filled with ranunculus, and headed down to Miami to relax.

In Florida

2012-01-17T22:05:00.002-05:00

Another lifetime ago (Novemeber) I traveled to West Palm Beach to do the flowers for a wedding reception.

We set up camp in a villa that belonged to a friend of the mother of the bride. The small complex seemed to be built in the 1930s or 40s and was nearly encased in vines and tropical plants and flowers, with a pool and a little path that lead to the Atlantic. I could drink my morning coffee on the balcony. From my bed I could hear the ocean. It was really something special.

Not having spent much time in Florida before, I now understand why people flock there. It's lush, beyond. The vines seemed on the verge of conquering every surface, everywhere. The sun of California but the jungle of Central America. The slowness of the South. It took me by surprise how quickly I was taken with it and even still, I wouldn't mind being back there now.

Borrowed

2012-01-06T19:38:00.000-05:00

This arrangement was supposed to be about amaryllis. I tried, really, I did. It was even in the title of the design sponge post I made the flowers for. But whenever poppies are involved, it's a lost cause. Poppies will always win. They are the one bright spot on my winter horizon.

The kumquats in the arrangement once belonged to florist Sarah Winward and before that, they belonged to the fairy god mother of all florists, Ariella Chezar. They were given to me in a plastic bag over lunch with Sarah when she was in town for a master class with Ariella, where she used them in this arrangement. I love that they traveled from appreciator to appreciator, and that we both were able to make something beautiful with them.

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T19:54:00.002-05:00

I'm in awe that new years keep on happening and with greater frequency than ever before. Meaningless perhaps, only a date on a calendar, but I put a lot of stock in new beginnings so January first will always mean something here. 2011 was full and beautiful and also so altering that I'm struggling to make sense of it. Bite-sized chunks will have to do.

I worshiped Elmwood. I woke up to see the sunrise and fell asleep swatting mosquitoes. I lay in bed and wished I never had to go home. I cursed New York a few times.

I fell in love with my camera. I pretty much figured out how to use it. I still have a long way to go.

I moved things around. I moved them back again. I grew stagnant. I took huge leaps. I was so nervous I almost threw up. Only once I actually did.

I launched my website. I was terrified. I lost perspective. I found it. Sometimes I screamed and cried and made a huge scene. I live alone so nobody saw it.

I dreamt some big dreams. I told people a few and a few I kept for myself.

I felt at ease. I felt at home. I felt understood and appreciated. I felt alone sometimes, but didn't mind.

I walked up to a boy and asked him to get a drink. For the first time in my life. Apparently it's not a big deal.

I made messes. I ran out of storage. I prayed for a huge, prewar industrial loft to work in. I didn't get it.

I foraged. Like crazy. I learned tree names and clipped more than I needed. I made friends with an old Italian gardener in my neighborhood. I grew flowers on my fire escape.

I traveled. Close to home and a little further away. I had 143lbs of flowers overnight fedexed to the beach. I really loved teaching classes. Oregon stole my heart.

I was grateful and humbled. I asked for help and tried to give it, too. You were really there for me and I appreciated it.

2012 is somewhat of a mystery, but I love a good mystery anyways. Resolutions seem like an afterthought for me this year, let's just instead search out a few moments of ridiculous happiness and not think too hard on where we'll find them. Here's to another one with you.

The night before.

2011-12-25T18:45:00.001-05:00

Christmas eve is almost always better than the main event. Quieter, simpler, dare I say more holy, or special or what have you? I dreaded Christmas this year. No cards, no presents, no holly jolly or bowl full of jelly. At the 11th hour, Pete Seeger carols saved the day. I fell asleep looking at the tree for the first time in who knows how long. The candles burned down.

Our tree was nearly empty this year. Tokens and toothbrushes and the like. I bought pretty beeswax tapers and Micha decorated the mantel. We ate our traditional dinner in the living room, but were too full from 5 types of cheese to even touch the lobsters. Seeing my parents snuggle and slow dance was the only present I really cared about, anyways.

Hoping your holidays were filled with love and warmth.

In Oregon

2011-12-21T16:52:00.000-05:00

My friend picked me up in the morning before my wreath making class in a little blue pickup truck. I juggled multiple Stumptown americanos, shawls, hats and cameras and we followed the Columbia River eastward to the falls. When I saw my first west coast waterfall, I smushed my nose up against the window get a better look yes, but also to hide my face. It was so beautiful I almost cried.

The wreath classes were so much fun, I didn't want them to end. I stayed up until all hours looking for later flights and the very next morning the same blue pickup truck collected me from the front door of the Ace. We headed westward through fields of farmland and forest and mountains until we hit the Pacific. I think now I understand what the line in this song means when he says "the mountains should crumble to the sea".

My very talented friend Parker took these and many more photos of our adventures. Take a look at his work here.

Hi Portland.

2011-12-09T14:22:00.001-05:00

Do you live nearabouts Portland? I'm teaching wreath making workshops this weekend at the Bazaar. The Saturday class has sold out so we opened up a second one on Sunday. It's going to be a small class, so expect plenty of one on one goofiness and embarrassing Amy moments. The class is $40 and you get a pair of clippers, wire and a big old wreath to take home. The goofiness is free.

Florida

2011-12-04T13:22:00.001-05:00

Micha and I went to Florida to do the flowers for a party back in November. The flower photos will come later (maybe January?) when we all need them the most. For now, we can talk about the 5 days after the event when we drove our rental car through the southern most reaches of the state. It was nearly 85 degrees, and we walked along the ocean at night and wore sunscreen and swatted bugs. We saw swamps, lizards and palm trees. We traveled through West Palm Beach, Fort Lauderdale, Miami Beach, The Everglades and the Keys. I forgot about fall.

The adventure ended in Key West, the place our parents first met in the mid 1970s. My mom was 25 and my dad was 27. At sunset he was dancing along the docks with an african drumming band and my mother was in the crowd of onlookers. She went up to him, a stranger and street performer, and danced with him.

It was so nice to see the place they fell in love- the banyan tree, the lighthouse, Terry Lane where my mother lived, the spots that have been told and retold into the family legend of The Most Romantic Meeting Story of All Time. Going back and wondering at the people they were then, I felt like a little part of their legend, too.

Uptown

2011-11-28T09:51:00.001-05:00

I've got things to talk about that aren't tree peonies. Funny though, because I have no recollection of what they are. I've been digging in the troves of iphoto and found these from a photo shoot of a fancy interior designer. I wish I could have snapped a photo of the room it went into but it was all hush hush and no pictures please. Big black lacquered square dining tables with walls lined with magenta silk shantung and a crazy massive chandelier situation. I needed a photo name badge to enter into the service ahem servants entrance. Outside the building Gossip Girl was shooting.

There is a small thrill in peaking into lives like that. And an even bigger sense of relief coming home to a chubby cat, a studio littered with spent stems, and a life that doesn't demand once weekly manicures. Things as they are are okay by me.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T13:16:00.001-05:00

The turkey is in the oven and the table needs to be set. My sister and I are going to make some little arrangements with the last of the persian carpet zinnias and the deep red nasturtiums, cutting with reckless abandon since first frost can't be far off. My hands smell like onions and sage. I have slippers on. It's happening.

I had hoped to take some pretty photos at home of the progress, but I forgot my camera's battery charger back in the city. Without it, this weekend is going to be an exercise in appreciating moments as they happen. Moments filled with thanks and gratitude. And pie.

Millbrook: part two

2011-11-21T17:59:00.001-05:00

I must confess, my head is miles from Millbrook. I've spent the past week and a half soaking up sun in southern Florida after making flowers for a party in West Palm Beach hosted by the very same bride who brought us to Millbrook in the first place. But again we will suspend time and space to have a bit of fall dreaming.

To get to this little spot in the woods, we had to drive down the most precariously rocky, cliff-side, one lane path (to call it a road would be misleading). With foamy waterfalls on the left, mossy boulders on the right and swirling yellow leaves all around- it was textbook October. Sun-shiny, nippy, see your breath but forget the gloves October. To work outside in places like this, making meaningful things for people that appreciate them, and to call that work, is overwhelming.

Millbrook, New York

2011-11-11T22:30:00.001-05:00

Back when fall wasn't a distant memory, we went to Millbrook to do a wedding. It was at a private hunting lodge and the bride was a really fantastic New York interior designer. It took 6 of us 2 days to do the set-up and in between we ate chinese and huddled by the fire at my grandfather's old house in Connecticut. Leaves swirled, fall happened (and I noticed.)

We hung 80 feet of garland, we felled 14 small trees, we dangled 30 lanterns, we sustained ourselves on nothing but pita chips and pirates booty in a cabin with no electricity or running water, we braved the outhouse- we pretty much moved mountains. Thank you to Frankie, Siri, Liza, Katie and Frank!

At some point I will show you photos from the tent, but until then read this interview or make this wreath.

Mum's the word

2011-10-28T18:44:00.000-04:00

This week I am pretty sure we had the last day jacket-free day for next 5 months. I knew it as it was happening, too. Walking down the street thinking oh god please let this never end. It's going to, so what is there to do but love it while you got it.

I found this blouse a few days ago, picked it up thinking it was a funny little 1970s Annie Hall polyester deal. After closer inspection, it's silk (with hand sewn buttonholes) from the 1940s. There's a boy in my life who's parent's apartment in the 1970s was in Annie Hall. I've touched a sofa that was in Annie Hall. I can't even make stuff like this up.

Flowering has slowed a little since wedding season started to snooze. I've been stealing away every weekend this month for either work or play and have gorged on leaves and fires and antique shops. I found my dream edwardian boots with jazzy little lizard buckles, in my size and barely worn. I've had bucket fulls of flowers every moment since September. I'm also loving trashy, corner store spider mums right now and I don't care who knows it.

Frances' wedding

2011-10-19T10:15:00.000-04:00

On the first of October one of my dearest friends got married. The night before the girls got together and ate nachos and drank more than we should have but less than we could have. The next morning I woke up bleary eyed at 7am to pack all of the flowers I made the day before. Things got hectic (even the smallest of weddings do) and I ended up changing into my party dress in an ally right before we delivered the ceremony flowers. Eyeliner was applied at stoplights. I rolled a wheely cart with two massive arrangements into the park and my 4" heels splashed with spilled vase water.

The wedding had the makings of a movie- a 45 minute late start because of a lost set of parents, a teary eyed officiant, a hot-stuff love connection between guests and an impromptu first dance to Helpless by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Pitchers of german beer and platefuls of bratwurst. The bride wore navy Manolos while eating a personalized Carvel ice cream cake. She married her man and I couldn't be happier.

Falling

2011-10-11T11:28:00.000-04:00

My favorite wedding leftovers are fall branches. A big vase in my bedroom makes a tree in miniature, crumpling just like outside. Wedding work hasn't slowed yet, but instead has focused into intense bouts. One of my favorite friends was married a week ago and this coming weekend is an event that will bring me and 5 of my nearest and dearest assistants upstate. I'm holding my breath for the bottle of wine that will happen Saturday night at my grandfather's house. Fire in the fireplace. All that.

A few weeks back I stumbled upon a wasp's nest on a branch at the flower market, up for sale by a farmer in New Jersey. He told me he'd never finds them and especially so well preserved. I cradled it like a new born baby, skipped out of going to dinner that week and have been staring at it every chance I get.

Fall is happening here, my collection of dried bits is growing and my houseplants are finally getting a break from the heat. Cider doughnuts and apple picking happened. The season's first shivers, too and a boatload of new old boyfriend sweaters were purchased. Tights have debuted. Leaves got stuck in my forever tangled hair and hot coffee is sounding better than cold. Hold on tight, fall. You are being very nice to me this year.

Double duty

2011-10-04T09:24:00.003-04:00

Things have been happening here. Flowers. Like crazy. Weddings of friends and strangers. Coffees and hangovers and 6am flower market runs every other day. Pizza more often than not. 24 dirty flower buckets waiting for me in the bathtub. 10 large cardboard boxes of fancy vases in the living room. 6 weddings in September. 3 gorgeous, massive cast iron urns stolen from my hallway. 2 accidentally thrown away pairs of expensive clippers. 1 very special vintage umbrella taken at a bar and lost for all time. Cliff notes version-I've missed you here.

These photos are from a wedding at Frankies in Brooklyn. The bride and groom's hired photographer had a sudden death in the family and he completely forgot about the wedding as he headed out of town. He remembered when the groom called 40 minutes before the wedding to ask where he was.

I was there, snapping away at the flowers, and was asked to pull double duty. It was a fancy little party, so my jeans were minorly mortifying. Afterwards I immediately met a friend for dinner and ordered the best steak of my life. Or at least, the most well earned.

(My new column on design*sponge, in addition to living in, first used these photographs. Please give it a look, I mention Carl Sagan so it's worth it for that alone.)

The last waltz

2011-09-20T12:18:00.003-04:00

The last unequivocally hot day of the year was spent in a fry pan of a row-boat in Central Park. We sat down the week before, iCals at the ready, and planned it out in the same way grown-ups plan business meetings. Not spontaneous, not free-spirited, but calculated, contrived and hey, well, we made it happened. Nothing is easier for me to forgot to do than nothing.

I have Frank to thank for bringing the disposable camera and for getting me out of the house even when I have no business getting out the the house. I'm starved for compelling reasons to stop working for a moment, especially since work is now taking up every moment I have. This is a wonderful thing when you work for yourself, I know.

But I do worry I'll wake up in November, five beautiful weddings from now, without a memory of fall. Promise you'll do all you can to not let this happen, and I'll do all I can, too.

Book Party

2011-09-12T13:46:00.001-04:00

Hi Kittens. This is not a post so much as a furious wave out the window of a speeding train. Until my motion sickness subsides, I'm going to keep the talking to a minimum.

The one thing that is keeping me going is that tomorrow night is the design*sponge party, something I've been excited for since my (albeit dusty) house was shot for it in 2009. Last fall Grace asked me to contribute a primer on basic flower arranging for the book, so that is included along with some of my diy projects. I'm am still pinching myself for being a part of it.

Details for the party are here, I'd love if you stopped by and said hello to me and the other editors. I'm going to be wearing a party dress and some shoes with heels so I will be virtually unrecognizable for those of you who know me, even if my friends at Beacon's gave me proper attire. You will be able to find me by looking for the tall girl with the social skills of a feral child. See you at 6, friends.

A rose is not a rose

2011-08-29T10:31:00.000-04:00

There are roses and then there are roses. Anyone with eyeballs knows what I'm talking about. These fall into the latter category and exist on an entirely different planet than anything wrapped in say it with flowers paper and a packet of food. Dripping with petals, full of beetles and picked a moment before from the garden- these are Gertrude Stein's roses and Shakespeare's too. Do I even need to talk about the smell? It's everything.

I scoured the bushes to find the slightly past prime ones, a little rusty around the edges, just to feel okay with clipping so many. Rose thorns often carry bacteria so most every prick will develop a small infection and throb for days, it's a joint sacrifice for the both of us. I shy away from decadence in most forms, but I am powerless in front of a rose bush. I clip and clip unabashedly. The next few days are spent bringing your little bouquet from room to room as you go about your business, periodically smelling them when the scent fades from memory.

Post-script: I have written a small piece on my girlhood fascination with roses for the newly launched book Summer Goals. Please take a look.

Orange you glad

2011-08-26T01:22:00.002-04:00

I'm only saying this cause we're friends, but I've been avoiding you. Straight up seeing you coming and crossing the street. Truth is, two weeks ago my cat died and I didn't want to talk about it. Still don't. But it felt awful to talk about anything else, so I pulled out my proverbial cellphone to make a pretend phone call whenever I saw you coming round the corner.

Let's instead think back to July, back to when summer was never gonna end. I bought these two buckets of flowers at the flower market in New York and brought them up to New Hampshire, my one big birthday present to myself. I went flower crazy and as I made this bouquet, Frankie held the camera reins.

Orange doesn't come easily for me. It's work. I mean, I love a peach or an apricot, a rust or a pumpkin pie- but straight orange has always proven the red headed stepchild of the spectrum. Not until the New England daylilies bloomed this year did I even start to warm to it. But now we're making peace, one lily and rose and calla at a time.

Micha's Birthday

2011-08-14T17:36:00.000-04:00

A few weeks back my dad loaded up two canoes with hot dogs, bug spray and beers. We pushed off and rowed towards Indian Rock, a small clearing reachable by water with a huge boulder that fronts a fire circle. I brought turkey feathers for each of us to stick in our hair, and when we docked, we accidentally slammed into my dad's canoe just as he was trying to get out. Our howling fits of laughter could probably be heard 3 miles away.

My sister Micha is our family's campfire queen. She always brings her dulcimer and plays this one folk song that I swear is ripped straight out of Ken Burns' The Civil War. I can't listen to it fully without stifling a sniffle.

Last year we celebrated her birthday by renting a small cabin in West Virginia and this year she's 10 states away. We spoke briefly on the phone today, neither one of us having great service. The basics were covered, I wished her a happy birthday and we said we loved each other and must catch up when we both had an hour to chat. I can't help but feel the whole interaction was woefully inadequate for a sisterly birthday celebration, so instead I'll think back to our campfire and dream that is was her actual birthday instead. Happy day, big sis.

Lawrence

2011-08-09T10:34:00.001-04:00

When I think back on this summer, I'm pretty sure I will remember all the time I spent with Frankie Zmetra as one of the highlights. She spent a few nights at Elmwood and we took so many photos it would make your head spin. That gorgeous blondie in a lot of my flower photos? The one and only. Frankie has written the most incredible blog for the past 4 years and she yesterday shuttered its doors to launch a new venture called Lawrence, a vintage shop and journal of images.

Even though we spent most of our days working on the site's photos, we couldn't help sneaking in a little series of us in the goldenrod when we discovered we both had vintage yellow play suits.

These are some of the snaps I took for her new shop, the last one is a favorite of mine. We had just finished taking the silly yellow photos above and as the light was fading we raced out to the canoe. The water level was going down drastically, thanks to the paper mill, and the mosquitoes were beyond compare. When it's dusk and the mosquitoes are swarming, the bats start swarming, too.

It was getting so dark that I couldn't see if the camera was focused or not and just as I figuring out how to frame the shot, it started to rain. We snapped a few more and then ran to collect the various iphones, lens, cameras and pieces of vintage clothing which we had inevitably strewn along the field behind us. I put her camera under my straw hat to keep it dry as we made our way back inside. We woke up the next morning to a sky full of sun and it was her birthday.

Thank you

2011-08-07T12:36:00.002-04:00

Thank you all so much for your warm reception to my new website! I'm really deeply touched by your emails and comments, I wish I could launch a new site every week just to read them. It makes my heart swell thinking about it, I'm so beyond grateful to have found a circle of inspiration in all of you.

While I'm home in Brooklyn, I still have a whole summer's worth of New Hampshire photos for you. The little arrangement in the windowsill was made from mostly from flowers from the small town farmer's market. The grower was selling them in bunches for less then a latte and I dug deep in the bottom of my bag to make sure I spent every penny I could. The zinnas are beyond special, an old fashioned variety called Raggedy Anne with long fringey, folded petals. Let's all remember this variety when it comes time to plant next spring? Starting zinnias from seed is nearly 100% foolproof, the easiest of easy for beginners, and they last ages in a vase. They are summer wrapped up in a single stem, I think.

Do you remember my parent's kittens Ella and Calla? They are full grown ladies now, but it doesn't diminish their calico cuteness. My mom drove the kitties the 10 hour trip to Elmwood in a cat carrier and only a single mew was heard the whole time. The cats had as good a time on vacation as we all did. This little lady caught a bat and deposited him on the bedroom floor. I can only laugh over how excited she must have been- the great huntress thinking she caught the only mouse ever born with wings.

My new website

2011-08-03T16:56:00.011-04:00

Yesterday I launched a website for my floral design and styling business. I've quietly been doing flowers for events on my own for the past year and have finally opened up to taking on more projects.

The website has been in the works for months and I'm beyond thrilled and proud of how its turned out. It's been the most rewarding collaborative project I've tackled yet. Macon York designed logo and text layout, Bryan Gardner shot the GORGEOUS homepage photos, Andrew Fiorillo turned the images into a clean and easy to navigate website, Erica Nikolaidis elegantly edited the copy and I conceived the concept and styled all of the photos. Dream team, forever and ever.

I've gotten an incredible response from this wonderful post about my new website, I thought it'd be fun to tell you the story of how we as a team created the site from scratch.

I started dreaming up the site's concept while I was traveling in Amsterdam last Novemeber. Micha and I went to the Rijksmuseum where I fell in love with this 1636 Jan van Kessel painting with currants and insects. As we walked home from the musuem, we stumbled upon Stenelux, a shop selling a beautiful collection of insects and butterflies. I promptly spent all of my remaining euros on a few moths and beetles with the hopes that I'd be able to recreate a similar tableaux of flowers, plants and bugs for my site.

The yellow violas are a photograph from 1910 that I thought was very sweet. I especially liked how they were shot from overhead, so it almost seems like a classic botanical illustration in picture form.

When we got home from Europe, I started hounding the internet for more images to help me flesh out my idea. I've always been a big fan of Imke Klee's gorgeous, color coordinated overhead photographs and knew I wanted to shoot my collection of plants and flowers on a white background in a similar way.

The website Sheaff Ephemera has an astounding amount of scanned antique graphics, so I pulled these two to refer back to later. I was really drawn the fonts that were on the simple, almost modern side of the antique spectrum. The illustration is a 1970s book plate that I can't get enough of.

I was really very taken with this Van Gogh painting when I saw it in The Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, so much so I remember pulling out my little notebook and writing the name and something like stunning wine color with yellow and green...

The other illustrations are all from etsy, which is a treasure trove of book plates for cheap. The butterflies knocked me over, the greenhouse plants print really spoke to me because the layout and fonts were so clean and the carnivorous plants plate had a nice mix of all of the colors I wanted to use.

At this point I reached out to Macon York, who is a really talented graphic designer and art director, to develop a logo. I've followed her blog for ages and knew she was awesome at combining beautiful fonts and photographs (which she was doing for Martha Stewart at the time.) She now works for herself, doing custom design work like my website and printing letterpress cards.

Once I got her on board (very luckily, I might add!), she introduced me to her colleague at Martha, Bryan Gardner, who is a spectacular photographer. I've since learned he's a good southern boy who likes sweet tea, hosts a mean cookout in the park and has a really wonderful apartment with his whip-smart girlfriend Maggie in Greenpoint.

One sleepy Sunday we all gathered together and shot the homepage. Even while I was clipping the plants I collected and starting to style the homepage, I was thrilled with how everything looked. Bryan is really out of this world talented and he put on Paul Simon's Graceland while shooting. I kept everyone caffeinated and full of cookies.

When we had the images done, Macon got to work designing the site's layout. We did multiple options and while the floral wreath was my favorite photo- we all agreed the airy rectangle lent itself best to a website. The wreath is going to become a thank you card, so I'll get to look at it a lot, too.

Once Macon had the text layout settled, we turned all of the files to Andrew, who built the back-end of the site. Not only did he work crazy quickly, he also handled my pathetic attempts to talk about HTML related issues like a champ. There was a night when we were supposed to be chatting about site stuff and instead he tolerated my ramblings for at least 30 minutes about how romantic Anthony Hopkins is as a butler in Remains of the Day. He is very kind, to say the least.

My dear friend Frankie took this snap of me when we were in New Hampshire last week and I couldn't help but use it as a bio photo on the site. It makes writing a blurb about yourself much more bearable when you have a photo that doesn't make you want to hide. All of the words on the site got a once over from Erica, who is the editor for my posts on design*sponge. She has a witty and smart voice, so she's very easy to trust when it comes to polishing sentences. And she doesn't judge when I confuse its vs it's, which is all the time.

I'm really thrilled with how the site turned out and I couldn't be more honored to work with the people who brought it all together. Long story but a short message, stop by and let me know what you think!

Home for good

2011-07-29T15:02:00.007-04:00

I'm very sorry to say that Elmwood season is over for the summer. Brooklyn is home again and I must admit I've shed a few tears over it. The upside is now I get to relive it all by going through my photos (in the comfort of my local coffee shop's air conditioning). This bouquet is from a project that's been in the works for almost 10 months, it's going to be done next week and I'm bursting with excitement to show you. Playing with flowers at the house, surrounded by my dearest friends and family, really overwhelms me with gratitude. My honest-to-god happy place.

Getting to live out a New Hampshire daydream for a month makes city streets a bitter pill to swallow, but for now I'm trying to look at New York with fresh eyes. Those streets- along with the sounds of ice cream trucks and honking horns, rainy mornings that make the pavement steam, my thirsty houseplants and timid kitties- those are all home to me and it's nice to see them again.

Elmwood in July

2011-07-19T18:34:00.002-04:00

After three weeks away from Brooklyn and reliable internet, I'm home again if only for a hot minute. The city is scorching and I'm rethinking my stance on AC, helped along by the fact that I can't sleep and am sticking to everything I touch.

I had a birthday early in the month, but by now the statute of limitations has passed to get too excited over it. I ate an extra large blueberry pancake the day of, poked around some antique stores and quietly grew into an old lady, grey hairs and all. There were flowers, photos and family, too.

This has been a sleepy summer so far. I've watched the garden go from foxgloves, mock orange, roses and japanese dogwood to crabapples, poppies, zinnias and hydrangea, a very rare treat for a city girl. There was a day last week when I gathered blueberries, raspberries and black raspberries in one bowl and had telltale stained fingers. Yesterday I could do nothing but lay in bed with the fan on high. I wilt in the heat, but this wilting is what I want all winter long.

2011-07-04T11:35:00.000-04:00

Happy 235th birthday, America. I will eat hot dogs in your honor tonight.

View from the middle

2011-06-29T13:51:00.000-04:00

I went up to my roof to get to thinking a few nights ago and I discovered my favorite places have more in common than I thought. A relief, really, to bend the laws of time and space to go somewhere your heart wants to be.

Fire escapism

2011-06-26T11:10:00.002-04:00

Off my kitchen is my apartment's fire escape, something I've used for years as a graveyard for the empty pots of dead plants past. There is something quintessentially new york about a fire escape, it's romantic and depressing and unless you're vigilant, it's almost always full of something you don't want to keep in the house. A smoldering fry pan that's making the alarm go off goes on the fire escape, without question. Friend's cigarette butts, too.

I've turned over a new leaf and have been cramming mine with a silly amount of plants since I fell in love with Amsterdam's garden tenacity. If I'm allowed to continue unchecked, my fire escape no longer will be able to serve as an escape for actual fires. And we wouldn't want that.

Just today my morning glory seeds pushed through the soil, this variety, which I planted absurdly late in the game. Maybe they'll bloom in the fall, once I trick them into winding around the rail?

I've been standing at my kitchen window all month, dumbstruck and dreaming of having a garden not elevated 3 stories in the air. My eyes glaze over and I don't even mind the quantity of flies now entering my house through the open windows. In terms of reality blurring escapism, foxgloves are a highly recommended gateway drug.

City mouse

2011-06-15T19:57:00.008-04:00

New York is pretty much perfect right now. The weather is cool and the roses are still kicking. The museums were all free last night and Shakespeare in the Park has already started. I took a windows-down cab ride along 5th avenue and the boy I was with let me sit parkside so I could enjoy the view. I truly and honestly love my city, the city to end all cities, but I just can't for the life of me figure out if I'm a city girl masquerading as a country mouse or vise versa. Or worse, both.

This conundrum has been rattling around in my brain for 9 years now and it's painfully obvious. I can't remember that last time I shared anything remotely city (maybe my trip to the Met?), a pretty funny omission since I live in the citiest of all cities around. One of my looming summer goals is to really try to love New York not just in a theoretical way. Love it through experiencing it, of course, and also love it by getting the hell out of it as much as possible.

Times like now

2011-06-08T02:25:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I have a little story I'm dying to tell you but don't have quite the right photos to go along with it. Other times I have some pretty little photos I want you to see but nothing quite right to say along side them. Most of the time, even if I have both a nice story and some photos for you, the only way I can even write anything is to pretend like you're not reading this at all. Times like this, times like now, I tuck my head down and soldier on.

I was walking to the old train tracks along the border of Elmwood's property when I saw this truck parked. A glorious green little 70s baby, historic plates and a collection of turkey feathers gathered along the dash. Unlocked, windows down. Pretty much perfect.

I walked along the tracks until I reached the trestle and saw a pair of boys fishing down off the path. I blindly took some photos of the pond, just to have purpose for being there. One boy saw me and made his way up to say hello. We chatted for just a moment, something about the number of bugs and how the day's forecast had been wrong, no rain but just humid haze. He was a baby, but baby handsome, too, and in a way that was completely unaware of how many boys in Brooklyn romanticize a life like that. I turned and walked back along the tracks, happy to know that other people put turkey feathers along their dash, too.

The pink room

2011-05-31T14:44:00.003-04:00

When I was a little girl, I would sleep in the pink room at Elmwood. It's not actually pink, but white with 1940s wallpaper that has trailing pink and white morning glories. There are two matching twin beds, a truly unfortunate pink carpet and some lace curtains that would melt into a pile of plastic if ignited.

That's one of my favorite things about Elmwood. It's a beautiful place, so gorgeous you could and will weep when I finally invite you there in real life, but it isn't painfully art directed. There are some ugly curtains. Moldy wallpaper. The world's most miserable mattresses. A FUTON FROM THE 1990s. It's a real place, not perfect. And everyone who knows what's what knows that makes it all the more charming.

When I was up last weekend, the flowers in the garden made my knees buckle. There has been a lot of talk about lilac season being a letdown this year but our trees were basically rioting. Apple blossoms, too. Plus some bleeding heart from the front yard, the tiniest snipping I could take.

Going into the garden and making a little bouquet from what's fresh and free will lots of times beat overworked, over-thought, overly pricey flowers in my book. A humble bouquet, one that still has beetles and bees, cuts right to the heart of why people love flowers.

Dusk

2011-05-24T18:07:00.005-04:00

I'm suffering from that kind of total exhaustion that comes only from happiness and temperatures over 80 degrees. I got back to Brooklyn at midnight from 4 days alone at Elmwood and am now excited and dead-to-the-world tired in equal measure. For those who haven't spent a summer with an apple a day, Elmwood is my family's ancient, ragamuffin summer house on a secluded pond in New Hampshire.

The house is filled with faded wallpaper, chipping paint, 200 years worth of family detritus and this time around, a few decapitated mouse bodies that I was too terrified to touch; the pond, on the other hand, has sunfish, bull frogs, a private island of pine trees, a small beaver dam, a canoe, a rowboat, a leech or two and several snapping turtles the size of hubcaps. Calling it a summer house alludes to a certain Newport-ishness that it severely lacks, but I'm the happiest there, more so than anywhere else in the world.

Four days alone of paddling at dusk and swatting bugs, collecting lilac and lily of the valley, sleeping in the sun and huddling in the rain- I'm now seriously overwhelmed by ideas and plans. The freedom I've had in the past few months has been incredible, a gift I would have never dared to give myself. I'm over the moon to be able to spend time in places I love the most and also be dreaming up projects I couldn't have wished to hope for this time last year. We have so much to talk about, friends. The thought of summer is electrifying and I hope you are feeling it, too.

My burning house

2011-05-18T21:11:00.003-04:00

This week last year, I was walking determinedly away from Elmwood in the middle of the night as dozens of fire fighters rushed in. Remember that story?

It was below freezing and all I grabbed as I left was an ancient down parka and my camera. House full of priceless family heirlooms from the past 200 years and I didn't ever bother with actual pants. When fellow New York blogger Foster Huntington asked me to be a part of his new project The Burning House, a photo documentation of what's worth saving, I couldn't help but laugh. I knew what I'd save and it wouldn't be much. But, of course, the spirit of the blog is more than literal, it's a visual articulation of what means the most to you.

I once read if you ask a woman what her favorite piece of clothing is, she'll show you her newest purchase and if you ask a man, he'll show you his oldest. I got this edwardian corset cover dress a few weeks ago, so the parable must be true. My most cherished shoes, on the other hand, I got 6 years back and they've been re-heeled every year since. Vintage alligator Ralph Laurens that cost an eye popping $25 at a thrift store, but if the shoe fits.

My aunt Teri painted this oil study of Elmwood and my other aunt put it in the giveaway pile a few years later. She said she didn't think it was up to snuff, but I adore it to no end.

When I turned 18, my grandfather sent me my very own key to the house, complete with a hand written tag and the world elm dremmled on it. It lives in my wallet, just in case.

I bought these fancy rosewood clippers as a present to myself when I got my job at Saipua two years ago. I was over the moon with excitement. Even though the clippers aren't the most useful ones I have now, I really love remembering how thrilled I was when I got them.

My wallet might as well be priceless treasure. One of my dearest of friends gave it to me on a whim and it was love at first sight. I thought it was some insanely well kept ali macgraw in love story type deal from the 70s but it was a sample of a never made marc jacobs collection wallet he swiped for a song when we both worked for the company. If I have my way, I'll use this wallet until I die.

Lastly this little trio of bowls are the first things I ever made in my pottery class. I'd be heartbroken to loose the record of how far I've come and how far I have left to go.

But of course, making it out alive is number one. Making sure my great-grandmothers ring is on my finger and my camera is around my neck is number two. Everything else is just hopeless sentimentality, especially since I discovered online computer backup last year.

The link to my post on Foster's blog is here and I hope you go through the more recent entries while you're over there. So many wonderful things and so many interesting people. He also accepts reader submissions, too. I'd really love to hear what you'd save if you could.

mother's day

2011-05-15T12:22:00.003-04:00

Last weekend I drove the station wagon down to visit my parents for mother's day weekend. I brought along a little jar of loose flowers and on Sunday, I sat my mom down on the patio for a mini flower arranging class. Coral charm peonies, amaranthus, viburnum clipped ever so illegally from the side of the highway and a few coral bell leaves from my window box in Brooklyn.

My mom is pretty much an untapped floral genius. She kept on doing this thing where she'd furrow her eyebrows and really consider where she'd place the next flower- her attention to detail and eye for composition was almost unnerving. I kept on saying things like beautiful flowers look beautiful wherever you put them while jamming flowers in the vase. She was graceful but purposeful.

Her love affair with the coral charm peonies lasted for days. I'd come into the kitchen and catch her openly staring at them from a distance of 6 inches. It was a simple thing, our little flower class, but overwhelmingly nice, too.

Frances Palmer

2011-05-02T10:36:00.002-04:00

Frances Palmer creates the most exquisitely charming pottery I've ever seen. She lives and works in Connecticut an hour and a half north of Brooklyn and about two weeks ago I visited her studio.

A little over a year ago, I stumbled upon her work for the first time by seeing this photo and was instantaneously struck dumb by dahlias. Frances grows them herself, along with a host of other delicious flowers, in a cutting garden off to the side of her studio and she picks them periodically to use in photographs of her work. It's hard to verbalize the wit in her pottery, the purposeful imperfections and the undeniable functionality of her pieces. Her vases were made to hold flowers and her cake plates beg to serve a slice. To say that I am a fan is not enough. I'm enamored, enraptured and astounded by what she does.

The afternoon I visited Frances I found her with armloads of flowers, prepping a tablescape she designed for a fancy New York benefit gala the next day. She took the photo above of the small vases we stuffed with tulips, sweet pea and some still wet with garden dew daffodils. It was, honestly, the most inspiring little afternoon I've spent in some time.

Frances' website is a minefield of covetousness (this and this and everything else, too) and Ginny Branch's interview with her really paints a good picture of why she's my top shelf inspiration. Her work inspired me to start throwing my own vases and every time I sit down at the wheel, I realize a bit more of what a marvel she really is.

It pours

2011-04-17T08:46:00.002-04:00

There's a creeping, slow subtly to April that really compels me. The grey skies, the icy rain, the just out of reach glimmer of, oh wait no never mind, warm weather is ages away. Landlords turn down the heat in buildings so everything feels damp. Thunderstorms thrash and freeze you to the bone in a way that not even the most paralyzing January blizzard can understand. At least then you're wearing woolly socks. By the time April rolls around, I've sworn off tights and winter coats till next November. I'm defenseless.

April is quite possibility the coldest month out of sheer spite. All the while, though, there are flowers sneaking up on you when you least expect them. Impossibly big, lush magnolias enough to make your eyes roll back in your head before the first tree has even peeped a leaf. Every spring I say this and every spring it's truer than the last- I can't believe such beautiful things happen every year for us to see.

Like honey

2011-04-06T16:29:00.003-04:00

I've been on a strict spending diet that consists of nothing but flowers and food. Both beautifully delicious perishables, if you will. I know I should scale back on the fancy stuff but I'm struggling. Rock bottom happened last week in the Fairway gourmet honey section when I almost bought myself a $10 jar of "honey from a thousand flowers". A girl with no disposable income has no business buying thousand flower honey. It went back on the shelf, even if it took a little piece of my heart with it.

Flowers are harder for me to say no to. Sometimes I can barely comprehend that these stems, each more exquisite than the next, can cost little more than a dollar. What else can you buy for $1.50 that's more perfectly, transcendently beautiful than a single stem? Pretty much nothing, ever. And so I buy them in bunches. Big, fat bunches. More bunches than I have any business buying. And so it goes- my vicious, delicious downward spiral.

My dad

2011-03-30T18:20:00.003-04:00

Today's my dad's birthday. If you've been reading along for a while you know that he's a spectacularly great dad. Smart. Funny as hell. Handsome. Big bearded. Thoughtful. Quiet, too. A little intimidating to every boy I've ever dated (and I wouldn't have it any other way). But you knew all of this already.

One thing you don't know is that his childhood nickname for me was little shit. And if you knew me at 13, you'd know he was being generous. Thanks dad, for guiding me even when I was un-guidable. Happy birthday.

At Bakeri

2011-03-29T08:22:00.001-04:00

I have been living, pretty much exclusively, for the lavender shortbread cookies at a cafe called Bakeri. It's a small place, always full of suspiciously clean people sporting that sort of new rumpled elegance that has grasped Brooklyn and won't let go. The girls behind the counter wear blue coveralls and vintage scarves to keep their hair out of their face. There are only 4 proper tables and getting one is harder than getting into Harvard.

So when you get one, you stay. As long as you can. As long as you can get away with it, an hour at least. Bring a book, bring a friend (preferably one who puts up with fretting). Drink more coffee than you need to just so you don't have to give up the little table. Cling to the little table for dear life. It's a jungle out there so you might as well take your time.

Dead Horse Bay

2011-03-23T07:48:00.003-04:00

There was a day last week so shockingly sunny and windy that it left my cheeks slightly burnt and my lips hopelessly chapped. Some truly spectacular girls were in from out of town and to celebrate the meeting of the minds we went to Dead Horse Bay to do some overdue bottle digging.

The girls were (of course) my favorites Alice and Francesca, the bottles were (of course) totally filthy and free for the taking. When the plastic bags were full, we went to Coney Island and gorged on the year's first hot dogs with onions and peppers. I forgot to wash my hands first but I survived. Quite happily, too.

Sunday Morning

2011-03-13T11:35:00.002-04:00

I woke up to a pair of mourning doves at my windowsill cooing, it was 6:40am but felt much earlier and darker. (Hello, daylight savings.) On went the slippers. On went the music and the frying pan and the butter. It's rare I do myself a bacon breakfast but when you have it in the fridge resistance is futile.

Bacon. Just crispy enough to hold its shape but not so crispy that it breaks when you bite into it. Yolks runny enough to soak in toast but not so runny that they're still cold. Ground pepper big enough to get endearingly stuck in your teeth. Coffee. And a lot of it.

This song is absolutely in order.

An acquisitions freeze

2011-03-08T17:56:00.001-05:00

I'm suffering from a severe case of antiques apathy. I go to an antique store. I look around. Up and down. Then- a big old yawn and shrug. It's funny, I still like to look but the little chip that triggers the wallet grab is malfunctioning. It's not really a money thing, since I've always had the cheery ability to overlook financial prudence. It's a bored of stuff thing. A full house that's rapidly becoming less full thing.

I've been heaping the cast offs on my sidewalk for my neighbors- rusty bird cages and typewriters and straw hats and mirrors and desks and dressers and thrift store paintings. Out out out. The only thing that's called, shouted, screamed my name and demanded to be bought is this Merrick thread display case. I got it back in the fall from my favorite of favorite folks in Brooklyn and I think we're going to grow old together. Love is a beautiful thing.

It cost as much as it would if you took a boy you liked (as if!) out to dinner on his birthday and you let him get dessert with your rare steaks. A bottle of wine, too. You know, a white table cloth-y kind of place. Since things like that don't happen in my life, I ate nachos for dinner and it all worked out in the end. How could I pretend for a minute I wasn't going to snap it up immediately? It's got my name written all over it.

The end of February

2011-02-28T23:55:00.001-05:00

Today, February 28th, marks my emotional end of winter. Sure March and even April can be misery to the extreme but for now, I'm rejoicing in rain. Real, proper, flood your house when you leave the windows open even in February rain. Yes, I do. (Heating be damned.)

Winter has been treating me better than even my seasonal affective disorder could have hoped for. Begonia's bloomed and I've been downing 3 shot lattes twice daily thanks to theee most useful christmas present ever gifted by a human. A week ago a surprise heart appeared in my morning foam. A sign? I'll take it.

A eulogy for ranunculus

2011-02-27T10:15:00.000-05:00

Any florist worth her salt could talk about dying flowers for days. We all pretty much do anyways, because flowers are at their most intoxicatingly potent a day after their prime. The painterly bend, the crinkle, the fade. Flower drunk- most of us girls have been there. It's almost to the point of trite to talk about the ephemeral beauty of these things but watching a flower open, then open more, then open so wide its petals have nowhere to go but backwards is basically everything.

I've developed a habit of buying non-work flowers for my apartment. Shoved willy-nilly in an old vase, no fussing with frogs or foam or even making proper arrangements. It feels almost embarrassingly decadent, even more so because I'm such a proponent of others having flowers in their homes. Finally practicing what I preach? For the sake of genuine floral authenticity, my dedication knows no bounds.

Visiting the Met

2011-02-20T07:45:00.001-05:00

Generally relegated to my annual trip above 59th street or as a backdrop for sweet but awkward dates, the Met is my one that got away. I've lived here for 9 years now and I'm sure I haven't been in as many times. Since my 9-5 life faded to black in September, I've been wanting to go for an afternoon but nothing is as easy to put off as 3 hours of getting lost in thought uptown. I finally went in search of inspiration of the floral variety, found some, ate a macaroon and pondered the peculiars of solo museum scouting.

Changing out of one's slobby real-life clothes is a necessity. The Met is packed with out-of-towners, so a little extra eccentric goes a long way in keeping you and the camera clobbering masses apart, never mind the fact that you are also camera clobbering and just as prone to wearing ripped jeans. A lady doesn't pay the full suggested admission but she doesn't pay a quarter, either. While you're at it, if you're going to be walking on fancy floors, you might as well wear fancy shoes. A hat works wonders as does wandering aimlessly. I stayed until a handsome security guard needed to escort me out of the visual storage section and then stumbled to the subway through central park, eyes glazed over in an unmistakable painting coma. It was delicious.

Conscientious objector

2011-02-15T13:19:00.001-05:00

So yesterday was the day everyone couldn't stop talking about except for me. I worked until 9 o'clock on a living in post about my favorite criminal couple but I took a break in the afternoon to go buy myself some fancy flowers. Even if, no, especially if you work with flowers- it's nice to get some that are non-work related. Nicolette had a charming flower stand on Bedford Ave but I just missed her so I took my $20 bill and found a massive floral painting at a junk shop around the corner. Everlasting flowers for valentine's day? I'm pretty taken with it.

I also squeezed in some victorian flower girl scraps and made do with my two week old 'nations above. They've become my dirty little floral secret- they last until the end of time and are just as cheap and ruffly as can be. I've been listening to love songs in the manner of Sam Cooke when I'm feeling happy and Patsy Cline when I'm feeling sad. I'm working on making peace with romance, even if it's the Estella from Great Expectations sort. A boy who is both straight and not a family member cooked me dinner recently and I didn't even flinch. Baby steps.

Floral antidepressants

2011-02-11T11:00:00.000-05:00

February is a month generally know for misery of the acutest kind. Snow no longer causes squeals and the act of putting on a winter coat becomes self-torture. Then there's Valentines Day, which elicits a big old yawn but secretly makes you want to buy yourself this expensive and long lasting bouquet of rosy goodness to cope. Someone's gotta take care of my needs, huh? Filling the house with flowers helps, as does getting long emails from my flower farmer soulmate and wearing red lipstick while mopping the floor. (This last one is my key to self-esteem, otherwise I am a shame spiral of dirt.)

These photos are from a project I worked on about flowers for Valentine's Day, many more await if you take a peak at the post on design*sponge. There are some juicy tidbits, as usual, along with tips and rambling tangents. So even if words have been few and far between here, I'm saying it now with flowers and you should, too.

2011-02-04T12:57:00.003-05:00

I've become hopelessly speechless. The thought of clicking the shutter or penning a word seems like a huge commitment. I've been ignoring my inbox, even if it contains mostly thoughtful emails from you. Overwhelmed with life, in the truest of senses. I've been hiding my head under a blanket this past week and I'm not sure I'm ready to resurface.

But I have, even if only for the afternoon, to show you this video. My mother recently got our family's super 8 movies transferred to dvd and I've been slowly going through the clips. This is my mom at 27 or 28, with her horse Maximilien. I wanted to save it for a special occasion because it is really the most favorite and cherished thing I've ever posted, but I couldn't. When words fail, I think I'll just let beautiful things speak for themselves.

Big news!

2011-01-28T12:10:00.003-05:00

I was able to contribute a guest post on design*sponge all about my favorite spring flowers this afternoon. So if you love me (and please say you do), nothing in the whole wide world would make me happier than if you went to read it. Lots more photos, tips and general amy blather can be found on the post right here.

The best thing about winter

2011-01-26T23:42:00.001-05:00

I have finally reached that itchy, antsy stage of January. Stage three terminal January. I fled to the brooklyn botanic garden for the afternoon as I am wont to do when the going gets tough and stumbled upon spring, centrally located in one unassuming bonsai.

Just looking at the little pink plum blossoms I could feel my whole body sigh. Thank god. Remember how I recently said all of the charming things I liked about winter? Rosy cheeks the color of spring's first plum blossom and all that?

Well, I have just remembered my absolute favorite part about winter. It ends.

To know her is to love her.

2011-01-22T15:06:00.007-05:00

This past Wednesday was my mom's birthday. She turned somewhere between 55 and divine perfection. I drove the 4 hours home to Maryland to surprise her and we had a nice, quiet few days. There was a fancy dinner, some sofa snuggling, ice cream and an incident with her birthday candle being blown out in an untimely manner. She got a do-over.

Mama Merrick is really the heart of our family. She smiles at strangers and pats puppies. She's honest, reflective and aware. She's compassion personified. She hugs with reckless abandon. I dug up this old photo of her riding bareback with my sister and I think it really says it all.

New Hampshire

2011-01-19T21:26:00.007-05:00

There are things that I love about winter. Hard to remember them when you're shivering with misery and cold while cursing the day you were born, but yes, they're there even still.

Most lovely of all are bare trees. Branches that are normally laden with leaves become completely visible and I'm always struck by their skeletons. Better still is the ability to locate every bird's nest in the tree. Snow is nice, too, as are woolly hats and frosty windows. Pink cheeks are universally flattering and even pink noses turn cute in the cold. A little whiskey works wonders.

To remind ourselves of these universal truths, we went to New Hampshire where winter is a religion. Live, freeze or die. We bunked, fancy style, at the local inn and tromped around in the snow until we lost track of where we had left our fingers and toes. We visited our family's summer house which was very much living up to it's name. Not a lick of insulation and proper heat made it colder inside than out. We cozied up in the car, cranking first the heat and second the volume. Off went the wet clothes. On went the slippers. And then our cheeks tingled as we drove back down south again.

Paperwhites

2011-01-16T10:15:00.005-05:00

Three facts are deeply ingrained in my conscience right now. #1. Today is January 16th. #2. January 16th is squarely planted in winter, not spring. #3. Spring is decidedly less snowy and bitingly cold.

But by some miracle of science and nature, my body has been fooled into thinking otherwise by the intoxicatingly sweet smell of paperwhites. Earlier in the week, I bought some spring flowers at the market to give to a dear friend and the leftovers have made me loose all sense of time and place.

I took lots of photos of the multitude of miniature arrangements we made, but even more beautiful was the wild mess we were left with when it was all said and done. There is something totally decadent about doing a photo shoot in your house. A sense of urgency. Wilted flowers find their way to the floor with stems and leaves and bits of fabric. When will the light change? What little thing would be perfect to sit next to the vase? Quick, heat up the iron to get out that distracting wrinkle in the fabric. Ahh! Where did I put my clippers in this flower squalor?

As the sun sets, the urgency reaches fever pitch. The shutter clicks continuously, hoping for one last shot and then poof! No more. You sit on the bed and offload, overwhelmed. Then you look up at scene of the crime and remember to snap one more because the mess is just about as pretty as a picture.

Chocolate cake

2011-01-13T09:48:00.006-05:00

Yesterday was a snow day. A celebratory snow day, even if our Big New York Blizzard petered out into only delicious swirls the night before night and a bright, sunny morning. No work was done. No emails were sent. No worrying happened except over which way to best avoid responsibility. We went the flourless chocolate cake route.

The cause for celebration was two-fold. First, Micha arrived safe and soundly after a harrowing 8 hour trip in the swirls at 3am. Second, an article I wrote was, for a brief shimmering moment in time, on the Yahoo homepage complete with a big photo. Above a news piece about Sarah Palin. True fact.

We talked and sipped and schemed. We had our cake and yes, we ate it too. I was really happy that the article I had originally written for my friends at Bundle was picked up first by CNNmoney and then by Yahoo. Wow. Just wow. My inbox is in a state of shock and so am I. You guys are the best.

My biggest hope for this next year is pretty small. Nothing radical, just to feel the beautiful or sad or exhilarating a bit more clearly. It's easy to sweep past, on the the next, up and at 'em and moving right along through both the good and bad. I practiced yesterday and let me tell you, cake has never tasted so sweet.

*Side note- Tired of checking back frequently only to find I haven't posted? I've added an email subscription form to the sidebar so you can sign up to receive updates in your mailbox whenever I get my act together enough to write something for you.

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T19:03:00.006-05:00

I'm not sure if I can describe how happy I am to say goodbye to 2010. Not because it was awful, on the contrary. I am a sucker for a fresh start, clean slate and new beginnings. It was a busy year and I think I did okay for myself.

I almost burned down my house. I didn't tame my cats. I made my first bridal bouquet. I saw flowers in my sleep.

I worked on 40 different weddings. I dated a nice boy for a while. I relished living alone. My heart fluttered once or twice.

I was really hurt by someone I respected. I drowned my sorrows in quilts. I moved on and came out all the wiser.

I tried to take the high road. I talked to my sister late at night. I woke up early and had coffee with my mom. I memorized my favorite pie dough recipe.

I learned the hard way. I forgot to close my windows during thunderstorms. I got burned out and I had breakdowns.

I screamed and stamped and sobbed in anger. I wore out my favorite jeans. I kissed kittens to make everything better.

I wore floral dresses. I focused on my own thing. I made some really great friends. I fell hard for lily of the valley.

I rubbed rose petals on my face. I didn't get a sunburn. I stopped hiding from the camera. I daydreamed about Elmwood.

I listened to Leonard Cohen on repeat. I switched him out for Neil Young.

I traveled Europe with my sister. I ate more cheese than is reasonable. I felt small, but in a good way.

I killed my fair share of plants. I got a fly fishing lesson from my father. I saw a pair of foxes on the beach. I received surprise acts of kindness from people I admire.

I was inspired. I took classes. I took day trips. I sat in bed for days and felt miserable. I felt miserable for feeling miserable about myself.

I missed my grandfather. I went on hikes alone. I had a stellar Moroccan dinner. I wore mens shirts and highwaisted shorts. I channeled Annie Hall and Ali MacGraw as best I could.

I splurged. I saved. I bought things I didn't need. I got rid of a lot of stuff. I never kept my house as clean as I would have liked. I dumped the extra stuff in my closet when people came over.

I didn't make my bed. I took naps in the sun. I was humbled. I got really excited thinking about the things that are in store for this coming year.

Most of all, I woke day after day and was grateful to have my family, my friends and you by my side.

Whole Living

2010-12-29T00:48:00.011-05:00

I've been meaning to do this post for 7 months now. I just kept on putting it off and getting distracted by antiques and flowers and oh look there goes a cloud shaped like a turtle. 2010 is rapidly closing and gosh darn it, I'm going to spit this out before the year changes.

Whole Living magazine did a really nice 2 page profile on me for the June issue. Yeah, last June. I clearly suck at posting these things in a timely manner. It was really overwhelming to be thought of (by no less than Joanna Goddard, who is basically every blogger's gold standard of stylish sweetness).

Funnily enough, in the intervening months since the article came out a lot has changed. I turned 26, I'm no longer working for Saipua, I'm starting my own little business and most importantly, duh, I gave up knitting that grey sweater dress. This new year I promise to keep you better informed about my epic knitting failures and magazine articles, too.

*You can read the article here.

We wish you a merrick christmas

2010-12-25T17:15:00.008-05:00

This is what we call live reporting, bringing you merry merrick wishes straight from the heart of the home this December 25th. Christmas has been a smash success this year, even though we promised no presents (yeah right). My biggest present for everyone was decking out the house in fresh wreaths and garlands and Micha made us a new set of stockings at the 11th hour last night.

Instead of the normal gimme gimme christmas, we promised no presents but instead turned the tables and all got lots of presents for mom. She cried! Micha and I surprised everyone by racing down the stairs in matching vintage red union suits. Yeah, I have a collection going on.

I sincerely hope you had a wonderful holiday season, filled with much love and lots of cookies and kisses.

Christmas c. 1984, again

2010-12-23T12:30:00.005-05:00

I was going to write an old timey Merrick christmas post but there is just no improving on perfection so go here to read last years. In T-10 minutes (okay, an hour) we will be hitting the road to go home. I'm planning on stopping at my favorite antique stores along the way, which will double the length of our drive. Shh, I haven't told Micha yet.

Wreath Making Workshop

2010-12-16T11:27:00.008-05:00

I am really happy to announce I'll be teaching a wreath making workshop with Grace from design*sponge at the Brooklyn Flea this coming Sunday!

When Grace asked me if I'd be interested in leading the class I was really over the moon. Holiday wreaths are often maligned and ignored, but oh lord, there is nothing better than a good, wild natural wreath. The smell alone will boost your serotonin levels ten-fold.

To get in gear, I went down to Maryland to forage in the woods for greens to bring back to Brooklyn for the class. It was cold. Like damn cold. This is how much I love you, friends. Micha and I gathered for 2 hours while the temperature hovered around 25 degrees.

We have boatloads and boatloads of gorgeous things for the class, we both were completely giddy once we thawed inside and got to start playing with everything. It was, seriously, the best day we've had in a long time. Who knew wreath making was so fun and easy? Even my dad got really into it.

The class is this Sunday the 19th at 10am. The workshop costs $40, including all of the wreath materials, clippers and floral wire. (Um, cheap at even twice the price!)

I'm so so looking forward to Sunday and I really hope some of you New York locals sign up, we have a few spots left and I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Amsterdam and the thanksgiving miracle

2010-12-15T23:16:00.006-05:00

The best thing that happened in Amsterdam was hands down Thanksgiving. The Merrick girls are big Thanksgiving appreciators. The pie, the mashed potatoes, the gravy and the dark meat. It was our first official day in Amsterdam and we were freezing and feeling a bit homesick for a big family dinner.

We had made plans to get together with Pia Jane Bijkerk that night (who is one of my top favorite blogger girls in the world), even though she was in the middle of a mad deadline for her latest book. She hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the night before but she took us out for a surprise Thanksgiving dinner, complete with pumpkin AND pecan pie. Wine was drunk, stories were told. Micha and I left bubbling over with happiness and I think the night really warmed my heart to Amsterdam in a way that none of the other cities had managed. The pecan pie didn't hurt the cause, either.

So we're home now and I've run out of pictures to show, which is very sad as it means the vacation is really over. Sounds like a simple concept to grasp but it's proving tricky. Maybe if I just click my heels?

But really, there are worse places to be stuck than with friends you love and cats who after all these weeks away, still ignore your existence.

Amsterdam snippets, almost over

2010-12-13T21:59:00.006-05:00

It's hard to believe there are still more pictures and adventures I've yet to tell you about our trip. It's like the well intentioned slide projector show & tell gone on about 2 weeks too long.

I'm also nearly out of new words to use to gush about Amsterdam. The houses, the canals, the boats, the bikes. Again, the cheese. A little somethin somethin called stroopwafels gifted to us by sweet miss small sight.

The women in Amsterdam are wildly impressive on their bicycles. (Although anything related to bicycles seems impressive to me, who has been run over one too many times to ride alongside cars ever again.) I swear to you I saw I a woman riding a single bike that was carrying 3 children under the age of 4. With groceries. In the rain. It's amazing how naturally riding a bike in a city comes to the Dutch.

Gracefully weaving and balancing babies and umbrellas, it was enough to make my head spin. Such a feat would likely mean certain destruction in the States but Amsterdammers all seem to watch out for one another, a lovely concept indeed.

The dutch flower auction

2010-12-12T12:59:00.005-05:00

One of the main catalysts for this trip was my preoccupation with going to Holland to see the dutch flower auction. Ever since I started working with flowers I've been fascinated with Holland's role in both growing and selling flowers.

For those not intimate with the ways of the floral industry, most of the flowers grown worldwide are flown to Holland to be sold at auction and then flown to their final destination. A rose will be cut in Ecuador then immediately sent to Amsterdam to be sold and then it will be shipped to New York to be purchased by a consumer. It's almost like mecca for florists, although I must admit my idea of floral mecca is closer to a beautiful field of wildflowers.

We went to Aalsmeer to see the auction live and it was incredible. Of course, I liked the old photo displays of growing and selling methods of days past the best.

The flower auction sells 48 million flowers every day. 48 MILLION! EVERY DAY! We got there at 9am, 2 hours after the main event. We couldn't help but laugh that even on vacation I was stressing out about being late for the flower market, a near weekly occurrence around here. As it is in life, so shall it be in Amsterdam.

Stenelux

2010-12-09T17:27:00.008-05:00

My favorite stumbled upon surprise in Amsterdam was a little natural history shop called Stenelux. We had just done some wandering in museumplein and I was pretty drunk on dutch master's still lives (even if the Rijksmuseum didn't have it's full collection on view). The bugs in those paintings are incredible so to find ourselves in this little shop felt like a perfectly natural transition.

I couldn't help myself and had to buy some little friends. On the US customs form they specifically ask if you are carrying insects into the states. Um, no sir? I spent the whole 10 hour flight irrationally worried my bugs would be seized.

Now they're sitting on my mantel still in their display boxes because funny enough, I'm scared to touch them.

Amsterdam container gardens

2010-12-07T15:30:00.004-05:00

New York could really learn a thing or two from Amsterdam about container gardening. It seems like every other house has a collection of mismatched pots with rambling roses or wisteria or some other delicious unknown. And this was winter, I can only imagine how it would look in the late summer or during peak bulb season.

Amsterdammers use every available city inch for growing, with pots tumbling out on to the sidewalk and hanging vines overhead. Next spring, I vow to redouble my measly fire escape efforts and save it from its current incarnation as my graveyard for empty pots. Morning Glories winding along the rails. Herbs galore. Zinnias!! Finally, a new years resolution that doesn't fill me with dread.

More from Amsterdam

2010-12-02T09:06:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite things in Amsterdam was watching a demonstration of historical methods for making oil paint at the Rembrandt House. I could have stood and stared at little pots of pigment all day long.

We did a lot of wandering in Amsterdam, even if the weather turned to winter outside. The ground was frosty and our noses were definitely pink. We would wander until our fingers were numb and then we'd tuck inside for a beer or to explore a pretty flower shop, anything to give us a chance to rub our hands together.

The flower shops were the best and there were loads of them, on practically every street. Big buckets of berries and branches, the Dutch seem to follow the rules of seasonality more than their American counterparts.

Looking in the windows of houses, it seemed like everyone had a vase full of amaryllis or big, wild tangles of rose hips. You could find the most beautiful, messy branches of climbing rose hips at even the little flower stalls on the street corners. Amsterdam really understands flowers so I felt right at home, frostbite or no.

The trip continues, in photos

2010-11-30T17:56:00.006-05:00

Micha and I arrived back home in the States yesterday. Sigh, Amsterdam was my vacation from vacation. In Paris I was sleeping on a futon and in Brussels we both shared a mattress pad on the (albeit free) floor of a friend's. In Amsterdam, I had a king sized bed. Alone.

The apartment we rented was wonderful. Big, clean and simple. An old dutch building with tall ceilings and big windows. A washing machine. Most days I slept till noon.

Do you know the website airbnb? It's how we found all of our apartments for the trip. For less than half of the price of the cheapest hotel, we were able to rent our own beautiful place and have separate bedrooms and a kitchen.

The art nouveau Hamlet poster was original to the teens or 1920s and belonged to the owner's father. We both squealed when we saw it.

The owner left us a bottle of wine and fistfuls of dutch candy in our apartment when we first arrived. With such an auspicious start, how could I not fall hopelessly for Amsterdam? Easily bribed, it's true.

Bruges

2010-11-28T04:03:00.003-05:00

Quaint, thy name is Bruges. Taking the train from Brussels to Bruges, a smaller Flemish town on the northern coast of Belgium, was our absolute favorite day trip so far. Miniature winding canals, mossy bridges, lace curtains and fairytale houses.

It rained on and off all day while we were there. We huddled under a cheap umbrella, trying to take pictures and wipe the fog off our camera lenses. Feet got soaked, hands got cold. We were giddy though and I think our excitement kept misery at bay. Then, of course, on the train ride home we slept like babies, bellies full of frites.

Brussels

2010-11-27T05:30:00.007-05:00

I'm sitting in my big fluffy bed in Amsterdam with the tiniest bit of snow falling, it's almost noon here and I am having a hard time being persuaded to budge. It's pretty bittersweet, we only have two days left on our trip. In the beginning you think it'll never end but by the end you have no idea where the time went.

I really loved Brussels. It was a nice change after leaving Paris to be a smaller city with more casual, smiling people. One of Micha's good friends guided us around the city for most of our 2 days so we felt very at ease.

I think our favorite part of all of Brussels was having a late night beer at Toone, a 1830s marionette theater. Of course, street waffles were also a highlight. As were the fries. And the hot chocolate.

We're walking our feet off to keep up with our treats intake, both simultaneously indulging and exercising so in the end we're striking a balance between dead tired and supremely vegetable deprived. Micha went out last night to find a bag of carrots which did the trick just fine.

The Merrick Sisters Top 10: Paris

2010-11-24T15:06:00.020-05:00

Our Top Ten Favorites

Favorite museum: Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature
(Technically a hunting museum, but don't let that scare you off. It's insanely beautiful and really cheekly put together. A wonderful little gem of a museum.)

Favorite meal: Hotel du Nord
(Adorable and not scarey pricey, filled with all sorts of Parisians. Sweet Reba took us here.)

Favorite patisserie: Au Panetier
(Enough said)

Favorite delusional residence: Marie Antionette's Hamlet at Versailles
(Like a 18th century mini golf course, complete with little windmill. We were totally in love.)

Favorite painting in the Musée D'Orsay: Twilight by Pierre Bonnard
(I'm a hopeless sucker for green, plaid and spaniels but I was pretty giddy to see the Manets, too.)

Favorite shop: Astier de Villatte
(Best little porcelain teacups, made we want to redouble my pottery efforts.)

Favorite people and dog watching: Jardin du Luxembourg
(The chic old ladies were out in full force, so were the scruffy mutts.)

Favorite antique clothing and textile shop: Chez Dentelles
(Hands down, the smallest shop in Paris. No more than three people including the owner could fit inside and the dresses made us weep from poverty.)

Favorite treacherous staircase: The Catacombs
(The stairs down were scarier than the piles of human skulls.)

Favorite flea market: Porte des Vanves
(Beat out the more famous puces de clignancourt a million to one. I can't recommend this one enough, lots of folding tables and things mere mortals can afford. I wish we would have skipped clignancourt and just gone here at 7am.)

So Paris is done. We arrived in Amsterdam tonight and I'm already in love. The owner of the apartment we rented left us a big bottle of wine and handfuls of dutch candy, so maybe that's why. I get a king sized bed all to myself and after days of refugee style floor camping, this coming week is looking better than ever.

hello from versailles

2010-11-23T17:18:00.002-05:00

The world has come to an end and I have learned how to animate self-timer photos. Forgive me.

Day 7

2010-11-21T19:27:00.005-05:00

I know I said I would try to post as we go, but wow, it's hard. We're in Brussels now and I've eaten my weight in cheese at this point. We left Paris yesterday morning, a few days after our luck finding good coffee ran out. Instant coffee yesterday and day old coffee in a water bottle the day before. (We made up for it in cheese.)

I'm afraid that I'll be sorting Paris pictures and plotting Paris posts until Amsterdam and maybe even when we get home. The list of amazing places and people is unending. The catacombs, versailles, le petit trianon, random barber shops and flea markets etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Overwhelming, really. These are the kinds of problems to have in life, non?

Day 4 or 5 (who's counting?)

2010-11-19T17:03:00.003-05:00

Oh friends. It's so sad. Tonight is our last night in Paris proper (tomorrow we go to visit friends outside of the city). I'm beyond exhausted and am currently nursing a terrible cold. Self medicating with cheese and rare steak has done me no favors.

I've spent the better part of the night consulting my trusted physician Dr. Web. Md. about the causes of stabbing knee pain. Sigh. All in the name of paris.

The chandelier and stairs are from l'opera garnier, the dishes are from Astier de Villatte and the candles are from notre dame. I can't even describe to you how wonderful our week has been so far. Okay, I'll try. Transplendent.

Au Panetier

2010-11-18T18:19:00.006-05:00

Will you yell at me if I say that I'm not going to Laduree for macarons? In the beginning of our trip we stumbled by chance into the most charming patisserie called Au Panetier and I just don't want to spoil it with the hype of Laduree. (I'm hype sensitive.)

There was a line to the door (always a good sign) and we were the only non Parisians in the line (an even better sign). We split a violet macaron, which was wonderful, but I have to admit I'd rather an old timey macaroon anyday. You know, a shredded coconut ball? All about them.

The space hasn't been touched since 1890 and the walls were completely tiled with a patchwork of antique ceramic flowers. I think we spent the whole time drinking our cafe au laits in awe. Unexpected discoveries always beat out plans in the end.

Day two

2010-11-17T18:49:00.004-05:00

Good news! We made it here safely! (I am a bit of a nervous flier and wasn't too sure this would happen.) The even better news is that fall is still clinging in Paris and the cold hasn't snapped too hard at our heels.

I've finally figured out the internet at our little apartment in le marais and decided that I'm going to post a few photos as we go so that I won't be overwhelmed when I get home. Funner for all, yes?

It's day two of our trip and my first impressions of Paris are #1. The end of fall is stunning. #2. The coffee here is magical.

Wow

2010-11-09T23:23:00.003-05:00

Seriously, wow. Your tips were incredible! Micha and I are getting squirmy with excitement.

It seems we're going to need a bit longer than 15 days to do all of those lovely things, especially since I plan on spending several days doing nothing but shoveling cheese into my mouth. In fact, I have ruled out buying new and appropriate footwear for the trip so i can funnel that $100 directly into raising my cholesterol level. It's going to be great.

Attention Travelers and/or Europeans!

2010-11-04T19:37:00.006-04:00

Dear lovely, kind and thoughtful friends,

The Merrick girls are going to Paris, Brussels and Amsterdam in 10 days. I have been to Paris (a shamefully long time ago) but haven't been to Belgium or the Netherlands. Micha's top pick is the Paris Opera and I'm desperate to peer into the flower auction in Amsterdam.

Now tell me, please. What are two poor but cute girls to do to? Seriously. Tell me what we need to see. If you live there, let us buy you a coffee. We promise to be entertaining.

xo
Amy & Micha

5 years

2010-11-02T22:05:00.004-04:00

Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of my accident. 5 years! It seems like a million and just last week, too. (If you are new to an apple a day or want a refresher course in the importance of motorcycle helmet laws, please start here.)

I spent all day feverishly working so I think I managed to escape any PTSD flareups this time around. I took a mini break from work in the afternoon and ended up buying Micha and I plane tickets to Paris and Holland. How's that for a celebration of survival? We leave in 12 days. Clearly, I can't be trusted with a credit card.

Honestly though, I'm feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for my lot in life. My seven fingers have turned out to be mighty lucky and you're a big part of why.

Pumpkin time

2010-10-29T07:37:00.003-04:00

For the past month or so I've been thinking about posting this photo of my Aunt Betsy. I recently got to see what used to be her little red cottage and was overcome with sweetness and sadness. Some things you just can't comprehend.

This year I'm feeling a bit wistful for a fall I've never had. You know the kind- a woodstove, a dog, a cabin, crunchy leaves, wool everything and pumpkins in the windows. It makes me happy to think that Betsy had that fall. That fall sounds pretty good.

More sneaky photos

2010-10-24T08:27:00.005-04:00

Remember this fantastic place? I went with Micha as a little Philly pit stop on the well worn path between Annapolis and Brooklyn. This time, armed with my camera and a stealthy sense of subterfuge.

(I practiced the famous sneeze and camera click move few times outside.)

If the natural history police do end up tracing these illegal photos back to me, you will be my one phone call. Plead my case and if all else fails, continue the legacy in my name.

Mount Vernon

2010-10-20T22:51:00.006-04:00

It seems I am allergic to staying in one place these days. This weekend I crossed the mason-dixon again for some family fun and ended up going to Mount Vernon. Photos weren't allowed but I snuck some for you cause we're good like that.

I grew up fed a strict diet of historical sites. Jamestown, Williamsburg, Old Saint Mary's, Fort Ticonderoga, Gettysburg, Canterbury Shaker Village- you name it, I conquered it. Years have passed since I've been in full form and gosh, it's good to be home.

Wheel throwing

2010-10-10T20:08:00.005-04:00

I've been wanting to take a pottery class for years and now I can officially say that, people, this is really, really hard. Finicky. Frustrating. Maddening, even. So when you throw a little pot that GASP looks like a little pot, you feel a triumphant surge of brilliance.

I am not generally someone who enjoys being bad at things. Like mini golf. Being bad at mini golf is just plain miserable. Being bad at wheel throwing is amazing. I could be bad at wheel throwing all day long.

This particular triumphant surge of brilliance lasted oh, a few days till it collapsed in on itself. A watery grave in the slop bucket for my first pot. Still fun, I promise.

Travels

2010-10-06T22:22:00.003-04:00

Thank you nice people for your nice words. I have been happily distracting myself with trips and travels and 1,054 miles freshly put on the wagon.

I've been traveling home and then home again to my actual home, then to my nearby home away from home, Connecticut. Home to the land of my grandpa and fiery leaves and fiery fireplaces.

My sister is still on leave from work because of her accident and she has another 2 months to go. We've been running around together a lot this fall since we haven't been in the same place for longer than a week in years. She makes a good travel buddy and patiently puts up with my constant camera clicking.

We foraged and frolicked and lost each other in the woods not 15 minutes after I took this photo. It was a whole hour till we found each other. Turns out, I wandered off in pursuit of serious acorn collecting and she was peeing in the bushes. If that doesn't say what kind of girls we are then I don't know what does.

She's been a wellspring of inspiration and positive energy since, professionally speaking, shit hit the fan last month. She knows me better than anyone else and is especially good at talking me down from ledges. She has 26 years experience and after this week, she's a pro.

And now, a message from my original sponsor.

2010-09-27T22:55:00.009-04:00

Big and exciting changes are afoot around an apple a day and here to tell us more about those changes is my mother. Yes, she knows this is going on the internet. I think.

The main thing is that my job at Saipua recently came to a bittersweet close. I wasn't quite ready to go, but we have to learn to accept even the unexpected endings with dignity and grace. (New mantra, repeated several times under breath.) I had a wonderful year and a half being a member of the family and have so much respect for what Sarah, Eric and Susan have built together. I worked hard there, learned more than is conceivable and broke approximately 483 vases and one very expensive rolling security gate in the process.

Now it's time for new visions and new seasons, as my mom so sweetly wrote. What is it that the kids are saying these days? Let's get this party started? Yeah. Let's try that.

Pumpkin ice cream

2010-09-23T18:56:00.007-04:00

Do you guys remember this post from a little over a year ago? Probably not. It's a prerequisite for the one I'm writing now, so go and take a minute to get caught up to speed. I'll be here when you get back.

No seriously, go back and read it.

When spring rolled around this past year, my beloved Ralph's never opened for the season. I was crushed. There is now an awfully unnecessary late night deli (which might officially be called "late night deli" or something equally banal) in the old Ralph's corner location. It only took one summer for the war of Graham street to be over and for Uncle Louie G's to push out my dear italian ice spot. Boo. Hiss.

I swear with you as my witness, never once did I purchase ice cream from Uncle Louie G's while Ralph's was in business, pumpkin ice cream or no. I was stayed loyal till the end.

Of course the upside of all of this is that I can now eat pumpkin ice cream whenever I want and today being the first day of fall, I did just that. Nevertheless, rest in peace sweet Ralph's. Gone but not soon forgotten.

Potted thyme

2010-09-10T22:09:00.010-04:00

Remember back when I used to have witty and funny and insightful stories to tell you? I don't either. But my mom swears there was a time and I think that time will come again (not that I'm convinced it ever existed in the first place).

Things have been so monumentally weird and sad and happy around here this month. So much to talk about but instead I'll just tell you that I've managed to keep a thyme plant alive in my bedroom this summer. Which is like a big freakin deal because herbs inside are hard.

My dad (a big plant man and also a mental health expert) likes to say that for plant people, there is a connection between the state of one's plants and the state of one's mind. Happy plants = happy people. My thyme and I aren't dead yet, so there's that. We persevere.

Micha's 30th

2010-09-06T21:19:00.007-04:00

My big sister had a 30th birthday a few weeks back and we rented a cabin in West Virginia to celebrate. We soaked in some ancient mineral springs and got massages, too, which is very fancy for us. (Ignoring the fact that Micha is a trained massage therapist and gives much better massages than the ones we paid for.)

Eager for fall, we made a fire when perhaps we shouldn't have. August 14th is no time for fires in fireplaces in West Virginia. I don't know what came over me, because that same weekend I prematurely bought an antique Christmas tree stand. In August. The shame of it all left me unwilling to remove it from my car and face the fact that I have no room in the inn for off season christmas purchases.

I'm finally ready for fall. More fires (just not at elmwood seeing as i've ruined it for everyone.) More hot coco. Less weddings. More free time. More blogging. More of everything that makes me happy.

Goodbye summer

2010-08-29T19:57:00.007-04:00

I'm pretty sure I can feel summer leaving, not temperature wise (lord no) but the long days seem to be ebbing away nonetheless. It's bittersweet, because things have shifted a lot in the past few weeks and this summer marks the end of a big phase of life for me. Should I even go as far as to say the end of the kid phase?

No. I refuse to ever leave the kid phase.

My pops found an old metal tripod (that he said once belonged to my high school boyfriend?? Eric Nowels- if you ever google yourself and see this, please confirm??) in the attic and brought it to me in New Hampshire. This shot was it's inaugural photo- the Merrick clan before leaving Elmwood for the summer. I still hadn't found the screw that kept the camera from tilting down, so the top of my head is artfully and unpurposefully cropped.

Whenever I look back on this summer, or whenever I start to feel unsure about the coming months, it's nice to remember how it feels to be just plain and simple happy.

I love you both

2010-08-21T12:23:00.009-04:00

One of my top most favorite humans, bloggers and all around wonderful girls (the highly respected and adored *GINNY BRANCH STELLING*) opened a little vintage etsy shop called I love you both yesterday. I died of happiness. And then that happiness turned to sadness.

Because people, at the start of yesterday morning, I had -38 cents in my checking account. NEGATIVE 38 CENTS. Do you know how annoying it is to pay an overdraft fee for 38 cents? Thought so.

Ginny is perhaps the only person alive who can give me a run for my money in the collecting department. She buys with her whole heart and soul and her taste is a perfect blend of sweetness, simplicity and utility.

Anyway, the short end of the story is I found a check I had squirreled away (1st check from Hearst for freelancing!) and deposited that sucker quicker than you can say ginnyiwanteverythinginyourshop. I, however, refrained and snuck away with the hand thrown terra cotta pot above.

If you know what is good for you, you will go to her shop and find something to love. And after that you will go and look at this photo of us at her wedding, if for no other reason than we look cute.

Thank you.

The good name of the Emersons

2010-08-20T07:37:00.005-04:00

In ~~1922~~ 1920, this photo was taken of my grandfather William surrounded by his father, grandfather and great grandfather. Today would have been his 90th birthday.

I hate to get all broken record on you, but this man was something else. Someone incandescent with wisdom and compassion. I miss him more and more each year.

My great grandfather used to tell my Grandpa Bill to Remember the good name of the Emersons as he found his way in the world. I hope he'd be pleased to know that almost a 100 years later, his great granddaughter is doing her best to remember the good name as she stumbles and soars, too.

Blueberry baking

2010-08-14T21:02:00.007-04:00

Within the course of a week or two after blueberry picking I made a pie, scones, pancakes, a tart and cobbler. I rarely have time to bake at home, so I think I over saturated my family when we were at Elmwood. (Admittedly I saved the tart and cobbler baking for Brooklyn, sometimes one does not want to share these things, even with those you love.)

Wild blueberry pie with homemade whipped cream (not too sweet). I think I could sustain myself on this and nothing more. Starting tomorrow, I will try.

Berry picking

2010-08-08T08:33:00.006-04:00

Elmwood has some wonderful old growth wild blueberry bushes along the water's edge. We discovered a whole new hidden section of them this year that we had never picked from before. Hours were spent at sunset picking with my sister and we stayed out until our bowls and baskets were too heavy to carry.

Micha and I debated about the technique bears must use to eat blueberries and we laughed at the absolute perfection of evening. The sun was filtering through the trees and the lake was still and we were picking blueberries together. It was really nice to spend time with her again.

Flower gathering

2010-08-03T09:07:00.010-04:00

This summer at Elmwood, I almost lost interest in cutting flowers from the garden. I normally march, clippers in hand, through the fields within my first hour of arriving. This year I abstained from clippers for almost a week. I think I needed a vacation from flowers, if you can imagine.

The rigors florist-ing for a living are surprisingly intense. It's physically demanding, emotionally exhausting, stressful and sweaty. Before I started working at Saipua, I assumed flower shop life meant wearing vintage dresses and thoughtfully placing flowers in vases. No ma'am.

It's more like schlepping huge bales of tree branches, hernia inducing glass vases filled with water and covered in condensation, rose thorns and sharp clippers, long days and early, early mornings. Weekend after weekend, from April till October. That is to say, it isn't for the faint of heart.

(Plus gorgeous flowers, an awesome and funny boss, darling assistants, free coffee whenever I want, lots of romantic dudes poking around and hello, the opportunity to create something with my own two hands that brings people undiluted happiness, day after day after day....)

So basically, the sore feet are easily outweighed a million to one. *see, ahem, footnote.

A few days before I had to go back to the city I got my flower mojo back. I just walked around in a trance of New Hampshire happiness, arms full of weeds and flowers, for hours. I filled a house's worth of mason jars and jugs and pitchers, gathered blousy bouquets and whipped up flower crowns with wild clematis vines and garden roses. I went flower crazy and it felt so good.

*That being said, do not attempt to break in clogs during a 13 hour day of arranging. You will not be able to walk without pain for the rest of your natural life.

News flash.

2010-07-30T20:50:00.005-04:00

She who does not love cats is still loving these cats beyond imagination.

It is officially official, I have evolved. It is also officially official that my cats at home will never evolve into appreciating my newly evolved-ness.

Canoe ride

2010-07-29T09:32:00.001-04:00

I've come to the conclusion that I would be happiest conducting all life's business from a canoe at dusk. Telecommuting to the office! Painting my toenails! Paddling around and relaxing like there ain't no care in the world 'cept thunderstorms and running out of bug spray!

Night canoes are the quiet thrill of my life. I think it has to do with living in New York for so long where actual physical darkness doesn't occur. (And if it did, it wouldn't bode well.) It's nice to finally get out on the pond at Elmwood, it puts the frenetic pace of city life into perspective. In other words, city life ain't all that.

Elmwood, again

2010-07-22T20:12:00.002-04:00

I just got back from another 10 day trip to Elmwood, this time with all four of us wonderfully kooky Merricks.

Dad gave me an old tripod, so we had fun with taking family pictures. Micha and I made some flower crowns and goofed off in the field behind the house. The goldenrod was blooming and looking back on it, really and truly, I've never felt so lucky in my whole long life.

Raspberries

2010-07-12T21:45:00.004-04:00

My mom brought me up a big bowl of hand picked raspberries from home last week. I made a birthday pie with peaches and the raspberries which was, in fact, the biggest crust disaster in years. I underestimated how brutally hot it was in the kitchen at Elmwood (so hot), meaning my very well chilled butter for the crust went from very well chilled to darn near melted as I was cutting it in. I need to get one of those new fangled processor things people keep talking about.

The pie was mediocre at best, meaning my mom and I ate the whole thing that same day. She was just humoring me. She's good like that.

Scenes from a birthday

2010-07-09T22:52:00.006-04:00

On the 6th I woke up completely overjoyed to be at Elmwood and out of the city and then promptly fell back asleep till 8:45am, which is like a big deal for me. (Also, I must admit I am no bed-maker.) I lolled around with a cup of coffee and made a daisy chain. Mom showed up at 10am and we put on our swim suits immediately because it was so darn hot.

26 is being nice to me so far. Presents have been out of this world- transferred Super 8 home movies, Erie Basin treasures, vintage dresses, Tolkien nerd stuff and dum-a-dum-dum-dum, the shirt off a boy's back. Could have been worse. In fact, not sure how it could have possibly been better.

July 6th

2010-07-08T01:36:00.004-04:00

Do I seem older and wiser to you? More mature and aware of my place in the world? Could this possibly be because I turned 26 on Tuesday?

I raced up to Elmwood the day before to meet my mom for two nights of mother/daughter bonding. We canoed, baked pies, star gazed, napped and hung around the red chair for longer than appropriate. We sweated and swam and swatted mosquitoes.

I ceremoniously dug out this little book that belonged to my great great grandmother Ella called The Floral Birthday Book. It's from the 1880s and has a corresponding flower and poem for each day of the year.

July 6th (my very special birthday) is the iris which apparently means "I have a message for you". Funnily enough, I do have a message for you.

I think you're really smart and funny and wonderful and I can't wait to spend my 26th year with you. (In a metaphysical way, at least).