two thousand nineteen

As a lover of lists, I look forward to my once-yearly grand tally of each revolution round the sun. 2018 was a year of appreciating the struggle. And there was quite a bit. But there were also HIGH highs! Engagement! House! Book!

Just a few hours away from a brand new year, though, I can’t help but look ahead with the fear-excitement of a planner who loves clean slates and a chance to draw the most perfect picture.

Alas, the perfect picture is never really made, is it? We always regret that decision to dot our i’s with a heart in middle school, we spend hours sketching addresses for save-the-dates only to be slightly disappointed…or is that just me? Maybe this year I can not only embrace the struggle, but also welcome the harvest, whatever it may be.

Not to be mistaken for forced joy at life’s less-than-overjoying moments, welcoming the harvest means cooking with what you’ve got, even if it’s not your favorite veggies. This is not to say “make lemonade out of lemons”, because sometimes we just can’t. And that’s okay. Welcoming the harvest is about acknowledging when things don’t go exactly to plan, and then noticing that the earth has not stopped turning. Every crop is a lesson, an opportunity to learn. Welcoming the harvest is the decision to take it.

I’ve planted some major seeds in 2018. Let’s see how they bloom.

restful

a restful moment in january.

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a red ruby and a soaring american on a 26th birthday in february.

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too much on my plate in march.

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a mini-tour to new hampshire and a swim on stage in april.

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another fairytale princess in may.

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the trip of a lifetime and an engagement in june.

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sword-fighting pirates and reminiscing on italian adventures in july.

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dress shopping in august.

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first home purchasing in september(!!!)

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bostonian adventuring in october.

cape cod nutcrackering and book publishing (!) in november.

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a homemade stocking, two dancing queens, and so much good boo time in december.

 

Thank you for sharing this little corner of webspace with me. It has been a good eight (GASP!) years.

four decades of dance

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You know how I’ve been complaining for the past year about how busy I’ve been? Well friends, I wrote a book.

What started as a simple chronicle of Festival Ballet’s 40 years became a thorough narrative not only encapsulating the history of the company, but showcasing photos and memorabilia that had since been lost in the depths of the archives. I spent many an afternoon elbow-deep in the chaotic filing cabinets that keep Festival’s past, riffling through playbills from the ’80s, checking facts and faces as I went. Many summer days spent sweating in the little conference room at 825 Hope, choosing fonts, resizing photos, playing graphic designer…

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I am a perfectionist. I am rarely happy with my work. For the first time in what feels like a long time, I am truly pleased. I have so many people to thank for their assistance and mentorship along the way. But here, in this special little piece of webspace where I can open myself up, I will say: I am proud.

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Stay tuned for the final version of the book, and information on how to order it, if you’re interested. For now, I’ll just remain unabashedly tickled. :)

 

photos of me by Michael Collins, cover photo by Jacob Hoover.

teenage dreams

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I imagine you are engaged, it’s an excitingly expectant time. Still young, but with big plans.

You take the train into the beantown, you fall asleep next to him on the way. You get off at Ruggles.

You #shoplocal. Fancy chocolate has been procured for later that evening.

You check into a spaceship yotel. There is a convenient rooftop bar. It happens to be sunset. Red wine and tortilla chips are had.

Your favorite band- the one with lyrics that made you want to become a writer- is playing just a few blocks away in a beautiful historic theater. You have tickets in row D.

The lead singer gets behind the piano, he’s about to play your favorite song. The one that makes you cry when you’re not sad, not happy.

They rock. You dance. They close the concert with your boo song. Everyone sings. I need you so much closer…

Back at the yotel, there are fun lights to play with. There is popcorn and seltzer. There is The Parent Trap on TV.

You are complete in the simplest, yet most cosmic of ways.

cozy home stuff, woodsy walks, and foods shot from above

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The air is getting crispier, the leaves are burning up the last of their fuel to light the quickly darkening sky, and our house is feeling cozier every day. Every room seems to be progressing at once now- we hung a mirror on the landing! put a rug by the porch doors! stacked figgy up on a stool (thanks mom!)- but that also means every room has a new project all at once, too- more lights in the living room! and the dining room! and the office, for that matter! But ah, the bliss of cohabiting with my bff…

Pumpkin bread, pumpkin pancakes, tiny pumpkins by the fireplace. Movie nights and warm beverage mornings, bike rides on the boulevard. Neighborhood walks, new neighbor talks, carrot-ginger muffins and rainbow-colored zinnias welcoming us in. Bristol beehive snackin’, mini-botanical stackin’, moody reds outfit trackin’.

October, you’re a fine thing.

we bought a house

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on a windy monday

at the end of september

we all shook hands

and signed legal tender

 

with shiny new keys

and dusty cake toppers

turning box after box

into cardboard door stoppers

 

surrounded by trees

and a block all our own

in a little blue place

called fourteen gorton

 

we’re hanging our shirts

and stacking our glasses

making plans to stay home

while this autumn rain passes

 

gooey pumpkin loaf

in our fancy new oven

and a purring dishwasher

keeping all of the suds in

 

we’re warming the hearth

and decorating the rest

two birds flew the coop

now we have our own nest.

life on mars

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It’s starting to feel like fall around here! We are into Week 2 at the ballet, and I even when apple-picking with M’s family over the weekend…

After sweating through the sweet early season apple harvest, M took me to a place unlike any in other in Rhode Island. The sky was burning red and it felt like we were looking back at the sun from another planet…our own green rock somewhere in space. A quiet, breathing range to reflect on this new season of dancing and of life.

I’m spending my days in a soft-shoed Plotnikov-Douglass-Yanowksy-Kozadayev shuffle, connecting the dots between slack-legged lifts and angular pirouettes. Winding around Beethoven and plucky piano with the familiar and foreign feeling of palms on my body.

I’m spending my nights counting down the hours before our BIG MOVE. Just 5 minutes down the road, but hurling into a whole new chapter. It’s one I am just itching to write.

here comes the bride

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Lace on the ceiling, lace on the floor. My, oh my, I hear wedding bells for sure.

The planning is well underway- venue, florist, caterer, photographer, band, dress, check, check, check, check, check, and check! My Type A personality has even picked out the china, chairs, and napkins. The blank canvas of July 27, 2019 has quickly filled with color running towards every edge. I’ve never so clearly been able to see, taste, hear, feel a single day so far in the future.

And so the countdown begins.