the perfect summer weekend

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You know how New Year’s Eve tends to be a let down? You get dressed up, drag yourself out in the cold, get your hopes up, and end up freezing as the fireworks explode overhead and you count down the minutes until you are at home in bed. July 4th can feel the same way way- the expectations, the promise of a “perfect summer day,” the fireworks- and the inevitable disappointment. Nothing particularly un-fun has happened, but the build up for the big event leaves you feeling underwhelmed when the day comes and passes without a massive surge of extraordinarily good times. Well, this was not that 4th.

It truly was the “perfect summer day.” Followed by yet another pinch-me-perfect day, just when we thought we’d used up all the luck. A long weekend with my best friends in my happy place, complete with morning mimosas, ocean dips, belly laughs, and fiery sunsets. York even gave us a big, winding rainbow on our last night. What more could a girl need? New England Summer, you’ve officially outdone yourself.

nostalgia

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Funny, isn’t it? How a place can hold so much meaning in our minds? A smell can make us cry, a crack in the sidewalk can take us back in time. A certain rock shaped like a chair, or a ferris wheel that spins too fast. All brush strokes in this dizzying abstract we paint over the course of our lives.

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Sometimes an entire town can wrap itself around us, weaving in and out of our pasts with a whole myriad of “times.” Good ones, bad ones, insignificant tiffs, overwhelming laughs. The little spot on the rocks where you told someone a big secret, the rocking chair where you said your first goodbye. Even as you watch the waves approach and retreat, though you know they are disappearing, it’s tempting to hang on to their imaginary immortality. Nostalgia likes to perceive perpetuality, even in the bold face of nature, as you stand in awe of her constant change.

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It’s an indulgent pursuit, to seek sources of nostalgia. Despite this awareness of our intentions, nostalgia’s captivating ruse can pull us in. The remarkable ability to find familiarity in something actually quite foreign; to chase a time long past. The human mind plays all kinds of pretty tricks, if you are willing to let go and let her.

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to brooklyn and back

A few quick days in the big citaaay.

Musing on getting lost, vulnerability, and finding familiarity in the foreign. There’s something oddly thrilling about being anonymous. Walking through the streets nameless, meeting baristas who do not know your usual, window shopping strange storefronts. Camp and Matisse, ocean eyes and a polka dotted dress, fig gelato and getting caught in the rain. Plans thrown out the window and plants left on the windowsill. Dreams that feel real and real that hums dream.

I came home minus my old phone, but plus a new little gold loop on my finger. Stacked with my precious “amis” ring, my left hand is singing a whole new song, and I’m into it. :)

I also came home with pages of notes and the start of a possible book (!). Now all that’s left to do is write, write, write. And that’s my Saturday night, friends.

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.

ninety degrees in the eternal city

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The weather has been…well, sweaty here in Providence, and it’s bringing back sweet, sticky memories of hot, hot Roma. I suppose it’s about time I got down to sharing my Italy photo diary, so here goes Day 1.

Four days in Rome. A claustrophobic climb to the top of St. Paul’s Basilica rewarded us with a stunning terra cotta panoramic of the city, Rome reflecting the sun with its warm, glowing tettos. The Sistine Chapel, The Trevi Fountain, The Spanish Steps…no historic stone unturned, I assure you.

Days of sweaty sight-seeing in Cathedral-appropriate attire spilled into cold showers, apertivo, and cobblestone strolls to this piazza or that. Many a family dinner, with 2 pizzas for the table, vino flowing from one end of the table to the other and back again, children’s choirs spontaneously rising behind us, a lone cellist filling the hour with that warm, sweeping sound.

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last 3 photos by Michael Collins.

the day we got engaged(!!!)

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The morning began with a walk to one of our favorite coffee shops, Fragments, with two of our best friends.

Then off to Marchée Bastille to share a crêpe and do some people-watching. You insisted on buying me a bundle of lavender…

Off to discover a new-to-me Parisian path- La Promenade Plantée. Serenity in a french highline, walking eye-to-eye with the most romantic rooftops in the world.

Then on to another new discovery, Village St-Paul, where we snuck through the block, to the inner layer of hidden shops brimming with antiques and the curiosities of yesteryear.

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A short walk to Le Marais for some famous falafel. A circle around a pop-up artisan market to remind us of Providence. A quick “bonjour!” to our friends at Place des Vosges.

Home for a shower and suspicious phone home.

On to Les Enfants Perdue for “no salades!” dinner.

A walk to the Green Linnet for “no wine!” Gypsy Jazz.

A quick whisk into a slow über to arrive at La Tour Eiffel, exactly at 12:01, minuit.

A “no fruit!” nutella crêpe, a walk to Trocadero, a seat on a bench, a conversation about bunions, babies, some bravery, and…

A question.

A “YES!”

A clock striking the first hour of the new day in the form of a glittering tower.

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