The Good

One of my favorite past times in DC is to walk across the Francis Scott Key Bridge from Rosslyn, VA, to Georgetown, DC.  You can see the Monument, the Watergate, and Roosevelt Island.  You will also experience low-flying planes on their way to Reagan. Georgetown in all its snootiness didn't want a Metro stop within it's superior borders so the only way to get there by public transportation (besides by bus) is to take the Metro to Rosslyn or Foggy Bottom (in DC) and walk a bit to get to M Street (the Park Avenue/Newbury Street equivalent for DC). 

Much to my dismay, I have not inherited my mother's green thumb.  I kill most plants I bring into my apartment. However, these two - a basil plant and pretty succulent - are still around and doing pretty well. I guess I am growing up after all. Yeah, right.

I noticed sunsets here more than any other place I have lived. Maybe that's because I live on the tenth floor and have an incredible view of the sky. This also the land of roof decks. Most of my friends have them here and during these warm days, I have been lucky to have spent many an evening lazing about various roof patios and eating an insane amount of ridiculously delicious food.

One of the things I love most about him is how serious and intellectual he can be. From what the future holds to what type of hot sauce to choose. Seriously, he should be a professional taste tester just for the awesomely intense face he makes when he's trying a new type of food.

My future haunt. I visited here a few weeks ago and was thrilled to walk on these hallowed grounds. I still cannot quite believe that this is all happening. The mere thought of being here is like a warm, energizing elixir to my wandering spirit. More updates to follow in a few weeks!

Quite frankly, the best margaritas I have ever made. Well, that WE made on the Fourth. Although the headache I had the next morning was quite frankly the worst one I have ever had. Just not the girl I was at 22.

I like us.

Clear and Bright

I took this shot at a tiny point near my parents' house in Maine. I have also shot this place here on a moody October day. During the summer, I would often ride my bike over to this place to read or to just sit in the silence of the quiet ocean inlet.

Today the expanse is frozen, white, so incredibly bright. It almost burns your eyes. The sun is brilliantly reflected. In some ways, I think this is what heaven must feel like. Brilliant. Pure. An alabaster haven.

Not that this winter is my heaven. It's been so bitterly cold and snow-filled. My heaven would only have snow from December until mid-January.

During the past few days, I have been furiously packing and tying up loose ends in Maine. In the midst of all this chaos, I realize how much I will miss Maine. I love this place so much. This is the place where I have lived the longest. But I have such yearnings for new experiences, new people, and a varied life. I so crave a varied life.

So I'll leave for now with the promise to someday return. To return, when my life once more requires the calm, clean tempo of a Maine lifestyle.

Only Here

There is a luminance to this city.  A magic. Maybe it's the venerability of the city. What it means to be a New Yorker from an outsider's perspective. Everyone walks with a purpose, resolve. And a secret knowing. Knowing how to make this metropolis work for them. They also sport this kind of worn, weary look as though just been awoken from a deep sleep. The lull of New York City.

There is a true originality here. And everyone is unfinished, constantly evolving into deeper parts of themselves. This city is rich for the imagination and the writer's mind. I see a hundred stories waiting to be written as I walk down the street. The New York City sidewalk scene never stagnates. It offers you everything in true individualism. I love this. Here I feel I can be the person I always wanted to be without judgement.

But then I wonder if I can always live on the edge of comfort, in the thick of passion and the grit of reality. I thrive with some room for respite and solitude. There are scant pockets of solitude in New York.  I wonder if I can truly find these pockets in this ardent city. We'll see. I wish for a sign to show me the way. And then I realize that sometimes we need to make our own signs.

(Image found via The Sartoralist)

My Right Arm's About to Fall Off And Other NYC Adventures

I sit here on a wooden bench, softened by rain and age. I am in Madison Square Park - calm, clean, and wireless.  Go figure. I have a weather eye on the Flatiron between the leafy cloud of trees before me. I can also see the back of the Shake Shack - that venerable New York eatery.

The city is unsettled by a burgeoning tropical storm that displayed its brute force early this morning but has only threatened apocalyptic conditions all day. The humidity feels epic to me, a regular summer's afternoon in Bangkok. An hour into my sitting, the winds rise and there is an element of coolness, a reminder of our northern latitude. Being in this humidity is like swimming in the town pool - warm water  mixed with the grime of too many people.

It has been quite a day - begun early. I awakened to hear a great wind and flooding rain. No shower to be had since I do not want to hinder the morning routine of my friend's roommates. Instead, I spritz some  New York City water on my face and suit up for the professional game of getting myself a job. The suit is pretty nice - Calvin Klein - a gift from my mother. Lucky girl that I am.

I layer on my trusty black trench - a modern woman's armor against the elements - and head out into the fray. Walking down Houston to the subway, I am promptly overtaken by wave upon wave of thick, sultry air. I peel off my trench coat while waiting for the F train to bring me to Chelsea for my first headhunter appointment of the day.

The removed coat is another thing to carry in addition to my black purse/computer/all purpose bag. I need my life with me for I will not return to home base until ten o'clock in the evening. The humidity of the day makes it hard to think, to process, to make a game plan.

I arrive at the Chelsea location of the first headhunter and head to the fourth floor. Mistake. Turns out the fourth floor houses a small design firm. And due to the small size of their office, the conference area was right next to the elevator area. And isn't the entire company - five people - having their morning meeting in said conference area. So there I was, a foreigner invading their space and not one person acknowledged me. The meeting continued as I furiously pressed the down button on the elevator, realizing the office I needed was on the second floor.

The waiting room of the headhunter was narrow and awkward as I filled out reams of paperwork and met with a few associates who were nice, jolly. What prompts a person to pursue a career in staffing? Is it a lifelong dream? It looks like a safe, comfortable job. Everyone is well-dressed and put together. I don't feel so put together with my schlepping bags and bathing in the humid glory of a late September day in NYC. It's been a long time since I've felt that safe, put-together emotion.

No rain yet, but the air is pregnant with the idea of a downpour.

I hop on the subway towards Columbus Circle and the site of my next headhunting appointment. I duck into Dean and Deluca's for some free WiFi and the cheapest lunch to be bought the: D&D-brand water and a ham and cheese croissant. Beside me is a group of suits having a business meeting. I type, type, type on the computer. Sublets? Interesting jobs? I am tired of Craigslist. Few safe-sounding sublets and the ones I answer never return my inquiries. What's the secret to this NYC renting situation, eh?

I soon stride down the street to the next headhunter that happens to be right across from Carnigie Hall. I think about Judy. Garland, that is. This company places hedge fund folks, but they also deal in administrative assistants. Oh, administrative. Is this what my English degree hath wrought? I am interviewed in a taupe room by more people who look comfortable in their staffing jobs. One girl has really cool earrings that look like giant paperclips strung together.

Leaving this last appointment, I realize that I MUST get out of this suit. As lovely as it is, it is sticking to my skin which is nofunsville. I jet over to Union Square and peruse the cheapest of the cheap, Forever 21. I find a cheap red shirt dress. But where to change? Whole Foods restroom? Putrid. Change in the changing room of another store? Sketchy. Walk some more. Reach Madison Square Park and pass by....why, it's chef Mario Batali's new Italian marketplace in Fifth Avenue, Eataly! Think the food hall at Harrod's in London. It's truly spectacular. Little restaurants and grocery stores. I recently saw it featured on Martha Stewart. So, I know it's new AND possibly clean. And it is. So, off comes the suit and on comes the dress and relief. At Eataly's coffee shop, I order an iced cappuccino. Luscious.

Then I walk over to this bench at Madison Square Park. It's Louise Berkowitz's bench, or "the mayor of Gramercy Park." I didn't know you could be mayor of a park!? Neat.

The humidity and pace of the day wear on me. I feel a little crazy. I think it was inevitable that I could up crazy and journaling a New York City park bench. I like the way the lights of the Madison Square Market twinkle between the trees. Sprightly and comforting.

A Woman's View of Afghanistan

The evening before the ninth anniversary of September 11th,  I attended a talk given by American photojournalist, Paula Lerner, who discussed the lives of Afghan women today. Lerner has collaborated with The Globe and Mail's (an excellent news source) Jessica Leeder to produce a series of multimedia presentations called Behind the Veil, a look into the experience of being a women in Afghanistan.  I highly recommend checking out all the website has to offer: vibrant interviews and on-the-ground knowledge of the current Afghan situation from the view of the women, who I believe are the most affected by the strife currently plaguing a country that has so captivated the Western world.

During her talk, Lerner spoke about her travels to Afghanistan and what it is like to be an American female freelance journalist reporting from one of the most dangerous places in the world.

Things I learned/realized from this talk:

• Due to Islamic customs, Afghan women are not allowed to be in the presence of men who are not their family members, therefore male journalists cannot report the stories of these women. Therefore, it is only the female journalist who can tell the story of the Afghan woman, which signifies the incredible importance of training intelligent, compassionate female journalists and sending them safely to places such as Afghanistan to tell the underreported stories of groups whose story might be missed due to local laws and mores.
• Security is at an all-time low in Afghanistan - the epicenter of danger residing in Kandahar. Kabul is relatively safer place, so Lerner has done most of her reporting there. The fact that the Behind the Veil takes place in Kandahar makes it all the more fascinating that a Western female journalist was able to report these stories of women who were brave enough to risk their lives for the interview.
• Despite the strict Sharia customs, Afghan women have found ways to make a living, mostly by sewing or beekeeping, both of which can be done at home and do not cut into the industries of men. An example of this is Kandahar Treasure, a soon-to-be online marketplace that sells the wares of Afghan women working to support their families. Their income means protection for themselves and also for their daughters. Young girls are married off when their family needs money. Additional income earned by Afghan women mean that Afghan daughters may have more time to be little girls. 

Much of the conversation after Lerner's talk centered around gender issues, and many people decried the chauvinistic, oppressive nature of Afghan men. On this point, I take issue about the often superficial level of criticism. I do not believe that berating the male gender will solve any problem (in fact, it may exacerbate the issue). Most areas in Afghanistan where Sharia law is strictly enforced are controlled by the Taliban, a select group of male extremists who instill fear through display of menace and force. An entire group should not be condemned for the actions of a few members. In fact, many Afghan men support the liberation and rights of women but might be killed if they voiced/showed their opinions too loudly. The situation for Afghan women is not black and white but rather a rare grey color not unlike the veil worn by a Kandahari woman as she discreetly makes her way down the street.

Photo credit: Paula Lerner 

Country Road

South of Congress, Austin, Texas

It's a late August Friday. The sun beats down in an old, hard way. The wind ruffles summer hair. All I can think of is taking a big, ol' road trip across a great prairie, listening to my new favorite, Ryan Bingham. Happy Friday and may all your roads be long and joyous.

The Secret Life of an English Lady

On this rain-filled day, I miss England so deeply. I long to be back there. And then I wonder, why can't that day be now? Oh, life is indeed a complicated thing. But I am sitting on a clean slate, so anything is possible. And my poetry tutor did say that I had become more British than him by time I had finished my year abroad.

So many thoughts, so much spinning of the world! I will take a little time today to enjoy a piping hot cup of English tea and hope you find similar comfort.

Images found here and here (the second one comes from Lola's Room Etsy shop)

A Lovely Wedding By the Sea

Last weekend, I celebrated the marriage of my high school friend, Emma, to David, a charming young Scotsman. They were married at The Bradley Inn, a darling property in Pemaquid, Maine. The reception was held under the traditional white tent and the decorations were gorgeous: green, blue, and yellow bunting and twinkle lights decorated the tent's ceiling, fresh summer flowers sat prettily in sparkling blue Ball jam jars, a four-course meal was served, consisting of lobster bisque, an heirloom tomato salad, vegetable risotto (the vegetarian option), and a choice between vanilla cake with raspberry filling or carrot cake. There was lots of dancing and revelry under a moonlit sky. After the bride and groom departed, the younger folks in the wedding party strolled down the road to the Pemaquid Lighthouse to continue the celebrations into the wee hours of the morning. Despite our joyful noise, there was a profound quiet walking through the tall, spare pines to the rocky cliffs of Pemaquid Point.

I rose early the next morning and returned to the point, gazing out upon the cool, lulling palette of the morning sea. Grey-blue colors, peppered with the soft pink of the rising sun. I remembered the first time I came to this spot - eight years old and bemused by climbing all the craggy rocks and discovering the vernal pools and shallow ecosystems. And now I was here, let's say many years later, and everything was quite unchanged. But at the same time, always moving. The sea, cold and powerful, crashing against the rough-hewn rocks. I've missed being close to the sea. There is nothing quite like the feeling of the cold Atlantic air against your skin. It was a peaceful moment amidst these crazy days.

A Capitol Life

Pounding the pavement in Washington, DC meant a lot of knocking on doors, meetings and greetings with friends of friends, and toting my life around a sultry city for nine days. I have never been so glad for free wireless and an glass of iced tea. I rode all the lines of the Metro, spreading my wings and experiencing the city from all points (and by city, I also mean Maryland and Virginia as well). I end this journey with a few possible leads and the chance that I could be returning in about a week to live permanently.

Living in this city has been on my mind for the past three years, and now it could actually happen. A surreal thought. When a dream crosses over to a probable reality, you almost don't know what to do. And I think about missing my family and so many of my Boston friends, but I also have many friends in DC and the chance to pursue a career that I have always wanted. And so I jump. And hope that I can finally catch that brass ring.

In the midst of this job business, I found some lovely aspects to the city, which made me want to move all the more.

The first lady of song's dress at the Smithsonian

Children from all over the world playing under immortal words

One of many stately homes in Capitol Hill (near Eastern Market)

A "tree" in the Sculpture Garden at the National Gallery of Art

Our bill at Firefly, a delightful brunch place in the heart of bustling Dupont Circle

All images taken by my iPhone camera and processed through the application, ShakeItPhoto.

Pounding the Pavement

Though I probably won't look as chic as her, I am running off to Washington, DC to pursue my career aspirations! I will pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, networking, begging, beseeching the Washington, DC job market to take pity on a poor, yet bright young thing. And I will not take no for an answer! I will try to post during my adventure! À Bientôt!

Image found here (via The Sartoralist).

Coming Home

Last evening, my family and I drove down the peninsula to procure ourselves some delicious lobster from a place we have been frequently for almost 20 years - Shaw's Lobster Company in New Harbor, Maine. We lived in Round Pond (seen above), a neighboring fishing village when we first moved to Maine and returning to that place every summer always feels like coming home. A quiet hamlet with pretty historic homes and kind people, it was an ideal place for my nine year-old self to find warmth and adventure.

The ritual lobster of Shaw's

The local general store down the road from where we once lived. For $1, one can enjoy a paper bag full of traditional sweets and the company of the local shopkeeper.

A fleeting glimpse of the old house - once painted a stark white, now in earthy tones, but still lovely amidst the verdant yard.

July's Joy

Maine in the summer is an easy perfection. Enjoying the love and humor of family, the gorgeous sun-kissed weather, and the incomparable scenery of a simple life adjacent to the stunning Atlantic Ocean.

Patriot games

Friday evenings at Five Islands Lobster Co.

A delicious friend

The view from our picnic table

Low tide at Popham Beach

Big summer sky

The Look of Pride and Prejudice

{I love the light in this first scene and the fact that Elizabeth Bennett (Keira Knightley)
is reading a book while walking- something I myself do quite often}

Many people hold that the 2005 film Pride and Prejudice is nothing in comparison to the 1995 BBC version. My mother is chief among them. For the reasons pertaining to the way the 1995 version paid such loyalty to Jane Austen's novel, I do agree with those naysayers for the most part.

However, I have a special place in my heart for the 2005 film. For the feeling it evokes through its incomparable cinematography, beautifully-composed music, and gorgeous set design.

On a personal note, I studied abroad in England near many of the locations used in the film, which also premiered in Bath during my time there. The film - especially the soundtrack - takes me back once more to a splendid time in my life. It feels like coming home to the England I love.

Watching the 2005 film calms my soul. A quiet homage to the simple joys of English life.

I love that the film reveals the Bennett's laundry, showing the authentic, chaotic nature of their family life.

The Bennett's home appears in constant disarray - ribbons spilling out of boxes, tea cups left on sidetables - which is a very realistic interpretation of the family conceived by Austen. Though the height of propriety was observed during these times, I do believe that a family like the Bennetts would have acted and kept a house in this manner. Another note is the costume designs. Every character - especially the women - wears outfits that suits his or her personality and generation. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett have clothes from the Revolutionary period (three-cornered hats and corseted blouses), while the younger daughters don empire-waisted gowns from the early nineteenth century. Jane Bennett's (Rosamund Pike) clothes are soft, flowing silk and chiffon in feminine pastels while Elizabeth Bennett's (Keira Knightley) attire consists of darker, earthier tones in linen and cotton. The cut of Elizabeth's clothes has a hint of masculinity, perhaps a homage to her progressive personality.

I love this realistic, unapologetic shot of the Bennett girls (Carey Mulligan, Rosamund Pike, and Jena Malone) as their disheveled selves are driven home from the Netherfield ball.

The thing this film does the best is capturing light. This incredible shot of Elizabeth and Darcy (Matthew Macfadyen) frames the morning light shining between them and their newly realized love. Simply breathtaking.


What woman wouldn't want to stand on top of a cliff, getting a bird's eye view of her world? Perhaps this scene is a tad dramatic, but England offers such incredible precipices, so why not show them off? While living in Bath, England, I would often climb one of the seven hills surrounding the city to a meadow that looked down upon the picturesque buildings of Bath. There is something about being perched above your daily life that brings such perspective. I have not found such a place since but am always on the lookout!

And here we have a shamelessly gratuitous shot of Mr. Darcy. . Though Colin Firth will always be THE Mr. Darcy, Matthew MacFadyen did a fine job in the role. This scene where he walks through the mist will ALWAYS set my heart aflutter.

The first proposal scene was shot at the Temple of Apollo, part of the Stourhead Estate in Wiltshire - not far from where I lived in Bath. I remember visiting the Temple and standing in the very spot where Elizabeth stands in the above photo. I recall feeling the history and utter romance of it all in this immortalized place.



Images found here, here, and here.

Person | Place

Do you ever think of a place as a person? I do. For me, Boston is the type of person you know so well that it takes no effort at all to be with him...sometimes to the point that he becomes kind of a bore. His good days, his bad days, his quirks, likes, dislikes, gamut - all predictable. You feel safe with him, sure, but just not excited.

Knowing every little habit and tick of this city means you become annoyed when he refuses to change or when he does that one thing that really irks you (like blowing crazy wind up your skirt whenever you walk anywhere or be fashionably homogeneous). Some women prefer a man who's predictable, safe, the eternal prep. Well, ladies, have I got a city for you!

Seriously, it's endearing how much he tries to change and yet, he never quite makes it like that renaissance chap, New York City (don't ask me why these two cities are male and Los Angeles is a female as I don't make the rules). NYC is a true metropolis, through and through, complete with authentic vibrancy of culture and character that Boston has been lacking for me as of late.

I have been trying to break up with Boston for about three years now, and he's a tough cookie to relinquish because he can be very distinctive and genuine. I judge myself the harshest for staying with him this long and to be honest, I know that most of the time, he's doing nothing wrong, just being himself. And you shouldn't be in a relationship to try and change someone, correct?

So I suppose it is a matter of running the relationship to its full course and then moving on from someone, or in this case, some place. Boston means comfort, safety, and offers its inhabitants a lovely place to reside. But this girl has had her fill. She has grown out of this place like a pair of high water slacks (or pants, but I like slacks because that's what my grandmother used to call them). Boston deserves to have someone who will love all that it has to offer and I deserve a city that will excite me, challenge me, and leave me wondering at the end of the day what wondrous adventure I will experience next.

imissthisplace

A view from Wiscasset - which calls itself "the prettiest village in Maine" - and the Sheepscot River. I stood in this spot at two years of age, dwarfed by two rotting schooners, the Hesper and the Luther Little. The schooners were removed in 1998 and all that remains today are rotting remnants of the dock that once led to the ships. I took my dad out to a thank-you-for-doing-my-taxes-cause-I-am-purely-an-English-Literature-soul lunch on Saturday and we stopped in Wiscasset so that I could patronize my favorite stationary shop, rock paper scissors (they sell the best notebooks - better than Moleskine - and eclectic laptop sleeves)!

An Easter supper table, decorated by the Bowen women. We know how to pull a fine table together. I love when we pull out our good china and silverware. Such refinement.

Raspberry sherbet and fruit salad, served in antique dishes, to cleanse the palate between courses.
My mother's Easter basket - fresh blooms to herald the spring season.

An Easter mantle filled with eggsflowerstwigsbunnies.

My whole body and spirit breathe such sighs of relief when I journey homeward. I unravel the tightly-wound cord of my person to become a free creature of time and the earth. Barefoot, I wandered around the green, mossy knoll in the backyard, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of spring. Hair tendrils askew, dirt-stained toes, I felt singular with this spring moment in Maine. God in heaven, I miss this place from whence I came. Someday, I must return. It is decreed in my soul that I will rest in the country once more. There are many days where I pray this return be soon. Please soon.