Our Daily Bread

I shared a meal with two dear friends from college this past Sunday. It was the perfect suburban getaway for gals living and working in the Big Apple. We gathered wood from my parents' backyard so we would be able to build a fire later that day. Next stop was Fairway Market for ingredients: a big baguette, three types of cheese (New Zealand Cheddar, Pepper Jack, and Fresh Mozzarella), fresh basil, some cream, chicken, and vegetables for a tossed salad. It took us realistically three to five minutes just to navigate the big basins that comprise the olive section. Angela picked sun dried tomatoes, I grabbed an olive medley, and Mary tracked down half sour pickles to accompany the bread and cheese. Groceries- check. We snuck in some munchkins and coffees for the ever so brief drive home.  I am of the belief that there is always time for a Dunkin run.

After settling in at home, we chopped and chatted. Munched on bread, olive oil, and too much cheese, if there can ever be too much cheese. Next came the main course, creamy pesto over fettuccine with chicken. We never really made a dent in the salad which is to be expected when there is bread and cheese to be had. Olives count as vegetable intake though, right?  All the while, we had refreshing conversation. Scratch that. Let's call it what it was - a frantic vent session. It was also refreshing though,  long overdue, and entirely necessary.

It had been quite a while since we were all together in one place, probably since graduating actually. Granted texting and email allow for people to stay quite connected these days, but still pale in comparison to interaction face-to-face. Actually hearing what it's like to LOL together. We covered a wide variety of topics. Put girls in a room together and this is bound to happen. Guys, parents, jobs, friends, body image, weddings, dreams, fears; you name it and we probably discussed it. The pressure we either self impose or feel from others to succeed, to have everything all at once. Our desperate attempts to prioritize goals all the while trying to remain grounded and calm. How we fall short of the staying calm part. Thus is early adulthood.

It is characteristic of our generation to expect a lot, and quickly. I think Charles wrote "Great Expectations" about us. Sounds about right. By 24, we feel like we should have it all mapped out. The next decade if not more carefully delineated in a step by step list. Who we'll marry and where we will be professionally and geographically. There are external factors at play, too.  Mothers with baby fever asking about grandchildren or at the very least checking in on the latest adventures in finding a mate. Friends walking down the aisle and siblings enrolling in grad school.

While all of our concerns vary slightly, there is a common need for reassurance. A quote or a consoling gesture is often enough to quell anxiety. I discovered I am not the only one who Googles "inspiring quotes" when I feel disconcerted or lost. The right quote can typically calm my nerves for like an hour, or at least distract me enough that I forget what provoked anxiety in the first place. Needless to say I am quite frequently in search of the perfect words of reassurance. Some daily bread for my soul. I have no problem finding and eating actual bread, obviously.

Robert Louis Stevenson was on to something here:

"The best things in life are nearest:  Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you.  Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life." 

The girls and I discussed lighter topics once we got through the rough stuff. Football, country music, and the anatomy of the perfect S'more. We grabbed skewers, jumbo marshmallows, Reese's cups as well as Hershey bars, and roasted them as the sun went down. For a moment, we huddled around the fire, forgot about expectations and indulged in the here and now, the path of just right before us.

On Marriage

I am certainly no authority on marriage; nor do I claim to be. But every so often you come across something that makes you stop and consider. This video is one of those things. 

A bit of background: My colleague, Mike, is recently married. He was actually married the week I started working at Look North. What is so special about this coincidence is I am able to celebrate my anniversary of having found a home at work, at the same time he is celebrating milestones as husband to Grace. Mike and I, along with Greg and Joanna ( another married couple I admire and also my colleagues) all love to eat, so we find many things to celebrate over good food. Beyond mealtime conversations between bites of falafel, and the daily web design and development process, we share personal triumphs too. Enter Mike and Grace's wedding trailer, below.

This video was poignant for lots of reasons. Primarily because I am a giant sap, but also because I believe in love. These kinds of messages are far too under publicized.

Marriage is a complicated institution, and is not an end all for happiness; not in the least. But for people who choose to enter into such a union, there are many stressful preparatory elements to consider, one of the most prominent being the wedding itself. There are television series (plural) focused on the monster like behavior some brides adopt during the planning phase. (Or maybe they were monsters to begin with?) Beyond this perversion of personality, there is the material preparation. The ring, the venue, the dress, the menu, the favors, the ceremony. The invitations too. All of these elements sometimes complicate the underlying objective: being married. 

Please don't misunderstand me. Weddings are a significant event, one people likely envision for a long time before/if it happens.  Planning an event, however, probably shouldn't receive more attention than cultivating the life you make with another person, a person you hopefully love. I more than most, love a good piece of cake and dressing up, but I also imagine the craze over the day itself is fleeting. The union entered will carry on far beyond that night, ideally. Depending on the size of your fete, finanical strain may last quite a while too! Side note: Invitations and confections are critical to any event, regardless. If you have need of these things, check out my uber talented cousin Angela.

Marriage shouldn't be a last resort, or an obligation. It shouldn't be a party and a honeymoon. Nor a construct of culture we have to conform to. It is not to be measured in the price tag of a gown, tally of utensils on the table, price per head, or number of karats.  It should simply be a choice. A choice to love another person enough to confront this complicated world by their side, for better or worse. To be faithful. To think of him or her, before yourself...

But what do I know!? If you want to learn a thing or two about marriage, ask my Nana. She and Papa will be married 59 years, this November. He bought her an iPad; bless them.

The Friend Zone

For most of my high school and college years, I resided in this trying place known as "The Friend Zone". Because I am now happily in a relationship that was well worth the wait, I think it is finally ok to share my tales of woe. An episode of MTV's Girl Code, a hilarious show I have grown somewhat fond of, sparked a memory for me. Since the pseudo-scars of early womanhood have healed, why not make a joke of it. For a giggle, or ten, check it out.

In high school, I was blissfully busy with schoolwork and extracurricular activities. If possible, from what I recall, I was not super preoccupied with finding a mate. Sure I had crushes, and many awkward let downs. When you hear the guy you were pining after found a super hot girlfriend. Haven't we all? If not, just pretend to understand. I also kept in the back of my mind the belief that high school guys were a tad immature and just made better friends, and I would find a companion in college. Also, I did not have a lot of game. I think my Dad maybe even told me this once, but he meant it lovingly like, "Oh Francesca, don't be concerned, other girls just have more game than you. But never change. You are perfect, and someone will adore you like I do." Aw, thanks Dad.

College came and there were indeed handsome and bright guys all around. Many had girlfriends, or just worked the masses with their dimples and long LAX bro hair. Nice to look at no less, but alas they were not my match.  I developed a considerable crush on a guy in one of my classes, who was genuinely a kind and intelligent person. I thought we were connecting on many levels, and I guess in retrospect we were. But he fed me a classic "Friend Zone" line, that he had just gotten out of a long, serious relationship. Today, he is dating a young man as equally as handsome as he, so I suppose it wasn't me that was the issue,  just my gender.

I think I probably tried too hard, mostly because I really wanted to find a companion. Over-thinking every word and deed, and generating in my mind these elaborate justifications that the guy I liked really did like me too. Until I read this, and it became clear. He was just not that into me.

I met a few guys older than me, at church of all places. Thank you Jesus, for hooking a sister up! One was a grad student, and the other an alum about 10 years older than me. Another lightbulb in retrospect: Francesca, look for older guys.  Nothing ever got too serious, but I do believe that everyone you meet has something to teach you if you look hard enough. I came away from every encounter more capable of navigating the WTF moments of dating/ trying to date.

There were always warning signs that I was in the "Friend Zone" and now I can identify them. Some of the more obvious ones, I failed to recognize:

"You will make a wonderful mother someday" - This melted my heart, of course. What a compliment. But when coming from a young man it typically meant, you are a nurturing and kind soul, but I do not want to date you.

"Want to study with me?" - Again, super flattering. Someone admires my intellect? He must want to be my boyfriend. No, sorry. If he wants to be your boyfriend, he will ask you to dinner or try to bed you, ASAP. 

"I really enjoy your company, but..." - The but is never, ever good. If a guy wants to be with you, he will break down a wall to do so. Although I tried ever so diligently to prove myself otherwise, it just wasn't meant to be in many cases. 

I wish I had known some of these things then, but I have emerged from the battlefield and am doing just fine. It was not all for naught. For other wallflowers that may have a hard time dating, do not be discouraged. Celebrate who you are, and don't change for anyone. Although it will be saddening in the moment, the best is yet to come. Relationships that do not materialize prepare you for different and hopefully better things and well, people.

Someone will love every part of you.

"He has achieved success...

...who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction." -Bessie Stanley, 1905

Hello Friday, nice to see you again. And September... Where the heck did you come from? Regardless, happy to have you both. Sunshine, thank you for joining the party. It would be terribly dull without you.

The weeks go quickly and if I don't take a moment to appreciate the small moments that comprise them, I may miss something special. The angst of young adulthood sometimes leaves me a bit on edge, though.

That's why I love, love, love this quote. A few read throughs, and five deep breathes and I am back in a happy place. To whom do I owe my thanks? I was interested to know more about the woman this consoling declaration is attributed to. A Google search of Bessie Stanley revealed a series of entries about this poem but little else.

Thanks to this nifty website, I read the history behind the poem Success. It was commonly credited incorrectly to the prolific Ralph Waldo Emerson. According to Bessie's great granddaughter, the poem  was the winning entry in a contest run by Brown Book Magazine in 1904. The winnings of $250, back then was enough to pay off the author's mortgage and then some. My, how things have changed.

There were no other books or projects by Bessie Stanley widely publicized. Sure the early 1900's lacked the same, robust methods of documentation we have these days. Nonetheless, her name is not readily recognized, nor can I seem to find other things she left behind. Just this brief paragraph, which in essence does exactly what she defines as a "success".

Thank you, Bessie. You've done well.

With much love,

2013

Love, Loss, and What I Ate

A few weeks back, I saw a cute off-Broadway show called Love, Loss, and What I Wore by the sisterly writing duo Nora and Delia Ephron. Based on a book of illustrations by Ilene Beckerman it recounts the memorable moments of the author's life in terms of the lovely and sometimes awful clothes that she happened to be wearing at the those points in time. She spoke of first days of school, first dates, first marriages, and even second marriages for that matter. Prominent times in her life remained vividly affixed in her memory thanks to the colorful frocks and fanciful pieces that she remembered having on as she lived each day in and out. The show itself featured 5 women speaking in monologue and conversation format. Ranging in age, race, and experience, the women's stories were abundant and pleasantly varied. I was consistently laughing so hard, I felt pain deep in my stomach. That's the best kind of laughter and it was such a fun evening out with my mom, nana, sister, and family friend Joy. There was even a great sense of camaraderie for everyone in the audience; it was deeply personal and very relatable for each and every woman in attendance. Feeling fat, feeling thin, feeling fashionable or fake, happy or sad, included or not in the midst of family members, friends, and even strangers. The commonalities run through every woman's life and I strongly recommend seeing the play for a good laugh and a nice reflection on times past.

If, however, I had to write my own play, mine would be called Love, Loss, and What I Ate!Thinking within the constraints of the play, I too have very fond and vivid memories of past experiences, and yes I remember exactly what I was wearing. That dreadful sweater or a sweet and soft party dress. But more so, I remember exactly what I ate...

On my sixteenth birthday, we shared an enormous Cannoli filled sheet cake. Top layer was chocolate cake, and bottom was vanilla joined in the center by fresh raspberry preserves and chocolate chip filled cannoli cream. Instead of sickeningly sweet icing, it was covered in freshly whipped cream that was light and fluffy just how I like, with a subtle hint of vanilla.

When I was just fifteen, I went to the UK for a study abroad program and my host mum Dawn made us a gluten free pizza, as her daughter Nicola was allergic. I was not too excited to eat something as odd as pizza less the gluten but it was divine. The dough was unbelievably tasty and it was loaded with the freshest of vegetables. Mushrooms, broccoli, corn, peppers...you name it and it was on that pizza. I am not sure I ever enjoyed pizza more, but maybe that can be attributed to the company with whom I ate.

After playing outside one evening during the great snowstorm of 1996, my sister and I ran inside frozen to pieces in search of something warm. Mom had already prepared tomato soup with white rice (how we liked it)and warmly grilled cheese. We had hot cocoa as well with some whipped cream. We licked the bowl spotless and settled by the fire for a safe night in, snow falling at the window.

My first date ( I mean a real legit date with an actual man and not some foolish boy), this handsome guy Mark took me for Middle Eastern food at this great nook called Neyla in Georgetown, Washington DC. I had hummus with warm pita bread, generously seasoned chicken, and crisp vegetables. We split dessert :)

So maybe you do not recall what you had for breakfast this morning, but what I mean to say is that alot of emotions we feel are dictated by what's on our plate. We build memories around the dinner table, in the corner booth at the city diner, sitting all snug at our favorite coffee shop, or at some bar we cannot remember the name of; but that cutie you were talking too... you remember him alright! Next time you are feeling particularly elated, stop and think about what you happen to be eating. You never know, it may shape your favorite tradition or comprise a story you tell your grand babies someday.