I've noticed that the weather is a topic I often mention here. Since moving to the east coast I've been made more aware of its moods and modes than at any other time in my life (except possibly my first 60 below zero windchill in Chicago!). In Philadelphia I've been scared of the weather with cloud-to-ground lightening, crashing thunder, flash floods, and intense hail, snow and sleet. The heat and humidity have overwhelmed me, sweating and searing and transforming me into an irritable, nasty, lazy little grump.
But beginning yesterday evening, as Gus and I went for a late night walk, I could, at long last, feel the first hints of what will become my favorite season of the year, autumn.
Year after year, autumn is always my most productive season. Last night, I felt as if I awoke from a hibernation that had lasted, in some ways, all year long. In autumn's coolness I exercise more, sleep better and feel full of energy. I'm happier, healthier and more optimistic and confident than any other time during the year. Half-finished craft projects that collected dust all summer are resurrected and worked on in a flourish of gusto and intent. Books are finished, cupboards are reorganized, and miscellaneous I've avoided for months is finally dealt with. Summer clothes are taken to the dry cleaners before being stored away and woolens are shaken out and hung up in anticipation of chillier days.
Just between yesterday and today, I've been able to complete two craft projects that have been hanging on, in need of just a few finishing touches. One is my Woolpets fox (which was considerably more difficult than the hedgehog, I might add)...
...and the other is a fabulous and fancy bangle, the kit for which I purchased from French General.
I wish I could sustain my autumn self through the seasons, but I know from experience that isn't possible. There's just something in its magic that, for me, can't be conjured up at any other time during the year. And so although my beloved autumn will eventually freeze into winter, melt into spring and hang in the interminable heat of summer, with the passage of time it will eventually return and with it the moxie and merriment I feel today.
Now, off the computer and out into this beautiful (unofficial) fall evening!
Today is perhaps the best kind of day - small and quiet and close to home. The weather has served up a wonderful mix of blue skies and lazy clouds. The windows are raised to catch the breezes and sounds of the neighborhood as they float up to the treetops that are our view.
Over the last 13 years, Gus and I have spent many days just like today. His studies necessitate calm and quiet and I'm happy to oblige. It's reassuring to be at home together, each working on our separate projects but connected to one another through the quiet comforts of familiarity and care. Our cozy apartment ensures the other isn't more than a few steps away.
We've had an uncommon experience in that we've traveled together for weeks and months at a time, which means spending an extensive amount of uninterrupted time together. People warned us before we left on a four month trip abroad that we would tire of one another and need time alone, but that never happened. We joke that if we were to try and walk in opposite directions down a street that one of us would turn around and run to catch up with the other. I would hate to see something and not be able to share it with Gus! We continue to genuinely enjoy each other's company, day after day, at home or away. At the end of long travels we've returned home sad knowing that our time would now have to be divided among all the other people and responsibilities that regular life requires. Annoying? Maybe. But that's just the way we are, and it's gotten us this far. Here's to still being attached at the hip 50 years from now!
And so I'm sailing through the sea/
To an island where we'll meet/
You'll hear the music fill the air/
I'll put a flower in your hair./
Though the breezes through the trees/
Move so pretty, you're all I see/
As the world keeps spinning round/
You hold me right here right now./
Lucky I'm in love with my best friend/
Lucky to have been where I have been/
Lucky to be coming home again./
Lucky we're in love in every way/
Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed/
Lucky to be coming home someday./
--Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat "Lucky"
A shorter post today as we are putting the finishing touches on preparations for a dinner party this evening. We're hosting two couples, friends of ours from Gus' nurse anesthesia program.
As I've mentioned previously, we left much of what we own in a storage unit, the consequence of this being we live a pretty simple life possessions-wise. The size of our apartment can be referred to as either a size 6 shoebox or a chic Parisian rafter apartment (guess which I prefer?) so there isn't a lot of room for extras. We had to laugh this morning when we discovered we didn't even have enough forks for six, but a quick run to IKEA filled in the holes.
Our apartment is sparkling clean thanks to a great joint effort today. The floors smell of Murphy's, the fixtures shine and the laundry was brought in from the line just before the rain started. I've ironed the napkins and have a new striped tablecloth to put out. The menu is set and the fridge is stocked with all we need.
The plan for tonight (I'll put the ingredients from our garden in green):
To start, Picholines, fresh figs and Parmigiano Reggiano with Lillet Blanc on ice or a Stella Artois. For dinner, dry aged choice strip steaks, chive mashed potatoes and arugula, mixed greens, radish and cherry tomato salad with sparkling water, Chateauneuf-du-Pape and whatever else our friends bring. For dessert, lemon sorbet with raspberries, blackberries and a sprig of fresh mint.
Here's a photo of our bountiful harvest:
And a bouquet from our garden:
All the trappings of a fine and memorable evening with good food and great company!
I work for a master's program at the University of Pennsylvania and our offices are located in the physics and astronomy building. You're probably thinking wow, she works in some gorgeous 150-year old turreted brick building covered in ivy with fresh faced co-eds sliding down shiny wood banisters, right? Yeah, unfortunately not so much. Buildings like that do exist on campus (okay, can't guarantee the banisters), but somehow I ended up in a creepy 1960s maze of a building, replete with "The Shining" hallways, giant containers of nitrogen and some pretty ominous posted signs. Oh, and at times a decent amount of urban wildlife too.
Fortunately, the area of the building my office is located in has been remodeled but therefore boring to take pictures of. Here are some highlights from the rest of this strange dinosaur:
And so it came as a great surprise to find out Paramount and Sony Pictures are filming a movie in our building this week. Clearly, Hollywood needed a total throwback to the swinging 60s set and they will not be disappointed! This cinder block palace delivers on ancient stained office chairs, mountains of vertical files, useless office equipment (adding machine anyone?) and pockets of stale smoke smell. Rumor has it Reese Witherspoon stars in the flick but for all my snooping around I haven't turned up anything good nor has anyone asked me to be an extra.
P.S. My greatest find at work? This fantastical Jetsons-like space heater. It has a label stating "Chairman's Office" but it's mine now!
I just returned from yoga class at a studio in Narberth called The Yoga Garden. I started yoga in Seattle in 2003 and have kept it up ever since, sometimes more and sometimes less. I always come away from class feeling full yet refreshed at the same time. My mind is clearer and my body is buzzing with good energy and hard work!
I've never been crazy about typical yoga music - ambient, new age, Indian, Enya or nature sounds that invariably make me have to pee. I'm resigned to its presence at the studio but for my home practice I like to use something with a more personal meaning. When I was in college my grandma bought me a recording of Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th century mystic, abbess and composer of liturgical songs. Over the years I used her music when I needed to relax and focus, so when I started practicing yoga I found it to be the perfect accompaniment. (My favorite piece from this album, A Feather on the Breath of God, is the hauntingly beautiful Columba aspexit.) So consistently have I used these recordings that now even hearing a few bars elicits in me a Pavlovian reaction of turning inward, focusing my breath and letting go. In addition, the music always returns me to the memory of my grandma.
Although she died some time ago, I continue to be inspired by the way my grandma lived her life, and I look for her influence in mine. I know I inherited from her a love of Arby's and a knack for embroidery and crossword puzzles. I see in myself her silly and, at times, irreverent sense of humor and her love and gift for music. She taught me to always be on time, to dress up when you go downtown and to be a gracious host and guest. I know her commitment to the Lutheran church is a big reason for the strength of my faith today. I continue to strive toward her examples of patience, kindness and self-control and the quiet grace and peace with which she lived her life.
So far in my posts I've been very kind to my new hometown, and deservedly so. However, the time has come for me to touch on one of the less desirable aspects of the area, SEPTA. SEPTA stands for Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority and it is the somewhat maligned public transportation system that carries me to work each and every day.
I'll start by saying that despite its imperfections, I am glad SEPTA exists. Having been raised in a city that is still, in 2009, without a multifaceted mass transit system, thus forcing thousands of self-declared environmentally-conscious Seattleites to drive their Subarus alone to work every day, being able to ride the L to work is great. But that doesn't mean that this public transit system isn't without its faults.
I could go on and on with complaints about SEPTA...but don't worry I won't! My fellow citizens keep a well-documented watch on the every move of our transit provider at septawatch. For this post I'll just touch on two of the worst SEPTAisms.
No. 1: SEPTA employees "clean" the subway stations with a bright pink cleaner that smells of piss, vinegar and the slop of yesterday's Eagles game. This malodorous concoction is sloshed around with massive grayish-brown cotton mops left over from a time when American Bandstand was still bopping in West Philly. The stench of an unairconditioned SEPTA subway stop at 5:00 PM on a blistering hot day will literally peel your skin off. Some of my lowest Philadelphia moments have come while waiting for the afternoon train during a heatwave, sweat trickling down my back, feet aching in 4 inch heels, foodless and waterless, trying to take in the least amount of oxygen as humanly possible in order to save whatever nosehairs I may have left.
No. 2: If you skip the bag-o-tokens (yes, they still use fare tokens here) and purchase a SEPTA monthly pass, you are required to be identified on your pass as either "M" for male or "F" for female. This ridiculous nonsense has rightly outraged the transgendered community and its supporters and they're fighting for this archaic system to be put to rest immediately (follow their work here). Here is a photo of my decidedly female pass (note the girly-girl pink background the SEPTA gender popo required I use):
A quick post script: This was actually meant for yesterday but when we arrived home both our wireless internet and TV had been shut down so I wasn't able to post until today. I may be going out on a limb here but the two languishing Verizon bills addressed to our landlord we found in the mailbox might have had something to do with it...
At long last, the clouds lifted just a bit in my little corner of the world. For Philadelphialand, the clouds have been swept off to sea taking with them the stale humidity and leaving instead a fresher, cooler breeze and bright blue late summer skies. For me, after a difficult few weeks, I was finally able to get up the gumption to go for a run, made easier by the arrival of such a beautiful evening. As I set out in the magic of dusk, the air in the neighborhood was thick with a heady combination of late blossoming flowers, meat on the barbecue, buzzing cicadas and reverberating car stereos, all filling my lungs and my mind with strength and hope.
Many years ago when I attended Interlochen Arts Camp, the Indigo Girls gave a performance at the gorgeous outdoor auditorium that I have never forgotten. This time of year, at the tail end of summer, I never fail to think of the lyrics to one of their songs, "Mystery":
I could go crazy on a night like tonight/
when summer's beginning to give up her fight/
and every thought's a possibility/
and the voices are heard but nothing is seen/
why do you spend this time with me/
may be an equal mystery.
So inspired was I by all this that I signed up for a 10k run in late September, just outside of Baltimore. Gus and I have yet to visit "Charm City" so we plan to make a weekend out of it. The event's website promises free hot dogs and beer to race finishers which makes for an even sweeter carrot dangling in front of me as I train.
On a recent trip to Doylestown, Penn. I found in a quilt shop there the most fabulous craft project ever...Woolpets! In a surprising coincidence, the company is located in Suquamish, Wash. where I happened to have been potty trained at the ripe old age of twelve months at a family cabin overlooking the Puget Sound...but I digress. Woolpets make for a wonderful and rewarding craft project, and they can certainly be finished in a day. The result of your hard work is a darling little woolen animal to grace your home and warm your heart. I recently completed my first, the hedgehog, a photo of which I include here:
The technique of this craft project is wool felting which is surprisingly easy and quite forgiving of mistakes. The kit comes with everything you need, including very easy to follow instructions, you only need to supply your own needle and thread for attaching eyes and the like. Gus bought me the Red Fox kit as a surprise anniversary gift and I've halfway finished the sly guy. I highly recommend these for beginner and advanced crafty beavers alike.
Coincidentally, I'm currently enjoying a great read, The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. The book is translated from French and takes on the theme of class consciousness in modern society through the wealthy tenants of a Parisian apartment and the building's concierge. The story is thick with philosophy and high brow artistic references but is also funny and offers up great food for thought. It reminds us to not judge a book by its cover, but the cover of this book is one of the reasons I bought it so who knows.
These are truly the dog days of summer. It's hot, humid and eerily still -- not a single blade of grass is quivering. The air suffocates you like a big, wet, wool blanket. The forecast for today is severe thunderstorms with torrential downpours and frequent lightning and there is another flash flood warning in effect. Hurricane Bill threatens off the coast. Basically, it's a day to stay indoors. So before drama begins falling from the sky, the two of us went for a walk on Chamounix Drive down the Main Line in Wayne.
I was born and raised in the Evergreen State (the other Washington) and thought where I came from was the pinnacle of greenness. Come to find out not necessarily so. In the fine Emerald City, the green comes primarily from the gorgeous fragrant conifers that blanket the mountains and, now dwindling, the foothills surrounding the city. Here, the foliage is primarily deciduous which gives an incredibly lush almost overwhelmingly green feeling. In the summer after a real downpour, it's as if the palette of greens intensifies. The profuse green and wet heat often reminds me of our stay in the Panamanian Rainforest.
We love to get lost in the various neighborhoods on the Main Line. It is absolutely unbelievable how many incredibly fancy homes there are here. Literally thousands of homes, each more beautiful than the next. I'm sure I'll be posting many more photos in the future as I continue to be amazed at these photogenic, classy and well kept homes.
Fortunately, we were able to enjoy our walk and get back to the
car just before the rain intensified. We stopped by Whole Foods to pick up supplies for Swedish Pea Soup and plan to wait out the storm safely inside our cozy little corner of the world.
As I mentioned in my previous post, our time in Philadelphia hasn't always been easy. Moving 3,000 miles away from the world you know is really hard. It takes longer than you want to make friends, find the best grocery store and trade in your Best Foods for Hellman's. You rail against the edicts of No Turn On Red and No Alcohol in Grocery Stores. We went for months without anyone to turn to in a pinch, filled with the sickening feeling of being adrift in a sea where everybody knows somebody except you. Fortunately, within a week of our arrival, we gussied up and ventured downtown to introduce ourselves to a new, yet oddly familiar friend known as Gourmet Food!
How did she measure up against previous acquaintances? Philadelphia puts forth some seriously great cuisine and I'm not talking no cheesesteaks neither. (Yes, I've tried one and in my opinion, they're gross. If I want a good old fashioned gut bomb, I'll tuck into a Burgermaster Combo (sniff!) or a big slab of foie gras seared in butter. Gray meat and Cheese Whiz on a bun? Not this cowgirl.)
Before Philadelphia we lived in Portland, Oregon, the little darling of the foodie world. While we lived there, it was repeatedly touted by the New York Times as the place for fabulous food, young chefs, locally sourced produce and the rest of the trappings of a true swoon-worthy food destination. Apparently, this love fest didn't sit well with Philadelphians, as locals here felt their fair city should have been receiving these fine accolades. As someone who has experienced both towns and what they have to offer gastronomically, I can honestly say that PHL gives PDX a serious run for its money. Below are my top five favorite restaurants in Philadelphia and beyond. Of course there are plenty of other great places in town but these five I've visited numerous times and have always had a great experience overall (food, wine, ambience, service). In no particular order:
Sola
This little BYOB is in my top favorite restaurants of all time. It is located one town down the Main Line in Bryn Mawr in an unassuming strip of storefronts right on Lancaster Avenue. You wouldn't know it from standing on the sidewalk but inside they are cooking up some of the best food around. Dinner starts with an amuse bouche to prime the palate for what lies ahead. Of course, all the truly snooty Main Line ladies daintily pick off any offending micro greens before scraping the flat spoon over their perfectly capped teeth but we love them anyway, right? If the Peekytoe crab is on the menu, order it!
Little Fish
We recently celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary here. Tiny in size (maybe 10 tables tops) but the most fabulously fresh fish in Philly's Queen Village neighborhood. The menu is as small as the restaurant (5 starters, 5 mains) and the kitchen is right in the dining area. The staff have to go outside to access the basement to bring up needed supplies! But the food, oh the food. Their skate is to die for. There's always something on the menu with truffles and they usually have fresh oysters. Plus I hear the storefront used to be a big mobster hangout. So cool.
Vetri
Mario Batali asserts this may be the best Italian restaurant on the east coast and I'm not going to disagree. His love of Crocs and Gwyneth Paltrow is another issue entirely, but that's for another day. Housed in an old brownstone, the ambience and service are impeccable, and the house specialties of spinach gnocchi and foie gras pastrami? Ridiculous. If you can snag a reservation, go!
Parc
Say what you will about the Steven Starr restaurant empire but one thing you can't argue with is that with this installment someone did a damn good job reproducing a French bistro, down to the last detail. The only thing that gives it away, besides the sometimes too-big-for-their-britches clientele, is the size. It's huge! Other than that, it is as if they transported a Parisian bistro to the edge of Rittenhouse Square. What could make for a nicer leisurely lunch than a glass of Lillet Blanc followed by an omelette of fine herbes, a mixed green salad and buttered bread from Metropolitan Bakery? Looking out onto the verdant Square as a cool breeze sighs by, I can squint my eyes and just for a moment, transport myself back to Bistro "Le Pontarlier." At least until the laser-like voice of a plasticized Jersey girl barks out her order for a Cosmopolitan and a double order of fries. Sigh.
Ansill
It is with a heavy heart that I announce that this apple of our eye is, for now anyway, closed. Earlier this week we planned to indulge in David Ansill's fantastical food and drink only to find a sign on the door saying the restaurant has been shuttered for the remainder of the summer. Rumor has it this may be permanent and if this is indeed the case...where the hell am I gonna go to get my bone marrow fix, man? This is where you head for great offal in Philadephia. Good old fashioned snout to tail and everything in between cooking at this joint. Feet, ears, insides and outsides all served up in a creative and delicious way. Please don't go Ansill, come back to us! I include it here in the hope that by the time fall rolls around, they'll return victorious.
Is your mouth watering? Mine is. It's going on Friday night but no fancy prime time reservations for this chow hound this time around. I've got the best seat in the house at my favorite watering hole, my own kitchen with Chef Gus serving up a little sum sum cooked with a whole lotta love and affection.
With this I am dipping my big toe ever so tentatively into the wide world of blogs.
Here's the story:
My husband Gus and I moved to Philadelphialand on May 12, 2008. We drove here from Portland, Oregon in our Volkswagen Golf loaded down with the precious items we felt simply could not be left in our Vantucky storage unit awaiting our return to the Great Northwest. Our modern day jalopy carried, among other things, a Singer Featherweight, an All Clad roasting pan, one half drunk bottle of Belle de Brillet, six Swedish Dala horses, a yoga mat and three houseplants, including a St. Patrick's Day clover Gus bought me in 1998. What didn't we bring? A lot. A TV, a bed, cups and saucers and, regrettably, our Kitchenaid Mixer...poor thing had to be dropped off at the storage unit on the way out of town as it simply would not fit. Yes, I considered holding it on my lap the entire way but unfortunately that spot was already taken by a copper stock pot, a Philadelphia guide book and a basket of various half-finished craft projects (more on those later).
And so, after a week on the seemingly endless horizontal cut of I-90 (Corn Palace anyone?), we arrived in Fluffya. We knew no one, had no idea where we would live, in fact, I had never even set foot in Pennsylvania. If I'm being perfectly honest, I know deep down I couldn't have pointed Philadelphia out on a map. After a perilous twenty minutes in the world's snaggliest Motel Six (yes, we found it) we upgraded to a Best Western across the street and set about finding a place to live amongst the 6 million folks already here. On May 15 (not bad, eh?) we moved into our current abode, a third floor walk-up in lovely little Ardmore on the Main Line just outside the city.
Over the last one year and 4 months I've hated this city and I've loved it. I've cursed it, hugged it, denied it, defended it and spit on it, sometimes all on the same day. At times I have felt like with this experience I've built more character than anyone, anywhere should be allowed to legally stockpile. I've lived outside my comfort zone for weeks on end. I've seen things I didn't know existed in this country. In between it all I've learned an incredible amount about myself and my world and I have had to question what I thought was unquestionable. If I hadn't moved here I would have been like every other west coaster who has "done" the east with a long drunk weekend in NYC and a high school band trip to DC. Sorry ladies, but Seattle just isn't the latest and greatest, be all and end all we sometimes make it out to be. I came here with my nose in the air and I will leave humbled by the depth of beauty, history and experiences this area offers up. On these pages I hope to record what's left of our time here and what we plan to make of it.
They say timing is everything and of course I wish I would have been ultra cool and started this chronicle the very day we left Portland. But, I wasn't very blog-savvy then and I'm not much further along now. So, I start where I am today. Hot, humid and waiting on the perfection of the east coast fall. To make up for lost time on slow days in the city I'll recount the best of the best so far. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this simple photo - the view of our neighborhood on a quiet fall morning.
In May of 2008, my husband and I drove cross-country from Portland to Philadelphia. He is in graduate school until November 18, 2010. Until then, I'm seeking out the best (and invariably tripping over the worst) of Philadelphia and its environs.
