SUZANNE BROWN

Hot Pot in Queens

2012-02-13T19:21:00.001-05:00

Howdy.

2012-02-11T19:12:00.000-05:00

This is what I've been up to. What's going on with you?

Enjoy

2012-01-17T07:59:00.001-05:00

BDF's.

2012-01-06T21:23:00.001-05:00

"Lily, a great dane lost his eyesight due to a rare disease. He became disheartened until he met Madison. They have been together for 5 years and Madison guides Lily by the leash and touches him to make sure he doesn't stumble over anything." Read.

Rest in Peace Angels

2012-01-05T22:08:00.008-05:00

Today.

2012-01-04T07:02:00.002-05:00

The Wolf.

2012-01-03T20:03:00.000-05:00

An elderly Cherokee Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life…

He said to them, “A fight is going on inside me, it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One wolf is evil—he is fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, competition, superiority, and ego.

The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too.”

They thought about it for a minute, and then one child asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win, Grandfather?”

The Elder simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Pizza + Pajama's

2012-01-02T15:52:00.001-05:00

4pm and still in my pajamas.
Homemade pizza and a bottle of Chianti.
Such a nice start to the week, the year.

PS. The Old Man gifted me with a Mario Batali for Dansk cast iron pizza pan for Christmas. Might I suggest you stop reading right now and race to Crate and Barrel? It's that fabulous.

Jan 1, 2012

2012-01-01T20:38:00.002-05:00

HAPPY.

JOY, RECLAIMED.

2011-12-31T13:22:00.000-05:00

I lost my joy in 2011.
My father slipped away from us this past July, and with his passing a light that used to shine brightly went out in my heart. I suppose I didn't realize at the time that that light had been extinguished as I still worked, and went to the gym, and saw friends, and did all the things that make up my day-to-day life. But physically I didn't feel right, and when the summer turned into autumn, I started feeling worse: my back was aching terribly, I was tired and lethargic and incapable of getting through a single day without a nap, and I felt as if tiny elves had sewed a lead lining into all of my clothes. So I made an appointment with my doctor to see if perhaps I had Lyme's disease, anemia, or less than three months to live. I'd not seen my physician since the spring, so we chatted for awhile about my list of unpleasant, vague symptoms, and in-between her ticking things off my imminent death checklist, we made idle chit-chat about our respective summers. Naturally I told her about my father dying, and after her perfunctory exam -- cough, touch toes, open wide -- she looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Could you be depressed?"

I have to admit, I was quite taken aback by that question; Of course I wasn't depressed! I was waking each day, and making breakfast, and going to the gym, and the supermarket, and seeing friends and family; how in the world could I possibly be depressed?! "What an idiot!", I thought to myself, "I'm not depressed, I have three months to live!" After my exam, I visited the lab, gave a gallon of blood for her list of tests, then went on my way. But the question she posed kept bubbling up in the back of my mind...

Was I depressed?

Needless to say, all of the tests came back negative, and so I started reflecting back to when I began feeling unwell. What I realized was that precisely around the time I had to start facing the holiday season without my Dad, I became physically ill; everything hurt because I hurt.

Amazingly those four words--Could you be depressed?--were the best Christmas gift I received this year, because they opened my eyes and freed me from the quilt of sadness I had made my haven.

Armed with this knowledge and this power, I loosened the locks around my heart muscle, opened the doors to the dusty corners of mind back up, and promised myself that I would become the woman I used to be once again. With a box of tissues and a bottle of Cabernet, I plopped myself down on the sofa one chilly evening, and read every single post I ever wrote on this blog. The woman who used to write here had an adventurers curiosity and spirit, her father's sense of humor, and the ability to distill life into laughter. As incredible as it sounds, once I realized that my grief and sadness had been an anchor around my heart and body, I started feeling better.

I lost my joy in 2011. For my father -- for the woman both he and my mother raised me to be -- I am reclaiming it (and so much more) in 2012. Tomorrow the page turns.

Happy New Year + Blessings for a fabulous 2012. May you have a belly full of laughter, a heart full of light, and may each moment of your life filled with JOY. If you lost your joy along the way, I encourage you to reclaim it with me as we journey on a new path together.

With Love,
Suzanne

A nice thought for today.

2011-08-14T14:44:00.002-04:00

Pooh Sums it Up.

2011-08-13T13:03:00.005-04:00

In early May of this year I mused about the upcoming summer of 2011. I shared with you, friends and readers, my hope that the dark cloud that had hung thick and low over my family for so long had finally been blown out to sea. But in all honesty I knew that it had not. Oh, I wanted to wish that it did--and maybe somehow thought that by proclaiming on this page that all was fine, that it would be--but deep in the pit of my being, I knew I was about to lose my father.

And that--along with the loss of my grandmother and the end of my marriage--finally explains my silence on this blog for the past several years.

I lost my wonderful father, John Miksad, to cancer on July 1st, at 9:35 in the evening. The day before he died I visited him in the hospital, never realizing it would be the last time I saw him conscious. How I wished I had stayed longer that afternoon, told him the things I always wanted to say, had not assumed I would be granted more time. Because by the next evening, as fireworks lit up the sky over New York City, my Dad slipped out of our lives, and back into the arms of his parents and Our Lord.

Six weeks later, even as I type these words, I can't believe I will never see my father again. How I long for just five more minutes with him, to tell him about the Yankee game I went to on Thursday and the two Jeter fly-balls we just missed, or to laugh about our junket to Saratoga last weekend and how the Old Man lost the car, or how I got to take a ride in the fire truck, or.......oh, there are a trillion things I want to tell him and truthfully, five minutes wouldn't be enough.

My Dad was a gentleman, a comedian, a listener, a faithful husband, an awesome grandfather, a solid friend, a decent human being, a gardener, a fisherman, a lover of summer, and the best Dad I could ever imagine or invent. I am so proud to have known him for 47 years.

Rest in Peace Yonk. Until we meet again, you're forever in my heart.

Scenes from My Summer: Random pics from July & August

2011-08-10T12:22:00.002-04:00

My yearly July tradition.

2011-07-20T22:41:00.003-04:00

Another year, another black outfit...

John Miksad, The Original Summerologist

2011-07-07T09:08:00.003-04:00

January 30, 1936 - July 1, 2011

Rest in Peace Dad.

Scenes from My Summer: Upstate New York

2011-06-09T07:20:00.004-04:00

Summer 2011: Scenes from my Weekend

2011-05-29T07:54:00.000-04:00

Summer 2011

2011-05-28T12:16:00.010-04:00

It's fascinating what happens to a person when their world falls to pieces. Three years ago this weekend I wrote a blog called The Wedding Crasher. At that time I knew my life was about to change, but I had no idea to what extent. Back in May of 2008 I was married, I lived in that great old converted barn in Chappaqua, I was still on the creative high of having written my Summer book, and I had a small, close group of friends that I could not only count on, but more importantly, could truly be myself with.

My grandmother died a few weeks after posting The Wedding Crasher, and instead of us all healing and moving on after her death, things simply spiraled out of control in my life and the lives of everyone around me. It was as if every member of my family was tossed at sea in the middle of a Class 5 hurricane--at night--with nothing more than dime store water wings to keep us afloat, a book of matches to light our way.

Collectively we were a mess; personally, I was beyond lost. I was going through an unpleasant divorce (as if there is such a thing as a pleasant one), I had to relocate two times in two years, and I lost many of those close friends I thought I'd always be able to count on. I finally understood what it meant to be broken.

There were so many times I sat down at my computer to write--I wanted so desperately to get my creative voice back--but there was just nothing inside; I had zero to offer, not a word of advice or a positive thought to share. I went through each day putting one foot in front of the other, some days incapable of much more than the most basic day-to-day tasks; eating, working, sleeping. Even when I posted last year that I was 'back', I realize now that was really just wishful thinking; I was still waiting for the storm to settle, the seas to calm.

It's exactly three years since the dark clouds formed on the horizon, and today the sea is gentle and it is warm. My family has survived the storm and we are closer than ever from having weathered it together.

And I, I am in love.

I would like to introduce you all to The Old Man.

You'll be getting to know more about him as I once again share my life on these pages.
But for this weekend, another photo essay, just as I posted here three years ago this weekend. I hope you'll follow me here and on Twitter at http://twitter.com/suzannebrown

The official start of Summer 2011. The start of my new life.

I wish you all the happiness in the world and a beautiful Memorial Day weekend.

XO,
Suzanne

Heart this.

2011-02-23T15:43:00.000-05:00

Hello. I'm back.

2011-02-22T12:54:00.000-05:00

Let's get back to this blogging thing, shall we?

Scenes from my Summer: A field trip to Brooklyn

2010-07-29T19:09:00.006-04:00

Thank you BH&G

2010-07-22T11:34:00.001-04:00

A big shout out to Better Homes and Gardens for including my Summerology blog in their August issue. Get to their website riiiiight here....

+ get to Summerology here! (what took you so long?)

One year later....

2010-07-20T15:27:00.004-04:00

Will try to keep this yearly tradition going until I can't bear to see the changes any longer.

The backyard.

2010-07-17T13:27:00.017-04:00

Yesterday was a classic mid-July sort of day; the kind of day where there is very little change in the mercury after sunset, the humidity makes everyone as lazy as cats, and the best solution to the sweltering heat would be to play hooky, plop your ass into a big old tire tube, and float around a lake until you're as wrinkled as a raisin, preferably eating an ice cream cone while the current carries you along.

Despite the steamy conditions, there was a barbecue last night to celebrate my Aunt's birthday in backyard of the Big Old House that has been in my family for as long as we all can remember. It was the house that belonged to my grandparents--a comfy, well-worn, two-family home on a big corner lot--and each and every one of us have memories of growing up there. My grandparents raised my father and my aunt there, my brothers and I began our lives in that home, my cousins were always staying over, family was always weaving in and out. Years later, both of my brothers at separate times lived downstairs from my grandmother, and as a a result, my nephews and nieces got to connect with the home the same way that we did when we were young. My Grams died two years ago and since then my cousin and his wife have lived there with their two children, but as I have posted before, my grandmothers spirit is still very much a part of that house.

For me, it's bittersweet going back to Parsons Street as it seems like just yesterday my grandmother was there with us in the backyard, 'racing us' across the lawn, around the big Azalea bush and back again--always letting us win, hanging her laundry out to dry on the clothesline, tending to her garden. In that home--with my family around me--I always felt safe and protected. Last night I got to taste a bit of those sweet summer memories once again as I ran around the yard barefoot with the first generation, the second generation, and the next generation that is growing up in and around the house. We barbecued, played baseball, caught fireflies, shot water pistols, and later in the evening we went upstairs to the dining room table--the dining room where we've shared more meals than any of us could ever count--to sing Happy Birthday to my Aunt. In my minds eye I flashed back to this scene repeated a hundred times before; it was so familiar and comforting that I never wanted the night to end.

As I drove home in my Jeep, my mind wandered to the things that are truly important in my life, and how those things seem to be evolving as I grow older. I don't buy 'stuff' for myself any more; I now care more about experiences with people I love, rather than possessions I don't need. In fact, I would give away everything I own to simply have time stand still, and for everyone in my family to be exactly where they are at this very moment....

In Long Beach.

Down the Jersey Shore.

In a car driving to Medieval festival.

Sitting on a deck beneath the warm summer sun.

Paddling on a kayak.

Tending a garden.

Driving in a Jeep with the top down.

Running barefoot after a toddler in the backyard.

...frozen in time on a sunny Saturday afternoon in mid-July, enjoying life and appreciating it's simple pleasures, because we were fortunate enough to grow up learning such things in that beautiful backyard on the very edge of Parsons Street, my grandmother watching over us as we laughed, love overflowing.

I'm a thief.

2010-07-09T12:13:00.004-04:00

I'm stealing from my talented and beautiful niece Maureen's blog today. You can arrest me, or thank me. I bet dollars to donuts you'll thank me.

Read

Heat Schmeat

2010-07-07T13:45:00.019-04:00

There's been quite a lot of bitching and moaning going on around here on the east coast as the mercury soars into the triple digits, and newscasters screech on apocalyptically about the Big Heatwave of 2010 Me? You won't hear one single complaint spill out across these lips as I'm genuinely grateful for this steamy, bubbling cauldron of New York stew, since the flipside--which will most definitely come sometime in early 2011 in the form of sleet, then snow, then high winds, then downed power lines, then maddening claustrophobia--is certainly no picnic.

As far as I am concerned, this has been a fabulous--and classic--summer here in the Northeast; sunny hot days with nary a drop of rain, other than the occasional rumbling thunderstorm in the afternoon or late evening. And thankfully those few-and-far-between showers that do roll into town quickly make haste, leaving in their wake yet another inviting sunny day. We've not had a summer like this in as long as I can remember -- it brings me back to a time when I was young and school was let out, and I had no agenda other than simply being lazy and carefree for two warm, delicious months.

I made a promise to myself early on in the season that I would not squander this lovely time of year; there has been too much time frittered away over the past twenty-four months, so I refuse to waste any more precious minutes on things or people that don't make me smile.

If it doesn't bring a smile to your face or your heart, then you don't need it in your world.

In 2008 I wrote a post at the end of the summer titled It's not Over Till It's Over, which listed 21 things to do before the end of the summer. Since we are midway through the Summer of 2010, I thought I would revisit that idea and post a new list to inspire you (and me as well) to grab hold of the two remaining summer months, and fill each and every minute of them with carefree joy and memorable adventures, just like we did when we were young and didn't let little things like heatwaves + humidity + limp hair keep us from living each day as if it was our last....

Things to do before September 1st comes around...
Plan a road trip to some place you never thought you'd visit Don't test the water...just jump in (better yet, do a cannonball) Have a water balloon fight (I don't care how old you are) Enjoy a rootbeer float Roller skate Eat an ice cream sandwich Make pickled vegetables Picnic at the beach at sunset (with someone you love, or by yourself) Sleep in a hammock Whip up some homemade ice cream Nap Wear a flower in your hair Construct a sandcastle Hang the American flag Squeeze fresh lemonade Have BLT's with ripe tomatoes for lunch (or dinner) Sleep naked Watch the Perseid meteor shower in August Study bugs in the grass Drink rum and coke while listening to reggae Dig for clams Fly a kite Skinnydip at midnight Go to an outdoor concert Play hopscotch Blow bubbles Grow gigantic sunflowers Tie dye t-shirts Hang a tire swing Buy a water gun + spray people with it Run barefoot around the yard catching fireflies Take a cool bubble bath Make freezer jam to remind you of summer all winter long Dip bananas in melted chocolate, freeze, then eat Skip Stones Go to a midnight movie Get a henna tattoo Eat more hot dogs Wear toe rings and ankle bracelets + paint your toenails different colors Play badminton Watch Grease, Shag + Dirty Dancing Eat cherry (or blueberry) pie with vanilla ice cream Wear flip flops every day Make a bucket list of all the things you want to do when you retire + can be young and free every day....

Chocolate Covered Frozen Banana's

From my book, Summer: A User's Guide

3 Bananas

12 ounces semi-sweet or German chocolate

Ice Cream Sticks

Plastic Wrap

Waxed Paper or Coated Paper Plate

Peel the bananas and remove any remaining stringy fibers, then cut in half widthwise. Insert an ice cream stick through the cut end of each half, cover each banana in plastic wrap and place in freezer until frozen (approximately 3 hours).

Melt the chocolate either on a stovetop in a double boiler, or in a microwave. Remove bananas from freezer and use a rubber spatula or butter knife to coat the bananas evenly with chocolate.

Place the pops on wax paper and freeze until ready to serve.

Makes 6 pops.

Scenes from my Summer: Life in and around my garden

2010-07-02T23:10:00.002-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Al fresco dinner

2010-07-02T22:59:00.007-04:00

Clams + mussels with my niece and brother. Yum.

Scenes from my Summer: Tire Tubes

2010-06-29T20:14:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Time Flies

2010-06-27T07:59:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Sand Woman

2010-06-25T18:51:00.002-04:00

Punctuation is Powerful

2010-06-10T15:57:00.006-04:00

An English professor wrote the words:
"A woman without her man is nothing"
on the chalkboard and asked his students to punctuate it correctly.

All of the males in the class wrote:
"A woman, without her man, is nothing."

All the females in the class wrote:
"A woman: without her, man is nothing."

Punctuation is powerful.

Thoughts for a humid Tuesday.

2010-06-01T14:59:00.011-04:00

This is proof that sometimes--just sometimes---there's actually something worthwhile in my email box.

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Fly Girls, Fly.

2010-03-09T13:29:00.000-05:00

Read.

The Housewarming Weekend.

2010-03-08T17:26:00.009-05:00

My brother and niece moved to a wonderful new home last month, so to celebrate, our family came together for a big housewarming party this past weekend. On Friday I spent the day preparing traditional Polish food with my niece, and then on Saturday evening the entire family joined us for the celebratory feast of pierogi, kielbasa (with plenty of hot horseradish), stuffed cabbage, kapusta, latkes with sour cream and apple sauce, and delicious homemade paska.

Since I've been busy with work and writing these days, I thought I'd share some of my photos so you know I am still alive and well. Oh, and since I'm in a good mood.....a recipe, too!

Nostrovia!

Maureen's seedlings!

The potato pancakes before.....and after (we made 100!) Recipe

My niece is the baker in the family. Her paska...

The "outdoor fridge" and pierogi's browning....

Hot stuff!

Real men chop garlic....

The host and the hostess (my brother and my niece)

Maryclare and kielbasa!

More pierogi (144 to be exact)

The host....Leah and my Aunt MaryAnn (Hi Aunt MA!)

Hugs everywhere! Mati + Mark......My mom and my brother, Michael

Sweet Logan!!!!!...Me and my lovely niece, Claire.

The women in the kitchen

PASKA (traditional Ukranian Easter Bread)
Makes 3 loaves

(PRINT RECIPE CARD)

1 tsp sugar
1 cup lukewarm water
1 package of yeast
3 cups of whole milk
5 cups+ bread flour

+

6 eggs
1/3 cup sugar
½ cup butter, melted
1 TBSP salt

+

3 cups golden raisins, optional (soaked in warm water to soften)

Scald the milk, then allow to cool till very warm. Combine milk, yeast and sugar in a large mixing bowl.

Add flour, one cup at a time -- either mixing it with the bread attachment of a Kitchenaid, or kneading it with your hands -- until the dough is smooth. The dough will be a bit sticky.

Cover dough with a dish cloth, set in a warm place, and let rise for about 1 hour.

Beat together
6 eggs
1/3 cup sugar
½ cup melted butter
1 TBSP salt

Add the mixture to the dough and knead until it becomes smooth, adding more flour as needed. If you are adding raisins, drain them and mix them into the dough.

Cover dough with a dish cloth, set in a warm place, and let rise for approximately 3-4 hours, or until it doubles in size.

After it doubles, punch dough down in the middle, cover and let rise again for another hour.

Divide dough into 3 parts. Place loaves into greased round pans, brush each with an egg wash, cover and set them a warm place for approximately 1-2 hours, or until they double in size.

Preheat oven to 400F

Bake loaves at 400F for 15 minutes, then lower the oven temperature to 350F and bake for an additional 30-40 minutes.

Pining for Monday.

2010-02-26T12:58:00.087-05:00

Some months just seem to slog on forever, don't they? Despite being the shortest page on the calendar, February always seems like it's twice as long as the other ones for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because the weather is just Godawful during this month and that horrible little Cheesesteak-lovin' rodent doesn't make matters any better by seeing his shadow (or is it not seeing his shadow? I can never remember...) and smashing any dreams we might have of an early spring. Sidenote: Did you know that groundhogs are also called woodchucks, land-beavers, and—my personal favorite—Whistle Pigs?! I believe I'll start a Facebook page campaigning to change Groundhog Day to Whistle Pig Day.

But I digress, as I tend to do.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, February sucking....

There's also the always irksome and stressful Valentine's Day in the month of February as well—a holiday I'll neither understand nor embrace as long as I live; too much pressure associated with that one. Thank you FTD, Hallmark, and Kay Jewelers for making us feel like losers if we're alone on that day, or worse—if we're not—that either we are, or we are married to/dating, total slacker cheapskates if we don't buy what you peddle.

It's also difficult to muster up any sort of energy for exercise during February: it's boreal outside, so it's much easier to stay indoors scarfing down carbohydrates, rather than suiting up like an Everest climber in order to schlep to the gym, only to have to wrest ourselves out of a multitude of layers upon arrival, exhausted beyond words before even lifting our first dumbbell. As a result of the lack of both physical activity and sunshine, my midsection and thighs look as pale and squishy as rising dough. I've also sadly learned that no matter how much yoga I do with Pat the Rockstar, it simply can't stave off the damage caused by sitting around the rest of the day, eating bags of cheddar cheese Goldfish crackers, drinking glass after glass of Cabernet. When it comes to working out, yoga just can't hold a candle to kickboxing, it seems.

I had a colonoscopy this month, too, and of course—despite every Baby Boomer under the sun telling me theirs was a breeze (or as breezy as starving yourself for one and a half days, emptying your colon with powerful laxatives, and having a camera inserted up your butt and woven through your entire colon can possibly be...)—it was not without drama. Apparently I have what they call a long and tortuous colon. Long and T-O-R-T-U-O-U-S. I think that description sums things up perfectly so I will leave the rest up to your imagination, spare you the horrendous details of my viscera.

So, while I normally don't look forward to Monday mornings, this coming Monday marks the arrival of March, which means folks, that beautiful, glorious spring is just around the corner. In fact as of this posting, even though there is a foot of snow piled up outside and the talking heads on TV are either warning New Yorkers about an impending apocalypse, or more snow in the forecast, spring is just a mere 21 days away. Monday I am back to the gym in full-force. The Goldfish crackers are history ~~as are the glasses of Cabernet~~. These doughy thighs and my muffin top will simply be yet another unpleasant February memory come ~~April May~~ June.

Longer days.

Daffodils.

Pastels.

Hope.

Optimism.

Energy.

Yup. Monday; Can't wait.

Life = Risk

2010-02-25T08:40:00.001-05:00

I'm tweeting.

2010-01-19T15:45:00.003-05:00

Are you following me?!

A Toast to Buoyancy.

2009-12-31T16:17:00.017-05:00

Early last December I posted an entry about how I was very much looking forward to ushering 2008 out the door and welcoming 2009 in with a big, friendly bear hug and a nice hot cup of homemade cocoa by the fire. For those who've read this blog for the past few years know, 2008 was no friend of mine, so by December it was like one of those horrible house guests that you live to see pack their bags, wave farewell to as their taillights become smaller and smaller on the horizon. Unfortunately for me I lack Kreskin-like powers, so at that time I had no idea that 2009 would turn out to be an even worse house guest than 2008 -- the kind that comes for a weekend, stays for an entire year, and in between accidentally runs over your beloved cat, Mojo, spills black food coloring on your 6-month new Pottery Barn sofa, watches cage fighting on Spike TV at 3am at full volume, burns down your tool shed, regularly cooks cabbage.

But here we are at the cusp of '10, and despite the fact that I had the worst freaking houseguests two years in a row, the optimist in me can't help but sit here at my desk and wonder, hope, pray that this new decade will be kinder and gentler to us all. Certainly ten years ago none of us were prepared for what we would have to face as a nation, but we made it through with that crazy inner strength we somehow find when we least expect it, plus the love of our friends, family and neighbors. In my own little circle there have been events so horrible that I can't even recount them, but each time someone in the group got knocked down, there were forty hands reaching out to lift them back up. That old nugget, "In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity, we know our friends" has never rung more true than over the past handful of years.

And so, on this last day of 2009, rather than listing my goals and aspirations for myself, I've decided to state my aspiration for us, as a nation + as a planet instead;

It's my greatest hope that in 2010 we find our buoyancy once again.

Main Entry: buoyancy/buoyance

Part of Speech: noun

Definition: lightness in spirit

Synonyms: animation, bounce, cheerfulness, cheeriness, ebullience, effervescence, exuberance, gaiety, good feeling, good humor, happiness, high spirits, jollity, liveliness, pep, spiritedness, sunniness, vim and vigor, zing, zip

Antonyms: blues, depression, heaviness

My wish for you today is that whenever the sun goes dark in your life, you think of that word and it's meaning, and you find hope and joy, light and ebullience.

Peace + Prosperity to you and yours in the new year. Thank you -- as always -- for coming here to read what I occasionally manage to spew out.

With Love,
Suzanne

Sick.

2009-11-19T05:48:00.013-05:00

I don't know about you guys, but I've had it up to here (insert image of me in your head here, right arm bent, with right hand held horizontally around mid-forehead, scowl on face) with health care. In all my forty-five years, I never imagined that the day would come where I would be using the term health care in my life, more than I use the term dry martini. I just watched the morning news, and in a short half hour I was told:

1. Not to get a mammogram or do self exams
3. That obesity is going to cost us $344 billion by 2018
3. That salt is bad for me
4. That the swine flu fairy did not show up again, so there are still not enough H1N1 vaccines to go around
5. And last but not least, that the über -contentious Health Care Bill is stiiiiiiiillllllll working it's way through our stellar bureaucracy

The media loves this type of stuff, as they seem to exist solely for the purpose of creating mass hysteria among hard-working, already-stressed-out-enough-about-the-economy Americans. "Hey, you guys are freaking out about paying your bills?! How about we add to it by talking endlessly about your potential health problems?!"

So, this morning I decided I would cut through all the clutter and noise, to give you the real deal on the health care news du jour.

Do not get a mammogram until you are 50, or do self-exams.
Let's just nip 1. right in the bud, shall we? Stupid freaking idea.

Next.

Obesity.
America, can you please, please, please head over to Target or Walmart -- or Restoration Hardware if you have good taste and cash to burn -- buy yourself a full length mirror, turn on all the lights in your house, remove every stitch of clothing you're wearing, then stand in front of your new mirror, and take a good, long, hard look? I mean, really soak it in. If you do not like what you see, chances are good you will be costing this nation lots and lots of money one day soon, if not already. So, what you need to do after you wipe away your tears, is put your clothes back on, get in your car, and drive to your nearest Weight Watchers meeting. Weight Watchers works. Really. I wouldn't lie to you. So does exercise, so do some of that as well. In fact, forget about driving to the meeting and instead, put some sneakers on and walk there.

Salt.
I admit it--food without salt sucks. Have you ever tried eating a french fry that had no salt on it? Copy paper has more flavor. But if Joe Average simply stopped stuffing bags of salty snacks and processed foods down his pie hole, bookmarked epicurious, and learned to cook meals at home instead, dollars to donuts he wouldn't be on high blood pressure medication.
Or, obese.

Just sayin'.

Swine Flu / H1N1
If you're going to name an epidemic--the next hot disease--then for Christ's Sake, come up with something sexier than The Swine Flu/H1N1. Throughout history, there have been some really great names for pandemics: there was the mysterious Black Death (aka, the bubonic plague), and the Seussical-sounding Spotted Fever. Even the Spanish Flu was nicknamed "La Grippe" which made is sound less like a scourge, more like your charming neighborhood bistro. Let's face it--the name Swine Flu is just not sexy, and H1N1 sounds like something a computer programmer in the back office at Microsoft came up with. I went on to Thesaurus.com to see if there were any other names relating to swine that might make this a more marketable pandemic. I crossed hog, oinker, pig, and porker off my list (although Porker Flu might tie in nicely with the whole obesity issue) and so far I have come up with:
Boar Flu
Beast Flu
Brute Flu
Peccary Flu

Personally, I think Beast Flu has a nice ring to it, so I'm going to lobby for that one.

But I digress.

There's a flu going around. One goes around every year and (shocker!) people do die from it. If you've not gotten a shot yet--NEWSFLASH!--there are not enough vaccines to go around, so chances are pretty damn good that you're on your own.

Carry some Purell with you and wash your hands whenever you can, and then wash them some more. Pretend you're a brain surgeon operating on your own brain -- that's how clean you'll want 'em.
Watch what you touch when you are out in public, and do your best to keep your ~~filthy, germ-infested~~ hands away from your face. If you have to ~~pick~~ touch your nose (who doesn't?!), use a tissue.
Wear a light scarf around your neck, and when you're on the subway, or in some public place where some fool is hacking up a lung right next to you, wrap it around your nose and mouth to avoid catching their scourge.
Don't make-out with complete strangers. (just keeping you on your toes to see if you're still paying attention)

The Health Care Bill
Sorry, suddenly I am feeling too sick to go on....

Sundays + Naked Chickens

2009-11-01T15:00:00.016-05:00

I can't help myself from acting like a psychotic turrets patient each time I see that Perdue Chicken commercial for "Roasterphobia" on TV; the instant I see Tom Perdue telling that roaster-averse Mom that the correct way to cook up a chicken for her poultry-lovin' family is in a plastic bag--well--the profanities just come spewing off my tongue.

Let me say right now that there are some things in this world that I'm perfectly fine cutting corners on. Dishwashers were made for a reason. Fresh herbs from the market? So much easier than tilling soil, getting your nails dirty, slugs. Store-bought hummus? Yes, yes, more yes.

But I ask you people--have we become either so collectively lazy or dumb as a nation that we can't roast a freaking chicken in the oven without it being sealed up in it's own little sodium phosphate-filled chicken body bag? I mean--think about it--it's a chicken, and it's an oven; how bloody hard can it be to pull off? It's not like you're being asked to get Republicans and Democrats to agree on the Healthcare bill, or find Osama Bin Laden.

When I was young (way back when), there was something called Home Economics in school. Just like there were shop classes that taught us woodworking, metalworking, printing, and the somewhat puzzling "plastics" ("Here son, cook this bright yellow piece of plastic in that oven over there until it reaches ten million degrees, then bend it into a napkin holder to take home. But don't get burned while doing it, despite the fact that everything around you is as hot as Satan's lair!"), this course taught us practical skills to help us in life. In Home Ec. we learned to sew, craft and, of course, cook. I loved Home Ec. I remember making cheese blintzes, and baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch, not a log. We made homemade butter during one class, and cinnamon bread during another. Not once did we cook anything in a plastic bag (honestly, I'm not quite certain if plastic bags were even invented then, as all I seem to recall were the paper variety, and those either came as shopping bags, grocery bags, or plain, brown lunch-bags)

My Mom makes a handful of things really, really well. She makes a great pork tenderloin cooked with sauerkraut and potatoes. A classic pot roast. And a wonderful matzoh ball soup. But I have always loved her roast chicken the most. It reminds me of our Sunday dinners growing up, where we would head home after 9:00 mass, have buttered hard rolls for breakfast, read the funnies, watch Abbott and Costello reruns, then sit down for a big midday dinner with real mashed potatoes, and homemade gravy. Afterward, we would head outside to play, because, let's face it, there was nothing fun to do inside.

We've become nation of lazy asses. Home Ec. is sadly longer taught to our children, which is why chickens are now packaged in plastic bags, mashed potatoes are found in the frozen food section rather than the produce aisle, and gravy comes in a jar. And then we wonder why kids only eat junk food.

Tonight I am roasting a big, 8 lb. chicken in the oven. I cleaned it out, rinsed it off, patted it dry, then rubbed it with real butter inside and out, and stuffed some butter under the skin, too. When all was said and done, an entire glorious stick of butter was stuffed into and around that beautiful bird (get over it; it's butter, it's natural and if you use it in moderation it will not kill you). Then I put two whole heads of garlic and an entire lemon inside of the cavity, as well as some fresh sage, thyme and rosemary. These were herbs I happened to have in the fridge, and I didn't fret about how much I had because I don't cook that way; I use what I have on hand and am happy with that. And finally, I salted and peppered that plump bird before I placed it in a roasting pan, covered it with a lid, and stuffed it into a pre-heated 350 degree oven. Maybe I will baste it every 30 minutes or so to keep it moist, or I might forget all about it because I am drinking a good bottle of red wine tonight. Whatever...there's butter all over that bird, so it's going to be fine; it's not rocket science folks.

And that's my point. Cooking should not be a challenge, it should be a joy. It's sharing, and caring, and loving, and celebrating, but more than anything, it's about making memories. Memories made slowly and happily with your own two hands--and hopefully your children or loved ones--and not ever, ever in a plastic bag.

PS. My blog on mashed potatoes is here. Make 'em.

TIPS ON ROASTING A CHICKEN
From help with cooking.com

As a general rule, calculate a cooking time of 20 minutes per pound of meat plus an additional 10 - 20 minutes at a temperature of 350ºF (176ºC). Therefore, a 5 lb chicken will need to be roasting in the oven for at least 1h 50 mins. A 5 lb bird will serve between 4 - 5 people.

Some people prefer set the oven temperature to 450ºF (230ºC) and roast the bird at this high temperature for the first 10 - 15 minutes or the last 10 - 15 minutes. The rest of the time the chicken should be roasted at 350ºF (176ºC). The surge of heat will result in a really crispy and brown skin and deliciously succulent meat.

2½ - 3 lbs - 1 - 1¾ hrs
3½ - 4 lbs - 1½ - 1¾ hrs
4½ - 5 lbs - 1½ - 2 hrs
5 - 6 lbs - 1¾ - 2½ hrs

If you find that the chicken is browning too quickly during cooking, then loosely cover the breast of the bird with a large piece of aluminum foil until it is done. Covering the breast of the chicken will also keep the meat from drying out.

_______

If you do not possess a meat thermometer, then you can check that the meat has been properly cooked in two ways:

The drumstick should move about freely when wiggled.
The juices of the chicken run clear upon inserting a skewer into the leg

I may be cranky, but I still believe in mermaids.

2009-10-24T14:17:00.028-04:00

I've been a bit of a ~~bitch~~ bellyacher lately for a plethora of reasons, both large and small.

In the large column, I handed Uncle Sam a big pile 'o cash in quarterly taxes early this month, which I would have rather spent on a pair of rockin' boots, a new fall wardrobe, and an amazing meal out, but instead sadly went towards 1. our health care-savvy government coming up short on H1N1 vaccines, 2. the frightfully uninspired NASA taking my hard-earned money and using it to bomb the moon (Umm...WTF??! I'm sorry, but is there anyone else out there who's wondering if Bart Simpson is running NASA these days?) to the tune of 79 million clams, and finally, 3. the brilliant bureaucrats that we voted into office deciding that my blood, sweat and tears should be invested in the total redesign of the penny. Yes, our government decided--in the middle of a war and a recession--that we should spend 70 million dollars to redesign the penny.

Sigh.

In the small column, my Mac inexplicably started acting like my great grandmother by completely shutting down and becoming befuddled and disoriented right in the middle of the day, with no regard for anything or anyone other than it's own sweet, little, oblivious nappy-nap-nap time. And so I sucked it up, tapped the bank account a week after sending Uncle Sam his fun money, headed to the Apple store, and bought myself a new $2,000 iMac that no longer hacks up phlegm, but rather coo's like a ~~pink little baby~~ killer high-tech machine. I know I should be excited about a NEW MAC!!, but so far, perhaps due to the fact that I don't have those rockin' boots I've been Jonesin' for, or anything closely resembling a new fall wardrobe, I am acting like a cruel, resentful mother that takes her stretch marks and wide hips out on her innocent child. But I am optimistic that in time I will learn to love; baby steps.

And then there were the tires. Bald tires + rain + wet leaves = R.I.P. Suzanne. Like gossamer--or the balloon ~~boy~~--another $650 went floating away.

So, needless to say, sour mood I've been in. The Pickle Guys could market me and retire nicely. I even went to my cherished yoga class with Pat, the rockstar today, and amazingly that didn't snap me out of my funk. I sourpussed my way through, looking at the clock the entire time, counting the minutes until I could get my pinched lips to a glass of red wine.

But something changed this afternoon.

I was checking the news online and came across this... http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33460841/ns/health-more_health_news/

And then I watched this...

And after that the pity party finally stopped. I became completely humbled, got down on bended knee and thanked God for all my blessings. I am sure there are nitpicky things you are currently griping about as well--the seemingly endless barrage of John Corzine vs. Chris Christie ads on TV? Nick Swisher's batting average? Your annoying co-worker/client/neighbor/husband/friend/wife/screaming kids/whomever...?

Now watch that video again and let me know if any of that stuff that is currently irking you really matters......

I'll wait.

I never set out to become a writer, but at 40 I somehow became one, and today I want to thank the Universe for giving me the ability to sit here at this computer, to distill my experiences, and to share them with you, my readers.

Today, I am no longer a sourpuss, but rather a grateful being. And surprisingly, I've also learned to believe in the magic of mermaids.

I hope you believe in them today as well.

Suzanne

PS. Go Yankees.

Ummm.....

2009-10-15T19:12:00.007-04:00

It is it me, or has this been one nutty day?

First, it's snowing in New York in OCTOBER (which, come to think of it isn't really so odd since it did snow here back in July), and then some stupid kid in a balloon has the entire planet glued to their television sets, wondering if he's going to fall from the heavens right before their very eyes.

For those who are still shaking their heads at that one, the Village Voice did a hilarious piece on the "Balloon Boy"

What a day.

Gourmet Magazine 1940-2009

2009-10-13T06:25:00.010-04:00

Last week I received some very bad news about a dear old friend, and since that moment I've been unable to eat, pry myself from bed for neither work nor social obligation, or perform any rudimentary grooming ritual short of an occasional tooth brushing, lest I set a new world record for halitosis.

Gourmet Magazine--after 70 years--is closing.

Excuse me for a moment while I sob uncontrollably.
Again.

First my beloved Starbucks Iced Coffee's were wrested from me, now Gourmet Magazine is being snatched away my from my ask-for-so-little life as well. What's next? Will I wake up tomorrow morning to learn that they've stopped breeding French Bulldogs? That prohibition is back? That my yogi (-slash-rockstar), Pat, has packed up and moved to Tibet? That red hair dye causes cancer?

I'm beginning to feel like Rodney Dangerfield.

For those of you reading this who didn't subscribe to Gourmet for the last twenty freaking years--who didn't anxiously wait for the mailman to deliver each months issue like a six year old listening from bed for the jingle of Santa's sleigh on December 24th; who didn't let it sit on your counter for a few days, salivating over the beauty of the cover, building up a literary thirst, before finally opening it up and drinking in all it's delicious nectar--all I can say is, good for you. Good for you, you brilliant person for not spending twenty years of your life falling head over heels in love with the writing, the recipes, the photography, only to learn on a chilly October day that...

it's folding.

Because there were not enough advertising dollars.

Yes, the nation's oldest food magazine--a magazine that made it through the Great Depression, World War II, and the ups and downs of the last seventy, finicky, fussy years--is closing because it's not clogged up with ridiculous advertisements that no one reads anyway.

Well, screw advertising dollars, and screw you ~~Starbucks~~ Condé Nast for taking away Gourmet and leaving us with that insipid Bon Apetit, and snorefest that is Food and Wine. If I want to read a magazine that is all ads, I will pick up a copy of Vogue. No, ~~Starbucks~~ Condé Nast--I wanted a sophisticated magazine that didn't appeal to the masses like that ~~doltish~~ ~~idiotic~~ unremarkable Rachael Ray, but instead carried me away to truly interesting destinations, and introduced me to the people who live there, and the foods they enjoy, both simple and exotic. I wanted a magazine that unlike network television with it's seemingly endless stream of mindless reality shows, understood that some of America is still sophisticated, still wonders where they can find great Kogi BBQ on the streets of L.A., still wants to know how to throw together kimchi quesadillas like they've been making them their entire life, still wants to impress dinner guests with a triple orgasmic chocolate dessert made from scratch with their own two hands instead of carried home in a plain, white cardboard box. But you, Condé Nasty--like Starbucks--sadly don't care about your faithful customer, but rather look only at that freaking bottom line. And unfortunately, because this is the United States and you are a big corporation, the bottom line means that that beautiful photography I savored each and every month like I was eating my last meal on earth at the French Laundry, and Thomas Keller himself was spoon feeding it to me, will now be replaced with ads for Prego Spaghetti Sauce, and Progresso Soups.

Sad.

Sad.

More Sad.

Shame on you for not rising above your spreadsheets, for not seeing the value of your rich history, for choosing mediocrity over magnificence.

I am down, but not beaten. Tomorrow I will drag myself out of this bed, and I will shower. I will shave my Yeti legs, wash my tangled knot of hair, and gargle for ten minutes with an industrial strength mouthwash. And when I resemble a human again, I will head into the kitchen with a big thick stack from my collection of Gourmet magazines, and I will begin to cook a wonderful lunch for myself. Since there are still a few decent tomatoes left at the farmers market, I think I will make a big pot of Roasted Tomato Soup with Parmesan Wafers to start off, followed by sublime Chicken Crepes with Asparagus and Mushrooms, which may take more time than a 30 minute meal, but are well worth the extra effort. And finally, since this will be a good, old-fashioned meal, what better way to end it, than with an old-fashioned dessert--chocolate brownies.

Of course it goes without saying that I will savor every slice, every dice, every chop, every stir, every taste, every sip, every slurp, every bite, every moment of my afternoon in the kitchen. For that is what cooking is all about. It's not about a mad rush to get a meal finished in 30 minutes, or 15 minutes, or less. If you cook like that, you get to the destination my friends, but you never truly enjoy the journey.

And that is what I will miss most when my beloved magazine closes next month.

Thanks for a wonderful journey, Gourmet. The trip was great, but the scenery was even better.

Double Chocolate Mocha Brownies

Gourmet | December 2002

Active time: 10 min Start to finish: 45 min

Yield: Makes 32 brownies
Active Time: 10 min
Total Time: 45 min

1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter

5 oz unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped
2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon instant-espresso powder or instant-coffee granules
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 large eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375°F. Line a 15- by 10- by 1-inch baking pan with foil, allowing 2 inches of foil to hang over ends of pan, and grease foil well (except overhang) with 1 tablespoon butter.

Melt remaining 11 tablespoons butter with unsweetened chocolate in a large metal bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water, stirring until smooth. Remove bowl from heat and whisk in sugar, espresso powder, vanilla, and salt (mixture will be grainy), then add eggs 1 at a time, whisking after each addition until batter is smooth.

Toss together flour and chocolate chips in another bowl and add to batter, stirring until just combined.

Spread batter evenly in baking pan and bake in middle of oven until top is firm and edges just begin to pull away from sides of pan, about 20 minutes (do not overbake).

Cool in pan on a rack 5 minutes, then carefully lift brownies from pan by grasping both ends of foil and transfer to rack to cool 10 minutes more. Cut into 32 squares and lift brownies off foil with a spatula.

Sh*t.

2009-09-24T19:14:00.015-04:00

It's everywhere.

Sh*t, that is.

It's been a banner week as it became frighteningly apparent sometime around Tuesday that the septic tank out back has not been emptied in quite some time. As a result, the pipes have been -- literally -- full of sh*t. Yes, sh*t backed up into the bathtub, sh*t backed up into the sinks, sh*t pretty much backed up everywhere. And it ain't pretty, my friends. Nope, not at all. It's been like an episode of Dirty Jobs around here, except without the gallows humor of that hottie, Mike Rowe to make me laugh about it. Or, at least a hefty paycheck to ease my misery.

But this morning, Joe, the septic man came to the rescue. I have to confess that I've not had any experience with men who deal with sh*t for a living, but this sh*t man was a very kind and sympathetic sh*t man, who laughed when I said "You sure have a sh*t job" even though I am sure Joe had heard that one about a thousand times before. Within minutes of arriving, Joe dragged his big, industrial septic sucker (I believe it was the ACME SH*TSUCKER 1000 Model) over to the incredibly stinky hole in the earth--the hole that I could not get within ten feet of without gagging, but that he somehow stuck his entire head into--and proceeded to suck every last drop of muck and sh*t out within minutes, like his truck was sucking up a thick and frosty Starbucks Frappuccino on a hot August day.

When there was nothing left to suck, Joe asked me to run inside and flush the toilet, and once I did, I quickly raced back out to see if the problem was solved. The two of us stood perched over the side of the filthy hole in the ground (me covering my nose and mouth, lest I hurl over Joe's boots), eagerly waiting for water to flow in, but....

nothing.

I looked at Joe and Joe looked at me, and even though I knew the answer to the question, I asked it anyway...

"Is that bad?"

"Ummmmm....Yes", my sh*t guy answered.

He left to go get his friend.
His friend with the snake.
The electric snake.

Twenty minutes later, he was back with Pete, the Snake Guy. Joe introduced us, and I gave Pete a nod, rather than reaching for his hand, because--quite simply--Pete was filthy. I said hello to Pete, secretly disappointed that he had such an ordinary name, that he didn't have a nickname like Stinky Pete, or Brownie, or Muddy.

Pete and Joe got down on their knees and they both stuck their heads in the tank.
Pete shook his head, signaling things in the tank looked bleak. Then he said he was going in.
Going. In. The. Tank.

I asked him if he was out of his mind, and he told me he was so used to it, that he could eat in there. That he had eaten in there.

I asked Pete if he was married, and he said no. I just nodded.

He jumped in, rooted around, then climbed back out and decided to snake it.

That didn't work.

Then they went into the basement & tried snaking it from there.

No go.

Finally, after plenty of hammering, grunting, and swearing, they removed a cap--THE CAP--and a floodgate of sh*t emptied into the basement. If on a scale from 1-10 the stench from the septic tank was a 9, then this was most certainly a 45.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that when THE CAP came off, and a floodgate of sh*t came spewing out, as if from the mouth of a possessed demon, it not only completely covered Dirty Pete in sewage, but it went in his mouth as well.
His. Mouth.

I swear I can't make this stuff up.

Clog cleared, basement filled with sh*t water, Joe and Pete were finally on their merry way. As they pulled out of the driveway, and I was waving goodbye to my new friends, I caught sight of Pete in the passengers seat. Still covered in filth, there he was hungrily digging into a big, sloppy chicken parmigiana wedge. I couldn't believe my eyes; would you believe that crazy old coot dribbled some sauce on his tee shirt and actually bothered to use a napkin to dab it off?!?

No Sh*t.

Speechless.

2009-09-21T07:43:00.000-04:00

A Big, Loving Family + Opo Squash

2009-09-21T06:01:00.008-04:00

I saw my family yesterday. My cousin and his wife christened their son, Logan, and so the entire family turned out to share in the celebration. I come from a rather colorful lot, as you can probably imagine by now; our family tree is made up a hodgepodge of eccentrics, eclectics, and at times, even the slightly insane, and as a result our family gatherings tend to be loud and colorful, with a "I wonder what will happen next?" type of spirit. Yesterday, for instance, within the course of just a few hours, my cousin, Kevin, saved a woman's life (Heimlich), I got to smell my grandmother once again, and I came home with a squash the size of a baseball bat.

I never thought I would smell my grandmother again--after all, she died over a year ago--but after Kevin dislodged a wedge of bread from a young woman's esophagus, lunch was served, and the festivities were over, we stopped by my childhood home. This is the home where my grandmother lived, where we all lived at one point or another, but which now belongs to my cousin Mark, and his wife, Mati. I had not been there in a few years, so it was bittersweet to be in the place that was so much my grandmother. Every Easter dinner was celebrated in that home; I cannot step foot into the yard without thinking of our annual egg hunts, or into her dining room without remembering the ham, kielbasi, pierogi, the horseradish and hot mustard, the paska bread. But it was not just seeing the house, and touching the familiar banisters and doorknobs, but it was smelling it that really got to me. Mati asked me as I walked up the stairs to the attic "Do you smell her?" and oh my God, I did; she was everywhere.

My heart ached.

Later we went out into the garden--the garden where my grandmother had her tomato plants and peppers and cucumbers each and every year--and I saw that the tradition had been passed down. For everywhere my eye fell, there were melons, and pumpkins, and squash, and eggplant, and tomatoes. My niece Maureen plucked a warm cherry tomato off the vine and popped it into her mouth as we rummaged through the tangle of vines for the last of summer's bounty. My heart lightened, because I knew my grandmother was still with us. She was there in her house and her yard, and her garden. And she was there with us as we stood barefoot in the warm sun on a beautiful September afternoon, playing baseball with a preposterously large Opo Squash, laughing like children at both the lunacy, and joy of the moment.

A Good Day.

2009-09-19T14:25:00.007-04:00

Let me share with you the details of my morning...

I slept ten glorious, much-needed hours last night. Autumn has arrived a bit early here in the Northeast, and so the down comforter is back on the bed (what is it about sleeping beneath the weight of a thick comforter, with the window slightly cracked, that makes us sleep like just-changed, Pablumed-up babies?) The sun sets so early now that I can barely keep my eyes open past eight. Last night I crawled into bed at nine, and when I finally rolled over and willed my eyes open out of a dreamy sleep, it was not at the ungodly 5am wake up time I've been suffering through lately, but a much more civilized 7am; a time when the sun actually lights up the sky! Upon becoming vertical, I threw on a comfy sweater and my beloved flip flops, and proceeded to drink not one, but two!! Illy Cappuccino's. F#@k you Starbucks for snatching my precious Iced Coffee's from the shelves of every supermarket in America; there's a new iced coffee drink in town and it's JUST AS GOOD as yours. God bless you, Illy, and your delicious, 100 calorie caffeinated drink. And once again--for good measure--F#@k you Starbucks. I will never buy another one of your products ever again. Ever. I mean it. Really I do.

Next, I went to yoga class with the best yoga instructor on the planet, Pat. Please don't ask me Pat's last name, or where Pat teaches, because I am selfish and want her all to myself. Just trust me when I tell you that Pat is wonderful and if Pat was your Yogi, you would want her all to yourself, too. Going to Pat's yoga class is like going to church, except it's better (I can say that because I'm Catholic and spent a gigantic slice of my life in church and Catholic school) Today it was so spiritual that I actually started to cry--that's how moving and beautiful it is. Pat is a rock star.

When I got home from an hour and a half with Rock Star-slash-Yogi, Pat, I decided to take the kayak out for a little cruise. It's 65 degrees, and abundantly sunny in New York today--perfect early fall weather--and so I spent and hour paddling around the lake with a lone swan, and some hovering dragonflies as my only company. I could not ask for a better way to spend an hour.

Today at the beginning of our yoga class, Pat asked each of us to send a request up before we got started. She does this each time she teaches, and my requests vary. Sometimes I send out a prayer for my family (God knows they need it) while other times I pray for happiness, or strength. Today I sent a request up into the heavens for creative energy. I've not been feeling particularly focused from a creative standpoint lately and quite simply, I need to finish writing the book that is in my head. I feel so close, but there have many distractions.

But today I feel like I've been handed a gift. I feel focused.

I need more days like today.

Look Who's Back.

2009-09-09T06:00:00.026-04:00

Regular readers (are any of you left out there, or did you abandon me long ago for greener blog pastures?) are probably wondering where I disappeared to this past year. As I wrote in my last posting, after a supremely unpleasant 2008, I set out on a mission to make the most of my 2009. If you live in the Northeast, then you are fully aware that Mother Nature--the cruel, spiteful bitch that she is--snatched summer away from our eager, outstretched hands. I'm not quite certain who she was pissed at, but whoever it is and whatever you did, please do not do it again, otherwise I'm afraid you'll be forced to deal with me, and I make Mother Nature look like the Dalai Lama on laughing gas when I'm in a pissy mood. But despite the sanity-smashing, garden-ending, vacation-ruining rains and unseasonably cold temperatures we had to contend with here in Frown Town, I did manage--by sheer will--to enjoy the season, and spread my wings quite often.

I've learned to finally love yoga simply by finding the right Yogi to guide me (who knew an instructor was supposed to look at their students, rather than adoringly at themselves in the mirror?!). As a result, I am now not only limber, but am coordinated for the first time in 45 years; I actually have a sense of balance, which I've never had. I find that remarkable. I'm more peaceful, as well, and mindful of what I put up into the Universe. And the best part is, my arms are ripped. Not freakish Zombie-arms like Madonna's, but good ripped.

I also splurged on a kayak this year. When I spontaneously decided to purchase one, I didn't buy the most expensive kayak on the market because that seemed foolish, nor did I spend weeks and weeks doing exhaustive, head-achy research. Instead, I went to the L.L.Bean website, read the positive reviews of the Manatee, and two weeks later I was paddling away (more great shoulder work). Seriously, it was the best indulgent investment I ever made, for when I am on the water, there is nothing but me and my thoughts. And peace. And the way I look at it, more peace in my life can't possibly be a bad thing.

I traveled this year, too. I made it down to Key West for my 45th birthday and from what I remember, had a great time. In early July, I went to Niagara for the first time in my life, and watched the fireworks above the falls on our nations birthday. And, I even found myself in a place this summer that I never imagined I would love: South Dakota. Beautiful beyond words.

True to my promise, I've grilled endlessly; my favorites from this summer are grilled scallops served over over warm homemade ratatouille, and grilled goat-cheese stuffed figs, wrapped in prosciutto. Delicious. I can't rule out grilled pineapple topped with homemade vanilla ice cream either. Perfect on a summer night.

This autumn, I am back to writing. The rest has done me good, but I feel the need to stretch not only my physical muscles, but my creative muscles once again.

I've healed, and I'm both healthy and happy. Now it's time to focus again on nourishing my creative soul.

It's nice to be back.

Love,
Suzanne

scenes from my summer

Scenes from my Summer: Smile!

2009-08-09T23:07:00.001-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Wet Me

2009-08-09T23:04:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Deadwood, SD Sign

2009-08-09T22:54:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Downtown Deadwood, SD

2009-08-09T22:53:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Downtown Deadwood, SD

2009-08-09T22:49:00.000-04:00

One Year Later

2009-07-21T18:26:00.003-04:00

I was parked in my Jeep the other day, browsing through my iPhone photos, when I suddenly realized that I just happened to be sitting in my car, wearing a black dress, in exactly the same month and location that I had snapped a photo of myself last year.

So of course I had to take a photo this year to compare.

The hair is of course longer. Other than that, I'm wondering if I look any older!?

Ack, whatever. I'm happy...that's all that matters.

Appreciating snow in July (among other things)

2009-07-20T08:37:00.016-04:00

* Yonkers, NY July 8, 2009

You may have noticed that I've not been blogging as much lately as I have in the past. This is not due to anything other than I've simply been spending more time thinking about life, rather than writing about it. I also decided this year, that with free time being such a rare commodity, I would rather write when something feels relevant to me, rather than just blathering on and on about nothing. That all being said, summer has finally arrived in New York (well, except for that little snowstorm the other morning in Yonkers*) and I'm happy to report that the roof has been down on the Jeep for three straight days in a row now, and nary a drop of water has ruined my ride. It's days like these--bird chirping mornings, low-humidity days, roofless rides, barbecue evenings--that make me happy to be. That's it...just happy to be.

Recently, a friend of mine relayed to me a little ditty he remembered his father saying to his mother throughout his childhood: "Give them less and they'll appreciate more." I'm sure come Christmastime and birthdays those were not exactly the words my friend and his siblings wanted to hear, but as he got older he began to understand exactly what his dad meant, as did I when he repeated it to me. The amazing Peggy Noonan penned a great column in the Wall Street Journal a few weeks back on Sarah Palin, and in that article she wrote about what she labeled the "self-esteem generation". That brand really resonated with me, for I myself have noticed that the generations that came after the Baby Boomers seem to believe that they are entitled to not only 'things', but their way, as well. Ms. Noonan wrote in that article: "For 30 years the self-esteem movement told the young they're perfect in every way. It's yielding something new in history: an entire generation with no proper sense of inadequacy." Brilliantly put.

I was raised in a household where we had chores, and when we were old enough to get jobs, got them. If we were 'fresh', or misbehaved, that most certainly resulted in a spanking, a mouth full of soap, or our room, without dinner. We donned skippy sneakers from Woolworth's until they had holes in the soles, and wore stiff dungarees from Klein's, which were passed on as hand-me-downs when they were outgrown. We ate what was on our plates, and liked it. On our birthdays, and on holidays we got gifts of course, but they were by no means extravagant, and most times, not brand names. When I made my First Holy Communion, I received a small, simple gold cross necklace; we were never allowed to be show-offy.

Every summer my dad planted a salad garden in the backyard: tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, cucumbers. There was a long rope clothesline on a pulley back there too, where we would would hang our sheets and tshirts and jeans up by wooden clothespins to dry in the summer sun. My brothers and my dad mowed that backyard lawn with an old, rotary push mower each and every week under the hot sun. I'm sure my dad thought it was good exercise. All over the property carnations, and black-eyed Susan's, and daisies, and roses, and lilacs, and lilies of the valley, and mint, and wild garlic grew. On summer nights we would make buttered toast, then rub the fresh garlic across the warm slices of bread. We'd eat our garlic toasts, then run barefoot across the lawn, chasing the fireflies that floated up in the humid night air. Perhaps we'd play hide and seek for awhile with our friends, or beg our mom for three quarters if the Good Humor truck happen to jingle by (more times than not, that plea would fall on deaf ears). At 9pm or so, my mother would call us in for bed. I can't remember showering very much, or worrying about ticks, or mosquito bites, or UV rays. We didn't have computers back then, of course; we had one TV that got channels 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, and 13, but we rarely turned it on because we were mostly outside playing, building forts, finding bugs, swimming, exploring the neighborhood, being kids. Our parents didn't fuss over us; if we skinned our knees, well, we skinned our knees and that was that. No babying.

It was all very simple when we were growing up; we had a home, and food on the table, and clothes on our backs, and we went to school, and church, and in that regard, our lives were probably not very different from the "self-esteem generation" that Ms. Noonan wrote about a few weeks back. Except, of course, that my parents unwittingly had the same "give them less, they'll appreciate more" philosophy as my friends father did. And, as a result, I grew up inherently humble and self sufficient--two of the greatest gifts my parents could have ever bestowed upon me, but that I didn't appreciate until just lately (I guess that old nugget 'with age comes wisdom' is dead-on after all.)

We need to teach our children--and perhaps remind ourselves--that humility is an admirable trait, not a shameful one; that as we go through life, we should not feel entitled to things, but rather grateful for things. Things like chirpy bird mornings, roofless rides, barbecue evenings, garlic toasts, and I guess yes, even the occasionally snowy July morning. Just as long as it's melted the next day, of course. Even I have my limits.

Scenes from my Summer: Drama Above

2009-07-19T20:57:00.002-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Nap Spot

2009-07-19T20:56:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Red Shoes

2009-07-19T20:52:00.001-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Down the Hatch

2009-07-19T20:50:00.002-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: Fried Calamari

2009-07-19T20:45:00.000-04:00

Scenes from my Summer: July 4th

2009-07-04T14:51:00.000-04:00

I can dream, can't I?

2009-06-30T18:31:00.003-04:00

The kitchen of my dreams. Conveniently located in the house of my dreams. Welcome to Clingstone.

An Open Letter to Starbucks.

2009-06-27T07:29:00.027-04:00

Dear Starbucks.

This sucks.

As does this.

This, too.

And, if I drank this every morning, I would weigh 380 lbs, have rotting teeth, and would be in need of a heart transplant in a few short years.

Why? Why? Why Starbucks? Why and how did you get it into your collective, over-Frappuccino-ed heads, that it would be a good idea to replace the one coffee beverage an adult might actually want to drink in the morning -- the only one you offered that was made from three simple ingredients: coffee, milk + sugar; the one beverage that was lowfat, light, and refreshing, with just the right amount of caffeine, and with no cream in it, so my teeth didn't feel like they were coated with paste after drinking it; the one beverage that didn't remind me of Yoohoo, or Bosco, or the Nestle's Quik Shakes I drank as a kid; the one iced coffee on the market that was simple, sophisticated, and peerless--

and remove it from every shelf in America.

??

Starbucks, I've heard recently that you have been closing stores, and laying off employees. Surely, the economy being in the miserable state it's in has something to do with your downturn, but I can't help but wonder if part of your downfall is due to the fact that you are also completely out of touch with your consumer. What you beanheads don't understand is, that if I want to get fat, I will go to McDonalds. If I want Guarana & Ginseng, I will go to Mrs. Greens. I come to you for coffee. Simple, good coffee. Not coffee that is 800 calories with whipped cream and chocolate syrup piled on so high that I need a special lid to contain it, and 2-inch wide straw to suck it up with.

America is getting fatter and fatter and you are not helping us by making your drinks bigger and bigger, loading them up with more and more 'stuff'. I am not 16 years old, and I do not want to drink dessert for breakfast. Nor, do I want to travel out of my way each day, to stand in line for ten minutes with a bunch of people who are equally unhappy about having to drive out of their way/stand in line, for an iced coffee that is good or bad, depending on the mood, experience, or level of hangover, of the heavily pierced barista behind the bar. Sorry Starbucks suits, but I want a consistent experience.

I had that -- of course -- before you inexplicably removed the aforementioned perfect, peerless Iced Coffee Italian Roast, from every supermarket, every Target, every Starbucks, every online resource in America, just in time for summer.

Yesterday -- after wasting more gas trying yet another out-of-the-way supermarket, and leaving both empty-handed + utterly frustrated -- I came to the sad conclusion that I will never again taste my favorite morning beverage. And so I did what I always do when things look hopeless -- I came up with a solution.

This morning I am going out to buy myself an espresso maker (not from you, of course) so I can replicate the recipe at home. And, once I do, I will be posting that recipe here for all the other spurned Iced Coffee lovers out there who are equally tired of Corporate America just not getting it. And I will happily drink it every morning, for what I am certain will cost me small change, instead of the $2.00 per can I was laying out each day. That will save me approximately $700 per year -- money that will go towards something good for me, not you.

So, in conclusion, thank you for the $700 this year, and the $7,000 over the next 10 years in savings. And, for challenging me this week in the kitchen + today on my weblog.

Have a nice day, and don't forget to get your cholesterol checked regularly -- that Grande Frappuccino you sell in your stores has a whopping 65 mg. of it!

Sincerely,
Suzanne Brown

On Year Later

2009-06-24T21:32:00.002-04:00

...and I still miss you just as much as I did when you left us this time last year. Time to make another cheesecake, I guess.

I love you, Grams.

Gathering two of each species.

2009-06-15T20:41:00.004-04:00

Ok. Disregard my last post. I honestly can't take another second of this--it rains constantly here. It's insane. Today the weatherman on the radio couldn't even bring himself to announce the forecast for the remainder of the week. I believe that is not only unprecedented, but a very bad sign.

Seriously, what the HELL is going on?

Believe.

2009-06-09T17:35:00.016-04:00

It's been raining nonstop this spring, so much so, that I am beginning to wonder how people who live in places like Mobile, Alabama (ranked the #1 rainiest city in the U.S.), Pensacola, Florida (the runner up) and New Orleans, Louisiana (taking home the bronze) don't eventually lose their marbles. But then again, at least in those cities it's warm outside. Here--in perpetually grey and gloomy New York--I'm still in fleece, still tucked beneath a thick, down comforter at night (it's back on the bed after a two-night hiatus), still putting the heat on to take the chill out of the house. All this, despite the fact that summer is a mere 12 days away.

It boggles the mind.

But yesterday I came home to my tiny red cabin in the woods, huddled over, my shoulders up to my ears as usual, when this small angel wing sculpture--a gift from my dear friend, Bethanne--caught my eye. Cold, wet, cranky + bemoaning the loss of the season, I saw the word 'believe' peeking out the flower box by my front entrance. And suddenly, I didn't feel so miserable anymore. Because those seven letters that spelled out believe, reminded me that it's not the warmth of the sun, or the blueness of the sky, or the length of day that makes life wonderful. It's everything else in the world that give us joy, makes us who we are; things like family, friends, home, faith. There are many things in this world that I believe in--a few which I have listed below--but more than anything, I believe that one day soon, the sun will shine again. And that, I am most certain, will be a truly glorious moment.

I believe in...
My friends + family America Summer Blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream Stopping to pet dogs God Vacations Respecting elders Loving children, not spoiling them Exercise Being independent Cooking Growing a garden Being fearless Creativity Laughter as the best medicine Splurging Heroes Not judging a book by its cover Forgiving people Flip flops Well-worn jeans Everything in moderation Hanging the flag Reading Being yourself You're never too old Salt air Respecting privacy Clotheslines Thin crust pizza Frye boots Feather pillows Running after the Good Humor Truck A favorite sweatshirt Thanking a soldier Being grateful for small things Living each day to it's fullest The power of a sunny day

Here I Am.

2009-06-02T19:59:00.012-04:00

My dog did not use my keyboard as a chew toy (sidenote: I don't even own a dog, but if I did, it would be most certainly a fugly, slobbering bulldog named Mugsy), nor have I fallen ill with the porcine flu that has been oinking it's way across the tri-state area. I'm not trapped under a massive piece of furniture, the result of a spring cleaning effort gone horribly, horribly wrong. For you sci-fiers in the audience, rest assured that I've not been adbucted by aliens, possessed by a demon, lost my brain to flesh eating zombies, or had every last drop of my Type A blood drained by some red-eyed feral creature of the night.

Yes, I'm still here, in my tiny red cottage by the river, alive and well, and finally--after the longest and most miserable winter and spring imaginable (by New York standards, at least)--coming out of hibernation. The windows are wide open. The down comforter just came off of the bed. It's safe to wear shorts without risking hypothermia. My shoulders are not up to my ears when I walk outside. And best of all, the produce at the farm is starting to inspire me.

With summer comes more energy + creativity. I feel the stagnation of winter sloughing away. Time to start cooking again. And writing.

It's good to be back.

Love,
Suzanne

Personal Note: Satisfied, Scooter Boy + ewiz2?!

SPRING FAVA BEAN DIP (Print Recipe Card)
2 cups fava beans, cooked, cooled with shells removed (you can use frozen fava beans if you prefer)
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 clove crushed garlic
Salt + Pepper to taste
Shaved Pecorino Romano (optional)
Pita Bread cut into wedges (toasted if you prefer)

Place fava beans, olive oil, lemon juice and garlic in a food processor or blender and process until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with shaved pecorino romano if you desire. Serve with pita bread wedges.

Makes 2 servings

Good Stuff.

2009-05-23T08:11:00.001-04:00

One for the Road.

2009-04-18T13:17:00.005-04:00

(Print Recipe Card)
1 oz coconut rum
1 oz light rum
1/4 oz key lime juice
1/4 oz pineapple juice

Lime wedge or slice of pineapple for garnish (optional)

Place all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with cracked ice. Shake well, strain into a chilled cocktail glass, then garnish with a lime wedge or slice of pineapple. Find the nearest sunset, remove shoes, + enjoy.

Makes one cocktail

Birthdays, Bikini's + (empty) Bank Accounts

2009-04-16T21:32:00.014-04:00

Today it is a glorious 72 degrees here in New York, and all I can say is, it's about freaking time. Winter has long overstayed it's welcome here in the Northeast (it was flurrying!!! last week) so this little spike in the mercury is a welcome change. Alas, it won't last very long--Sunday's forecast is for more gloomy weather and another dip back down into the 40s. On top of the indignity of having to continue to wear wool/remain pale and pasty, this tax year was an especially bad one for me. Wait, I take that back--did I say bad? Sorry, I meant, catastrophic; I owe Uncle Sam in taxes what many Americans earn per year. When my accountant asked me if I had any questions for him, I replied by asking him if he had anything that got rid of nausea.

Oh, and I turn forty-five on Monday.

But, true to my nature, I am rolling with all of this. I don't believe I have cancer, and I am typing this entry with two working hands, and am about to make my way over to the fridge for a beverage on my two, very sturdy, working legs. I currently have a roof over my head that doesn't leak when it rains, and a car that gets me from Point A to Point B in both a fun and reliable manner. My belly is not grumbling, and there are no holes in my clothes (well, except in the knees of a few pairs of jeans, but I like them that way). I have family + friends who I can rely on for both love and laughter, and when I wake up in the morning, I rise not with a sense of dread, but with a sense of peace. The glass--for now, at least--remains half full.

And, despite the fact that I am about to empty my bank account and hand a big burlap sack of money over to our spendthrift government, it's not stopping me from hitting the road for a little birthday adventure next week. I've not been on a vacation in a really, really long time, and I've decided that now is as good a time as any to go someplace warm, and tropical, and delicious. A place where I can live in a bikini and flip flops, and spend most of my day sipping rum-based drinks, while listening to Bob Marley. At least that's my grand plan at 5:39 on this Friday afternoon. If I veer off course, and happen to find myself on some other wacky adventure along the way, I promise that you'll be the first to know.

Until then, have a wonderful week.

Love,
Suzanne

Joy + Clotheslines

2009-04-03T12:18:00.007-04:00

Last night I had dinner with my friend Terry, and, as I have found to to be the case when I spend time with a woman as opposed to a man, we spent very little time discussing topics like work and the economy, more time chatting about the things that give us joy in life--things like family, and friends, home, health, and faith. After dinner, I hugged Terry goodbye, and as I walked to my car I realized--despite the fact that I had just wolfed down a lamb T-bone large enough for a caveman--I felt lighter. I felt lighthearted. For suddenly I realized that I had grown up to become a woman who makes decisions in life that are not about money or material things, but rather simple joys. I thought about the upcoming summer and what I am most looking forward to, and I was happily surprised that I could not list one thing that had a price tag associated with it. Instead, the things I long for the most are to hang a clothesline for the first time in years, to sit in a big old tire tube on a lake with a gin and tonic in my hand at the end of a long day, to grow a really fabulous vegetable and herb garden, to plant a preposterously large row of sunflowers, to string up a hammock, and to barbecue as much as humanly possibly.

I know the economy sucks right now, but I have to admit that I am almost relieved that we as a nation are returning to simpler times. There is no shame in living leaner, appreciating things we've in the past taken for granted. I for one, cannot wait to sleep under sheets that have been kissed by the sun and a warm summer breeze, and to wake up to a big vase of sunflowers smiling at me from my bedside table.

SCENTED LINEN WATER
From my book, Summer: A User's Guide

Infuse your linens with the sweet summery scent of flowers or herbs. Spray onto your sheets and pillowcases before ironing to add a soft scent, spray onto sheets to freshen up the bed between washings, or use as a lightly-scented room spray.

Spray bottle (sterilize with boiling water before using)
10-20 drops (or more, depending on your preference) of an essential oil. You might try lavender, peppermint, rosemary, spearmint, rose, jasmine or any other summery scent.
3 ounces non-flavored high proof (80+) vodka
25 ounces distilled water

Pour the essential oil and vodka into spray bottle and shake well until it is thoroughly mixed, then add the distilled water. Shake well before each use.

A Word About Unhappy, Miserable People (UMPs)

2009-03-29T20:56:00.023-04:00

It never ceases to amaze me that in a world where there is so much to be grateful for (giggling babies, dogs riding with their heads sticking out of car windows, cancer-free lives, democracy, chocolate cream pie, Seinfeld repeats, Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World", The annual hotdog-eating contest at Nathan's in Coney Island, Blue Man Group, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, the smell of fresh-mowed grass, sunrises, sunsets + everything in between), there are certain people that still plod through each day angry + miserable, bemoaning their fate and blaming others for where they've landed in life. I call these folks UMPs (short for Unhappy, Miserable People), and they never fail to inspire awe in me with the lengths they will go to try to make you an UMP as well.

I'm sure you know a few UMPs yourself--let's face it, we all do. There's one lurking in every office, every gym, every neighborhood, and they just love to chip away at you with their UMPiness, hoping to wear you down so you become as bitter as they are. Well, I have news for you UMPs of the world (and you know who you are!)--there is a little thing called gratitude + it is a super force field against your UMP-Rays. As a person who wakes up each morning filled with gratitude that I am here to enjoy another day, grateful for the simplest gifts I've been given and am allowed to witness (please reference list above in paragraph one re: babies and chocolate cream pie) I pity you for wallowing in your Unhappy Misery.

Readers, with tomorrow being the much loathed back to work day (and thus, an UMPs favorite day to wreak havoc) make a commitment to be grateful for the gifts you've been blessed with. Moving forward, start each morning by sending a thank you out into the universe; do it from bed, or in the shower, or on line at Starbucks, or in rush hour traffic...but do it. I promise that you will become happier and more peaceful as a result.

Of course those grumpy UMPs won't stand a chance, as they are rendered powerless in the face of true joy and contentment. Yes, yes, it's sad that they choose to fester in misery rather than soar with happiness, but the way I see it, that simply means there's more chocolate cream pie + peanut butter cups for us.

Scenes from my Spring: Blooms!

2009-03-29T20:43:00.003-04:00

Look who just woke up!

Scenes from the Beach: The glass may have been half empty...

2009-03-22T20:45:00.000-04:00

...but the belly certainly was not.

Scenes from the Beach: NO, NO, NO

2009-03-22T20:40:00.000-04:00

No fun allowed.

Scenes from the Beach: Nathans Famous

2009-03-22T20:37:00.001-04:00

Salty, nitrate-filled goodness.

Weather Update

2009-03-20T12:11:00.002-04:00

I just heard on the radio that it's going to be 28 degrees tonight.

The flip flops are staying in the bag.

Mother Nature can just kiss my ass.

The first day of Spring in New York...

2009-03-20T08:17:00.004-04:00

Perfect beach weather.

Fresh.

2009-03-19T18:57:00.010-04:00

Spring (finally!) arrives tomorrow, and I am heading to the beach for the weekend, weather be damned.

I've decided that moving forward, Friday's are going to be "me" days; a day set aside for writing, crafting, cooking, exploring, being. I feel that I need to nurture my soul for awhile, and worry about the money a little bit later.

Life is too short not to do the things you love most;
the things that give you pure, heartfelt joy.

And with that being said, I'm off to pack my bag. And even though it's only going to be in the high 40s tomorrow, you better believe I'm packing my flip flops.

Happy Vernal Equinox, everyone.

Love,
Suzanne

PS. A big hug and thanks to everyone who wrote me such sweet comments last week. Good stuff all around.

Countdown.

2009-03-16T10:40:00.004-04:00

Guess what I discovered yesterday, peeking out of the earth? Green.
Spring arrives on Friday.

A fresh new season. Can't wait.

Old Dog, New Tricks.

2009-03-14T12:32:00.004-04:00

As I mentioned yesterday, this has been a supremely crummy week. I would love to cast blame for this crumminess on the full moon, the time change, or the fact that this week played host to a Friday the 13th, but alas, I am simply just not superstitious enough to do so. Instead, I am chalking this week up to a perfect storm of work + relationship + personal issues that all came to a head at precisely the same time, leaving me bobbing around like a cork at sea, in a Class 5 hurricane. Now, as most of you who read this weblog regularly know 1. I am relatively a glass is half full sort of sistah, and, 2. I am that way, despite the fact that the past year has been a challenging one, to say the least.

But this week was difficult in a whole new way. You see, I wasn't sure if I was on the right path.

There. I said it. It's out there.

Suddenly, I find myself working ten, twelve, fifteen hour days and never finding time to write or cook, which are the things I love to do the most. And, I have no time for crafting or photography, which fall second on my list. And, as a result, I feel like I am not the clever little monkey I was before I set out on this junket of mine. Basically--at the end of the day--I feel unfulfilled. And, in my book. that is unacceptable.

So, of course I got weepy. And felt sorry for myself. And I took that frustration out on others who had nothing to do with the path I chose or the situation I'm in.

But then, in between eating too much guacamole + crying on too many patient shoulders, I suddenly had a moment of clarity.

I need a change.
I need to change.

As Todd Beamer said, Let's Roll.

The Weekend. Thank GOD.

2009-03-13T17:54:00.008-04:00

Supremely crummy week, but at least my hair is soft + straight. Tonight I am meeting Cindy for cocktails in Katonah. And I am rocking my chic orange hat from Target.

Oh, and you're coming along once again.

Stay tuned.

S.

PS. Someone out there send me a good recipe for Heaven's sake. I'm wildly uninspired in the kitchen these days. Something springy + fresh. I'm thinking morels, or rhubarb, or peas, or fresh eggs from the farm. Oh, whatever...just something new.

LATER THAT EVENING....

The light in New York is beautiful this time of year. Golden + delicious. I snapped this from my Jeep on Rte 100.

Finally...salvation. In a glass.

I love this saying... Food, Like Life, Is to Be Shared. So true. I will borrow that often.

New TV Spot! HOMEMADE FOR MOM - May 9th

2009-03-12T18:25:00.001-04:00

After taking the winter off for some much needed battery recharging, I'm filled with joy to announce that I just signed on to do a few new TV spots with my good friends at WTNH in New Haven. First up is a Mother's Day craft show on May 9th. I'm hoping to get my mom and my niece to join me on that show, so stop back soon for new crafts and recipes especially for the ladies we love!

Homemade for Mom
with Suzanne Brown
WTNH, News Channel 8
May 9th at 7:40 am

Happy Spring!
Suzanne

Sunday 8:30 AM

2009-03-08T08:38:00.001-04:00

Clean.

Sunday 7:25 AM

2009-03-08T07:25:00.001-04:00

I can't stand another second of this. I need a shower. Wrapping my head in a plastic bag and hoping for the best.

Sunday 4:21 AM

2009-03-08T04:21:00.003-04:00

Sleepless tonight, so I watched Sex in the City once again. I will never tire of this movie.
Now, off to get some shut eye on my hair creasing flannel pillow.

We interupt this weekend to bring you baby news...

2009-03-07T17:58:00.004-05:00

My baby cousin, Kevin + his wife, Leah, gifted us with a new family member last evening--a 10 lb. 3 oz. mega-pooper (so I hear) named Logan. God bless you Leah for pushing that Thanksgiving turkey out. Now go get yourself a margarita, sister!

Saturday 3:05 PM

2009-03-07T17:55:00.003-05:00

Smelly me and my $250 straight hair make our way back home. Only two more days until I can shower....

Saturday at Noon

2009-03-07T13:42:00.002-05:00

Lunch with Michele at Le Jardin in Chappaqua, in the outdoor garden. Because it's a delightful 68 degrees here in New York today. Yum.

PS. Michele had a flattening iron and fixed that little crease I created by not buying a satin pillowcase.
PSPS Still smelly.

Saturday 11:48 AM

2009-03-07T13:20:00.000-05:00

Kelly + Cortez. Love these dogs.

Saturday 11:01 AM

2009-03-07T13:00:00.000-05:00

Ate thirty trillion calories of Mexican food last night with Bev, so despite what Jiji told me about not working out, I am working out. Doing my best not to get my new $250 hair damp.

PS. I could really, really use a shower.

Saturday 8:00 AM

2009-03-07T08:15:00.001-05:00

I think I creased my hair on my flannel pillowcase. Must purchase flattening iron PRONTO.

Friday 7:00 PM

2009-03-06T22:22:00.001-05:00

Cocktails with Bev. You know when you never run out of things to talk about with someone? That's us.

Friday 3:15 PM

2009-03-06T15:27:00.003-05:00

Just paid $27 for a special new shampoo to go along with my special new hair. It better come with a satin pillow case. And a weeks worth of groceries, since I can no longer afford to eat.

Friday 1:11 PM

2009-03-06T14:49:00.003-05:00

It's suddenly a bad day.

Just learned I cannot shower or wash my hair until MONDAY. No sweating (thus, no gym). No humidity (rain is in the forecast for tomorrow). And Jiji just asked me if I could sleep on a satin pillow for the next three days.

I gave him my middle finger as an answer.

What is this treatment I'm getting?

Friday 12:45 PM

2009-03-06T14:46:00.013-05:00

Hair salon.
Jiji.
Some sort of Brazilian keratin hair smoothing treatment thingamajigie that takes two and a half hours and costs $250.

It's suddenly a good day.

Friday 11:15 AM

2009-03-06T14:31:00.007-05:00

A trip to TJ Maxx is more fun. $9.99 madras shorts are a thing of beauty. Take THAT JCrew.

Friday 10:20 AM

2009-03-06T14:28:00.005-05:00

A trip to the neurologists office is always fun. BP is 130/78.

Uninspired...but Cautiously Optimistic

2009-03-06T06:10:00.003-05:00

Good Morning.

I'm in a rut.

Uninspired.
Serious case of writer's block.
Staggering loss of creativity.
Sick of wool.
Hate my hair.
Don't even get me started on the economy.

But I've decided that the little pity party is over; I'm shaking things up starting riiiiiighhhht..... NOW. This weekend I will be doing a little photo blogging to help jump start my creative battery. I have nothing exceptional planned for this weekend, so my goal is to find the extraordinary in the everyday ordinary.

I hope you'll tag along.

Suzanne
3.6.09
6:10am