Escape to the Catskills

My friends J&R got married recently.  They are one of those couples where you just like each person SO much individually and then you like them even MORE together.  In short, they are all-around awesome.  I was super excited to celebrate with them.

And also pretty excited to get the h-e-c-k out of the city and take in the autumn colors upstate.  It was so lovely.  Me and my city-slicker friends kept exclaiming "The air here smells so good!" and "Look at the stars!  You can see stars here!"

For me, I couldn't get over the quiet.  Our rental cabin (pictured below) was on a large piece of land - you could see other houses but couldn't hear noise coming from them.  No neighbors practicing the violin, so salsa music coming from the street, no sirens, no rattling garbage trucks, no one inexplicably beating a metal dumpster with a baseball bat at 2a.m.  (Remind me why I live in the city, again?)

The happy couple are comedians, and wanted to have a 'roast' at their wedding.  As in, we were supposed to stand up in front of all wedding guests and roast the bride & groom, Comedy Central-style.

This resulted in a flurry of emails between my friends and I, in the week leading up to the wedding.  What could we say, in front of the bride and groom's families?  Where is that tenuous line between funny & wildly inappropriate?

We spent that Saturday afternoon sitting around our cabin's dining room table, sun shining in through picture windows, writing out jokes on index cards, vetoing questionable material and stuffing two animal pelts (that had been hanging on the wall next to that deer head) into a duffle bag to use as props.  In the end, I think we struck the right chord and our roast was a success.  Phew.  (Never offend the people who are about to buy you dinner, that's my motto.)

The wedding took place on a farm, featuring real live animals!  Ren the Golden Retriever, who would eventually wander into the reception and take a nap on the dance floor.  Poppy the goat, who lived in a dog-house & tried to eat my scarf.  And Giver the miniature horse, who was largely disinterested in you unless you had grass to feed him.

The ceremony took place up the hill from Poppy's hangout, under a yellowing tree, with clear views of the surrounding mountains.  Someone said, "This looks like a Bob Ross painting," and they were right.

The reception was in a barn, lined with hay bales and lit by twinkle lights.  I'm not going to lie: it was a little chilly in there.  So we tore up the dance floor to keep warm, until the DJ called it quits.  That's when things really got going, because the second act of the evening was LIVE BAND KARAOKE!

I'm a fan of regular karaoke, but live band karaoke?  Shut the barn door.  It was flippin' fantastic.  You will be made to feel like a genuine rock-star, and you will eat. it. up.

I fulfilled two long-time dreams at once by a) performing "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" and b) performing it at a wedding (I've been threatening to sing it at people's weddings since 2000.  And it happened.  It finally happened!)

I also rocked a tambourine during some group numbers ("Don't Stop Believin'" and "I Want You To Want Me") and woke up the next morning with a bruised hand.  The tambourine: it ain't for sissies.

It was one of those weekends that you never want to end, but alas - Sunday afternoon arrived and we headed (reluctantly) back to the city.

Goodbye foliage, goodbye quiet, goodbye Poppy the Goat.  (I forgive you for trying to eat my scarf.)

Thanks, J&R for being you and for having a wedding that was SO you.  Much like live band karaoke, you guys totally rock.

Not To Brag...

   
But my friends are kind of a big deal.

Sunday night, Sonz had her first sketch-writing class show.  So fun!  And so funny!  Very proud of her, not only for trying something intimidating, but for showing up every week for class at 9am.  On a Saturday!!  That's true determination and dedication, if you ask me.

 
On Monday night, Sach had a poetry reading.  She stood at that podium, stared down the crowd of her creative peers, and shared one poem she wrote herself and one poem she translated from Portuguese.  It was awesome and moving, plus we all learned something new about Cape Verde!  Win, win, win.

Ladies - your achievements inspire me, but I'm even more impressed by your characters: generous & loyal & earnest & loving.  Way to be YOU!  So thankful we get to share lives and celebrate milestones (and drink root beers) together.

Lunch Break

Beks came to midtown to meet me for lunch today.  A sweet mid-week work-day treat, getting to chat with a friend for an hour (ok, ok...hour and a half, but don't tell the boss-man).

We ate our salads, sitting on a bench next to this fella.  And his parrot.  Who was on a leash.

Way to live life on your terms, buddy!

After we finished eating, we bopped around a small farmers' market.  Beks bought a bag of Honey Crisps and I eyed a pallet of pansies:

The past couple of weeks have been...rough.  Dealing with some scary family stuff, and trying not to panic over imagined-worst-case-scenarios.  So thankful for my friends - my urban family - who've drawn near during this time, keeping me in both prayer and pleasant distractions (like lunch breaks!).

Y'all are eight shades of nifty and I love ya more than my luggage.  #truth

 

Up In Boston Town

Looking down on the Granary

I made a quick 30-hour trip to Boston this weekend for a friend's baby shower.

True (if somewhat anti-feminist?) confession: I love the prep time before parties, gathering with all the other ladies in the kitchen and getting things done: cookies plated, punch stirred, coffee brewed, cakes arranged. Pitching in, pulling together, pooling strengths to provide hospitality.

In the midst of all this happy domesticity on Saturday, I thanked God for it.  I do rather enjoy being a girl.

So fun to see old friends and celebrate new babies.

So good to contemplate community and the concept of "home."

Leaving church

So interesting to discuss the theological problem of 'evil' over a late-night sushi dinner.

So comforting to be heard and understood.

Hitching post for your dog buddy

So nice to share a bazillion cups of coffee and grilled blueberry muffins and laughs.

To walk familiar streets.  To re-tread inside jokes.

Waiting for brunch at a fave spot

To MadDawg, Diesel, bANaNAs, Kujo & the rest of my Beantown urban fam:  

I miss you's already.

Love, KP

Conversing

Cafe Lalo, uncharacteristically uncrowded at 2am

My weekend involved a whole lot of good food and good conversation.  Can anything better be hoped for, in the dark days of January?  I think not.

Friday night found a teammate and I splitting tapas and red wine on the UWS, before moving to nearby Lalo for Viennese coffee and continued conversation about Improv theory, interfaith holidays, workplace dating, and "my condition" (as JJ would term the single Christian life).

Saturday night I trekked to Greenpoint, where Beks made me a belated birthday dinner of open-face steak sandwiches and spinach & mushroom salad with bacon dressing. (Bacon dressing! I think I could be convinced to eat a piece of cardboard if it was covered in bacon dressing.)  We discussed conspiracy theories, Paula Dean's triumph over agoraphobia, and playing the cards that life has dealt you.

Sunday morning I took the subway to Gramercy for brunch with Kat, who was in town visiting for a few days.  The brioche french toast came with lemon curd (yum!), and the coffee came with conversation about our past, present and futures, as well as talk of travel, books, and church politics.

Man, I loved this weekend.  Thanks, friends, for breaking bread and sharing good words with me.

I.M.o.M.

His out-of-the-blue text read "Wanna have lunch?"  Since I believed him to be in Boston (where he lives), I was confused.  Ummmm.  

"Are you in NYC?" I asked. My friend Zim replied that he was.  He's an International Man of Mystery - you never know where he will turn up.

A few hours later - we met at a divey (but decent) Chinese food place and caught up on life.  "What brings you to New York?" I asked.  

"I'll tell you, but I'm going to edit bits out." 

"You're going to lie to me by omission?"

"Yes, I'm going to lie by omission."

Mysterious.

I met Zim through church, shortly after moving to Boston ten years ago.  Our friendship was cemented through parties, retreats, brunches, and movie nights (Zim was horrified to learn that my roommates and I had never seen Indiana Jones; I was horrified to learn that his favorite comedy was Jingle All the Way).

When - four years after arriving in Boston - I set my sights on New York, Zim helped me make the move. On a sunny September morning we caught a Greyhound bus from South Station, dragged my suitcases through the subway, dropped them at my friend's Upper East Side apartment, then wandered through the Frick collection, watched roller-skaters in Central Park, and checked out the dinos at Natural History.  We parted ways at Port Authority - he bussed back to Boston while I stayed and figured out life here.

Or tried to.  Am still trying to.  Haven't quite got it figured out yet. 

Which I confessed to Zim on Thursday, as we discussed purpose and career goals and life ambitions. Then we moved on to lighter topics: dipthongs vs. monophthongs (see napkin scratchings, above), his family back in Africa, avoiding blue comedy in Improv shows, and a scientist who has figured out how to stop the aging process.

Zim was especially excited about this last topic - the endless possibilities of a (potentially) endless life. My head hurt pondering all the ethical and practical logistics of it. 

We are very different, Zim and I.  I'm so thankful for friends who challenge me to look at the world in new ways.

Zim: here's hoping your mysterious ways mysteriously bring you back to NYC again sometime soon.

Strengths

At the Reservoir

I was complaining to KT, en route from Zumba class to the smoothie shop, about how lately I was awfully tired of feeling.  Regret, fear, anger, just plain sadness.  I wanted to turn off the feelings for a freakin' hour or two, compartmentalize them, take a break from feeling all that I was feeling.

"It's why we're the stronger sex," KT suggested, as we dodged tourists to cross 42nd Street.  "It's because we feel everything."  (Cue Feist)

"We can't turn our minds or hearts off.  We just have to feel it."

The strength of such feeling may indeed be one of the downsides to being a girl. But as I've reflected on these past couple weeks, I've also been overwhelmed by one of the upsides: the strength of my female friendships.

KT helped me make hair cut decisions and then made me not one but two mix-cd's.  MadDawg sent a care package.  CJ let me crash on her couch.  BJ brought me gin & tonics. Others let me talk or not talk, cry or not cry.  Sweet friends sent emails, texts, left voice mails, gave hugs and good words.  They let me speak aloud the ugly fears.  They said "I know," and "I understand," and "I've felt that, too."

Being able to share so openly, being able to give one another permission to feel whatever the heck we're feeling, being able to encourage with hugs & compliments - stuff like that (at times like this) makes me thankful to be a girl.  And SO thankful for my friends.

Love you, lovies.

Meanwhile...

Hey.  Listen.  I have every intention of showing you how beautiful Spain was.  But when I downloaded the pictures from my camera this week and discovered I had taken 584...I got a little overwhelmed.  It's going to take some t-i-m-e to sort through all of them. 

So, in the interim, how about I just show you some shots from this past weekend? Because 3 is much more manageable than 584.*  And a New York Saturday - while it's no Spain - is no slouch either.

Mariachi bands are my FAVORITE form of subway in-flight entertainment.  I was happy to take a break from my iPod and listen to their version of Guantanamera on the way to Union Square. 

(Some of the mariachi groups riding the rails have matching spangled outfits, accordions and upright basses!  They are my most favorite.  But these three weren't bad.)

I met up with Tiff and AP and we browsed for ironic table-ware at Fishs Eddy, over-priced ornaments at ABC Home, and greens at the Greenmarket.  Then we headed west to the Village for brunch (the most important meal of the day), where Good let me swap out eggs (yick) for lemon-ricotta pancakes (hallelujah).  And thus, brunch was saved.

Later I got to sit, surrounded by some of my favorite peoples, on CJ's backyard patio.  Sonz brought the pulled-pork sandwiches, and CJ's sister made us banana-bread s'mores.  Plus, there was a pug in attendance!  So yeah, pretty much perfect.

And thus endeth my Saturday.  Spain pics forthcoming (fingers crossed)!


*Upon quick review of the 584 photos, it seems they can be divided into three main categories: Cathedrals, Cows, and Other.  Why did I take so many pictures of cows!?!  We may never know.

Girl Talk

Friday afternoon I headed out to Brooklyn to see my friend Beks and her adorable babies.  Gracie continues to be a crazy-cute piece of work, and her new baby sister (who is 90% cheek) is something to behold.

Sooo stinkin' cute!

We took a trip to the park, we played Ride A Little Horsey, we did puzzles, we changed diapers.  And when Beks' husband came home from work, we left him in charge of bathtime and hightailed it over to Williamsburg for dinner.

As we walked, Beks asked me what was going on in my life.  I launched into an account of a recent string of crummy dates, but she interrupted me.

"I wasn't asking just about dates," she clarified. "There's way more to you and your life than just dates."

Oh, folks.  Can I tell you?  It's so good to be reminded of that.  I'm so, so thankful for friends who remind me of that. 

Phew.

Where 2 or 3 (or 6) Are Gathered*

Dear Thursday Morning Girls,

Brunch with you was the bee's knees. Thanks for being church for me on a rainy, Sunday morning.  We broke bread (er, biscuits) and shared strawberry-butter, cups of coffee, the messy details of our lives.  And I do believe God was glorified, right there in Good Enough to Eat.

Let's gather again soon, please?

Love,
Me


*Check it.

The Rose To My Blanche

Central Park turtle pals

Dear Friend,

Sometimes, when someone is vexing me, you offer to throw rotten eggs at them.  And while I will probably never take you up on this offer of retribution, I gotta say - it always makes me smile.  Your friendship and loyalty - even to the point of putrid projectiles - is much, much, much appreciated.  

If I were to ever start a gang*, I would totally ask you to join. I wouldn't even make you go through gang initiation, because you have already proved your merit and mettle.  I know you gots my back.

The words may be trite but I swear the sentiment is true: Thank you for being a friend.

Love,

Me

*Our gang colors would be blush and bashful, and our secret gang handshake would be a hug.

Book Ends

Manhattan Bridge

On Monday morning, I ran into a friend on the street.  I was heading east (from my home to my work) and she was heading west (from her home to her work).  And somehow we both managed to turn onto the same block at the same time and meet in the middle.  It was foggy and grey, and as aforementioned - it was Monday.  I love that such a day started with an unexpected smile from a friend.  It helped.

On Monday evening, as I snuck out of my office a bit early to head to an appointment, I ran into another friend.  I was heading west, to the subway; she was heading east, to her apartment.  Having not seen each other in a while, we stopped to chat for a few minutes.  And thus I was a few minutes late to my appointment, but I didn't care.

A chance encounter with someone you know in this big, big city isn't actually as rare as one might think - it does happen.  But it is still just rare enough to make you feel a little bit special. 

Especially on a Monday, when a working girl needs all the help she can get.

You's Guys

Sign I once saw/loved in Goshen, Indiana

This weekend I got to catch up with old friends.  It struck me - as I sat in MZB's living room, eating the best brunch ever - that I've known most of these people for going on ten years now. Ten years!  A decade!  They are family. 

We met - most of us - at Park Street Church.  But then life happened, and some of us went to different churches, and some of us went to different cities, and some of us left for different continents. It's rare now that we get to be all together - but Diesel was in town from Ethiopia, and bANaNAs flew in from Minnesota, and I bussed up from the Big Apple. 

And everyone gathered to spend Saturday morning together.  There were mimosas.  And coffee.  And breakfast casseroles.  And bacon. And smiling toddlers.  And a wood-burning stove.  And a rockin' 80's soundtrack playing quietly on the stereo.

I kept looking around and thinking, "Does it get better than this?"  Such a sweet, sweet gift to be gathered all under one roof.  A big-time THANKS to my hosts-with-the-mosts, and a Golden Girls-style shout-out to my decade-long compadres - thank you for being my friends.

Brooklyn Invasion

There was a pirate party in Brooklyn this past weekend. 

Our pretty pink cupcakes were ravaged by a group of rowdy swashbucklers.

Party animals? Yeah, we had those, too. A flock of geese flew over our backyard barbecue and used our grill-master for target practice.  Good thing they kept on flying - we were in no mood to share our RiceCrispies cake with them after that.

Our pirate (birthday) queens presided over the gathering in gold cardboard crowns, we filled our skull-and-cross-bones plates with good food and Booty, and sangria flowed alongside conversation and laughter.  The late-summer night air was warm but not too warm. We sat in folding chairs, looking up at the sky (you can see stars in Brooklyn!)

And it was a grand way to celebrate new homes, old friends, birthdays, and pirates.

(But not geese.) 

Drawing Near

M&J, dancing at Kat's wedding

On Sunday, Kat's Facebook status reminded me of where I was, exactly one year ago.

In a studio space, in midtown Manhattan.  The Magnetic Fields playing on the sound system. White walls covered in periwinkle paper flowers of Kat's own creation.  White folding chairs forming an aisle, which Kat walked down on the arm of her father, and walked back up on the arm of her husband.

It doesn't seem like a year ago since that wedding. It also doesn't seem like ten years could have passed since I first met Kat, when we were co-workers at a youth hostel in Amsterdam.  I, direct from college, had never before left the U.S. before getting on a plane to the Netherlands.  Kat, a few years older, had spent most of her life abroad.

She taught me about funky hairstyles and Henry James novels.  She also taught me how to ride double on an Amsterdam-style bike: side-saddle on the back rack, ankles crossed, hold on and lean back to balance.  We biked from the city center to the Jordaan that way one night - across the arched bridges over the canals, dodging tram tracks and pedestrians, the city lit up and whirring by fast, probably too fast.  I remember thinking, "Don't ever tell your parents you did this," and also, "Don't ever forget this moment."  It's still one of my favorite Amsterdam memories.

Pleasant / Presence

This past weekend I went to Boston to hug old friends and laugh; to celebrate, see again, and send off.

We shared dinners and cups of coffee, watched movies, toured houses.  We went to church; we went to Martha's Vineyard (see pics).  There were too many gummy bears.  There was not enough time.

I heart these girls a ton - for our shared history together, for being co-travelers on some rocky paths, for the ways they are each different from me, and for things we have in common.  I heart them because I feel free to be me when I'm with them.  They remind me of who I am, in the deep-down nitty-gritty, and their wisdom and encouragement reminds me of who I want to be.

(Also, they are freakin' hilarious.)

Inside the Tabernacle, OakBluffs, M.V.

Dear bANaNAs, 'Dre, Kujo, MadDawg, Trafmeister, and Zamboni:

I love you more than my luggage.  Thanks for being you.  And thanks for giving me glimpses of the God who binds us all together.

Gummy-bearily yours,
KP

To MadDawg, On Her Birthday

I think it’s pretty cool that I’ve known you for twenty years, even if that makes me feel old. Because twenty years is a lot of phases, and crises, and addresses, and hair styles to see one another through. I am glad our friendship is a constant amidst the change.

And I’m glad that we have two decades of stories and inside jokes between us. And that you are one of the few people on this earth who knows the full significance of the following things:

Orange Spandex… “It’s because the Smothers Brothers love autumn!”…British accents… Digby… “Is your boyfriend out of jail yet?”… writing papers in Lambeth… Road Rules Marathons… “Duven vell!” at the Van Gogh museum… getting trapped on the Boatel.

When it comes to being a friend, you’re pretty much the best at it. If you were to ask all the people in your life (which you never would, I know, because you are humble and not at all self-seeking) they would agree with me about how you WIN at listening, and serving, and giving of your time, and giving grounded advice, and being patient, and encouraging others, and harmonizing, and seeking peace.

And about how you have an arsenal of hilarious stories (“Fred, put your pants on!”).  And about how you are skilled at both diffusing drama and making waffles. And about how you are certainly the go-to person when it comes to stirring up some whiskey cocktails.

For all these reasons and more – I am SO glad you were born on this day, {mumble-something-mumble} years ago. And I echo the Golden Girls theme song in all sincerity when I say, “Thank you for being a friend.”

Here’s to another twenty years of friendship, laughter, looking goofy, and drinking coffee. Hopefully by then our boyfriends will finally be out of jail.

Love,
K-Punk

That's Life

Iron Gate on W. 80th Street

Oh, the weekend...

Friday tried my heart in ways it hasn't been tried in awhile.

I took Saturday to recover, to go for a walk, to sit quietly, to let sweet friends tell me I was brave and strong, to let that sink in and repair what was broken.

I watched as God opened up new avenues for closer friendships, opportunities to share our hearts - joys and sorrows - with one another. I was hurting because I was alone, but I was happy because I was not alone, if you follow.

Sunday morning started at a communal table in the West Village, drinking coffee out of bowls and eating breakfast with my Thursday morning girls.  We were celebrating the fact that one of us was about to take the plunge and officially become a member of our church congregation. She was already family to us - the membership process more of a formality - but such a happy and meaningful formality nonetheless. Certainly worth celebrating with coffee in bowls.

I looked around, as we sat in a circle, and thought about what we each brought (metaphorically) to the table.  The struggles and the successes. Stories of our pasts and hopes for our future.  All so broken and all so beautiful.

Later at church we stood and sang "For All The Saints."  My heart was still achy, but also full.  That particular hymn has potential to make me cry on any day. But this weekend?  Forgetaboutit.  Tears were inevitable. I wasn't quite sure, though, if they were happy or sad tears.  I think there were some of both, thanksgiving mingled with loss, sweet and salty together.

I thought, "If I have to pick a theme for this weekend, it would be 'hemmed in.'  I feel hemmed in."  Sometimes that 'hemming in' felt negative - like a wall, a barrier between me and what I wanted.  But it also felt positive - like protection and provision.

Good and bad, sweet and salty, happy and sad, hand in hand. That was my weekend.  That's life, I think, no?

So Nice in SoHo

Playing peek-a-boo with Grace

I got to spend Sunday afternoon with two of my favorite ladies - Becks and Baby Grace.

Despite my repeated admonishments to "Stop growing up!", Baby Grace continues to grow, get new teeth and learn new tricks. On Sunday she showed off her latest accomplishment: waving. And I'll tell you what - when that baby smiled and waved at me, I was wrecked. Done for. Heart completely melted. As her name implies, Grace is amazing.

But then - I'd expect nothing less from the daughter of Becks - one of the most amazing people I know. They are a fun pair, those two.

We strolled the streets of SoHo, looking at the art for sale on the sidewalks of West Broadway. There was an artist showing some amazing photography on canvas - scenes of Venice canals and a beach at dawn and a pretty tree. Another artist – whose display tables stretched the length of an entire block – seemed to have an unnatural obsession with drawing large lady bottoms.

We walked by an artist arranging piles of colorful posters, and he stopped us to remark on Grace’s cuteness (few can resist her charms). After chit-chatting for just a moment, the artist asked us, “Would you like a free poster?”

Instantly we were suspicious.  I felt my posture change, stiffen; I wanted to back away. Why would this man want to give us something for nothing? What’s the catch?

I skipped town again this weekend.

Threw my journal, flannel pajama pants, a toothbrush and some snacks in a backpack, and boarded a train bound for East Quogue - a hamlet in the Hamptons and the setting for my small group's retreat.

As it was a weekend aimed at quietness, I don't want to muck up the recap with too many words.  I'm not even sure I have the words to describe the lovely loveliness of time spent away with these girls.

So instead I'll just show you some pictures and leave you with a poem.

Prayer

It doesn't have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try

to make them elaborate, this isn't

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

-Mary Oliver