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Posted on December 8, 2015
Over text the other day one of my closest friends tells me there was a time when I pushed her away and she took the hint and stayed away. I tell her I don't recall this, although much of the years I spent working at an agency were a blur of anxiety and boundaries crossed. If you would've asked five years ago if this friend (Amber) would be one of my closest I would've dismissed you. Not because she wasn't kind, smart or fun to be around–my friend is all these things–but because I never expected it. You have an idea of who's going to be in your life and you're often surprised. The first, for most, comes when you graduate high school and you realize most of your childhood ties you aren't so binding. Then college, and the first few years of your adult life, and then marriage, children, geography–all of these things shift the ground beneath your feet and you find that you have to hold on to the grasp to stop yourself from slipping.
There was a time in my life (late 20s/early 30s) when I wasn't a particularly kind person. I have a stockpile of reasons for this, none of which are particularly interesting, and cost me years and dollars in therapy to resolve. I remember the feeling of having dozens of numbers in your phone book but no one I could really call. So over the past decade I've resolved to be present, to listen–to be a better friend, the kind of friend I want to have. And this is not to say that this resolve comes unblemished because I'm human, fallible, blah, blah, blah, but when I left New York this year I felt as if I had a foundation. I collected a motley lot of strange, wonderful, brilliant people and we would endure the challenges that geography brings. We wouldn't have the kind of passive friendships that only require a quick scroll and a read. Oh, I know how she's doing; she posted that photo on Facebook! I don't need to make an effort, do the work. No, I thought. We wouldn't be this until we were this, and there's that.
When I first moved to Los Angeles I met an east coast transplant who's lived here for two years, but only until recently she felt comfortable calling L.A. an adopted home. I remember that first week when I was jubilant, high off the weather, physical space (no more crowded subways! no one booking one-way tickets to my sternum, etc), and vernacular, and my new friend shook her head and told me that I was in for a big awakening. After the new car smell wears off, you'll start to see the people who are unencumbered by distance. And I'll tell you, she said, it's never who you think it'll be.
It took me four months to realize she was right.
I'm seeing a psychiatrist, and while I won't talk about the specific goings-on of my offline life, I will say that I'm working on dealing with loss. It only occurred to me that I suffered a lot of losses this year–most were good and necessary, others were surprising and heartbreaking–and I was too busy, too focused on my move out west, to deal with them. I would just consider the loss at the time, say, oh, this thing is happening, and move on. And then I moved here and things got quiet, really quiet, and the losses stockpiled and smothered. Individually, they could have been managed, but collectively they were the equivalent of an emotional monsoon. Think of it as if you're running the longest marathon you can imagine and you only feel a portion of the pain while you're in the thick of it, but after, the days after, whoa, you are bedridden.
Through all of this, it's been interesting to see who's remained on the sidelines, demonstrably silent, while others emerge, become omnipresent. And like my friend warned, it wasn't who I expected. My friend Amber and I text nearly every day and Facetime a few times a week. Yesterday I asked her if supermarkets in New York had aisles of wine–I couldn't remember–because every market in L.A. offers a sommelier on-demand. We talk about our days, but mostly I know she wants to check in, to see how I am, because she cares and she can take the dark bits with the good. My friend Liz, whom I've known for half my life, is an incredible mother, brilliant lawyer and devoted wife, but she still makes an effort to call me on her drive home, and now that she has an iPhone (finally!), we can iMessage with ease. When I was in college I never anticipated that Liz and I would be as close as are for as long as we have. We've endured distance, marriage, children, my multiple addictions and emotional instability and frenetic careers–but we still fall into that comfort we had when we were 19 and wearing flannels and bad baseball caps. Sometimes I miss how we were then–how we'd walk around campus in the dark and ride the train into the city, feverish over the night's possibility, or studying for finals in our pajamas while watching 90210. But it's also wonderful to witness how we've grown as women. In so many ways Liz and I are completely antithetical, but our friendship works and I never expected it would, but I'm grateful it has. Same with Amber. We were always friendly, always enjoying our banter, but it wasn't until we took an interesting holiday together did we become close.
The past year I've seen cracks in the fault and efforts at repair. I've seen those whom I thought were essential in my life drift or disappear altogether. At the same time, I've seen new friends enter the frame, and although I'm trying to reconcile the losses, I can't help but feel privileged for the slow and mounting gains.
I love the saying "play it as it lays", and I'm trying to be present for all the change. I'm trying to accept that geography plays a powerful role in who's in your life and who isn't, and this isn't about anger, it's frankly about reality. And although it's challenging for me to make new friends I'm trying. And that's all I can do for now–the work.
Posted on April 18, 2015
Last night I watched a woman pick up a shovel and hurl it at her door. On the other side of the door her husband stood mute. The woman's voice was the loudest sound, and in the corner I could hear her small dog whimpering. My friend Alex urged me to call 911, call the fucking police and there was a moment between hearing my friend's voice and me looking down at my phone and dialing three numbers. I can't explain the moment other to say that it was a quiet ache, something old ghosted, lingered, and the whole of my building smelled feral, old. Something I desperately needed to leave behind.
Let me back up a few paces.Let me tell you about my friend Alex. I was a partner in an agency and she was lead on a few key accounts. And while we always sat a few feet away from one another, our interactions were minimal, at best, and part of me is glad she never reported to me. We never had to endure the awkwardness that occurs when you leave a company and then start defining and re-defining your relationships. You look at people who inhabited your life for so long and wonder where they fit. Do they fit? Is there a place in your life for a person who used to go in on your Seamless orders (who's getting Thai from that place with the good spring rolls?), a person who occupied the same space at the holiday parties you had to mime your way through to endure (you'd exchanged perfunctory pleasantries in passing and made your way to opposite sides of the room to be with your respective tribes), a person who would wait patiently for the conference room you occupied (we have this room. how long are you going to be?), and you'd deliver a look that was meant to convey apologies for a call that had gone over. Because you had become a person who would always be late. You were forever occupying rooms. You were wreckage, spillage.
Fast forward to a summer where Alex and I met for pancakes and coffee while everyone crammed themselves into subway cars. We didn't know many freelancers so we cleaved to one another, scared, exhilarated. We were excited for what lie ahead even if we didn't know what it was. I was no longer a partner, she no longer a lead on accounts–we were just two women eating pancakes. One morning I remember telling her that something was wrong with my cat. I'd been up all night with my Sophie, who wretched like I'd never seen. I remember telling Alex that something didn't feel right. I think she's really sick, I said in a voice that barely registered above a whisper.
Over the course of that summer my Sophie became sick, really sick, and Alex was no longer the woman who was the lead on accounts, she became my friend who asked the tough questions when I cried into Sophie's whittled frame. Alex was the one who followed me home and showed me how to give Sophie her meds. Alex was the one who never judged when I relapsed and got drunk, really drunk, all the time. After Sophie died, after my puffer felt small and airless in my hands, after she was wrapped in a blanket and carted out of my home and down three flights of stairs, I text'd Alex. Words were impossible to harness and I think Alex respected that–how I couldn't possibly talk. How the idea of a new sound that would eclipse Sophie's final breath was unfathomable.
Alex became the friend with whom I could feel vulnerable, unafraid. I could be my most unmasked self.
Fast forward to last night. We sat on my floor, eating chips and guacamole, feasting on kale salad with pomegranates, and thick, creamy soup. We spoke of the cruel winter and I shared that these past few months have almost been more than I could bear. I wonder aloud about moving to Santa Monica instead of Santa Cruz because the former is a city I know well, could navigate, could be the bridge between the familiar and the foreign, and I was so relieved that she didn't interrupt with what she thought I should do–like everyone who hears about my move is prone to do–and instead asked me what I wanted. While so many want to solve, make broken whole, Alex is content to breathe amongst the pieces. I don't have to have everything figured out; I just had to be thinking, feeling.
And then I make an off-handed comment about how it's never loud in my building. I'm responded to a thumping, a murmur of voices that ascends to a shout. Alex suggests that it's probably the kids in my building, and then we pause because what we hear are not the voices or words of children. All we know is that my downstairs neighbor is screaming and trying to break down her door. We rush downstairs and we exchange a few words with my other neighbor who I'm sure had to tell her children to stay inside, don't open the door, everything's okay.
It occurs to me now that amidst the violence and the screaming, the three of us–Alex, myself and the other neighbor–are extremely calm. Alex manages the woman's dog, who's terrified and bounds up the stairs and flees into my apartment frightening Felix. I manage the woman who sits on my floor, obsessively apologizing (you don't have to apologize). I tell her to breathe. I tell her I've called the police (this does not please her) because I don't know what's going on but couples don't fight like that. She tells me, I'll manage it, and takes her dog and leaves. She tells me I have a nice apartment, that it's larger than hers. Beautiful, she says. And this unnerves me. Out of everything that's transpired over the course of an hour, her comparing my apartment to hers feels…unsettling. I don't know what to say other than to say thank you. Although now, thinking about it, those words feel misplaced too.
I think about all of this. I think about the woman and wonder if looking in on her would be a disruption. I know her mother came by. At one point the police and ambulance came and went. I know all of this information but wonder if I should do anything with it. And then I realize I'm a stranger. I also realize this: I, once the calmest of children amidst violence in Brooklyn, grew up to become a woman who calmly manages a domestic disturbance in Brooklyn, and I'm tired. I'm tired of familiar.
Bring me the foreign. All of it. I tell Alex that I'm moving to Santa Cruz because it's time.
It's time to wake up to my life. It's time I let Brooklyn go.
INGREDIENTS: Recipe from Gwyneth Paltrow's It's All Good
2 cups gluten-free flour (I used Cup4Cup so I don't have to deal with xanthan gum)
1 teaspoon xanthan gum (omit if your flour already includes it)
1/2 cup raw millet
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp baking soda
Big pinch fine sea salt
1 tsp ground ginger
1/3 cup ground flaxseed
2/3 cup maple syrup (I used Grade B)
2/3 cup unsweetened almond milk
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 cup chopped dried figs (I used dried calimyrna figs)
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line a muffin tin with paper liners.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, xanthan gum, millet, baking powder, baking soda, salt, ginger, and ground flaxseed. In another bowl, whisk together the maple syrup, almond milk, and olive oil. In a small bowl, toss the chopped dried figs with a spoonful of the dry ingredients (this keep the figs from sinking down to the bottom of the muffins, and keeps the figs from sticking together). Gently mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until just combined, then fold in the figs.
Divide the batter into the muffin cups and bake until browned and a toothpick comes out clean, 20 to 25 minutes. Mine got this brown at 22 minutes, so I'd suggest you start checking at 18 minutes.
Posted on April 6, 2015
Over dinner I remind my friend Liz that we've known one another for half our lives. We were young, wide-eyed, scrubbed clean. We once hatched plans to live in the city after college, and I saw those plans wither as she returned to Connecticut for law school and I made my way around Manhattan, alone, filling myself with drink and stories. But here we are, older, scrubbed honest–we are our most compassionate selves, and it feels like a privilege to carry the weight and potency of the years on our backs. It occurs to me that Liz knows me longer than anyone, save my father. We've grown into adults, apart and sometimes together, and it's been awe-inspiring to watch our respective bloom.
Much of our conversation over the weekend centered around time–how we have so little of it, how it's imperative that we don't squander it, and the knowledge that all roads inevitably lead to zeo predicates how we live. We shape our lives around time because there was a moment when we felt infinite, and as the days pressed on the finite revealed itself in degrees. I like to think Liz understood the weight of her mortality when she had children (although I can't be certain since I never asked but can only assume). While mortality is vivid, omnipresent because I fear the moment when I'll lay dying.
This knowledge (or fear, as honesty will have it) makes life clear in the way it hadn't previously. When you're at the midpoint of your life you tend to focus on bringing presence and meaning to the hours. You don't consider what you've lost, rather you focus on minimizing the bloodletting; you think about the joy, love and wisdom that's left. You wonder how you can imbue your days with meaning. You care less about noise, the superfluous.
You start to give fewer fucks.
I suppose it's fashionable to pen lists of things you've learned by a certain defined age (30 seems popular), however, I think learning is continuous–we're always students, sometimes guides or teachers, but mostly we're here to learn. For me, age is about letting some of the noise dissipate. Age is about shedding that which is unnecessary. For me, 39, right now, is about giving fewer fucks. For example:
You don't like me; I don't need my phone list to resemble The Yellow Pages: When I was in my 20s I wanted the whole of the world to like, no, love me. I vivisected conversations, scenarios, and encounters much like how a doctor would attend to life-saving cardiac surgery. When I was younger I believed in the power of quantity over quantity, and the more people who attended my parties, the more people who attended the readings I hosted, the more people I could program in my phone, the better. Never did I equate the fact that the amount of alcohol I consumed was in direct correlation to the amount of people who orbited my life. Never did I consider that being surrounded by people–making sure I always had a drinks plan, a movie plan, a book party plan, a stay-at-home-and-faux-relax-with-ten-friends plan–exhausted me.
I didn't realize that I was an introvert until I was 37. I stopped caring what people thought about me around the same time. I have a specific sense of humor (dark, sarcastic, and biting at times) and management style (I've a low threshold for bullshit, entitlement, laziness, complacency and stupidity; I don't do office/friend politicking, etc), and I know I'm not for everyone. I realize that some people might think me intense, others might consider me aloof. Do I care? Yes, to a certain extent–especially if I know I'm making a bad first impression on someone whom I care about. However, in the grand scheme of things I'm not changing the core of who I am, so if people can't roll with my style I'm not going to lose sleep over it. I'm more interested in finding my tribe–people who challenge me–rather than surround myself with people who are intent on changing me. Big difference.
At the end of the day, my people love me–flaws and all. When you get older you winnow down the phone book to those who are necessary, those whom you need and love.
"Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping—its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair. (Can a reflection be a witness? Can one pass oneself the sponge wet with vinegar from a reed?)" ― Maggie Nelson, Bluets
Want to know a secret? This is the moment when you break down the doors and all the mothballs flutter out. This is the time when you finally, finally, let the right ones in. All the way. This is the time when you no longer wince when someone draws you closer. You allow yourself to cry the tears you've been holding back–you are a river and you are fine. You lay your greatest hand on the table, your heart. You feel safe; you tell your friends this: you're home to me.
Sometimes you stumble backward. Sometimes you revert to old habits. But this is life, and at 39 you acknowledge this too.
You're, like, really important or something: Why is it that people think I care about how important they are? Do I care that you've made it on a list defined by accomplishments by a certain arbitrary age? Do I care that your book was published in 23 countries and an A-list actress X will play you in the film adaptation of your life? Do I care that you're a blogger who gets paid six figures to sell pieces of yourself to the highest bidder? Consider me a headliner at The Fresh out of Fucks Tour 2015 because I don't care about your verbal CV or all the finery you wear on your sleeve.
I care that you're a person with integrity. You're not some cretin who disposes of your friends when they no longer suit you. But mainly I care about the fact that I'm not occupying space with an asshole.
The people who inhabit my life are the kind of people I want to invite in my home and with whom I want to share a meal. They're the kind of people who would lay down their heart for you. They're the kind of people who will carry you through the dark instead of affixing bandaids over your mouth and skin. I'm impressed by the content and quality of your character, not the length of your CV.
I'm no longer a size 0: Being an integer was fun for a total of five minutes, and then I became that annoying girl in the dressing room who whined about the tragedy of clothing stories failing to stock sizes less than zero (these were the halcyon days before the 00). I was also a functioning alcoholic recovering from a cocaine addiction so I was clearly not living my best life although the media would have you believe I was based on my dress size.
After waging an outright war on my body for nearly two decades, I finally have become comfortable in my own skin. I no longer talk about "earning" the right to eat. I no longer fixate on working out as a means to eat, rather I focus on filling my body with good food so I can live, perform my best when I hit the gym.
I look at photographs of myself in my 20s and it takes everything in me not to cry. You should know that it takes a lot for me to waver, break, but I wish I could hurtle through time, sky and space, and hold my younger self close, bury my face in her hair and tell her that she is so fucking beautiful. You know that, right? You're beautiful as you are, as the world meant for you to be. You know that beauty isn't just about whittling down to a bone, right? You know it's about how you write, love, and breathe.
Lately I care more about running up flights of stairs, breathless. I care about being strong. I care about nourishing my body with the good stuff and some of the not-so-good stuff because I have this one life and am I going to spend it grabbing at flesh and punishing it?
Where does a number get you? Does it inch you further along your journey to fine? Or is it really a shackle, a self-imposed prison where the wardens are endless rides on a spin bike and grating your teeth through green juices and undressed salads?
Stupid people, drama, stupid dramas: There was a time that I reveled in the telenovela–I lived for the drama, drinks thrown, and intrigue because it all made for a good story. However, I'm now at the point in my life where I've been through war and dressed the wounds; I've a great deal of stories, and now I care about living a good life.
"Before I took to the road, a friend tried to get me to go to a department store with him. He said it was to improve the place where I lived. He said," I want to know you are reading beneath this lamp. " This fellow was dying. He knew it and I did not. I think he was tucking me in. He was making sure all of his friends had the right lamps, the comfiest pillows, the softest sheets. He was tucking us all in for the night." ― Amy Hempel, The Collected Stories
It occurs to me that the older I get the more I see people die. A good friend of mine, who was the first person to really be a friend through my alcoholism, died of cancer a few years ago. Two friends of mine died in their early 20s. An acquaintance I knew, a glinting literary light, committed suicide. Time takes it all, washes it away, and what you have left are the hours. So when you think about the fact that every day forward is a march closer to the grave, you start to think about the quality of your days and who occupies them.
I used to be friends with really shitty people. Catty women who clawed and conspired. People who were covered, head-to-toe, in issues. I used to love men who were incapable of loving me in the way I deserved. And while this is life and there are times when my dearest friends will experience periods of darkness and heartbreaks, I no longer have time or energy for people who are less than extraordinary. I no longer have patience for people who refuse to tend to their hearts like a well-desired harvest. What I don't have time for? People who put themselves on the road to ruin and like it. People who act as if these are the last days of disco. People who connive and scheme.
I have a cat. I sometimes fall asleep at 9:30PM. I don't have the time.
Posted on February 14, 2015
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about ties the bind, the power of female friendships. For most of my childhood I lived in the confines of my imagination. I devoured books at an unusual pace, and assumed a small role in every story I read. Mostly I immersed myself in a succession of books about blonde girls with credit cards. They drove fast cars, wore silk blouses, and lived in houses with two floors. Panic was breaking curfew. Tragedy was selling the pearls and the minks. Forced to wear cotton and bow out of boarding school, the blondes pressed their hair, frantic, and wondered how they'll live and whether they'd be found out. But in the end, the stock market never crashed, money mysteriously appeared, and everything had been set to rights. The blonde girls' lives were a power ballad played on repeat.
I grew up in a place where endings weren't tidy and happy, rather happiness was simply the fact that could endure the hand dealt to you. Escape was tantamount, and I sought refuge in the seemingly uncomplicated pristine worlds of the affluent and privileged.
Since I was alone a lot, and often teased and picked-on for most of my childhood, books were my companion. On the occasions I had friends, I was clingy, possessive and idolatrous. I was jealous and insecure. Frightened of abandonment, I imagined my friend as a life raft and I was hanging on for dear life. I typically had a single friend, one who rose above the din, and I would fixate all my energy on her. People used to call me intense, ferocious, because nothing existed outside the confines of my friendship. And anyone who threatened that friendship–a new friend, a boy distraction–became objects for me to conquer and ruin. It's funny–I'm reading Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan novels, and I deeply identified with Elena and her fixation on her fractured, yet brilliant friend, Lila. I always befriended girls who were strong-willed, beautiful, and admired because I thought proximity to people who didn't only shine, but glared and burned, would somehow rub off on me. That I would be the one who would inevitably burn bright.
Suffice it to say, I didn't know how to be a good friend. It wasn't until S and I parted ways that I finally understood the meaning of unhealthy attachments. That it was perfectly normal to have more than one friend. That it's okay to grow past the notion of having a "best friend." That I didn't need to be a barnacle. That I didn't need to be surrounded by a crowd, rather it became natural for me to float amongst a few. That I didn't need for my friends to meet my every need and desire. That I didn't define the strength of a friendship in relationship to the frequency and intensity of our encounters.
This week I read an article about how women of a certain age get surgical about the people in their life. They crave fewer friends, and work to enrichen the ties that bind them a smaller number of people. I've written at length about my desire to have fewer people in my life. As I've grown older, I've become comfortable with solitude–I actually need to spend time by myself because I become drained when surroundeded by people for extended periods of time. I need space and quiet to think, and that, coupled with a considerable amount of professional obligations, doesn't leave much time for people in my life.
So I had to get surgical. I'm disciplined about the people with whom I surround myself. I've a handful of very close friends whom I see pretty regularly, as well as a host of acquaintances whom I see less frequently. However, I'm starting to realize that with my pending move I'll be separated from the people I love. And while I'm not at all concerned about my beloveds and losing them (friendship, real friendship, extends beyond the confines of a zip code), I'm actually worried about meeting new people.
I'll be honest–new people exhaust me. I'm an introvert who spent a decade cultivating incredible people in my life, and the very idea of having to rebuild makes me anxious. I keep telling myself that one or two people are all I need to stop me from going bonkers in another state (because even I have limits to how much time I can spend alone), and part of me feels grateful for the online space because it's allowed me to connect with people I'd otherwise never encounter. So I'm building these friendships slowly, virtually. One or two people at a time, in each state, as that's all I can manage. In a weird way, I feel part of me has reverted back to my childhood, where I'd fill out pages in "friendship books," mail them to a pen-pal in hopes that I'd meet a couple of new people.
New people. I'm still anxious.
INGREDIENTS: Recipe from Jerusalem: A Cookbook
1 1/4 cups/250 g green or brown lentils
4 medium onions (1 1/2 lb/700 g before peeling)
3 tbsp all-purpose flour
about 1 cup/250 ml sunflower oil
2 tsp cumin seeds
1 1/2 tbsp coriander seeds
1 cup/200 g basmati rice
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
1 1/2 tsp ground allspice
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp sugar
1 1/2 cups/350 ml water
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Place the lentils in a small saucepan, cover with plenty of water, bring to a boil, and cook for 12 to 15 minutes, until the lentils have softened but still have a little bite. Drain and set aside.
Peel the onions and slice thinly. Place on a large flat plate, sprinkle with the flour and 1 teaspoon salt, and mix well with your hands. Heat the sunflower oil in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan placed over high heat. Make sure the oil is hot by throwing in a small piece of onion; it should sizzle vigorously. Reduce the heat to medium-high and carefully (it may spit!) add one-third of the sliced onion. Fry for 5 to 7 minutes, stirring occasionally with a slotted spoon, until the onion takes on a nice golden brown color and turns crispy (adjust the temperature so the onion doesn't fry too quickly and burn). Use the spoon to transfer the onion to a colander lined with paper towels and sprinkle with a little more salt. Do the same with the other two batches of onion; add a little extra oil if needed.
Wipe the saucepan in which you fried the onion clean and put in the cumin and coriander seeds. Place over medium heat and toast the seeds for a minute or two. Add the rice, olive oil, turmeric, allspice, cinnamon, sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and plenty of black pepper. Stir to coat the rice with the oil and then add the cooked lentils and the water. Bring to a boil, cover with a lid, and simmer over very low heat for 15 minutes.
Remove from the heat, lift off the lid, and quickly cover the pan with a clean tea towel. Seal tightly with the lid and set aside for 10 minutes.
Finally, add half the fried onion to the rice and lentils and stir gently with a fork. Pile the mixture in a shallow serving bowl and top with the rest of the onion.
Posted on February 7, 2015
Today I spent the morning with one of my closest friends. Angie's one of the few people with whom I can completely be myself. We're quiet when we speak, there's no artifice, and I often show up to her house in leggings, hair undone, face scrubbed clean. She has two beautiful and brilliant children, and some of her time is spent tending to them, swapping out the books they read and giving them seaweed and rice when they're hungry. I admire her tenderness, the incredible way in which she's able to remember the details. Although I don't harbor any desire for children of my own, I love watching the love that binds her family. It's this love that she brings to our friendship, one that has lasted for over a decade. I'll walk through her door and remind her that I'm 4% Asian, to which she responds that's nowhere near Asian (she's Korean), and after we laugh over our private, long-running joke, we talk about our day.
I tell Angie I love her as often as I can.
What I don't tell her enough is how much I enjoy how we pass our time. She's busy, an ambitious executive who's also a devoted mother and wife. I know her time is scarce so I tell her that I don't care how we spend it, as long as it's us, talking. And I know this may sound strange, but she has a car and nothing pleases me more than to be in it while she drives. It reminds me of childhood, how I'd spend hours in a car with my pop and we'd talk about everything and nothing all at once. Angie's like this, and I realize most of our time is spent in her car or in her dining room (I'm sitting; she's in the kitchen), and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Today, I came for breakfast and I brought her this bread and it shocked her that something that's gluten and dairy free could be so light, so moist, so holy-shit good. I spend time with her husband because he and I are so similar, and we always have something to talk about–our shared love of books (I envy their library), food and films. Today I told him that Angie saved my life. Did you know that? Your wife saved my life? That I was determined to drink and ruin, and she got me straight again? She drove me to Felix? Did I tell you about your incredible wife?
But then, the drive! As soon as she told me that she needed to make a run to Whole Foods for a dinner she was preparing for tonight, I was JUBILANT. She apologized for inviting me along for an errand with her son, and I told her that she's crazy. Food, a car, my closest friend and a little boy who loves books–this is how I wanted to spend my morning.
I'm starting to realize that as I grow older I become conscious of time. I become conscious of getting lean. I don't need a fancy dinner out or something to do, rather sometimes it's really nice to spend the morning with your closest friend, eating banana bread. Sometimes the world is as simple and beautiful as that.
INGREDIENTS: Adapted from The Paleo Kitchen Cookbook
3 large bananas
4 large eggs, room temperature
1/4 cup coconut oil, melted
1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
2/3 cup organic cane sugar
1/2 cup coconut flour (you may think this is not a lot, trust me, coconut flour needs a ton of liquid to absorb)
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/3 cup dark chocolate chips
Pinch of fine-grain sea salt
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease a 9-by-5-inch metal loaf pan and line it with parchment paper.
Combine the bananas, eggs, coconut oil, sugar, and peanut butter in a food processor or stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment and mix until the ingredients are well blended. Add the coconut flour, baking soda, baking powder, vanilla, and salt and continue to mix until all the ingredients are well combined. Fold in the chocolate chips.
Bake for 45 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted in the middle. Circulate half-way through. If the bread becomes too dark (somewhere around the 30 minute mark), tent with tin foil. Remove from the oven and let cool in the pan on a cooling rack for 15 minutes before serving.
Posted on December 18, 2014
I haven't been 39 for a day and already I'm realizing that next year I'll turn 40. And before you lay into me about 40 being the new 30, you're only as young as you feel, and all that jazz, I ask that you please slow your roll because 40 is a big fucking deal. Although I spent much of my childhood wearing the mask of an adult, I remember reacting to the thought of being thirty. That's old, I said. When you're small you can't imagine counting an age beyond your ten fingers. And then something in you changes, the shift is nearly imperceptible, and you suddenly find yourself attaching fractions to your age. You pine for sixteen, eighteen and twenty-one. Perhaps you think the world will reveal itself to you in degrees, because why else would you be so desperate to shed being one of the innocent?
I spent the day alone with my best friend's daughter once. There was an emergency one Christmas morning–my friend's son woke vomiting blood, the walls were a massacre of red–and I played with a small girl who was baffled over the fact that I abhor pink (god, what a heinous color!). While I wasn't a girly girl, I was creative, and I made for a suitable playmate when she wanted to build imaginary sets for the plays we'd co-written. I marveled over her curiosity, and while we watched episodes of Strawberry Shortcake in what felt like an endless loop, I remember smoothing her hair, wanting for her to be young for as long as she possibly could, because children architect these magical worlds that adults find ways to ruin.
Everything for children is a first, whereas adults know too much. We've seen things that make us want to press our eyes shut and rewind the tape. Take us back before 21, 18, 16. We want it all back. We want our world small, simple, with only our friends and family in it. I had to write a scene last night about a woman who's taken up permanent residence in a dark country and she struggles to remember what pure, unadulterated happiness was like. That first spring. The rain of leaves. The light that broke through the trees. Bare feet swaying on a car dashboard. Witnessing a stranger kneel down and pray for the first time. I had a really hard time writing this scene because those moments felt too simplistic, ridiculous and I've tainted them with everything that comes after. I can't only keep the beauty in the frame without ushering in the ugliness, the cruelty, hate, violence and fear that we've come to know, in degrees, as the years stumble over one another. Feeling like a sophist I let the page cool, and I hope I can return to the story with something different. Who knows. Maybe I'll play Strawberry Shortcake episodes to get me in the mood.
From where I sit now, the world is different. I read an article about how little one can change after they've turned 30, and contrary to what the author posits, I can't even conceive how much I've changed in a span of 10 years. Or perhaps I've shed layers of skin to reveal what was always there–I can't decide which. In ten years, I got sober, fell out of faith with a god I once worshipped (I'm spiritual, but no longer believe in a god or the binary confines of heaven and hell), discarded the need for materialistic trappings and unguided ambition, fell in love with my body after struggling with it since childhood (and realizing, much like many women my age, that I was beautiful then–why couldn't I have seen me then as I see me now?), focused on quality over quantity in all aspects of my life, took comfort in the fact that while I don't want to be a mother in the traditional sense of the word, I find I can be maternal in other ways, softened my view of my mother, which went from a deep, voracious hate to a sorrow, a certain kind of sadness. A few other things I've learned (ack! I'm entering the list terrority, something I've long admonished, but whatever, I'm riding on a sugar high from eating copious amounts of homemade fruit bars):
1. You start to remember everything you've read: When I was at Columbia getting my Master's, I took a class, "Poets on Poets," and I can't tell you how intimidating it was to hear professors and guest lecturers quote other writers and their works as if it were nothing, as if the knowledge were simply stored in this imaginary memory bank set loose onto the world when deemed necessary. My feelings of awe soon shifted to annoyance over what I thought to be pretension. Rolling my eyes I thought, if someone quotes Susan Sontag one more fucking time, until I became the person who reads and quotes from Susan Sontag and Joan Didion. I've read countless books, but as I grow older I realize that some of them have lingered, left their indelible mark, and I find myself quietly returning to them to ferret out new meaning. It's sort of like going back to the familiar and taking comfort that this is a place you've navigated before. And I've got just the Susan Sontag quote for this, people!!!
In all of this, I am assuming a certain idea of literature, of a very exalted kind. I'm using the word "writer" to mean someone who creates, or tries to create, literature. And by "literature" I mean — again, very crude definition — books that will really last, books that will be read a hundred years from now.
2. Not everyone will love or like you, and this is okay: Years back, a slew of catty book bloggers wrote some very unkind words about me online and I was DEVASTATED. This was before the advent of GOMI and other forums where people talk smack about other people–this was 2006 and I remember my face getting hot and how I cried about people who were so fucking mean. I wanted so desperately to be popular, to be liked, and the fact that there were people in this world who think I'm shit was hard to deal with. Now I don't care. Admittedly, I'm a hard person to know and I'm flawed, but what matters to me are how I, and those whom I respect and love, feel about me. Everything else is superfluous, peripheral noise that I tune out.
That's not to say that I don't listen to criticism or constructive feedback. One has to in order to grow as a person and artist, and if someone cares enough to give me feedback in a way that's meant to take me to a better place, I think, why not listen? It's always worth listening to, and identifying what part (s) of, feedback resonate. I had a mentor, whom I adore, who would always pull me into his office to give me feedback on how I was managing staff. He once told me that I wore my emotions on my sleeve entirely too much, and a good leader has to be like a parent–almost always calm, always in solutions mode–and this shit was hard to hear. I was defensive and kind of bitchy, but then I realized that this person didn't have to take the time out of his day to make me a better leader. And when I refined certain aspects of my character did I find that he was right. Sometimes you need to hear hard truths in order to become better, smarter, stronger.
3. I don't have FOMO because I'd almost always rather be at home: This coming from someone who was once known as the "mayor"! I threw grand parties, attended them, was always double-booked, and grew miserable as a result. I didn't realize I was an introvert living an extrovert lifestyle, and I'd often get wasted just to get through making the rounds at a party or I existed in a perpetual state of exhaustion. As I grew older I realized I didn't need to be everywhere and do everything. I needed to have quality moments with people I admire, respect and love. Which leads me to…
4. I have a circle of ten and that's about it: Chalk it up to unpopularity all throughout high school, but I used to be consumed with having SO.MANY.FRIENDS. Now I don't have the time or energy for volume. I have a solid crew of less than ten friends for whom I'd lay down my life. These are a mix of women I've known for the greater part of my adult life–friends who saw me through addiction and relapse and knew me when I was a lesser person but stuck around because they saw the potential for me to change–and women with whom I've gotten incredibly close in the past few years. And while I may not see most of them as often as I'd like (some are mothers, one lives in Connecticut), when I do see them it's as if we've picked up the conversation exactly where we'd left off.
My friends are strong, brilliant, beautiful, remarkable, tough, and don't necessarily hold my social, economic and political views. Over the years I've learned about the importance of being taught by others. I've a close friend who's a staunch Republican, and while it's challenging to know that we don't share the same opinions on how we want this country run, I've learned a great deal from her: how it's important to understand your opponent and not simply ignore them, how we have to find some common ground if we want change. That there is some truth to what we both believe in, and it's about how we can meld those truths into the greater good.
What I've also learned? I've become suspicious of women who don't have long-term close girlfriends. I've also learned that it's okay to have quarterly friends–people whom I like and admire, but I don't have to see them every day.
5. I've been more socially active than I've ever been in my life: In college, we were told that we were the apathetic generation. Gen X didn't care about anything. We were a-political, fatalistic. And for many years I didn't care about geopolitics and didn't advocate as loudly as I could have for the things I believe in. Now, all of it matters more than it ever did. Now, I can't shut up about feminism, gay rights, racism, the fact that the U.S. isn't morally superior because we apparently have no qualms about raping and murdering our own citizens. Now, I can't stop reading about the politics in other countries. I can't stop finding new sources to read. After Ferguson, I realized how "white" my news was, and I made it a point to find different sources. I made a point to be uncomfortably comfortable, which leads me to…
6. Travel is a huge part of my life: There are people who have the means to travel but don't even have a passport and I don't understand it. It's as if the U.S. is enough. And it's not, at all. It was only through traveling the world did I begin to see it differently. I'd been exposed to cultures I read about through the veil of an Anglo-Saxon or Americanized point of view. I've traveled to countries that aren't necessarily "safe." I've stood in streets watching anti-American rallies. You learn through context, and I feel as if I have a more complex view of America from having traveled outside of it. This year I went to Korea, Thailand, India, Spain, Ireland, and I have so much to see, so many places to go.
7. I let shit go: This is hard for a type-A control freak, but there are just some people, situations and events I'll never be able to change and I have to accept that. I have to make a certain kind of peace with so much that exists beyond my reach. But this has taken an extraordinary amount of time and self-reflection. It's only until recently that I've let go of the fact that I spent nearly four years of my life working for a man I didn't like much less respect. Now, I try to learn from the things I can't control. That, I think, is the greatest change I've seen in my life–that it's imperative that I not stop learning. That I not be complacent. That I not simply exist to be constantly comfortable. That I not be changeless. That I not be open to change. That I not be receptive to criticism.
It never is what you want it to be, and that's okay. It can be something else entirely.
This is the thing I hate about lists–they never fully encapsulate the whole of everything, or any one thing. However, if I look at the woman I was at 16, 18, 21, and now, I can say that I'm calmer, quieter, kinder, and less insecure. The threadline through all of the years, I realized yesterday, is my writing. I've spent the greater part of this year wondering what it is I plan on doing with my life, and then it occurred to me that I only want to write. The writing can take different shape and form, but it's the only thing that gives me shelter. It's the one thing to which I can return and it never fails to challenge or excite me.
So maybe that's what I've learned at 39, the year before I turn 40? I want to write, always.
Posted on December 14, 2014
Have you ever looked at your house and realized it was your home? I've spent the better part of my childhood and early adulthood as a nomad, moving from apartment to apartment, and home had become the place where my mail was forwarded. Until this year. Until I walked into another apartment in my building on a cold night in February and felt like I was finally home. My apartment is simple, spacious and although the kitchen is a bit smaller than I'd like, I've made some of the best meals in this space. I've toasted the success and comforted the pain of some of my closest friends.
On Thanksgiving, everyone prattled off a list of things for which they're grateful. I felt odd doing this because I express gratitude, quietly, to myself, every day. I'm grateful for having changed perspective when it comes to my body–caring for it like a house I want to maintain instead of burn and ruin. I'm grateful for my health, my life and for the ability to write. And I'm most grateful for the fact that I've spent a decade cultivating a small group of close friends whom I consider a family.
One of those lights spent some time in my apartment last night, her visit was a needed respite as I've been editing like mad and going a little bonkers in my solitude. I made this chili for her and can I tell you she had three small bowls of it? It's that good. THAT GOOD. This coming from two proud carnivores.
INGREDIENTS: Recipe from Gwyneth Paltrow's My Father's Daughter
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 large yellow onion, peeled and finely diced
1 large carrot, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch dice
1/2 large red bell pepper, seeds and ribs removed, cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
3/4 tsp mild chili powder
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp chipotle in adobo
1 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes with their juice
1/2 cup puy (French) lentils, rinsed and drained
1 14-ounce can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 14-ounce can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
Big pinch coarse salt
3 tbsp tomato paste
Heat the olive oil in a medium soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, bell pepper, garlic, chili powder, cumin, & black pepper. Cook, stirring, for 15 minutes, or until the vegetables are softened. Add the chipotle & stir to combine.
Turn the heat up to high, add the tomatoes and their juice, crushing them a bit with your wooden spoon, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low & simmer for 40 minutes.
Add the lentils and beans. Fill one 14-ounce can with water (or broth) & add it to the pot, along with the salt. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, & simmer for 40 minutes.
Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 20 more minutes, or until the lentils are soft and the flavors are melded.
Posted on January 26, 2014
Today I had one of those days where nothing happened, yet everything happened. Forever petrified of "new" people, I spent the morning with a friend and her best friend, working out and eating all there was to eat at Sarabeth's. When I left, I found myself staring at a woman at the crosswalk, and when I shouted, K? Is that you?, she glanced up and beamed and we embraced in the middle of the street. K and I have been friends since we met at the Columbia writing program in 2001, and she's since moved to New Orleans to be with her boy and her writing, and she occasionally visits the office of the fancy magazine of which she's employed. She's also the only person with whom I've entrusted my novel in all its messiness and broken pieces.
After we hugged and gushed over the randomness of our encounter in Union Square, we made our way to the sidewalk where we shivered and caught up and spoke of the children we were harvesting — mine in the form of a novel, and hers in the form of a little girl who will see sky come August. When Sophie died, K told me that she cried in a hotel room in Sweden. She wept because she knows how I grieve, how I can so easily fall into a kind of private dark. I know how you love, but I also know how you grieve. Nodding, I confessed that I'd had a tough summer, the worst I'd known. I'd fallen down the stairs and come autumn I'd started to climb them again. I'm forever climbing.
Before we departed, before I promised K a home-cooked meal and proper nuzzling with Felix (so regal! she said) in February, she held me close and stared at my face in a way that would make most feel uncomfortable, but from her it was home, and she said, You've looked the best since I've known you. How do I get that glow? How do I get what you got?
I laughed, still rotten at taking compliments, still, and said, This is what happens when you go off the sauce and work out five days a week.
On the subway ride home, I thought of K, of a lesser version of myself all those years ago, and I felt humbled by my life now. While I'm still paying off thousands of dollars in graduate loan debt, while I'm still uncertain how I will be employed past May, while I don't know where the day will take me, I know this: I'm the strongest I've ever been and I finally have a close group of friends on whom I can lean. No longer do I care about collecting acquaintances and strategic connections, about the people who are good to know, I care more the quality of the people I'm cultivating in my life and the time I'm committed in sustaining these friendships, knowing that there's beauty in watching them bloom.
In yoga, there is a term kula, which loosely translates to community. In this community, there is balance and harmony and beauty and age, and right now I feel all of these things. I hear the sound of forks chinking at Sarabeth's as we dive into one another's plates and I squeal that the English muffins look like the ones in her cookbook! I feel the tight hug of a friend who doesn't want to let go, a friend who tells me that I need to keep at this book, that it's good, really good, and in return I tell her that I can't wait wait wait until I lay eyes on her beautiful little girl.
It's good to be on speaking terms with the people you used to be, but it's even better to fall in love with the woman you're becoming.
Posted on January 6, 2013
She didn't finish her sentence because Isabel was running through the cypress trees so fast and with such force the trees were shaking for minutes afterwards. Laura watched the momentary chaos of the trees. It was as if they had been pushed off balance and did not quite know how to find their former shape. — Swimming Home, Deborah Levy
This year we will be surgical. I tell you there's no other way. Our greatest tool is the scalpel and we'll need to it excise the unnecessary appendages because we live in a world of barnacles. People who will cleave to you in shallow waters, wrap themselves around you so tight that it becomes difficult to breathe. And by the time you open your eyes and do the maths, they've multiplied; they've got you boxed in and there's no way out. The barnacles are tricky, sessile, set on feeding on anything in motion. Determined to drain every bit of you out of you. So there's you trying to make a life for yourself and there's them, trying to leech it away. Survival is now predicated on discipline — how we notice the drift, the cleave, the attachment and how we're able to cut it off and push it away. Because if you don't you will become lost in the forest that is them, and you'll never find your former shape.
You may think this bit is about coming apart — antithetical to gathering! — but I promise you there's more in play. Make no mistake, we live in a kingdom of animals and it's Darwinian.
Lately I've been preaching this conceit of the barnacle and the scalpel to everyone who will listen. Especially those who, like myself, fall prey to unnecessary attachments. People consider us the court jester, prone to performances the peanut-crunching crowd always love (we're such a sight to see!), or perhaps we're the kind, compassionate creative who has something — a life, a mind, a heart — of which the barnacles secretly covet. And we book our calendars full of lunches and dinners. We participate in their endless interrogations, listen intently to their latest drama (which is always on the level of the Greek), and dole out advice like dolls. They come away in a fever while we lean against buildings for support. How is it so possible to feel so weak after a single meal? How is it possible that all you now want to do is curl under your covers and sleep?
If your friendships are such that you are consistently and relentlessly carving out pieces of yourself to give to others, then break out the scalpel because this barnacle|host relationship will end up killing you. Imagine yourself weighted down by attachments, unable to flee through the trees, unable to recognize the shape that is yourself because you're always seeing the others. This clutter, this noise, this feverish motley lot prevent you from gathering with the ones who truly deserve your affection. {Haven't you found yourself canceling plans with the ones you love because you're exhausted from so many unnecessary engagements?}
I'm not a "popular" person; I've never been part of the "in crowd" {do we even use these terms anymore?}, and I never want to be. I used to be invited to dozens of parties and my calendar was always booked out for weeks, but now I have longer meals with the ones I love and the invitations are more about quality than quantity. From a mean girl where my every exhale was akin to walking on proverbial eggshells, to the married friend for whom my single status was her constant project, to the friend who was always telling the great story that was her life, a life where no one could get a word in edgewise in the midst of a two-hour dinner, to the other friend who grew frightened whenever I was quiet and measured, and only seemed to calm when I was my most boisterous "on" self — these are but a few of the extremities I excised.
As the years press on I find myself endlessly excising. Whittling down to my beloveds — those whose relationships are reciprocal in energy, where both of us leave inspired, refreshed and focused. Granted, this isn't a call to cut the cord when friendships get difficult by any means — this is more of an examination of how much you're bloodletting and how much you're giving of yourself at the expense of yourself. Examining all that is superfluous to refine and carve and hone to all who are essential.
I thought of all this, actually composed this post in my head as I was taking a much-needed respite at Bottega Falai. Yesterday it was cold in the city and I was entirely too early for a date, which is another sort of gathering, I suppose, and I slipped into this small cafe cum retail concept and watched Italian men with their sons, teaching them manners. I watched tourists slip in and fawn over the crepe cakes and pastries and I listened intently to two friends engaging in that barnacle|host exchange. The host's eyes glazed over and part of me wanted to lean in and tell her about scalpels, but it wasn't the time and it wasn't my place so I just listened and composed and thought about sharing this with the ones I love.
Posted on December 27, 2012
What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one. ― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
You were once our own private storm. Lone black wave on the beach curling in on itself, folding all the darkness within until it became too much to bear, and then you crested and collapsed onto the shore, devastating everyone in our wake. You didn't know it then, but you combed the beach determined to ruin. Felt the crunch of shells and bottles underfoot. But you never winced, bled and certainly never cried, as that was against the rules. Over the years the ocean had become something of a house and you were its tired, listless tenant wanting to break the lease, wade your way out, but everyone seemed to love the storm that was you. Boys called you their miniature hurricane, wrestled their fingers through the thicket that was our hair. Miming fear on their inevitable drowning. Girls barnacled themselves to you because back then being a sideshow act in the hurt circus was the height of literary sophistication, and you with your storied childhood gave everyone a part to play.
You were an ocean and a telenovella all at once, and everyone lived for next week's episode. But you were tired and had so much pain. Where do you put all this pain? Can you store it in the house and swim away? Or do you become the one who becomes engulfed in it, so much so that the undertow brings you further away from the light.
But one day, seemingly out of nowhere, the wave changed shape and form and then it was the past and there you were in a room miles away from the ocean.
In Russia, you couldn't sleep. You wandered the city with strangers watching the sky, wondering when it would ever fall to darkness. Come twilight you passed the time with a girl from L.A. who smacked gum loudly and talked about a heroin addiction that made her come undone. Like soldiers out of battle, you traded your drug war stories and joked about scoring pills in TJ until everyone stared — forcing the two of you into a corner. Her constant gum-smacking, her sing-song voice and erratic way of speaking unnerved you. She was irritating in the worst way but you wanted to be around her. Amongst the thieving gypsies and men hawking pirated DVDs on the Nevsky Prospekt, you kept finding your way to her. Bumped into her in the Summer Gardens, passed her between classes, and you joked and laughed because the two of you, a friendship?, made absolutely no sense. What was this acerbic New Yorker, with her clipped walk and obsession with order, doing with a girl, wearing shorts way too short, from East L.A.?
And so it goes. As the years marched onward, she would become a great, enduring love. You often talked about how you were two halves made whole. Apart you were puzzle but together you were terrific symmetry, finishing each other's sentences, practicing our respective mimicries. You determined that your friendship would endure because you were so different. You shone so bright, always, and she was content in her quiet. Bound by familial hurt and a history of self-medication, we often mused over the story that was us and we each scurried home to write our respective books. You held her head in your hands during a heartbreak and she was the one you called when you decided to quit drinking, for good. Back then you thought this: there was never a friendship such as ours. We were impenetrable. Nothing could break us.
Never did we think that we would be responsible for our ruin. We were our own wreckage. Did we know it at the time, or only know when remembering all of it?
Lately I've been reminded, albeit in a roundabout way, about friendship and love, and how the two are inexplicably bound to one another. There are those friendships where you only glide across the surface of one another. You have your cozy dinners and kiss-kiss on the cheek and then you fade into the recesses of night, only to do it all over again in six months. And there are other friendships that swell and crest — you friend and love furiously and recklessly — but in time inevitably fall because of the weight of itself. Who knew that gravity could undo so many? And then there are those quiet friendships that ebb and flow and we sometimes take them for granted because they aren't of the telenovella kind, but these are the ones that endure. Those are the friendships that do not alter.
Today I spent a three-hour lunch with an old friend at The Fat Radish, and we spoke of the great love I'd lost, the ones I never really had, and the one who remains a constant. While I'll never really know why my friendship with S faded, I'm honored to have gathered with her for the time that we had, and our fissure and break allowed me trespass to a whole host of beautiful friendships worth cultivating.
And all this time was the constant harvest. The one friend who has shared eighteen years of my life and we endure. We gather in her home and on the phone and any way that we can come together. Sometimes I like to think of us as two waves in the light, glinting, magical, coming together and pulling away when we need to.


text:
Zombie Hooker Nightmare XXX-mas do të shfaqet pas kësaj reklame.
Zombie Hooker Nightmare XXX-mas
Lojra luajtur: 11842
Përshkrim: Just because it's the holiday season doesn't mean a working girl's income flow has to freeze over. Lola's the last hooker on Earth, looking to spread a little Christmas cheer amidst a flurry of snow and walking dead. Guide Lola through 12 nights of unrelenting holiday horror, fending off zombie attackers that want to eat her brains and searching for Elves (and Santa himself!) to bring back to her trailer.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Hey there!
Joshua here, a 25 year old anomalous entity from an unknown corner of the Universe exploring Earth in the guise of a dorky human.
The reason I'm here is pretty simple, I have an intense passion for art and I want to use this platform as a space to showcase my identity.
I find that Art allows me to unleash the fury of my imagination and be my true self which I can't really be under normal circumstances so it's one of the few things that makes me happy about life.
My artistic influences stem from various things like Music , Film , Video games, literature and nature but basically anything that catches my attention and inspires me is what I attempt to pen down.
A LOT has happened in my life since I first began this account on DA and for a long time I failed to do much here or focus on art in general but now I'm back and ready to use art as a healing tool to help me have a much more positive outlook in life.
I appreciate you taking the time to look at my artwork and sending positive energy my way, it means a lot.
Feel free to send me messages , I love getting to know people and I honestly don't bite.


text:
its more easy say this dont gonna work because 3.60 (everybody knows that!)
its more easy say this dont gonna work because 3.60 (everybody knows that!)
Wait a second, so, if you don't update the game to 1.01, it WORKS???
Will it let you install gamedata Briks? I'm using 3.55. The game boots fine, but when I click OK to install gamedata, the game freezes.
That's a bit like a Portal 2 "fix" posted here a while back. Only starts to install data but freezing at 0-1%.
I just looked up BLUS30762 (BF3) on my game updater and it is 3.60. I doubt the same mistake will be done again where the update is 3.55.
i wouldn't be banking on perhaps the biggest release ever or at least this year to be funked up like that.. lol
be kool though for those that can't afford to buy it...
Yeah, I'm not sure how the executable (eboot) from BF2 would run BF3. I suppose it starts by coincidence, but the file can't possibly point in all the right directions. Still, kinda neat though.
the campaign in sp isn't too great, imo, but the mp online is absolutely amazing and heaps fun.. would be good if someone can get it going for those who can't buy or play on there fw.. but to enjoy this game you need psn..
I think we should change the title of this thread, since it's a bit misleading or close this thread since there is no fix for Battlefield 3 on CFW.
Well, it doesn't say it's a fix in the title... to me it seems to be just a "Battlefield 3 on 3.41 CFW PS3 with Update 1.01" discussion thread. We could close it, but then odds are another would be started since there is no fix yet, eh?
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• PS3MFW Builder / Our MFW Updates


text:
- E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.com
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Darren Cooper is from Slidell, La., and is a graduate of Louisiana State University. He covers any North Jersey sport — including soccer, gymnastics, wrestling, swimming and softball — within walking distance of an ice cream parlor.
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Mark J. Czerwinski has been at The Record since 1985, covering everything from high school sports to the NHL. Mark also writes The Record's weekly hunting and fishing column.
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JJ Conrad joined The Record in January 2012 and graduated from Pace University in 2010 with a degree in Media and Communications. He's a 2006 graduate of Wallkill Valley High School in Sussex County, where he played baseball, football and basketball.
View all of his posts
Sean Farrell joined The Record in 2015 as a sports writer after graduating from Syracuse University. Sean went to Midland Park High School where he played tennis and soccer.
View all of his posts
Chris Iseman joined The Record in 2013. A Syracuse University graduate, Chris covers everything from MLB to high school sports.
View all of his posts
Greg Mattura has been a sports writer for The Record since 1989 and has covered everything from Little League to the U.S. Open. A Fair Lawn native, Greg graduated from Hofstra University.
View all of his posts
Jim McConville has been covering high school sports in North Jersey since 1974 for the Ridgewood News. A graduate of Midland Park High School, he is also a member of the Executive Committee of the North Jersey Junior Football League.
View all of his posts
Ed Mills has been at the Record since November of 1988 covering high school sports. A graduate of Columbia High School in Maplewood and Utica College of Syracuse University in Utica, N.Y.
View all of his posts
Gregory Schutta joined The Record in 1987. He was part of the award-winning team that exposed the financial workings inside the NJSIAA. Greg covers boys soccer, wrestling and boys tennis.
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Paul Schwartz is a practicing attorney in workers' compensation in Ridgefield Park. Since 1971, he has been a part-time sports writer at the Record and now covers track and cross-country.
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Greg Tartaglia has covered North Jersey sports from football to bowling to volleyball for various local media since 2001. He grew up in Franklin Lakes and graduated from two BC's, Bergen Catholic and Boston College.
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Brian Thorn joined The Record in 2015. Brian is a graduate of Teaneck High School and Columbia University. Follow him on Twitter @brianjthorn.
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The people, stories and scores of North Jersey high school sports
Category Archives: Golf
Scoops on Sports: Announcing Award Finalists
Tomorrow night is the Bergen County Coaches Association All-County dinner. Time: 6 p.m. Location: The Fiesta in Wood-Ridge. Dress: To Impress. The Bergen County Women Coaches Association will hold its All-County dinner Wednesday at 7 p.m. also at The Fiesta. … Continue reading
Girls Golf: Holy Angels' Sim wins State title
Holy Angels freshman Kelly Sim today became the second from Bergen County to win the title in the 15-year history of the Girls State Golf Championship. Sim shot 2-under 70 at Cherry Valley CC in Skillman, sinking a 3-footer for … Continue reading
Golf: Bergen Catholic repeats as TOC champion; No. Highlands wins Group 3, Pascack Hills wins Group 1
Bergen Catholic repeated as Tournament of Champions titlist at today's 81st NJSIAA Boys Golf Championship. Bergen Catholic carded a four-player 305 at Hopewell Valley GC to finish first among 24 teams, eight strokes ahead of runner-up Christian Brothers Academy. There … Continue reading
Golf: Ramsey, Bergen Cath. repeat at Nassar
Ramsey repeated as small-school champion and Bergen Catholic repeated as the large-school titlist at today's Bergen County Nassar team golf championship. Ramsey won the Group 1-2-B title after carding a shoot-five, count-four score of 305 at Darlington GC in Mahwah … Continue reading
Golf: Girls Big North: Kim lifts Bergen Tech
Senior Nicole Kim lifted Bergen Tech to the title this evening at the Girls Big North team golf championship at Valley Brook GC in River Vale. Kim shot 4-over 74 to earn medalist and the Knights carded a shoot-six, count-four … Continue reading
Golf: Passaic County: Wayne Hills, DePaul's Fitzsimmons winners
Wayne Hills won the team title at today's Passaic County Golf Championship and DePaul sophomore Ryan Fitzsimmons was individual champ. Wayne Hills carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 330 at windy Preakness Valley GC in Wayne to finish 24 strokes … Continue reading
Golf: Non-Public North B: North Jersey shut out
North Jersey was shut out at the Non-Public North B golf sectional, with no team or individual shooting well enough to qualify for the Boys State Championship. The top two teams in each sectional advance to the State Championship, and … Continue reading
Golf: Non-Public North A: Bergen Catholic. 1st, Don Bosco 2nd
Bergen Catholic repeated as champ at today's Non-Public North A golf sectional and Don Bosco also earned a State Championship bid by placing second. Bergen Catholic carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 312 at Forest Hill in Bloomfield, with junior … Continue reading
Golf: North Group 4: Contreras advances
Bergen Tech junior Kyle Contreras was the lone local to advance to next week's Boys State Golf Championship via today's North Group 4 sectional. The top two teams and top five individuals and ties advance from each sectional and Contreras … Continue reading
Golf: Girls North: Tenafly, Holy Angels advance
Tenafly and Holy Angels joined champion Ridge and runner-up Hunterdon Central in qualifying today for next week's Girls State Golf Championship. The top four teams at today's Girls North sectional advanced and Tenafly was third at Stanton Ridge G&CC in … Continue reading
Golf: North Group 3: Paramus 1st, Northern Highlands 2nd
Paramus won the North Group 3 sectional title today by one stroke at Darlington GC in Mahwah. The Spartans carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 317 on a course that played 6,800 yards, with senior Thomas Scuderi shooting 2-over 74 … Continue reading
Golf: North Group 1: Westwood 1st, Pascack Hills 2nd
Westwood won today's North Group 1 sectional golf title and Cardinals sophomore Chris Lee was individual champion. Lee shot par-72 and Westwood carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 320 at Bowling Green GC in Oak Ridge. Pascack Hills was runner-up … Continue reading
Golf: North Group 2: Ramsey 1st, Ramapo 2nd
Ramsey opened defense of its State Group 2 golf title by winning today's North Group 2 sectional at Rockleigh GC, with Rams senior Chris Kopack earning the individual title. Kopack shot 3-under 69 and Ramsey carded a shoot-five, count-four total … Continue reading
Golf: Ferriter leads Bergen Cath. at Big North
Bergen Catholic won the Bergen Bracket of the Big North Championship today and Crusaders senior Drake Ferriter captured the individual title. Bergen Catholic carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 292 to finish 16 strokes ahead of archrival Don Bosco at … Continue reading
Golf: Tenafly, Yeji Shin win Bergen Girls titles
Tenafly repeated as team titlist this evening at the Bergen County Girls Golf Championship and Old Tappan senior Yeji Shin won individual honors. Tenafly carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 354 at Overpeck GC in Teaneck that was 11 strokes … Continue reading
Golf: Wayne Hills, Bergen Tech win at Big North
Freshman Robert McHugh led Wayne Hills to the Big North Independence Division golf title today and won individual honors with a 3-under 67 at Preakness Valley GC in Wayne. Junior Kyle Contreras guided Bergen Tech to the Liberty Division crown … Continue reading
Golf: Saddle River, Glen Rock win at NJIC
Ross Rabin led Saddle River Day to the Division 2 title at today's NJIC Championship and the junior won the individual crown. Andrew Nappi spearheaded Glen Rock's repeat title in Division 1 and the senior also repeated as individual champ … Continue reading
Golf: Bergen Cath. repeats at Arcola Invitational
Bergen Catholic repeated as titlist today at the nine-hole Arcola Invitational after edging arch rival Don Bosco on a scorecard tiebreaker at Arcola CC in Paramus. BC, No. 1 in The Record Boys Top 15, and No. 2 Bosco each … Continue reading
Golf: No. Highlands' Matt Carlson wins title at Galloway National Challenge
Northern Highlands junior Matt Carlson won the individual title at today's fifth annual Galloway National Challenge. Carlson had four birdies and shot 2-over 73 at tree-lined and windy Galloway National GC to finish one shot ahead of Mark Benevento of … Continue reading
Golf: Bergen Catholic, Bergen Tech girls win at FDU tourney
Bergen Catholic won today's fifth annual Fairleigh Dickinson Invitational golf tournament at River Vale CC in River Vale. The Crusaders, ranked No. 1 in The Record Boys Top 15, carded a shoot-five, count-four score of 302 to finish six strokes … Continue reading


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We just got home from another two weeks in Arizona.
Still no Coyotes (now referred to as Coyoticorns) or anything else of interest.
I did buy some yarn from Jessica Knits and we ate at Fate Brewing Company (again for both!). Both places are bright spots in our visit to the shitty area that is Phoenix Arizona and the valley.
It's really hot out there. But, it is indeed a dry heat. But still hotter than blazes, especially when there isn't a cool ACed house to go into afterwards.
After spending time outside in the direct hotter than hell sun however, you learn to appreciate the not cool enough house.
I haven't knit a damn thing, though I did have knitting with me, and my spinning stayed home, so while I spun a ton last year for Tour de Fleece, this year, I didn't even complete a full 4 oz.
Ah well, life happens, and sometimes you just have to accept it.
Copyright © 2013. All Rights Reserved.
- Game Review: The Long Dark
- Not an inch.
- Online Sheep and Wool.
- Topless, The Official Welcome of Summer
- Who's down with UPP….P? (yeah, you know me!) – Tonsillectomy at 40.
- Housekeeping has informed me your room is ready.
- Senate Bean Soup
- Brooklyn Black Ops vs. Bourbon County Stout
- 2014 Wrap Up
This entry was posted on Sunday, August 4th, 2013 at 10:50 pm and is filed under life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
1 Comment so far
Ken on
August 9, 2013
10:13 am
I so enjoyed your reading of "Growing Up Human" on Escape Pod and was so intrigued by "soapturtle" that I naturally had to look your site up. After I recovered from the shock of seeing all the great fiber art, I thought to myself: "this woman has abducted my wife and put her to work crafting all this stuff!" Seriously though, I'll pass on your link to her. She's a spinner/weaver/knitter/dyer, etc., plus she even has the fiber production end covered. Anyway, just wanted to tip the hit to your beautiful handiwork.


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Open Box (Mint) Sennheiser ew 135 G3 Cardioid Microphone Wireless System
(Band G)
Sku #620144004550000
Handheld Microphone Wireless Systems
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Versatility for every style of music and presentations-you can depend on great performance from the ew 135 G3 wireless vocal mic system from Sennheiser. The handheld microphone allows singers to charge the optional rechargeable pack while it remains in the transmitter. Wirelessly link up the transmitter with the receiver with a single touch of the sync button. The true-diversity receiver has a backlit graphic display that makes it easy to read under all lighting conditions.
- Sturdy metal housing (transmitter and receiver
- 42 MHz bandwidth: 1680 tunable UHF frequencies for interference-free reception
- Enhanced frequency bank system with up to 12 compatible frequencies
- High-quality true diversity reception
- Pilot tone squelch for eliminating RF interference when transmitter is turned off
- Automatic frequency scan feature searches for available frequencies
- Enhanced AF frequency range
- Increased range for audio sensitivity
- Wireless synchronization of transmitters via infrared interface
- User-friendly menu operation with more control options
- Illuminated graphic display (transmitter and receiver)
- Auto-Lock function avoids accidental changing of settings
- HDX compander for crystal-clear sound
- Transmitter feature battery indication in 4 steps, also shown on receiver display
- Handheld transmitter with easy-exchangeable microphone modules from evolution series
- Integrated Equalizer and Soundcheck mode
- BA 2015 accupack directly in the transmitter (item 476266)
Untether your vocals with this wireless mic system—order the ew 135 G3 now.
ew 135 G3 Cardioid Microphone Wireless System Specifications:
- RF frequency range: 516-865 MHz
Transmission/receiving frequencies: 1680
Presets: 12
Switching bandwidth: 42 MHz
Peak deviation: +/- 48 kHz
Compander: HDX
Frequency response (microphone): 80-18000 Hz
Signal-to-noise ratio: > 110 dB(A)
THD, total harmonic distortion: < 0.9 %
In compliance with: ETS 300422 , ETS 300445 , CE , FCC
Antenna connector: 2 BNC, 50 Ohm
Audio-XLR connector: 1/4"
Audio output level (balanced): XLR: +18 dBu max
Audio output level (unbalanced): Jack: +10 dBu max
Dimensions (Receiver): 8-2/5" W x 8" H x 1-7/10" D
Weight (Receiver): 2 lb.
RF output power: 30 mW
Operating time (transmitter): >8 h
Dimensions (Transmitter): 10-4/10" L x 2" D
Weight (Transmitter): 1 lb.
Transducer; Microphone type: dynamic
AF sensitivity: 2,1 mV/Pa
Sound pressure level (SPL): 154 dB(SPL) max.
Pick-up pattern: cardioid
What's in the Box?
1 EM 100 G3 rack-mount receiver
1 SKM 100-835 G3 handheld transmitter (dynamic, cardioid)
1 MZQ 1 microphone clip
1 NT 2 power supply unit
2 antennas
2 stacking elements
2 AA batteries
Operating instructions


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palm tree striped tee w/ rolled sleeves
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Model Height:5'11 (180 cm)
Fabric:100% Cotton
Item ID:1773876
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With 1.7 million freelancers, we'll match you with the perfect talent.
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Wheldon triumphs as AGR makes history
Updated: April 3, 2005, 10:19 PM ETAssociated Press
Wheldon ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. -- Dan Wheldon thanked teammate Tony Kanaan for handing him a victory Sunday in the first street race in the history of the Indy Racing League's IndyCar Series.
"TK was awesome,'' Wheldon said. "He was just a little unlucky and I got the benefit of it.''
Wheldon led an Andretti Green Racing sweep of the top four
places in the Honda Grand Prix. But it took an aggressive move by
defending series champion Kanaan just nine laps from the end to
make ...
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Saturday, September 14, 2013 11:48 PM EDT
High school roundup for Sept. 14
Lauren Segalla scored three goals and added an assist to lead the Housatonic girls soccer team to a 7-1 win over Gilbert on Saturday in a BL game in Falls Village.
Chloe Dakers and Hailey Nelson each scored a goal with two assists for Housatonic (1-1), and Madeleine Horosky and Lindsey Cullmer also scored.
Anna Geyslaers added an assist, and Jill Cannon made three saves.
Olivia Goldberger scored for Gilbert (0-2), and Lindsey Winn made 11 saves.
Marianapolis 3, Chase 1: In Waterbury, Sarah McCauley scored off a penalty kick in the second half for Chase (2-1).
Maddie Madison recorded 10 saves.
Notre Dame-Fairfield 5, Sacred Heart 0: Bryanna Kydes and Emily Wonsiewicz scored two goals apiece while Beatrice Escalalhao added a goal as Notre Dame won at Hamilton Park.
Sarah Chavez made six saves for Notre Dame (1-1).
Sacred Heart (0-2) received 11 saves from Kara Donnelly and a strong game from Tiffany Ciavarella.
Cross country
Mills wins at Windham Invite: At the 35th Haddad Windham Invitational, the Lewis Mills boys won the varsity division three race with 93 points.
Jackson Morrow was the winner of the division with a time of 16:39. Teammate Mike Mudgett was fourth at 16:53. Other Mills finishers were Tim Forella (17:41), Jesse Quinn-Algers (18:16) and Sam Warzorko (18:40).
Watertown's Bryan Maloney was fourth overall (16 minutes, 25.9 seconds) and teammate Seamus Rafferty was sixth (16:30.8) at the Hartford Riverfest Cross Country Invitational in Hartford.


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My world a little darker, like a fuckin' tan line
Go on, look for a better nigga: girl you can't find
Lyric Meaning
Cole often tells us how his world is filled with turmoil. A tan line is always darker from the sun-rays that have baked it
Side Note: I'm sure Cole wouldn't mind making love to a girl with a tan line (not the tan line itself; he's being reductive). But something also tells me he wouldn't mind having sex with a girl with no tan line… or a light-skinned girl… or some Kelly Rowlands
Improve the quality of Back to the Topic Freestyle Lyrics by leaving a suggestion at the bottom of the page


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Meet Your Faculty
The TESOL Program is designed to meet your professional development goals by offering a variety of program options that can either stand alone or build upon one another towards a Masters of Arts in Education; TESOL. Click here for a course map and schedule showing when courses are offered, online or in-the-classroom.
Candidates may complete this sequence through participation in the CTELL program (Connecting Teachers to English Language Learners). This unique program trains educators to meet the special needs of English Language Learners in specific elementary or secondary content areas of instruction. Tuition for the CTELL program is fully funded through a grant from the Federal Office of English Language Acquisition. The two courses that comprise this sequence are 3-credits each and are available in an online format. Learn more about the CTELL program.
The 18-credit licensing program leads to a Wisconsin DPI license certification in ESL (WDPI 395). The program is designed for experienced teachers who wish to add this certification. ED 605B and ED 604A may be taken through the Professional Development Sequence/C-TELL program. All courses are 3-credits each and may be applied towards completion of the MA-Education-TESOL. All ESL License Sequence courses are available either online or in the classroom. Each online course begins with a single mandatory face-to-face orientation meeting. That meeting is held on a weeknight or Saturday at the Monroe Street Campus as designated by the professor.
Completing the Master of Arts in Education degree will give you the skills and knowledge to become a leader of ESL Education in your school or district. The Master of Arts in Education: TESOL requires completion of the 18 credits listed in the License Sequence, plus the 4 three-credit courses listed below, plus 3 additional degree related credits (course approved by advisor). 33 credits total.
Edgewood College also offers Professional Development courses, WDPI License Certification and a Master of Arts in Education in Bilingual Education. Learn more.


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Diversified Financial Services
Company Overview of F&C Finance PLC
Company Overview
F&C Finance Plc acts as the issuer of 9 percent guaranteed notes of F&C Asset Management Plc. It also holds an investment in subordinated notes. The company was incorporated in 2009 and is based in London, the United Kingdom. F&C Finance Plc is a subsidiary of F&C Asset Management Plc.
Exchange House Primrose Street
London, EC2A 2NY
United Kingdom
Founded in 2009
Key Executives for F&C Finance PLC
F&C Finance PLC does not have any Key Executives recorded.
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Tag Results for "Bristol Palin"
Sarah Palin's Trademark Application Denied: Not Why You Think, She Forgot to Sign Application
February 8, 2011 | by USA Today Content | Latino Daily News
As had been reported last week former Vice Presidential candidate and conservative 'duh' darling Sarah Palin and her now-taut looking daughter Bristol Palin, filed a trademark application to protect their names, images and brand. continue reading »
Bristol Palin Moving to Maricopa, Arizona-Close to Other Local Celeb Anti-Immigrant Sheriff Arpaio
December 24, 2010 | by AZ Central | Latino Daily News
The 20 year-old daughter of the former governor of Alaska and current reality star Sarah Palin, has purchased a house in Maricopa, Arizona. The former Dancing with the Stars continue reading »
Argentina's 'Dancing for a Dream' Plays out like a Bristol Palin Dance Saga
December 15, 2010 | by Estelle Gonzales Walgreen | Latino Daily News
Model Vanina Escudero showed to a live audience a move that we would have liked to see Bristol Palin try on Dancing With The Stars. continue reading »
Do Hispanics Want to Leave the U.S. because Bristol is Poised to Win Dancing with the Stars?
November 19, 2010 | by Estelle Gonzales Walgreen | Por Que
In case you haven't heard 1-out-of-7 Hispanics would leave the U.S. permanently if they could. Whaaaaaat? I ain't goin' nowhere at least not until I celebrate the pinnacle of American mediocrity by watching Bristol Palin horse hoof her way to a Dancing with the Stars trophy. continue reading »


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Bilingual V.A: QB, WP, Infusionsoft, & Project Management Skills
United States - Tests: 21 - Portfolio: 27
I have 16 years in small business management within various fields. Some of the most important and difficult lessons I've learned during this time is how to master technology rapidly, and to stay up to date with it to better assist my clients. I love master new technology as much as I love web design, and I feel these areas are not only where I excel as a virtual assistant, but it is also the area I most enjoy. Hire me if you feel… • Overwhelmed by your current workload • Overworked; exhausted • Unable to take time off work – afraid to relax, knowing that your business will suffer if you're absent • Like a prisoner in your own business, a business that was supposed to bring freedom and instead feels like a job! • Full of resentment for what used to bring you joy and has become a burden and chore, leaving you dreading your busy weeks) I'm reliable, very tech savvy and self-reliant. I am also 100% bilingual (English/Spanish) able to translate a variety of documents, and interpret live via phone. Some of the things I have experience with: • CRMs Like (Infusionsoft, Salesforce, Zoho CRM) • Mail marketing (Mailchimp, Infusionsoft, Get Response, Mail poet) • Web Design (Wordpress, CSM, HMTL) • Membership Site programming (Wordpress, Jigsawbox, Kajabi) • Project Management (Huddle, Basecamp, Central Desktop, 5 p.m., Asana, Active Collab) • Accounting Software (QuickBooks, Freshbooks, GoDaddy Accounting Formerly Known as Outright) • Remote Desktop Utilities (Teamviewer, LogMeIn, ShowMyPC, GoToMyPC, join.me) • Teleconferencing (GotoMeeting, FuzeMeeting, ZohoMeeting) • eCommerce (PrestaShop Installation and Maintenance, Volusion, Shopify, BigCommerce, and others) ...and this is just to name a few! Your path to a less stressful, more fulfilling business will begin by simply clicking the "Contact" button above and meet me for a quick interview so that we can discuss your project. We'll evaluate your current workload and identify ways I can help you save time, get more done, and grow your business faster without working harder.


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The official site for My Lifetime Commitment
Lifetime's Remarkable Women campaign honors extraordinary women who inspire and empower others to make a difference in their communities and the world.
August 6: Jill Biden
Jill Biden; Educator and Second Lady (Wife of Vice President Joe Biden)
Hometown: Willow Grove, PA Education: University of Delaware (B.A.), West Chester University (M.Ed), Villanova University (M.A.) and University of Delaware (Ed.D.) Family: Daughter Ashley, sons Beau and Hunter, two daughter-in-laws and five grandchildren(2005)
Jill Biden, wife of Vice President Joe Biden, wears many hats: She is a mother and grandmother, she has been an educator for three decades, she is a proud Blue Star mom and an active member of her community. As Second Lady, Jill works to highlight the importance of community colleges, to raise awareness about the sacrifices made by military families and to bring attention to women's health issues, including breast cancer.
Jill also continues to teach English full-time at a community college not far from the White House.
Jill has always said that community colleges are "one of America's best-kept secrets." She is working hard to make sure that is no longer the case: President Obama has asked Jill to help promote community colleges around the country, and she works consistently on this outreach on behalf of the Administration. This fall, she will host the first ever White House Summit on Community Colleges.
As a military mom, Jill understands first-hand how difficult it can be to have a loved one deployed overseas. In Delaware, she was active with a nonprofit organization called Delaware Boots on the Ground, which is dedicated to helping families during times of military deployment by organizing community events to raise awareness and support. Now, as Second Lady, she has dedicated herself to shining a light on military families' strength and courage as well as the challenges that they face. She travels regularly to military bases in both the United States and abroad to speak with soldiers and their families and to raise awareness for the special sacrifices that these Americans make. Together with First Lady Michelle Obama, she has issued a national challenge to all Americans to take action and find ways to support and engage our military families in their own communities. Jill is asking folks she meets to go to serve.gov and share their stories about how they're supporting those who serve us every day.
In 1993, after four of her friends were diagnosed with breast cancer, Jill started the Biden Breast Health Initiative in Delaware, which in the past 17 years has educated more than 10,000 ninth-through-twelfth-grade girls about the importance of early detection of breast cancer. For the past two years, Jill and the Vice President have served as the Honorary Co-Chairs for the Global Race for the Cure in Washington, D.C.
Prior to moving to Washington, D.C., Jill taught English at a community college in Delaware, at a public high school and at a psychiatric hospital for adolescents. Jill earned her Doctorate in Education from the University of Delaware in January of 2007. Her dissertation focused on maximizing student retention in community colleges. She also has a two Master's Degrees — both of which she earned while working and raising a family.
Jill and Joe have three children: Ashley, a social worker; Beau, the Attorney General of the State of Delaware and a captain in the Delaware Army National Guard; and Hunter, a lawyer. They have two daughters-in law, Kathleen and Hallie, and are also the proud grandparents of five grandchildren: Naomi, Finnegan, Maisy, Natalie, and Hunter. The oldest of five sisters, Jill Jacobs was raised in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania, by Bonny and Donald Jacobs, both of whom are now deceased.


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Definitions for palempore
This page provides all possible meanings and translations of the word palempore
Webster Dictionary
a superior kind of dimity made in India, -- used for bed coverings
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