Scenes from Sunday

Sun·day  ˈsəndā,-dē/

noun  1. the day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship and (together with Saturday) forming part of the weekend.

Sunday: a day to rest, reflect, and  indulge. All without the guilt one might feel on say a Wednesday or the pressure to be out and about, characteristic of a Saturday. Sundays are like little slivers of heaven, where you can do what brings you to a calm, happy place. That comfort zone is entirely subjective and varies from person to person, but there look to be some consistent trends during the autumn months. Apple picking, prayer sharing, family meals, football watching, and afternoon naps. 

There is something scandalous about sleeping late. I feel like valuable daylight is wasted when lingering under the covers too long. But on Sunday, it is pardoned. Stomach grumblings eventually ensue. The coffee pot is on, and the pancakes are mixed. Chocolate chips and shredded coconut are added for a twist. A dollop of whipped cream delivers the knockout. The dishes even get done on the spot- a rarity.

Comfortable clothes worn to account for the crisp breeze. Windows open, sun shining through. Chit chat and jokes exchanged in the truck en route to DePiero's, a gem of a farm not too far from home.

At home, two things are on: football and a mammoth pot of sauce. Yells echo from the living room and it's obvious Daddy's not pleased with the Giants. He thinks they may go 8-0. Hopefully, not. At commercial breaks, the sauce is stirred and the aroma fills our home. Hot peppers are sautéed too; as I write my nasal passages have been cleared and my eyes are running. Pasta is served and too much is eaten. Soon after, everyone slips into a brief (or not so brief) nap. It's Sunday, remember, so this indulgence is encouraged.

For dessert, there are donuts and coffee. We break into more chatter, in between big bites of fluffy sugared goodness. More football and snoring...

Nothing extravagant happens, but the time together is special enough. It's the little things that matter,  the scenes from Sunday.

Something's in the air

Summer is nearing its close, as everyone is scrambling to tie up loose ends before school time, bidding fairwell to all the projects we vowed to finish during vacation, but somehow didn't. It's ok though, autumn brings yet another chance to find balance. The temperature drops nicely, a new harvest arrives, and proximity to Christmas brings a general feeling of joy.

School is starting soon, not for me but for my parents who work in the school system. For lots of my friends too, who are embarking on graduate school. I have been working, navigating young adulthood, so the concept of summer does not hold the same significance. But, I can recall that nervous feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach the week or so before school started. 

On the flip side, school starting always meant seeing dear friends again. In our university bubble, distance was no obstacle. Your entire scholastic and social network was within a block or two radius of you.  Last minute yoga classes, dinners at the Tombs, and wanderings on M Street with a latte and stimulating conversation were plentiful. Staying up late, flustered about pending deliverables was never pleasant but at least we were in good company. 

I don't have to pack up my dad's Chevy pickup, or negotiate how much stuff I can fit into a tiny bedroom this September. It was a special time for me, but I am not necessarily longing for it all again. I firmly believe each chapter in your life is the best one, or at least I should strive to make it the best one. Neither the past nor the future are within our grasps as firmly as the present. What I do long for again is the connectivity that college afforded me. Studying alongside gifted young people from all over the country and world, with professors at the forefront of their respective fields. Nonetheless, something's in the air, something good.

I have noticed of late a general rekindling of relationships (plural) that I treasure. Not that I ever intended to lose touch with people I care about, but it happens sometimes. Everyone is off leading their own lives and there are only so many hours in the day to fit it all in. Whenever I feel saddened by this change in circumstances, I reassure myself that regardless of how much time passes, people that occupy a place in your heart are never really that far away. Nothing replaces actual communication though, so it is uncanny, and wonderful, how all these exchanges came at once.  Last minute visits, long overdue catch up phone calls, and simple message exchanges have been so refreshing. Maybe the universe has a way of keeping kindred spirits aligned. Regardless of the explanation, my heart is glad. 

Even though I won't be starting another year of coursework, I can feel that same excitement of returning to the hilltop by strengthening ties with the friends I forged there. It is essential to be connected; it makes us human. My September resolution will be to not only grow professionally, but to continue nurturing the friendships I was blessed to find. Sounds like school is in session for me too. 

Garage of Plenty

"People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.  But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth.  Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize:  a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child - our own two eyes.  All is a miracle."  -Thich Nhat Hanh

This is one of those quotes that really resonates with me. If you hadn't figured it out already, I love quotes. I make it my business to look for a good one every so often to bring my thoughts into focus; make them more easy to digest. If you pay any attention to the media, you will see the extremes of materialism. People with little to nothing, living in poverty. And others living with such excess, that it borders ludicrous. I am thankful to fall somewhere in the middle. Comfortable enough to check off the vitals on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and living humbly enough to keep me hungry...determined. 

I moved back to my home state, after a two year stint in the Nation's capital. Although DC was a remarkable city, I never had space to myself beyond the walls of my studio, and eventual one bedroom pad. No grass, or deck to call my own. Since coming home, I have stumbled on a unique gem- an old garage, in dire need of some TLC.

Living in the home that my dad grew up in, it is a fixer upper to say the least. Some new paint on the walls, updated fixtures, and a nice new plush carpet have done the trick thus far. Every day, I see more potential in this old house, thankfully. It was filled with a lot of love over the years; it still is. We work to make sure of that. To complement the tangible warmth my grandparents left behind, we are bringing the physical space into modern times.  I get to flex my DIY chops in the main house, but the garage fell into someone else's able hands. Enter James. 

I met James, while working at Filomena's in Georgetown. I was just looking for some part time money, and ended up finding a whole lot more; I found a partner. Fast forward a little over two years, some bad jobs, and a few different apartments and James is still along for the ride. It was always apparent to me that James was a special person, able to find joy in the small things- a nice meal, a good hike, some fresh air, or a last minute day trip. Of late though, I have noticed his potential to create joy for others too, in the unlikeliest of locations.

Nonny and Homer, my late grandparents on dad's side, were very simple. They used the garage to house their two cars, and little else. As they aged, and stopped driving, the garage atrophied because it really served no purpose any longer. Well, it is back and I hope they are smiling down on the shenanigans we have unleashed. 

James is a whiz at finding fixer-upper projects. I thought I was crafty until I saw just how resourceful he is. He assumed the kitchen throne and now the crafting throne too; alas I will have to find my worth elsewhere. I am ok with this, as long as he shares the fruits of his labor. Thankfully, he always does. 

James began by gutting the garage and simply cleaning. Then slowly but surely, he began to populate what we now refer to as the cave with new pieces. First came a vintage bar he refurbished. Next came the dart board, table and chairs, and the popcorn machine. Thanks to my dearest cousin and confidant, Patty, and her darling husband, we now have a margarita machine and some lovely signage.   Some vintage sports memorabilia, serious snacks, sound system, and a few bar stools legitimize its man cave status.

More importantly though, more than the "things" inside the garage, are the memories that have since taken root. Family and friends gathering to share a meal, play some darts, listen to music (country music typically to appease James), and just laugh. My papa is 85 years old, and has found a new hobby in darts. Never too old to discover new sources of merriment, I say. We definitely eat our fill. James makes some mean dishes on his charcoal grill, the smell of smoke never quite leaving our clothes. It's a fine smell, though.  I don't mind. 

Some nights we will simply play a game or two of Cricket. Other nights we watch the rain fall. The common denominator, though, is that delicate comfort that settles in when you are with people you love. Little else is needed to make my picture any more whole. Would extravagant amenities be nice? Fine dining. The whole shebang. Sure. Few people would argue that. But I don't think more "things" would make us any happier. Just some folks sitting back, eating, drinking... laughing. In the garage of all places. My garage of plenty. 

Peace, Love and Pasta

The only thing in the world that is comparable to dear, unadulterated friendship is a good dish of pasta! Well actually, I should rephrase that. The only thing I can conceive of in the world that can enhance an already stellar get together among dear friends is a good dish of pasta. Needless to say, senior year has been dreadfully busy, hence the month or so since I last posted my thoughts. Yet, I have been eating, obviously, my fair share of good food and I will try my very best to maintain my sanity and post some adventures in eating. Luckily, I found some time to share a nice quiet evening with my three girlfriends to chat and catch up over a deep bowl of fusili with peas and smoked sausage.

It had been entirely too long since we had all spoken and it was incredibly rejuvenating to reconnect. The hustle and bustle of scholastics, extracurriculars, jobs, and social encounters keep us occupied seemingly incessantly. Among us is an Army officer applying to medical school, a passionate science student contemplating a career in research, and a pleasant, RA dreaming of her next trip to Italy. In finding time to share a meal, we discussed our latest concerns and frustrations but more importantly we shared our most recent victories, big and small. We dished about guys, lack of guys, or shall I say lack of good guys and our aspirations for the upcoming years. We giggled about 21st birthday blunders and even planned a repeat in the upcoming weeks. We can finally, legally share a drink together in a fine establishment rather than grabbing a bottle of wine and sitting in someone's bedroom on a random Saturday evening. With a little brother's coming of age, a handsome railroad economist meeting my lady bug pillow pal :/, a Dad settling into a new city, and a surprise visit to Wisconsin.... there are plenty of special adventures to look forward to. Senior year is tumultuous and disconcerting as we embark on the next chapter in our lives but one can be certain that the transition is less anxiety provoking with the help of fine food and finer girlfriends.

So grab your favorite girls, a box of Barilla, some tomato sauce, and a package of Pepperidge Farm's cookies and relish in the blessings of peace, love, and pasta.