baby, it's cold outside

It hasn't snowed in a few days (these photos were from right before Christmas), but it's been pretty nippy the past week or so, so we are generally keeping indoors. After a sunday lunch of a portabello mushroom stuffed with cheddar, battered and deep-fried, then stacked into a cheeseburger, following an appetizer of cinnamon-toast ice cream made of what appeared to be straight-up cream, from its ability to separate into butter in my mouth (it's true, lactose is for me as mushrooms are for Mario), you might guess that the season has affected my eating habits in true, caloric-stockpiling, form. I was so sated by lunch that Sunday Dinner was coffee with fancy cocoa and peppermint schnapps in front of a movie. Ah, the grown-up life.

thinking of you this fall

engross yourself in the spirit of autumn!

love, ERiKA

Love and Air Conditioning

Some nice stories from New York Magazine.

blossoms of snow

Spring has finally awoken, moody rain and sunshine and all. Springtime, especially April here (god help us we don't get some freak Seattle-esque interminable rainy, 50-degree spring), is like a schizophrenic, or an adolescent: all sunshine and seventy degrees one afternoon and black clouds and rainstorm the next morning. We had upper sixties and glaring sunshine Sunday, lightening and thunder the next day, sunshine again, then black clouds spewing snow today. Go figure.

I will clearly state that any weather beats the winter here. The trees think so, too; they are starting to relax their defenses and bud. The ones in front of my building are flowering beautifully, dripping with tiny white pear-like flowers (it's killing me that this is another east coast plant I can't identify) before they leaf out. I walked out one morning late last night, and it was like waking up without remembering it was christmas day; sunny glistening with a recent rain, the little white flowers seemed to say, "surprise, erika! here we are! we all made it through winter!"

I absolutely adore my street. With the eighteenth-century St. Marks-in-the-Bowery at one end, and beautifully iron-worked brick townhomes along East Tenth, the block is really unique in that the homes are slightly upscale-seeming compared to its neighboring ones, and it also lacks the characteristic ground and first-floor commercial that the East Village is known for, making it quiet and homey. It's like a scene out of Brooklyn, or the West Village. Film crews are even drawn here; I've seen three so far.

But this is definitely still the East Village; at the border of NYU and as the mecca for young people looking to live it up; it's loud and eclectic. The building across the street has some scruffy characters lingering around that makes me think there's some sort of subsidy or rent-freeze; the neighboring building is clearly abandoned minus two-thirds of the top floor, which is occupied by an artist working odd hours and on looming, grim works. His and another few apartments on the block, as we all have very high ceilings, have decaying ceilings with exposed lath, peeling paint, and brickwork at the top of the wall where it's difficult to maintain. Then a few doors down from mine, a huge, beautiful old building with ornate ironwork has only four buzzers and beautiful stone and wood detailing inside- clearly these people are not so poorly off. Homeless people smelling and looking scary sleep on the benches down the block in front of St Mark's, but across the street and to the east of me is a really unique building, thin, with one giant bay of factory-like, small-paneled giant windows that must house someone successful as it appears to be one fabulous home. The pointy Flatiron-like brownstone that sits at the end of the triangular block looks fancy at first glance but is housing people who keep leggy plants in front of dusty windows and push the backs of their televisions and refrigerators up to the windows.

There is a lot of traffic through this block, as it sits between Cooper Union, NYU, and the School of Visual Arts (among others), and most of their watering holes and socializing locales and is on the path between anyone coming from the subway to the bars. I see and more hear a lot of drunken activity from my big picture window: loud groups having conversations outside the art school dormitory a few doors down; crazy people yelling at the corner near third; there was the large drunk woman that fell, in heels, into the stairwell of my super's basement apartment, directly below my window on a weeknight, and had to be strategically squeezed out of the space by paramedics and her date; there tend to be homeless-seeming lingerers across the street in front of a particular stoop; oftentimes, it's actually my cats that are causing a lot of stir.

When I come home, if I've left the blinds open in my first-floor apartment (even sometimes if I haven't I can see eyes peeking through the crack above the sill), one of my two black cats is always there, sitting next to the garden gnome I use as a bookend on my long, deep, windowsill. They have achieved superstar status with neighbors and passersby. More than once have I had the lights low in my apartment and witnessed flashes of light on the walls that turned out to be coming from people's cameras outside. Many more times have I heard strangely-toned voices, usually high and quiet (creepy!), that I was too weirded out to investigate, while my cat was calmly posing. The funny thing is that though they can be leery of strangers, there is enough distance with the iron railing in front of the gap before the sidewalk, that they are never made nervous enough to jump down. They just sit there, luxuriating in the attention like the attention-hungry beasts that they are.

It's like we're a zoo, here. We have the railing, the little trench, the large window, and the small cage that we live in... protecting us from the hordes of poorly-behaved people passing by daily. I could think of worse situations. I think this might be the kind of zoo where they design it so well that the captives believe they're in some endless paradise.

hello goodbye

Spring is creeping forth... the weather hit sixty degrees over the weekend and the city seemed to take a deep breath and in its exhale, express a volume of people from its confines that I didn't realize existed. The sidewalks were congested with every sort of imaginable personality, many of them with alter personalities in canine form. There are an amazing amount of people with dogs (albeit smaller, as a mean) in this city, especially given the size homes we have.

The weather this week is set to be in the forties and somewhat grey and rainy... perfect for the seattlite, especially after the streak of days in the teens and tens. as the weather transforms from bitterly icy toward balmy, I can feel change on so many levels. I've gotten news from Seattle in the past few days, some surprising, some interesting, and some downright shocking- a dear friend has ended a long relationship; a former coworker has committed suicide. The managing principal in my office has resigned and they are replacing him with a her, and she's incredible; a visionary, insightful and a breath of fresh air in the office I felt to be so much a boys' club since I started. she speaks of the "seismic change" occurring in the world and country and even especially new york, and how it's an opportunity. She is the Femme-Obama.

In this "time of uncertainty," where my office has laid off nearly a third of its staff and may have to do so again, and people across the country are without jobs and homes and major corporations are disappearing into the annals of history, we need reassurance. Though I wasn't surprised to see the economy dive down to even out after years of exponential growth, I've been relatively optimistic as to its impacts. Though change is almost always hard somehow, it's essential and needed to keep momentum. However, in this town, where so many are so focused on personal and financial success and the cost of staying afloat is so high, sometimes it's natural to get caught up in the concerns of how all the change may negatively impact us. It's very refreshing to hear someone speak of how these changes may positively impact us, and reshape our work and the world as we know it for the better.

Lately things have been constantly inconstant- less coworkers, different coworkers; people getting engaged to start new lives together, people breaking up to start new lives on their own; many babies born, people passing. In the early part of today I took the first test in a series of five intensive licensure exams (our equivalent of the bar exam); later today I was stuck in the back of the office scanning dozens and dozens of large-format drawing edits and found myself questioning my chosen career path.

But you know, I dig it all. I love it. I'm not sure if it's the place I am physically, or mentally, but the concept of endless possibility is completely invigorating to me right now. Start working partially within the company as a firm photographer? maybe. Return to the northwest to an old flame? maybe. Move to France? maybe... become an environmental artist?...redirect my career path toward writing?.... find someone to have kids and have a calm life with?... yeah, maybe that too, eventually. Bring it.

Bring the fresh spring breezes finding their way to the city- I am enjoying my newly-perceived status as a pawn of fate. Bring them and I'll tumble along like the foam thrust across the sand by the breaking surf.

listening: Black Keys' Attack and Release

crept in on little cat's feet

The plan tonight was to go home after a quick stint at the gym and start packing (which I've been saying I'll do every night for quite a few days now). Instead it's past eleven and I'm just getting home after taking a detour from the athletic club to Capitol Hill for dinner and drinks (oops).

The result was me spending way more time than planned outside traipsing about the city this evening. In a short skirt, thin calf-length leggings, tiny ballet flats and a light jacket, I am downright amazed at how cold it is out there; I was cursing... well, I'm frankly not sure who I should have been cursing, but I was definitely cursing on the way home between busses and doors. It made me think of the Sandburg quote I mentioned above- granted it refers to fog, but the cold weather has done the same: crept in quietly when we weren't looking. A major briskness has taken over Seattle in the past two weeks. I don't even know where my cold-weather clothes are.


Leaving the Seattle Athletic Club, I detoured my usual route north through Belltown toward Queen Anne and went south through the market to catch a bus up to Capitol Hill. There is something magical, and totally different, about The Market in its off-time. And at this time, a weeknight past dark, when it's late enough to have shut down but not late enough to be still, it had the great quality that piazzas all over Italy have late in the evening... the lazy meanderings of people passing by and through, gazing about places meant to be full with people. The Market, like Campo de Fiori, the Spanish Steps, or Piazza Navona in Rome, seems, late at night, to be begging to be visited- aglow with light, open and waiting for visitors to flood back and bring it to back to life. It's like it's smiling its brightest smile to draw people in again. Lights glow above, and from the edges with people's condo and apartment homes, and restaurants. Neon signs beckon as well, both in the alleys and streets, and within the turn-of-the-century market stalls and walkways, gutted for the night down to the white walls, sterile steel counters, and nightly pressure-washed rust-brown tile floor. You don't notice the beautifully repetitive green columns and industrial pendant lights until you clear the place down to its skeleton.

As I walked under the overhangs of the food vendors lining the street (soundtrack- Fleet Foxes, Mykonos), passing beneath sign after hanging sign, the hectic, colorful nature that characterizes our views of the market at day gave way to the quiet rhythm of the place at night- rows of columns; light after hanging light; globe lights studding moulding like neverending dressing-room vanities; signs lined up like pinball gates; feet passing over cobbles.

On my way up to the market, I'd stopped to marvel at the sunset over Elliot Bay and the Olympics. Now, plugged into the moment with music and solitude, I noticed the blur around a streetlight that accompanies cold, dewey nights and I was happy despite the cold. Makes for a nice memory.

happiness is...

...there are many corny bookmarks and bumpers out there. and many generally horrible ones, as well. but today i had a moment when i was thinking something to the effect of "happiness is..."

happiness is having lots of people who care about you gathered around.

In this time as I am preparing to move, I am orchestrating getting together with many different sets of friends, and beginning to say goodbye. And though it is kind of stressful, trying to take care of things (and extensively procrastinate) and see everyone, it is making me very happy.

As the weather is cooling, and leaves fall, and we are baking and steeping spicy things, having friends gather inside to appreciate spending time together... it's lovely. It's lovely and flattering and a warm feeling to have people you love come together to remind you they love you too. It's making me sentimental, all of the "you'll be missed" comments I'm getting. Because I've been thinking about how much I'll miss everyone, too, and reciprocation is nice.

Traveler though I may be/ aspire to be, I have avoided moving out of Seattle for many years now because I value the place, and my loved ones here, too much. I finally felt I was in the right spot to leave them for a while; but I think we generally take for granted our support systems. There is nothing that makes me happier than spending time with people I enjoy in a relaxed, intimate setting. Give me a few drinks, good music, and a good conversation with friends over any organized activity any day.

I've been in Seattle eight years now, and have amassed a huge web of people, I'm realizing. I almost feel like a socialite as I'm attempting to organize meeting up before I go in two weeks. I have quite a few spheres of friends, between hometown and university and work and former coworkers and neighbors, etc... and they are truly all important to me. It's such a blessing, really, to have so many people who have been there, in fun and even not-fun times, and still want to be there.

What's keeping me from losing it, in saying all these goodbyes, is the concept that I'll be back. I'll be back a couple of times a year to visit, and conceptually to live again in a few years. Also helpful is that I have a network already where I'm headed of people I'm close to. And I like to live life with fond memories floating about, in black and white as though filmed with a filter for a drama, with a soundtrack of my favorite eclectic music.

The moving is exciting every time I think about it, but the moving on makes me somewhat melancholy. I hope that everyone knows how much I value them, and that I welcome them to visit or come back into my life anytime, anywhere, whether you've been my friend for ten years or ten weeks.

And maybe I'll see you at Christmas. :)

autumn

When summer took its leave, I was initially quite sad. I was a summer baby; I love summer. Who doesn't, though, really?

We've had a week of consistently grey weather now, however, and I'm taking to it again. A very autumnal windstorm passed through on Saturday (no rain, with leaves flying all directions, and comical wind-whipped trees resisting the gusts). It's raining now, and there's something nice and cozy about all of this.

This is the weather that inspires introspection and cynicism, and heavy consumption of heavy coffee or alcoholic beverages to pass the time spent taking shelter. It also provides validation to put on a scarf, head inside, light a spicy candle, make a hot drink, and watch a movie. If you're really on a roll, you can put on Nat King Cole and have a warm cookie.

Leaves are red and orange and tumbling over the threshold on the way back in from outside, and I don't mind it or the drizzle...yet. I might be singing a different song though when I have to move in this in a few weeks, but I'll remain optimistic as long as I can.