{a new year}

To a new year:

May it be one of learning, and of bringing our new experiences home.

May we stop trying so hard to be cool, 

and start just being good - to ourselves, and to others.

May we realize the light around us, 

but not feel so bad when we let the storm clouds linger a while.

And, may we spend time loving those people and places we already have, 

but also take time to open our hearts to those new ones just around the corner.

To the next 365 days,

may they, and we, be the best yet.

xo.

tunes-day. {the band}

It makes no difference how many times or in what context I hear this song; it always conjures memories of being slow danced in circles around my university boyfriend's living room. He told me it was the most romantic song ever written - and I believed him.  '

And, you know what? I still do.

It's been more than five years since our last waltz, but each time I hear this chorus I think of him with a smile on my lips and a warm glow in my nostalgic heart.

This is for you, D.

xo. B.

{thanking you.}

Hey.

It's been awhile, I know.

But, today seemed like a good day to check in and say thank you.

For family, for friends, for good food and for this new adventure before me.

For the sweet slices.

{here}

Be back soon.

xo. B.

the kindness of (virtual) strangers.

Working as a waitress can be a demanding, exhausting, soul-sucking job.

"This beer is flat!"
"I want my fries extra crispy!"
"Yes, I do want exact change for $8.98 from a ten dollar bill!"

Sometimes, I want to kill my customers.

But, then there are my regulars. The singles and couples, after-work drinkers and after-school wing eaters, who - week after week - find a table in my section, plop themselves down and proceed to plaster a genuine smile across my face as I rush them their beers (two at a time) and potato skins (extra cheese, side of hot sauce.) Some call me by name, others silently revel at the fact that they needn't actually order out loud any more, and some go out of their way to brighten the day of a tired, blister-footed waitress.

Last night L, one of my Friday evening regulars stopped by the pub. He asked if I had a moment and pulled me to the side of the bar.  The 50-something gentleman proceed to open a black briefcase filled with smooth, circular, wooden bracelets.

"This is my last week in town. So, for always remembering my Rickard's Red and extra sauce for my fish - I'd like you to choose one to have for yourself."

As I looked more closely at the beautiful jewelry, I recalled a brief conversation a few weeks ago, where L told me about the wooden jewelery, bowls and other works of art he creates. I was so deeply touched by this man's thoughtfulness and generosity, not to mention giddy with the acquisition of new jewelery!

Its the L's of the world who make my job a pleasure and even a joy. They get me through the "sauce on the side! Where's my bill??? Just give it to me to go!" kind of days.

{B}

tunes-day. (aretha meets the band}

It's the year 2000. Cans of cheap beer, a coffee grinder, and resin filled bottles and bowls litter the floor. Ten of us are crammed into a tiny attic bedroom adorned with Grateful Dead posters, high school football trophies and Tibetan prayer flags. The boys in basketball shorts, baggy jeans, or worn out corduroys. The girls in sundresses or torn jeans and hoodies, with the prerequisite summer flip-flops dangling from their toes. 

The sticky summer air breezes through one open window in an attempt to push some of the sickly sweet sweat and smoke out another. One boy, his hair long, curly and sun-streaked grabs a guitar slumped lazily against a wall. Another, his legs long and pale in spite of the east coast sun we've been lounging in all day, grabs a set of bongos and sits cross legged at his best friend's side. 

The first notes are strummed, and as each person exhales and turns, this group of seemingly mismatched teenagers comes together for their nightly ritual. The curly haired boy sings out; a girl weaves a harmony through the verse; and as we reach the chorus, the choir of friends emerges from the wings and builds that famous chord note by note. The timing and tuning were far from perfect, but the love and friendship radiating from each voice kept us singing that same song night after night, year after year.

To this day I cannot hear "The Weight" without an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and pure love for the people I first shared it with.  The hazy days of our youthful summers may have passed, but, happily, this grown up version of the song was brought to my attention today.  After ten years, this may just be my summer anthem once again.

{Aretha Franklin: "The Weight"}

comfort.

As much as I love cauliflower tarts, and homemade bagels, sometimes a bowl of good ol' noodle soup and a glass of red form the ultimate hug on a cold and
kind of lonely March night.

Goodnight!

x. {B}