Project 365: Day 245-252

245/365: We had drinks at Otto's Shrunken Head for my birthday and it's my new favorite bar—it was super chill, they have a photobooth (it was broken, so I'll have to go back) and they have the coolest tiki mugs (I got a skull and a shark).

246/365: Once again, Francesca outdid herself in the birthday gift department with this visible man model.

247/365: I got diner breakfast with my mom and spent the afternoon wandering around the Upper West Side.

248/365: David and I spent a rainy Sunday eating popcorn, napping and watching You've Got Mail (his first time!). Please accept this screengrab in lieu of a photo.

249/365: We spent Labor Day lounging on the beach at Fort Tilden, which I love because of all of the abandoned military structures covered in art. 

250/365: I hung up the antlers that I got at an antique mall in East Liverpool, Ohio and I think they fit right in.

251/365: I tore through this book in two days—it's so, so good. Do yourself a favor and reserve a library copy or buy one right now.

252/365: I went to Queens after work to catch the Unisphere fountains at night. I knew they'd be on for the US Open and I had the best time taking photos. I accidentally figured out how to take ghost photos and I became obsessed with getting the right shot. My lens got wet when the wind shifted, but I love this last photo.

My mom and I are going to see the Acro Cats on Sunday, David and I are going to check out the art installations on Governors Island on Saturday and I hope to fit in at least one diner breakfast in between. The weather has been perfect lately—light jacket chilly—and I'm about to lose my mind over how wonderful this city is in the fall. I hope you have a great weekend!

Ice Cream Trucks

I am definitely not one of those people who get sad as the end of summer approaches. Those memes about seeing one leaf on the ground and suddenly dancing with a pumpkin on your head? That's me. Despite being excited about the imminent start of my very favorite season, there are some things I will miss about summer, one of them being New York City ice cream trucks. 

I didn't have my first Mister Softee cone until I had lived here more than a year, but now I have to resist the urge to get a chocolate milkshake every time I hear that iconic jingle. In fact, I love Mister Softee so much I was Mister Softee for Halloween two years ago. Every time I'm waiting for my milkshake lunch, I always chuckle to myself at the names of some of the cones—Baby Raddle, Nutty Chocolate Merlin—and my mind can't help but go to dark, strange places.

As much as I love Mister Softee—and recognize it as the New York ice cream truck, not to be confused with New York Ice Cream trucks which is what Master Softee trucks were forced to rebrand themselves as after a copyright infringement lawsuit—I love all of the knock-offs, one-offs and no-brand trucks as well. I love spotting a new one and they make my city walks just a little more whimsical and sweet. 

Achor Valley Cemetery

Like most cool destinations in Ohio, I discovered Achor Valley Cemetery when Kaylah (aka The Dainty Squid) posted her amazing photos of the graveyard and abandoned church. I often lament that I never fully took advantage of all that Ohio has to offer in the 27 years that I lived there, but I'm trying to make up for lost time during my visits home.

On my most recent trip back, I borrowed my dad's car (my grandpa's beige, Buick Oldsmobile) and took a solo, mini-road trip through central and eastern Ohio. My first stop was Achor Valley Cemetery in Columbiana County, near the Ohio/Pennsylvania border. I can't find much information about the cemetery or the church, but it was definitely worth the hour-and-a-half drive through mostly rural back roads (at one point I crossed a one-lane bridge - eek).

The small church on the property sits abandoned and most of the windows are boarded up—except one. There was a cinder block and a brick underneath as a makeshift step, and I was amazed at how easy it was to get into and also how relatively nice it was inside. There was no graffiti, very little trash and all of the wooden pews are still there, dusty and covered in spiderwebs.

The graveyard was larger than I expected, and had some really lovely old stones. The property is right near an active country club and golf course, but I was the only one visiting in the middle of the day and it was very peaceful. I would love to know more about the cemetery and when/why the church was abandoned, but there's something nice to the mystery of not knowing as well. 

World's Largest Teapot

Before my recent trip to Ohio, my uncle emailed me to tell me that if I had time, I should go to Chester, West Virginia to see the World's Largest Teapot. I feel like a hack that I had no idea that the World's Largest Teapot was located just 1.5 hours from my hometown, but I'm happy that I got to visit it so soon after being alerted to its existence. 

The World's Largest Teapot wasn't always a teapot—it started out its life as a wooden root beer barrel for Hire's Root Beer. William Devon purchased the barrel in 1938, added the spout, handle and covered it in tin. The teapot stood in front of Devon's teapot store, and it was set up to sell souvenirs and concessions. 

It transferred hands a few times throughout the years, but remained open until it was abandoned in the 1980s. In the early 90s, the telephone company that owned the land offered the teapot to the town of Chester (just over the border from East Liverpool, Ohio), and it was restored and moved to its current location. 

The teapot is approximately 14' high by 14' wide, and sits next to the Jennings Randolph Bridge Ramp, at the junction of State Route 2 and U.S. Route 30. Because its in the middle of a high-traffic area, it's a bit hard to get to—you have to park at the gas station across the street and dart across traffic. My grandma didn't really understand why we would drive so far to see a big roadside teapot—and I wish it still sold souvenirs and concessions (candy, hotdogs and pop) or that you could go inside of it like The Big Duck—but I definitely think it was worth the trip.

Project 365: Days 239-244

239/365: David and I met in Ohio—he drove and I flew. We had dinner with my dad at the Olive Garden (David's first ever OG experience!) and had s'mores over a campfire in my dad's backyard for dessert.

240/365: David's culinary tour of Ohio continued with a stop at Swenson's for lunch.

241/365: We went on a hike through the Ledges at Virginia Kendall (part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park) and everything was so green.

242/365: I took a solo, mini-road trip through southern Ohio (to two cemeteries, the World's Largest Cuckoo Clock and Grandpa's Cheesebarn) and met my friend Shannon for dinner (and dessert at Mary Coyle in Akron).

243/365: My dad, grandma and I took another mini-road trip to East Liverpool, Ohio and Chester, West Virginia for antiquing, the Fiestaware factory and the World's Largest Teapot.

244/365: I flew back to New York and couldn't resist plugging in my new light that I bought for $4.95 at an antique mall in Sugarcreek, OH (definitely an all-year decoration).

I had fun in Ohio seeing family and friends (and checked off two "World's Largest" things), but as always I'm glad to be back in New York. This was the first time I've come back from a trip to my very own apartment and the novelty has still not worn off. Even though my stove is still not fixed (ugh—but I'm becoming a pro at microwave dinners :| ) I'm completely enamored with my new space. I went a little crazy in Ohio buying things I don't need—everything is so cheap!—but finding space for new pieces is always the least of my worries. We might try to go camping this weekend, and after my first s'mores of the season last week I'm eager for an encore. Have a great long weekend!

32

Today I turn 32, which isn't a "milestone" birthday in any other way except the fact that I'm still alive, which, if you're using that as your gauge, makes every birthday a milestone. I wrote last year about finally feeling comfortable in my own skin, and the further I get into this decade I can definitively say that being in my thirties suits me. I had a comfortable, if unremarkable childhood and I suffered all of the teen angst without much of the carefree recklessness that makes people nostalgic for their high school days. Being an "adult" is often dreadfully dull—all paperwork and phone calls—and of course I"m not without my anxieties, but I am at my happiest when I feel in control of my choices and my life.

I recently moved into a studio apartment and I'm living alone for the first time in my life. The feeling that I'm in near-total control of my living space has made me deliriously happy and I will almost certainly look back on this move as a defining moment in my New York life. Other notable moments from this past year include: hiking the Inca Trail (while deathly ill!); running my first-ever continuous mile (and then two miles!); paying off my student loans completely (almost a year early!); exploring numerous abandoned buildings and cemeteries; trips to Roswell, Philly, Atlantic City, Salem, Charleston, Florida, Ohio, Peru and Colombia; finally visiting Lucy the Elephant and The Big Duck; meeting several new Muffler Men; commuting via the brand new Second Avenue Subway; spending a sad election night outside of the Javtis Center and marching on Washington during the Women's March.

I've made new friends, lost touch with others and am constantly reminded that just as you are what you eat (right now I'm 90% pizza Combos), you are the company you keep. I moved back to Manhattan with David doing most of the heavy-lifting (and all of the driving!) and all it cost me was $75 for the U-Haul and a week of limping around, nearly hobbled. I joke about being fragile and creaky and forgetful, but I'm incredibly lucky and grateful to be able to hike mountains, run miles and walk home from work.

I'm very good at planning for the future as well as looking back on what I've done, but I'm still working on really being present. There are some days when I actually get anxious because I no longer feel as if I'm working toward a larger goal—graduating college, moving to a new city—but am simply living. I have to remind myself that there is beauty in the calm, in the routine, in the comfortable. I'm finally happy with who I am and where I am, and I'm ready for whatever comes next.

Madame Talbot

I can't recall when I first discovered Madame Talbot's incredible "Victorian Lowbrow" style or saw her intricate (and completely hand drawn!) posters, but I've been a huge fan of her work for some time. If you're a fellow fan of the macabre, you've probably seen her artwork in museum gift shops—the Mütter Museum, the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum, the International Museum of Surgical Science—or curiosity shops like Evolution (or even knock-offs of her work—seriously, don't steal people's artwork, ok???).

I've never met Ashleigh Talbot, and in an interview posted on her site, she describes herself as "a reclusive artist" who doesn't "take part in the gallery scene," but lives with her "husband and five cats in a 140-year-old haunted house located on the edge of the Oregon Coast." However, thanks to the magic of the Internet (and specifically Instagram), we've become friendly and I am awed at the glimpses into her process and madly jealous of her top-notch private collection of oddities.

Her posters are so intricate and incredibly detailed, a fact that becomes even more impressive when you take into account that she does every step by hand. You can see photos of her process here, but she is very adamant that no computers are involved—from pencil sketch to inking, to the final printing process, everything is done without the aid of digital technology. I'm a graphic designer, but I've never considered myself an artist and I'm continually in awe of anyone who can produce art using only their hands and a pencil.

When I moved into my new apartment—and even though I was losing wall space—I decided to treat myself to a Madame Talbot print. I'd had my eye on the Halloween print for some time, and I always forget that they're so wildly affordable ($14.95 with free shipping and it arrived in two days). When I posted on Instagram about the order, Madame Talbot responded almost immediately with the kindest note, offering to send me another print of my choosing as a housewarming gift. Choosing from her inventory is always difficult—I want them all!—but the Antique Prosthetics poster was the ultimate winner.

Madame Talbot didn't send me the poster so I would blog about it (to my five followers, lolz) but because she's just a nice person. The Internet can be a dark and scary place full of trolls and instant Web MD cancer self-diagnoses, but occasionally it can be a magical place that connects people with similar interests that would otherwise never meet. I never imagined when I first tagged Madame Talbot's work in a photo of my gallery wall that she'd respond or turn out to be so kind—we'll probably never meet in person, but her artwork enriches me on a daily basis.

Project 365: Days 225-238

225/365: I spotted a campaign that I worked on in the 86th Street subway station.

226/365: We went to Southold for the day and hit the winged skull jackpot at the oldest colonial-era cemetery in New York state.

227/365: I hung up all of my art and I am never happier than when I'm surrounded by things that I love to look at.

228/365: My lazy roommate.

229/365: I started reading Gulp—it's only my second Mary Roach book, although I read Stiff twice and I have Spook in the queue.

230/365: I had been smelling gas in my (tiny) apartment ever since I moved in, and my super checked my stove and found nothing wrong. I was still smelling it though, so I called ConEd and the FDNY immediately showed up at my door (in full uniform!) and dramatically unplugged my stove. Ten minutes later, a ConEd employee showed up, tested the area and found that my flex hose was leaking. It was minor and I've been without a working stove for a week—but I'm glad Mozart, my sensitive nose and I didn't blow up.

231/365: I had a TIME trying to get this TV delivered (UPS is the literal worst), but it was worth the wait. This is the first time I've had my own TV since my 13" in college and it's already turning me into a hermit.

232/365: Francesca came over to see my apartment and we watched Moana (I love the pig!) and ordered pizza.

233/365: I walked down Park Avenue for Summer Streets, met friends for brunch and just wandered around the city for a while. I love making plans but sometimes an aimless wandering day is fun too.

234/365: My mom and I decided to make the Broadway Restaurant our regular diner and spent the day thrifting.

235/365: I wasn't even going to try to photograph the (partial) eclipse but we went up on the roof at work and we all passed around viewing glasses.

236/365: I missed this day—I've missed more photos this year than I'd have liked, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

237/365: Sabrina and I went to BAM (I had never noticed these amazing cherubs before) to see Ricki and the Flash as part of a Jonathan Demme retrospective. Watching Meryl for any length of time is like going to church for me—it feeds me spiritually.

238/365: Mozart is obsessed with this $14 toy—it's so fun to watch her be constantly fascinated by it, and I can't recommend it enough.

I'm off to Ohio tonight for a wedding—and David is coming with me. He grew up in Buffalo but has never been to Ohio, so I'm excited to show him the sites (aka Swenson's). I never fully appreciated Ohio in the 27 years that I lived there, but every time I go back I have a lovely time seeing friends and family and exploring places I once took for granted. It will be a little quiet here on the blog next week, although I have a few posts scheduled (and my birthday is on Thursday!). I love fall so much that I'm never sad to say goodbye to summer, but I hope to squeeze in a few more summer adventures—camping and maybe a beach day—before I start petting fall to death. Have a great weekend!

Southold

After exploring the colonial-era cemetery, and before sampling all of the Rosé recently, we walked to the vineyard through the town of Southold on the North Fork of Long Island. The town was settled in 1640 and feels like a more down-to-earth, slightly less fancy version of the Hamptons. 

The walk to the vineyard was idyllic—until we ran out of sidewalk completely—and every house we passed was cuter than the one before. I have a weakness for cedar shingles and anything remotely colonial or New England-y and Southold has an abundance of all of these styles.

At one point we stopped at a yard sale—one of the things I miss most since moving to New York—that was partially covered with an awning. Jen wondered out loud if it might be the kind used to cover gravesites during funerals—and we got our answer when we passed the matching funeral home not too far from the sale.

We passed a mailbox shaped like a barn and a few actual barns, homemade flower bouquets for sale, a farm selling goat cheese and eggs, a street actually named "Peanut Alley," and a welder that was advertising his services with a collection of rusty doctors' chairs (#yardgoals). I'm sure I can't actually afford to ever live in Southold but I can at least spend the day pretending I do for the cost of a roundtrip train ride.

Summer Streets

Every August, for four consecutive Saturdays, seven miles of New York City streets are closed to traffic for Summer Streets. Park Avenue (turning into 4th Ave and then Lafayette Street) from West 72nd Street to Foley Square is open from 7am to 1pm for pedestrians and bikers. My first Summer Streets experience was four years ago, only a few months after I moved to New York, and I've been wanting to do it again ever since. 

On Saturday, I had brunch plans near Union Square, so I started at 72nd Street and walked all the way to 14th Street. There are rest stops along the way with activities and free samples, but the main attraction is the actual street—the novelty of walking down the middle of a carless street will always be fun to me. The streets are also devoid of parked cars, giving you uninterrupted views of the beautiful buildings along Park Avenue and the storefronts further downtown. 

My favorite part of the Summer Streets route is walking through the Helmsley Building and up and around Grand Central. There is no pedestrian access on this stretch of Park Avenue, so it's a view of Grand Central that you can usually only get from inside of car. Seeing the Vanderbilt statue, the Tiffany clock and the eagles so close will always be thrilling to a New York architecture and history nerd like me. I was actually so enthralled with photographing an eagle that I got yelled at for being "out of bounds" from a Summer Streets employee, but it was worth it.

Project 365: Days 211-224

211/365: We waited in a huge line to see Andrew Bird at Celebrate Brooklyn, but it was worth it (and the kimchi dog was delicious).

212/365: Mozart has snuggled with this skeleton ever since I bought him for my Halloween party and I will never get sick of it.

213/365: I took a wandering walk through Brooklyn, stopping to finally photograph the Mosaic House.

214/365: There are a lot of things I don't miss about my Brooklyn apartment, but the sunsets aren't one of them.

215/365: Packing the essentials.

216/365: Packing, packing and more packing.

217/365: Last morning in our Brooklyn apartment (and last morning being both afraid and fascinated by Flatbush Avenue).

218/365: My first night in my new apartment and I forgot to take a photo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

219/365: I devoured Into the Water in a few days (and Mozart's face here makes me laugh).

220/365: IKEA day with my mom, but first diner breakfast at one of my favorites, the Pearl Diner.

221/365: At first I was annoyed at this ledge in my apartment (an old mirror in what used to be the parlor of the brownstone) but I quickly realized that I wouldn't have a problem filling it with art.

222/365: I met my friend (and new upper, upper west side neighbor) Lindsey for dinner on the UWS.

223/365: This corner of my apartment already looks a bit different, but unpacking is the fun part of moving.

224/365: Francesca and I saw Hamlet, and got moved from our back row seats into the front row (seated on the stage) because two subscribers never showed.

I'm majorly behind on posting my Project 365 photos, but I've been trying to keep with with taking them amidst the moving madness. Two weeks later, I'm finally unpacked and I've hung all of my art—I really love my new apartment and living alone is so much better than I even anticipated. My TV just came yesterday (after an arduous journey around the country—thanks for nothing UPS!) and at night I just sit (on my couch!) and look around my apartment and think about how wonderful it all is. I'm meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow, hopefully taking advantage of Summer Streets and I'm looking forward to having more free time to explore. Have a great weekend!

Old Burying Ground

While planning our recent day trip to the North Fork of Long Island, I found the vineyard we were planning to visit on Google Maps and searched for cemeteries nearby. Anytime I'm traveling somewhere new, I try to search for nearby diners and cemeteries to maximize my time and ensure that I'm not missing out on something.

I was excited when I discovered a cemetery .3 miles from the train station (when I told my friends that I had found a cemetery for us to explore on our way to the vineyard, one replied "of course you did"). I was even more thrilled to find out after a few minutes of research, that the old buying ground in the First Presbyterian Church cemetery is the oldest surviving colonial-era cemetery in New York State. 

The OBG was established in 1640 by the Puritan settlers of Southold, and it's full of stones cut with Puritan memento mori images and motifs—winged skulls, chubby cherubs and even a few crossbones. According to the (very helpful) brochure we picked up upon entering the cemetery, "the Old Burying Ground showcases gravestones carved by the best of the early stonecutters, most from New England, the widest range of any Long Island cemetery."

It's rare in this country to come across burial grounds that pre-date the formation of the United States, and the OBG has 20 gravesites that date back to the 1600s. The OBG is home to the oldest grave (the 1671 box tomb of Southold founding father William Wells) and the second oldest gravestone on Long Island (Abigail Moore, 1682).

Like any old cemetery, some of the stones have sustained a lot of damage while others look as if they were just carved yesterday. The church has been making a costly and extensive effort to preserve the OBG, giving the stones a cleaning, piecing some back together and adding a protective bed of gravel at their base. We didn't explore the grounds beyond the Old Burying Ground, but the cemetery is huge and very well-maintained—I could have easily spent hours there, if only they served Rosé. 

Croteaux Vineyard

On Saturday three friends and I took the LIRR almost three hours east on Long Island, to Southold in the North Fork. Our destination was the Croteaux Vineyard, but it was the perfect day-trip that included bagel sandwiches, a colonial cemetery, a walk down the adorable Main Road and—eventually—the vineyard. 

The North Fork is like a mini Napa Valley, and you could easily spend a weekend there hopping from vineyard to vineyard. On the train ride there, I knew we were getting close when I started to see grapevines, and you might be surprised at how fast a nearly three-hour train ride can go if you're properly caffeinated and bring the right friends. 

Croteaux only produces Rosé, and despite the fact that pink wine seems to be everywhere these days, they're the only, Rosé-only winery in the country. I'm by no means a wine connoisseur but I am a huge fan of eating salty snacks and laughing with friends, both of which pair very well with a chilled, bubbly drink. They have a "tasting barn," which is really just a garden with tables, but it's the perfect setting to sample their variety of "dry, crisp, fun-to-drink wines." 

The tasting menu includes the option of either six still or three sparkling wines, and I chose the sparkling. Again, I know nothing about wine but I definitely think they're succeeding in their quest to produce wines that are extremely drinkable—all three of mine were delicious, and I bought a bottle of their Chloe Sauvignon Blanc Sparkling Rosé to take home with me.

This wasn't my first time in Long Island (I've been to East Hampton, Long Beach, Kings Park, Riverhead, Wantagh and Flanders) but it was my first time at a vineyard. As a woman in my early 30s, it seems as if my Instagram feed is full of groups of women hanging out in vineyards every weekend. I always thought it seemed sort of silly until I realized just how nice it could be to plan an outing where the only thing on the agenda is to day-drink with three of your favorite people.

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Croteaux Vineyard
1450 South Harbor Road, Southold, NY 11971
Open Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday 12-6pm

Church Avenue

A few weeks ago, I walked home from David's with the intention of checking out a cemetery on Flatbush Avenue that had been on my radar for a while. My Brooklyn apartment was on Flatbush, but the avenue is long and I had only ever seen the cemetery from the bus. The cemetery is in the churchyard of the Flatbush Reformed Church, which was founded in 1654, however the earliest legible marker in the cemetery is from a hundred years later and the whole church complex was designated a New York City landmark in 1966. 

I walked to Flatbush via Church Avenue, which runs west to east through the neighborhoods of Kensington, Prospect Park South and East Flatbush. I've seen a lot of Church Avenue in the more than two years that David and I have been together, but I hope I never tire of taking long walks through different New York neighborhoods. 

Living in New York, you can't escape talk of gentrification and near-constant change, but there are places like Church Avenue that still manage to feel authentically New York. Of course every single person has a different idea of what that means, but I love the storefronts, signage and people—in every different shape, color, size, ethnicity, language and age imaginable. 

When I finally arrived at the cemetery I found that all of the gates were locked. I didn't see any signs or information about when or even if the cemetery is ever open to the public, but I did circle the block to make the most of my trip. As I was coming up E 21st Street, I came upon two culs-de-sac that looked completely out of place and time—Kenmore and Abermarle Terraces—a tiny historic district comprising 32 houses built in the Colonial Revival and English Arts and Crafts styles. 

The parsonage of the Flatbush Reformed Church is also located on Kenmore and the two and one-half-story wood-frame house was built in 1853 and moved to this location in 1916. The beautiful, slightly crumbling house with a wrap-around porch was an odd sight—even in the far reaches of Brooklyn—but it instantly became my dream house when I realized that its backyard was the cemetery that I'll hopefully get to properly explore one day. 

Call Me Little Edie

Four years ago, I moved to New York from Northeast Ohio—and two months later my mom made the same move. For the first two years, we were roommates, sharing two different two-bedroom apartments in upper Manhattan. Two years ago when I moved to Brooklyn, she stayed in our Harlem apartment and a new roommate moved into my room. Last week, I moved back to that Harlem brownstone, but into a studio apartment one floor below my mom.

I'm living alone for the first time in my life, and it's already even more wonderful than I imagined it would be. I knew moving was the right step for me for many reasons—the price is right, I love the neighborhood, my morning commute has improved, the noise and exhaust from living right on Flatbush Avenue was killing me, most of my friends live in Manhattan—but I was nervous about one thing: being neighbors with my mom.

I was nervous not because my mom is terrible—she's great, actually—but because ever since we moved to New York I've felt defensive about dispelling the notion that I'm an adult woman who needs my mom. I have no idea how or why this idea first rooted itself in my brain, but no matter how much I try to shake it, it still creeps up from time to time.

It logically makes no sense—I'm about to be 32 years old and I've had a job since I was 15. I lived on campus while I went to college and then moved into a house with a boyfriend for five years after that. I've grocery shopped and hosted Thanksgivings and had three car loans. I've secured several jobs, paid off my student loans early and found our first New York apartment. I've navigated complicated medical issues, traveled internationally and I go to the dentist religiously. I don't have everything figured out of course—thinking about planning for retirement makes my head spin—but all things considered I think I'm a pretty competent and independent adult.

I like to joke that my mom isn't like a regular mom—she's a cool mom!—but that's actually true. She's funny and smart and generous. Sometimes she drives me crazy temporarily, but in addition to basically sharing a face (something everyone points out), we're very similar people. I genuinely enjoy hanging out with her and we're mostly interested in the same things. We love diners, dachshunds in clothes, silly roadside attractions, serial killers, thrift stores and anything bizarre.

So why do I worry about how people perceive our relationship? She doesn't pay my rent or excessively interfere in my life and I know I don't need my mom to survive as a functioning adult—which should be all that matters. I always knew I was being silly, but insecurities aren't rational and irrational thinking patterns are not easy to reverse. I knew that moving so close to my mom again would reignite some weird feelings that were mostly dormant while I lived in Brooklyn, but I'm trying to finally grow past them.

It's only been a week, but so far having my mom as my neighbor has been great. She bought me dollar store pizzas on the day I moved in because she knew I didn't have any food, and when I realized I didn't yet have a way to make coffee, I just went upstairs for a cup. We went to IKEA on Sunday, shared a car service back to Harlem and comically struggled with heavy boxes that neither of us would have been capable of carrying on our own. Accepting (and enjoying) these small perks doesn't mean that I'm any less capable of providing for myself—it just means that I'm lucky and privileged to have a thoughtful (and quiet!) neighbor, to whom I just happen to be related.

Recent Reads

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The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, by Jeff Guinn

I'm going to try to not be dramatic about how much I loved this book, but I also want everyone I've ever met to read it so we can discuss. Almost everyone has heard of Jonestown and its infamous demise, but this incredibly well-written and thoroughly-researched book goes deep into the origin of Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple. There are so many crazy stories that I don't want to spoil them here, but the one thing I found most fascinating was that the Peoples Temple (and Jones) actually did a lot of good for people before it all went wrong.

I became majorly obsessed with Jones while reading this book and cults fascinate me so much that I'm always afraid that I'm going to accidentally end up joining one—good thing Jonestown is no longer an option because I might have booked a ticket to Guyana even in spite of all of the warning signs. 

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The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History, by John M. Barry

I had high hopes for this book, but unfortunately it wasn't great. The parts of the book that actually cover the great influenza pandemic of 1918 were very interesting, but the other half was a meandering and dry history of medical research. Maybe I was just burnt out on medical books by the time I got to this one, but there were so many names to keep track of that even I eventually lost interest. It's also anti-climactic because—spoiler alert!—there is still no cure for the flu, and vaccinations aren't 100% effective. This book could've been half as long and would've benefited from stringent editing—I don't regret reading it, but by the end I was only skimming.

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The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

I read about some pretty dry / gross / strange topics, but this may have been the most depressing streak of books I've put together yet. It feels wrong labeling any book as more of a downer than the diary of Anne Frank (see below), but The Road is definitely a contender. This story about a father and son traveling across a post-apocalyptic, burned out America is Bleak with a capital B. Even though I knew that going in, I was still bummed out by just how ugh this book made me feel. McCarthy's writing style might not be for everyone, but there was insight hidden within all of the darkness, and The Road will stick with me for a long time (hopefully it isn't too accurate of a preview of things to come).

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The Knife Man: Blood, Body Snatching, and the Birth of Modern Surgery, by Wendy Moore

I had never heard of John Hunter before picking up this book, but afterwards I want to tell everyone about him. The book calls him the father of modern surgery, but he was so much more—a prolific collector of medical curiosities and specimens, a believer in evolution and a passionate naturalist. He held opinions and made discoveries that were hundreds of years before their time.

His collection of anatomical, pathological and zoological specimens—housed at the Hunterian Musueum inside of the Royal College of Surgeons in London—is one of the largest and oldest in the UK, comprising "more than 3,500 anatomical and pathological preparations, fossils, paintings and drawings." It's currently closed until 2020 for renovations, but after reading about Hunter I think a visit to his prized collection would be the best way for me to honor his memory.

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Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank

I'm not going to presume to write a review of one of the most famous books of the 20th century, but I don't think there's ever a bad time to revisit this classic. I'm sure I read this at some point in school, but I picked it up recently as a weekend book because it's a small, lightweight paperback. I was struck by how prescient and thoughtful Frank is—which of course makes her story all the more tragic.

I was a teenage girl once—although obviously under drastically different circumstances—but I was surprised by how much I could relate to her musings about both her inner and outer lives ("Who would ever think that so much can go on in the soul of a young girl?"). It will never cease to be unfair or desperately sad that Frank's life was cut short, but at the very least her incredible spirit lives on through her writing.

Mosaic House

I first stumbled upon Susan Gardner's mosaic house in Boerum Hill sometime last year when I was walking from my apartment in Prospect Heights to Brooklyn Bridge Park. It stopped me dead in my tracks but I was too embarrassed to take any photos of it—I'm getting better at not caring what people think, but my confidence comes in waves.

Recently I spent a Sunday wandering somewhat aimlessly around Brooklyn, eager to soak in as much of the borough as I could before I moved. I remembered the mosaic house and how I had been meaning to come back and photograph it, so I made my way to 108 Wyckoff Street. Luckily it's easy to find and googling "mosaic house Brooklyn" gave me the exact location.

Gardner began gluing trinkets, beads and bits of tile to the front of her home as a form of art therapy after 9/11. It's not just Gardner that contributes to the display, and visitors are encouraged to "enjoy, look, touch, but don't take objects." There are so many tiny pieces that you could spend hours poring over her work—it's interesting both from far away as well as up close. Bits of mirrors and beads trace the architectural details of the house's facade, but it's the tiny plastic animals that I loved the most.

Her beautiful mosaic work reminds me a lot of Philly's Magic Gardens, and her house would fit right in on South Street. New York can be a crazy place—peacocks ride the subway and no one even pays attention—but I never want to be desensitized or get too cynical and miss how incredibly beautiful and unique this city can be. I'm so thankful I get to share it with people like Susan Gardner and the joy and whimsy they bring to the world around them.

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Susan Gardner's Mosaic House
108 Wycoff Street,
Brooklyn, NY 11201
Closest to the F/G to Bergen Street

Goodbye, Brooklyn

Today is moving day! Today David and I will carry all of my worldly possessions down four flights of stairs, load everything into a U-Haul and drive it to Manhattan, where we will unload it all into my first-ever studio apartment. I have never lived alone in my life—if you don't count two years in college, where I technically had my own room but still shared a bathroom—and to say I'm excited is a huge understatement. 

I'm trading two roommates for just one—a particularly loud, 8-year-old, grey cat who still won't help me with the rent despite the fact that she never leaves the apartment. This will be my fourth move in four years of living in New York but I've signed a two-year lease so I won't be apartment- or roommate-searching again for some time. Uncertainty in my housing situation is one of the things I like least about living in New York—I didn't move out of my childhood home until I was 24, and I'm a nester by nature. My idea of "playing Barbies" when I was younger was to set up elaborate homes for the dolls and then break them down and start all over. We had a tiny plastic toilet that really flushed and I was never happier than when I was tinkering with my miniature interiors. 

I'm moving back into the Harlem brownstone where I lived two years ago, when I was roommates with my mom. She still lives in that apartment (with a roommate) and she'll be able to visit Mozart when I'm away, and I can help her carry heavy things up the stairs. As long as we can avoid the slow slide into our inevitable Grey Gardens future, I think we'll both benefit from being neighbors. 

I will miss many things about living in Brooklyn, which has been my home and so much more to me during the past two years. David and I fell in love in Brooklyn and he lives there, so I'll still be there all the time, but every place I've lived in New York leaves its mark. I ran my first continuous mile along Prospect Park West; I started eating falafel and guacamole; I had four different roommates and still count them all as friends; David introduced me to his regular bar and I became obsessed with their mac n' cheese; I walked home from dinners, bars and Celebrate Brooklyn; and Jim and I sat through countless nerdy Brooklyn Brainery lectures and rewarded ourselves afterwards with scoops from Ample Hills.

In hindsight, I was hardly in my actual neighborhood much, but I will miss being in such close proximity to fresh mozz pizza slices from Anthony's and Danish pancakes from Tom's. But I'm also excited to discover places in Harlem and upper Manhattan—both the new and the old.

I'm looking forward to the fresh start, and although physically moving is a total pain, I am very excited to unpack and set up my new space. I've never been one of those New Yorkers that balks at traveling too far outside of my own neighborhood, so moving won't have much effect on my city adventures, but I don't think it's dramatic to think that coming home to a space of my own will be nothing short of life-changing.