Call Me Fifi

Love doesn't just sit there like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new. —Ursula K. Le Guin

My little garden is always fledgling somewhere beween effortlessly thriving and potentially failing—DC weather, like the city itself, rewards the hardy and punishes the delicate.

I find myself gravitating away from writing deeply introspective and (let's be honest) morose blog posts—always questioning if I'm where I'm supposed to be or if my narrative is heading in the right direction.

Sometimes I just want to blog about the hummus I just made or the tomatoes I found in Eastern Market. Sometimes I want to blog fashion advice for women in D.C.

Life doesn't have to be so heavy. Not everything has to have an assigned value. Sometimes a Saturday afternoon on the lawn with girlfriends is just a Saturday afternoon on the lawn with girlfriends.

So let's talk about bicycles.

Before my bike was stolen, I was riding daily around the city—to happy hours in NoMa or meetings on the hill. Sure, I got weird looks as I pulled up to Heritage flush with color and my hair all over the place, but I saved $10 on cab fare and burned off my morning latte.

But I keep putting off buying a new bike.

And now it's autumn. Which means soon it will be winter. So I'll just have to buy a new bike later (and yes, this is how my brain works).

Summer lasted just as long as it was meant to.

I'm in love with this gradual season change—transitioning from iced to hot lattes and pulling on cardigans.

I hope I never forget the simple memories of walking to coffee every morning with Caroline before we drive to work with Chelsie. I love our little morning rituals.

There is talk that this will be a harsh winter. Loads of snow—Snowmageddon proportions—and months of bitter cold. I don't want to jump too far ahead of myself—I've got plenty of boots and hats and coats—for now I'll just enjoy the occasional chilly breeze and deeper shades of lipstick.

And of course, just before we plunge into the winter months, I'm going back to St. Thomas.

Be jealous.

Surprise.

This weekend we opened up our house and garden for a surprise party for Chelsie.

The whole day I was dreading the purposefully-small dinner that would give Chelsie the impression that I hadn't put any thought into her birthday. I left dinner early to greet guests (which made the birthday girl even more upset) and wait for everyone to arrive.

It took every bit of my energy not to give the surprise away.

If you know me, you know I bubble over with excitement about 10 seconds before I get my latte in the morning, so you can probably imagine how absolutely spastic I was as I waited for her to walk in.

It was absolutely perfect.

I should throw parties for a living.

Puglife

It's been difficult being dog-less in DC.

I've found myself involuntarily going up to people with dogs, making incoherent noises and otherwise just being socially inappropriate. I have no self-control.

I left Brinkley in Montgomery and have felt a massive void in my life ever since.

Look at that face.

It's been emotionally taxing—there is nothing more therapeutic and healing than hugging on a dog who loves you. When I go home and see Brinkley, he comes up to me completely beside himself with glee—does anyone love you like that?

A few months ago I pug-sat for two precious pugs and it was like a little visit to heaven. I instagrammed the hell out of those dogs. They slept in my bed. They followed me around my house like ducklings. They were angels.

But then I had to give them back. No bueno.

So Caroline and I had a great idea. When we want things, we ask for them. And we have a pretty great track record for getting what we want.

So we asked for the pugs. No, their owners weren't going out of town for the weekend—we just wanted to borrow their children.

Magically, they said yes.

Best weekend ever.

Souls Grow Back, Right?

Asking for a friend.

Fever Room

So I had the flu last week.

For months I've been holding everything in my life together with tape and glue, trying to just smile, keep my bearing, and move forward.

Aside: Does everyone say "I'll deal with it after the election" or is it just my friends and I?

Anyway, now I think all I really needed was just a few days spent completely alone, laying in bed, hiding from light, sweating out every wretched problem in waves of fevers and chills.

Sure, it would have been more pleasant if I hadn't been soul-crushingly sick, but God knows I'd never have taken time off from work to stare at my ceiling.

So what did I learn?

1. My room lets in a ton of light during the day.

2. The new Cat Power album is really fantastic and pairs beautifully with fevers.

3. There is a real possibility that I've pushed away two of my oldest and once-closest friends forever because of political arguments that I didn't even realize I was participating in.

Social media problems, right?

I don't know if any one of us has the desire or ability to swallow our pride and be the first to reach out and save something that once seemed so much bigger than ourselves.

I remember pulling my 1987 Subaru wagon up to Erin's house in Whistler, Alabama to drop her off after a weekend in Montgomery. We both stared at the black wreath on her front door and had the shared realization that her mother had died while we were gone.

Patrick has been in my life for so long it's hard to remember a time when he wasn't part of it. I had to think hard to remember the day we first met and it felt like trying to remember the first time I met my brother. I was sitting cross-legged on my desk when he walked in to my classroom. His mother was my Latin teacher and he was visiting from college. I was wearing a big blue hoodie, feigning total disinterest in who I thought was the most interesting person I'd ever met.

4. Sometimes you just have to put on a performance until it's as effortless as breathing. It's amazing what a new dress and a manicure can do to make life fall beautifully back into place.