Home Alone

Things that happen when I'm alone, Part I

Things that happen when I'm alone, Part II

One of the things I really loved about our house when we decided to buy it was that it is a great size. It wasn't so small that we would feel like we hadn't upgraded much from apartment life, and it wasn't so big that we would feel like we were rattling around while it is just the two of us, but it has plenty of room to expand once we need more bedrooms and more space.

Yes, it really is the perfect size.

That is, until David goes away and I am living in it by myself.

Yesterday, David flew to Austin, Texas where his company will have a booth at the South by Southwest trade show. It's an amazing opportunity for his company, and I am incredibly proud of him. But the truth is, being home alone is just weird.

When we lived in our apartment I didn't mind being alone at all because the truth is, I never really felt alone with people coming and going in our building at all hours of the day and night. But being alone in a house in the suburbs where I don't know all that many people is a whole different experience.

I'll get used to it, I know, but this is the first time I'm really alone for any significant period of time since our suburban life began, and my once perfectly sized house feels as big as a castle.

So, what's a girl to do? Bake cookies and watch a Gilmore Girls marathon of course. I may not have gotten a lot of sleep, but I was certainly well fed and constantly entertained.

And with Rory and Lorelai's delightful chatter, it was really hard to hear the wind howling outside, and the creepy settling noises my 100 year old house makes all night long.

It's going to be a long eight days. Glad I made a lot of cookies.

A Recipe and a Heritage

I come from quite a long line of good cooks and bakers.

My great grandmothers, both of my grandmothers and my mom. And now my sisters, my cousins and me.

And with so many cooks and bakers in one family, sharing recipes has become a bit of a pastime.

And of all the recipes that we share, it is our challah recipe that is our most important.

The recipe was passed down from one of my great-grandmothers on my dad's side, and she used to make it by hand. I spent quite a bit of time with her when I was little, and one of my very first memories is of standing on a chair in her kitchen on Thursday afternoons while she kneaded the dough that would become her challah.

When my parents got engaged, my great-grandmother bought my mom a Kitchen Aid mixer, and passed along that same recipe. It would be a few years before my mom started baking challah, but my great-grandmother gave her the tools, knowing that before long my mom would be measuring flour, yeast and water to follow the recipe that had become our heritage.

When my great grandmother passed away after a long and beautiful life, my dad's mom took up the challah-baking torch, using that recipe that tasted of my great-grandmother long after she took her leave of this world.

I was about ten when my mom made her first challah, and nearly every Friday afternoon since the smell of baking bread has filled her kitchen.

When my sisters and I got married, my grandmother's present to each of us was the Kitchen Aid mixer of our choice and the recipe so that we could start baking challah of our own.

I don't get a chance to bake every week, but last night I did. I measured and mixed and kneaded and braided, and used the recipe that is inscribed in my brain in indelible ink.

And as I followed the familiar steps I felt, as I always do, a link to the generations of women who came before me and the ones who are here with me now. To the women who have grown me, shaped me, and made me.

This is our recipe. This is our heritage. This is what we bake. This is who we are.

Snow!

It's been such a hectic week, I didn't even get a chance to write about this past weekend's epic snowstorm. Now, you know how much I love winter, and I dearly love a good snow, but this winter has been pretty disappointing so far since that random freak storm at the beginning of November.

Well, last weekend made up for it in spades.

From the way the news was talking about the impending blizzard, you would think that the apocalypse was near. I know that after Sandy the Northeast is a little weather-wary, but honestly, this is winter. It snows. Sometimes it snows a lot. No need to stockpile canned goods and bottled water.

I did head to the grocery store on Thursday night to buy our special snow day snacks. When I was growing up and it would snow (which living in Pittsburgh, it did, and often), my mom would have special treats for us when we came in from playing outside, and I saw no reason not to carry that tradition into my adult life. So I stocked up on hot chocolate, ice cream, and stuff to make cookies and grilled cheese. The basics, you know?

When I woke up Friday morning, it was already snowing. In the city it was still all rain, but in the northern suburbs, the accumulation had begun.

By the time I left my office at 2, after the powers that be closed the office early, the city was a slushy, cold mess, and I hobbled my way to Grand Central Station for the train home. There wasn't much snow yet, but the second the train crossed into Westchester County, the world turned white, the roads were a disaster, and I had to clean off my car before I could drive it home.

Messy Roads

Good thing I bought an SUV

I learned to drive in Florida, and don't have a whole lot of snow driving experience, so I still get a little uneasy when this is happening outside my car:

Anyway, I made it home unscathed, and we settled in for a night of howling winds and falling snow. And we weren't disappointed. We woke up in the morning to blue skies, frigid air, and a sparkling white world.

This is what 22 inches of snow looks like on my back porch.
There are steps under there somewhere

We own a house now, so instead of sitting back and letting someone else clear the sidewalks, we realized pretty quickly that it was our responsibility, so we got the shovels out and got to work. Unfortunately, the plows on our street decided that the top of our driveway was an excellent place to deposit all the snow they plowed off the street, so we had a little work ahead of us. It took both of us, and two hours, but we finally dug everything out.

And even though I stuck close to home on Saturday, nothing would do but that I take my Sunday morning run through the still snowy streets.

The only problem with the snow? There was too much of it to melt all the way in the 40 degree temperatures we have had the past couple of days, so unfortunately, all that glorious white snow I loved so much now looks like this:

Major yuck, and with the roller-coaster temperatures and a little more wet snow on the way tonight, I think this mess will be sticking around for awhile. Too bad it can't stay white and beautiful forever right?

Blizzard

This may be the last time I'll actually be able to see my driveway for the next few days. When I left my house this morning it was already snowing in Westchester, and starting to stick. Apparently the worst of it is still a few hours away, and I plan to be curled up on the couch, Nora Roberts book in hand, by the time it really starts to come down.

With snow forecasts for White Plains somewhere in the neighborhood of 1-2 feet, we are hunkering down for quite the winter blast.

Since I grew up in Pittsburgh, I am no stranger to monster snow storms. When I was little, and there was a blizzard, my mom always made cookies and hot chocolate and we spent the day playing outside.

So we are going to do the same. The plan is to whip up some cookies when I get home, spend the worst of the storm inside, and then get out and have some fun once the wind dies down. 

This is winter. Might as well enjoy it.

If you are in the path of the storm, stay warm, cozy and dry.

See you on the other side.

Happy snow day!