Two Years Of Election Days

I stood in front of a "Vote Here" poster and looked up and down 72nd street.

I had lived on this Upper West Side street for two years. Had walked up and down the block countless times, eaten at the many restaurants lining the street, and shopped at the stores. There was the bodega on the corner where I bought sodas from an elderly man and his wife, the kosher store I stopped at every Thursday afternoon, the record store that we always assumed was a front for something far more sinister than music, and the Duane Reade we frequented for all those things you don't think you need until you do, usually at 3:00 in the morning.

This was my street. Except now it wasn't.

It was 8:30am and the street was teeming with people going to work, kids going to school, and the habitual chaos that is Manhattan on a weekday morning.

I was a part of this morning routing for so long that it became normal. But as I stood in line at my polling place on that first November Tuesday last year, I watched from the sidelines as the morning unfolded. Observing it with the eyes of an outsider.

I shouldn't even have been voting at this polling place. We had moved out of Manhattan to our new suburban home four days before, but we hadn't yet changed our voter registration.

It would never occur to me not to vote, so I stepped up to the table and gave a volunteer an address that was no longer mine. And I wondered if she would see that I didn't fit it. If she would know that five days before I had walked this neighborhood like I owned the place. But on that Tuesday those streets, and that city, didn't belong to me anymore.

I walked to work with a heaviness made up of a toxic cocktail of uncertainty and fear, and went home that night to a brand new house with an unfinished kitchen in a neighborhood where I still needed GPS to get to the grocery store.

I wasn't sure what was mine. Or if anything would ever feel normal again.

Yesterday morning my alarm rang at 6:30am.

My brain barely engaged, I rolled out of bed and into the shower. I got dressed, walked out the door, walked back in twice for various things I forgot, and drove to my neighborhood middle school to vote.

I stood in front of another "Vote Here" poster and looked up and down another street. I waved to some of my neighbors, also stopping by to vote on their way to work, and then stepped up to the table and gave a volunteer an address that was very much my own.

And then, with a quick stop at my regular coffee shop on the way, I headed towards the train station to start my day.

Suddenly, and without my even realizing it, what was once so new had become normal.

This past Saturday was the one year anniversary of our
move to the suburbs, so this week, I have change on the brain.
It has never stopped being fascinating to me the way we
adapt to change, and how the new suddenly becomes normal

One Year Later: I Am Happy, and I Am Home

One year and four days ago, three men in a big green moving van drove up 72nd street, parked in front of our apartment building, loaded up our stuff, and prepared to drive it all north to our new house in White Plains, a Westchester County suburb of New York City.

One year and three days ago, after a mishap involving a dead battery, a failed trip to Home Depot for jumper cables, an unsuccessful attempt to get a new truck, an overnight stop in the moving company warehouse, and a night spent on the floor of our new bedroom, those three men parked that big green van in front of the new house and unloaded.

Surrounded by boxes in an unfamiliar house with a black hole where the kitchen used to be, I was anxious, adrift, and a little wild.

And so began my suburban journey.

Eventually the boxes were unpacked, the kitchen was finished, and I could drive from my house to the grocery store without my GPS.

Slowly, I began to miss Manhattan less, and even more slowly, the place that was so unfamiliar at first became our home.

Last November, as we were making the transition from old to new, I participated in National Blog Posting Month, or NaBloPoMo for short, a challenge to post something on your blog each and every day of the month. Posting on my blog for 30 days, as I was going through the worst of this transition saved my sanity. It helped me make sense of my life when I felt so unmoored, and it introduced me to some fabulous fellow bloggers whose comments bolstered me when I felt like I might buckle under the pressure of all of the new.

This month we are celebrating one year in our new home, and I am, once again, participating in NaBloPoMo with Yeah Write. And as much as I wanted to write last year about how hard our move out of Manhattan was, this year I want to write about how, suddenly, what was so new has become normal.

Check out my guest post on the Yeah Write NaBloPoMo grid today, where I remember our first Sunday in the new house, and write about what a difference a year makes.

It took me a long time to pull myself out of the sticky haze of sadness I felt when we left Manhattan, but one year later, I am happy, and I am home.

An Exciting Announcement.

A couple of months ago, I wrote a blog post.

It was a painful post to write, and one of which I am extremely proud.

I submitted it to Yeah Write, the best weekly writing competition on the internet, and for the very first time, I won the jury prize and the crowd favorite.

A few days later I got an e-mail from the lovely ladies who run a website called The HerStories Project. Their website is a blog dedicated to female friendship, and they publish guest posts from some wonderful writers who I have come to love and admire over these past couple years.

These women decided to compile and publish an anthology of essays on female friendship, and they asked if they could use my essay as one of the forty-plus that they will be including. The book will be published in both electronic and hard copy versions, and will be released in December.

If you get a chance, visit the brand new HerStories website, and take a look at the contributor page where you can read bios of all the incredible writers that will have their works published in the anthology, a group of which I am incredibly honored to be a part.

Stay tuned in the coming weeks for more details about the book, including where you can buy your own copy, and if you're so inclined, read some of the early reviews.

Thank you so much Jessica and Stephanie for recognizing the power, love and even occasional heartbreak of female friendship. These are the relationships that enrich our lives beyond measure, and leave us forever changed.

A Pink Dress Celebration

My best friend got married today. She wore a pink dress, and it was a beautiful day. There are lots of thoughts and pictures still to come, but for now, here is the text of the toast I gave during dinner.

Mazel tov Mira and Glenn. Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness, laughter and love. It was an honor and a pleasure to be there on your day.

On a Thursday night 3 years, 7 months, 3 weeks and 3 days ago, I made a phone call. It was to Mira, to tell her that David and I had just gotten engaged. It was late, and it was cold, but Mira didn’t care. Sporting her pajamas, mouth-guard and glasses, she met us on the corner of 73^rd and Amsterdam, and we celebrated together in that extraordinary moment where my life was divided into before and after.

 On a Wednesday afternoon, 51 weeks and 4 days ago, I got a phone call. It was Glenn, and he had a quandary. Hurricane Sandy had just swept through New York, and the devastation she left behind had derailed his plans to propose to Mira. It seemed that he had come up with a brand new idea, and he needed my help to pull it off. 

 Which is how, exactly one year ago today, I found myself watching as Glenn got down on one knee and Mira’s expression turned from shock to wonder. It was the middle of the afternoon and I had to dodge the Sunday crowds to take pictures, but I didn’t care. I stood on the corner of 82^nd and Amsterdam and we celebrated together in that extraordinary moment where her life was divided into before and after. 

We celebrated together.  

Mira, the past twelve years of our friendship have been ones of excitement, growth, and exquisite change. But more than anything else, they have been years of celebration. 

In college we celebrated the beginning of every semester, the end of every round of finals, and even a good Sherman meat day. We celebrated graduation with a senior week that is, for obvious reasons, just a hazy memory, and with a tear-soaked weekend that is crystal clear. We celebrated your first Manhattan apartment with Chinese food delivery on the floor of your living room, and the end of the first day of my bar exam with a phone call from you reminding me to set my alarm, lest I accidentally fall asleep and miss day 2. We celebrated the first time David came over to my apartment for a Shabbat meal with whiskey shots in my bedroom (before he showed up, obviously), and we celebrated the beginning of your relationship with Glenn with bottles of Diet Snapple in Pizza Cave on 72^nd Street. Keep it classy, I always say.  

We celebrate new shoes with text messaged pictures and the perfect pair of jeans with dressing room selfies. We celebrate an amazing piece of jewelry and the perfect nail polish color, and we celebrate every morning with an e-mail exchange, even when, as we say, everything is horrible about everything.  

It’s the little things. And also the very, very big ones.  

So today. Today, in this moment, we celebrate again. We celebrate a brand new beginning, a life forged, and a future of gorgeous possibility. And I celebrate my radiant best friend who has become my family, and her forever man who has filled her life with happiness and love.

There is nowhere I would rather be than here. And no one I would rather celebrate with than you.

L'chaim. 

Halloween Scenes

Some days I miss living in the city.

Halloween was not one of those days.

No offense to Manhattan, but when it comes to Halloween, the suburbs have you beat.

Happy Birthday To My Best Girl

How is it possible that this:

And this:

And this:

Becomes this:

And this:

Happy 2nd birthday to the smartest and silliest girl in town.

Thanks for making me an aunt.