A few of my favorite things.

Some concrete evidence of the photo album in my head that i flip through on the daily. I love these things.

my future back yard

generations of awkward

my brother, my hero

layin in parks at sunset

OD-ing on cereal, drowning in blankets. average sunday.

family vacation

precious moments: poppa and baby daigle

dads yard

giggling

chz.

my french little brother who lives in a postcard

tea and crumpets

and i am a material girl

home

i fixed mine, but i want to trade it for this one

i take flawless mental pictures

Wanted: Niche.

People keep asking me what do you want to do with your life? –Uhhhmmm..? I secretly want to hurt these people. I don’t even know what I’m doing for the rest of today. - But, you’re in your super senior fifth year of college (say these crazy, future loving fools) Well, that’s why I went to Northeastern, so I could put off deciding (duhh).

Although, I admit, I once had a dream that I’d have it all figured out by now. After the luxury of making practical what I learn in class (network, network, network), trying out different jobs, different cities, apartments, friends, shoes (I guess I shouldn’t have left behind so many belongings in Lyon - all in the name of lighter luggage. Now I just have sandals that fall apart in public places). When people want to know what kind of job I see myself in, shouldn’t I be able to answer a little better than with a shrug and a crooked smile (coulda been a doctor, sorry mom)? I guess that’s the way it goes- we think we’ve got it all figured out, and then the questions we just can’t seem to answer come flooding in. I can’t be the only one without a clue, can I?

There is still a chance that New York will impart some divine inspiration on me, but chances are I’ll just come home to Boston poor and with more shoes…if I’m lucky.

There are a few things that I do know and am pretty sure will never change. I’m a huge nerd (not like in a cool, effortless, trendy way...just a nerd), I look up to the Barefoot Contessa, I eat while I cook, I like to talk, and I don’t see the point of fish tanks (many apologies to my little bro, spending hours maintaining his). I’ll let you know when I’ve figured out how to turn this into a career.

Wanders

With stacks of magazines surrounding me all day, every day, its no wonder I’m flipping through them from time to time (and want to hug every tree I see). In an old issue of one of our magazines, I came across a feature of all things “one of a kind” highlighting those ritzy bitzy charms that are more unique than a snowflake (of course, the things only your black card can buy). Of the four cities highlighted, I see Paris: Pour Femme, and my Francophile eyes are obliged to read on. I get a to-do (to buy) list of treasures you’d find nowhere else in the world. I immediately email Ashley (currently gallivanting in France, already planning her indefinite retour to the city of lights) suggesting her perusal of the vintage ribbon shop in the second arrondissement and to take shelter from the sun under a daintily hand crafted, centuries old parasol. Were it not for her hobbit-sized feet, I would have suggested the hand-cobbled Parisian heels, but since we can’t split the mere $3,400 price tag, I kindly omit (guess we’ll be settling for some off-the-rack Blahniks and Loubitins, pish posh). I need not mention the limited edition line of Louis Vuitton earrings being sold on the Champs Elysees, as I already expect to unwrap them as this year’s birthday present (no pressure, Ash).

Paris: Made by

A small write-up about how these hidden gems were discovered precedes the article. It can all be summed up with one word: wanders. The young stylist who penned Paris: Made by Hand, describes her aimless walks around her city as such, and is apparently my couture French counterpart. Although, for me, a purchase is not always the intent, and I take my feather light purse (free of the weight of a credit card made out of metal – metal!) or no purse at all on wanders of my own.

I’m reminded of the days in Lyon when I would get a message on Skype or a text on my pay-as-you-go phone from Cory: “Who wants to go wandering?” -Were generally his exact words, and “Moi” was always my answer. Looking back, I’m so glad he always pestered me away from Internet TV and off on a random adventure (usually involving the pursuit of snacks…). I think we inspired each other to explore places we knew and places we didn’t, with company or without (and no matter how bad our French accents).

I continue this sentiment in my domestic life, nostalgic for the Rhone, the Saone, and fifteenth century architecture, but with as much zeal as I had abroad. Let me give you a view from my back pocket on my wanders around New York City:

Vintage Thrift: I walk along third avenue, a street I've grown to know quite well, as I choose to begin most of my wanders here, passed the side by side Irish pubs and into Gramercy, to a land filled with NYU students - more of their judging eyes popping up with each descending block; its like they know I don't belong (or do they sense that I'm invading a dream?!). Here, I expect to be lured by the occasional Tasti-d-Lite, but am surprised when an adorable storefront catches my eye between dorm buildings and restaurants. An unlikely vintage thrift shop; above Union Square and on the East side, to boot! It's just what I've been looking for - especially since I can't go home without a lamp for my bedroom or be doomed face imminent lack-light switched darkness (this really is beginning to sound like a scene from Inception). I wander inside, (especially tickled by the fact that proceeds from the shop benefit the United Jewish Council of the East Side - a shout out to my clansmen/ladies; Shabbat shalom), holding my breath, hoping for prices not resembling its expensive vintage store cousins in SoHo. As soon as I walk in, I head straight passed the racks of hanging clothes (since which I've been back to peruse), and am drawn to the collection of home goods (and lamps!) at the back of the store. I think there's a glowing aura around one particular lamp, painted delicately with intricate gold flowers calling me like a moth to a flame (cheaper than the others because of its make shift extension cord held together with electrical tape - fingers crossed, but it hasn't burst into flames yet), and its begging me to give it a home. I gladly oblige and elatedly carry, tucked under my arm, back to my dark room. When I flick on the switch, my first New York purchase lights up my first New York bedroom (quite brightly, as the old dog came without a lamp shade). I look around, satisfied. Now I can see it clearly: my new home.
http://www.vintagethriftshop.org/


In a short time, I've found my favorite spots in the city that I've come across on walks, jogs, jaunts and the like. A less long winded look at a few more:


Washington Square (at night): a la Paris! In my opinion, this is the most romantic venue in New York after sunset (if you can ignore the late night crowd that the magic of the illuminated arches and fountain draw).
http://washingtonsquarepark.org/wsppp/index.htmlhttp://washingtonsquarepark.org/



Hell's Kitchen Flea Market: Hand-carved cast iron stamps, maps, and all things olde tymey that make you wish you had lived before the future was here.
http://www.hellskitchenfleamarket.com/fleamarket/index.php

Crumbs: Cupcakes and coffee. I am the proud owner a frequent coffee card (I don't go for the coffee, but now I get one every time - marketing geniuses!), although my desire to eat every cupcake in the city no longer haunts me (hard to believe, I know), but these oversized, overfilled, perfectly buttercreamed treats are enough to lure me in if I happen to be walking by one of their shops.
http://www.crumbs.com/




Terroir Wine Bar: I admit, this was upon recommendation, but still, the tiny bar is the perfect place to meet for a glass of wine and a small bite before dinner. Where I'm able (and encouraged) to partake in my favorite part about French dining culture - l'apero.
http://www.wineisterroir.com/

Jack’s $.99 Store: The last true dollar store in the North East! An amazing bodega that lives on my walk home from work where I make out like a bandit, from cleaning supplies to picture frames. While some things are priced a bit over a dollar, and bargain shopping can be a little scary (especially when food is involved), who can say no to a 6-pack of toilet paper for $2.59?
http://www.yelp.com/biz/jacks-99-cent-store-new-york  


I don’t always have a destination in mind while I explore neighborhoods and their unique feelings. I like not knowing, being curious and spontaneous in hopes of someday finding what I'm looking for. But, sometimes, I am going towards something a little more specific. Why? Because, well, if I'm always walking blindly with the wind, how do I expect to ever get anywhere at all? There are things that I know that I want - and I will get them.

This, my friends, is what I wander towards, on purpose (in a little known place called Brooklyn):

The Office

I get to take an hour for lunch.  I didn’t even have to work a double to get it. They let me leave my desk and everything. I mean, I’ve done the nine-to-five before, but even there we ate family meal…at our desks. Toto, it looks like we’re not in the restaurant industry anymore.

There’s a running satire of office life on continuous play in my head every day that I spend on the eleventh floor.  I should probably try to stifle the outward giggles (and often winces) when I remember that no one’s joking – they really just asked me for the RFP reports (or did they say TPS reports? As long as I’m not worried about my quota for pieces of flair…). It’s only been a week, but it’s already feeling quite different from the work environments that I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few years, where the concept of personal space is neglected, prank emails a weekly occurrence, and inappropriate banter a necessity for effective communication. I would have thought working on the office side of the restaurant biz would have prepared me more for the corporate grind, but I guess the little barbed wire enclosed cinder block office/bakery/catering/storage facility in the heart of Roxbury is not as much of a paralleled microcosm as I may have thought. Who knew I’d long for the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries or the lack of privacy in the small, open room where we worked? (you’re right, I always knew – I’m a sucker for free baguettes). And, the corporate world is quite the change from life directly on the restaurant floor, but I’ve just replaced my restaurant lingo for the typical office jargon (Monday meetings in place of daily briefing, printing proposals instead of checks, and taking final word from the publisher, not the chef).

I wouldn’t say it’s all dry in the land of cubicles and copiers. I work for a great team of women – whose personalities I’m starting to discover behind the professionalism and really get a kick out of. At my welcome lunch, I must have been giving them my involuntary one eyebrow raise as I sat back and listened to office gossip and girl talk (a dangerous habit of mine- I’m convinced my left brow has a mind of its own), because they were sure they were scaring me off. Quite the contrary – I’m just wondering how long it’ll be before this sweet, shy, new girl thing wears off and I start to scare them.

I guess if I really think about it (my felt-lined cave is a great place for pondering), I wonder, are all of our various professional lives really as different as they seem?  I'm beginning to think not.  Sometimes people put in more hours on the job and require more dedication to their trade, but I really think it boils down to the individual and not the industry.  There are certain aspects of some jobs that are more physically demanding than others, but I’ve witnessed the umpteen hour days of office joes answering up-to-the-minute emails from their smart phones well as the restaurant pros putting in double upon double, on their feet all day.  One thing I have noticed is that what separates the workaholics from the rest is not always about trying to get ahead.  There’s something more personal about it that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I think the perfect mix of passion and insanity is the recipe for this behavior.

For now, I’m enjoying my new role that comes with enough necessity and responsibility to keep me busy day to day.  I haven’t figured out if there’s no spark between this job and me or if I just need to settle in before something’s ignited. But I keep having to catch myself from wondering, what is it, exactly, that I’m doing here?

Here I go again.

“39th and 3rd,” I request for the first time, but undoubtedly not the last, to a cabbie after midnight in Chinatown with a long, holiday weekend journey on the Fung Wah behind me (it’s also not the last time I’ll be disappointed when the Cash Cab doesn’t pick me up). I sleepily enter my new apartment building and am greeted by my cheerful night doorman (whose name I’m sure I’ll remember after a good night’s sleep), concerned that he had yet to know my name and welcomes me with more enthusiasm than I can reciprocate after a few long days. I chalk his cheery demeanor up to fighting off moonlight boredom until the daytime doorman, G (which is short for…? it was earlier than I’ve woken up in months…), greets me the next morning, making sure to get my name and remember that I’m not just a passing visitor. I know that I’ve got a few of the good ones looking out for me when G greets me by first name at the door after my first day of work (“See, I told you I’d remember, Kelly”). I guess I can’t pigeonhole all New Yorkers into the cold and unfriendly box that I’ve heard so many rumors about. I still hold out hope that I can break the ice and become good friends with New York City.

I made it in one piece, from the looks of it, although I think a little part of me may still be in Boston- for which I will be back for in January and may have to visit from time to time until my return. It’s not easy to up and leave just as I’m getting settled again, so soon after I high tailed it to another country for all of last fall. With this move 5,000 miles, an ocean, and a foreign language closer than my last, I anticipate a smoother transition and a higher frequency of familiar faces passing through to visit. While I may not be stumbling over French this time around, I fight an eternal struggle to be understood, and am hoping that sarcasm is better received than it was when it got lost in translation overseas. Although, I frequently expect to see the same puzzled and amazed faces at my often bizarre commentary (a reaction I’ve grown used to in any country).

I am still happy about by my decision to temporarily relocate for my co-op job. I chose my choice, and I’m sticking to it. I am feeling very in my element as I get to explore and experience a city for the first time again. There is too much that I look forward to for the next six months, but before I embark on NYC, there are the few things I will miss about Boston while I’m gone, and won’t be disappointed to get back to:

Dozen(s) of oysters at Neptune:  My favorite before hopping on the train to Rockport at North Station (much more enjoyed leisurely, but have been known to “throw back a few” in a time crunch).

An hour to stroll around Harvard Square:  Just enough time to get coffee at Crema, buy shoes at the Tannery, wander through the Bead store, grab a new white button-up at the Gap, pick up a sandwich at Cardullo’s and be back to work by 4 (except I’d love to skip the work part come January, and what in the world am I supposed to do with all these dirty white shirts?!)

Dinner at Toro:  Or should I say, walking by Toro once a week for six months, deciding the wait is too long, and eating everywhere else in the South End until finally getting Kristen in to eat some tapas for the first time a week before I left.

An early-ish last call:  Compared to NYC; spend less money, get more sleep.

Being close to home:  Nothing beats being an hour away from Mom. I don’t think my mom’s too upset about making visits to the city, but in the meantime I will have to look to my surrogate family network (luckily I have other moms accessible by the MTA until I get back to the MBTA).


p.s. Visitors welcome and encouraged. 
p.p.s. We have a queen sized air mattress for those who don't enjoy snugglefests.

cue Whitesnake music.

One week to Lyon...Top 5 reasons I can't wait.

As many of you know, I will be spending the better part of the rest of 2009 across the Atlantic in Lyon, France. From September 1st until December 20th, I will be studying at CEFAM, a business management school in the city of Lyon. That means if you happen to find yourself in and around France or the surrounding burroughs, CONTACT ME! Or better yet, plan yourself a visit.

While I am abroad, it is Northeastern's policy to document personal and academic experiences in order to get credit for the trip (to ensure that I do not have an absinthe soaked four month binge..?)

So, I supposed there was no better way to keep tabs than to jump into the 21st century and start blogging. I mean the trend is hot for fall.

Welcome to my adventures from here on out - across borders, timezones and beyond.

Naturally, I'm beginning to get pretty psyched about the whole expedition, but there are a few choice experiential gems I am particularly excited for:

5. Butter
I mean REAL butter, straight from the grass-fed, disease free cow to my slab of toasty french baguette. Or mayhaps baked into my fluffy croissants. Better than home no matter how I choose to spread it, because let's face it, I can believe it's not butter...

4. A bunch of twisted straw
I can hardly wait to eat at the many bouchons in Lyon. These small family run restaurants often don't even have menus but serve up only a few choices a night for dinner. As the story goes, once upon a time in Lyon, many husband and wife duos would mark their home with a bunch of straw to indicate that they were open for dinner to the public. Now that things are a little less covert, I'm still hoping to have an easy time finding some of the best food in the world at these hole in the wall restaurants without the search for grassy bundles. Because hay is for horses.

3. Cotes du Rhone
...and any and ALL types of wine in the area. Luckily for me, some touristy vineyard trips are already in the works thanks to the good ole folk in charge of acclimating us aliens to France. But here's my dilemma - spit or swallow?

2. "Take some night dresses as well as parties are entirely part of our lives"
Each of us get an upper class buddy, a french student at CEFAM who acts as our personal "big bro" and can answer any of our burning questions about France or classes. I was recently contacted through the magic of facebook by my CEFAM friend, whose English puts my French to shame. I asked him if there was anything in particular I should bring or pack. His response, VERBATIM: "Take some night dresses as well as parties are entirely part of our lives."
Let the good times roll.

1. "Wednesday, 3:30 pm: A very sexy treasure hunt thing"

All of the people I have had the pleasure to speak with thus far from Lyon have had an impeccable handle on the English language. They have an excellent website set up for us with some pointers and a list of our first few French adventures and orientation that they have planned. I did come across one choice activity that may have lost something in translation. What, praytell, might I be looking for on a sexy treasure hunt? This can't be legal in the USA.