My daughter calls it Pony Island. I love Coney Island in the winter after a storm, where everything is still and quiet and eery under a blanket of white. A September afternoon proves Pony Island is still lovely and weird as ever.
Simple food makes me happy. Salted Danish butter, good olive oil, a perfectly ripe peach in the height of the season, Australian feta from the Bedford Cheese Shop, real Irish bacon, a cup of warm Chai with honey while watching Mad Men, Campari…just to name a few items that can delight me.
I have been trying to cook more and more of our meals at home. When I can, I take lunch alone whilst my baby sleeps and the house is quiet. I used to be so tired with the young baby that I would forget to eat lunch and just pass out wherever I could. These days, I try to make myself a beautiful lunch. I sit down at the table with my favorite cloth napkin and enjoy whatever bounty I can.
Here I have made a salad of raw organic rainbow
chard from the Rooftop Farm, raw green beans, cucumber, left over brown rice and sliced organic roasted chicken. Isn’t this gorgeous? I dressed the greens with my new favorite fig vinaigrette. Yes, fig! Oh that reminds me that fig season is waning and I need to get on that.
Here’s to simple, beautiful, healthy meals!
You know you are in trouble when your husband asks if you think you might like to brush your hair. I am not sure exactly when it happened, when I stopped obsessing over every morning showers and conditioned hair. I am sure having a baby and being woken up by a nursing monster every few hours for um…2 years has something to do with it. I realized pretty quickly when you have to choose between brushing your teeth or brushing your hair…you go with the teeth.
I’ve been blessed with good hair. Frankly, I think it looks better when I ignore it. My hair has a life of its own. Ra regularly asks me if I need a trim because my hair smothers him in the night. He has woken up gasping for air, neck engulfed by long red hair. Sounds sexy to me but he doesn’t agree. I don’t think he cared so much when we first got together. When fits of passion are a daily occurrence. Now he’s getting a little set in his ways and bothered by the little things. I don’t want a Porphyria situation over here in Brooklyn so I have tentatively agreed to somewhat regular trims.
The point is, my hair is wild and my husband wants to tame it. I think he can’t help it. On some level he knows how powerful a woman’s hair can be. Its a tool of seduction, it makes us feel powerful. Jeesh, it can also make us cry.
So now that we are cozy married with our wee little one, my hair should fall in line, right?
Maybe it’s my connection to being free or perhaps I am just lazy. I’m not going to tame the hair. Wild is beautiful and I smile when Ra hands me my morning coffee and says “here you go lioness.”