Autumn Sundays

Visit me over at Grey Likes Weddings...

2013-05-15T17:02:00.000-04:00

Well kids, it's official. I'll be blogging tidbits of my wedding planning process (God help me!) over at Lady Grey's blog; Grey Likes Weddings. For all the pandemonium...I mean planning...you can visit me here. Bring a friend. See you there.

Oh, but don't forget to stop in on Autumn Sundays in the meantime. Aint nobody got time to talk weddings 24/7.

Boston...

2013-04-16T23:55:00.000-04:00

It’s amazing that someone thought they would test the resilience and determination of humankind on a bunch of marathoners—people who literally eat 26.2 miles for breakfast.

Keep running Boston.

Our Engagement...

2013-04-07T22:32:00.000-04:00

....It had to be the perfect day, with all the perfect people, in the most perfect place in all of Manhattan.

Allow me to set the stage. Paul had very cleverly coordinated a surprise visit from Karla (best friend from college) and Kevin (Karla's husband) the same weekend Lindsey (best friend from childhood) and Alex (Lindsey's fiance) were planning to be in town to visit. I was oblivious to any such plans, so when Paul took me out to dinner a few nights before the engagement I nearly fainted when I saw Karla and Kevin coming toward me with open arms and large grins. Kevin scheduled a work event at the Hard Rock in Times Square and Karla had flown in on the red eye the previos night. Before I knew it, I was sipping merlot with my two best friends thinking about how Paul hadn’t let on to the surprise at all. Not one little bit. What a guy.

The next night we were all sitting around the table playing cards and drinking wine when Kevin suggested one of his clients wasn’t using something the next day--but refused to say what that something was. He asked us if we’d be up for a surprise and, if so, we needed to be ready by noon. We all agreed and figured it was some type of transportation. Fun Fun, my money was on a hot air balloon...or a limo ride. Probably a limo ride.

So Saturday morning we all got up, just like in the old college days, and made breakfast while we sipped our coffee slowly and laughed about the little joys in life that had kept our friendships going for so many years. We enjoyed a slow morning while the sunshine poured in.

Everyone started getting dressed and I couldn’t help but notice how put together everyone looked for a weekend afternoon. I was tempted to put on my old yoga pants and worn Chuck Taylors but decided I better not since everyone else looked like a million bucks.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about how perfect it would be for Paul to propose with my best friends in town. I did think about it, but more in the sense that I didn’t want to get my hopes up. The weekend was already more than I could have ever hoped for and I knew he hadn’t had a chance to ask my parents yet (or so I thought--that's a whole different story!). So I tucked my wishful thinking in the back of my mind and said a small word of thanks to the universe and to God for giving me so much happiness at one time.

When we stepped outside I was struck by the seasonably warm temperature and the clear blue sky. It was the perfect March day. We walked to the corner and just as suspected, there was a limo. At this point I started to get a little curious but the whole time I was convinced that Paul had nothing to do with it because Kevin had been on the phone with the limo driver the whole morning and everyone else was surprised, too. Kevin’s clients didn’t want to use this limo? Weird. The six of us piled in and off we went through the Lincoln Tunnel, across Midtown and up the East Side. The day was ours to seize!

(Pre-proposal, Paul looks a little nervous!)

We slowly started to discuss where we should go. I guess I figured if Paul had had something to do with it there would already be a predetermined end point but, alas, there we were talking it over. We decided on the Metropolitan Museum of Art or Central Park. But when we pulled up, the line to the museum was intense so Central Park it was. Random decision, or so I thought...

As we walked into the Park I immediately switched into my tour-guide mode. You see, Central Park is my favorite thing about New York City and I know it like the back of my hand. I was SO excited to be showing off my favorite place. Someone mentioned they had to use the bathroom so I motioned everyone to follow me across the Great Lawn.

(Headed into Central Park, playing tour guide.)

Here’s where it gets interesting. Rewind a year and half. It was early Fall 2011 and Paul and I had just started dating. I was excited to show him my love for Central Park so we got a couple of Pumpkin Spice Lattes and strolled hand-in-hand toward the Great Lawn. We found the perfect little bench and took a seat while we sipped slowly and talked continuously. I had known for weeks that he was the one but, when you ask him, it was that day in mid-September when he realized he was falling in love with me. Before we knew it, the sun was setting. We had spent hours on that bench without a care in the world, wrapped up in the fact that this was the very moment they talk about in all the greatest love stories. This was it. Hook, line and sinker, we were sunk.

(Actual photos from Sept. 10th, 2011)

OK, back to present day. Someone has to pee and I’m playing little Miss Tour Guide. I implore everyone to follow me across the Great Lawn and I say that on the way, “I’ll show you guys the bench where Paul and I fell in love.” Yes, I said those very words and Paul knew then that it was going to be a perfect proposal. Without having a clue what was about to happen I set him up. We’ll call it the hail mary pass that sent his perfect plan into the end zone for an OT touchdown.

As we approached the bench from behind I noticed the woman sitting on the bench next to it looked very much like my Mother. My heart flinched a little bit realizing that I was probably just homesick. Plus, there was no way it could have been my Mom because she had just texted me from Boston with an update on how move-in day was going for my brother and his girlfriend as they settled into their new apartment. (Again, so I thought. Sneaky Mom!)

As we rounded the corner toward the bench,

all of sudden

Paul

started walking really fast. He was practically dragging me. As we pulled up to the bench he said, “Look, our bench has two coffee cups on it.” At first I thought how rude it was that someone had left their trash on our beloved bench. But then Paul said, “And look, they have our names on them!” And sure enough, one cup said “Kate” and the other said “Paul.” I stopped to think about this. Why and how had he done this sweet gesture? And how did he know we would be walking by the bench today, at this exact time? And what in God’s name....I turned to look at him....my eye catches a familiar face on the next bench down. It’s my older brother, and next to him my little cousins and darling aunt and oh my Lord, there’s my Dad, too.

(Noticing my family is all there for the first time. Note, I hadn't even seen my Mom behind me.)

I look at Paul, who grabs onto my arm. It hits me, he’s going to propose. He is proposing. Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint. He says, “This is the bench where we fell in love, and I want to do that with you for the rest of my life.” Down on one knee he goes. Ring box opens. I cannot find oxygen. I’m trying to speak the word “yes” but all the oxygen in the world has evaporated. I finally exhale, “YES!”

Next thing I know there’s clapping and loud cheering and my entire family is giving me hugs and kisses. All of this under a perfect blue sky, on a perfect Saturday afternoon, in the most perfect place in all of Manhattan.

With my heart full and my family by my side, we headed back to our apartment for an engagement celebration. My mother, knowing me all too well in that there would be no food in my fridge, brought what could have been considered an entire grocery store all the way from New Hampshire. She even managed to bring 16 champagne glasses for everyone to toast the occasion. My Dad gave a beautiful toast and the night faded into laughter as we replayed the day’s events over and over again.

The next morning we gathered at my favorite brunch place in Hoboken, right on the Hudson River overlooking the city. We ate, we drank and we talked about being married. I can easily say it was the best 48 hours of my life. So thank you to my family and friends for taking time out of your busy lives to be a part of my most favorite day (and for capturing it on film and video!) And to my fiance, no longer just my man-friend, thank you for giving me such a fairy tale. And for validating my wedding board on Pinterest. ;) I love you more than I could ever say. God really knew what he was doing that day on the kickball court.

On bended knee....

2013-03-15T18:53:00.001-04:00

And just like that, boy puts a ring on it.

Engagement story coming soon...

...as soon as I catch my breath.

Until then, a reminder:

Fell in love

Stayed in love

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day...

2013-02-20T19:31:00.001-05:00

Love has completely ruined my ability to write. If you haven't noticed, I went missing shortly after Paul and I started dating and I literally haven't pumped the infatuation breaks since. It's over you guys. I mean, not the blog of course but my ability to lock myself deskside for hours and waste the day away daydreaming and writing. All of a sudden, those daydreams became my actual reality. I'm leaving love notes, getting flowers, taking slow walks through Central Park with one hand entangled in his and the other wrapped around a pumpkin spice latte. You see?! RUINED! I keep waiting for the moment when I don't want to hang out with him but alas, it never comes. This summer will mark two years of hanging out together and I literally still haven't caught my breath. I once heard Neil Patrick Harris describe the beginning of his relationship, saying the honeymoon phase lasted the first three years." THREE YEARS?! I got stuff to do! This being in love stuff is truly time-consuming and yes, indeed, everything it's cracked up to be.

A belated Happy Valentine's Day to you all.

Fire Escape Saturday...

2013-01-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

Welcome 2013

"Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary." — Steve Jobs

2012-09-19T15:21:00.001-04:00

"There should be no drudgery in the house. There must be time to think, to read, to enjoy life, to be young with the growing generation, to have time for their pleasures, to have leisure for one's own - to hold one's youth as long as possible, to have beauty around us..."

From the editors of British Good Housekeeping.

One Year Later...

2012-09-14T06:59:00.000-04:00

....the follow up.

For how it all started one year ago click ---- Here

2012-09-06T15:56:00.004-04:00

So my best friend got married.

It was a day for the history books.

Here's a sneak peek.

All photos gloriously credited to: Troy Grover Photographers

2012-08-21T12:11:00.001-04:00

"I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are

but does not leave us where it found us."

— Anne Lamott

Setting off for California tomorrow to watch one of my best friends (there she is, on the left) get married. My-oh-my, where did the past seven years go? I can't remember what year of college this was taken but it definitely reminds me how lucky I was, still am, to have such amazing girlfriends. Let the celebration begin!

Another Day...

2012-08-17T09:09:00.001-04:00

There's something so peaceful about being the first one to the office. Early this morning with coffee in hand, I stepped to the window and gazed out over Central Park. Much like in skiing when I get to lay the first tracks of the season, it was a peaceful moment to reflect on how far I've come and where I'm going, but more importantly, where I am. Here. Now. It was the quietest moment I'll have all day and from 28 floors up, not

even the city traffic could reach me.

When I was a little girl I loved to lie in the sun spots that temporarily painted the living room floor a golden hue. There was something about them; warm and inviting. This morning there was something so familiar about the light...the way it came spilling in, uninterrupted by emails, meetings, and to-do lists. It brought me right back to my childhood. No, I didn't lie down on the office carpet, although I was tempted. Instead I said a quiet thanks. Watching that morning light pour in and sweep across the floor made me grateful for another day. With it comes the chance to rejoice in God's grace, and the opportunity to love and be loved. How lucky am I to get another day?

Happy Weekend.

The Real Purpose Of Life...

2012-08-15T11:47:00.001-04:00

"The real purpose of life is just to be happy—to enjoy your life. To get to a place where you're not always trying to get someplace else. So many people spend their lives striving, trying to be someplace that they're not, they never get to arrive."

— Dr. Wayne Dyer

This quote was in my inbox this morning. Beautiful isn't it? It just so happens to reflect my greatest personal battle, so I felt it necessary to share. I hope your summer is going well and you're not too busy to enjoy it. A day with nothing to do often leaves me restless, but this summer I'm learning to savor every second of sleeping in on the weekends, sipping coffee, and taking long strolls by the river. Just to be alive is a blessing and I plan to treat it as such.

Here are some of my favorite images from my Pinterest board titled Wonderful. Enjoy.

Click on the images for each source.

2012-07-13T11:54:00.003-04:00

"Change is not a bolt of lightning that arrives with a zap. It is a bridge built brick by brick, every day, with sweat and humility and slips. It is hard work, and slow work, but it can be thrilling to watch it take shape."

— Sarah Hepola

New York and Pizza...A Love Story

2012-06-29T18:32:00.001-04:00

These may be fighting words to fellow New Yorkers but it must be said, the best pizza on the riotous island of Manhattan is Roma Pizza on 88th and Lexington. Go forth and eat sweet Reader. It will change your life.

Stay tuned and I might even share Manhattan's best cupcake.
Happy weekend.

17 Years...

2012-06-20T11:33:00.000-04:00

I started journaling in 1996 on my ninth birthday. During a recent visit home to see my parents, I ventured into my childhood bedroom closet and pulled out seven old journals. I'm grateful that even at such a young age I understood the importance of dating each entry. As I slowly read my way through all 17 years of boy crushes and big girl dreams, I've concluded so far that I was, hands-down, the worst speller in all of New England. But more importantly that life—despite the rough patches, surely is wonderful.

Reach High...

2012-06-11T10:34:00.001-04:00

"Without leaps of imagination or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all is a form of planning."

— Gloria Steinem

Finding the Desk...

2012-06-08T11:15:00.001-04:00

I refinished a piece of furniture. A desk that just so happens to be supporting the computer I am typing on right now. There's a scene in Sex in the City when Carrie and Charlotte go shopping for Carrie's new desk. She says something along the lines of, “It's all about the desk. If you find the desk, the writing will come.” Now I'm not claiming any literary miracles here, but in a sense I can relate. There's something about perfecting the space you write in that makes the writing that much richer.

Refinishing the desk had such a euphoric feel. Immediately after I finished working on it the first day I typed up this little piece to capture the authenticity of what I was feeling.

There was this weird sense of workmanship—where I knew it would have to get a lot worse before it got better for this old, claw-footed desk. I sanded down the years of wear etched onto the frame and couldn't help but fantasize about how beautiful it would soon become. Putting my hands to work, watching them transform something old into something new was in a word, powerful. When I was younger I would often catch my reflection in the mirror and wonder what life would be like when I was 25. How would I look? How would my life be? For a second I was transported back to being 12 years old again, looking in the mirror. I couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. As I sat on the tile floor in my kitchen with the window wide open and the cold, spring air coming in off the Hudson, I realized that this was life. This was me, at 25. Refinishing an old desk, in the very first apartment of many I would share over a lifetime with the man I loved more than words could ever say.

In a weird way, refinishing this old desk made me feel alive. It's amazing how grateful and humbled hard work can make you feel.

*I received a call from Paul one night around midnight. Woken up out of a dead sleep, I thought I was dreaming when he softly asked me to get dressed (it was midnight) and come down the street to help him lug an old (and very heavy) desk through the neighborhood and up two flights of stairs into our apartment. As the story goes, an old lady down the street had passed away and a relative who was too busy to be bothered with her possessions, was bringing everything she owned out to the street for whatever fate came, be it a garbage truck or trash-pickers like me and Paul. On his way to work that afternoon Paul discovered the desk on the curb, picked it up and placed it back up against the house with a note written on the back of his resume asking the owner to leave the desk there and he would return for it later that night. Sure enough, on his way home, the desk was still there and the two of us lugged it five feet before I broke down into a fit of tired crying/laughing giggles and Paul rendered me useless. Then with a force I didn't know he had, he put the desk on his back and carried it all the way to our bedroom while I followed behind clapping, Hercules, Hercules!

**I'm well aware that for some of you (Mom) the desk was more beautiful with the mahogany showing. I'm also dreading the day some antique collector tells me this desk, originally from Hathaway's Furniture, in New York City from the 1920s, was worth something until I let my creativity and Swiss Coffee, white paint from Behr, ruin it. We did research on what the desk was worth but didn't turn up anything significant. If you are that antique collector, mums the word.

That's New York for Ya...

2012-06-05T19:12:00.000-04:00

This morning as I walked to work, I passed this little gem in the window of a local dry cleaner. I loved it so much I went back to take a photo much to the dismay of the heavy foot traffic coming up 8th Ave. I mean, come on! Don't you just HAVE to know the story behind this sequin-explosion jacket? Did some guy have a night out on the town or what? That's New York for ya—can't air your dirty laundry in public without having people ask questions. I can't help but think, some guys have all the fun.

Run, Don't Walk..

2012-06-03T17:42:00.000-04:00

If you are in New York City ever, there is one thing you should do before anything else. Go to Levain Bakery on 74th and Amsterdam. Tell them I sent ya. (Okay, honestly they have no idea who I am so it won't get you very far, but it felt appropriate to make such a statement just then.)

I've never tried anything but the cookies and to be completely honest, I'll never need to. They offer four flavors and all four will change your life. They are $4 a piece and as big as your head. There's something in the way they are baked that creates a crunchy outside and a just-right, gooey inside. Recently I asked what temperature they bake at and for how long. The cashier just laughed at me. Aaah, the secret life of the perfect cookie! Go forth and nibble Reader. You can thank me later.

Paul's first cookie. A proud moment.

Yes, I really made that face. That's what Levain cookies do to you.

2012-05-17T23:37:00.000-04:00

Dear Summer,

Beachside in Mauritius. Semester at Sea 2008

Come quick.

Love,
Kate

Hump Day Hazard....

2012-04-04T12:32:00.000-04:00

There's nothing like doing all the work to peel a delicious orange just to watch it slip from your hands and fall to the dirty ground. And you thought you had problems. Oy vey.

Tartelette <---Amazing food photographer.

Happy Hump Day.

Counting Down The Days...

2012-04-02T00:34:00.015-04:00

My best friend is getting married this September. Needless to say, I'm excited beyond words. Yours truly is the MOH. That's Maid of Honor for those of you who don't speak wedding. We met freshmen year of college as roommates and became kindred spirits over the course of those four years. Or really, in like a week. The sisterhood was instant, as you can see. So here's to the party planning and the pretty dresses. And any other photographic moments that may arise.

Let's get you married Karla-girl!

We Made Our Cake & Ate It Too...

2012-03-30T00:29:00.002-04:00

I originally saw this delectable display on Cupcakes and Cashmere back in January and decided in that moment that this cake and I were meant for each other. So for a friend's 25th birthday I pulled together my finest flour and went to work, apron and all. Now, let's call it like we see it — my cake is a tad bit messier, and there's good reason for it. First, the birthday girl arrived with her dog and he immediately ran into the kitchen and began to pee on things while I was in the middle of frosting. The problem was, (aside from the dog urine on the side of my fridge) the cake was supposed to be a surprise and I was elbow deep in pink frosting. Needless to say, I was powerless to stop the peeing pooch but couldn't holler for help because again, it was a surprise cake and I didn't want the birthday girl to see her new cake stand either. So while I fought off the yipping tyrant at my ankles, I ferociously frosted. To make matters worse, I needed a quick place to store the cake where she wouldn't find it and the dog wouldn't eat it. Fearful of what would happen if I stuck it outside on the fire escape, I placed the cake in the Tupperware cabinet. Classy move, I know.

But all peeing pooch problems aside, it was lick-the-spoon delicious nonetheless. Indeed I've never met a piece of cake I didn't like.

...And We're Back.

2012-03-21T19:14:00.006-04:00

Any blogger will tell you that posting every single day is one of the hardest parts of the job. Heck, any writer will tell you that finding the inspiration for new content day-in and day-out is a constant, sometimes draining, battle. And, if I'm being completely honest, I'm too busy Pinning the life I dream of on cyber-boards labeled with fluffy words like, "Wonderful" and "Wedding." No I'm not engaged. Yet. Can I live? If you haven't checked out Pinterest, get to it my dear. Here's one of my favorite Pinterest images.

Repinned from ABC Concepts by AnnBurr Tenthoff

True story: Last night I had a dream that Justin Bieber tweeted my blog address to his gazillion followers. Needless to say, pandaemonium ensued. There I was, feeling the weight of a trillion teenage girls, all wanting constant blog posts, pictures and personal stories about my life as Justin's new BFF. I was really feeling the pressure of my newfound fame but all I could do was think of... Clydesdale horses. Wait...what?! Yes, Clydesdales. Yeah well, dreams are weird like that. One minute your eating dinner with God, the next you're having tea with the Easter Bunny in a latex jumpsuit. Back in real-life, on the reality side, the ceiling fan was making a hollowed-out clicking noise that was the exact same sound of a horse's hoof on the pavement. So, as my dream carried on, I unwillingly transitioned from being Justin's wing-woman, to running for my horse-fearing life. When I finally woke up I felt great but it took me a minute to remember why. Sure being tweeted by The Bieb's was cool (she says casually) but having a trillion new followers was even cooler. So that's what I'm aiming for. One trillion blog followers.

I suppose I'll pin less and try to post more. Or maybe I'll tweet Justin and see if dreams really DO come true.

Happy Hump Day kids.

Escalator Angst

2012-02-01T13:36:00.001-05:00

I would like to discuss a personal anxiety of mine, but you have to promise not to laugh. If you laugh, that’s it, I’m outta here. Promise? OK. Here it goes....

Picture from Sanity Waiting to Happen

Escalators. The fast-moving cousins of Elevators. It’s not what you think. It’s not the jagged moving steps rotating at warp speed that bother me, or the grimy rubbery railing either. It’s the pressure I feel to WALK up the already moving steps. There, I said it.

The thing is, the pressure to conform to escalator etiquette is too much to bare. What if I don’t want to walk as I’m going up? What if I want to enjoy the ride and the view and take in the sounds and sights of the building lobby? WHAT THEN my fellow time-crunched, spastic New Yorkers?!?!?!?

Here’s my logic. It’s not a lazy thing. I walk almost a mile every morning from the bus station to my office. By the time I step onto the escalator, nine times out of ten, I’m sweating. I want to take those ten seconds of ascension and breathe. I want to put my iPod away, take off my jacket, do some deep stretching, maybe even a few yoga poses—kidding. All sounds good right? Except, here comes Betty Jane (all names have been changed to protect privacy—sorry if your name is actually Betty Jane.) And Betty Jane is on a freaking mission. She’ll have 63 emails answered before I even hit the elevator button. Watch out.

So there I am, sweetly removing garments of clothing and taking in the ambience of the lobby when all of a sudden Betty Jane comes plowing up the left side as if she’s hiking Mount Everest. With vengeance. Like, what did Mount Everest ever do to you Betty?

Anyways. I often pick the escalator with the most people on it because there’s a lesser chance that someone is power walking three steps at a time. There’s nothing worse than being passed and having that person look back at you with a face of disgust because you decided to sit this power walk out. We’re talking a look of repulsion—something fierce.

Thanks for that therapy session. Send me your bill.