Creeping Beneath the Ranunculus

After moving 10 times in 7 years (I KNOW), sinking my teeth into a real home was something I craved. I found a little apartment I loved and painted the walls and hung up paintings.

After graduating with a degree in magazine journalism when the journalism industry (hell, really every industry) was in such a state of decline, reaching my 4-year anniversary with my company became a huge source of pride. 

I am grateful for these things that give me a routine to fall back to. I just don't want them to become all I am.

A while ago, when I was about 25, I’d always ask a friend of mine how his day was. He is about eight years older than me, and he’d always answer with “Same old, same old.” This irritated me to no end.  I wanted details, no matter how mundane.

And now some days I find myself doing the same thing.

People: “What’s new?”

Me: “You know, same old.” Same job, same apartment, same dog, [mostly] same friends. Sure, I’ve picked up new hobbies here and there, and I’ve visited new places. Our offices moved, and hey, that’s new, right?

I read this passage the other day.

“Adults follow paths. Children explore. Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences.” -- Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at The End of the Lane

More times than not, I let the comfort of routine seep into my bones. When really, my heart cries for adventure. I’m happiest when, like this weekend, I’m hopping aboard a train for a day trip. Or when I’m waking up in a new city. Or biking down a new street. Meeting new people. Trying new food. Learning new things. You get the point.

Sure, I like to go home to my same apartment and same dog and wake up the next day and go to my same job.

May I always remember to cling to some of the adventurous spirit I had as a kid. The one full of hope, imagination and a feeling that the world would catch me. May I never become the adult content to walk the same path over and over again. Let’s creep beneath the rhododendrons. Or maybe the ranunculus, in my case. They’re my favorite, after all.

Welcoming Home

Not just generic poster prints or pillows from Pier One, but tokens that capture the essence of my life and heart. Music that makes people smile. A lit candle with a comforting scent, its single small flame licking the air clean. A kitchen full of freshly picked limes ready to be squeezed into cocktails or zested over bowls of berries and cream. A crusty baguette to be placed on a cheese plate, beckoning to the unexpected but oh-so-welcomed guest or waiting to be made into a quick sandwich.

Friends and Webster on a random Wine Wednesday months ago

And there they are: the defining principles of my home, a thoughtful space meant to absorb me into it, where I can check worries at the door and allow others to do the same. Where people feel comfortable and safe and loved. Especially on the days where the world has gotten to them.

Lately, the world has gotten to me. And not altogether in a bad way. But my floors aren’t clean. (One might blame this partly on the three small kids who recently filled my place with laughter and sand after a day at the beach.) I have extra furniture cluttering the space, waiting to be picked up to be put to use by my little brother. There is a big box of homemade jams, awaiting labeling, sitting on the floor. The point being, my home is not spotless these days.

I could come up with countless excuses as to why I shouldn’t host friends for dinner until I have time to sweep and mop. Instead, I just reminded myself my friends care more about laughing and drinking and eating than my clean floors.

I invited them over for some summertime fare. I didn’t want to heat up the house too much, so I did some salads and sandwiches and finger foods. Simple stuff, because it’s what’s important anyway. And I lit a candle, and played some Spotify, and zested limes over bowls of berries and cream.It was a good night, and by the end, I didn't even remember my floors weren't clean. Although the wine might've helped with that a bit.

Here's what I served:

Rosemary Marcona Almonds, goat cheese, syrah-soaked Toscano, homemade peach lavender jam

Crab salad on Belgian endive

Turkey tea sandwiches with arugula aioli

Creamy avocado salad, a real winner

Limoncello mascarpone cream and berries