south haven

In September, we ventured to South Haven, MI, a quaint beach town on the edge of Lake Michigan, to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary. It's an easy four-hour drive north from Indy.

Too chilly for swimming but perfect for lounging at a bed and breakfast, wandering around shops and bookstores, whiling away the afternoon in a wine bar, and reflecting on what a year it has been.

view from our room

lighthouse on lake michigan

adorable B&B

sunset and storms over the lake

resolutions schmesolutions

Folks, it's a frosty -1 degrees with the wind chill. Or is it -1 degree (singular), since there aren't multiple degrees to be found? Regardless, it's freaking cold. And this is our street right now, covered in a fine layer of white.

The internet here at our house has been touch-and-go since mid December, hence why my 12 Days of Christmas series ended almost before it began. Oh well. It's fixed now, the new year is here, and we're moving on.

This is the part where I announce a resolution to write more in 2012. Or is it?

In 2008, I wrote 55 posts. In 2011, only 24. In my own defense, I also lived by myself back then. I probably spent more time in front of my computer, whereas now I spend more time curled up in front of the TV with Ryan. But can you blame me? It's cold, and he's warm (and cute).

Anyway. I also blog less these days because I think too hard about trying to write something great instead of just writing... whatever. Random shit. Like this—check out this necklace I bought last weekend. I thought it was super cute and then halfway through the day I realized I kind of looked like Mr. T. 

Yep. There it is. 2012. Boom.

november so soon?

Earlier today I about had a meltdown in the middle of Pottery Barn when I found out half the things we'd put on our wedding registry were no longer available, including the plates that we already own half a set of.

I could feel myself turning red and I was swearing like a sailor, barely under my breath. Ryan had every reason to walk away and let me throw a temper tantrum on my own. But he didn't. He stayed, and he let me vent, and he talked me out of making several bad decisions like:

• Buying other plates I didn't like just to get it over with, or
• Knocking over all the displays in the store

After my "Italian temper" (his words) fizzled out, we detoured to Cheesecake Factory for snacks and a beer, so that the trip wouldn't be a complete bust.

Did I overreact? Yes. Do I feel a bit silly about it now? Yes. Am I lucky to have a guy that understands me better than I understand myself sometimes? Truly.
So instead of writing an angry email to Pottery Barn, I decided to make a list of everything that made me smile this weekend. Cheers to changing leaves — and attitudes.

Friday night downtown dinner date
chilly but sunny Fall weather
sleeping in
Dunkin Donuts
a full refrigerator
take-out pizza
college football
cuddling on the couch
good red wine
Georgia winning
South Carolina losing
a clean house
and a husband who helps clean it

all's fair in love

When we got engaged last August, I had no interest in taking engagement photos. But then, a few weeks ago, I changed my mind. The state fair had come to town, and there are few things in life I love more than fairs — the fried dough, the corndogs, the candy apples, the lights, and especially the people-watching.

Thinking back to last summer, I had this vivid memory of being at the fair with Ryan. It was a Friday night, and as we got off the Scrambler (the one ride I insist on riding every year), he spun me around in a pirouette, and we were belly-laughing and too dizzy to walk straight. I wished that I had a photo of that moment to match the snapshot in my mind. And then — Eureka! Why not take engagement photos at the fair?

I contacted a local photographer with the last-minute request; she agreed and offered August 20th as a possible date — which just so happened to be the one-year anniversary of our engagement. The rest, my friends, is history.

P.S. As someone who doesn't like taking center stage, this really pushed me out of my comfort zone. Instead of doing the people-watching, we were the people-being-watched. But I think it was good practice for our wedding day, and I was surprised at how everyone sort of faded into the background when I just focused on Ryan.

counting down

33 more days of being engaged. The past year has been full of planning and plotting, decisions and indecision.

People told me weddings were a lot of work. They weren't lying. We had plenty of stupid arguments about boutonnieres, and the pros and cons of buffet vs. plated dinners.

But when we sat down tonight at dinner to go over our vows, we agreed. No fussing, no fighting. We knew what we wanted and, for once, we both wanted the same thing. It's good to know that when it comes to the big stuff — you know, the whole marriage thing that follows the wedding bit — we're on the same page.

royal wedding vs. the nfl draft

I win the Friday night battle of the remote, and he's out cold in 90 seconds. Apparently the only thing that wears Ryan out more than talking about his own wedding is talking about the royal wedding. Sweet dreams, prince.

dis-is-it

Dis-is-what? Indiana's oldest bar (The Slippery Noodle Inn) and Indiana's oldest tradition (basketball).

According to Wikipedia, the Inn served as a stop on the Underground Railroad during the American Civil War. During prohibition it was called a restaurant, although beer was still being made in the basement, and later it housed a brothel until 1953.













Cool place. Bad food. But at least we had a Groupon. And then we walked over to the Pacers game, where they beat the Knicks 119-117. Made for a good Tuesday night, even if the fog was like pea soup.

lonely little toothbrush

There are certain inanimate objects that I can't help but feel sorry for. Like day-old pastries, forgotten photos in estate sales... and single toothbrushes.

Growing up, I shared a bathroom with my brothers. There were always three toothbrushes sitting by the sink, huddled together, I remember, like a bristled little family.

One time, after spending a weekend at my then-single Aunt Pam's condo, I mailed her a new toothbrush that the dentist had given me. And a note saying I thought her toothbrush needed company. I was 10 or so.

But 16.5 years later, I still don't like the look of a lone toothbrush. Ryan's in Denver, so for now it's just me and the pink Oral-B, blogging and brushing late into the night. How I managed three years of long-distance, I'm still not sure.

skipping september

60 days ago — the last time I bothered to blog — it was August 20. Sunny, high of 95. A regular Friday.

I go to work, eat lunch, drive home, pack a suitcase. Put the suitcase in Ryan's 4Runner and we head north to Chi City, listening to Kanye's Graduation album on repeat (Chi City, Chi City, do you think about me now and then, do you think about me now and then, cuz I'm coming home again.)

"I was thinking we could walk around downtown when we get there and test out the new camera," he says.
"Cool."

There's a superfine mist blowing through Chicago, the kind that keeps vegetables alive at the grocery store. The sky is dusty mahogany and starless. We click our way through the city like true tourists, stopping to take too many pictures and kissing on street corners.

Down Michigan Ave and through Grant Park until we arrive here, at Buckingham Fountain. The skyline is unreal and we soak it in. The park is filled with spectators and loud parade music, and I'm exceedingly upset by a pack of preteen boys who are chasing down a scared little rabbit. We start back toward the hotel.

I'm still worrying about the "poor bunny" and Ryan keeps trying to change the subject. He's recounting minute details of a long walk we took on a rainy night years ago, asking 'remember this?' and 'remember that?' until I blurt out, "You never remember our dates, why do you remember so much about that night?"

"Because that's when I knew I loved you."

Even though I'd asked for details plenty of times, he's never told me this before — the first time he knew he loved me. Why is he telling me now? I'm wondering, and the pieces come together like a Jenga game in reverse. He's carrying a backpack. He's wearing cargo shorts. That's a lot of storage space. He seems nervous. He's never nervous. He's making me nervous.

The sign in front of Millennium Park says 'closed' but we go in anyway. He sets the camera up to take a picture of us on the park bench. He's fiddling with it, and fiddling and fiddling.

"Why don't you just have someone else take our picture?" I ask. People stream past, a few stragglers like us in the park after hours. And then there were two. The park is empty. My heart is pounding. He hits the camera button and walks toward the bench where I'm sitting. Kneels in front of it. And before he can say anything, at that supposed pinnacle of one's romantic life, what do I say?

"You are not doing this right now!"
"Yes, I am." He says. And he says much more, words that I will always remember and rarely share.

We're wrapped up and talking and I'm on the verge of tears, and don't even notice the security guard until he shouts, "The park is CLOSED. Ya gotta get out."

So we relocate. We drink a glass of champagne at an overpriced bar. We stare at my hand and hold each others. We can't stop smiling and our faces ache, in a good way. A very good way.

buona pasqua, y'all

My dad reminds me (every year around this time) that "Buona Pasqua" means "Happy Easter" in Italian, and that "Pasquariello" means "Little Easter."

Although Ryan and I didn't make it home for the holiday, we found little ways to make Easter our own. The day in photos...

[Captions: an Easter "basket" — which was really a mixing bowl; Belgian waffle breakfast; a few chocolate eggs Ryan arranged for my egg-hunt challenge; flowering tree in the front yard; a morning hike in Holliday park; pink tulips in the dining room; our "mini-monster" eggs; tennis lessons from the pro; springtime = open windows; and finally, because every good holiday should end with a good dessert, my chocolate-blackberry pie.]

new christmas traditions

My favorite way to spend a December Friday night...
fire in the fireplace, hot toddies, The Family Stone, curled up with this guy next to the Christmas tree. And a little bit of snow in the morning.