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“Mom, I had a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“There were three little squirrels trying to claw their way under the covers.”

“That does sound scary. But don’t worry lady, we all have nightmares. I had one last night too.”

“What happened in yours?”

“Well, we’d just flown back from a family trip and were at home unpacking our bags…when I realized that we’d planned another family trip for that very same day. It was a huge rush to repack everything and get back to the airport. And on top of it all, I had to write a blog post.”

“Um….that was your nightmare?”

Yes, my dear, as you age, nightmares become less about monsters, more about things like perfectionism and overcommitment. But maybe that’s just me.

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Fortunately I don’t have nightmares about the blog too often. And when I do, it’s not about the work that I have to do, but about the standard that I try to maintain. As I look back at earlier blog posts, it’s wonderful to see an evolution. Which, in a sense, is what keeps me going.

I’m my own biggest critic, so when I see improvements – whether it’s within the writing, or the photography – I become excited to do more. To write more, to take more pictures, to develop a style that feels distinctly my own.

I read an article in The New York Times that said that blogs have a higher failure rate than restaurants. Causality seems clear. People get caught up in the metrics – their pageviews, unique visitors, press mentions, and number of social media followers. It can be frustrating when you’re not getting as much exposure as you think you should.

I know this from prior experience. I was spending hours each week throwing myself into this new hobby, which somewhere along the line became a legitimate job – taking pictures wherever I went; writing at odd hours of the night. And I wanted to know that people were reading it. If not, what was the point?

Recently I wrote about perspective. About shifting your view, even by an inch, and suddenly the world looks a whole lot different. Yes, I was talking about Starbucks and grits, but the rules still apply.

Year 2 was about taking this new perspective.

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Recently I complained to Rodney about the lack of office space in our neighborhood. “Office” meaning any place other than my apartment; “Space” meaning anything bigger than a 12” Starbucks pedestal table.

Rodney mentioned that a new bar had just opened on 8th avenue – according to him, a great spot, good food, nice and quiet, wireless access.

This… was innovation on a new dimension. Work at a bar? With craft beer? And duck poutine on the menu? So long Starbucks, there’s a new kid in town.

Working at a bar seems like a practical idea until you’re 50 sips deep into an English IPA and no longer have the clarity to write a grammatically-correct sentence, never mind a sentence that sparkles with creativity and wit.

And you feel guilty for having your light-spewing laptop open in a bar with limited windows, leather banquettes, and acres of dark wood.

Rodney doesn’t feel guilty about that kind of thing. Low on quarters to do laundry in our building, he’ll amble into the neighborhood laundromat to raid the quarter machine. The one with the full-width sign taped to the front stating “FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY”.

Which is why I usually send him out to do my dirty work. Guilt. Plagues. Me.

I feel guilty for the laptop. Guilty for ordering a beer and no food. Guilty that I’ve hired a babysitter to help with afterschool pickup so that I can get some work done, and here I am swilling brewskis. I’m sure that you could psychoanalyze the hell out of this. Show me a Rorschach and I’d see Atlas with the world on his shoulders and a pint in both hands.

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This bar, though a happy place for Rodney to get work done on the occasional weekend, would not be my solution.

I dragged my tipsy self back to Starbucks, back to the pedestal table. I reserved my spot with a scarf and a notebook. No laptop, no valuables, I know the routine. I ordered my coffee. I returned to my seat. I gazed into the wall mirror at someone two tables down who looked remarkably like my Dad. I re-focused, took a sip of my coffee and got back to business. Because long-lost family members or not, Starbucks is where I’m most productive.

What I need to do – rather than find a new place to work – is to re-train myself on all of the positive benefits of working at Starbucks. Accessible bathrooms that aren’t often clean, but sometimes are! Baristas who write my name on my cup so that I’ll always know that it’s mine! And most important, I won’t get drunk when I’m working.

You see? That wasn’t that hard. I just needed to shift my perspective. I needed to walk down the street to greener pastures and find out that hey! They were sort of a muddy green after all.

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“It’s Pi Day!”

“Pi day, what’s that you say?”

“Yes, yes, it’s Pi day. Only 4.13 days away!”

“4.13 days until…”

“3.14 you say?”

“Yes, I say, I say! Pi day is just 4.13 days away!”

Or so might have written Dr. Seuss if he’d been aware of this day…this day, Pi Day.

4.13 days from today.

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I’ve had an intimate relationship this week with Justin and his peanut butter, and it’s not what you think.

If you’re unfamiliar with Justin, you’ve probably run into his products at Whole Foods – or these days, more appropriately – just about anywhere. He’s the creator of uniquely-flavored nut butters (honey peanut butter, vanilla almond butter, etc), the eponymous peanut butter squeeze pack, and those nightmarishly addictive dark chocolate-covered peanut butter cups.

As much as I like Justin and his products, let’s talk about why I’ve got a bone to pick with him.

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For those of you who are familiar with food allergies, it’s prickly business. Label reading becomes part of the daily routine, a necessary evil that keeps food allergic kids safe and free of full-body hives. And herein lies the problem – we expect brands to keep to a certain standard and not throw us for a loop.

A few months ago we got the good news that Lauren’s skin test suggested that she may be able to tolerate almonds. Now I know this may not sound like a big deal, but when you’ve had to avoid all forms of nuts and sesame seeds for your entire life, it’s pure joy to think that you might be able to eat an almond croissant. A granola bar. A candy-colored macaron.

And, maybe a little too selfishly, I was getting tired of using pumpkin seeds. Pumpkin seed pesto…pumpkin seed dressing.…roasted pepitas…..soup garnish….brittle….Buehller….Buehller…..

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Last week I wrote about Foragers Market in Chelsea, which is my go-to grocery store here in Manhattan and they were kind enough to share it on their own blog. Over the past few months, I’ve become friendly with Maggie, who runs their branding/social media and does all of the packaging design. You’ll hear more about Maggie in a few weeks when I unveil a top-secret new blog design. 

Not so top secret anymore. But I do have some great news. The blog is getting a facelift, and one of my key objectives is to remove all of the sidebar advertising. Because nobody should be forced to look at that nonsense when they’re trying to scrutinize a simple cocktail recipe. Correct?

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I’m so thrilled to have a touch of Foragers’ style in the new blog design. Before I met Maggie, who I consider to be a mega-talented illustrator and designer, I carried the packaging from a Foragers Market chocolate bar in my purse for a whole year. I just knew that somehow I wanted to infuse a little bit of hand-drawn illustration into the blog one day.

It was like meeting a celebrity when Maggie and I finally met – as in “YOU were the person who designed my favorite chocolate bar wrapper?” (followed by some mental weeping and bowing)

And next week – starting on March 9 I’ll be hosting Foragers’ Instagram feed for a week, sharing all kinds of products that I buy in the store, and what I make with them. If you’re on Instagram, you should check them out @foragersnyc.

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