Rest-ed in Peace

This weekend I had to say a very difficult goodbye.  Dixie, our 14 year old Golden Retriever, started having seizures Friday night and by Easter morning it was clear she would not ever return to her bubbly self.  Despite her age, she always acted like a puppy, so to see her unable to even lift her head when we put a piece of chicken to her nose was devastating.  Thankfully, and perhaps by some cosmic miracle, all members of our family were home for the holiday and able to be in the room with our girl when she took her last doggy breath.

In a way, I believe her passing on Easter was symbolic.  We always said she was a saint--the back door left wide open and she'd sit at the top of the stairs, watching the chipmunks patiently and protecting her family from intruders, never once wandering off or harming a soul.  She'd rest her nose lovingly in your lap after a long day to let you know someone was there when you felt alone in the world.  She'd gently nudge your elbow for a pat because there was never enough love to go around.

I love you my poopy pup, my baby girl.  May your heaven be filled with filet mignon, long walks, and plenty of sloppy love.

Doom-ed.

I am a hopeless romantic.

Why all romantics are labeled “hopeless?” Would pragmatists then be labeled "hopeful?" Is it really the truth that if one is romantic at heart, he is destined for a dreary future—-a life of gray and predictable dullness? That's seems a bit backwards.  Wouldn't you expect that the romantics are the one's who have hope--hope that one day the world (or at least their world) will be filled with love?  And not just love, romance, love twisted and folded into poetry and Valentine's cards and rendez-vous in dark cafe corners.

Is it hopeless to believe that flowers were meant to be given? That the lips' second and sweetest function is to be kissed? That chocolate should always come in little red, heart-shaped boxes?

Is it hopeless to love nothing better than to catch him looking at you across the room? To want to exclaim to the world that you've finally found what everyone else spends their life looking for?

Well, if it is hopeless, then I'm happy to be doomed.

pic: weheartit

Love, Translat-ed.

I believe that the French have a way with words.  And it is almost always lost in translation.  One of my favorite nuances is the way the French talk about family.

Instead of saying you're going to spend time with your family this weekend, the French say 'you're going to spend time in family.'  As if being with your family is an entirely different state of being.  Ironically, it is often the truth.  When a family gathers around the table for a meal, the energy is unlike any other, as if the bonds that nature made reconnect instantly.

I know the holiday season can be stressful, and we don't always remember to express our love for those around us, but please take a moment this weekend to be en famille.  Ils vous aiment.

pic:weheartit

Wish-ed List.

During this season of hope, of giving, of love, of spirit, I've decided to make a wish list of just a few stocking stuffers for my readers.  May you all find the following somewhere in your life:

1.  toothache love, so sweet it hurts
2.  red balloon laughs, light and bright
3.  a clock that ticks in reverse, time tucked into all the tiny corners of your pockets
4.  simplicity, complication, control, excess
5.  a reflection that reveals truth, ciao bella
6.  a spot on the naughty list
7.  and chocolate. always, chocolate.

pic: weheartit

Ston-ed to Death.

With the recent wave of fall weather wafting through the city, I can't help but look forward to the cooler months. Most people mourn the end of summer, but I celebrate the arrival of beautiful scarves, hot cocoa overflowing with mini-marshmallows, and the excuse to cuddle a cutie anywhere, anytime. Sure, life is not always so sweet, but a girl can hope.

Upon the arrival of late fall/early winter, I pop in my favorite movie and hit repeat. Please do not judge me for my taste in movies--I do not have a background in film, nor do I consider myself of the artsy breed by any means, so I am perfectly content with my lesser known chick flick choice, The Family Stone. I'm not quite sure what makes me love the film so much, but I will try to explain. For a more eloquent review of The Family Stone, visit this lovely LATimes review.

The movie is a story about a real family who, like all families, loves and irritates each other at the same time. The hustle and bustle of the full house always has me longing to have a litter of my own because along with the added dramas comes added love. I grew up in a small nuclear family and though I have many aunts, uncles, cousins, etc., we lived a long drive apart at best. So, I have come to live vicariously through the Stones.

Diane Keaton, who plays the matriarch, is quite possibly my favorite actress of all time for her classic look, fantastic performance, and striking resemblance to my own mother. Throughout the film, she calls it like it is, and has no qualms about making outsiders earn her love, trust, and attention. It is also important to note that her outfits are absolutely divine--to me, she is the ultimate white shirt and red lipstick lady.

And they could not have found a more beautiful home for the set! The wrap-around porch, circular drive, and snowy landscape are straight out of a dream. And the perfectly lived-in decor make me want to turn my apartment into a wallpapered hovel! The coffee pot is always on, there's always a light on in the window and voices can always be heard around the dinner table. It's home.

In the coming months, as I gear up for the holidays, I will probably watch the movie a minimum of 10 times because it just makes me feel warm and cozy inside. We all have our rituals, whether it's making the Morton family strata every Christmas morning, hanging the same ornament first every year, or watching TFS on the couch the evening of the season's first snow. These rituals remind us that no matter how many times we do something, that same good feeling still remains as strong as the last time. So, if I had my choice, I'd be Ston-ed to death.