Week 13 in New York: Flora, Fleeting

When I first visited Westchester, spring was just around the corner. I could sense that something magical was going to happen in just a few short weeks. That was March 1st of last year. By my second trip down in mid-March, it was clear that my instant love-affair with this place was not unfounded.

In those short weeks that I had been away, spring had erupted with full force. The amazing blossoming trees, paired with the beautiful tudor and brick homes, the narrow parkways, the babbling brooks at every turn, the worn but absolutely stunning bridges, the 'horse crossing' signs, the forests of bramble surrounding all the old mansions and quaint towns - it was like I had driven into a whimsical fairy tale world - minus the snotty rich people and their SVUs.

Although I'm from upstate and the spring there is as beautiful as any other, it was the amazing flora combined with the old world architecture that really drew me in. A year later I've settled into knowing that Westchester is just like every other new place, that it has its ugliness and its loveliness like everywhere else. The winter was dull and brown and lasted for what seemed like forever - just like everywhere else. Winter always seems interminable while the other seasons just seem to pass by in the blink of an eye.

While waiting for the train the other morning I noticed that over night the magnolias had start to awaken and bloom. It won't be long before that eruption of whimsy takes over again, if only for a brief moment before the summer rolls in. Although we may not have much in the way of sakura trees like in Seattle - the blooming trees here send the same message - appreciate that fleeting beauty, the ephemeral nature of life - keep it with you always and live each day as if it won't be there again tomorrow.

Cheers,

Breezer M.

Week 12 in New York: Crafting for Sanity

Although I'm not particularly proficient in any one craft, I have dabbled in many. When I was really young, I made killer boondoggles, floss friendship bracelets, and a fetching line of tunics and sac dresses for Barbie & friends.

Once I got into high school I got into intricate hemp designs, throwing clay, and real-life sized versions of those same sac-like designs once sported by my doll collection.

I never really picked a craft and stuck with it. I either got bored, realized that I'd have to work to hard, or just plain forgot about it. The knitting needles and 100 squares that I planned to stitch together for a blanket that are sitting in a closet somewhere since the 8th grade are a perfect testament to my flightiness. While I've consistently loved snapping photos and through the years and have gotten better equipment, even now after all the time I could have been spending on learning how to take better shots, I'm still only mediocre. I am not a photographer - I'm a photography hobbiest.

When I moved to California, I bought a sewing machine. It was very expensive and I've used it approximately 4 times in 4 years. I also got into a wealth of other crafts while I was there - including paper arts inspired by a dear friend's dear friend, and the craving to make jewelry from that same dear friend's other dear friend. While I was there though - I was a lazy crafter. I had all the time in the world but I had no motivation to actually create much of anything. However, it at least whetted my appetite for the future.

When I moved back east and then down to Westchester, I realized very quickly that getting my feet on the ground here was going to be tough for me. I'm not a social butterfly and coming to a new place not knowing but one soul was very lonely. Upon the discovery a craft store across the street from my job, I figured it was the perfect time to take on something new.

The excitement from buying my first set of jewelry making supplies was tantamount to elation. My first "creations" looked like absolute crap. A year later, they don't look quite as nascent as they did then, but I'm still learning. The beautiful thing of it all is that a year later, I'm actually still producing. In the history of my life, I've never stuck to anything for as long as I've stuck to this craft. As my collection of beads and findings and charms grows, so too does my collection of experiments, rejects, and the occasional winning pieces. I've sold a few, given away many, and even had a few commissions. I think that without this pass-time to get lost in, I'd've been lost here a long time ago. I'm happy to have found something that keeps me this content, sane, and occupied.

Maybe by next year I'll actually have enough of an inventory to keep my etsy store stocked.

Cheers,

Breezer M.

Week 11 in New York: Movin' to /məˈmɑrənɛk/

Since high school graduation, I have moved sixteen times. It has been a never ending ebb and flow of comfort and discomfort. Stability and in-.

Temporary, temporary, temporary.

I've moved in and out of so many circumstances and situations, that I can barely find one suiting enough to call home. It seems that true home is where I always end up in between all of my life's changes - my parents home, my childhood home - the only constant I've had as my '10 Year Reunion' creeps closer and closer as this year matures.

I've moved across town, across the state, across the country. In good weather and foul. More often than not, my father puts down whatever he's doing to come and pack me up and join me on the journey to my next destination.

My state of flux has become synonymous with one of vexation. As I get older, the more I move, the less whole I feel. I not only leave behind material things I can afford to live without - I also leave behind pieces of me, scraps of memories, and unrealized futures. Every time I move, I launch myself down a different path - the vexation being that I have yet to find that move that keeps me from moving.

That said, I'm optimistic about this one. After living in Westchester for less than a year and this making my 3rd move, I have come to a point where I'm ready to put down some roots. I have my friends, my boyfriend, my job, yoga, and my amazing new apartment. Things may not be perfect just yet, and they are bound to change - but come hell or high water, I'm not moving again until there's a zombie invasion or an outbreak of the plague.

Thank you to my wonderful parents for coming all the way from Syracuse to help me with the transition, and thank you to my boyfriend who took time out of his incredibly hectic schedule to be there by my side through the whole thing.

Cheers,

Breezer M.

Week 10 in Seattle: Sakura

Well what can I say? SPRING IS HERE! I don't care if it's still only in the upper 40's or low 50's. For me, Spring is finally here when the Cherry Blossoms are out. This was the first discovery of them this year. Swoon. Unfortunately for this tree, a car had hit it and it cracked at the bottom so it will be dead soon. Over at the University of Washington campus it's Sakura heaven. That campus is amazingly covered in them. I even have some in my yard at home. I'm sure you all will see more of them in the weeks to come! Over in New York I know there was another snow storm. I don't miss it there at all (except for my friends/family). I'm much happier with Sakura in my life in March. :D

Cheers,
Jill Rachel

Week 10 in New York: Cutie Acclimatization

Fruit and I have had an unusually tumultuous love affair. I've never been one of those kids to shun the more healthy fare of fruits and vegetables - never one to balk at the USDA's suggested daily serving. One of my earliest memories is of watching Willow (daily for years) and every time the Madmartigan scene came on with him dressed as a lady and the apples were falling all over - I'd call out to my mother "Mom!! I need an apple! No skin!" and like magic it would appear. The mere sight of fruit make me crave fruit. There are worse things I would think that a child could demand of their parents.

Fast forward to a decade later when the tumult begins. I'm 15, out on the prowl for the perfect dress for my boyfriend's junior prom. Though I took the whole day off from school that day - it wasn't the main intention, but the reward. First, I had to visit the allergist. After an hour or so of being poked with tiny needles, and an arm full of what looked like sadism personified, I was told that they had no idea why I had developed an allergy to all fresh fruits and vegetables. The hypothesis was that the environment they were grown in, was to blame. All those pesky pollens coming home to rest atop those delectable goods of the earth. So with nought in the way of good news, and no reasonable solution, I was told to suck it up, cook everything, or eat nothing at all.

The rest of my high school days and on into college I was on a strict don't eat or die diet. Although I pushed the boundaries of this diet quite a bit, I knew that pushing too far would leave me gasping for air and wondering if that one baby carrot or that one piece of melon had really been worth it in the end...which hopefully, would not REALLY be the end. Years later, when I moved to California, everything started to change. It seemed like gone were the days of sneaking grapes and blueberries. The change in environment was a change in my system and after a year of acclimation, I was able to eat full blown proportions of almost any healthy yum-yums that my heart desired.

This bag of Cuties (or "clementines") is what I've been able to hold on to from those California days. I spent just two years in Los Angeles, and after a year of being back on the East coast, my system again is starting to reacclimatize. I cling to my strong system of the West, but unfortunately some of those allergies are starting to creep up again. Bananas were the first thing to go. But until these vibrant little cuties threaten to destroy me, I'll go on enjoying 2 or 3 a day, just in case there's no tomorrow.

Cheers,

Breezer M.

Week 9 in Seattle: Nothing but music

Some weeks I think my job is the music scene, and not in Neurosurgery. This was one of those weeks. I'm going to keep this short and sweet since I really have no words in me today. This week I got to photograph Curious Mystery, David Grey, and Morcheeba (seen here). Having 2 large shows plus an in-studio session really take up a lot of time in my life. On top of working 40+ hour weeks, I subject myself to head straight to dinner after work followed by 5 hours in a venue with sweaty smelly people. The energy is good, the music is great, but I'm just tired. If this was all I did for a job it would be great. Doing it on top of a stressful job just makes my life more stressful. I know I will never be a photographer full time, but I can dream!

Cheers,
Jill Rachel

Week 9 in New York: Subculture in the Suburbs

Late nights in Westchester are pretty uneventful - dare I say - boring. For those of us with schedules even remotely on the cusp of being nocturnal, it's damn near impossible to find anything to do after 10:00 pm, let alone a place to eat a good meal. With NYC only 20 minutes drive, you'd think that this sleepy suburb would take a page from their book and have some semblance of a night life - but, you'd be wrong.

Out of this though, has evolved an interesting subcultural - the diner life. Where I'm from in Upstate New York, there's one diner. It's where everyone ends up, every weekend night, after a night of drinking and closing down the local bars.

In Westchester though, every town has a diner, and sometimes two. You can take a drive down Boston Post Rd and see not one or two - but three - in a 5 mile radius. It's a diner-lover's paradise. Here is where not just drunk people stumbling around and hoping to sober up before they drive home come, but where you'll find every different walk of Westchesterian life. The older married couple, out for a late night steak, the college kids gossiping about the latest scandal, the crazy woman who can't believe the waiter would have the nerve to sit her in the back room. Then, you'll find me, the late night yogi. Usually accompanied by Carlo and Carolyn, or any combination of the three, ravenous after yoga or school and too tired to think about cooking.

On this particular night - a Friday night, mind you - after eating a nice dinner out with five of our friends in honor of Carlo's birthday - at the ripe hour of 10 pm we were kicked out of the restaurant and had to find somewhere to sit down, have coffee and dessert, and continue our little celebration. Where could we possibly go? Well, that's right, the local diner.

Just a mile away - because diners are everywhere you want to be - we settled into a two hour encore conversation complete with bottomless coffees, delicious cheesecake, and real vanilla bean milkshakes.

At midnight, when Carlo's birthday actually struck - we all wished him well, went our respective ways, and said what I'd like to think, were our silent little praises for the diner capital of the world - Westchester County.

Cheers,

Breezer M.