my earring

Today I lost one of my most favorite possessions: one of my Tiffany pearl earrings.  I lost it in that way in which I (barring a miracle) will never see it again – not just misplaced it.  Guys, I love these earrings.  If you look at almost any picture of me at any point in the last six or so years, you’ll see me wearing them.  They class up any outfit and they don’t make my sensitive        ears go all weird cause they’re made of cheap metal like most of my other earrings.  They’re pretty much my I’ll-die-in-these earrings.

After I realized I lost it, searched frantically for it and realized it was gone, I started thinking about it.  While I was certainly upset, I didn’t cry about it and I certainly didn’t let it ruin my day.  I’m not pleased that I’ll have to buy another pair but I realized that it’s just stuff.  It wasn’t an irreplaceable heirloom I’d lost.  I definitely have plenty more important things in my life to be upset about that the pearl earring just didn’t seem like something to lose my head over.  It’s just “stuff”.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t be upset if it hadn’t been something else I’d lost – my Tiffany floating diamond necklace, my grandmother’s class ring, my dad’s wedding ring – but those things are irreplaceable to me.

RIP pearl earrings.

i did it: cryotherapy

If you’re like me, you get emails from Groupon pretty much on the regular.  I think the best part of Groupon is that I’m able to try out new stuff without paying too much to do it (knife-less lipo, anyone?).  Every once and a while there will be something in the email that catches my eye.  A few months ago, it happened to be cryotherapy.  I’d seen it before on the internets and Instagram and it’s with a minimal amount of sarcasm that I say to you all, “if it’s good enough for a celeb, it’s good enough for me.”  So I bought a Groupon for a local cryo place for three visits for the price of one.

This is your standard 5 w’s and how.

Who?: Me!

What?: I did cryotherapy!  The when/where was really irrelevant but I went three days in a row.  They recommend keeping your appointments more *together* than not and if you’re going twice in the same day, you have to separate it out by several hours.  Since I was going after work, it was just better for my schedule to go three nights in a row after work.

Why?: I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect but I had done enough research on the benefits to know that cryotherapy is known to ease muscle aches (good for athletes), helps weight loss (speeds up the metabolism), and encourages blood flow (which makes skin look clearer) among other things.  I was definitely curious about the weight loss part and (spoiler alert) I can tell you that in three days of going, it wasn’t one of the benefits I experienced.  However, that could vary from person to person and I wasn’t expecting a miracle in three days.

How?: So the gist of it is is that you strip down to the under-essentials (putting it delicately) or you could wear a swimsuit if you like.  You put on these tall fluffy socks that are provided, some clog looking rubber shoes and some gloves.  The more sensitive extremities are covered.  You step into the tank (with the aid of the little operator – my gal was super nice and chatty.  2 minutes, 40 seconds goes by quickly when you’re talking about Game of Thrones…) and it raises so just your head pops out.  You’re encouraged not to breathe in the magic coldness which is why just your head is out of the tank.  The gal told me a lot of people walk in place and as soon as she turned on the cold, I understood why.

Guys, it.gets.cold.  Like -110 degrees cold.

The weird part is that you just feel it on the surface of your skin.  I wouldn’t say the experience was *pleasant* but I definitely went back the other two times and would gladly do it again – so it’s not that miserable.  Right after I got out of the tank, I actually started to sweat (which the cryo people said was good).  It was a super weird feeling to have my skin be cold to the touch but sweat at the same time.

Verdict: I would totes do it again.  I don’t know that I experienced the full *benefits* of it but I can say that I noticed I slept much better those three nights and my skin did look clearer after all three treatments.  The place I went to offers “packages” for cryo.  While that’s not something I feel like I need in my life right now, it would be interesting to see if that provides more of the benefits touted.  All in all, I’m super glad I tried it.



Morning is definitely my time.  It’s the time of day I’m most creative and productive; my mind is the most open to receiving ideas and making plans.  My mom has forever gotten up before the sun and had her morning coffee, in the dark, and called it her quiet time.  It’s a chance to think all the thoughts that need thinking, to organize her day, to consider the days and tasks to come.  I love the idea of quiet time but the execution is where I falter.  It’s truly a shame that I love sleep too much to actually take advantage of it before heading in to start my actual job at 7:30 am.

Nevertheless, I start every day feeling like Gwyneth Paltrow.  Why GP?  To me, she is the pinnacle of all the things: mother, entrepreneur, brand, woman.  Some people choose Beyonce – who is also incredibly fierce – GP just aligns more with things I could actually accomplish (my dance moves are outdated and I’m not really the Queen of anything).  In the morning, I feel like there really is nothing I can’t do.  Write a cookbook?  Okay.  Three?  Sure.  Workout for two hours?  Easy.  Organize my home and life?  Done.  Start a successful business and brand?  Pssshhh…I got this.

I’m writing this blog because of the things that happen the rest of the day.  Throughout the reminder of the day I’m met with little obstacles meant to diminish my GP-ness.  These are things as simple as doughnuts in the next cube and as complex as laziness or lack of motivation.  Each obstacle I meet, I make the active decision to let it defeat me or not.  Though, until now, I didn’t really think of it in those terms because I didn’t really think of it at all.  Now it’s all I think about.

I’m going to try to work with the potential and promise I feel in the mornings because it seems a shame to waste it.  Even now, there are sticky notes all over my desk; lists I’ve made in my Moleskine (with sticky notes on those lists); there are blog ideas and lofty dreams being dreamed in my head; there are mental vacations being planned and dinner ideas floating around.  I think that’s how my creative side works: ideas will meander in my brain, waiting to be found and focused on. Waiting to be brought to fruition.  Who knows, maybe I’ll even start waking up earlier to make my lists over some coffee?

a dog story.

Hey guys!  A lot of you who follow me on Insta and FB will likely know some of this story already – but for the rest of you, I was inspired this morning to share some happenings in my little family.

I’ve already mentioned on a couple occasions that I love animals.  I take after my dad in that regard; it’s in my DNA to *always* live in a house where I’m outnumbered by animals.  When I came into the picture, Dave already had two dogs (Jack and Charlie) and then we Brady-Bunched together with my two cats and added one more for good measure (Marty).

In mid-February, sweet Charlie was diagnosed with lymphoma.  The diagnosis to decline was too rapid.  His little lymph nodes were huge and he went from being the Charlie we knew to being completely disinterested in food or firetrucks – two things that previously excited him.  We did everything we could to adjust and prepare for his struggle ahead.  There were quite a few good days we were lucky enough to share with our friend, but unfortunately the disease was more accelerated than we anticipated and we lost him early last month.  It was so much harder than I’d anticipated and anyone who has lost a furry family member knows what I mean.  We had less than ZERO plans to add to the pack since the loss hit us so hard.

Like all good things in life, what happened next was not planned.

A good friend of Dave’s is affiliated with/works for an animal shelter in Elgin, IL.  He had posted on FB about some dogs they went to retrieve from a shelter in Oklahoma.  One thing led to another and we got talking about one of the dogs.  She had such a heartbreaking story but a strong spirit and a very hopeful future since she’d been rescued.  Once we heard her story, there was no way she couldn’t be ours.  In her very short 9 months on this Earth, she’d been through the unspeakable.  Despite that, she still had a lot of love and sweetness in her heart – a testament to the resilience of dogs.  We realized we were able and ready to give her the life and love she deserves.  She joined our family last week.


First time on Iowa soil

With Jack and Marty we have something that works well.  They get along with one another and the cats, we are able to leave them alone during the day without incident, they are trustworthy in the yard – so naturally I fretted about whether or not new dog would fit in with our dynamic.  I realized that I worried the same way when we got Marty and that all worked out well.  It just takes time, training, consistency and patience.

She’s fit in so well already that I can’t imagine not having her around.  The boys are still adjusting, as are the cats.  She’s so good-natured that she approaches them playfully with no aggression whatsoever.  I truly believe that rescues make the best dogs.  As we’ve heard more than once about her, she truly is the definition of a rescue and I’m so glad she’s a member of our family.


She’s soooo good in the car.


That bed makes her look small but she’s actually the size of a mini-horse.


thoughts on caucusing, etc.

Guys.  A long, long time ago, in high school Civics class we learned about voting.  Mr. Marozzi could not have been more clear that it was important as an 18 year old to go to the polls and cast your vote.  It was effectively step number one to becoming an adult and claiming my place in the world.  It was with passion that I happily declared my chosen candidate to anyone with ears.  That first year, I went to my polling location not knowing much beyond what my parents had told me and proudly made it official.

I’m not sure I’ve voted since then.  Somehow, for me, politics became something I didn’t want to shout about from the rooftops.  Over the years, it had morphed into something that I identified with being a free American to something that I should keep secret and be ashamed about.  People – strangers even – are apt to point fingers that if you voted for so-and-so you’re part of the country’s problem.  No choice ever seemed good enough when the truth of the matter is, aren’t we all just choosing the best that we can?

Things began to change this year for me when I *finally* took the last step toward Iowa residency by actually getting an Iowa driver’s license (I held onto that Ohio license as long as I possibly could – as a sort of bastion of my former Ohio-ness preferring to live in that fluid visitor status.  I took pride pointing out my dates of birth every time I was carded because the cashier didn’t know how to read my pretty pink foreign license, and I relished in the “Oh, you’re from Ohio?” question.  Now I’m just another Iowan. Blending in.)  When I was filling out my licensing paperwork, I was asked if I wanted to be registered to vote.  Despite the drawback of jury duty, it was something I realized I wanted to do.  It is more than simply my civic duty, casting my vote in this election is something I want to be part of.

Before moving to Iowa, I don’t really know if I knew what the caucus was.  Dave told me I would see what it was all about in 2016 – how media from all over the United States converge on our tiny little city in our flyover state.  And now here we are, in 2016, and I am EMBRACING this caucus business.  He wasn’t kidding.  The Today show was broadcasting live from West End Salvage this morning; Tom Brokaw was at Scenic Route this week (the very location I’m blogging from today); there are candidates and staffers all over this city; there are motorcades and blocked off roads and people outside hotels holding up signs for their candidate.  This is nothing short of inspiring.  All these young people with hope for change in our country, paying attention to our tax dollars and healthcare and government spending and military budgets and treatment for Vets.  It’s suddenly become the thing to do – to vote.  And here in Des Moines, in the lovely state of Iowa, it’s all around me.

The decision of who to caucus for feels overwhelming.  Like it’s the most important decision I have made in a while.  It’s not even a real vote yet, Ryan.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m a woman, or I’m a tax-payer, or an American citizen but I’m taking this quite seriously.  I implore you, dear reader, to go and cast your vote when it’s time.  It’s one of the most important things we can do.  Yes, the outcome isn’t always what we imagined it to be but it’s worth it to go declare your name and declare your decision on who will effectively have the most influence over our lives for the next four years (if not more).


I like to take the beginning of January to compile my list of New Years Resolutions. I was just telling a friend this week that I like to ruminate on the feeling of possibility and subsequently see what shakes loose as a priority. 

I know people have a lot of feelings about the resolutions which inevitably accompany a new year. I can see the argument for both sides and I am firmly in camp ‘it’s an individual preference.’ Personally, I love resolutions. Not because I’m especially successful with them, but more because I enjoy making lists and being introspective. The way that I look at resolutions is more as a theme for the upcoming year; who do I want to be in the year to come? 

Today I reread my 2015 resolutions. While I was about 50% “successful” it was nice to reflect on the priorities I had at the beginning of 2015. Some themes are the same from year to year (weight loss/healthy living) while some really show my focus in that moment (make purchases with intent/learn how to use my DSLR). 

I’ll share some of the resolutions I have this year here and whether you have resolutions of your own or even if you simply resolve to be your best in 2016, I’ll say I hope we’re all successful in the days, weeks, and months to come. 


Back when it was still summer outside, Dave and I took a trip to the farmer’s market (as we often do). That particular day, amongst the veggie vendors and bread bakers, there was a man doing tricks for the crowd. He was juggling and sword swallowing in time to some rather cliché sounding French music. He was there, on a sweltering hot day, in his tattered black pants, tank top, tiny leather shoes and hair slicked back in a little pony, performing for passers-by. He drew quite the crowd. Watching him juggle was initially what stopped me but it wasn’t his act that transfixed me – it was the look on his face as he was performing. It was nothing short of pure, unfiltered joy in what he was doing. For that reason, we stood there watching him for fifteen minutes. I could have watched him all day.

Since then, I haven’t been able to shake the idea of that sort of raw, pure joy. Even now, I can’t recall a time in recent memory when I’ve experienced such visible joy – inwardly or outwardly. It seems like everything from my yoga practice to the books I’m reading lately have reflected this attitude. This week in one of my yoga classes, we dedicated our practice to gratefulness. The instructor read a quote that was something along the lines of “Gratefulness is seeing what’s there instead of noticing what’s not.” Through that, I’ve finally been able to shake loose a bit of a working idea; something to bring to you to talk about.

I want to talk about delight.

It seems like such a simple word, such a simple idea. For me, it’s puppies or Jeni’s ice cream or watching my niece discover the world. It’s traveling and exploring and feeling inspired and listening to Adele. “Feeling all the feels” is probably a good layman’s definition for the word itself. As I was considering it the last few weeks, I came to a much simpler conclusion. This life is something to find delight in. It’s nothing short of a miracle that we wake up every day, that we get to take part in this Divine plan, that we breathe in oxygen and convert it to the energy that powers our bodies moment to moment. Yet, it’s so easy to take our eyes off that simple miracle and get caught up in the mundane. I get up, go to work, come home, talk about my day, eat dinner, watch some TV then go to sleep to do it all again tomorrow. Surely there’s an opportunity in there to delight in something; to be thankful for one thing; to be grateful for a moment. But I keep missing it.

In all “life manuals” we’re instructed to find the thing that makes our hearts happy and do it. As though it’s the simplest thing in the world. And for some people it probably is. In my own head, it’s this Mt Olympus that seems to keep growing ahead of me that I dare not even start the climb. On CBS Sunday Morning this week they were airing a piece about The Piano Guys. Four dudes who, in their time away from their family, make music. Watching them reminded me of the guy doing tricks here in DSM; there was that same look of pure joy on their faces and it’s because they’re doing something they love. They have figured out what makes their hearts happy. I’m going to resist the urge to solve my own problem here and really just leave it open. I need to consider this idea of delight and take it with me. I invite you all to find it along with me.


I’ve been 33 for a few days now and – as expected – it doesn’t feel a lot different than 32. The thing that does feel different though? My mom & sister came to DSM to spend my birthday with me this year. It’s been a long time since the three of us were actually together on my actual birthday and this year felt pretty special.

They got in on Friday early afternoon and we immediately commenced shopping and eating our way through the city. Some highlights include shopping in the East Village, eating at Tacopocalypse, shopping at Raygun, mom’s homemade scallops and alfredo, the gallon jar of pickled eggs mom & Rach made just for me, birthday dinner at Lurra Cocina, lunch at Exile, WEST.END.SALVAGE and coffee, coffee and more coffee.

Come Monday morning, I wasn’t ready for them to head back. I’m so grateful I’m so close with my family and I’m so grateful that they didn’t think twice about hopping in the car and coming out to be with me on a day that usually includes a bit of tears.

My beautiful mother

My beautiful mother


listen: manchego cheesecake

listen: manchego cheesecake


charcuterie plate with mom's homemade hummus

charcuterie plate with mom’s homemade hummus





anyone want to get me this Herman Miller Eames lounger?

anyone want to get me this Herman Miller Eames lounger? at west end salvage.


... and we walked around with wine

… and we walked around with wine


west end salvage is amazing. I want all the things.

west end salvage is amazing. I want all the things.






birthday shenanigans!

birthday shenanigans!


birthday dinner!

birthday dinner!



gorgeous carrots that became an accompaniment to Sunday roast

gorgeous carrots that became an accompaniment to Sunday roast


directive : look perplexed

directive : look perplexed


mom & me exploring the farmer's market

mom & me exploring the farmer’s market




it’s complicated

In all the relationships I’ve had in my life, there have been a few I’d classify as “complicated” at some point or another.  The one relationship in my life that stands out as being the.most.complicated is my relationship with running.  You guys remember this post.  It’s always been a give and take, a start and a stop, a renewed dedication.  It’s always been the one thing I could go back to and even though I always had to start over (ugh), it was the one thing I always knew I could do.

So this spring I started training to run the DSM Half with my sister.  I was a little behind the training schedule and hadn’t been running as consistently as I should have… till about three weeks ago.  But even when I started getting serious about training, things weren’t gel-ing for me.  My shoes weren’t great, I had no energy, running 1 mile was hard (let alone 4).  I did some tweaking last week just in time to run 6 miles on Sunday.  Which I did – kicking and screaming and in the time that it takes most people to complete a half marathon.  But I did it, and it was over, and I felt awesome after.

Till yesterday.  I had pain in my right foot that wasn’t there previously.  Of all the ailments that have ever plagued me in my running life, foot pain was never one of them so this was different.  I went out this morning (after FINALLY finding an awesome trail around the corner from home) even though my foot hurt.  I walked to warm up and started out with an easy pace.  I even have a mantra from my sister that I remind myself of when I’m just getting warmed up: “it’s my pace” in my head over and over.  Pain interrupted my mantra.  I didn’t even make it a full mile before I turned around and headed back to the car.

Flash forward four hours.  After meeting with the sports medicine doctor at the walk-in clinic… I have a stress fracture.  Which means my half-marathon dreams are over since I have to wear this stupid boot for four weeks.

Here’s the real rub for me: I want to be in control over when I do and don’t run.  I went on a serious hiatus after I moved to Iowa – we’re talking two years – but that was my choice.  I don’t like to NOT have the option to run for any other reason than I choose not to.  I drove home trying to get used to the idea that I wouldn’t be running a half, I wouldn’t even be allowed to run; I’d have to start all over again in four weeks with one dumpy mile.  In short, running never looked so good till she’s gone.

This boot is already annoying and I have to take it on and off every time I drive.  This is going to be a long and disappointing four weeks.  It kind of doesn’t feel like I really have to do this.  I’m reminded the moment I take my boot off and walk around and it starts to hurt again.  I guess this is for real.  Maybe next time I won’t take it for granted that I’m healthy enough to run.  I think that has to be the silver lining here… right?

cleveland, my hometown


I’ve found myself inspired to write about my “hometown”: Cleveland.

The truth is that I’m from a town closer to Akron but after going away to college in another well-known Ohio town, “Cleveland” became the learned response to the question “where are you from?”  (Until LeBron, no one really knew of Akron so the chances of anyone knowing a suburb of a suburb of a suburb of Akron was highly unlikely.)  So I’ve been saying “Cleveland” to answer “where are you from?” for ages even though my real hometown is about 45 minutes away.

I’m in Ohio this week visiting my family for my usual summer trip and it seems like every time I’m here, I appreciate it just a bit more.  When I lived here prior to making Iowa my home, I kept my radius a bit tight.  I didn’t venture far from the fanciness of Beachwood where all the shopping is, University Heights where the Whole Foods is, and the east side where my sister lived.  As it turns out, Cleveland is really cool when you know where to go and I wasn’t going to the right places.  It took moving away and stalking the city from afar to really figure out what made Cleveland tick.

I’m continually amazed at how much this city has changed.  Even in the three short years since I’ve been gone.  There’s such a sense of community and the local movement has really taken root here.  It’s exhibited by the restaurants all along W 25th St that pride themselves on dishes made from locally sourced ingredients.  And with the West Side Market around the corner, how could they not feel inspired?  The food scene here could rival almost any big city.

(A few highlights: The Greenhouse Tavern, Townhall, Bier Market, Bar Cento, L’Albatros, The Black Pig and I’m dying to try The Butcher and the Brewer.)

Beyond the food, though, this city is a crafter’s dream.  It’s like an Etsy beyond the internets with vendors lining some of the coolest streets for things like Hingetown, and Cleveland Flea.  This city has really become an artist’s community and really celebrates their creatives.

The city stretches far and wide – you have your outskirts communities like Rocky River and Avon and Westlake – and there are so many more people, places and things beyond just my scope.  I’ve written about CLE in the past; sometimes in good and not-so-good context and I’m happy to embrace this place I call home.

There are still things that make CLE less-than-ideal (the crime rate, lack of an organized public transit system, spaced out neighborhoods, lack of walkability between aforementioned spaced-out-neighborhoods) but I do believe I could kill it (socially speaking) in this city after having been forced to spread my wings and learn a different city.  I’d be more active in the community, more likely to get involved and celebrate all that’s going on here (versus lamenting what’s not).  I’m someone who is somewhat of a city snob but I’m real and I’m from CLE.  Having very little “hometown” loyalty, I am happy to say that this city is something to celebrate and there’s a lot of good coming from CLE right now.