The Lost TwentyEleven

TwentyEleven.

Not that it was lost, just hard to be lost in the thoughts of mint green in New York. I spent most of the rest of TwentyEleven on the road. Seattle, Chicago, Portland, Chattanooga, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Houston, Dallas, Waikiki Beach, Anaheim, San Diego, Sacramento, Santa Cruz, San Francisco, Oakland, Phoenix, Washington D.C., Indianapolis, Charlotte, Los Angeles, Appleton, Milwaukee, and Wausau. But not to worry, whether I was here or not, life moved forward.

Thanks to a zany snowstorm, I went urban snowboarding:

Brett knitted his first scarf:

We went to the NYPD Museum:

After moving in early summer, I realized I'm within walking distance of the best view of lower Manhattan:

 

And unicorns:

For my birthday, Brett got me a new set of wheels:

 

During the threat of Hurricane Irene, I volunteered with CERT to help set-up a shelter:

 

And we cleared our deck of the all the plants:
 

Packed up our Go Bags and some emergency supplies on bikes and headed to higher ground:

Even Ody (on the back of the bike):

Who enjoyed playing board games until the storm passed:

We went camping in the Santa Cruz mountains with Brett's brother's family. I absolutely love this picture of everyone:

I met up with Brett in New Orleans and had a fancy dinner date:

We continued our fanciness and attended a ball:

Bruce the (mini) spruce joined our plant family and was the perfect Christmas tree:

TwentyEleven came to a end almost as quickly as it began. Not to worry, 2012 is moving right along.

Footsteps

I sometimes forget how magical the city can feel. The moments when it exists solely for one person. Or even just two. Or possibly three. I love when the city is blanketed in snow. Perhaps it's the Californian in me that still gets excited when I see the snow (even piled up all dirty on the side of the sidewalk). There is something about the way the snow covers the city in a pure and wonderful state, and it really does seem magical. Whenever I have a moment with the city, I'm always taken to the scene in Guys and Dolls when Sky Masterson and Sarah Brown return from Havana and they are walking through Times Square sharing this exchange:

"It's dawn any minute."

"What makes the light so strange and white?"

"Because only in Times Square does the dawn gets turned on by an electrician."

"Listen."

"What?"

"Footsteps. Now is the time you can hear footsteps on Broadway."


In my magical moments, I always hear footsteps.