If moving to Maine has taught me anything, it’s this: friends are the family that you choose. As much as I miss my family (I’m lucky enough to see them every few months) the friends that I’ve made up in Maine have really become like a second family to me. This isn’t to say that making friends has been the easiest thing, something about trying to make friends as adults has this weird almost dating quality to it that making friends in college or high school didn’t really have.
I don’t know about you, but it feels like winter is never going to end. Maybe it’s the snow storm we were slapped with last night, or the fact that we’ve already gotten what feels like a taste of spring with 40-50 degree days, but I know I’m ready to wear sandals and not have to run out to my car in the mornings to start it up before work.
Having a yarn stash is a funny thing. It’s this weird form of hoarding that I don’t realize is happening until I’m trying to consolidate the yarn in my life and find ball after ball of well-intentioned yarn that had a purpose at some point. Not to mention the gifted yarn that I’ve been given over the years somehow means I’ve got upwards of forty balls of yarn scattered throughout the apartment.
It’s January! Which means football playoffs! Which means as a Giants fan you’re usually going to end up somewhat disappointed or pleasantly surprised (I’m pretty sure there’s no middle ground). Especially as a Giants fan living up in Maine I tend to keep my mouth shut just in case. There’s one thing about football season that I’ve always loved regardless of how old I was: my dad’s chili.
During the winter break of my freshman year in college I was (f)unemployed, which, to an eighteen year old who just had their first real taste of college classes, was a welcome change. I spent most of my days sitting around my parent’s house sleeping until noon and staying up until 4 am. I swore it was because for some weird reason I just couldn’t get to bed any earlier, but I swore it wasn’t because I was sleeping until noon every day or anything. Eventually the novelty of doing nothing wore off and I started trying to find something to keep myself occupied.
Sometimes, I’m really great at being an adult. I pay my bills on time, I eat fruits and vegetables, my apartment is clean, and I do my dishes the day that they get dirty. But, then there are the other times. The days when you make a batch of four cookies for dessert and your fiancee doesn’t eat his so you excitedly plot to eat his two cookies for breakfast all while promising yourself it’s an adult decision. The next morning when you walk into the kitchen and see the empty countertop devoid of leftover cookies and throw a full on hissyfit like the adult (read:five year old) that you are.
Growing up in New York good bagels are a thing. Everyone will sit around and argue over which store has the best bagels and why your place is definitely not the best place to get a bagel from. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had that argument at least ten times.
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