three things

1.) I closed a show over the weekend. It was one of those rare occurrences where everyone associated with the production was downright wonderful - the actors, the designers, the crew, even front of house. I grew as a stage manager, was inspired by the director, and learned so much from one of the smartest playwrights, no, people, I've ever met. I looked forward to walking through the plaza and into those huge glass double doors each day, and I'm genuinely sad to see this one go. I don't have any work lined up over the next two months, and while I'll be spending a whole bunch of weekends in vacation transit, I'm pretty worried about finding a daytime survival job.

2.) Even though I was supposed to be working all weekend (see: above), I managed to move heaven and earth to get two days off so J and I could go to a wedding up in the Finger Lakes. It was one of the prettiest places I've been in a while - it reminded me so much of Wisconsin and Upper Michigan that my heart ached for summers past. The day after the wedding, one of the groomsmen rented a giant pontoon boat and we hopped aboard. For almost seven hours we sailed around in near-picture-perfect weather. Sandwiches and domestic light beers flowed freely, and every couple of miles we stopped to take a dip in the lake or just lay out on the bow and work on our tans. I never wanted it to end.

3.) Not that I need another hobby, but I recently took up knitting. It's slow and steady for now, but I'm working my way towards a soft grey cowl. While traveling back to the city from the wedding, I discovered that knitting is perfect for long car trips (when I'm not driving, of course) because it keeps my hands occupied but my brain free to converse with J. I worry, though, that the yarn is going to end up in the back of the closet with all my other half-finished craft projects that I began with the same vigor and enthusiasm as knitting. But maybe the recent threats of another winter-turned-polar-vortex will compel me to keep going on this one.

Blueberry highball

Recently, a friend gifted me a week's share from her CSA - she and her husband were out of town on their scheduled pick-up day, and instead of letting the bounty of fresh fruits and veggies go to waste, it went to me.

And oh, what a bounty it was. I don't personally participate in a CSA, because though I'd love to, I find they provide me with just too much food. There are only two of us in our tiny apartment, and we already have trouble fitting everything into our "European-sized" refrigerator. Week after week of giant bags of fresh produce would simply be overwhelming and unnecessary. BUT that doesn't mean that I don't love receiving the occasional share! This is now the second summer in a row in which a friend has gone out of town and asked me if I wanted her share, and I have to report that it is just the right amount for my life. Especially when the fruits and veggies are as beautiful as they were this week.

This is only a small selection of what I received. There was also a bag of green beans, a head of cabbage, about ten times more swiss chard, and a few zucchini. What will I do with it all? I have no idea. That's a post for a different day. But what did I do immediately after I got home (and after obsessively photographing everything)? Naturally, I made a cocktail.

I'm not gonna lie. I took one look at those blueberries and thought, "time for a drink!" It didn't hurt that I had been having A DAY and that it was almost 6pm on a beautiful Tuesday evening and all I had wanted all week was to relax on my balcony with a drink in hand, but that's besides the point. I'd been meaning to start incorporating muddled fruit into my drinks for some time now, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so.

I made this drink using a ginger ale syrup instead of ginger ale soda. It's a crazy-concentrated flavored syrup that when mixed with seltzer, tastes just like ginger ale but with none of the calories. It's made by these guys in upstate NY, and we pick it up at our weekly flea market (can you say hipster?), and it's addictive. No worries if you don't have the syrup - just omit the seltzer water and use your favorite ginger ale soda instead, adding as much as you like to get your drink's desired strength.

Begin by muddling three blueberries in the bottom of your glass. I didn't actually have the right tool for this (add it to the list), so I used the blunt end of a butter knife, which seemed to work just fine. This recipe uses a 1:1:2 ratio - so pour in 2oz. of your favorite bourbon (we're Maker's Mark people), 2oz. of the ginger syrup, and 4 oz. of seltzer. Add a giant ice cube and garnish with whole blueberries, find your favorite chair, and sit back and rellaaaaxxxxx ;)

Brighton Beach memoirs

Like most people, I spend most of my days in a little bubble of habit and transit. I shop at the same grocery store, meet friends at the same bagel place, take the same train to the same theater, take the same long walk through the same park, lather, rinse, repeat. And for the most part, I like that I have a "usual" - it's comfortable, it's consistent, and it allows me to get to places efficiently and on time ('cause apparently I'm also 85 years old).

But last week, I'd had enough of the usual. I needed something new, something different. Something with blue skies, white sands, and possibly some sea breezes running through my hair. So I grabbed some iced coffee, took advantage of my unlimited metro card, and made the long (long) trek to the end of the Q-train.

When I got off the train at Brighton Beach, it was like I was Dorothy entering Oz - but instead of munchkins and talking lions, I was faced with fruit stands and clothing stores, the roar of trains rushing overheard, and little old Russian women haggling over the fresh fish and vegetables that would end up on their dinner tables later that very evening. I immediately headed into the nearest grocery store to find the shelves lined with brightly colored packages and aisles full of bins of individually wrapped candies, all with beautiful and unfamiliar Cyrillic lettering. I turned back into the street and down to the next little grocery, where a woman was standing in the window selling pastries. I pointed to one, learned that it was called a Khachapuri (essentially a dough with cheese), and handed over $1.25. When I finished that, I ducked into one final grocery store, where I gave fully into impulse and bought a jar of Russian spices and the most beautiful glass bottle labeled "Tkemali," or Georgian plum sauce.

With a heavy purse and full stomach, it was time for some serious boardwalking. I'm sure it gets pretty crowded on the weekends, but on a Tuesday morning the Brighton Beach boardwalk was practically deserted, save for the requisite little old Russian man holding court on his favorite park bench. The beach was surprisingly clean and well-kept. The sand was already blisteringly hot, and the freezing ocean felt wonderful on my feet.

I took my time walking down the boardwalk, stopping to photograph both the never-ending coastline and the ebb and flow of runners, mothers with strollers, bicyclists, and grandmothers laden with shopping bags. Eventually, the scenery changed before my eyes - the boardwalk filled up with people, restaurants offering hotdogs and cotton candy dotted the edges, and I could hear the clang of rides and carnival games - I was at Coney Island.

The walk from Brighton to Coney took about 15 minutes, but it felt like I had crossed into a different country. I'm not a huge fan of the area (it's a bit touristy and trashy for my liking), but it has been cleaned up a lot since I'd last been there in 2010 (Hurricane Sandy, though devastating, forced a lot of positive changes to the coast). I wandered though the Luna Park (it's free to enter, rides are pay-per-ride), and fondly recalled memories of trips with friends to Great America, the theme park near my childhood home.

The temperature was turning from warm to sweltering, and I was getting tired - it was time to catch a train back to Astoria. But not before one last look at the ocean. It's one of the small ironies of living in New York City that we are surrounded by so much water, but so rarely ever get the chance to appreciate it. So I walked to the end of a pier, past the families and couples and men hoping to hook the catch of the day, to the point where I could look out and see nothing but water and horizon. A land-free Atlantic spread out in front of me, filled with wonder and possibility and adventure. I took a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to soak in the salty, fishy air, and then headed back home.