Spiced Honey & Chamomile

A Series of Unfortunate Events

I'll preface today's entry by explaining that this is perhaps the most intricate description of an uneventful weekend.

It seems working from home has turned my weekdays into endless Mondays and my weekends into mere Thursdays, blurring the boundaries between work and leisure.

Within the confines of my home, my workspace and bedroom share the same four walls, carrying the lingering scent of maple and pumpkin from a recent candle mishap & while this setup is undeniably comfortable, it's perhaps a bit too cozy.

This weekend was supposed to be the solution to that.

Pizza Shop by Doug Dawson

Plan One: A Taste of Italy

The first plan on the docket was a scheduled brunch with a dear friend from my university days. Our friendship was a fascinating blend of two contrasting attitudes toward travel: she was the globetrotter, while I tended to keep my feet firmly on the ground.

Our bond thrived on the fascination we held for each other's divergent lifestyles. She rarely spoke of her hometown, while I could regale her endlessly with tales of my own. Whenever she traveled, I became the fortunate recipient of a virtual flood—photos, videos, daily activity lists, and, for this month, her chosen destination was Italy.

The first few days of her trip seemed to follow the usual pattern: a morning text with a handful of photos and a brief agenda for the day. Yet, on a specific day, there was something in the air—or more precisely, the Italian air.

When I woke up that morning, I was greeted by a barrage of around thirty messages, which instantly triggered a wave of panic. However, my anxiety quickly dissipated as I played the first voice note. Within the initial thirty seconds, it became evident that a fruity Italian drink had made its way into her system, and the time zone difference became all too apparent.

After listening to a series of voice notes, including her attempts at singing in broken Italian, her musings on the vivid blue sky, and even her emotional reaction to the sharp freshness of the air, it became clear that it would be best to postpone our deep discussions until she returned.

Knowing that she'd be back in town on Thursday, I suggested a simple Saturday brunch at our favorite Colombian diner to catch up. We both agreed to go ahead with the brunch plan, and knowing her tendency to be a bit tardy, I decided to give her a call on the morning of her flight.

To my surprise, she confessed that a particularly fruity drink had disrupted her schedule, leading her to reschedule her flight instead of rushing to make it. Now, let me provide some context about my friend. She's a doctoral student who opted for a break during the fall semester, so her weekdays bear a striking resemblance to one another, primarily differentiated by her capacity to make plans with others.

Therefore, we've decided to give it another shot next week.

Through the Leaves by Doug Dawson

Plan Two: Vegan Food & Cancelled Haircuts

Next on the agenda was a vegan pop-up event that blended music, food, and art. Despite my non-vegan status, I found the idea of attending this pop-up with one of my close friends as a nice way to spend an afternoon. However, our plans took a nosedive even before Saturday arrived, all thanks to something that unfolded on Friday.

The day began with a simple pleasure: toasted cinnamon raisin bread, fresh fruit, and a steaming cup of honey ginger tea. I had been contemplating the event all night, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable confusion that would arise when I'd absentmindedly bite into what appeared to be the juiciest chicken wing, only to discover it was actually baked cauliflower with a special sauce.

I had scheduled a hair appointment during my lunch break, thinking I could quickly swing by my hairdresser's salon for a blow-dry after washing my hair at home. However, as the day unfolded, my workload not only increased but escalated to the point where it became clear that Saturday would essentially become another workday.

I've been working on finding my work/life balance, but there are times when one has to take precedence over the other, and this turned out to be one of those times.

And that brings me to today.

Blue Sedan by Doug Dawson

Plan Three: A Trip Through My Neighborhood

As Saturday progressed, and each of my plans crumbled before my eyes, I couldn't help but feel a bit disheartened. I've never been the most social person, but these unexpected cancellations stung, especially since they were beyond my control.

I found myself sulking for most of Saturday, my gaze fixed on the computer screen when a thought eventually crossed my mind: I live in New York City.

New York City. There had to be something worthwhile to do, even within my own neighborhood.

This topic came up recently in a conversation with a friend, making me realize that as I've matured, my interest in my hometown has gradually waned. I often found myself appreciating my neighborhood only when I felt compelled to defend it or witnessed others celebrating it.

In my small town, we have a little gallery, a public library, local sports teams, and weekly events. Many of my favorite hobbies and cherished memories are tied to this place. Despite that, I've always felt a readiness to uproot and explore new horizons, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

It's an interesting paradox of existence because the closer something is to us, the easier it is to overlook. In our daily routines, we navigate familiar streets, passing the same buildings, parks, and faces with scarcely a second thought. The corner café, where we've shared countless conversations over our favorite meals, becomes just another part of our lives. The park where we learned to ride a bike or shared a first kiss with a special someone fades into the background.

It's as if our familiarity with these places and people blinds us to their significance. We often chase distant horizons, convinced that the allure of the unknown is greater, only to discover that profound mysteries and treasures often lie in plain sight. Our hometowns and communities are not mere locations on a map; they are rich repositories of stories, connections, and shared history.

So, I decided that today I would have a plan, and it started with a simple breakfast: sliced fruit, oatmeal with brown sugar, and a warm cup of black tea infused with french vanilla creamer. My attire was casual—a black leather jacket layered over a loose white shirt, complemented by blue jeans and sturdy combat boots and by 11 am, I was almost out the door, ready to go on a local adventure.

While it wasn't anything too daring, it was perfectly me—a leisurely morning at the library sounded just right. I brought along a notebook to jot down some notes, notes that would never find their way into armonía because they were somewhat disjointed, influenced by the nostalgic scent of aging books and the faint aroma of stale air.

I briefly contemplated checking the bus schedule, and in hindsight, I probably should have, but the allure of a ten-minute walk seemed equally enticing. So, I settled on my favorite playlist, "Spiced Honey & Chamomile," and embarked on my journey.

The air held a crisp and invigorating quality, and I felt a surge of productivity, laced with nostalgia, as I strolled along. However, my journey was abruptly halted as I approached the library, only to discover that they're closed on Sundays.

And now here I am, dear readers, sharing this entry with a smile on my face, even as I chuckle in disbelief. I've been sitting at the bus stop for about ten minutes, watching each bus pass by, resisting the temptation to embrace the life of a hermit. It seems that making plans wasn't in the cards for me this weekend.

The probable spelling errors I've made while typing this are countless, so there's a slight chance this might not be posted until around 1... or perhaps even 2? My apologies, folks, let's attribute this one to New York; it can't possibly be my fault.

See You Next Week :)

Best,

S