the3six5

I spent all day cooking and baking and shopping and mixing.

I haven’t cooked like this for a year. Not since I moved out Midwest and started grad school; not since I got sick and couldn’t keep things down, no matter how plain. Today I wandered aisles of fresh produce, squeezing mangoes and sniffing melons. Today I roasted asparagus, cooked eggplant parmesan, prepared an egg soufflé, and will probably bake muffins. Today also happens to be my six-month anniversary with the first man I’ve ever loved truly and deeply, but first and foremost, today I cooked. I love to cook for him, but in many ways today I cooked for me. We’re going to split the leftovers, so technically I’ve cooked for us, but it’s an accomplishment to cook things for people that they like.

Today was mostly warm but sometimes unexpectedly rainy, and I wore a fancy purple dress in the morning and comfortable purple sweatpants in the afternoon. I drove to the grocery store, exercising my dubiously-legal right to drive with an out-of-state Learner’s Permit, and came home with more than I planned to get. The steering wheel was stiffer than I prefer, and the car responded less than I would have liked, but every time I drive it feels a little bit more comfortable. I’d love to get my license someday soon, but I have to re-take a 5 hour class on what road signs mean, and I’m not sure if I’m up for that. Eventually, though.

My apartment still smells like a mix of tomato sauce, cheese, and sweat. The heat of the oven filled my apartment faster than I’d expected, and it hasn’t cooled yet. My beer is cold and fruity, and the couch is comfortable and soft. I’ve had a good day. The thing I’m looking forward to most is when the pool in the apartment complex opens. Going for a swim would have been the one thing to make today even more than it already was.

I don’t want to say that today wasn’t perfect. Today was more than I thought it could be, because today, I cooked, and I loved every minute of it.

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About the Author:

Maia Frieser is a Masters’ of Public Health Candidate at the University of Michigan. She’s an unrepentant New Yorker, and you’ll know that as soon as you speak to her. citywomenwithdolls.tumblr.com; @maiawithaneye

I think we all have witnessed or at least heard about the incredible strength that women gain when they become mothers. Strength that helps them move mountains to make sure their child is healthy, save, strong and happy.

Now I realize that daughters possess similar strength. 

I spent the last two months watching my beloved grandma wander between life and death. More importantly, I watched my mother’s quiet strength. I watched her attempts to make grandma feel as comfortable as possible, feed her, watch old telenovelas with her, cook without onions because grandma doesn’t like onions. Well, didn’t like onions. Not for a single moment did my mother show fear, sadness, helplessness or panic in front of grandma. Not even once. Because that’s what grandma needed now. When she needed someone to fight for her, to move mountains, to find better doctors and better treatments my mom was there to fight. But now there were no more medical miracles left and grandma didn’t want to fight or have someone to fight for her. She asked my mother to accept that and mom did. Somehow she found the strength to accept my grandma’s last wish and quietly watch her die. 

Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible. I barely pulled myself together to go to the funeral, let alone witness every moment of my grandma’s last days and accept the fact that there was nothing I could do. If I were my mother, I would have probably run to a tropical island and pretended that this wasn’t happening.

Maybe the strength I saw in my mother is that same motherly strength just channelled elsewhere. Or maybe there’s a different kind of strength - one possessed by daughters that allows us to show our gratitude for all sacrifices. Gratitude for all our mothers have done for us. Or maybe it is something you develop as you mature, as you spend several decades on this planet and realize death is part of life. Death is part of our story. I am not sure. I just hope that one day I am half the daughter my mom is.

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About the Author: 

Andreana Drencheva is a wanderer and wonderer, strategist and sponge, ethnographer and experimenter, and daughter. You can follow her on Twitter @addy_dren.

Mercifully, it rained pretty enthusiastically last night, and whichever particles are responsible for my springtime woes have been silenced for now. I take this omen favorably. A damp pall of stratus hangs distended over the grey morning and promises to linger through the afternoon. The guilty locust actually looks defeated. Every tree on my block has that lovely emerald wilt that follows a good rain, in fact. I love this. I love the way it rains in spring here. Hard, fast, somewhat sloppy, gone in the morning. There’s a bawdy joke in there, but I’ll leave it unventured. Paraleipsis.

Yogurt, kiwi and coffee follow a run, astoundingly mudless, and then I’m off to campus. I’ve been hammering away at this first chapter of my dissertation with renewed aplomb of late, and I mean to exploit the auspicious recess of my allergies on this dismal Monday through dynamic, tissue-free industry. The library is empty, mine. Favorable omens are practically taking numbers.

“…Catullus’ literary acumen—here mediated by the metrical restrictions of epic, which he is nonetheless unafraid to assay—is nowhere more carefully exhibited than in c. 64…”

Or something. This gig is pretty alright. Some days I wonder what a humanities Ph.D. will do for me, days when I worry that I’ll never write anything my mom would read, or that whatever my contributions to my field they will doubtless be lost beneath the criticism and disproof of subsequent generations of scholars. Today, though, I don’t know why, but I feel pretty good. It could be the hiccup of success the Mariners enjoyed over the weekend. The elaborate dinner I’m planning to prepare tonight, perhaps? Maybe it’s just the weather. ‘Why?’ doesn’t really matter, actually.

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About the Author:

Sam is a Ph.D. candidate in Classics at Penn. He writes prose and verse in a tiny spiral notebook with the word ἀκρίβεια scrawled atop it 

This morning I woke up in Buffalo, New York - about 7 hours away from home. Charles and I drove all through the night to see his baby niece, Charlotte. For months I've been so excited to see her. Charlotte was playing with Charles' family in the yard when I approached her, and she waved frantically at me. My heart melted.

Sitting outside in the backyard with the sun to my left and my feet splashing in the pool with baby Charlotte's, I find myself being truly content with this vision. I'm having somewhat of a silent battle with myself of wanting to be happy in my present and enjoy these wonderful moments, but also so anxious for what my life will be in the years to come. I feel guilty saying so, but today I struggle with being in two places at once: summer-timing by the pool in this beautiful 80-degree weather, and wishing I were somewhere else playing with my own kid.

On days like today, I remind myself of where I am, what time it is, and that the memories I have of my child have not yet actually happened. Sometimes it's sad, but today it gives me something to look forward to.

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About the Author
Rebecca Rorrer is a professional fashion blogger based in New York City.
@thee_aof 

Arriving home from work after running errands while the sun is still out, with the knowledge that there are 48 hours in front of me where the routine of the weekday has no place, I’m thinking my weekend is already off to a great start. 

If I don’t have Friday evening plans, like tonight, I’m more motivated to do errands after work than on other nights. And, in that scenario, somehow those errands feel less like chores. In my opinion, the satisfaction of running errands on a Friday night can be described (poorly) as somewhere between organizing your sock drawer and going out with a good friend to a local gastropub. 

You see, while I certainly enjoy being social on week nights, if I don’t have plans on a “school night,” there’s a part of my brain that instructs me to go home, eat dinner, watch something on Hulu and rest up for the upcoming work day. Those five hours after work and before I sleep start to feel like a routine, too. There’s delicate balance that I attempt to maintain between spontaneity and routine. 

Tonight, as I peeled out of my office’s parking garage, I think I actually heard that voice in my head say to me, “The evening is all yours, sistah!” So I zipped over to the hardware store to buy some flowers to plant tomorrow. Then I took the party to my pharmacy to pick up prescriptions. Once home, I plucked some weeds from my veggie garden. Who needs a pub crawl when I’ve got an errand crawl? 

While my Friday night exploits might not be water-cooler appropriate on Monday morning, it’ll be nice going to sleep feeling pleased about how I spent my free time today. It’s kind of great that sometimes the simplest and most banal things are what inspire contentedness on a night that’s frequently associated with socializing and “going out."

I now have 48 hours in front of me to go to the beach, have lunch with friends, go bike riding with a friend, take a nap, pluck more weeds and who knows what else. Bring it. I can’t wait.

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About the Author: 

An outdoorsy enthusiast and an aspiring veggie gardner, Sheryl is a carefree consumer of craft beer, good TV and all things digital media.

The palpable sense memory of the smell of rain commingled with the residue of a spent Pall Mall pains me now. The cigarette: his constant companion and his executioner. Not long ago we rode out his final storm together. This memory is still sharp and has a jagged edge, so I close my eyes and swallow hard to force about a happier memory of riding out a storm with another, beloved, family member. 

Gabby was my first, and only, dog. I liked to say that she was half Westie and half human. Often I looked at her and was certain that she was a tiny human dressed in a dog suit. Convincingly, her “tail” was fully operational. 

In this memory I am again encased. Sitting on the concrete step just outside my back door, my presence hidden by the ascending and descending stairwells of the fire escape. When the storms were brewing, Gabby would pace about the porch. Her low grumbling growl mirrored the threatening rumble of the thunder. When the storm fully raged, she’d jump up on my lap, her rubbery toes gripping my bare legs when lightening struck. Emboldened by my delight, she’d point her nose upward and howl as the storm reached its crescendo. 

Today I am missing both of my storm chasers. I am going to leave the umbrella unopened, leave my encasement, head outside and welcome the rain with open arms. It is a new day.

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About the Author: 

Lori is an Essayist, Chicago Enthusiast, Docent, Advertising Professional and Raconteur.

Food photography. What a tasty profession that would be, wouldn’t it? Every day one of the things I get to do with my staff is photograph food from different restaurants and a local coffee shop. I wouldn’t claim food styling in the food photography equation, however I find a lot of gratification from gorgeous photos of food in its most natural form.

Recently, I had the opportunity to photograph a series of cupcakes and each holding a unique characteristic like none other. Today I continued on that journey of photographing these cupcakes, but this time they were mini cupcakes that were cute as a button. One of the key things I had to work on with each mini cupcake was to give them a personality and a purpose. Out of all the mini cupcakes I photographed, my favorite was Cotton Candy. Not only for its sweet taste but for its blue and pink color frosting with a dusting of clear sugar crystals that added a hint of sparkle. 

It’s curvy minute stature carries so much character with subtle cracks and bumps on its vanilla-flavored bodice that melts away like a cloud at dusk. Cotton Candy immediately reminded me of the circus and how life mimics the chaotic nature that engulfs a circus. I believe that we control our destiny even amidst chaos just like the ring master snapping everyone in line at the circus to unfold a great performance. So my little quip for Cotton Candy was: 

“Cotton Candy for those days when it feels like a circus and you’re the only Ring Master who can keep everyone in line!" 

I know there are days where everything is absolutely mad and sometimes disappointing, but I always have to keep reminding myself that I have the ability to change the way I feel and the craziness around me. Who would have thought a little Cotton Candy cupcake would remind me of such a lesson in life that is as important as the daily  routine of remembering to lock your car or getting dressed in the morning. Perhaps we all find meaning in the ordinary to fill a sense of purpose in life, or do we?

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About the Author:

Sarah Lee is a Malaysian girl living in Kalamazoo, MI as a marketing manager for Greenleaf Hospitality. Loves social media and photography. 

You have to give up some things. Or rather some habits which may include people. The friend who makes plans and cancels? Yes, I deleted her. The colleague who complains with ceasing? Starting avoiding him. Endless social media stalking of strangers I wouldn’t talk to in person? Only if I’m stuck in line somewhere.

Moving your life so that what you love comes out of the margins into the center is excruciating because most of the people around you gave up along the way. You have to give up sleep; not as a lifestyle, but if needed. Skip a television episode or even a whole season. Movie money pays for a consultant.

To be a winner, sometimes you have to be a loser. During the in-between time, when you’re neither winning or losing, perfecting a dedicated practice, of 10,000 hours, you will be lonely.

I took a leap when I finished courses for my PhD and moved to another city, one that was more nurturing of my South Asian identity. Once there, I found out about a campus in Qatar, a country in the Middle East, a part of the world I had been curious about for some years. In 2005, I moved to the capital city, Doha, got married in 2006, had a baby in 2010, finished my PhD, changed jobs three times, moved house four, and published twelve books.

In each moment, at decision time, I was standing at the edge, looking over my shoulder, wondering if I could back down and take the easy way. But because loneliness’ twin, fear, was a familiar companion, I leapt. And I keep leaping. With each bound you get closer to the center, to being fully in control instead of being controlled.

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About the Author: 

Mohanalakshmi is the modern mother, writer and scholar. Trying to do it all but not all at once. Published 5 e-books. Told you she's been busy. http://www.mohanalakshmi.com

I love them.  Attention to detail is one of the things that makes me good at my job, one of the reasons my family is able to keep on-track and one of the things that has made today run smoothly. 

I work in theatre, so Monday is usually my day off.  Today, however, has been consumed with big and small tasks, including a trip to the dentist, getting my son packed and dropped off for a week at his grandparents' house, and getting my husband and myself packed for a week away at a workshop. 

Planning around deadlines, the weather and other people's schedules is seldom easy, so I've become a master list-maker.   This has come in handy today in a big way.  There is currently a personal master list, complete with subcategories, and a work master list, complete with color-coded boxes denoting which person on my staff has been delegated which duties. It feels good to check things off my lists. I smile to myself as the "to-dos" get checked off, and the "done" category grows. 

Tomorrow, I start a project with artists from coast-to-coast, all coming together to "birth" four new plays.  Soon, we'll have everything in place for each of our rehearsal spaces, each box on the four separate lists checked off, each room ready for the week. 

People laugh sometimes at the fact that I can remember the phone number of my dorm room from my freshman year of college or that I rarely forget a name, face or conversation. In my job, though, being able to recall those details at will is the most valuable resource I have.  My family is amused that I'd rather receive post-its than candy for Christmas, that I literally squeal aloud upon receiving the "right" kind of pencil.  But it's all about the details. 

The details are what make me.

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About the Author:

Jen Lane is a mom, wife, food-lover and stage manager living in Alabama.  Follow her musings at Hey, Y'all, Food Lush or @jennelsonlane.