I have no idea if this is real or staged. Frankly, I don't care. I freaking love it.

Things I love for Spring 2010!

It's fashion week in NYC. Reservations at good restaurants become almost impossible to get, trendy bars and clubs are packed with even more skinnies than usual and even fake-me-out, wannabe fashionistas like myself get in on the fun!
One day I'll have tickets to shows. In the meantime you can find me drooling over the recaps online.
Here's what I love from Oscar de la Renta's Resort line. I know it's his "Spring" line, but Hello December in St. Tropez!
PS: Dear Oscar, Thank you for refusing to send the ruffle to an early grave. Love, Me.

Short shorts. High boots. Approved.

This was "the look" in Italy this summer. At least for the two weeks that I was there.
I fell in love, despite Mr. Diagnosis Deferred's harsh criticisms. This fall's "To Do" list includes, but is not limited to wearing shorts and boots as frequently as possible.

We will never forget.

It was the most photographed and videotaped day in history. Everyone has their own personal set of images and memories from that day. I have so many. I remember all of the paper. The sheets falling slowly down from the towers. Blowing and twirling on the ground. Close up and out of context, there was something about those faxes and memos and files and letters that was maybe even benign. The paper was almost ethereal, like love notes or to do lists or messages left for the living. But when the cameras panned out and the view was widened to include the destruction and the smoke and the fires, the images became evidence of all that had been destroyed.

I also remember watching the interviews with people who were very literally searching the streets for their loved ones. Some sobbed uncontrollably as they begged for help while others were calm and collected. They were eerily poised and composed as they described what their best friend, or cousin or child may have been doing in the towers at the time of the attack, but many were quick to outline the reasons why they may not have actually been at the scene, despite the fact that they had not heard from them in the minutes, hours, days since they had their coffee and their breakfast, kissed them goodbye and walked out the door. I remember wondering if they were trying to convince the viewers or trying to convince themselves that there was still hope. I remembering crying as I watched those interviews. I remember crying harder when I listened to the voicemails left for wives, husbands, children, friends of those who knew that they would never escape the towers or the planes.

But mostly, I remember the images of the falling bodies. Falling from the windows, crawling down the sides of the buildings until they inevitably lost their grip and began to plummet. I remember the horror I felt when I, when we all, first realized that people were jumping. The towers were no longer just buildings. In those moments the reality that they housed thousands and thousands of living, breathing people became terribly evident. People that were so desperate to escape the flames and the smoke that they made the decision to embrace a different death. A quicker, less painful death in which they would be allowed a few last breaths of fresh air. Some people look calm and willing, others appear to flail and fight, their clothes and shoes flying off as they fall at rates over 150 miles an hour. They didn't make a sound. The soundtrack was instead provided by the people on the streets, the screamed prayers of onlookers, the gasping and panting of those recording their falls, the ever present sirens. A stark and ironic contrast to the silent detachment of those actually falling. By the end of that morning, over 200 people had jumped or fallen to their deaths. For me, each image is as intense and moving and distressing as the next. I won't exploit those people by posting their photos here. I'm sure that we've all seen them and we will never forget.

Last minute engagement photos

The summer of 2009 in New York City can best be described with a single adjective; rainy. It rained so much. Buckets, cats and dogs, men. I don't care much for the rain. I've never been a "curl up with a good book and enjoy the storm" kind of a gal. Days and days of rain make me grumpy and depressed and it was one of those summers.

To make matters worse, I had engagement photos to take. I'd been obsessing over these photos since the occasion of the engagement itself, which, if you are a reader of this blog, you already know. See, I had the photographer. The wonderful, talented and amazing photographer. The photographer with whom many of my female guests and my very own mother, would fall a little bit in love with at my wedding... (My mother announced to me over the phone just the other day that, if she happens to ever get a dog, she will name it Agaton, because "he is just such a wonderful and special man, I'd want to memorialize him." She's an odd one, my mother). Anyway, it all came down to finding a day. That turned out to be the hardest part. After a number of rained out sessions, we finally got down to business, the weekend before the wedding. It wasn't conventional timing, but it was a blast. And, I must say, I'm thrilled with the results. I couldn't convince Mr. Diagnosis Deferred to join me for a costume change, but I did get him to traipse through the city with minimal complaining. He hated that people were "looking at us," which of course, was my favorite part, besides the costume change. Here are some of my favorite shots. All courtesy of the phenomenal Agaton Strom.

"Love your other how they need to be loved..."

Have you been reading the "Secrets to a Happy Marriage" posts on A cup of Jo? I hope so, they are all moving and heartwarming and wise and funny. I can't wait until I have secrets to my own happy marriage to share.
In the meantime, this one has really resonated with me. The quote is now taped to our bathroom mirror.

Tan and fat and happy and married.

I'm home. My wedding was a fantastic, shining blur of a day. The best of my life. The honeymoon was a long and winding road of food and wine and romance and toasts and joyful tears and the hot Italian sun. I'm happy. More soon, as soon as I get my feet back on the ground and all of this laundry out of the dryer. Ciao for now!

PS: Told ya I'd take this photo.