Snowflakes in France

Reflections of a 20-something woman in publishing

Category: dating

Weekend! Wee!

Today I’m returning to Boston via my old friend Bolt Bus. It’s the first time I’ve been there since Jon moved here. And how appropriate that I’m going back for my final wedding dress fitting.

In truth, I can’t wait to visit our old haunts. The little Turkish coffee shop near Harvard where words drifted up from corner tables to the wooden beams of the ceiling — most of the time the languages evoked thoughts of spices and colors, my own mental symbols of the East. Of course there were the occasional hung-over college kids. Even Harvard students turn to alcohol during college.

I’m really hoping that we can make it to Red Bones, the best BBQ joint north of … well…Kentucky I suppose. It was right around the corner of Jon’s old apartment in Cambridge.

Paul Revere's statue in the North End

And lest I be too focused on food, I must mention the shops on Beacon Hill where one might find the perfect unique stationary set or child’s birthday gift. Most of all, I look forward to the feeling of history and liveliness that swells up from the North End amidst the cemeteries, statues, markets and pubs.

It reminds me that while Boston holds my own story, the story of how Jon and I dated and fell in love, it also holds the stories of countless others. Happy weekend readers! I’m off to The Olde Towne.


Fading Friendship

What was ice and slush yesterday is finally just wet concrete. I trudge to work in my rain boots, which are a bit overkill at this point, but they are also the most likely to keep the cold out. I notice a man wearing tennis shoes, walking so fast in his pressed slacks that I wonder if he always wears jogging shoes, or if he needed to jog today to arrive at work on time.

A man wearing inconspicuous black shoes greets another. They’re both young, look like bar tenders, and I notice the other guy is wearing a pair of Vans, the symbol peeking out from under long wide jeans. Suddenly I think of Carter, and how my sister made fun of his Vans years ago.

I think of how odd it is that people I hardly know are invited to the wedding, but Carter, one of my dearest friends from high school and college, who has seen me through several breakups (including our own brief fling in high school), one of few to win the affection of my parents, and one of the few I still try to meet for coffee when I’m in town, is not invited.

But I know why. He’s still friends with my ex. And on some level, I’m trying not to hurt that boy any more than I already have. For his best friend to have an invitation to my wedding on his fridge seems a bit cruel.

So yes, I’d like to have Carter there. He could sit at the table with my high school girls. He’d dance the night away and be the life of the party — he always is. But I took him off the guest list because it seems selfish of me to invite him. I hope he understands, but I have a sad feeling that we won’t be getting coffee the next time I visit.

New Year, New You

It’s a week after New Year’s now, but you know what, it’s also my birthday. For me, this is the new year. Maybe not the beginning of 2011, but it is the beginning of year 25.

Someone asked me last night, why Snowflakes in France? And at first I couldn’t remember. Then I thought my summer in France, how it tore apart my safe relationship back home and opened up the possibilities of being single, of being hurt and being proud, of learning what it is to be a feminist, responsible for my own choices even when I want to blame someone else.

Snowflake was a nickname that a boy gave to me in 7th grade. He may have been the first boy to toy with me, flirt with no intentions and no abandon, and at the time I was naive enough to blush and smile and think it was nice. But when I traveled to France in college, I began to grow into a more realistic — and more bitter — version of that girl.

That was five years ago. I’ve grown a lot since then, but people say you should write about what you know. I know a lot of teenage angst, dashed dreams, YA novels and puppy love. (And now I know of happy endings, but for some reason my writing is never very good when I write about that)

So here at my quarter-life mark, I’m going to make a resolution to write about what I know, and not to analyze it in the process. And this time, I’ll try to do it in fiction. I have a hunch that a little writing group in town might be my saving grace in this endeavor.

Secrets, Secrets … They’re Actually Quite Fun


I always saw this blog  as the place I come to share my secrets. It’s better than a diary, because I’m not hiding it away in the bottom of a trunk. I’m sharing it. Any stranger can happen upon it by simply hitting the next or previous button at the top of any WordPress blog.

Excitement, anger, annoyance, curiosity over things that my friends and co-workers may just roll their eyes about or that I’m too embarrassed to actually say out loud. I can share it all right here. So here it goes:

I’m secretly planning a wedding.

You could argue that every little girl is secretly planning a wedding from the moment of her first crush, the first time she ever writes her name followed by someone else’s last name, just to see what it looks like on paper. But I’m reading wedding blogs for inspiration, I’ve made a list of possible reception venues, and I’ve discussed possible themes with my boyfriend.

Yep, that’s right. He’s doing it too.

When I confessed my recent heightened interest in weddings, I expected him to give me a terrified man look, to start jokingly suggesting that he needed another year or two before having that conversation. Instead, he laughed and confessed that he’s started a guest list!

So now, every time Jon and I sit down with some bourbon and scotch, respectively, cozied up under blankets on the couch in our freezing ground-level living room, we start talking logistics. How many people in the wedding party? Who can do the invitations? The photography? And we’ve set an approximate date.

But to the public, except those who stumble upon this post, it’s a secret. So shhh! And don’t tell my parents…because he’s planning to ask them for permission!

And now, the next best thing!

If you hadn’t noticed, I took a 5 month hiatus from blogging. We’ll see how badly my writing has suffered because of it. But for now, a few updates:

1. Remember my last post in March when I was whining about my tiny room and the cold? Well it’s summer now, hot (finally!), and I have a 3 story townhouse with a deck! I can’t believe my luck.

2. Of course, the new place costs a bit more, which I’m able to afford because Jon is moving to Hoboken! He’ll be here on July 27th. Amazing how things turn around in 5 months…

3. Alas, I do not have a dog. And yes, I’m still aching with withdrawal every time one passes me on the street. I think pets must be more addictive than cigarettes.

4. Part of the reason I stopped blogging was that I basically gave up on my computer and its ability to function properly. Now I have a lovely one of these:

MacBook -- the most basic of the brilliantA MacBook. It’s much more capable.

5. I still have my job. Unfortunately I feel like this is something that has to be confirmed ITE. So much so that society has coined an acronym for the phrase “in this economy.” 🙂

They say that in NYC someone is always looking for a relationship, a place to live or a job, and no one ever keeps all three for very long. I hope I’m an exception!!!