This weekend was a sweet, little one.  The boyfriend and I walked towards India St. on Saturday morning to meet extended family for brunch: with rumors of Snoop Dogg craving Good Egg Cafe treats (he was staying in the hotel where once stood the famous Jordan’s defunct hot dog factory).  Excitement all around when the waitress told us so.

Although Snoop failed to show, we had a lovely breakfast.  Saturday afternoon was spent making arrangements with Grammie for a ‘ahead of time’ birthday party for the wee one, she’s going to be three soon.  It’s very cute.  We also swam in the pool at the Marriott residence inn which was refreshing, even though it was basically kindergarten soup when we got in.  Much less the hot tub.  It’s good we aren’t picky people!

Sunday came, and off to Two Fat Cats to pick up the cupcakes (yum) only to be greeted with the road blocked off.  Bomb scare.  Entrance to Two Fat Cats not interfered with, so we got the cupcakes anyways while Dad and Ki sat waiting in the car.  Small towns and suspicious packages aren’t the best combination when it comes to common sense.

Red Velvet Cupcake with Cream Cheese Frosting. With complimentary candle by chance - they are the BEST.

O.K., Firstly:  Two Fat Cats is my favorite indulgence this week.  You don’t really have to buy anything when you go there, but you should – the experience of walking in alone is enough.  The pies cool on open, wooden racks within licking distance of the cash register.  An airpot of freshly brewed, proprietary blend by Coffee By Design is always available.  Also cookies.  And whoopie pies:  and not the disgustingly sugary kind we Mainers are so well known for.  No.  These are soft, velvet-y, melt in your mouth whoopie pies.  They come in pumpkin, too.  A coffee and this will cure whatever ails you, unless it’s diabetes, but even then as long as you’ve got your insulin with you it’s totally worth it.

We also popped down to Commercial St. to the new Rosemont Produce market that has just opened up.  Word to the wise Portlander:  you do NOT want this place to close.  They’re open 7 days, so I suggest some additional trips here instead of the weird produce section at Paul’s if you’re strictly a peninsula grocery shopper.  Many local options, big door that opens up to the sea breeze on nice days:  win win win.

Coastal Girl

We walked around down by the Ocean Gateway Terminal.  It’s post-apocalyptic when the cruise ships aren’t in, there aren’t even any seagulls there.  We tried bring a shopping bag full of sweet potato fries leftovers but ended up leaving them on the sea wall for any future gulls, pigeons or starlings who might happen by.  We did play on the rocks for an unusually long amount of time.  Rocks suddenly because super-toys, even for a 28-year-old, when a three year old is calling the shots.  Games such as “pile of rocks” or “toss rocks” or “throw rocks in to the ocean, count the splashes” passed the time.  Aunt Audrey got tired when the game became “Get Aunt Audrey to lift me on to the really big rocks so I can jump off of them in to her arms,” and we headed back to the hotel room for pizza, cupcakes and ice cream.  Mmmm the holy trinity of birthday food.

Grammie was a librarian in a middle school in Northern Vermont for a good deal of her professional life.  There’s a patience she has in communicating stories to children that is so familiar to me, because maybe when I was three it was the same tone, the same measured patience in waiting for wee one to understand all the excellent things those pages held.  In a very concrete way, wee one is my niece.  But in a more fluid, experiential way she is my little, little sister, too.


The adults in her life are the same as mine, only this time I am one of them, even if I drastically underestimate my ability to belong to that team.  The vibrations of my father’s voice when I hear him calming her after some kind of harrowing, toddler run-in with the corner of a coffee table; the welcoming, unconditional hug of my mother’s arms and that very disarming and familiar smell of her freshly washed L.L. Bean button-down shirts.  Ki will know the things I know when she’s older, plus more.

Maybe I am just sentimentally finishing up my Monday, with a long to-do list and not much patience for it, I’d rather sift through pictures of the people I love and reflect.  Sometimes temptation is so good to give in to.


New Journal

Hell yes!

Boyfriend and I went to Border’s the other night lacking any other activity to do past the 8 o’clock hour.  Sometimes you’ve just got energy after dark, and you’ve got to use it.  I was actually looking for the third book in the Millenium series, The Girl Who Kicked A Hornet’s Nest, but only found it in the exorbitantly-priced hardcover edition.  No thanks, I’ll just get my dirty fingers all over Kate’s copy, if I don’t mind.  But by the time I’d come to this conclusion I’d already decided I had to buy SOMETHING.  Border’s is hurtin’, after all, and although I’m generally a Buy Local girl there is a soft spot in my heart for any book store still slinging lattes when all the other baristas have packed up and gone home for the night.  Not that Borders’ coffee is any good, it’s just a principle thing.

So I managed to scrounge up a sweeeet little moleskin-rip-off “Piccadilly” journal that does a nice job of making me look hoity toity without costing me hoity toity prices.  I bought a juicy pen at A.C. Moore the following day and now am fully equipped to write down my thoughts on a whim.

This proves 100% enjoyable for present-day-Audrey but totally confusing for future generations and/or dominant species’ who will wonder what the correlation is between Nat Turner/slave rebellion, fashion blogs in Portland, ME, and a litany of benefits crying out for pro-ice-cream-sandwich initiatives in every corner of my life.  Seriously, let’s draw some ice cream sandwiches:  they’re that good.

Wish I had pictures to go along with this rant, I think they would be be funnier than what you might be imagining in your head but I don’t want to discredit how funny what you might have up there could be… so for now, dear readers, think of the absence of pictorial content as a way of my saying:  I trust you, you are hilarious.