Gentle pep talk from F.Scott Fitzgerald

New toe nail polish - OPI's "Keys to my Karma" 

I know what violets look like now

I wrote this poem the other day and, at the urging of a friend whose own pellucid honesty I deeply respect, I will share it here along with the explanation behind it.

I know what violets look like now. 

Josephine, to keep her Napoleon, wore the scent of  violets, which once inhaled were soon forgotten and never to be recalled until the wearer pressed again the little petals to her skin. He must come back for he could not rest in the limbic grey where most sense is kept.  

I know what violets look like now for I have seen them sleep in winter snow;
I have seen the purple whir beneath the soil, heard them speak of yellow toil. 

A long time ago I read a small anecdote that Josephine (Napoleon Bonaparte's wife) only wore the scent of violets because it is the only scent the brain cannot "remember" until one smells it again. I am not sure how true that fact is but nevertheless it piqued my interest enough to stay with me all of these years. The romantic in me wondered  if Josephine did it as a way to always bring him back from war and from conquering distant lands. I am also fascinated by the connection between memory and scent as the two are intimately tied together perhaps since they happen to "live" next to each other in neighboring sections of the human brain. 

The memory of this little story came back to me as I was googling wedding bouquets (because, why not?) and I wondered what a bouquet of violets would look like. The verdict? They are so tiny! More research revealed that they are one of the first spring flowers to bloom thus making them essentially winter-steady flowers. To me, the flowers that survive winter and bloom first in spring are the most steadfast, just like the love needed between Josephine and Napoleon to keep their often long-distance relationship alive.

The "limbic grey where most sense is kept" is a play on words since sense (and scent) are located in the "limbic" part of the brain otherwise known colloquially as "grey matter." The word sense is a homonym for "scents" (and cents! ha!) The reference to the limbic grey area of sense can also be a nod to the limbo of traveling for work or the limbo grey area of logic. We cannot just stay in the logical, "sensible" grey area of life all of the time. Sometimes we have to rely on something deeper than our minds, something more intuitive and emotional in order to find our ways back to what (and who) we truly love. 

And so, there it is. 

Lake house resort in California? With a smores night? Ah, oui, bien sur!

A heartfelt look at our societal perplexity and lack of understanding about "addiction"

Would you like to know the secret to health? Try to make stress your friend...

Sachin and babi dresses give me the butterflies: classy cool with a feminine flare

Think you'd ever try naked yoga? Me, I am not so sure (unless Daniel Craig was there)

Delicious hybrid of a puttanesca and a niçoise: Gwyneth Paltrow's tuna tomato bowl

Jo's 10 ways to beat the winter blues. My favorite? Going for a walk around town!

And, (who doesn't love another numbered list?) the 19 hard things you need to do for success

For Your Ears

"Song for Zula" Phosphorescent 

"Ethio Invention no. 1" Andrew Bird

"Retrograde" James Blake

Now that's what I call a reading nook!

Baby sleeping turtle just because, obviously

The band on my sushi naturally formed into a heart

Another baby turtle because, do I actually need to say?

One day I will be able to do this pose... one day

Upside down eating an apricot on a stem

Words from the wise Thich Nhat Hanh

 Bathtub kisses are the cutest ever

Recent Existential NYT Reads

“Grant the sufferers the dignity of their own process. Let them define meaning. Sit simply through moments of pain and uncomfortable darkness. Be practical, mundane, simple and direct.”

From The Art of Presence, an eloquent and deeply touching how-to-guide for those seeking to help people who are suffering. It is equally difficult to support with quiet steadfast presence as it is to be the one in pain.

"The first year was really hard. I went through what I can only describe as withdrawal — waking up at nights panicked about running out of money, scouring the headlines to see which of my old co-workers had gotten promoted. Over time it got easier — I started to realize that I had enough money, and if I needed to make more, I could. But my wealth addiction still hasn’t gone completely away. Sometimes I still buy lottery tickets."

A brave and honest look into the love of money by former "wealth addict," Sam Polk, who left his job on the Wall Street trading floor and went on to establish Groceryships, a nonprofit that helps underprivileged families feed themselves real, whole food. 

"In a way, though, the certainty of death was easier than this uncertain life. Didn’t those in purgatory prefer to go to hell, and just be done with it? Was I supposed to be making funeral arrangements? Devoting myself to my wife, my parents, my brothers, my friends, my adorable niece? Writing the book I had always wanted to write? Or was I supposed to go back to negotiating my multiyear job offers?"

What happens when a neurosurgeon receives a lung cancer diagnosis? He becomes a powerful storyteller, sharing in his own words the truth of what it means to live through the acute discomfort of oblique uncertainty. 

Crazy good song, Get Free remix

Schuylkill River frozen into shards of ice

Cool abstract painting for a living room

Love park lit up and looking shiny