Why I Love My Parents’ Love…

I love that my parents’ love is unassuming, like a John Prine song. It is soft and simple and real. Their love has no façade built by money or objects or worldly possessions or anything that cannot be expressed in the form of a deep kiss and tight hand squeeze. I love that they still find pleasure in taking a trip together to the gas station to fill up the car on a Tuesday night. I love that my mom knew she wanted to marry my dad the first minute she saw him from across the room.

I love that my dad promised my mom he would show her the world and that today they sit in a small café in Paris drinking champagne for lunch. I love that my mom wanted to see the world with my dad, not so she could spend his money on fancy Italian clothes, but because she wanted to bike with him through the French Alps and visit the heritage that built our family.

I love that my dad will look at my mom on any given Saturday morning and tell us kids how funny he thinks she is. I love that my parents kiss randomly, just because. I love that my mom still writes my dad silly “I love you” notes and wants to rub his old, swollen feet while he watches hockey. I love that my parents dance, not just slowly and sweetly, but fast and drunkenly. I love that my parents laugh together.

I love that my mom started taking golf lessons so she could spend more time with my dad, doing something that he loved. I love that my dad bought my mom a paper shredder for Mother’s Day six years ago and that she still loves him.

I love that my parents beat the odds, not because they were lucky but because they work hard. They fight and the fights are not always pretty or fair or based on the most reasonable argument, but the make-ups and “I’m sorrys” are. My parents committed to a life together twenty-five years ago today. They said vows and I love you and I do and never strayed from those words, those promises. I love that I walked to work this morning with a tear in my eye and a smile on my face thinking about them and that people looked at me with pity when really, I am one of the luckiest girls in this entire world. I’ve seen real love. I’ve seen real love be tested and grown and shaped by the commitment of two amazing people. I’ve seen a love so real and intoxicating that now I know I will never settle for a love that isn’t as unassuming and perfectly simple as the love of my parents. And those people, my mom and my dad, in their oneness as a couple, are what I love most of all.

Happy 25th Anniversary, Mom and Dad. I love you each and I love you as a whole.

Infinite x’s and o’s

Chicago Week One

Ahhhh, do you hate me?!

Finals, packing…..Chicago. All in ONE month! Don’t hate me. I’m back, who knows how often or for what reasons, but as of now, Miss Emelia has returned….and with pictures no less :)

1. When one lives in a studio with limited funds, one must learn to improvise. Champagne is drunken and bottle is reused. Bravo.

2. Sea & city all in one gorgeous, rooftop view. I may never make it the office with a scenery like this.

3. I get regular updates about Figaro. Still a diva. Still miss him.

4. First Cubs game of the glorious summer that is 2012. And yes, I put ketchup on my Chicago Dog. Sometimes, you just gotta learn the hard way.

5. Unfortunately, I was not able to bring my jewelry armoire to Chicago, for packing purposes and cozy living circumstances. Fortunately, a dash of Pinterest inspiration helped me create jewelry organization that is both fun and functional. You never disappoint, Pinterest.

6. Oh. These candles. Mmmm, these candles, these candles. Heaven sent Earth the most divine gift. THE most intoxicating scent. Tamarind Leaf & Lime from the Artisan Collection at Target. I have a leaf- and lime-induced, cheshire grin on my face. Take one whiff, you will too.

Before I sign off, I want to tell you my summer plan. Maybe not exactly….

You see, I’m not sure what my summer entails professionally, socially, personally, etc etc etc. But for my blog, I am least sure of all.

I don’t have my mom’s fancy camera or my mastermind Kitchenaid mixer. I don’t have my entire wardrobe or the funds to buy an entirely new one. BUT, I do have an amazing city, filled with wonderful people, streets upon streets of restaurants, new stories, new discoveries, new adventure. Bear with me. I’ll share with you what I learn about myself, this world, and this lovely city called Chicago. Not my ordinary routine, but sometimes a change of pace is good. This summer will be no exception. I’ll be in touch :)

Infinite x’s and o’s

Girls Who Read Books

“Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life.”

Charles Warnke

Little Bits of Lately…

A little bit of lately, according to my iPhone…

1. Minnesota has been blessed with an absence of winter, which has allowed me some extra-sweet bonding time with my lawn chair and bikini.

2. Two doves on our porch early this morning. I can’t help but smile when I see this.

3. Breaking in the newest addition to my shoe collection.

4. Figaro is a diva.

5. Love that I get to see Minneapolis every day on campus.

6. Vanilla Lattes. Nuff said.

7. The cake I made for my little sisters golden birthday. Classic vanilla cake with classic buttercream frosting. She is wonderfully simple that way.

8. Our backyard is flourishing with greens. So happy to see a little color in the world again.

9. My baby sister at her birthday dinner. Full of smiles. What is not to love about 15?

Hope everyone is having a fantastic week. Smile, the weekend is near!

Infinite x’s and o’s

To Live With Open Heart; To Grow Up Through The Common

To live content with small means;

to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion;

to be worthy, not respectable,

and wealthy, not rich;

to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly;

to listen to stars and birds,

to babes and sages, with open heart;

to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely,

wait occasions, hurry never.

In a word,

to let the spiritual, unbidden, and unconscious,

grow up through the common.

- William Henry Channing 


Just Another Post About Food

So my house is kind of falling apart.

Yep, the exterior is rotting, we have mice, and there is a funky stench lingering in the basement. Only kidding people.

Actually only kind of kidding, because our fridge is broken, which means that our house is pretty much falling apart. If not the actual appliances, then definitely our overall household sanity. I am way past the point of daydreaming about eggs and cheese and everything else cold. Last night I caught my mom staring at the inside of our {old} empty fridge for about two solid minutes. We just want fresh produce people. We have been fridgeless for about five days and will continue to be fridgeless until Friday. Sooooo we’ve been storing what chilled goods we could salvage in coolers all over the garage.

At this point it would be completely fair to call us hillbillies. Fat hillbillies.

Okay, that’s harsh. My family isn’t fat. That’s just me.

 I guess this would probably be the appropriate time to also tell you wonderful readers that I kinda sorta broke our scale on Saturday….

What?? Who breaks a scale? Like who am I? Two Ton Tilly?? This week has been a serious time of self-evaluation…

But waiiit a second. Before I get stuck with the title of Big Bertha, let me explain. This scale was getting old[er]. As in one year old. As in me stepping on it like every day for 375 days, sometimes even more. As in me PLUS my five other family members who used it. Can’t you see how a year could be old?????…..

Lately, I would step on and the stupid little screen would stay blank. As flattering as that was to see, I am not silly enough to believe that I am weightless. Come on, I just ate three dozen of these cookies last week…

I figured the old geezer of a scale simply needed a little jump start. Literally.

So I jumped on it. Nothing more than a little hop. And what happens? The entire bottom of the scale shattered into a million little pieces.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Infinite x’s and o’s

Playgirls of the Universe


I like women who haven’t lived with too many men.
I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women
who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience.

There is a quality about women who choose
men sparingly;
it appears in their walk
in their eyes
in their laughter and in their
gentle hearts.

Women who have had too many men
seem to choose the next one
out of revenge rather than with

When you play the field selfishly everything
works against you:
one can’t insist on love or
demand affection.
you’re finally left with whatever
you have been willing to give
which often is:

Some women are delicate things
some women are delicious and

If you want to piss on the sun
go ahead
but please leave them

-Charles Bukowski  “A poem for swingers, a poem for the playgirls of the universe”