Downpour

I’m trapped at a café on Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn by a sudden downpour. This is one of the things I loved most about New York. So glad I got to enjoy a thunderstorm before I fly home tomorrow. Just trying to figure out how I can walk home without getting drenched.

New Yorkers

On Tuesday, I decided to try yoga in Brooklyn, a whole new phenomenon after my two years of San Francisco yoga. The class was nothing to write home about, but what I did appreciate was the children’s yoga class going on in the next room. As I was checking in, I got to hear a brief smidgen of the kids.

TEACHER: Okay, now we’re going to all act like New Yorkers, everyone pretend to be a New Yorker... Julie, what are you acting like?
JULIE: I’m a snooty lady.
TEACHER: Great, snooty lady, I see that nose in the air. What about you, Amber?
AMBER: I’m late, I’m looking at my watch.

I found it highly amusing that that’s what “New Yorker” meant to these kids, who are themselves New Yorkers.

Of course, if the were asked to act like San Franciscans, they’d probably sit down and meditate or pretend to compost.

The return to warm nights

Being back in New York is reminding me of when I first moved out here three years ago. Nothing beats the warm nights and the crowds on the streets.

Last night I sat in Washington Square Park just after sundown. The people were many and varied, from hippies with their acoustic guitars, students with their backpack full of books, and semi-tourists, like me. I wrote in my journal and then just sat there and took in the scenery, comfortable in my shorts and tank top.

It felt really good.

"You call that driving? You bloody wanker!"

I’m not sure where my love of Great Britain came from… The music I listened to as a teenager (The Smiths, Depeche Mode, Blur)? The chapter books my mother read to me as a child (everything from C.S. Lewis to Roald Dahl to Noel Streitfeild? Or my childhood obsession with Mary Poppins? (If I had to hazard a guess I would say the latter). Whatever it was, I just love this country. And though in most ways, it’s just like home, I still can’t get enough of the way they speak here. Yesterday I sat next to the bus driver just to hear him hurl obscenities at passing motorists in his cute little cockney accent. Just like Burt from Mary Poppins, only much more inappropriate.

Returning to the land of pubs

At this time eleven years ago, I was on my way to Scotland for my junior year abroad. I had been to the UK once before, and was excited to return to the land of “tellie” and “footie” and “a cuppa.” How do the Brits make everything sound so charming?

My year spent at Stirling University was my best year of college. The campus was beautiful and the people I met were amazing. Instantly friendly, welcoming and fun, I made some great friends in a short period of time. I learned so many life-long skills from them, like how to drink beer. And how to drink whiskey. But most of all, how to drink vodka.

I’ve managed to stay in touch with these worldly friends off and on through email and Facebook. A few came to visit me when I lived in LA, but I haven’t seen any of them in almost ten years. I’m now returning to London (where most of them have since moved) to drink a pint, or two or seven, with my old mates. I can’t wait.

Congratulations Eliza & Harry!

My sister, Eliza, got engaged in April and decided to have her wedding at the end of August. The fastest wedding planning ever. Among the short list of things that had to get done, was designate an officiator. They didn’t want anything religious or traditional in their ceremony, so Eliza and her fiancé, Harry, asked me to marry them. I was honored, flattered, and totally scared shitless. I’d be speaking at an emotional event in front of 100 people. What was I supposed to say? What if I messed up? What if I broke down in tears?

To make it even more challenging, I endured a somewhat painful break up about a month prior to the wedding, so my head was swimming with images from a bad 80’s movie: me at the mic with a beer in hand slurring, “Love. What is love? Love doesn’t last. I’ll tell you what lasts. PAIN! Pain lasts…”

I wrote three drafts for the ceremony. Three! Eliza vetoed the first two. One of them was completely in rhyme:

Many people traveled far to be here today.
Some crossed great oceans, some crossed the bay.
To watch this young couple and their married life start,
Some flew in from Asia. I just took BART.

Note for the future: I totally want MY wedding to be in rhyme.

In the end, I told an anecdote about the day I met Harry, and what that meeting said about both my sister and her chosen one. It was Halloween, and I managed to sneak in my very favorite quote by Anne Lamott about that favorite holiday of mine: “It’s the one day a year when all the pirates and divas, clowns and super heroes can take off their ‘busy adult’ costumes and just be themselves.” Seems like it has nothing to do with marriage, but I made it work.



It was funny and it was touching. After all that worrying about crying in front of everyone, I totally did cry. And it felt great. Harry was crying, Eliza was crying, the whole audience was crying. It was an emotional day, but I powered on through like a champ. And it was awesome. It was one of the more emotional things I’ve ever done. It felt like a huge release, having that ceremony happen, and I’ve been high ever since.



Once the ceremony was over, I got to enjoy the rest of the wedding stress-free, aside from a few much dreaded comments from older family members.

“When is your wedding, Audrey?” And my favorite from my Uncle Jeff, “You’re 32? When we were 32, we had five children already.” Though I can’t tell if it was said with envy or pity.

One thing I do know: it was a beautiful, love-filled wedding and an amazing day. And now that I’ve witnessed my grandma shaking it on the dance floor to “My Humps” by the Black Eyed Peas, I can die happy.

Grandma dancing to "My Hump" from Audrey on Vimeo.