Mom sent me flowers today, and they're beautiful.

When he leaves work today, my dad will be officially and at long last retired. I'm so incredibly happy for him, so grateful for all he has done for us over the years and all he continues to do. Here's to you, Daddy - enjoy this next chapter of your life to the very fullest.

Jeff and Quin are on a plane, 18 minutes out of LGA according to Flightview.com. Mike and I will meet up with them tonight for dinner, then we'll spend the whole day with them tomorrow. I'm so excited I'm nearly giddy. I've been watching the planes coming in from my office window all day, anxious for their arrival.

Enjoy your weekend, and I'll catch up with you all again soon.

The rains continue to fall from big grey clouds, and between the weather and the possibility of big and little changes in our life, I've been craving comfort - pots of soup, soft blankets, steaming hot toddies and good books. I made a big pot of bouillabaisse last night, big chunks of super-fresh halibut, some shrimp, clams, mussels, baby fennel, ripe tomatoes and leeks, a pinch of saffron, a couple handfuls of herbs from the garden and a hefty splash of Pastis for good measure. It was intensely satisfying in the way that only a fragrant bowl of something hot can be - holding my face over the steam and breathing in the anise-y aroma, pausing between bites of silky fish and crusty baguette, my husband happily slurping away next to me. We split a bottle of Provencal rose', and it was damn near perfect.

This is my favorite time of year to cook - there is so much abundance at the markets and in our little patch of garden, and these first few crisp evenings are rejuvenating. It's really the best of both worlds - I get to choose from a bounty of fresh yummy ingredients, and get back to preparing them as soups or braises or stews or baked dishes, because finally, it's not too hot to actually get down to some cooking.

It felt great to stand in the kitchen last night and chop and mix and stir and blend, to make an aioli with golden-orange yolks from incredibly fresh pastured eggs, to take off my sweater as the warmth from the stovetop removed the chill and damp of the night, to breathe in those good warm cooking smells, to not feel like I was rushing through it all. I didn't realize how much I had missed it. I felt satisfied and inspired.

With everything else going on in our lives lately, I've been fighting a bit of a writer's block... ironic, since much of what is going on for me has to do with more opportunities to write about food. But I feel like I got a little bit of my groove back last night, and it's a great feeling. Here's hoping there's more of it.

The previous entry was a rant, and I'm leaving it, because it's how I was feeling at the time.

I know damn well that there are greater problems in the world than us losing out on a sweet apartment we weren't even looking to find, but I also feel my anger is valid.

Anyway, we move forward from here. Spend some of the time and money and energy we would have put into packing up and moving into working on our current place. We will finish hanging the shelves in the study, do a little touch-up painting, maybe buy some new bedroom furniture - at least some matching bedside tables and some new bedding. We'll continue updating the kitchen, maximizing the workspace, making it as comfortable and functional as we can. We'll think about fall planting - since we're likely here for another summer... it'll be nice to have flowers in the spring. We'll plan our next gathering of friends - dinner party, cocktail party, brunch, whatever.

Home is wherever Mike and the cats are. Everything else is really unimportant when you get right down to it. Onward and upward.

So the Big Exciting Thing I referenced appears to have gone pear-shaped in the biggest, most fucked up way imaginable.