Peggy Carter is the bad-ass, dress wearing, SSR agent who was originally introduced to us in Marvel's Captain America movie. Last week the second season of this absorbing show aired and brought back some of the characters we love: Howard Stark's proper, English butler, Jarvis and the endearing, injured, but determined agent, Daniel Souza. The set has moved to L.A. where Peggy allies with the new West Coast Chief Souza to catch a mysterious villain in possession of a dangerous substance called Zero matter. But it has only begun.
The first episode did not disappoint especially with the appearance of Jarvis' wife and a pink flamingo. I'm also excited to see the appearance of an old member of my church who has been cast as the villain. She is a superb actress and I can't wait to see how her character develops. I have no problem waiting for the next season of Agent's of Shield if this is what I get to enjoy.
My New Years resolution is to put more thought into my shopping. Instead of buying something cute that will last four washes, I want to invest in clothing that will last me years. Anthropologie is where I've started scouting for new items. I know I can find 100% Cotton and "made in America" clothing there. But as my knowledge of the market increases, so will the stores, I hope. Building a quality closet of pieces I love will take time. But one might as well begin in 2016.
After all the cooking is done and all the champagne toasting is over, the post-holiday blues set in. Just kidding, I didn't drink any champagne. But I still got that funk when you feel like you should be high off receiving that special bedspread you wanted, but you aren't. You try to be thankful, but you always go back to hopelessly scrolling through Facebook.
Even though I found myself mostly disappointingly glum when I got home after break, there was one gift that gave me an inordinate amount of pleasure. It was a cheap, white, ceramic mug from Michael's (yes, the craft store). My mom and I were finishing up shopping for Christmas and I picked it up from a discount basket. I longingly looked at the "V" on it. My mom asked me if I wanted it. It was only $3. I felt silly, but my mom placed it in the car anyway. Christmas morning I unwrapped the inexpensive gift and added it to our mug collection. Sometimes it's not the big, flashy things that are going to make us happy, it's the little touches (mom, I still love the bedspread).
I've always wanted to have a monogrammed mug.
The older I get, the more I realize that most Christmases are not white. It's a cruel ideal that people put into your head when you are younger, but it is as unreal as Santa Clause. Snow may not even come until January! I know this is a mild winter, but I can't help but feel cheated every time Christmas comes and it's not magically powdered with white outside. I've given up on it snowing. But I'll take mist!
Yesterday, my mom and I motored up to town to finish up some shopping. Having moody weather helped created a holiday feel, even though I hardly needed my coat. The soft haze that covered the forest in the morning and that accompanied us to town, made me able to just imagine that it was time for Christmas.
We visited Central Market and then meandered over to the cutest little shops set up in a nearby lot. The vendors were selling men's handmade wallets and classy candles. Also, the most delicious caramel, sea salt chocolates.
My mom bought some Baklava and Pies, I bought some tea and jam. It was a good outing and I'm beginning to feel ready for Christmas
Our septic tank pipe was crushed by a tree root, so we can't use the toilets or showers. I wanted to get out of the house. So I hiked to my dad's office for the day to do school.
Like the week when Hurricane Sandy shut down lower Manhattan or like when my family worked to survive on our various camping escapades, I remind myself that these are the times when our tempers are tried and our adaptability is tested. God sometimes shakes things up so that you have to walk in a different direction.
I remember the day we were leaving for the beach. The house was bustling with the sounds and scenes of packing and cleaning out the refrigerator. It was a fateful day when mom ran into the Strand bookstore, before we motored out of town. Little did we, kids, know, but we were about to embark on journey that would last for many years. The vehicle of that adventure was Herman Melville's Moby-Dick. I wish I could tell you the year we started reading that book as a family, but I simply cannot remember. I do recall the countless summer vacations in which we did the dishes to the sound of my father's voice reading out the epic tale. Needless to say, after six or seven years of wading through Ishmael's narration, our family did not feel so congenial about the book.
Now I'm reading it for school.
It has come again. But I must endure, since the only material I retained from our family's reading was the chapter when one of the sailors fell into a dead whale's head. I am enjoying more of Melville's writing. He is an expert of allusion, and his descriptions of a whaler's life do not disappoint. I endeavor to keep an open mind about this book, even though I hardly feel civil towards it.