Author: Beth DeFries

My name is Beth! I hope you will join me on my adventures as I share my thoughts and writings on coziness minimalism, and life. So grab a cup of tea, mug of coffee, or glass of wine and let’s talk cozy!
Grief & Loss · Nostalgic Posts

It’s Only Water

Beth DeFries4 Comments

One Wednesday night, this past February, my cousin sent a Telegram message in our family’s shore house management thread saying that the thermostat app was showing the furnace as on a constant run, an atypical readout, for sure. She asked if someone would be able to go by the house to check on the thermostat and see if anything looked “funny”. Mike and I offered to swing by.

On the drive to the house that evening, I felt unusually calm. It was cold. Freezing, really, though warmer than earlier in the week when lows dropped to as little as three degrees (F) in our area, after multiple weeks of consistent, below freezing temps. On the way to the house, the car was rattling so we pulled into a parking lot and found there to be ice thoroughly frozen into one of the tire spokes. We chipped the ice out with our bare fingers, too clunky in our gloves, and a windshield scraper and continued on in pursuit of ascertaining the root of our greater uncertainty.

We parked at the curb in line with the front porch steps, the ground still coated in long-frozen snow, remnants from January’s relentless winter storms. Once we reached the porch, I felt suddenly light-headed. My insides contracted. It was the sound of rain that caused this reaction, the sound of rain when it was dry outside.

I unlocked the door with the leopard print key copy that Arlene made for me a long time ago and we stepped into the entry hall. My heart started to beat light and fast.

“Where is it coming from?!” I said, or maybe I didn’t. From the volume, it could have been coming from everywhere. Panic was bombarding every fiber of my consciousness.

The first floor of the house can be walked in a circle, always a great feature as a kid running around with my cousins, or lately, running around with my cousin’s son. I can’t remember now if I went left toward the kitchen or right toward the dining room. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. It was raining in both directions, after all.

“We should turn the water off,” I said.

We went down to the basement where we found it raining as well. The water rose above the bottom step; we estimated it was about a foot high where we could see it. And here I once thought of indoor home swimming pools as the epitome of luxury.

Looking at the water accumulation, I could feel my pulse in my ears. My heart raced. All logic turned off and my adrenaline kicked into overdrive. I fully acknowledge my stupidity in this next action. Don’t try this at home, kids.

The water was icy cold and crystal clear as I stepped into it, not to mention mercifully un-electrified. Thank you, Nana. In the glow of my phone flashlight, I waded the twenty-five or so feet to the main water-shutoff in the corner, the water rising higher on my leather boots with the sloped grade of the floor (for proper drainage toward the sump pump). I reached for the shutoff handle and willed it to turn. I worried it wouldn’t for a moment. Then, thank all the gods and angels and spaghetti monsters in the universes, it did. I made it back to the steps, my jeans and wool socks completely soaked through inside my knee-high, squelching boots.

Once back upstairs, we wandered the dark rooms with our phone flashlights, sweeping the lights from corner to corner, like amateur ghost hunters. We waited as the downpour reduced to a drizzle and then to a drip, drip, drip. Dark streaks bled from the dining room ceiling and moldings, down the walls, agonized mascara tears- wood stain and over a century’s worth of rafter-buildup freed from their confines by water. The ceiling, the floor, the furniture- everything reflected the light with a slick sheen.

The rooms appeared to have been victims of a violent attack.

“We should take pictures,” I said.

The storm had raged worst in the dining room, which makes sense. That’s where the plumber ended up finding two burst pipes in the ceiling a couple of days later.

We called a few 24-hour emergency water remediation companies and plumbers that had exaggerated their hours and left a few frantic voicemails feeling increasingly less hopeful that we’d get someone out that night. There was a water remediation company’s van parked down the street addressing a neighbor’s water damage. I ran over to the van and asked the two workers if they knew what we could do in the meantime. One of the men pointed at the phone number on the side of the van and read it out to me. I called and left a voicemail. I never heard back.

Mike said he’d update the family. My gut reaction was to hold in the trauma, keep it to ourselves until we knew exactly what we were dealing with. My gut reaction was illogical and protective. It was frightened and guilty and unsure. Thank goodness for Mike who is impervious to stress and stupidity.

“It’s not great guys…” read the start of his message.

You can say that again.

I tried to mop up the water on the kitchen floor with paper towels, but it just kept refilling which led me to find some of the lower cabinets filled with water as well.

Ever since Mike and I helped to take on managing the house from my aunt and uncle during the spring of 2020, and then recruiting the help of my cousins and sister the following summer, the house and I have had our share of run-ins. My attachment to the place quickly devolved from seeing it as the haven I once did in childhood and when I lived in New York to seeing it as an increasingly unpredictable opponent. I always told myself I was doing it for my family, doing what I could to keep the place going for everyone. Somewhere along the way, I forgot to enjoy the place for myself.

A few weeks before discovering the water damage, Mike had asked me what I most enjoyed about spending time at the house. I answered that my favorite recent memories were playing Five Crowns in huge groups at the dining room table and when people are cooking in the kitchen like Nana and Arlene used to. Finding these two rooms assaulted by water felt personal.

When the house pulls a harrowing stunt, I get a craving for whiskey. Whether it’s 3:00pm on a sunny Friday afternoon and I’m drenched with spray from a hose with a faulty water shutoff as the renters are pulling up, or I’m sweeping remnants of storm seepage from the corners of the basement with thirty minutes till the next renter arrives because the previous ones left an hour late, the sump pump broke during a storm, and the miraculous emergency plumbing repair just finished up. As I stood in the emo version of my family’s house, I could almost taste that sweet, sharp elixir on my tongue.

We texted some of the pictures to Maureen and her husband, Chris. Chris texted back, “Dining room all like ‘I’m ok. Trust me,” along with multiple gifs of mascara-teared characters. I laughed in the hysterical way that precedes crying.

We decided we’d come back in the daylight to assess the damage and take more photos. I had my gym stuff in the car and changed out of my jeans, socks, and boots. We left the house to its dripping, to its settling.

We drove to a pub in Asbury Park. Maureen Venmo’d me $20 for a drink. I ordered an Old Fashioned. I remembered Danielle and Corey’s Old Fashioneds, plentiful and shared in the dining room at the house, just a few summers before. Would that happen again?

The idea that the house could be brought back to a livable state in three months, the repairs- covered by insurance, didn’t seem in the realm of possibility that night. The uncertainty was a big stressor. As we worked with my uncle to set up the insurance claim and adjuster walkthrough, I felt less alone along the path to the place’s resurrection.

My uncle brought a crowbar and a tin of sardines the day of the claims adjuster walkthrough. My sister and my cousins came. I braced myself as my uncle was the first to arrive, after me. I had brought tissues in anticipation of everyone’s arrival, their first in-person look at the damage. My uncle walked in and looked at a big, white recliner that sits in the dining room-side corner of the living room, a source of ongoing family debate.

He said something like, “It’s too bad that chair survived, huh?”

I laughed. He hugged me for a long time and said, “Thank you.”

We ordered pizza on the porch and didn’t eat the sardines. I showed everyone my pictures of the china cabinet with the glasses inside filled with water. We followed the adjuster around from room to room, listening, asking questions, confusing him with our matching dark hair, black coats, black pants, and snow boots.

“I’m the one with the glasses,” I said, trying to help him differentiate.

We formed a “Calamity Consortium”.

We settled in for the “marathon, not a sprint” that the insurance adjuster kept assuring us the process would be. The plumber came and tore apart the dining room wall and ceiling and fixed the burst pipes.

I continued to snap photos with each change of each scene over multiple return visits.

The water remediation company took days to come and even more to get started. It turned out that pipes had been bursting all over New Jersey due to the cold. When the remediators came, they demolished and dried. They dissected the rooms right down to their bones.

As the kitchen demolition was in progress, Nic and I were at the house and the demo team called us into the kitchen to show us some notes they had found on the wall behind where the cabinets had been mounted. Notes from the Keltys and the Kavanaghs, family and friends, looked back at me. Notes from when something similar happened back in 1978 or 1979.

“Academy of St. Aloysius Class of 1983,” read one.

“There’s Nothing Better than a Vetter. Grand Ma says,” read another.

There were declarations of love to “Alan” and “Derek” in rough handwriting, pencil on plaster.

As I read the notes, I felt the past community of the house building around us as though confirming we might actually come out of this ok. Theresa and Billy and Robert and Corine had documented their having been through this before with their signature dose of good humor. Maybe Grand Ma was right.

Since the damage happened, I think of times when someone has knocked over a glass and someone says, “It’s ok; it was only water.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever view that phrase the same way again.

Julia and Nic went to work at bringing the house back to life. Over the weeks, the floors transformed. The walls. The moldings. The window frames. Fresh paint covered the seams and the scars. New furniture was bought and delivered and assembled. We put Nana’s little houses and tchotchkes back on the reconstructed plate rail. Boats and birds and light houses.

It looked like our home again, but better.

We carried the old chandelier to the alley and set it on the grass by the trash. It looked like a cursed relic exorcised from a haunted house.

Fast forward to last week, which I spent at the house. I played with my cousin’s son at the new dining room table, getting crushed at Paw Patrol Uno and creating comic book and non-comic book drawings. We created “Ralph, the couch ghost” out of one of the white chair’s throw pillows, a beach towel, and my sunglasses. We watched fireworks on the beach. I enjoyed sitting on the porch in the evening with my cousins and my aunt, sipping rose and dodging the big dumb beetles that have a tendency to fly right at the window screens, drawn to the cozy glow, within.

I had moments of laughing in the way where it’s hard to stop, a common occurrence in the company of my cousins. I woke up to the birds and watched TV with Eric in the living room. I got a kick out of him immersing himself in his Sonic iPad game on the porch. “OH YEAH!”

Over the week, my relationship with the place started to transform back to its former state with each nostalgic little moment. I felt conscious that the house was for me too and that I enjoy it, that I can do it for me and that, dare I say it, I want to, I think. This place is good, I thought. Sure, it may throw a couple punches now and then, but what old house doesn’t?

Nostalgia is a curious beast. It cuddled up around my feet while I was sipping Wedgewood mugs of tea on the couch and the porch. It glowed reassuringly from the hall, beneath the door of the room my cousins and I always slept in, growing up. It chirped in the tree down the street in the mornings and blew through the whistles on the lifeguard stands. It transported and comforted and fed me. It fueled my relaxation.

Finding the water damage this winter was among the most stressful moments in my life. Enjoying the house again once it was fixed back up felt just as significant though. I know in my head it’s not a person, but I don’t know, it’s comfort and coziness and its gathering us together in a positive way felt pretty personal to me.

After all, I mean, it was only water, right?

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Mount Memory

Beth DeFries2 Comments

When we approached the Appalachian Trail access a couple of weeks ago, ready for the rocky trek up one of New Jersey’s excuses for a mountain, we were met with a group of three young men exiting the woods.

“Be careful,” warned the leader of the posse, “We saw some rattlesnakes on the trails.”

One of the other young men behind him snickered in response, which assured me they were just messing with us.

“Oh, ok. Thanks,” we said.

We continued on our way into the cover of the trees, boots in dirt, digital trail map in hand, the idea of seeing rattlesnakes on such a well-traveled route too unlikely in our minds to actually be afraid. We pushed the thought deep to the bottom of our mental daypacks. It wasn’t until later that it dawned on me that laughter is an often employed mask for nerves.

But more on that to come.

The Appalachian trail led us for a short while along the shallow, meandering Dunnfield Creek. The creek was dammed in spots with fallen tree trunks and boulders. On previous sweltering hikes, the creek has been a draw for people wanting to cool down in its babbling waters, falls, and pool basins interspersed throughout the water’s winding path. We did not encounter any bathers as we covered this beginning part of our route in the forest.

The trail forked just after a small waterfall, continuing flat along the creek on the left or upwards on the Blue Dot Trail to the Mount Tammany summit. We continued up, following All Trails with slight confusion, painting our own blue path upon the digital topography, slightly off kilter to the dotted trail line mapped out.

Mount Tammany is neighbor to the Appalachian Trail without actually being part of the far stretching, eastern range. The little mountain holds its own though, in our opinion at least, and boasts some impressive views of the serpentine Delaware River, the Delaware Water Gap, and the broad, sturdy Mount Minsi, across the water.

Little as it may be, compared to “real” mountains we have visited, Mount Tammany challenges hikers with a steep climb no matter how you approach it. In the past, we have opted to do the trail as a loop, Red to Blue to Appalachian, then connector back to Red. We have come to learn that the Red Dot Trail ascent is abundant with steep boulder scrambles, the rock faces painted with trail arrows that point straight up to the sky. Hiking the Red Dot Trail requires frequent stops to catch our breath and and ease our heart rates. This time, we thought we’d go a little easier on our bodies and take the Blue Dot Trail as an out and back instead, making our route closer to 4.6 miles instead of the 3.7 the loop would be.

After a couple of water and Gatorade breaks, we continued up along the trail, chatting as our breathing allowed, sweating as is only acceptable while exercising in the great outdoors. The trail turned from rocks to dirt and roots in shades of gray for a brief stretch. I was slow to process an odd sound I was hearing. Is that cicadas? I thought. Something pulled a warning from the back of my mind and the memory came into full consciousness just as my gaze fell upon the creature slithering across the path, just steps in front of us.

“Hang on,” I said, stopping ahead of Mike, “Rattlesnake.”

We took instinctive steps backwards and watched as the timber rattler, about four feet long and three inches wide finished crossing the path, the markings and tone of its skin the perfect match to the dusty landscape. The rattle at the end of its tail vibrated rapidly in warning.

We skirted wide and hurried along the path, stealing a few wary glances behind us.

“I thought those guys were just messing with us,” I confessed to Mike with a little laugh to downplay my apprehension, more vigilant for slithering bodies as we climbed the next steep stretch.

“You know? I’ve seen two rattlesnakes in the wild in my whole life,” I said, “And both were in this area, the Delaware Water Gap.”

“Really?” said Mike.

I remembered the ancient looking rattler my camp group came across hiking on some trail in the Delaware Water Gap when I was a kid. We didn’t realize it was there until we were right beside it. It didn’t rattle, just rested, coiled on a dead tree stump. I don’t think Miss Rochelle liked it much at all. A hiker’s dog had joined us on the trail at some point and stayed with us until the end, making us all feel a little safer and lighter.

I don’t remember how old I was in this particular memory. I don’t remember being scared. I just remember the green of the forest and a light mist and that wise looking snake as Miss Rochelle led us cautiously past it.

To tell the truth, I thought I’d be a lot more shaken encountering a rattlesnake than I was this time around. I kept an eye out as we hiked on, thinking just be careful where you step and keep your ears open for that warning like a shaker full of glass beads.

We reached the summit of the mountain which doesn’t have much of a view at all and hiked a little ways beyond to access the vista point further down the trail. We hiked down the rocks a bit to better take in the view once we got there, but chose not to descend to the lowest rocks of the vista point which have the most unobstructed views but feel the most treacherous.

Mt. Tammany Vista Point

We could see the river well from where we stood, as well as the beach where we waited over an hour in sweltering heat last fourth of July to be shuttled back to our car from our kayaking trip downriver.

I remembered the view from Mount Minsi across the river, looking upon where I stood now.

I remembered taking in the view from Mount Tammany’s vista point on a cold day in March 2021 when the trees were bare, the views expansive and toasted in winter’s varying hues of brown. I remember being on the mountain two hours from home and feeling like the hike was as exhilarating an adventure as any amid the Covid lockdowns, precautions, and hierarchical vaccination availability.

I remembered the struggle to climb up the mountain’s Red Dot Trail back then with more weight on my body.

I remembered that picture from Chicago and that feeling of luck to have a switch flip in my head after thirty-two years in the dark when it came to knowing how to be kind to my body.

I took a deep breath of fresh air, filling my lungs with the good stuff, and held it before letting it out. We took a few pictures to bookmark the memories of this particular journey up the mountain, reflected on the view a little longer, and turned to make our way back down the mountain.

We navigated the rocky trail back down, our stabilizer muscles earning their keep as we balanced on the loose rocks and knobbly roots underfoot.

“This is about where we saw that rattle snake,” I said when we reached the brief, flat stretch of trail.

We continued down, down, down.

Just before we reached the fork by the little waterfall, Mike pointed something out up ahead and said, “What is that?”

“What is what?” I said, looking up.

A dark creature crossed the trail ahead.

“There’s another one in that tree,” said Mike, pointing.

I looked.

“What is that?” I said, “It’s like some kind of weasel almost.”

Mike wondered if it was an otter. I wondered if otters can climb. Fun fact, turns out they can, but it’s irrelevant information to this creature.

“They’re not bears, are they?” said Mike.

The fear hit then at the suggestion, looking at the creatures, about five of them, each with dark fur and 3 feet or so long. Baby bears? I thought. Mom’s nearby if they are.

“Maybe they’re bears,” I echoed, “We need to be careful.”

They didn’t look like bears though, but when you see an animal you can’t quite make sense of in the wilderness, maybe it’s good to err on the side of bear. Know what I mean? I started backing up the trail.

“No way,” said Mike. His confidence was enough to disperse my fear.

I suggested weasel. Mike was still on otter. Whatever they were, they continued across the path and into the trees out of view and we continued on our way back down to the little waterfall and along the Appalachian trail and Dunnfield Creek. Our research later on yielded the answer to be fishers which sort of look like what you might get if you were to combine the genetic makeup of a weasel, otter, and bear.

The bathers were out now in the creek, seeking a reprieve from the day’s heat in the cool water. We swatted at clouds of insects as we traversed rocks and roots and mud on our way back to the trailhead. We stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot and took the connector back to our car where others were waiting to park and were eager to stake their claim on our spot.

We had our next destination ready in mind as the dirt from our boots nestled into the floormats of our car. I plugged in Shawnee Craft Brewing into the GPS and was already looking forward to a crisp, cold beer and some pizza in air conditioning, the rewards of exertion and wildlife encounters on Mount Memory. We headed across the river to the rustic yet civilized reprieve of the Poconos.

We left Mount Tammany behind, but we’ll be back. I’m certain. And next time we reach the top, we will have more to pile on the cairn of memories on that rocky face overlooking the river as it slithers through the gap between the little mountains we keep choosing to climb.

Cozy Posts · Nostalgic Posts · Travel

Thank You, New York City

Beth DeFries2 Comments

New York City on a sweltering evening evokes a sense of truth and camaraderie that isn’t always evident in the city’s boroughs. In the heat, the city’s truest self emerges from its facade of splendor and grit, too warm to layer on the wanderlust a minute longer. It cranks up the AC, adopts a loose, languid appearance that is just enough to scrape by as presentable, and just tries to find the breathable oxygen amid the auto exhaust and amalgam of aromas and stenches permeating the air. Top notch cooking scents waft out of restaurant after restaurant on 9th Ave, quickly melding with baked trash at the curb, only to be sweetened by a hint of perfume speed walking past or a trail of wholesome sunscreen fumes.

As the city sweats, its residents pour outside and sweat with it. They plod the radiating sidewalks to and from work, home, and leisure activities. They dodge steam vents on street corners, waiting off the curb to cross before the walk sign illuminates. They’re wary of darting critters on garbage collection eve as the rooftops across the Hudson tug the sun lower and lower.

Last night, I went in to meet some friends for dinner and, having arrived early, took to winding my way through Hell’s Kitchen in the heat. It was ninety-four degrees and felt over a hundred on the long stretches between avenues where the cross-breezes were blocked by neat rows of buildings.

I popped into Deacon Brodie’s tavern on restaurant row to cool down in the dark and ordered a crispy, cold Modelo which I sipped as I tried not to puddle too much on the leather-upholstered bench where I sat. As my brain simmered, the understanding dawned on me that everyone seated in the bar had most certainly walked in drenched as well and after that, I melted freely and unnoticed.

My brain wandered through memories of past summer days and nights on auto-pilot as it used to when I lived in Brooklyn, navigating by the internal compass that every New York resident develops in order to get by. North, South, East, West. Uptown, Downtown, Brooklyn, Manhattan, etc. It’s the kind of auto-pilot that used to get me to the L platform after work in the heat of July and August without remembering the two-street-spanning underground walk from the 1. Most of my attention usually went into wondering what the real-feel temperature was in the station. 110F? 120F? In the words of my late nana, “Does anybody have a meat thermometer? I want to know when I’m done.”

The nostalgia was strong yesterday as I cooled down in what looked like a miniature version of our old local, Harefield Road, which we decided was still our local when we moved about a mile away from it back when we still lived in Brooklyn. We did that because, in a city as everchanging as New York, if you don’t treasure the things you love, they tend to disappear. In our experience, after too long, doors that once opened to a place that made the city feel more like home, were found chained or covered with paper, sometimes pasted with orange tax evasion signs, or sometimes with a note from the former owners thanking their loyal customers for a good run.

I shook the nostalgia from mind as my friend Katherine walked in, showing she’d gotten my text about being early and where I’d decided to wait out the time till dinner. Katherine is one of a few very good friends who stuck from my time working in New York in my twenties. When I moved to New York, I felt a strong need to make friends of my own, as grateful as I was for Mike and the people who I saw as “his friends” at the time, though they are mine too now. The most obvious place to make friends was through work.

My process was to throw my personality at the wall (the wall being co-workers and acquaintances) and see what stuck. As the years have gone on, I am sad to be on the other side of learning that some friendships don’t stick like others. Whether it’s a general lack of initiative to coordinate or attend that happy hour or draft that text or email, or fail to get a regular catch-up going, friendships end up slipping through the cracks. I often wonder how friends, who I haven’t seen in a while, are doing. I try not to wonder if they’d still classify me as a friend or if they have a metaphorical sign posted on a metaphorical locked door somewhere. Thank you. We had a good run. I’ve grown up a little every year and with growth comes understanding, be it bitter or sweet. I can walk away with memories of good times past, content enough.

I am especially grateful for the sticky friendships though, the people who willingly catch up with me regularly, who care to know what I’m up to, what I’m struggling with, and what’s going well. They bolster and share their own experiences and goals and I am happy to be part of that. From talking to people among my New York circle over the years, a sense of isolation and overwhelm seems to be a common experience for the city’s new arrivals. I am happy to have overcome that in my own experience and to be someone who helps fill out other people’s New York community.

Analisa filtered in next and we headed around the corner to dinner at Elephant Ear and were seated, acceptable enough in our stickiness, that all too familiar residue of New York City heat and pondered the spiciness of the Thai menu items as we waited for our cold drinks.

Ashley came last and the gang was back together again, giving the latest updates for the month, not needing to do the whole “So, what’s new with you?” opener because we’ve seen each other recently enough to have that bit covered. The thing that was new, however, was the temperature, the drastic transition from the east coast’s bitter winter to an abbreviated spring, only to be thrust into August in the middle of May. Oh goodness gracious me.

After dinner, we parted ways and I headed to Bryant Park to meet up with Mike. I entered on the corner of 42nd and 6th and suddenly felt like I was in my twenties again. The lawn was dotted with people sitting on picnic blankets, hoodies, and beach towels. The cafe tables lining the gravel path around the grass were occupied with friends chatting and lounging in the slightly cooled after-dark temperatures. Readers were immersed in their books which lay open on their laps or in the grass. And patrons of the outdoor bars sipped, snacked, and conversated.

Bryant Park Lawn

A hot evening in Bryant Park is a guaranteed time machine for me back to fond memories of my early days in the city. Meandering the paths with Mike. Listening to a live band playing. Strategists taking chess too seriously. The library, up-lit and impressive, sheathing its collection of knowledge, history, and adventure within. When the heat becomes more palatable after sunset, you can’t help but love such a place. At least, that’s how it is for me.

If you ever get to experience the magic yourself, I hope you won’t take it for granted. Just sweat and let your mind unwind. You can’t fight the grimy residue and really, it’s part of the experience anyway. Only when you are seasoned with salt and damp with sweat do you become part of the tableau for everyone else, worthy of such a unifying experience with the people around you, the New Yorkers who call the city home and the visitors who spend their time and money to make the trip there happen, perhaps only once in their lifetime.

So, this one’s for New York in the heat, for the loveable beast of a city that I once called home. For the place that pulls on my heartstrings in moments when I least expect it. For the place that reminds me how who I was and where I lived helped to make me the person that I’ve become. So, thank you, New York City. We had a good run.

Cozy Posts

Marvelous

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

It’s a slow Saturday here in our corner of the world. Breakfast’s been had and tea after that. Our pajamas have turned into our actual outfits by this point and there is little planned for the rest of the day other than to prep for some visitors later on.

I am clicking through Paris on Google Maps, acquainting myself with the city for a trip that’s still a ways off, but will surely have come and gone before I am ready to be done with it.

The neighborhoods swirl clockwise from the city’s center like a snail’s shell in mint and white shapes, each one dotted with landmarks. Le Louvre with its pyramid and crowded galleries. La Conciergerie and Place de la Concorde with their revolutionary significance. La Tour Eiffel glittering in the blue night. Montmartre glowing at the feet of Le Sacre Coeur. C’est très merveilleux, n’est-ce pas?

We cannot see it all at once and so the planning ahead is necessary. We must pick and choose our favorites. It’s so difficult, but in that is the challenge, the fun, the stakes.

Outside, the ocean’s a murky sort of seafoam, dotted with a heaping serving of white sprinkles, under an overcast sky. It’s my perfect writing weather and so I thought I’d do just that.

Just outside, the naked rose of Sharon braces against the breeze, stewing in envy of the nearby trees with their branches clad in bunches of youthful green.

Mike’s playing Noah Kahan’s new album and I’m drinking in the melodies like lazy sips of cool lemonade on an August day.

The posts here have been few and far between these days. I’m sorry if you’ve noticed and had hoped for more. I’ve been getting happily lost in fiction writing instead, wandering into stories that don’t have endings yet until they do, meeting strangers that become important people in my life, creating my own simulated versions of reality from my little desk.

Since quitting coffee over a year ago, I’ve felt less of an impulse to share the personal stuff. I like the quiet in my head, the space to create and rationalize, to come to terms with the thoughts that have slowed from a race to a brisk walk. I am happy despite some chaos this year. I accept myself as I am and all that comes with that and there is more peace in that simple act than I would have ever imagined. I wish that acceptance for everyone.

I hope that once you finish reading this, you reflect on the miracle of your mere existence and make whatever you like of it in a positive way, whether it’s the most, good enough, or the bare minimum. Just know that you are marvelous, whatever you choose, and for you, I am grateful.

Travel

Nashville Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

How y’all doin’, friends? Last week, we packed our carry-on bags to near-bursting and flew down south to Nashville for a change of scenery, some good music, and some truly amazing food. This was our second visit to Music City, after going in December of 2022 and, this time around, we made it our mission to venture beyond the bright lights of downtown to experience some of the city’s beautiful, vibrant, and quirky surrounding neighborhoods.

Broadway, Nashville, TN

East Nashville Food Crawl

The first day of our trip was a delicious adventure and my mouth is watering just remembering it. Temperatures in the eighties and abundant sunshine had us wanting to be outside, shaking off the frost that we’d accumulated, up north, this icy winter. Mike scoped out some recommended spots in the culinary wonderland that is East Nashville and we took a Lyft from our hotel in SoBo to our first stop for the day, Sho Pizza Bar.

Stop 1: Sho Pizza Bar

Sho Pizza Bar was a bright, airy, open kitchen-style, Michelin Bib Gourmand establishment. We arrived soon after opening and were seated at the bar, a perfect location to spectate as the chefs prepared the ingredients for the day’s orders. Scents of hickory, oak, precisely fermented dough, and simmering vegetable stock permeated the space as we perused the menu for what would be the most appropriate pizza for breakfast, taking into account that we planned to do a lot of eating for the rest of the day across the sprawling neighborhood.

We settled on the “Supermarg”, which was similar to a traditional Neopolitan-style margherita pizza, but with buffalo mozzarella, an ingredient that the restaurant flies in each week from Italy, according to their website. As we waited for our pizza to be ready, we watched the chefs behind the bar rolling out dough on the countertop and spreading it with fresh toppings before nestling the soon-to-be-deliciousness into the massive wood fired oven.

When our pizza was served, we were advised to use the provided shears to cut our own slices. We did as instructed and took our first bites. Somehow crispy and airy at once as well as both light and flavorful, this pizza was the perfect way to warm up our bellies for the day. We each paired our meal with a Peroni 0.0% and were soon off to our next stop, on foot.

Stop 2: Southern Grist Brewing Co.

Our walk from Sho Pizza Bar to Southern Grist Brewing Co. took us through some of the residential streets and main thoroughfares of East Nashville. On our journey, we noticed an abundance of new and in-progress construction, as well as homes that represented the former appearance of the neighborhoods. Many of the new homes appeared to be very recently built, residual dirt from construction still dusting the sidewalks and street that corresponded to each renewed property.

Warm from walking in the sunshine, we snagged a spot in the shade on Southern Grist’s front patio. We ordered some beers, a Handsome Devil (NZ Pilsner) and a Teal (NE IPA), to start, and enjoyed chatting, sipping, and planning our next move. Soon, a freight train rolled in on the nearby tracks and we noticed the traffic starting to accumulate at the crossing.

Enjoying some brews at Southern Grist Brewing Co.

We learned later in the day, from our Lyft driver, that the freight trains that come through East Nashville are notorious for causing loooong traffic delays. He said that if you’re gonna get stuck at a train crossing, you might as well have packed a lunch. That being said, I took the below pictures thirty minutes apart.

We stayed at Southern Grist for one more brew to share, enjoying the warmth and pleasantness of the patio area, opting for a Toro y Oso (Mexican Lager). We adjusted our next stop plans based on the lack of movement from the train, opting to head in the direction of Five Points vs. McFerrin Park, not wanting to be trapped by the motionless freight train later on.

Stop 3: East Side Banh Mi

After our beers, Mike was feeling a banh mi, a Vietnamese sandwich and I had never had one, so we took a little detour on our way to Five Points to give East Side Banh Mi a try.

A quick service-style spot, serving up brilliant Vietnamese flavor, we ordered a Pork Banh Mi to share. The sandwich came on a pillowy baguette and was packed with pork shoulder and crunchy vegetables, both pickled and fresh, and an ignorable hint of creamy shallot mayo. Let’s just say I won’t shy away from this food option next time it’s a contender in a list of lunch options.

Stop 4: Five Points Alley Shops

Ok guys, so this one isn’t a food stop, but our stomachs needed a little break from consumables for a little bit. Instead, we decided to feed our hunger for some Nashville culture and wandered into Five Points Alley Shops, a collective of tiny shops in small, hut structures, selling things like vintage clothing and accessories, used books, and creations by local artisans. I had fun perusing the racks of vintage clothing, pulling out things like a cropped and de-sleeved Destin, Florida tee and a pair of red an green tartan knee-length, high-waisted, culotte shorts which I turned to Mike and said “Christmas shorts?” and he replied, “I mean…”

Stop 5: Hunters Station, Everbowl

“I’m feeling like a smoothie,” I said to Mike as I came out of Defunct Books, coming up empty on my latest used bookstore search, a copy of Shakespeare’s MacBeth.

Mike did a little tappy-tap-tapping on his phone and found a place in Five Points called Everbowl that looked like it might be a decent option. As a side note, Everbowl looks to be a chain that is located all over the US, but there is not one in New Jersey and this was our first time trying it.

Everbowl was a located inside a vibey, food court-style setup called Hunters Station where the air conditioning was cool and necessary and many cozy corners and counter seats contained artsy-looking individuals staring intently at their laptop screens, their ears invisible beneath noise-cancelling headphones.

We surveyed the menu over the counter at the Everbowl stall and decided on a “Whatever Smoothie” with a mango base, frozen bananas and spinach, and peanut butter. Friends, have you ever been really craving a food or drink, but you can’t quite put your finger on exactly what it is that you want? And then you order something random and by the miracle of all the Gods in the Heavens, it hits your tastebuds in all the right spots and then some? Well that was this smoothie for me. Too much? I don’t care. Moving on!

Our “Whatever Smoothie”

Stop 6: Lockeland Table

The final stop on our East Nashville food crawl was a beautiful little spot situated in the Lockeland Springs neighborhood.

Lockeland Table advertises something called their “Community Hour” on their website, a trademarked coinage for their own spin on the traditional happy hour, only with a mission-based twist. This service is open to diners from 4-6pm Monday through Saturday, and unlike a regular happy hour, it has a purpose that stretches beyond the confines of the restaurant’s property and accounts. Some of the proceeds from Lockeland Table’s “Community Hour” go directly toward Parent Teacher Organizations for schools in Nashville and the surrounding areas. Who could resist a good deal on drinks and small plates, especially when it comes with a side of community enrichment.

We were seated on the patio out front by a friendly hostess and ordered the black eyed pea hummus to share and a couple of muddled old fashioneds off the “Community Hour” menu and then added some red Thai curry steamed PEI mussels off the main menu, for good measure.

The staff at Lockeland Table were so friendly and welcoming, making this a perfect last stop on our East Nashville food crawl for the day. We ordered a Lyft and made our way back to our hotel in SoBo, in Nashville proper to prepare for our planned evening activity.

NHL at Bridgestone Arena: Predators vs. Devils

We didn’t realize it was going to be pride night at Bridgestone Arena when we entered, but the sparkly, excited atmosphere made the game all the more enjoyable. The Bridgestone staff, the LGBTQ+ community, and the arena full of allies in attendance really made the night a celebration of love, community, and, of course, music, that was fun to witness. There was glitter. There were performers. There was a custom Pride night Predators logo designed by a local print artist, Tiffany Evans.

During each intermission, we got to experience the incredible talent of performer, Brady Riley, who looked fab in a pair of knee-high, heeled, silver boots, glittery makeup, and a long, custom Preds jersey. Brady’s versatile setlist included covers of songs by Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, and Ozzy Osbourne, all amazing.

Brady Riley and band performing at Bridgestone Arena

We have been to away hockey games before where the home fans are less than kind to fans of the visiting team. This was not our experience in Nashville. The fans were, for the most part, respectful, and there to have a good time and support their team and not dole out animosity toward the other fans, aside from the normal hockey chants which you’ll sit through at any game.

In the end, the Devils won, serving as the cherry on top, for us, though the Predators fans would disagree. Still, afterwards, we saw lots of Preds fans out having a great time in the city, despite their team’s loss.

We enjoyed some music at Legend’s Corner on Broadway after the game.

Day 2: 12 South, Centennial Park, The Ryman Auditorium

Virgin Hotels Nashville

We checked out of our first hotel of the trip, Holiday Inn & Suites in SoBo and headed to our second, Virgin Hotels Nashville, in Music Row.

We checked in early, having called ahead about storing our luggage, only to be told that our room was already ready. The check-in process was smooth, informative, and welcoming. The hotel also had a dedicated welcome ambassador who was present at check-in to offer us some witty remarks, welcome info, and heaps of character.

We dropped our bags off in our room and took in the details of our home away from home for the next two nights. We were not disappointed. Having booked this hotel through Chase Rewards, our stay also came with certain amenities like included breakfast at the Commons Club Restaurant in the lobby and a daily property credit that could be put towards experiences, dining, or drinks in the hotel. Part of our welcome package was a box of “GooGoo Clusters” which we tried immediately, our breakfast of champions, savoring the chocolate, caramel, nougat, nutty goodness before heading out to our next stop, in search of some real food.

12 South

If you find yourself wandering around downtown Nashville in the morning and are wondering where all the bachelorette party herds have gone to, I have the answer for you! They are dressed to the nines, parading, dining, and shopping their way through the cute, boutiquy, and culinary hub that is the 12 South neighborhood.

Heading into the 12 South neighborhood

Our goal was to get a nice breakfast at The Buttermilk Ranch, a plan quickly thwarted by the lack of availability due to the visiting bachelorette party community that Nashville has become somewhat famous for.

No sweat, we thought, we’ll just try our back up option, which honestly looks pretty darn good too! We headed to The Frothy Monkey and put our names in for the 50 minute wait. We took to window shopping along 12th Ave South to pass some of the time, peeking into colorful shops like Reese Witherspoon’s Draper James before just having a seat on a bench and deciding to people watch instead. We wondered aloud to each other if the plethora of ladies in their cropped boho tops, short skirts, and cowboy boots were freezing, while we pulled the tabs of the zippers on our rain jackets a little higher.

The Frothy Monkey

We were seated in the interior side porch section at Frothy Monkey, a pleasant room just off the main restaurant. Outside the bright windows, it was growing increasingly gray and chilly and inside it smelled like roasted coffee beans and warm bread. I ordered a chai latte with almond milk, craving something warm and cozy (craving coffee to be really honest with you) and, influenced by the influencer-esque crowd all around us, a mimosa as well.

For breakfast, I ordered the Broadbent Omelette, fresh eggs with bacon, cheddar, onions and roasted peppers, which came with a side of fresh sourdough. Mike opted for the Shrimp and Grits, blackened shrimp with andouille sausage, tomatoes, peppers, and onions over smoked gouda grits. Mike’s meal ended up being among my favorites of the foods we tried on this trip. So, so good.

Five Daughters Bakery

After breakfast, we walked off a couple of bites by zigzagging the bungalow-lined residential streets of 12 South with the goal of making room in our bellies to share a doughnut from Five Daughters Bakery.

From the array of offerings, we opted for the chocolate chip sea salt and wouldn’t you know it, we seemed to have made just enough room to split it!

Full of breakfast and dessert, we thought we ought to walk to our next spot via a scenic route.

Belmont University & Vanderbilt University

Our ultimate destination was Centennial Park and we decided we’d walk through the scenic campuses of Belmont University and Vanderbilt University to get there. Belmont University had a quintessential, “collegiate” feel to it. The pretty campus had lots of Greco-Roman architecture on display, statues of gods and goddesses, as well as sprawling, lush, green lawns that would be an enticing draw for most prospective students, I’d imagine.

Vanderbilt’s campus was more sprawling, with picturesque pockets of courtyards, pathways, and bridges sprinkled amongst a satisfying mix of both traditional and modern architecture.

A photo of some of the Vanderbilt campus from our previous trip

Centennial Park

On our previous visit to Nashville, one of my favorite experiences was going inside the replica of the Parthenon, built for Nashville’s Centennial Celebration in 1897, to see the 42-foot statue of the goddess, Athena, that the structure houses. Unfortunately, on this trip, the Parthenon was closed for HVAC refurbishment.

Because we could not go in to visit the beautiful, big lady this time around, I will add some photos from our previous visit, as Athena made such an empowering impression on me last time that I was so looking forward to seeing her again. This was a learning moment for me, friends. Even if there is an activity you think you’ll definitely do on your trip, so much so that you don’t even need to research more about it, just save yourself some day-of disappointment and check that it will be open.

We made it back to Virgin Hotels Nashville on tired legs and feet after spending most of the day walking. We decided to just kick off our shoes and rest a while before our next activity.

The Ryman Auditorium

We visited the Ryman on our previous trip for the tour of the venue and the Rock and Roll Museum that they have onsite. This time, around, we were there for the music.

If you’ve read my past travel posts, you’ve seen me mention a certain band a few times now, one of our favorites who we seem to have a tendency to follow around. Anyway, they are called Trampled by Turtles and they are an Americana band made up of wildly talented string musicians. Getting tickets to Trampled’s show at The Ryman was actually the catalyst to us planning this entire trip.

The Ryman Auditorium, also dubbed “The Mother Church”, is a stunning, historic music venue with stained glass windows, wooden pews, a wooden stage, and a wooden ceiling. Wood is excellent for amplifying acoustics and so, the sound in this venue is something else. What I didn’t consider when I got so excited about seeing our favorite band at the Ryman was that the atmosphere would be more akin to that of going to the symphony rather than a lively concert experience.

As the Ryman is located in a historic venue, in a super touristy area, you might get a mix of people who are fans of the band and people who just want to experience some music in a famous venue, they could care less what it is. For fans, this makes for a somewhat lackluster concert-going experience.

Despite the different-than-expected experience, we still had a good time, though, I’m sorry to say, I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to see a favorite band perform at The Ryman again since I enjoy the community experience that comes from being in a crowd of like-minded fans that just want to stand up, sing along, and dance to their favorite music.

Day 3: Exploring Our Hotel & The Station Inn

Virgin Hotels Nashville Rooftop

We decided to give our tired legs and feet some more time to rest before heading back out to explore some of the city’s offerings. We grabbed a delicious brunch in the hotel lobby at Commons Club, then took a nice long nap before venturing up to the rooftop to grab some cocktails, views, and a bite to eat.

The Station Inn, The Gulch

We left our hotel late in the afternoon to catch a show at the legendary Station Inn, an iconic bluegrass venue in The Gulch, taking our turn being the spectators going to a show to experience the venue. Lucky for us, Station Inn is more of a sit and listen type of place on the regular.

On this visit, the Station Inn was taking part in hosting the Tin Pan South Songwriters Festival and we got some tickets to see Marla Cannon-Goodman, Jaida Dreyer, Kylie Frey, and Stephanie Lambring. Each performer was incredibly talented and entertaining, their songs ranging from heartfelt to hilarious.

We also learned on this visit that one of the performers we got to experience at The Station Inn on our previous visit to Nashville, Ronnie Bowman, had passed away the week before due to a motorcycle, vehicular accident. It was evident amongst the performers and the people behind the bar that this loss was felt deeply amongst the Station Inn community and it was emotional to see the performers paying tribute to their late friend with songs they’d co-written or performed with him previously.

Ronnie Bowman, Rob McCoury and the Sparkomatic Coaxials with surprise guest, Billy Strings, December 2022

Germantown

We trekked from The Gulch, across Downtown, to Germantown. We were in pursuit of Bao, brews, and a big, hot pretzel.

The bao at Steam Boys in Germantown was up there among my favorite things we ate on this trip. I ordered the beef gua bao, which was packed with spice and warm flavor on a satisfyingly squishy bao bun. Mike opted for the chicken which he also said was excellent.

Next, we headed to Von Elrod’s Beer Hall & Kitchen and grabbed a couple seats at the bar. I got the M.L. Rose Owl Lager, brewed in Asheville, NC and we ordered a Classic Bavarian Pretzel to share.

Von Elrod’s Beer Hall & Kitchen

Day 4: Cheekwood Estate & Heading Back Home

On our last day in Nashville, we had some breakfast at our hotel, checked out of our room and had the concierge desk store our bags.

We ordered a Lyft to take us to the Cheekwood Estate, a historic home and botanical garden located about a twenty-five minute drive from Downtown Nashville. I recommend booking your tickets for this in advance, if this is an activity that you are interested in, as we had noticed tickets were sold out when we originally planned to go, the day before. The Cheekwood Estate staff encourages visitors to take ride shares to the property, as parking is somewhat limited. They even gives discounts if you can provide proof of your rideshare dropping you off at Cheekwood, so that is pretty nice!

We enjoyed exploring the grounds of the Estate which was blooming with tulips on our visit. We purchased the house and gardens ticket and went into the house to explore some of the estate’s beautiful, private rooms.

We returned to our hotel to pick up our bags and ordered an Uber to whisk us off to the airport. In the terminal at BNA, a musician was playing a live acoustic set, taking requests from the travelers in the vicinity, giving us one last reminder of what Music City’s all about before we boarded our flight to head back to reality, once more.

Cozy Posts

In Like a Lion

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Bonjour, mes amis! It’s March and today just seemed like a good day to write a blog post. I have no idea where this particular post is going yet, so just bear with me and we’ll meander on the screen together. How’s that sound?

Like crickets.

Ok. Good! Allons-y! What’re we waiting for?

Life’s been a little stressful lately, but nothing we can’t handle with little tiny baby steps, day by day. The temperatures here in our corner of the world dipped into low single digits a few weeks back and let’s just say the pipes at my family’s home and rental property down the shore didn’t fare so well. That’ll be a story for another day though, once I can draft a worthy intro, unlike that in today’s post, and once I can process the whole experience and all that’s been in the works since, amid a reconstructed setting.

Today’s a morning for decaf Earl Grey in my favorite mug, a big little thing that’s helping me keep sane amid the upheaval of the past few weeks. Writing has been another salvation, when I get the time for it, and reading, of course. I’m crawling through Maeve Binchy’s Circle of Friends and having a lovely time of it, with Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere on deck.

I’m wrapped up in a big fuzzy, brown sweater today and my most comfortable blue jeans, my cross between Hagrid energy and power outfit for the day, with a big splash of cozy. I feel tired already and there’s a good chance I’ll fall asleep on the couch at 9 pm yet again, in exactly what I’m wearing, too warm and cozy under the sherpa fleece pumpkin blanket that Danielle and Corey gave me for my birthday a few years back now, so there’s that to look forward to… What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, as the saying goes, and also makes you inexplicably sleepy, apparently.

We change the clocks this weekend and the days are getting lighter for longer. Spring is on the horizon and, with it, warmth and progress. I’m looking forward to some travel this month, to white sand and turquoise waters, to good music and a reunion with a goddess, but more on those adventures to come.

In the meantime, stay sane, stay warm, and find a little moment of happiness in today. 💖

Books · Health & Lifestyle

On Love Languages

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

On one of my visits to the library this past summer, I approached the circulation desk and set down the book that I’d come to check out. As I fished out my library card, the librarian picked up the book, beamed down at the cover and said with giddy satisfaction, “Ooh! A love story!”

I can see how she might have gotten confused. The cover did have a couple embracing on a beach, backlit by a sunset, after all. I had also just finished reading Stephen King’s horror fantasy epic, The Dark Tower series and could see why she might be relieved to see me choosing something a little more frivolous in nature from the shelves.

As a seed of intrigue began to grow within me, I wondered if I should correct her or not. On the one hand, I wanted to see her reaction. This felt important, for some reason. For me, for her, and for the library assistant who was an innocent bystander throughout this entire exchange. On the other hand, it was almost guaranteed to spawn an awkward situation. I decided to lean into the awkwardness, mostly just out of curiosity, wanting to see what would happen.

“More of a self help book, actually,” I said.

The librarian looked down at the cover again and I watched as her expression turned from confusion to alarm as she read the title and the subtitle there. The 5 Love Languages, The Secret to Love That Lasts.

Hindsight caught up with me immediately and I thought to myself, Now, why did you do that, Beth? This poor woman.

She scanned my library card quickly, cleared her throat, and said, “Well, good luck.”

She pushed the book back toward me across the counter. And with that, I walked out of the library trying to suppress a smile until I was clear from view.

I took Gary Chapman’s acclaimed book out of the library that day after having had a recent conversation about it on a family vacation this summer. That conversation was not the first time that I had heard about the book or been asked by friends, to my own confusion, “What’s your love language?” That conversation did, however, pique my interest enough in Gary Chapman’s process to want to read the book for myself and see what all the buzz was about.

It took me a few hours to read through the entire book on that summer day. I enjoyed the direct language and the real-life anecdotes sprinkled throughout the guide and once I was through, I took the assessment at the end to identify what I had come to learn in the first place, my own love language.

According to Gary Chapman, the five love languages of human relationships are as follows:

Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time, and Physical Touch.

These categories do not only pertain to how you receive love romantically, but how you receive love in your other relationships as well, such as with family members, friends, and community members.

As I read through the book, I found myself trying to identify how different family members and friends might best receive love and could see how expressing love towards them via my own receiving love language or my secondary love language, would not be equally sufficient across the board for them all.

According to the assessment, my primary love language ended up being “Words of Affirmation”. This tracks, friends. Of course it’s the words one, right? When I think of the times I feel most loved, it is because someone is expressing positive sentiments towards me with their words and tone. The times when I feel least loved can be traced back to hurtful or indifferent words and / or harsh delivery. I had been wondering as I read if my language would be “Words of Affirmation” or “Acts of Service”, as I found myself reflecting on how I communicate love to others and noticed that I naturally express love through acts of service.

As I told my husband about my takeaways from reading the book, I asked him if he felt loved when I did things like doing the laundry, the dishes, or cleaning the house. He looked at me, confused, as I imagined he would, as though it was crazy to think anyone would feel love from such acts. Some people do, ok! My person, however, does not, and it’s helpful to know that now. I made a quick mental note, then and there, that I would need to make a conscious adjustment in how I express love, catering toward my loved ones’ suspected languages, rather than relying on my own natural tendencies to effectively accomplish that task.

It was funny to me how quickly I went from being a little embarrassed about checking out a relationship self-help book from the library to sharing the merits of said book with my closest friends. Having checked the book out with the goal of improving my skills in communication, I wanted to share the resource because, in my opinion, it’s nice to have the information before you actually need it. And though it’s nice to think you aren’t going to need it, the truth is, there might come a moment where it could offer some support that you might not naturally be equipped with in your mental and emotional arsenal. In other words, relationships can be hard sometimes. The most important things often are, though, aren’t they?

In anticipation of Valentine’s Day which is coming up this week (but also just for everyday lovin’), here are some suggestions for how to show love for each of the love language categories:

Words of Affirmation:

Verbally express positive sentiments toward your loved one via phrases such as these: “I love you because…” “I’m proud of you for…” “I appreciate how you…” “You look beautiful/handsome.” “You are smart.” “You are talented.” “I love it when you smile.”

For Words of Affirmation people, remember that tone plays as much of a role as the words themselves do. Sincerity and a light, positive tone can go a long way with these word lovers.

Acts of Service:

Do something for your partner, friend, or family member. It helps to know the types of services that they would be the most grateful for, of course. That might be a learning process to figure out, though try thinking back to conversations you might have had with them. For example, is there a chore that your partner always does that they don’t particularly enjoy doing, such as doing the dishes or figuring out what to do or make for dinner? Why not take that off their hands once in a while, unprompted, even if it does not feel natural to do so.

Other examples could be decluttering a space, taking the car for an oil change, taking the dog for a walk, meal prepping, taking out the trash and recycling, or giving them a shoulder massage.

Receiving Gifts:

Does your partner light up at the sight of a little gift bag or a bouquet of flowers? Do they show unbridled joy for that meme you saw and texted them just because it made you think of them? You might have yourself a partner then whose love language is gifts.

“Gifts” don’t have to be expensive to be appreciated. It helps if they are thoughtful or personal somehow- a flower picked on a walk in the park together for example or a seashell from the beach, just something you came across with them in mind is all it really takes. That being said, purchased items are appreciated by gift lovers as well. Try to get a sense of the things your partner gravitates towards when shopping or travelling to get a better sense of something that would not only make them feel loved, but be practical and enjoyable for them as well beyond just being a positive association with you.

Quality Time:

Making time for loved ones might not come naturally to everyone, but it certainly goes a long way for people who have Quality Time as their love language. Don’t scroll on your phone at dinner. Be present and listen to your partner and ask them about their day. If your partner isn’t a big talker, maybe you do the talking by bringing up an article you read or an interesting YouTube Video you recently watched or an advertisement for a travel destination that you noticed on your commute.

I just finished reading a great novel, A Gentleman in Moscow by, Amor Towles, in which two characters enjoy playing a particular game every time they are waiting for their dinner to come at a restaurant where they establish a category, such as ‘things with stripes’ or ‘famous trios’ and alternate naming examples with the goal of being the last to run out of examples.

Play a boardgame, do a puzzle, talk about your goals for the future. Just remember that quantity is not the same as quality, so make sure the time is filled with conversation or an experience and not idle.

Physical Touch:

Even so much as sitting next to your partner with some part of you touching them goes far with this love language. There is the obvious, of course, but remember that there is also love in smaller gestures. Holding hands, giving a shoulder massage, giving them a hug or a kiss, even brushing or combing their hair can be ways to show your love for them. For times when you are a not physically near each other, try sending a picture of yourself smiling or adding emojis that represent touch to text messages that you exchange with them, just something to bridge the sensory gap of distance and make you feel closer than you physically are.

I hope this post inspires some of you to reflect on your own relationships and communication styles. Whether your relationship is absolutely perfect or more of the rollercoaster variety, perhaps it is more in your power than you thought to be a better master of your own joy and your ability to create joy for others around you. Not all partners have the same love language and expressing love in a different love language than your own might take some extra work. With that said, the payoff might be bigger than you think and could even lead to a partnership of more consistent mutual enjoyment, fulfillment, and of course, love.

In case you are still wondering about that poor librarian, I regretted making her feel awkward that summer day pretty instantly, but also Mike and I had a good laugh about it later that night when I told him about the exchange. Maybe sometime I should take out a book on being a more socially acceptable human being (or perhaps an actual love story while that same librarian is working) 🙃. I have too many books on my to-read list for now, however, so please take me as I am in the meantime, and thank you for your patience, world.

Though it’s all too commercialized here in the US right now, remember that once the heart-shaped balloons and chocolate boxes are taken down from the shelves, love should still be an everyday priority in each relationship that you have with your loved ones. Thank you all for reading this post and for being part of this community. I am thankful for you all for fueling this creative outlet of mine. 💖

Books · Cozy Posts · Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health · Reviews & Reflections

In Pursuit of Living Well

Beth DeFries5 Comments

It’s January once again, friends. The treadmills at the gym are more populated than usual, the temperatures outside are biting and sharp, and the potholes are expanding into craters with each new round of salt and snow.

The December electric bill revealed a number that I was shocked to see, so I’m choosing to live in fleece, chunky sweaters, thermal leggings, and wool socks regularly, to keep the cold at bay and the thermostat a little less high. I boil the kettle a few times a day and bundle up for brisk walks through the park or to the library.

In 2025, our resolution was to travel somewhere different every month and that was fun and a little bit intimidating at the onset, to be entirely honest. We actually managed it though, something I was skeptical would happen if you talked to me this time last year. These trips have enriched our lives and fueled our sense of adventure, though I’m not itching to go anywhere else just yet. The break from constant trip planning and booking and financing is a welcome one. I’m sure I’ll be desperate for some journey sometime soon, but for now, I’ll take the calm with gratitude.

2025 was a year of trying new things, of starting from square one, and of pursuing my creative goals with more focus and intention. The act of writing my January Postcard on this same day last year served as a major catalyst for this switch in my creative approach. Here’s hoping this post leads me to as much motivation as that one did.

I read a few books this year that helped me improve my productivity, nutrition comprehension, and relationships. I am grateful to have come across these books and to the library for having them. I’d recommend them all: Atomic Habits by James Clear, Eat, Drink, and Be Healthy, The Harvard Medical School Guide to Healthy Eating by Walter C. Willett, and The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman, particularly this last one which really had me reflecting on all of the relationships in my life as I read, from that with my husband to that with my family members, my friends, etc. I think that it is extremely important to be conscious of how the people that you love best receive love.

Coffee has not been a part of my diet since mid-April and I’m really proud of myself for this. This is the longest I’ve gone without coffee since before I started drinking it my sophomore year of college. I don’t miss the impulsiveness, the anxiety, and the aggression that accompanied the habit, for me. Whenever I hear a car honking at someone on the road these days, I think, “Somebody hasn’t had their coffee.” No, I don’t miss that agitation for myself one bit.

I haven’t set a resolution for this year yet. Perhaps I’ll aim to be more mindful, to be intentional with what I consume, and to be better at recognizing all the little things that are good rather than all the little things that are bad. I don’t know if a negative bias can be flipped, but I am going to actively try. In broad terms, my resolution is to live well, for myself and for those around me and to not take away from them living well. I will read plenty and write plenty because it gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment which leads to more happy days. I will spend time in the company of the people who I love and I will be present and grateful.

I hope you are all reading this somewhere warm and pleasant, whether it is at home, in your office, or on your phone. Wherever you are, I challenge you to internalize three things that are good today, as you are, no matter how big or small. Two for me are writing this post and knowing that some of you are reading it. Thank you for being you and for being part of this cozy community. Cheers to all that 2026 has in store for us, the ups, the downs, the learning moments, the successes, and the failures to balance them out and make the good moments really shine. Wherever you are and whatever you do, I hope you are living well. Thanks for reading!

Québec City in the Snow
Travel

Québec City in the Snow

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

On our previous visit to Québec City, in the summer of 2022, I remember walking with Mike along the boardwalk of Terrasse Dufferin one night, looking in the windows of one of the restaurants inside Fairmont Le Château Frontenac thinking maybe next time. I remembered the ornate and sprawling castle-like structure that had served as a north star by which we could navigate the city while exploring, a guiding beacon perched high above the old town and the St. Lawrence River, a constant reminder of where we were and just how magical of a place it was.

This December, when our taxi turned onto Rue des Carrières, the reality of where we’d be spending the next few nights finally started to sink in and I could feel a little smile lifting my cheeks automatically. Fairmont Le Château Frontenac towered above and all around us with its collection of towers, gables, dormers, and turrets. We hurried across the snow and slush-coated road to reach the covered, revolving doors that would lead us out of the biting winter chill and into the hotel’s inviting lobby.

Fairmont Le Château Frontenac

An identifying symbol not only of the Québec province, but of Canada itself, Le Château Frontenac had been the backdrop to so many of our pictures from our previous trip to Québec City. Throughout its history, the hotel has played host to the likes of royalty such as Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Grace of Monaco, world leaders such as Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt, and Dwight Eisenhower, celebrities such as Alfred Hitchcock and Céline Dion, as well as many a visiting dignitary. This time, it would play host to us- just a couple of explorers from New Jersey.

As a little girl, I wasn’t above dreaming of becoming a princess one day, despite my overall lack of grace, responsibility, and fashion sense at the time, but let’s just say that walking into the lobby of Le Château Frontenac felt about as close to a real deal princess experience as a regular girl from New Jersey could hope to stumble upon.

We checked in with the help of the welcoming hotel staff and afterwards, waited by the gilded elevator doors to head up to our room on the 10th floor. Our room was pleasantly appointed and more than decent in size, with a lovely view of the hotel’s westerly towers. There was a gift of chocolates, a bottle of Acqua Panna, and a little card on the desk to welcome us, upon our arrival. We felt grateful for the deal that we had gotten through our credit card that allowed this magical experience to become a reality. All the princess dust around me just kept on sparkling, mes amis, even if only I could sense it.

With a little time before our dinner reservation for the evening, we decided to bundle up to brave the below freezing temperatures for a stroll along the snow-covered Terrasse Dufferin. Stuffed in our layers and our snow boots, we wandered back outside. The packed-down snow on Terrasse Dufferin glimmered in the warm glow from the hotel’s up-lighting and the triple globe lamp posts that lined the promenade. We walked to the Au 1884 toboggan slides to get a glimpse of what our future had in store for us on this trip and turned back around to be greeted by a beautiful view of the hotel all lit up and a Terrasse Dufferin covered in snow, all to ourselves.

Terrasse Dufferin and Le Château Frontenac

La Buchette

It was difficult to narrow down restaurant options from this city’s plethora of enticing culinary offerings. In the end, for our first night, we opted for a dinner spot just a few minutes walk from our hotel called La Buchette. The restaurant exuded an elevated rustic ambiance, influenced by traditional Québecoise cabanes à sucre, or sugar-shacks. The decor featured a ceiling made of natural wood, chandeliers comprised of antlers and warmly-lit flame bulbs, steerable wooden sleds, buffalo check table cloths, and the side of a classic car mounted on the wall, because why not? We enjoyed some drinks as we waited for our dinner, happily taking in the cozy, quirky surrounds, a welcome respite from the cold.

At the end of our delicious meal, we ordered La Buchette’s signature dessert, a cake designed to emulate McCain’s Deep’n Delicious Cake, a Canadian past-time that, according to our server, inspires a sense of nostalgia and childhood for many Canadians. The restaurant makes “Le Bûcheron” from scratch and even serves the cakes in specialty packaging that they designed in order to best pay homage to the original inspiration source and to evoke the nostalgic experience for customers of eating the cake straight out of the packaging, just as they might have eaten the McCain cakes at home in their youth.

“Le Bûcheron”

Old Québec

Descending from Terrasse Dufferin to the winding streets of Vieux Québec on foot took a little skill in balance. The path down had us navigating winding staircases, sloped walkways, and Québec’s steep staircase, L’Escalier Casse-Cou, the Breakneck Stairs, many of which were covered in layers of ice and snow. The journey on foot was worth it, however, as we gazed down upon the glowing streets of the old town from the top of the Breakneck Stairs. For those looking to minimize treachery on their vacation, there is also the Funiculaire du Vieux-Québec, a small tram that travels the steep slope between the upper and lower towns via rail for a small fee.

Vieux Québec from L’Escalier Casse-Cou

We wandered through the snow-covered streets, past old, stone buildings, their windows adorned with piled evergreen boughs and glimmering ornaments here and there. Snow-flecked Christmas trees twinkled outside closed storefronts and residences, mesmerizing and magical with their lights. We turned a corner and caught our first glimpse of the beautiful Christmas trees in Place Royale, the spot where Samuel de Champlain is said to have founded the city in 1608. The square is surrounded by stone buildings and presided over by the picturesque Notre-Dame-des-Victoires Church. In the cold and the muffled crunch of snow beneath our boots, there was quiet and calm.

Pub L’Oncle Antoine

We popped into this cozy little haven of a pub looking for a pint. Inside, a fire roared hot and bright in the stone hearth and animated conversations in English and French filled the arched, stone space. We shed our fleeces, our down coats, our hats, and our gloves. As we sipped locally brewed beers, we talked about Québec in the snow versus Québec in the summertime as well as of our other trips from this past year of adventure.

Breakfast at Le Château Frontenac’s Place Dufferin

I think I will spend the rest of my life dreaming about the crêpes with butterscotch sauce that I indulged in each morning at the Place Dufferin breakfast buffet, a service included with our stay. I am not sure if this is a service included for all guests of Le Château Frontenac or if it was simply part of the package that we got through our credit card, but I will admit that it only added to my sense of princess-y-ness and I may never be quite the same again. Please accept my apologies for this and direct any annoyance towards the crêpes, themselves.

All I thought I’d eat before Mike let me try his crêpes…

Breakfast was delicious each morning and it’s very possible that we both came home a little heavier than we would have liked to be, but somethings in life are worth bending the rules for and when there are croissants and those magical dream crêpes on the table, there’s no telling what a not-princess might do.

The Place Dufferin restaurant overlooked Tarrasse Dufferin and happened to be the restaurant that we had seen through the windows of on our first trip, back in 2022. I enjoyed sipping my tea and savoring my magical crêpes while watching the passerby, all bundled up in their winter layers, as they drifted in and out of our view. I wondered if any of them were thinking, maybe next time.

Ice Skating in Place D’Youville

Mike and I took up ice skating as a hobby last winter. It was an activity we had enjoyed while living in New York and we invested in some new skates last year to marginally improve our limited skills in more comfort. I missed my Jackson Ultima Mystiques as soon as I slipped my feet into the rental skates at the Place D’Youville’s skate shop, but the rentals would simply have to do.

As we skated around the rink, snow drifted down in heavy, wet flakes and collected upon the surface of the ice. A Christmas playlist serenaded us through the rink’s speakers, projecting familiar melodies, the songs alternating between English and French. The backdrop of the old city wall and the closed stalls of the Christmas Market in the park enhanced the cozy, festive ambiance.

Q-de-Sac Resto Pub

Inside, Q-de-Sac Resto Pub looked nothing like it had on our last visit. The place had been a bit modernized and no longer had the same cozy decor and ambiance that I had remembered and been expecting prior to walking in. That’s on me, so no fault to them, of course. We shared an onion soup and a stracciatella pizza, both of which were delicious and the service was friendly and fast. Afterwards, we headed back to Pub L’Oncle Antoine again to satisfy my craving for ultra-cozy surrounds.

Q de Sac Resto Pub

Terrasse Dufferin & Au 1884 Toboggans

The next morning, we caught some of the sunrise from Terrasse Dufferin. The ice floes in the river were plentiful and the ferries would have to carve their way through them later in the day. The Château beamed in the morning light and my stomach was already rumbling for breakfast and from nerves at the sight of the toboggan track that stretched out along the terrace.

As we waited to ride the Au 1884 toboggans later that day, our layers kept us comfortably warm. The only uncomfortable part about the waiting was the knowing that we would actually be following through on this activity, ourselves, in just a short while. We’d scoped out the toboggan run the previous night and decided that we would ride it as it seemed like too unique a Québec winter experience to pass up on. It was fun to watch the people as they glided to a stop on their sleds at the end of the track. It was obvious that the more people per sled, the faster the ride. We saw two sleds, each packed with four adult men, zoom by faster than any of the others had. Mike and I looked at each other and decided that, yes, we definitely should have eaten more at breakfast in order to make the ride even faster when our turn came. Eep!

My nerves kicked into high gear the moment I nestled into the toboggan at the top of the sled run. As instructed by the Au 1884 staff, my boots were wedged into the front curve of the sled, my knees splayed out to the sides like a frog’s- but, very graceful and princess-like; I know🙃. Mike sat behind me and held onto me tight, his boots balanced on top of my knees, as instructed. There may have been many an “Eep!” uttered at this point as I looked down from the top of the track.

“Vous êtes tous prêts?” said the staff member at the top of the toboggan run, “Are you all ready?”

“Eep!“

“Un. Deux. Trois! Have fuuuun!“

And just like that we were off, sliding down our lane much faster than it had appeared from our earlier recon mission. It was scary and fast and lasted longer than I expected it to, but it was also a thrill and tons of fun!

Marché de Noël Allemand de Québec

Québec’s German Christmas Market is comprised of five market locations that are freckled about the upper town. The market stalls are typically open Thursday through Sunday during the holiday season and are a fun and festive way to explore the offerings of locally made artisan products and foods. We were in the market for some hot chocolate, a warm pretzel, and some gingerbread and along the way picked up some other little samplings of potato and vegetable stew, mulled wine, churros, and macarons. This was such an enjoyable way to grab lunch at Christmastime in this city and despite the crowds and the touristy areas, this did not seem like an attraction that was exclusively targeted toward tourists. We heard mainly French as we walked around the markets and interacting with the people running the stalls was a fun way to put some of my own French to use. C’était très amusant pour moi!

1608 Bar

With a late dinner reservation at a nearby restaurant and a credit to use at our hotel that was part of our reservation package, we decided to pay a visit to Le Château Frontenac’s 1608 Bar. We checked in with the host and waited to be seated at the bar, a spectacle of a tower set inside a circular bar within library-like environs. I ordered a Jameson Old Fashioned and Mike ordered something called 1943, a scotch-based cocktail similar to an Old Fashioned, but with hints of smoked cinnamon and cinnamon-anise. Yum!

Bello Ristorante

For our final dinner of our trip, we decided on Bello Ristorante. We were seated at the bar with complimentary prosecco, as our table was not yet ready, and we were happy to remain there and let the host know we would. As with all of our other culinary experiences in this magical city, Bello did not fail to impress. I ordered some red wine and we shared a Caesar salad. I opted for the half portion of Linguini al Pesto for my meal and was so content there eating my pasta in the glow of the warm, pizza oven, sipping my wine, and talking to Mike that I forgot to take any pictures. You’ll just have to try it for yourselves someday, I guess! 🙂

Final thoughts

Mike and I decided pretty early on into this trip that it was our favorite destination out of all of our trips this year. Maybe I’ll do a post with my ranking of all the places we visited this year. Maybe not. That remains to be determined. Still, if you are looking for the ultimate Christmas-y destination for your future winter travels, I can’t recommend Québec City enough. From the snow to the lights to the peaceful streets of the old town after dark to the flavors and cozy environs all around, we were enchanted the entire time.

A note on dressing for Canada in winter:

Leading up to our trip, I watched many a YouTube video trying to figure out how to pack for Québec City in winter and came across a very useful video from a channel called Must Do Canada that really helped to determine our travel wardrobe for this trip. As Matt and Karla explain in their video, the key to enjoying Canada in winter is to be prepared with the appropriate layers for all of the activities that you plan to do.

At the very least, you’ll want to make sure you have a set of base thermals that are lightweight and close-fitting, a breathable, moisture-wicking mid layer, a proper winter coat, and waterproof snow boots. As we live in a climate that reaches below freezing temperatures in the winter, we knew we would use any pieces that we invested in beyond this trip, so we did some research and bought some pieces that we were very glad to have when it came time to walking around in the cold for hours at a time in Québec. If you do not live in a climate that reaches below freezing temperatures and do not want to purchase special gear, there are also services available in the city where you can rent winter gear and have it delivered to your hotel so it is ready for you when you arrive.

Polyester, wool, and down or down-alternative products are great materials for keeping you warm and dry in cold, snowy conditions. Pair these with accessories like a wool hat, waterproof gloves or mittens, and wool socks, and you’ll be comfortable despite harsh winter conditions.

Happy New Year!

Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this post as well as my other posts from this year! I wish you all a very Happy New Year full of health, joy, fulfillment, and peace. Always remember, it is enough to be you without bells and whistles. Success appears in different ways to different people and I think that was a big learn for me this year. Be good, be kind, be happy if you can and know that you deserve that whether you accomplished your 2025 goals or not! Sending love and positivity your way as we close out this holiday season! Thanks again, all!💖

Cozy Posts · Travel

Ireland Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

It’s December, friends. Can you believe it? The last month of our exhilarating year of adventure is here before I’m ready for it. There’s frost on the leaves on the steps outside and festive lights twinkle throughout our little corner of the world. Our November trip has come and gone, our farthest reaching destination this year, and we’re eleven down, one to go. It’s all gone by so fast. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reminiscing on it all will come later this month or perhaps early next year. For now, there are green hills, rugged mountains, valley vistas, coastal cliff views, and pints of black stuff to discuss.

Howth

We landed at Dublin airport having each managed about two hours of sleep on our six hour red eye from Newark. We breezed through immigration and were soon off to pick up our little rental car to hit the Irish roads. The first destination in our sights was the seaside village of Howth, just outside of Dublin city. Mike was quick to reacquaint himself with the right side of the car/left side of the road situation and we were navigating our first of many roundabouts and tight left-turns in no time.

The colorful fishing village of Howth, nestled along the coast of the Irish Sea, is an idyllic, manageable daytrip from bustling Dublin city. Accessible by car or a short train ride from Dublin via DART service, this makes for a great destination for those traveling to the Dublin area with limited time who would like to get a broader sense of what this beautiful country has to offer outside the limits of its largest city. For us, Howth was reminiscent of some of the towns we have visited in the west of Ireland without the 2.5+ hour drive to get there from Dublin.

With limited daylight (and sleep), we set our sights on doing some of the Howth Cliff Path Loop to take in the stunning views of the sea and the cliffs along the coastline. On a sunny, Saturday afternoon, it was easy to follow the like-minded crowd of scenery-seekers to the start of the trail and after a bit of a climb, we were perched upon the side of the cliffs on a dirt trail that wound past the gorse, the heather, and the green high above the crashing waves.

About forty-five minutes into our hike, we decided to turn around, wanting to have time for a quick lunch before hitting the road to our next stop, in hopes we could reach it before dark. Racing the daylight was certainly a challenge on this trip versus our previous summertime trips to Ireland. We ordered some takeaway fish and chips from Beshoff Bros to share and enjoyed them as the clouds began to roll in over the harbor.

Kilkenny

Our drive from Howth to Kilkenny felt long and arduous as we raced our waning energy, though in actuality it took less than two hours from Howth harbor to the door of our hotel.

Kilkenny (the next morning)

Driving through the Kilkenny town center was a welcome reprieve for our heavy eyelids and we wound our way through the town to our lodging for the next two nights, Pembroke Hotel Kilkenny. We checked in and parked in the designated lot a few blocks away then took in the view of Kilkenny Castle and the Kilkenny Arts building from our room’s large window for the briefest of moments before settling in for a must-needed, strategic nap to try to “get on Ireland time”. The grogginess we felt after our ninety minute nap was a familiar sensation that we have experienced on every one of our Ireland trips. It’s just a necessary evil, we have learned, to help make the most of a short vacation. We begrudgingly willed ourselves to get out of bed and head out for a bite to eat and a pint.

Sullivan’s Taproom fit the bill for what I was feeling to escape the damp chill of November in Ireland. Inside, the taproom was warm and decorated for Christmas. Every table inside, but one, was taken so we claimed that last as ours, shrugged out of our jackets, and settled in. The place was packed with fans who were zoned in on a rugby match between Ireland and South Africa. We sat on the outskirts of it all near the kitchen pass-through and perused the menu. We ordered a margherita pizza to share and I opted for a red ale on rotation, while Mike went for a pale ale. The atmosphere was festive and excited and it was a great way to wake up a bit from our jet-lagged stupor.

Our next stop for the night was The Dylan Whiskey Bar for some after-dinner cocktails. The place was pretty empty when we arrived on that Saturday evening, but filled out over the couple of hours that we spent there. I ordered a Jameson Triple-Triple old fashioned to start, followed by my first true pint of the trip and the memories flooded back of how Guinness just tastes better in Ireland. We decided it’s both a texture thing and a color thing. The foam is creamier and smoother than back home and when the light hits it just right, rubies glimmer at the bottom of the glass.

Cahir

We checked the forecast Sunday morning before heading to our first stop for the day, a medieval town about an hour west of Kilkenny called Cahir. Discouraged by the rain that had accompanied much of our drive, despite one rainbow sighting, we pulled into the public lot next to Cahir Castle and checked the forecast again to see if the rain would stop soon. According to Google Weather, it wasn’t supposed to rain in Kilkenny all day (but it had already rained on us that morning), it wasn’t supposed to rain in Cashel (though it would be raining when we got there later), and it was certainly raining in Cahir. We changed into our waterproof hiking boots, zipped up our waterproof jackets, and grabbed our umbrellas because in Ireland, there is no bad weather, only bad clothes.

Cahir Castle did not offer the shelter from the rain and chill that I, for no logic-based reason, imagined it would. Still, umbrellas up, we wandered the walled, green grounds and stone courtyards and ducked into the medieval banquet hall which was heated to 7°C (44.7°F). We climbed stairways that wound up to sparse, wooden floors with whitewashed stone walls and skimmed information boards on the Easter Rising and the history of Medieval women’s dress and customs, stealing long glances through the deep, paned windows at the colorful street outside.

We did a short exploration of the town on foot due to the wet conditions before driving through the streets and on to our next stop, Cashel, in hopes of escaping the rain.

Cashel

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” I said, remembering the lack of raindrops forecast on Google Weather for this next little medieval town of the day.

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” echoed Mike.

But, of course, it was.

We climbed from the parking lot up the hill to the Rock of Cashel historic site, our umbrellas tested by strong winds and rain. We purchased our tickets and hurried inside the impressive cathedral ruins to escape the wind, though it was quite the wind tunnel inside anyway. There were people huddled close to the stone walls, trying to evade the wind’s reach as they waited for their tour to begin. I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard a teenaged, American boy voice his opinion.

“Why are we DOING this?!” he shouted against the wind.

Rock of Cashel, 13th Century Cathedral Ruins

Valid question, I thought, ready to leave as well. We hastily wandered the ruins, pausing at the gravesites only briefly and taking in as much of the sprawling view of the countryside from the top of the hill as we could in only a few moments. It would have been a beautiful spot to linger and really take in the view of the rolling hills and farms on a warm, sunny day, but a warm, sunny day, it was not, my friends. It was November in Ireland.

Mike proposed we find somewhere to get out of the cold for a while and we settled on a place for lunch on the recommendation of a barkeep who informed us the kitchen was closed at our first choice restaurant. The barkeep guided us to Bailey’s Hotel Cellar Bar & Restaurant and it ended up being a very welcome, cozy suggestion.

As we enjoyed pints of Smithwick’s and waited for our lunch to arrive, we scrolled through my pictures from our visit to the Rock of Cashel. Mike said, “Funny. No one would look at these and think there was actually a hurricane up there.”

Kilkenny (cont’d)

We reached Kilkenny again before dark and took some time to warm up, rest, and take in the view of Kilkenny Castle from our room before heading back out to dinner. We decided on Matt The Millers Bar & Restaurant for some traditional Irish fare and music. I ordered Guinness beef stew with brown bread and Mike opted for the seafood chowder with brown bread and both were excellent, hearty, and blissfully warm. We sipped our pints of Guinness and listened as the live performers sang familiar songs like Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl and The Cranberries’ Zombie amongst a wider selection of more traditional Irish songs. We ended our evening back at The Dylan Whiskey Bar, much quieter on a cold Sunday night than on the previous night. Still, the whiskey was warm and smooth and the surrounds cozy and pleasant. This spot was worth two visits.

Kilkenny Castle & Kilkenny Arts building, earlier that morning

The Wicklow Mountains

In researching for this trip, one place in particular kept coming up as a suggestion for places to visit near Dublin. Glendalough. (Pronounced Glenda-luck) In all my planning for Glendalough though between what trail to hike, where to park, and where to get lunch afterwards, there was one thing I hadn’t planned on for our visit and that was me behind the wheel of our little rental car from Kilkenny to the Upper Lake parking lot.

This was my first time driving on the “wrong” side of the car and the “wrong” side of the road and boy oh boy did it feel a little harrowing at times. Irish country roads are teeny tiny- think a one lane road in the US or better yet, two bike lanes smushed together and hey presto! you have yourself an Irish country road.

I’ve learned that driving in Ireland, sometimes you just have to throw your side-view mirror into the bushes or chance the solidity of the “soft shoulder” (just grass and mud), if you’re so lucky to have a shoulder available at all, that is. Irish drivers have a level of confidence or recklessness that I can only aspire to. I wasn’t as sheepish as the painted, white, fluffballs grazing in the pastures and hills along the sides of our route, but let’s just say I was happy to arrive at the Glendalough car park only having run over one curb with my front left tire.

We changed into our hiking boots and hit the trail, opting for The Spinc Walk Blue Route as an out an back to the summit viewpoint rather than as a loop. The trail guided us past the Lower Lake and through a pretty wood of evergreens. This wasn’t the Ireland we had seen before on our previous trips. This was wild and towering and rugged. We loved it. We followed the path up the mountain and out of the trees, through heather and grass and dirt and mud, soaking nature into the soles of our boots to mingle there with that from our previous adventures this year.

After not too long, we were rewarded with views of the Upper Lake and the vista looking further below and beyond past the valley. This place was a beauty, a highlight that made me question why people say to see the true Ireland you need to go to the west. I agree you should definitely go to the west if you’ve only time for one trip to Ireland in your lifetime, but I am going to throw the suggestion out there to make this place a priority as well.

For lunch, we went to a beautiful, cozy restaurant in the village of Laragh called Wicklow Heather Restaurant. The whole place was twinkling with the soft white glow of fairy lights. There was antique, copper crockery suspended from beams and hooks in the ceiling. Vintage portraits and artwork climbed the walls and looked down upon it all from the wooden eaves, and gothic paned windows looked out on the road. Mike ordered a Guinness and an open faced slow roasted ham and smoked applewood cheese sandwich while I went for potato, cauliflower, and coconut curry and a cup of tea.

We made our way towards Dublin after our meal, racing the daylight once again as we marveled at the breathtaking, wild scenery that surrounded us on our drive through the mountain pass called Sally Gap. If you are visiting Ireland as a tourist, I recommend doing this drive with a tour company rather than driving it yourself, as the road through the mountains is very isolated and cell phone service is minimal. We made a stop at Lough Tay, also known as Guinness Lake before heading back towards Dublin, both of us a little anxious for views of civilization.

Dublin

Inching along the narrow, Dublin city streets that evening was enough driving in Dublin for us, at least until we needed to head to the airport a couple days later, and once we parked our car in the garage around the corner from our hotel, we decided we’d try out the DART service if we planned to go outside the city the next day. Our check-in at the Drury Court Hotel was warm and welcoming. The people working at the front desk were friendly and efficient. They asked had we been to Dublin previously and what our plans were for our time in the city.

“Yes!” we said with the smiles that accompany the memories of previous vacations to Ireland, “I think we’ll try The Winding Stair for dinner and maybe head to Dalkey tomorrow.”

“That’s lovely,” said the front desk agent with a smile.

The agent reminded us that European hotels do not customarily have top sheets or washcloths, but that there was a shelf stocked with washcloths in the lobby, if needed. Our experience with the Drury Court Hotel was very pleasant and helpful and the location was central to lots of sights, pubs, and attractions. I would recommend this hotel to friends or family looking to visit Dublin.

For dinner, we bundled up and headed out into the cold, damp night, weaving our way through The Temple Bar District towards the River Liffey. We climbed the winding steps for which The Winding Stair restaurant is named (along with inspiration from a poem by W.B. Yeats) and hoped there would be space for us as we did not have a reservation. Lucky for us, there were a few tables available and we were seated immediately. The atmosphere of the restaurant was cozy with tall ceilings and low lighting and the warm scents of spices and sauces coming from the open kitchen were mouthwatering. I ordered a pan-seared trout with parsnip puree, leeks, and capers and savored every bite, choosing to accompany my meal with a glass of red wine to wash it all down with.

After dinner, we walked to The Long Hall, one of Dublin’s oldest pubs which happened to also be conveniently situated around the corner from our hotel. The pub had a cozy, Victorian charm to it with red carpeting, red ceilings, red furnishings, dark wood architectural accents, and elegant light fixtures. I also read somewhere that The Long Hall is Bruce Springsteen’s favorite pub in Dublin and Mike and I enjoyed following in a fellow New Jerseyan’s footsteps by visiting. We sat at the end of the long bar and sipped our pints of Guinness slowly while reminiscing on the day’s activities and drives.

Dun Laoghaire & Dalkey

The next morning, we walked to the Tara Street DART station to catch a train to Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary) and then on to Dalkey from there. The trains were frequent and affordable at €2.60 for a one way for each of us. If you are going to be staying in the area for longer, you may want to invest in a LEAP card to save further on the train fare.

Dun Laoghaire is a bustling harbor town about twenty minutes outside of Dublin by train. We walked the length of the East Pier, taking in views of the Irish Sea and the peninsula of Howth in the distance, remembering our visit there a few days prior. The walk was pleasant and we were happy to hear all the Irish accents around us as locals walked the pier for recreation and leisure.

Dun Laoghaire East Pier

One thing about Dublin city that you might not expect as a tourist is that you might hear a lot more foreign languages than English or English spoken with the pleasant Irish accents as it is such a multicultural place with visitors and locals from all over the world. This will be particularly so, if you are staying in the touristy areas in the center of the city. If you’d like to experience more local dialects and accents or even the Irish language, take the train outside of Dublin to some of the other coastal towns or drive to some of the other counties in this beautiful country. If you head to any of the country’s Gaeltacht areas, such as counties Donegal, Mayo, Galway, Kerry, Cork, Waterford, or Meath, you will probably also catch some locals speaking in Irish.

We hopped back on the DART for just a few stops and got off in Dalkey. This town was on my must-see list of places for this trip as it was home to one of my favorite authors and role models, Maeve Binchy. Going to the town where Maeve lived might not be everyone’s idea of a good time, but it was important to me. I would not be the reader or the writer that I am today without Maeve Binchy and her talent for story-telling and conveying her understanding of people as flawed, dynamic beings in need of community and purpose. When I read Maeve Binchy, I never fail to find a character with whom I can relate and I am grateful to her for that sense of representation, alone. She has helped me to feel ok at times when I didn’t feel so ok and she has put a smile on my face with her words more times than I can count. It felt good to be standing where she might have stood once, or perhaps even many times, before.

We headed into Finnegan’s in search of lunch, but the place was full and we were told it might be a while so we crossed the street to have a look around The Gutter Bookshop. I perused the Maeve Binchy titles on the shelves and picked out one I hadn’t read before, A Week in Winter, and purchased it as a souvenir. (I am most of the way through it and can recommend.) I was also interested to see that The Gutter Bookshop had a couple of shelves in their children’s section designated to Irish translations of children’s books to facilitate children’s learning the language from a young age.

Back to Finnegan’s it was for us after our little shopping excursion and it was only a little while before two seats opened up at the bar and we were seated. Mike ordered fish and chips and a Wicklow Wolf pale ale and I ordered cottage pie and a Guinness. Everything was delicious and it was pleasant to listen to the pretty Irish accents chatting all around us, the breathy, soft T punctuating the ends of sentences in that questioning Irish way, “Is it?”

Dublin (cont’d)

From our previous trip to Dublin, ten years ago, I remembered one of my favorite activities had been walking around the Trinity College campus. We headed into Trinity’s campus and were surprised to see that a winter convocation ceremony must have just let out as many graduates were dressed in robes and mortarboard caps, taking photos with friends and family. We did a quick loop around the central square of the campus to take in the architecture and headed on towards our next stop, Ireland’s oldest pub.

The Brazen Head, est. 1198, was a bit of a walk from Trinity, but once we got inside, it was pleasant, cozy, and very festively decorated. We snagged two seats at the bar and Mike ordered a Guinness and turned to me.

“Can I do a Half & Half?” I said to the bartender.

“No,” he said.

“A Guinness with Harp?” I said. Maybe I should really just stop trying to order this anywhere.

“No,” he said again, “I’ll tell you why. Our Guinness is too good here. It doesn’t settle. Here, I’ll show you.”

He poured a little Harp in a glass and topped it with Guinness and the whole thing was just a tan, foamy mess. No, indeed then, I thought.

“Weird,” I said, “Just a Guinness, then.”

As we enjoyed our pints, a couple came in and ordered at the bar.

“We’re in Dublin for one hour,” said the man, “We asked our driver where to go if we only have one hour in Dublin and he said here.”

In my memory, they asked the bartender for “the most Irish beer”.

The bartender said, “My selection?”

With a nod from the customer, he poured, to my surprise, not from the Guinness tap, but from the Brazen Head Red Ale tap. The man seemed happy enough.

After some time spent at our hotel to rest and warm up a bit, we bundled back up and walked south along Camden Street into the Portobello neighborhood. I read that Portobello has a great food scene and looked up an Indian restaurant there called Pickle that we were eager to try. We didn’t have a reservation for Pickle, but were seated immediately. I have read that reservations are recommended for this restaurant and it did fill out a bit while we were there, so just plan ahead if you ever decide to visit, yourself.

This dining experience was the culinary highlight of our trip. Granted, we love Indian food, but still, the flavors were out of this world and the ingredients were fresh and locally sourced. The portions were big and the food was hearty and delicious. If you’re ever in Dublin and you like spicy food, just do your tastebuds a favor and go.

To finish up our trip, we decided to visit a couple more pubs. Our first pub stop of the night was The Landmark where there was a very talented musician performing live music. We had only intended to get one pint there, but stayed a little longer since the performer was so good and the place was so comfortable and cozy.

For the last stop of the night, we walked to The Swan Bar. I could tell from outside that the place would be nice and toasty within as the windows were clouded over with steam. We shrugged out of our jackets and nestled ourselves onto two bar stools. We ordered our pints from a friendly, bearded man who could have passed for Santa Claus if he wanted to (though he actually mentioned to one of the other bartenders later on that he’d had an audition for a Santa job earlier that day and didn’t get it.) We sat and we sipped and Mike looked up pronunciation guides for words in Irish that made my head spin a little. The world outside was cold in a way that cut to the bone, but inside The Swan, the steam clouded the windows and we were sheltered and warm.

We wondered when we’d next be back to Ireland again.

Grafton Street Holiday Decorations

If there is one thing we have learned from our trips to Ireland, it is that there is a magic to the place that continues to draw our hearts and tug upon our memories, pulling us back again and again. One visit is not enough, nor two, nor three, or four in Mike’s case. Perhaps this post will inspire some of you to read up on an Emerald Isle adventure of your own or to pick up a Maeve Binchy book and escape into the inviting pages, or to order a pint of Guinness next time you are out. If so, I hope you enjoy every minute, every page, every sip. Thanks for reading, all. Be well.