Austinversary.

April 15 is the seventh anniversary of my move to Austin. I just have to look out my window--these pictures were taken in the field next to my office--to remember why I love it here.

Spring in Texas is the best. It nearly makes up for the 6 months of summer that quickly follow.

I miss cheese.

In my new life, there is very little room for cheese. For bread, either, but the one that gets me is cheese. (Or I should say, that one that got me into this mess is cheese.) Cheesy goodness is in everything, which means: not for me.

We're meeting some friends for brunch this morning the typically Austin, run-by-hippies (yet-there-are-no-egg-white-options-for-omelets on the menu*) Magnolia Cafe, so I checked the restaurant's menu ahead of time to see what I could have. I find that if I have a plan going in, I am more likely to follow it instead of saying, "I'll have the buttermilk pancakes, extra butter." On the menu I find lots of omelet options, but no egg-white substitution (perhaps you just have to ask?). And all of them contain jack or cheddar cheese. Breakfast taco? Cheese and regular eggs. Pancakes? One million points, plus you have to have syrup or something to put on them. So.

This ignites the age-old argument within: what is cheese worth? Is it worth standing on the scale tomorrow and seeing no change? Because tomorrow-me is always pissed at the choices yesterday-me made. Is it worth the temporary taste? Yes and no. Will it make me sad to have to order, instead, off the a la cart menu: English muffin, fruit, black beans. Yes and no. Will I be glad I did that later? Yes and yes.

This is what the rest of my life will look like. I guess I'm late to the party because I'm pretty sure this is what everyone's life is supposed to look like. Make good choices. Be healthy. It's not a secret formula. Unfortunately, this just dawned on me at age 33. Fortunately, every day counts. As do the 52.5 lbs I no longer schlep around.

Suck it, cheese.

*Update: yes, there are egg-white options. Saved!

I want to go to there.

A little pricey for bookends (in my opinion, mostly because I use other books at bookends, if I need bookends at all, which I probably don't), but I heart them. So much. Of course, I would want to paint those birds ivory.

(from barnesandnoble.com)

Children with Adult Sensibilities

My 8-year-old niece and my dad, posing like an old-timey wedding photograph. Entirely her idea.

This is one of my favorite photos of these two.

Succulent.

Typically, the first thing I think of when I hear the word "succulent" is a roasting pig. Not anymore.

Look at these little lovelies in spice jars from Anthropologie. They are currently some of my favorite things.

One of my new year's resolutions was to become more horticulturally advanced. So far, I am failing horribly with the herbs I got for Christmas from my mother-in-law; I managed to kill the rosemary, which is actually a feat considering it grows like a weed in Austin. My chives are holding on, but just barely. I guess the secret ingredient of cat slobber was not the fertilizer I had hoped for. (I cut off the pieces he chewed on. I am not that kind of pet owner. Mostly.)