On the Serenity of Being Happy and In Love

The older I get, the more I feel like myself. It’s like I don’t have to pretend anymore. I have a child and a family, and every year I become more comfortable with my own face, body, and character. I think that actually shows on your face. Even people who are very beautiful, but are jealous and mean, have this kind of grimace on their face all of the time, or they will say something ugly and the charm is gone. Now that I’m happy in life and in love—I’ve never been happier—there’s a kind of serenity that people respond to. There has to be some kind of bone structure change or something. [Laughs] But happiness really makes everyone look their best.
— Malgosia Bela

An Extraordinary Tuesday

"Have you ever imagined that Tuesday could be like this?" asked my boyfriend, on my first day at the ranch. 

Yes, after thirteen years in Manhattan, this city girl has moved to the mountains of California. And, no, I never could have imagined it. Remember when I wrote that I was going to consult a psychic? I wasn't kidding–I really did. 

If a psychic told you that you were going to meet your soul connection and move to a place surrounded by mountains and trees that was going to be "a place of golden happiness for you", would you believe her? 

The Greatest Love Story I Know

I don't know what Bonnie looks like, but I know that she had a round cursive handwriting that's classical yet not too serious. She played the piano and was an aspiring photographer. Her father owned an architecture firm. They had a home in the mountains with their own gasoline pump. She was down-to-earth and approachable. She was my dad's ex-fiancée. I've never met Bonnie, but I feel like she was someone who has always been a part of my life.

I learned about her through a bundle of letters that I found hidden in the back of my parents' closet after they divorced. I was sixteen going on seventeen. Like a detective, I arranged the letters chronologically and read them as fast as I could to learn who this woman was and why she was writing to my dad. It didn't take long for me to realize that they were in love. Their chemistry was alive in those letters. My heart swelled with emotion as I read them. I laughed and cried with Bonnie from 1975 until 1981.

October 1981, to be exact, when she sent her last letter–which was also when I was born. This was not a coincidence.

It was written on a note card featuring a bird in a nest, watching over its egg. Bonnie's teardrops had blurred away most of her inked writing. From the pattern on the page, I knew that the blurry splotches weren't due to mere crying but rather a deep sobbing. The writing was barely legible. All I could piece together was that she understood his decision and his newfound responsibilities as a father. In it, she mentioned enclosing a check for $5,000 to help him with his newborn baby, me.

My dad told me the story about Bonnie after I showed him the letters I found—how they met and how he met my mom. He told me that he still loved her and that he was sorry he never apologized to her for breaking her heart. Convinced that their love story wasn't over yet, I devised a plan to write to Bonnie and introduce myself to her. I sent the letter to an address I found on the internet for her father's architecture firm.

Months later, I received a response. The return address was typewritten simply with her last name and address. Immediately, I knew it wasn't her. It was from her niece-in-law, whose husband remembered my dad fondly. She told me the news: Bonnie had passed away in 1994 from breast cancer. My dad was heartbroken. 

We ruminated about this one night in the kitchen.

"You and mom... You were never that happy... Not like you and Bonnie."

"Your mom and I are two different people. We tried but we couldn't get along. We're too different."

"I wish you had chosen Bonnie. You could've had such a happy marriage. Your life would be so different," I sighed.

"I couldn't."

"You chose to spend sixteen years with someone you weren't in love with. Don't you regret it?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." he said, pausing for a draw of his cigarette, "I chose you."

 

 

Azzedine Alaïa On Living

I don’t try to understand myself. I live more like this: every morning when I wake up, I ask myself, ‘What will I learn today?’ Really, it’s true. When I wake up I am happy to open my eyes, happy to be alive, to feel good, to have no diseases. And then I ask myself, what will I learn today? Who will I get to know today?
— Azzedine Alaïa

Ode to the Donut Peach

A very ripe donut peach

A very ripe donut peach

Oh, Donut Peach!

How I love thee!

Thy sweet flesh is perfumed 

With golden-honey summer rays

And touched with hints of almond.

Thy petite being nestles comfortably

In the heart of my palm.

May thine glow with a decadence

That knows the heights of exquisite pastries

Yet remains humble enough for all to enjoy.

How I weep upon feeling the crispness of autumn

For I must soon bid you farewell.

Until you blossom next season

And we meet again at Citarella...