The Pink Typewriter

The long drive home.

Sat, 21 May 2011 21:35:06 -0400

The only thing that has ever tied with the written word for my affections is music.

Even though you will never see me play an instrument, or hear me sing, music has never been a passive activity for me.

As a child, music was dancing to Faith by George Michael as my mom and I cleaned the house together.

As a teenager, music was screaming the lyrics to Screaming Infidelities by Dashboard Confessional on a long drive home.

Right in this very moment, music is listening to the Rumours album on repeat while I write.

And the songbirds keep singing,
Like they know the score,
And I love you, I love you, I love you,
Like never before, like never before.

Music, for me, is present and future… but most important, it is past.

As I get a little older, passing that quarter century milestone, what I know is this: music is how I remember what really feeling something is like.

Which is not to say that I don’t feel now, I just don’t think any of us feel anything as strongly as we did in our youth.

To feel that strongly now, with all the obligations and responsibilities of life, would probably leave me exhausted.

But every so often, when the clock gets closer to the time when I would be driving myself home just 10 short years ago, I put on an album like Rumours and I remember what it was like when music and feelings were so intertwined… so active in the air around me, on the long drive home.

Happy Mother's Day!

Tue, 10 May 2011 08:41:25 -0400

More than anyone else in the world, my mother is the person who truly gets me. Of all the things I love about her, her ability to understand exactly what is happening before I even have a chance to tell her is what I appreciate the most.

When I am getting sick, she always knows hours before the symptoms arrive. “You are looking peaked,” she will say.

When I am tired, she tells me I should be taking vitamins. When I am stressed, she knows exactly when I need to talk it out, and when I need to be left alone.

As a teenager, I never fully appreciated my mother’s brand of advice. I remember thinking it was cold and that I needed someone who would build me up instead of leveling me with pressure to “take the higher road.”

As an adult, I can look back and see clearly that my mom was actively teaching me one of life’s most valuable lessons. The higher road is always two things: It is always harder, and it is always right.

I tried to think of just one story to tell, but there are just so many. So instead, I have selected smaller stories that I know represent my mother:

When I was very young, I could not handle making mistakes while writing. If I misspelled a word, I would furiously take my eraser to paper until I was left with a large gray spot, the paper torn, and tears streaming down my face. To this day, my mother still knows when I am verging on obsession. She will look at me, calmly, and say, “Nicole, stop erasing.” In that moment, I know that I have at least done my best.
Around midnight on my sixteenth birthday, my mother woke me up with a box in her hand. In the minutes between the ages of 15 and 16, she gave me the most beautiful platinum ring from my great-grandmother. Never having known my own grandmother, this ring bridged a gap of women in our family. The ring held a single diamond, surrounded by delicate filigree, which my mother had repaired and fitted for me. It is the most meaningful gift I have ever received, and I am not even sure if she knows this, but I fell in love with my wedding set because I fell in love with that ring first.
In high school, there was a period of time when I had two jobs, an internship, a I was taking college courses. For about 3 months, I became so forgetful that I was calling my mother every other day to bring me homework assignments that I had forgotten at home. Normally, my mother would not appreciate this much—but she came to my rescue every time, with no complaints. At the end of that quarter, I was literally exhausted. We could only miss so much school and still qualify for exam exemptions, so what did my mother do? She helped me to orchestrate an afternoon of hooky, picking me up at just the right time so that I could go home and sleep.

These are, of course, just snapshots of the lifetime I have spent being my mother’s daughter. Unfortunately, they do her no justice.

More than anything else, this is what I love about my mother: She is the most just person that I will ever know.

It never occurs to her to do a selfish thing. Everything she does is for the people around her, whether that person is family, or just someone new to her office who needs a Mama Lark in their life.

More than that, my mother has a way of challenging you to become the best version of yourself without you ever knowing she is doing it. For more than 25 years, she has been there: Happy to be in the background, celebrating every one of my successes, big and small.

I could never give my mother enough credit, but I also could not possibly love her any more.

For staying home to raise me, for helping me plan a wedding and furnish a home, and more than anything—for teaching me what it means to be a strong woman and a compassionate wife—thank you for being my mom.

Boxes and shrimp cocktail, part 2.

Thu, 05 May 2011 14:55:46 -0400

When I got that phone call from Addy, telling us she had met a boy, I was concerned. She had only been back in school for like three months, and her friends had another year of college behind them.

Addy was clearly head-over-heels for this new boy, and I was secretly praying he was the right one.

We found the answer soon enough.

Addy was turning 21, and her new boyfriend had decided to host a party. As my husband and I drove to Oxford, we talked about what this new boy might be like.

Walking into the party, it was obvious that this new boy wanted Addy’s birthday to be something special. There were decorations, appetizers, and cake. I will always remember there was shrimp cocktail, which seemed so out of place in the living room of a college apartment shared by three messy boys.

Then, the boy did something that I truly respect in new people—he walked right up to us, shook our hands, and introduced himself as Jarrett. Not waiting for Addy to make the introduction, he knew we were close friends, and he wanted to make sure we were welcomed.

I loved that moment, but not as much as the moment that followed. As Addy and I settled in with two glasses of wine, catching up on the time we had missed, Jarrett waited for a lull in the conversation to come over. As he approached, he placed his hand onto the small of Addy’s back, leaned in close, and asked if there was anything he could get her.

Not to be mushy, but it was one of the most genuinely affectionate gestures I have witnessed. It was so simple, but I could see in that moment that Jarrett was absolutely the one for my Addy.

It was in the way he looked at her, but it was also in the way that he was already taking care of her, just a few short months into this college relationship.

Now, more than four years later, Chuck and I will have the honor of standing in their wedding on May 14.

Many blessings to you both as you do what is undeniably the best decision in the world—spend forever together, being our friends. We love you.

Boxes and shrimp cocktail, part 1.

Tue, 19 Apr 2011 22:22:04 -0400

As I have mentioned before, my husband and I met while working at Dorothy Lane Market through our college years. When we weren’t in class, we were working, and when we weren’t working, our social circle was still pretty much DLM.

My best friend Morgan only worked there during the summers, so the rest of the time it was just Chuck and our friend Michael. The result? I spent most of my time hanging out with two dudes, unless Morgan was in town to round out the group.

Then I met Addy. She had taken some time off college to help her aunt and grandmother, which endeared her to me from day 1. Away from the comfort of her college town, Addy took a job in the Dorothy Lane Market bakery.

You would never have known that Addy was a new girl, in a new town. She was absolutely sunshine from the moment you met her. The bakery was stressful, especially during the holidays when she joined us, and it probably was not the easiest place to make friends.

I still remember the first full shift we worked together. It was near closing time, and we were restocking the case. Addy had a box and a box cutter, and she was unloading some kind of not-good-for-you goodness. As she dragged the edge across the thick brown packing tape it made this plastic unzipping sound. For whatever reason, Addy looked at us—a group of surly teenage girls—and said, “I LOVE that sound.”

Just going to tell the truth: The other girls looked at her like she was completely bizarre. Not me. I loved it. It was probably one of the most random first things you could hear from someone, but it was perfectly Addy at that time: quirky, honest, and completely unconcerned with what someone else might think.

Addy and I became the fastest of friends after those first few shifts. We went on road trips and saw concerts. She bonded with Chuck and Michael and the four of us had more fun in that first summer than we may ever have again. We were just 20 years old, and nothing in life was too serious.

Then, Addy decided it was time to go back. When she left us for college at the end of the summer, I was heartbroken. Even though she was only an hour or so away, it seemed further when she was always so close.

Life picked up again that fall, but we had phone calls, and long voice mails, and occasionally we would visit. It was still the four of us, we were just further away.

Then, Addy met a boy. And despite our hopes, we were worried…

Check back next Monday, for the rest of the story.

My dad, part 2.

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 20:48:39 -0400

If you have been following this blog for a while, you know how this whole project got started: a gift, and a letter, from my father.

The gift was a pink typewriter, the letter explained why.

This year, on his fiftieth birthday, I was able to give my dad a letter of my own. Of course, I wrote it on the pink typewriter.

It is bright and sunny outside! So open your doors and windows,...

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 16:43:29 -0400

It is bright and sunny outside! So open your doors and windows, put on your pink fringe pants, and find your favorite peanut butter bucket hat! It is time to celebrate another season.

Wednesday book craving.

Thu, 07 Apr 2011 09:47:45 -0400

Vintage typewriter art. These 8x8 prints were made for me… and by made for me, I mean made for this dream space I have imagined for myself. Where bookshelves line the wall, my own pink typewriter has a desk of it’s own, there are windows overlooking the trees, and I can read and write all day in my very own space.

Price: $20 per 8x8 print.

Also available: Bikes, macaroons, French street signs, thread, cameras, flowers, rotary phones, buttons, Scrabble tiles, and pretty much everything else lovely in the world.

My dad, part 1.

Tue, 05 Apr 2011 10:33:23 -0400

Because my dad turns 50 this month, I have found myself thinking of him more often. Just little things here and there—like when a Frank Sinatra song comes on my iPod, or when I wake up before the sun like he does every day.

Among all of the little stories I could tell you about my father, I have this one memory that I keep very close to my heart.

It is simple, but it is sweet…

Growing up in California, we had a lot of “fresh starts.” We always stayed in San Diego, but every time my dad found a better job, we would move to another town. All of this picking up and starting over was very exciting to me, but looking back as an adult, I’m sure it was a ton of work for my parents.

Our last house was a little ranch in a desert town called Poway. There was a dusty dirt road to our house, with a circle drive, and a yard of tall grasses. I had weeping willow trees to swing from, and two bedrooms to play in.

I loved that house.

My parents had decided to freshen up the place with new paint, so we were all camping out in the living room for the first few days. On one of those first mornings, I remember waking up slowly to the sound of my parents laughing.

As I opened my eyes, the sun was shining so brightly that I could barely even see them. They were painting the walls cream with their paint rollers, and there was a halo around them. In the early morning sun, they were making this new home theirs.

I remember thinking how happy they looked, as I lay there listening to them laugh. That was the last year it was just me and my parents, and I got this secret look into who my parents really are:

Two people who love each other very deeply, who have changed every one of our challenging moments into an opportunity to laugh.

The moment my eyes were fully open, our song came on the radio. It was Louis Armstrong, “What a Wonderful World.”

I see skies of blue, clouds of white.
Bright blessed days, dark sacred nights.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

My dad started singing and within seconds he had me up in his arms, and we were dancing around our empty house together.

Within that bright memory of my father is everything that I love about him. In a chaotic house of unpacked boxes, sleeping bags, and sticky paintbrushes, there was always time to laugh.

Dancing to Louis Armstrong again, on my wedding day.

Why I dream of Paris.

Fri, 01 Apr 2011 16:22:58 -0400

Real pizza… thin crust, cooked until it is crunchy, plenty of bold tomato sauce, and three perfect black olives.

There are no words for this hot chocolate. Except maybe heaven, just because God came up with heaven and I think he approves of hyperbole.

This was also taken at Café Angelina, and this represented maybe 10% of the desserts available.

This olive bar was set up, in open air, at a street marché. There were also crusty breads, artisan cheeses, and butchered meat available.

And this. This right here was the most delicious sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life. It was called a “steak haché”, and it was essentially two hamburger patties cut in half inside a baguette with Emmental swiss, herbs, and maybe magic. I literally still dream about this sandwich.

Oh Paris… tu me manques.

Wednesday book craving.

Wed, 30 Mar 2011 10:52:00 -0400

I literally could not just pick just one—or even two—of the craving I chose for today. So, I picked nine.

I am in love with these kindle covers. They are simple, but so chic. Made from a lightweight foam material, these covers would be perfect for protecting your Kindle inside a purse, backpack, or carryon.

More than anything, I adore the vintage prints. The florals are probably my favorite, but this seller also features:

Typewriter keys. (Obvious.)
A bookshelf. (Just like the “bookshelf” I carry inside my Kindle at all times.)
Owls. (My goddaughter’s favorite!)
And the birds! (I adore vintage bird art, and have it all over our house.)

If you have a Kindle, or any other e-reader, you must visit the store! Each cover is just $15, with $5 flat shipping. (Or free shipping if you purchase two!)

Storytellers: Jen Osterday

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 11:43:50 -0400

If you have read any of the Anne of Green Gables series, you know that Anne has a phrase for that certain kind of person you meet and become fast friends with. They are the “kindred spirits.”

Jen Osterday is one of my kindred spirits. Someone with whom I share so much. We met six summers ago when we both interned for the Features department of the Dayton Daily News. In the years that followed we have shared faith, friendship, and of course… food.

I am honored to have seen Jen accomplish so much. In the time I have known her, she has finished two degrees, become a real life journalist, and started her very own foodie blog.

Jen is one of those once-in-a-lifetime people. Someone who sets her mind upon something, and hurtles toward her goals with unwavering confidence and dedication.

I am blessed by your friendship, Jen… and I am thrilled to share your talent with others!
___

Emma giggled in amazement as I finished my burger, licking my finger tips in satisfaction.

I suppose seeing a 100 pound, 5’2 girl finish off a Bacon Cheddar Double at Johnny Rocket’s was quite a feat. I mean, it was a big burger for such a small girl.

However, I was not amazed at my victorious finish. I was just really happy about that delicious combination of hamburger with applewood smoked bacon, cheddar cheese, and whatever else they piled on there with that special sauce.

I remember that day distinctly, even though it was probably 8 or 9 years ago. It was my birthday and Emma had joined me to celebrate in Cincinnati. I think the reason that birthday sticks out to me is because of 4 reasons.

1) I was outside of Dayton, exploring a new city. I love to travel and any birthday that involves stepping outside of Dayton and enjoying a new place is a top notch way to celebrate in my book. Back then, Cincinnati was a big city and a big deal to me.

2) I was with my family. Family has always been important to me and I love my parents and brother.

3) I was with my closest friend, Emma. I have known Emma since Kindergarden and we still keep in touch today. She began traveling a lot when she got older and subsequently got a lot busier. If you know Emma, you know she’s a busy lady. So recalling a time when Emma and I get to spend a day together for my birthday is very special.

4) I was eating a delicious burger. Of course I’ll remember that.

I know I was young, because my parents had to drive us. Although I can’t remember exactly what age I was turning. Because it was my birthday, I’m sure that’s why I ordered a massive burger to celebrate.

Johnny Rockets has since lost its magic, but I know back then I thought it was more than just a fancier version of Steak ‘N Shake. People were rolling around on skates, doing dance numbers randomly throughout the evening and creating a memorable dining experience.

I remember us sitting on the bar stools at the counter because the place was packed and there wasn’t a table for 5 available. I have a feeling since I couldn’t see my parents at the other end of the bar, I felt more gutsy to order a big ‘ol burger. When I got it, no one really expected me to finish it.

But I did, and so began a joke between me and Emma, about me being a “pig”. She started collecting cute pig things and giving them to me as gifts as our inside joke continued. Or anytime she found something burger related, she got it for me. The burger tea set and cheeseburger pillow are probably my favorites.

Since then, the jokes and nicknames for me have grown beyond me and Emma. Little did I know that as I got older, my love for food would turn into a knowledge and appreciation for it so much that I’d even create a blog for that very reason. Anyone who knows me, understands I have this weird thing where I not not only eat food, but I talk about it and even take photos of it obsessively.

What people may not realize is that it isn’t just about the food. Really, it isn’t. It’s the memories that happen as a result of the food. Was Johnny Rockets really making that great of a burger? Probably not. But my family and Emma being there and sharing that time with me created memories while I ate that burger… and that made it awesome.

Some of the greatest conversations with my family and friends have happened around food. Whether it’s an outside patio table at Brio with my family, or a brunch at my friend’s apartment that all my friends gathered to make, the food seems like 5-star quality because of the precious memories and people with me while I eat.

Yes, I love good food and I can’t deny that my taste buds have gotten a tad spoiled at fancy restaurants or from organic and fresh ingredients. But at the end of the day, even if it’s a failed muffin recipe gone terribly wrong, if it was made with my friends who I love and respect, I’d still rave and talk about those muffins years later.

Jen, still enjoying delicious burgers nearly a decade later.

Here is some serious Senior Photo action for Photo Find Friday....

Fri, 25 Mar 2011 10:41:59 -0400

Here is some serious Senior Photo action for Photo Find Friday. There are a couple things about this picture that I just cannot believe. First, how long my hair is! I miss that. Second, how round my face is! I still had baby fat well into my twenties.

Notice anything missing? No glasses! I was still wearing contacts my senior year. Not likely you will see my face without frames these days.

I would love to see some old photos of your own! Let me know if you post them to your blog, especially if they are senior photos.

Two things that make me smile.

Wed, 23 Mar 2011 18:03:00 -0400

Books, and coffee. Coffee, and books.

I could probably never really communicate how much I love a good cup of coffee. Especially on a day like today, when the sky is stormy, and I can see the rain pelting windows all around my desk, all I can think about is how much—so so so much—I wish I could be in my own comfy chair, with a blanket, and an open window, and a cup of hot coffee.

Necklace: $35
Mug: $15

Eating books.

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:58:00 -0400

When I was young, reading was never just reading. It was consuming, devouring, absorbing the words on a page, and letting those stories become a part of me.

I can recall a time in my life when my own memories were blurred with the stories of my favorite characters. Not sure where their lives ended and my life began, reading to me was as necessary as breathing.

I have a memory of myself at maybe 10 years old. It is snowing outside, and the house is quiet. My mother is making dinner, my baby brother is sleeping, and my father is still working. I have the living room to myself, and there I am: curled tight into the corner of our tired blue recliner, arms around my bony knees, my book propped onto the arm rest. The book was Matilda by Roald Dahl. A couple hundred pages were gone in just a few short hours.

Never had I read a book like that—so fast that the last page came with teary eyes because I could never read it for the first time again.

Though I find less time these days to finish a book in one evening, reading still provides the same catharsis that it always has for me. I visit countries I will never see. I fall in love. I fight small battles and big wars, and I almost always win.

With a book in my hand, I am that little girl again.

And at the close of nearly every book, I find myself believing, if only just for a moment, that the world makes sense again like it did when I was small.

I will just admit it: I was completely delinquent on Photo Find...

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 11:02:00 -0400

I will just admit it: I was completely delinquent on Photo Find Friday. So, now it is Monday, and I give you this. A photo taken from the top of Mt. Adams, looking down into Cincinnati on what was unquestionably the most beautiful day this year. The husband and I filled our weekend with everything that we love: crepes for breakfast at Webster Street Market, a hike through Cox Arboretum, and something new… an afternoon in historic Mt. Adams, complete with lunch and a craft brew from the Rookwood Bar and Restaurant.

Wear a book on your heart.

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 08:22:00 -0400

Show everyone how much you love to read when you wear this miniature book necklace over your heart.

I’ll be honest: It was the rose gold chain that really sold me on this Wednesday book craving. That and the classic print.

I want.

Price: Just $15, and only .50 shipping if you buy two!

From the same perspective.

Mon, 14 Mar 2011 19:20:00 -0400

There is no bond in this world like the bond between siblings. Some days you are competitors, most days you are partners, and all days you are linked as people who have shared the same life, from the same perspective.

When my baby brother was born, I was just about to turn 9 years old. Truth be told, I was absolutely smitten with him from day one. I remember thinking that he was truly the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, from his tan complexion to his head full of curly black hair. If a baby can be called quiet and determined, that was Timothy James Lark, Junior.

The story that I hold dearest for my brother, the one I come back to again and again, is one that reminds me of all the reasons I love him. (And hopefully why he loves me.)

Tim was maybe 3 years old at the time, and he was a sick little dude—that toddler kind of sick where even seeing him was just pitiful. It kind of broke my heart, so I offered to stay up with him while my parents went to bed. Since he was not so interested in playing, I put in this new movie my mom had bought him.

I set up blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the television, and started the movie. It was a Pooh Bear movie, so I was none too thrilled, but I was content to sit there while my brother relaxed. On the cartoon went, until we got to this one particular scene.

It was Pooh, and Piglet, and Eeyore—and I have to say, even in adulthood, I still appreciate the truly deadpan humor that A.A. Milne attributed to the Eeyore character—and they were sitting beneath a tree. Eeyore was complaining about something, when suddenly an apple falls directly onto his head. Animated Eeyore falls onto the ground and makes this noise that sounds something like,

“EEE-YONG”

It was a nasally sound, and for whatever reason, we both thought it was HILARIOUS. To this day, I am absolutely positive that neither of us has ever laughed so hard as when that apple hit Eeyore and he made that noise. In fact, I rewound the tape so many times that we were crying, bellies sore, laughing on the ground until my parents came out of their room to see what was the matter.

That night is such a nice picture in my memory. One 12 year old girl, one 3 year old boy, sharing silliness in a way that only siblings can because there are no secrets, and no pretensions.

Today, I am proud to say that my brother is still that person—just 13 years older, and more than 6 feet tall. He is still someone who can appreciate simple humor, and someone who is hilarious himself. More than that, my brother is someone of strong conviction, of compassion, and the most fiercely loyal man that I have ever met.

Though it breaks my heart to see the “baby” part of “baby brother” disappear before my eyes, I feel so fortunate to know this one person who has seen me at my very best, and at my very worst, and to have a brother who loves me in the most unconditional way.

In fact, I think that love is what makes siblings so special. Without the responsibility of being a parent, being a sibling means that you can love and accept someone regardless of whatever life holds.

I am so grateful for my brother. Grateful that he was born, and grateful that he still tolerates my insistence that he hug me in public, and tell me that I am his favorite only sister. :)

But more than anything, I am grateful for the unconditional love of a brother.

At my wedding, keeping true to form.

Another sunny day in Californ-i-a.

Fri, 11 Mar 2011 09:33:51 -0500

Most years, I cannot wait for the cooler months. I associate summer with humidity and allergies, and that wall of heat that hits you when you walk out the door.

Well, summer. I take it all back.

I would give anything for some sun right about now. I try and make it habit not to complain about the seasons, because frankly, they are going to happen anyway… but once in a while, I just get so desperate to feel the sun on my face and the grass under my feet.

Today is one of those days. In honor of summer, here are some childhood photos from the state of 70 degrees and sunny every day: California.

OK, probably not so surprising that I want just about every...

Wed, 09 Mar 2011 20:41:24 -0500

OK, probably not so surprising that I want just about every Wednesday book craving that I have posted… but I really want this one.

I decided to search for bookends, and quickly fell in love with these. I think I prefer the chocolate brown, but the red and green are both good options for my living room—and maybe yours!

Price: Just $30 to keep your books in place.

The moment I knew.

Mon, 07 Mar 2011 15:53:00 -0500

Everyone always wants to know when you discovered that your spouse was “the one.” After much thinking, I realized that I really could not pinpoint just one moment. At first it made me a little sad, and then I just gave up.

Then, this morning, there I am driving to work when I realized: That was it. The moment when I knew Chuck was the one.

During my four years of college, I finished a major, a minor, an honors degree, and I studied abroad. In that time I worked one job that was nearly full time, and had an internship that was also nearly full time. My home, school, job, and internship were all in different directions, and a normal day involved all four.

If it was a day that I got to see Chuck, he was in another direction.

College was a blast, but it was also exhausting. Most of the really busy days, I would end up with Chuck.

I forget the specifics of this one day, but I was beyond tired. Chuck had homework to do, so I was going to just sit and read something for school. He was sitting at his desk, and I was propped up. I never understood how people could fall asleep reading, but that night I did.

Next thing I know, my cell phone alarm is going off. I am laying in a bright room, and my glasses are missing. I panic anytime my glasses are missing, but as I started reaching coherence, I realized that I was in the same place I was four hours ago… but now the clock now said 1 a.m.

Realizing that I had fallen asleep, Chuck had taken the book from my lap and the glasses from my face. There they were on the table next to me. My glasses were neatly folded, and there was a piece of paper marking where I had left off in my book. Both items had been placed neatly beside my cell phone—which was going off because Chuck had also set the alarm.

That moment is just one of a million stories I could tell you illustrating the fact that my husband is easily the most considerate person, friend, and spouse.

In fact, the reason it was so hard to recall just one moment when I knew Chuck was “the one” is because he gives me another reason every day.

The glasses story is a perfect example, though. We all define “husband” and “wife” differently, making it hard to quantify when you say something like “I have the best husband!” Depending on who you are, that could mean he always takes out the trash, or he sends me flowers, or any number of attributes… but none of those things actually matter like this does:

My husband is my best friend.

Not in the way that you call your best girlfriend your best friend, but in the way that I have this one person who would literally do anything for me—even though I rarely deserve it. :)

There are no conditions. Whether “anything” means changing our life plan tomorrow, or just making sure that my glasses are safe, and that I keep my place in my book.

On that day, it was just the glasses and the book… and that was the moment I knew.