weekend

Pineapple Daiquiri

There are drinks that announce themselves, all bright and loud. And then there are drinks that arrive quietly, the way a good weekend does—soft edges, sunlight on wood, a little hush in the room.

This Pineapple Daiquiri feels like that. A pale, frozen yellow in a stemmed glass, set on a cool marble tray. A wedge of lime and a small spear of pineapple sit on the rim like a simple reminder: this is fruit, this is summer, this is meant to be taken slowly. Behind it, a tall glass of sparkling water catches the light, full of tiny rising bubbles—steady, ordinary, comforting.

I like the contrast. Something blended and sweet beside something clear and crisp. It’s the kind of pairing that makes the moment feel more complete, like opening a window for fresh air even when you’re staying in.

If you’re making one at home, keep it unfussy: ripe pineapple flavor, a clean tartness, plenty of ice. Let it be cold enough that the first sip feels like stepping into shade.

Some weekends don’t need plans. They just need a small ritual—one glass, one garnish, a quiet place to set it down—so the hours can slow back into themselves.

Coffee blooming

Coffee blooming feels like a small, dependable ceremony—especially on a slow weekend morning when the light leans in through the window and the house is quiet enough to hear itself.

On the table, the kettle waits with a soft metallic patience, the glass carafe already showing yesterday’s ghosted droplets. The filter sits open like a little stage. Then the first pour hits the grounds and everything changes: the surface swells, dark and velvety, releasing a warm breath that fills the kitchen. For a moment it’s not just coffee, it’s a living thing—rising, settling, making room.

I like how ordinary tools can feel almost reverent when you pay attention. Steam on the dripper. Sun on the wood grain. The slow drip that asks you to stand there and do nothing but watch time become something you can drink.

And then there’s the mug—bright and a little playful, like a souvenir that outlasts the trip. A small nod to Disney on a countertop that otherwise belongs to daily life. It doesn’t shout; it just sits there, reminding you that wonder can be practical.

When the bloom finally fades and the last drops fall through, the morning feels set in place. Not fixed forever—just settled, for now.

Weekend breakfast

There’s a small kind of quiet that settles over a table on a long weekend morning. Not silence, exactly—more like the low hum of being unhurried. A glass of iced coffee sweats in the light. Plates land and the day opens slowly, as if it has nowhere else to be.

This breakfast came with the comforting weight of a skillet: browned sausages, a soft egg, and a scatter of bright things that taste like someone cared enough to keep it simple. Little metal cups of syrup sit nearby like punctuation marks. The knife rests where it always does, ready but unnecessary, because the best weekend meals don’t need much convincing.

I like mornings like this because they’re ordinary in the way old places are ordinary—familiar, quietly generous. You taste the food and the company at the same time. It’s not a celebration exactly, but it feels like one.

Maybe that’s what a reunion looks like when you zoom in: a table, shared plates, and the relief of letting time slow down for a minute. You could call it a three-day weekend, but it feels more like a borrowed pocket of space—enough to breathe, enough to remember what “rested” feels like.

Beautiful Nursery Sunday

The nursery is loud in the quiet way—bright signs pointing you toward terra pots, lettuce, and microgreens, and rows of flowers spilling over their tables as if they can’t help themselves. Under a clear blue sky, everything looks a little more vivid than it should: greens sharpen into layers, petals catch the light, and the greenhouse stands back like a steady presence, holding its own warmth.

I like places like this on a Sunday. They feel settled. Not staged, not rushed. Just alive alongside you. The kind of stop that turns into a slow walk, then an even slower decision: basil or rosemary, something blooming now or something that needs patience. You drift from color to color, reading the small tags, brushing a leaf between your fingers, trying to remember where the sun lands in your own yard.

There’s a comfort in choosing something that will keep growing after you leave. A small act of care you can carry home—dirt under your nails, a pot balanced in your arms, the promise of watering it when the week starts to crowd in.

Beautiful Nursery Sunday, in the simplest sense: blue sky, plant aisles, and that steady feeling that life is still making itself new.

Weekend lunch and snacks

Weekend lunch and snacks doesn’t have to be loud to feel like a small ceremony.

On the table, everything is simple and deliberate: toasted bread cut into thick slices; a soft, herbed cheese waiting like a quiet centerpiece; a small cup of mustard with a spoon that looks used exactly once; and, off to the side, little toasts layered with tomato, mozzarella, and basil. The colors do most of the talking.

It’s the kind of meal that feels borrowed from a slower world. Nothing is rushed. You build each bite in your hands, tasting what’s fresh, what’s salted, what’s still warm from the toast. The basil sits on top like a final thought. The tomatoes look like they were chosen carefully, not because they were perfect, but because they were ready.

I like lunches like this on the weekend because they leave room for the rest of the day. You can eat, pause, look out a window, and feel the hours open up again. It’s not a feast, not really. It’s more like a reminder that a few good ingredients, arranged with care, can make the ordinary feel bright and settled.

If there’s a secret here, it’s attention: to texture, to taste, to the quiet satisfaction of making something small and complete.

Happy Spring Weekend 

| #turnandpose #spring #nyc 

| Shirt: Scotch & Soda, Pants: H&M, Backpack: A.P.C,. Shoes: Jack Purcell Leather Slips, Sunglasses: Mosley Tribes.

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C47 D-day Flight Experience

C47 D-day Flight Experience

| What a great weekend to experience American Airpower Museum’s (AAM) WWII reenactment by taking the C47 D-day Flight Experience. It was such a thrill to take a fight in such a historic plane, the Douglass C-47 “Skytrain” a.k.a. SECOND CHANCE. So proud to be contributing to the preservation of our US History and honoring those who have fought to protect this country! Highlights include “dressing the part”, speaking with the pilots in the cockpit mid-flight, pretending to do a jump, the scenic view.

A Big Thanks to our Pilot (Jim Vocell) and Co-Pilots on the flight as well as to all the event staff and volunteers (many of which are veterans). +++ Not to mention Jeff & Jacky Clyman.

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Warbird Weekend Preview

Warbird Weekend Preview

| Added some cool photos of the Airshow plus some really cool aircraft and metal textures. Nothing is quite like aircraft aluminum. Main photo is of the Curtiss P-40 “Warhawk”

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