1. Jonathan Adler Bon Voyage Luggage Tag, $5.95
2. Wishing Fish Luggage Tags With Attitude, $12
3. Tepper Jackson Luggage Tags With Travel Phrases, $17

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See this beautiful creature? This is one of my oldest and dearest friends, Eva Rose. Her family is Italian, and she has dual American/Italian citizenship, which puts her in the running for My Most Glamorous Friend Ever.

She’s also a brave spirit, as evidenced by her recent decision to up and move to the land of pasta, gelato, and all that gorgeous architecture and culture, also known as Italy. She is, as it turns out, also a gifted writer. She is chronicling her time in Italy in this fabulous blog, Ciao Italio Ciao. It is intended to be a letter of sorts for her friends, so we can keep up with her travels and doings, and live vicariously through her.

However, I was so blown away by her literary gifts, and the beauty of these posts, that I begged her to let me share them with you. She sweetly agreed, and I urge you to visit the above link, anytime you need a dose of gorgeously written, amusing, witty observations from afar.

Ciao!

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If you find yourself in Portland, there is a treat den you simply must visit: Two Fat Cats Bakery. Located directly around the corner from my dear friend Bethany’s home, this darling bakery churns out the most scrumptious homemade sweets you could imagine. Lucky Bethany.

I swung by one morning and picked up a fresh-out-of-the-oven slice of orange cranberry bread, and swooned over the crystallized, crunchy ginger topping. I repeated this visit each and every morning of my remaining Portland stay, and creature of habit that I am, could not stray from that bread. If it’s not broken, why fix it, right? But I can’t help but feel a pang—of regret, hunger?—when I look at these photos I snapped, capturing all the goodness I didn’t have the time or the stomach capacity to try.

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I was fortunate to spend an extra week in December visiting friends and family in my hometown of Portland, ME. And while there are countless reasons why I adore Portland—-the architecture, the cobblestone streets, the Eastern Prom—-aside from my glorious circle of friends, nothing tops my list like the food. Oh, the food. The exquisite food.

Named “Foodiest Small Town” by Bon Appetit last year with good reason, Portland’s chef’s are among the country’s most talented, and celebrated. Hugo’s Rob Evans was honored with the James Beard Chef Award last year, the Oscars of the cooking set. I could literally go on and on for hours about the fresh local produce, and innovative dishes Portland restaurants offer up (newcomer Grace‘s truffle & fried egg topped pumpkin waffle has positively ruined me for all other appetizers. Now, I’m simply despondent when confronted with the suggestion of an onion tartlet).

Instead, I did my best to obsessively capture some of my favorite meals with my camera, thanks to the patience of my darling dining mates.

I’ll start with my favorite; a leisurely, foodgasm inducing dinner enjoyed with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Diane, at tiny Old Port/East End adjacent gem Ribollita. Under the tutelage of our server who will henceforth be referred to as Fabulous Bob, we shared the mussels, the olive oil drenched bread topped Tuscan soup, and the braised spinach with golden raisins. Our paths diverged for the entree; Diane had the Beef Braciole and I a squash and goat cheese risotto. We were back to sharing when it came time for dessert. Despite my low level moaning due to overstuffed-ness, we knew from chatting with fellow diners that we simply Had To Have The Flan.

And so we did. The flan was the only thing all night that Fabulous Bob was even remotely off base about: contrary to his assumption based on our “I’m so full!” wails, one order of flan was not nearly enough.

The meal was so amazing that not only did I beg to thank the chef in person, like some giddy food groupie, but I could only manage two photos for the night:

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2. Presto Change-O: Summer Color Block Part 2

During my recent trip to Las Vegas, we took a window shopping stroll through the Wynn, where my in-laws were staying. I was calm, cool, and collected until I saw this, and stopped dead in my flat, equestrian-chic boots:

Spellbound, I dropped Paul’s hand, and floated toward the open doors of this store, my eyes and mouth wide open. I may have stopped breathing.

“It’s, it’s…” I silently opened and closed my jaw, willing the words to form in my throat and come out. They didn’t. I lovingly fingered the stately black plaque on the wall, and peered around the corner.

The salesman looked at me, and smiled. I tripped into the store, breathless, and out came each and every word I had been trying to produce for the last minute. All at once:

“Ohmygosh! It’s—you’re—they’re! Manolo Blahniks! They’re so beaaauuuutifuuuul! Look! Oh, feathers! Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh! Could I, um, take a picture? Please!”

Too amused by my reverence to be concerned about the accompanying threat of hyperventilation, he kindly let me snap away to my heart’s content.

I was particularly fixated on these feathered beauties:

As I lingered over them lovingly, cooing, my brother-in-law Justin strolled in.

“Justin!” I gasped. “Look!”

Justin is an acclaimed jewelry designer in New York, and isn’t quite as bowled over by encounters of the exquisitely feathered kind as I am—such things are de rigueur in his beautifully decorated world, but he’s sweet enough to humor me.

“Wouldn’t they tickle your toes?” he asked.

I turned to face him.

“Honey—I haven’t felt my toes in years.”

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Paul and I took advantage of the sunny fall Sunday, loaded our pups Bailey and Lola into the car, and headed for Huntington Beach Central Park.

We stopped first for NY Style bagels at Bagelmania in Huntington Beach—now my destination for perfect bagels in an adorable setting, with colorful old school sodas, and the best service—and then parked at the Park Bench Cafeadjacent to the park. Because HB Central Park is such a popular spot for dogs and the people who love them, the Park Bench Cafe offers both a human and canine menu, which can be enjoyed al fresco at one of their many picnic tables. We spent two hours walking through the park, where we met ducks, a baby Beagle named Zoe, and discovered that Southern California really does have seasons.

And although we were still full from breakfast, we picked up dessert for our tired puppies on the way out.

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I spent last week/end in Las Vegas, celebrating my in-laws’ 35th wedding anniversary. We had a lovely time, adored our hotels (reviews and photos coming, soon) and even managed to catch a show: Cirque du Soleil’s Le Reve, which was phenomenal. My MIL and I sat next to each other so we could have someone to squeal to, but were both so breathtaken, I could only blindly bat her arm a few times, eyes jumping around the stage. I may have managed a squeak or two, but really can’t be sure. I also may have bruised her with those aimless hand swats, but am double crossing my fingers that this isn’t the case—I have beyond lucked out in the in-law department.

Since it was fabulous Las Vegas and all, we gussied ourselves up, and I debuted my new vintage (oxymoron, I know) dangly costume diamond earrings. I matched them with a blue dress from F21—you’d never guess—and perfect red pumps from Miss Sixty. The perfection of my shoe selection became even more apparent during the show; there is a magical number during which a dozen water acrobats perform a peppy dance number fully submerged, save for their red heels flashing in the air.

My shoes have been dying to do the same ever since, and although I fear they’ll never reach such heights of stardom and glamour, the least I can do is post a photo of them. The images are a bit blurry, I realize, but a promise is a promise.

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Ok. So, I didn’t exactly provide you with moment-by-moment Phish fashion coverage, as promised. Frankly, I was distracted. Not just by the surprising amount of edgy looks, fringy boots, and hair strand-thin metallic headbands worn high on the forehead (they were a revelation), but by the experience itself. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, but was in a meticulously cared for polo field, surrounded by vegetarian food vendors as far as the eye could see, rather than a rabbit hole. Did you know that when thousands of glow sticks sail above your head simultaneously, it looks like fireworks? Amazing.

Now, about the fashion. Although I neglected to snap photos of all the goodness I was seeing, I was fortunate enough to be traveling with some of the most inspired, fun dressers I know: my friends.

Natalie’s shimmery bronze Nike high tops were a highly coveted item by all, and looked even better next to Leanne’s shiny blues:

Halloween was amazing, and the costumes were terribly clever. Taryn and Leanne went as My Little Ponies, and pieced together their costumes from wig shops, random stores, and the shiny leotard mothership: American Apparel. They even carried along matching combs, so people could comb their hair and tails. Genius, and adorable:

Yours truly went as a peacock, and used a shimmery vintage blue dress as my base, then added on a homemade tail made with a ribbon, glue gun, and peacock feathers. I found a perfectly jaunty hair comb with feathers galore, and added little fingerless lace gloves:

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Since it’s looked like this outside all week:

I was in dire need of some sunshine this morning, and it was clear that I wasn’t going to get it from mother nature. So, I pulled up the sun shiny-est photos I have, and instantly felt better—even virtual sunshine is better than none.

These photos are from our honeymoon this past March, in Bali. It was the warmest, sunniest, most summery-wonderful place I’ve ever been, and it’s impossible to feel blue there. Hopefully they’ll give you a virtual dose of sunshine, too:

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