My Purse

I think Michelle will appreciate this post. Every city I've lived in has shaped my personality, taste, cooking, habits, organizational skills and most importantly, my style. I started making money when I finally made it to New York. I was no longer the starving graphic designer I had been in LA. When I was in LA, my purchases generally consisted of LA things like cars and computers. To my chagrin, there weren't nearly as many fun, electronic toys back in those days. I never got the whole California style thing down. I remember my secretly gay, but engaged boss told me one day that I was such a lost soul in my black pants, maroon long sleeved crew neck and stockings, and that I absolutely did not belong in Pasadena. My relics from Indiana weren't going to cut it in West Hollywood or Culver City for that matter.

However, in New York, under the influnece of friends like Marie and after working in the fashion industry with people like Miki Thomas, who basically ran Dana Buchman for a hundred years, I started coordinating my belts, shoes and most of all bags. I bought high heeled boots and started having my hair professionally styled and colored (occasionally). For my 30th birthday, I made a return trip to LA where my good friend and aesthetician, Anne, "prescribed" a collection of all natural lotions, soaps and exfoliants to keep wrinkles at bay for another decade. I started getting my style together. I would say the pinnacle of all that was when I had two purses custom made for me in New York. I went from paying $30 for a simple bag, to $300 for the works. These are two of my favorites. My beloved Cole Haan evening bag and my Coach tote. Both have matching boots, heels and shoes to wear for walking to work when I wanted. And jackets. And gloves... with matching hats and scarves. Sandals, wraps. I loved it.

To most midwesterners, this is waay over the top. To most of my friends, I'm silly. I KNOW my Slovak family thinks I'm an idiot. My mother thinks I'm insane. I understand that, and I agree to a certain extent. All of these things are completely unnecessary for your happiness in this world, but I have to say that the satisfaction of getting all those little details of your wardrobe in place is almost as good as having a date on Friday night with a guy you really like.

I just wanted to share with you my most recent purse. It's my Slovak purse. It's practical, and it holds all the essentials, keys, water, mobile. It was perfect when we went to Dunajska streda to pick apricots. Milan's dad even made a special matching pouch to carry my pears.

Milan and I have been married one year now, and I've probably bought less than a hundred fifty dollars worth of clothes in the last year and 7 months, but we agree that we're happier now than we were on our wedding day and certainly happier than we were on our first date. I can definitely say that being happily married is a lot better than any Cole Haan purse (even if you have the matching wallet and the boots that are just simply so "Sex & the City").

Goulash Party

One Saturday morning Milan and I woke up and I said, "What do you want to do today?" He was at a loss, and I suggested we make some goulash with his dad in the garden. The previous week, Milan's dad had shown me the grill and the pot they use to cook goulash outdoors in nature. Sounded like a good time. We headed over around 11:00 to see what he was up to, and it turned out that he was already preparing a table and chairs near the rabbits to accommodate guests. Apparently Ivan, Milan's brother, and his family were also planning to cook goulash. We arranged a schedule and decided to make a day of it.


We started at around 2:30 and finished around 5:30 and Ivan started at 6:00 and ended at 9:00. Milan and I made our goulash in sort of "high style" you might say.
We used high quality pork and beef with the usual onions, peppers, tomatoes, bacon and spices. Ivan and family used wild meat and exotic spices.

The photos really tell the story of the evening better than I can, but I will add this little anecdote. After our goulash finished around 5:30, we went nuts eating as much as we possibly could. Like a competition or something. I think I must have been out of my mind because after three bowls and half of his dad's, I was ready to pass out.


While Ivan and his family cooked with Milan's dad, we took a nap upstairs, and when we awoke three house later, there was new goulash and Dominika and Ivan had arrived at our house with flashlights to help us find our way back to the party. (The thing about living near your family is that they know everything. As soon as the lights went on in our house, they knew we were awake. We're like a beacon in the night. One time I was reading the kitchen until late and the next day Milan's dad asked me what I was doing in the kitchen until so late. He didn't see the lights go out until nearly midnight. These are the times I'm glad our bedroom faces the opposite side of the house.) The giant lump of goulash that was already in my stomach was screaming, "NO!! Please no!" Unfortunately, we were obliged to eat at least one bowl, which we did, but I may never eat goulash again - it doesn't matter how amazing and delicious it is, I can still feel that lump...