Two weeks ago I was in my bathing suit, swimming with dolphins in the Pacific. This past weekend I was in my snow pants, skiing somewhere in Tahoe (maps aren’t my strong suit). I have heard a few times how great this California place is but I want to know: why hasn’t someone dragged me here sooner? California is magic.

Someway, somehow, not being in New York during this merry season hasn’t been the worst.  Of course I miss all of my family and friends back East, but at this point in December I thought I would clamoring for the sound of the Salvation Army bell, the window display at Bloomingdales, and bundling up just to walk across the street a bit more than I actually do.

This weekend we went to our friend Joe’s family’s house to get out of the city and chase some snow. The house looked as if it had fallen out of a vintage Anthropologie photo shoot; in every corner there were new details you hadn’t noticed before.  We all arrived Friday night and spent the weekend with each other, and without Facebook.

And no, all that flannel was not an accident.

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And to my friends who have become my second family out here: thank you for keeping me laughing and [equally as important] for the peppermint schnapps hot chocolate.

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