You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August 2011.

I used to think colored jeans were too loud for me, but lately I’ve found myself smitten with them–specifically red ones! I’m lusting over these bright red Minnie pants from J.Crew, and I also love these faded red jeans from Anthropologie, which I think I’d be less shy about wearing. Wouldn’t they look relaxed and pretty with a chambray shirt, or artsy with a graphic tee and black blazer? I’d love to wear them to a party or out on a shopping trip.

What do you think? Are red pants a do or a don’t?

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What do you do when a hurricane is approaching? You go on a last date and see a funny movie; you eat a last meal at a very crowded burger joint; you go home, grab a blanket and a glass of wine, and fall asleep listening to the wind. Then you wake up the next morning to witness the wonder of it all.

The best thing about nature is that it has a way of making everyone appreciate what matters the most. Whether you’re hiking through the woods or hiding from a hurricane, the world becomes quiet and the small worries give way to an appreciation for the small wonders that make our everyday life downright privileged. I think the reason so many people love snowstorms and thunderstorms, and yes, even hurricanes is not only that it offers a sense of excitement (you have to admit that the frenzy and unpredictability of it all is a bit of a thrill) but also a great excuse to slow down and hold our loved ones close, relinquishing control and relaxing together in a way that our busy, distracted lives would never otherwise allow us.  It gives us permission to go slow and not feel guilty about it. It makes us feel like kids again.

I hope everyone affected by the storm made out as well as we did, and I hope everyone takes a bit of the post-hurricane calm back into their daily lives. xo

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”  – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

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The other night Scott and I were hanging out at the house, killing time before our dinner plans later that evening. We were playing a tough game of Mario Kart and I decided I needed a drink to deal with my losses (seriously, I’m pathetic). When I looked in the fridge all we had as far as mixers was water and milk–typical–so we decided to experiment with the blender and came up with this deceivingly delicious peach cocktail. It’s super easy to make and I like to tell myself that it’s healthy because it has fresh fruit. I mean, any way you can get those 8 servings a day, right?

Here’s the recipe, if you’re interested. I promise you won’t regret trying it out!

Healthy Peach Cocktail (makes two servings)

1 fresh peach, pitted, skin on

2 ounces good vodka

2 big handfuls of ice

Big squeeze of agave nectar (I’d say 1 ½ tablespoons)

Place all ingredients in a blender, with the peach on the bottom and the ice on top. Mix until smooth. Drink while blaming your Mario Kart losses on the slowness of Peach and her Bubble Bike.

I just wanted to give a quick shout out to my spontaneous and sweet parents, who got married 31 years ago today. When they met, my mom was 21 and my Dad was a whopping 34 (busted, Dad!). He was much older and twice-married, but despite my mom’s reservations (and those of her well-meaning friends and family) she followed her heart and took a chance on my Dad. Two children and three decades later, my mom still laughs heartily at my Dad’s old stories, and my Dad still gets a glimmer in his eyes when my mom puts on a dress. She says that while he was not the person she ever imagined herself marrying, he was exactly what she needed in her life. Isn’t that often true of the people we end up with? Here’s to all of us finding a Karen to our Howard. xo

A super laid-back weekend at home made special by friends both old and new. There was lots of wine, lots of cheese, and lots of celebrating—new apartments, old friends (and one amazing cook) recently returned home, and two special babies on the horizon. There was a moment at my friend Kelly’s baby shower yesterday where I was sitting next to three of my closest college friends, all of us now married and two of them with baby girls in their bellies. I looked at them and felt such awe at how our lives have developed, and such gratitude for being able to spend time with them as the people they are today. Growing up is a strange and miraculous thing. xo

As if Bon Iver’s haunting falsetto and spellbinding production prowess weren’t cool enough, his new video for Holocene—which debuted on National Geographic, of all things—was filmed in Iceland. I dare you to watch it without getting seriously lusty for the place. I double-dog dare you.

I come back inside from taking out the trash. Scott’s bent over, putting a new bag in the trash can.

Scott: Mmm, do you have new perfume or something?

Me: No.

Scott: (Taking a long sniff) Well something smells good.

Me: I think you’re referring to the scented trash bags.

Just a couple snapshots from a lazy weekend at the beach surrounded by family. In between rain showers we soaked up the sun, but when the skies poured down the scrabble board and oatmeal cookies came out. Despite the rain, I managed to snag a few shots of the local scenery–beach and farmland alike. The abandoned house sits along one of my favorite running routes by my parents’ home, and it’s  given me the willies for as long as I can remember. Even the ducks were a little freaked out when I showed them the photo.

It’s strange to think about your house belonging to someone else. I came home from work one day last week to greet a woman speaking with my older neighbor about growing up in my neighborhood. Her mother had passed away several days before, and feeling nostalgic, she decided to drive to her childhood home. She told us stories about the swingset that used to be in the backyard, and about her and her siblings stopping at the local flower shop on their way home from school to pick up discarded flowers to take home to their mom (isn’t that sweet?). It was fun to hear her reminisce and I couldn’t help but imagine what the neighborhood was like twenty years before I was even born. Just as I was thinking about what a lovely moment it was, and got ready to say my goodbye, the conversation turned toward my home.

You guys, my home used to be owned by a crazy lady!! The nostalgic vision I had of my neighborhood circa mid 1960s melted away as I listened in feigned disinterest (and internal horror) as this visitor joked with my neighbor about the previous owner, who apparently suffered from extreme paranoia and agoraphobia. She would stare out of the windows all day long, but never answer the door or come outside. One day, the kids were playing on the side of their yard—albeit across the fence—from where this supposed crazy lady kept her trash cans. Apparently paranoid that the eight-year-olds would go through her trash, the lady leaned out of her kitchen window—MY KITCHEN WINDOW!!—grabbed her trash cans, and pulled them back inside THROUGH THE WINDOW! Now, I’m all for admirable displays of one’s contortionist/gymnastic skills (and also for laziness when it comes to taking out the trash), but this really takes it to the next level.

In addition to leaning out of windows so as not to get paparazzi’d by oblivious children, the lady also refused to answer the door when my neighbors wanted to replace the fence adjoining their properties, leading my neighbor to seek approval from one of her family members. My neighbor’s (now deceased) husband tracked down the lady’s brother only to learn that her family hadn’t heard from her in decades and had no clue of her whereabouts, or her contortionist capabilities.

I have to admit that hearing this freaked me out a little bit. (I can’t help it, I’m dramatic about these types of things. When I was a kid my Dad bought a bunch of silverware from an estate sale and I absolutely REFUSED to eat from it because the person who last ate off of it was dead. I relentlessly referred to the cutlery as “death forks,” “death spoons” and “death knives” until everyone in the family was sufficiently freaked out and my mom threw the silverware away).  It’s just strange to think about my happy little home as a kind of inescapable prison for someone who was obviously suffering. (I also now kind of wonder how far I could reach out of my kitchen window. Seriously, that lady had skills.) Do you guys know anything about who lived in your house before you? If you heard something bad, would it bother you?  I’d love to hear. xo

A photo of me.

About me

Hi, I'm Pam. I'm a runner, reader and recent MBA grad living in Baltimore with my husband. I work in PR, but I spend my off-hours writing here about my life, which mostly revolves around family, friends, fashion and fitness. Sometimes I throw in the occasional food photo just to make sure you're paying attention.


For questions or freelance opportunities, contact me at theinspirationfiles {at} gmail {dot} com. I'd love to hear from you!

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