Sitting in front of my computer, eating a messy late lunch out of a serving bowl, the thought occurs: I didn’t eat enough figs this summer. Thinking back, there is only one that is memorable, which seems a shame. I am grateful that that fig was an exceptionally good one.

It was plucked off a heavily laden tree while on a meandering walk with my cousin Serena and her baby Lamar. I was in California for a weekend of professional happenings and booked myself a little extra time to see these particular members of my family.

Serena spotted the tree first, it’s branches reaching out from a fenced backyard. I pulled a sticky fig off the tree and offered to share it with her, but she had found her own. We stood there in wordless companionship, eating these ripe, impossibly sweet figs, and feeling appreciation for the wonders of Oakland.

*The picture above was taken on that walk, but is not of the fig tree. I was too engrossed in the eating of the fig to take a picture.

For the last month and a half, I’ve had a note on my to-do list that reads, “Apt. 2024 post.” Each time I rewrite the list, I carry it over to the fresh page and work away at all the tasks around it. Still, I keep it there as a reminder that this blog is here, waiting for me.

When I do eventually make it to this space, I am grateful and feel such relief in allowing myself to tumble onto this virtual page.

The last few months have been intensely full (substitute the word years for months and that statement would still be true). I turned in the first draft of my next cookbooks in early May and have now made it through two rounds of edits and the photo shoot. I have one last bit of editing to do and then I won’t see it again until galleys.

There is a part of me that still can’t quite believe that I’ve now written three books. The person I was when I started this website would be amazed at the future that lay in store for her.

Scott and I are still living in the apartment, but have been looking for a house to buy in West Philly. The market is tight and inventory is low, so I keep my eyes peeled for possibilities and hope that they don’t go under contract before we can see them.

I feel like I function on two levels these days. On one plane, I am focused on all the things I hope for – a bigger space, the chance to grow a human, the opportunity to write more books without quite so much hustle in the selling. But on the more mundane level, I let all of those hopes go in order to be satisfied with where I am and what I have. It’s a tricky balance to maintain, but works nonetheless.

I walked to Rittenhouse Square earlier this week with my camera, hoping to find some sign that winter was on the way out and spring might soon be on its way. All I found was ice, snow, and thin patches of sunlight. Despite the cold, I found that I could still take pleasure in being outside on a day when the sun was shining.