Tonight I’m listening to the pouring rain and the howling wind. Sipping a glass of red wine, watching a few of my favorite TV shows while lounging on my parents couch. It’s nights like this that make me love, love, love being at home in Portland. If only the rain outside was snow. Now that, would be perfect.

Earlier tonight, after loads of laundry and errands with mom, our neighbors came over for wine and appetizers. Not the Christmas Eve neighbors, but our other forever friends. The family has lived next door for longer than we’ve been in the ‘hood, and our moms have been best friends since day one. They worked at the same school for over 15 years and us children, well we’re like siblings.

Their son, who is a few years older than my older sister, lives in Florida now. He has for a number of years, so his visits to Maine are few and far between. Needless to say, we were thrilled when we heard he was home for Christmas, and dad couldn’t resist snapping a few photos from the evening.

The skies were cloudy for most of the morning and the trails were barely covered with snow, but after a long Christmas weekend the boyfriend and I were excited to get away from the busy holiday schedule and just hit the slopes. We woke up early at my cousins’ house, made a cup of coffee, enjoyed eggs and fresh fruit and drove down to the base lodge.

We skied all day. All day long. We skied with my great uncle, two cousins and their little son Cal. We stopped at Bullwinkle’s, the mid mountain restaurant, for a coffee break with that part of the family around 10. Skied more. Had lunch in the lodge. Skied more. Met up with my two teenage cousins. Skied some more. Met my girlfriend and her fiance for a beer at Bullwinkle’s for a beer around 1. Skied even more.

And then about 6 hours after our first run, we called it a day. Bought a double mocha from Java Joe’s in the village and (quite sadly) made our way south to Portland. My legs are sore and my eyes tired, but man oh man, it was the perfect day.

My family celebrated Christmas Eve in Portland with friends, but early Sunday morning we packed the car with presents and treats and took off to Grandma’s house, to the family celebration up north. My grandparents live in a great big, old house. It sits on top of a big, steep hill just past the town center. A historical landmark in town, it was built well over 200 years ago, was involved in the underground railroad and once served as an small inn. I suppose I’m biased, but I like to think that our family’s memories trump it’s more historical roots.

Anyways, Christmas this year was extra special. Last year, my Grandma was sick in the hospital, recovering for a string of surgeries, and too sick to travel north for the holiday season. To be honest my family didn’t know if she would make it through that season, so for her to be recovered, and back in Maine to celebrate was a blessing to us all. She is still weak, but her spirit still radiates, and my Grandfather gave her a special toast during grace. A toast that included a new nickname. One that took us all by surprise and will never be forgotten: “big momma.”

Keep in mind my dear Grandma is no tall than 5’3″ and can’t weigh over 100lbs. But big momma she shall be called, because what Grandpa says, Grandpa goes. And gosh, he sure does love this woman.

The grandchildren stayed late to help clean up the house, and after all of the tables were cleared and the dishes were cleaned, the boyfriend and I traveled even further north to Sugarloaf. We spent the night playing board games with my cousins on the mountain, drinking wine and watching football. We woke up early and enjoyed our first ski day of the season!

This weekend the boyfriend and I went home to Maine to attend three parties. His annual family holiday party, an ugly Christmas sweater party, and a football ‘party’ that consisted of the boyfriend and me heading to my sister and brother-in-laws for food and hangin’ all day long. Glorious.

The holiday party was a hoot, as always. I donned black lace and red lipstick, which I never, ever do, and there were more sparkles and sequins in the house than I’ve ever seen. We left the party early to head over to the 4th annual ugly Christmas sweater party which was, well ugly. And the following day with my sis and her hubby was so, so nice. Although we see each other a lot, I can’t remember the last time we spent a whole day just lounging, eating, drinking and of course: painting my nails.

What’s that saying? About a picture worth a thousand words? Well if you believe it, riddle me this. The day after Thanksgiving meant a few things for me in Portland. It meant leftovers, lots of water, Christmas shopping and witnessing what is perhaps the most talked about sunset in all of Maine’s history.

I first spotted the sky on fire while shopping downtown with the boyfriend. I ran to the car to grab my camera, snapped a few photos and then told the boyfriend to drive, fast, to the Western Promenade. I played with my settings to get a few perfect shots. And I’m still left speechless when I look back on these photos.

And I thought our Thanksgiving day sunset was brilliant. When was the last time you saw a sunset this vibrant, this alive, this on fire?

One weekend of every year means the annual backyard football party. The party, hosted in my hometown by my dear friend and her husband is the biggest hit on the block. The party draws nearly 100 friends. My friends, our parents friends, our neighbors, our younger siblings and their friends, our older siblings and their families.

College football games are projected from the lawn onto the side of the house from 3PM to midnight. The garage is filled with table after table of food. We’re talking 10+ crockpots all in a nice little line. Pulled pork, chilli, BBQ everything. Coolers line the yard, dozens and dozens of cases of beer. The deck is filled with drinks. Wine, wine, and more wine. Alcohol for your favorite cocktails. But nothing beats the spike cider, warmed on the stove inside. Four fire pits work to keep the crowd warm as temperatures drop below 30 degrees. Hats and gloves, down jackets and warm boots required.

People come and go throughout the day. Our friends stay until well after the games end. After the football games, we take the party inside. We gather around the dining room table, play games and catch up like it’s high school. It’s one of the best days of the year, a tradition I hope we continue for years.

Rise and shine, sweet peas. It’s time to face the real world again. I can’t believe that it’s already Monday, that I’m back in Boston, and that it’s time for work. I had such an emotionally fueled weekend. One filled with sorrow, and grief, after a dear family friend lost her courageous battle with cancer. Her passing, in a way unlike any other, reminds me that life is so, so fragile, and that for all of us, our days are limited.

With her constantly on my mind, I surrounded myself with family and friends. I said no thank you to Halloween and instead went downtown with mum and dad on Friday. We walked through the cobblestone streets of Portland, shared a cheese plate and bottle of wine, and enjoyed a yummy dinner at Vignola. Saturday morning meant the normal breakfast routine, during which I was wildly entertained by my parents try to figure out their smartphones. I shopped with my mum, had lunch with two girlfriends, and baked cupcakes that filled the house with scents of pumpkin, cinnamon and nutmeg.

When the snow finally started to fall that afternoon, I bundled up and visited with my best friend and her fiance. The boyfriend and I joined them for a long dinner in the town just north of us. We sat in an old wooden booth near the front window, watching the unseasonable snow accumulate quickly on the road. We shared wine, a delicious dinner, memories from when we were 5 years old, details of upcoming weddings.  Hours of laughter and a warm feeling in my heart.

Sunday was snowy. I wore my longjohns and wool sweater all day. Sipped pumpkin coffee for hours on the couch. I taught myself to crochet, nibbled on my most incredible cupcakes (recipe to follow) and found myself smiling as the snow storm retreated to bright blue skies and sun.

I can’t quite describe what my mood was this weekend, but I’m glad I spent it bundled up in a snow storm, cozy with friends and family. I guess at the end of the day, there’s not much more I could ask for…

Good morning, sweetpeas! It’s Halloween weekend, and while most of my twenty-something friends are eager to dress up and black out, you can probably already guess that I’m not. I don’t particularly love events like Halloween and New Years, which often require more time and energy in the planning than it’s worth. I’m especially unfond of Halloween because I hate dressing up. The past few Halloweens I was a good sport, and even enjoyed myself (would you look at that).

But this year I’m just not having it, so I’m spending the weekend with my family and some similarly minded friends. Family time is extra special to me right now, considering the past few weeks have been emotionally tolling, and just devastating. A dear family friend is losing her battle to cancer, and as one of my sister’s classmates, she’s just far too young. Our families grew up incredibly close. We lived within walking distance, took family vacations together, spent countless days at the pool. Our parents are still best friends and the memories that our families share are just so meaningful at a time like this.  So as my heart breaks, knowing the pain that her parents, brother and husband are experiencing, I don’t feel much like dressing up and going out. I want to feel cozy and comforted by the company of my family and friends.

I can’t wait to get breakfast with my parents this morning, bake these scrumptious looking pumpkin and cream cheese cupcakes with my mom, and have a triple dinner date with my two best girlfriends and their boyfriends tonight.

With that said, I can only expect that most of you are enjoying your Halloween weekend, correct? So tell me, what are you dressing up as this year?

“Growing up in Maine is a privilege. It’s more than where you’re born. It’s an idea & state of mind imparted at birth. It’s more than loving red hot dogs, potatoes, lobster, Humpty Dumpty potato chips, and Whoopie Pies. It’s being hospitable, devoted to the outdoors, all the seasons, and each other. We don’t become Mainers, we’re born that way.”

I know that I don’t need to reiterate my great love for the state of Maine, but when this quote starting popping up on Facebook, I just couldn’t go without sharing it… somewhere. So thank you Maine, for giving me a life that truly is the best.

I spend a lot of my weekends in Maine.  Spring, summer, fall, winter – season doesn’t matter.  And no matter how many times I head north, there are some things about my weekends at home that just never get old.

Like driving over the Piscataqua River Bridge, crossing the border from New Hampshire to Maine.  I take a picture almost every time.  On the way north, I’m filled with joy, excitement, anticipation for the days ahead.  On the way south, sadness, exhaustion, a sense of desperation. Don’t make me leave.  Don’t make me go back to Boston. Back to work, the real world. Don’t make me leave my paradise.

The other routine that never gets old is weekend morning breakfast dates with my mom and dad. I love waking up early and heading out with mom and dad.  Ordering a cup of coffee from a diner and getting a breakfast bill of under $20.

Breakfast with my parents is just nice. It’s “me” time with my parents. Time to chat, catch up, and talk about what’s going on in our busy worlds.  It’s a weekend routine that started as a young child.  Of course back then, it was breakfast for our whole family. Now my sister is married, and weekend mornings mean time for me with my parents.

To add to the charm of this family routine, we have a few favorite spots, breakfast joints we rarely stray from. We love Bernie’s on the foreside, Porthole on the waterfront, and Steve and Renee’s by the boulevard. Mom always orders water. Dad one cup of hot coffee – but just one!  Me, I go for iced coffee almost every time. Mom and dad split a meal, typically an omelet off the special board. And I splurge when I can. Because that’s what’s so fun about being home with mom and dad. I’ll go for the lobster benedict. If not on the menu, yogurt, granola and fresh fruit.

We don’t change our routine much.  Same breakfast joints, same drinks, same meals.  But that’s what makes a routine so special. And this familiarity, the regularity of our weekend breakfast dates, just the three of us, makes me love the weekends in Maine that much more.