Eleanor Eats Ice Cream

There is an often-told family story about my first reaction to ice cream in which I have a complete meltdown because it’s too cold and sweet. It ends with my mother having to actually take apart the stroller to clean up the sticky mess I made.

I always assumed that I remained stuck in my only-broccoli-and-sweet-potatoes-please phase for much longer than I apparently did because I recently discovered photographs of me at the age of three devouring a very large bowl of chocolate ice cream and making a huge mess in my grandparents’ dining room.



At least, I make an attempt of helping to clean up.


In Which Ella Refers to the Morning as Yesterday

Today has been one of those days where so many things have happened that I become confused and begin to refer to the morning as yesterday.

There is just no way that only seventeen hours ago I was standing in the shower trying very hard not to fall asleep and hit my head on the tile wall again.

I took the SAT, finally figured out how to cast spells on pottermore, drove to Connecticut, went to the Laini Taylor event, ate pork so tender that I fell in love, visited Cecelia, ate ice cream, walked around Yale, and drove home. And I only slept for five hours last night.

These things just don’t happen in Ella world. The most I ever seem to do is go to the book or grocery store and visit doctors’ offices.

I’d love to be able to write something interesting and properly describe all of the events, but there is only so much I can write while typing on an iPhone in the dark car. But I’ll tell you this: Laini Taylor is one of my favorite adults and authors ever, Cecelia is the coolest, and I would very happily live off of pork, mangos, and ice cream for the rest of my life.

Also, thanks for driving me everywhere today, Mom and Dad. Six hour long roadtrips aren’t most people’s cups of tea, and you didn’t even complain once.

And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at http://emleng93.tumblr.com/, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Cups and Cups and Cups of Joy and Laughter

Tens of types of frozen yogurt. Big paper cups. Rows of toppings, sauces, and fruit. And one very happy me.

I had cake batter and chocolate, swirled on top of one another. The big bowl made it difficult to judge how much I was getting. And then I found the fruit. There were kiwis, blackberries, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and oranges. I dumped them all on top, plus some mochi berries for good measure. And I placed the whole cup down on the scale next to Clara’s. Then I sat, squished in on short stools and a L-shaped sofa with Tal, Cecelia, Audrey, Clara, and other theatre friends. We bumped into Micah and his friend and sat with them until they left. More people we knew kept arriving and the whole placed seemed like a microcosm of joy. There were retro pictures and posters on the wall, some classic movie playing on a big TV above my head, good rock music that was not-too-soft, but not-too-loud either, and so many people moving in and out, walking down the assembly-line, making their own perfect yogurt sundaes.

And when Clara, Cecelia, and I were walking back through the parking lot to climb into Jeff-the Volvo and head home, Cecelia said, “Cups just makes everyone so incredibly happy!” And she’s right. Frozen yogurt just does. It made me happy when we were driving home. It made me happy when Cecelia and I were watching Gilmore Girls. And it made me happy when Cecelia and I were going through hilarious old home-videos. Then, Clara came over and we had dinner, and I filled up on merriment all over again. There’s just something about the sense of community and bliss that one gets when they’re sitting around eating good food and talking with people they love.

We talked, baked brownies, watched John Oliver’s stand-up piece (There is still 3/4 of a pan sitting on top of the stove, all warm and enticing.), “Terrifying Times,” and talked and laughed and smiled even more.

It’s times like this afternoon that I’m reminded that it’s worth it to be alive. So incredibly worth it. Now, if I could just come to terms with the fact that I don’t weigh too much and know one, that my doctors, nutritionist, and therapist aren’t going to let me gain any weight outside of my healthy range and two, that I can obviously trust my metabolism because I have never in my life gotten anywhere close to being even a pound too much, I’ll be a pretty content gal. (How’s that for a run-on sentence? I think it wins this week’s award.)

The Frozen Milk Debate

Cecelia thinks that it’s nuts that I will only eat one flavor of ice cream when I go to the ice cream place when I am at my beach house in the spring and summer. But the way I see it, why ruin perfection?

You can’t get homemade, rich, chocolate ice cream with small bits of Milky Way just anywhere. It’s special and sacred and tastes like summer and happiness. It defines the freedom of summer vacation and the excitement of spring weekends.

I get one scoop of it in a sugar cone, and it drips down the sides, covering my hands and sometimes working its way down my arm to my elbow. Often I have to get a cup and a spoon so that I can push the ice cream further into the cone so that the large scoop on top won’t fall off. The cold bits of Milky Way make my molars stick together and I have to use my tongue to pry the cold, sharp, sticky bits of caramel off.

And when it’s all gone, I always have to have a cup of water, because ice cream has salt in it, you know. I dip a napkin into the cup and scrub at my face and hands, before I gulp the water down. And then I walk home with my mouth still tasting like my favorite dessert in the world.

It’s wonderful.