I will never forget the first time I saw a recipe-sharing site online (I am the least sorry if that dates me). I was at a friend’s apartment my sophomore year of college and we were hanging out in her living room with her roommate. I noticed her roommate was looking at this page full of gorgeous food pics and I asked her what it was.

“Oh, it’s just TasteSpotting.”

“Just?! What do you mean, just?!” I loudly thought in my head. “This is effing amazing!”

“Oh, cool!” I said calmly, feigning a sense of decorum in public.

Since I didn’t get a smartphone (again, dating myself?) until my senior year of college (mmhmm), I waited until I got home to check it out. And oh baby, I don’t think I’ve stopped looking at photos of food since.

Every single year, without fail, I end up having a conversation that goes in one of two ways:

“Oh my god, I cannot believe how early the high holidays are this year!”

OR

“Oh my god, I cannot believe how late the high holidays are this year!”

They never seem to be on time, do they? I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say, “Wow, Rosh Hashana is just spot on this year. Perfect timing!” They always feel unexpected, even though they have happened literally every single year for like, thousands of years.

Just like the rest of you, we had plans. And just like the rest of you, this year kinda messed said plans up.

We’ve spent months apart — very unusual considering how many weekends I cook up a storm in Rina’s tiny kitchen — but it’s been a whirlwind, and we’re grateful we’ve been able to meet for outdoor dinners and walks when we can. And now, all these months later, here we are, near the end of peach season — can you believe it? Who knew a year could go by so fast and so slow at the same time.

Six years ago, when I moved into my first NYC apartment, I recruited my dad to help me get situated. It was an easy sell — I’m his only daughter and was a bundle of nerves, as any recently graduate would be. While I was at work, he got a head start on building the IKEA furniture and setting up my bed so I didn’t have to sleep on an air mattress. It was a no-brainer for him, a homebuilder.

When I got home at the end of the day, he gifted me not one, but two toolkits. A cute purple one filled with every single tool you would ever need — including a saw with three different blades, which, to this day, is still in it’s plastic casing, untouched. The second toolkit was less fancy, but had about twelves or so screwdrivers, you know, just in case. He teased me that the toolkits were filled with “boyfriend testers" — the purple screwdriver was cute, but the one with the interchangeable heads was the real gold ticket. Plus the saw, of course.

I will never forget the one year I tried to have a nice Valentine’s Day. I will also never forget to never try it again.

A few years ago, my fiance had a Valentine’s Day gig at the Rainbow Room and I was able to get on the guest list (don’t be fooled - I am nowhere near as cool as that may sound). Since we had only been dating for a year or so at that point, my plan was to get all dressed up, show him how killer I was and that he should whisk me to City Hall ASAP.

But New York had other plans.