11-9-10 Pie is too nice to be bad for you.

Coring an apple requires a little bit of muscle, a little bit of guessing. Stab straight down and twist, gutting the pulp of the stringy bits and the little black seeds, hand it over to Katie, who then proceeds to peel it in a long, continuous ribbon of red (a skill I've yet to get the hang of).

The Cuisinart spins the halves into perfect slices in seconds, and as watch them pile up, I see a single black seed that I missed. Will it kill us if I don't fish it out?

11-8-10 my mini spooner

The new bowls we got for our wedding are primary colors of yellow and blue - deep, deep cobalt blue, and a cheerful, sunny yellow. I often find myself picking one or the other based on the food that I'm serving, or on the mood I'd like to create in myself with the plate.

"Frosted Mini-spoons" is the best that Malt-o-Meal could come up with for their "Frosted Mini-wheats" rip-off cereal, and while it's not that bad, there's something in the Kellogg's version that has a little more substantial-ness when it comes to milk. The best part was pouring them into a sunny yellow bowl (her favorite color) and thinking about Katie asleep in bed, and the perfect applicability of the term "mini spoons" to her.

11-5-10 Happy drums

After a particularly good rehearsal from which I leave buzzing lightly and newly optimistic about our prospects, Ray and I ride the subways downtown from his place in Harlem. At one stop, two drummers heave into the car, hoisting conga drums and foldable chairs behind them, which they set up in the pseudo-vestibule before beginning their patter.

"Keep the energy up and full of love," says the one in the skullcap with the star of David dangling down onto his forehead while the other adjusts his drums and smiles widely, "because it comes back down to you amplified."

They beat their drums in a groove reminiscent of "Oye Como Va" and I give them a dollar as they leave.

11-4-10 Even in Park Slope? Really?

She left work at one in the morning, after serving at a private late-night party where Patti Lupone "hugged [her] like [she] was her long lost daughter." I've been up all night watching movies, playing video games, and editing a backing track for a song my band will be playing once we book a gig.

I've been feeling a lot less stressed lately, but as the hour rolls toward 2:00 AM, I start to get paranoid. I lace up my shoes, throw on a jacket, and slip a large pocket knife into my back pocket, and step out into the wet, empty street to go pick her up at the subway station.

11-3-10 Wake up in the morning feeling like P-diddy

I've gradually set my alarm 5 minutes earlier each week, over the last few weeks, in an attempt to get back into doing a full session of yoga in the morning. This is probably the worst time to do this, since the mornings are getting darker and darker as we edge closer to winter.

This morning I wake up in the darkness, sit up, and Katie rolls over and asks me if I had weird dreams.

I tell her I think I did and wonder out loud why she asks, to which she replies, "Because you talked a lot!"

11-2-10 Acting out (staying in)

When I get home, she's sprawled, half in, half out of the papasan with the Wii remote in her lap. The screen is blank except for the tell-tale cauldron floating in the corner, telling me that she's been playing Lego Harry Potter most of the night.

I know she was upset that I had rehearsal tonight, and when I left she was a little depressed, but she's still depressed, and I'm not sure what to do.

I kiss her on the forehead as she looks up at me with that slightly dazed look that comes from too much gaming, and I say, "Hey baby, how was your night?"

11-1-10 Sous chef rhapsody

She chops the veggies, stirs the cheese and the rice together. I open cans, suggest seasonings, wash the dishes and utensils as she finishes with them.

The kitchen is clean and well lit, warm and bustling as we make dinner. Once again, something I have dreamed of since I was a kid has come true, and the home I have always wanted is that much closer to being real.