I’ve been pretty open about the fact that I’ve struggled with depression for much of my life, and I’ve been fighting it hard of late. There’s been a lot of churn in both my personal and professional lives over the last couple of months, most of which I can’t discuss publicly, and it has gotten harder and harder to deal with it all. I’ve been feeling incredibly overwhelmed, by my responsibilities, by meeting the expectations of others and of myself, by just about everything. I feel like I’ve collapsed under the weight of the many hats I’ve been wearing, and while I know I’m not yet in my “danger zone”, I did feel that I had to slam on the brakes and try to regain some balance.

That meant that I dropped out of a blogging project I had agreed to take on, and I feel a huge amount of guilt about that, but between work and the other responsibilities I was juggling, something had to give. I’m getting my equilibrium back, slowly, but now I’m torn about whether I want to jump back into blogging at LND again at all. It’s the height of summer, our farmers’ markets are bursting with vibrant color, and it is by far the best time of year for a food lover like myself, but I just haven’t felt inspired. There’s a part of me that wants so badly to get back to cooking *my* food, to photographing it for posterity, documenting that part of our lives on the blog, but as I sit here and watch a steady stream of tweets popping up from yet another blogging conference, I feel like I’ve been doing it all wrong anyway, so why bother?

But then I think about last weekend’s farmers’ market, and how as Mike and I walked into the area of the park where the tents are lined up, one of our favorite farmers came out from behind her table and gave me this huge hug, telling me that she had finally looked at LND, and how much she loved it, that there was so much negativity out there in the world and how nice it was to look at my photos and read my words and how positive they were, and she thanked me again and again. I teared up a bit, because as much as I like to tell myself that I blog for myself, this was yet another reminder that people out there are reading, and watching, and sharing what is happening in our lives via LND. And then there are these opportunities arising, people coming to me because they like what I’m doing and see some value there and want to work with me. And it’s incredibly flattering and humbling but weighty. It’s weird and uncomfortable to feel so many eyes on me, and there are more to come once my Edible Rhody piece publishes and another project I contributed to launches in the fall, and while I should be terribly excited, every time I think about it I want to hide.

There’s a very big part of me that wants to go back in time, before food52, before the New York Times, before the whole mess with the restaurant and the aftermath. I realize that I would be giving up the wonderful relationships that grew during that time, but it would also take me back to a time where I had some anonymity, where the blog was just the blog and not what has come to feel like a second, unpaid full-time job, one that I’m currently failing at.

I’m depressed. I’m sad. I’m scared. And it could not be happening at a worse time.

I’ve been staring at this photo of our old apartment in Brooklyn, taken two years ago today, when we closed the door for the last time and made our way to Providence. Our first year here was hard, but we felt pretty confident we had made the right move. After the way our second year came to a close, I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve been missing New York hard lately, and while I know we had to leave there for a lot of reasons, my heart has been heavy. I feel like it was all a huge mistake.

The scale of this city is something that appealed to us, but in recent weeks Providence has felt almost oppressively small. There’s so much about the city that we still love, but my commute is wearing me down, and I feel like we’ve outgrown our space. We’ve been talking a lot about our next steps, and I’ve pretty much decided that since I pulled the trigger last time, Mike gets to choose where we land this time around. I don’t know when it will happen or where we’ll end up, but I think it’s pretty clear that this isn’t the home we had hoped it would be.

7:30 a.m. I went from bleary-eyed to full-blown panic in a heartbeat as Mike started awake and asked “Where’s Kirby?” then raced to the window where the expanding flap on the air conditioner was gaping open. He pulled aside the curtain and there you were, sitting outside, on top of the air conditioner. The air conditioner in our second floor window. I threw on shoes and my bathrobe and ran downstairs and outside, as Mike first tried to get a firm grip on you and bring you inside, then decided you were squirming so much it was safer to try to talk you back indoors. By the time I got to the yard you were safely back inside, having climbed in on your own.

Our first year with you has been interesting, to say the least, and if your adventure this morning is any indication, you’ll be keeping us on our toes through year two. Happy Gotcha Day, buddy. We love you and are so happy you’re a part of our lives.

We took Kali to the vet yesterday, after a week in which she had about 4 “peeing outside of the box” incidents. She wasn’t her usual sassy self, and we noticed that she had lost some weight, but we had no idea how scary things were going to get at the vet’s office.

Her abdomen was extremely firm on examination, and the vet noticed that she looked anemic. X-rays showed that the firm abdomen was caused by a pretty extreme case of constipation (which Kali has had off and on for years), and once that was dealt with everything looked pretty clear. But the cause of the anemia was still a mystery. She wasn’t running a fever, but her heart and spleen were slightly enlarged. And the weight loss was troublesome. The vet ran a full range of blood and urine tests, and we brought Kali home for the night with some medications. And we waited.

The news we got this morning was better than I think either of us was expecting. Her blood work came back with no signs of thyroid trouble, kidney problems or leukemia. Her urine was a little dilute but otherwise normal. The vet told us to up her dosage of the Prednisolone we started her on yesterday, and continue with the course of antibiotics and the Laxulone she was prescribed. She’ll go back for a recheck next week and we’ll see where we stand.

Those of you who remember Kali’s litter-mate/brother Dub may also recall that he suffered from Immune-Mediated Hemolytic Anemia for most of his life – anemia which came on when he was just 11 months old, with no apparent trigger. It took a while but we got it under control, and as far as we know it wasn’t a contributing factor to his early death. So I’m hopeful, I guess, that if we can just get Kali’s blood count back up and get her eating, her prognosis is good. But what scares me is that we are in such a bad position financially. I can’t tell you how devastated we will be if we have to make a hard decision because we can’t afford more intensive or aggressive treatment, or if she takes a turn for the worse. She’s eight years old – middle-aged. She should – and hopefully does – have a lot of life left in her, but I’ve learned that things don’t always go as you expect or hope they will. We’ll just do the best we can.

As someone who was a teenage girl once, and who has watched John Hughes’ films over and over again, this really struck a chord.

RIP, John, and thank you for writing for us.

I should really update here more.  Life is moving at breakneck speed, and it would be nice to take some time, slow down, and record it all for posterity.

For now, though, I give you kitten belly.

It’s pretty astounding to think that one year ago today, we closed the door to our apartment in Bushwick for the last time, and moved ourselves, two cats, and all our worldly possessions into a lovely little carriage house in Providence. At times it feels like just yesterday; other times it feels like we’ve been here for ages.

What amazes me is how readily we were welcomed here. Things haven’t been perfect – one reason for our move was to improve our financial situation, which hasn’t happened, but I think that’s the case for most people these days. Money aside, everything else seems to be falling into place nicely. We’re healthier and happier. We’re continuing to build relationships here, and we’re getting to explore further some of the things that we really love. We may still have boxes that we have yet to unpack, but I think we feel very settled where we are, very content and happy with what this change has done for us.

It is still hard to be away from our families, especially when new babies are born that we have yet to meet, or when, as now, health issues strike our closest family members. And it’s at times like those that we entertain the idea of moving on. Likewise, with some time and distance between us, we are remembering more and more the things we loved about New York – the good friends who remain there, the easy access to almost anything you could possibly dream of – and we ask ourselves, would we move back? We get a little nostalgic for our beautiful old apartment, the wide-slat hardwood floors, high ceilings and big windows, the backyard cat colony, and our most amazing neighbors, but the answer, at least for now, remains no, we would not.

It didn’t take long for us to fall in love with our adopted city, its people and all it has to offer, so I think it’s safe to say we’ll be sticking around for a while. I’m looking forward to what year two will bring, and what we’ll give back.

There’s a lot going on. Decisions to be made, plans, strategies to be worked out. It’s a stressful time for many reasons, and while I should be over here writing it all out, I just haven’t been able to make myself do it. I’m doing that thing I do where I realize at various points during my day that I have been literally holding my breath, I gasp and flutter and try to snap out of it, but it’s getting harder to do that. I keep holding my breath… for what? I still don’t know.

This little guy gave us the scare of our lives today.

He was so manic starting at 4 a.m. that we put him in his carrier for a few hours until we were ready to wake up. We let him out and went on with our usual morning activities.

Mike went downstairs and got to work on the remaining dishes from dinner last night. I stayed upstairs on the computer. The next thing I know, I hear the rustling of cardboard, a thump, and silence. Then Mike’s voice: "oh my god, Kirby, what did you do?"

He fell. From the ledge at the top of our open staircase. Climbed over the cardboard we had put up as a barrier to prevent just this thing from happening, and dropped, probably 8-10 feet, landing on one of the lower wooden stairs. On his back. The little guy got up and ran like hell, hiding out inside our kitchen table, tail all poofed out, while Mike and I basically freaked out. (Well, I freaked out *way* more than Mike).

I coaxed him out of the table and he ran upstairs, so we followed him, wanting to make sure he was okay. We checked him out thoroughly and didn’t feel anything wrong – all his bones seemed intact, his belly was still tender, and after we all calmed down a bit, he proceeded to eat, drink, frolic and play just like he usually does. He’s not hiding or showing any signs of discomfort or distress, he’s letting us poke at him, pick him up and touch him like normal, and he has been alert and responsive to all of it.

It was around 60 again today and all of our windows and skylights were open, so he was probably extra hyper because of that, but he really seems fine. He didn’t go down for a nap until probably 5 p.m. We’ve been keeping a close eye on him and haven’t seen any reason so far to try to find an emergency vet who is open on Sundays here (our regular vet is not) – hopefully we won’t have to, and he’s just one very, VERY lucky little cat.