Welcome to The Small Kitchen Edit: a list of things that delight me about October — and that I try to force on my friends (and now you). Well, Part 1, because I can’t fit it all in one post.
I’m not one to wish away the seasons. I like to cherish their transient nature, each one arriving with its own expiration date.
I like to watch flowers suddenly grow through cracks in the sidewalk in spring. I like waking up under a cloud of snow in winter. I even enjoy the part where I complain endlessly about the humidity in July, when my hair goes all frizzy and my shirt is perpetually glued to my back.
September still tastes of summer to me, but when October comes, I’m ready for fall things. Not big, life-changing ones, but little things that feel like they belong firmly in October. There’s really nothing like watching the world turn to hues of red, or the small thrill when pumpkins begin to populate the streets.
It’s like an invitation that says: go ahead, dust off that old record, put on When Harry Met Sally for the hundredth time — you know you can’t wait to say along with Harry, “because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!!”
October feels unabashedly like one long cliché — and you know what they say, clichés are clichés for a reason.
So make yourself cozy, and let me tell you about my own clichés — and maybe by the end you’ll tell me yours, too.
I want to live in season one Gilmore Girls. I don’t care who the best love interest for Rory is — I care about Cinnamon’s Wake, cut-off jeans and cowboy boots, and getting thrown two wildly different birthday parties. I love seeing Lorelai strut around in her 2000s leather jackets. It’s the same feeling I get when I see Rachel Green. I’ve absorbed those images so deeply over the years that when fall comes around, that’s exactly the kind of woman I want to channel.
It’s a chilly afternoon in late October. I’ve just spent hours at Goodwill hunting for anything that remotely resembles their wardrobes. Now there’s at least five leather jackets in my closet, and a blazer in every color the trees have ever turned.
And Embracing My Rory Era
It’s the cliché of all clichés, but what else would you expect from a girl raised on Nancy Meyers romcoms? If it’s fall, I’m brushing off Rory’s reading list. I suddenly remember there’s no point in being pretty if I fail my finals! Although I would look great in that perfect cream cable-knit sweater. I think of Harry meeting Sally and decide I should probably start dressing like him too.
Wasting Hours Thrifting Things I’ll Cherish
I’m sure this sounds like someone’s worst nightmare, but leave me alone in a Savers DVD aisle and I’ll be entertained for hours. I’m grateful for the people who suddenly decided they can no longer live with their copy of The Holiday — though I couldn’t possibly relate to such a line of thinking. Little by little, I’m becoming the sort of woman I’ve always dreamt of being: the one who lines her walls with old books and DVDs and calls it a home library.
Physical media delights me like nothing else. You mean I own this copy? And it cost me less than renting it on Amazon? I can watch it anytime I want — no subscriptions, no ads, no scrolling? Of course I’ll watch all the extras and force my friends to watch Uptown Girls, “because trust me, you’ll love it.”
Knitting Another One of the Same Beanie
I like to think of myself as a Renaissance woman. I’m not just an artist and a scholar — I engage in diverse activities across science, technology, politics, economics, and exploration. It’s exhausting being me! At least once a year (around October), I remember I’m also a knitter. I taught myself during COVID, and since then, I’ve spent money on things I never thought I would — like balls of merino wool yarn. They sound expensive because they are, and you wouldn’t believe how many of them it takes to make a sweater. Beanies are smaller, so they’re cheaper. That’s why all my friends own very similar chunky wool beanies in different colors.
I think they’re a nice thing to gift someone you love. The message is implicit in the product — you don’t even need a card. It automatically says: look, I’ve spent hours of my precious earthly time making this out of nothing for you. You don’t need to know it was also a great excuse for me to procrastinate or watch another episode of Couples Therapy. Otherwise, I wound’t sound so thoughtful and altruistic.
What I also won’t tell you is that the beanie just made my carpal tunnel worse — that’s why I’m taking a six-month break.
I’ve been afflicted by this condition that forces me to watch the same movies and TV shows over and over again. I’m not proud of it, but sometime this month, I will be watching You’ve Got Mail and It’s Complicated. I estimate it will be my 4,528th time.
Watching Pacey Watching Joey Sleep
“I burn, I pine, I perish!” Is there anything more tragic than a boy who yearns for the girl he can’t have? No one does longing quite like Pacey Witter — no offense, Conrad Fisher. Loving her is sort of always there, like white noise, or the Secret Service, or the threat of nuclear war, for that matter. It’s just something you get used to! Pacey remembers everything.
Dawson’s Creek feels very cozy to me — very film-grainy, there-are-no-phones-in-this-world reality. The shots are framed by golden light and sunsets. I love the early seasons, but season three is pure pining. Episode twelve, “A Weekend in the Country,” is just what I need on a chilly autumn day: a cozy episode, an ensemble cast, and a pining Pacey watching Joey fall asleep. Because you know you love someone when you can sit by the fire and watch them sleep!
Sometimes I think of cookbooks as moodboards. You flip through one and nothing clicks, so you put it away. Then, on another day, you open it again and see things you hadn’t noticed before: a soup you suddenly can’t wait to make, or buns that look like your next obsession. Cookbooks are crafted with so much care; they deserve to be cherished, splattered with butter, and passed down through generations. I use them as reference, but I also think reading cookbooks should be valued as much as reading a novel. On a cold October evening, you light a candle, curl up on the couch, and flip through old cookbooks… for a moment, life feels so delightfully simple.
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I’ll stop here before this turns into a dissertation. The next chapter’s coming soon on Substack — come find me there!
you like When Harry Met Sally? that’s so cool! you know, i consider that film to be required watching for anyone interested in 90’s or NYC history. i liked it so much that it’s one of the few films that i actually purchased. my cousins and i watch it on Christmas as we view it as a holiday film lol.
also, i’m getting really curious about this substack stuff. i was watching a youtube vid on it last night wondering if it had a space for my writing here or as a stand-alone.
as always, please keep writing in this wonderful blog. you have a comprehensive social media presence 🙂 Mike
You’re too kind, Mike. Thank you so much! And you would absolutely love Substack! It’s the perfect home for your writing and photography. It’s also a great place to build community, so I’m sure you’ll thrive there.
I love When Harry Met Sally! So much so that I’ve somehow ended up with two copies, lol. That’s so interesting — and it makes a lot of sense, since Nora Ephron was quintessentially New York, and her love for the city pours through all her work. And you’re right, I think one of the things I love most about it is that ’90s vibe. Aw, I love little traditions like that! And it’s definitely a holiday film!!
….i was today years old when i learned that Nora Ephron was the writer for When Harry Met Sally, lol! such a great factoid – thank you 🙂
and the two copies haha, so awesome – but it cannot be helped. it is such a great movie!
Haha, I’m pretty sure most people don’t know that! I’m just a big fan of her work. Great movie, indeed!