Philadelphia does a lot of things right when it comes to food, but as far as sandwiches are concerned, I’ll always be partial to the West Coast-style ones I grew up with. If you’ve spend any time in California or Oregon, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Sturdy whole grain bread (or slabs of tangy sourdough). Just a bit of grainy mustard and the barest dab of mayo. Roast turkey breast (at least when I’m doing the ordering). Muenster or swiss cheese. Lettuce, tomato, cucumber, sprouts, thinly sliced red onion and avocado.

I’ve had a hankering for this sandwich for weeks now, but I’ve always been under the impression that it was not to be found anywhere near my workplace. Happily, I was able to get satisfyingly close at the sandwich bar in my office building today. No sprouts or avocado, but nearly everything else. And best of all, for less than $7.

Despite the fact that this milk is from Lancaster County and says Paradise, PA right there on the bottle, the mountains and evergreens always make me think of the Pacific Northwest.

I woke up late and under-motivated today. Instead of charging through my work day resistance (I picture myself as football player, jumping through a paper banner and out onto the field) and leaping into the shower, I found myself wandering from room to room, taking in all the household tasks that needed to be done and wishing for a morning where I could actually attend to them.

In a useless bid to delay leaving home for a few extra moments, I did a sinkful of dishes and pointedly ignoring the cantaloupe on the counter. It is desperate for attention and is beginning to develop tender, sinking spots where it once had a firm, taut rind. Chances are good that it will sit there until totally boggy and fermented, at which point I will finally be able to throw it away. I can’t bear to toss it while it has some promise.

I imagine life as a farm wife, living out on the prairie, each day filled with a rotating assortment of cooking, chores and sleep. I see her standing in the doorway, contemplating her only view, where the land and the sky merge and vanish beyond the point where the eye can see. I envy the home-centered nature of her life, all the while knowing that she must have been deathly weary of that unbroken vista. I am attracted by the peaceful sameness of her days, but only as a relief from the busy-ness of mine.

I am roused from my dream as the radio flips from Morning Edition to BBC Newshour. Inescapably late now, I head for the shower and begin the day.

It was a such a grey day that the view from our living room window desperately needed pairing with a flash of green.

I woke up this morning to grey skies and drizzling rain, with wisps of a dream still tangled in my hair. In my sleep, I was back in Portland, during my high school years. It was a tour of my old patterns around Northwest, the neighborhood frozen as I knew it back in the mid-ninties. Off the freeway, down Vaughn Street, left on 25th. Around the green-planted traffic circles and right on Pettygrove Street. A dip into our driveway to turn around before coming to a stop along the stretch of curb that could only comfortably hold two cars if you parked consciously.

On Sunday, I attended a bridal shower brunch for a friend. Though I only knew a few of the attendees initially, there was something about the women that this friend had collected over the years that made us all instantly comfortable with one another. As we talked about marriage and the development of family life that comes when you partner up, I shared my struggles with Philadelphia.

I love this city passionately and have always felt deeply at home here. However, as I think towards the future and imagine a time where I might have babies, I long for something that looks like what I knew as a child. I don’t mean so much the green lushness of the Pacific Northwest, but more the many easy, close-in neighborhoods that Portland boasts. In Philly, you either live in the city, or the suburbs and there are miles to travel between the two.

I feel like last night’s dream was born out of this internal search I continue to tend. It reminded me of what I knew. Now I need to start dreaming of what will come next.

It was 4 pm and I was still trying to find a few moments to finish my lunch.

My mother has a habit of making slightly quirky birthday gifts. My package from her this year included an old wooden spoon with the Kellogg’s logo impressed into the handle, two books and three magnets, made out of flattened cutlery.

I arrived at Indy Hall at 10 am to teach my first canning class in that space and the street was all torn up and I couldn’t get into the building. Instead of freaking out, I enjoyed standing in the sun, watching the people walk by.

My parents got me my first digital camera for Christmas in 2002, so that I could take pictures of my life in Philadelphia and share them via email. That was the camera I used when I started this blog in 2005 (although, in those days, the photos were primarily afterthoughts). Later that year, my parents helped me upgrade to a better camera (a Panasonic with Leica lens and a 12x optical zoom).

That camera kept me happy for another year, although I would often look at the images on the food blogs I was coming to love and long to achieve the crispness and background blur that they featured. In the spring of 2007, Scott got himself a Canon DSLR. He let me borrow it for a day to take pictures for my short-lived Reading Terminal Market blog. I fell hard and fast for the images it made.

I was still in grad school then and my funds were limited, but somehow I conjured enough money from the ether to get myself a Nikon D50 and a 50mm lens (had I known that Scott and I would end up together, I might have gone with a Canon. Maybe). I loved that camera and used it until last June, when Scott upgraded me to a D90. It makes luscious photos and is nearly always with me.

I turned 31 last Friday (the day the above photo was taken) and have decided to do a yearlong photo project from that birthday to the next. My goal is to create a set of 365 images, each somehow representative of the day on which it was taken. They’ll live here and on Flickr.