My Name is Abby, and I am a Dance Church Addict.

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See that mash of sweaty bodies above? One of them could be you! Go to Dance Church and you will see what I mean. It is THE BEST. It’s so much the best thing that I wrote about it for Dance Magazine. But you don’t have to be a dancer to go! That’s the entire point! Read about it all here.

xoxoxox

Baking Kept Me Sane During Those First Few Years of Motherhood

Is there a chance in hell that I could be more excited to have my first piece up on Epicurious(!)? No fucking way.

It is not an understatement to say that baking kept me from going nuts when my baby was born. And as anyone who’s had my banana bread/chocolate chip cookies/scones/granola thrust upon them–and I do mean thrust–already knows, it still does, and my baby is no longer a baby (sobsobsobsobsob). What is it about baking that is so soothing, so life-affirming, so, well, joyful?

Read on to find out. Then please, please share your favorite recipes with me.

xo

Can We Help?

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“Don’t come in with me, okay, Mama?”

I’m standing outside my local fire station in West Los Angeles, while my 5-year-old runs in, a bag of warm homemade cookies in her small hand.

Twenty-four hours earlier we were at the beach in Playa Del Rey, having one of those obnoxiously California moments — a gathering of families lounging near the ocean with coffee, watching our kids dig in the sand and run from the waves. It was unseasonably warm (what else is new?), and we could see the smoke from the fires all around us, but it all felt rather far off.

I wrote about what my daughter and I do when the world is falling apart and we are desperate to help. Thanks to the Washington Post for publishing this one. Read on here.  (And here are some other ways to help.)

xx

 

I Love Lipstick. And I’m Trying to Love L.A.

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Here’s something no one tells you before you move to Los Angeles: you will no longer need clothing.

Let me rephrase: you will no longer need real clothing. When I moved to L.A. two years ago I was shocked to discover that grown women wore leggings everywhere — not just to and from yoga or the gym, or even just to walk their dogs, but IRL, as they say: to preschool drop off and pick-up; to the grocery store; to casual weekend gatherings; to coffee shops and restaurants. And I’m not talking about leggings with long blouses and knee-high leather boots. I’m talking about leggings as pants. With, like, a T-shirt and flip-flops.

I wrote about lipstick for a series in The Cut called “Sealed with a Kiss.” So delightful in these dark times! Read on here.

xox

At Home on Carmine Street

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When the two stragglers let the door clatter shut behind them, I turn the lights in the restaurant’s dining room all the way up and zip over to the stereo. For the past few months, we’ve been blasting the Talking Heads’ “Once in a Lifetime” while closing. We all sing You may ask yourself, my God, what have I done? while manning brooms and mops and rags, none of us aware that we are singing of our own lives. At the chorus, we give in, drop what we’re doing and dance: Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down…

Keep reading by clicking here.

Thanks, Longreads, for publishing this!

xo