People Just Float

when you are engulfed in books

2012-01-27T18:00:00.000-08:00

There's currently a stack of books on my bedside table nearly one foot high. When I look at them, my heart quickens a little. It's been a long time... a long, long time since I tackled a stack of books like that. Two or three books would be a worthy starting point, but I decided to start big.

Three weeks ago, I finished reading my first book since the middle of October. Prior to that, I hadn’t finished a book in over a year.

One. Year. No books.

I can’t explain it. All I can say is that there have been other things on my mind. Even when I did finish a book in the last three years, they were few and far between. Compare that with this time four years ago, when I actually read a whopping 11 books in the month of January alone. There were even reviews that I wrote and posted like an organized, responsible writer! I was on top of my literary growth senior year of college, and then things went downhill. I’ll chock it up to my post-grad aimlessness and “near poverty” status. I just couldn't find the interest or energy to finish anything I started.

And that goes beyond books.

From Kaitlin

So while finishing something has proved difficult, starting a book is a regular occurrence for me; I feel like I’m always beginning a new one. (Probably because I'm always buying a new one. Chronic Book Buying = actual sickness.) The feeling of diving into a brand new story is unrivaled for me. In a way, it's like starting a new diet: Things go so well at the beginning, and it feels wonderful to be motivated. It's great to feel like I'm doing something healthy for myself. But then something happens that derails me, and there are some days or weeks where I just don't eat healthy anymore. And the longer I stay away from those smart choices, the harder it is to pick it up again.

The Girl Who Played With Fire

Now, though, I am engulfed in books. I have friends who are constantly reading, and it inspires me. I feel good when I read, and I like feeling good. I like learning new things. I like feeling challenged.

And with a dad like mine, with his enormous breadth of literary knowledge and vast library of enlightening classics and non-fiction masterpieces, I don't really have an excuse.

My father's book with Doris Kearns Goodwin's autograph. A gift from my mother.

This is my promise to take advantage of every opportunity to let myself be engulfed, enraptured, and entranced by new stories and histories. I promise to spend less time watching "House Hunters International" and "Property Brothers" and "Diners, Drive-ins & Dives" and instead loose myself in Krakauer or Ishiguro or Larsson.

Variety is key.

Been sitting on my bedside table for far too long.

I think of books like I think of movies: there are so few absolutely atrocious and unbearable ones—relative to the number of enjoyable ones, that is. And even when they are atrocious, they can still be fun and worth the read. There is no "right way" to write a story, which is why I love to read a little bit of everything. Biography, teen fiction, modern award winners, memoirs, classics, trashy romance... It keeps me on my toes. Life is too short to stick to one genre or style of writing, and I'm simply not smart enough to stick exclusively with Dickens, though I'm sure my dad would suggest I try my damnedest.

Are any of you chronic book buyers like I am? Do you read books often and easily, or do you feel like you're constantly flaking on your own promise to read more? Oh, and because I think recommendations can't be beat...

What books top your list of favorites? Which ones are "must reads" for fun / enlightenment / knowledge / romance / whatever else you find awesome?

Simply put: I can't get enough right now. Help a girl out. I have an addiction to feed.

* Images property of People Just Float

when a baby meets the sea

2012-01-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

Poplar Beach, Half Moon Bay, CA

I'm in love with a baby. Really. He's not even mine, but I love him so much I could just smoosh his face all day forever. It's like when I see how cute my dogs and cat are -- but friends, he is not a dog or cat, he is a baby. A human baby with human tendencies and a brain that learns things and a mouth that says words in English and two legs that work [almost] just like mine do to get from one place to another.

I'm in awe of my nephew, Henry, like he's the first baby I have ever seen. I look at him and I'm amazed. Even after a year, I am amazed that he is a person who breathes and laughs and moves and thinks.

I am amazed that he is the creation of the love my two best friends share. They're in him -- his fingers, his ears, his squinty grin. When I'm with them, I admit, I will just sit and stare and can't believe he was grown in my friend Cassie's belly. Like a vegetable, only not. But kind of.

It's weird.

Sometimes I laugh at the level of awe I feel, as though I've just found out babies aren't delivered by storks.

In all honesty, this amazement with life stops me in my tracks quite often. Life is amazing; it is incredible that we are here, and even more incredible that we can communicate with one another the way we do, and feel what we feel -- good and bad; that we can live in peace with animals, who are also miraculously here, astounds me even still. That we eat food, which also grows or lives and comes from nothing, but now nourishes us.

To quote Louis C.K.: "I'm still amazed at the shit in my life."

So many people my age have babies now (thanks to Facebook, it's easy to keep track). I knew babies growing up. I was a baby at some point forever ago. But with Henry, it's different. He's the first of his kind:

Babies that actually mean something to me.

I've spent very little time with babies -- or kids, even. Growing up, my friends would always babysit, and were easy-going around babies; it was 2nd nature to them, and they were naturals by the time they reached adulthood. But me? I'm pretty sure I didn't change a diaper until I was in my early-20's, and even then, I was scared to death. And grossed out.

Babies were not my jam.

But Henry and his growth is a learning experience for me, and I don't take the opportunity lightly. His milestones excite me, his joys make me squeal, and his cries challenge me.

So when I was invited to join Matt and Cassie in Half Moon Bay at Poplar Beach for Henry's first visit with the ocean, I couldn't pass it up.

And something strange happened.

It was as though I was seeing the ocean for the first time, too. Watching a young child look at the ocean and feel sand/salt water against his feet without really understanding what it all means, where it all comes from made me think...

... just how grateful I really am. Oh, how long I've taken the ocean for granted! It has been my neighbor for my entire life and seeing the wonder/confusion/excitement in Henry's eyes reminded me that it truly is spectacular.

Can I ever really appreciate it, though, being as used to it as I am?

It reminds me of a line from one of my favorite movies, The Legend of 1900. The main character, 1900, grew up on a ship and has never stepped foot on land; the ocean is his home. He sees thousands of people a year stand in awe of and communicating with the ocean, yet he cannot.

"It's like a big scream, telling you that life is immense. Once you've finally heard it, then you really know what you have to do to go on living. I can't stay here forever. The ocean would never tell me a thing. But if I get off, live on land for a couple of years, then I'll be normal, just like the others. And then maybe one day, I'll make it to the coast, look up, see the ocean, and hear it's scream."

I can never really know what it's like to see the ocean for the first time. In some ways, I envy adults who get to experience that. Perhaps they've lived in the Mid-West their entire lives and seeing the vast, open sea is the event of a lifetime. Sounds, smells, air they've never experienced. Unrivaled.

Imagine that.

Experiencing the beach with Henry was meditative for all of us. We've all grown up here, a mere hour from this place. Henry will, too. He'll never remember what it's like to see the ocean for the first time; his summers and friend's birthdays will be spent splashing in its waves and building castles in its sands. The roar of the waves will be familiar and friendly, not foreign and frightening.

He won't remember his first time, but we will.

* Images property of People Just Float

adventures in building: herringbone daybed

2012-01-18T11:19:00.000-08:00

I built something. Back in December. Wood and nails and glue and paint came together to make something that's actually functional. Oh, and it looks good too.

When I visited my sister in LA, I insisted we spend one day with her former college roommate and my new building soul mate, Shane, who just-so-happens to provide the delicious designs and furniture plans for her Web site, Old Paint Design.

On this lovely Sunday, Kim and Shane's husband, Brad, drank wine and relaxed with puppies by the fire. Shane and I built this daybed.

Ever since discovering Ana White over a year ago, I talked about building something -- anything -- once I had the space to work. If only I had the tools, if only I had an open garage, I kept thinking. But now, with Shane's enthusiasm and offer to let me join her anytime for building, I have no more excuses.

(For the full plans, head over to Shane's site to see how the Stacy Daybed came together. To read about my experience, well... stay where you are.)

When Jon and I returned to California from Seattle, we moved our 650 sq. ft. apartment into my parent's house. This included our bed, dressers, couch, television stand, and much more. They gave us free reign to create our own "home" with the space we were given. (I'm almost certain we have more space in my parent's house than we did in our little apartment, which is pretty significant.)

As our stuff moved in, much of what was already there had to be moved around. Our queen bed replaced a full bed and the full bed had to be moved to the guest room, replacing two twin beds. Without a room for the twin beds, I suggested moving them to the living room, where my parents had just gotten rid of an old set of couches and were not quite ready to replace them. I insisted that with a little love, and a hefty sprinkling of pillows, they would work great as make-shift couches. "Daybeds are perfectly sensible furniture, mom. Trust me."

Reluctantly, my skeptical mother agreed.

With that, I promised to build her a daybed. I consulted with Shane, originally saying I need two frames (turns out, one was enough for the space), and we looked through multiple options on Ana's site, including this one and this one. Finally, we settled on a marriage of that last daybed and a herringbone design of Shane's creation.

This was my first building project, and I can tell you right now: it was way too hard for a first-timer like me. Even Shane, a seasoned pro, found the angled herringbone cuts difficult to get perfect. Had we been able to build for one full weekend, or even two, it may not have seemed so hard, but one day was all we had. So we barreled on through; we couldn't afford to second guess our building choices.

Despite the challenge, I had the most fun building with Shane in her workshop. I was nervous about picking up tools after so long, but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself adapting without a problem. Measuring each piece, using a circular saw, learning how to use a drill press... it was easy, and within an hour, I was moving around this project like it was my 10th build. I soaked up everything Shane had to teach me.

And it's true: the kreg jig is as amazing as everyone says.

After working all day, and the bed finally built, we did our best to sand, prime, and paint as much as we could. But this bed was a beast, and it still needed to be dismantled, shoved into my car, transported to Santa Barbara and then finally back to the Bay Area. A handful of empty spray paint cans later, I realized the rest would have to be completed once I returned home.

With no functional work space in the garage, blustery winds in the backyard, and a full-time job to attend to, it took me two weeks to re-sand, re-paint and re-built the daybed. It must have taken 10 cans of spray paint to get full coverage, with the wind blowing a little bit away with every squirt.

Just in time for Christmas, and before the cold rolled in, it was finished.

My first building project.

I'm simply thrilled.

More importantly, though:

My parents seem thrilled too.

* Images property of People Just Float and Old Paint Design

2012-01-03T09:46:00.000-08:00

"Jeffrey was fed up" by Marc Johns

I don't know how I feel about New Year's resolutions. Every year, I make one or six and I'm motivated... at the beginning. I plan everything; I eat better, move better, get more things done. By February or March, things teeter off and I'm lucky if I've kept any weight off or finished a single one of the 5 books I started. It always makes me nervous going into another year of resolutions, knowing how easily I lose sight of what I want. Yet despite having broken so many promises to myself over the years, I always try again.

But that's necessary, right?

This time, though, I think I will be less specific. Specificity is maybe the key to my failure. Sure, I want to lose 40 lbs (an absolute necessity after this gluttonous holiday season -- 20 lbs gained.... seriously), but that kind of resolution doesn't do anything for improvement of life; it's just a number. Plus, if I don't meet that exact goal, I'll feel as though I failed. Then what?

Making major improvements to my life is all I really want for myself, and what this year will be about. So with this list, I hope to guide myself into a 2012 full of health, happiness, productivity, and fun. This means focusing on the positive things, and doing more of them, and putting less energy into all of the negative things that get me down come December.

Stacy's 2012 Enrichment Goals

More walking with my dogs
More vegetables / water / tea
More experimenting in the kitchen
More reading
More writing / blog posts
More crafts / home improvement projects / building
More organization
More investing in beautiful clothing
More letter writing
More date nights
More early mornings
More gardening
More traveling
More museums
More money saved
More photography
More friends and family
More balance

So far, I've started my "diet" and am down a few pounds in just two days. (Seriously, people, it got bad this holiday season for me and my relationship with carbs. The temporary restraining order was necessary.) But I still have lots of changes to make in order to get out of my post-move funk, and it'll require a lot of inner motivation. Plus, working from home means there's always work I could be doing, which means my brain is always flipped to "work mode"... even when I'm not. This means getting more done during the day and leaving less to do in the evening.

Staying productive while being surrounded by distraction is still a learning process for me.

With that, I bid adieu to 2011 -- a year that was so good to me and proved to be a learning process beyond anything I could have imagined. Here's hoping that 2012 is a year of growth, love, and adventure!

::clink!::

holidays at home

2011-12-29T20:26:00.000-08:00

My aunt's magnificent "fun" tree - about half as big as the "fancy" tree.

Christmas day is always over far too quickly. Yet, it's so much different than when I was young. As a kid, everything is over fast because it's a whirlwind of wrapping paper and piles of presents; I would rush and weed through gifts with excitement to see my final hoard. Now, though, there's a clear point during the morning-of that signifies the holidays have peaked. For me, it's just after the first present is opened. Presents, while lovely and always fun to open, aren't the highlight of Christmas anymore. It's the wrapping of presents for family and friends; the anticipation of getting items I've yearned for -- and, just maybe, some surprises; the feeling of wandering from my bedroom on the morning of December 25, with dreary eyes from lack of sleep, and pouring my first cup of coffee...

Condessa bowls and mugs from Anthropologie via Pinterest.
My Christmas present to myself.

Nothing tastes quite like the first cup of coffee on Christmas morning. The salty smell of bacon and the delectable sweetness of scones warrant a mention as well.

Presents are opened slowly now. They're savored. My family -- sister, father, mother and, now, my boyfriend -- linger together around our lovely, fake fir tree and give each present the attention it deserves. My sister, per tradition, plays the Christmas elf (a job she once hated but now enthusiastically embraces) and delivers presents to everyone. One by one, moving clockwise around the room, every gift gets displayed upon its reveal. We 'ouu' and we 'aww', where appropriate. We're always on our best behavior on Christmas morning.

We may be just five people, but this process can last for hours. Never long enough, in my opinion. And looking out on the thoughtful treasures I've received, I'm honestly speechless at the generosity of my family and friends.

Coffee Branch Brass Cuff Bracelet by Unique Art Pendants / Bee Happy Rose Ring by Liz Hutnick

Louise Water Goblet and Rose of Sharon Grand Vase from Anthropologie

Two of my favorite blog gals are now on my bookshelf: Molly of Orangette and Grace of Design*Sponge

Symphony of Science's auto-tuned "Glorious Dawn" spoken by Carl Sagan on vinyl

Florence + the Machine's "Ceremonials" on vinyl

Subscription to BUST magazine // House This? ring from ModCloth

Pearl earrings by Aubepine via Etsy

I'm not going to say I don't love getting presents -- I'd be lying through my teeth. But each year, the experience of opening each item alongside the ones I love outweighs the final collection of gifts. Every time.

I'm blessed in so many, immeasurable ways.

The holidays are drawing to a close now, and soon there will be resolutions to uphold. Work will begin again in full force and this feeling of ease and relaxation will fade away. I'm actually excited about the start of the new year and things getting back to normal, however. The holidays, while wonderful, tend to be highlighted by lethargy and a shocking ability to overeat.

More than anything, though, I must say I'm grateful for this opportunity to have Christmas with my whole family while also living in my home. For the last several years, Seattle has been Home to me, and seeing my family meant long days of travel and/or leaving my dogs behind -- then, of course, having to leave and make it back for work. This time, all were in one place and it filled me with such joy that I never wanted it to end.

And yet... I can't help but smile at the thought of where we might be rooted next year. The uncertainty is rather exciting.

But rest assured: I'll wake up cuddling with this puppy, under my smooshy, Anthropologie comforter, no matter where I'm living.

So how about you? What was your Christmas morning like? Was it quiet with just your immediate family, or was the house packed full? Did you get anything that surprised you, or did your family use Amazon Wishlists like mine did?

a las vegas (and digital slr) virgin

2011-12-18T10:26:00.000-08:00

Don't worry. I am aware that it's been over three weeks since returning from my Thanksgiving escapades in Las Vegas and that I am only now posting about it. Yes, I'm aware that this post will be a shell of the greatness it could have been since I put off writing it for so long. Oh, and of course, I'm aware you weren't waiting on baited breath...

I have no real excuse, but let me offer up a few.

First and foremost, I am not a good photographer. No, no, let me finish. Approximately four weeks ago I purchased myself a heavily discounted -- but perfectly brand new -- Canon EOS Rebel T3i DSLR camera. It was time to pull out the big guns because, my friends, my Android Vignette camera app was just not cutting it anymore. Vegas allowed me my first chance to use it, and I learned very quickly that it is going to require a lot of practice before I am able to take hundreds of photos consecutively that I am happy with. As Jon puts it, "It might take ten thousand photographs before you have this camera working for you like a pro."

Maybe my standards are too high, but I only want to the best for you.

The lack of beautiful photos (and literally no good ones of actual human beings) made my confidence dwindle to nothingness and I felt it would be impossible to show my virtual face.

Secondly, after returning home from Vegas -- a drive that, round-trip, allowed master Jonathan and me to spend a wonderful and totally stress free *sarcasm* 28 hours in the car together -- I came down with a debilitating cold and wanted nothing to do with thoughts of any kind.

Third, and lastly, I'm lazy. Really and truly.

So here they are. The few, the select, the slightly short of worthy. Photos from my very first trip to Las Vegas.

Yep! Those were the only decent ones out of hundreds. But I suppose the important point is this:

I had an absolutely amazing time.

Jon's mother and step-father treated us to a VIP experience, and we could not even begin to thank them for including us in their holiday. To name just a few highlights: we were blessed with a magnificent suite at Mandalay Bay; an Italian-inspired Thanksgiving feast at Maggiano's; perfect seats and a jaw-dropping experience at The Beatles' LOVE show; numerous boozy adventures which included Red Square, Minus5º Ice Bar, The Chandelier, and The Foundation Room (my favorite); a dark, mood-lit, and delicious steak dinner at Strip House; and a soulful, gospel brunch at The House of Blues.

Mostly, though, we just explored and relaxed. The Strip is H.U.G.E. and it proved impossible to walk back and forth along it the way we had planned. (We're getting so old.) My feet, and Jon's too, just didn't hold up.

It's strange to think of just how excited I was to visit Las Vegas -- my first time ever, at 25 (and a half!) years old. Honestly, other than wishing I could have visited my dear friends, Nick and Liz, who lived in Vegas for a few years after college, when I had the chance, I've never been that interested in going. When I was young, I had friends whose families went often, but my parents never even hinted that going was something worth doing. And unlike how I would often ask my dad why we couldn't go and see the PG-13 movies like all of our friends could, we never asked why Las Vegas wasn't a go-to spring destination like it was for so many others we knew.

Jon was that other kid growing up -- the one who was always off to Vegas with his family, and then, later on in life, with his friends.

To be honest, I'm glad I had never gone before. Seeing it with virgin eyes -- after all the movies and television shows and celebrity news articles that sing its histories, sins, and praises -- was rather exciting. I was star struck by the lights and the sheer size of it all, but also by how sad some parts look, and silly it all seems.

An amusement park for adults.

I'm excited to go again and try something new. I was really drawn to the MGM Grand, with all it's old-school glamour and classic movie photos and memorabilia. Also, New York, New York was maybe my favorite of all of them -- if, say, I chose to take my future kids to Vegas. It was probably the cheapest place to eat on the strip (that we found); that massive sandwich from Greenberg's Deli above was only about $10.

Next time, hopefully I'll have that darn camera figured out. At least the photographer at the Minus5º Ice Bar knew how to take a high quality photograph.

* All images property of People Just Float.

sparkle on the strip

2011-11-21T15:38:00.001-08:00

In two days, I will visit Las Vegas for the first time. At the invitation of my boyfriend's mother and step-father, we will be spending the Thanksgiving holiday eating family-style Italian food, watching The Beatles' Love show, sipping inventive cocktails, and exploring the magical and evocative Strip. We'll be staying in a [super-duper nice] suite at Mandalay Bay, soaking in the tub and enjoying expansive views of the Las Vegas lights.

I'm stoked.

And truth be told, I have absolutely nothing amazing to wear. This isn't surprising considering what I wear when I'm at home: yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and Uggs. (Yep, I'm even wearing that right now. Don't judge me, I'm comfy.)

Over the last couple months, I've been doing my best to collect bits and pieces of what could perhaps become an outfit worthy of Vegas. But with a growing waistline (thanks, Seattle food) and non-existent budget, I decided to worry less about what I'll actually be wearing and instead waste time fantasizing about what my ideal Vegas outfits might look like...

You know... but still look like me.

Daytime Jaunt

Butterfly shirt, $116 / True religion jeans, €229 / TOMS black flat shoes, $54 / Miss Selfridge doctor bag, £17 / Plastic stud earrings, $5.93 / Metal ring, $15 / Isabel Marant scarve, €195 / Retro super future sunglasses
Jon tells me that the thing we'll do most while in Vegas is walk. He says it's 2.5 miles from one end of the Strip to the other (that is, from Mandalay Bay to The Wynn) and you can easily cover 6-7 miles over the course of one day if you choose not to drive. I trust him, because this is probably his 200th trip in 25 years. It made sense to put together an outfit that was comfortable and casual. Plus, although it's November, temperatures in Vegas are supposed to be around 65º F, which means big jackets won't be necessary during the day. So I planned this outfit accordingly.

I fell in love with that house ring via Pinterest and I thought those little, pink dice earrings were a playful touch. (In real life, I'm happy to report, I do own those sparkly, black TOMS so I'll have cute shoes and arch support simultaneously. Oh, and my hair could probably do that - if I actually tried.)

Martini Date

Stripe shirt, $80 / Blazer, £65 / TEXTILE Elizabeth and James cuffed skinny jeans, $195 / Carvela pointed toe pumps, £110 / RADLEY LONDON metal tote, $143 / Kendra Scott black jewelry, $58 / Cuff jewelry, £104 / Dita sunglasses, $375 / Sarah Jessica Parker 'Covet' Perfume
On Thursday night, we'll be going to Red Square to drink martinis. I wanted something a little dark and a little sparkly. Those adorable gold pumps have a tiny heel, but not too significant that I couldn't walk around. (That SJP perfume is a go-to nighttime favorite of mine, and I actually remembered to pack it for my trip!) Purple is my comfort color. This combo is yummy, warm, and subtle. Let's just leave it at that.
Night on the Tao-n

Structured dress, £46 / Fendi cotton coat, £899 / Fogal black hosiery, $69 / Wet Seal high heel pumps, $30 / Giuseppe Zanotti mini leather handbag, $1,740 / Cluster jewelry, $5
Heh... see what I did there?

Even though we have no plans to spend the night clubbing, in my Las Vegas fantasy I am drinking $1000 bottles of champagne and throwing money at hot waitresses behind a VIP curtain at Tao. But Jon's mom insists that we go to The Foundation Room, which is in (or near?) where we're staying at Mandalay. (Apparently, this is where Britney Spears likes to hang out.)

In-keeping with my natural taste in clothes, I wanted to keep this in the realm of possibility. Sure, dresses like this are sensational, but when it comes down to it, I like to keep things simple, classy, and with just a bit of sparkle.

So are there any other Vegas virgins out there? Does anyone know Vegas like it's their 2nd home - the way Jon does? What are your favorite kinds of outfits to wear when you're there? Comfy and good for walking, or extravagant and perfect for a night out? Any favorite spots to go?

* Images created using Polyvore

food friday: skillet burger and fries

2011-11-11T17:58:00.001-08:00

This week, the Skillet Street Food truck parked right next to my building. I'd already ordered a Reuben sandwich from my regular deli spot, but then immediately upon seeing the truck, I went off to buy their signature burger and fries. Oh, excuse me: $14 burger and fries.

Beef, arugula, creamy bleu cheese, and bacon jam. Yes, that's right: jam made from bacon.

It must have been kismet, because I was thinking earlier this week that a Skillet burger was one of the few food items I still needed to get before leaving Seattle. I had no idea when I'd have time to make it up to their normally jam-packed diner, and the truck is always somewhere different.

Turns out, their new "Wednesday lunchtime" spot is right next to my company's headquarters in Belltown. Something to look forward to next time I'm in town.

a shell of it's former glory

2011-11-11T11:11:00.000-08:00

I realize I have never posted pictures of my apartment. Normally I'd be quick to admit that I'm rather lazy and a chronic procrastinator... but truthfully, it's because I am a perfectionist and I've had trouble getting into the habit of showing my home as a "work in progress." The problem is, it's always a work in progress.

Last week, Jon and his dad packed up all of our belongings and moved them down to California. I knew I'd be living in virtually an empty shell for a week and a half, so before everything disappeared forever, it felt right to document it.

Well, the living room, at least. (Bedroom and kitchen were far too cramped to ever decorate. They were functional rooms only. Sad, I know.)

Do you remember those bee prints, from this art-filled post earlier in the summer? Yep, they finally found a home.

Not bad, right? They're definitely a little on the whimsical/kid's room side for a living room focal point, but we had no other place for them this time around. But they're super versatile and could easily move from a family room to bedroom to bathroom to nursery, if need bee. (Yep.)

Fry disapproves of puns.

"More wine!"

So that was our living room, full of our very non-minimalist belongings. We've certainly accumulated a lot of stuff, but almost everything was saved for and picked together. Small and cramped, with an endless supply of animal fur, but it was home. It made us happy.

Color and comfort, rules to live by.

Speaking of living, it's been exactly the opposite of colorful and comfortable this week.

Yeah. I know. Ew.

This view is a bit better, though.

Heh, it's better 'cause there are boobers right there. Let's get closer.

So for the last week and a half, I have lived alone with two dogs in an apartment with no furniture. We've been sleeping on pillows and blankets.

Admittedly, I'm going a bit crazy.

Two days from now, Jon and I will be arriving in sunny California. I will get to sleep in an actual bed and cook food on an actual stovetop. I'll get to see my best friends and family on a regular basis. I'll be around people who know how to drive and restaurants that serve real Mexican food. I'll get to see my dogs enjoy space that doesn't max out at 650 sq. ft.

I'll finally be Home.

my inked lady

2011-11-03T19:23:00.000-07:00

I got my second tattoo this week. After months and months of consideration, going back and forth between designs, watching way too much "LA Ink" and feeling certain that, yes, now is a good a time as any, I took the plunge.

I am coming up on my last week in Seattle, after all.

What better way to celebrate three exciting/arduous/life-changing/educational years than with something, well, beautiful?

This is my new, inked Lady. She is now a permanent fixture on the inside of my left forearm. The original drawing is by the divine Garance Doré -- a French fashion illustrator, photographer, and blogger -- whose work I have loved and followed for about a year now; her drawings have always stood out to me as the definition of simple-yet-glamorous feminine beauty. (I even featured one of her drawings on this ol' blog post of yore!)

The original artwork for this piece can be found here on Garance's blog.

Unlike all of the other tattoo ideas that came to mind over the last several months, getting one of Garance's drawings as a tattoo was not a decision I labored over; on the contrary, the moment this particular one struck me as a possibility, I knew it was the one. I didn't second guess myself -- a rare thing, and something I took as a sign.

She's lovely, isn't she?

So why this design? Why not the totally rad ampersand I was seriously, this close to getting?

Simply put: I love having a reminder of why I think women are so beautiful (the softness, the delicacy, the hair), and to remind myself that, yep, I am too! Even on my worst day, which is admittedly hard to believe much of the time. Plus, of all Garance's stunning illustrations of lovely women, this one was the most demure, candid, and "it could be any girl!" of all the drawings.

I'm thrilled with the results.

I got the tattoo at a spot down the street on Broadway in Capitol Hill called Laughing Buddha Tattoo, from an artist named Nina Collier. Girl is one of the best tattoo artists at the shop, and she seems to always be booked up. I was lucky to get an appointment with her before I move, and I'm so glad I chose her; her lines are amazing, and she put up with me cringing and hyperventilating whenever the needle touched the tender spots (i.e. the entire inner arm).

It was worth the pain.

(Psst... Just for shits and giggles, here's a look back at my first tattoo!)

my classic movie reel

2011-10-26T15:56:00.000-07:00

With Jon deep in film school application mode, the process of talking through essay topics, master thesis options, and personal statement talking points has gotten my heart going pitter-pat for old movies.

Also known as "my favorite movies from childhood."

Just a few weekends ago, my dad celebrated his 4,500th movie (that is, individual movies seen). He is a movie fan through and through, and instilled the same appreciation and devotion to great (and not-so-great) films in us. Whether by choice or by default, we were raised on Turner Classic Movies and American Movie Classics, with box sets of Humphrey Bogart videotapes sitting front and center under the television.

Watching black & white movies never phased us and silent films were just as easy to watch and ones with sound.

Did you know that my sister's and my favorite movie at age nine was To Have and Have Not, starring Bogart and Lauren Bacall?

It's true. We would turn it on before school, and when our best friend would come by our house to walk with us, we'd casually invite her in and hope that this time she would stop and say, "Oouu, what is this cool movie?" and then agree that it was, indeed, the best movie around. Sadly, she never did.

But we loved it. There was something inspiring about watching a thin, deep-voiced, 19-year-old Bacall take a wicked slap across the face by a waterfront ruffian without so much as a flinch and then manage to hold her own in a room with someone as intimidating as Bogie. This girl was tough-as-nails... an incredible role model for a girly little tyke like me.

Other than Disney's live action and animated features, I don't remember watching anything other than old movies when I was a kid. And until I was in the 5th or 6th grade -- when my friends were all going to see Mission Impossible in theaters and I had to stay behind -- I never even considered it wasn't a widely accepted form of entertainment.

I mean, didn't every little kid spend Saturdays watching Shirley Temple and Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies?

Naturally all of my friends thought that Clark Gable was the dandiest leading man around... right?

And everyone knew that the comedy duo to beat was clearly Bing Crosby and Bob Hope.

Ahhh, floating head posters. Can ya beat 'em?? (That's a rhetorical question.)

Eventually I stopped daydreaming in black & white and technicolor and joined my friends at PG-13 rated movie screenings. I stopped letting my dad change the channel to TCM on a whim and refused to watch just any old thing that Robert Osborne happened to introduce that night.

My teenage years were difficult.

Now, of course, there is almost nothing I value more than my parents' choice of entertainment for us. Had it not been for those early years of Hitchcock and Bing Crosby, I don't think I would have been as open to these kinds of movies as an adult -- certainly not as a teenager!

When the holidays come around, I crave the comfort and warmth of old, classic movies... ones that make me nostalgic for holidays at home in front of the fire, listening to my father laugh at films that -- I know now -- have a special, nostalgic place in his heart as well.

Did any of you watch old movies as kids? Anything that's stuck with you 'til now? What was your favorite movie when you were nine?

Image Sources:
(1) The Cameraman (2) How Green Was My Valley (3) Strangers on a Train (4) On the Waterfront (5) Dear Ruth (6) To Have and Have Not (7) The Big Sleep (8) Key Largo (9) Wee Willie Winkie (10) Top Hat (11) It Happened One Night (12) Road to Morocco (13) Road to Rio (14) The Best Years of Our Lives (15) The Kid (16) It's a Wonderful Life (17) Holiday Inn

food friday: feierabend german-style pub fare

2011-10-14T13:48:00.000-07:00

The Huhnclub Sandwich mit Pommes Frittes from Seattle's German-style pub Feierabend in South Lake Union.

I broke my week-long, post-oral surgery, soft-food-only rule with this:

Chicken breast. Bacon from Bavarian Meats in Downtown Seattle. Mixed greens, tomato, and chunky garlic mayo. A crown of crispy, fried onions and a skin in the form of an Essential Baking Company baguette. A hefty side of skinny parsley fries and curried ketchup rounded it off.

I might have hurt myself eating this sandwich, but it was so worth it.

Jon and I pass this pub every single day on the way home from work, and every day it is packed, but we had never gone before. That is, until yesterday when I told Jon to stop the car and park so I could eat a fatty carb-filled pub dinner at 4 pm. So we did and my taste buds rejoiced.

It might be one of my favorite things to do: spontaneous food outings. I'm not a very spontaneous person in general (I like planning), but when it comes to food, I'll never say no. I'm susceptible to peer pressure. An unexpected sweet or salty snack never sounds like a bad idea.

"Feierabend" is a word that means "quitting time" in German, used to signify the end of the work day. This spot is one of the only pubs in this particular corner of SLU, surrounded by apartment complexes. It's nestled. It feels like Europe in there.

With the pain from my surgery acting up again, I will likely return to the land of mushy rice, eggs and bananas, so please... this weekend, for me, eat something magnificent.

returning home

2011-10-13T12:51:00.000-07:00

SF CA Map Heart, woodblock print by LuciusArt

In exactly one month, Jon and I will load the dogs and last of our belongings into his car and begin the drive back to California. For good.

Just shy of three years after moving to Seattle with Ennis—jobless, penniless, and very aimless—I will be returning home two animals, one boyfriend, and a modest amount of savings richer. I might even have a plan. (I know, hold the phones.) Nothing concrete, nothing particularly exciting. But it's taken me a long time to get here; this place of comfort and being excited for the future was not easy to find. It was elusive and full of obstacles that made me question myself and my path.

I can see with clear eyes now that my time in Seattle was worth every terrifying and educational moment, but I say that with a tad of wariness. It was hard. I was not good at starting from scratch. The big difference now is that I am no longer looking back and bemoaning my mistakes; I am not bringing my baggage Home to roost, nor will I allow it to pollute my future... whatever it holds.

As early as September 2007, I wrote of moving to Seattle. I was so "certain" of my decision, something I find rather humorous now. But I did it; I actually did what I set out to do. I left California six months after graduating from college, after an extremely rough period at my parent's house. I was lost and unfocused and lazy and depressed. I had no money, no job, and no idea what I was going to do with my time. Despite the obvious reasons not to move, Seattle seemed right.

Wine Country Hills, photo by Julie's Boutique

I distinctly remember driving around the Bay (probably absolutely furious about something) and looking out on the golden, rolling hills of California, and I was... disgusted. I was ill merely at the sight of this landscape, of this dry, burnt atmosphere that had surrounded me my entire life. Even in idyllic Santa Barbara—my home for four years—I grew tired of the dusty hills and the brown, brown, brown always in view. (I chose to ignore the fact that there was an intense ocean blue always in view if I looked in the opposite direction. I was angry about stuff, people.) All I saw come autumn of 2008 after an East Bay summer, with temperatures consistently in the 90's, was the absence of any green in them there hills.

Never mind the three years of near-perfect weather that coastal California had experienced since El Niño struck in 2005. I suppose I wanted rain, gray skies, and all the green my eyeballs could handle.

Something was wrong with me, but I was 22, so that was my right.

The funny thing is that just a year and a half later, as I flew into Burbank airport to visit my then-new boyfriend, I looked out on the golden hills and almost cried. They were beautiful and familiar and felt like home... a welcome feeling after a very (double-emphasis on the very) rough year. I knew with certainty—much like I did when planning the move up north—that I would return and California would be my home again.

But I wasn't so angry and disgruntled this time. I have much love for Seattle and the kind of city that it is. Our experiences here are priceless. I plan to write much more about my city in the weeks to come.

California Poppies by Jill Bliss (I know I've posted this before but... I love it, so sue me.)

Until then, the immediate plan:

In one month, Jon and I will begin our temporary stint back at my parent's house in the Bay Area while he focuses on applying to grad school. We will work and save up for another impending move—somewhere else along the California coast—and get ready to embark on a new journey: Jon toward a PhD in Film Studies and me... well, I plan to be by his side and see him through. I care less about what I am doing than with who I am spending my days.

Thank you, Seattle, for teaching me that.

I'm open to all possibilities.

like a local: portland, oregon

2011-09-30T12:26:00.000-07:00

I consider myself extremely privileged to have friends spread all across the country, and in some cases, the world. Whether one county, one state, or one country away, it's exciting to think about visiting not just places, but people. People who know their cities the way I've come to know Seattle over the course of the last 3 years: cheapest happy hours, best local brunch spots, tourist attractions worth seeing and ones worth missing...

Being a tourist, but living like a local. After the exploring and the tasting, it's all about coming home to an apartment or house and lounging lazily about with friends. That's the way to go about travel.

Two weekends ago, Jon and I drove the dogs down to Portland, OR. My dear Miss Killian and her quieter half, Daniel, have been staying at Killian's childhood home while her parents and grandfather are away in England walking Hadrian's Wall. (Excuse me while I put that on my Must Do This Before I Die list...)

Corgi extraordinaire: Watson

Killian and Daniel have been on little brother and doggie duty for the past two weeks, so obviously we wanted to add more chaos to their lives.

But I also wanted to see Portland. On the cheap.

Going on a weekend trip to someplace I haven't ~~been to~~ spent much time in before generally means that I plan out every moment so I don't miss a single opportunity. But this time, it was exactly the opposite. I didn't plan much of anything. I had three goals: 1) bring dogs to Portland, 2) go to Powell's Books, and 3) hang out with Daniel, Killian, Katie and Brandon (two friends who were also visiting, with two dogs, from Seattle).

Yep. 6 people, 5 dogs, 1 house. You jealous?

Hardy, Peekay and Ennis watching the humans leave.

Harvey and Ennis, awaiting the humans' return.

The dogs were in heaven since Killian's house is situated directly across the street from a large, closed-in "dog park." A good portion of our rainy Saturday was spent tiring out our always-stuck-in-an-apartment dogs to make the rest of the evening, and weekend, go smoother.

The highlights:

Cathedral Park and St. John's Bridge, near where Killian grew up in the St. John's area of North Portland.

The sky was gray and the ground was wet, and it truly felt like autumn. It just wouldn't have felt right if I'd visited Portland with blue skies and glimmering sunlight.

The winner of the weekend, and possibly, my life: Bushwhacker Cider in Brooklyn, SE Portland. They are "America's only urban cider pub," and they have quite possibly the best deals ever for a night of drinking.

The above photo shows their "sampler" with 5 tasters, a 10 oz. glass of one cider and a 8 oz. glass of another. All together? $9, no tax. (It is Oregon, after all!) The entire time we were there, I was in awe. They have a handful of hard ciders on tap, most of which are $2 / 8 oz. glass and $4 / 16 oz. glass. The samplers included most of the ciders on tap, and were $5 / 5 glass (probably about 5 oz. each)!

I hope your mouth is hanging open in shock, because mine certainly was.

In addition to having great ciders on tap (the samplers are serious conversation starters; all 6 of us loved different ones for different reasons), they have bags of PopChips, cheese and meat plates, and cards/darts/games to occupy your night of drinking. There is also an intense selection of cider for sale. Jon and I spent a lot of money on bottles of cider.

Most loved cider of the night: Fox Barrel Blackberry Pear, which most of us thought to be one of the best, if not the best of the selection. Tart, refreshing, and delicious. Find it, buy it, drink it, love it. Seriously.

Katie had heard about this place from a friend, and we couldn't be more thankful to her for taking the recommendation seriously. I absolutely would not go to Portland without stopping here. It is a must.

Weekend brunch is my new favorite thing in the world. Getting a nice, slow start to my day and then being rewarded for my efforts with coffee and a bigger-than-necessary breakfast.

Eggs Benedict is my new go-to. If I can get it I will.

And I did, at a little (but popular) spot close to Killian's house called the Cup and Saucer. Apparently there are a few Portland locations, but this one was on N. Denver. The staff was amazing, the food was delicious, the prices were reasonable (ergo: not Seattle brunch prices), and the company was unrivaled.

Their signature vanilla scones weren't too shabby either.

(And apologies for that terrible picture. I didn't think to photograph my Benedict since I was too busy stuffing it in my face.)

Of course, for my first time in Portland, I couldn't pass up a few tourist-y sites.

Powell's Books. What else can I say? I walked the maze, I bought some books, my feet and my brain hurt. Next time I'll bring my Uggs, pajamas, a thermos of coffee and a bagel and just stay all day.

Because I could.

Jon insisted that artery-clogging pastries was the necessary next step , so despite the abrupt downpour of rain outside, we walked the 8 or so blocks to the ever-hip-and-popular, Voodoo Doughnuts. Home of the Maple Bacon Doughnut.

Not my first Voodoo Doughnut, by any means (Jon took a few road trips up to Seattle before we started dating brought a dozen up for me and my roommates), but certainly the freshest and the sweetest. I also had a toothache for about an hour afterwards.

Voodoo has an insane array of totally "hip" doughnuts, such as ones covered in Fruit Loops or Cap'n Crunch Berries, and an enormous chocolate bar not-so-subtly dubbed the Cock 'n' Balls.

The line wrapped around the corner, and people had no issue waiting 30-45 minutes in the rain for a doughnut at 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

Worth it? Honestly... Eh. I'm not the biggest sweets person (gasp!), and I felt that there wasn't nearly enough bacon on the heavily-mapled cake I ordered. (Two strips? Really?) I'm all about balance in flavors, and two measly crispy strips was not nearly enough to counteract the intense sweetness of nearly half a cup of maple frosting.

If it were my doughnut, there'd be at least five strips of bacon on there. Or ten. Mmmm, bacon...

All in all, not too shabby for just 30 hours in Portland. Now excuse me while I return to my hoard of hard cider.

*Square images property of People Just Float
*Rectangle images courtesy of Killian at Tales 'n Teacups

hiking the hidden lake lookout trail

2011-09-14T00:13:00.000-07:00

[Note: this article is based on my personal experience. If you are reading this because you are interested in this hike, I urge you to read all of the reviews and stories available on the Washington Trails Association website and take this review with a grain of salt.]

Today is the first day since our hike last Sunday that I've been able to walk down the stairs without cringing in pain. There's nothing quite like your muscles taking a beating to force you to start listening to your body and gain some perspective.

Hey, if I've gained anything from last week, it's perspective.

And perspective with a view, no less.

So, what went wrong? What we decided was that we made three distinct mistakes going into this hike, which made what could have been the most spectacular hike imaginable into one of the most treacherous and frightening experiences of my life.

A little melodramatic? Probably. But hey, when it's your life, things can get dramatic pretty quick.

Let's back up. A few weeks ago, Jon enthusiastically agreed to accompany me on a hike I had been planning on taking since before I moved up to Seattle 3 years ago. It must have been Sunset, or a similar Great Things to Do in the West magazine, that clued me in to the numerous hiking trails in the Cascade Mountains that lead to fire lookouts (a.k.a. great views). One particular lookout caught my eye: the Hidden Lake Lookout, described by many Web sites and hiking books as one of the most beautiful hikes in the world. (Read the best and most accurate play-by-play here.)

OK, twist my arm, why don't you.

So in January of 2009, I started planning my summer trip up there. Then summer came and went. Then another. I was determined to get my act together and not let another summer go by without taking on this hike and seeing those views for myself. The fact that Jon is an extremely experienced hiker gave me loads of confidence, and I never questioned for a moment that this would be a somewhat-strenuous-but-doable afternoon hike.

Not sure why I thought this, but I did. And hey—I had learned my lesson from our hike on Tiger Mountain: know the length and terrain of the trails before you tackle them! So I did my research. I knew how long the hike was (9 miles round-trip) and I knew there was an elevation gain of 3290 feet. No problem! I read all about what type of terrain we would hit at what time in the hike. Great! I even understood we might run into some snow/glaciers (we don't own an ice axe—whoops?), there would be some 'bouldering' required (of which I have no experience), and there would be bugs (I hate bugs). Oh well, who cares?

Despite potential obstacles, the descriptions of heather-covered rocks, wildflower meadows, bustling creeks, and mountainous views overcame all reason. I was determined.

And—I felt—that I was prepared. With a new Camelback pack full of water and protein-packed food, an Underarmour shirt to keep me cool and protect me from the sun, I was ready for the best hike of my life.

Opting to leave the dogs behind (smartest thing we did all day!), Jon and I headed north up I-5 from Seattle toward Arlington and cut across some beautiful morning/mountain scenery to Hwy 20 and Marblemount. The roads aren't particularly well marked once you get to this point, but we followed the directions to go across the "steel bridge" and hoped we were, indeed, on Cascade River Road. Eventually we saw the steep and gravelly FR1540/Sibley Creek Road off to the left and started our ascent up the somewhat sketchy 4.5 miles toward the trailhead. There were a good amount of cars in the tight parking lot, but since we got there later in the morning, it was obvious some overnight hikers had left already, leaving open spots near the entrance. The drive from Seattle to the trailhead had taken 2 ½ hours, so we didn't arrive at the trail until 11:30 am.

This would be mistake #1.

Utterly clueless about the significance of our start time, and excited to get started, we headed into the forest with a kick in our step.

It was a beautifully clear day; temperatures were hovering around 80ºF, and we knew we had lucked out as far as weather was concerned. The initial portion of the hike took us through the forest on a pretty steady incline through thick brush; the ground was lush, but dry. But it became clear pretty quick that locating the exact route through the forest wasn't going to be easy: trees had clearly fallen during the winter (or had been there for years?), which made it difficult to tell whether to climb over or find another way. Since we weren't familiar with the exact route of the trail, and there were no markings, Jon and I definitely got turned around a few times. A group coming through behind us headed off into a different direction, so we backtracked through dense brush and branches to get ourselves back on track.

Once we found the trail again, it was no issue making our way. You'll know you're close to the end of the forest line when you reach areas that have been boarded and laddered for the benefit of hikers.

Aw, how sweet.

Tricked into a feeling of security, we pressed on.

Coming out of the forest was both breathtaking and unnerving. The view of a vast meadow, glacier melt, and flowering plants was incredible...

But the bugs... The bugs were something I've never experienced. The density of the vegetation and the humidity in the air meant that the bugs were many and they were aggressive. Mosquitoes, flies, horseflies... The moment we stopped moving, we would be swarmed by them. I caught several mosquitoes taking bites of me through my shirt, so it became difficult to stop and admire the scenery. I kept scolding myself for not thinking to put on—or even bring—bug repellant.

That would be mistake #2.

Not sure how much it would have helped, but I'd like to think a lot. Because it was seriously terrible for the entire mid-section of the hike. Little wind, humid air, moist plants equals loads of bugs. And as I said: I hate bugs. Especially ones that bite. For many people, the bugs probably wouldn't seem too bad; perhaps nothing more than an annoyance. But whenever I would stop to admire the view, stretch my legs, drink some Gatorade, or take a picture, I'd be covered.

Ew.

Not to suggest this section of the hike was entirely deplorable. On the contrary, Jon and I kept a pretty good pace and, though it was quite strenuous, we lapped up the challenge. The trail leading through the meadow was a steady and often steep incline, back and forth along switchbacks and heading up towards the glaciers that were clearly still in tact.

It was right in the middle of the afternoon, so the sun was hot and unrelenting at times. But the stunning variety of the wildflowers and increasing views of the surrounding mountains were well worth the effort (and the bug swatting).

Depending on the time of year, reaching the top of these switchbacks might bring you face to face with some snow. Everything I read warned that it was not advisable to try crossing the ice without an ice axe, but there wasn't much ice to worry about and we saw others traverse the tiny glacier with no problem. It took no effort at all to bi-pass the ice entirely and cut around the bottom.

So far, so good.

Immediately after crossing the first baby-glacier, the plants became less dense—as did the bugs. Though some horseflies seemed set on tagging alongside us, it was significantly less distracting than before.

Good thing, too.

The views from here on out were nothing short of spectacular. I don't pride myself on being very knowledge about the Cascade Mountains (or any mountains), so I can't tell you what any of the peaks are called. But seeing everything come into view the higher we climbed was awe-inspiring.

Hm... based on what I've read, I'll go ahead and say that that's Mount Baker (though someone could correct me if I'm wrong). Also, getting a near-bird's-eye-view of the switchbacks we'd hiked was a rather rewarding sight.

Nice job, us.

As we moved further up, the dirt trail gradually turned more and more rocky, with large slabs of granite and loose stones to climb and watch out for. Some glacier melt also created lovely but potentially hazardess streams. Nothing major, but being vigilant about watching our step was key.

Next is where, in hindsight, it might have been wise to turn back and call it a day. If we'd had the dogs with us, we would have.

Yep, that snow just keeps on going...

We reached this ice shelf and I definitely hesitated. Looking across, I knew we could make it, but the fear of losing my footing and sliding 200 feet to the rocks below (certain death, people!) loomed over my head; knowing we didn't have that recommended ice axe made me question whether we should take the risk.

Needless to say, at Jon's reassurance and guidance, we took the risk and made it across. All I could think about was how absolutely effing terrified I was of having to cross it again on the way back.

Gulp.

But we pressed on. Another glacier to cross (frightening, but not nearly as treacherous as the previous one) and we found ourselves walking a rocky but stable trail alongside the mountain. And, with the sound advice of some previous hikers...

... we traipsed over the last few rocky slopes with our final destination in view.

Oh, no, not those beautiful wildflowers (I wish). Hm, you probably can't see it very well. Let's zoom in:

Yep. That would be the Hidden Lake Lookout, perched mind-bogglingly high on the granite slopes—easily as high as most of the mountains that taunted us in the distance.

From this angle, I couldn't fathom how we'd be able to make it to the top, so I maintained I would not be trying to make it up there, thank you very much! The copy of All Quiet on the Western Front that I was lugging around in my pack to donate to the Lookout Library would just have to go back to Seattle with me. Too bad, so sad.

We trudged on, continuing to admire the view and resolute in our decision to make it to the Hidden Lake Overlook (the area just below the mountain where you can see the actual lake), rest for a bit, and turn back around. No need to kill ourselves just to see a 10'x10' room with a bed and cook stove.

But then, as we got a bit closer, some cool hippie hikers were coming down the trail and asked if we planned on going to the "tippy top."

"No way," we replied, still resolute and stuff.

"No? Oh, you've got to!" the braided leader of the group insisted.

"But we don't have an ice axe," I admitted, bowing my head in shame for being a stupid novice hiker.

"Neither did we! You won't need one. Once you get to the overlook, just veer up to the right. There's a trail along the backside of that mountain that leads you up. It's not even half a mile—it's easy, promise." His totally rad, tie-died friends nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, well in that case!!" I proclaimed (like a moron) while Jon casually and coolly thanked them for their advice.

They moved on, and so did we. Maybe I'll give it a try, I thought. But I'll make no promises, 'cause I'm skeeeered.

We walked along the giant glacier coming down from the peak, and I noticed a few people had decided to camp at the bottom of the mountain.

This is when I started to get a little worried. Were we going to be the only ones heading down the mountain, this late in the day? We'd started just after 11:30am, and it was nearing 4:30 at this point.

I immediately wished we'd thought to bring a tent and sleeping bag—at the very least, the latter. If we'd been able to stop here, it would have been perfect timing, and we would have been able to get some much needed rest. We could have eaten and stretched our legs—maybe even played in the snow, or washed off in the snowmelt. We could have reveled in the beauty of the landscape as the sun went down and the sky filled with stars. We city kids would have slept in perfect silence.

And that would be mistake #3.

We didn't bring sleeping bags. We didn't bring a tent. Sleeping here wasn't an option. So we quickened our pace to reach the overlook.

Stepping onto the glacier, and walking up towards the left of the peak, I was anxious to finally see the lake. And then, all of a sudden, there it was.

Stunning. With the exception of the lookout (that would be the shadow on the bottom right corner), there was nothing much higher around us. We could see in all directions.

And we relaxed. I was content, and proud of having made it this far—a measly hiker like me. Jon surveyed the scene while I sucked down obscene amounts of water, beef jerky and a peach. I snacked on almonds while snapping umpteen photos of the lake.

The beautiful lake below.

It's an 800 foot drop down the slope to the lake; only people carrying back country hiking permits are allowed to access it. Not that it was something I considered. It was actually daunting to look down the gravelly cliff face and imagine people choosing to hike down there. I really am an inexperienced hiker, I admitted to myself. This is quickly becoming clear.

As I sat, I started to feel the strain of the last 4 ½ hours. I was still uncertain about tackling the granite bouldered pathway up the last 0.3 mile to the lookout. I told Jon he was free to go without me.

So he started up, along with my book. I felt OK about not going up, but I admit it was hard to get this far and not make it to the very end. But after a few minutes, Jon returned to tell me the trail wasn't all that bad and he was confident I could make it. Hesitantly, I agreed.

Honestly, it was much harder than I had anticipated. Maybe it wouldn't have been if we had stayed the night and then climbed up in the morning, after my legs had rested. I don't consider myself particularly scared of heights, but the uneasiness I was feeling while on my feet increased my anxiety significantly.

Large granite slabs, piled on top of one another, make up the majority of the walk up the side slope. There's always a foothold, somewhere, but still... Like with the glacier passes earlier in the hike, one slip and we're talking serious injury or death. I realized as I climbed that this was the first hike I'd taken that put me so "close to the edge." I'm sure many who have taken the hike would read this and think I'm a total wimp. I thought the same thing myself. But no... Jon—an experienced hiker!—reassured me that this was, indeed, an extremely strenuous hike. As far as "basic, no gear required" hikes are concerned, this was up there. ("If this hike was a 10, then Half Dome would be a 6.")

Well good.

The final leg was daunting enough that I got no pictures of the way up. With my eyes fixed on my feet, I slowly (very, very slowly) made it to the top.

Needless to say, being lucky enough to sleep in this lookout without others around would mean the quietest of silent sleep I could imagine. With weather this calm, I doubt there would be breeze strong enough to brush the windows. It was eerie just how high we were, and how tight the space around the lookout was.

So again, we sat.

And just enjoyed the calm.

I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay and sleep on the floor. I was close to suggesting it, were it not for our dogs waiting for us at home. I was already dreading the hike back...

And my knees were starting to ache pretty severely. I reminded myself to thank my mom for passing along her shitty knees to me...

We struck up a conversation with some cool cats who planned to stay the night at the lookout, and explored.

I located the library and made my book donation deposit, which I signed and dated, of course, because I needed to prove in multiple ways that I actually did it you guys wow go me!... I also signed the registry.

We even got our pictures snapped together.

This was right before the guy taking our picture asked if we planned on staying the night. We told him we were heading back, of course, and he looked slightly surprised.

And then he said this:

"Well, it's—what, 5:30? Hopefully you guys brought head lamps."

My heart sank. We had, of course, brought a flashlight (JON'S SMART!) but the idea that it could potentially get dark before we reached our car struck the most frightening nerve in me. I remembered the forest—how the fallen trees and uneven trail had made it difficult even in the noon brightness to find our way. I was struck with the most intense urgency to get back down the mountain as soon as possible.

(Okay, things are about to get really dramatic. Looking back, it seems crazy to have been so intensely afraid, but the memory of how scared I was is still very clear... I'm going to explain this exactly how I remember it. Don't judge me.)

From here on out, there are no more pictures. I have nothing more to say about what we saw on the way down, because the truth is, I saw nothing but my shoes. No comments on how the sun looked as it started to set or how the wildflowers had changed colors as the air cooled and moonlight gradually appeared.

Our 3 hour, 4.5 mile race down the mountain was exactly that: a race with the sun to the finish line.

And my knees... Oh lord, my knees. They went from "uncomfortable" to "excruciating" pain in a matter of minutes as we tread carefully along the granite. As anyone with bad knees knows, walking downhill on uneven rocks is a nightmare. And because we had very little true daylight left, there was no time to rest or stretch my legs.

This stunning hike, with some of the Northwest's most impressive views, very quickly became something out of a movie for me. I've said it many times in the last week: as melodramatic as it may sound, I had doubts in my mind that we'd be making it out alive. Silly, perhaps, but with the speed we were going, it was not far-fetched to imagine losing my footing—on the ice, the granite rocks, or the mud that had accumulated on the trail. I fell numerous times on the way down, though (thankfully) only enough to knock me on my ass and not off a mountain.

Jon was a saint. He helped me down the rocks to reduce the impact on my knees; he did his best to carve footholds in the snow to ensure I wouldn't slip because of my shaky legs; he guided me through the thick brush of the lower meadows and talked me through everything. I knew he was slowed down because of me, but he never made me feel bad for needing time.

I'm so in love with this man, and now more than ever.

But I could see he was worried for me, and worried for us—that there was no way were were making it back to the car while there was still visible light.

After nearly 2 ½ hours, we reached the forest just as the sun went down.

Up until this point in my life, I've never felt such intense purpose. Sounds like hyperbole, I know, but it's the truth. I've never wanted anything more than to be sitting safe in our car. The mere idea filled me with such intense and emotional longing, I couldn't help but imagine the possible obstacles in my way.

I saw us going further and further down the mountain and away from the trail. I saw myself wandering, dirty and drained, in the woods until my legs gave out. I saw us curling up in the dirt, having to wait out the night.

I saw bears.

Going as quickly as I could manage, I urged Jon to pick up the speed and to not worry about helping me unless I asked. Not easy in the dark with a small flashlight guiding both our way. It was when our trail hit a dead end that I knew we'd gotten off track and I started to panic uncontrollably.

Jon, naturally, kept his cool as best he could while dealing with a hysterical person on the verge of tears. After too many minutes of climbing, falling, and careful maneuvering, Jon found the trail again and I resumed my quickened pace. I knew we had to be close, but because our pace had changed so drastically from when we began, I no longer had any concept of time or distance.

But then we hit another dead end and in that moment, I gave up. I sat down in the dirt and resigned myself to spending the night in that spot unless Jon was able to find the trail, for certain, as in definitely the right way. This whole trek back from the top of the mountain had last nearly as long as The Godfather Part II and I literally couldn't get my body to take one more futile step.

So Jon employed his superior hiking skills and backtracked without me. He rounded around some nearby trees and cut down into the brush. I followed the light of his flashlight with my eyes for several minutes as he searched.

It's the most scared I've ever been.

Then finally: "I found it!" He said it with such confidence, I didn't question it for a moment. I threw myself down the hill towards him and nearly pushed past him along the trail.

We were back on track and I knew we were headed in the right direction.

Several minutes later:

"There's the registry!"

I started hyperventilating with joy as I saw the trail registry that we'd signed at the start of the hike.

Another minute later our flashlight lit up the parking lot and I could see the car.

I nearly collapsed.

Grabbing Jon, I kissed him and told him I've never been more thankful for anyone. Not ever. He'd been there when and how I needed him, and did not judge me for a moment.

And with that, we got the hell off that mountain.

~ ~ ~

So here's the gist: This was an absolutely spectacular hike. It's the most beautiful scenery I've ever laid eyes on, and having gotten my distance from our personal experience, I wouldn't take it back. Had we not made those three key mistakes, everything would have been different. If we had planned on doing the hike in one day we should have arrived no later than 9 am. We should have brought camping gear, just in case we couldn't make it back. And we should have brought bug spray, because shit, bugs are seriously awful, yo!

This hike humbled me. I am not the intermediate hiker I thought I was. I do not fully understand the workings of the wilderness, or what I would need to do to survive common situations like we faced. If it had been left up to me, I'd wouldn't even have considered bringing a flashlight.

Shows how much I know.

Lesson learned. Again.

bouquets of sharpened pencils

2011-09-06T17:26:00.000-07:00

"Old School" photo by Lucy Barnett (IntheDivide)

I always think of this quote from You've Got Mail when I feel autumn approaching. Something about the subtle shift in the weather, the smell of wood and falling leaves, the ads for clothes and backpacks... It all sends me to a very nostalgic place. It makes me wanna buy school supplies.

For many, classes started last week. The online school I work for has been busy, busy, busy prepping courses and enrolling high school students for this new semester. And me, well... I've been feeling exactly how I always feel this time of year: anxious for school to begin, to see my friends everyday, to meet my new teachers, and to start learning something new.

Silly, since I haven't been a student in over three years.

"for words and things" photograph by girlhula

Jon is in the process of applying to grad schools, which has given me the opportunity to consider what I want for myself. Yet even though I feel those dreams and ideas percolating in the background, I can't say exactly what I see for my future; with everything going on, and how busy I've been, it's been difficult to see beyond the to-do list in front of me.

A little bit like school, I suppose, but with real world pressures this time.

Once things stop being so crazy, I have a good/dramatic hiking story and lots of pictures of beautiful nature to share. There has been so much I've wanted to write about, and while I've been beating myself up for not keeping up with my writing and blogging, I know I must stop. Right now is not the time for me to be active here. My attention and dedication is needed elsewhere, and for now...

That's fine with me.

can i haz food plz?

2011-08-18T10:17:00.000-07:00

Fry is always starving. Coincidentally, as of late, I am too. Finally we have something in common. But unlike my orange, furry son, I have been extremely busy lately with work and cleaning and being an angry diet-monster. My energy level has been the lowest of low, so writing has not come easy. It will pick up soon, I'm sure of it.

Oh, and even though Mr. Fry complains (loudly), don't let his Disney-eyeliner-eyes fool you; he's well-fed on fatty fish and the occasional fly/spider/mosquito-eater. Me, however... I would kill a man for a B.L.T. w/ avocado and a cold whiskey-coke.

Such is life.

how?

2011-08-15T16:03:00.000-07:00

"Anything is Possible" by Fee Harding

"When the elephant is young and relatively weak, it is tied to an immovable stick. So later, no matter how large and strong he becomes, he continues to believe that he cannot free himself. Many intelligent people are like curious elephants. They never question their self-imposed limitations." — from the film, Cold Souls, via this link.

I find inspiration all around me: in nature, in beautiful art, in music, in people that I meet and libraries of books that I see. I spend an embarrassing amount of time reading other people’s blogs, by which I find new artists to adore, discover places I’ve never been and now long to visit, and read about people who are living their dreams… or are well on their way. I feel inspired, believing I, too, can do this. I can write/travel/design/lose weight and live the life I’ve always wanted.

But then, inevitably, depression follows. I look at the inspiration that has piled up in front of me—a mountain with steps for me to climb, until I realize that there are no lamps to light the way. I cannot figure out where to begin my ascent to the top, or if I’ll ever be able to keep my footing. I am overwhelmed.

This “fall,” so to speak, from motivation has haunted me my entire life. I feel it creep slowly into my veins and take me over, and then I don’t know what to do; I don’t know if I can overcome any of my personal obstacles and take the first step towards creating a healthier and fuller future.

I remember watching Oprah many years ago (via her 20th anniversary DVDs) where she interviewed Rudine Howard, a young woman who suffered (and eventually died) from a severe case of anorexia. Actress Tracey Gold was also a guest, discussing her own battle with the disease, and what Rudine needed to do to overcome it.

Her speech was full of poetry and words meant to inspire, and her gentle urging of a woman so weak and scared was suitable for a show such as Oprah’s: “Make the little steps to fill your mind so you can fight back.” And then Rudine, through helpless tears—asked

“But how? How do you do it?”

Of course, no one had an answer. Oprah has spoken often about how this particular “Aha!” moment in her 1994 episode changed her and her show forever, calling “How?” the central question of life. When I saw it for the first time over a decade later, it changed me as well, and—for better or worse—altered the way I look at my own motivation and dreams.

Is inspiration enough? Is simply knowing that I can do something enough? Is seeing someone I admire or envy living their dreams (often doing exactly what I dream of) enough to get me to make a change? To take a risk? To try something terrifying? To question all that I’ve ever known and dive headfirst into dark and murky waters? To develop the work ethic/self-control/confidence necessary to take on my writing/weight loss/self-criticism and—finally—see that the journey wasn’t as arduous as I’d imagined?

I don’t have any answers. Only questions that stretch back in years and make my future a daunting and uncertain place.

Where does a writer who has never finished a story before get the nerve to tackle a multi-book saga? Where does a blogger without a niche or specialty belong on the web-o-sphere? Where does a girl who has an addiction to food learn to look at food a different way?

I feel just as stuck and immovable as that elephant tied to a stick in the ground; I don't see clearly the thing that's holding me back. But I want to. I want to pinpoint my self-imposed limitations and break the chain once and for all.

Then I can finally be free.

Print by Inkstomp

overcoming a black thumb

2011-08-07T11:47:00.000-07:00

"Watering Can" by Kellie Schneider

I kill plants. I don't mean to, I just do. I can keep myself, two dogs, a cat, and a boyfriend alive without any fuss, but the moment a poor, unsuspecting plant comes into my care, it always dies or somehow manages to live, but always on the brink of death. I have yet to pot a plant that absolutely thrives. God forbid a plant actually get bigger under my ~~neglectful~~ watchful eye.

The problem is, though, I can't seem to stop buying or adopting them. ::gasp:: I'm a plant hoarder! And not the cute-old-man-with-thousands-of healthy-rats-but-things-just-got-out-of-hand kind of hoarder—the fat-old-woman-in-denial-with-the-dying-cats-in-her-garage kind of hoarder! Do I have a problem? Should I seek help?

OK, it isn't that bad. I don't have that many plants, and the ones I do have are in little itty bitty tiny pots and stuff. I tend to get plants that are typically "easy, beginner's plants" so that I can do the minimum amount of work. However, when I look up each one on the internet—after the part about how easy they are—there are lists of dos and don'ts that definitely aren't low-maintenance instructions: "No direct sunlight, but keep in bright light, except sometimes if it's this temperature or that humidity"; "make sure it stays wet, but not too wet"; "let soil dry fully before watering"; "fertilize this time of year!"; "re-pot that time of year!" ... I can't keep up. It's as though all my plants have year-round PMS.

In an effort to remedy my tendency for black-thumbing it through my plant care, I've decided that maybe the best way to help my plants is to treat them more like pets. Pets with quirks. And names! Maybe that's the key to keeping things alive; if Ennis or Peekay or Jon died slowly of starvation or heat stroke, people would get suspicious. They would ask questions. I would be held accountable! But an undocumented plant? Not so much.

So, without further ado, I introduce to you... my plants!

Given name: Orville
Street name: Bird's Nest Fern
Science-y name: Asplenium nidus
Acquired from: IKEA (Renton, WA)
Personality: Likes bright but filtered light. Never likes being fully dry, so keep soil damp at all times; prefers high humidity—great for keeping in the bathroom.

Given name: Farnsworth
Street name: Southern Maidenhair Fern / Venus' Hair Fern
Science-y name: Adiantum capillus-veneris
Acquired from: City People's (Seattle, WA)
Personality: Similar to Orville—needs to be kept in the shade with damp (but not soaking wet) soil at all times. Thrives in cool to average temperatures with high humidity.

Given name: Charlotte
Street name: Spider Plant
Science-y name: Chlorophytum comosum
Acquired from: IKEA (Renton, WA)
Personality: Ideal for beginners, she will likely overcome any neglect. No light or temperature requirements so long as she isn't left outside in freezing temperatures, but prefers bright locations with minimal direct sunlight. Should be fertilized every 3-4 months. Do not over-water.

Given name: Diana
Street name: Kalanchoe
Science-y name: Kalanchoe blossfeldiana
Acquired from: Gift
Personality: Part of the succulent family, but relatively high maintenance, she typically blooms when temperatures and conditions mirror winter months—this means direct sunlight but for only a few hours at a time; keep in average temperatures. While blooms exist, fertilize with a water soluble fertilizer; trim blooms as they start to wither to allow for more growth. Water only when soil is dry. When there are no blooms, give her less light and less water; when blooms appear, return to sunlight.

Given name: Oliver
Street name: Red Echeveria
Science-y name: Echeveria pulvinata X harmsii
Acquired from: Farmer's market (Arcata, CA)
Personality: Another succulent with similar needs to Diana—prefers direct sunlight for only part of the day; ensure that water drains thoroughly and check soil regularly to make sure it isn't too dry or too wet.

Given name: Columba
Street name: Rosary Vines / String of Hearts
Science-y name: Ceropegia woodii
Acquired from: Gift
Personality: Extremely tolerant to neglect; can withstand long periods without watering, and even after withering will bounce back quickly once watered. Let the soil dry out completely before watering again, and do not let stand in water. Prefers direct sunlight and temperatures of 70º-75ºF during spring and summer months. Easily propagated by planting clippings in a new pot with fresh succulent-friendly soil.

And that's them—my little plant babies! What do you think? I took Farnsworth and Oliver to City People's to be planted last week, so they are all fresh-faced and ready for life. My apartment gets virtually no sunlight these days, so I have to move my succulents around more often than I'd like. And because Fry loves chewing on any plants within his reach, our options for where to keep these are quite minimal. Farnsworth, Orville and Charlotte are all in the hallway to keep them away from kitty-plant war zone.

A tip I read about: for plants that need high humidity, if you don't live somewhere with high humidity naturally (or you can't keep them in the bathroom), keeping a shallow bowl of water next to the plants will facilitate this environment fairly well as the water evaporates. So that's what I'm trying!

I'll keep people updated on their lives, more so to keep myself accountable to their care than anything else. Does anything know anything about these particular plants? Are you blessed with a green thumb, or do you struggle to overcome the curse of the black thumb like me?

put a pin in it

2011-08-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a very busy weekend. Honestly, I had not planned for my weekend to be so chock full of obligations, and I grossly underestimated the time certain projects I wanted to accomplish would take. For future reference: just because you decide on a project to do and carve out time to work on it, that decision doesn't take into account the need to actually find and purchase the items necessary to even start. Lesson learned.

Last week I made a public promise to tackle at least one thing on my Pinterest page. There were quite a few actual craft DIY projects (pendant lamps! wine corks!) that I hoped to complete, but because of my busy schedule, I wasn't able to get out of town to grab the supplies I needed.

Maybe next week?

Considering my lack of time management skills, though, I did pretty well. Not great, nothing to sing from the mountaintops about, but of the "to-do" items I've pinned over the last many-a months I was able to cross three things off my list last weekend: 2 recipes, and 1 art project.

Let's start with my "art project," which turned out to be more of a lesson in recognizing my own personal strengths and weaknesses.

Some background first: I've always been a big fan of watercolors, but I admit to having novice-level knowledge and skills. When I discovered fashion artist Cate Parr (Silver Ridge Studio) via my friend, Erin's Pinterest, I fell madly in love. The portraits were so vibrant, engrossing and beautiful. Way beyond my skill level (woman clearly knows how to actually draw), but then I noticed this piece called "String of Pearls" (available for purchase here):

I thought, Hmm. That doesn't look too difficult. With the intention of tackling this particular pin for practice rather for re-creating something frame-worthy, I went down the street to Blick and bought $20 worth of beginner's watercolor supplies and began experimenting with Cate Parr's artwork as a guide.

Wop wop wop. Well, I promised I'd share my pin challenges with you, even if they turned out like crap and I'm here to tell you that I'm a woman of my word.

Turns out, watercolors are really hard. It became apparent very quickly that making the color and texture exactly how I want is going to take practice and patience. It also takes time to get used to the various brush sizes, gain an understanding about what water does to the color and how it affects how easily the brush glides down the paper and at what consistency. While I eventually found a brush I really liked (and got a feel for what's needed for precision), I never quite got the hang of creating pale, soft colors and brush strokes.

And just so you all don't think I'm simply terrible at re-creating art, I have proof to the contrary. Though I'm certainly not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, I've had some experience with acrylics and totally stealing art ideas from beautiful photos:

Painting: Unknown artist, Interior by Julia Doyle via New England Home

Re-created painting I did for my friend Cassie's birthday (the yellow rather than white background was intentional)

See? Not perfect, but not bad either. Clearly this means that me and watercolors are going to need to get to know each other better. Even though it didn't produce something I'm proud to show off, it's still a big step for me to finally buy the supplies. I'm stoked about learning more and experimenting. (Obviously you'll be the first to know if something absolutely brilliant comes out of it, but don't hold your breath.)

Now for the recipes. The first was something decadent in the form of Roasted Cherry Dark Chocolate Brownies—a creation by my absolute favorite baking blogger, The Pastry Affair. You'll have to visit her site for more beautiful photos of these brownies, but let me just tell you that these were the best brownies I've ever had. They were moist and rich and extremely chocolatey. Milk is a required accompaniment.

Given the season, baking something with cherries was the best idea. I've never roasted fresh cherries before, but it's something I'll definitely be doing in the future. Maybe even by themselves. Yum. If you're a fan of dark chocolate and cherries, this is a must.

My only recommendation is to make your own judgement on the cooking time. She recommends 15-20 minutes, but my batch took an extra 10-12 minutes. Either way, they turned out perfect.

Lastly, I made these Petite Lasagnas from Can You Stay For Dinner? on Sunday night, and they are now a new go-to recipe for me. Delicious, and very easy. They turned out so well, but Jon and I both agreed they needed some red pepper flakes for extra heat. Otherwise, they were perfect! I honestly can't praise them enough, they are so creative and would be easy to double for a large group. I ate 4 lasagna cups easily on my own, so I'd guesstimate that's probably a good serving size to aim for.

And that's it. Simple really, but I only gave myself the weekend to tackle these things. I certainly wish I had a new lamp or fancy, homemade decorations to show you, but that'll have to wait 'til next time. Getting into the groove of finding "pins" to make helped me get a lot of things done on my to-do list—like re-hanging framed pictures on my wall and giving attention to all of my plants. More on my plants later this week...

How about you all? Anyone make any recipes they care to share? Did you try something new that you've been wanting to try for a while? Did it go well, or will you need to put some more practice in, like me with my water-coloring? For the next month or so, I plan to be back every Tuesday with something to share.

Until then—

xo

challenge accepted

2011-07-26T15:53:00.000-07:00

Maybe you can relate to this: Despite how much you want something, or crave a certain life or ability, or the time to sit down and work on a particular project, you often feel like you're in over your head and quit before you start. You'll never write a book, or be a painter, or take beautiful photographs, or be a designer, or a baker, or a blogger. You'll be mediocre-at-best, so why bother trying?

That's how I feel quite often, and have for a long time. I bring this up, not for validation, but because this seems to be a trend in the blog-o-sphere this week: talking about doing/making/being something, but never actually doing anything to make it happen. And I am here to say: it's time to put this trend to rest.

This past weekend, my friend Shannon tackled a massive purge, ridding herself of objects and things that continually remind her that she isn't in a position to make her home exactly how she envisions it; "stuff" that she's accumulated with the idea of wanting/using/needing them someday, in the future, perhaps. I related to this problem immediately. When you're faced with tons of stuff (knick-knacks, artwork, frames, decorations, etc.) and you start to feel overwhelmed, you can do one of two things: use them, or get rid of them. I greatly admire her ability to say "You know what? Enough is enough. Most of this stuff is crap, and I don't need it weighing me down or sitting around taunting me because I have no place or use for it yet. There will always be beautiful things to acquire—when I'm ready."

This was Stop #1 on the 'Stop Being So Lazy and Quit Procrastinating' train. Then, this morning—as I made my way through my daily blogroll—I came across this, via Young House Love:

Sherry (the female half of YHL) and her friend-bloggers Emily, Lana and Katie challenged their corner of the Web to finally do something about all of those pictures that they are drooling over and collecting via their Pinterest pages. More specifically, I viewed it as a personal challenge to me and my Pinterest page.

OK, so I may not be able to take a trip to Neuschwanstein Castle or plan a wedding anytime soon, but there are more than enough DIY craft projects and recipes that's I've "pinned" to tackle in the short term. Which is exactly what I plan on doing. This week. Tonight, even.

The challenge is simple: Each week, between Tuesday and the following Tuesday, tackle at least one "pin" on your Pinterest page and share it—no matter how it turns out—with the world, or (in my case) the six of you reading this.

Making an ornament or a pie is a far cry from actually sitting down and writing that novel that's been brewing for five years and counting, but it's a start. It's a matter of knowing how it feels to complete something, and how exciting it can be to enter into projects with excitement and motivation rather than apprehension and self-criticism. It's already close to August, but if this were January 1st, you could think of this as my New Year's Resolution.

How about you, fellow blog readers? Anyone been eyeing a certain project or recipe or book or something else that you just "haven't had the time" to tackle? Let me know if you suffer from this same to-do list apathy, or have you always done projects the moment they come to mind? I'd love to see photos or hear your stories—good or bad.

*Images: 1) via Free-Photos, 2) via Young House Love

i left my heart in coastal california

2011-07-21T15:25:00.000-07:00

Moonstone Beach, Westhaven, California

If I could, I would do nothing but travel. Travel, but not necessarily do anything. To not be tied down to any one place, job, or duty and to start each morning with a calm lightness that only comes when you have no obligations to attend to that day is how I want to live. Freedom to move or simply sit still for a while. Though they may not be "fun," I think the most necessary vacations are the ones where, when you return and are asked "What did you do?", you can say with a smile: "Nothing. I did absolutely nothing."

My trip to Arcata, California this weekend was hardly uneventful, and I certainly didn't do nothing. But I did get the chance to relax without dogs and without work sucking up my energy. I woke on my own time, still at a reasonable hour and with a good amount of energy. My breakfasts were simple—just an egg, toast and tea—yet I was satisfied. I lived five days in lounge-y tunics and leggings. I took naps. Most importantly, I had good conversations with good friends.

D-man and K-meister at Moonstone Beach

Though I worried about feeling like a third-wheel to my friends Daniel and Killian's sweet love cuddlin', I didn't at all. They deserve some sort of medal for listening to me talk so much, and for taking in stride their few moments of real privacy.

Daniel's parents deserve equal recognition for putting up with me—basically a very loud, friendly stranger. But they were lovely and inclusive and so, so generous. I love visiting the childhood homes of my truest and dearest; though I am in constant fear of over-staying my welcome, I've always felt comfortable enough to stay forever. I hope when I'm a parent, my children's friends will view my home that way.

When you happen to be a guest in someone else's house (particularly a 'someone' that you don't know well), it definitely helps discourage lazy lounging in front of the television or computer, or over-eating out of the refrigerator. And when you're with friends, you can end up focusing more on conversation rather than mindless entertainment.

No movies, no television, no vegging, and minimal internet time. Instead, there were farmer's markets and used bookstores.

Those would be photos of goods from the Arcata Farmer's Market (surprisingly large for a town so small) and Tin Can Mailman Used Bookstore, my absolute favorite bookstore. Everything is used, they have books in every genre, and you can bring in your old books to get cash or store credit. I have a huge box of books at home in the Bay Area just waiting for the chance to travel up the coast and find a temporary home on Tin Can's shelves. Someday soon, hopefully...

If Arcata was less than five and a half hours away from the nearest major airport (that would be San Fransisco International), I would move there. Right now. Of course, my fantasies of living in Arcata are only slightly less or equal to my dreams of living on the coast of Ireland in a castle and speaking Gaelic to locals! It's really fun and therapeutic to think about, but I wonder if a life so remote is really the life for me.

I don't think I've quite figured it out yet.

Until then, it's fun to dream of a quieter, slower-paced life. One where you raise a family on local food, camp at local parks, and visit local beaches. Also, caves at local beaches.

In addition to our drive down the Lost Coast, a scenic highlight of the trip (for me) was going 15 minutes north of Arcata to Moonstone Beach in Westhaven. California beaches are interesting creatures; unless you're in San Diego, you'll be hard-pressed to find water along the coastline that anyone would consider "warm." Unlike the rocky, driftwood beaches of Washington or the warm, wide beaches of Hawai'i, California is edged with dramatic cliff-faces and secluded slivers of soft, spongy sand. They are rustic with a tint of gray from foggy skies and boulders that creep slowly toward the ocean. They are dangerous and boisterous and grand.

We three are pretty in love with this beach.

Getting back into the swing of things is always difficult after returning from a relaxing vacation. Road trips are always preferable to trips that involve airplanes, because there aren't usually time limits to stress about. After lots of driving, and missing Jon and my furry kids an awful lot, I'm happy to return to my life among the cloudy bustle of Seattle. And even though it's been a long time since I've been in a driver's seat for a 21+ hour road trip, it was all worth it to be back home in California again.

*All images property of People Just Float

the lost coast

2011-07-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

If you've spent any time with me in the last three years, you know that one of my favorite places on earth is the northern coast of California. I'm currently there now, wrapping up my vacation in a rather unexpected-yet-personally-therapeutic spot: Arcata, Humboldt County.

As usual, my trip has been exceptionally relaxing and I am already looking forward to my next time back. I visited twice during the summer of 2008—at the request of my dearest college friend, Alex, and her amazing family—and have yet to visit a place that better compliments my love for forests, small towns, progressive thinkers, and simplicity. This is probably my 5th time through in three years.

A 10-hour road trip is always worth it when you have good friends (Daniel, whom I met through Alex, and his lovely girlfriend, Killian) accompanying you, and there's a beautiful place waiting with open arms. And thanks to Daniel's amazing parents, I was able to see a portion of northern California that I'd never experienced.

A winding trip through the mountains and down to the Pacific Ocean takes you to the unspoiled gem of this gorgeous state, virtually untouched by development. In addition to the beaches north of Arcata, to the south is an area I was surprised to find out were accessible at all.

Current love affair: the Lost Coast, the campgrounds of A.W. Way, and the Mattole River.

*All images property of People Just Float

always remember

2011-07-15T12:00:00.000-07:00

twelve years, one word

2011-07-14T17:38:00.000-07:00

Perusing the internets today, I came across this little (and very short) video. This is a little off from what I normally want to write about, but I just can't help but share it with you; if you're anything like me, this year kind of "officially" marks the end of an era (and places a period at the end of my own adolescent story) with the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II. It was 12 years ago this year that I first picked up Sorcerer's Stone, and it's difficult to imagine what things would be like (for me, at least) if J.K. Rowling's imagination had never revealed itself to the world.

Your Harry Potter experience in a word?

For me? Transcendental.

Growing up along with Harry and his friends had a profound effect on me; it gave me insight into my own teenage years and opened me up to a whole new world of creativity. I wasn't fortunate enough to have Lord of the Rings or The Chronicles of Narnia read to me when I was little, so Harry Potter really was the first fantasy series that I was able to sink my teeth into. It is one of the major reasons my dream is to write books for children someday... books that showcase characters who grow and change as time passes by.

But that's for another post.

I can't wait for the final film to arrive. Warner Bros. really got these movies right. The cast, the style, the music... after a rocky start, they really created the perfect wizarding world.

What do you all think? Do you love Harry Potter and Hogwarts, too? Or do you think it's just one more fad you're happy to see the end of?

urban craft uprising

2011-07-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

As promised, I'm back talking about arts and crafts. But unlike the stuff you made with twine at church camp when you were nine, this stuff is actually good. In some cases, it's also expensive.

I've already talked about the Urban Craft Uprising here, so I'll skip the introduction. This is my fourth trip to the event, and it was a bit smaller and less crowded this time around. All the better, because I was once again wielding my trusty camera and pointing it at everything that begged my attention, and behavior like that requires a bit of breathing room.

Totally smitten with these belt buckles by Lauren Rudeck (craft alias: La∙Ru), even though belts aren't really my thing. In addition to buckles, however, she sells her art as prints, necklaces, and purse hooks. I've never purchased anything from her, but I'm going to keep my eye out for an art print that screams my name. But hey, what's not to like about an octopus dueling with a velociraptor and then getting hugged by a robot?

New discovery of the day: Mary Kate McDevitt, whose work drew a lot of attention at the exhibit. She found some innovative ways to make her art functional, such as goal chalkboards and recipe books. I found her drawings to be on the simple side (I had a few "I could do that!" moments), but I loved the creativity behind her lettering... I also loved that she wasn't charging very much for some of her original, hand drawn pieces, and she easily could have.

Although I initially pointed this piece out to my tea-drinking friend, Killian (of Tales 'n Teacups), the moment I found out that it was an original acrylic and pencil drawing (rather than a print), I was relieved when Killian decided she'd pass in lieu of another buy.

First art piece of the day = purchased! While simple, it's also sweet and small and already framed. Win!

Next up: Row Boat Press, a collective of different artists and their screen printed creations. I didn't snap any pictures of these live and in person (I totally spaced), so I've included links to their respective pages.

"Best Friends" art print, via Row Boat Press

Immediately drawn to this coffee pot and mug print, for no other reason than that I'm a total coffee addict. I knew immediately that there's no place for it in my apartment; it struck me as the perfect minimalist print that really needs its own space. (Sister Kim: You still need an art print above your stove? Eh? Eh?) I find the simplicity rather refreshing.

"Genius Bee" by Kiku

If you're currently awe-struck by how cute these are, Jon and I had a similar feeling when we first saw them. That may be why we didn't hesitate to cough up 30 big ones for these four 12x12 prints. The artist, Kiku, teamed up with RBP to get her "Genius Bee" series printed. We couldn't be more thrilled with how lovely they are, and how bright they're already making our living room. As soon as they're hung and ready to go, I'll post about it (rest assured).

This booth was an exciting find, primarily because of this box of "vintage ephemera", which included photographs, music, and literary playing cards. These were just some of the goods being offered by Constellation Co., a vintage letterpress and printing company operating out of Seattle. Jon showed me this poster from their selection, which definitely made me blush a little. (Awwww.)

Killian fell madly in love with Mr. Lincoln, shown above right, and it didn't take much to convince her to succumb to temptation. Meanwhile, I spent a good 10 minutes flipping through a pile of vintage hymns and anthems from a clearly old songbook.

The wear-and-tear on the sheets look almost intentional, and the woman working at the booth said that the songbook completely fell apart when she opened it. I'd like to know which book the music came from, and what year it was printed. OH well. Some things are just meant to remain unknown.

For a mere 50 cents each, buying them was a no brainer, especially considering how good they look framed! I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the hymns yet, but the "Star Spangled Banner / My Country 'Tis of Thee" sheet looks great on its own. ... But you'll just have to wait for that reveal, as well.

Okay, I don't have any use for these little creatures by Heidi Kenney (craft alias: My Paper Crane), but we all thought they were pretty adorable. So perfect for kids—boys and girls! Do you think if kids had carrots and cauliflower toys, they'd actually be more willing to eat their veggies? Maybe. For me, though, I don't think there's ANYTHING cool enough to make cauliflower taste good. Yuck.

Speaking of things kids love to eat, Sarah found this print by CakeSpy, featuring a quote by random wisdom sayer, Andy Warhol...

... and this illuminating necklace by Polymath Design Lab:

Are you starting to notice a trend of whimsical, cartoon-y, and eccentric pieces? Are you wondering why we aren't drawn to landscapes and portraits and clothing and other functional crafting goods like normal adults would be?

My excuse is that as long as there's one Harry Potter movie left to come out, we're allowed to hang on to the colorful and absurd remnants of our youth. So there.

To top off the outing, Jon fell head over heals for possibly the silliest pieces of the day: little 3D paintings by Tripper Dungan. We even got 3D glasses to go with them!

Jon said they made him laugh (specifically Mr. Buck-toothed Ice Cream Cone), so that was good enough for me to agree they needed to be in our apartment! (Interesting tidbit: the 3D glasses that Tripper gave us to go with these actually make most of the artwork in our apartment look 3D... We might have to lump some stuff together for the ultimate multidimensional effect!)

More than getting in touch with our inner-children, the trend of the day really revolved around one thing: what makes us smile. Each of us walked away with some original art, jewelry, or print that evoke feelings of happiness and humor; Killian's Lincoln, my bees, Jon's ice cream cone, and Sarah's necklace make us happy just by looking at them.

What more could we ask for from the things we buy?

As a result of our art hoard, we have some major redecorating to do on our walls. There are a bunch of other art pieces not from the UCU that have finally been framed and a bunch of crap that just isn't doing it for us anymore. Hopefully, you'll come back to see how it all turns out.

Until then,

xo

*All images property of People Just Float

mount rainier roundabout

2011-07-12T15:36:00.000-07:00

This mini-road trip post is more than a week overdue, but I'm simply not used to dealing with pictures that come from an actual camera. I'm getting better at using Jon's Lumix rather than my slightly-crummy-but-still-kinda-fancy Android camera apps all the time. Even though it's more work to charge the camera, upload tons of photos, locate all of the decent ones, and then adjust/edit them, it's worth the effort for clearer and closer shots.

Don't you agree?

On our pre-4th of July Saturday, we loaded up the car with snacks, water, hiking gear and dogs, and high-tailed it to Mt. Rainier for our first up-close-and-personal with the monstrous mountain. And it is a serious monster of a mountain, people.

It took me nearly a week to weed through the one hundred photos I took on our little jaunt, so that is what I'm sharing with you today.

Our intention on this trip to Rainier was to do a couple hours of hiking (and maybe find a meadow). We were met, instead, with snow packed 10-feet high in the upper altitude areas and Paradise where we had aimed our sails, so to speak.

In the end, we had ourselves a several hour drive with unfettered picture-taking and a few romps in the snow. Locating my idyllic wildflower meadow is just going to have to wait until the end of August when we return for some weekend camping.

I can't really complain, though.

And neither can Ennis. He loves snow. He's like a snow-crack addict. What you don't see in this picture is his head and fur completely wet from shoving his face into the icy snow and rolling around like an out-of-control barrel.

What a freak.

We followed Jon's trusty phone GPS navigator on a route toward the NE side of Mt. Rainier National Park, through Enumclaw. This takes you down to the Stevens Canyon Entrance on the SE side of the park, and the road loops all the way around the mountain.

There are some great little turn-offs and places to stop and admire the lakes, trees and spectacular view...

Okay, well, the snow may have impacted the view just a little.

This stop happened to be where I almost committed a felony. Important travel tidbit: Under no circumstances are you allowed to feed the wildlife in a national park. Jon informed me of this several times, but I found it hard to listen.

I mean, you can't tell me it isn't tempting to grab the first food item you can find and throw it out of the car when this little baby comes out onto the road, begging ever-so-sweetly for some handouts:

Yep. That would be a fox. A real honest-to-God fox—fluffy-puffy tail and all! We pulled up with one other car already around, and even when more and more started pulling up onto the shoulder, he wasn't too phased. I swear I almost "accidentally" dropped my bag of almonds out the window, but I decided to just snap two dozen pictures of him instead. He was easily no more than 10 feet from my car door. I almost boober-napped him, he was so adorable!

Opting against arrest and leaving Mr. Fox to attend to his growing legion of fans, we carried on towards the mountain. At this point, we were still holding out hope that a hike would be possible; even though we knew there'd be excessive snow, we weaved up to Paradise—one of the most popular spots in the park—to see what we could manage.

Turns out, it wasn't the snow that put an end to our hiking dreams.

Aw. Sad day. No more snow fun for doggies.

Probably for the best; it was a bit too crowded for our taste. (Culprit: Lions Club International held their annual parade in Seattle that weekend, hence the reason for so many individual tourists and families from abroad ~~busying-up~~ exploring the trails.)

That's okay! We don't need trails! We can create our own fun!

Okay, maybe not tons o' fun, but what else can you do in a parking lot surrounded by snow?

Anyway, driving down from Paradise, we escaped the snow and discovered some lush, green areas around where the popular camping grounds are located.

By this time, we'd already been out-and-about for six hours and counting (with a 2-hour drive home ahead of us), and our lack of hiking made me succumb to laziness. Rather than searching for more places to snap photos of pretty things, I decided to do the best I could from the window of the car.

Eh. That'll do. Until next time, anyway.

(If you want to see some real Mt. Rainier photography, check out this stunning collection from professional wildlife and wilderness photographer, Jon Cornforth, here.)

*All images property of People Just Float

the little things

2011-07-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

I arrived at work this morning and saw this beauty resting contentedly on a table in the building lobby:

As I glugged down my coffee and scuffled my feet towards the elevator, trying to escape the unwelcome gray clouds outside, seeing this stunning bouquet of colors and light stopped me in my tracks. The office building managers switch out the lobby flowers weekly, and though I always notice them, I rarely take the time to appreciate them.

It's little things like this that can really add to the positive outcome of my day—assuming I allow myself to stop and look. This color combination makes me smile; it is the perfect image to lead me into the weekend.

Getting myself moving in the morning is always toughest on Fridays. For most, Monday's are the worst, but for me, Friday's are glacially slow. Many of my co-workers are gone, and our small, quiet top-floor, corner office feels 10x smaller and more isolated.

Seeing these flowers prompted me take a look at other things—lovely things—that normally linger unnoticed around me.

Like these two paintings, done with acrylics and charcoal, hanging in the same lobby. Their size demands attention, yet I've never really given them much thought—even after Jon has vocalized his desire to paint something similar. Looks like I'm sticking with the 'appreciating flowers' theme today. (It is summer, after all.)

This weekend is the Urban Craft Uprising (mentioned here) and even though I've found out (via Twitter) that my favorite artist, Jill Bliss, is unable to attend, I'm still elated to discover some new artists and perhaps come home with a painting or print. Some catch-up blogging, dinner with friends, and relaxing time with my beau and fluffy kids will be a nice cap on a relaxing summer weekend in Seattle.

Notice anything beautiful today? Do you ever find things around your house, home or work that illicit unexpected moments of awe?

strawberry blue velvet cake

2011-07-06T15:17:00.000-07:00

I am slowly getting back into the swing of things after a very active and tiring 4-day, holiday weekend. I'm a tad overwhelmed with the photos I want to share with you, so I'll tackle it one post at a time. Luckily, work decreed yesterday "Recover from Burns Day", so that was my rehab from too much moving, driving, eating, picture snapping, doggie madness, and money spending.

And baking. I baked, and it was good.

Jon and I hosted "quiet and relaxed holiday chill time" at our apartment this 4th of July. It was much easier and I spent a lot less money and time in the kitchen compared to last year where we hosted a day-long brunch and dinner extravaganza.

Along with pan-frying some hotdogs and black bean burgers, I made a cake. Not just any cake, though... A blue velvet cake.

I found this recipe last week and stashed it on my Pinterest page to safe-keeping. But it only took about five minutes of swooning over that dark, royal blue cakey-ness until I decided to make it as soon as possible. Plus, with the ingenious idea of replacing the blueberries with strawberries, it was a cake fit to represent our glorious Independence Day!!

Wop, wop.

Okay, so it wasn't as blue as I had intended. (And this picture could be a lot less terrible, let's be honest.) After getting over my initial disappointment (and realizing that I missed a crucial "blue" element to the recipe—a toothpick-dab of violet food coloring), I finally acknowledged that the cake tasted glorious and there was no reason to fret.

I loved this cake, and based on the responses from my 4th of July guests, everyone else loved it too. I have made red velvet cake before, but have never used cake flour... until now, and WOW! It makes all the difference. This cake was perfect and not at all dry (a common problem with many velvet cake recipes), and I will continue to use this for whatever-color velvet cake I make in the future.

The thing about this recipe that didn't work, in my opinion, was the frosting. Oh, it was sweet and spread easily and everyone seemed to like it. For me it was just... off. If I had never tasted cream cheese frosting before, I probably wouldn't have noticed. But the ratios seemed strange, even as I was making it, and my instincts turned out to be right. The cream cheese frosting I made last year with my red velvet cake was the best (you know it's a winner if you only want to eat the frosting), while the cake itself was too dry and tasted only so-so.

So, my dear readers, let's take each delectable cake element and put them together for future reference, shall we?

Next time, I'll remember to use gel food coloring, as well as the dab of violet. But if you only have blue, liquid food coloring, at least what you'll come out with is still in the realm of blue, though perhaps not as show-stopping. (Not a bad color for a baby shower or a baby boy's 1st birthday party, eh?)

Blue Velvet Cake
recipe via bakebakebake, as adapted from One Particular Kitchen

2 cups sugar
2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
2 eggs
1 1/2 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
1 Tbsp. blue food coloring, gel or liquid
1 dab of violet food coloring, gel or liquid (a drop of red and blue together will make violet)
2 1/2 cups of cake flour
1 tsp. salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
Garnish (optional): one cup or so of any berry or other fruit you like. Obviously, I used strawberries (which I sliced), and they were the perfect compliment to the velvet flavor.

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease two 8- or 9-inch round cake pans (recipe called for 8-inch, I used 9—didn't make much of a difference) with butter, NOT Pam. (I used Pam and it made the outer rim of my cake hard as a rock, so I had to cut them.) Line the bottoms with parchment paper, and grease one more time.

Cream butter and sugar with a mixer until totally combined. Add eggs one at a time, mixing fully between each one.

In a smaller bowl, mix cocoa powder and food coloring together. (I found this a little difficult to do, because the food coloring hardens as soon as it meets the cocoa powder. Mix as best you can—the blue will spread easily as soon as it meets the butter/sugar.) Add cocoa and food coloring to sugar mixture, mix thoroughly.

Sift flour and salt together in a separate bowl. Add dry ingredients to sugar mixture, alternating with the buttermilk. Start and end with the flour. Mix in vanilla extract. Combine baking soda and vinegar (get ready for that sizzle!) together, and then add to cake batter. Mix thoroughly.

Fill cake pans evenly with the batter. Cook at 350ºF for 30 minutes. Check to see if a toothpick comes out clean. Adjust cooking time based on your personal oven. Let cool completely on cooling rack before frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting
adapted from Monica H. at Lick the Bowl Good

2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 tsp. vanilla extract
4 cups powdered/confectioners sugar

Use an electric mixer to cream butter until light and fluffy. Add cream cheese, mixing until fully combined, followed by the vanilla extract. Gradually add the powdered sugar, stopping occasionally to wipe down the sides of the bowl. Continue mixing until fully combined. Use immediately.

Bringing it all together...

Once cooled, use your best judgement about whether or not to use a long bread knife to "shave down" the top of your cake. I found mine was a little more rounded than I'd like, so I did my best to flatten it to make for easy layering.

Place one cake down on a plate or cake pedestal. Plop down LOTS of frosting on the top, spreading all around, but not along the sides. If using fruit, add it now—tightly pack the fruit in one layer, covering the cake and frosting. (If your fruit is particularly wet, like my strawberries were, try patting them down with a paper towel to lessen the wetness, otherwise the juice will leak out of your cake as it sets.)

Flip the remaining cake upside down (bottom facing up) and plop some frosting down; spread evenly. Place on top of fruit layer. Press slightly to combine. Once your cakes are evenly stacked, plop a huge amount of frosting on top of your cake, using a flat knife or icing spatula to spread on top of the cake. Slowly start to let the icing spill over the sides and gradually work the icing down the sides of the cake until it covers the cake completely.

(This post by Monica H. of LTBG is a great "how-to" for frosting the outside of a layer cake.)

Did anyone make something delicious over 4th of July weekend? Any baking recipes I should add to my "must make" arsenal? Hungry and under-sugared minds want to know!

morning meadows

2011-06-30T05:36:00.000-07:00

"Wildflower Field" print by Wild Orange Studio

I am obsessed with meadows.

That's an important fact about me. I love meadows surrounded by trees and full of wildflowers, and I have for as long as I can remember. My first distinct memory of a meadow that truly affected me was in the 6th grade, during my week at Exploring New Horizons Outdoor School along the central coast of California. Aside from the gorgeous and towering redwoods that have always been natural beauties to me, there was one particular hike that our naturalist took us on that led to a wide, round, tree-lined meadow. We were given an assignment to sit in the meadow in silence and write a poem. No further instruction, just... write. Write what we felt; whatever "a poem" meant to us, write it.

I have no recollection of what I wrote, but I remember my 6th-grade-brain thinking it was pretty darn good. That poem is one of the very few "long lost things" of my childhood that I would do anything to see again.

Six years later, I re-visited that same meadow in the redwoods of Loma Mar—this time, as a camp counselor. Even though I wasn't able to experience the calm and silence that I did in the 6th grade (no poem assignment this time) due to a crowd of rambunctious 11-year-olds, it was still as beautiful and inspiring as I remembered.

"Summer Solstice" by Ann Wilkinson

Sometimes I think that the idea of meadows, and what I've come to associate with them, is what led me to the Pacific Northwest. Silly, of course, because there are meadows everywhere—absolutely beautiful ones all over the country. But they mean something to me that's a little more spiritual than what they might signify for most people, and there was something idyllic and natural about the landscape of the NW that held a lot of sway over me after years and years of using meadows as my "mental happy place". (C'mon, we all have one.)

Plus, I suppose reading (okay, devouring) Twilight and The Time Traveler's Wife when I was 21 didn't help matters either.

I can't say I've run across a lot of meadows in the two and a half years I've lived here. However, I haven't really been searching, either. Meadows are rather elusive in my eyes, like four-leaf clovers or liberal Christians. You'll find one when you find one.

But that all may change this weekend. There are tentative plans to celebrate the 4th of July with a rowdy romp to Mt. Rainier... the meadow haven of the Pacific Northwest. Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky!

Lupine Wildflowers, Mt. Rainier National Park, Washington by Daniel Ewert

There is a distinct difference between a meadow and a field. Maybe not in definition, but I personally view fields as vast, public and loud. They're what line the highways outside the cities, and where horses and cattle graze. But meadows... meadows are small, private and calm. Often, they're hidden and secret. At least, the perfect ones are.

Meadows are my church. They symbolize a physical space in the world that is designed for meditation and reflection. Even without being physically in the middle of one, it is easy to mentally put myself there.

I can't imagine anything more peaceful.

"Through" by Linn Photography

"When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadows and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God I am alive." — Ralph Waldo Emerson

pride

2011-06-29T09:54:00.000-07:00

Since 2003, there have only been two years where I didn't attend a Pride parade. One year I was in Santa Barbara for summer school; the other year I was studying abroad in England. Now, living no more than two miles and as little as one block from All Things Seattle Gay Pride, it is interesting to look back at my high school and early-college days when taking a 45-minute BART ride into San Fransisco was no inconvenience at all.

So much has changed over the years, but one very important thing hasn't: I'm still as supportive of equal rights and marriage for all who want it as I've ever been.

Last Friday night, New York officially legalized gay marriage, becoming the most populous state in the nation to do so. (Well, that is, unless you count California which is currently appealing the passing of Prop 8 at the federal court level. I'll just have to wait to officially celebrate that accomplishment.) While I may not be a resident of NY, I have many friends who are—many of which this directly effects. When I heard the news on my way to a friend's apartment, I just couldn't contain myself! Living in Capitol Hill, you could feel the excitement that this country has taken one more step towards true equality.

Lovebugs.

For those who don't support gay marriage (or civil unions, for that matter), the mention of "equality for all" is probably sounding a lot like a broken record. Just remember this: over 50 years ago, when African Americans in the south were finally allowed to step foot in "white" public schools, there was outrage against them... same as the outrage against gays and lesbians today. Now, looking back at that dark-yet-inspiring time in history, who is remembered for their courage and strength? And who is remembered for their hate and violence against others?

I want to tell everyone still standing against gay marriage (like those who stood for segregation, and against interracial marriage): When you look back on today, 50 years from now, which side do you want to say you were on?

Okay, that's the end of my soapbox.

Pride weekend, every last weekend of June, has since its inception been a time for celebrating one's personal and social freedoms. And despite its commercialization over the years, there is love there. People accept everyone, without judgement or pause. That is special, and that is the feeling I look for when I attend the Pride Parade each year.

For the second year in a row, I've had the pleasure of exploring Pride festivities and people-watching with the love of my life, and I'm thankful every day that I've been blessed with such a supportive, accepting and open-minded partner. That's what growth in love and life is all about, right? Learning to accept the things that simply are, and focusing on your happiness and that of those around you—without it being at the expense of others.

Seems simple enough, right America? Only time will tell.

Sending love and good thoughts to all of my friends (gay or straight or otherwise), wishing you all a calm and safe summer of excitement.

* Flag image by Ludovic Bertron via Flickr

EDIT: Amazing quotes from the anti-miscegenation (i.e. anti-interracial marriage) Wiki page that Jon commented with...

Judge Leon Bazille of the Virginia trial court, 1965, defending a ruling against married interracial couple Richard and Mildred Loving

"Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."

US Supreme Court ruling in the case of Loving v. Virginia, 1967, which made it unconstitutional for a state to outlaw interracial marriage

"Marriage is one of the 'basic civil rights of man,' fundamental to our very existence and survival.... To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not to marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State."

WOW! I mean. WOW! How are we still struggling with this issue?! And how is GOD still being used to govern the laws of the state? What year is this? Who's running this country—Bloody Mary?!?

My neck is aching from all of this constitutional whiplash. Oy.

west coast whimsy: roxanne daner and jill bliss

2011-06-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

Roxanne Daner via her blog

::sigh:: It seems like just yesterday I was writing to you all about how lovely it was up here. Well, psych! I fooled you! It's not lovely. In fact, it's damn near apocalyptic. Seattle is entertaining us with its usual game of back-and-forth, warm-and-cold, dry-and-wet, and it's citizens are running around like hipsters with their skinny jeans cut off.

But the fact of the matter is this: it's almost July. It's so close to July, I can taste the coleslaw and hot dogs, and you know what? I'm so fucking tired of talking about the weather. So I'm making you a promise: No more weather talk. That's right! I'm done. From this point forward you will not hear me complain or rejoice about what the weather is or isn't doing up here. This is a HUGE promise, you guys, because the weather is all anyone thinks or talks about right now. But still, no more. Donezo.

You're welcome.

"All of the Girls" by Roxanne Daner via her blog

So! With July quickly approaching, I am thinking a lot about art and artists I love, mainly due to the upcoming Urban Craft Uprising—a free, weekend-long event where artists and crafters of all kinds gather at the Seattle Center and sell their goods. This event happens twice a year (summer and winter) and it's probably the Seattle-thing I look forward to most, because the idea of discovering new artists to ogle over fills me with tingle-y glee.

But more on the UCU after I've gone and spent too much money.

I've purchased several art prints before and as my taste in art slowly develops, the more eager I am to invest in some original pieces. (But why art gotta be so expensive, yo?) I've written a lot about the kind of art I'm most drawn to (here and here, mainly), but when I look at the items I've actually laid down money for, I tend to see a trend around charm and whimsy.

"The Market" by Roxanne Daner via her official site

I want to talk about two artists in particular today, starting with Roxanne Daner, an illustrator/designer out of LA. (That's all her work ^ up there!) If you're a regular reader of Design*Sponge like I am, you might have seen this little piece yesterday about Daner and her lovely art centering around hair. Well, I saw the article and have been obsessing over all of her other art for the past 24 hours. She has a lot of different sources for her work (blog, Web site, Tumblr, Dribbble, the only place to buy prints, Society6, and a separate site for her design work, Ludlow Kingsley), which made searching through her portfolio quite an adventure! (Plus, it took me about .78 seconds to recognized her boyfriend, Adam Goldberg, from his stint as Eddie on Friends—Joey's wacky, goldfish-eating roommate. Teehee. Aww, celebrities.)

"Lion" by Roxanne Daner via her Tumblr

There's a kitschy-ness to Daner's style that I absolutely adore, and I was seriously this close to writing her a Twitter message yesterday saying I would send her $100 for an original piece of art that could be of ANYTHING she wanted... but I chickened out, 'cause I don't wanna seem cuh-ray-zee, ya'll. But I digress... She is lovely and her work is lovely and I'm excited to see her breadth of work as it grows and grows. I'm looking forward to having something of hers framed on my wall, and if I could ever find her at an art show selling her original work, I would be most pleased indeed.

"Portland Homes" by Jill Bliss via BuyOlympic

Next on my obsession list is Jill Bliss, who captured my heart a year ago when I met her in person and bought the above print at the UCU. Not an original, but she did sign it for me. Like Daner, her work is all over the Web (official site, blog, Flickr, Etsy, and third-party sellers Buy Olympia, to name a few), and her personal and artistic style has been featured on Design*Sponge and Apartment Therapy, among others.

"Pacific Octopus Shoreline" by Jill Bliss via BuyOlympia

She so totally rocks, and her art encapsulates the things I love about the Northwest and the West Coast. Plus, she has her art available in prints that are meant to fit inside a cheap IKEA frame. (She told me this and it was one of the things that officially sold me.) I mean, who has the time or money to go and get a $20 art print custom framed?! Not me, that's for sure. I'll get to see more of Jill's work at the UCU this summer, and I'll definitely be writing about whether I walk away with another print. My current yearning and nostalgia for California means I've been eyeing this print for several months now:

"California Poppies" by Jill Bliss via her Web site

Are there any particular artists or art prints that are your favorites? Have you gone to any art shows recently and thought about purchasing something way out of your price range? (Jon and I almost spent $200 on a painting of a naked Native American child in a canoe at a charity art show—true story!) What kind of art (if any) do you like having on your walls?

I will definitely be sharing more deets about artists I love in the near future. Apparently that's where my brain is at. So be it.

little boober and da peekay say goodbye to spring

2011-06-21T01:31:00.000-07:00

The sun came out yesterday AND it was warm. I know, I know, you're probably as tired of hearing about the weather as I am of talking about it. But I simply had to express my excitement at getting out of work and finally feeling as though it were spring.

Or, as was the case, the last day of spring.

I literally could not get home and back outside into the sunshine fast enough. It was quickly decided that we would run home, grab the dogs and two beers (from Jon's new favorite brewery, 21st Amendment—the perfect-for-sunshine-y-weather Hell or High Watermelon, to be precise) and head over to Volunteer Park for some relaxing time in the sun.

I've lived about 2 blocks away from Seattle's Volunteer Park for just over two years now, and this area in North Capitol Hill is still one of my favorite places in the city. On the absolutely gorgeous days, the main two fields can definitely get crowded, but it's the kind of park where you can go and find a quiet nook somewhere and experience little-to-no interruptions.

There is also an eclectic mix of artists and wealthy folk, almost all of who are locals, that use this park as their playground, which really creates the vibe of a small town, community park. And look! Janky, outdoor amphitheater!

Bender art

Aww. Someone's a Futurama AND Buffy fan. Cutes.

Our dogs really are like kids in candy store when they're exposed to a combination of sunlight, grass, and open space. My littlest boober, Ennis, pulls and pulls and pulls his way through the park, certain he'll get let off leash to play... which is just silly, people, because I've never illegally let him off leash in a public park to play with other dogs who were also definitely not off leash... really.

Peekay, on the other hand, becomes a bumbling fool with no idea or comprehension of where he is or where he's going. His vacant expression only helps him look more confused-yet-somehow-happy, and even though he runs into us and trips over himself, he sure is adorable while doing it. Ennis wants to rub himself all over the grass (read: bird poops); Peekay just wants to rub himself all over you.

Like most Seattleites, exposure to the sun for more than an hour tends to cause weather-amnesia, where all of a sudden you forget how absolutely horrible the majority of the last eight months have been. (The hilarious blog, The Oatmeal, lays it out best in this all-too-true comic. The constant presence of a coffee cup is maybe the most realistic part.) Our dogs deserved some good ol' UV exposure as badly as we did, and the opportunity to get out-and-about even more so.

If I've learned nothing else from this tediously depressing three-season winter, it's that there's no end to amount of positive thoughts I have when it's nice out. A bit of a cliché, maybe, but as I sat there on our beach towel, drinking watermelon beer and cuddling with our furry boos, I was a bit overwhelmed with how many things I all of a sudden wanted to do and accomplish.

And my first must-do of the new season? Fancy BLT and white wine on the patio to give a proper welcome to summer...

... and a good riddance to spring (::cough::winter::cough::). Happy maximum sunshine day, everyone!

* All images property of People Just Float

just drive

2011-06-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

Life has been moving at an icy, glacial pace up in these here parts, and you'd never guess that the illustrious First Day of Summer was so near. (Where was spring?!) And I must admit, it's been difficult to find the energy to do pretty much anything.

We experienced another very wet, very cold weekend here in the Northwest, which resulted in several naps, too much money spent, and not a single ray of sunlight felt. It got to the point where I convinced myself that it was actually November and winter was upon us, and this was something to be excited about: tea, pajamas, movies, and inside fun with the dogs. This only kind-of worked. Mostly, we just snacked and slept and bemoaned our absent sun.

Oh, but we did go out for a drive on Friday night.

All week I knew I wanted to get out of Seattle—I didn't care where or for how long. Friday actually got clear and warm (if you can call 68º warm, which we do) for a few hours in the evening, and I knew this was our chance. After a rather lethargic and slow-as-snails start, we finally hopped in the car around 7:30pm and just started driving. I gave Jon the first option: north or south? He chose south, so I made my way to the I-5 South entrance and hopped on with no particular destination in mind.

My iPod was fully charged and packed full of new songs. Jon picked the playlist, I did most of the singing. In between squeakily belting out the lyrics to The Smith's "A Push and a Rush and the Land is Ours" and Naya Rivera's rendition of Fleetwood Mac's "Songbird" from Glee, we decided to aim our course for... Tacoma! Anti-climactic, I know, but hey—we weren't driving to get somewhere, we were just driving to drive. (Plus, even though I made a stop there on our road trip a few years back, I've never actually visited Tacoma in the 2 1/2 years I've lived in Seattle. For shame.)

And you know what? For the hour and 20 minutes we were actually in the car, the drive was nothing but bliss. I miss driving so much, particularly on the road with other drivers who know what they're doing. This last Friday, I kept thinking back to high school and college, remembering the drive between my hometown of Castro Valley and where my parents currently live down in the Bay Area, and the drive from there down to Santa Barbara for school. The smooth roads, the lights, the calm, the music, and the ability to reflect on things in peace. Driving was my meditation, and it's something I rarely ever do anymore, and never for very long distances.

When you're confined to a city where you live, work, and play, it isn't so easy to just get out and go driving. And here, in Washington, there's really nowhere to go. Or, more importantly, no one to go and visit.

So, for now, I will play "Asleep" by The Smiths and dream of being back in a place where I can feel infinite again, with more of the people that I love.

(Oh, and with The Perks of Being a Wallflower movie coming out in the next year, if you haven't already, you should probably read it in anticipation of many more references from me. They're inevitable.)

* Image credit: Pirate Vixen via Etsy

left brain, meet right brain

2011-06-16T20:45:00.000-07:00

DIY Whirl-It Lampshade via Pickles

I am not a very crafty person. Not to suggest that I lack artistic merit or creativity, but I simply never learned to sew or knit or crochet; I was never great at using paper or glue or wood or ribbon or beads; I'm completely inept at painting and drawing, and I'd be at a loss if someone handed me a camera with more than two photo options. It isn't that I'm incapable of learning, but the idea of it in the past has stopped me in my tracks. Why? My best guess is that it's because I am a chronic over-thinker and second-guesser.

While I have an eye for beautiful things, I can't seem to bring them into fruition on my own... you know, without a tutorial, using only my imagination, hands and a set of tools. I'm astounded at the things I see online that people make, and always wonder how on earth they even thought to do it in the first place!

(Case in point << awesome-tastic pendant lamp.)

There's no question that I am equally right- and left-brained, which I think makes this particular issue especially frustrating for me. I am such a day-dreamer and long to live my life being creative and artistically productive... but I also get bogged down in logic, attention to detail, and perfectionism. Battling between these two aspects of my personality literally causes me mental strain, and as a result, I tend not to try anything at all.

The truth is, I'm feeling the itch. The itch for freedom and space and money to finally take some risks and start making things. This desire has made me realize the bright side to my affliction, such as it is: I follow instructions really well, I have a good eye for balance and exactness, and I'm passionate and eager to create something that I can touch with my own two hands. So what do I do? Luckily, I actually have an answer to this question:

Furniture.

Earlier this year, through the maze-like world of design blogs, I stumbled across furniture-building genius, Ana White's Web site and it has literally changed my life. It's changed my life, and I haven't even built anything yet!

Ana not only builds things, but she creates step-by-step plans on how you (meaning I) can build DIY furniture that costs next to nothing, and are comparable to the Pottery Barn/Restoration Hardware/West Elm pieces in which they are (usually) based.

What that means is that instead of paying $1,100 for this:

Furniture Factory Cart via Restoration Hardware

You pay just $75 and build this:

Factory Cart Coffee Table via Ana White

Considering my blooming interest in furniture and design (on the cheap!), I freaked out a little, and what I thought might be a passing phase has become a full-blown obsession. The only problem is that I have a) no space, and b) no tools.

As a result of this discovery, I posted a link all over the place knowing that someone would be as excited as I was. Turned out, my friend Shane from down in Los Angeles was equally if not more excited and began taking on building projects right away. I have been unabashedly living vicariously through her for months now, because she has the tools and the space and the house to really get her hands dirty. Also, she is insanely talented.

Image credit: Shane Strickman

Outdoor lounger made out of IKEA bed slats, people! Can you handle it?

When I grow up, I wanna be like Shane. I want to see what I want in my mind's-eye and make it, with no hesitation and full confidence in my abilities to do it. I'm getting more and more anxious having to wait for the ability to build something—anything—and I am counting down the days until I have a patio or garage all to myself so I can revel in seeing wood and nails and paint and saws all strewn about. Safely, of course.

Until then, some pretty things I want to make or build in my dreams, from Ana White and beyond...

DIY sliding barn door via House*Tweaking

DIY woven pendant lamp via Poppytalk

Reclaimed wood headboard via Ana White

Leaning wall shelf via Ana White

Vintage yardstick side table via PatinaWhite

Wine cork monogram letters by Sarah Simon via Green is Universal

the magic of pooh

2011-06-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, on the last official day of the Seattle International Film Festival, Jon and I were privileged to see an advanced screening of Disney's new Winnie the Pooh movie—one month before it arrives in theaters.

Let me first say this: I love Winnie the Pooh. I love him, Christopher Robin, and all of their friends. I love absolutely everything about the stories, the television cartoons, the movies, and the Pooh-related mayhem that has surrounded this beloved bear for 85 years, with children and grown-ups alike. (And, it must be added, "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh" ride at Disneyland might be the most drugged-up, psychedelic, visual freak-out ride in the whole of Theme Park Universe—and I love it, too.)

I personally don't believe that there is any story (movie or book series) better for children than A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh.


Original story sketch for Winnie the Pooh (2011) by Burny Mattinson, color by Paul Felix

And what makes the stories of this Pooh Bear so special? Aside from the obvious kid-friendly themes and accessibility to audiences worldwide, I think you would be hard-pressed to find an assortment of characters who better portray what it means to be a child, growing up and discovering emotions that are essential to the human experience.

In watching or reading these stories, a child learns that it is okay to be scared (Piglet), wise (Owl), nurturing (Kanga), playful (Roo), confident (Tigger), sad (Eeyore), organized (Rabbit) and—of course—not very knowledgeable about the complicated ways of the world (Pooh). Plus, we all get really hungry from time to time.

So. How does the new movie live up to the Pooh legacy? Disney gets a lot of credit from me here, because they could have chosen to make this film bigger, longer, and more kick-butt than all of its predecessors. They could have taken the route that all "remakes" and "retellings" are taking nowadays, which is to assume that audiences need/expect visual eye-candy, lots of new characters, and high-stakes narratives in order to be entertained.

But Disney doesn't do this. Instead, they stick to a simple, old-school philosophy: Don't fix what ain't broken.

The plot of Winnie the Pooh revolves around three major issues, and only three major issues: Eeyore's missing tail and the need to find a replacement; the rescue of Christopher Robin from a monster that Owl calls The Backson (which he misinterprets from a note from C.R. with the phrase "back soon" written on it); and, as usual, Pooh's rumbley-tumbley and his desire for honey. The movie is only 65 minutes, and on a scale of 1-10 scores a '0' for suspense. And yet, despite it's simplicity, I found that I could not stop laughing; I could not stop turning to Jon with my face clenched tight, overwhelmed with the cuteness and creativity; I could not stop drowning in the nostalgia of being young, and remembering just how exciting and scary learning new things can be.

The writers capture A.A. Milne's playfulness of words and narrative beautifully, with a warmth and humor that rivals any comedy out this year. The typical ways in which Pooh stories break down the 4th wall is heavily featured in this film, with Pooh often talking to the narrator (voiced by John Cleese) and the visual presence of words never letting you forget that—above all else—you are being told a story.

Viewers who are naturally more cynical will likely watch this movie and say, "This is nothing I haven't seen before," in which case, they'd be right. There's nothing really surprising or enlightening about this movie, and really, it doesn't matter one bit. Disney writers and animators use these familiar narrative devices with such care and devotion to the original stories and animations, it feels like Disney has gone back to its roots and created the perfect introductory Winnie the Pooh movie. No Gopher, no Heffalumps, no adventures outside of the 100 Acre Wood. Just a simple plot, with simple character motivations, and lots of heart.

Plus, it's hard not to love the new Pooh theme song, sung my Zooey Deschanel. She's totes adorbs, ya'll.

If you were a fan of Winnie the Pooh growing up, or you have young children of your own, you will absolutely love this movie, and so will your kids. I found myself gearing up to cry many times (though there was no ocean of tears like when I watched Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin over 10 years ago—that movie was just cruel), and the film really managed to make me feel like a kid again.

~ ~ ~

P.S. Be sure to stay for the credits. They're easily as adorable and sweet as the movie.

P.P.S. If you do stay for the credits, keep your eyes peeled for my friend, Erin Senge (of Growing Up Senge), whose name appears as the Assistant to the Producer in the production staff. Her daughter, Alice, is also featured under the list of "Pooh Babies"! So cool!

* All images property of Disney Enterprises, Inc.—found via Stitch Kingdom

a little thing called motivation

2011-06-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

Image credit: Garance Doré

I have a confession to make. You know that diet I started ranting about two months ago? You remember how enthusiastic I was about switching from Atkins back to Weight Watchers? Remember how I made it seem like losing weight was easy and I'd be a skinny hipster in no time?? (OK, maybe that last part wasn't in there.)

Yeah... I haven't been doing so well. As usual, I can't resist the temptation of carbs and fried foods, and Hawai'i proved to be a week of terrible eating, lots of drinking, and absolutely no working out. I even took Jillian on vacation with us! Not only did I not workout while down there, I didn't pick it up again until this last weekend. And obviously, our love for cocktails doesn't work in my weight-loss favor, either... in fact, I think it is very much to blame. Well, that and my lack of willpower.

I thought for sure that wanting to look sexy in a bathing suit for our trip in April was going to be enough to get those 20+ lbs off. I kept thinking that the impending summer and desire to wear my dresses and shorts would illicit enough energy and motivation to get me moving and shaking and all that jazz.

Photo source unknown, found via this tumblr

What I've finally figured out is this: Simply wanting to look hot is not strong enough motivation for me to lose weight. Just looking at that >> photo should be enough to make me never want to come within 100 yards of a carbohydrate ever again! I mean, damn, amiright? But if it were, I'd already be a slim size 4/6 with lots of full-body photos to share and I would never use the word "diet" again.

So what's the secret? What is the thought-formula that will snap me back into a healthy mindset and restore the self-restraint that I had senior year of college?

I don't really have an answer to this; I don't know what my Ultimate Motivation for losing weight. But I know I want it and I'm tired of struggling. I'm sick of feeling like I have to choose between being thin and enjoying life. That's silly, obviously. I absolutely love healthy food, and I revel in the way I feel when it's all I'm eating. But junk food is a drug, and it's one I haven't quite been able to quit.

But I'm trying. My best friend, Cassie—the one who just had a baby four months ago—has been actively dieting for the last three months... and in that time, you guys, she's lost 46 lbs. And it's still coming off close to a pound every one or two days. She's a total rock star, and she looks amazing. And what better motivation than bringing a baby into the world? One who will soon be crawling, then walking, then running... She's inspired me to take a look at the way I've been eating and get back to basics: calorie intake versus calories burned. Seems obvious, but to someone who has been a fad-dieter her whole teenage/adult life, it's almost too simple of a concept.

So we'll see how this goes; just another approach to get me to my goal. I'm collecting inspiration-pictures now, and trying to get myself motivated with plans for extreme activities and summer-fun-times. Jon has dropped the words Warrior Dash more than once, and I fear I may be swayed by his grizzly charms.

Good night, friends. Off to dream of eating a giant hamburger while looking hot in a bikini—which is, let's face it, my ultimate goal.

this happy life of mine

2011-06-10T01:21:00.000-07:00

"I think I'm in love" watercolor by RosieMusic

I'm really, really happy, you guys.

Sometimes, with everything going on in my life (the stresses of work, weight woes, this never-ending winter), it's easy to forget how truly fulfilled and blessed I am to have gotten as far as I have and to be in the place I am now. The last three years post-college have been a very scary, frustrating, and emotional journey, which makes right now all the more remarkable.

I am madly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with an incredible man. Even more remarkable: he is in love with me. These are the most significant and important facts in my life. Not to say that it's always easy (it's not) or that I think it can't get better (it will), but the knowledge of this love throws me into a tailspin of joy each and every day. Even if I'm not showing it, I'm feeling it. Sometimes, I just can't contain it and I feel as though I'm going to burst.

How could weather or weight or worries ever overshadow a happiness as intense and real as this? Though, I admit, I often have to remind myself not to let negative thoughts take me over...

Recently, my friend Shannon of Toes Over the Edge wrote a blog post that poses some issues and questions I think so many 20-something, post-college grads can understand. Unless you graduated from college with a clear career path and a monster starting salary, you're probably feeling a little lost as to where you're going to be in five or ten years. What am I going to do with my life? Didn't I have the answer to this just three short years ago? Or did I ever really have the answer? How have things gone so awry? Can I really be happy without a plan for the future?

I have Shannon's questions to thank for me coming to my own conclusion about these issues in my life. In sharing with her my "outsiders" perspective, I realized that the very same advice needed to be applied to my me; I needed to readjust the way I prioritize what is most important in living a healthy and happy life.

If you're struggling with similar questions, ask yourself these questions: When am I not happy? What am I thinking about that causes me stress or worry? What happens if I stop thinking about or doing those things?

As I told Shannon, I only seem to be stressed about my present and future when a) I think about where I once imagined I'd be now, and b) I compare my life to other people my age who seem "further along" in their lives than me. When I'm not wrapped up in this useless crap, I'm happy. And why shouldn't I be? My past and other people's lives do not affect mine, and I am grateful for every joy (and obstacle) that comes my way.

Because it's brought me here.

Jon and I are in the process of setting up an amazing life together. We have the world's most awesome dogs, the coolest kitten, and a cute little apartment that we've decorated and planned out as a team. We dream the same dreams for our future, and we enjoy the same silly and exciting things in our day-to-day life. We talk about everything... all the time.

Also, I am fortunate enough to have the same best friends now that I did when I was in high school, who are all smart and talented and, most importantly, know me for who I really am. I have a job that I don't hate, a little cash in the bank, and a family who has been nothing but supportive of me through all the difficult and exceptional times.

Despite the uncertainty about my fickle little future, I'm happier now than I've ever been. And if you ask me, that's progress.

"I Like You..." print by LuciusArt

an introduction to two boozehounds

2011-06-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

booze [noun] - an intoxicating drink; hard liquor
hound [noun] - a person who avidly seeks out or collects something

It would be an understatement to say that we enjoy drinking at our apartment.

Actually, scratch that. Let me rephrase: It would be an understatement to say that we enjoy cocktails at our apartment. That's an important distinction. There's a big difference between being known as the "office drunk" and being known as "the resident cocktail expert" (which, I'm humbled to say, is how my co-workers mistakenly refer to me when the topic of spirits comes into play)...

I would not call myself an expert. I wouldn't even put myself on the intermediate level of bar knowledge! But I'm a very eager beginner with a strong appreciation for taste, balance and creativity. That's true for everything, but particularly cocktails. Jon is the same way. What this means is that there is no cocktail we won't try once. There is also no way of expressing just how much we love a good bartender, and how you can learn so much from them just by asking questions and telling them about your personal tastes. It only takes drinking a few exceptional drinks from a truly exceptional bartender to result in you placing the bar (har har) so high that you become extremely picky about what you're drinking and how your drink is made.

A little trick when getting drinks from a great bartender: sit at the bar, compliment the hell out of him, pick out a liquor you can see on the shelf and say to him, "How is the [insert liquor here]? I've always wanted to try that but haven't gotten around to it." Chances are, if you're already getting good vibes from him, he'll give you a sample for free. This has happened for us many times, from multiple bartenders and different bars.

Plus, if you love something you're drinking, ask for the recipe. They're usually happy to share it!

Mint Julip, with 100 proof Knob Creek Kentucky whiskey, a favorite of bartender Craig deBolt, Suite 410 in Downtown Seattle

If Seattle has done anything to us, it's made us cocktail elitists. I hate to admit it, but it's true. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Seattle is the absolute best city for affordable cocktails.

That being said, the most important thing I've learned from trying every "top bar in Seattle" is just how different Jon's and my tastes are from each others. It's pretty much guaranteed that if Jon LOVES something, I will most likely hate it—and I do mean hate it. This is not a testament to the cocktail itself, but rather the incredible way taste buds can differ.

Jon loves a cocktail that is head-shakingly strong. One that will take nearly an hour or more to drink. He loves the complexity of putting together obscure liquors and how a simple sip can knock you on your ass—but in a delicate and subtle way. He doesn't need mixers, and he doesn't need sweetness.

I love drinks that are balanced from top to bottom; the perfect blend of sweet and/or sour and/or strong and/or light. I, too, love the complexity of various liquors and liqueurs, but prefer to enjoy them in a way that goes down smooth and with a kick. Nothing too sweet, but nothing too bitter. Strong, but not straight booze. A hint of fruit is also highly desirable.

What this comes down to is that if you're hanging with us, most likely one of our tastes matches yours. Plus, it's always more fun to drink with friends.

I'm hoping to be sharing some of our favorite recipes with you soon. How about you guys? Any favorite or go-to cocktails that you love to make at home or get when you go out?

hiking on tiger mountain: the importance of foresight

2011-06-06T01:30:00.000-07:00

Moss-covered trees, NW Timber Trail, Tiger Mountain State Park

This last Saturday, we in the Pacific Northwest experienced perfect weather. It's almost impossible to comprehend that we could have been so fortunate as to have a beautiful day fall on a weekend, but we did. It's just another reminder that the heaviness and gray moods of the last seven months are side effects of flat-out shitty weather.

To celebrate, Jon and I had our first "family hike" of the year on Saturday, which means the dogs came along for the fun. Coincidentally, unbeknownst to me, Saturday was also National Trails Day! We didn't have any particular trail in mind leading up to the weekend, but once we knew it was going to be clear skies and 74ºF, we just knew the day had to be spent outside. It's been too long!

Trees lining the slopes of the NW Timber Trail, Tiger Mountain

After a bit of research, we settled on Tiger Mountain State Park, which has several trails to choose from, and is only 20 minutes outside of Seattle on I-90 leading out towards Issaquah and North Bend. From what we'd read and heard, it is one of the most popular hiking areas around Seattle. Since it was going to be our first hike with the dogs since last July, we figured it'd be best to take it easy for the dogs' sake and stick to a trail that was well-maintained and well-traveled.

Let me just start off this very long run-down of our hike by saying that Tiger Mountain could really use a site map at the entrance to the park... Really.

We parked in the lower parking lot (there are two), just off of Hwy 18, and—with no planning, map, or knowledge of the trails routes—we picked the first trail we came to on our right: the Northwest Timber Trail. At 2.3 miles, this "beginner's trail" weaves through dense, moss-covered trees and rocky, open slopes. It was a really beautiful hike, and exactly what we had wanted heading out there. Not to mention, the dogs were thrilled.

Happy boober-frog on a log!

We learned very quickly that—despite the perfect weather—there weren't too many hikers on the trail. There were however many, many mountain bikers. If you were new to the Seattle area and immediately went hiking on Tiger Mountain, you would think that people in the Pacific Northwest were the nicest, friendliest people in the world. This, of course, is not true at all (beware the Seattle freeeezzzze), but there is a sense of comradery, courtesy and community on the trails that I have not experienced since living up here.

As the bicyclists passed, they nicely warned us of oncoming bikers in their riding party: "Two more coming up!" "Five right behind me!" "I'm the last one!" It was great to see people 'following the rules', such as they are, and sharing the trails so graciously with us and each other. Given the way people drive up here, I would never have expected this.

Anyway, as we came out of the NW Timber Trail, we were faced with a dirt road leading in two directions. The sign read:

==> 1.0 mile to Hwy 18
<== 2.3 miles to Preston Railroad Trail

Hmm... Well, we weren't quite ready to pack things in yet, and we couldn't be certain if "Hwy 18" actually meant it would lead us back to our car, so we thought Sure! Another trail sounds great!

It was about 2 miles up the road that I started to panic. Where we were going? What if we end up in the wrong parking lot? What if we walk 8 miles and then have to back-track another 8 miles??

Luckily, we had full cell phone reception and Jon looked up the map online. Great. Now we had a semi-clear visual of what our position was: the lowest P on the bottom is the parking lot where we started; the lower right-hand blue line is the Timber Trail; and at this point we are the furthest from the parking lot we can be, at the upper-most point of the East Side Road. Yikes! OK, not to worry—at least we knew where we were.

Jon near the end of the Preston Railroad Trail, Tiger Mountain

Since it didn't make any sense to take the road back, we decided to take the Preston Railroad Trail, which looked as though it would loop around to a road that would lead us right to the parking lot. Hurray! Despite not knowing how many miles the Preston route was, we soldiered on!

This particular trail was absolutely idyllic as far as forested trails go. The ground was lush and soft, there were streams coming across the trail, the air was crisp and cool, the sun shone through and provided lovely moments of warmth. The bicyclists kept coming (almost all of which were coming down the trail, while we were walking up it), but we never saw a single hiker. At one point I just let Ennis off-leash. He is the perfect hiking dog, and never wanders away from us, so I thought it would be a nice treat for him to have some freedom.

By the time we hit the third (and last) switch-back on the trail, I was feeling the strain. Still not fully understanding the map, I was so relieved when we finally reached the Tiger Mountain Road. Just at the trail head, we met a group of bicyclists who were sweaty and panting, and yet clearly waiting to start their ride on the trail.

This made me very nervous.

We asked how many miles the Preston Trail was, as there was no mile marker. "About four miles," one of them replied. Wow! Nice! Go us! As I was silently patting myself on the back for a good 8+ miles hiked already, he followed up with "Yeah, we just came from down the road. It's about 3.5 miles and change to the parking lot."

Gasp!

Excellent. So our "short hike" had turned in to a monster of physical strain and endurance. Lovely! And this is where things went downhill—literally. While the scenery is beautiful, the road leading down to the Tiger Summit parking lot was pretty steep, with loose gravel rocks along the way. And while my Merrell hiking shoes are absolutely perfect trail shoes, they simply aren't made to withstand the impact of hard roads, so my feet and knees were absolutely killing me.

View into the valley from the Tiger Mountain Road

I have no idea how people are able to ride their bikes up this hill! 100 feet would be tiring as it was, but several miles?!? Insanity. I also noticed that Peekay wasn't faring too well either; he was limping a bit and had trouble keeping his balance while navigating the rocky road. Guilt kicked in, and the last mile was pretty excruciating, for me and Peekay at least. (Jon and Ennis were fine, those jerks!) It was definitely about 4 miles of downhill backroad before finally (and joyously!) arriving back at the parking lot.

Just in case you haven't done the math, this hike was approximately 12 miles round-trip. Definitely not what we had set out to do, but I admit that it sure felt nice to accomplish such an intense hike without any preparation!

If you have found this blog by way of researching these trails, and you're looking into doing a SHORTER hike here, I recommend taking the NW Timber Trail from the lower parking lot and then turning around and coming back once you reach the end. If you are prepared for a LONG hike, take the route that Jon and I did—it really was an amazingly gorgeous hike, and would have been perfect if we had brought more water and different pairs of shoes for the trails/roads.

Also, Peekay needs hiking doggie booties.

Looking forward to more sunny weekends and warm weather; there are many more trails to explore!

food friday: brave horse tavern soft pretzel

2011-06-03T16:03:00.000-07:00

I need only say two things in addition to this photo:

1) Fresh out of the oven
2) Accompanied by an assortment of homemade mustards

Thank you, Tom Douglas.

fry

2011-06-03T01:14:00.000-07:00

So I realized last weekend that I have yet to post anything here about the most recent member of our family. In fact, it's been a while since I've talked about any my furry kids! How very unlike me.

World, meet Fry.

Just ignore his crazy mutant eyes. He's a cat and can't help it.

Fry's full name is Philip K. Fry (after the infamous Philip J. Fry; the "K" stands for Kitty, duh). His nicknames include Cat (me), Chapeaumelon (Jon), and Fatty (after Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle). He is a 10-month-old kitten that we adopted back in January from a no-kill shelter in Seattle called Animal Talk Rescue. Our uneducated guess is that he has some Maine Coon in him (looks), possibly Ragdoll (behavior), and rounded off with some good old fashioned tabby cat. Also, he's maybe the cutest/sweetest cat alive. I know a lot of people say this about their pets, but it's true. I have never met a cat so utterly chill and cuddly than this orange ball of fluff right here.

I promise: I did not pose them like this. (And please excuse the blurriness. Pictures with no movement and demon-eyes are hard to come by.)

He absolutely adores the dogs, and they love wrestling and cuddling with him. He's floppy and silly and kissy; he will let you do almost anything to him. You can toss him across the couch onto one of the dogs, and he will just settle and sleep wherever he lands.

Getting a cat on top of two highly energetic dogs may not have been the smartest idea, but it was obvious from the moment that Jon moved in that he just wasn't complete without a cat around. I had wanted a cat for Ennis, before getting Peekay, but the presence of my most favorite embroidered armchair made me hesitant. Cats are evil and they destroy everything in their path! But when I saw this little man advertised through the shelter's Web site, well... I couldn't help myself; he was the exact cat we'd been waiting for.

Cut to now: Fry has made my favorite chair a scratching post; he's started knocking things off of the counter/fridge for Peekay to eat or chew up; he stays up all night and plays with the blinds or our feet, and his little mouth smells infinitely of fish. We're almost certain he has brain damage, because he sees things that aren't there and has no concept of object permanence. He's loud, he's rude, and he doesn't listen to me when I scream "Cat!!" at him.

He's absolutely nothing but trouble, but oh my goodness he is the cutest most awesome kitty in the entire world, seriously, I could just smoosh his little face forever. And when he's old and lazy, he will be absolutely perfect.

Happy Fry-day, everyone! (Heh heh, yeah I did.)

"everything was beautiful at the ballet..."

2011-06-02T23:46:00.000-07:00

"Moon Light Purple" by BalletArt

One of the perks of Jon's job is that we get a chance to do, eat, and see things that we would otherwise never be able to afford. It's made the stress of his job somewhat more bearable, and it's made Seattle a whole lot more fun.

Tonight, as a member of the Concierge Guild of Seattle, Jon got two tickets to see Pacific Northwest Ballet's production of Giselle in its last night of dress rehearsal. It would have been perfect except I was having a What does one wear to the ballet?! crisis, and with the added difficulty of parking, we were 20 minutes late. Whoops!

Turns out, not a big deal! Know why? Because if you know the synopsis of the show, there is pretty much nothing you can miss in a ballet performance. Its very root is based in tradition and precedence, which means that virtually every professional performance of the show prior has been exactly the same, give or take a few mavericks.

"The Ballerina" by BalletArt

The story of Giselle is, I guess, a love story. Personally, I think it's a pretty depressing look at a girl who has really bad judgement. The synopsis reads romantic, but in reality, this is what I got from it:

Giselle is a poor farm girl who meets a poor farm boy she thinks is named Loys, but is really a duke named Albrecht. Albrecht has escaped to the forest, basically to get some cute-dancing-farm-girl action before his big ol' royal wedding to some chick-princess named Bathilde. Meanwhile, Giselle's previous suitor and real farm boy, Hilarion, is all kinds of jealous. Poor Hilarion, in an attempt to save Giselle from heartbreak and win back her love, reveals the truth only to have her drop dead (after lots of dancing) from a broken (and apparently weak) heart.

Later, Giselle is a ghost floating around with a gang of bitter ghost-brides, called the Wilis. They lurk in the forest at night, seek out unfortunate men, and make them dance until they die. (Of course, it's ballet, so there isn't really anything sinister about it.) Enter Hilarion, who very quickly gets entangled in their pirouetting web and dies a very anti-climactic, off-stage death. Meanwhile, Albrecht is in the forest bemoaning his lost mistress when the Wilis find him too. Luckily, Giselle's ghost saves him an awful fate... 'cause, you know... she loves him. Even though he's a liar.

But it was a good show, really! The sheer skill involved is astonishing; their feet move soooo fast, and I would literally have to start breaking things in order to be as flexible as the dudes in this show. And what's not to like about flow-y dresses? And big dance-miming arm movements? And men in tights?? OK, in all seriousness though, watching great dancers always makes me think about whether I could have ever been a dancer too. Maybe not for ballet, but some kind of dance—contemporary, maybe, or jazz. I certainly missed my window there, but it's nice to imagine exuding a feminine poise that is both strong and delicate.

But I like french fries and cocktails and chocolate too much to ever hope for a future of waif-like proportions. Ah well, c'est la vie.

I suppose that dance has been on my mind a lot lately, thanks in no small part to a certain impressive animation. Maybe also 'cause "So You Think You Can Dance" just premiered again, which means it must be summer! Oh wait...

Also, these paintings:

all three tutu paintings by Laurence Amélie

A few weeks ago, Rachel Ashwell of Shabby Chic brilliance dedicated a post to her friend and painter, Laurence Amélie, and I still cannot get enough. I keep trying to placate myself by thinking They can't be that expensive, right?? which just makes me wish for an original of hers even harder. Apparently there was a showcase of her work last month down in Santa Monica, at Rachel's flagship store. I seriously considered for a split second that it was definitely necessarily for me to spend my birthday down in LA with my sister... with a quick trip to look at some stunning art work, of course.

Photo credit: Rachel Ashwell, paintings also by Laurence Amélie

Such simple subject matter, but with such stunning depth! The pastels, the natural colors, the haphazard girlishness! It makes me wish that professional ballet could adopt some of this spontaneity and vibrancy, which might make for some really engaging and startling visual spectacles. But I guess that goes against the whole point of it, amiright??

::sigh:: See, here I go again, you guys, starting off a post about one thing and ending on something completely different. My blog posts have turned into Simpsons episodes! But really, this post was simply an excuse to talk about these paintings, and Lord knows I can't just post pictures—I have to write stuff. It's a sickness.

the art form of the 20th century

2011-05-31T01:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Jon treated me to an afternoon at the movies—with a bag of popcorn and everything! We saw the documentary These Amazing Shadows, which is part of the 2011 Seattle International Film Festival line-up.

It's interesting how very rarely I talk about movies on here, because out of everything I've ever been interested in my whole life, movies are what I know and talk the most about. Having had a film-obsessed father (I remember celebrating his 4,000th movie viewing with a screening of Meet the Fockers when I was 18), my sister and I did very little else growing up; we even became known among our friend group as the go-to movie-encyclopedia kids (this was before there was Google in everyone's pocket, of course).

When my interests expanded in college, I stopped going to the movies several times a week, which meant I stopped writing about it too. Now, mostly because of how expensive it is, I'm lucky to go see a movie in theaters once a month! So, yeah... this was a treat.

These Amazing Shadows could very easily have been a Turner Classic Movies interlude that gets shown between Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Duck Soup on a Saturday afternoon—and that isn't necessarily a bad thing. The film talks about the creation and subsequent purpose of the National Film Registry, which was introduced through Congress in the late-80's as a way of preserving films of "cultural, historical and aesthetic significance," and was sparked by Ted Turner's colorful-bastardization of classic B&W films. (Read more about his dickery here.) 25 films a year are chosen to be added to this prestigious list, they must be at least 10 years old to qualify, and include feature length films, shorts, cartoons and newsreels, home movies and documentaries.

I mean, even this little gem of a video is included, ya'll.

Sometimes it's helpful to have a reminder of how magical art can be. In the back of my mind, the power and sway that certain films have had over me is always something I feel and remember: when I saw Brokeback Mountain and was struck dumb-silent by a film for the very first time; after seeing In the Bedroom and realizing the difference between disliking a movie and thinking something is bad; recognizing absolute perfection in acting and film-making with On the Waterfront; and finally understanding the necessity of balance between performance, writing, cinematography, music and directing, thanks to American Beauty. These movies and a thousand more have influenced me. Watching These Amazing Shadows was able to remind me once again. It's a humorous, emotional, and educational look at something positive that's come out of paying taxes. When it shows up on Netflix, watch it.

OK, I'm gonna shift directions really quickly here. Careful, no whiplash, please.

This documentary also taught me something new, which means that I am now going to share this new-found knowledge with you: Did you know that there were more women writing and directing film in the 1910s and '20s than there were men? Did you know that among these women, the highest-paid director working for Universal during this time period was a woman named Lois Weber?

Did you also know that she directed very controversial films with topics ranging from birth control and abortion to drug addiction?? Did you know that she started her own film production company and then eventually lost everything and "died penniless"??

I DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING OF THIS! I have been studying film for years and didn't watch anything but old B&W movies until I was 12, and neither Jon nor I have ever heard of this woman or her films. HOW CAN THIS BE??

Just reading her Wikipedia page (what there is of it) makes me wonder how this woman's life hasn't already been made into a movie! What an incredibly inspiring, tragic, and monumental story this could be! (Jon and I have decided that Michelle Williams should definitely play her.) And, for some reason, the only biography about her costs upwards of $125 on Amazon!

I'm not generally preachy when it comes to feminism, but the bad rap of female writers and directors in film is just sad, you guys. To think that Hollywood started off so equal and unbiased when it came to gender, then BAM! the 1930's hit and all successful women working in film went from the director's chair to the director's couch (if you catch my drift). Imagine the contributions women could have made to film in the so-called "Golden Age of Hollywood" if they'd been taken seriously, as they once were!

Sigh. Alright, rant over.

But really, am I the only one really surprised by this? Maybe Jon and I are just idiots and have been living in misogynistic male-entrenched gutters all our lives, but seriously... Is the success of women in early film as big o' news to you as it is to me?

lazy weekends

2011-05-29T01:07:00.000-07:00

"Sea Bed" painting by Clare Elsaesser of Tastes Orangey

It's almost June. Normally, by this time of year, "almost June" would mean weekends of picnics in the grass, some urban hiking, dog park trips, and wearing nothing but dresses.

Sadly, today we saw the continued trend of 50º temperatures in Seattle and mere moments of sunlight (that, in and of itself, a blessing) scattered through thick oceans of gray. After 8 solid months of cold, this weather has become physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting. So instead of spending Memorial Day and our 3-day weekend camping on Orcas Island or enjoying the beach at Alki, our weekend will focus on something different:

Sleep. And doing as little as humanly possible.

If this weather can have no other positive outcome, it is at least an excuse to sleep with as much vigor and purpose as possible. There is no question that Jon and I are sleep deprived, and I am starting to wonder if this weather-induced, physical depression I've been carrying with me could be responsible for my many restless nights, and my inability to sleep in when I actually have the time and ability to do so.

Going to sleep at night and getting up in the morning has always been a struggle for me, but with the regularity of my schedule and consistency of my diet, I can't quite wrap my head around these bouts of insomnia and extreme sluggishness.

What I really need is a nap in the grass under the warm sun, and the presence of a cool breeze a welcome relief from the heat, rather than a constant reminder of a never-ending winter.

Good night friends. If I can't have warmth and sunshine this holiday weekend, I hope some finds you.

food friday: eltana bagels

2011-05-27T21:48:00.000-07:00

It's alliteration day! OK, no, not really.

This morning, the unthinkable happened: Jon and I got out of bed and out the door at 7AM, a whole hour and a half before needing to be at work. I know! Shocking! Granted, Jon had a quick follow-up doctor's appointment to go to, and it went much faster than we expected. I was in the waiting room and didn't even have time to finish reading the People article on Pippa Middleton! (Can I be her?)

With over an hour to spare before being at work, we were kind of like chickens with our heads cut off. Should we go for a walk? Get breakfast? If so, where? Oddfellows? Glo's?? Having free time before work is unprecedented for us, especially at the end of the week, so we wanted to take full advantage.

Since we were in the area, we decided to go to wood-fired bagel joint, Eltana on 12th and Pine in Capitol Hill. Jon had been before, once when I was out of town, and since he doesn't like a crap-ton of food in the morning (like me, the garbage disposal), it seemed like our best bet. Plus, they were open. (Damn you, Oddfellooooooows!)

OK, so Eltana does not have "cheap" bagels. Well, the bagels are cheap ($1 each), but unless you want it plain you'll have to fork over an additional $2.50-$4 for cream cheese. But guys, c'mon, it's good cream cheese.

Worth it? Yes. I would say very much so. My bagel (in the foreground) was a very fresh, everything bagel topped with date and walnut cream cheese. Sweet and nutty and creamy—definitely a winner! Jon's (background) was also an everything bagel, but his was garnished with spicy garlic cream. Apparently he wants to smell at work all day. (I tasted it, it was yummy, but not really how my ideal breakfast tastes.) The only issue is that these are not big bagels, and even though taste-wise I think I got my money's worth, I will definitely need some more food in, say.... 10 minutes. Next time, I'll order two.

So you might be thinking to yourself: Stacy, that's great—I'm glad you're a total food pig, but I don't live in Seattle so I don't care about the over-priced restaurants you go to. Well, suck it up, peeps. Over-priced food is Seattle's way, and as long as I live here I will be hunting down the best of it all and sharing my opinion with you. Because if there's anything I'm great at in this world it's eating and giving my opinion. Try it, it's fun.

There's something about Fridays that make me want to escape everything and just eat new foods and try new things with Jon. The mornings are absolutely my favorite time, and they're wasted at work for 5 out of every 7 days!

All I know is I'd be a whole lot happier and more productive during the week if Friday was part of the weekend. I might actually pick up a book for once! Or take my dogs on an 8-mile walk! Or, you know... sleep.

What would you do if you had one extra day of freedom a week?

glue a camera to my hand

2011-05-26T22:28:00.000-07:00

There is only one camera in my apartment; it's never out when I need it, and it also belongs to Jon. This is excluding our cell phones, though I probably should include them considering my Samsung Fascinate is the only thing I ever use to take pictures.

Frog king, dog toy at work.

I've always thought I was a crappy photographer, but I think the problem is that I have the brain of an ancient caveman person; I don’t know how to work a contraption with so many damn buttons and photo options. Plus, even though I consider myself to be very adept at setting up a shot and recognizing proper balance and proportion within the frame, I have a very difficult time noticing when something would look good photographed at all. I simply don’t think about taking photos when I’m looking at every day objects, or places I pass every day, or when I'm spending time with friends. (Or, for example, the boring stuff I see at work everyday—hence these photos.)

The camera that comes pre-installed on my phone is… well, it’s a camera. It takes pictures that look totally normal—sometimes that’s good, other times the pictures are straight up ugly. Mostly, they’re just boring.

View from my balcony at work.

My friends who have iPhones are lucky enough to be able to use the Hipstamatic camera. (You know the one. If you're anything like me, your Facebook feed is constantly inundated with artsy shots.) It’s the only thing about the iPhone that I prefer over my Android (otherwise, there’s no question, the ‘droid is far superior)…

That being said, no matter how much I adjust settings on my FXCamera or RetroCamera for Android, I always revert to taking Polaroids with them, which is the only semi-natural option. Most of the choices are just too stylized—seriously, who needs a series of photographs that resemble a Warhol art show?—when all I really want is something to appropriately capture the things in my life… with a little bit of saturation or whimsy. Nothing I’ve found looks as good as my friends’ Hipstamatic prints.

Thursday's food special, from Deli Espresso downstairs: Veggie Rice, also known as "crack".

That is, until now. I finally discovered an app for Android that creates not only beautiful photographs, but also has enough options to give my simple-minded brain an aneurism.

Vignette Camera is my answer to not having a fancy Nikon or 8-inch lenses or an iPhone. It has some crazy features like my previous camera apps, but it also has a lot of less brazen photo options as well, which means I can finally take a photo of my dog without him turning green, or having aged watermarks on his face.

Cody, the Giant Campus CCO (Chief Canine Officer) and his crab.

Since my phone is pretty much with me at all times, this means I need to start looking at the things around me a little differently. It’s no longer a phone, but a camera glued to my hand.

Don’t worry; I have no intention of becoming a photographer or making this blog a place to showcase my ‘art’, such as it isn’t. Hopefully this will simply make it easier for me to document the things going on in my life without having to constantly pull beautiful photos and prints from other people (though, I’m sure that will still happen), or hunt down my boyfriend's camera.

Me at my desk, where I definitely did not spend all day playing with my phone.

How about you guys? What kind of camera do you own and use? Or are you a slave to your iPhone/Android apps like I am?

ryan woodward and the lines of the body

2011-05-20T17:10:00.000-07:00

If I could have any skill that I do not currently possess (and that's a lot of skills), it would be to draw like Ryan Woodward, or... someone just like him.

I've always been mildly obsessed with line and shade drawings that perfectly convey the shape of the subject while still maintaining a sense of imperfection, spontaneity, and "sketchiness". Every time I go looking for art to buy or ask artist friends for sketches of things, this is what I imagine finding or receiving. Every time I think about drawing anything (even though I know I can't), this is the style I imagine it being.

I like other types of art immensely, but nothing holds a candle to this. Maybe it's because it looks so... easy! But, as anyone who has two left hands (that's right—new phrase!) knows well, it isn't easy at all.

I came across Ryan's artwork last week—as did many of you!—when his work was featured on the Google homepage.

See the official version here on YouTube

I was intrigued. Someone had posted a link to the artist, so I figured I'd click. Turns out that Ryan is a storyboard artist who has worked on some pretty big name films. I perused his work, much of which reflects a comic book-style, illustrative technique that is quite lovely. This led me to his personal side project, Conté Animated—all absolutely stunning gesture drawings that really show off the shape of the human body.

And then I found this.

I don't remember doing anything in the last week that stands out more than finding this gorgeous animation and watching and re-watching it dozens of times. It could be because he uses a song from a band that I completely adore (The Weepies), or that he's been able to animate something that I also wish I had the skill to do: contemporary dance. But essentially, I think it's just that the story of the animation seems so heartbreaking and beautiful... I can't turn away, and I can't seem to stop pushing "replay".

This YouTube user nicely describes how I see this video:
cazboen: The story is about a boy who is madly in love with a girl. This girl was everything he ever wanted: mysterious, and almost like an angel (white outline and vivid shapes). He tried to capture her heart, and bring her "down to earth" but couldn't succeed. Until one day, he finally got her, and suddenly she wasn't all that he thought she was. Mysteriousness was gone (her outline turns black), there were no more sparks (watch their hands). In the end he left her, and the girl was heart broken.

There are many interpretations (as was Woodward's intention), but I think that this version is pretty spot on; it's exactly what I felt... what I continue to feel. What could be more heartbreaking and more common than disappointment in love? Seems to be a too-often occurrence, if you ask me (which, of course, you don't).

So, yeah. I wanted to share this video and Ryan's work with you because it's beautiful, and everyone deserves a little beauty in their lives.

Happy sunny Friday, everyone.

Image: Ryan Woodward