304/365

things I want to remember about september:

champagne drinking
swimming pool back-floating 
convenience store po-boys 
midnight beignets
otherworldly courtyards
the way we looked at each other
the pop and flash of the photobooth
the scent of the photobooth chemicals
and then, twenty-five years, in our hands
wild cherry snoballs, legs dangling
bumpy, lovely bike rides down all the streets
the radio tuned to WWOZ 90.7, always
whipped cream desserts on the house
the soft loop of string lights overhead
extra deep bathtubs, extra hot water 
the ghost of louis armstrong, the last serenade
the sliver of moon from my bedroom window
ezra's many splendored sketchbook revelations
teeny tiny happy cans of ice cold ginger ale 
the sound of my cousin's laugh
that very first hour at the fleamarket
the man that sang for the junkers
the way I yanked myself up and into that monster truck
the digging through hundreds and hundreds of old found photographs
the dirt under my fingernails
that magic starlight drive-in
those wide-open texas skies
the conversations to and from
the changing of the light

303/365

personal quirks, part three:

has a penchant for rhyming
cannot leave house if living room is unkempt
has visceral aversion to any/all overhead lighting

302/365

some things I did buy at the texas fleamarket:

a couple old school flashcards 
a couple little toy playing cards
a pile of carefully selected found photographs
a small red portland pennant
a large red new orleans pennant
a few patches for ava
a few old watch parts for ezra
a small rose cameo piece 
a green plastic letter A
a little lemonette soda bottle 
a tea tin from budapest
a roll of mustard yellow floral wallpaper circa 1970
a faded poster advertising the opening of drive-in theatre in iowa circa 1950
three beautiful old photobooth frames
and one polaroid of an elderly man holding his cat

301/365

some things I really wanted to buy at the fleamarket this week but did not:

a giant wonder bread sign
a legit pair of wrangler jeans
an antique swedish goat bell
an old kodak film advertisement
a beautiful old bronze schwinn cruiser
a little canonet rangefinder film camera
a red wooden roller derby skateboard
a vintage christmas light bulb tester display
an enormous plastic ice cream cone

really should have bought that little canonet rangefinder. I really, really should have. am now swimming in a pool of regret.

300/365

things seen while on the road in texas:

a dozen zebras, grazing
oil silos like giant tin drums 
tufts of buttery yellow flowers along the edges of the highway
the world's smallest catholic church
buc-ee the beaver, high in the sky
an impossible sea of blinding white tents
wide open forever and ever skies
an old drive-in theatre so beautiful, I could not breathe

299/365

three things I do when I've been traveling for a week and am thoroughly overwhelmed:

stare at the ceiling
stare at the computer
will myself to write something, anything

298/365

three things I wish I could tell my mom right now:

that texas fleamarket really is as wild and sprawling and wonderful as we thought it would be
cousin kristy has a beautiful, bright five year-old girl and is so happy now
you are missed, mom, you are so sorely missed

297/365

things to do this fall:

open windows
hoard candy corns
hoard tiny pumpkins
read books underneath trees with fiery golden leaves
ride bikes down streets in unknown neighborhoods
stretch fake webs across windows and doorways
carve pumpkins til hands are sufficiently tired and happy
just, you know, always be roasting things over backyard bonfires
watch films
pick apples
shoot polaroids
share polaroids
pack car
get out of town
make soup
make soup 
I WILL MAKE SOUP

296/365

three songs I'm listening to:

what am I to do (ezra collective+loyle carner)
it takes time to be a man (the rapture)
fallaway (kid koala + emiliana torrini)

295/365

list of potential lists, part one:

times I was right
times I was wrong
things found in my teenage diary
lessons learned from cutting my own hair
reasons I broke up with my laundromat
magic things that happened in new york
spectacular falls I have taken

294/365

five weekly friday lists I read:

tracy's I love lists
karen's this was a good week
erin's week in objects
victoria's friday finds
tina's link pack

293/365

things I have always worn, will always wear, whether they're in style or not:

burnt orange
striped pieces
turquoise jewelry
patchwork anything
vintage adidas everything
technicolor tights
embroidered blouses
wooden clogs

WOODEN CLOGS FOREVER

292/365

sounds I hear in the background when I listen to my friend jen's messages:

horns honking
brakes screeching
ambient street conversations
muffled announcements
subway trains coming
subway trains going
buses heaving 
urgent, steady beeping
saws, drills and jackhammers 
things, people, bikes, cars whizzing past
women talking
kids laughing
motors revving
the wind

frankly, I need these new york street sounds as much as I need the messages and conversations with my friend. while we're on the subject, I'm not sure what I'd do without the voxer conversations I have going with three friends who live in completely different parts of the country. many times, they have saved me. many, many times.

291/365

signs fall is coming:

goldenrod wild along the highway
negligible difference between falling leaves and passing butterflies
(cannot tell the difference until the very last minute)
soup, I want to make soup

290/365

daily evidence of failed attempts and/or good intentions:

unpacked suitcases in the corner

a mess of books and papers on the desk

forgotten glasses of water, set down in different spots all over the house

mud beige bedroom walls I vowed to paint five years ago

mud beige bathroom walls I vowed to paint five years ago

a shower that needs to be scrubbed

a pile of clothes that need to be mended

a towering plant that begs to be repotted

chaos in the closets

chaos underneath the bed

stacks of unread books

289/365

things I miss, part six:

my grandma's bread
birthday parties at the roller rink
bike rides in my old portland neighborhood
a washer and dryer in my house
the ability to walk into any store and buy a pack of polaroid film for ten dollars
friends that live close enough to meet for coffee
the feeling when I was a kid that I could do anything, be anything

288/365

to photograph:

humble people
ordinary places
slivers and chunks of light

287/365

literary scenes I'd please like to step into and live in for a little while, part one:

hobie's kitchen (the goldfinch)
francie's fire escape (a tree grows in brooklyn)
danny's tiny caravan home (danny, the champion of the world)

286/365

recently:

first of the banana bread in the oven
marigolds in tomato cans having a moment
shades up while we sleep so moonlight can spill through the windows

285/365

eleven robert frank photographs I love:

mary, 1957
detroit, 1955
london (hearse), 1951
road to la paz, peru, 1948
new orleans (trolley), 1955
mary, pablo and andrea, 1954
andrea, pablo and mary, 1955
political rally-chicago, 1956
sagamore cafeteria, new york, 1949
june leaf, novia scotia, 1976
parade- hoboken, new jersey, 1955

(rest in peace, mr. frank, and thank you for endless inspiration)

284/365

things I brought home from new orleans:

a pink fan
a stack of polaroids
the envelope that held our room key
the cork from the bottle of champagne we drank on the night of our anniversary
the little gold foil piece too
a napkin from the napoleon house
a patch I bought for ava (but will probably keep for myself)
two woven candy-colored bracelets that called my name
the paper bag that held our leftover beignets
three anniversary photobooth strips

283/365

things I hope to find hidden deep in the depths of the garage, part one:

my blue typewriter
a cornucopia of lost art supplies
the rest of my found photography collection

282/365

small pleasures, part eleven:

paper fans
cats in sunspots
lemon slices in cold water
the cool side of the pillow
freshly folded laundry
small flirtations
bubbles

281/365

words I had to look up in the dictionary in august:

ancillary
exculpatory
fulminate
hubris
avuncular
threnody
malapropism
multitudinous
ablution

280/365

things seen today in new orleans and beyond:

alligator jerky 
a painter's crusted palette
a wall of bottled hot sauce
donald trump voodoo dolls by the dozens
clumps and sprinkles of powdered sugar on the sidewalk
a message scribbled on a pink wall on st. claude: 'baby, went to frenchmen street-- love, boo'
a man in an ivory wool suit with matching fedora
bayou after bayou after bayou
houses on skinny wooden-legged stilts
roads swooning with  live oaks
signs urging the world to vote for someone named 'tater'
a roadside memorial cross accompanied by a dozen small silver spinning pinwheels 
a carpet of tiny white daisies along the shoulder of the road
another fiery farewell sunset in my rearview mirror

279/365

things seen today in new orleans:

neon colored wigs
bone white grave markers
a welcome, sprawling canopy of live oaks
a man on a bike, wearing a cotton bonnet the color of milk
a man on a bike, wearing no pants, no pants at all
homemade milk crate basketball goals
a lemon yellow pothole with the words 'love me tender' stenciled on it
an older couple sitting on the high bench outside outside hansen's sno-bliz, legs dangling, feet not touching, eating sno-balls
a collection of old memory jugs encrusted with bits of buttons and shells and beads and pieces of remembered things
a man in tortoise shell glasses pecking away on an old typewriter at breakfast
a window with the words 'no peeping toms' carefully painted on it
the dark insides of an old dip-and-dunk chemical photobooth
the candy colors of the bywater from the seat of a bike
the candy colors of the french quarter from the seat of a bike
a crazy vivid tangerine pink bittersweet farewell sunset

278/365

things seen today in new orleans:

tiny hand-painted matchboxes
tiny pink blooms on our courtyard table, like confetti
two men in wide-brimmed straw hats, holding cameras, taking pictures
a dragonfly resting on top of a woman's teased head of hair while she read a book, completely unaware
bright orange koi in the little courtyard fountain 
the brightest, orangest house I have ever seen in my life
magnolia branches and pillowy clouds, as I floated on my back in the pool
a clawfoot tub filled with flowers
a somber chorus of ghost bikes
a wall full of books and light 
a wall full of whiskey bottles and light
a bright red sock near the bus stop
a bright red street car on st. claude 
a trashcan with the words 'you deserve to be here' scribbled on top

277/365

things we did today on september third, our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary:

packed up the car
flew down highway 65
drove over bridges, past bayous
checked into the hotel where we spent our honeymoon twenty-five years ago
drank champagne in the courtyard next to the fountain where we once drank as newlyweds
walked through the french quarter to dinner
ate plates of jambalaya and red beans and rice at the place where, supposedly, napolean was meant to spend his exile
wandered back to our little hotel
swam beneath a canopy of magnolia trees and night stars
wandered over to cafe du monde 
ate hot beignets near midnight
got powdered sugar everywhere
wandered back to the hotel
drank the very last 
of the champagne

276/365

books I read in august:

the nickel boys (colson whitehead)
the book of delights (ross gay)
junonia (kevin henkes)

275/365

on this first day of september:

melancholy, felt
september song, played
day, turned around (a little bit, I guess)