20 September 2019


five weekly friday lists I read:

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

19 September 2019



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

burnt orange
striped things
turquoise rings
patchwork anything
vintage adidas everything
technicolor tights
embroidered blouses
wooden clogs


18 September 2019



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

quite 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.

17 September 2019


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

16 September 2019


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

15 September 2019


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

14 September 2019


color//colour red

to photograph:

humble people
ordinary places
slivers and chunks of light

13 September 2019


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)

12 September 2019



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

10 September 2019


nola things

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

09 September 2019


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

08 September 2019



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

07 September 2019


words I had to look up in the dictionary last month:


06 September 2019


things seen today in new orleans and beyond:

alligator jerky
a painter's palette
a wall of bottled hot sauce
donald trump voodoo dolls
powdered sugar on the sidewalk
'baby, went to frenchmen street-- love, boo' scribbled on a pink wall on st. claude
a man in an ivory suit with matching fedora
bayou after bayou
houses on skinny stilts
rusted red iron bridges
roads lined with swooning live oaks
signs urging all to vote for someone named 'tater'
a roadside memorial cross accompanied by a dozen small silver pinwheels 
a carpet of tiny white daisies along the shoulder of the road
the sunset in my rearview mirror

05 September 2019


things seen today in new orleans:

neon wigs
bone white grave markers
a welcome canopy of live oaks
a man on a bike, wearing a cotton bonnet
a man on a bike, wearing no pants, no pants at all
homemade milk crate basketball goals
a yellow pothole with the words 'love me tender' stenciled on it
a couple in their eighties, sitting on the high bench outside outside hansen's sno-bliz, legs dangling, enjoying sno-balls
a collection of old memory jugs and vases, encrusted with bits of buttons and shells and beads and pieces of things
a man with a typewriter at a table at the market
a window with the words 'no peeping toms' painted on it
the inside of an old dip-and-dunk chemical photobooth
the colors of bywater from the seat of a bike
the colors of the french quarter from the seat of a bike
a crazy vivid tangerine pink goodbye sunset

04 September 2019


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

03 September 2019


20 years ago

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

02 September 2019


books I read in august:

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

01 September 2019


on this first day of september:

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