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

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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)