Trends are so trendy
The fact that everyone is all of a sudden
wearing crop tops again
is really cracking me up
This is one of the farms that will not be our home.
This was at the farmers’ market in Montpelier, when Ellie was visiting, and we met up with Kenzie, who is also a Suzie’s Farm Person, and she had those long fabulous dreadlocks.
This was when Ellie and Scott and Josh were staying over. I made Misha wear my happy wreath because he was happy, too. And we drank that whole bottle of bourbon. And life was sweet and Scott jumped in the pond and Josh ended up getting a free Suzie’s Farm hat.
This is my favorite photo of my friend Andrew, because the sun is all up in his face.
Those ladies? Oh those are my ladies.
These are some bodacious poppies and some pretty Unidentified Other Flowers that grow beneath the grapes in front of our house.
This is another farm which we won’t live on. But boy, was it pretty.
This is my pen pal, Shannon. She’s even better in person than written. Plus, she’s married! Also, a poet!
This was the fourth of July. Misha didn’t even mean to wear red white and blue and we had sausages for dinner.
This is Misha with flowering mullein on Cape Cod. He really loves that plant. And in this photograph, he even matches it!
This is my family in the early 90s. I don’t think I’ll ever be as baller as I was that day on Cape Cod, with that stance and that minnow net and that belly-bearing bathing suit. Also: how cute is my sister. Also also: notice how all our bathing suits match!
This was leaving the Cape just today, admiring the font of the Sagamore Bridge, admiring structure.
Something that I miss about San Diego is the sideyard, that yard we had on the side of our house, where friends used to gather. So many great things happened there: poems under the streetlights, loud live music, deluxe beverages (alcoholic and non-alcoholic), yoga mat washing by way of rare rain, hot pepper roasting (& peeling), yoga class by Britta, yard sales, the explorations of a young chicken named V’Nilla… That being said, we also experienced chair thievery with frequency. And people used to walk their dogs onto the lawn and let them shit and just leave it. Hummingbirds buzzed through there and friends visiting from the east came and sat in the sideyard with their faces facing the sun and said, “Aaaah.” People purchased Misha’s photos there and we parked our bikes there and we grilled fish out there and we sat with tea out there under the purple umbrella that Misha bought because he knows how much I love purple. We grew good mint out there and a kale plant that looked like a palm tree and a bush of African blue basil that the bees adored. And before we left, we invited everyone over to buy and take our stuff, and we made fancy popcorns, and we played bocci, and drank beer and lemonade from a cooler. It was our living room, carpeted with the spikiest grass I’d ever known, and Misha would turn off the sprinklers and then every week dudes would come and mow the grass and turn the sprinklers back on. And now that we’re not living there anymore I hope heartily that whoever is living there is loving that little square of green as much as we did, is using it as hard as we used it, and is calling it a sideyard.
(The sideyard was also where I discovered I could wear bocce balls as earrings, no big deal, just wearing these bocce balls as earrings next to my boyfriend. I’m assuming we lost that game of bocce based on the look on Misha’s face.) (Photo by Marilyn, a true friend who I met–you guessed it!–in the sideyard.)
Not last Sunday but the Sunday before, this tiny Converse sneaker appeared on the ground just outside our market stall. Look at this! A tiny shoe! I yelled. Don’t you think it’s a hint from the universe that you should have a baby? someone asked. No! I said. It’s a hint from the universe that the more I love small, the more small that arrives!
My really cool crew wears Converse (Owen in grey, Sara in purple) and I wear Blundstone boots with my pants cuffed because I’m short.
The only thing better than a tiny sneaker is a tiny creature, and here below is Little Debbie, or Little Deborah (or Debra, if you like Beck [I like Beck]). She was found at the farm on a Thursday, looking terrified and alone. She’s currently being cared for and will be let back into the wild when she’s a little bigger. But for now she’s so small she looks like a squirrel.
Here she is in her little box:
And here’s a small artichoke going bad, plus my feet and Misha’s.
When life gives you lemons…
you make blood orange lemonade and mix it with vodka.
When life gives you sailor-themed thigh highs with little silver anchors hanging from the top, you…
purchase a ship?
get your freak on?
prepare your sexy sailor halloween costume very, very early?
What I receive at the farmers’ market is not only vegetables.
(photo found at wanderlust, where you can get high on food images.)
It’s something about the stance, about looking perfect but wrong with a cigarette; something about that dress, about having a sister nearby with hands on hips and a kid on stilts in the background, about that knotty sideswiped hair and the frills on the side of her stark white dress and her watch
that reminds me of today with Elspeth, buying fabric in National City to make a dress and seeing little kids dance in a Subway where we bought a Sprite and used the bathroom, receiving flowers and wrapping stones in gold wire, drinking coffee with milk and sugar from my tea set, staring at the pinks in paintings, some or all of that is in this photograph, titled “Candy Cigarette” by Sally Mann. (More Sally Mann here, on Artsy.)
(photo via art-folio by michèle laird)
I’m mostly okay today, but yesterday I was lifting and twisting in the truck at the farmer’s market and my back went ping! on the lower left side. Being hurt makes me very slow and aware of every motion, which I try to appreciate. I feel like Marguerite Duras in this photo–booted and fabulous, but with a scrunched up neck and rickety on the stairs. Also, I believe she has a little beard in this photo, which is most elegant.
photo by the amazing portraitist, richard avedon, taken in 1993. photo via FANTOMATIK, where you can find artistic photography of famous artists. (swoon.)