April 28, 2016 § 1 Comment
January 12, 2016 § 2 Comments
How calming is the ocean? These photos from a hazy sunset last week fill me with such peace. One resolution in 2016 is to pay more attention to my senses. Reading A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman has everything to do with this!!! And finally accepting that I’m addicted to my phone, which is pointless.
I just spent a week in Cocoa Beach, FL visiting my grandmother. It rained all but two days, so I didn’t get as many freckles as I usually do when hitting the beach and pool. We played hours of dominoes and card games each night, and a week away with someone I love so much made the whole world disappear. No better way to start a new year.
Hopefully this year will be full of paying more attention to my surroundings. Feeling the ocean, hearing the birds, hugging my grandmother, tasting coconut macroons, smelling the coffee. It helps if this coffee is on a balcony overlooking tropical plants and the shore. Just taking it all in.
November 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I’ll say this: there are special places and they’re obvious. They’re storybook. They’re historical. And you’re lucky, really, to enter it. To eat it. I kept a food log during my time in Grandcamp-Maisy, in northwestern France. Those entries speak louder, more clearly, more articulate of how it was waking up and sleeping and just being there than the photographs do. Regardless, I took these. I look at them. Voilà.
September 7, 2014 § 4 Comments
Saturday morning, I went to northern Spain to pick up chorizo and wine from a market. There is a good feeling to be had in markets on weekend mornings. Something I miss tremendously about home: meeting K with our matching totes and produce. I spent the rest of the day in a little french coastal town, Biarritz. Not at all used to water like that. It was a happy day. Stupid happy. Wore a dress for the first time since I’ve been in the country, ate a salmon sandwich, admired the Bay of Biscay, read Carson McCuller’s The Ballad of the Sad Cafe from cover to cover, and spied on adolescent boys jumping off cliffs. The swimmers seemed to belong nowhere else in the world besides floating in all that salt. It felt briefly like home (packed the same tote, felt sun and sand) but that fleeing left and something else took its place.