what i ate | lunch

I love peanut butter sandwiches: The velvety smooth goodness is sandwiched between two slices of soft bread. It is like a happy, nutty flavored, hug: simple pure deliciousness.

:)

 

The day I lived in a tent.

It was lovely, warm, and quiet. I woke up with the sun and went to sleep with the moon. I read, ate an apple, watched Feast, listened to Home, played chess with a visitor. My one regret was the position of the tent, which was placed lateral to the sun. When I laid on my tummy my face was cool but my feet burned from the sun rays. At first the sun rays seeped into my toes causing a pleasantly warm sensation but than the sun would start to bake them like hotcakes in the oven, and so now the soles of my poor feet are an angry red, and sadly, peeling.

Note to self: apply sunscreen more liberally to soles of feet when hugging the ground.

favorite night films | Friday

 5..4..3..2..1

butch cassidy &the sundance kid (1969) -- forget the notorious gangsters, i could watch the lovely bicycle scene a million times.

Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) -- what a delicious and colourful film

dead poet society (1989) -- i cried, i laughed, i simply adored it.

funny girl (1968) -- never have i loved a movie soo much, i could listen to Barbara for hours and never tire.

home.

their lovely throaty songs floated downward with the sweet spring air, very tuneful, charged with a sort of happy melancholy.*

Oh, oh I just love winston and julia.

i cannot help hymning Home whenever i'm reading their pages.

home is wherever im with you.

*modified from 1984

where the birds sing.

god.

it's so beautiful right now. I can see a rickety fence with the latch broken, overgrown foliage hugging the fence, and a distant dairy farm pixellated by the little window of which im looking through. i love living in a tent. there is nothing more freeing than waking up to a million birds singing. well, maybe sleeping under a "wolf sun" is also way up there on the list of "places i feel  most free." Anyway, the tent is orange and white, like an orange creamsicle, and big and airy like a rich folk's house but cosy enough to want to sleep in. 

i wish you were here. it gets cold during the night and awfully scary in the darkness with only the mooing of cows for comfort: it would be a lot warmer with your cuddles. i'm just saying...

Be here, instead of there, please? :)

happenings in my head.

DO you know what I really want?

TO wake up to the sun rays streaming through my window; the curtains fluttering in the breeze; making a bowl of warm porridge; eating said porridge on a window seat overlooking the city; putting on a sixties sundress and sunscreen; taking a trip to the farmers market; stopping for a photo shoot against a artsy backdrop in said sixties dress; smiling; coming home; baking a dairy free cake; planting flowers from said farmers market; going to a cafe and writing up a blog post with the artsy photo snaps; upcycling; recycling.

Oh, and I'd like it for it all to happen on a sunny Saturday preferably with a funny and adorable friend.

:)

Confidence.

When people say No, give them a reason to say Yes.

Don't hold back.

"People don't pay much attention to anything unless you give them reason to ." - Brideshead Revisited

The feminist.

"And finally, in our time a beard is the one thing that a woman cannot do better than a man." (John Steinbeck)

miss me

I want to the place full of stories. I sat on their sofas, doodling, dawdling, and painting my nails. I found one of my favorite author's: Katherine Mansfield. I paid $1.25 and happily left with a new read tucked in my packsack. It is titled the Garden Party by Mansfield. It is really a lovely read; full of witty remarks, beautiful places, and dynamic characters.

him.

He ordered chocolate milk.

Mint tea for me, please.

He was nice. He looked like that boy in the fault in our stars, the one who died.

I'm not saying he died. He's very much alive.

Sometime I wished I said yes. I just can't imagine anyone wanting to be with me.

We talked about everything: sewing, carpenterying, glass blowing,

I'm sad it ended.

Next time don't be scared. Who cares -- What makes a person cool, anyway?

sorry, so sorry.

The truth is, i lied. i don't mean it as anything, it's just to cause less tension; a security blanket.

coolness.

What does that word mean?

I've had a hard time with this in the past. I'm embarrassed to say I haven't hung out with people because I didn't think they were "cool" enough. And I've so, so regretted. Is "cool" being the most popular or always haveing the funniest punchline? no! We mustn't think like this. I've often been intimidated by those people, the "cool" ones, and even resented them (why can't I be that cool?). And I could never understand why other people would want to hang-out with me since I've never been like that.

I think the problem is hubris: Pride.

We mustn't be prideful. We shouldn't let other people's coolness define our own unique cool. We should hang out with people who make us feel special and heard, who listen to us and love us, who don't criticize others because of how they look like or what they do.

afeard.

What are we afraid of?

This is a question I ask myself every day. My favorite thing is comfort. I like when the place is quiet and nobody is around. I feel free: I don't have to be conscience of what I say or do. I can just be myself. I feel like a turtle most days. hiding in my shell because I'm afraid of others. I've always been in transient mode, constantly traveling. What comes with that afraidness is regret.  

All my life I've had bigger predators lurk over me, but now I don't want to hide anymore. 

The Minnesota Man.

There was once a man with a donut in one hand, a yellow coffee stained cup in the other, and a Vince Flynn novel tucked under his arm. He had silver hair and a beard to match. The moment he walked through the cafe you just knew his presence was one of regularity and familiarity: he was more than a customer, he was a spectacle-wearing man who like routines, tucked in shirts, and the classic taste of coffee with five sugars.

His name was Tim and he cried when the cafe burned to the ground.

He still came, though. Everyday. He'd sit on the blue bench across the way and watch them rebuild that tiny cafe, a donut in one hand, a yellow coffee stained cup in the other, and a Vince Flynn novel tucked under his arm.

S A I L E R

I am a sailor on an endless voyage.

Jon Steinbeck said truck drivers are like sailors, constantly moving, and never in touch with the world or the places they stop.

I often feel like that.

I dunno, the moving car travels over bumpy crevices and hilly ways just like a sea boat over unwavering water waves, never stopping in an endless motion of teetering and tottering

hair ties for her.

she always had a green one on her left wrist and a purple one on her right wrist. Hair ties, that is.

On good days or sunny days, she wore the green tie. On rainy days or sad days, she wore the purple tie. She didn't really plan it that way it just sorta happened, like falling asleep on the sofa or wearing mitch-matching socks. 

Did I mention those were the only hair ties she owned? Yes. Never black, or grey, or pink, or blue. Only green and purple.

She used them to secure ponytails, pigtails, french-braids, side-braids. 

Every style, every which way.

Don't feel sad because she only had two hair ties. She liked them and they were her special little comforters and cheerer-uppers.