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31 July 2015

Letters to July #2

Dear July,

I want to be honest with you. You scare me. Your reputation hides behind the umbrella of summer magic, but I think you're secretly in cahoots with August. I've got issues with August. Who do you want me to be, July? One part carefree, summer haze - twelve parts impending decisions and unsettling changes. How can you fit all those tricks up your sleeve? I wish your days would pass slower. Or maybe I wish that I could just wander more slowly through what you have to offer. I like you best when I'm still enough to notice how goofy you can be; the thunderstorm, tan line, melting Popsicle nonsense that bubbles up when I least expect it. That's why we love you, July. Because despite your sneaky, imminent doom, you always manage to remind me how to play, how to adventure, how to hope. Sometimes you manage to ruin every semblance of a plan that I can muster, but I've yet to be entirely disappointed by the outcome. So we beat on, July - you and I - two crazy peas in a pod. Keep teaching me how to make mistakes and mud pies; how to be messy and whole and ok all at the same time. I can't do it with out you. 

As always x

09 July 2015

Letters to July #1

Dear July,

Please be kind. I mean it. I'm meeting you once again ever so slightly bruised and almost barely willing, but I know that's what you do best. You've already marked me with freckles and blisters and ten million stories - each one begging for attention. Tip-toeing into your sponge-month days was hopelessly ineffective because you seem to be more interested in brimming and teeming and other various forms of overflow. But ridle me this, July, how do you balance the abundance and defeat that fill each of your days? Teach me. Every encounter is singed with your sunshine and heat; good and evil. You give more hours to wonder and more chances to chase. I'm not trying to point fingers, July, but you make it slightly difficult to keep up. I'll forgive the offense, if you promise to leave me stronger.

All my love x

19 May 2012

It's time for graduation

This is how we do graduation y'all. The high school grads are excited and they have no idea what's about to come, but they throw themselves into life head first anyway because it's brand new so why not. And the college grads blink their way through nervously happy and bittersweet tears because there really aren't words for the saying goodbye and the leaving and the relief and the joy and the adventures that await after this. So here's to you my little graduates! I love to watch you grow.

19 April 2012

You might be

Here's how you can tell if someone is a Londoner:

They like to present a rousing soliloquy about the deficiencies in the drainage system when all of Piccadilly transforms into one giant puddle.

It rained a lot today. The other people in my office cleared out faster than I've ever seen them move before, but luckily for me the other intern was happy to share her umbrella as we skittered towards the tube station. I was damp and the bus was cloudy, but London was meant to be seen this way. All puddles and wavering reflections and people just trying to make it home.

17 April 2012

Adventures in Brighton

Seafront. That has a nice ring to it. Cue Seaside by The Kooks and me strolling along the pebbled English beach of Brighton. Fancy right? Yeah I really enjoyed Brighton.

We booked a cheap Megabus and within a few hours we were out of the land of tall builidngs and power walkers and pacing up and down the pier at a dangerously leisurely pace. Somehow the ocean seems even bigger after being surrounded by all of the tight streets and huge buildings in London and I didn't realize how much I had missed that much open space. We walked basically the entire length of the seafront and I made a valiant effort at skipping rocks in the ocean. And failed. We posed for pictures with a giant doughnut -- the mascot of Brighton as far as I can tell. We bought fresh seafood from a vender's cart. #teamcrayfish. We stopped for fish and chips like good little Londoners and listened to some live music and walked into shops that smelled like chocolate and into shops like smelled too much like cheese even for my taste and we sat in the grass under a magical fairy tree and thought about how strange it is to be going home soon. We got a free can of Fanta and talked about Basset hounds and ended the day in a pub. It was a good day.

Did I mention that I ate a waffle on a stick?

Day trips are fun.

05 April 2012

It's just that way

This is a sad story called sometimes London is utterly sunny and warm and all I want to do is spend the rest of my time here in the park while my coat lies banished under the bed, but then the weather remembers where we are and turns back to cold and gray. No park for me today. It's a good thing I like the tea.

03 April 2012

It's about looking at stuff.

       This is open ended. I haven’t come to any sort of conclusion yet, but I think sometimes we just need to mull over things for the sake of all good musings. This weekend I went on trips. I went on a far trip to Paris and a near trip to the London Zoo and both trips set me to pondering about the way we look at things. I don’t mean the metaphorical way that we view and interpret the world around us and all that jazz – no I’m talking about literally walking up to something and just staring at it.

         We just stare at things. I went to Paris and stared at the Eiffel Tower, at my pink macaron, at the Parisians, the sun-kissed buildings, the bridges we passed on our boat tour, the weathered spines of well-loved books, my onion soup and the flowering trees. I would have spent hours upon hours staring at paintings on a wall in the art galleries if we had time. Then on Saturday we went to the zoo and my staring habit took over again. This time I found myself staring at strange eyeballs and funny nostrils, at penguin wings, lily pads, snuggling otters, feisty zebras, and parrot feathers. The animals stay in their enclosures while I pay £20 to wander through a park and stare at them.

          I started to wonder how much money or time we spend to effectively stare at things regardless of whether or not we’ve seen them before. And why? I stinking love the zoo and I could sit and watch penguins play for the rest of my life and be content, but the more I think about it the stranger the whole convention seems. Do we stare at things to know more? To learn? We could just as easily buy a book and flip through pictures, but instead we traipse all over the world to be in the presence of fascinating sights. I don’t think it has anything to do with grandeur because the Eiffel Tower is huge and famous but I enjoy the butterfly paradise at the zoo just as much. So for now I’m just going to chock it up to good old fashioned wonder. We like to be startled; to see something brand new or perfectly familiar and have a different reaction every time. So we’ll keep buying tickets and planning road trips and drying out our contacts all in an effort to stare at more things and remember how fun it is to be surprised.

What do you think?