wool-gathering

what is it that makes milk & oreos completely irresistable?
staying at home sounds fantastic when i am work, but not so great when i'm stuck at home with the flu.
white collar is pulling me in.
the snuffling of a baby sleeping is perhaps one of the best sounds in the world.
curbside take-away is a wonderful invention.
hot shower + clean sheets = bliss

i'd rather dance

tonight's halloween options included a costume dance, hosted by my church for the singles in my area. my costume, while in its element at work yesterday, caused much head-scratching and wrong guesses when taken out of context, say at starbucks or any other public gathering that didn't include mt. crumpet, a furry green grinch, and crazy hair. a rabbit? a flower? fail. apparently my who was not who-ville enough to speak for itself. ergo, tonight's dance didn't make the cut of my chosen all-hallow's eve festivities.

another type of dancing caught my eye when i stumbled across this video on another blog; i've always loved this song and the video charmed my socks off. enjoy!

this rain

it's raining this morning. not unusual, you say, you live in seattle, the soggy city, surely you must be used to the rain. but this deluge defies normal seattle precipitation, mocking our mist in its usual sweet kiss of moisture when legs can't run between drops fast enough, this new power to drench residing with each fat drop.

awakening this morning from the scattered dreams that follow a restful night's sleep and beyond, the ones that come when sleep is an indulgence, now, way past the time to get up--this rain thunders on the roof, sheeting off the eaves and blanketing my room in that moody darkness, making the clock seem like a life raft in this otherwise surreal morning of timelessness.

this rain, transforming the trees outside into flames of orange and green and yellow against trunks burnt-blackened by moisture. this rain, cajoling for a morning spent cozily under the covers or next to the fireplace, curled up with a good book until hunger beckons from the kitchen.

choosing my comfy bed over fire this morning, this rain accompanies my absorption into a new book delivered yesterday (with my groceries!); molly wizenberg, of orangette, has written a memoir/cookbook, a homemade life. recipes accompanied by the moments of life, change, beauty, bliss, and heartbreak, all wrapped into one hunger-inducing morsel feast, tempting me, halfway through, to start all over again and just cook my way through the book.

meanwhile, this rain floods itself out, giving way to the soft mist outside of fall in seattle, a morning that calls of breakfast and hot chocolate, laundry and contentment, and, of course, a good book.

wordless wednesday

wordless wednesday

source

how to spend a warm summer evening

1. find some family (friends work, too) and beg persuade them to take you out in the boat:





2. find some water (preferably a large body, like the columbia river):





3. bring your shades and enjoy the wind in your hair (ahh, isn't that nice?):





4. cruise by your local nuclear reservation (harness that atomic power!):





5. sit back, relax and enjoy the view (ah, the miracle of irrigation farming):





6. stay out 'til the sun goes down:





7. and down:





8. and then cruise on home (if you must):

wordless wednesday

missed

stuck on the 520 bridge tonight. my first time ever in the 3 years of weekly/daily crossings, and never before had the drawbridge opened. slightly stunned, we all crawled to a stop and goggled the perfect summer seattle evening. dusk falling, mt. rainier hazily sheer to the south, sailboats on lake washington as the sun set behind us and the sky turned pinkly purple. car doors opened, humanity emerged. the empty lanes of west-bound traffic filled with car-less drivers. all staring, standing. this bridge, that, without fail, still inspires silent refrains of ''i live here? i. live. here. seattle. i love this place.'

scrabbled in my bag for my camera (how i've missed taking pictures while it languished in a moving box)--battery dead.

fail.

but that sweet summer air? conversation with monica in the car & nathan on his motorcycle next to us--that nothing but something? it's still here, even if i can't show it to you.

wordless wednesday

wherein i discover today might not go as i planned

i'm moving. in one week. downsizing, no less. a tremendous to-do list awaits me this morning, my last saturday before The Big Move.

leeetle problem: i was out of clothes. so 'doing laundry' promptly established itself as numero uno, bumping 'stuff my starving face' to #2.

grumbling just a little bit (laundry is so tedious), i gathered all the clothes, sorted them into their little piles and started filling the washing machine. good thing, i thought, that i just bought laundry detergent at costco. the big jug of liquid detergent, with the spout n' all. realizing that i wouldn't be able to reach the little release valve once i hefted it on top of my stacking washer/dryer combo (i'm a shorty, after all), i twisted the little cap, ever so slightly, thereby saving myself the hassle of pulling out a stool to reach it later when i couldn't get the detergent to come out. brilliant, yes?

heaving the jug over my head, i started to balance it onto the top of my dryer. what the?!?

brrrrr. eeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww. laundry detergent. was. pouring. over. my. head.

and the floor.

and splashing on the closet door.

all in a split second, the ramifications of which felt like eternity. and it was cold. and slimy. and sticky.

you have got to be kidding me. suddenly, 'take a shower--stat' pre-empted everything else. who knows what laundry detergent would do to my hair, my scalp? i didn't know what's in that stuff.

and now, with the fresh scent of liquid detergent and shampoo in my hair, i'm off to find a mop bucket.

but i think i might stop by the freezer first, and find that pint of haagen-daz. it's gonna be a long day.

wordless wednesday

the smell of summer

i bought fresh peonies at the farmer's market today. a lovely bundle of pink & white fragrant ruffles, heavy heads nodding gently against their cone of white butcher paper. it felt so right, strolling along the waterfront, that bundle of white paper and blossoms in the crook of my arm, smiling with the farmer as she deftly created bouquet after bouquet of peonies, sweet peas, and poppies, inhaling the aroma of flowers mingling with the brick oven pizza down the way a few booths, the sharp bite of the herbs next farmer over, and crushed grass beneath my feet.

summer's here.

silver lining

morning commute
first day back after 3 days vacation
john at kexp had me tapping my fingers on the wheel inching along the freeway

miike snow sylvia

phoenix lisztomania

full circle: all mashed up here tonight in my google reader

happy happy happy

universal domination

in leaving a product suggestion for a big brand (to remain nameless), i noticed the following statement in the obligatory disclosure-legalese:

"{Corporation X} shall exclusively own all now known or hereafter existing rights to the suggestions of every kind and nature throughout the Universe"

not just the world, nor the solar system, nor our galaxy. shoot for the stars!

wordless wednesday