thinking of the sun…

Ah, the first snow of the season. Don’t get me wrong, I love the ‘holly jolly’ atmosphere that the wintery mix brings, but it always takes me some time to get used to that cold snap in the air.

It makes me think back to warm summer days, or warm fall New Orleans weekends, celebrating a wedding, friends, love and Abita beer…



we put our feet just where they had, had to go

On Sunday night, in a moment of impulse, I bought a ticket to see Beirut at the House of Blues. And it was so wonderful.

You know how you get obsessed with a song, or a band, listen to them everyday for a month before retiring them away for a while? And then, whenever you listen to them, as if by magic, you’re transported back to that time in your life when that music was so important?

(from here)

For me, Beirut takes me back to Europe, the early days. The days of small French apartments, salty sea air, bikes and two euro bottles of cheap champagne…of drafty castles, French housekeepers, brown German bread, and iambic-pentameter Luxembourgish.

And mostly, of trains, and watching the countryside pass by. Beirut was the band I would listen to, en route, feeling that rush of new adventure, of forward movement, speeding into the unknown.

giving thanks (1)

Yup, it’s that time of year, that week when the word ‘thankful’ permeates every conversation, newspaper article, radio wave, and, well, blog post.

So, here I go. Day one of this Thanksgiving week, starting off with things I’m so very thankful for.

Friends. I am so so thankful for amazing friends. The kind of friends that listen, encourage, hold you to a higher standard, share in your joys and in your sorrows.


I blame it on France. Currently, in my room, there is an over flowing box filled with scarves. If you’ve ever visited France, you know that this is a wardrobe staple. Heck, all French stereotypes, from the stripped shirted mime to any francophile SNL skit, are dressed in scarves.

My only problem has been figuring out how to wear them. My colleagues always had this effortless way about their scarves, whereas mine always felt like a one-note tune. I’ve always just thrown them around my neck, but in reality, there are hundreds of ways to show off your écharpe.

And this is why I LOVE this video. What a fun way to get those creative scarf juices flowing!

the clothes on our backs

hey gang!

It’s been a few days since I’ve posted here and it’s mostly because things are moving and shaking in these parts. There have been scavenger hunts to organize (did you know I was a sort of freelance scavenger hunt creator?), among other things, so life has been pleasantly busy.

And for this lady, who hates having nothing to do, to be busy is to be happy.

Today I threw together a quick little outfit, really without much thought, but as I went about my day, I couldn’t help but think about what I was wearing. It wasn’t really anything special or spectacular (in fact, I looked pretty gross, truth be told), but there were lovely memories associated with each item.

My fringe moccasins? I spent the last little tiny bit of my paycheck on them in Lyon, France, when I was a language assistant in La Rochelle. I had seen them in a few magazines, and when they beckoned my name through the shop window, my impulse gave a resounding ‘OUI’.

My jeans (er, jeggings)? I found them in a thrift store a few months ago in Seattle in the Capitol Hill district. It was a last minute grab off the rack and they ended up being my ‘go-to’ pants. Plus, they came with a little bit of glitter, which begs the questions – what were these pants in their former life?

My shirt? A red and white stripped number that I bought on the Normandie coast in France. I’m telling you, it was in a store filled with stripes. Socks, shirts, hats, blankets, bags – everything had Breton stripes. I was so elated, I left my phone there.

It was a rag-tag, odd combination of clothing, but it was great to take these memores with me as I tackled my day.

Flee to the Cleve


(from here)

“‘What went wrong here?’ is an unpopular question with the type of city fathers and civic boosters for whom convention centers and pedestrian malls are the answers to all society’s ills but Harvey captured and chronicled every day what was–and will always be–beautiful about Cleveland: the still majestic gorgeousness of what once was–the uniquely quirky charm of what remains, the delightfully offbeat attitude of those who struggle to go on in a city they love and would never dream of leaving. What a two minute overview might depict as a dying, post-industrial town, Harvey celebrated as a living, breathing, richly textured society. ” – Anthony Bourdain

All you Goblins and Ghouls:

Happy Halloween!

Yes, one year I was a Hershey Kiss for Halloween. I believe this was when I was in 3rd grade (judging by the size of my glasses). Over the years my favorite costumes included Bride, Fairy Princess, and (I kid you not) Amish Girl. My mom even sewed me a dress sans buttons that particular year.

I’ve always loved the idea that, on this one day of the year, you could be whatever you wanted to be. So I would dream big. Giant-life-sized-piece-of-candy big.

And so, I hope everyone had a festive, sugar-high induced holiday. Until next year, my little pumpkins…


Ah, the roadtrip. The all-american rite of passage. The closest I had ever come to this was a crazy-long train ride from Cleveland to New Mexico when I was 16. And that was mostly characterized by an unusually large group of Amish folks, our fellow passengers, as well as an equally large group of people who decided to get drunk. It was quite the juxtaposition and left some serious impressions on my impressionable young self.

Well, as I was planning my move back to the states, I had the idea of going on a roadtrip, re-acquainting myself with the homeland, and putting off the arduous task of looking for a new job. And so, me and my pal hit the open road.

Even though it feels like ages ago (or two months ago…), the memories glitter in my mind of those blissful days, watching the scenery pass, listening to David Sedaris, talking about everything…it was pretty swell. One of my favorite memories was just outside Portland. As we drove along Hood river, we passed by this little stand, filled with lavender.

We put our $5 in the box and with the sweet smell of summer, drove on to our next destination.