Vermont Apple Pie, from a 1956 newspaper clipping I discovered tucked inside the pages of a cookbook purchased years ago. I made two pies late last night; only one made it successfully out of the oven. But messes in the kitchen should always be laughed off, one pie will be enough, and I am so thankful to share a bounty of yum with a cherished assortment of family & friends.
A recent afternoon was spent in the rare book room at Powell's City of Books in Portland, OR. There were many treasures to be found, including this children's classic from 1932––Katy Kruse at the Seaside, by Eleanor Farjean. I am quite enamored by these peculiar little illustrations. Are they hand-colored photographs of dolls? I couldn't find much information after some internet sleuthing––perhaps further proof of this title's rarity.
Last Thursday I had the privilege of seeing Sin Fang Bous and Múm perform at the Walker Art Center. The McGuire Theater, packed with spellbound spectators, was transformed into an enchanted forest within moments of these Icelandic spirits taking the stage. I was captivated, moved, possessed.
Perhaps my admiration is partly due to the geographical context in which these artists are situated––the pristine land of Scandinavia; a land at once rooted in stark, atmospheric melancholy, while paradoxically enamored with a childish whimsy and the fairy tale traditions of old. I cannot help but be continuously inspired by this aesthetic, this Nordic cultural voice. It is these images and sounds and bits of beauty that resonate so deeply within me––a clangour of inspirations and emotions.
Images (in order of appearance): Sin Fang Bous album art (signed by Sindri!), Pattern design by Sanna Annuka for Marimekko, illustrations by Hanna Werning.
And when I'm swimming in through a tunnel, I shut my eyes...
My grandpa and I's annual exchange of Halloween jest. He'll always write to check up on my dating status, and I'll always respond with a note and a package of cookies, because who doesn't love a little grandpa humor?
A book is many many things...These scans don't do justice to this treasure I've plucked from the MCAD Library. Neon pink, orange, yellow, and white, it reminds me of the work of this ever-inspiring wordsmith. 
"But human beings do not perceive things whole; we are not gods but wounded creatures, cracked lenses, capable only of fractured perceptions. Partial beings, in all the senses of that phrase. Meaning is a shaky edifice we build out of scraps, dogmas, childhood injuries, newspaper articles, chance remarks, old films, small victories, people hated, people loved; perhaps it is because our sense of what is the case is constructed from such inadequate materials that we defend it so fiercely, even to the death."
The days disentangle in kaleidoscopic rays of light and dark. Brilliance collides with blackness as I attempt to weave together the circadian cycles of my newly illuminated habitats. I've long been absent from this space, but sometimes we need silence before sound––a chance to gain clarity, arranging the pieces just so in the hopes to achieve a higher harmony...
Mysterese folds a small satchel into my out- stretched palm, and says, "These reminded me of you," and as I grip the tiny tokens in my hands, they begin to cast a sort of serendipitous spell. I realize that, while it is difficult to say goodbye, much joy and hope is felt knowing that the paths we all travel will once again cross, and that new adventures are sure to bring happiness, content- ment, and unimaginable growth...
