do you?

I don't know about you, but when it's midwinter and I'm gearing up to head to a tropical beach (after wearing 67 layers of thermal undergarments and a top layer of yak hair) I try and "tighten" up a little.

I like to head to the gym with a little extra fervor, eat mostly vegetables (with perhaps a little lasagna midweek), and I use a famous person's air-brushed, works-out-with-a-trainer-every-day photo. This month it's Jewel. She looks fantastic, and lives on a ranch where she rides horses and plays football with her neighbors. She's svelte. She's also not scrawny to the point of scariness, which makes me happy.

There's far too much of that Skinny Like A Scarecrow Actor thing going around, which is in direct conflict with the obesity epidemic in America.

I'm devoted to not becoming someone with Type 2 Diabetes, but I have found it tricky to be the "active svelte girl," too. As I enter my *gasp* mid-thirties, I have discovered that 4-5 miles a day is the trick. Whether it's walking the dog extra far, or going to the gym for 30 mins, I must do something at least 5-6 days a week or I don't feel as great. And isn't that the whole point? Feeling great, and feeling like you fit in your body?

Yep. That is the point.

In Shape Magazine - Jewel

long, long

Apparently I lost my mojo for a while there. It tends to happen from time to time, and then I wake up one day and realize I haven't written anything in weeks and my brain is filled with random thoughts that spill out everywhere but on the page.

For instance: I'm going snow skiing tomorrow and I have a pair of purple coverall ski pants. I'm planning on wearing them and I'm definitely not going to be the coolest kid on the mountain. Luckily, that is not my goal. My goal is to avoid falling, crashing, being run over by snowboarders, and cracking my head; most importantly to enjoy a hot cup of cocoa while resting in between runs.

In another vein, I am looking forward to Christmas this year. I love gift giving, gift receiving, gift wrapping, and gift making. I have a lovely mix of made and bought presents for people dear to me, and I am now on the hunt for some lovely, unusual wrapping paper. Pair that with some lovely, unusual ribbon and I am a happy camper.

Speaking of camping, and being creative, I read this advice from Ira Glass (host and producer of "This American Life" on NPR) to people just getting started on creativity. I understood it as: You'd better write a blog update immediately, or your brain will die.

"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners. I wish someone had told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple of years you make stuff, it's just not that good. It's trying to be good, it has potential, but it's not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase; they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn't have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know that it's normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you finish one piece. It's only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I've ever met. It's gonna take a while. It's normal to take awhile. You just gotta fight your way through."

Last, but not least, if you have wonderful clothing and a pretty closet to put it in, try color coordinating and making a lovely rainbow out of your vintage classics and new loves. Bri (from DesignLoveFest) did it, and it's dazzling.

DesignLoveFest

Ira Glass

in deep

This is my birthday week. I had a lovely Tuesday birthday filled with surprises and visits, fancy gifts, and lots of feeling special. I had a week off on holiday just before that, and visited some of my favorite people in three cities and two states.

I love coming home after trips. Getting to miss home is a little bit wonderful. It means that when you come back, all the things that make up your days and weeks seem less mundane.

This is the season of many splendid things. Parties and celebrations, time with family and planning trips and visits and evening meets. It is full and sometimes overwhelming, and it is warm inside by the fire and cold outside in the wind. I'm ready for some snow, watching the Pup as he pounces through snow drifts and bounds back to me with his ears up (that means happy) and his pink tongue out (that means ready for action). We are busy and exhausted and happy.

photo courtesy of Style Me Pretty

photographer: Heather Waraska

something 'blue'

Some people don't like the color blue. We really shouldn't try to force them. As it is, a bride I know who is 77 days from her vows doesn't like the color blue much, either. She loves color in general, but when it comes to blue.... Well, let's just say it doesn't blow her away like Plum.

As I was plotting and planning out her something new/blue it donned on me that it wouldn't be as fun for someone who is a) not the most traditional bride and b) not a fan of blue. What to do?

I decided to make her something 'blue.' I spent somewhere between 11 and 80 hours on a hair flower (terms like hair piece and hair pin seemed underwhelming) just for her. It was inspired by her dress, and matches without being matchy-matchy. I may have giggled a few times as the pieces came together, as the rhinestones and silver seed beads were set in place. How delightful can lace and silk and tulle and sparkling crystals be? Most delightful.

What was the something? I embroidered the word 'Blue' in cursive with silver thread. It is hidden on the back of the hair flower on silk faille the color of eggshell.

It is a little something, and it is a little blue.

annual us

Rain is everywhere. It is falling on cheeks and streaming down windows. The air is only a little chilly, but the wind is having fun splashing water on the underneath of things.

I am sitting in my office thinking about my weekend. It was my annual Girls' Trip with dear friends, and I am always a little exhausted and a lot pleased afterward.

My girlfriends are wonderful. They are fun and sweet, smart and sassy. They are chic and stylish, perfectly sarcastic, and they are compassionate which makes all the sly remarks and silly giggles balance perfectly on the tightrope that friendship can be. Our tightrope is close to the ground (in case we fall) so we get all the good challenges and provoking conversation without the danger or any kind of meanness. Except when one or two of us are really hungry. And that is usually cured by lunch.

We had four nights and five days traipsing all over Seattle and even managed a 24-hour trip to Orcas Island. We loaded up my Volkswagon pop-top camper van (a.k.a. White Lightening), fully stocked with cheeses and specialty breads and spreads from Pike Place Market, and a few bottles of wine. We rode the ferry, hiked in the woods, went out for lunch, and sat on the beach sipping wine and watching otters. We went to dinner. We rode the ferry back the next day and had such a spread of culinary delights that passers-by made comments. We had to wash honey off the table.

The four of us can spend hours chatting, our conversations fluid, running all over the globe and up and down the span of our lives. We like to seek out boutiques and antique shops, locally made jewelry and small-batch perfumeries. We love dancing and even waited for 11:00p to roll around before we went out. This used to be no problem, but we're not the young sprouts we once were, so there is some self-impressing to do. (I could easily have sunk into the sofa for a nap.) As it was, we wore heels and got silly and dropped into bed at 3am.

Even after 24 hours a day together we were slow to say goodbye. They live 1254 miles South of me, which means we must plan our visits well ahead of time and save our pennies for splurging and discoveries. We found Vinho Verde (a Portuguese nearly-colorless white wine with an effervescent flavor). We found hand-hammered necklaces and Coconut-Curry Theo Chocolate. We have a list of funny quotes that will enter our stories the next time we get together.

I hope it won't be too long.

Here are a couple of photos (thanks to Morgan and Rachel with their Hipstamatic).

gettin' crafty

I feel full of all kinds of exciting, inspired thought. It's as if I've been sleeping (or at least that my creative spark has been taking a very long nap) and suddenly it fills me up and my brain is filled with excitement for projects and creation and Doing-ness.

There's nothing like a sister's wedding to fan the flames. It's months and months of delight, when someone else is the bride and all you have to do is play with ideas and share blogs and photography sites to help her stay inspired. I love it when I don't have to feel the stress of something like planning a big event.

On the other hand, I constantly plan big events in my head, and wouldn't it be nice to plan them out loud for real? Like for weddings? For special people celebrating special things?

A couple of my favorite sources of inspiration:

Style Me Pretty

ee photography

this is glamorous

elizabeth anne designs

cup vs bowl

There is a reason one doesn't eat soup out of a cup or a narrow-mouth jar. It's not a soup bowl.

And it gets soup all over one's chin.

It is easy to reheat this way, though, and I do enjoy the sound of a proper spoon against the glass. It masks the sound of my slurping (when the soup is really delicious or extra hot).

take your soup to work in a jar. and get soup on your chin.

con-ta-gion

My ears are filled with a random music mix which is pretty great. Not amazing. Not "Oh-my-god-I-love-this-song" great, but pretty okay. I'm listening to it because I've been missing music lately and hunting through old CD's (yes, I still have lots and lots and I refuse to give them up regardless of how fancy my personal luxury item is). I also watched the movie 'Contagion' last night and I really, really liked the score.

Lately I've been hearing so very many remakes. I'm sure it's fun to take someone else's ideas and re-create them. Should you get an award for re-mixing someone else's composition?

I had begun to wonder if we've passed the point of no return. Have we a population that can no longer create new sounds? Is music on a downward spiral along with the changing climate?

I hope not. I am one of those people who is brought to tears by the beauty of groups of people singing together. I don't even have to understand the words. Live music, up close, is my favorite and oddly enough I've hardly taken time to enjoy it for a couple of years, now.

Why? Perhaps I needed this long stretch of time to realize just how much I miss it.

My faith in the musical ingenuity of humanity was restored thanks to Cliff Martinez' beautiful, haunting, creepy, lovely, thrilling score in 'Contagion'. It's like nothing I've heard before. It's new and creative and it gets you where the script doesn't (or can't). I am not wholeheartedly endorsing this movie for the plot line; I recommend it for the sound.

So, thanks, musical wonders of the world. There is hope for us, yet.

biohazard zombie contagion sticker credit

black + berry = delicious

I love blackberries. I love them a lot. I'd characterize it as more of a passionate, sparkling affair.

Vine-ripened, they are just about the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. They are summer, freedom, fun, giggling, adventure, end-of-a-hot-day sighs. Perfection.

Every summer (assuming I'm in the Northwest), I head out with my pails (typically a random assortment of plastic tubs). I dress in hardy clothing (if I don't, there will be blood). I wear tough shoes (again, with the blood). And then I pick. I pick a lot. Enough for pies and crisp, ice cream and breakfast (which is often crisp). I freeze it for later, and savor every bite. There is something about this amazing, weed-like vine (it grows like crazy out here!) offering nature's bounty that delights me to no end. If I don't make at least one blackberry crisp, I feel it as a loss.

Blackberry picking is the perfect combination of danger, tantalizing moments, sweetness, and effort. Danger because the thorny vines grab and poke and tear your skin (ask a friend who tried to wear shorts and sandals out picking with us last year). Tantalizing moments because the best, biggest, ripest berries are always just out of arms' reach. Sweetness, because, well, they're ripe berries. And effort for the hours of reaching, and narrowly escaping sharp thorns, for the hot sun, the little spiders, and the standing on tip toes or reaching from ladders. All of this is totally worth it.

This Labor Day weekend we (I had help) picked nearly 4 gallons of blackberries. We picked at a place I've been going since childhood, where the berries get so big that just two of them can fill your hand. I have to remind myself to eat them as I'm picking, because since the age of about 9 it occurred to me that if I didn't eat so many as I was picking, I'd have loads more to cook with and munch on later...

We made a cobbler. Then we made a crisp. We made vanilla ice cream to go with the crisp. We ate the crisp after dinner, and again for breakfast. It's delicious with yogurt. It's probably delicious with bacon and sandwiches.

My crisp recipe is one of the best. It has come from years of practice, having to make it up when I didn't have the recipe with me, adding more of this because we were out of that. It's best just out of the oven, when the crisp is still crispy and the berries still hot. It is a delectable combination of brown sugar, butter, old fashion oats, flour, and cinnamon. Sometimes I add nutmeg. With apple crisp I add a little bit of powdered ginger. With blackberries, I add almost no sugar to the berries themselves because the sweet topping and the sweet-tart flavor of the berries is the perfect combination.

After our picking extravaganza, I lugged a giant plastic bag of berries home with me and it is sitting in our fridge, taunting me with its potential. I put blackberries in my breakfast this morning. Tonight I might make jam.

photo credits:

Blackberry Crisp

Tiny crisp

Fresh Blackberries

here we go again

As the leaves start their autumnal procession (suddenly, shockingly beginning to change colors just in time to greet September) I am motivated by the urge to grasp every last moment of summer. Grilling, dips in the lake, sailing, walking under umbrellas of greenery, making fresh summer-things salads... These will all too soon seem a distant, shaded memory replaced with candlelight and rain, puddles, and piles of crispy leaves.

Have we come this far? Will I survive until next summer without bare feet or a sun-kissed nose? I'm not ready, I tell you.

the changing room

It was a hot weekend and we had a wedding to go to. Rather than sweat all the way to the hotel in our pretty dresses and three-piece suits, we decided to leave it for the last minute and change when we arrived.

We parked in a dim garage that was pretty empty (luckily for us) and spent a few minutes fixing hair and donning our satin and heels. Ours was a hippie changing room, reminiscent of silent-film-era movies when all the action is sped up. Cars rolled slowly by, their passengers giggling at these girls and boys madly changing out of their summer shorts into fancy suits and cocktail dresses. We used our Volkswagon pop-top camper to change, and we even had our dog.

At one point we took out a folding camper chair so I could apply my sister's makeup. An older gentleman walked by and chuckled. He teased the dog, who was watching patiently. I could almost hear him shaking his head, saying, "Silly hippie kids" and reminiscing about his past as the boy in the boxer shorts standing behind the van, pulling on his suit trousers, and knotting his tie.

scabs

You shouldn't scratch at them.

Nor should you talk about how scratchy that flaky patch on your arm is while you're working at a cash register.

It's just a thought, but I'm pretty sure everyone would agree with me. And your neighbor? Why is she mumbling that it's unsanitary and that she's leaving for 10 minutes and is hoping that when she comes back you're not itchy anymore?

Is it contagious? Should you really be at work touching my legal size envelopes and those pens that I'm about to hold with my bare hands?

This was my enchanting adventure on a quick trip to the office supply store today. Usually my walks up and down the aisles filled with organizing bins and special-tip pens leaves me feeling happy and inspired. This time was different. I really really need to find some more hand sanitizer. I used all mine.

PS When you're using hand sanitizer or hand soap, try using one without your typical anti-bacterial. It's bad for the environment.

dig in

The Epicurean gods guided my hands yesterday as I hunted through our cupboards and that bottom drawer in the fridge. I can show no false modesty, I'm too excited! What emerged from this rather random assortment of vegetables and foodstuffs was a delicious, satisfying meal. It is vegetarian but full of protein and has a nice balance of textures. I'm calling it (for lack of any further inspiration) "white bean and cabbage salad with lime-yogurt dressing."

Here's the recipe in case you're interested. We made about half this much for two people, and had enough leftovers for my lunch today. Delicious! I hope you think so, too.

White Bean and Cabbage Salad

w/ lime-yogurt dressing

In a large mixing bowl combine:

1/2 head green cabbage (sliced thin like slaw)

1 12oz can black olives (chopped smallish)

1 12oz white Northern beans (rinsed, high in protein)

1/4 bunch (or to taste) chopped cilantro

2-3 leaves kale, chopped super thin (adds iron, fiber)

1-2 limes, juiced (start with one, to taste)

1/2 c. plain, lowfat yogurt (Greek style if desired, adds protein)

8-10 slices jar/mexi style jalapenos, diced tiny (to taste)

Enjoy! And I apologize for the photo, it is not what you would call "professional" or "good." I would have liked to rearrange the cabbage a little to reflect a more chic cabbage presence, but it said no.

jarry eyed

There's nothing quite like using an every day item as a special decoration. I like to put rocks in jars, and candles: what a lovely idea!

Candle light is de-light-full. Even in the middle of summer (when we get daylight in the Northwest until after ten) I like to light candles and listen to Thievery Corporation or Norah Jones. I'm drawn to restaurants and cafes that have candles on their tables.

"I don't mind much what food you're serving, but I see you have candles.... "

And so, I settle into my afternoon. Ready for the weekend and a whole lotta stuff to do. Painting, cleaning, prepping, and hopefully at least a little time romping with the Pup.

I'd like to come home to flowers in jars and candles everywhere, but it's almost as good when I do it myself.

Almost.

you should prolly know about

Never heard of them before today, pretty adorable and very talented. My first glimpse was the very French-California video on DesignLoveFest. Dreamy song choice, a longing peek into a simple life filled with perfect moments like toast, kisses, resting, dancing, and pondering 'things.'

If you were getting married, wouldn't you want a SharkPig video of your day? Or even just a regular day? They'd make it pretty. They'd make it seem un-ordinary.

And now I must go and find myself a silver-sequin skirt.

SharkPig Blog

Gettin' Hitched - SharkPig

Left Bank Louche - SharkPig

and because I can't resist: The Cream ('for a rad wedding')

brain eat brain

I read an article about how our brain cells start eating themselves when they're undernourished and overworked. They also start eating themselves when they're over-nourished and underworked, or rather over fed. For instance when a person has Type 2 diabetes.

Seems like finding the middle ground is more important than we thought: be healthy, eat and play. Or your brain will eat itself.

It's a curious thing this cannibalistic behavior. Every once in a while a story comes out about some guy who wanted to eat a person, and found another guy who wanted to be eaten. Then there are the wild tribes of yore (long ago and far away) who ate outsiders and other enemy tribes. I'm sure it tastes like chicken, but my thinking on the matter is, "ew."

Why? We humans are pretty much known for eating all manner of creature, big, small, bug, and cricket (crunchy, slimy, salted and grilled). Apparently the appetite for human flesh (typing those words actually made my skin crawl a little bit) really is taboo. So much so that it pretty much never happens. Ever.

Which I'm pretty happy about.

PS 'Mountain of the Cannibal Gods' was the least disturbing image that came up when I googled "Cannibal." I don't recommend it (the web search, I haven't actually seen the movie). And I'm a little afraid of the consequences if the authorities should ever decide to check my search history: lady bugs, glitter, fairies, design, fashion, and cannibal. It won't look good.

toast

It's crunchy and delicious, I like to use butter and jam. My favorite toast is an English muffin with berry preserves and salted butter. It's part of my Saturday morning breakfast, and includes leaving a little corner free of sweet spread so I can dip it in my poached eggs. I always ask for Poached Medium, but it's always Poached Rare. I don't mind too much. It reminds me of being a kid, feeling goofy as I try and try to scoop it up with my fork, forever failing but always entertaining myself. That's kind of the best part.

All that is beside the point, though, because really I just wanted to tell you a little bit about this soiree I'm planning. The details have been forming over the last six months, and I'm only a week away from implementation! There are trays to fill and things to chop, colorful papery things to find, and a bride to toast.

I am picturing this beautiful woman in a lovely summer dress, her honey hair shining in the sunlight, surrounded by warm smiles from dear friends who love her and want to celebrate with her.

She may not like it, she may feel a little awkward at being the focus of so much attention. But we won't make it too hard. We'll decorate like Martha Stewart and offer her gifts and champagne. Lots of champagne.

laura gordon photography

sniff sniff

I love old buildings. Houses, lofts, warehouses, cottages, barns, castles, huts; the older the better. I like to imagine their histories, the lives playing out within, the candlelight, the re-wiring with electricity and all the little adds and restorations that happen over the years.

I've lived in both old and new apartments and houses, and have always been more enamored of the old. Even with their creaking stairs, the strange low ceiling in the pantry, and the oddly shaped walls where some landowner decided the house would rent better if there was a wall here or there to create a bedroom where the dining room used to be.

Now I find myself in a big, old house built in 1925. It's a rental. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a basement, a large kitchen and a garage (for the tinkerer, the mechanic, the One with all the Tools). It's great for lots of reasons: It's cheap, it's near a great part of town, it has a wrap-around yard, a laundry room, and lots of windows.

It also stinks. Like really. Not all of the time, but especially when the weather is hot and the doors have been closed for a couple of days. I picture a grumpy old man with thin, bony fingers who's only happiness is restoring antique curio cabinets in his basement.

While smoking.

A lot.

I picture his yellowed fingernails, and his wispy hair. Imagining is easy because I can smell him in the walls. This great old house with it's 1960's oven and ancient windows has moved on to younger tenants, but oozes those olfactory stimulators. There are even spots coming through the paint (in the few spaces we haven't reached with a paintbrush, yet).

And now I come to the question that all of this ranting stemmed from: If I have a house guest (a respectable, older sort of person with taste and possibly money and expectations) should I worry too much about the fact that even though our home is nicely decorated, and welcoming, and cozy... it smells a little funky?

Should I spend the next two weeks painting like a madwoman, emptying each room and using a sealant-slash-primer in the hopes that this will finally neutralize the odor?

I suppose I shall, if for no other reason than I live there, and it really is a wrinkle-your-nose sort of encounter. Not every day, but just one is enough to say, "enough."

My mind runs in all directions with thoughts of the renovations and restorations that could happen with old houses. Including the one in the photo...

(I know, it's crazy.)

photo courtesy

mango me happy

She's lovely. She reminds me of an Alphonse Mucha painting. I love the vintage maiden feel with just a peek at her tattoo, a hint of the tough girl within.

credits:

Model: Jackie, Elmer Olsen Models / Hair and Make Up: Ivy Lam / Flowers and Floral headpieces: Stemz / Vintage Jewelry: Cynthia Findlay Antiques / Vintage Furniture: Mango Gallery / Bridal Gown: Vintage 1800′s grandmothers dress

Alphonse Mucha

Mango Studios photography

Lost at Sea Bridal Shoot - courtesy A Million Little Details

effervescent

Elie Saab is a designer who's work I find inspirational and lovely. The drape is exquisite, the lengths are stunning, the details are divine. Ultra feminine, dreamy fabrics swirl and float around the wearer. It's like donning a fragrance, the flowery petal colors blooming around you as you walk.

I am in love. It's like walking around in a daydream, nothing more sweet than this moment. And this dress.

another elie saab fan

stress free

I have a book that I want to read while sitting on this couch.

The white walls and light gleaming through the door are the perfect setting for the splash of fun color in the cushions, and the tray set on the ottoman.

I love enthusiastic design. I am delighted by the vintage touches and the black legs on the couch. It is a great mix of cozy and chic, inviting happy and contented guests.

Kick up your feet, and enjoy a stress free week. Those are my orders.

a little too much

Overstimulated!

But underwhelmed with what I've been able to accomplish this week. Washing, polishing, then waxing a VW Vanagon: check.

Planning a reunion: check.

Working: check.

Running errands, wrapping gifts, stocking up for said reunion: check.

Planning a project, gathering the pieces, plotting the design: check.

But I haven't been able to work on it for a minute!

Is there anything more frustrating than being super inspired to do a project, and not being able to even touch it?

I think not.

labonita

tamar stone

cake happy sugar girl

Because cake is delicious, or at least looks delicious.

Because some people don't like it, but they'll still lick the spoon.

Because somebody's getting married and can't make up their mind about what kind of cake they think they like. Or what it should look like, or if they should spend lots of money or only a little or really decorate it or not really or not at all.

Because I like cake, and decorating, and frosting, and baking, and tiny slices that don't make my tummy hurt.

And today I like pink.

photo courtesy of Nine Cakes and Patita Party

sparkler

It's the perfect mix of two of my favorite things: sparkles and fire. Both are pretty great, sparkles for all the obvious reasons, and fire because it's pretty, it's warm, and it helps make S'mores.

This is a pretty exciting weekend. Three days free from work, no concrete plans. It may include a boat, a picnic, playing some beach volleyball, and waxing the car. It may not. We'll see how we feel.

I'm most excited for Monday evening's fireworks show, and our Date Night. We've planned out a perfect little picnic complete with blanket and a nice bottle of wine, sitting on a grassy hillside looking out over the Lake, and watching the show. We'll oooooh and aaaaah, and cuddle. There may be kissing.

It reminds me of our first few dates, when we watched Movies in the Park, met for lunch at a soccer field, and sat chatting with a Manu Chau concert as our backdrop. I like being reminded of sweet beginnings, when I can almost taste it.

sparkler

kid-happy-sparkle-play

4th of July Sparklers

eden roc

I spent a lovely week roasting alive in the great, hot city of Miami. It was humid and miserable and I loved it! It's nice to escape the Northern climes, and soak up the sun somewhere so very glamorous and intriguing. The people watching is wonderful (oh, yeah, she wore that) and the beaches are glorious. I even got stung by a jelly fish, which is basically not awesome, but made me feel like I got the whole Miami experience. Luckily, the stings only last up to 30 minutes, so it 'weren't that bad.' As the security guard said when he handed me the special sting ointment: "Stop poking those pretty balloons."

We stayed at the Eden Roc Hotel in Miami Beach. This is where the Rat Pack and many famous actors and musicians have spent time dipping in the pools and splashing in the sea. I wandered halls where greats like Frank Sinatra and Esther Williams had gone before.

It was a work trip, and though work demanded much of my time, I managed to slip around corners and onto the sand to take a few photos.

Eden Roc Hotel (pretty fantastic)

i'm in

Love is something you don't always rush into. Sometimes you're in it before you even realize, and sometimes you know it's coming long before it arrives in verbal form.

It's fun because it's something easy to give, and difficult, too. It's hard to say and easy to shout, intricate in design and topographically confusing. I've been in wrong love, and then just when I really wasn't looking, I found the right one.

Today I'm feeling introspective about all of the loves we feel. For the little ones, the big ones, the funny ones, the far away ones. For the sad ones, the very soft ones, the loud ones, and the tricky ones. Some love is so short, so bright, it leaves you like a spark. These are sometimes the hardest, but also the most beautiful. We can't always hold on, and sometimes it's the letting go that takes longest.

All the loving going on around me makes me feel a little more than a lot lucky. I feel swept away and caught up, and it's been almost 5 years. When the swirling mess of life catches us up, and things seem like they couldn't get any more topsy turvy, I get a love note or a kiss.

From this guy.

(photo courtesy of Elese Moran)

underneath

I came across Bri Emery's blog "DesignLoveFest" a few months ago, and I now peek at least once a day.

She's pretty adorable. Her blog is full of fun colors, lots of photos, great artists, fashion, type, and design. She incorporates little personal stories and a lot of exuberance. I like that in a blog. (Come to think of it, I like that in a person.)

Her colors of choice are bright and soft at the same time, and she sports some fabulous hot pink lipstick. I think underneath all the other fun stuff, she hooked me with her green tulle tutu skirt, and the photos of her girls' weekend in Palm Springs. Tulle skirts by the pool? Adorable.

It's a design/style/fashion/happy love fest.

Alice in Waterland found on DESIGNLOVEFEST

Elena Kalis Underwater Photography (who knew!?)

pretty messy

This photo is so lovely!

I like the Bohemian 60's French apartment my mind wanders into, the scent of fresh market flowers and the chime of jars filled with cheap champagne. The garden courtyard rings with laughter and the sound of a bicycle bell as the nerdy teacher in his tweed suit (with elbow patches and one shoe untied...) rolls in from his afternoon classes.

That's about it. I could add in details for the pretty print on the table cloth, and the fresh strawberries from the window box. There are the pretty cloth flats near the front door (with its brass handle and the A-line jacket hanging on its hook), the tea kettle with it's bright blue lacquer and the pretty white dishcloth hanging from the oven.

If I can't live in France and sip wine with my pretty French friend, at least I can twist my hair into this messy Chignon and add a little extra eyeliner. It's almost the same thing.

photo courtesy of This is Glamorous, courtesy of hiphipgingin