WHOOOOT.

Is it really approaching 2 AM?  Sheesh.  This week has been a blur for me here at Booklings Manor...and my normal blogging has fallen to the wayside for more pressing projects.  I'm working on a Christmas project that was sent to the printer TODAY finally.  I'm looking forward to having it in my hands and then perhaps putting it into yours!

I'm preparing for a trip to San Diego for 2 or so weeks to meet my new (as yet, unborn) niece.  I'll be kicking it with my prego sister for Thanksgiving, helping her get ready for the baby, and soaking up some sunshine.  I'll also be purchasing her VW Golf and taking a road trip from San Diego to Seattle!  I'm excited about that because I surely do love road trips, but I'll also be stopping all along the way to visit friends and family. 

This Monday is the saint and mine 7-year wedding anniversary, and though we are hoping to take a trip to Florida in January or February, we'll still be doing something fun this weekend.  We are toying with going to the Major League Soccer championship game and eating hot dogs and drinking beer!  I know it doesn't sound like our typical posh-like outings, but I seriously love soccer (futbol) and the saint loves anything European (including the beer!). 

Okay, I have to go get sleepy now.

I'm guessing that joining joel while he watches old Dr. Who* episodes will do the trick.

Joel's addicted to BBC.

I hope you have a deliciously naughty weekend.
Except for Sunday, of course...it being the LORD's day and all.  Sheesh.

~CRM

*The Tom Baker ones, he says with his cute elitist brow turned down.

SMATTERING OF SNOW

I hate getting up.  I might be a bit notorious among my friends for waking up cranky...but I tell you my whole family is like this.  I am not sure what kind of happy annoying family you were raised in, but we Whitney's, we are late sleeping, non morning people S.O.B's.

Well, I married one of those happy annoying people, and he wakes up with a grin every.SINGLE.morning.  He has accommodated to my morning ritual of "please don't talk to me unless you have a cup of coffee in your hand for me," so he usually doesn't bother me.

You can therefore imagine my surprise when I awoke today to the saint pulling back our curtain window to shine the sun directly in my face.  Now, I have been getting up later than usual (which is already way later than the average person anyway), so I thought this was his sneaky way of waking me up to make him breakfast.  Alas!  It was not the case.

The goodly saint was waking his bride to reveal to her the season's first SNOW! I did not pop right out of bed, but I did snuggle back in with thoughts of snow and warm fuzzies.  After about 15 minutes, I got up, threw on my boots and toque, and headed outside for a few shots.

This is not a serious snow, but it certainly counts as snow and by god...I'll honor it because it got me out of bed before 10 a.m.  This is no small feat.

PS: Totally random and disgusting confession.  I made  a pot of coffee yesterday and didn't finish it.  So today I noticed it still sitting there.  Don't tell the saintly coffee and beverage snob, but I totally microwaved it and am now sipping on it.  It's gross, in a really good diner way.  Happy Wednesday!

PUBLISHED.

I am rather flushed with excitement.  Find me here...

It feels so much better than I thought it would.
Though it's a simple book review and by no means my best work,
No small thing shall go uncelebrated.
Corking a Malbec now.

Here's to a dream just beginning to unfold.
crm

ROCK THE VOTE

Go HERE to vote on this very serious matter.

~crm

MY BACKYARD

Directions:

Turn left out of driveway,

 Follow the road forever.

My husband said, "Grab your camera and boots.  Let's go explore."
I had no idea he meant explore my very own backyard.

Talk about space to stretch your wings...

A BEAUTIFUL PROBLEM TO HAVE

I've been spending my week doing a lot of writing, and not all for myself!  I can't say anything about it, but I hope to have an article published in Antler Magazine come November 15th.

It's also the MONTH OF MAIL - and even if you didn't join in to write a snail mail post every day, you can take advantage of the reminder to write your mother, daughter, friend, husband (post it?!) or cat and let their mailbox get a break from bills and junk.  I wrote my grandpa a small postcard, and he left a voicemail gushing about how it was so meaningful to him.  Seriously, mail can be profound. 

So all of this writing! Sheesh...

Not a bad problem to have.

GET TO IT.

SHORTY.

The leaves are my new foot-traffic.
I watch them make utter fools of themselves, dancing about at every whim of the wind.
They smell better than cigarettes.

Waves of tranquility wash over me,
A tumbled-jumbled spin cycle.






~crm

Parched?

Does your soul garden need watering?

sigh.
~crm

A TRUE NURSE MAID

For a belated Mother's Day present, I took the saint's mother to Molbak's a few days ago.  It was the perfect brisk, sunny Autumn day.

Molbak's is the most amazing nursery/home and garden store.  It's not only MASSIVE, but it has a garden cafe in the center that breaks up the day of shopping quite nicely with a great sandwich and glass of Sav Blanc...and is pretty much guaranteed that if you come to visit, we'll be headed to Woodinville for a day there.

In the four hours we spent wandering around looking at indoor and outdoor plants, I felt the most immensely euphoric peace.  Save the peak of tall mountains (which I can only imagine, since I am not a hiker), I do not think it's possible to breath so deeply than while at Molbak's.  Truly, I feel as though my soul escaped my bod so it could go dancing in the azaleas, climbing the Japanese maples, hiding in the bamboo, staring at the bonsai, drinking in the color of the wandering jews...

And that's just the INDOOR section!

Then we headed out...

Post It!

I've so been enjoying this month of mail so far.  A few lovely ladies have joined our collective to write mail, and I am so glad for the company.  I cannot encourage snail mail enough.  The intentionality of it, the intimacy of it, the pleasure of writing and receiving...there is really nothing like it.

Grab a postcard,

Jot a thought.

Seal it with a kiss

(After you apply red lipstick, bien sur)

grab your scarf.

Walk out to your post box

and SEND.

AROUND THESE HERE PARTS

I woke one morning this week and rather suddenly felt adjusted to this country life.  I no longer pine daily for Seattle or the pitter-patter of smoking pedestrians in skinny jeans.  I miss my old life, but graduatlly, I feel my colors changing.

Though my feet are cold and wet, my leaved face is brilliant from the nostalgic heat of summer.

It's rather a fascinating sight to behold.
If I do say so myself.

You may be curious...what DOES Candace do all day?  Well, around here, we are reading, shooting photographs, cooking EVERY.SINGLE.MEAL (hell, I'm even making my own coffee...how bumpkin is that?! ), sleeping more, listeing to our thoughts, taking country drives, falling into occasional existential crisis, taking hot baths, playing games, seeing friends more, and stopping each other in the kitchen to steal a smooch.  I am writing, scouring craigslist, writing letters, planting succulents, seeing my family more,  and getting damn good at building my own fires.  It's not a bad life, not a bad life at all.

During the saint's lunch breaks, we've been trying to get out and stretch our legs.    Sadly, Missy Octavia cannot accompany us on these walks....

I do have to warn those of you who do not get to experience Autumn,

these pictures just might break your heart.

(just to add insult to injury, this trail is exactly 20 steps from our front door).

{I got a new lipstick, and I thought that instead of being disappointed that no one would actually see how fabulous it was, I would show it off to the trees instead.  They swooned.}

After so much country, this gal is taking her man into the city for a proper meal (and to buy more coffee!  Just because I don't live by a Vivace doesn't mean I have to drink non-vivace beans.  I shudder at the thought!!!) of Spanish tapas and sangria.


Want me to pick something up for ya?
That's what we country-folk do for our neighbors, pick up stuff in the city.

Countrily Yours,

HAPPY NOVEMBER

Oh my, it's a glorious Sunday here at Booklings Manor.  The saint is making all kinds of man-sounds out in the yard with various heavy machinery and I am peaking at him through the window above my writing desk.

How was your Halloween?

We got an extra hour of sleep (which we needed in order to recover from our bourbon pumpkin pie eating, (with homemade crust by yours truly!!) pumpkin stein making, and late night viewing of Hitchcock's The Birds (what did YOU do?)) and decided to saunter into town for a breakfast bite.  Coffee, tea, two griddle cakes, bacon, and eggs later, we returned home just in time to catch the most brilliant sunshine.  Truly, I am wasting this remarkable light and should be outside with my camera capturing this fall set aflame...but there is more day to be had.  I think I'll ask the saint to take a fall drive with me on our way to his parent's house for our regular Sunday relaxationation.  Wanna come?!

Today marks the beginning of November's 12 month challenge, the month of mail.  I am happy to say that I have just finished writing my first postcard and will be placing it in the mail on my morning walk tomorrow.   There is still time to join up if you think you'd like to participate in the challenge.  Shoot me an email!

Well I am off to busy myself about the day with a glad heart.  I will be detailing my car, enjoying my family, paying my rent, making the menu for the week, and playing with my camera.  Happy Sunday!

WALKER IN THE WOODS AND 12-MONTH CHALLENGE: A MONTH OF MAIL

Yesterday, I took myself out for a walk whilst HOME ALONE!  This was a new experience for me because I went exploring without joel working here from home to make sure I was safe.  This may sound cowardly to you, but to be fair, we do live in a heavily forested region and not only am I unfamiliar with the woods, but it would be unwise for anyone to go traipsing off alone.   Right across the street is a city watershed, so the area is really unpopulated.   I decided I needed to get my blood flowing (my newly found "DUH" way of trying to lighten the mood), so I threw on my lime green rubber boots, packed a handful of candy corns, grabbed my pocket-journal and went.

Though it was a successful trip (my legs are sore and it helped my bleak outlook considerably), I was disappointed that I was still distracted by the 4 humans I encountered as they drove by.  One guy in a Chevy was lurking around a gate to enter a trail (though I didn't know it at the time and was rather creeped out) and I may have dodged into a wooded canopy in order to become unseen.  This is comical to me today...wasn't so yesterday.  Also, I sat on a log and got my bum very wet.  But I was very proud of myself for facing my fears and gathered a twig to commemorate the event.  By the time I leave this place, I will have a slew of twigs by which to remember these walks...which will be important because I have a wee hunch that the candace who leaves this place will be a different candace than entered it.  I do not foresee me being more comfortable in the woods than in the city, but I do hope that I can be in the forest and really see it instead of only seeing me in it.  Did that make any sense?! :)

What's on your agenda for Friday?  I am feeling so much better than yesterday...as I was in such a funk (read: I attempted a carrot soup that came out looking and tasting like baby food.  It boiled over at one point and splattered onto my eyelid, promptly burning the flesh. The only thing that helped was a dairy queen blizzard and four hours of LOST).  Today I am moseying through craigslist to find that perfect chair, perhaps headed to Ikea to buy new plants, and taking a lunch-time walk with the saint.   It's a granola bar, green tea, and a hopeful outlook for me today.

HERE'S AN EXCITING NEW PROSPECT FOR YOUR NOVEMBER!!!

READ ON....

November's 12-month challenge will be the month of mail here at Booklings Manor.  I will send out a piece of correspondence every single day for the entire month.  Dear friends, for this challenge, I was hoping you might join me!  The easiest way to do this is in a postcard exchange.  Stock up on postcards, jot out a paragraph, and send it off!  It doesn't have to be sent every day, you could write one per day and then send them all out on Saturday.

I am hoping to orchestrate the participants so that those writing posts will also be receiving posts.  Do tell me below or email me at candacemorris at gmail dot com if you are interested in doing this with me!  Then, pop on out and stock up on postcards.  If you need ideas, I love the postcards for sale here, or make your own!  We'll begin November 1st!

Looking forward to hearing from you!

MUSINGS OF A COUNTRY-OLIC

I've had a few thoughts on my mind lately...my usual sprinkling of questions to do with existence, relationship, and art.    Spurred by the intelligent lyrics of Neko Case, Dostoevsky, and a young Plath, I've come to realize how my routine here includes less writing than I am used to.  I suppose this could have a lot to do with settling in and all the creativity and soul required to listen to where the objects of your life want to be placed.

But it is also something that I suspected would happen out here...without people.  I did roughly 60% of my letter writing in cafes and restaurants, whereas here...I have yet to find a place.  I am sure this requires actually LOOKING for a place, but I am still in the needing towel-racks and "what the hell am i going to do with these window treatments" phase of life.  This, up until now, has been a justification for me ignoring my own soul.

I think I realized that I pursue this writing life, this artistic soul-journey, only when I really have time.  This does not an artist make (in my definition, which each must do for herself).  Rather, an artist will be consumed by his work and allow life to  be what falls to the wayside, not the expression and very necessity of her soul.

Consequently, I've felt a wee bit emotionally stunted... out of touch with myself...the good and the bad.  I also stopped attending therapy for a some time, and I am gagging on the the words stuck in my throat - backing up the flow of ideas and fire of thought I usually possess.

Add guilt.  In order to make this time worth it, I feel as though I must find a use, a purpose, and true meaning.  Without this directed (read 8am to 5pm) purpose, I feel bathed in guilt.  There is some sort of firebrand scathing my ass to be thankful for all I have right now.  So many people are looking at my life with puppy-dog eyes...as they should!  I mean, it's really amazing right now.  I must admit the temptation to downplay it or justify it somehow...as if me struggling with it would make it easier for them to swallow or wanting to sometimes scream that I've had enough pain to last a lifetime so I somehow deserve it.  Both of these excuses would be a gross oversimplification of all the nuances and adjustments happening right now.   My husband is working his ass off to provide this life for me, and I do not take this for granted.  But I also somehow feel the need to explain to people that I am also working my ass off.  Like Plath, I am "forging a soul amidst great birth pangs" and how this takes a non-American, non-commercial, non-paying kind of work.  So I guess there is something inside me that thinks if I just feel guilty or downplay how wonderful my surroundings are or how well I take care of myself that will make it easier for other people to swallow.  I believe I can handle both the good feelings and the bad feelings of those I love, but I also know that god gives, god takes away.  What makes my life rich is comprised of my internal work, not my external circumstances.   How privileged I am to have the pleasure of that thought, a bliss reserved for a person whose basic needs are met.  This is an admonition to myself as well as to those of you finding envy and pity riding on your backs.

And oh, my surroundings!  Yesterday, while driving into town to do a Costco/Trader Joe's run, I spied a momma cow and a baby cow (going to google to look up the appropriate word) ahem CALF.  The calf was feeding and tucked just so into the mother's underbelly.  I almost died from the distraction (these country roads are curvy and unpredictable, like the best kind of woman), and I almost cried from sentiment and beauty.    I find myself gradually getting living in the city out of my system, finding new routines and activities that replace and heal the severing.  For instance, I've been a cooking machine!  In the city, it's far cheaper and easier to eat take-out 2 or 3 times/week.  Here, there is absolutely nothing convenient about it.

But what is convenient it a life of quiet study, endless reflection, a new-found enjoyment of social activities, the building of fires, the company of my saint, the planning and execution of meals, and the saunters through the wet forest floor.  I knew these things were far more necessary than take-out.

As well as my online community, I've been the happy recipient of your happy thoughts towards me and this new life.  This amazes me.  I dream of a time where you are around my hearth, sharing my tea, and knitting (because you all knit in my mind, of course).

Thankfully,

crm

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS

One day a lifetime spans.

Conception and gestation by moonlight.

Life and birth upon

waking.  Tears bequeath teeth brings

baby words of complaint. Feed

me.  Hold

me! Love me?

Mid-morning brings the terrible-twos.

A childhood found too late and

Too early lost.

Read me a nap-time story, Fyodor.  Of a god I

just have met.  Tell this child

of a brotherly saint. Of the faith

birthed through death.

Afternoon, adolescence.

Just learned to stop cringing when Dad

makes the coffee too strong.

The rays break through

the rains and the biting chill of autumn

Air as it whooshes past bicycling feet

Too big for her awkward, unbalanced body.

Wobbling, relearning.

The sun sets as a walk

through womanhood dawns.

Yet the blood flows like never before

Productivity in pinks and projects.

The young voice forgotten.

To the florist and grocer to take care

of home.

To dinner, to middle ages.

Moon's breath and cardamom knives

through the immaturity and brings laughter and ease

into the wine bottle.

Midnight drive into convalescence.

Slumber eases the soul into afterlife.

One life, one day

A lifetime spans.

{mme}

written as a continual reminder to myself that often days carry within their skin multitudes of moods, to neither trust or distrust them, and to remember that a walk through the forest can change anything.

The lap of luxury

Oh to perform these audacious acts of security and demand...and know that my owner will love me all the better for it.

~crm

The weekend of gluttenous food consumption

If I could write a big sighhhhhhhh, I would.  But imagine with me a weekend of flurry and cooking and cleaning and playing and drinking and socializing and laughing and building fire and karaoking and a wee bit of slumber, and you've had a glimpse into my weekend...which was a good time for sure, but wow...I am exhausted!

 

For Niki's birthday, we gals flew her and her Tice out from NYC to be here.  The boys went on their "food orgy," and the girls came here.  I tell you what, if there is nothing else...these people know how to friggggen cook and friggen eat.  I cannot even recount all the men tasted (frog's legs, escargot, etc), I can vouch for the beauty of food amongst the women and my new home.  Seriously, if you EVER need a party planning/catering service, we're your group!

And I tell you, there is nothing like cooking for and with those you love to make this double-wide feel like a home.

How was your weekend?  There is nothing like Monday to sober a gal up...and never-ending dishes. :)

~crm

p.s. Though she looks cracked out, isn't she cute?!!!

From Oct 25 Weekend (Niki Visit)

THIS WEEK ON ANTLER

Here's a round up of my weekly entrys at Antler Magazine:

1. Tim Burton at MoMa: Another reason I think New Yorker's are the luckiest city-dwellers!
   
2. Green Tea Art - My saint is going to flippppppp.
   

SMOOCHES.
~crm

p.s. have you ever made breakfast and lunch all before noon?  No, not brunch...but two separate meals.  As I am still in my pjs, I smell lunch cooking.  It was just one of those "fire under my assets" morning.  Have a great Thursday!

Working from home: a lunch break

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

When he returned an hour later, he was SOAKED through from a spontaneous pouring of rain.

He was one happy saint.

BRAVO

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

I have been a busy bee.

The saint and I are exhausted from one diverting weekend.  Out late sipping Spanish wine Friday night, out late at the Opera Saturday night, eating cake with Grandpa on Sunday...I tell you, it's been hard to recover (I am using this excuse to remain in my pajamas after having slept a rather naughty amount - though I confess to needing 9-10 hours of sleep per night (HEY, Sylvia Plath spoke a similar confession in a letter to her mother.  I am therefore justified).  My hot tea and my bowl of granola will help me...plus this intimate push of fog is wooing me into cognition.

But I must tell you of the Opera...

Back when I was out of town for two weeks, my lover missed me when he turned on the classical music station (I am a sucker for listening to classical, romantic, and chamber music).  The station was hosting an advertisement for La Traviata, and he decided to come home and purchase tickets right away.  Later that night, while we were speaking on the phone of my horrible migraine and his not being there to rub it away, he consoled me with taking me to the opera.  His one condition?  I had to buy myself a new dress (if you have just joined me, you may now well get why he is named the saint).

So last week I scoured a few thrift and consignment stores and found THE PERFECT 1960s green wool dress.  Alas, it was handmade and one size too small for my big Norwegian bones, so I found another suitable black dress that was just stylized enough for my new shoes (an $80 pair acquired for $25!!!!) and hat.

That evening, I slipped into a hot bath to prepare for the night.  I got to thinking about how I often need to take a serious amount of time to ready myself for events not only because it might take longer than I expected to acheive the desired affect, but more so that I can rest my soul - so that my feminine graces carry me throughout the evening.  I can therefore be confident because I am rested and have pampered myself.

I got to thinking about how many woman probably haven't felt that way since perhaps their wedding day.  Society allows for a woman to pamper herself that day...a long hot bath, a massage, a lazy breakfast in luxury...a bride is ENCOURAGED to make herself and her beauty the focus of the morning.  Why does this not occur in any cultural way AFTER the wedding?  I have long since copied my wedding morning by getting ready for events in the same way (and girls, this requires giving yourself at LEAST an hour or two to get ready), I realize how much more relaxed, sexy, and graceful the event becomes for me. 

So when is the last time that you scheduled a licentious amount of  readying time?  Light a candle, have a pre-funk cocktail, find your center, and be your sexy self.

Ladies and Gents, that marks the end of the self-help catagory of this entry.

The very first scene of La Traviata brought tears...and as they cascaded down my rosy cheeks, I grabbed the saint's arm and quietly thanked god for a man who sees what I need with imagination; for a man with a resplendent tool belt for love.  I wanted to shout my love and appreciation of him from the treetops of my soul.  This is the affect the Opera has upon my soul; now you can see why he does it.

 

3.5 hours later, the very last scene knocked us back into our seats like a roller coaster ride, and we clapped and clapped all the way home.  Another bath and I was off to bed. 

Today promises to be not as fun as my weekend.  Taking Lolita for an emissions test (bleck), and today is officially laundry day here at Bookling Manor.  Hope your Monday looks good on you.

AND NOW, A REPORT ON FRIDAY'S FAILED PROJECT...

This morning, I was dressed and ready for my day by 10am.  This is a huge thing for me if I am staying home...not only is it impossible for me to wake up quickly, but I love to live in my pjs all morning, wander around aimlessly, and read random bits of country newspapers.    But today, I was ambitious.  I had baking to do (postponed from my actual baking day which incidentally was also POWER OUTAGE DAY this week) and plenty of work around the house.  Namely, a coat-tree to spray paint.

But alas, the universe (at barometric pressure) had other plans.

 

 

 

(ZOINKS!!! Damn that barometric pressure)

And baked I did.
Two batches of cookies and one batch of amazing muffins (my bff made me while at her house recently).

It's been raining BUCKETS here and after a quick dinner of chicken parm, the saint and I are off to join some friends for drinks in SEATTLE.  Oh thank the gods,

Happy Weekend, cozy birds.
~MME.

P.S.  My woodshed:

DEAR SEATTLE,

You are sexy.

And caffeinated.

photo by me.  and iPhone.

~C

ME...DISTRACTING ME...FROM ME.

Sometimes I feel like the most distracting thing to reading and writing (what I wanted to do with my day) is the internet.  There is just so much beauty stealing my eye-ball time.

Distraction number one:  Per my DailyCandy email, I found this center available in Fremont called the Fremont Abbey Arts Center.  This place is  so gorgeous.  Not only would it be PERFECT for the catholicbeer brewery, but it makes me want to get married all over again.  Wadda say, Mr. Morris?

Distraction number two:  Anthropologie.  Namely these!

Lonny Magazine, for distraction number three, is an online magazine from the creators of Domino.  They have cleverly placed URLs all over their pages so that we can just pop on over to any website and buy what we fancy.   Not only is this a strain on my LOCK-IT-UP-AND-TOSS-THE-KEY pocketbook, but it also manages to squeeze more and more ideas into my already overloaded brain. LOVE the idea of this plant table and can already see where I would place it.  I would wake up (whenever I desire, as usual), heat my water for tea, pop my whole wheat bread into the toaster, and wander over to talk to my plants.  What a hard life.

And contrary to popular complaint on this here blog, I would like you all to know that where I live is beyond flipping awesome.  It's heartrendingly romantic, bucolic, and oh so silent.  My evenings are filled with port and staring at the saint as he builds me a fire.  Though I am craving some honest hard work, I cannot by any means complain.

That being said!  I would like to complain!  One of the things about this here particular region of Washington is the wind storms that gust their way in with Fall.  Many people lose their homes, if not power for weeks at a time.  Well, last night we fell asleep to some serious eerie blundering and awoke to a power outage.  Joel built up a fire so we could at least stay warm, but as soon as I realized we would have no water (pump runs on electricity), and that I couldn't cook, I started to feel very CROSS indeed about being a country-girl today.

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

I searched out our stash of tuques (the best country-girl way to cover up bed-head) and hopped on over to my parent's house (in my dad's truck) for coffee, shower, food, and internet.  I fancied that I could stick it out, bundle up, and read all day.  This would have been fine, but I am not resourceful enough to cook with no power and drink with no water (could I substitute my daily water regimen for gin instead?  I am SURE that's a country-ism).

Make no mistake...I am NO trooper.   I do not see survival situations as fun.  I am a Victorian with a need for daily showers and hot tea with scones and jam...and the internet.

But then the gods saw fit to bless me.  Last year, I purchased a hound-sooth coat from a totally slutty store on Broadway, but I didn't realize until I got it home that it smelled like the burned flesh of a Chinese immigrant in a sweatshop.  SERIOUSLY...so gross. I tried everything to get the smell out of this coat...clothesline, dry cleaning, etc.  I finally gave up and left it hanging in my closet.  Just today, I went in search of a coat and decided to smell the coat one last time before I took it to goodwill.  WHAT JOY IS MINE!! It smelled normal.  I wore it.  I forgive the universe for powering me down and depriving me of food and water.

Poor me, I have to be here all day:

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

More on October's Challenge and daily photos here:

25 PER DIEM

Quite Properly Yours,

crm

Just because...

they are two of my favorite pictures of my sister of all time...

Friday's Per Diem

Just a quick note to share the better of my 25 images today.

From 25 PER DIEM

Today was such a full day, including a 4:30am rising, 6:30am coffee and breakfast with my old/new neighbor, helping her pack, finishing unpacking my books, grocery shopping, and lots of nesting.  I feel satisfied (if not still a little bit sad - I miss Seattle like I miss an estranged lover.  I never expected to go through such culture shock and separation pains) and sleepy.

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

From 25 PER DIEM

I must apologize for the copious pictures of Octavia, but she makes such a natural and beautiful subject.

Happy Weekend,

To claim.

Recipe for turning a soulless shelter into a meaningful habitat (aka: how I spent the day recovering my home):

~Walk to mailbox and realize that I've been shut indoors for days, not taking advantage of a place that needs no unpacking, no decisions.

My forest.

From Claiming the space

MY YARD.

It needs nothing of me.

I walked the property with my camera (my close eye)
and acquainted myself with the

trees

rocks

spider webs

chipmunks

From Claiming the space

horrible lawn decor

(that makes me laugh so much I feel I cannot remove it)

From Claiming the space

~ Sit and watch cat.
Octavia's outside debut!

This cat has never been outdoors on her terms.

Though we've been leaving the door open for her to test it out, until today she had not ventured.

From Claiming the space

(She LOVES it here).

~FINALLY  get the bookshelves where they belong

and let the books out from their stuffy boxes

From Claiming the space

From Claiming the space

From Claiming the space

From Claiming the space

so they can find breath

to tell me where they belong

~Friends helping you unpack and giving you structure on ways to unpack.

From Claiming the space

Also, friends who bring you doughnuts and Whole Foods sandwiches for lunch.

Also, friends who eat these sandwiches outside in the sun whilst sipping rosé*.

From Claiming the space

Also, friends hanging things, listening to the plants, and making decisions.

From Claiming the space

 Also, a wee bit of cheeeesy-ness** to finally make me laugh

about this whole crazy thing called

H

O

M

E

*Ever been curious about the difference between White Zinfandel and Rosé?  Wikipedia explains it well.
** Though funny in the moment, Kelly stands like this about 80% of the time.

No place like it.

Tonight this place feels foreign. 
Also, I have a bad attitude about it.

I keep thinking that I should be settled or at least headed that way,
That my routines should be set in stone
Or that I can reach for the measuring cup and actually know where it is.

Then I remember that I've been here only just over a week.
That until my books have a home, I will feel
Uprooted

The only thing that feels at home are elemental.

The alchemy of my soul.

Fire.

Joel.

Food.

As for the rest,
In this place I am a tourist.

I'll be sure to let you know when I aquire the language
And acclimate to this culture shock.

~C

Per Diem

I am quite glad that this month's challenge coincided rather nicely with my trip to visit my sister.  Not only was it her birthday weekend (which is picturesque enough), but we also wanted to capture a few images of her pregnancy.  I set out to take 25 images per diem, and have certainly filled that quota and then some. San Diego is a rather tempting muse (even if it's not Seattle).

A few of my favorite images:

My sister's awesome pooch, Clarence

 Super woman preggo!


sisters...

Happy Birthday Tree

Sisters by Lou O'Bedlam

Happy Birthday to
my irish twin
my divine comedy
my mad woman in the attic
my melancholy partner
my memory preserver
my sister

xo

FALL AND OCTOBER'S CHALLENGE

It's gorgeous out in my neck of the woods today. I have my hood on, my tea scalding, and cinnamon roll in my belly. It's gray, it's brisk, it's fall.

I was thinking (as I was driving, which looks like it will be my main "write that!" muse, except I imagine it will be dangerous to keep a list whilst driving these curvy forested roads) that fall is seriously the supreme-est of seasons. I have always tried to pinpoint exactly why that is, but I realized yesterday (as I was driving) that fall is simply smarter than the other seasons. It's more modest than the skin-bearing summer, more poised than gregarious spring, and more colorful than the white winters. It means going to the symphony, wearing smart jackets and boots, donning deep read lipstick or more eyeliner than usual. Fall is dramatic; fall is subdued; fall is everything I hope to be.

Today I leave to be with my sister in San Diego (she's 7 months prego with my 5th niece). I should be getting ready to head out to the airport, but just had to mention a few things.

I am finding myself easing into the beauty here. I finally got the internet all set up yesterday and got the spice rack and tea cupboard in working order (these two things are obviously very important to the feng shui of the kitchen). We met my lovely old neighbors for Chinese and brought them back here to sit around fire and drink tea into the wee hours of the morning. All of these things are contributing to the peace I know this place will offer me.

I've also realized what a tremendous comfort YOU are to me. For those of you who've confessed to it, I know your eyes reading my words and offering me friendship and support from afar. Sure, many of you cannot drive to my doorstep and drink my tea (or build me a fire, or save me from serial killers), but you can speak my greatest love language...words of great encouragement. You have born witness to my life and even now, if I had to move to a truly remote location, I know I will have you. This comforted me much more than I anticipated when I began this blog two years ago this month (at the bidding of YOU whilst around a fire).

And lastly, I wanted to mention that since today is the first of October, I will be resuming my 12-month challenge. I looked at my list this morning and decided that this month I will shoot 25 images a day. I know you are all eager to see pictures of this place so it will be good soul-work for me to capture my new house through my own lens. I look forward to sharing these with you.

Off to pack and head out.

The bounty and intelligence of fall offers to you today great hope,





P.S. SEE MY POST ON ANTLER ABOUT ONE OF THE BEST MOVIES EVER MADE

Putting out fires with tea

Let me set the scene for you.

It’s the coldest day of the changing seasons. The clouds portent more rain to come. I’m finally home from the 1.5 hour long drive from where I USED to live (which is only half of the time I spent in my car today). I’m starving. I’m cold. I’m alone.

I let myself into this place we are now calling home, and decide that I shall make a fire, heat up the leftover chicken noodle mom brought over the weekend, toast up the remaining pieces of rosemary bread, and read my book.

It sounds so simple and perfect. Only tonight, this place has decided that I am oil and it is water and we shall not be melding.

Okay, so my relationship with building a good fire has lots of issues attached to it. It (like many other things I may have previously mentioned), seems to be another chink towards earning my black-belt in womanhood.* But I have never, EVER been good at it. Despite all efforts in “leave me alone, I know what I am doing,” and countless lessons from people, I cannot seem to do it well.

But this time it will be different. I get plenty of kindling, a bunch of newspaper, and three dry logs from my new wood-shed. But as I am in the process, all of a sudden HHHUUUUGGGEEE amounts, PUFFS, BILLOWS of smoke start pouring out of the stove. The fire alarm goes off, my timer for the soup goes off, and I decide the food can wait because I need a fire for the whole ambiance.

After I open the windows to let the smoke (and cold!) in, I push back my sleeves, get on my knees, and start attending to this fire like any good country-girl would do. I make oxygen pockets, I whistle-blow the shit out of it, I freaking pray.

NOTHING.

Now, as evidenced by my most recent entry, I have had a rather grim perspective these last few days about this transition. I am struggling to find the romance and purpose in this move, and I know I will feel better soon, but I tell you – this friiiggggeeenn-A fire isn’t helping the matter. PLUS, one of the benefits to this cultural change was the acquiring of a new skill set (chopping wood, wearing Wellies, tending fields, MAKING FIRES), and if I cannot master it...it's all just really getting me down.

My soup is now cold. My re-toasted bread now just crunchy.

I finally…finally decide that it’s not worth it. I find the saint’s favorite sweatshirt, pull the hood over my smoke infused hair, reheat my soup and eat my big ol’ dinner of disappointment like any good city-girl would do.

And then I start to feel my fingers itch for the keyboard, but remember that I have no internet. So here I am, using MS Word to write this and then upload it at the library during my tutoring session 20 minutes away.

But in order to write, I certainly need a cup of tea. And it there is one thing I’ve learned tonight. It’s this:

If I can’t make a fire, I can sure as hell make a good cup of tea, damn it.** Country, city – both of these create plenty of fodder for writing. It is in that cozy little slice of knowledge where I will continue to warm up to myself again and again.

*Perhaps what really needs to happen here is the definition of womanhood per CRM. Hmmm.

**That IS, unless the milk you pour into your Earl Gray curdles and you have to dump it out and start over. No comment.

SEEPAGE

My brain is bursting at the seams. We have completed the move about 90%, but only about 20% of the unpacking. I have been disconnected from the internet for roughly 2.5 days, and though it's been nice, it only adds to the general feeling of ODDITY that encompasses my description of this new life. In a conversation today with my friend, I described it thus:

I love it when I am at the house.
I hate it when I leave the house.

Except for while at my new local coffee shop, which to some might be called Joel's parents house, but I see internet and coffee (and lunch, and rubs, and free bananas) and normalcy.

And that's the worst part of moving. After you do all of this physically and emotionally draining work, you just want to go home and noodle on your couch. Well, there will be no noodling on your couch when you couch is buried in the living room and no where near your disconnected media center (which is missing a monitor and speakers anyway). So I come to the closest home I know and try to find myself again here, among you.

My attendance will for sure be sporadic at best in the next few weeks, but I'll be sure to return to keep you abreast of Musings of a Melancholic - country style.



p.s. come visit me.

My Life This Week

Shelves Bare.

Racks Empty.

Books rudely Unshelved.

Mme. in grunge

And with every box, my heart breaks a little more for Seattle.

A birth, a move, a challenge

I have so much to catch you all up on here at Chateau Bookling (soon to be named Bookling Manor, but more on that later).

The purpose of my most recent Redding trip was to finally be a part of my best friend Jackie's delivery of child number three. I haven't been able to be there for the other two children (missed the last one by a DAY), so I took advantage of my flexible situation and went down for the two weeks right around her due date. We were hoping that fate would be on our side so I could be a part of it.

I was due to leave on Tuesday and Levi David decided to make his appearance on Monday at 8:39am after 13 hours of labor. It was such an amazing process to behold from start to finish and made me marvel at the love and trust Jackie had placed in me to allow me to be a fly on the wall for such a vulnerable process. Though I am comfortable showing just about any emotion, pain is absolutely NOT one of them.

When Levi finally started to crown, I absolutely couldn't believe it. I had never seen a birth (not even a video), and it was just nothing like I expected. I thought I would be traumatized and never want to go through the process, but either Jackie made it look easy, or I realized that there simply couldn't be anything more natural. And then, oh the gobs and gobs of joy and release of the happiest floodgate of tears came upon me...and I cannot imagine how that would be intensified if I were seeing my child for the first time.

It's magical; divinity sure pulled a rabbit out of a hat with this one. And boy, after Levi came, it was the hardest thing in the world to get back on that plane. I have always had a serious case of baby fever (NOT parent fever, sadly), and this only made it soooo.much.worse. He's my new favorite 5 day old.

There was talk about me extending my plane ticket, but alas, the saint and I had made a huge decision right before I left for the trip, and I needed to get back to execute the plans. We have decided to move to the country. It's a rather long story, but Joel will be working from home next month and we do not have enough room in our little city-cave to accommodate the both of us here. Not only that, but in order to maintain my stay-at-homeness, we needed a cheaper place. These are the practical reasons.

The soulful reasons, and the vastly more important to me are these: We are slow-pokey souls. We want a simpler life, a quieter life, a more intentional life. In order to do this, we need to unbury ourselves from the debt of our early 20s. We need to be in the forest. We need space to spread our wings and test our courage in flight. We need to be closer to his parents.

I cannot tell you what a hard decision this was for me. Joel loves the city, but he really REALLY needs to be around his trees and hobby space. I love the city, and that's all I need (that I know of, never having lived in the country). I watch Seattle unfold my words; she is my muse. BUT, she isn't going anywhere...I just have to come to her. Plus, all of our friends are here and though I know we will all make the drive, there will be so much less of the spontaneous, no traffic, quick drinks together.

The move happens this next weekend - so this week is me packing and taking trips out there. We've already spent more time in the car this week than we probably have all year. So there you have it, we will be upgrading Chateau Bookling into Bookling Manor.

AND THE LAST BIT:

Right around my birthday, I posted a 12-month challenge blog. The first month's challenge was to stick to my budget. Well, all I'm going to say about that is that I tried really, really, really hard. And though I wasn't entirely successful, it was remarkable how just even paying acute attention to it made me spend less. August came and went and I never got to report or tell you what September's challenge was. Well, I decided that September's challenge was moving to the country.

Dears, I hope that you put goals in place as a guideline for yourselves and not a binding contract. I am learning to give myself a WHOLE lot of room in this way...even to boast to the world that "I AM RUNNING FOR 5 HOURS A DAY" and then not doing it if it turns out that it wasn't a goal I could keep, or didn't want to keep...or whatever. Needless to say, I am not the kind of person that will ever become a body-builder or have drive to accomplish something with unwavering focus, but I tell you, I AM the kind of person that can extend myself the amount of graciousness that I can extend to those I love - and that is a rare gift.

So, I took September off and decided to focus on my life instead. Funny how whether or not you make it a goal to grow and change...life does it for you.

Happy Weekend,
crm

Levi David Corn

En Images: A trip to California

For the last two weeks, I've enjoyed the pleasure and pain of living with children.
I've watched them, I've kissed them, I've corrected them, I've read to them,
I've played with them...
but mostly...

I've envied them.
Their innocence, their authenticity, their imagination.
Their nakedness.
Their kiddie pool.

The mountain upon which they live.

Their security, their joy.

Their stay-home mother.



Their energy.



In addition to these two wee souls,
I've also mingled with the wind; swayed with the trees; sighed at the sunset.

And more envy visited me.



I wanted their simplicity.
The special way no one sees them
unless they look with intention and patience.



I wanted their pure beauty.
I wanted to know what it feels like to trust your roots.
To never question your existence.
Or your death.
To have everything decided for you.





I wanted their contentment.
Their uncomplaining voice.



Their self-satisfaction.
Their trust in provision.


And then I noticed me among them.
And I envied them.


Because its pretty great being human.
And loving other humans...great and small.

RDD Visit Sept 2009

There is no definition for self in the dictionary

You may have noticed a theme around these parts lately. I've been somewhat obsessed with the idea of becoming a "real woman." In the last year, I sewed my own my own dress, learned to make jam and pies, and shot guns. Though I've joked about these things being the crux of my coming of age, I realize that I've treated something rather intentional and meaningful in a cavalier manner.

Lemme s'plain.

One of the ways I've learned to be kinder to myself in the last few years is in self-definition.

In a home where there is X amount of love and Y amount of kids fighting for X amount, a child will do anything to stand out, to form her own identity. A child becomes the "smart" or the "athletic" one; she'll be named the "outgoing" one or the "stubborn" one. These labels are not put there maliciously, but they do indeed stick. We are taught from an early age to focus on one goal, to decide who we will be well before our soul's reveal their essence, be this one person so that we are easy to figure out, easy to handle, easy to love.

I looked at my soul carefully, turning over the rocks, inspecting the bugs. Turns out I had a concrete box poured around the garden of my identity. This box was suffocating my roots and killing off the new growth. For example, I used to hate pink just to hate pink, I used to be so serious because immature behavior was irritating. I never wanted to fit into any status-quo of womanhood so I decided that I don't wear short skirts, I don't draw hearts, and I'd never be caught dead doing something as boring as staring at a flower or using my imagination. Granted, I also didn't do some of these things because they simply did not interest me at the time, but I realize that if I had continued on a path that did not allow for my interests to change, my soul would be stuck. Hell, I was so cut off from my natural desires that I wouldn't even know which new things I would want to try. My opinion about them would have been formed well before I had experienced it.

And that's my point. Why do we form opinions about things we know very little about? Perhaps it's fear that breeds the desire to squelch that which we do not understand with petty definitions and wounded resentment for an identity we couldn't have because someone else already claimed that label.

So I'm working backwards.

I hated pink, so as an experiment, I wore pink fingernail polish for months. It made me laugh all month because of the frivolous joy of being a little girl. Turns out that I actually don't like pink after all, but at least I know that it's because of my natural taste, not bull-shit labeling.

I thought I found sewing and baking boring. So, I decided to delve into it...break some needles, get my prissy hands dirty with dough! Turns out that I love to create, but was SO PARALYZED that I would look stupid in the attempt or that the product would dash my hopes and leave me with a big pill of disappointment to swallow, that I had convinced myself that I was in no way an artist. But I am an artist. I never thought that a pie would show me that more clearly than my writing or my photographs.

I was scared to shoot a gun at first...which is totally typically girly I guess. But because I was in touch with how I felt on the subject ("Hello, anxiety and nerves. Hmmm, you must be scared to shoot off your big toe. This makes perfect sense! Let's be scared"), I was able to stop using every little thing to define myself. Here's the way it sounded in my head,

"Am I the kind of girl that enjoys shooting guns because I want to appear bad-ass to the men in my life? If that is the case, why should it be about how they perceive me rather than what I actually enjoy doing? And what the hell do I actually enjoy doing, after all? Will the other females think I am doing this to just get attention? Am I doing this to get attention? Is that bad? Why is that bad?"

OR

"Am I the kind of girl that won't be interested in firearms because perhaps the men around me will find it emasculating? Should I pretend to be weak and coquettish? Wait, AM I weak and coquettish? Am I even open to the possibility that I could be weak and coquettish? Is it the worst thing in the world to be weak and need saving. Perhaps if I could actually entertain the notion that I was actually weak, then I would find that I wasn't and was just afraid that I would be so it was making it so much worse. Perhaps I could then save myself? But would a man want me if I saved myself?"

OR DING DING DING

"I'd like to explore shooting more. I think I started liking because it's a natural curiosity born from being a cop's daughter. Also, I am a voracious learner and enjoy the intimacy of sharing else's hobbies. I'll spend time with this person who can educate me on how to shoot AND enjoy myself in the process. I will be concerned only with what I think of myself and not drown that voice out with the PERCEIVED opinions that others have about me. Also, I like guns because I DO feel empowered, bad-ass, and sexy."

Yes. I vote for the third option.

But let me tell you, all of this filtering takes an awful lot of work. Many find it an exhausting trait in me; many find it an inspiration. This is not important, and truthfully, I wish I didn't know either way, for everyone is easily-influenced to some degree...and I don't want to be doing it for anyone else but me.

So let's try this:

Hi, I'm Candace.
I like to wear black.
I love books.
I like to watch willow trees and deer.
I like to shoot guns.
I like to bake and create with my hands.
I dislike wearing pink.
I do not like trends.
I distrust groups.
I love to learn.
I like to cry.
I must put everything under a microscope before I can really know it.
I prefer authenticity to politeness.
I'm uncomfortable in short skirts unless I wear tights.
I am modest and introverted.
I'm confident.
I'm smart.
I dislike mixers in my cocktails.
I'm a good friend.
I'm okay with someone disagreeing about the above.
I'm okay with liking someone more than they like me.
I'm okay with not liking someone as much as they like me.
I love my life with Joel.
I am easily irritable and cranky in the morning.
I am forever a student and a damn-fine teacher.
I prefer classic literature.
I love babies.
I love quiet.
I love change.

And there you have it. CRM version 9.15.09. This is by no means an exhaustive definition of Candace. Perhaps tomorrow she'll will learn to love brussel sprouts and all of a sudden despise Prada (GOD FORBID!).

But it really does not matter.
Candace is so much more than what she does or does not like.
And so are you.

Shoot.

Ahem...I stand corrected...it turns out that real women not only make Lemon Meringue pies, but they shoot guns. It's been quite a week of maturation! Now I have OF COURSE shot guns before, but never a hand gun. Oh the power...

Since I'll be moving to the country (more to come on that later for those of you who didn't know yet) in about two weeks, I thought it would be appropriate to play with other people's guns while here on vacation with my bff and her hubby.

From RDD Visit Sept 2009

From RDD Visit Sept 2009

From RDD Visit Sept 2009

So freaking much fun,

Upon me becoming an official woman and other adventures in the kitchen

From On becoming a real woman

I finally did it! I made a Lemon Meringue pie yesterday WITH kids underfoot. I don't really know why I have decided to place the crux of womanhood upon the making of a pie (a pie I don't actually care too much for nonetheless) and not upon the ripening of my reproductive organs (EWW) or on, I don't know, paying a credit card off or getting married or something like that. Nope, it's all dependent on my ability to whip egg whites into stiff peaks.

EWWW.

Anyway.

So, I am glad to announce that I am an official female, just in case there were any doubts out there.

From On becoming a real woman

Here's the lemon and (premade*) crust

From On becoming a real woman

This particular recipe called for zest in the filling...a perfect addition

From On becoming a real woman

The premeasured ingredients;
I love doing this and highly recommend it when trying a new recipe

From On becoming a real woman

Whisking up the filling...

From On becoming a real woman

Pouring the filling into the crust

From On becoming a real woman

Whipping up the egg whites to make meraninge. It was an awesome experience, but I have decided that it's way too much work for something I don't enjoy eating that much. I refused to use the mixer to do this...does this earn me extra points or just make me insane?

From On becoming a real woman

The pre-browned merangie

From On becoming a real woman

Isn't it gorgeous?

So, how do I look? Totally like a grown up?
Yeah, I thought so.

crm

*Some might postulate that real womanhood does not begin until one can make their own pie crust. I've tried it and have decided that it's DUMB.

It's a hard life...

The lessons of the moon...

I suppose that after a hectic day raising kids, sometimes the only thing that keeps a parent "in the game," committed to doing the best they can, is watching their child sleep. After these perfect little monsters have ransacked your house, ran your ass off picking up after them, complained about the food you made, told you that you were mean because you didn't give them candy, irritated you while you tried to have one thought to yourself, interrupted you during your only sane adult phone conversation, and screamed all day in volumes only heard in the fiery furnace of hell itself...

(the descriptions above are in no way a reference to any persons, of course...)

After all of this, they finally get to bed. After a few hours, you start feeling normal again...you can hear yourself have intelligent thoughts, you can finally take a shower, you can pour a glass of wine. You are a brand new you. And after this evening of perfection, you wander into the children's rooms to pick up one last time and they catch you off guard...their angelic tenderness hits you all over again, and you remember that there IS a soul inside, that they really are so vulnerable despite what they convey, and that you are completely head over heels in love with them.

I believe this realization is called perspective.

Anger, details, to do lists, lack of research, pain, reactions, codependency...all of these can steal our perspective. This of course applies to more than children. Even now, as I am away from the saint for two weeks, I find myself tiptoeing into the shallow end of this pool of perspective. By the time I get home, I'll have soaked in perspective...and be read to see my marriage with new eyes...the eyes of absence.

When daily irritations subside, it is lovely to find my utter adoration and deep satisfaction with everything Joel has ever been, everything he is, and everything he ever will be.

Absence, perspective...these are things all relationships need to feel. Isn't it funny? We want as much time as possible with those we love, yet we need time away from them in order to see them more clearly. We need to see them asleep; we need to remember they are vulnerable.

And tonight, much like how I imagine a parent feels when they look at their child sleeping, I am looking at life while it slumbers. I feel proud, I feel softened, I feel endeared to this weird thing called being human.

Kiss your babies for me.
Kiss your husbands for you.
Kiss yourself for the divine.
You are loved.

Goodnight,
crm

Chronicles of a Faux-Parent

Good evening, friendly chippers. I wish I could carry you in my pocket as I go about my adventures here for the next two weeks. My life as a stand-in parent is full of lessons and moments that I wish you could all live vicariously with me...which I suppose is one purpose of blogging.

If you had been in my pocket, your face would be peaking out seeing, learning, hearing the following:

• Mekenzie's first day of school...her wide-eyes, her reserved demeanor, her curiosity shining through her big eyes, her independence, her confidence. And you realize that you have done a damn good job raising this fat baby who needed you for everything and who now can be left without you and learn on her own. It is all at once deeply satisfying and terrifying.
  
• That you have to seriously stop and see these moments. There is so much to distract us from the ability to see, really see a child. Because I don't live with them, I feel a special gift at being able to do this. When I do live with them, will you help me see this?
  
• That mothers {ahem!! anyone staying home with a child, thanks leif} are fucking saints and never, never done.
  
• Waking up to happy children is one of the greatest feelings.
• There is little time for blogging.
• Never to play memory with Mekenzie if you don't want your ass kicked. Also, drink wine if possible.
  
• That I could seriously be RICH if I could invent children who raised themselves. You could program in the personality traits that you desire, turn them off so you can run errands alone, set the mode to self-clean...you get the idea. Any investors?
  
• Gavin's incredibly generous spirit as he offers you his ice cream, or doesn't want to leave Mekenzie at school because he misses her, or wants to have everyone participate in games.
  
• To see the intimate life of a woman you've known for 12 years and still love every inch of her soul, just as you did then. Her tireless selflessness, her refusal to give up, her insatiable appetite for learning and bettering herself as a parent, her capability to run this entire show with her ability to be all of this AND still pursue, buy wine for you, listen to you, care for you as a friend.
• That people live their lives differently than you...and that it can be every bit as successful as how you live your life. There are many different ways to be human; this knowledge leads us to compassion and tolerance.

I also want to wish one of the most important couples in my life a very happy fourth anniversary. You have both made me laugh, made me drink, and made me love you more and more each day. Cheers to making marriage look stylish! :)

Scott and Teresa Goodrich

My beautiful sister and her husband...

XXOO,
crm

A long weekend...

The saint and I took Friday off and joined up with his family for our annual trip to Ocean Shores, Washington. Though the Washington coast is beautiful, it is nothing like the beaches of Southern California (both good and bad) where I grew up playing. Ocean Shores is so, um..., well...how to say...white trash. There, I said it. We basically spent our time in this little cabin (all 8.5 of us!!!eeek!) and read, puzzled, played games, ate, and slept. It was especially good to have our recently moved sister and her husband back in Washington for the event (this may or may not be praise tainted by the fact that she brought two 1.75 litters of vodka and gin for me from Ca).

So after a grueling traffic jam on the way home, the saint and I consoled ourselves with Mexican food and made (I think) a rather significant decision about our lives. I think...maybe, nothing set yet...that we are moving out of the city into the country. Much more on this later.

But there is no time to linger about that, for come Tuesday afternoon, I fly down to Redding, Ca to be with my best friend and her two kids and fetus...who will come to life (IT'S MAGIC) while I am there (we are HOPPPIIINNNGGGG). I'll be there for two weeks helping out and enjoying them.

Well, and I guess that's September for you...and it is always remarkable to me how I remain so busy and don't even have a formal job!

I also want to do a report on August's 12-month challenge...stay tuned!

I'll talk to you real soon,
crm

Morris Family Vacation 2009

p.s.s: Am I seriously the only one on earth for whom it takes copious amounts of solitude, quiet, and introspection to really relax? So tell me how this works when with groups of people? Someone, oh someone, please write an introvert bible about how to vacation with others.

What did you do today?

I wrote.

crm

It's a slow life for me...

I am a snail of a lady...often fighting off lethargy and physical apathy.
I am an owl of a lady...often in the shadows, quietly observant, aloof and wise.
I am a willow...a rooted beauty swaying in the breeze.

I live life slowly.
I know this about myself. I have only just accepted my pace without the shame of this American life. I have bitten back when the bug of productivity tries to prostitute my worth. But this last summer, oh my...it has been a busy one. Truly, one of the best summers was never had, but it has been SO packed with lots of social gatherings with lots of people.

I don't do groups very well.
Correction: I don't enjoy groups very well.
The bubbling cauldron of everyone's issues mucking and mixing together burns my soul to the core.

That being said, I can do groups if I've managed to have approximately 1.5 tons of solitude. I am a solitude whore; an alone-time glutton. Though I have been able to fill my solitude tank to the brim, I noticed that since early July it has been rapidly depleting. It totally, fully caught up with me.

So this last week and weekend, I decided no groups. It was a good decision and by no means an antisocial one. I was able to see almost all of my friends on a one on one intimate basis. And this weekend? The first weekend with no big event. Oh so nice.

We went to Mom and Dad's house both days this weekend and stopped at yard sales, picked berries off the wild branches, took naps on a bright yellow blanket, ate too much pasta even WITH the smell of blackberry cobbler cooking, clipped dahlias, cuddled with Abbey, squeezed fresh limes, smelled tomato plants, and just rested, rested, rested.

And consequently, today...Monday, it feels grand and hopeful.
Here's to your Monday, your self-worth, and your weekends of nothing,

En Images: Wherein le Plume vole au nord - The Last

If you know her, you'll know that this gal has quite the surplus of zany ideas and the energy with which to carry them out. We call her a hummingbird, for truly she has the metabolism and curiosity of one. This is particularly good for me to have in a lady friend, for I am not one to buzz about energetically - though I tell you, it was contagious. She had all of us grinning, skipping, laughing, and smirking so much.

The activities I would never have thought to participate in until Jillian suggested so:

• A cherry-pit spitting contest
• Sidewalk chalking ourselves all over Capitol Hill
  
• Each person wearing monochrome and heading to a restaurant
• Decorating a flower pot
  
• Many more that I cannot remember

So we did some of those:

and it felt quite good to be that jolly.

it felt equally as good to share moments of inspiration
(even in sometimes just observing them),
silence, and rest.

These two women, for all their wonderful outward beauty, kindness, talent and enviable can-do attitudes, hold for me also (and i daresay more importantly) a place of mystical depth and spiritual understanding, an eloquence at speaking of their arduous journeys, and the most open-handed offer of a very sweet friendship.

Thank you for following the journey of our time together.


If you didn't get enough, here are all the originals and more:

The Plume Flys North

En Images: Wherein le Plume vole au nord - Edition 3

One of the days Lady Plume was here, we decided to head up north to Deception Pass for a day trip. It was a festive drive up and such a gorgeous day. With walkie-talkies in hand, we all kind of wandered about at our own pace and our own snacks.

It was also the day to break out the new camera and see what it could do...correction, to see what I could make it do. One on hand, it was totally frustrating because I wanted the quick perfect shot that a point and shoot can deliver, but once I became a bit more patient with it, it was so much fun to manipulate all the various factors to capture the mood I was going for in a particular frame. It was this day in history that I fell in love with manual focus.

After I had had my fill of camera, I managed to look up and find nature. Imagine! I sat on a rock and stared at this great little clam. I took him off the rock and then felt instant remorse that perhaps he would die due to my curiosity, so I held him onto the rock until he attached himself right back. I was quite relieved. Murders of a melancholic? I think not.

En Images: Wherein le Plume vole au nord - Edition 2

The night I met her...


Thai was feeling the magic.



And we felt a wee bit giddy.



But we finally settled in for the wee hours,
those morning hours where you just can't get enough
of someone you've loved for a long time,
but only just met.

Tootles,

En Images: Wherein le Plume vole au nord - Edition 1

Our last morning together:

We hit up our favorite greasy spoon for eggs benny, glo's.

We then trotted over to Kelly's studio and grabbed a painting that needed Plume's home as well as a piece the lady umber needed to bring home. Has it helped to sleep under it, Redwood?









And then we said "à plus tard,"
Not goodbye.
Never goodbye.



Hey Plume, that was fun.
Tootles.




p.s. as you can guess, i took many images. i will be posting them throughout the week.
p.s.s. kjk, we were incomplete. totally, utterly incomplete.

This faded summer...passing by.

Tonight's date night consisted of a rousing game of Nertz...Joel and I decided that whoever arrived at 1 million points will win. This is going to take a lifetime. How romantic...

The last week and a half has been a whirlwind of activity rich with meaning, sadness, hyperactivity, laughter, white wine, not enough sleep, and great food.

Last week, my dear pen-pal and bosom friend, Plume, rolled into Seattle for a week of R&R with Kelly and I. We flitted all about and did Seattle right. We frolicked on the beach in Seattle's first summer rain, we gabbed for hours while emptying bottles of pinot grigio, we sat in awe of the process and pain of art, we all three cried at some point, we spent Plume's money at Ikea, we sang the tunes of musicals and laughed in delight at Mamma Mia; we hiked, we dined like royalty, we chopped veggies and played board games. There was a jamming extravaganza, freshly baked bread, a peach & cherry pie, and hot, tasty pho.

I tell you, after knowing and loving this hummingbird lady for 1.5 years from afar, it was right and good to have her finally in my arms and me in hers.

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After she left, I went home and slept a very long time...and missed her. Soon, my friends...there will be many more pictures to come.

The next day, the saint and I wandered out to Hat Island to celebrate Devon's 27th bday, gorging ourselves on sand, sun, and rest.

From Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

From Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

From Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

We boated over to the island,
our souls bobbing up and down with glee
and Red Stripe.

I was caught off guard,
alarmed even
at the reflection of my solitude in the sea.

It was blinding, and I forgot that I wasn't alone.
These people have a knack of reminding me.

From Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

That night, after a veritable feast,
We toasted her...
It tasted so sweet, watching each other love this young lady,
a lady startlingly easy to love.
Though she often cannot see it.

We toasted her courage to be herself
Her determination to be intimate
Her healing hands
Her persistence in loving herself, despite herself.

From Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

That night
In the darkness,
Sound tracked only by the steady pulse of wake and Neko,
Matt and Jer agreed that it's been the best summer since
The summer of red wine and David Bowie.

And though it is indeed going quickly,
this faded summer will not pass us by
at least not without
note.

Ms. Case is making sure of it.

Devon's 27th Bday Weekend

Did I mention I walked into the ocean in my pjs?
It was a moral imperative, though I don't usually do that sort of thing.

I sneaked away from the group for a bit to catch my much needed breath, and enjoyed the most tasty 2002 Rioja while writing pages and pages. I got to thinking about a lot of things...namely inhibition.

Our society values the uninhibited, at least the bohemian society in which I am entrenched does. I suppose there is one thing I am a bit tired of in myself, and that's how I swim in the murky water of self-loathing in wanting to be uninhibited but also knowing that by nature, I am a cautious soul. This can sometimes clash with those who cast off inhibitions easily and throw caution to the wind, and who I find could use a dash of inhibition for the sake of others. In our society, I think the general consensus is to come down on those who are inhibited and assume that suggesting a shot of tequila and social abandon will truly free them. So I pose this question, are those who are uninhibited truly free? And are those who are more cautious truly imprisoned? If your answer to this question is "Candace, we all just need balance," I'll tell you right now that I'll secretly disregard this diplomacy.

Not because I don't agree, but because it's boring.

Happy Monday,

Reporting in with images from my weekend...

I realize that it's Monday night and I am just now getting to it, but Joel and I had quite the busy weekend. I spend all day Friday making a dress, Saturday exploring a possible new home, grocery shopping, then attending an anniversary party, and Sunday celebrating my family birthday with a long drive to Suntop Mountain, a fried chicken dinner (my favorite!), and homemade ice-cream pie. Perhaps by now you are cluing into the fact that my mo-in-law is wonder woman.

I topped off Sunday night with finally meeting a dear, dear pen-pal, with whom I've been spending this week. You'll see those pictures soon...

But to tide you over...

Making the dress...

From Making the Dress

From Making the Dress

Entire album here:

Making the Dress

Gomes Anniversary Party

From Gomes Ann. Party 08.09

From Gomes Ann. Party 08.09

Entire album here:

Gomes Ann. Party 08.09

Jenn and Candace Family Birthday Drive

From Jenn and Candace Bday 08.09

From Jenn and Candace Bday 08.09

Entire (mini) album here:

Jenn and Candace Bday 08.09

I'll be back this weekend to share all about my week, but otherwise, I'm taking a break.

Have a GREAT week, birdlings.