French bulldog puppy argues over bedtime
Eeeee! This is the cutest little thing!!!
- I have these daydreams of myself, a decade or so from now, teaching a little one how to soak almonds for almond milk, and chopping vegetables picked from the garden with the windows open, and warm sunlight casting patterns onto our bare feet. A home, somewhere where the crickets can be heard, along with the sweet songs on the radio that we hum to, where the pines are tall, and the windows wide, and the door propped open on summer nights, and a porch — maybe also a dock, on a lake where lunes dive and moose watch from the shadows — to lose track of time on. Red wine nights and flushed cheeks. Coffee stained mugs in the mornings, and forks and fingers sticky from maple syrup. Farmers markets, wildflowers, blueberries. Teeth sinking into plums and the red juice, warm from the sun, trickling down the contours of our cheeks.
- Similarly, I miss this all, but I see it all just as well: Himalayan and Andean glaciers with crevasses so radiantly blue that the first word that crosses my mind is shocking. I see those East Africa sunrises stretching across the savannas - brilliant and gold. The birthplace of man, and the birthplace of my soul. I see the markets of the Middle East — smoky and gleaming with tiles and baskets of spices so rich that their smells are carried on the collar of my shirt for weeks. I see rainstorms in the Amazon with howler monkeys thundering their screeches from the canopies; I see canyons breaking the earth and scarring the palms of my hands as I scramble down their walls; I see my heels and hips rubbed raw from carrying the weight of all I need. I see the unbelievable power of water, from the penguins and sea lions that lap around me in the turquoise shores of the galapagos, to the Arctic waves that rock my kayak as an iceberg crashes into the ocean just half a mile in front of me, to dancing by seaside bonfires and midnight skinny dips in the Mediterranean, to sunrise dives into the Indian ocean off the roofs of fishing boats. I see my heart pounding with the overwhelming sense of alive. I see these people who weave their stories into my life like knots into a thread, and how they remain apart of my own story even long after we part at baggage claim, or the bus terminal, or the morning we continue onto separate trails. I see journals thick and full, crammed with handwriting that can’t keep up with my thoughts. I see hospitality and humility like I’ve never seen before. I see West African mangoes under starry skies. I see summer dresses and folk festivals pinpricked across the US. I see broken buses, I see street food and sickness, and I see laughter so sincere that our stomach aches like they never have before. I see it all. I miss it all. Here’s to what’s next.
Solo Day 1: California coastal beauties | before big sur and after bixby canyon
I’d pay 500 dollars to never see or hear Frozen analyses ever again
Colossal is killing it with all the excellent street art lately!
the glorification of kurt cobain and demonization of courtney love is so discouraging but a reminder that if you’re a man and you’re an abrasive, provocative, drug-addled musician then you’re the voice of a generation but if you’re all of those things and a woman, you’re a junkie succubus
Here’s the link for more information about the PS244 fundraising campaign.
Here’s the link to the GIVE IT ALL TO ME Library Collection at OutofPrintClothing.com.
Check it out! The good folks dropped me a line about this project last week, and I’m happy to boost for Library Week.
So hey, #education…
I love these. Love them. And for a great cause.