231/365

Thursday, January 31, 2013


I saw this today on a walk. The flowers are blooming in Portland. It's not even spring, yet. The Portland flowers are so determined. 

A quick thought about memory


Memory isn’t a blanket you can pull up around you and tuck beneath you, keeping it close, keeping it known. You can clutch at the waves that pass over you, but there’s no changing the backwards flow. 


230/365

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


Saw this puddle today getting of the bus. Complimentary colors. Each making the other a stranger color. 

229/365


I got to play with a Wacom tablet today! Newspace has one, so after my shift I hung around for an hour and half and messed around with it. It was pretty fun, getting used to it. I'm going to open a little print shop with a few text/image prints. (Possibly the one above, even.) I am pretty excited about it! Not too sure anyone will buy them, but it's fun to dream up a little miniature line of prints, either way. 

Until tomorrow, dreams. 

228/365

Monday, January 28, 2013


Had a quiet morning today. Steele left the house before me so I got to meander around and do all my morning things. Then just a few classes and some longish term scheming. 

And now a meeting with Mark. 

227/365

Yesterday I took a break from the computer. It's a hard habit to break. I actually found myself thinking about it. Like, things I could look up if I was online, and what is on that flash drive sitting by my computer. Etc, etc. I really do want to have one day a week where I'm unplugged though. 


I made this yummy lunch though. I'm trying to remember why I like to make lunch and why it's not a good idea to just have 5 marshmallows in a row instead. I reheated some quinoa from the night before, added some parmesan, some baby spinach leaves, and fried an egg for the top. It was pretty darn good. Way better than a marshmallow. 








226/365 (Lavender coffee)

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Today I made myself a steadfast list. Number one on the list was do the dishes. So, I did them. Number 2 was make coffee. I was getting my french press ready when I wondered what would happen if I put lavender buds in with the grinds. Since I had a small bag of culinary lavender in my cabinet I decided to try it. I just put about a spoonful in with the grinds and mixed it up a little and brewed as normal.

(I used culinary grade lavender from whole foods)

 It is so good, and easy. As much as I would love to have an espresso maker, I don't. I don't even have a microwave to do faux lattes. Just a lil' french press. But adding the lavender made my coffee feel so special. Mmmm. Now I'm just sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying. I have to say, I've been thinking about adding recipes and random 'lifestyle' things to this blog. I want to keep it really personal, but also I spend roughly 50% of my time cooking, making coffee, decorating the apartment. My life is not so eloquent as this blog might make it seem. I am really pretty normal. I also spend a lot of time debating about it in my head. Like, if I add a recipe for lavender coffee, is that making all the other stuff on here less important? One of my new favorite blogs elephantine does a really good job of mixing photos, personal posts, and recipes all into one blog. Definitely a blog role-model, right there.






225/365

Friday, January 25, 2013


Here is a pretty average photo of mine and Steele's morning.

When I look at this picture I see lots of things, things I need to do. Like, hang all the prints and art sitting against the wall. Figure out a solution for the horrible cords in the middle of the wall. (Who puts an outlet in the middle of a wall?) Finally finish refinishing those kitchen chairs. Not to mention, work on my posture. 

But, maybe in a year, or two, or five, or even a few months, this picture will be wonderful. Age with time. Become something precious, because I took the time this morning to document something I don't usually think of as very photographable. 

I've been working at the kitchen table a lot lately. With a cup of coffee, or tea, or orange juice. This is nice, but I also have a very nice desk which I've been neglecting. It's been holding random junk for months. Cleaning the desk and figuring out how to make it more useable is just one of my many plans and goals for our apartment. 

Hope you guys had a lovely morning as well. 

224/365

Thursday, January 24, 2013


Today was the kind of day I moved to Oregon for. Perfectly grey and not too cold and so very fresh smelling, the smell of almost-rain. 

Today was warm and comfortable and then quickly became stressful. I am in the half stages of child and adult and the growing pains are not comfortable. They are made worse by lots of things--A semi-terrible situation, (it's hard for me to say it is completely terribly when Steele and I say hello to the homeless man rummaging through our trash on our way into the building) an expensive art school education, a beautiful one bedroom apartment, a very indecisive mother. I am so grateful for all of the things that I have, and I am trying desperately to be responsible. And to be humble. And to be optimistic. (That's the hard part.)

But of course, my night will end well as it always does, with Steele and late sandwiches and Harry Potter on the TV we are so lucky to have. I don't have it bad at all. 





(On a side note, this post by Nirrimi has made me think a little bit about how honest I've been being here. Not that I've been lying, which is just silly (even though every bit of writing is a little bit fictionalized) but more so that I've been reluctant to talk about the hard parts of things. I hope to change that as I've always hoped to write a blog that was honest.)

223/365

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Our kitchen table this morning with my glass of tangerine juice. 
And this night with our uncleared dinner plates.


222/365

Tuesday, January 22, 2013



Starting the day out right: waffles and Harry Potter 1. 

First day of school today. Goals for this semester: 

Pack lunches, and/or come home for dinner/lunch. 
Spend time in the studio reading/writing. 
Work on thesis paper every day. (Even if it's just re-reading it.)
Experiment immediately. 
Work on things with joy. 

221/365

Monday, January 21, 2013


Today I went on a hike with a bunch of friends. It was nice, especially the car ride. I fell asleep both ways. There's something really nice about being in the back of a car--childish. You don't have to worry about getting anywhere, you're just along for the ride. You can just watch the sky passing or think intently about what the color of the sun is through your closed eyelids. 

On the hike I got to sit right next to a waterfall, the top of it, it was brilliant. It was so cold the branches in the stream were frozen solid with ice. Waterfalls are so loud, so much rushing noise. It was nice to be outside, I don't go on hikes or walks nearly enough. 

After the hike we went to a Blazers game, which we proceeded to lose by three points. One shot made in 3.8 seconds. Basketball is a holding your breath sort of sport. 

Tomorrow I start school. The last last last first day. 



220/365

Sunday, January 20, 2013


This morning Steele and I woke up early to do some volunteer work for the Scholastics Art Awards. We woke to a dark room, and hobbled around the apartment in the cold, left the house late and went down down down the stairs, and out into the frozen air. The mist has been freezing at night and leaving the ground frosty and white. Everything was coated in a layer of white. Every branch had a tiny coating of crystals so perfect and crunchy. If only everything was magnified.



The drive we had to make is short but beautiful. Made even more beautiful by the low clouds and the sunrise. The sun was peeking just over the clouds, so perfect, and completely unrecordable with my camera. I kept having this pang of regret, that I couldn't capture this perfect moment. Like if I had an image of it I would always remember the feeling of driving along the highway with Steele, that feeling like you aren't just looking at a beautiful sunrise, but you are actually living inside of it. And the car, the road, the city that separates you from the sun doesn't exist. Then you raise a camera to your eye and all of the world falls back into place, all of the sudden there's a windshield in front of you, a city littered with stop signs and power lines, and buildings. And that huge circular sun orb hanging in the sky, the one that you lived inside for a brief moment, the one that appears so large and imploring. That sun is actually so tiny in your viewfinder.

The smallest possible crop of the very wide angle image I shot of the sun.

I'd like to say that I enjoyed the moment. The drive. That I was 100% thankful for the chance to see that sun at all. But I have drilled it into myself again and again to capture the moment I want to remember. And the thought of not being able to do that made me quite sad. But of course, now I've written about it, I'll remember it. And I've captured something more important: my insecurity at not being able to capture the sun.


219/365

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Tonight I stepped outside for a brief walk to get dinner supplies. There was a fine mist low to the ground, almost foggy. I was this warm body moving through the almost night. Cars passed and their lights cut through the mist. Whole planes of light slicing through the ground mist. I stood a little transfixed: the whole beam of light solid in front of me.







________________________________________________

218/365

Friday, January 18, 2013


Getting into old clothes is like trying to fit into an old skin. You stretch and tuck, trying to find an old self. As if they are in the clothes, not in you. As if you could finally pull the zipper closed, step in front of the mirror, and be looking into your 17-year-old self's eyes. As if you could travel a thousand miles in the time it takes to pull the dress over your head, be standing in your old bedroom, the night before you graduate high school. 

Instead there is a tug inside you. All of the people who inhabited this dress converge and merge into one person. And as always, it's just you inside a dress. Always just you. Is there no separating your mind from time? 


217/365

Thursday, January 17, 2013


Things about today:

Sunrise in the window. 
Sun spots all across the apartment. 
Clean living room. 
A book read chapters at a time. 
A book read quickly. 
Glowing sun on power lines. 
Steele's beating heart. 
Tiny flame burning. 



216/365



More quiet days.

215/365

Tuesday, January 15, 2013



From the typewriter: 

Time, 

stopped. glimpses of the fading sky through all the windows surrounded by these glimpses of sky, fading, but still time is stopped, paused, and I live an entire lifetime in the second it takes to raise a cup of coffee to my lips and drink. In that act is a life. 

The sky is cloudy outside and the overcast is a blanket, bundling me up. I am wrapped in a blanket, without time. 

Time catches up with you I suppose. Steele left the apartment after a tense moment. The moment was silly, unmattering, but still he left and I sat on the couch in my timeless bubble. I wanted another kiss, I wanted the chance to say that I was silly and sorry and to have a good day at work. I ran out of the apartment, in the brisk air. 

Time broke. The world filled in around me. It was 1 in the afternoon, and the world was going about its business, people on the street. The clouds weren't a bundle after all. The air rushed past my face. I saw Steele's car pulling out of it's parking space. I ran harder, until it was turning, and I wouldn't make it. I touched my hand to a telephone poll. I walked back with my heart rushing, my breath labored, passed a few people. Maybe I was their proof of time, too. 

Then I sat back on the couch, in my bundle again, and called Steele to tell him the things I ran outside to tell him, to tell him I ran after him. My voice broke, and silly tears hit my cheeks. He came home, and then there he was in the living room, I was pressed against his chest. I loved him for coming back, and he loved me for calling him home, always. 

214/365



Today was spent, sweetly, at home with Steele. I pulled myself out of bed and made us both oatmeal with apples and raisins. We went to Home Depot and got plastic sheeting for our windows, for insulation. I made a slightly epic chicken lasagna with zucchini instead of pasta. (Leftovers galore!) And we nipped out for a quick drink with Ali. 

I love being home. 

213/365

Monday, January 14, 2013

Yesterday I woke up in my own bed, to Steele saying it was 12:30. Guess we were tired. (We did stay up late the night before, giddy with the ability to cuddle on the couch.)

We laid on the couch all day until Steele had to go to work, then I got up and rode my bike in the bitter cold. My ears started to hurt. Luckily I had gloves or I would have frozen right onto my handlebars. I went to Whole Foods for some dinner supplies. When I got home I looked up the tiny trip I made on Google Maps. I rode around in the smallest circle, a little over 2 miles round trip, but it felt sort of big. The number one thing I miss when I go back to Colorado, is being able to get where I need to get. Alone. Independently. So even though I only rode in a circle, I could have gone anywhere.

212/365

Sunday, January 13, 2013




Today, due to a few circumstances, I ended up spending a few hours at DIA. It was strange, to have a layover in the airport I know best. The airport I can't ever remembering learning, I've just known it since I could remember. 

So, a brief stint in the air, in the familiarity of DIA, and then I was blissfully dropped off in Portland. Another airport known and loved. 

211/365

Friday, January 11, 2013



Crrr's seed collection. 

210/365

Thursday, January 10, 2013

The thing about photographs, is that they contain so much. So many little things, so many little pieces of the puzzle. That's one of the reasons they become important to us. They are beautiful, of course, and they have frozen time. They hold whole worlds, they hold things, evidence of a life. All of the artifacts, that you never really think about, but when you start putting names to them,

Then you begin to construct a life.







35MM XXIX

Some lost remnants of fall


It finally started raining, and then didn't stop. All the fallen leaves were plastered to everything. Car windows, the sidewalk. The leaves on the sidewalk decay and leave dark impressions, leaves don't crunch in Portland. 



This photograph was taken in a ten minute span of time in which the rain became quite heavy. I remember very clearly sitting in my chair, at my typewriter, with a half drunk cup of coffee next to me and the rain light coming through the window and the noise of the rain. The kind of noise like when you cover your ears in the shower, and instead of hearing the water hit the tile, you hear the water hitting you, like it's inside you. 



Steele all dressed up for Thanksgiving in his Thanksgiving sweater, with the pumpkin pie we made for dessert all wrapped up in a pie bundle. It was a sunny day, as Thanksgiving's ought to be. 



And then the pie was in my lap, for the drive over. 

209/365

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Miniature landslides

Crrr tells me that there are so many rocks because there used to be a volcano, 750,000 years ago. Today we drove a little and took a walk. The wind was gusty, and I said, "If someone told you the ocean was over these hills, you'd believe them." It was true, the wind filled your ears, like you were spinning round and round but really you were just standing still. Then sometimes the wind would die down, and everything would be perfectly still. When the wind is blowing you feel very small, because the wind carries on conversations with itself. One side of you, a thousand miles away, talks to the other side of you, a thousand miles in the opposite direction. And you're caught in the middle, tiny. But when the wind dies down the world centers in around you and then you're the only thing there, the whole wilderness exists for you to be sitting on the top of a hill.






Things about this photograph


Things about this photograph:

Sleep-head, on my chest. 
Heavy post-day light bouncing off the walls. 
The thick big pillows borrowed from Ali. 
The red of the red house, through the window. 
My favorite cardigan wrapped around Steele. 
My favorite cocoon. 

208/365

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

First you begin inside a womb, 



(of sun and pockets of air and light)





A whole little universe, 
A tangle of roads and veins.
Blown up, an entire bush, 
Nebulous.


You are the only middle size. Everything is tiny, or it is huge. Small enough to be held in your hands, fall to the ground to be lost with all the little artifacts. Or so big that you can't see from end to end, the horizon stretching in a circle around you. The sun sinks. Color is subtracted.


 And then you have the dry crunch of plants and their petals crumbling. Every spare patch of ground looks like a circle in which to stretch your body, look up at the sky. You reach out to touch something and it explodes, disappears beneath your fingers. It seems every way you look, there are mountains, but they're all a thousand miles away turning pink from the sun.