hot fun in the city

(holga!)

What? You were expecting sunny skies and ocean views?

See you tomorrow!

fabric stores and photobooths,
E

getting in the habit

The ladies at habit have thrown down the gauntlet. They have invited us all to be part of the reindeer games. They have started a flickr pool. They are getting more response than (maybe) they can reasonably manage. And why wouldn’t they? habit is a great blog (Do you all know how I feel about habit? I fruh-jeeking LOVE habit).

My first response to reading the open invitation was – I won’t lie – must! get on! habit! blog! Mostly because the opportunity to be part of it is a pretty exciting prospect. But also a little because these days I seem to run only on a hunger for blog traffic. (Don’t worry; it’ll pass.) But even in just these few days of playing along, I have found satisfactions with this habit that supersede all aspirations of glory and fame.

When I sit down at night to finally commit to my 30 words, I am sometimes a little surprised by what comes out.

For example, July 5th:

We laughed so much that my cheeks hurt.

All day I put the words in my head through acrobatics, trying to come up with just the way to poignantly summarize that Rick and I have been struggling with this idea of moving. That we have felt tugged by obligations – that sounds too severe – pulled by our love of family members who particularly need us right now, and, on other the end, by our surprising realization that we are, in fact, perfectly happy right where we are. But when I sat down to write, what I remembered most was that we laughed all day, and we played, and it was fun – a rare moment of lightness in the midst of all this heavy decision-making. This is a memory I will be glad to have. Only more so when I realize we are not nearly out of the woods on this should-we-stay-or-go dilemma.

This, to me, is the special genius behind the blog. It shares the smallest, most intimate moments. And many of them, all at once. habit's 30-word limit on posts seems only to coax careful observation, and the results are very often achingly beautiful. (It is this same celebration of the small that fuels my own blog, just maybe less adeptly.)

Anyway, please go check them out. While you're at it, take a look at their flickr pool. There are even more moments there to savor. I've started collecting my own in this flickr set. And maybe you will start one too?

*

p.s. The drawing in the picture is a portrait of me and Rick, made by a friend of ours. (We had it printed on our wedding invitations.)

firsts

I have fantasies about being a homesteader. Primarily the gardening, the canning, and the chickens. Because really, how great would it be to pull a mason jar full of hibiscus-scented peaches that you canned during the scorching days of July from your fully stocked larder on, say, some gloomy day in January. Instant summer. (And maybe also a little instant smugness about your astute forethought, but you would be entitled to that. Hibiscus. Scented. Peaches. People.)

There are, however, a couple of things getting in the way of this:

1. I rent. Which means no garden of my own, no larder (I'm not even sure where it would fit in such a tiny kitchen), and absolutely no on the chickens.


2. I am completely, utterly lazy.

I had pretty much gotten over the sting of this reality – you know, I could probably buy someone else’s home-canned peaches and be perfectly happy and equally smug about my forethought – but then Rick, perhaps in a burst of Wheaties-induced fortitude, proclaimed, “I’m going to start doing things I never thought I’d do. One of them, every week.” And when you know Rick, you understand that when he starts talking like this, only good things to eat can follow. I am immediately on board with this plan.


First up: making butter. Ta-Da!

I would like to be able to tell you all that I was an exemplary assistant in this endeavor, that I admirably performed useful duties like scraping the whipping cream from the sides of the bowl, pre-chilling the ramekins, or setting out the sieve and colander to be conveniently ready when needed. Alas! My sole contribution was to exploit this unexpected photo opportunity by shoving nearly every camera I own into the mixing bowl in the hope of getting a good shot. Not only that, while the just-whipped (churned?) butter rested, I had the chutzpa the set the bowl, contents and all, on the floor.



Oh, just for the picture(s). Pinky swear. Please don't tell me if you spot a cat hair in the mix. (Also please don't notice that the fabric I used as a backdrop needs a bit of ironing. See “reasons I am not a homesteader,” above, number 2.)

So his first first is down. Mission accomplished. And I got more than a little excited about it. In fact, I felt a flood of motivation to take on a first of my own.



I present to you the first shot taken with my new Fuji Instax. (A surprise gift from Rick. And perhaps also a masterful ploy to get his digital camera back?)

It's ok; you can say it. It’s pretty much crap as a picture goes. Or at least as framing goes. (Oh well) So for my mission this week I have assigned myself some serious quality time with the Instax. That, and buttered toast every morning. (Don't worry. I'll let you know how that goes too.)

the super-pyrotechnic recap

Hope you had a happy fourth, friends! I have a little surprise for you:









So yes. There were fireworks yesterday. And I got a chance to put the fireworks setting on Rick's camera through the paces. (Fireworks setting?! Thanks again, Mr. Kelby.)

But I realize that fireworks are not a particularly surprising find on a day like the fourth, and in answer to your question: no, they were not the surprise I'd been hinting at.

Enough suspense already? Ok, here you go. Scroll just a wee bit further...



That's right. Fire dancers. (fire! dancers!)

And this picture was taken, for any of you digital photography enthusiasts out there, in "aquarium mode." Which was the surprising best choice to get a portrait-style photo.

Oh, yes. Yes, I hear you. This is a moment that practically begs for a long shutter release.

I obliged.

week's end (or, adventures on film)