Boo.

Sunday Snippets: the week, in retrospect

Die, Blonde, Dye

I've been resurrected from the blogging dead... as a roodharige. Ever since seeing Run Lola Run for the first time about eight years ago, I've secretly wanted blazing red hair. I've been feeling increasingly apathetic about my style as my belly grows bigger and bigger (and bigger and bigger); this change was exactly what I needed.

With the mister coming home the next morning and autumn nipping through my coat, I dropped the kid at a friend's around the corner yesterday (thanks, Kate!) and, at a cheapo neighborhood salon, made the plunge. Into a figurative vat of red dye. 

Happy metamorphosis, chrysiles!

xxx,

j

Repose

Here are some quiet shots from the last few days, in which I've been socially kind of hungover and in need of some fresh air and solitude.

Before the last few months, I couldn't have realized what a swell little compadre this child would become, and how perfectly he would fit into moments like these; even in the photos in which Julian doesn't appear, he's almost always still there, slightly out of the frame.

Sunday Snippets: the week, in retrospect

Homespun Necessities: Apple Cider

This post is a mathematical breakdown of abundance. Follow closely.

{Autumn is synonymous for radiantly red maples and steaming mugs of apple cider, at least where I come from. Since Moeder Nature does a damn fine job on her own with the former, and I haven't found the cider of my dreams in Holland, I'm focusing on the latter. [I've tasted everything even sort of resembling the cloudy, brown-tinged drink. None of them is just right.] I want Christmas in a cup, spiced and warm.}

Sunday Snippets: the week, in retrospect

Dreaming of Vastness, Part II: Mongolia

photo credit: Carlos Barria

I've always felt a magnetic draw towards Mongolia that I can't exactly articulate; perhaps it's because much of the culture revolves around peaceful existence and horses, or that the permanently populated areas are connected by a sparse network of questionable roads and endless stretches of steppe, desert, mountain, and forest.

It's my heartland, my spirit animal, the place I go to in my mind after a dark day.

Dreaming of Vastness, Part I: Iceland

Earlier today, I discovered Andrew and Carissa Gallo, over on Wolf Eyebrows, who dredged me up out of my travel-fatigued state. Apparently, my predicament was mutable. All day since, I've been fantasizing about sweeping openness and waking up to sounds from non-human sources. Iceland has had a firm clutch on my daydreams for some time now, and seeing it recorded so exquisitely has ratified my desire to go.

Creationism

It's that time of year again... you know, kastanienmännchen-making time. 

Uhhh, what? 

Sunday Snippets: the week, in retrospect

Exploration

This afternoon the kid and I met a friend and her little clan at our favorite neighborhood park to cheer up after putting the mister on a plane this morning, and we happened upon two other friends and their broods. It's nice knowing benevolence firsthand. 

There's little Julian loves more than the opportunity to climb on things and get some serious dirt under his fingernails, and there's little I love more than watching a certain little boy toddle around in a state of busy contentedness. We adults have much to glean from our smaller counterparts.

Happy exploring, adventurers. 

xxx,

j

Persisting Oven Woes; Thus, Pumpkin Ice Cream

The pompoenen at the market have been exceptionally beautiful the last couple weeks. Normally, I'd buy a few without hesitating and preheat my oven. 

This time of year, I dream of all things pumpkiny and baked. Unfortunately, I'm going on week five of having a defunct oven (culprit=a really slow-shipping part); I was sort of clueless in a hands-up sort of way about why else I could possibly need a pumpkin. Until I stopped sulking and started thinking. Duh. Ice cream. And to whom would I turn in such a time of desperation? David Lebovitz, that's who. Err, whom. 

Homespun Necessities: Butter

I always imagined that making butter involved a contraption large, creaking, and wooden, and a serious arm workout. Churning butter sounds so serious, and like it requires bonnet-wearing. So, as official research (yes, let's call it that) for my newly conceived series on creating kitchen basics by hand, I googled "how to make butter." What I found, friends, blew my tiny little brain. Into tiny little pieces.