bests of the summer

the loops // PROCIDA // gianna // accidentally biking the entire east bay bike path // homemade sourdough pizza // rosemary tornelli with apertivo // bolsena, again // spike ball with teigue and john at india point park // india point park every single day // mark doty // cape cod // biking with heather // the ripest cantaloupe // go-karting for dad's 60th // grad formal // fleabag // alligator anxiety // craigslist rug // thunder in florida, that deeply familiar sound // briley's enthusiastic sea turtle lecture // sea turtles in the moonlight on the beach // aly & shona, their laughter // manatees and green flies // heavy palms, almost as heavy as the air itself // homemade strawberry granita // "the heart is a repository of vanished things" // the scent of orvieto – old stone, jasmine and overly-perfumed italians // my tower apartment, all to myself // un cappuccino e due biscotti // catherine's head at san domenico // focaccia con pomodoro in foligno // breakfast with emma in munich // HELFTA // sister pauline and sister christiane // els' eyes, the spirit of god // bored afternoon trips to intimissimi // frantumaglia in one weekend alone // "to tolerate existence we lie, and we lie above all to ourselves" // evenings at barcaro with austin // prosciutto tortellini with arugula made on our hotplate, over and over again // discovering the upstairs patio at febo // meeting austin at the orvieto train station // getting to share somewhere i love with someone i love // how i always feel most beautiful in italy, sun-kissed and sweaty // the nuns outside of buon gésu: your face, a sacrament // the patio at freni e frizioni in trastevere and all the free food // and rome, a city i barely know and deeply love // the blue glasses at cassetta nonna maria in procida // aperol spritz // the velvet green of the ocean in procida // riding the waves // cat's eye blue // ludovica and insalata di limone // seeing donato sarratore // a carafe of rosé with melissa // scraping together coins for the church carnival down the street // train to philly // jia tolentino // buck meek // how this could go on and on

such a strange summer of such overwhelming joy and also a turn of despair – but it's too much, all of this. i do not know where it ends. i could keep listing good things – and keep thinking: it's too much.

[our kitchen at cassetta nonna maria, mamiya 7]

bests of the summer

Because I am woman of habit, I have to keep these things up, even when it's months late –

bear island, nothing better // meeting rosie // lemongrass cider at surf club with amber d., over and over // and having a female friend to talk to about politics // SIMON // franny's poetry reading // mepkin abbey, always // you are a god of seeing // sunrise walk on the beach with a. // jamila woods in person // breakfast tacos with derek // alexandra's birthday party // a day in durham with elsa, soren, + torunn // walking home drunk with tor // all my best lady pals together on a blanket // margaret's fairy houses // lazy sunday afternoons at bobbit's hole // my native flower garden (ugh, I miss it) // brewery bhahavana + banana walnut cake with a. // murakami for the first time // the ymca pool // a grocery store cake "in the colors of RISD" from holy family folks // cajun dance in a furniture-maker's barn // jean's baptism // whale-watching in maine with my family // that early, early morning alone watching the sunrise in portland // ACADIA // strawberry granita // touring apartments in providence with mom // sweetest gift + note from max // sitting on the rocks on belle isle in richmond // tea parties with margaret // best, best durham birthday party // penland, a gift // the clientele // living with kendra, ryan, langdon, and elias for two weeks // mary karr // birthday rosemary grapefruit drinking vinegar + morning buns // best birthday overall with the best people // getting back in the darkroom and remembering why I love photography // grilled cheese with tomato jam // our backyard picnic table, even if short-lived (v. worth it) // new swimsuit, first bikini // mornings with amber j. at penland // just amber in general // pizza + whiskey with frank // by each try to simply merit the fitness of a lone occasion // things coming to an end, things coming toward a beginning

[pictured: flowers from my garden <3]

bests of the summer

though this has been a pretty shitty summer, there's still much to be grateful for:

blackberry shrub // our five-year old neighbor, jésus // walking downtown // winning the co-op's grocery giveaway // BOBBIT HOLE // tacos in philly with derek // birthday kayaking + rosé // twin peaks // fireworks on every street in chicago // lula's in logan square, twice // going back to where we had our first kiss // cardamom-sugared churros // the best kitchen sink // that perfect salad at the bread bar in hamilton // learning to like olives // jason molina reunion show // that bun at fika // the bright yellow walls of kira's room // ed ruscha at the nasher // and afternoon walks to the nasher // walking to rose's // LADIES' WEEKEND // spontaneously stopping at the botanical gardens in richmond for the solar eclipse // charcuterie boards for dinner // mark jarman and marie howe // kensington market in toronto // bar brunello with amy when she came to visit // working hard // max in town // valley forge with mom and dad // big thief // driving to charlottesville // niagara falls // "work harder, don't complain, spend more time alone" // mepkin abbey, where i am at peace // mossy banners // biking more // talking about pictures with fred, jaheim, jonathan and julian // how our new street looks like that one gordon parks photograph // drinking wine and reading that one night while amy cooked dinner for us // joan didion and marilynne robinson // singing the sanctus at holy family

the bests of the summer

biking in denver // honey stingers // getting a tattoo with reb // beach day with kira // birthday sheep's milk ricotta bruschetta // boulted bread dates with a. // curating my first exhibit // meeting susan worsham // summiting mount democrat // prayers from father martin in my inbox // elena ferrante // ellie running to greet me at all souls // chicago with shannon // josé gonzalez in millennium park // emma and heather in the same room again // biking to locopops // FLORIST in chapel hill // riley and maggie // moxie koigns // sam walking down the aisle // thump coffee mornings // eldarado canyon state park // sweet corn ravioli from potager // RICHMOND // tacos with janine and zech // gordon parks exhibit at the virginia museum of fine arts // biking the american tobacco trail // hannah praying with her lips // "and the Lord remembered her" // quirk hotel // austin's farming hat // remembering why i love annie dillard // asheville weekend // "the impeded stream is the one that sings" // cardamom buns // spike ball with jeff and reb at the gardens // string lights on our front porch // walking around cheeseman park with a. // using our tent for the first time // waving at mr. b every single morning

[view of Kite Lake from a climb up Mount Democrat, CO]

ten good things, & other things

01. a sweet, sweet weekend with kira, and a reminder of how easy a friendship can be—what a rare gift.

02. roasted tomato soup and beet pesto and spring minestrone and all the glories of summer produce.

03. bright blue hydrangeas from the market, now on our table.

04. postcards, letters, and packages in the mail. new bra, new books, chicory root to make this!

05. scoring a $70 book on fra angelico for $17 at the used bookstore downtown.

06. a job that I love and an employer who offers constant encouragement. also a rare gift.

07. summer travel plans: cincinnati! charlottesville! chicago! denver! possibly maine!

08. returning to old journals and memories from last summer at this time: in iceland, with derek.

09. all the friends who have traveled to visit us, drank coffee on our front porch, slept on our air mattress, and ate dinner on the kitchen floor with us.

10. this month of june, which is always a good month.

Lately, also:

Listening all day long to Told Slant's Going By. 

I am trying to find words for the movement from dusk to darkness in the summertime, how slow it is, until that last moment of light which flickers out suddenly like a flame. It's like this: the sun holds on to the day, as if they were attached by a string stretched taught and long into the evening, the tension growing before snapping into the darkness of night, only the constancy of the fireflies carrying us across the divide. That last moment of light is anything but slow: it is sharp, quick, easy to miss. I want to spend this summer waiting for that snap.

[our tomatoes and peppers, much larger now! honeywell pentax, 35mm]

the good flesh continuing

Some disposable camera images from our honeymoon in Joshua Tree, something like six months ago now.

Also, lately:

Listening to Quilt. And Strange Bedfellows! Very proud of A. & friends.

Meditation at Lagunitas by Robert Hass, which is probably one of my top five favorite poems ever, and reading it is the quickest way to transport myself back to that perfect Berkeley summer.

Consuming a lot of strawberries with homemade basil-infused whipped cream. Nothing better.

Crossing build a raised bed off my list of goals this week, after A. and I hauled pounds and pounds of topsoil, shovel by shovel, into our little 8x4 bed. I planted purple cherokee tomatoes, green arrow shelling peas, broccoli di cecco, leeks, and bell peppers! Now to prevent the cabbage worms and bunnies from consuming it all.

and more, have our being

I spent the bulk of last week at Mepkin Abbey, in Monck's Corner, SC, just a half hour north of Charleston. I went to pray about my life, marriage, and vocation. I went also to rest, to write, to be alone long enough so that words can come to the wordless parts of me. I was surprised at how easily I slipped into the silence of the monastery, how right it felt to be alone and quiet for a few days. I walked away slow hours in the woods and gardens, spiraled through the labyrinth each morning, took at least two naps a day, read for a few hours in bed each night, and learned to listen for the bells calling us back to chapel for lauds, prime, terce. In many ways, it was more jarring to come back to the busyness of real life then to enter into the silence of the abbey.

"For I saw him and sought him; for now we are so blind and so unwise that we never seek God until out of his goodness he shows himself to us, and if he graciously lets us see something of himself, then we are moved by the same grace to seek with great longing to see him more fully; and thus I saw him and I sought him, I had him and I wanted him. And it seems to me that this is, or should be, our usual way of proceeding."

(Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love)

signore fa di me uno strumento

Assorted images from this summer in Italy: Orvieto, and Convento dei Cappuccini.

pace e bene

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"Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places." 

(Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities)

Some photographs from that first day to myself in Rome: the Pantheon, Giolliti, Piazza Navona, wine and bruschetta in Campo Dei Fiori, San Luigi dei Francesi (Caravaggio's The Calling of Saint Matthew), Sant'Agostino (Caravaggio's Madonna di Loreto), sitting on the steps of the Capitoline Museum, etc. Those first few impressions from wandering into a new city are always somehow unique and wonderful.

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a song to keep us unafraid

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This summer has been fast and uneventful, a waiting time between graduation and graduate school, mainly spent tending to the same place I've lived in for the past four years. But last weekend a few of us packed in a car and drove to Michigan for a quick trip and it was everything I needed. Royal Oak and Ann Arbor, I want to come back soon.

Now I am home again for another quick period before moving to North Carolina. Somehow I am twenty-two and sitting in the same room I sat in at thirteen, when I knew loneliness so well and used a typewriter to hash out all my anger. It is always surprising to come home because I remember a part of myself I had forgotten, perhaps the part of myself I most want to forget.

I read A Timbered Choir on the long drive home, and these words keep coming back to me:

"When field and woods agree, they make a rhyme
That stirs in distant memory the whole
First Sabbath's song that no largess of time
Or hope or sorrow wholly can recall.

But harmony of earth is Heaven-made,
Heaven-making, is promise and is prayer,
A little song to keep us unafraid,
An earthly music magnified in air."

[Wendell Berry]

[holga film, heather in royal oak + cantaloupe rinds]
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to sleep till the sun was high

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Things, lately:
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Emma Elizabeth Tillman's photography. (She makes me want to go back to New Orleans.)

"So the only natural (and not 'supernatural') reaction of man, to whom God gave this blessed and sanctified world, is to bless God in return, to thank Him, to see the world as God sees it and — in this act of gratitude and adoration — to know, name and possess the world." (Alexander Schmemann)

This petzval lens.

I am attempting to start a daily sketchbook, one page per day, whatever comes to mind. A professor recommended that on days when I feel uninspired, I ought to go back to an old page and do something else on top of what I've already done. Make a collage, draw geometric shapes, and so forth. We'll see how this goes. But I need a discipline like this in order to stay creative, and to remember how much I love it.

These books — The Power and the Glory, The Year of Magical Thinking, and Hannah's Child.

Duke Divinity School so soon. Funny how that happens, how one day as a fourteen-year old sitting in a Catholic girls' school waiting to take the PSAT I imagine how I'd like to go to Duke Divinity School . . . and then one day I am actually doing it. I am grateful, more than I remember sometimes.

[holga 120, 135mm film, ernest hemingway's house last year]

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the bests of the summer

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thunderstorm breakfasts with em & tor // peonies // pie day // indian food in wicker park // the architecture exhibit at the art institute // sharon van etten at millennial park // beer and popcorn // the lilac parade // biking to all souls // lemonade for the first time // library time with dr. foster // wallace stegner // prayer on the green couch // mint pea soup // ELLIE // gardens with dr. brabanec // biking home in rain // no internet // father martin on prayer // milosz mondays // birchwood kitchen // georges bernanos // polenta and mushrooms // days of heaven // sunsets with mary at marshall park // just mary // sam's slippers // sylvi's kindness // arvo part // lots of damien jurado // attali and jens // the guide to filling our days // agnes martin // swimming in green lake with rebecca // bainbridge island alone // golden gardens // walking always // lavender lemonade // lavender everything // all the ferries // sea hair // jayne in seattle // ballard public library // canal walks with mr. wolfe // mark jarman // biking with aunt april // lake time // listening to records in fremont // earl gray ice cream // the loganberry festival // coffee with emily at le reve that morning // letters received // birthday picnic // sunday market // delancey // the locks (seven times) // chats with taylor // getting picked up from the memphis airport by the girls // stained-glass seals // andrew wyeth on my bed // andrew wyeth with mom // jan and lee // holding a chicken // gasworks park, both times // avocado toast // tired hands with derek // coming home after eight months

The boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places indeed, and gosh and golly it was such a good summer.
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we have the given life

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Yesterday was twenty one years and a loganberry festival and Whidbey Island and picking berries and red-stained fingers and five forks digging into one whole pie and red-checkered tablecloths and braiding wheat and sitting on thorny weeds and the windows down in a big suburban and loganberry wine that tasted like drinking strong jam and island music coming from a barn stage and prayer in a field and some of my favorite people and seagulls chasing us on the ferry. It was the type of day that deserves a run-on sentence: so full to the tippy-top with happy things.

"We have the given life, not the planned," says Wendell Berry. This is the given life. I don't know how or why it came to be mine, but I am awfully grateful for all of it, and this season called summer.

[all photos from yesterday : ones including me taken by jayne]

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chicago from the pier

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It's funny how buildings seem like characters sometimes. The fat old woman hovering over her daughter and the slender and confident businessman. At least, that's how I think of Chicago, like a skyline story, or a line-up of characters at the end of a play. I miss it, and the evenings spent at dusk on the pier imagining who they might be.
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ten good things

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"God has been so good, so unexpectedly, strangely good. My heart is full of trust and peace."
(Georges Bernanos, A Diary of a Country Priest)

To say those words, I hope:

01. sour cherry pie bars from the queen anne farmer's market
02. packages at my door: homemade granola from mom, long lost running shoes, and lilies from a. (don't know what makes me happier than granola and flowers)
03. sitting on a bench along the canal with mr. wolfe today as he smoked his cigar and we talked about things
04. just to be here: isn't that itself what i prayed for?
05. the difference between being and becoming, and the grace in both places
06. unexpected friendships and the kindness and spontaneity of strangers
07. kerry park and the baseball field nearby and trader joe's free coffee in the evenings
08. all this rare time that is suddenly mine
09. j. & l. and people to worry about me if i'm not home by nine
10. sylvi, really, and jayne, and emma, and elise, amy, mary, rebecca, sam, taylor, michelle and all of those who have been angels unaware to me these past few weeks

[pc: andrew wyeth]
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the bests of the summer

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rain in boston // flying to california // swings outside of grace cathedral in sf // backpacking // pink thunderstorms from my bedroom window // sigur ros at the mann // skipping rocks with the family at the lake // kayaking with mrs. k // kayaking alone that one morning (with legs flung over the side) // st. peter's bakery (mostly with brie) // gryphon chai // flannery o'connor // ellie&gracie&colin (how i adore them) // farmer's market with mom on wednesdays // fig bars // sitting on amy's couch // no alarm clocks // good sam // birthday packages // tidepooling with torunn // YOSEMITE // stephanie // postcards from traveling friends // psalms // brunch at terrain // city picnics with derek // the rodin museum // 5k and workday lunches with danielle // meeting alice waters // jess's red sweater that i always stole // walking to elmwood // my curatorial intern card // the head and the heart // the skin-like layer of cinnamon on top of elmwood chai // the bashful banana at ocean city // l'engle again // sun on my arms // quinoa with grandmother // the boy band at pt. reyes // phone chats with grace // growing up

Oh summer, forgive me for complaining about you so much. You have been good to me, really. But I am sort of glad you are almost over. On Monday: this place. Then school again . . . craving me some textbooks and chicago-exploring and art projects and, most of all, the faces that I miss.
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ten good things

I had a day to myself in Old Town Alexandria a week or two ago and was mesmerized by the windows and the colored brick walls. This was one of my favorites. I think there should be more yellow in the world.

And some good things, because all is grace:

01. tonight: peas in teacups and red wine and the opening ceremony with d+a
02. the best best best package in the mail from emma
03. cappuccino and conversation on a sunny day with brie at st. peter's
04. jumping in puddles with mr. colin this morning
05. the most restful weekend away in alexandria + arlington with the sister
06. reading in bed each night (currently this, and re-reading this)
07. the barnes foundation, the rodin museum, and sigur ros (!) onnnnn monday
08. long walks with megan at dusk
09. a dinner date with just grandmother and me planned for next week
10. sketchbooks and watercolors and a quiet morning in a house all to myself

Also: these pictures of Iceland (gracious me), these illustrations by anna emelia, and this tattoo.
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san francisco from the hills

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One day a few of us went up to the hills to watch the sun set over the bay and this was the view. The spider-webbed etchings of a bridge in the distance is the Golden Gate. Berkeley is in the foreground and San Francisco is across the bay. This is a good place and I miss it tonight.

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