This, right now.

A blog I love

Have you ever looked at the blog "the wild and wily ways of a brunette bombshell"?

I'm slightly obsessed and ohsoimpressed. She combines snapshots of life in New York with wonderful, thoughtful, natural writing. The photo posts satisfy my need for adventure, and the written snippets are almost embarrassingly romantic (embarrassing for me to read I mean, because I feel like an interloper- not in any way because of the writing), but still chill-makingly wonderful. Read this, or this, or this series of "letters to the man who'll make me an honest woman". Everything about this blog feels fresh and honest and wonderful.

Remember that one winter when it snowed like madness in Chattanooga? I do. It was heavenly..

The Preservation Hall Jazz Band and the Del McRoury band played in town this week. WHY WASN'T I THERE?!

I just had a moment of real panic RE: not knowing what the future holds. Being in a temporary job which may or may not become permanent and interviewing (successfully? or not?) for other jobs and really just having no insight into where I'll be living in 3-4 months is exhausting.

I know I've talked about this before, and I know it's not a unique situation. Honestly, I'm grateful to be employed at all, for however short a time. I love my workplace, and I'm excited about the outside jobs that I'm applying for. That's a good thing, right? No matter where I end up, there will be perks and there will be sacrifices. If I leave Utah, I'm giving up a community that I absolutely adore, and a cause that I'm excited about, but I'll be (hopefully) gaining a permanent situation and new challenges (you know I love a challenge), and a new place to discover.

I know I'm being incredibly self-indulgent, but can you sympathize?



(photo- my house courtesy of Google Maps' wonderful 8-bit April Fools version)

Thoroughly Modern Millie

I can't get this out of my head today. I <3 Millie with all of my little heart, and Sutton Foster is INSANELY SPECTACULAR in this clip.

You know

Or at least you should know by now that I love a snarky New York Times movie rating explanation. Though the review for Battleship is bland (as, I suspect, the movie will be), that little blurb at the end does not disappoint.

"Battleship is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Because even against space aliens, war is hell."

Oh Maurice...

When I was a kid- probably seven or eight- and recovering from an event of unspeakable horror, someone gave me a a copy of Dear Mili, a then newly discovered fairy tale written by Wilhelm Grimm which was printed alongside illustrations by Maurice Sendak. I hated it. I'm not completely sure why. It was a combination of things, I think. This particular copy of the book had (and still has) the most bizarre smell; the story itself comes to a terrible, tragic close (which shouldn't be surprising in a Grimm tale that hasn't been manhandled by modern editors to make it more palatable); most of all, the illustrations were strange to me- full of symbols I didn't recognize or understand, full of religious references that seemed out of place, printed in muted colors that were unappealing to me at the time, with faces that seemed too realistic almost for their stylized surroundings, and noses that were just...massive. Even though I hated that book, I looked at it often.

As time went on and I got older and left certain things behind, I still returned to Dear Mili periodically, to wonder why it had been given to me, to puzzle over the pictures. As time went on, I started to dislike the book for a different reason- for the connection it had to that singular event.

Now, for whatever reason (probably shared history more than anything else) it's incredibly precious to me. I love the story of a mother's sacrifice for her child's safety. I love it for the idea that, even in war and darkness, there's a place where children can be safe, where they can be protected by individuals who are profoundly interested in their welfare. I love it for those illustrations that bothered me so much when I was young- for the imperfect faces with their beautiful noses, for the richness of symbol and for the soft colors that, at an appropriate point in the story, shift into tropical vibrance. Despite its dark end, there's something deep and sweet in the idea that, no matter what we've passed through, we can come home again.

I'm grateful for Sendak's unflinching treatment of difficult, even dark themes. As few authors seem to these days, he respected children and believed firmly in their strength and resilience. "Parents shouldn’t assume children are made out of sugar candy and will break and collapse instantly. Kids don’t. We do." (from TIME Magazine, 1988/12/05). I'm grateful for the generosity with which he shared his monumental talent and trademark wit with the world.