in that field, i look miniature.

i love other peoples creative ideas. i love seeing something for the first time and feeling proud of someone i don't know for their courageous adventure into something new.

like these amazing photos from erin tyner's 'half awake' diorama series. i love that title and the word 'diorama'. it reminds me of shoe boxes and plasticine and a funny simpsons episode i can't quite remember.

and i love the whimsy married with mystery of the faces looking away.

yeah, what she said.

"you lose your fear of failure in a great way if you improvise a lot, because you mostly fail when you improvise…it’s freeing to fail and you realize that you didn’t die."

tina fey

let there be light

i wrote a similar post last year. about the sunshine and its dramatic but gracious return to our home.

i like the connectedness of a similar experience but recognize that things are never truly the same.

only hints of what was and inklings of what could be.

the universal lingo of funny

i walked into the kitchen at work today and quietly started to prepare my lunch. there were others around doing much the same and we shared the kind of comfort that lets silence be silence which is nice and industrious but in a good way. like bees.

in the midst of this dance i tried and failed to lightly knock a cupboard door closed. i lightly tried again. i tried a third time less lightly and by the fourth more forceful attempt my small group of kitchen compatriots and i broke the silence with a gush of honest laughter.

i thought about the power of our actions to convey funny. funny as an expression, funny as an action, funny as a shared understanding of the humour in every day life.

charley harper one time wrote 'i laugh to keep from screaming' which sounds scary but i think he meant that laughter is the thing that connects and heals and helps us through the weight of life. it cracks us up. it shows us our humanity. it reminds us that everyone has days that take four times to close the cupboard door.

you need to watch this immediately

(thanks mom).

this little piggy had roast beef

you know, i only had roast beef the one time. i won a draw at work for a gourmet food basket of jams and preserves and a seasoned beef roast from a local butcher. it was much too big for me and i’m mainly a vegetarian but i entered the draw for the jams and never really thought i'd win.

it’s not that i’m ungrateful; i was excited to actually win something. the only other time i've won anything was when i spent a quarter on a gumball machine at the video store and got a clear plastic ball with a voucher for a free rental. i felt silly saying it then but all i really wanted was some gum. you can't blow bubbles with a voucher.

i thought about giving the roast away to my neighbour, who had none of his own, but he politely declined and insisted that doing without was a personal choice and not a shortcoming. i had to concur.

i tried offering it to my friend the next town over but each time i’d call he’d be out to market. his roomate (who’d answer) was willing to accept but quite preferred to stay home and i didn't want to take a roast on transit.

just after my neighbour had politely declined i sat down on the curb in front of my house. the roast on my lap, (which was with me just in case), i focused on clearing my mind so a good idea could visit. and it was just in that moment that a stranger on a bicycle stopped at my foot and cheerfully rang his bell.

he asked what i was doing with a roast beef on my lap and i told him the whole sad story and he smiled as he got down from his seat and sat beside me on the curb. his hand resting in a friendly fashion on my shoulder he told me he was planning a dinner party and had become overwrought with what to make. he decided to go for a bike ride, he said, to help clear his mind so a good idea could visit.

after we’d secured the roast to his basket and shook hands for our very good fortunes, he started off down my street shouting 'wee! wee! wee!' which i imagine he continued all the way to his home.

fancy a swing?

this is the time of year when our house re-arranging bones start aching for something new. maybe it's all the extra time we spend indoors looking around us. or maybe it's the hint of spring that makes us feel restless and ready to build things.

we have exciting plans for a climbing tree for the ladies and i can't stop dreaming of an indoor swing for us.

from - ouno designs

i love the dark distressed wood and the mile high ceilings and the beautiful white light juxtaposed against the dark. i bet there's a time of day when you can actually swing into the sunshine. and i bet in the afternoon you can just touch it with your toes.

from - lakbdesign/fergusandme

i think we need to make a paper crane mobile. for the one room without a mobile, you know, the closet.

i love the floor and the brick and the ladder leading nowhere. it'd be fun to surround the swing in plants and pretend you're in a garden.

sometimes when i see designs that aren't yet my taste i think that maybe one day they will be. like the year we wake up and jeremy's in his smoking jacket and we sheared those sheeps ourselves and i'm re-reading something by proust and drinking a noon-time cocktail. i bet we're listening to a radio show. i bet it'll spark a debate.

i want to tell you a story

banjo was born brave. the oldest (by seconds) of 5 sisters she was first in the world by chance and ever after by choice and what she would describe as an “innate sense of responsibility”. she took her role quite seriously often times to the mild annoyance of her two closest sisters, bird and bean, who thought themselves more than equipped to handle what the world had in store.

but banjo wouldn’t budge.

she knew, like a doting mother, a protective father or a wild but mindful aunt, that her most important job was the safe keeping of her sisters. whenever the lady let them out of their cage to explore the room with the big shelves and the light bright window, banjo insisted on being first. she’d walk forward, front paw up, nose high, whiskers all a tizzy until she’d properly explored that patch of space and indicated with a playful but affirming thumbs up that the coast was clear.

to bird and bean these little rituals seemed more for banjo than themselves. they’d seen this room dozens of times and knew first hand the only real danger in store was being last to the lady’s lap when it was time for a cucumber treat. but they let her carry on understanding how much it meant and recognizing it cost them nothing to pretend.

in fact the only time when banjo forgot her self entirely was when the lady wore the yellow scarf with the hanging string bits. she’d fall backwards into the lady’s lap feeling only joy and trust and the gentle touch of the yellow scarf that reminded her of sunshine.

i wrote a letter to haruki murakami

i read his book the wind-up bird chronicle and wanted him to know that i loved it so i wrote him a note on my nice stationary with the sky blue envelopes.

i told him his book made me feel less alone in the world. which i think is one of an artists important tasks.

dear jeremy

i liked that walk we took. when the sky was heavy with a mood and i walked backwards up the hill, with you behind and in front of me.

when we heard the bird and both stopped silent i was proud of our budding naturalist skills.

when you smiled i was full of gladness to be yours.


what's most amazing about everything small is the ornate level of detail revealed when you stop to take a look.

a rat called bird

lady bird loves her nest. from in where it's grassy and warm, she watches the world go by. sometimes she'll ask me when spring is coming and i'll wink and say, "soon."

snow day

listen to your heart

like actually i mean. with a stethoscope.

jeremy got me one for christmas and my new favourite thing to do is listen to everyone's heartbeat. they all sound different but the same. listening to your own heart gently thump as you start to relax is like having a conversation with your insides.