The greatest compliment someone gave me recently was saying, "You seem to notice a lot that others miss."  I'd like to think that is true.  I'm an observer, and I like details.  A couple of days later, a different friend insisted I go to graduate school, and when I told him that I wasn't interested, and I didn't see the point, he said, "Well, you still write though, right?"  No, I don't still write.  I don't need to sort it out on paper as much now.  I don't feel as much need to let others rake through my thoughts in an online forum, and truthfully, I find amateur writing sort of selfish in a "who cares" way now.  I appreciate reading what other people write, but I don't have a need to contribute to the conversation as often.  With age, I don't feel quite as strongly about anything. This post from Humans of New York captures so much about life and aging for me.

I've gained weight since our wedding, and I'm more forgiving with myself on good days, too.  I had a few meltdowns recently, I'll admit, but then I collected myself and thought, I should be kinder to myself.  My chubby thighs don't deserve such wrath, they've kept me upright for 32 years.  I'm back in the gym, and Kelly and I are trying to eat better.  I'm trying slowly trying to let a little of the vanity go.

Lately, I find that sometimes life is so rich it feels like death, like I don't or shouldn't exist.  You're walking along, and everything is so perfect, you wonder how it could all even be real.  I told him, "I'm too happy to write anymore," and he laughed and mused, "Kinda like the blues?"  

From chrissstttiiine, a blog I stumbled on recently.--

My dad once told me at the boredom of his twenty-something yearlong thankless job that there are only two types of people.

Kelly is always getting free samples of everything, and I usually complain about it because we have samples for things we'll never use.  If it's free, he wants it even if he can't use it himself.  The other day he brought me home a trial of 3 different Pinrose perfumes.  I'm an admitted perfume snob, and I thought, "Yeah, yeah. I'll try them." It's how I feel with movies.  I don't like the tastes of the masses, and I'm easily bored.  I put on green加速器下载破解版 last night which was nice, and I thought I wouldn't mind having a bottle.  It seemed like it might be the sort to fade fast, but I figured I liked it enough to give a bigger bottle a whirl, perhaps.

Then, this morning I tried Campfire Rebel.  I have to admit I found the name a little hokey, but I took the little piece of cotton and swabbed it dutifully: wrists, inner arms, neck.  The immediate smell of woods, campfire, night, incense at church, and grandpa's coats.  And then the second wave was a slow burning sensual with hint of masculinity.  It is incredible, mysterious, alive, and perfect.  It smells like the woods, old books, tobacco, and secrets.  It is everything I love in a perfume.  It's not typical girly, floral, frou frou which I loathe.  It's fleamarkets in foreign countries, my shelves of books several friends have insisted are only coming of age books and erotica, and thick oriental rugs underfoot.  As much as I was skeptical of the name, campfire describes it perfectly. Hypnotic Poison is my signature scent, but I might prefer this one.  It tells more stories.  Reminder me to never again complain when my husband brings home his stacks of samples. Most people won't understand or appreciate it, and that makes me like it all the more. 

Stole this from muneca_brava

List ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just ones that have touched you.

1. John Connolly's The Book of Lost Things
2. Italo Calvino's express加速器
3. Colette's The Ripening Seed
4. Anais Nin's Cities of the Interior
5. Manning Marable's Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention
6. Francoise Sagan's Bonjour Tristesse
7. Rumer Godden's The Greengage Summer
8. Munro Leaf's The Story of Ferdinand
9. Elizabeth Bowen's super加速器
10. Jean Rhys' After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie

-2 snow days off work! I've caught up on fashion and art documentaries, read, and lazed about enjoying the cats, particularly my spoiled, gray, pebble-eyed Francis.

-Kelly and I finally settled on visiting New Mexico (Santa Fe and Taos) over Spring Break..."The Land of Enchantment", how perfect! We are both excited and even eager for the drive. He, in his usual way, has set out planning interesting places to stay at, yummy places to eat at, and fun things to do.  I've got my own little list that I'm working on, and March can't come soon enough.

-Been cooking lately and soldiering on with the paleo life again.  My favorite recently sampled recipes are sweet potato chili , the chicken salad wraps on green加速器下载n (I subbed cabbage leaves to roll in and used raisins instead of grapes), and the paleo tacos (I dumped on a bed of spinach and made "taco salad" and added some sauteed yellow summer squash).

-I purchased the brooch below recently which I'm going to use either as is or maybe I'll string a chain on it and wear as a necklace.

Photo from Vogue



I had a horrible start Tuesday morning when I woke. Fear crawling up the back of my neck, and doubt pounding with every overly anxious heartbeat. It was the usual grand failure of my nerves; that morning, I could’ve easily been seventeen again. It was predictable and expected, but it doesn’t get any easier to disappoint myself, even at 32. Social Anxiety can be crippling when I can’t get a hold on it, and while it’s more manageable with age, it’s never gone. The day felt like it could have been a grand lesson in defeat.

Tuesday evening saved me, though. I watched Charlotte Rampling: The Look. The first time I saw her in the Night Porter, she blew me away. She’s so watchable, and at 66 she is still, if not more, stunning. She’s a fascinating conversationalist, and she has a nice outlook of life. She’s sucking it up with a straw, and it’s refreshing to watch. My Kusmi tea order arrived! I love their teas. For me, you know tea is good when you don’t have to sweeten it. They have years of history behind their blends, and it’s obvious. My new favorite that I tried was Bouquet of Flowers N°108. The blend was created in 1880. It’s floral and soft.

We’ve been watching hours of Vegas 7s that we recorded on the DVR every evening. There’s something poetic about watching a team move across the pitch together, fluidly passing the ball and communicating. It requires fast decision making by an individual and personal accountability since there are no plays. I’m sure football is just as enjoyable for those that love it, but for me, there is an intelligence and sophistication in rugby that I don’t find in other sports. I enjoy watching it, and when it’s done by a great team, it’s beautiful.

-I watched a documentary on Candy Darling on Wednesday night. I love documentaries on Warhol and the gang. My favorite is Pie in the Sky about Brigid Berlin. Oh man, all those pug pillows in her house (see photo above and more I took from this spot on the internet). Yes! I can’t wait to continue to develop my old lady personality. I want Fabergé egg collections and a Diana Vreeland aesthetic. I try to develop that as life goes on, but I have lazy, comfortable days that I blame for failure at that. I really enjoyed The Goldfinch so much because it delves into themes of art and beauty and the importance of those in our lives.

-I finally tried the Downton Abbey English Rose tea that Kelly’s sister got me for Christmas, and it’s lovely. I want to try the Estate Blend and the Grantham Breakfast blend, too. They’ve all got good reviews.

-Currently Reading and enjoying: The Southerner's Handbook: A Guide to Living the Good Life. It’s by the editors of Garden & Gun which I love.

-Back to the Fabergé egg thing, if I believed in next lives, I’d want to come back as a Russian. I’m fascinated by Russian history and culture. I daydream of drinking tea from a samovar, sweetened with jam. If I could travel anywhere in the entire world, I would love to visit St. Petersburg. The film Russian Ark was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and I sort of want to take a Russian history class at the university, purely for pleasure purposes. The mere mention of pickled vegetables, sausages, blinis with caviar, smoked salmon, cabbages, and rye bread sends me into a daydream. I now know and understand that, with these revelations, the Madame Bovary comparison in my early twenties was, and continues to be, spot on.

Last Sunday I visited St. Mark’s. Everyone was so welcoming and kind. I went to Catholic school when I was young (although, we’re not Catholic and I wasn’t raised in any church), and I’m somewhat familiar, albeit a bit rusty, with the movements and the cadences of liturgical services. I was surprised how familiar and right it felt. I love the physicality of the worship, and I appreciate the symbols and reverence. When I was young, it was engrained and habit, but now, I seek out the meaning behind the deliberate, tangible movements. I never knew how much I’d missed the pew. When I hesitated, someone was near to offer guidance by example, and Father Jesse smiled encouragingly when my hand sloppily dipped into the font. I’m a little clumsy from lack of practice but eager. The church is beautiful and smells woody and warm, and the bell was ringing when we walked in last week. I’ve been talking to Jesse through email, and my baptism is scheduled for the Saturday night before Easter. I am thankful for a dear friend at the church who sponsored me.

I’m reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. It was recommended on everyone’s best books of 2013 list so I checked it out from the library. It’s wonderful. I haven’t finished it, but I definitely recommend it. I’m nearing the end, and I’m frantic to find out how she’ll wrap it up. I wish you could call in to work with a, “Sorry, I’m at a really great part in this book, and I have to stay home today to finish it.” The story is great. It’s held my interest from the first page, and since it’s 700 someodd pages, that’s saying something. It is a bit melancholy, and I crawled into a mood when I first started it, but that subsided. I’m definitely enjoying it. I like it enough that I may pick up a copy for my personal library.

Everyone asks the “how’s married life,” question now, and I don’t know how to communicate how wonderful it is so I just shrug and respond, “Not all that different.” It’s not really different in day to day ways, just growing deeper. I’m curating bits and bobs of his personality, his tendencies that I appreciate and am amused by, in my mind. I’ve always done this, but the luxury of being able to do it on a daily basis makes me extremely happy. He has a passion for drinking neon orange soda that tastes like Tic-Tacs, likens getting mail every day to Christmas, and would like to light our entire home with cheap LED lighting from Dollar Tree. He wants to like horehound candy but feels it’s a sort of bad version of root beer. The mention of horseradish makes him shudder and yell out “GROSS” emphatically. He seemingly only owns books on Arkansas History or about the lives of comedians. Sometimes, I feel terrified every time he leaves the house alone. My own neuroses, I know, but wow. How risky and special it is to love someone.