Guitars

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You might have noticed on my list yesterday, "play my dad's guitar." This item has been on my list for years. I wonder if this is the year that I finally decide I'm worth the time and money for lessons? For now, I'll dream about playing my dream song April Come She Will (like this guy)* and get lost in these simply gorgeous guitar photos.








* My dad would have loved YouTube. I'm positive he would have been one of the first to sign up way back when.

Late July

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My post title does not refer to my favorite crackers, but rather to last night's sunset as viewed from my driveway.



This weekend also included a retro dresser found at a garage sale for $30, a birthday party, unpacking, yard work, the end of the Tour (I get my evenings with my husband back, hooray), couscous with roasted cherry tomatoes, hidden Italian bakeries discovered by a dear friend, smashed thumb nails and key lime martinis.

How was your weekend?

Yellow: Day One

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Greetings from Portland!

I am logging in from our family vacation to participate in Erin's week of yellow. It is fun enough behind the lens in Portland but it's extra fun having a color mission. :)

Join me all week and you can also check out the Yellow Week Flickr pool.

A sunny way to step off an Amtrak train.


Had coffee this morning with the lovely Andrea.


Taken outside River City Bicycles.
This is where we made Jaden the proud new owner of a 20" bike.
Yes, only we would buy a bike in another city and ship it home.

Wanna Fight?

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Sometimes in life, we encounter difficult situations or difficult people. We find ourselves needing to be mature and use our words. Sometimes words escape us and we choose to walk away. We choose this course because we know our words will be futile.

Even though inside we really want to yell:



"Hey! Wanna fight?!"


P.S. This vintage 70s photograph of myself reminds me of one of my favorite songs.

"My hands are small I know, but they're not yours, they are my own.
I am never broken and in the end, only kindness matters."

{Jewel}

Old Friends

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Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends



© Sean Green


Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears

{Words & Music by Paul Simon}