Seasonal

The smell of gasoline that laps off the bouncing lake water. Skin tender and pink, scored with lines from our bathing suits. Every day our muscles ache from biking or football or feverish swimming, and every day we smell of sweat, skin sticky and gleaming. The evenings are longer, and we stop worrying about how tired we’ll be at work the next morning.

It’s part of it all…part of soaking in the outdoors, the humming wind, the smell of stale lake water and ashen woodpiles, the way lilacs look just as they’re beginning to bloom, and how they look like a completely different plant when they’re left on their own for a day or two; the feeling of small bits of water as they spot my arm while Tony casts into the shaded spot of lake, under the over-hanging tree.

And the way that, while fishing, he breaks the silence to say that when staring into the waves, he sees the light string down from the air, hit the water top in different places, reflect a proud and glinting spark, and then fall flat and dull almost instantly; like a blanket of fireflies dancing across the lake-top, he says. 

How when his line gets stuck in a branch near the shore line, he laughs, says I got cocky, and while trying to maneuver it out from our anchored boat, we discover the song birthed from the wind lacing through the fishing line—we pull it tighter and the pitch climbs higher; give it slack and the humming dips and grows hollow; raise the pole higher and the octave stretches even further. We race through all the possible metaphors: a power saw chirping in the distance, a children’s choir singing on the other side of the lake, a clan of fairies screaming and pulling wildly on their fiddle strings…

And that’s the biggest part—more than the individual smells and sights, it’s the new-found attention we pay to everything, this need to examine things more closely, give them some sort of poetic definition, appreciate them more.

It’s this seasonal commitment we make to pay more attention, make more plans, read more books, write more poems, catch more fish, and catch a tan…and we think about feeling guilty for not committing this to the universe all year round, and we envy the rare soul who does, but we become far too busy and lovingly consumed to give it a second thought…

…because it’s all just too damn beautiful. And for this span of lyrical days, there is just not enough time in twenty-four hours to even begin to give to the earth what she has so freely given to us—the least we can do is be awake for it.

What does it feel like to be alive?
Living, you stand under a waterfall. You leave the sleeping shore deliberately; you shed your dusty clothes, pick your barefoot way over the high, slippery rocks, hold your breath, choose your footing, and step into the waterfall. The hard water pelts your skull, bangs in bits on your shoulders and arms. The strong water dashes down beside you and you feel it along your calves and thighs rising roughly backup, up to the roiling surface, full of bubbles that slide up your skin or break on you at full speed. Can you breathe here? Here where the force is the greatest and only the strength of your neck holds the river out of your face. Yes, you can breathe even here. You could learn to live like this. And you can, if you concentrate, even look out at the peaceful far bank where you try to raise your arms. What a racket in your ears, what a scattershot pummeling!
It is time pounding at you, time. Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation’s short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit

-Annie Dillard, An American Childhood

ALL CONTENT © JESS MANSOUR SCHERMAN

On loving.

This past weekend, Tony and I enjoyed our first cabin trip of 2013, and our love for the place grows each time we visit. The birdsongs and lapping lakeshores are enough to swallow you whole—not to mention the charming small-town coffeeshops and the antique stores that always turn out to be goldmines.

We enjoyed the warm & sunny sky, while also appreciating the irony of a lake still covered in snow and ice at the lip of May. Needless to say, we couldn’t swim, so we sat on the deck, drank beers, played games, and talked until evening crept up the railing of the second-floor deck. We saw striking bits of nature: a huge bald eagle swooping in and landing on the branch of a tree along the cabin’s creek, woodpeckers to be found everywhere so long as we focused our eyes just right, three otters sunbathing at the edge of the ice-covered lake, and of course, a happy yellow lab traipsing through grass puddles and snow piles, slack-jawed and smiling.

And, alas, the very best part of the weekend…this guy:

The perfection of it all:

While at breakfast at Nick’s diner in town—first-timers, we were the youngest patrons by about thirty years. Tony got the breakfast buffet, I opted for the eggs benedict (I don’t trust buffets). We ate, drank stale diner coffee, talked about our plans for the rest of the day, and when our waitress took our plates, we began discussing a poem I wrote recently. He told me what he liked about it and suggested certain changes…

and then I asked him what it’s like being married to a poet. He smiled, excited, as if he’s spent the last few years figuring out his answer and was now fidgeting at the edge of his seat, waiting for someone to ask him;

“I think it makes me more of a poet,” said my logical and philosophical carpenter. “I put more weight on the words I choose when I speak…it’s like I want it to be important, not just the same old thing. And I look for it, too. I see poetry everywhere.”

We smiled, and let the conversation fall, because nothing could have made it more perfect.

Later in the day, we played Trouble–a favorite board game of mine since I was young and played it with my dad in front of my great grandma’s old piano, Mom singing in the kitchen.

Today, we played out on the deck while enjoying some cocktails…the exact backdrop needed to birth more of those perfect conversations. We talked about our families, our future children, what kind of parents we want to be. We talked about theology, how we’ve seen our faith transform, and where we want it to go next; how cynical we both can be, and how cynicism is sometimes a lack of God. We talked about cancer and the importance of friendship, and how great our parents are.

Our conversation moved us both to tears three separate times.

I am always caught off guard by love—how when you think there’s no possible way you could love a person any more than you already do, days like this happen, and you’re shocked by how large your heart has grown.

Lately.

Here’s the thing: winter doesn’t last forever. This happens in April every few years—hell, we could even get some snow in May and not be breaking any records. When it comes down to it, winter should not drain your artistic energy (or just your energy in general), it shouldn’t be harder to wake up to snow and negative wind chills, it’s not this depressing, soul-draining time. It’s just a season…just a bit of cold weather and pretty snow; it’s a gift that Minnesotans get every single year. I quite enjoy the snow and the turning of temperature. And soon, everyone will be complaining about the suffocating humidity that always comes with July in Minnesota.

It’s all just part of the gig. I may be biased because I like the scarves and sweaters and boots, the rosy cheeks and the fact that for a few short months, even the most avid of smokers give up their vice because it’s just plain not worth it to stand out in the Minnesota cold for that long (and those who don’t…we’ll that’s a dedication I’m not sure I admire). I love the peppermint schnapps, the cozy evenings in, and the spontaneous adventures through chilly snowstorms. Winter is just as inspiring as every other season, because with it comes an entirely new range of sensory experiences. I dig it.

When it all comes down to it, everyone is seasonally affected to some degree (with every season). But what I’m noticing most is how winter hits me differently every year. Rather than picking up where we left off nine months prior, it seems to find me where I’ve progressed to, assess the situation, and carry on from there. For example, when winter approached me this year, I was in full motivational swing: pages and pages of hand-written notes on different schools and MFA programs, afternoons-turned-evenings spent meticulously rearranging of my portfolio, many bottles of wine, and a ridiculously supportive husband. From there, winter ushered me into meeting a score of application deadlines…and then into a season (almost the entire season, in fact) of waiting.

Maybe it was that—the waiting—that energized me all winter. Or maybe it was assuming more responsibility at my job. Or maybe it was the excitement that without the sweaty air of summer, I was able to enjoy red wine again. Or that the cold was the excuse we all needed to stop smoking. Or maybe it was spending three or four evenings a week at the gym (my own little “don’t let the cold get you down” commitment) that kept me going in good spirits.

But everything does grow stale after a while. I am still human, and I still itch for a true spring. I itch for bonfires that climb from the dead of night to the quiet of early, early mornings. I itch for afternoons spent reading on the deck with ice cold Sauvignon Blanc. And I itch for the cabin. Boy, do I ever itch for the cabin…that dreamy, dreamy place!

All of that will come in due time. I think our greatest mistake is made in looking at the seasons as if they owe us something—as if we deserve warm weather and sunshine. At the end of it all, we just plain live here. And, if anything, we’re taking away from the beauty of this once flourishing earth. So I say, let’s just love her for who she is and enjoy the ride!

In the meantime, I will look to winter and thank her for the wonderful things she ushered in with her blustering season:

• Tony recently got a new job—a wonderful job. Something that is the perfect marriage of his construction skills and his passion for social justice and intercultural interaction. Truly perfect. I see it making him happier and happier every day he comes home.
• I have been accepted into a wonderful MFA program that will be starting in the fall and will allow us to stay in the cities, which is such a relief. I am so excited to start swimming in those waters again.
• After months and months of not knowing what would be next for us, we finally have some answers—most of which culminate in this lovely fact: we now know what state we will be living in after our current lease is up…which means we can look at houses and make it permanent! We’ve been looking for permanency for a while, so it’s a wonderful, wonderful feeling.
• Oh, and we’ve been SO blessed to be watching my beautiful sister’s belly swell with the gift of new life. Can’t wait to meet our sweet & perfect nephew in TWO short months!

Life is good. And we’re having more fun than ever. The snow is not nearly enough to bring us down!

Cheers.

Advent_Joy

[During an Advent series at Awaken Community, I was asked to write a piece on joy. This was a challenge for me, as I don't think about joy all that often. Peace, hope, love, life...I dwell on those concepts or virtues all the time, but not joy. This project stretched me; it caused me to think differently than I am used to. And I loved that.]

One thing I love about going to poetry readings is that those attending are gifted with the opportunity to hear a specific written word read aloud exactly as it was intended to be read. That’s the beauty of a writer reading his or her own pieces. So if you’re like me in that way, go here and click on the “Advent_Joy” track. Starting at approximately 15 seconds in, you can hear me read this piece as you follow along with the text below.

joy

Thanksgiving passes, and the air grows lighter. Easier to breathe in these weeks where moisture is as absent as the money we keep shelling out like prayers. We peek through bent metal blinds each morning to name the night when the air first gathers on our lawns, waiting for us.

It is during these weeks when relationships grow easier, too, light as the air. Family, friends–obligation dilates to something closer to love. They’ll heavy with humidity in a few months’ time, political disagreements will cloud our care-free conversations, conspiracy theories will tear through the ease of being in each other’s presence, and greed will keep us from handing out our love so freely–but now, in this stretch of time when green leaves have transcended to fiery orange, where trees have emptied themselves of all their burdensome weight, and the air has since decompartmentalized before our eyes, the power of a shifting world beyond our control and comprehension frees us to be, and be together, out of nothing more or less than awe. Pure, unadulterated, and so utterly unwritten.

So what is it about joy this time of year? The holidays, the snow, the lights, the cookies, the gatherings. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Joy to the world. Shout for joy, sing for joy, it can be brought & given, personified. For the joy set before him, he endured the cross…

If it’s the end result, can we experience it now? If not, what is it that we’re feeling when we call it joy? Or maybe the fault lies in language–the words we pair to the things we feel will never fully portray the feelings themselves.

Because the most pure & unadulterated form of this thing we call joy is too big for any word. And even though it feels as fleeting as the leaves and the heat, and even soon the snow, when you see it–when you encounter joy–it’s like putting on glasses for the first time. This thing that was once so hard to come by is suddenly everywhere. It’s in the trees, the home-cooked meal, the faces of your children…

and then, months later, you’re searching for it again.

So really, I think joy is always there, we just call it different things. Joy is the starting point, the process, and the destination. It’s the puddle, the creek, and the ocean. The roots, the bark, and the leaves. The snow, the lights, and the cookies. The father, the son and the spirit…

waiting for you to pick it up and hold it, to nurture it and to name it.

So what now? Where do we go from here? We can dissect joy, but how do we attain it, or rather, how do we hold onto it? What is the root of it all?

Plato said, “Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods.”

I’m not posing that we should model our lives and beliefs after Plato, but I think he was right. I think it comes down to love.

Love is the genesis of joy.

Joy is the journey.

Joy to the world begins with love.

Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine

{firstly, does anyone else suddenly realize the inspiration for that Gotye video? Okay, good…glad it’s not just me}

Today, Tony is at work, and I am at home. I love my husband, but I do also love the days I can spend wandering around the house doing as I please—knowing I won’t be disturbing his peace in the process.

Today, being the day after Christmas, is especially serene. The past two days have been filled with family & filled with love…the best kind of love. As I bathe in this serenity, I am accompanied by the most lovely of sounds: our vinyl collection finally breaking the barrier of sound! We’ve had our lovely phonograph console for a year or two now, but we’re finally admitting defeat: we will never get it to work in its intended way. So, until we get a new amp & new speakers, a portable turntable will have to do. Thank you, mom & dad

Yesterday evening, Tony & I returned home from Christmas festivities. After giving the cat his Christmas toys from Grandma & Grandpa Mansour (sorry, Mom…I know he promised not to call you that), we popped The Manhattan Jazz Septette on the new turntable, we sat in our respective chairs, drank beer, and read books…and we may have danced a little. It was perfect.

Today, as Tony is at work, I’ve deemed it the day I sort through all the albums we’ve collected over the years from thrift stores, antique shops, and people’s basements to see which ones actually work. It is the perfect christening (and so far they all work without a hitch). Gosh, that authentic crackle is hard to beat!

That said, as I flip through the jackets of each album, I find myself inspired by the words so meticulously chosen and typed years ago, and then delivered to the world. So inspired, in fact, that I decided to share some of it.

This, from The Doors’ Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine:

There were three essential albums in the Magic Summer of ’67: Sergeant Pepper’s by The Beatles, Surrealistic Pillow by The Airplane, and The Doors by Robbie Krieger, Ray Manzarek, John Densmore, and Jim Morrison—and in some ways, it is only the last of these that seems far away in time, as if we remember it from another world and another lifetime.

Most of the music in this album has that eerie, otherworldly quality to it. It is distant—and awesome in its distance. When we remember those days, we feel almost as though we were imagining them.

But Jim Morrison and The Doors really were the way we remember them. It was the Magic Summer, and we almost knew it was almost gone. And The Doors were from the sunset West, and we were going to meet them as surely as they were coming to meet us. 

The superlatives have all run their course. I want to remember now without praise. In the end, the last thing Jim Morrison wanted was to be an idol, because he believed all idols were hollow. Even when we had no faith in him, he continued to have faith in Us: “There will never be another one like you, there will never be another one who can do the things you do…”

We were the leaders, we were the heroes—Jim was merely the index of our possibilities. He never wanted to show us what he could do, but what we could do, and what we could be, together, each of us, and all of us. And there will never be another one.

And America got scared, because it wasn’t just show biz anymore. Because this guy really meant it, and because he was too smart. It wasn’t just another rant for revolution. We didn’t have the guns, we had the numbers, and it was only when all else failed that blood became our last resort. This revolution would not take place in the streets where it could be seen and stopped, but in every house, in every room, where it would never be found until the sides had already changed. Jim never called on us to march, only to soft parade, not to take the world over with our hands, but to take it over with our minds. Our violence would be the violence of storms at sea, of water wearing away rocks, of all true and inevitable and irrevocable change.

And that was frightening, and so rocknroll went on trial in Miami and the blood in the streets began to rise.

Stranger days were to come and the end of the dream. But what remains is somehow the same. Getting unravelled is what it’s about, breaking on through, and rolling on…take the highway…make the journey…to the end of the night…to the other side…roll on…ride on…run…run…run…

A friend once remarked, “After The Doors, it just wasn’t the same sitting down to dinner with your parents anymore.” And really a lot of things weren’t the same…”gonna see me change”…

It is not for history to remember Jim Morrison. History will tell lies as usual. But I can still hear the first trickles of “The End” insinuating their way through the close, cool night air from another room to find us.

It was the Magic Summer, almost gone, and it was the end of the night, and even in the beginning, the music was almost over.

We can turn out the lights now. 1972 will be another year, and the distance will be greater, and there will be other things to think about.

But The Man is still at the door, and the killer is still on the road. And the cold grinding grizzly bear jaws grow hotter on our heels every hour.

It’s time to roll. 

Bruce Harris 1972

Ever think you were born into the wrong generation? Me, too. But then I wonder, what if our role is to be proud of said generation[s] and then try to instill such a spirit of revolution, love, and freedom in our own time? I think that’s what they meant with all of it, I think they meant to send that message to us…so that we can also send it forth.

The Night House

[I share this poem for one reason, and one reason alone: I don't like Billy Collins. I want to...because I feel like I should; former poet laureate, arguably the most well-known contemporary poet of our time. I have tried to like him, but have never succeeded in this. I've found him too clever, too logical, too bluntly descriptive.

But as I sat across from my husband waiting for our breakfast at The Uptowner on Grand, Billy Collins' Picnic Lightning was the only book I had in my purse. I bought it at a thrift shop a few years ago and ever since have pulled it out from the shelf from time to time trying once again to convince myself that I could like it. And on that morning, Tony was reading the paper. I wanted to read something, too.

That said, I flipped through the collection, reading the first few lines of each poem before discarding it and moving on to the next. Until I landed on one that kept me reading. One that I wouldn't fit within the lines of my poetic aesthetic, but as I read it, I was struck with the thought that this was something my husband could appreciate. My husband, a man who finds the poets I read (and the poetry I write) confusing and incomprehensible, yet lovely in its own way. And then I realized, Tony is like Collins in many ways: clever, logical, bluntly descriptive. He takes the things he sees of the world and lets them stand in their own right, rather than embellishing them to be something lyrically beautiful.

Sitting across from my husband at the breakfast table, I learned to like Billy Collins--even if only for one solitary poem on one solitary morning. In that moment, it was something worth sharing. And Tony loved it. This moment in my artistic relationship with my husband is something worth sharing. And so, Billy Collins...]

 

The Night House

Every day the body works in the fields of the world
mending a stone wall
or swinging a sickle through the tall grass—
the grass of civics, the grass of money—
and every night the body curls around itself
and listens for the soft bells of sleep.

But the heart is restless and rises
from the body in the middle of the night,
leaves the trapezoidal bedroom
with its thick, pictureless walls
to sit by herself at the kitchen table
and heat some milk in a pan.

And the mind gets up too, puts on a robe
and goes downstairs, lights a cigarette,
and opens a book on engineering.
Even the conscience awakens
and roams from room to room in the dark,
darting away from every mirror like a strange fish.

And the soul is up on the roof
in her nightdress, straddling the ridge,
singing a song about the wildness of the sea
until the first rip of pink appears in the sky.
Then, they all will return to the sleeping body
the way a flock of birds settles back into a tree,

resuming their daily colloquy,
talking to each other or themselves
even through the heat of the long afternoons.
Which is why the body—that house of voices—
sometimes puts down its metal tongs, its needle, or its pen
to stare into the distance,

to listen to all its names being called
before bending again to its labor.

Oscillation

Identity is gradual, cumulative; because there is no need for it to manifest itself, it shows itself intermittently, the way a star hints at the pulse of its being by means of its flickering light. But at what moment in this oscillation is our true self manifested? In the darkness or in the twinkle?

Sergio Chejfec

Being, belief, identity, self—an oscillating motion, never-ending evolution. I sometimes wonder if any of us actually know our own souls, or if others maybe know them better than we do. We are beings comprised of everything and everyone we’ve ever known. We are a learned people. And we learn most from people who believe differently than we do. I believe that the moment we close ourselves off from those outside sources, we are making a statement that in our current state, we already know everything we need…that people and the world can no longer enhance our living, that we have nothing left to learn from anyone or anything.

I don’t believe we ever reach our capacity of knowledge, wisdom, belief, spiritual ideals.

So today, I am thankful for the variety of different people in my life. I am thankful for every opinion, belief, experience, experiment, and question. I am thankful for being fully aware that I don’t know everything there is to know. I am thankful that I have enough wisdom to know that my beliefs are not the only way.

I am thankful for the black hole that is my personal state of evolution.

Nesting, III

I have finally gotten around to organizing the house and snapping some photos for a full “tour.” It may seem vain, but I call it happiness…in comparison to where we used to live, this is heaven (for a full recap on that, go here).

With two entrances, our favorite is through the door on the deck, so we’ll start there.

So lovely and spacious! It is a nice feeling to have an outdoor space in addition to our indoor one. At our old apartment, there was nothing of a yard…just a graveled parking lot laced with broken glass and buzzing freeway sounds. On a nice day, we don’t have to bike to Lake Calhoun…we can simply walk out our back door and read a good book with a whiskey ginger (our favorite).

Don’t worry, we’ll be getting new patio furniture soon And what is not pictured below the deck is a modest little yard and a patio for the friends who live below us. It is so fun to have a yard to play with the kids in (neighbor kids…not ours).

Kitchen
Paint color: Behr Premium Plus – Copper Mountain

We love that the kitchen had a wainscoting built right in—that meant we could choose a bold wall color, because the white half would balance it out. So burnt orange, it was!

We got this kitchen table for $5 at a thrift shop in Minneapolis. It was covered in scratches and water stains, but Tony planned to fix it up to make it look brand new & vintage at the same time. While storing it at Tony’s parents’ house, my father-in-law surprised us by finishing it up on his own!

Our one and only house plant…it brings good vibes to the kitchen.

Although it is more spacious than our previous kitchen, we always manage to fill spaces to their absolute capacity, as seen here. And I swear, that dish rack in the upper right is always filled with drying dishes…it’s shocking how many dishes two people can use in the matter of a day.

Our coffee/tea/smoothie/wine bar…this counter space gets used a lot.

We got a pair of these chairs at a consignment shop in Brooklyn Center. The others are mismatched finds from garage sales. Both of our moms love helping us find one-of-a-kind goodies.

And, of course, the illustrious refrigerator decorations—everyone has them, and I think they are so very indicative of the house’s tenants. Ours: photos of friends and family, current wedding invitations, some touching wedding cards from people we love, and a fox pin…all held together by anything that has a magnet on the back of it.

Bathroom
Paint color: Behr Premium Plus – Southern Breeze

Not much to say about the bathroom, except that we made the best out of a small and slanted space…which is all you really need for a bathroom anyway.

Living Room
Paint color: Behr Premium Plus – Desert Moss

Now bear in mind that the first time we toured this place, all of the floors (except for the faux tile in the kitchen) were covered in a dingy, stained white carpet. That, in addition to the white walls, left it less than desirable. But when our friends who had just bought the place said that we could paint the walls and that they’d re-do the floors, we were sold. The original plan was to put a laminate wood floor down after they pulled up the carpet. But upon pulling up said carpet, they discovered an original maple floor…and they didn’t have the heart to cover it up. So on their own, they sanded & re-finished the original floor, and it looks spectacular.

Quite literally, everything in this room (aside from the TV and its accessories) was either given to us by friends/family, or thrifted. Can’t go wrong there!

Eucalyptus from our wedding center pieces, a lantern gifted to me from a friend, a Ugandan statue sent to us as a wedding gift from a friend of Tony’s, candles gifted to us by my brother & sister-in-law, a photo of my grandfather when he was young (who I’ve been told bears a striking resemblance to Nick Jonas), a tiny little fox gifted to me by a former roommate, and Tony’s grandmother’s cane.

My wedding bouquet of paper flowers, Tony’s wedding boutonniere, a Ugandan drum gifted to Tony from a friend, a photograph of my mother in her twenties, Tony’s grandfather’s hat, a vintage typewriter from a consignment shop in Brooklyn Center (same shop as the kitchen chairs), a golf ball from one of the many benefit tournaments in honor of Tony’s dear friend, and a modest collection of records both gifted and thrifted.

I got this old window frame from an antique shop in Buffalo.

Bedroom
Paint color: Behr Premium Plus – Bitter Briar

This beautiful patchwork quilt was gifted to us by my mother right before we got married.

I scored that vintage trunk for $10 at Unique Thrift Store in Burnsville.

This is my own little corner of the bedroom that houses my birdcages, my jewelry, and other little trinkets. The other lovely details of this room are currently covered with boxes with which we don’t yet know what to do. But we’re okay with that.

Office/Library
Paint color: Behr Premium Plus – Bitter Briar

Terrible photo, but it’s the best I could do with the afternoon sunlight blaring through the curtainless window. Curtains for this room are the next thing on our list.

Sigur Ros, an old electric organ that we found outside the dumpster of our old apartment, garage sale chair, photos of our grandmothers, and various other trinkets.

Beastie Boys, bass guitar, and books, books, books (how’s that for a killer alliteration?)

Perfect reading corner.

Many, many details for one room…leaving you with this last one: the contents of our desk. Meaning: I should get working on my grad school applications.

Final notes: we are so happy here. Also, every room except for the bathroom has a dream catcher…so just don’t fall asleep on the toilet, and you’ll be solid.

Come visit us!

One year in full color

We celebrated one year of marriage yesterday. I’ve always known my view of the world to be ever-changing; life means something different to me from month-to-month. But one thing I know is that albeit still ever-growing, the world has never been quite so full of color and senses than it has been this past year…and that has everything to do with the man I am married to. There is a really beautiful chemistry that happens when you throw an artist and a philosopher into a house together—the conversations are endless, and so very full. His philosophical view on life weighs heavily on my artistic outlook, and my artistic view on life weighs just as thickly on his philosophical outlook. It makes us quite the complimentary pair!

We spent this past weekend at the cabin a couple hours North of here. We spent a week-long honeymoon there after we got married and were welcomed by the perfect Indian Summer—gorgeous sun, and even more lovely autumn leaves. This year was no different. The weekend went by far too quickly, but we captured the moments with our new camera (our anniversary, Christmas, and birthday gift to each other this year).

We spent our time reading on the boat for hours on end, playing cards, assembling puzzles on the porch, paddle boarding, standing in awe of the striking colors, shopping for antiques, turning Halo and the original Mario Bros into drinking games, photographing everything in sight, and cooking breakfast for dinner.

Over the last year, we’ve discovered new things that we love doing together—such as drinking tea (but that’s probably because our old apartment had ill-working radiators), cooking together in our cramped little kitchen, reading together (he sometimes even lets me read out loud to him), and doing silly dances together in our living room.

Nesting, II

We’ve almost reached October, which means we are on the cusp of autumn—the best time of the year. It also means that we’ve lived in our new place nearly two months now. It seems all of our friends and family are buying houses right now. Let’s be honest, it’s a pretty great time for it. When we were looking for a new place a few months ago, we toyed with the idea of buying…I spent entire evenings searching online, keeping tabs open for the ones I liked. Tony subsequently closed a majority of those tabs, deeming the neighborhood unsafe, the area too loud, or the house too nice (he wants something that needs some TLC so we can rehab it ourselves). Once we really sat and discussed what our future had in store for us and the fact that we both have dreams of grad school in the near future, we realized that we don’t even know what state we’ll be living in a year from now…so renting for another year it was!

I had many hours of fun perusing online real estate (and secretly still do sometimes), but we are definitely where we need to be right now. Duplex living in a quiet neighborhood with good friends living below us has been working unsurprisingly well. That said, I promised a virtual tour once we got settled in…and we are indeed settled, but all I have for the virtual world is what we’ll call a preview (what that really means is that I didn’t feel like cleaning the house today, so I took photos of the things that wouldn’t portray that).

But first, I will give you a photo-recap of my morning:

Jimmy, being the innovator that he is, created a cat hammock with a blanket and my legs. He slept in there for about an hour until my legs fell asleep so thoroughly that I just had to let him drop to the ground. What a ham. And as I type this, he is laying in the bath. He’s taken to climbing in the wet tub after I take showers—I don’t know…he’s a weird guy, I’ve learned to not ask questions.

As I said, what I have for you are merely brief previews…snippets of decor here, and snippets there. If I’m feeling ambitious tomorrow, I will clean and snap some full-tour photographs before we leave for our anniversary weekend. Until then, this:

We love collecting antiques and keeping things that belonged to our parents and grandparents. This beauty on the right is our lovely phonograph console. For now, it serves as a striking piece of furniture and leaves those albums on the left collecting dust; we need to get it fixed. But once it is, I look forward to many nights cuddled up reading, serenaded by this lovely lady.

I think our favorite part about moving in here (besides the deck and the wonderful neighbors) is that we got to paint the walls with any colors that our little hearts desired. And that we did. I can’t say the white walls in our old place ever really bothered me…I always figured that we have an eclectic style, so we’d never have any problem making a space feel full and settled—but man, colored walls make a HUGE difference. It actually feels like we have a home now.

I obviously didn’t think it important to wipe down the stove-top for this photo…

Probably my favorite room in the house: plush carpet, surrounded by books & musical instruments…it’s just so peaceful.

It’s also Jimmy’s favorite room. This foot rest became his spot within the first week he moved in. I’ve had that thing for years…it served me well in college when my roommate and I put hot pans of pizza rolls atop it & used it as a table. But I see now that this was its intended purpose…and we’re all happier for it (because no one is really happy with pizza rolls).

“Stop taking pictures of the crap on the desk and get one of me!”

He’s pretty into himself. But he’s as happy with our new, cozy home as we are. How could he not be? There’s an entire closet dedicated to housing his litter box! Because let’s be honest, how happy can you be when you have to poop in the corner of the living room while everyone’s watching a movie? Those days are long gone: smiles for everyone!

More to come later!