Friday, February 28, 2014


My great, great Aunt Reta had a friend named Lilian who liked to collect stamps. She'd send for them in the mail, and they'd arrive in little wax paper envelopes.

She also corresponded with friends and family that lived overseas and in various parts of Canada and the United States, and kept the stamps from those letters, too.

And whether she meant to or not, Lily collected postmarks. I find these to be just as interesting as the stamps, and each one very telling of a particular historical moment. 

I need to write more good old-fashioned letters, don't you think?

Sunday, February 23, 2014


This time of year my eye is drawn to the landscape for how it interrupts snow's whiteness.

Soon spring's rain will arrive and with it, all of the small twigs and leaves from a previous season. But I want to enjoy the snow for as long as it's here; it still has something to show me. 

 Edna O'Brien says that "in a way, winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature." This sounds about right to me. 

Friday, February 21, 2014

Little pretties

Most of the time it's enough to appreciate something without taking it home with you. That being said, last weekend while antiquing with my mom I fell hopelessly in love with an oak filing cabinet that once held a dress shop's inventory of Vogue sewing patterns. I didn't need it, but I just couldn't leave it behind. In my complete fawning over it, I even forgot to take a picture! I'll post some when it's delivered next week.

Sunday, February 16, 2014


All week my apartment has been scented by a single stem of hyacinth.  

Anemones have opened gradually, learning their way around the lip of the jar.

They'll stay on my table until the last bit of stem turns as soft and yellow as gold.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Vintage Valentine

Most of these valentines belonged to a girl named Berdena, though I think it's safe to say that I may like them just as much as she did. 

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Creature comforts

Blankets don't stay folded in my house for very long. 

Folding is work, but unfolding is decadence. 

Unfolding is all about slowing down and settling in. 

And not coming out for a while.

Friday, February 7, 2014



Left to Right: Great-Aunt Maddy, Great-Grandma Rae, and me.

RachaelRaeis my maternal great-grandma, and my namesake. From what I know of her, we would've been fast friends. She liked to make handicrafts, pick wild flowers, and even in her old age wore her hair piled on top of her head in one long, silvery braid. I know it kind of goes hand-in-hand with the sentiment of the times, but she (and Maddy, too) had a natural gravitation toward things that were both practical and lovely. Their slouchy knit hats? Case in point. 

This is a recent photo, though it looks like it could've been taken years ago. I wonder how tall this tree was in 1920?

When these two sisters got together, they laughed until they shook the room. I want to be remembered like that. 

Sunday, February 2, 2014

The dream ship

If I had a dream ship, I'd steer it backward. I'd anchor to a day in August, when the last blooms didn't know they'd be the last blooms. I'd pick enough for a winter's-worth of books.

But until then, I'll enjoy what I've already planted. 

Or what others have planted for me. I found this little cluster of leaves in a second-hand copy of Scott's The Lady of the Lake, and have left them just as they are. 

August days feel closest when I can open up a book and a flower opens, too.