The most beautiful book I've stumbled upon.

"If I visit the queen, I must be clean to-day!"

And so grows my love for the beautiful Regina Maria. With her poetry and tender-heartedness and love for all things good she has won my most earnest affection. I may give it a re-read or four before I have to return it to the library it calls home.

"For those who thirst: water!
For the weary: rest!
Peace to the heavy-laden!
Hope unto the beginners of life!"


rip me into a thousand pieces and scatter them.



ashley reminded me that i don't need to bend to other's expectations, but that i'm living my life as myself for a reason. "delight in your quirks, rejoice in how intentionally you were created."

okay, yes.


Paris vs. NY

This blog I've stumbled upon visually compares two of my favorite cities. Here are a few of my favorites:


Marcel the Shell

Tia sent this to me just now and I can't get enough.

"Guess what I do for adventure?"
"I hang glide on a Dorito."


Tomorrow, I am Portland-bound.

Something I will remember fondly about spending my college years in Seattle is the multitude of southbound trips. Quick, night trips to Tacoma. Weekends in Portland. Long treks home to Southern California. Every one has been a milestone marker, a celebration, a broken-heart-remedy. Cheers to this next one.


I love hearing an honest use of the word "darling".

November welcomed us with rain to-day. (A loud, enthusiastic welcome that beat down on the skylights and made the sidewalks extra slippery.) Altogether beautiful, altogether sufficient for itself.

This lyric has been turning in my mind all day, "Lead me to the attic ladder, in the barn with broken floors, with your boots of Spanish leather and my hat knit out of yarn." The song itself I have heard only a handful of times, as performed by a talented and handsome young musician at open mic, but it has become familiar company--and, in thinking about it, there's something very beautiful in the simple way the artist frames this particular moment. It's something about his attention to detail, his glorifying the small things and holding fast to them.

I like learning about what people find precious.

Anyway, this lyric set itself as the background to my rainy day happenings.

It was streaming in through the rainy, rainy windows of the Suzzallo reading room as I looked up from my article to take in the rows and rows of antiquarian books and the heavy, grey clouds gathering outside.

And when I sat in the window nook at the coffee shop with Hannah, we reminisced about hearing good music echoing off the warm brick walls at Conor Byrne's and enjoyed each other's quiet company for the first time in a long time.

In my mailbox were two items, both for me: a postcard from Italy and a type-written letter from Romania. Gold. No bills, no junk mail, no bank statements from previous tenants.

I was humming the melody while I walked, but stopped somewhere between 1st and 2nd Ave. to fix my eyes on the most incredible, up-close view of Seattle's skyline. Thousands and thousands of illuminated windows. Puffs of cloud that made the Space Needle look like a busy chimney.

Danielle and I were sitting in her living room with our takeout and striped socks, talking politics and grad school and travel and childhood films. I kept thinking about how good life is. How good my friends are.

It stopped raining tonight, which provided such a quiet that while walking to the car I could hear the wind moving the leaves along the ground and it sounded like hundreds of hands applauding.

Thank you, sir musician, for helping me frame my happenings to-day.