an escape from utah. for just a moment. while i dream of the east and beaches.

Cape Cod, Summer of 1969

i'm dreaming of a white, wood-panneled house. atop a hill--a sloping hill that abuts the atlantic.

there will be the requisite white picket fence. a white picket fence in front of our white, wood-panneled home. and there will be bikes. bikes just there--by the gate. mine will be robin's egg blue. it will have high-handlebars and a wicker basket. it will get me to the grocery store and to the library. to the small single-room movie theatre and down to the beach. on sunday mornings i will bunch up my dress and pray that the spokes don't grab hold of my hem before church. and my kennedy-of-a-husband and i will race down the hill to our favorite coffee shop. and there we will spend the lazy summer mornings wondering how it is anyone ever finishes the new york times crossword puzzle. scratch that--i will sit, watching in wonder as he not only finishes the puzzle, but does so correctly, all the while laughing lovingly at my ridiculous suggestions.

oh, today i'm dreaming of summers on the cape. and a life that's just a stone's throw away.

photo on Cape Cod, summer of 1969

when i grow up.

the most darling camilla has been doing a wonderful series entitled "when i grow up" on her blog, champagne bubbles. and it has got me thinking. a lot. about what i want. and i figure that if men can't help looking at a gorgeous woman (and science will defend that for them), then i can't help dreaming about the future or googling photos of brooklyn brownstones.

so here is my list, as inspired by camilla and all the gorgeous woman who have submitted to her series:

i want a neighborhood cafe. around the corner. with strong lattes and fresh bread. i want to know the names of the faces behind the counter and i want them to know the names of my children.

i want early evening walks in the neighborhood and after-dinner story-time.

i want hard wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. banisters on the staircase and hallways of family photos. built in bookshelves and sprawling desks.

trees in the neighborhood.

i want season tickets to the closest baseball team.

i want to travel the world. to live in different countries. to speak spanish fluently. and dabble in a little french.

i want sharp knives, a kitchen aide mixer, and a large cuisinart.

i want saturday morning pancake breakfasts. and sunday nights spent in the kitchen as i listen to the hustle and bustle of everyone preparing for the week.

i want the love of my best friend and the promise of a whole life together.

i want things to get clearer. {a little, at least.}

i want the idea that will write the book.

i want to do what i love.

i want to love.

these photos are via google's image search.
i might just die for that kitchen.
i mean really?
look at it.
look at all the green out the window.
it may be small, but it might also be perfect.

fizzy water and twizzlers

It's raining here in New York. Raining so, that suddenly--for the first time--the phrase cats and dogs seems perfectly apt, but don't ask me what it means.

Edith Piaf is playing in the background (as she must when it rains). And I'm drinking diet coke (heretofore known as fizzy water) and eating twizzlers as I recover from a beast of a chest cold (hence my unusually prolonged blog world absence). This chest cold--cough and all (and I never get a cough) is most likely punishment for weathering the entire (yes the entire) winter season in near perfect health. It is also a product of allergies, the present day Greek mythological curse. Present day Greek mythological curse, you ask? Remember the story of Tantalus (that's okay, I didn't either and it took me a good thirty minutes of searching the web to find the following)... Well he chopped up his son and attempted to serve him to the Gods,

"Tantalus's punishment, now proverbial for temptation without satisfaction (the source of the English word "tantalizing"[10]), was to stand in a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low branches. Whenever he reached for the fruit, the branches raised his intended meal from his grasp. Whenever he bent down to get a drink, the water receded before he could get any (Wikipedia)." 

My point is, the Gods gave us Spring to behold in all it's glory and yet it's near impossible to do (to behold) through bleary eyes and a running nose--it's like reaching down to drink the water and finding it gone.

It took me so long to find the Tantalus story that I've completely forgotten the original idea for this post. 


This much I'll say (in the spirit of the rain),

I have been dreaming of English countrysides as of late. I love the rain. Desperately, I love it. The sound of it, the mystery. It's always struck me as a cloak for magic in the world. But rain in New York can be trying. Travel here undoubtedly involves being outside. No car to garage to house scenarios. And showing up to auditions or the work-place waterlogged is not always ideal. But in the English countryside, in the warmth of a house, where the doors and windows would stay open all day long (no threat of burglars or mosquitos) and the cool drops would stain the edge of the stone floors...can you imagine? Giant windows, thrust open. Shutters. And big doors. Big, wooden doors. Extra wide--an invitation to precipitation. Shorts and Wellies, a uniform of choice. And thunder, the rolling music of Mother Nature (a thing so rare in New York that tonight my roommate confused a glorious few thunder rolls for the fighting of our landlords overhead, a much more commonplace occurrence). Mmmm, a girl can dream.

And in other news when I was laid up in bed (the cold) I wandered over to facebook's networked blogs and attempted to register this little blogspot lover of mine. I found it had already been done. By an anonymous facebook follower. Well, thank you anonymous facebook follower. You're description of my blog as "real-life" and "writing" seems spot-on and tickled my flattery-bone to no end. So if facebook is anyone else's thing and you wish to follow me there, I'm adding a link to the side. Plus, I need nine people to confirm that I am in fact the writer of this blog so if you could do that, many thanks would be owed. 

Photos found on {this is glamorous} (slightly altered).