I’ve lived in Oregon for nearly eight years. Besides my Keens, my Decemberists shirts, and my reusable bags, the most Portland thing about me is that I take pictures of my food.
I’ve been noodling on what I’d say for my take on this theme for a little while now. I’ve been writing down the things I want to say, then sleeping on them, to make sure I still want to say them the next day. Good thing, too: You’ve dodged some bullets.
Happy Monday! This is one of my earliest musical memories, courtesy of my dad’s mix tapes. It needs to be shared.
I’m home. The sun is shining, and it’s all good, but after the greatest summer in my hometown, I feel I need a lot more time to properly arrive. I’m still coming to terms with all the memories that hit me around the head at every street corner. Suddenly, it seems impossibly hard to make your home elsewhere.
Hello m’dears, and Happy Monday! I’m writing to you from the past. Well, kind of. I’ve been staying in my childhood home for four weeks now; the weather has been glorious, and we’ve done a lot to bring back precious memories – zoo trips, ice cream by the fountain, and travelling old school in an actual train with actual opening windows … Read More
Enough with the moaning! There will be no anti-heat/bug/humidity sentiments here, just stories of great summers past and wonderful holidays to come!
I find myself trying to excavate memories, chipping around the edges of what I do remember, looking for something else that may be poking out and within reach.