Open your eyes, it's springtime--

Freshess and lightness is coming; I feel it. And I am embracing oceans of hope.
This week I discovered a breathtaker of a book,


written by this alluring femme named Sophie Dahl.



It is the thinnest, loveliest read I have touched fingers on in quite some time. Who would ever have thought that fairy tales written for adults were just a stone's throw away on the nearest library's bookshelf? Not I. So this is a precious find for me.
If I were you, I would not hesitate to hunt this nombre down and thus give your eyes and heart a delicious feast. I felt a warmth while and after devouring the volume, but not in a stupid or cliche sort of way. I just felt lighter, happier...a smile playing on my lips paired with a quirky sense of spirit.

Here are a few bits of knowledge (albeit verging on the brink of irrelevant) I have acquired in the last recent while:

--feeding bits of buttery toast to a waif-like cat can result in painful results
--vodka meets apple juice meets cinnamon dust does not make for a delicious drink
--days lacing slowly past can actually be a friend, rather than a frusteration
--I am still prone to burning utensils when I cook
--birthdays, and the anticipation of them, is so so very nice.
--Charlotte Gainsbourg is still seductively amazing beyond measure.
--everything is really, truly that much funnier at 2:30 in the morning. chained to responsibilities at work. lying in a haggard booth under a fake sea of stars. waiting waiting waiting to slip home and beneath sheets.

Taking wing,
RB

Paint by numbers, paint it black.

It is laundry day for this tired face, and I am actually quite enjoying the process this frosty morning. I have peppermint tea scorching in our new (but ancient) mold-green teapot that is in fact shaped like a very wide-eyed chicken. Or maybe it is a rooster. My farm animal savvy is not the sharpest these days. Either way, home is a nice space to be when the coldness hangs outside in the air, so heavy that you can almost see it.
Time is a bit of a strange concept for me right now. It feels as if it is slipping by like the blink of soft lashes...I cannot lull it, yet I know this is a good thing. My days are draped with the familiarity of routine as of late. In a way, I like that. I feel that in the present, I am wearing it well. I am really beginning to savour my days spent often alone, and my later nights of cafe work. It is a temporary fit, I realize this, but for know it is better than okay; it is startlingly satisfying. I have a few interesting side projects on the go...messing around with words and with art, keeping my creative side somewhat less than starving. I have also been taking to my yoga mat far more in the past weeks, treading the blocks to my favourite space of heat and open-heartedness...having the sweat lace off my body...down my legs, along my spine, and across my cheekbones again and again. It is good to feel nourished in these ways. I have come to know afresh that I crave, among other things, creative expression and care slash challenge for my body--I need these elements in my world to keep me feeling focussed, achieving balance.
I feel the shift of seasons stirring again...thank God and the stars above...I know perhaps this sounds a touch mental seeing as it is minus thirty-fazillion and dropping in our city at present, but I think somehow that spring is nearer that we may realize. Or maybe I am falling into optimism as a last-ditch method of survival...
Regardless, I am ready to peel the layers of winter off. And I think I am pretty accurate in saying that we all are, by now. I am primed for rubber boots and bare arms, afternoon walks and iced coffee, the river aflow once again, bicycle hangouts and reading in the park.
Loves, nothing here's for sure (to quote a little Page France)...but it is nice to know that the changing seasons (whether early, late, or somewhere in between) are something stable, something unwavering. I like being able to remind myself of that, especially when things seem blurred or inconsistent. Okay and okay. I have officially spent too much time hunched over my slender computer's keyboard...here's to the day ahead. Happy birthday, dear Hilary. You are so so loved!
So long, farewell...(Meg, you can finish the rest of that lil nombre yourself, okay?!)
RB

tangled up in blue.

One love in my life rekindled with a new fierceness:







So. Effing. Good.


There really aren't the words to do this justice. Bob Dylan entrances. Has my worship, at the very least.
More, soon. I have stories to sling...

Brilliant.

Brilliant brilliant.



Frida Kahlo--current muse.

Love until your hands bleed--

Sunday, Sunday...day of rest, or at least in all books hypothetical. It has been a full morning thus far. I rose early as a bird (in night-hawk terms) in time to slide in some standing and kneeling and thrashing of my way through hymns. This was followed by a brimming spread of breakfast food...hashbrowns, french toast, black coffee and slivers of fruit all intertwined on the plate balanced between my fingers. Dreamy.
The sun is sweet and heavy today, and my body is aching to soak up whatever warmth and natural light that it can. Of late, my limbs are frail from repeated pilgrimages to hot yoga classes. It is a good ache; the best sort. Like my bones and muscles are cursing and thanking me all in the same breath, but mostly they are adoring it.

I feel like I have been thinking a lot about the frailty and fleetingness of life these past few weeks. Although impersonal, the death of Heath Ledger streaked me with immeasurable sadness. The night following the news of his slipping from life, I saw a film that spiraled me even a little further into this head and heart space of thoughtfulness and borderline-melancholy. It was called "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly", and it is a stunning story of tragedy and a strange sort of renewal. Maybe it is my own personal slant on the world and all things life-giving right now, but in the space of that slender hour and a half, my innards were stirred. I felt drawn into a degree of sadness and awareness that is new to me; unrecognizable even. It feels alien-esque still. I think it is maybe to do with the fact that the emotions brought forth were so beyond myself--they failed to revolve around me or those in my reality; but, rather, the human condition in general, and our state of absolute unknowing and vulnerability. I continue to find it difficult, impossible even, to grasp the realization that the precious things I take for granted today, right now, in this very moment as my fingers graze the keyboard, are not guaranteed. They fail to be now, and the truth is that they never will be.
My intention is not to make this a reflection drenched in darkness and negativity. On the far-reaching contrary, I feel like collecting these pieces of tragedy and pain in my extended surroundings...picking them up like deadened leaves or water-glazed stones on a beach, internalizing them and living in consciousness of the beauty and sanctity of life--that is inspiring and that is good.
To life in the moment.
RB.

Best is best.

These are a few of my favourite things, January-style:
*grunge breakfast at The Toad.
*2 a.m. faux-fireside yoga sessions.
*blueberry tea.
*soundtrack to "I'm Not There"(magic).
*a fresh scattering of plants throughout our apartment.
*wool socks.
*jewels of thrift store finds. (boots. sunglasses. fur-trimmed coats. to be specific.)
*pristine new journal, asking for words.
*lingering again and again over trip photos. feeling inner warmth.
*tasting and tossing around the prospect of going back to school.
*candles candles.
*scorching baths.
*hair-hacking inspiration.
*cat naps at strange hours.
*embracing hibernation.

It is time to crawl between sheets and lay eyes on my book of the moment.
Here's to hoping you are all warm and curled in your respective burrows as I am.
x.
Rebecca

Element Eden:

Today I took myself on a frosty afternoon walk to the bank. The walk itself was uneventful...my thoughts like fluttering birds, but in a good way...hopeful and smoothened. There is an evenness to things right now that I cannot explain.
(Hang in, I assure you this story is more than a brutal reiteration of me depositing a cheque into my still-anorexic bank account)

I fail to exaggerate when I say that the teller, a bespectacled grandmotherly-type, pounced on me as if I were her own flesh & blood. In her defense, she was quite sweet about it. She also felt compelled to shower me with a torrent of questions about my life et. al., all the while clasping my hand over the counter in both of her own. I am actually laughing now as I realize how strange slash funny we must have looked to the flurry of people all around us...who, more likely than not, thought that I was confessing my sins to her, or some such thing. Anyways. Tears virtually glittered in my now-(apparently)BFF's eyes when she extracted the fact from me that I had just traveled through Europe. And, ridiculous as this may sound, her heartfelt excitement disarmed me. Initially, it weirded me out just a little, but then it hit me like a weapon--she was right. This random person who had known me 8-12 minutes, had a perspective that has eluded me...one of wonder and acknoweldgement of the significance of where I have been these past few months. Ironically, she was a breath of fresh air...this encounter that started with me wondering how I could slide myself away from it ended up turning into something real and necessary for me. I tore myself away from her revived and smiling. Jewel, that one.

And so, continuing the theme of cherished times had and indescribable experiences whilst hanging out all over a continent not my own, here are a few more stills...some of the best that had been evaded in the mess of photo organization. Enjoy, if you will.









My kitchen is dirt-streaked and calling. Pots and pans, broom and rubber gloves await.
I am off to oblige.
Embraces, and such.