A little something pretty

Just a little something pretty for the middle of your weekend.

The Glory Days of Summer

Okay, let's face it: the weather here in Edmonton hasn't exactly been spectacularly summery lately. I love rain and so for the most part haven't had any complaints about the large amounts of water falling from the heavens (except when it catches me unprepared, that is never fun). But the copious number of rainy days has made me appreciate the sun all that much more. We're headed into August, and I always think of these as the glory days of summer. I'm really a fall girl so August is full of the anticipation of September, which brings with it autumn and school. But August has merits all its own. For instance, I think August provides the best summer light around. It's the month where the light starts to shift from the bright yellow sunshine of July to the warm golden sunlight of September. Even though August is going to be absolutely mad for me, what with a wedding to go to, finishing my research job, packing, actually moving across the country, unpacking and getting myself sorted and settled...it's going to be insane. Nonetheless I'm hoping to enjoy a few golden moments in these glory days.

Dear Sunglasses

Dear Sunglasses,

Thanks for instantly making me feel like a rockstar every time I put you on. I can't think of any other accessory I own that has that effect. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing or what state my hair is in, you always make me feel way cooler than I actually am. You put a swagger in my step that isn't normally there and I like it. Thanks for also being a really effective way to hide the dark eye circles of sleep deprivation, the red puffy eyes of crying, and the eyes without makeup of lazy days, hot days, and late days. You are like the superhero of accessories.

Keep up the awesome work,

Bree


*full disclosure: format of this post totally inspired by thxthxthx

A man consumed by wanderlust

wanderlust noun [mass noun]
a strong desire to travel: a man consumed by wanderlust
- ORIGIN late 19th cent.: German, literally 'wander year'.


I think wanderlust is one of my favourite words in the English language. It is just so perfect. It describes the longing to travel, to be elsewhere, in the most particular way. It's not a complicated word. It only has one meaning. But the connotations whisper of Romance and adventure to be found. It's quite delightful. I've been rather afflicted with this particular ailment for years now, but like many illnesses it flares up more strongly every so often. The past six months or so have been particularly bad for me. That longing to go somewhere and experience something new has been so strong. I'm trying to think of moving as the ultimate fulfillment of this desire; in fact, I think that my perpetual wanderlust is what has made me choose a school so far away. And when I'm successful in considering the move as a grand adventure it becomes far more exciting than it is terrifying.

Harry Potter

I just got back from (finally!) seeing the last instalment of the Harry Potter films. So good. So so so good. At the risk of sounding like a total nerd, I am sad that they are done. Perhaps I will have to go see it again.

I know that this photo has pretty much nothing to do with Harry Potter, but it is a castle. Blarney Castle to be specific. And one of the things that I've always loved about Harry Potter, again, at the risk of sounding like a total nerd, is imagining that such a world does exist, all full of magic and amazing things. I mean, come on, how cool would it be to go to school in a castle?

Hold me fast 'cause I'm a hopeless wanderer

Hopeless Wanderer
Mumford and Sons

Hear my voice
I came out of the woods by choice
The shelter also gave us shade
And in the dark I have no name

So leave that click in my head
And I will remember the words that you said
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart
But I am sure we will see a new start

So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road

Wrestle long with my youth
We try so hard to live in the truth
But do not sell me your respite
When I lose my head I lose my spine

So leave that click in my head
And I must remember the words that you said
You brought me out from the cold
Now how I long, how I long to grow old

So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road

Hold me fast
Hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer

Hold me fast
Hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer

And I will learn
I will learn
To love the the skies I wander

I will learn
I will learn
To love the skies I wander
The skies I wander


Thanks to Alaina over at Live Creating Yourself I have discovered that Mumford and Sons has been playing some of the new stuff off of their next album at their live shows. I am now totally obsessed with this song. I love Mumford and Sons and am super stoked for their next album to come out. This song has captivated me. I've probably listened to it a good 20 times in the last 24 hours. And that's with a full workday, time at the gym and a coffee date with a friend in there. This is everything that I love about Mumford and Sons. The instruments, the vocals (oh the vocals! I am literally temporarily paralyzed whenever they break into harmony.), the incredible lyrics. It is so so so good. Seriously. Take a listen. You won't regret it.

The Places We Have Lived

Phantom Limbs
Anne Michaels

                "The face of the city changes more quickly, alas! than the mortal
                heart."
                                                     - CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

So much of the city
is our bodies. Places in us
old light still slants through to.
Places that no longer exist but are full of feeling,
like phantom limbs.

Even the city carries ruins in its heart.
Longs to be touched in places
only it remembers.

Through the yellow hooves
of the ginkgo, parchment light;
in that apartment where I first
touched your shoulders under your sweater,
that October afternoon you left keys
in the fridge, milk on the table.
The yard - our moonlight motel -
where we slept summer's hottest nights,
on grass so cold it felt wet.
Behind us, freight trains crossed the city,
a steel banner, a noisy wall.
Now the hollow diad
floats behind glass
in office towers also haunted
by our voices.

Few buildings, few lives
are built so well
even their ruins are beautiful.
But we loved the abandoned distillery:
stone floors cracking under empty vats,
wooden floors half rotted into dirt,
stairs leading nowhere, high rooms
run through with swords of dusty light.
A place the rain still loved, its silver paint
on rusted things that had stopped moving it seemed, for us.
Closed rooms open only to weather,
pungent with soot and molasses,
scent-stung. A place
where everything too big to take apart
had been left behind.


I'm moving across the country in three weeks. This is both exciting and terrifying. I'm excited because I'm headed to a province I dearly love and find exceptionally beautiful. I'm terrified because I am moving somewhere that I know no one and am leaving behind the people who are dearest to me in the world.

It's funny how places retain the people who inhabit them. How a location can bring back a flood of memories. How going somewhere can make you remember someone who is long gone or who you haven't thought about in a long time. We leave impressions on places it seems; sometimes they are visible and sometimes they are invisible. We literally leave our mark on places with buildings and possessions, the kinds of things that archeologist uncover, but we leave a less tangible mark on a place. And a place leaves a mark on us. It's such a strange thing to ponder, but it's something I think about often, and all the more often as I wrench myself out of the place I grew up in.