Waiting For Leaves To Change Me

Fall is definitely my favorite of all four seasons. Every year I look forward to hot cups of chai and apple cider in my hands, cozy scarves around my neck, and the breathtakingly beautiful sight of one of the most dynamic seasons the Pacific Northwest has to offer.

I love wearing jackets and sneakers, and watching football, and the way the loss of sunlight in the evenings makes me want to curl up in a blanket (Snuggies always welcome here) and read and write and wake up with the dawn.

Portland has one of the longest fall seasons I’ve ever seen, and while I’m waiting for the leaves on the large Maple outside my window to change from green to brilliant reds and oranges and yellows, I thought I’d share some of my favorite pictures from this summer I hadn’t yet posted, and more pictures from Maui, too.

Paia Beach, on the road to Hana in Maui.

Apparently falling coconuts are no laughing matter. Though of course I still did.

My sister after I took this shot: "Did you get my bicep?" "Totally."

T and Uncle Ken, retired Air Force colonel and starter of some of the best family shenanigans.

I know this is blurry, but I can't help but love it. That's Grandma Ladish walking hand-in-hand with Theresa at my cousin Derek's wedding in August.

"Talks with Hands" would probably be my sister's Indian name.

Geek in the pink.

T and Gramps.

Lense play. At dinner our first night in Maui.

This was my favorite of the self-take outtakes from Rhi and Bill's wedding.

At Deer Lake with Nelle, T, and Ezekiel.

Paia Beach, Maui. Some of the bluest water I've ever seen in my life.

Story, The First: The Pug Who Moved To California

Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.

Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.

I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?

(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)

(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...

Found

This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.

Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...

Shari-Romancing A Stone

They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water’s need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.

-The lovely and eclectic Shari

On Hoarding

I’m collecting my favorite corners, like the one with the stunning oak tree on display for an entire neighborhood to see, its limbs shading a bustling crosswalk shooting confidence into pedestrians like electric currents of white light, fresh graffiti on a nearby curb: an infinity symbol, black and simple.

I’m collecting stories about the apartment window filled with small elephant figurines along one of my favorite walking routes. So many trunks standing side-by-side and none of them alive.

I’m collecting the surprisingly → Read more...