Saturday, February 28, 2009

Lately, I've developed an increasing appreciation for children's literature. Part of me believes this stems from majoring in elementary education, but I certainly think it has to do with my perpetual preference for simplicity over complexity.

I'm currently reading Loser by Jerry Spinelli. I've always loved Spinelli. I first read Stargirl in 8th grade after a boy told me I reminded him of the protagonist (it's still the best compliment I've ever received!). In my senior year of high school, I read the sequel to Stargirl. It wasn't as wonderful as the first, but it was still a delightful novel. I found this book in my bathroom drawer and immediately fell in love. I haven't finished yet, but I needed to gush. And so, I leave you with one of my favorite passages:

"At this time in his life Zinkoff sees no difference between the stars in the sky and the stars in his mother's plastic Baggie. He believes that stars fall from the sky sometimes, and that his mother goes around collecting them like acorns. He believes she has to use heavy gloves and dark sunglasses because the fallen stars are so hot and shiny. She puts them in the freezer for forty-five minutes, and when they come out they are flat and silver and stick on the back and ready for his shirts. This makes him feel close to the unfallen stars left in the sky. He thinks of them as his nightlights. As he grows drowsy in bed, he wonders which is greater: the number of stars in the sky or the number of school days left in his life? It's a wonderful question."

Friday, February 27, 2009


It was not my question to answer, of course, but you know how I get. I spout obnoxious metaphors even when they have no business existing.

Spring has always devastated me. It is a season bloated with ideas of hope and rebirth, but I've yet to experience either. The New England Spring is a horrid coquette, at least in the beginning. She showers us with warmth and vibrancy only to revoke them the following day. Spring flutters across closed eyelids and just as we begin to thaw, she giggles and retreats to her corner. We become consumed with the idea of her permanency, but she is as fleeting as a dishonest lover.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Things I love

-Forming a cocoon out of blankets still warm from the dryer.
-Squeezing Max's snout.
-Making my mother laugh.
-Finding a warm pocket of air on an otherwise frigid day.
-Falling in love with strangers.
-Seeing babies derive happiness from the simplest actions.
-Leaving little notes or pictures in library books.
-Regina Spektor.
-Shadow puppets.
-Spotting the prettiest tree in unexpected locations.
-The Universe (I marvel at all its mysteries & absurdities).

Monday, February 23, 2009

I am terrified of you.

Please don't devastate.
But you will.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Snapshot Sundays

My 5 AM arrival was not well-received...

especially by Max, who gave me the cold shoulder &
refused to cuddle after smelling another dog on my clothes.

I woke up at noon, to a surprising midterm grade.

The weather was much less impressive...

but it did encourage Geene to make delicious soup.

I am NOT looking forward to the rest of my day.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

You are so, so stupid.
I hope you know that.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

I was at work today, and this little boy came through my line with his father. If I had to guess, I'd say he was maybe 4. They purchased a few bottles of Gatorade. "The red one is for me!" he exclaimed, and I told him red was my favorite, too. Another boy walked by with his mother; he was older, maybe 7 or 8 years old. He spotted a teenager with a mohawk standing behind Gatorade boy and proceeded to point and shout "WHOA! He's cool!" My little buddy's eyes lit up as he tugged on his dad's sleeve. "DAD! He said I was cool!" The dad asked what he was talking about, and he replied "A boy walked by! And he said I was cool! He really did! He said it! Wow!"

My heart broke. It was the cutest thing I have ever witnessed. I wish you could have heard his voice- he was just so overcome with awe and excitement.

For the record, Gatorade cutie was at least a million times cooler than Mohawk boy.
Just saying.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Snapshot Sundays

I bought this rose for Geene.

Another road trip with Max.


"I can't believe you're making me do this..." - Nick

The "Ashley is very stupid" pose.

Max enjoying a carnation.

My new favorite scarf.

The 70th time I organized my closet this weekend.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Differentiation and Commonality

I have recently discovered the artwork of Elise Rasmussen. There is something very honest about her photos; they have the haunting ability to make me doubt everything that has ever happened.

My favorites are The Passing of Life and Night Series.

"We’ve got to learn to live with a full measure of uncertainty. There is no last word. That’s the silence under the chatter of our time."

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


It is so strange how greatly the weather governs my emotions.

It was the most beautiful day today. People were scattered about campus; they emerged from their burrows at last, thrilled with the new warmth that enveloped our renaissance city. On the drive home, I cracked open my windows and sunlight dusted in like some sort of potion. I turned up my radio and smiled. "And if you want to buy me flowers..." he sang, and I was reminded of the carnation a girl had placed on my table just minutes before.

Happiness is a dangerous angel.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Snapshot Sundays

After asking Max if he wanted to go for a ride, he had a seizure.

We listened to quality 90's R&B...

and drove to our favorite city, Providence.

Max waited patiently in the car while I pretended to be a photographer.

People started giving me strange looks, so this was the only shot I took.

After our failed photoshoot, we headed back...


Max did not appreciate our return...

similar to Geene's disapproval of this picture.
Today I tried not to think of you. I scanned your words for traces of history; I found myriad threads jumbled from their inception. She stood there with her eyebrow arched, stifling laughter. I am pathetic. As far as my existence is concerned, your emotions will never run strongly enough to spark vocabulary.

I feel fake to the point of repulsion.