As I type this, one of my best gals is on a plane to Atlanta with her son in tow (literally. she's 7-months pregnant).  I've prolonged the goodbye as much as possible, but last night - as the girls toasted her and assured her that she's going to be a fabulous mother and that we'll help her as much as we can - and more as she assured us that she's coming back - it became official.  So here's my tribute to the time I've known D.

The cosmos sure has a funny way of teaching me to love.


I want a relationally lucrative life.
This feels impossible when staring down so much loss.

I'm determined to claim the gain.


In other news, I am trying to drink less.
So pretty much things are depressing as hell around here.

As promised, I wanted to share a few shots of Devon's shower I hosted this weekend.  I'm noticing that it's really hard to host AND take pictures, so I'm thankful to have any...though I do wish there were more.  There certainly were moments to capture.  Oh well!

Good Morning, other people who also stare at computer screens.

Above, you'll see my working breakfast, complete with blueberry streusel muffin and coffee that I must milk because it is entirely too gross to consume without.  Ahh, office coffee.

Today is good.

Yesterday was a day where traffic actually made me cry and thrash about in my car
(note: on my way to Nordstrom to pick up a pair of boots that were left on their stretchers, which ended up STILL being too tight on my Norwegian calves).
The gray rain couldn't have been more melancholy.
The food I ate couldn't have been more bland.
I began to fall into a spiral of overwhelm...you know, the kind where "What the heck am I going to make for dinner??" speedily snowballs into, "Oh my god, when am I going to have children?!!!"
It's a slippery slope, that dinner conundrum.
(note: I made Devon's* meatball soup).




Quite in contrast, the day before yesterday (also known as Monday) I noticed a goodly amount of euphoria surging through my blood.
My music (currently the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack) couldn't be loud enough.
The leaves couldn't have been more vibrant and stunning.
Finishing my book couldn't have been more profound.
Everything leaked beauty.
My heart could not contain it.


I suppose it would be true to fashion if I were to engage in some sort of overly-serious analysis of these particular mood swings.  But I just kinda don't care.
And this not caring is my newest skill set.

It's the jolly good time we women get to share...
and I guess I'm used to just being along for the ride.

Last week, my dear pen-pal and bosom friend, Plume, rolled into Seattle for a week of R&R with Kelly and I. We flitted all about and did Seattle right. We frolicked on the beach in Seattle's first summer rain, we gabbed for hours while emptying bottles of pinot grigio, we sat in awe of the process and pain of art, we all three cried at some point, we spent Plume's money at Ikea, we sang the tunes of musicals and laughed in delight at Mamma Mia; we hiked, we dined like royalty, we chopped veggies and played board games. There was a jamming extravaganza, freshly baked bread, a peach & cherry pie, and hot, tasty pho.

I tell you, after knowing and loving this hummingbird lady for 1.5 years from afar, it was right and good to have her finally in my arms and me in hers.

After she left, I went home and slept a very long time...and missed her. Soon, my friends...there will be many more pictures to come.

The next day, the saint and I wandered out to Hat Island to celebrate Devon's 27th bday, gorging ourselves on sand, sun, and rest.

We boated over to the island,
our souls bobbing up and down with glee
and Red Stripe.

I was caught off guard,
alarmed even
at the reflection of my solitude in the sea.

It was blinding, and I forgot that I wasn't alone.
These people have a knack of reminding me.

That night, after a veritable feast,
We toasted her...
It tasted so sweet, watching each other love this young lady,
a lady startlingly easy to love.
Though she often cannot see it.

We toasted her courage to be herself
Her determination to be intimate
Her healing hands
Her persistence in loving herself, despite herself.

That night
In the darkness,
Sound tracked only by the steady pulse of wake and Neko,
Matt and Jer agreed that it's been the best summer since
The summer of red wine and David Bowie.

And though it is indeed going quickly,
this faded summer will not pass us by
at least not without
note.

Ms. Case is making sure of it.

Did I mention I walked into the ocean in my pjs?
It was a moral imperative, though I don't usually do that sort of thing.

I sneaked away from the group for a bit to catch my much needed breath, and enjoyed the most tasty 2002 Rioja while writing pages and pages. I got to thinking about a lot of things...namely inhibition.


Not because I don't agree, but because it's boring.