Showing posts with label wise cracks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wise cracks. Show all posts

Friday, September 19, 2014

Absentee Blogging

In the craziness of two little boys, and freelance history-ing, and weekly 5ks, and the occasional pause for a deep breath, a chapter of a book, and a mocha coconut frappucino, this poor little blog has become neglected. Blog Protection Services should be making weekly visits to my laptop to ensure it doesn't suffer from benign neglect. Of course, they'd probably be the same sort of organization that took away your terrarium and potted succulents if you were talented enough to kill the things in them. Put you on crafting probation if your dip-dyed curtains were a hot mess. Freeze your accounts after another Etsy rampage.

But none of that for me! I've been Tweeting (the refuge of the blogger too busy to blog, but too convinced of their own wit not to share their quips with the internet) in between all the work and cleaning and running and baby-keeping-alive. I'll share those and frightening photographic evidence of just how much my sons have grown since last I kept a regular schedule of blog posts. Seriously, though: how has it been so long!?

Top row: Tristan
Second row: Ethan
Third row: Ethan, boys sharing pound cake, boys at National Trust site, Tristan
Fourth row: Brand new brothers, slightly less new brothers, sunglasses, and finger chewing

























Work has been brilliant. Who knew you could do the whole historian gig as a freelancer? Well, as a stroke of luck would have it: you can! So I've spent a few weeks going to east London to teach workshops on archives, genealogical research, and WWI. I fully admit to feeling all grown up (thus negating any true semblance of adulthood) when all the little tweens called me "Miss" the other day as they excitedly shouted over each other in a desperate bid to show me the results of their research. You have not enjoyed teaching until you honestly hear a 12-year-old give a disappointed sigh at the end of class only to announce, "Now I'll have to look up Hitler at home..."

Also, I've read some lovely books lately, which I must gush over in more detail. Consider the Fork is the all-around winner, though The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul was fun, if chic-lit-like, and The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden was hilariously sympathetic.

Some day, I will manage to do all of these things with greater balance. I will schedule longer runs, I'll bake with Ethan, and get Tristan to sit through more than one book at bedtime. Perhaps more freelance projects will come along, and maybe - just maybe - I'll even get to have a date night with the Husband! Hey: a girl can dream...


Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Finishing the Kitchen

So, for a long time the window in our kitchen was BORING. There was a white roller blind against a white wall, accented by white tiles, and - you guessed it - a white fridge, oven, stove, and washing machine. The counter top is tan, the floors are a medium faux-wood vinyl, and the cabinets are faux-birch veneer. As rooms go, it was pretty same-ish.

It took me ages, but the other day, after letting the Husband take all the time to come back to B&Q with me to get proper materials and then building the structure of the thing himself (and even hanging it for me), I finally got around to upholstering the cornice box I'd been dying to put over that naked-ass window.

The Spoonflower fabric is no longer mocking me from its bag.
Seriously, people. That window was nekkid before. It wasn't pretty. I have now dressed it. But I really couldn't let matters stop there. If you've been following my domestic exploits for long enough, you'll know that my whole plan for that back wall of our kitchen involved a new coat of paint, as per my ideas board in this post. Well: I did it. That's right! I finally got the whole project finished and painted the back wall of the kitchen in a lovely colour that Valspar calls Cool Springs. At least, I think it's that one. I've officially misplaced the paint chip and the name isn't printed on the tester pot I picked up from B&Q this morning. #bloggerfail

Looking a bit dark in the backlighting of the midday sun.
E and I went out on a quick B&Q run and just grabbed a tester pot of the colour I wanted. I'd done all of my agonizing over paint chips months ago, so my paint-inspired, long, dark tea-time of the soul was all done and sitting at the opposite end of months' worth of apathy. So thankfully, though I'd picked what was probably the hardest wall in the kitchen to paint (thank you, awkward boiler), it was also the smallest. This meant I could do the entire job just with a brush and not bother breaking out the roller for anything.

Once E was down for his nap, I heated up the oven (hey, it was lunch time and Mama wanted a pizza!), grabbed my handy-dandy Frog Tape, and got to work. Obviously, the cornice box and picture frame came down, but everything else was taped up. Incidentally, the hardest part wasn't painting around that pipe in the upper left of the picture, it was getting into the space behind the boiler. Sure, you can't see it from most points in the kitchen, but you can if you're at the sink doing dishes, so I figured it didn't have to be perfect, but it did need to look presentable if ever you chanced to peek into the space that otherwise would have become a spider sanctuary. The cobwebs I cleaned today...I shudder to think what is still lurking and living in my house.

So, once the painting was done, I had my lunch, called my mom, and then once naptime was over it was off to Bracknell for some fun swimming. E enjoyed this place much better than our last trip to the leisure centre...possibly because there were bits of the pools he could wander around in on his own. Plus, who doesn't love rapids and geysers? And since we just made the cut-off time for the cheaper adult admission rate, it was a steal since we got way more pool for the same price as our local set-up.

All of that swimming gave the kitchen wall plenty of time to dry, so by the time we were sitting down to some chicken Jalfrezi and pasta carbonara in front of Dr. Who, I was able to pop everything back into place and snag this photo. I wish the kitchen was always so tidy...

...pull back for the full effect.
I just love how that colour makes the tiles in the backsplash pop. And you can finally see the roller blind! All in all, I call it a job well-done. Though, more truthfully, I should admit that I'm on a DIY bender to pass the time until The Husband returns. Good thing he's only gone a week or he might not recognize the flat he came home to!

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

My (no longer) Secret

In case it wasn't painfully obvious from all of the beating around the bush I've been doing when I haven't been maintaining an apathetic radio silence on The Interwebz lately, I've been growing myself a little secret. A baby, in fact, with tiny fingers and toes and a huge baby head, complete with all sorts of nausea, tiredness, and pelvic discomfort. You can see now why I haven't been running for the better part of three months.
here we are sucking our thumb and sleeping.
It's been hard to enjoy this baby so far. I'm sure it was the same last time with Ethan. The first months of pregnancy for me are always difficult. I get ill, I get headaches, I get insane cravings, I get weepy, I get exhausted and climb into my bed for as long as the world will let me. Today, though, we finally had our first ultrasound and got a chance to see the little monster up-close and personal. It's nice to be reminded that I'm only miserable like this because I'm growing a tiny person inside of my body. That there is a good cause lurking behind the ever-changing need for egg mayo sandwiches and prawn cocktail crisps, ooh, no! burgers...no wait, pepperoni pizza...or perhaps nothing but salty, greasy chips...or just some water and a fromage frais and the chance to lie down and cry until I sleep.

As anyone with more than one child can attest, weathering this maelstrom of hormones doesn't get any easier when you already have an outside child running around, colouring on your walls, begging for your attention. Ethan and I have seen through our mornings all too often lately with me napping while he watches cartoons on my laptop. Charlie and Lola on Netflix has saved my life more often than I care to admit.

The part of pregnancy, though, that is hardest for me is the fact that feeling tired and sick and sore makes me lethargic. Part of me wants to go outside and go on walks and go swimming and try to get in short runs with Ethan in the jogger again. But most of me just wants to want these things. Lovely as I know they are, these pursuits feel entirely unappealing when your hips and back ache, and your round ligaments protest every time you want to stand up, and you get to enjoy the sporadic pain of that just-kicked-in-the-crotch feeling that comes as one of pregnancy's many little gifts.

And yet, come the end of December, I'll have a tiny new person to bring home. Someone else with my nose and my eyes (in shape, if not in colour), and my lips, and my hands. (Seriously, I need to find pictures to prove just how much Ethan reminds me of myself at his age.) It's an exciting prospect. We've already been trying to get Ethan psyched about the idea of getting a new baby. The Husband and I between us have read him There's Going To Be A Baby more times than I can count, and I have Ethan trained to point at my stomach whenever I ask, 'where is Mummy's baby?' Every baby under 6 months that I see is an object lesson for my little boy: 'Look, Ethan! There's a tiny baby. You're going to get a tiny baby at the end of the year!' I don't think he really gets it yet, but he does enjoy seeing the babies. He gave the 5-day-old little brother of a friend at playgroup the most adorable kiss on the top of the head yesterday. I was impressed with how gentle he was.

So there it is: my newest beginning is as the mother of more than one child. If all else is an abject failure, at least I know I can competently carry a newborn in one arm whilst dragging an angry toddler along with the other. Some skills you just gotta learn.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Same Old Stunning

In what has now become weeks of internet apathy I've come to realise something as I occasionally turn back to Feedly to browse through all of the blogs I read: I've gotten so tired of all the beautifully staged and decorated homes I tend to see in the various articles on the various blogs that I follow. It's not that they aren't lovely or well put-together or enviably executed...they've just all started to look the same. Know what I mean? If not, I'll endeavour to be a bit more specific.

All white walls.
Shoot me. Shoot me now if I have to look at another house with its boring attempt to get that neat, clean, bright, minimalist Scandinavian look by refusing to add colour to the walls. Sure, it looks nice on a beautiful sunny day, or in those overblown white-balanced photos, but white also shows a lot of dirt. Every fingerprint, every smudge, every spot where you didn't realise that the black cardstock bats you hung for your son's first birthday party would leave nasty marks on your walls. Okay, so maybe I'm just fed up with my own white walls to some extent, but I'm really tired of nearly every house I look at looking like these:
via, French by Design
via, Design Mom
via, Design*Sponge
Dip-dyed and partially-painted furniture.
I get it: this was a thing...and apparently still is in a small, waning sort of way. But it's officially (in my not so very humble opinion) stopped looking cutting edge or chic or new to paint most of a chair but leave the legs unfinished. Or to have a stool that's bright yellow...until you get to the last 6" of the legs. I get that a bit of contrast is a fun thing; that sometimes you want a little of the natural grain and colour of a wood piece of furniture to show through...but let's find a new way to do that. Find fun stains, stencil the stains or paint in fun, simple patterns uniformly over the whole object, paint the whole piece and use an unfinished wood accent piece somewhere else, but for the love of DIY get over the dip-dye trend. Now. Thank you.
via, a Life's Design
via, Stripes and Walls
via, Dosfamily
via, Luvocracy
Black and white.
Yes: it's bold, it's graphic, it's striking...it's bloody well gotten boring now. Black and white striped rugs. All black-and-white rooms. Black and white geometric patterned pillows. Black and white art work in black frames on white walls. I'm tired of it. It's stopped looking clean and now just looks soulless. (She says, sitting beneath a giant b&w print her husband made, hanging in a black frame on a white wall. But you've seen my house: I love me some colour.) Don't get me wrong: I could love some black-and-white square floor tiles in a kitchen as much as the next girl, but some of this has just gotten ridiculous. Like MJ said, you can still have a stylish room, it don't matter if it's black and white...or, well, something like that.
via, Sköna hem

via, Glitter Guide
via, Lady Blueprint
via, Sköna hem
So what do I want to see more of?
via, Lisa Roy
via, Birch & Bird
via, Design*Sponge
via, Design*Sponge
via, Pink Wallpaper
via, Pinterest

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Fleet Half Marathon: The Walking Running Dead


I know I've been woefully late in posting my recap of the half marathon we ran back on Sunday. Honestly, it's just taken me ages to remember to edit this post and get it up...it's been written since Monday when I meant to put it up! Anyway, this is a long one since it's my first race postmortem. I'm still figuring out which details I want most to touch on.

The Night Before:

The Husband and I checked directions for parking online as well as reading through the race packet to see what the schedule for the day would be like. While we did the grocery shopping, I texted the friends who would be watching Ethan just to finalise our arrangements.

After watching The Walking Dead all day, we put on an episode of The Office to watch over a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. E decided he wasn't so keen on the whole thing and refused to eat unless bribed or otherwise talked into it. Just before going to bed, I fished out the safety pins, race bibs, timing chips, and iPods and set them all on the desk in the living room. After that, I got out the clothes I wanted to wear and set them in a pile in the room so that everything would be easy to find.

The Big Day:

I woke up just before 7:00. The Husband brought me 2 pieces of toast with Nutella for breakfast. This was the first thing I was worried about for the day: I still wasn't quite sure how my fueling routine would go, and nothing would make the day worse than having to stop and ruin my time for a 5-minute potty break on the route. I forget whether I had milk or herbal tea with my toast (my throat had been swollen and sore for a few days), but I did try not to drink too much before we left.

We got ourselves dressed, then got E ready, and packed his bag to take to Tom and Kerri's place. We'd initially planned on bringing them and both of the kids along to run around the start and finish lines, and maybe to stand in the crowds and cheer us on. Of course, when we saw the grey and rainy day it was shaping up to be, we figured it was best for everyone to stay home if they could.

We got phones and iPods ready for the wet weather, and I snagged one of the gels that needed finishing and put it in the pocket of my running tights. The Husband and I both tied a set of keys to the drawstrings of our trousers as well. We planned to bring his old backpack to hold any after-race clothing or extra odds and ends, but we wanted to avoid putting too much important or valuable stuff in there if we could. The runners' tent was supervised, but still, it was better safe than sorry.

By 8:30 we were out the door and dropping E off with our friends. He quite happily let me leave once we put on an episode of Sarah & Duck. Then, we were off to Fleet to go get ready to run. By this point, we'd fielded plenty of supportive texts from the family and were feeling pretty good about the prospect of the race.

The weather had been drizzling a bit all morning, and it was still okay as we parked the car and walked the mile or so to Calthorpe Park where the start was. Once we got to the park, though, that was a different story. The rain picked up and the runners' tent quickly crowded to bursting with people trying to stay as dry and warm as they could. Then, the sleet started. Getting hit in the face with tiny bits of ice isn't how you want to start any activity, let alone running 13.1 miles outside.


I had a bag of salted crisps and we made one last 'just-to-be-sure' stop in the porta-johns before making our way to the starting line. There may or may not have been lots of sullen complaining going on with regards to the rubbish weather. But then the start came, and we were running in a huge crowd of people (and I was checking out everyone's running shoes), and the spectators were cheering, and people were coming out of their houses to watch us all run by, and the mood improved quite a bit.

In the end, the Husband ran with his backpack on. What with the cold and the rain and the sleet, we couldn't face stripping off our hoodies and things before the start of the running, so we kept the bag with us to be able to shed layers as we ran and warmed up.

The first mile felt a bit longer than I'd expected, but not in a tiring way. I started taking blurry pictures on my phone and chatted on and off with the Husband about the niceness of the route and the crowds. We high-fived a lot of little kids along the way. By the end of the first 5 miles, I was feeling really good and settling into my stride.


At 6 miles, I finally put in my headphones. Technically, they suggested in the strongest language possible that iPods and headphones were NOT a good idea and were dangerous, and they really preferred that you not bring them along. As we observed at the start line, no one was really listening to that. Plus, by the 6-mile mark, we were out on country roads, and so you could still easily keep the volume at a manageable level to hear instructions or hold conversations without straining to make out your music. It was nice and quiet as we ran on roads through the fields and farms, and even on a rainy day, the scenery was quaint and relaxing.

I took a bit of water on board at every water station and popped a bit of energy gel just before. This meant taking on a little bit of fuel just over every half hour. It seemed to serve me in good stead, because I never felt fatigued until near the very end of the race. Luckily, there were some kids on the sidelines with Gummi Bears, which was a nice pick-me-up.

By mile 10, things started feeling as if they were slowing down again. I was keeping pace, but by this point my knees were getting quite achy, and I was having twinges of discomfort along my hips and the outside of my thighs. It was nothing too bad, but I was getting focused on it. My music was doing me good, though, and I had the Husband right there to talk to and check in on. His shin had been giving him trouble after helping his brother pace a half the weekend before, and by this point in the race it was barking. We'd made it this far, though and were determined to keep going with no walking breaks.

This is also the point in a long run where I tend to hit The Zone. I don't care about any pain or who's with me or where I am and how fast the scenery is going by. I don't even really pay attention to anything I've got on the iPod: I just hit this hypnotic rhythm of feeling my body move. It isn't even necessarily about the pace of my stride, just the overall sense of movement and how I could keep repeating it for ages. Of course, by the time mile 12 is coming up, this is wearing off and I'm getting tired and scowling. I'm suddenly frustrated with everything, but I'm determined to see this thing out to the end and to do it well. Then, I start feeling sorry for myself in all of my discomfort, but I keep running because the finish line is nearly in sight.

Just before the last 200 metres, there had been a hill. The Husband rushed down it, but I couldn't with my knees hurting me like they were. At the bottom of the hill, though, as we re-entered the park, he turned around and held out his hand to me. We would end the race hand-in-hand and push each other across the finish line.

It felt so good to be done that I could hardly make myself keep moving to get past the inflatable gate and turn in my timing chip! We hobbled back to the car looking like zombies from The Walking Dead. Honestly, that was the hardest mile I ever walked. But we finally made it to the car, picked up E, got ourselves some much deserved McDonald's for lunch, and settled down to eat, lounge, and have hot hot baths for the rest of the day.
via, NewsOK

The Morning After:

I've been feeling slightly less sore. Not sure how my right flank is doing, but my knees aren't quite as stiff and achy. The arches of my feet, though, are a different story. I need to find some way to really rest them. Maybe a good foot rub to help the soreness, or just a long soak in a hot tub of water again.

The sense of accomplishment at running my first half marathon has also finally settled in. Being so cold and sore and tired at the end of the race, it took a while to really look back and enjoy the experience. Sort of like when you get past how tiring and painful labour was and decide you want another baby.

(Several Mornings After...)
After about 2 days, everything was back to normal. I could walk like a normal human being, my quads and knees and ankles weren't aching, and I had a healthy sense of having accomplished something by running 13.1 miles in the freezing rain. I could even pat myself on the back for having run the whole course without any walking breaks: a first for me over that sort of distance.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Vegetables, or Why I Will Get Scurvy and Die

My mother is probably smirking and shaking her head as she reads this title. Why? Because she has always told me that I need to eat more vegetables; that I'll be undernourished, deficient in key vitamins, and generally not as healthy as I ought to be. 

The Husband took a day off work yesterday to continue our pursuits of Sunday: namely, sitting in bed, watching TV, and nursing his vicious cold. He also tidied the kitchen and living room, but that's because he's virtuous and lovely...and can't sit in bed all day - even when he's ill - without being riddled with guilt. (To keep things even, I vacuumed last night, and have spent today disinfecting numerous surfaces throughout the house and cleaning the windows of baby handprints.) It was a great two days, in spite of us not feeling at our best. I managed a short run to stretch my legs and recuperate after our half-marathon test run on Saturday, we hung out with friends and made chili for dinner, and we've blitzed our way through the first season of The Booth At The End (which, in case it wasn't obvious from the name drop, I highly recommend).

Anyway, during the course of our Sunday, we came to the realization that we are all pretty deficient when it comes to fruit & veg consumption in this house. I'm the worst of us; E does the best; the Husband is somewhere in the middle. E has had all sorts of mainly veggie-based baby jars, I've bought bananas for the sole purpose of sneaking them into his porridge, he loves my butternut squash soup, has recently found a fondness for apples, and is frequently spoiled with treats of 100% fruit baby snack packs on our mid-week Sainsbury's trips. Hey: Mummy may be eating a 3-pack of Reece's peanut butter cups, but the little monster has to have a healthy snack.

In the first of my efforts to be a better person and make us eat healthier foods, I snagged 2 sweet potatoes from the store this weekend. Sweet potato chips, here we come! Does making them into fries defeat the purpose? No...I'll oven bake them with only a tiny bit of butter or oil and a pinch of brown sugar and salt. After all, healthy foods are like exercise: if it's not fun, you won't do it.

So, I've been trolling my Pinterest boards to see what sorts of ideas I could scrounge up for fun and tasty veggies to feed my boys. (And me, because let's don't lie: I'm the one of us most likely to die of scurvy because I eat so poorly.) Here's my roundup of scrummy suggestions from the many blogs I've scoured:

Sweet Potato & Rosemary Biscuits, via Spoon Fork Bacon
Asian Style Green Beans, via Spoon Fork Bacon
Maple Glazed Acorn Squash, via Spoon Fork Bacon
Layered Salad, via the Pioneer Woman
Silky Cauliflower Soup, via Smitten Kitchen
Summer Pea and Roasted Pepper Pasta Salad, via Smitten Kitchen
As you can see, I have a huge love of recipes from the blogs Spoon Fork Bacon and Smitten Kitchen. I'm super late to the party, but Smitten Kitchen is a new favourite of mine. Just more proof that it pays to follow the links sometimes. As I find and invent more fun recipes to get us closer to our daily requirement of fruits and veg, I'll be sure to share the results here. Fun new foods are no fun, unless they're shared with everyone. Am I right? Plus, this will give me great incentive to get back into the habit of using the ideas I pin. (And in a way that won't break the bank now that those shelves are up!) Oh! And if anyone has any suggestions for more fun veggie and fruit recipes, please feel badgered and pestered encouraged to share in the comments. Share the love, people.

Happy cooking!

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Happier At Home: or, If It Won't Stop Staring At Me, I'd Better Just Read It

via,  The Happiness Project

Reading through Happier At Home is an experience I put off for ages. Not out of any particular antipathy for the book...just apathy. I'd seen my sister's forgotten copy sitting on our bookshelves for months and never gave it much thought beyond, "oh, she's coming at Christmas, so I can make sure she gets it back." Obviously, that high-minded plan never came to fruition. So I finally bit the bullet after finishing a first read-through of one of my Christmas presents and took the book off the shelf to see what I could see.

I suppose that with my characteristic penchant for amusing complaints, I ought to get all of my negative commentary out of the way first. I think the epigraphs are all trite. I confess, I had a certain predilection for them myself in my undergraduate thesis, but that particular flair for sentimentality was suggested out of me by my professor before the final draft was submitted. (To whom I also give full credit for my perpetually-renewed attempts to stop saying 'like' as a place-holder word. Thank you, Dr. Williams.) Yes, the occasional epigraph can be useful - and to be fair, I did just read another book which used them to great effect - but I think Rubin is just looking for pithy quotations to summarize her conclusions before she reaches them in her own prose...and that's like putting spoilers in the preview reel of your own film.

The prose itself is nothing to write home over. Don't get me wrong, Rubin isn't a bad writer, she's just not a particularly inspiring one. I don't claim to be that myself (though every now and then I come over all impressed at some line from an old paper or short story), but I can sure appreciate the beauty of well-crafted word-smithery. The Modern Library translations of Alexandre Dumas, Christopher Hitchens, Roald Dahl, Shakespeare, James Joyce in his short stories...these are brilliant to me. But I suppose my real complaint here isn't the lack of phrases that you read, then re-read, then read aloud for the sheer delight of reveling in a good thing well-said. No, my real complaint is the awkward phrasing. I mean, I get what she's aiming at by talking about creating "shrines" to things all over the house (A Shrine to Fun and Games, A Shrine to Children's Literature)...but shrine just comes over all cult-like: gaudy and obsequious  And possibly containing fake vials of blood or finger bones (but definitely with lots and lots of gold filigree). Or the vaguely pretentious Splendid Truths. And yes: that's always capitalized.

Plenty of the conclusions or resolutions Rubin comes to are relatively obvious. But then, she never pretends that they aren't; which I think is something to be said to her credit. However obvious and simple some of the changes she makes may be, they are all aimed at the end goal of creating a happier home. If the changes achieve the desired effect, then they're vindicated, even if they seem plain as the nose on your face.

Perhaps it's my fault for not having read the book that precedes this one: The Happiness Project. I fully admit that such could be the case. But lots of the one-word tags and shorthand phrases that she uses to refer back to some of her goals are just obfuscating. Sure, that shorthand may make sense to you, but I'm reading your book, not your mind! I don't understand how those two words translate out into a larger concept that embodies actions in pursuit of a goal. What the hell does 'spend out' mean? In what context are you advocating, 'no calculation'? (I hope not in the personal budget department.)

But the book's main appeal comes in its usefulness as a springboard for my own ideas. I think, perhaps, this may have been Rubin's goal all along. If so: well done, you clever clogs. I find myself reading through each chapter and thinking, "that's like my plan to refocus my wardrobe", or "perhaps we should resolve to kiss morning and night", or "I should get back to my initiative to visit local attractions more often." I think that it's for this reason that I haven't considered the whole book a write-off. It still has some tantalizing snippets of information, and factoids from studies that are quite fascinating. Really, I'd love for her to expound more on the things she's reading that inform the ideas she's putting forth in this book. Granted, it shouldn't turn into a glorified bibliography, but still: I want to hear more about this 'endowment effect'. And on top of the occasional nugget of interesting fact, the book is held together with a decent enough narrative that at least manages to catapult me from simply reading to considering how to implement Rubin's happiness principles into my own life.

And that is where Happier At Home comes into its own. I could take or leave the anecdotes on her own life, some of the phrasing and pretentious capitalization are awkward (and scream "I want to be Elizabeth Gilbert soooooo much!"), and I've taking to ignoring the epigraphs for the sake of my own sanity. But lots of her approaches to happiness as an attribute worth cultivating across myriad aspects of your life are useful starting blocks for personal inspiration...and that's really what you want from a book like this. Anything that promises a sure-fire, one-size-fits-all method for becoming happier or de-cluttering your office or losing that last 10 lbs is just about guaranteed to be absolute rubbish. But, as Rubin says herself, "it's from the experience of a particular individual that I learn most about myself - even if we two seem to have nothing in common." So I second that statement and say to Mrs. Rubin: write on, m'lady. You have my attention.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Instagrammit!

So, my sister-in-law Rachel over at Make A Long Story Short did a lovely retroscopic of the past year of her life, as filtered through Instagram. In the spirit of sharing the love, I'm joining in.


I haven't had Instagram for a full year, though. I only updated to an Android-supported smartphone (from Heaven only knows what system on my Nokia smartphone) back in April. Therefore, the actual Instagram content of this list amounts to less than a year. It was difficult to decide whether to rate the year part of the title higher than the Instagram part, or vice versa. In the end, hipster film-grain and cross processing won out and I've stuck to just my Instagram photos for the continuity of aspect ratio. Yes, I'm that much of a dork that this involved of a process was required to think through this decision. In my defense, I was the layout editor of the yearbook in high school.


That was oddly difficult. In case this list didn't make it obvious, I've always had a problem with whittling down to the essentials. I used to pack enough clothes for 8 different outfits for a weekend trip because I changed my mind about what I wanted to wear so many times. I was that kid.

There are some pictures I love simply for the decent photography my phone camera managed...like the horse chestnut. Most of them are fun moments with my ever changing baby boy. Others are places that are beautiful to me. Two are reasons why the Husband is an adorable husband. One is a hilarious afternoon getting my nephew, Henry, to make silly faces. All of them are fun times I'm glad I captured.

Be ready for more Instalove over the coming weeks as I keep up with this running streak challenge. I've had a blast documenting my progress so far, and especially with the Grim in less than a week (eeek!) you can expect plenty of fun photographic blurbs as I run through all sorts of English countryside, villageside, and crusty townside. Check it out!