bird by bird

I don't know what is a better feeling: finally getting a job or having 137 people on Facebook "like" that you finally got a job. Talk about feeling loved!! I needed that. I really, really did.

THESE LAST FEW WEEKS HAVE BEEN BANANAS!! Like Curious-George-meets-Gwen-Stefani-meets-Chiquita-girl bananas! I've been feeling overwhelmed with blogging about it all.. so this summary will have to do. This is what I've been doing on my weekends, lately. September 22-23 There are two types of people in this world: people who like going to Renaissance Faires and people who do not. You can guess which type I am... I eat that stuff up! Though a disappointingly large percentage of my friend group does not appreciate the turkey-leg-eating, costume-wearing, old-English-speaking splendor that is a Renaissance festival, I do, and so do KS and my roommates, LC and JT. We enthusiastically woke up early on a Sunday morning to take a bus to Tuxedo Park, NY for the last weekend of the Faire. It. Was. A. Hoot. We drank beers and watched a jousting finale and mocked people in unauthentic costumes. (Fairy wings? I don't think so..) The whole day was so fun and entertaining and incredib

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

My grandparents' home and farm flooded a few years ago. It didn't just flood; it permanently became a part of Bitter Lake. The lawn I grew up mowing and the trees I grew up climbing became swampy homes to catfish and beavers and seagulls. The basement with the cold cement floors and ziggy wallpaper and exercise equipment has been gone for years, filled with gravel in an attempt to stop the water and stop the mold. But in the end, no matter how many truck loads of rock and bags of sand that we hauled in as a barricade between the roots of our family farm and the unyielding plans of mother nature, my Grandpa Don and my Grandma Sharon had to move. One Easter weekend, kids and cousins and grandkids carried boxed memories carefully over a wooden plank with water on both sides from the front door to the backs of pick-ups. They were relocated to a different home across town. They replanted their garden and replanted themselves. Last week was the final demolition of their "lake&qu

Recently I found all of the random video footage I have taken with my iPhone, and I decided to put it all together in one video as a sort of time capsule of what these past two years have really felt like. Here it is: A video nugget of this crazy life I live.

I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately, dreaming about him and hearing him in songs and voices on the subway platform. I miss him. I miss having football on the T.V. and mustard in the fridge. Unexpected memories and details about him are resurfacing again like how he loved carving pumpkins so much that not until I was an adult did I learn that it's usually a kid's activity. He took the task very seriously. I remember the four of us spending fall Sundays raking leaves, and I miss the way that we were together: a mother with high energy and too many plans, two daughters who fought over curling irons and internet, and a father who sat by with a smirk on his face shaking his head because he loved them so much. I guess the changing season reminds me of the changes that come whether we want them or not. Living and dying is a cycle, and so is the longing that autumn brings.

Source: preciouslypink.tumblr.com via Amanda on Pinterest

Since I was first introduced to my first social media network (it's called Facebook, you may have heard about it) at the end of my freshman year of college, I've been all about it . [Although... secret confession: When my U of M friend JJ first told me about Facebook, I thought it was a website for carpooling??]  When Facebook allowed users to add photos and photo captions, I was in caption-writing heaven. Puns and alliterations and inside jokes and plays-on-words; I did it all.  Witty wall banter was the name of the game, and I was winning. My sorority awarded superlatives one spring (most brainy, best hair, etc.) and I went home with the coveted "biggest facebooker" award. It was a title well-deserved and appreciated. In the years that followed my facebook navigating and mass postings, I was introduced to blogging, tweeting, pinning, youtubing, and instagraming. In these social media sources, I have found an outlet for my creativity, my wit, my language, and for

Last week I was sick. Like really sick. It was probably just a cold, I think, but the pain and suffering that I experienced didn't seem to adequately fit into such a simple four letter word as the word "cold." It was all sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, I-just-want-my-mom kind of sick, and it was awful. Then on Tuesday morning, right in the eye of my congestive storm, I had to wake up early and walk a mile to go babysit the only baby I've ever met who doesn't cry. Thank God. She slept a lot too, and so did I. After 8 hours of feeling like my death was near, I left the Park Slope townhouse and stepped into a Brooklyn downpour with no umbrella. Too cheap to take a taxi, I convinced myself to walk a few blocks and take a bus instead. I hung my head and powered through the rain only to be stopped at a red light next to a very friendly 60-year-old black man with silver whiskers who asked to take me out to dinner. With a voice sounding like a

Source: zsazsabellagio.blogspot.com via Amanda on Pinterest

by Diana Der-Hovanessian When your father dies, say the Irish, you lose your umbrella against bad weather. May his sun be your light, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the Welsh, you sink a foot deeper into the earth. May you inherit his light, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the Canadians, you run out of excuses. May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the French, you become your own father. May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the Indians, he comes back as the thunder. May you inherit his light, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the Russians, he takes your childhood with him. May you inherit his light, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the English, you join his club you vowed you wouldn't. May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians. When your father dies, say the Armenians, your sun shif