Category Archives: Photography

Halloween is My Favourite Holiday

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Halloween is not my favourite holiday because of its free pass to dress up in a ridiculous or obscure costume, drink wildly, and eat too much cheap drugstore candy (I’m looking at you, candy corn). No, Halloween is my favourite holiday because it marks the birthday of the smartest, funniest, sweetest, sexiest man I know. My husband. Lest he think that an alien has taken up residence in my brain, I will leave it at this: he is awesome, he is mine, and I love him. Oh, dear readers, how I love him!

Engagement Pic by David Ames, November 2010.

Engagement Pic by David Ames, November 2010. “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”-Plato

Daily Diversion #63: River City, River Song

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The perks to living in a river city are largely ones of aesthetics and mood and philosophy. Ambiance, if you will. Attitude. State of mind. Peace of mind. The advantages aren’t material; they’re bigger than that. More vital. Rivers are wise, yet fierce. Their beauty is quiet and chaotic, changing pace quicker than a hummingbird’s tissue-thin wings. Rivers remind me of nineteenth century English literature, or of the early twentieth century’s John Cowper Powys. Romantic, desolate, abiding. Cosmic. Or, in the words of Herman Hesse: “The river is everywhere.”

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Daily Diversion #58: Suffragette City

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My mom sent me this reproduction postcard from England. The original is from c1910.

IT'S LOVE THAT MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND.

The text on the reverse side reads: The suffragette movement swung into action with police and hardy women coming face to face.

“Coolest f-word ever deserves a fucking shout! I mean, why can’t all decent men and women call themselves feminists? Out of respect for those who fought for this.”-Ani DiFranco

Daily Diversion #55: An Irish Souvenir

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I’m easy to buy for; just ask my mother. She returned from Ireland a few days ago, laden with gifts. Lots and lots of bookish things for her daughter, and normal souvenirs for everyone else. My favourite:

Plays Unpleasant by (George) Bernard Shaw

Plays Unpleasant by (George) Bernard Shaw. The Penguin looks like he is performing on a balance beam created by the shadows of the easel. I notice weird things.

I love PENGUIN BOOKS editions. The little mascot is so kicky and adorable, and the design is clean, fresh, modern, and instantly recognizable. Iconic. My mom unearthed an original 1946 printing of Shaw’s Plays Unpleasant in some random bookstall in Ireland. I’m saving it for November and clear, cold nights. Steaming cups of chili and cinnamon laced hot chocolate. Fuzzy knee-high socks. Quilts and clear heads. Darkness. The stage is set, in my head; the actors are rehearsing, the director is taking notes. Opening night is creeping up: Widowers’ Houses, The Philanderer, Mrs. Warren’s Profession. Bliss is waiting in the wings.