As someone who takes great pleasure in labeling things about the house and an even greater joy in writing anthropomorphic notes, I truly loved this California driftwood missive from the sheets (Mr, Mrs, and the pillowcase kids).
Month: July 2011
Mission Day
Every day in the Mission has started out with turkish coffee and gone on to include beautiful things like this typewriter from The Apartment, Noodles to rival Rai Rai Ken at Yamo, and eggs from the chickens from the farm in Ann Marie’s backyard.
Tomales Bay Oyster Company
We had been in California for less than 12 hours when we debarked for the Pacific Coast Highway and our dear friends took us to Tomales Bay Oyster Company. We got two spidery mesh bags of 50 oysters each (yes, 100 oysters), buttery and fat and still fresh wet from their briny homes, shucked and raw with fresh lemon and tabasco or smoked and yawning open on the grill. Add a cast iron skillet full of sweet butter, caramelized onions and squash from the Bolinas Farmstand, crusty sourdough bread, haloumi cheese, and plenty of cold beer and, well, we are doing quite well for ourselves.
Bolinas Farmstand
On the way to Bolinas there is a roadside farmstand that uses the “Honest John” system… the last time we used an Honest John system we were a couple of Dishonest Jakes, but the boys who run this place are too cute and the vegetables too fresh and delicious for such espionage. So we coughed up a mere $20 for zucchini, onions, fennel, carrots, kale, and some marvelous Araucana blue eggs. Not too shabby.
Quoting the amazing Anne Emond Ann Marie pointed to the kale and said “Hey, Baby Spinach get the F out of here” to which the FarmStandHand replied “I like the way you talk”. Anne Emond’s comique, in addition to being awesome, is also an exact likeness (down to the black pants and striped shirt) of Ann Marie when she said it:
On the Road Again
Here we are just starting out. The summer after we all graduated from college we traveled cross country. Under the guise of moving Sara to San Francisco the four of us packed up and headed west. We saw the painted desert and slept on the banks of the Rio Grande, we took to coastal roads and desolate flats, we danced honkytonk and airstream, we mapped our days in terms of smallest road and sweetest spot to swim, and, like so many before us, we discovered and loved the riches of California. It was wonderful, it was the birth of adventures.
Here we are now:
Time has passed, years have flown, we have gained much, lost some, and lived around in our bones a little. We now revolve around each other in elliptical orbits, drawn at once by the gravity of our pasts, the omnipresent weight and luster of New York like a great sun, and the distant call of the star-flung west coast. Soon (but not even soon enough!) we’ll all be together again to pick up the thread of our traveling like the best conversations: after much time and distance, right at the point where we left off. And this time, we’ll have Molly:
Ahhh, Packing
So, I have some travels coming up and, of course, instead of thinking of the actual practicalities (why don’t I own a sleeping bag?? two pairs of boots: too many? too few? I don’t have any black tie events on the books… but you never know?) I’m spending my prep time envisioning myself in (and searching for new) large coral necklaces, perfect shorts, striped scarves, and french sunglasses made of real glass. Constructive.
But seriously, folks, the necklace is a pretty good price! And it would be so perfect with my heretofore nonexistant dream outfit! Should I buy it and have it express shipped where I’m going to meet me there? I think probably.
necklace: Melodies Memories.
THIS JUST IN: Cat Loves New Sofa
We’ve just done a big maneuver and re-requisitioned the awesome loveseat that used to be in my grandfather’s house (Mama’s side). More on that later. In the meantime, breaking news: Nipsey Russell LOVES the new couch. See?
I’d also like to mention that none of these is an action shot, he was in each of these positions for 30-45 minutes, at least. Life is hard out here for a Russell, but he’s making do, you know.
Noxzema: the bees knees!
A few months ago I stood at an important crossroads. I was experiencing a fun new grown-up joy of my skin being both broken out (still?) and incredibly dry (really??). I looked like something out of Mad Magazine. (Sidenote: This underlies the import of the book Ann Marie’s been talking about writing for many years: “What’s Happening to My Body NOW!?: A guide for twenty-somethings who are freaking out”, but I digress). This capitol fugliness also happened to coincide with some life events making a re-up on the Laura Mercier face routine nigh on monetarily impossible. Woe! Rending of clothing! Epic Bummer! But wait… surely there must be something in the humble drugstore aisle to soothe my broken spirit and comfort my broke face?
Deliverance from Duane Reade: Noxzema. $5 (in New York, $3 in VA!) for a gargantuan tub of the miracle cream, and I am fresh and clean as a whistle, smooth as a baby’s little forearm, and I smell delectably old fashioned, like seaside resorts from the 30’s and dressing rooms with beveled mirrors and your grandmother’s jewelry to play with. Perfection!
Now: one thing I did not know. Noxzema was originally conceived in Maryland as a salve for sunburn. Why hadn’t I seen this olde ad or done my research on the possibilities when I was on the business end of this sunburn in June? Man, oh, Man I am their target demographic or what?!
Sitting in Front of a Fan
Hey Legs, looking good. Nice and Cool.
How marvelous is this? On the right: an iconic Gil Elvgren pinup painting. On the left: the photograph that inspired it. See more wonderful shots here. If you scroll through them, you’ll see that the model is always the same, it’s Elvgren’s wife. How divine.
I’m sitting in front of a fan too today.
The Jamaica Bay Jerks
I’m having a total love affair with summer right now. Probably because I’ve been hopping in and out of New York and have only seen the most lovely and tantalizing parts (roof parties, sunsets, music outside, picnics) and none of the armpit parts (hot.smell.subway.toes.). In the former category: we went out to the ball fields on Bay 16th to see Andrew’s little brother’s Little League team play their championship tournament. The gods of small ball pitted the sweetest band of intrepid, full-hearted, and popsicle-mouthed 8 year olds against this pitcher. See above. A side-slinging lowballer, towering a full three heads over the runts in right field, a little league leviathan who almost had a perfect game (our guys’ third baseman, who had been in tears earlier over a tie-gone-to-the-runner-this-ump-is-a-union-scab-type-call, got on base with a frozen rope to shortstop to ruin Goliath’s no-hitter. Yes.). The boys lost, but bless their little hearts, when the game was over they were quiet and kind to each other and held their heads high with honor beyond their years. After the game at Spumoni Gardens they were back to fighting over corner pieces of the perfect-sweet-sauced sicilian square pie and spitting soda at each other, but for a dusky sunset moment you could see just a shade of the men they’d be. Ahh, Summer, how fine you are.
Feather By Feather 
