Monday, July 29, 2013

i was reading this book

about a food critic in disguise (it's really very good, and very entertaining, and has some top notch recipes hidden inside-- called Garlic and Sapphires, by Ruth Reichl).

And I was telling this boy about it, and how excited I was about food in general, and how listening to NPR and making chilled pea soup (Barefoot Contessa recipe. I highly recommend it) brought a kind of profound joy to my soul. The conversation drifted, and rested on something else of little importance

and then he stopped me

and said "Wait, tell me more about your book"

I cried about that more than once afterwards, because that may have just been the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me. 

Sunday, July 28, 2013

thoughts on holding hands

I went into San Francisco with my family today.

We went to the exploratorium, and played with exhibits I don't really understand (something to do with science and math, two things I have always had an aversion to, sadly enough).

And then I held hands with my sisters as we walked along the Embarcadero.

Holding hands while you walk is like showing everyone that your love cannot be contained by words or thoughts. It's a taking-on-the-world-together action. People holding hands are really difficult to be separated, especially when they're on their way somewhere.


I love holding hands.

I love every second of it.



Because holding hands
means 
that we're okay with telling everyone we see
that we love each other. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Apologies

Who am I to stop right in the middle of a project and laugh it off like it's no big deal that I started?

This happens, you know.

I was going to run a marathon. I told everybody. I chose one. I didn't pay, but I was planning on it. And then I got out of shape for a week and changed my mind.

And then there's this blog, where I was going to write because writing is beautiful, and it makes me feel as if I am contributing to the world and it brings me love and happiness. But I stopped because I felt there was no reason to continue, that I was writing other things.

What kept me from thinking that I could do both?

So I'm back. I won't promise that I'll write every day, or every week even. But every once in a while I'll spurt out a post about the boy I'm in love with, or how many times I cried today, or how messy my room is, or the ridiculously materialistic yearnings of a 19-year-old college girl.