greeting cards on flowers .  linen bird notecards . recycled map stationary . honeycomb watercolour

Grey Gardens over eggs.

Spring springing.

Bunnies taste testing pineapple.

Sunset scooter ride.

Bakery breakfast.

Seawall walk.

I met D after he was done work yesterday and we picked up some groceries. On the elevator ride back up to the apartment, he looked at me strangely.

“Your hair looks … different.”

“Different?”

“It’s kind of wingy, on this side. And flat … over here. Did you have a nap?”

“Oh–ya. On the couch, for a bit.”

“It’s like that girl, from the Jetsons.”

“Uh…”

“You know. Something something … Jetson.”

Suddenly a fellow passenger in the elevator who had been fiddling with her phone looked up at me.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but–Judy Jetson.”

As the door opened onto our floor, D thanked for her for her help in this pressing matter. I was thankful she hadn’t said “George.”

old school 2

~ cinnamon buns & London fog

~ perfected marmalade cake

~ letter reading & writing

~ grey fog hanging like blankets on the line

~ photos in front of the Olympic cauldron

~ coloured vellum

~ Juliet from Lost memorizing a script on the seawall

First Saturday off in I can’t remember how long.

Tartine bakery.

Housemade cinnamon buns and London fog.

Boat talk.

Cat talk.

Scent of an orange rolling in boiling water.

Sea Wolf.

PostCarden.

kraft gift bag
cityscape card
postal stamp sketchbook
tree collection 11

Lately I’ve been feeling uninspired (hence the lack of bloggy presence). I’m in a sort of gathering phase, where I’m constantly grabbing images and snippets of sound and just taking it all in. I’m so thankful for my penpals right now, as they get me writing and creating.

Amid lovely pampering products care of L’Occitane which D gifted me this Christmas, he managed to sneak in something practical: Changing Course: A Woman’s Guide to Choosing the Cruising Life, by Debra Ann Cantrell. While it’s a good book on cruising, it’s an even better book on making life-altering decisions that did not previously hold a reserved place at the table of your Grand Plans.

There’s a whole chapter on managing fear, and it was this admission by the author that has stuck with me since I turned the last page:

My fear of missing out on the cruising experience was stronger than my fear of the water–and so I made the choice to become a cruiser.

I have fears about cruising, the largest of which is bottoming out; ramming into a dead tree or rocky reef that lies just below the surface and punches a hole into the hull of the boat. It’s an uncommon occurrence if you’ve got good charts and are paying attention, but it’s a fear that haunts me every time I’ve spent a night on a boat. (What’s that noise? Is that water rushing in? Did that soft ping sound like a tree punching through fiberglass to you?) Because, of course, these things only happen at night.

Cantrell offers an exercise that I think would be fitting for every person to do, no matter whether they’re uprooting their home or looking for a career change or even just trying to cope with daily life. In a nutshell, it’s this:

Without giving it forethought, write down a list of your fears. Then go through the list and ask yourself what it is about each item that makes you feel afraid. Going with my bottoming out fear, water rushing in and me being trapped inside the boat is the part that scares me. Now, says Cantrell, “move to a deeper level.” What is it about your fear (water rushing in and feeling trapped) that frightens you? For me, it’s drowning. So while I initially thought I was pretty fearless about being on the water fulltime, deep down I have a fear of drowning, and quickly. I’m pretty sure this is due to the fact that I’m not a confident swimmer. I can tread water for a few minutes and get from A to B, as long as they are not too far away from one another. But I’m afraid I would panic and forget how to do those simple things in a time of crisis.

Cantrell suggests we “demystify” our fears and take solace in the fact that experience often assuages our fears to the point of nonexistence. In order to take mine by the reigns, I’m going to work on becoming a stronger swimmer.

What about you? Do you harbour a fear that holds you back from doing some pretty exciting things?

Thank you to everyone who emailed me to participate in the inaugural round of The Longhand Rally! There was a fantastic turnout, and all the penpals have been matched up using a highly scientific process (read: each name was assigned a number and then numbers were blindly picked from a drinking glass. With my cat as an impartial witness).

I’ve emailed everyone with their penpal’s deets, so if you haven’t heard from me, let me know and I’ll quickly remedy that. As I’ve said before, this is an ongoing endeavor, so if you’re interested in gaining a penpal later on, just drop me a line.

Our motto: No deadlines, just good times.

Attention, Longhand Ralliers: I’ll have your names randomly matched and posted by tomorrow morning. Get ready to wet your pens!

Using this simple, five-step, 4-hour-long recipe, I made a couple of baguettes yesterday that were so delectable when they first came out of the oven that I consumed 3/4 of one right then and there, and now this morning I’m finishing off the rest. Unlike store bought baguette – even the one from the really good mom n’ pop bakery up the street – this one is even better today. Sweeter, chewier, and softer, it begs to be smothered in salty butter, its remnants licked clean off the fingertips. Although it did require me to stay parked on the couch all day (oh, the humanity) to punch and roll and rise at intervals, it was the perfect project for a free day. If you have a bread maker, the dough setting makes this bread a breeze.

Sometimes a writer needs a break, am I right?