If, as Solnit claims, “blue is the color of longing for the distances you never arrive in,” perhaps these are the colors of hope.
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weekend whimsy:
– ordering an obscene amount of sushi and udon noodles using your corporate Seamless account (shh!!), securing a bottle (actually, three bottles) of rosé, and walking a mile to pick up the food. sitting on a bench, giggling and eating cold fish and steaming hot noodles that competed with the air’s humidity. drinking lukewarm wine out of red solo cups. listening to the solo electric guitar piercing the gentle sounds of the fountain. pretending to be mad about letting you force me into eating a strawberry popsicle with you. standing on the street corner waiting for the saxophonist to start playing, and upon hearing familiar notes i was like, “oh fuck, what is this song again?” and at the end finally remembering, and whispering “oh fuck” again under my breath. “maybe we found love right where we are.”
– a chance invite to take a ferry to Governor’s Island, the delectable heat, rocking chairs on porches, carrot salad in lieu of dumplings, vicarious eating of cookies-and-cream, kale in the not-so-wild, and “there ARE chickens!”
– paralysis (due to heartache) in a Chinatown grocery store. recovering, taking photos of cut-open durian (appropriately) in the aftermath. talking to strangers about dairy-free dark chocolate gelato.
– eileen myles, frank o’hara, louise glück, mary oliver. air conditioning.
– journaling in bed, in the unbearable sunlight that i wouldn’t change for anything.
– finally, this (excerpt below, but read the entire thing. it really is so good):
First of all, let her be bored. Let her have long afternoons with absolutely nothing to do. Limit her TV-watching time and her internet-playing time and take away her cell phone. Give her a whole summer of lazy mornings and dreamy afternoons.
Make sure she has a library card and a comfy corner where she can curl up with a book. Give her a notebook and five bucks so she can pick out a great pen. Insist she spend time with the family. It’s even better if this time is spent in another state, a cabin in the woods, a cottage on the lake, far from her friends and people her own age.
Give her some tedious chores to do. Make her mow the lawn, do the dishes by hand, paint the garage. Make her go on long walks with you and tell her you just want to listen to the sounds of the neighborhood.
Let her be lonely. Let her believe that no one in the world truly understands her. Give her the freedom to fall in love with the wrong person.
Remember that writing itself is the reward.
Let her have secrets.
Let her make mistakes.
– Make Your Kid a Writer (via theatlantic)
*also, see the image at the end of that post? i never thought i would find anyone else with as many filled-up paper journals as i have, but i think she wins!
