The life aquatic abode...

 ...or beach house or coastal cottage, whatever floats your boat. That's where the Northern family spent a warm and scrumptious Oregon (yes, warm, but always windy!) Saturday afternoon sipping black drip coffee and frolicking with the kittens. Well, it was actually just me that enjoyed spying on the kittens' games. :) I sort of fell in love with the slightly run-down beach house and it's occupants as well as it's possessions...buoys, kittens and rusty bikes alike. If I were to live on the ocean, I would want it to look and be like the glorious afternoon we spent en plein air at the coastal cottage. Here we go...

 

 

I think I need one of those kitties...they are too cute for words.

Marci

Le rêve de 'Midnight in Paris'

Midnight in Paris was dreamy and lovely. Or was Paris just dreamy and lovely? In any case, I walked out of the theater humming the tune from the credits and giddily strolling back to reality and home.

To set the scene, I saw the movie in my sister's friendly neighborhood theater in Westmoreland. It was built in 1926 and still only has one screen and boasts original artwork and moldings inside. I was actually sort of charmed by the tad bit of shaking up on the big screen from the film roll camera and the non-surround sound, as well as the old school bucket seats with no cup holders. Plus, plus, it was only $5 for the ticket and $3.25 for soda and popcorn. What era am I in?! It was all just so quaint and cozy and  made me feel so warm inside. :) The experience reminded me of my hometown's old State Theatre. Double features were quite the thing to do during the hot, summer afternoons in my elementary school years!

Neighborhood theater in Westmoreland

 

 Drawing of Red Bluff's State Theatre for rebuild in 1946

              Current State Theatre, used for plays and special events   

Owen Wilson's character yearns to travel back to 1920's Paris, and mysteriously, he does. Picasso, Stein, Hemingway and many others visit him during his magical and unexplained journeys back in time at the stroke of midnight whilst he meanders and loses himself in the city's side streets. For Wilson, the golden age of creativity and romance is early 20th century Paris, in which he dreams of living the life of a novelist in the boom and bustle of aspiring artists. 

To me, Paris is all things romantic and dreamy and je ne sais pas. C'est tout. But are dreams always a reality? Whenever I am visiting Paris I always revert to the notion of wishing to live in a 16th century building with fanciful fireplaces in every room and minute balconies that look over the busy street below. At night, on a whim, I'd step out the front door to the sidewalk and stroll along the cobble-stoned road until I came to my favorite cafe to sip a cup of earl grey tea with bergemot and dip some madeleines. Wouldn't it be wonderful to walk, always looking up to the sky, to admire the architectural details of each window and balcony? To enjoy fondue on a chilly night and a picnic in the gardens on a sunny afternoon? However, I don't believe Paris would be such a whimsical place had I lived there for a time. There would be no sense of the 'perfect' evening or afternoon. Ever so rarely I think dreams are better off remaining far-fetched fantasies because the magical feelings are kept alive in your imagination and the process of creating the perfect dream. And being a Parisian is mine.

Bisous

Marci

The Northern Garden

My sister is a natural. Gardener and mother, that is. Which leads me to her veggilicious garden and squeezilicious baby, North. When she focuses her love, it grows. Can you guess which one she is loving on now? How'd you guess?! North is growing (big boy, he is!) and the garden, well, it is surviving, let's say. Maybe when you have a baby the days and months just get all tangled up and before you know it, a whole season has passed and seeds are not in the ground...until Tia Marci shows up at your door.

Let's take it back a year. I, again, showed up at their door and peeked into the backyard to see a luscious garden, fraught with ripe vegetables ready to be picked and devoured. This year, I peeked through the front window to see a baby fraught with milk, ready to be auntie-kissed and hugged. I didn't even make it to the backyard garden until hours later...

I couldn't help but notice how priorities get shifted when a new body comes into the house and demands your attention 24/7. Okay, he's not that bad. He's actually the best baby ever! ;) (Oh North, Auntie loves you!) And I found it kind of comical comparing the garden of 2010 (Pre-North) to the garden of 2011 (Post-North).

Let's take a photo walk through of the Pre-North garden situation and the Post-North garden situation.

Pre-North: 

I just want to reach out and eat some 'maters

Post-North: 

There is a lot of room to just get your hands dirty, I guess...

Pre-North: 

Let's pull some out and eat!

Post-North: 

Zanahorias? You wouldn't know since there are no plants to identify.

Pre-North: 

beautiful sunflowers against back shed

Post-North: 

lonely prayer flags against back shed

Pre-North: 

Territorial blue jays and squirrels were the only warm-blooded visitors

Post-North: 

Well, squirrelly wirrily North!

 

And a smidgen more of mister smiley

So, I suppose I've learned that motherhood pretty much out weighs domestic and outdoor duties around the house. I can't lie and say auntiehood isn't any different actually...

Yep, I got the seeds in the ground and then went right back to loving on mister boo.

Admiring the garden from afar and my nephew up close-

Marci