25 April 2015
"La pomme est rogue" (said with force, said with exclamation) is a bit of an inside joke between robbie and me. We began taking french lessons online, and we'd be sitting across the room from one another and would be prompted by the program to say this sentence aloud. The program was really keen on this line. So we'd be saying it all the time -- hearing the other say it from the closet, in the shower...and gradually, it just became a (fairly useless) sentence we were saying constantly, shouting to each other from across the apartment.
By now, we say it so much, it's taken on a life of its own, and the tone is always shifting -- like, "la pomme est rouge" is occasionally an expletive, sometimes a shrug, sometimes a mild acceptance of life, sometimes an exclamation...
I think we'll get it printed.
22 April 2015
in media res
-- i think this is the state of a woman always,
and so she is apt to like stories with sudden starts.
she laughed harder than she ever had, caught in a sudden afternoon rainstorm in the city. when the stakes for suddenness are highest, so too are the implications -- the loud sighs from old, briefcase-toting men on corners and mothers caught umbrella-less with children hugging at their knees, the squat Italian man who frantically repacks his coffee cart, and the car-honk symphony from commuters who've forgotten how to brake, the expletives flying from the mouths of impractically high-heeled women, cabs swarming to curbs like bees to the field -- and this, the swelling laugh of a gray-sky sycophant. it is the most overblown, unnecessary sound you have heard, and her bodily contortions even more exaggerated -- the hands that fly up as in some self-possessed prayer, the wild spinning of a torso that turns her to a graceless ballerina on this soaked city corner. it is all suddenly so loud. in that moment, her laugh could stop the world.
this, of course, didn't happen. she continued her walk quietly, across the rain-beaten sidewalk path that leads to her apartment. the hands remained tucked in the trench, fingering the bottom stitches of the pockets. she goes, fumbling, eyes down, toward home.
but it happens in her head, accompanied by the triumphant buzz of possibility, that is to say, the lingering of the world's most brief and important question:
15 April 2015
We're expecting another snow-blast this week, so I've left my trusty wool camel coat on standby, and brought home a trench for slightly warmer days. Sunshine, rain, or, yes, even snow -- I love long spring walks in the city.
trench: here's a very wallet-friendly option. and more!
(P.s. I'm wearing this one in photo and despite the reviews, I love it. It is quite long (I'm 5'5), but I tied back the belt, and it's slouchy and lovely.)
scarf: I loved this black scarf so much, I went back for it in beige. Oversized, supersoft, goes with everything. We're packing these for Paris, and will trade off -- guys can rock these too.
and this beanie...rules. Also share-able with lovers.
converse, of course.