Peeves, I have them. Here’s a biggie. Sometimes I post on social media asking for recommendations from my friends and acquaintances. I like to know about things that have worked well for other people. Things that you have enjoyed. Things that made life better, easier, sweeter. Recipes. Skincare. Murder shows. Poetry. Cast iron skillets. Whatever!
But here’s the thing: I’m asking *you* about *your* experience with the thing, and whether or not you would suggest that thing for me. I definitely trust my like-minded souls and kindred spirits more than, say, yelp or tripadvisor or makeupalley! So please know that by the time I have asked for suggestions from my friends and followers on facebook or twitter, for example, I will have undoubtedly already scoured review blogs and youtube videos and what have you, ahead of time. I’ve done some research–in many cases quite a bit of research– so I have a good idea of the various things that people might recommend to me… but then when I ask my inner circles and trusted advisors, I get to see who among my friends mentions what (and since we sort of already know each other for the most part, I already have an idea if we are of similar mindsets) or how many people mention a certain thing…and can you see where I am going with this? Asking people whom you know and vice versa, for their real-life, actual experience with a thing, yields infinitely more helpful results than just consulting random articles or review sites on the internet, written by faceless people whom I do not know.
BUT you know what just kills me? When people on my facebook or twitter or whatever respond to my request for suggestions/recommendations/advice with “…if you google it, you’ll find…” or “…have you tried doing some research on the internet?”
Goddammit. That makes me feel angry. You just wasted both your time and mine and you totally missed the point.
BONUS material! You didn’t ask, but I have some random recommendations for you. One: miso paste stirred into mashed potatoes is delicious. Two: Requiem on netflix was a creepy, mostly entertaining show. And three: are you peeking in daily at The Spoodoir? Because Maika always has fantastically fun stuff to share.
“Do one thing every day that scares you” is a wonderful sentiment that is widely attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, but I’m not sure she actually said that exact thing (although she did say words about doing things in spite of fearing those things.) At any rate, I’m not very good at doing the things that scare me—not on a daily basis or any other time, really—but yesterday I did do such a thing. At six o’clock in the evening I met with a few other readers at a coffee shop and we talked about books. I guess you could say it was a book club, but I couldn’t think of it that way, or else I might not have gone. But books and steamy, delicious coffee, and maybe sharing my enthusiasm about both things? This I thought I could do. And I did. And I am going back next month! “We improve ourselves by victories over ourselves. There must be contests, and we must win.” This is a thing that someone else said.
I Am, I Am, I Am was a memoir, specific slices of life told through the author’s numerous brushes with death, and it was a beautiful, breathtaking piece of writing. Coincidentally, I was already reading The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks, which is what they read last month, so I had the opportunity to discuss that as well. It is probably not fair to make this comparison, because I am not sure that it is meant to be an enjoyable read– but when I compare the writing styles, the Henrietta Lacks book just feels flat, functional, a vehicle for a vast amount of research; it just didn’t have the extraordinary gut-punch of the language that I Am, I Am, I Am did–which is unfortunately, because Henrietta Lacks was a remarkable story and deserved the same kind of treatment.
All these knitted squares upon which these books are cozied up in? Well, I’m working on my baby sister’s divorce blanket again, knitting up scraps of sock yarn (and sock knitters know—there are *always* scraps) into a chaotic, multicolored monster of an afghan. I just checked my notes and it would seem that I started it over three years ago, in January of 2015. Yikes. Hopefully I will finish before her next divorce! Haha, just kidding. She’d have to remarry first for that! Not gonna happen on my watch. For those interested, the pattern is Shelley Kangs’ sock yarn blanket, and I don’t know if the instructions are still on her blog, or if her blog exists, but ravelry links to a web archive page, so you should be able to find it.
Our middle sister, along with her trusty label-maker, took one of our favorite photos of our mother, paired it with one of the woman’s most notorious utterances, and thus created a masterpiece.
A gathering of death related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From somber to hilarious, from informative to creepy, here’s a snippet of things that have been reported on or journaled about in or related to the Death Industry recently.
Our neighbors originally hail from the Narnia province, deep in the glowing heart of Rivendell. They retired to FL in their twilight years but they still dream of the old country.
But lest you think it’s all glimmering midnight fairyland and unicorn disco folktales round these parts, allow me to present the other end of the street, where the rapidly shifting terroir gives rise to a distinctly divergent environs.
{cue up Monster Truck Housewives Of Unincorporated nameless Florida town}
At Haute Macabre today we give a glimpse beyond the veil and share a few secrets regarding the hauntingly beautiful fragrances from Seance Perfumes–as well as the collection’s creator, Lacey Walker.
A few mini reviews as well! Did I finally find a rose to love, and which will love me back? Am I late to the love of creamy white florals? Read more to find out, and avail yourself of a discount code to pick up a few of these otherworldly scents for yourself!
Sunday breakfast: Rye sourdough, lightly toasted, dotted with butter, drizzled with honey. I used the rye sourdough starter recipe from Ravenous zine that I posted earlier this week. It has been a long time since I have made fresh bread, and I never had a magic touch with the stuff to begin with…and this time was no different. It didn’t rise very well, and so it’s rather a dense brick doorstop of a loaf. But allow me to offer this: warm, freshly baked bread is a wonder, no matter how perfect (or not) it may be. And I’m enjoying the fruits of my labor, anyhow.
Last weekend, my friend Flannery Grace Good was talking about the idea of a fool’s errand, doing the thing you pretty much know you’re going to fail at. And bread baking has never and probably will never give me passing marks. But you know what? I immensely enjoy the process, the ritual gathering of ingredients, the tactile magics of the sticky dough in your hands, becoming a smooth, elastic orb, the alchemical creation of the crust as it bakes in a steamy oven— all of these things are a special part of the experience to me. So what if I’ve got a doorstop when I’m done? Bread’s a lovely thing even when it’s kind of a dud and I’m pretty sure I’ve never encountered a loaf that didn’t sing with a little bit of toasting, and some creamy, salted butter. Anyway, that’s what I think. *nods sagely, munches loudly*
The above starter is pictured with a pitcher of purple drank that I whipped up last week, and it was pretty good! Iced butterfly pea flower and hibiscus tea, with a swirl of lemon and agave nectar.
Also, you may notice there is a book next to my breakfast plate. Later in life it has come to my attention that some folks frown at reading at the table while you are reading. I cannot imagine this. One of my favorite things to do is to lunch with a book! Or breakfast or supper with a book, too. A book is, in my humble opinion, the perfect date. I can’t imagine anyone thinking otherwise. What about you?
During a conversation with my baby sister sometime this past week, I confessed that when this business with my late grandparents’ estate is over, my grand plan was to fake my own death and run away forever. I was only half kidding.
I want to be done with these responsibilities. With obligations. With meetings and phone calls and relaying information back and forth and second-guessing my every decision and feeling like a failure because I’m not doing it right, not doing it timely enough, not doing it the way someone else might have done it. I want to walk away and never look back and never ever have to think about this again. Faking my own death and running away to be a hermit in the mountains, without another human being (or a telephone) for hundreds of miles around, sounds super appealing to me right now. I want to disappear so that they’ll never find me. And maybe then I will finally have a chance to properly mourn.
Rosie Anne Prosser, A sunless world
It was with a head heavy and churning with these sorts of thoughts that I discovered the photography of Rosie Anne Prosser via her flickr account late last night. A photographer and storyteller who describes herself as a “Mountain Goat raised in The Black Mountains”, her melancholic landscapes of lonely cliffs, secluded thickets, and remote paths, the focal point a lone figure, cloaked in mists and shadows with her back to both the camera and the viewer, enigmatically, introspectively, and perhaps even a bit defiantly gazing off to somewhere else, entirely…
Well, I’m having difficulty articulating how it made me feel. It was just one of those serendipitous moments when you find something you needed to see, just when you needed to see it. Each and every image tugged at my heart and seemed to echo back to me everything that I am feeling right now, and my soul whispered to me in a language tinged with both misery and hope, “I want to go to there.” I don’t know that I can say more than that.
For now, though, you can tell them I was last seen climbing into these photos. I will immerse myself in solitude, silence, and still, sunless days. Please don’t try to find me.
My How To Wear sets are mostly wishlist type yearnings–often people say to me, “wow, everything is so expensive! I wish you’d do a budget friendly one!” Well, tough titties, folks. I don’t spend my time wishing away for budget friendly items! Make your own thrift store friendly lists or whatever–that’s not my thing. I like dreaming about posh, luxury items!
HOWEVER, I have included one set (above) that is full of things* I already own, or wear, or are very similar to things I own, or wear. And since I can’t afford those 5K frocks, this is the one concession I will make. So there!
*though all of the things in the above image are listed over at Haute Macabre today, I will tell you the moth necklace from Flannery Grace Good, the bag from Baba Studio, and the scarf from scarf shop are my very favorites!
