Fact: my friends are cooler (and smarter, more talented, prettier, funnier, etc.) than me (note: for the grammar nerds who are thinking, “shouldn’t this be ‘than I am,'” read this). That’s largely because I don’t hang out with people who are stupid, ignorant, or otherwise inconsiderate ingrates. I think I’ve become even more stringent with this filter over the past year or so. Life is too short, so why not seek out the people who make us better.
Rising to the foamy, creamy top of the friend speed dial is Rachel Holmes Kelly — designer extraordinaire and most famously, my freshman year college roommate (thank you x1,000,000, ORL
). I mean, check her out. Feast your beady little eyes on Exhibit A: designpunch studio
She makes prints. She designs all kinds of spaces and places. She is my design star and if I had a castle with a moat, she would be given the keys to every last room.
And perhaps most importantly, she is from South Carolina (with a strong Maine streak, but she’s a Dixie darling).
Is it possible to be thankful for creativity? For art? For great ideas? Not sure if gratitude is the right emotion but I feel something to that end for people whose brains fire on different cylinders than mine.
I’m moving! To Boston, to be exact, so I am thinking of all things New England…which today mean oysters. Clams. Quahogs. Provincetown’s lobster trap Christmas tree. The salt water works, really. I’ll migrate to pine trees and small towns and stoking my Revolutionary spirit on a forthcoming train of thought, I’m sure, but for now let’s stick to the coast.
I love this:
“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”
–excerpted from The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll. Full poem here.
I really need to orchestrate a clambake (from this place. Tag line: “Get Baked With Us.”)
Enough with the stream of consciousness. In other news, I’ve been giving some thought to the way certain smells, tastes, sounds, colors, etc. can pop me right back to a sometimes very distinct point in time. Other times it’s more of a period (like “childhood” and the smell of chocolate chip cookies), but the general effect is the same.
I’m not sure what it says about me that the smell of “low tide” — which is has an Eau de Funky Mud quality about it — is distinctly home in my mind. Or that DC’s stinky gingko trees remind me of the fall I moved here, jobless and without a clue as to what my life in this city would become over the next 8.5 years. That smell still gives me heart palpitations.
Regardless (sidenote: I am moving to a place where people think “irregardless” is a word. Already cringing.), I do like that my mind makes these connections on its own.