i dream of a vine covered terrace overlooking the mediterranean sea. it could be grape vines, preferably grenache gris, or wisteria. i’m not picky. in this dream, i am wearing a loose linen tunic, loose linen drawstring pants, and a sun hat. i am sitting at a table with six good friends, laughing and telling stories. i am sipping wine, the wine we’ve made from the vines jean luc sold to us. it is hot even in the shade, so we are sipping our chilled rosé that we named after our daughter– cuveé eva. we are eating fresh grilled mediterranea fish caught by our friend m. sauzet and his two sons, that they had set aside from the days catch just for us. we are nibbling on lucques olives, one day old goat cheese, and a tomato salad with tomatoes we just picked from our tiny but productive kitchen garden. the sun is still above the horizon, but just barely, the sky is turning a pale pink, and i have just lit the candles. the night is early, and we will be around the table until the bats start to circle overhead around 11 pm or so. then we will three cheek kiss our friends à demain, and retire to our king sized bed with linen sheets and views of the sea beyond the shuttered windows. see, i’m not picky. just explicit.
factoid: wisteria is a bine not a vine. a bine is a climbing plant that climbs by its shoots growing in a helix around a support. a vine climbs using tendrils or suckers.
so i participated in a podcast this week with one of my favorite twin cities bloggers, and maybe the most sensible style and fashion advocate i know: rita mehta of the american edit. we talked for about three hours, breathlessly and completely in tune with each other, and at some point an hour of that conversation got recorded. i don’t remember which. i could find out, but then i’d have to listen to the podcast. which would involve listening to myself talking on air. and, frankly, i’m too chicken. so what i did instead today was to comb through thousands of past images in order to create this whimsical and thoroughly distracting alphabet that made it seem as if i were too busy and productive to listen to myself talking on air. maybe i’ll listen tomorrow. yes, tomorrow. for sure. tomorrow. maybe.
alphabet with previously published STILL photos
some days i work work really hard for my (non)pay. i may try as many as a dozen compositions of a subject before i get something i like. and on other days, i don’t even have to lift a finger. this image was one of the latter. these two bedfellows snuggled up together on my desk all by themselves, and then the dried flower rolled onto its side and threw an arm over its companion. i simply had to rotate my tripod and click the shutter on this odd couple in love.
raccoon (?) jaw bone and dried (unidentified) wildflower stem
great salt lake, utah (bone) and northern minnesota (wildflower)
at some point in the life of a daily blog, you run out of ideas. you’ve plucked all the low hanging fruit, you’ve stood on tiptoes and grabbed some of the fruit above your head. you’ve stood on a ladder. and you’ve climbed the tree. and one day, there’s no fruit left. in my case, you’ve taken photos of single flowers. of arranged flowers. of wilted flowers. of dried flowers. of flower buds. of the roots of flowers. of the scattered petals of flowers. and one day, you’ve run out of ideas. that’s when you look at a tulip past its prime, and recognize the curve of its stem, and you remember the bone collection in the basement, and suddenly things get interesting again.
tulip and bone
our family of four came upon this well-dressed gentleman pulling himself along the street. we were beside an organic vegetable and herb garden just inland from the monterey peninsula, and i immediately thought how elegant he would look as a STILL blog subject, maybe climbing a stalk of nearby fennel, with a sheet of white tagboard held behind him. my son wanted to adopt him and carry him on an outstretched index finger for the rest of our trip down the california coast. my daughter wanted to save him and all of his kind from the tires of oncoming cars. and my husband began musing about butter and garlic. we were all looking at the same thing, and seeing four very different snails.