Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Fireworks in the living room!

Listening to Mykonos, Fleet Foxes 

So tomorrow is a somewhat colossal day for me. Details on that, I hope to share soon. In the meantime, prayers and e-kisses will be kindly accepted. Much apreesh!

Rather than focusing on big scary exciting times, I decided to plan our future living room for the apartment we don't yet live in (and haven't even found.) Why? Instead I ask you ... Why not?

I've never made one of these funky mood boards yet so don't laugh at my feeble attempt. Instead, marvel at the glory that is the Fireworks Rug from Anthropologie, currently doing a fab job tying this little snazz room together.

I think Momma Wuerd would be pretty for serious proud of my decorating chops right now.

Fireworks Rug - Anthropologie 
Merritt Trunk - Pottery Barn 
Needlework Garden Shade - Anthropologie 
Merritt Bench - Pottery Barn 
Sleeper Sofa - Pottery Barn 
Armchair - Macy's
Toss pillow - Target 
Maskros Pendant Lamp - Ikea 
Colossal Dots Curtain - Anthropologie 

Monday, May 9, 2011

Her voice at the gridiron, coming & going.

Listening to Love You, For Against 

Her voice at the gridiron coming and going 

As if snatched by a sea wind.
My mother. Shipping out for good. For good this time.
The game. The plaything spread on the rug. 

The fifty years I’ve spent trying to put it together.

- Paul Muldoon, part of "It is What it is"

I don't have a cool baby picture handy of my mom hanging out with me. I didn't even get to hang out with her in person on her day yesterday.

But I have some important things that remind me of her.

Like this.

Or this. 

Maybe even this. 

My mom was the woman who let me be exactly who I was: bossy, uninhibited, creative. When I wanted to watch Lion King daily and pretend that the concrete stump in our backyard was pride rock, I don't remember her discouraging me once. She was there, as I sculpted clay pots out of dirt in our Georgian backyard, her little Indian girl, wiping the orange mud off my face. She picked me up when I fell the hardest, and when my heart truly broke for the first time she was my lifeline on the other end of the telephone, with open ears and the truth. And I held onto her for dear life in those days, and sure enough, I weathered those storms.

She was my best friend, from Day One. And is to this day. 


Who wouldn't want to hang out with this chick? Party's here, buttercup.

Happy Mother's Day to my very own Mom, and all the moms out there. 

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Sun through the storm clouds on Sheffield & Addison

Here's a picture for you: Laying in my bed, watching baseball (the Braves are on ESPN tonight, mercy!), and I'm about to blog... about baseball. When did I become a 60 year old man? Do I really associate baseball this closely with summer? Because I can tell you, I'm excited for summer. Excited enough to run up a bustling Southport today on my bum ankle, then enjoy a beer and some painting on my deck. I'm talking about Bliss here, people.

But more on the painting later. In the meantime...

We baseball here. 

John scored us tickets for Saturday's game, and while the weather wasn't perfect, it was amazing to get a little preview of summertime livin'. We started our day out at Red Ivy, and I challenge somebody on Clark St to have a better $4 bloody mary. For realsies. 

But honestly, the reason this post is worth my time, is the following. Drum... roll... please.... 


Pure caloric, bison-doggy-deliciousness. I had almost as much fun building this masterpiece as I did consuming it (ALMOST.) 

And to top it all off, we had some pretty serious seats. 

No worries, those are just some old dudes playin' some brass. 

I just love the feeling of being back in a baseball stadium. It reminds me of family, and of home. 

What's your favorite summertime activity? What is it about summertime that makes you feel like you're truly home?

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

When roots come in handy.

Listening to where I end and you begin, radiohead 

It has been a crazy day. Lots of changes swirl around me, and I'm not certain where I stand. Where I belong.

I'm floating. But in the meantime, these things ground me.

Exhibit A: this giraffey guy. 

I am the proud owner of Mr. Giraffe, except in taupe. John has, fondly I think, christened him Jerry. I consider him to be my first piece of decor purchased with our future Mr & Mrs home in mind. 

I am not much of a gardener. But I'm dying to be. And yes, Jerry has a hole where his back should be so I can give some flowers a new home. And I intend to. Burying some roots in the soil sounds right up my alley.

I am also loving on such a simple and exquisite pleasure, also known as the #135 express bus. 

My commute has gone from an awkward walk-train-bus trio, to a painless bus relay race fit for even the laziest of Americans. 

See those purple lines? Those denote the "bus" parts of my trip. Notice there is virtually no black lines that denote walking. 

Hello, 29 minute breezy commute.