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. 

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