Unbroken reel

Home (August 2015)
Living room in August. Fiddle-leaf fig is clearly hungry for more light.

One sign of people growing on each other: Once we get in the car and start driving home after a dinner or a party or some social function, we say some pat, predictable things about the event (“That was nice,” “the food was good,” etc.) and then we suddenly, almost simultaneously, say the exact same, small, specific observation to each other. “Wasn’t it strange the way that cat was nibbling on the ends of the rug?” “Absolutely!” “Didn’t you think his opinion about Mumford & Sons was surprisingly nuanced?” “Why, yes, I did; I thought the exact same thing.” This is perhaps, I think, one of the tiny reasons that people stay married, to have that comforting confirmation of one’s own observational debris.

Thanks to the recommendations of our friends Zaynah and Forrest, we have been watching “The Story of Film: An Odyssey” and taking notes on all of the important, beautiful films we haven’t seen and then lining them up on our queues. The melodramatic narrator drives me a bit crazy at times, but it’s been an excellent overview of the history and development of cinema as an art form. Along with Jonathan, I am feeling especially wild about Yasujiro Ozu. The fact that his complete oeuvre is on Hulu makes the subscription totally worth it. I want to steep myself in All Things Ozu.

I am interested in and appreciative of selfies. I think it’s only a matter of time before a book-length thesis on the Millennial mindset regarding self-preservation and self-documentation is published (if it hasn’t been already). But I won’t be writing it, because I am not especially adept at explaining why I like selfies, especially other people’s. I, for one, have never taken a good photograph of myself.

Face diary
Notes on your face. 14 August 2015.

But I sincerely like other people’s selfies, especially people I love. I don’t even mind the ones with poorly disguised motives. Here is a photo of myself looking my most luminous, my most attractive, etc. Those are most common. But I am especially interested in self-deprecating selfies. Here I am with my natural blue–black bags under my eyes. Here I am with baby vomit in my hair. 

I don’t know. I know I am making limited sense, but there is something cheerful to me about people posting selfies. Because the people who do are saying Here is my face. This is my body. I am happy with it. I suspend judgment. I applaud them quietly.

Our home, lately

Having people over is the best motivation to get stuff done. We’ve made progress in the house this month, particularly in the departments of hanging art and having sofas.

A collection of photographs of home and life, lately:

This is the before. #ikeamadness #handyhusband
This is the before.
New sofa, paintings hung

House coming along

House coming along
Giant boxes = busted IKEA bookshelves we’re returning…
Feels like I really live here now. #finally #homelibrary #justthefictionsection
Perfectly sized white bookshelf from the thrift store. Take that, IKEA.
Living room view into hallway
View into the hallway + puppy gate!
House coming along
View from dining room into kitchen. Thanks for the counter stools, Mom and Dad!
Our bedroom
Our bedroom; I heart minimalism. This room used to be dark brown.
Our bedroom
Our bedroom.
Synchronized sleeping. #babies #doglife #vscocam
Synchronized sleepers.
Calligraphy studio, while working
What the studio looks like when I’m working.
Puppy punk
Puppy punk
Edie’s serious face.

Come visit us! We have places for you to sit now!

House updates, and Gran

Little things we’ve done lately around the house…

Hung old curtains in the living room and removed all of the mini-blinds:

Curtains hung in living room

Curtains hung in living room

(A subtle change, surely, but here’s the before.)

Curtains hung in living room

Painted my studio white (be gone, cream):

Studio is now white

Studio is now white

Painting the studio was emotionally hard. My beloved Gran had a stroke on Saturday, and the prognosis is not good/confusing. I’ve been crying a lot lately, and it’s somehow easier to write it here and not see your faces. If you are the praying type, please pray for her and for my family. Our hearts are raw.

I say that we painted the studio in her honor, because she’s the Patron Saint of Painting. The family says she’s painted everything in her cottage. Just a week ago, she was doling out painting and home decor wisdom to me on the phone (she was totally right about our mistake of using latex instead of oil-based paint for the ceramic tile). She also identified — BY SIGHT — the exact shade and brand of the gray paint we used in the kitchen and dining room (Benjamin Moore Gray Owl). She’s amazing. She’s all I can think about lately.