Ambling within the Morikami pathway truly embodied the word amble. Relaxed. Unrushed. Beneath the intermittent sun-cloud dance so typical of Florida afternoons, I brushed past overhanging flower bushes, peeked through clusters of bamboo knocking against… More
I take my own screw-ups far too seriously. When I’m wrong or in the wrong, the inner marshmallow plumes: I’m stripped of indifference, I apologize profusely, I want to right everything at once and mellow tempers and for the remainder of the day I dwell on the error even if it was minute & forgotten by the other party in five seconds. I suppose, then, that writing is partway so appealing because of the delete button. Retry. The writing won’t hold a grudge. This lentil recipe, too. Forgiveness between cook & cuisine is valuable like forgiveness between humans.
Subconsciously or not, I’ve christened Tuesdays as my venturing days. As I type this the calendar reads Wednesday, and I’m passing it like I generally do Wednesdays: laundry burbling, classical covers tinkling, all while I’m planted on my reading chair intermittently disrupting my productivity with stretching (tight calf, must loosen to bypass insanity) or Pinterest scrolls. Earlier I trekked a half mile for coffee. I guess the Sunday mentality falls on Wednesday for me, considering it’s place as the second of my days off before Thursday-Monday washes ashore. Continue reading “photobook | felicitous on 42nd + belleair coffee co.”
Emotionally messy – a series of moods coalescing with the week I traversed St. Petersburg. No mighty minotaur skewered the brain cells, really. I merely slipped on one of those tangles of anxiety which will only recede when dealt multiple uppercuts of patience, persistent patience. I find that leaving town can sometimes relieve both those symptoms and the general jitters of wanderlust. I’m settling into a pattern of weekly local explorations and this acquaintance is a welcome one. St. Pete. Next week, who knows. But it’ll be a lick of freshness. Continue reading “photobook | dali museum + demens landing park + intermezzo”
Snug, a marble-infused lightbox. How I’d describe The Vine to the inquiring. I switched workstations twice, from the high bar set behind the grinder and espresso machines (the magic-makers manned by the magicians themselves) to a round table by the wall, above which fern planters hung & on top of which a succulent breathed as I tapped away on Photoshop. I’m most comfortable in coffee shops relying most on natural sunlight, and The Vine receives a tick on my checklist. Continue reading “photobook | the vine baking co. + a river vignette”
She’s one of my platonic soulmates. Authorial pal. The lean-on whenever ration should conquer my emotions. She’s the magnifying glass helping me zoom on problems and solutions. We tap our writing utensils in unison. Continue reading “photobook | hyde park village & bayshore”
Pre-summer lasers of heat, Florida trademark of any month beyond February, scattered hazy glitter along the asphalt as I strolled from one end of Cass St. downtown, from the Tampa Museum of Art to the decided refuel station of Caffeine. I’d parked somewhat far to avoid paralleling and meters, but despite my wearing long sleeves & perspiring through the cloth, a midday anonymous walk in a city is strangely cleansing. Comforting, to be amongst folk who don’t know and don’t care. Continue reading “photobook | tampa museum of art & caffeine”
Every time I plan a “luxurious” day-off breakfast for myself, the day of I abandon the notion entirely and prep some old reliable staple: a bowl of yogurt, warmed oatmeal, a frothy smoothie or a crisp peanut butter-slathered toast, as opposed to the stack of pancakes or maple-ribboned french toast I envision. I guess that points to my overall simplistic mindset, my fixation with routine, familiarity – a crutch sometimes but a comfort most. Occasionally, I gently lean against normality. I twist the juice out of the rinds until something a bit more imaginative comes up. Cue this, a bite of tangy citrus grated and squeezed into a normal day-to-day oat bowl. “Luxurious” enough. Certainly fulfilling enough. Continue reading “oats with mandarin, yogurt, blueberries & dark chocolate”
Stagnancy burns my soul. My bones and muscles physically hurt when I’ve sat/lied too long in bed or elsewhere. I’ve noted that the aches of stillness versus of movement feel so different. The former manifests as an itch, twitching restless leg syndrome, internal bouncing. The latter is deeper, satisfactory. DOMS which raises endorphins and cravings for more miles. Broaden these feelings to my unquenchable desire to explore, local or a little less local, Tampa or Orlando, a cruise across I-4 or a north-or-south set of turns down exits. Just get me in a driver’s seat, and I’m happier.
I am an intensely ritualistic person. Ritual equals spiritual. I run most efficiently with certain groundings behind me. It’s more valuable than any gold, any material item, any fracture of monetary sacrifice. Breakfast is one of those rituals. A good morning kiss. Caffeine-less caffeine. A warm hug to my tummy. Continue reading “avocado toast | coarse salt + dill + poached egg”
“A run into 2017” is probably a more appropriate title, considering my preferred method of mobility this morning. Happy New Year to all, old readers and new, casual virtual passersby and lovely familiars. We made it to a new string of 365. I’m glad to be here. January hangs at my elbows and as I write a coffee keeps me company in a local Starbucks (yes, between craft shops I also frequent a couple of my favorite locations of this ubiquitous chain). A slow bustle hums into my ears: a thump of instrumentals, a barista calling a name, an older gentleman licking his finger & flipping the ear of a newspaper corner. Tranquil. Continue reading “a walk into 2017”