Where I blog

Have you ever wondered where people behind your favourite blogs are blogging from?

At a desk? On the lounge? The bed? The kitchen? The train?

I stumbled onto Censational Girl's link party Where do you blog from a little too late for entries, but I thought I'd answer that anyway.

At first, I thought I'd style the space as best I could, but then I thought if you want to see where I blog from daily... well, unstyled is best! My husband, 4 year old and I live in a tiny home (484 square foot studio), so where I blog from is the study/office-cum-living space-cum-kitchen-cum-dining and 5 feet from our sleeping area...



I'm all about:

comfort

... so it's either our small lounge (yes folks, that's our one and only lounge) or my desk chair, which is a sink-into chair.

This small settee used to be my porch lounge, but this is the only more-than-one-seater that fits into this small place, so I swapped out the floral seats for 2 seats from my actual lounge set (now in storage). The seats are so comfortable. And the cushions make the otherwise hard back an easy sink-into. I don't like over-pillowed lounges, but this is perfect: no more pillows.



I normally stretch out the length of the lounge. From this position, I can pick up a glass of water or wine from the dining table to my left, in front of me is the TV and my husband's chair where he surfs and watches TV. Hannah's desk is also to the front right of me, so she plays and does craft there... and the small rug space in front of the lounge means I can be there while she plays too.

Two feet in front of the lounge is my desk/office area, which is the "other" blogging spot for me.



I love these small, perfect looking designer chairs, but I don't like working on the laptop for hours perched uncomfortably on them. My vintage $50 eBay purchase suits my needs much better, offering better bum-comfort and great arms for reading, for musing and for writing.

The white meatsafe holds my files, my books... and the mahogany bureau holds my boxes, my books, my curios, cards and pens.



So, where do you blog?

Make sure you go to Censational Girl's Where do you Blog From Link Party page and see where other bloggers write their entries!

I really hope this guy runs for President

If there's one thing I admire in a candidate, it's unbridled enthusiasm.




You have to admit, watching this guy in a debate against Obama would be pretty entertaining.

Republicans. They would make me laugh if only I didn't find them so scary.

Etsy Focus: ZipPinning brooches

I'm going to preface this by saying:

Some people are so clever!

Check out the gorgeous pieces by Etsy Seller ZipPinning from Mass., USA. Firstly she's got good eye for colour. Second thing, she creates these LOVELY brooches out of ZIPPERS!

Images from ZipPinning

Nail polish puns!

So, I generally don't wear nail polish. It chips too easily and I can't afford regular manicures. And I pick the hell out of my cuticles so I don't generally like to draw attention to my hands. However, I have always been amused by nail polish names. My friend Heinz created some fictional racist polish colors after discovering that "Black Rage" was, in fact, a real color. I'm more entertained by OPI's recent country- and region-themed collections which take bad puns to a whole new level.

Consider, for example, the colors in their new Swiss collection:

From A to Z-urich, Color So Hot It Berns, Just a Little Rösti at This, William Tell Me About OPI, Ski Teal We Drop, Diva of Geneva, Lucerne-tainly Look Marvelous, Glitzerland, Yodel Me on My Cell, and Cuckoo for This Color.

GROAN. And I thought Carrie Bradshaw's puns were bad.

Inspired by OPI, however, I'd like to propose some Boston-themed colors:

Ben A Fleck of Gold
Boston Teal Party
M.I.Tease
Brooklime
Creamy Chowdah
Mayor Menindigo
BU-tiful Blue
Red Sox Rage
Louisa May Top Coat
Saugus Chartreuse
Orange You Glad You Don't Live Off the Orange Line
Kelly's Roast Beef Green
Jamaica Plain Beige
Concord Grape
Sam Adams Apple Red

I'm sure I'm missing some obvious ones....fellow Beantowners, feel free to chime in in the comments!

Constance

Have you met Constance?



She's so lovely. Everything about her is warm, welcome-y and friendly.

She's a retro 1957 Sprite 14 caravan, permanently parked in the property of Snail Trail, UK.



Apparently she was available for holiday hire... but now only available for photoshoots... the proud owners want to preserve the beauty that she is...



Constance has gorgeous vintage vinyl seating for and the table is removable and the seats fold out to reveal 2 double beds. The original 50s cooker and sink is complemented by these gorgeous polkadot red and green kitchenalia and mugs and fabrics.





Everything here is a real feast for the eyes!

Beautiful beach cottage

It's been a while since I've seen a photo of a house/room that involuntarily emits a short grunt of pleasure! But I found one today, on Hutker Architect's website.

This was the picture that evoked such a reaction from me, Chappaquiddick Beach Cottage:



And the kitchen!!



Addicted, I kept clicking on their website and found these:



























As gorgeous as the interiors are, what caught me, of course, are the exteriors. Man if you could hear me grunting away my exclamations over my breakfast bircher muesli!

You have to spend 15 minutes of your day looking at all Hutker Architect's beautiful designs and architecture!

Hope your weekend is as beautiful as some of these houses.

All images from Hutker Architect.

So You Think You Don't Like Poetry

I wish I had written a great love poem. I wish I had written a great poem, period. So far, I've written some poems that don't totally suck, but a great one? I have yet to write one. That's ok, that's why I'm in school, and I think someday, it might happen. I might write myself accidentally into a great poem.

This poem by Marilyn Hacker is great and about one of my favorite subjects -- love gone wrong. It's well-tread, familiar poetic territory but Hacker, with all her unexpected similes and images, makes it seem new. The first time I read the poem, I didn't pick up on the rhyme scheme -- that's how subtly and brilliantly it's incorporated. I know so many poets who are terrified to rhyme, worried about it sounding too Dr. Seuss or whatnot, but this poem is proof that when you pull it off, it can be incredible.

What I also relate to in this poem is the intensity of the relationship described -- intense, all-consuming love can be disastrous/toxic but for better or worse, I always crave it. When it comes to me and love, it's go big or go home.

But enough about me -- here's the poem.

Nearly a Valediction

You happened to me. I was happened to
like an abandoned building by a bull-
dozer, like the van that missed my skull
happened a two-inch gash across my chin.
You were as deep down as I've ever been.
You were inside me like my pulse. A new-
born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through
the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone,
swaddled in strange air I was that alone
again, inventing life left after you.

I don't want to remember you as that
four o'clock in the morning eight months long
after you happened to me like a wrong
number at midnight that blew up the phone
bill to an astronomical unknown
quantity in a foreign currency.
The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me.
You've grown into your skin since then; you've grown
into the space you measure with someone
you can love back without a caveat.

While I love somebody I learn to live
with through the downpulled winter days' routine
wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine-
assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust-
balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust
that what comes next comes after what came first.
She'll never be a story I make up.
You were the one I didn't know where to stop.
If I had blamed you, now I could forgive

you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox-
imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind,
want where it no way ought to be, defined
by where it was, and was and was until
the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled
through one cheek's nap, a syllable, a tear,
was never blame, whatever I wished it were.
You were the weather in my neighborhood.
You were the epic in the episode.
You were the year poised on the equinox.