Grey and Red

It’s all head-down-bum-up at the moment as I finish my classes. I have an obscene amount of work to achieve in a very short amount of time, and my technique at procrastinating is second to none. As you can see!

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I wanted to share this pic of a cute little place I stumbled across on a walk around SF a few weeks ago. It’s tucked up a little alleyway on Nob Hill, and looked so inviting with the red door, grey paint, white trim and red geraniums outside.

Well, must get back to it! See you on the flip side.

Doing Backflips in San Francisco

Last week, we shook off the minus double digits of the Chicago winter in favour of sunny, clear 23C in San Francisco.  We spent some time wandering my old ‘hood. A few things had changed, but not much.

San Francisco is still a place that makes my heart do backflips. It possesses a natural beauty, but there’s much more to the city than a bunch of buildings on a peninsular surrounded by water. There’s a vibe, a magnetic field. I feel real there. I feel like me.

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 “San Francisco itself is art, above all literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel. Every home a poem, every dweller within immortal. That is the whole truth.”
– William Saroyan

SF is still my favourite city in the world. I’ve found nothing else that compares.

Three Things

#1: Walks down to Lake Michigan. Fat squirrels, icy paths, grey clouds.

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#2: This song, this adventure. Just this.

#3: Tonight, I’m revisiting the first season of The Secret Life of Us.

How are you ushering in the weekend?

At the Edge of the World: Navy Pier, Chicago

Chicago’s Navy Pier is a happening place in summer. Warm summer breezes straight off Lake Michigan, ice cream stands, Ferris wheel rides. But for me, there’s something so beautiful and haunting about visiting places that define summer near-abandoned in the winter time. 

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We took a jaunt down the road to Navy Pier the other day, in the midst of a snowstorm. Minus 12C. There were a handful of people around, but very quickly they dispersed and we spent our time almost alone as we wandered around the concourse. It was eerily quiet.

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The ice cream stands had closed before the first snow all those months ago. No one was sitting outside in the sun, sipping margaritas. It was grey, isolated, frozen. Lake Michigan, at the mouth of the Chicago River was completely solid, the river cruise boats tied up to the docks until it thaws out and the crowds return. And to me, it felt like the edge of the world.

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Kate Bush is my Spirit Animal

If you’ve been following me on social media for any length of time, you may have noticed that I really dig Kate Bush.  And, right now, I’m knee-deep in my current Kate Bush phase.

There’s something about her that’s interesting, magnetic. She unleashes my alter ego: a more outrageous, gregarious, interpretative dancing version of myself. So I have to restrain myself when I’m listening to her with headphones. She makes me sing out loud and dance up a storm. 

In short:  Kate Bush is my spirit animal.

Everything about this film clip is pure perfection. And I would have loved to participate in this event in Brighton alongside 300 other Kate Bush fans in recreating one of my favourite videos of all time.

And if someone wrote a biopic of Kate’s life, I’d cast Cate Blanchett.

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I’ve long thought that Kate Bush and Cate Blanchett were separated at birth, despite the fact that more than ten years separates them.

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Hollywood — you know where to find me if you need a red dress-wearing gregarious interpretive dance extra!

Tell me — who inspires you?

Photo Friday: Oz Park Tennis Courts

When we first moved to Chicago in the summer, we pretty much played tennis every day at Oz Park. We played through what I thought was the cold, until it was only a few degrees above OC. We stopped with the first snow.

This week, I took a wander down to Oz Park to see what the park looks like buried under a foot and a half of snow. Most of the walkways hadn’t been ploughed, but most of us could remember where the paths were.

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The nets are still up, stoically weathering the long, white winter and the unforgiving winds that blow in off Lake Michigan. But the nets no longer sway in the breeze. They’re held down by the untainted, accumulated snow. Frozen in place.

Eventually, the temperatures will rise and sun will reemerge and warm the surface. The courts will awaken from their hibernation, and once again feel the fuzz of new tennis balls and the squeak of sneakers.

I see these courts, these nets as reminders not to forget. Summer will come again. Just hold tight.

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