For Disappearing

Masks, from Mamelok Press.

The Disappearing Girl

Right now I feel a little disappeared.
It is a little tricky to be entirely present.
In school they would call roll and I would say *present.*
But today I would not. Today I would sink into my seat.
Sink into my seat and ________.

Books the Disappearing Girl Has Read:
-Harriet Spies Again (which is about a girl with no middle name, like me.)
-From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (which is about disappearing)
-The Willoughbys (which is not about disappearing, but which is lovely)
-Garlic and Sapphires (which is about disappearing and lunch)
-The Graveyard Book (which is sort of about disappearing, and sort of not)

Things the Disappearing Girl Has Eaten:
-Chocolate Rugelach
-String Cheese
-Bananas
-An Avocado
(I can remember how to spell avocado. ao, ao)

Places the Disappearing Girl Has Gone:
-
-

Monday, World

Two reminders today as you head into the thick of it:
1) There's lots of world out there.
2) There's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes.

Elegance, Fudge

An excerpt, for today's bright and sunny, from E.L. Konigsburg's From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler--the book that made me want to live in New York in the very first place:

Claudia loved the city because it was elegant; it was important and busy. The best place in the world to hide. She studied maps and the tour guide book of the American Automobile Association and reviewed every field trip her class had ever taken. She made a specialized geography course for herself. There were even some pamphlets about the museum around the house, which she quietly researched.

She also decided that she must get accustomed to giving up things. Learning to do without hot fudge sundaes was good practice for her. She made do with the Good Humor bars her mother always kept in their freezer. Normally, Claudia's hot fudge expenses were forty cents per week. Before her decision to run away, deciding what to do with the ten cents left over from her allowance had been the biggest adventure she had had each week.

Daffodils, Janes

Windowsill daffodils bought from a corner market, and flat canvas janes from Muji. Soon it will be spring.

Summer-Weight, Soul

Remember that yarn I wanted to bury my face last weekend? I bought it.
I bought it and it's the most beautiful yarn in the entire world.
It's the most beautiful yarn in the entire world, and it is made by Habu Textiles, who says yarn is "the soul of fabric." And who sells their yarn by heft, rather than length.

I like this--this buying textiles by the pound. "Summer-weight" fabrics make me giddy, transport me into breathy, whispery linens on beaches. So check out Habu Textiles; they import handmade things, careful things. Like handspun cottons, bamboo, summer-weight wool. And they sell their yarn by the pound.

Have I buried my face in it? Why yes. Yes, I have.

Snow, Spring

It is the first day of spring.
It is snowing flakes as large and round as cotton balls.
Nothing is so beautiful as this. Nothing.

I promise to start taking pictures of things again soon.
When I'm not busy standing in the middle of the street and giggling at snow.

Alice, Blue

The things I remember about my great-grandmother are few: She taught me the word "ardent," played cards, packed lunches with iced tea in mason jars, and finished every room with a bit of blue.

This dress belonged to her, and I had it taken up, in, to fit me before the move. It is awfully sweet, a dress whose details will now have housed two sets of elbows; its folds, four hips. Maybe I will be braver having worn it, more ardent, better at cards. Maybe she's why I drink from mason jars, love blue.

Avenues, Trees

Today, it's the avenue trees that have got me down. It isn't fair, you see--While the street trees have sun nearly the whole day through, and are laden with big pink-and-white buds all ready to burst, the avenue trees are barren. They get no sun, poor dears. Maybe they like it that way, but I don't think they do.

I want to stand next to them, whispering softly about the Lorax, or dig them up, Harold-and-Maude style, and move them street-side, park-side, out of the gloom. Maybe I can capture a little sun in a jar, between my hands and rub it on brave, bloomless trunks all the way up Broadway, down.

Something tells me it might be time to find a community garden. I can't cry on the bus about trees every day.

{Budding Tree, Michelle1121's flickr}

Boots, Home

Let's talk about discount stores, darlings. Like TJMaxx, for example.
I am not fond of TJMaxx. There are screaming children there. Also, the things I find come in every other size but mine.
Until yesterday, I had ignored Overstock.com for the same reasons.
But. I discovered something interesting yesterday. Overstock.com has no screaming children. And it carries boots. Fancy boots. Expensive boots.

Do they have Frye boots? Why, yes.
Corso Comos? Indeed!
Biviels? Paul Greens? Mais oui.

And each of them calls to me, makes me believe my steps could be ever so slightly bolder, my leaps, higher. And if I accidently took the express train? These boots would turn south, all on their own, and walk me home.

Weekend: Peacocks, Purl

The best parts:

1) Riding the bus. The bus is nice. There is light in the bus. And I pushed the buddon every time I wanted to get off.
2) Going to Purl. I want to buy all of their yarn. Or maybe just wrap myself in it. But I stayed mostly very calm and only bought two little skeins and did not rub my face in anything.
3) Finding mason jars for putting blooms in. Thank you thank you, Fish's Eddy.
4) Eating prosciutto when I was a bit down.
5) Muji + 80% off sale = nifty $7.00 shoes.
6) Running into not one, but two peacocks. Saying hello.
7) An orange balloon in a subway window.
8) Feeling like I could fly.

{Peacock: rsfrd, flickr.}

New York, Things I Need Now That I Live in

1. Black boots. Flat boots. Cute boots. Cute flat black boots.
2. A raincoat.
3. More than one numbrella.
4. Ear plugs. They are my new best friend.
5. A New York Public Library Card.
6. Post-It Notes that cost $13.00, evidently. Moly.

I have never before needed any of these things.

Post Cards, Water

I ordered a few of these postcards from rarrarpress last week for sending my new addy to people I love, and dropped them down the mail chute this morning.

p.s. The mail chute is my favorite thing in all the world. It is like the one Eloise pours water into. I would like to pour water into it too, but will settle for watching the postcards slip down, down, down.
p.p.s. Maybe I will also find a turtle and braid his ears, or call the valet to clean and press my sneakers. Except the turtles are sleeping right now, and the valet is just me.

Jazzy, Delectable

It is sort of like this. Except with galoshes.

Daffodills, Numbrellas

p.s. I am here. It is rainy and beautiful. Today I will buy daffodils for my windowsill. I think the radiator will be fond of them.

Radiators, Trains

News: During the day, my first New York radiator makes very nice, gentle whispering noises. I am quite fond of these noises. At night, though, something amazing happens: It magically transforms into an enchanted tap-dancing train. It would be difficult to be a radiator and sit there all day ho-hum if all you wanted in the depths of your heatery soul was to be a tap-dancing train. I hope it gets to be a tap-dancing train in its next life. High hopes. And I understand that tap-dancing trains need a lot of practice. Practice is important.

I also have high hopes that the radiator can schedule its tap-dancing train performances in the early morning when I need to be waking up rather than in the night when I need to be sleeping. But it might just be a night owl radiator--some are like that, you know.

Weekend To-Do

1. Laundry, sort.
2. Bags, pack.
3. Park, walk around.
4. Car, sell.
5. Bathroom, finish painting those top bits.
6. Brunch, eat.
7. Boxes, store.
8. Moxie, find.
9. New York City, move to.
10.


{Martha, Ro Bags}

Sea, Hats

From Melville's "Moby Dick" today. For Novemberish souls, adventurers:

Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

Moving, Dust

Right now my house looks like this:



Posting will be funky for a bit. Or maybe it won't. But probably it will.