"you're just like all the old people that come by here"

said the Nook salesman at Barnes and Noble when I tried to explain to him that

• it wasn't near as comfortable as holding a book
• and they just rhyme "nook" with "book" to trick you, but it's not actually a book, you know
• and, besides, whipper snapper, you can't even turn the pages.
• !?!?

Anyway, my aversion to technology often garners some raised eyebrows. Or maybe it's the whole knitting in public thing (which is totally justified this week because Etsy told me it was "National Knit in Public Week." via THE INTERNET! so there.)

Anyway.

I love books
the feel of their spines in my hands
the tingle of anticipation when turning the title page.

and the look of a book (a real one) stacked high on a deliciously musty book shelf
and handwritten, postage be-stamped letters
and probably telegrams if they still existed.

But obviously I'm using technology to blog this and my phone has a touch screen and I love it.

So there.

Whatever I'm trying to prove.

Though often it frightens me that we all live on and in the internet. And forget to actually talk to each other sometimes.I think I saw a Fairly Odd Parents episode about that once. Spooky.

And I will now conclude by saying (like I did indignantly to the sassafras salesperson),
"I just love old-fashioned things."

to which my father replied,

"Like me?"

[wink]

-Banana

p.s. What's up the "Girl with the Dragon tattooed everything" or whatever? Should I be reading this? wisdom much appreciated. xo.

oh, the horror!

I suppose this is my annual post on fear.

Last year I took a slightly humorous approach regarding nonsensical phobias. 

That seems to be my idea of defensive coping skill.

You see, during my most intense moments of heartache, hurt, or panic I have always found myself satirizing the whole ordeal. Describing it as a tragic farce; a clown with a painted purple tear on his cheek. Morbidly funny. Self-deprecating. I find that if I make someone else laugh when telling them of the things that truly strike fear into my heart making my knees and chin tremble and lightning flash and the walls cave in all around me in a cloud of nasty black smoke and charred ruins of life ambitions, well then, it can't be that bad. That way I've (sort of) vented, and am justified in keeping the rest in. To fester, probably.

But the new me won't allow it, I keep telling myself. Someone wise probably said once something along the lines of, a life lived in fear is no life at all. Yes, I'm sure of it now. Maybe it was Dumbledore or someone.

So... what am I afraid of, you ask?

Well, the problem is that the answer is probably everything.

Uh oh. I'm afraid of EVERYTHING?

yeah, kind of.

Here's the thing. I've never successfully explained to anyone the world in which I live. It's just... so personal. Its borders are completely within my own mind and idiosyncratic tendencies.

But people have definitely made attempts at describing it.

"spacey" "reclusive" "creative" "silly" "private" "shy." I've even got "inconsistent" at worst ["bi-polar" at very worst] or "dynamic" at best.

no, no, no people. the truth is I'm just terrified of being ripped out of the very deliberately crafted existence within my brain.

I surface on my own from time to time, just long enough to apply to college or get a job or feed myself or whatever else I figure must be done. But, honestly, I feel very much detached from most of those lifely duties.

Sometimes I feel like my dreams (day or night) are more tangible than my waking hours. Which is weird, I suppose.

Yeah, probably really weird.

I've always had this talent of falling asleep as soon as I decide to. As soon as my head gets anywhere near the pillow (sometimes before). I feel like an inability to sleep is for people who are involved in this world. Whereas I am just slipping naturally back into my own.

Anyway.

That may or may not explain why getting out of bed in the morning gives me the heebie jeebies from time to time.

let alone becoming the grown-up I'm supposedly supposed to be becoming.

or the fact that, as tough as it has been to be living at home much of the last two months,

I'm a little scared of the move I'll be making on Sunday.

With friends, fun, summer delights, and an adorable lovefriend waiting for me,

it still scares me a bit.

Now that's just silly.

...right?

Banana

spirit of the wolf [among other things]

OH, I really had the loveliest of weekends.

There's just nothing like one of your childhood sweethearts coming home after two months of having very few playmates to romp about with.

So Friday, Miss Laura and I checked out artfest in downtown Coeur D'Alene, which, as expected, was lovely and artistic.

But probably the best art of the evening was the mural we accidentally discovered when we forgot where we had parked.

I really felt that I bonded with these warriors.

After all...I know every rock and tree and creature

has a life,

has a spirit,

has a name.

our star-crossed love spans across space, time, culture, and dimension [literally].

...and then came Saturday.

Oh! Saturday! Oh DAY of DAYS!

Honestly, a great portion of my 3-5 pms [pacific time] on Saturdays and 6-8 pms [also pacific time] on Sundays for most of my life have included looking forward to this very particular Saturday that happened to take place two days ago

on which

my Father and I

attended a live broadcast of "A Prairie Home Companion" with Garrison Keillor.

!!! I know, right?

And though the show often makes jokes about no one under 50 being aware of it, I have been a die-hard fan since a little girl and I already mourn the day when this, the last of the great radio shows, retires for good.

Seriously though, there is something so magical about radio acting!

And fake advertisements from the Catchup Advisory Board and Professional Organization of English Majors.

And hearing beautifully and sarcastically crafted tales [often primarily ad-libbed] about familiar landmarks in my ole' hometown.

And good, gritty bluegrass music that makes my heart soar and hands clap [despite my well-documented hatred of "the collective clap." This audience did pretty well with it, though]

Anyway,

the point is I was much too enthralled to remember to take any pictures. So there you have it.

But, on the way, we did stop at the very Taco Time that my dad went to on his very first date! In 1972. How precious is that?

this is his response to "Make a first date face!"

[also I believe our lovely cashier is posing jubilantly]

love, wolves, and nostalgic burritos,

Banana

eating dust.

It disgusts me how forcefully I
have to be reminded of what

my life is like

and what others' lives are not like.

I finished The Bookseller of Kabul yesterday. I can't recommend it enough.
Banana

memorialium

Every memorial day since I can remember
I've visited the cemetary with my dad
in memory of my two grandfathers
who served in the Royal Canadian Air force in WW11
and also became dedicated United States citizens.

This year we added a trip to the Western side of this lovely state as a little nuclear family to see what Seattle and its environs had to offer us.

1. A lot of rain. But lovely all the same.

 little Ethan found a berry.

and proceeded to pose exactly like this

for five successive pictures.

:)

2. A pass through Forks, Washington (but we saw no vampires. nor wolves. nor particularly angsty pre-teen "dark romance" fanatics. thank the heavens.)

3. An authentic shop near Pike Street (Seattle) that eased some Middle Eastern homesickness and major falafel cravings.

I was so excited!

4. Rhodedendrons! Everywhere!! This beauty is the state flower of Washington, and we visited a rhodey park that housed bushels of rare and exotic species (brands? versions? breeds?).

5. A breathtaking skyline,

some quality time with my silly parents and brother,

the greenest, freshest, loveliest city I know,

and a much needed holiday.

Ethan told everyone in the elevator that we were going up

the "Empire Space Needle."

love, clouds, and the best chowder you'll ever consume,

banana