Sunsets in cars.

And we: spectators, always, everywhere,

facing all this, never the beyond.

It overfills us. We arrange it. It falls apart.

We arrange it again, and fall apart ourselves.

Who has turned us around like this, so that

whatever we do, we find ourselves in the attitude

of someone going away?

Just as that person

on the last hill, which shows him his whole valley

one last time, turns, stops, lingers--,

so we live, forever taking our leave.

-Rilke

from The Eighth Elegy

 

love, late morning poetry, and last weeks of summer,

Banana

p.s. I am now a working woman. Feel free to praise me.

Why I'll never be a successful blogger

• I don't have a cute indie husband or any cute indie babies.
• I can never blog about my outfits. Never. Not that I don't consult, respect, and even envy my sisters of the blogosphere who make good money doing this every day. But I really would feel ridiculous. I already am pretty ridiculous, so I don't want to make it worse.
• My cupcakes are nothing special.
• I don't know anything about Lady Gaga and I'm still trying to figure out who Justin Bieber is.
• My paint creations look like this:

 

• I'm a nerd without a niche.
• My life lost all meaning after Harry Potter.

But I will keep calm and carry on in this vain crusade on a volunteer basis because I'm addicted to writing and I like posting pictures of myself .

Just kidding.

um.

Why Camelbak should pay me

Lane.

If you already thought I really needed a job or something

and my subject matter as of late has been a little pathetic

and I'm prone to obsessive behavior...

stop reading here.

or just don't judge.

Because I swear I'm making good use of my time.

For starters, I'm staying hydrated and getting great use out of my lovely Camelbak water bottle (of the tangerine variety).

And so are Bekah and Ally.

And what a great playmate it has turned up to be!
It's so well-traveled and culturally enlightened.

And I finally found a use for my mini Diana camera.

That Brooklynn bought thinking it was a real Diana camera.

And for which I paid twenty bucks.

Love, whiling away, and waiting for Camelbak's huge new campaign that will undoubtedly result from this,

 Banana

Too much of a good thing?

Remember all that free time I've been talking about? All this bounteous, lovely golden summer time with which to accomplish so much planning and so many projects and artistic endeavors and personal enrichment activities? To become a grown up with a job and a life and marketable skills and resources? Maybe even a boyfriend?

Yes, that time. Ahem.
I am using it to dress up my pet rabbit as a Cinderella mouse.

And in her flirty party dress.

But really...do I have any choice?

Love, lops, and Reese's for breakfast,
Banana

Don't mind me, I'm just a summer fairy

My Brookie in Christmas Meadows

In my current jobless, schooless state, my primary project is to fill in some of the pot holes of this, the pot hole summer. (On a good day I call it "The Summer Without Men," On a really good day I call it "Girl Power Summer," And in Paris I called it "Un été sans les hommes.")

That means

1. bunny.

her official names are: Noble Beast (Bea for short) and Tulip.
But mostly she is Little Bunny Naughty Bun.

 2. sunday croquet matches.

complete with puppy, kitten, and a lot of candy.

 3. crafts and arts and readings on the lawn.

Brookie and Bun.

 4. mountains, meadows, nature, best friends, skinny dipping, making music, and daisy chains.

Don't mind me, I'm just a summer fairy.

 Banana.

Drama Queen.

Strangling my dearest Tessabunny in "Joyful Noise" by Tim Slover (2008, BYU-Hawaii)

I've often wondered why I've  been so forcefully drawn to the performing arts since, probably, infancy.

I stomached the servitude inflicted on me by my cruel mother by pretending I was Cosette in "Les Miserables" whenever I was forced to do chores (which, due to my evasive nature and privileged position as baby of the family, wasn't often). 
Out of necessity,  I was once forced to steal my brother's GI Joe in order to cast him as the title role in "The Phantom of the Opera," co-starring Belle (in her Christmas dress, of course) as Christine, Aurora as Meg, and Jasmine as Madame Giry. 
Early childhood tantrums and tragic fits of melodramatic weeping led my family to affectionately sneer that I should be an actress some day.

...
So, does this little hobby/ addiction fill some sort of need for "drama" in my life? (In fact, if you know me at all, you know I don't really need anymore, thank you.) 
Is it merely an excuse to keep playing "dress up"?
Or a way to get back at my big sister for always making me be Mr. Collins or Kitty when she consistently got to be Elizabeth?
 Or, perhaps, a means of escaping my true self by constantly living as someone else?
...
I have no idea.
That's kind of a sad thought, though, isn't it?
And yet, I've always  identified so closely with a line from "Funny Girl" (A life-long beloved musical starring Babs Streisand):

"I'm a much better comic than mathematician

Cause I'm better on stage than at intermission."

Whatever the secret, or the mystical call that inevitably draws all true thespians to their place on stage- their natural habitat, that is- I love it and can't seem to give it up.

This point is illustrated by the fact that even though I try to act grown-up and professional, I get a little giggle in my throat every time I open the "Performer's Entrance" door on my way to rehearsal.  Even though I technically have no job nor school to attend to these days and am, for all intents and purposes, as useless as I've ever been,  I get a little spring in my step whenever I remember that I'm getting paid to flounce around the stage and pine after D'Artagnan and die a lovely little death by poison.

And the little drama queen in me really couldn't be happier. 

So whether I'm running away from something, or desperate for affirmation, or simply just a little girl with a big imagination...I'm doing what I want to do. Pot hole summer or not. And for now...that's a good thing.

Banana

P.S. Sorry about all the soap opera posts lately... I'm a little embarrassed about that. 

 

Pot hole summer.

I apologize for the glaring discrepancy between this post and the last. 
But you see, in my youthful, hopeful, rosy-cheeked return I believed that (somehow) going to Europe for 3 months would make things...well...dissapear.
Or at least better.
(Better would be nice.)
That's all I was hoping for.


But I overlooked this minor, but rather pervasive issue. It is called men. And as Fleet Foxes so wisely croon at us, "memory is a fickle siren song." But in this case the siren's name is man and it isn't pretty. Or a mermaid, even.
This strangely absent but ever-present parasite, man, is the diagnosis for a little phenomenon Brookie has termed "pot hole summer."
It afflicts my bunnies and I in a most vicious strain and finds us invalids on delicious summer afternoons curled up on many  beds in the house in varying configurations (piles, that is) of fury, comfort, or dry-eyed (but drained) staring.


Because, as Fleet Foxes also remind us, "I don't know what to do."
Oh hell.


memory is a fickle siren song. 
blah blah blah blah.
It is interesting to me that everyone I know is either lovey dovey engaged to be married or breaking up. It is also interesting that some people fall in love and get married and others fall in love and get round-house kicked in the face.


Men.
Pot holes.
Summer fun.
Blah blah blah blah blah.

I am back with my bunnies.

Which means...

The banana is back in her happy, hearty habitat...

Thank you, Courtney Jones, for this stunning portrait. A wonderful likeness, I think.

...AND that we got a bunny.

Because sometimes you get home from Europe at 1 in the morning, and when you wake up you realize you need a fluffy little replacement boyfriend that curls up in the cutest ball and hops around the tree in the front yard and nibbles carrots from your fingertips.

I love her I love her I love her.

And we (the bunnies and I) are ready for summer fun!
Which means
the first order of business upon returning to the Utah place (after the bunny) was to see the baby elephant at the zoo.

Hello, summer (or what's left of you). I'm ready to play.

Love, loveliness, and catching crawdads too,

Banana

P.S. All pictures (except the one from my Holga) are via Matt's lovely old camera.

Eight reasons to visit Croatia.

 

Happy Holidays.

Ghost Venice.

Did you know

Venice

is a ghost town?

Love, reliving my travels already, and coming home in a week,

Banana

Miss Holga Remembers

Remember when I was in Geneva? Me neither, hardly. Train to train to hostel to hostel to museum to Mcdonald's to museum has done a number on my memory. Tonight I spliced Stockholm and Copenhagen into one big, clean city and expected to find part of one as I left the other. Trippy.
But Miss Holga remembers.

I finally got a couple rolls developed when we popped back to London for the HARRY POTTER premiere (yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!!!) and got to look at them today. The plastic lady is still a little stubborn at times, but I'm happy with some things she's decided to do. All sun flares, discoloration, and vignetting are natural, of course, and I couldn't be happier.

So here's how I saw Switzerland in analogue:

I miss speaking french.

I miss my study abroad friends.

I miss Professors Hudson and Olivier.

I miss croissants and baguettes and chocolate chocolate chocolate.

I do not miss Geneva being the (second) most expensive city in the UNIVERSE.

But it's nice to remember.

Banana

...And then Anna DAINES ate a DANISH in DENMARK

......And it was everything I ever dreamed it would be.

I realize this picture is terrible, and that is why I like it.

I'm pretty sure some English person stuck an "i" in my surname arbitrarily somewhere along the way, which means that I, in fact, am a DANE! 

And that, along with the fact that Denmark is literally the happiest place on earth, makes me feel right at home. This city is so effortlessly cool and clean and chill. Really really beautiful and a little mysterious. I love it! I was in Dublin this morning, and unfortunately I can't spend more time loving Copenhagen. You see, I must say bye bye to the homeland (if it is, in fact, a homeland to me. I'm not sure. Ask my dad.) and head to Stockholm tomorrow.

Dalmation! I have to go to Sweden. Crimeny.

Just kidding, I get to go to Sweden,

Banana

P.S. I love Ireland

P.P.S. Guess what banana is in Danish!

Things I learned in Scotland

• No matter how hard I try, my Scottish accent sounds like a man (or, more frequently, an ogre)
• It's perfectly acceptable to cheerily ask someone, "just a little tiddle?" as they enter the restroom.
• The BEST fish and chips in THE WORLD are found at Canalside Chip Shop in Fort Augustus on the banks of Loch Ness. Go ahead. Prove me wrong.
• Incidentally, Nessie is real.
• Sometimes your shoes get stolen at the hostel and you have to trek in bad H & M flip flops around the wet, windy Scottish highlands. But really they're under the bed.
• Clansmen are feisty! ( i.e. Glencoe massacre)
• William Wallace could never have heroically uttered "Freedom!" at the end of his life because his man parts were severed and shoved in his mouth before he was quartered. (Pardon me, that was graphic)
• Despite the great appeal of beauty and bagpipes galore, two weeks just isn't soon enough to see the people I love.

Love, haggis, and "sure I'll go on a pub crawl...but I don't drink,"

Banana

Happy Fourth of July

I celebrated the day celebrating our Independence from Britain...

in Britain.



We explored Edinburgh on a strangely sunny Scottish day. [Photo here]

whoops.
Banana