the facts were these:

{ CHUCK: I guess dying's a good a reason as any to start living }

1. Pushing Daisies is a whimsical forensic-type fairytale with all the right people in all the right places saying all the right words in exactly the right way.
. . . .a. Jim Dale as Narrator.
. . . .b. Lush settings straight from a storybook.
. . . .c. Consistently witty and playful dialogue.

2. So of course ABC saw to it that it died prematurely in the Writer's Strike and limped into last place during its second season.
. . . .a. Because intelligent+beautifully executed programs aren't wanted anymore.
. . . .b. And a dedicated cult following is never enough.

3. But you can give Chuck+Ned a proper send-off with the last three episodes airing for the next three Saturdays, starting tonight.
. . . .a. Which still leaves me feeling sad.
. . . .b. And not a bit upset, too.

wish I were

anywhere near this snazzy.

also,

chuck charles.
back at Blue-and-White Day
my eighth grade year.
or
asleep.

heart her.

{ these are a few of my favorite things }
sisters. peonies. polaroids.

Naomi's all grown up and graduated from 8th grade.

It was a lovely ceremony,
with all the requisite tears + inspiration
plus the best bit said at the very tip-end,
with words to live by from Headmistress:

don't ever ever wear hole-y jeans.

{ a lesson to keep close always }

But in the true spirit of the day,
here are just

A FEW REASONS
I REALLY RATHER LOVE THIS GIRL:

She rocks the Teen Vogue look
with a style that spans all eras.

She likes to clean kitchens for fun.

Sometimes she is blonde.
{ two eggs, mimi. two. }

She is one of my favorite authors
and definitely top email-writer ever.

and

She stages breakups at gas stations.

{ also, a veritable mary poppins. practically perfect in every way. }

lovebug

My sisters and I are in charge of gathering
photos for the funeral.

Best. Job. Ever.
{ except that we tend to cry every few minutes }

be swift, my soul

{ ALMA 40:12 }

I have long loved to sing Battle Hymn of the Republic. I remember singing on Friday mornings at Carden Memorial, because I loved the strength in the spirit of a hundred small voices singing with such conviction. I remember singing from the pews of our Monument Park chapel, because I loved the Sunday meetings that ended with a sure call to serve. I remember singing alongside my family, because I was convinced the song was very much our personal anthem. You see, my grandfather served as President of the Switzerland Zurich Mission and I easily associate the white cross on red with him, as well as hold him in the highest love and regard. It made sense, then, that such a grand song would include my Papa on the right hand of God---for I was long convinced the words read He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible Swiss sword, a sentence I interpreted as my grandfather fighting on the frontlines of all that's Good and True (which, if you knew him, is not far from reality at all).

He passed away yesterday. It was good news; a sweet release from long years of suffering, a day we've anticipated for a while now. Turns out that does not make this any easier. But my misquote turns to comfort now as I hum his song through the hours:

his truth is marching on.

they're quite the rage these days

Anyone else ever heard of a parrotlet? I just found them this morning

and find their existence quite amusing.
Mostly because they are lit'rally little parrots.
: : : : : : : : : : :
But if I really wanted a bird to keep
{ and I do, actually. I really do. }
it would be a finch.
Preferably from the Lesser Sundas.
{ those ones got my color memo + pulled it off beautifully. }

and, speaking of birds.
saltbox girl sent me this lovely little link
that you really all should see.

THE END.

right back where we started from

{ coronado wins the pretty award. }

Spent the last few days in pure California surf+sun which was, as Ren would say, pretty fabby. There were about a million posts to go along with it, but of course now that's all been swept away in the lazy afternoons and I'm left with the bits and pieces. Sad for my own journaling purposes, but all the better for you (dear, patient, oh-so-small readership of mine) who now get the Reader's Digest edition.

And hopefully, eventually, I'll be back on some sort of real blogging schedule. Until then . . .

1. we went to sea world and now I would like a baby otter for keeps, please.

So apparently when they say SOAK ZONE, you get wet. And not like summer sprinklers or a third-world shower, but cannonball off the high jump. Despite the douse, second row was a win---the only thing better than Sea World? Sea World with my little brother.

2. hugh jackman is a yes.

First of all, Redbox is genius. But when I got Australia for the night, O warned me that I wouldn't like it. Then that I would make fun of it. And then that it would just drive me crazy/make me mad/be really frustrating. So maybe it was all that low expectation that made this film so completely dazzling. I adored it. All of it. Beginning to end.

Beyond the brilliance of Nicole's classic clothing? Art Direction. Slow, classic feel. Love story. Pet wallabies. David Wenham as villain. Red rock + blue sky. Drover. Convinced, or do I need to say more?

3. dried bartlett pears might be better than candy.

End of.

4. replay potpourri, take three.

Took in a weekend show at the National Comedy Theater in San Diego, a local improv group that claims national attention. Should've been my worst nightmare, seeing as Sefton had to practically hold my hand through Year 11 rounds of Spacejump, but watching improv is a different thing entirely. It's quick, it's smart, and it's guaranteed clean, a sure-fire formula for any Friday night. Plus it's in a small, somewhat sad sort of theater atop an unfettered row of pubs and cafes where kids in skinny jeans and beach curls lounge on stairs and rooftops---all amounting to a certain sort of artsy-cool that makes you feel like you've found something to write about.

Also, the troupe deserves every word of praise they've won. If you're in the neighborhood, I say go.

5. there once was a battle for san diego bay.

It wasn't long, and it was hardly terrible, but I learned all about it on an 1847 revenue cutter in an afternoon sail out to sea. This was the same adventure with the sea lions, the dolphins, the Vegas jock wearing a sea-sickness bracelet that turned out to be a graduation cuff, and the unfortunately required combination of running shoes, jeans + sweatshirt. But it was also four hours of gentle travel with a spot of sun, and I loved it all.

6. I always did like Tevye.

Coronado was new for us, and while it was worth the week San Clemente still feels like home. We spent an afternoon back at T-Street and even the freeway signs brought joy to my soul---there is much to be said for tradition, especially when you toss it in with childhood. I love that beach from point to pier, no matter grey sky or spring sea. Having Las Golondrinas up the street isn't all that bad, either.

7. oh. and olivia's bringing sexy back.

{ as always. }

click+clack

{ and p.s. }
did I mention that I got my life all figured out?

realised that peter segal acknowledging
"our intern, althea lang!"
week after week on
wait, wait . . . don't tell me!
makes me jealous.
. . . . . . .
so I looked up the application,
imagined it into my graduation plan,
and thought: I could do this.
I could really, truly do this.
so maybe one day I will.

but first, indonesia. so more on this later.

isn't she just first class?

happy mother's day!
: : : : : : : : : : : : :

am off to walk along the seashore with my own dear mum
who is pretty and smart and quite the
loveliest person I know

{ i really rather like her a lot }

listening to the kind of music she doesn't like

A few months ago this might have been terribly embarrassing,
but it's time I own up and here it is:

i HEART taylor swift.

Laugh if you want, but this video has to prove it---
any girl with the sense to cast Lucas Till
to her music has sure reason to be loved.

{ and maybe while we're on the subject of secret shames
I should mention that I watch JONAS.
and maybe really truly adore every minute of it. }

the one good thing about not seeing you is that I can write you letters

{ besides being put to my most favorite OpShop ever,
this ad reduces me to tears. everytime. }

This past semester I stopped in at my university's international center to check on an address of a friend studying abroad. The girl behind the desk gave me a good, long look at my request. "You're sending mail?" she asked, as if there was any other interpretation of my question. She turned to her boss. "Can people do that?"

The greying, wrinkled old man took me in from head to toe. "Snail mail?!" he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow behind his bi-focals. "The question would be do people do that?"

I persevered, and that's the win. I mean, I'm a big fan of email--it's kept me close to Africa, Brazil, Atlanta---and this post isn't to complain. But there's a major difference in the signed, sealed, delivered, and I refuse to lose it entirely. Handwriting has soul, envelopes have journey, and upside-down stamps keep a thrill to them that can't compare. The post scripts and parentheses! The all-telling sign off and the treasured opening line! The secrets you let slip in the security of a stamp and sufficient distance. The letters I receive are among the treasures I'd save in a house fire, kept close and safe on my nearest bookshelf.

A week from today, stamp prices go up. Again. But I'm going to say that's okay. Because a real live letter? As my mum would say, it's the only true.