more than just a pair of shoes

I really like this.
My favorite part is:
"it's time to get greedy for the stuff that really matters"
And the shoes are pretty rad too.
Too bad they are way out of my budget.
At least for now.
Maybe I'll splurge...
next summer.

like mother, like daughter

Yesterday I baked. I know, this is a rare occurrence, no? But I have been wanting to hone my domestic talents, or possibly, create some. Anyway, these lemon-blueberry scones (thank you, allrecipes.com) were scrumptious and super easy to make.
If I can do it, anyone can. :-)

{In true "Flavors of the Umpqua"-style, I should mention that the blueberries were picked locally by my mom, dad, and little brother, and we get our eggs from a lady at church who has chickens.}

photo via mi madre,
way more artistic than I could have done.


da da dadadaDAda dadadaDAda nanananaaa

This video is hilarious.
Check it out.

"you'll never look at dinner the same way"

I saw this on Monday at this funky funeral home-turned movie cinema called The Bijou in Eugene, (my mom already posted about it here). I haven't read as much about this subject as my mother has, so a lot of it was new information (though I would like to). I thought the movie was very well-done and interesting.

Although a lot of it focuses on the negative aspects of the way we eat and produce food, raising awareness, (which I feel is necessary and beneficial) it ended on a very positive note with this bright idea about the power of the consumer:

you can vote, three times a day.
you can change the world...with every bite.


my neighborhood

I was thinking the other day about communities. And neighborhoods. And neighbors.

And blogging. And some of my blogging friends.

A community, a circle, a group, a neighborhood, whatever you like to call it, is a support system. It's a place where you are free. Free, just to be. And be you, however you turn out that day. And there is someone there to laugh or cry with you, or say something that makes you feel better.

When Micaela writes a heart-wrenching post, I feel for her. And know that she and I are similar, in some ways. That we feel things deeply. And that we love easily.

When Jayne posts something hilariously witty, or utterly literary, I bask in the glory of her words. And I laugh out loud. She's brave enough to follow her dreams, and think that is beautiful.

When Pepper puts up pictures of her crafty genius, I envy her talent and smile a little more that day. She has such spice for life, and I love that.

The difference between these women and some of my other blogging friends is this: I only know them through their blogs. And their comments on my blog.
I've never watched movies all night with Micaela, gone used bookstore hunting with Jayne, or had a craft day with Pepper. But these are women that I have grown to respect, love, and sincerely care about.

Because, you see, these are some of my neighbors, in this neighborhood of bloggers. As a whole, it is a worldwide network; but for me, it's not too big. For now. Just a few comments at the finish of my thoughts.

But that's okay, because I've always been a small-town girl.
{And to all my blogging friends, the ones I have and have not met, thanks for stopping by my little corner of the world. Come again soon!}

photo via deviantart


Some things are best left between a girl and her {heart.}*

{edit:} this post is not referring to one, specific boy from my past. maybe it's actually about the next boy to break my heart. if that's the way it will go. and maybe, also, the little pieces of my heart that have been put back together, but still, in a way, belong to the past. the little wrongs I have forgiven, but haven't quite forgotten. Regardless, these are my thoughts.


Please forgive me for complaining about a boy. Once again. A boy that is not you. But some other boy that will still be tugging on my heart.

Don't think I will never get over it; I will.

Don't think I will never love you fully; I will.

But, unless you are the next boy I meet,

I will have some getting-over to take care of.

But please, please don't give up on me.

I know I'm a mess. But at least I know it, right?

I know I make mistakes. Stupid ones. And I say the wrong thing. A lot. I'm not perfect. I'm not almost perfect.
Please trust me when I say that I will love you deeper than you can imagine. And I will let you love me, even when I don't think I deserve it. And I will become very attached. (Even though, as I'm sure you have figured out by now, I am pretty independent.) And I will add flavor to your days, and color to your moonlights.

Know that I trust my instincts and I follow my heart.

And my heart is headed in your direction:

But, you see, it's kind of big. And heavy. But I'm letting some things go, along the way. Some old things that I don't need anymore.

And it feels really good, because I'm making room for you.

image via deviantart

*Carbon Leaf, I changed the last word. Forgive me :)


a lovely manifesto

I found this from A Lot To Say, one of my new favorite "green" T-shirt companies. (dare I say, maybe exactly the kind of company I would love to work for?)

Our Manifesto

If you think something, say it.
If you believe something, say it.
If you want something, say it.
Because saying it creates new awareness.
Awareness sparks new behavior.
And new behavior inspires us all to be better.
If we speak out, others will act out.
To vote. Recycle. Save.
To think a little more.
To try a little harder.
To live more honestly.
Thoughtfully. Joyfully.
You have a lot to say.
So never be afraid to say it.
Or wear it.

{now, obviously, saying everything you think, could be a not-so-good idea. But I think this is beautiful and very positive.}


summer update

So...remember this list?

Summer is more than halfway over....so here are the updates:
1--hmmm..not yet..
2--okay, give me credit. I've tried to job shadow a friend a couple times, but it just hasn't worked out yet. But we're still trying!
3--I've learned a little bit more. To quote my mother, I don't just need to learn how to cook, I need to "learn how to eat." Okay, I'm sort of a really picky eater. Gimme a break, I'm trying...and I got it from her! lol
4--Oh have I ever! It might be a more-than-weekly occurrence that we share a slice of cheesecake as a staff, because it was "too old" or mutilated in some way.
5--YES! I've been at least 4 times. And definitely plan on going a couple more before I leave.
6--YES! I went to many of Kevin's baseball games. I only missed a few because of work.
7--...so far, so good. I think.
8--not yet....but Kellie and I are working it out:-).
9--YES! Although this list is never "done," I have read: Speak, The Poisonwood Bible, Persepolis, some poems from The Forgiveness Parade, and I'm currently Zorro.
10--YES! I've been keeping a scripture journal pretty regularly, to write my thoughts as I'm studying. And I've been writing in my regular journal pretty often, too.
11--YES! :)

I still want to read more....and work on the first 4 goals....and enjoy summer. But I still have a little over a month :-)

{Did you hear that, college friends? I'll be back... in almost a month:) hehe}



My friends are getting married.
My friends are getting married, and I'm still single.
My friends are getting married, and I'm still single. And I'm okay with that.
My friends are getting married, and I'm still single. And I'm okay with that. Really, I am.
My friends are getting married, and I'm still single. And I'm okay with that. Really, I am. Most of the time.

But sometimes, it can be hard.
But sometimes, it can be hard to see everyone else happy.
But sometimes, it can be hard to see everyone else happy with everyone else.
But sometimes, it can be hard to see everyone else happy with everyone else. And here I am.
But sometimes, it can be hard to see everyone else happy with everyone else. And here I am. Happy, but alone.

And I wonder why.
And I wonder why I am so independent.
And I wonder why I am so independent, and comfortable with myself.
And I wonder why I am so independent, and comfortable with myself. my-lonely-self.
And I wonder why I am so independent, and comfortable with myself. my-lonely-self. Instead of someone else.

Because I'm not.
Because I'm not that girl.
Because I'm not that girl you know.
Because I'm not that girl. you know, the one who's always a girlfriend.
Because I'm not that girl. you know, the one who's always a girlfriend. And never just, a girl.

I am just me.
I am just me, and I'm learning.
I am just me, and I'm learning. I'm learning about love.
I am just me, and I'm learning. I'm learning about love. And loving myself first.
I am just me, and I'm learning. I'm learning about love. And loving myself first. Because, for now, that is enough.

photo via deviantart


Pencil marks, chocolate smudges, and battered dustjackets

Yesterday I was in a bookstore. One of my favorite bookstores.
I stood in one aisle of the Blue Room, holding two books in my hands. Two copies of the same book.

*the first: new, paperback, smelling of freshly printed paper, smaller/more portable, and also 3 dollars more.
*the second: used, hardcover with a slightly battered dustjacket, thick, musty pages, and the binding a little curved.

I stood there for at least ten minutes, trying to decide which to buy. It was not a matter of whether or not I would buy the book; that had already been decided when I looked up the author's last name, eagerly scanned the shelves, and stood on tiptoes to reach the two books. It was a choice of new vs. used, or new vs. new-to-you.

I have always felt that used books have more character. That if they are well-worn, it means they have been well-loved. That if the binding is curved or the cover is a little tattered, it's because it has been opened again and again to reread a favorite passage, or that the former owner took it everywhere with them because they just couldn't put it down.

One of my mother's cookbooks, when opened, immediately falls to her favorite brownie recipe. The page is scattered with annotations, adaptations, and a few smudges of chocolate. I love that. That's not just how cooking should be; it's how life should be.

We try to do our best, and take the best care of ourselves. And that is a very good thing. But sometimes we screw up, and our pages get a few smudges, and the dustjacket gets a few tears (or we lose it altogether), or we add pistachios to the mix, and later decide that made one terrible batch of brownies. And sometimes, much as we try, we don't learn from our mistakes the first time. Sometimes we must revisit that painful passage again (and again), to catch the whole lesson.

But at some point, when the screwing up has paused for a moment: we put ourselves back together, smooth out our edges as much as we can, and stand tall, knowing that someone will love us better for our scars, for our failed attempts at perfect life, and for the story no one else can tell.

{After several minutes of mental deliberation, I chose the sullied script over the virgin text.}

Somehow I know I will love this book. And I think I will love it even more because it has been loved by someone before me.

photo via deviantart


music is poetry that gets stuck in your head

{I know, I know, I talk about music a lot. If that bores you, well, there is a little "x" in the top-right corner that can solve your problem ;)}

Life for the past few days:
~The Script has constantly been playing in my stereo
~Many-a-Regina Spektor video has been watched on youtube, including repeats of "real love (cover of John Lennon song)," "dance anthem of the 80's" and "samson."
~I really want to teach myself guitar.
~we listened to many-a-favorite Dave Matthews Band song closing the restaurant a few nights ago.
~I think that singing in the car is a wonderful alternative to commercials, or lousy sets on the radio. it is also an excellent atmosphere for lyrical and harmonical experimentation, because no one can laugh at the generally unorganized, sometimes flat, and often repetitive me. :)
[I realized today that I actually forgot some of the words to Sara Bareilles' song, "Between the Lines." I was surprised and sad for a minute, because it is such a beautiful song. And that song got my 19-year-old self through some rough days, it so perfectly articulated how I felt. But now it is kind of wonderful to know that chapter in my life is closed, and has been for a while. {This is not a recent development, but a recent realization of a continual truth.}]

It is so freeing to have to choose to remember. To move on, without those lyrics in the back of my mind.

and on a totally random, but completely necessary note:
Happy Independence Day, tomorrow!
I will be enjoying:
-an excellent firework show at a local high school's football field
-the night off, with my family
-something wonderful for dinner, because my mom will be making it:)
-and a star-spangled cake made by my darling 10-year old brother out of strawberry and vanilla cake, and blueberries.
photo via vi.sualize.us


you are my sweetest downfall

This song has been running through my head all day, and yesterday.
I have always found the story of Samson and Delilah terribly, hopelessly, depressingly, romantic.
And I always wish we knew more about it.
photo via vi.sualize.us