I'll see you all this comin' fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountain

First of all, congratulations everyone for surviving the Apocalypse! I was a smidgen worried that some of you would be swept up into eternal glory never to be seen or heard from again, but it would seem that everybody is still here and most of Baltimore still looks vaguely post-Apocalyptic, Rapture or no Rapture. Plus we got a book sale out of the deal.

Second of all, The Bachelorette begins once again tomorrow, giving me one more reason to keep on keeping on. Of course, I am deeply disappointed that Ashley of all idiots was chosen for this very important role. Ashley is not America's sweetheart, nor does she have any life tragedy which necessitates that ABC blesses her with everlasting love.

Give me Pure Evil Michelle! Give me Skeletor Waitress! Give me Always-Crying Chantal! Give me the even more unbearably-named Shawntel and let her talk about the embalming process every single date! But what have I done to deserve an entire season of the squealy girl with hair extensions that look like they're about to eat me alive, whose only claims to fame are that she's a dental student who dropped out to chase the most boring man in the history of the world around South Africa, and speaks a non-existent Maine dialect of French--and poorly at that? What, I ask??

Don't worry, I will obviously still watch every second of every episode, and probably talk and write about it way more often than is socially acceptable to anyone. Adjust your RSS feed as you see fit.

In other news of the world, Baltimore seems to really want me here. Unlike Seattle which was always a bit too beautiful for my taste, and Chicago which always kept its distance, Baltimore woos me with sweet nothings and gifts even in the midst of our lovers' spats. The moment I begin lamenting its noticeable lack of Sarahs and baklava shops, the city sends me a heartfelt letter in the form of stratus clouds and sailboats.

Or a train ride through sunshine-dappled woods (I'm sorry, but there is no other way to describe it) to a neighborhood which is the spitting image of the first of my homes.

At every turn, I was reminded of Seattle in Mt Washington. I even spotted a banana slug--the King of Pacific Northwest Wildlife.

And prayer flags, which a good amount of Seattlites use as curtains.

Julie took me on a field trip to her baby vegetable garden. I'm sure she thought I was a complete nutbean because I was probably acting like it was the first time I've ever seen nature.

I've missed you, Trees!

 

Magical sights everwhere, like adolescent dill, and bees showing off their impressive work ethic.

There was a free public art museum running the length of the riverbank, and during our visit I joyfully added another Love mural to my mental collection.

Dear Future, I would like to live in this house someday. Is that so much to ask? xoxo

We feasted on sweet potato fries and watermelon beer as the sky darkened outside.

Which inspired a photo shoot next to Whole Foods. Why the grumpy facial expressions and the West Side Story-esque poses? Your guess is as good as mine.

We sat among bird cutouts and Mongolian blankets as we discussed prophetic dreams and lip gloss, and I stayed too late.

Today was Farmers Market Day with my wonderful mother.

We discovered a food that is delicious well beyond its literal description: whole wheat naan stuffed with paneer. No stranger to Indian food, I've had such the thing before--but this particular feast must have been sprinkled with Jesus Dust or sprayed with Wizard Glitter or something. It was beautifully good.

Which may account for the reason why this photo looks like my own version of a Madonna and Child. Me=Mary, Naan=Baby Jesus. (And other ways to successfully evade the Rapture.)

So many people enjoying themselves and their falafel.

So much good cardamom-saffron lemonade.

And music of the Andalusian sort.

And goat for all your goat needs.

This weekend's adventures, coupled with one or two other fantastic life-developments, may imply that I won't hate summer this year as much as I usually do. Surprisingly enough, my current soul-season is actually echoing the hemisphere's current season for once: Like the admirably confident but irritatingly offbeat spring, I'm going all out accepting my paradoxes and oddities, embracing my contradictions and moods.

The problem with me and summer is that I so rarely feel like the world does during summer. I can't relate to the earth when it's erupting right and left in garish hues and shamefully perfect skies. I'm constantly in a fall sort of state: melancholy, quiet, reflective, moody, unapologetically imperfect. But perhaps the bounty and newness and excitement I'm feeling inside will align with the upcoming bounty and newness and excitement of the northern earth. After all, summer marks the year coming into its fullness--its most colorful, abundant, extreme season, full of heightened emotions and the brightest shades of nail polish.

Plus, I recently bought sandals and shorts for the first time in my adult life, and I don't feel entirely un-Mari-ish in them.

Maybe summer is a lot more enjoyable when you resist the temptation to keep wearing plaid skirts and olive tights, and instead choose to wear bright red shoes which a man whom you suspect is the Second Coming of Art Garfunkel picked out for you at the store because he held it up to your arm and declared it compatible with your unfortunate skin tone. This guy also kept superfluously saying the word "jute." (For obvious reasons I almost invited him to my birthday party, four months in advance.)

Maybe a good starting place would be to listen to less sad men with guitars and angry women with pianos, and more...Taio Cruz?

But starting in a month. The only music I care to listen to these days is mumbly dudes wailing mellifluous harmonies in the foreground of Ranchera-inspired accoustics. Any suggestions...besides Bowerbirds and David Wax Museum?

Well, I am now very tired and I need to be well-rested tomorrow because there's going to be an open bar at our office party and I want to be fully awake to enjoy it. Good night, dears.