see

People spilling from the sidewalks into the streets; crisp, colorful bunting against the night sky; couples walking arm-in-arm; streetlights casting a pallid wreath of light on the pavement

hear

Street musicians--accordion, bass, conga drum--spinning notes into liquid gold; footsteps clicking quickly through cobblestone side streets; the tinkling of silverware on plates; the metal clanging of the clock in the old church striking the hour

smell

Pots of mussels bathed in thick tomato sauce; noodle dishes; pommes frites; that old-stone-city smell; the faint smell of exhaust from cars and buses; damp late-summer air

feel

The uneven rhythm of your footsteps on crooked streets; the slight breeze blowing on your face; full of life, blissful, adventurous, lacking nothing, awe-inspired, nostalgic, alive

A late summer evening spent in Leuven a few weeks ago. I could get used to the city at night.

It was Jeremiah's twelfth birthday and we did the only thing we knew to do: pack up the car and head out to the caves for a little hike. The clouds hung low and rain came down in a fine needle-like spray, but we pulled up our hoods tight and it only made everything seem more enchanting. We found ourselves a nice nook in a cave and laid a blanket on the dusty rock; mom opened the basket and a lunch of cold french toast, cheese, grapes, bell peppers, and salami was spread like the most royal of feasts. Dining in a secluded cave, with a sweeping rainy panorama of mossy rocks and trees laden with the first changing leaves, I felt like a queen. After lunch, we took our time meandering on the crude path, looking for cacti and talking about vacations past, then piled back in the car (boots thick with mud and faces damp with mist) to head home for more birthday celebrations of cheesecake aflame with twelve candles and those other things that rainy afternoons entail (reading and coffee, of course).

Happy birthday, J! I love you, bud.

--
ps spruced up/simplified the blog at bit and updated a few of the pages...feel free to take a look around!

top: thrifted | shorts: cut offs, originally old navy | tights: target | shoes: target | belt: thrifted

We've been having the kind of weather that makes you happy to be alive. The mornings are crisp enough to warrant a sweatshirt and the afternoon melts into a sunshine-y haze of warmth and you want to spend every waking minute outside. Lately, I've been taking lots of walks around the neighborhood to take advantage of the weather (above photos taken on said walks) and it's making me miss Europe. I miss how walking and bicycling is the main transportation, unlike way-too-car-oriented-America. It's hard to walk or bike anyway here without people giving you pitying glances, like "Oh, she doesn't have a car! Or she must be having car trouble! So terrible!" Regardless, I've been making an effort to greet people that I pass when walking. It's not that I try to be arrogant, but sometimes I get lost in my own little world and avoid meeting the eye of the man working in his yard as I walk past to avoid awkwardness. Instead, I've been trying hard to wave a little and be the first to say a friendly hello. You'd be amazed at how much better it makes you feel when you acknowledge you're not the only person on the planet.
In honor of this, I say we start a revolution. Start walking or bicycling more, even if it's just around your neighborhood, to remind both yourself and others that a car is not the only way to get around. Be the first to say hi. Keep a smile on your face. Let's bring back the yesteryears.

Things to be happy about, edition nine:

walks around the neighborhood and walking in general | eating pickles straight from the jar with my brother while sitting on a bench (long story) | tights, especially polka dot ones, with shorts | an organized desk and organized notes | the fact that I have a future to plan for | curtains that catch on a breeze | dreaming in german | september in general

What are some things you're happy about?

I felt it today. The sky hung so low and thick it was almost suffocating, and carried in wisps on the breeze, I heard her whisper. "I'm coming," she breathed, and just like that the temperature dropped and the clouds grew darker. I listened intently, feeling the wind blow on my face. When she finally comes, we gladly give up our games and carefree lives of leisure, only to realize it's January first, cold and miserable and gray, and we desperately wish summer were here again and regret the easiness with which we gave those things up. But Autumn is an unstoppable force and cannot be pleaded or bargained with.
Now the drops are falling heavy, purposefully; I propped my window open earlier and the curtains are swaying and billowing soundlessly. I want to write more about the rain, but then I come across this bit in Sylvia Plath's journal: "It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: after a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation." I will be content to listen instead.
It's comforting, listening to the rain through the window. I rearranged my room today and it feels so much cozier and lovely. It started with the curtains; I've been meaning to put them up since May but it was only crossed off the todo list today. While I was putting them up, I realized I couldn't stop with just the curtains--one quote from John Green's The Fault in Our Stars (which I started last night and am almost finished with) keeps running through my mind: "I fell in love with the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." But it's applicable in many ways more than just sleep--like my curtains. First one step slowly, then everything else all at once. Autumn, too. The dog days of summer follow in slow, sticky succession and you think relief will never come, until one day there's a break in the heat and the next day it's a little cooler until suddenly fall surrounds you wherever you go. Slowly, then all at once. In some way or another, maybe that's the pattern of life.