"We're simply an unconventional family," my dad said the other day as we were bicycling home from church. It's true. All of us--Mom, Dad, siblings, and I--do things a little differently from everyone else. I didn't use to like our nonconformity. I wanted so badly to be like my friends; I hid my differences and tried to blend in. Even today I sometimes go back to being a wallflower because those differences, no matter how minute they may be, are hard. But lately, though maybe it's just me getting older, I've been embracing the individuality. And I like--no, love--fitting in with the rest of my unconventional family. We pull out the honey every time we have pizza and bicycle instead of driving places and memorize entire Beatles albums and have dance parties while cleaning out the garage and don't have a television and devour books at an alarming rate and and don't care for sports and speak German on the weekends. It's a wonderful thing to belong to a group of people who have the same kind of quirkiness you do.

(images from a bike ride to the park yesterday...and for everyone who was wondering, no we didn't get a dachshund. he was just visiting the park too.)

“‘People always think that happiness is a faraway thing,’ thought Frances, ‘something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up; a place of shelter when it rains—a cup of strong hot coffee when you’re blue; for a man, a cigarette for contentment; a book to read when you’re alone—just to be with someone you love. Those things make happiness.’”
—A Tree Grows in Brooklyn 

 The past month or two, I've been doing the majority of my living sans camera. At the end of the day, once I finish juggling three online classes that are so very labor intensive, all my other school work, and day-to-day running around town, it's all I can do to kick back with a book, much less do something creative. Discombobulated is probably the word that best describes me at the moment. I confess I miss feeling inspired and wanting to create something beautiful, but sometimes resting is just more important than all that other stuff, so I've been content to simply love, read, and think.

loving

We've never really been Halloween-type people, but for the past few years, we've had friends over for a bonfire, good food, and making some memories. Last night we roasted smores, ran around the neighborhood, and told stories around the flickering glow of the bonfire. At the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling.

reading

I just finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and it is undoubtedly the best book I've ever read. I wanted to underline words and quotes and thumb through the pages until they’re soft with use; alas, the copy I read is only from the library and I had to make do with sticking scraps of paper in the pages of my favorite quotes. But soon I will buy the book for myself and I will underline words and quotes and thumb through the pages until they’re soft with use to my heart’s content. This book is not comprised only of characters printed with ink, but it is painted with people that are so real and so raw that—even if they’re not real—one can identify so deeply with them. Never before have I read a book that has resonated so deeply with me. And now that I’m finished with the book, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I feel like I have lost contact with my closest friends. I miss them. But I will read this book again and again and I will never tire of it because the characters are more than characters; they are my friends.

thinking

Instead of "No Shave November", I propose "No Shame November", which involves shamelessly indulging in guilty pleasures like listening to Taylor Swift, eating copious amounts of chocolate, and staying up too late. Also, I think pie should be considered its own food group, and the quote up there is one of the truest things I've read in a long time.

Happy November. I hope you get to eat lots of pie.

Right when the afternoon starts to fade to dusk, a flock of birds swoops from tree to tree. Chattering loudly, they are present every evening in autumn and winter without out fail. Last night, the air was cold and clear and darkness was slowly descending. For awhile, I stood outside with the birds and a faint sphere of a moon, taking it in.
When I went back inside, I pulled the jar of apple cider spices from the pantry and deeply breathed in the spicy, pungent scent a moment. It smelled like fall: crackling leaves, a harvest moon, bonfires, and air so cold it makes your lungs ache in the best possible way. I measured out a few tablespoons, mixed it in a pot of apple cider, and left it to simmer. I could hear my family in the living room, listening to country music and starting a fire; I joined them for a moment and watched the flames morph, interspersed with sprays of sparks. Then the apple cider was ready and we drank it in tiny sips with pursed lips, trying to prevent burned tongues but drinking it anyway because the cider smelled too good not to.
Another song came on talking about back home, hot summers, and back roads; I sang along while my face grew rosy from the flames and thought about last winter. Soon we will feel trapped by the early darkness, the long, cold nights and will try to wish the balmy summer evenings back into reality. But just then, with the fire reduced to embers and only dregs left in our cider mugs, I was grateful for a fall Friday nights like this. When I slipped into bed (heaped with an impressive pile of blankets), the last bird cawed, and with that I fell into slumber.
  Just a note: thank you so much for your comments on my last post. I am so grateful and humbled by the response. ♥

I was going to write about our weekend trip, about how even though I'm terrified of rollercoasters, I rode one six times in a row with my hands up all the way up; about how I slept on an air mattress in a walk-in closet; about how I got to visit Emma and Elsie's gorgeous shop, Red Velvet, on the way back home. But after several failed attempts at writing about it, I couldn't bring myself to do it because there are more important things to be addressed. It is not my intent to be melodramatic or a drama queen, but this is a subject that's been weighing heavily on my heart.

Over the past few weeks, I've had quite a few people asking me if I ever had bad days or times when life seems anything but perfect. The other day, I found this question in my ask box on tumblr: 

"I'm going to ask you something and I don't want to seem discouraging or negative. Okay? Take this as a question/some advice from a longtime follower. As a few other people have mentioned recently, your life seems perfect. We know that's not true, but to read the blog, it would certainly seem so. I would love to see more of the real Carlotta. Reading about a perfect life all the time is like a too-sweet dessert--good for the 1st bite, not so much after that. Could we see more of the real you please?"

Though I've written a bit on the subject before, instead of responding to it directly on tumblr, I thought I'd answer it here instead. 

When bad days happen, I keep silent about them on the internet. This isn't because I don't want to be "real", but because I don't need or want to throw myself a public pity party...and there are some things that I'd just like to keep private. I don't pretend to lead a perfect life or try to make it look like I do. I blog when I'm inspired, and I'm most inspired when life is going well. When things inevitably go awry, I vent to my diary and cry myself to sleep and try to put on a brave face in the morning.

However, I wanted to let you all know that there is another side to me. I'll admit, sometimes I feel like I'm living a double life, and that gets tiring. But that doesn't mean that what I write here isn't the "real" me. I love being a blogger. I could not survive without taking photographs, writing pretty paragraphs, and having the chance to be creative and sharing it with you all. Though not intentionally, I'm simply a bit different when I write than when I talk and interact with people face to face.

This is why it may seem that I'm not being "real" enough, but I'd like for you to know a little bit more about the other side of me.

I'm shy in groups of people and blush easily. I've never been the popular one, but the friends I have are the best a girl could ask for. Cloudy weather depresses me, I don't like cupcakes, and I'm a bit (okay, a lot) of a grammar nazi. I over-think everything and have the unfortunate ability to think myself straight into depression. I can't wait to be done with my teenage years and spend nights crying into my pillow because I feel so lost and empty. Tuesdays are my least favorite day and I live for the weekends. I love to be creative but often get stuck in ruts. I compare myself to others too much and I am envious of other people's lives far too often. I don't eat as healthy as I should and struggle with my self-image. My right ear sticks out more than my left and it is the bane of my existence. I have a terrible habit of biting and picking at my cuticles until they bleed. My family is my everything and I cry too easily. And when the workload piles too high, my mood is down, and I can't seem to do anything right, I have bad days too.