A Simple Bouquet of Photos

Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry."
— Jack Kerouac

Photos of a recent trip I made with my boyfriend to Vancouver.

Happiest of Thursdays,

Get the Picture: Theme Announcement

Hey Shutterbugs!


I'm happy to announce the second edition of Get the Picture!

This month’s theme is: HOME

home |hōm|noun
a place where something flourishes, is most typically found, or from which it originates.


Get the Picture is a photo share that was inspired on this blog with wonderful photographer/bloggers sharing their photos during 4 weeks of “Shades of Spring”.

This month, readers also posted their photos of trees seen here.

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Here’s how it works:

1. I will open this month's theme from June 1st-7th

2. Post, in any manner you'd like, with a home photo on your blog

3. Include a button or a link to Outside Voice in your post
{thank you, sincerely.}

4. Come to my "Get the Picture: Home" post that will be created on June 1st and use the linky tool provided to link up!
{This way people can come visit your blog by clicking on the thumbnail of your photo. I promise it's easy to do!}

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Now... get creative! Show us your version of ‘home’. The link up will open June 1st-7th, at this time you may post about home on your blog and link it here.

I’m honoured to have you all involved:)

Yellowed, Tattered Memories

Just a year ago my 91 year old grandma finished her long and wonderful journey on this earth.

She loved photos and documentation; some of her words inspired the start of this blog. She told me: "write it down, because even though it feels [insignificant] right now, it adds up to life".

During our last visit we looked through boxes and boxes of photos: of my grandpa in the Navy, of them "courting", and of their life both single and together.

It made me think a lot about legacy-- what we leave behind and create along the way. Stories we get to tell, lessons we get to pass on for future generations.

...how in the end our aged words and yellowed, tattered images will be left to tell our story.

Photos courtesy of my Grandma and Grandpa's beautiful life.

post inspired by The Sartorialist's recent photo theme: Vintage Photos.

Dear You,

Dear Readers,

I think you rock. And I know that you want a little chuckle today, so I will equip you with the tools...

Happy Friday and Weekend-ing to you all!

Source: Sapling Press cards

discovered via.

Sincerely,

Percolating Thoughts

Random thoughts percolate today to create a strong brew of thoughtful, remiss, and joyful reverie...

*My baby sister came home this weekend! She has been gone to school, but she’s back for the summer to work at the mine with me.

I’m pumped to giggle together way too loudly on the bus ride home from the mine, and have all the grumpy old men scowl at us. I’ve missed that while she was gone.

*I had the honour of guest posting on an AWESOME blog- Hearted Girl (have you visited there yet? She’s wonderful with a dash of quirky. And I heart her.)

*On working, traveling, and moving to Australia: it’s amazing how supportive this little online world is. Thank you, sincerely for all the comments and support on the big choice!

A lady I tutor from Venezuela had wonderful advice when talking about my options:
“You are young. You need to eat the world!”

I suppose this advice can apply to any sort of life, either living abroad or not. I love it.

*Last weekend I made a road trip to see some amazing girlfriends a few hundred kilometers away. Shopping, biking, farmers-market-ing, bbq-ing. Oh it was a happy weekend.

*if you enjoyed yesterday's thoughts, I fell in love with more articles from "Rumpus". This advice on:

writing like a mother-f*er
and a letter to a 20-something self

made me think, and I would like to to pass them on to you.

*And Lastly, but most exciting: Did you guys see the awesome photos that have been linked up for the monthly photo project “Get the Picture”??

These photographer/ bloggers went all out on their posts, and it’s so neat to see the different views on the theme. Check ‘em out here!

Alisha | Kristie | Laura | Nikki | Claire | Shannon | Vanessa |Carla | Brenda | Stephanie | Ellie | Erin | The Holding Pattern

I promise, if you just peruse a couple of these, you won't be disappointed with their beautiful blogs!

*Oh, and I’m swooning over Brian Andreas quotes right now. So here’s his bit of advice for the day:

“Remember to use positive affirmations. I am not a dork is not one of them."
— Brian Andreas

or, to add a little more whimsy:

"We lay there and looked up at the night sky and she told me about stars called blue squares and red swirls and I told her I'd never heard of them. Of course not, she said, the really important stuff they never tell you. You have to imagine it on your own."
— Brian Andreas

I hope there were many grand Wednesday's out there for all of you.

Borrowed Wisdom

{note: type heavy, but I promise it's worth the read.}

Turns out my coping mechanism for making big life decisions is pretty cheesy, almost embarrassing, but mostly inspiring [for me at least]. I write, and think, and channel my thoughts by reading and listening to alot of other’s ideas that might mirror my own.

I read quotes, see which ones give me a tingle in my spine, and listen to the feelings that come.

I’m not patient; I search, and decide, and try all the doorknobs to the doors I think should open. Because I just had a door close… and as the cliché says: another one is due to open anytime now.

I read this article from a wonderful site I get a daily newsletter from. This came in my inbox the other day, and over green tea the spine tingles were induced.
I’ve included excerpts, but if you’d like to read the whole article, visit it here.

It’s a speech for a college graduation, but I feel it lends itself to any situation where growth and change is involved.

So, readers… you get to witness my coping mechanism of collecting excerpts and quotes that help me digest my own reality. Lucky ducks.
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There’s a line by the Italian writer Carlo Levi that I think is apt here: “The future has an ancient heart.” I love it because it expresses with such grace and economy what is certainly true—that who we become is born of who we most primitively are; that we both know and cannot possibly know what it is we’ve yet to make manifest in our lives.

I think it’s a useful sentiment for you to reflect upon now, sweet peas, at this moment when the future likely feels the opposite of ancient, when instead it feels like a Lamborghini that’s pulled up to the curb while every voice around demands you get in and drive.

I’m here to tell you it’s okay to travel by foot. In fact, I recommend it. There is so much ahead that’s worth seeing; so much behind you can’t identify at top speed.

Your teacher is correct: You’re going to be all right. And you’re going to be all right not because you majored in English or didn’t and not because you plan to apply to law school or don’t, but because all right is almost always where we eventually land, even if we f* up entirely along the way.

I know. I f*ed up some things. I was an English major too. As it happens, I lied for six years about having an English degree, though I didn’t exactly mean to lie. I had in truth gone to college and participated in a graduation ceremony. I’d walked across the stage and collected a paper baton.

On that paper it said a bachelor’s degree would be mine once I finished one final class. It seemed like such an easy thing to do, but it wasn’t. And so I didn’t do it and the years slipped past, each one making it seem more unlikely that I’d ever get my degree. I’d done all the coursework except that one class. I’d gotten good grades.

To claim that I had an English degree was truer than not, I told myself. But that didn’t make it true. You have to do what you have to do. You can’t go to law school if you don’t have any interest in being a lawyer. You can’t take a class if taking a class feels like it’s going to kill you. Faking it never works.

If you don’t believe me, read Richard Wright. Read Charlotte Brontë. Read Joy Harjo. Read William Trevor. Read the entire Western canon. Or just close your eyes and remember everything you already know.

Let whatever mysterious starlight that guided you this far, guide you onward into whatever crazy beauty awaits. Trust that all you learned during your college years was worth learning, no matter what answer you have or do not have about what use it is. Know that all those stories and poems and plays and novels are a part of you now and that they are bigger than you and they will always be.

You don’t have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don’t have to explain what you plan to do with your life. You don’t have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don’t have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history or economics or science or the arts.

You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that’s all.

I understand what you’re afraid of, sweet peas. I understand what your parents fear. There are practical concerns. One needs money to live. And then there is a deep longing to feel legitimate in the world, to feel that others hold us in regard.

Years after I no longer worked at the last restaurant where I waited tables, my first novel was published. The man who’d been my manager at the restaurant read about me in the newspaper and came to my reading. He’d been a pretty awful boss—in fact, at times I’d despised him—but I was touched to see him in the bookstore that night. “All those years ago, who would have ever guessed we’d be here celebrating the publication of your novel?” he asked when we embraced. “I would have,” I replied.

And it was true. I always would have guessed it, even all the time that I feared it would never happen. Being there that night was the meaning of my life. Getting there had been my every intention.

When I say you don’t have to explain what you’re going to do with your life I’m not suggesting you lounge around whining about how difficult it is. I’m suggesting you apply yourself with some serious motherf*-i-tude in directions for which we have no accurate measurement. I’m talking about work. And love.

It’s really condescending to tell you how young you are. It’s even inaccurate. Some of you who are graduating from college are not young. Some of you are older than me. But to those of you new college graduates who are indeed young, the old new college graduates will back me up on this: you are so god damned young. Which means about eight of the ten things you have decided about yourself will over time prove to be false. The other two things will prove to be so true that you’ll look back in twenty years and howl.

The most terrible and beautiful and interesting things happen in a life. For some of you, those things have already happened. Whatever happens to you belongs to you. Make it yours. Feed it to yourself even if it feels impossible to swallow. Let it nurture you, because it will.

I have learned this over and over and over again. There came a day when I decided to stop lying. I called the college from which I did not have an English degree and asked the woman who answered the phone what I needed to do to get one. She told me I had only to take one class. It could be any class. I chose Latin. I’d never studied Latin, but I wanted to know, at last, where so many of our words come from. I had a romantic idea of what it would be like to study Latin—the Romance languages are, after all, descended from it—but it wasn’t romantic. It was a lot of confusion and memorization and attempting to decipher bizarre stories about soldiers marching around ancient lands. In spite of my best efforts, I got a B.

One thing I never forgot from my Latin class is that a language that is descended from another language is called a daughter language. It was the beginning of the next era of my life, like this is of yours. Years after I no longer lived in the state where my mother and I went to college , my first novel was published and I traveled to that state to give a reading. Just as my former awful boss had done in a different city mere weeks before, the professor who’d granted my mother a PhD at her memorial service read about me in the newspaper and came to the bookstore to hear me read. “All those years ago, who would have ever guessed we’d be here celebrating the publication of your novel?” she asked when we embraced. “Not me,” I replied. “Not me.” And it was true.

I meant it as sincerely as I’d meant that I always would’ve guessed it when I’d been speaking to my boss. That both things could be true at once—my disbelief as well as my certainty—was the unification of the ancient and the future parts of me. It was everything I intended and yet still I was surprised by what I got.

I hope you will be surprised and knowing at once. I hope you’ll always have love. I hope you’ll have days of ease and a good sense of humor. I hope one of you really will bake me a pie (banana cream, please).

I hope when people ask what you’re going to do with your English and/or creative writing degree you’ll say: Continue my bookish examination of the contradictions and complexities of human motivation and desire; or maybe just: Carry it with me, as I do everything that matters. And then smile very serenely until they say oh.

Yours, Sugar

Thanks for reading and for all your support in the past little while.

Sincerely,

Viva Las Vegas

This one time, I visited the opulent metropolis of Las Vegas.

It was the weekend where the dance beats replaced my heart beats, and luxury reigned over all.

The trip itself was something I looked forward to very much, you see, because the rest of my weeks are spent at a copper mine clunking around in steel-toe boots.

And, to tell you the truth, I missed the clip-clopping of high heels, the swooshing of a dress, and the thickness of hairsprayed curls.

I met my good friend there. She was my roommate all through University. But this time, Instead of sleeping on worn, single beds in the uni residence, we dove into the luxury of our king beds, giggling about all the possibilities the weekend held.



We clipped and clopped up and down Las Vegas Boulevard until our toes were replaced by blisters. And we marveled our endurance and fortitude—only aided by iced chai teas… and other beverages of choice.

We attended a whimsical performance of Cirque du Soleil’s “O” at the Bellagio hotel and soaked in the bravado of performers diving from the ceiling into a stage made of water. We left, our faces wet with dew from the splashes that reached our front row seating.

Excuse the grainy collages. Picasa and I are fighting.

On the way home we stopped for a short time at a bar with sparkly tables and enjoyed a drink that was just as strong as it was pink. We were convinced they must have been $charging$ for vibrancy of colour… and enjoyment of company, of course.

{and no, I’m not talking about the scantily clad women that were dancing in the background.}

Please note: we were not at any sort of strip club, simply in the midst of what seems to be the norm in Vegas: equal parts sumptuous and scandalous.

The next day we remedied our privileged complaints of sore feet (and heads) with manicures, pedicures, and a morning by the pool.

Now, please, don’t think that this is the norm for me. I’m not much of a diva, (and don’t listen to my boyfriend if he tells you differently!) I like to think I work hard, stay grounded in reality, and only like to pretend that this lifestyle suits me once in a while… but don’t we all…



In the next few days we walked more of the strip, ate lunch and drank drinks at some splendid digs, and went dancing twice. Because,well, when in Rome…



...But, I’m not sure I can sound as classy when I say “when in Vegas, do as the locals do” because, the people there are crazy!! I slur, erm, I mean say that lovingly… But I’m certain, they’re crazy.



Sinfully opulent doesn’t even begin to explain the extravagant norm here.

We walked red carpets- pretending we belonged, skipped line-ups as VIP’s and only felt a little bit guilty {as any small town girls would}.

We enjoyed an open bar-- because even though you feel guilty being so spoiled; the $15-a-drink tab deters you from arguing differently.



The “Party Rock”ed. Somewhat literally—LMFAO (the band) showed up one night at ‘LAVO’ to mingle and take “shot shot shot shot shots” and sing their Anthem, of course.




But, I can say for sure that even in the lap of luxury you realize the cliché ‘the grass is greener on the other side’ is a bit true.

To live a lavish lifestyle makes you realize how comfy and safe those steel-toed boots are.
To party with strangers makes you realize how much you love your family and friends at home,
and to excite in the frivolousness makes you realize that purposeful tasks feel pretty darn good.

We had a great time, and after ‘viva’-ing Las Vegas… I’m really into ‘viva’-ing this moment.

PS. Please read on to the next post to see some beautiful blogger photographers who have linked up with their photos of trees!