Happy Birthday to My Brother, Dusty Bottoms

Today is Dusty's 25th birthday.  According to Facebook, he's in Ohio, and though one's first reaction to that proper noun might be, "What the fuck is in Ohio?," I can tell you: well, my brother apparently, and all four seasons.  I only mention where he is at this moment, because sometimes I don't know the answer to that question.  I tell people he's off in the world being Jack Kerouac, and I'm pretty sure I'm not just being facetious.  He's a poet, this kid, with all the inconsistencies and hauntings of a poet, but also all the verve and enigma of one.  My silly brother, who pulls a face every time a camera is pointed at him--or at least that used to be the case.  I miss him, and I hope he's well.  In my 25th year, I got married.  I don't know what's in the cards for Dusty, but I'm sure it's something big.  A quarter of a century, this guy.  Happy birthday.

Photo Journal, no. 53 | Behind the Curtain

A lot has happened in the past months since diligently updating this space with photos--a lot I've let pass me by without the documentation of my camera at all, and some brief moments I have captured.  You get the gist above.  We moved, a kitten was born, there were festivals, and holidays, and a trip to the high country.  In light of my pregnancy, my interest in keeping a record has snapped back into its proper place (I am nothing if not a historian by personality and habit).  If you're out there now, you can expect more here to come.

Thankful Thursday, no. 1 | The Chocolate Kind of Gratitude

"All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt!" - Lucy, from Peanuts

Last week, for a few brief days (I won't tell you just how brief), I carried a little box of artisan chocolates in my purse with me wherever I went, a gift from my Valentine.  Strawberry, huckleberry, and grand marnier truffles nestled safely in their papers and box, jostling against my sunglasses and jack knife, calling to me at 3pm, especially, when the work day seemed it may never end.  My boo sure does get me.  We watched together, on V-Day, so many menfolk buying roses at the Whole Foods while we ate our breakfast, and while I wouldn't object to roses, chocolates sure do taste better.  My guy--I sure do love him.  How grateful I am for that man in my life, for leisurely breakfasts, for emergency chocolates almost too pretty to eat.