the ghosts of vacations past.

I don't know whether I've traveled a lot or barely scraped the surface (truthfully, it's probably somewhere in the middle), because it depends on whom you ask, but I have a fair amount of memories from vacations stockpiled in my brain. I like to play 'remember when' and imagine I'm there again. These are some things I remember, going back in time.

I remember New York in sixth grade. It was March, and bitterly cold. Don't go to New York in March if you can avoid it. It doesn't have the magic of the holidays and Central Park is too dead to house the picnics and music it's famous for. It's still fun, though. I saw the Statue of Liberty, went to the MoMA and the Guggenheim (but not the Met, go figure) and stayed in the smallest hotel room ever.

I remember Chicago, the summer after fourth grade. We went to Navy Pier and I rode, half petrified, in the Ferris wheel. I remember the hall of mirrors, and my cousin screaming "I found the exit!" only to hear a big crash two seconds later.

I remember taking the bus to Mexico with my dad and my sister when I was seven. We went to Monterrey where the mountains rose around us and the air was sticky and hot. I remember my sister throwing up after breakfast in a little cafe. I'm sorry for that image, but that's a part of vacations, too, you know? I'm just keeping it real.

I remember Florida, for Thanksgiving in first grade, maybe? It was the furthest east in the U.S. I'd ever been. I went to the ocean, but most of my memories revolve around pilgrims and Indians. That's how it is when you're little.

I remember Germany, when I was four, the last time I was in Europe. But that is a lie. The only thing I remember about Germany is something I thought for the longest time was a dream. I was standing on a platform when a train pulled up. Everyone around me rushed on and I tried to do the same, but the doors closed and the train sped off before I could. Luckily, my aunt was with me.

What do you remember?

Kendall

chalk typography.

a piece from last weekend.

I'm that nerd at the bookstore who stops dead in her tracks, because she likes the typography on the cover of a book. This may or may not have happened last week at the grocery store, too (it was a really nice apple sign, okay?) My mom smiled and nodded, but was probably just wondering how on earth she raised such an odd daughter...

I love fonts. I really do. However, I fail miserably at typography. Or any form of graphic design, to be honest. I much prefer tangible mediums, such as pencils and oil paints. Last summer, I painted a chalkboard wall in my bedroom. Needless to say, chalk has become a new favourite medium of mine. And though I still have so much to learn, I'm loving this juxtaposition of digital typeface and good old-fashioned handwriting.

What's your favourite art medium?

xx

abbey

caramel popcorn.

It's a family favorite, and one that I typically start making in September or October. It goes perfectly with our fresh-pressed apple cider and everything else that fall entails. Lately though, I've been craving this caramel popcorn. (Carlotta gave up sugar for Lent, so now would be a perfect time to submit all your sugar-laden recipes. ;) The best part about this recipe? It takes ten minutes, tops, and it all cooks in the microwave.

Here's the recipe.

You'll need:
two bags of popcorn
one stick of butter
one cup of brown sugar
one/fourth cup of corn syrup
one/half teaspoon of salt
and one/half teaspoon of baking soda

Take the freshly popped popcorn, (we pop ours on the stove, but you can use whatever low-salt option you have) and pour them into a paper grocery bag sprayed with cooking spray. Set it aside; you'll need it in a minute.

Next, combine all the ingredients except for the baking soda into a microwave safe bowl. You'll want to microwave it for two minutes, stir it, then put in in for another minute. When you take it out of the microwave, stir in the half teaspoon of baking soda.

Pour the entire caramel mixture on top of the popcorn. This next part is key. Roll the top of the bag closed, and shake it. The harder you shake it, the better mixed it will be and the better it will taste. Continue shaking until your biceps start burning. Put the entire bag back in the microwave for a minute and forty-five seconds. Then shake it. Then put it back in for another minute forty-five. Shake it. Are you getting the picture? ;) Finally, it needs to go back in the microwave for another minute. Shake it again, and you're through! I usually pour it onto a cookie sheet covered in wax paper, and let it cool. (The best part is all the little popcorn/caramel bits stuck onto the bottom of the bag. Those are best scraped off with a spoon and eaten quickly.)

It should last up to a week, if you have any sort of self control and don't eat it on the first day. (I speak from experience...) Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

xo
Katie

sunday afternoons

Between our regular staffers, our guest posters and our reads, we all have different rituals and routines to our Sunday afternoons. Some of us spend them with our family, others at church, others catching up on homework. There is a certain suspended magic to Sunday afternoons though--the way they last much longer than any afternoon does, and how they are perfect for daydreaming away the hours, and also that no other afternoon feels quite so silent and calm.

At my house, there's a lot of tea and coffee drunk on Sunday afternoons. Oftentimes we tell stories about our family and our friends around the dinnertable, and our evening meal lasts longer in the hope that we can postpone the next day. There's scrabble sometimes, and usually books, and today there were plans for summer holidays. But above all else there was a sense of peace and of quiet. Sunday afternoons are the calmest time of the week for me.

What are they like for you? Please share yours in the comments!

xx
Libby

playing pioneer

Like most kids, I went through many literary phases when I was younger. At different times, and to different degrees, I have been obsessed with Jane Austen, Greek mythology, Nancy Drew, those Royal Diaries books about princesses, the Holocaust, and yes, even Twilight (I was eleven, okay? People change).

And there was the time, around second grade, when I read the Little House on the Prairie series.

I got the complete set of all the books around that time and I remember reading the very first on an airplane to California. I remember this because I left it in the seat back pocket, never to be seen again. It was eventually replaced, but that was the start of it all for me.

I had my mom make me a pioneer dress, complete with a bonnet. I didn't wear it out in public, of course, but on Halloween and lazy Saturdays it would make an appearance. I recall days spent in the living room with my two younger sisters, playing like we were pioneers. I'd lug out the old tin bucket, for lack of better word, and pretend to wash clothes in it. Sometimes, we'd pretend someone was sick and 'call' for the doctor. Or act like Laura and Mary, running around on the banks of Plum Creek.

There's more, though. One time, I went to a pioneer fair with my family, where I made candles and little dolls and rode in a covered wagon. At school that year, we had to decorate a pumpkin as our favorite book character and who did I chose but Laura Ingalls Wilder. Who else was there, really? And when it came time for biographies...well, I don't think you even have to ask.

That was my first big book obsession. You might even say it was the start of it all, what led to my hopefully life-long love of reading. There will be others. But I'll never forget Little House on the Prairie and days spent playing pioneer.

Kendall

moleskine, volume one.

I collect notebooks like some people collect shoes. That might be an exaggeration, but the number of folders, papers, and journals that are scattered throughout boxes and stuffed in drawers in my room outnumber my shoes ten to one. I always have at least one in my purse, and have countless more notes and scraps of paper with scribbled thoughts on them. I have spiral bound notebooks dating back to when I was eight, sketchpads from when I was five, and some artwork in folders from when I was three. I've always been a documenter, artist, and journaler, but I never found a notebook that fit me just right. And then I received a glossy moleskine for my birthday, pages creamy and clear and the entire journal brimming with promise. What else to say? It clicked. Perhaps it's silly, but I do my best work in it. I love writing, sketching, and generally just jotting down everything on the sheets of paper bound together in leather. Here's a peek into the many pages of the book that I love...all of them filled. Now? Onto volume two.

xo
Hannah

photographs from italy.

I cannot tell you how it felt to float down the Canals of Venice by gondole. I am not even able to describe to you how delectable the gelati was. Not because I don't want to. Simply because I've never been.

These are my dad's photographs. He took them on a school trip (he's a teacher) a few years back. I remember that breezy summer evening after he came home. Laptop in tow, we found a picnic table in the park. We then proceeded to go through every single photograph he had taken. With the photos, he shared stories - and then some sweet little gifts he had brought back for my sister and I. Ever since that night, I have had such wanderlust for Italy. But until the day comes where I see the country with my own eyes, I'll live vicariously through photographs.

tanto amore,

abbey