The Sixty Degree Sunday Currently



Sixty degrees might not mean anything to a lot of you. In Louisiana, 60 degrees meant it was time to bust out the boots and scarves. But, here, 60 degrees is everything. The bike trails are packed with smiling people and panting dogs. Patios open. Windows roll down. The first day Minneapolis hits 60 is basically the best day of the year. 

C  U  R  R  E  N  T  L  Y  .  .  .  


R E A D I N G 

I just finished one book of travel essays (The Best American Travel Writing of 2011) and started another last night (The Conde Nast Book of Unforgettable Journeys). Clearly the latter wins for more compelling title. I'll tell you more about them later. 

W R I T I N G

Dare I say that I think I might have gotten my blogging groove back? I have pages and pages of scribbled ideas. Here's W I S H I N G & H O P I N G that it sticks!


L I S T E N I N G


Emma Louise. Foster the People. St. Paul and the Broken Bones. And the playlist to my Thursday hip hop class, over and over, as I dance around my house. 


T H I N K I N G

Or rather, trying not to think about the endless to-do list I need to accomplish before we leave on our trip to Israel next month.

S M E L L I N G 

True life: our sink clogged this morning, and when the plumber unleashed whatever it was that was blocking the pipes, a wave of sewer breeze floated through the house. The various candles I've lit are making it smell like what I imagine an Anthropologie photo shoot at a trash dump must smell like.


FEELING

Spring fever-y. I want to pack everything I love doing outside into this one warm day in case it never happens again. I recently discovered the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (love it) and I think that this feeling needs to be added as an entry.

W E A R I N G 

Let's talk about what I'm NOT wearing: a coat. gloves. a hat. I'm sitting on my back porch without any of these things. I really don't hate winter, but this time of year -- waiting for that first day of spring -- is so fun. It's like being a little kid and desperately counting the number of sleeps until your birthday... except that in this case, your birthday lasts four months. 


L O V I  N G 

The burst of creative inspiration that hit me on Friday.
W A N T I N G 

Ice cream. Particularly soft serve in a cone. Y is just finishing a rotation of night shifts -- in his zombie-like state, maybe I can convince him to bike to one of the five ice cream options in our neighborhood. (Seriously. Five. It's dangerous.)
N E E D I N G

Did I mention I'm basically flying across the world soon and haven't planned, um, anything?