What Possessed Me

Secret Gardens

Hiya ladybugs!

I've got the honor of filling in for the lovely P today, while she is off chasing puffins and taming wild foals in Iceland with Fauxhawk (that's Fjohokk in Viking--the J is silent). I blog over at Designers' Brew, and the most important thing you need to know about me is that shoes are to me as baby animals are to Miss P.

I was thinking recently that one of the loveliest things about living in New York for a long time is the gradual accumulation of glimpses of secret, magical places--the places that circumstances take you to purely by luck and timing--the corners of the city that almost nobody else gets to see. Of course, I never seem to have my camera on me when I stumble upon these places. But in any case, here's a collection of secret gardens to see you off into your weekend... may you have many a chance to push open that courtyard door!

 

Kikette Interiors

 

Tria Giovan photography

Office for Word and Image

And one of my favorite secret spots, the beautiful library of Exeter College at Oxford--when you climb up that sagging stone staircase, you get a view of the city that will steal your breath. (images courtesy of Follow Anna)

Off to the land of the elves.

No, I'm not tripping - I'm going to Iceland.

We're at the airport now and I have about 45 seconds before my laptop battery runs out, but I wanted to say goodbye (for now) and let you know that a wonderful group of guest bloggers will regale you with beauty, humor and silliness over the next ten days. I'm honored to have them and I'm sure you will fall in love.

Will try to check in as internet access permits.

With love and puffinz,
P.

P.S. I've been meaning to thank you for all of your sweet comments on the big reveal, which cleverly hid my giant goiter. Next time, you'll get the goiter AND the enormous hairy nevus. Patience, my sweets.

Image by Numi, from a series of photographs of abandoned houses in Iceland.

Goodbye to all that.

Goodbye job.

Goodbye beige cubicle.

Goodbye good people.

Goodbye bad people. 

Goodbye lay-offs (for now, at least).

Goodbye Fifth Avenue.

Goodbye Bryant Park.

Goodbye painful staph meetings.

Goodbye late nights with PowerPoint.

Goodbye silly office pranks.

Goodbye drunken Christmas parties.

Goodbye French flamingo poster.

Goodbye amazing pizza joint next door.

Goodbye nice security guard.

Goodbye pleasantly inappropriate coffee vendor.

Goodbye abysmal Secret Santa gifts.

Goodbye spontaneous happy hours.

Goodbye little company that raised me by hand.

Hello new (and scary) things.

Image from here.

All the cool kids live in Asheville...

 

...raise chickens, keep bees, and know how to can. I know this because I'm a slave to Small Measure, a blog by homesteader, author, and sustainable living aficionado(a?), Ashley English.

Ashley fulfills all of my fantasies about country living - cuddling chickens (you know how I feel about chickens), eating lavender-scented honey from your own bees, cooking wholesome, organic food from your own garden. Think Laura Ingalls Wilder with sassy glasses and a sense of humor. 

Here's a sweet idea: Ashley is holding a canning contest on the first Monday of every month. Leave a comment on the contest post and if you're the lucky duck, Ashley will send you something delicious she canned herself using recipes from her upcoming book, Homemade Living: Canning & Preserving. Peach and lavender butter: HELLS TO THE YEAH.

Ashley, please do not be alarmed if I show up unannounced at your doorstep, attach myself to your leg, and cry like a petulant child when you ask me politely if I would please piddle outside. 

All images from Small Measure.

Dispatch from the Dept. of Baby Animals

We went to a beautiful house on a farm with the most spectacular menagerie I've ever seen. It goes without saying that I COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT over the baby animals.

Kissing a baby pony born last month.



Kissing a tiny lump of butter in the shape of a bulldog puppy.



The alpacas, emus, donkeys, pigs, peacocks, exotic pheasants, and roosters did not want to be kissed and were therefore irrelevant.

At home, I found a baby bird squawking and flapping his wings helplessly on a ledge inside our building. He was so disoriented that he couldn't find his way out and seemed scared and weak. "BABY ANIMAL IN DISTRESS!" I thought, as I climbed up a banister and balanced precariously on the ledge.



I scooped him up and called Fauxhawk. "Come right down, I've got a baby bird!"

He was too weak to fly. We took him upstairs, shoved the cats in the bathroom, improvised a cage with a salad spinner and some TP, and put him out on the balcony near the flowers. He was so sweet - he let us pick him up and stroke the downy bits that still clung to his body. He seemed to like the attention, and nestled comfortably in the salad bowl.



We tried to feed him water from a turkey baster but he refused our offerings.  Finally, Fauxhawk looked up a recipe for baby bird gruel and I ran out to the grocery store to get the ingredients."I'll name him Habib," I thought, remembering the Arabic word for "darling."

Waiting in line, I got a call from Fauxhawk.

"Honey, I don't think he's going to make it."

"What? I was just with him. I was holding him and he was fine!"

"I can't get him to eat. He's not moving."

I rushed home. We stood over the salad spinner in silence, poking him a few times just to make sure.

"Maybe he'll wake up." We had both imagined that he would be gone in the morning, having rested comfortably for the night in his makeshift nest.

"I think that's a dead bird," I said sadly. "Should we sing a hymn or something?" Instead, we eulogized him.

"At least he died quietly. It was a good death for a bird."

"He was such a sweet little thing."

"Bless his feathery little soul," said Fauxhawk.

Baby bird, we never knew ye, but we loved you all the same.

xox

Top photo by Fauxhawk, second photo by Liz (owner of aforementioned butter lump).

Notes from the garden

Dear Yellow and Pink Begonias,

When I got you, you were a bunch of no-name tubers from a catalog. I didn't have high hopes for you, and in fact, you were a bit slow. I'm not going to lie - I spoke sharply to you in May and June when you were a hopeless, spindly sadsack. Then, out of duty or fear or competitive spirit, you burst into bloom last week.

Now I feel terrible, having driven you hard like Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest or one of those dreadful spelling bee mothers who makes her children read the dictionary.  God help me when one day you rebel and go off the deep end, overdosing on seaweed and green algae fertilizer. I don't know what I'll do with all the guilt.

Love,
P.

The essence of summer

Venetian beauties at the lido as captured by The Sartorialist.

We are a tribe.

Every so often I read something so close to my personal history that I feel completely gutted, as though I am again experiencing the disappointment and loss I once felt so acutely. My friend Elly sent a link to this letter in Salon's advice column, and it reminded me of how unkind we can be to ourselves - and how often we feel undeserving of love.

In response to the letter, the columnist writes, "You are a gentle and brave soul, and you are part of our tribe. Yes, we are a tribe, I think, a lost tribe of the world."

Who hasn't nursed a broken heart? I wouldn't want to know them. There is fellowship in loss.

Photographs by Barbara Vidal via Sugar Pop Tarts.

Koalas are cruel, heartless, and lacking maternal instinct.

After a long night of drinking forties on the stoop with her deadbeat boyfriend, Mama koala gets knocked up.

Mama Koala has twins.

"Holy shit," she says. "You don't expect me to support two babies in this economy, do you?"

Then her homeboy takes off lickity-split. "Damn it to hell. I'll take the cute one," she says, and stalks off into a thicket of eucalyptus. 

The loser baby - sad, abandoned, scarred for life - is being reared by hand by the Aussies. See it in all its glory right here. You will be forced to gnaw off an arm to release yourself from the weight of the cuteness.

Via Emma, fine purveyor of goodness.

This week's blog stalking

It's been a while since we talked blogs and I don't want you to think that I've stopped sending toenail clippings, extracted wisdom teeth, and rodents wrapped in bows to the latest objects of my affection.  Quite the contrary - if you need me, you'll find me sifting through the garbage bins of the following bloggers:

Boubou Teatime - deliciously mad and visually stunning.

Sugar Pop Tarts - slightly racy, always beautiful.

Saint Verde Digest - I've mentioned this blog before, but it still knocks me out.

A New Simple Something - an Iranian blogger who is close to my heart.

 

Dig in, blog babies!

xoxoxo,

P.