"Dinner at camp is never boring because every night we have "dinner-tainment," I said cheerfully to the campers one evening. In impressive unison they looked up from their desserts, furrowed their brows, pursed their lips into little lines of harsh judgement, and shook their heads until they had accomplished expressions of such devastating disdain that I immediately resolved to repeat my new-found pun as loudly and as often as possible.
This is Elliott eating a biscuit without his hands. I’m starting to suspect that everyone here was hired because of specific talents like these.

"Dinner at camp is never boring because every night we have "dinner-tainment," I said cheerfully to the campers one evening. In impressive unison they looked up from their desserts, furrowed their brows, pursed their lips into little lines of harsh judgement, and shook their heads until they had accomplished expressions of such devastating disdain that I immediately resolved to repeat my new-found pun as loudly and as often as possible.

This is Elliott eating a biscuit without his hands. I’m starting to suspect that everyone here was hired because of specific talents like these.

At camp it is important to have friends with good skills. It is even more important to keep friends who work in the kitchen because of extra oatmeal cookies. 

At camp it is important to have friends with good skills. It is even more important to keep friends who work in the kitchen because of extra oatmeal cookies. 

Playing with lights at Andrew’s lake. Staff training. 

Playing with lights at Andrew’s lake. Staff training. 

Free time here is scarce but every once in a while I steal a minute to cultivate old habits. The girls are excavating the garden and there are oddities to be collected and now my coworkers are beginning to wonder why I have a bunch of dead vegetables in my truck bed. 

I’m finishing up my first week at camp in Durango and since we’re sharing bunks until the end of staff training I haven’t been able to nest properly so the universe or whatever sent me this treasure. I’m going to like it here I think.

I’m finishing up my first week at camp in Durango and since we’re sharing bunks until the end of staff training I haven’t been able to nest properly so the universe or whatever sent me this treasure. I’m going to like it here I think.

I am so excited about this moth not only because she is beautiful but also because I have a weird story to accompany her photo. Pretty (sometimes dead) things are so much more interesting when they come with a story…
Last year in a coffee shop in Mancos, Colorado I bought an old book called Moths and How to Rear Them, to hoard as a funny coffee table thing. Bored one night, I began filling in the old black and white photos with colored pencil. Of the eighty-eight moths featured in the book, I chose a species known as Hylophora Gloveri, or Glover’s Silk Moth. I colored only this moth because I have the attention span of, yeah, well, a moth. I had never heard of the moth before, I just liked its muted earthy dust colors.
A few days later a rare Colorado rainstorm dropped this very same moth on my sidewalk. 
"This must be a sign!…of…uhh…something!" Is what I would have said if I believed in signs.
Instead I said: “Whoa that is a very peculiar coincidence.” And then I looked around to check for aliens, or more likely witches or something because I am watching too much Supernatural. Don’t ask me why paranormal entities want to waste their time bestowing me with dead moth gifts; that’s their business, not mine. 
Though I made a few amateur modifications, I tried to follow the methods outlined in the book to display the beautiful little creature. I made a relaxing jar—which softens the body and allows it to move without crunching to bits— out of a film developing tank because I am such a hipster. I probably did a terrible job so if you follow me and happen to be a moth-mounting-expert, please just forgive me and know that I did the best I could with my shaky coffee-addict hands. Evidently, the Whisker of a Lion makes an ideal mounting instrument— I am serious, that is what the book actually says— but as I do not know any lions who are willing to part with their whiskers, I had to use less sophisticated technology.  I know that the wings are meant to be parted more, but I prefer this calm resting look to the spread-eagle-grade-school-dissection sort of aesthetic of author and moth enthusiast Paul Villiard.
She has a wingspan of about five inches which, I guess, is as big as these lovely creatures get. Somehow, the storm only tattered her soft little wings slightly. I think I prefer the imperfections. 
While I would love to start a collection, I would pretty much have to pay a lot of money to raise a moth and eventually murder that moth and I am no good at killing things so I would end up with a lot of pet moths to take care of. I’ll guess I’ll leave my collection up to chance for now.

I am so excited about this moth not only because she is beautiful but also because I have a weird story to accompany her photo. Pretty (sometimes dead) things are so much more interesting when they come with a story…

Last year in a coffee shop in Mancos, Colorado I bought an old book called Moths and How to Rear Them, to hoard as a funny coffee table thing. Bored one night, I began filling in the old black and white photos with colored pencil. Of the eighty-eight moths featured in the book, I chose a species known as Hylophora Gloveri, or Glover’s Silk Moth. I colored only this moth because I have the attention span of, yeah, well, a moth. I had never heard of the moth before, I just liked its muted earthy dust colors.

A few days later a rare Colorado rainstorm dropped this very same moth on my sidewalk. 

"This must be a sign!…of…uhh…something!" Is what I would have said if I believed in signs.

Instead I said: “Whoa that is a very peculiar coincidence.” And then I looked around to check for aliens, or more likely witches or something because I am watching too much Supernatural. Don’t ask me why paranormal entities want to waste their time bestowing me with dead moth gifts; that’s their business, not mine. 

Though I made a few amateur modifications, I tried to follow the methods outlined in the book to display the beautiful little creature. I made a relaxing jar—which softens the body and allows it to move without crunching to bits— out of a film developing tank because I am such a hipster. I probably did a terrible job so if you follow me and happen to be a moth-mounting-expert, please just forgive me and know that I did the best I could with my shaky coffee-addict hands. Evidently, the Whisker of a Lion makes an ideal mounting instrument— I am serious, that is what the book actually says— but as I do not know any lions who are willing to part with their whiskers, I had to use less sophisticated technology.  I know that the wings are meant to be parted more, but I prefer this calm resting look to the spread-eagle-grade-school-dissection sort of aesthetic of author and moth enthusiast Paul Villiard.

She has a wingspan of about five inches which, I guess, is as big as these lovely creatures get. Somehow, the storm only tattered her soft little wings slightly. I think I prefer the imperfections. 

While I would love to start a collection, I would pretty much have to pay a lot of money to raise a moth and eventually murder that moth and I am no good at killing things so I would end up with a lot of pet moths to take care of. I’ll guess I’ll leave my collection up to chance for now.

Tanner made this for me. He also made me these. I can’t believe we used to think he was not artistic because clearly he is a genius. I am glad he did not pursue an art degree because I am afraid he would be winning. 
We brought this back on our road trip from Pennsylvania to Colorado and now I am going through terrible road trip withdrawal.  When you are on a road trip, no one expects anything of you. Apart from moving in a forward direction, you do not have any responsibilities until the time comes to fill up the tank and find a meal. You have no choice but to live in the moment, and it is a wonderful feeling. It also helps if your best friend is trapped in the small truck with you and your other best friend is a superbly entertaining texter for when the Missouri scenery grows dull. 

Tanner made this for me. He also made me these. I can’t believe we used to think he was not artistic because clearly he is a genius. I am glad he did not pursue an art degree because I am afraid he would be winning. 

We brought this back on our road trip from Pennsylvania to Colorado and now I am going through terrible road trip withdrawal.  When you are on a road trip, no one expects anything of you. Apart from moving in a forward direction, you do not have any responsibilities until the time comes to fill up the tank and find a meal. You have no choice but to live in the moment, and it is a wonderful feeling. It also helps if your best friend is trapped in the small truck with you and your other best friend is a superbly entertaining texter for when the Missouri scenery grows dull. 

I was going to keep talking and then I just thought “maybe just shhhhhsh for a second, okay?”

I was going to keep talking and then I just thought “maybe just shhhhhsh for a second, okay?”

I’ve been arting a lot lately and my posting activity does not reflect this because my screen is usually too full of Supernatural marathons for photo editing and Tumblr posting. Get ready for a flood of art stuff that will be used to deal with:
a.) returning to reality after a road trip
b.) moving to Durango
c.) managing the dog’s Giardia symptoms
d.) running out of Supernatural episodes.
Anyway. These are some vines at Longwood Garden in Pennsylvania. It is a magical paradise full of vibrantly colored flowers so naturally I found this dreary little corner for picture taking.

I’ve been arting a lot lately and my posting activity does not reflect this because my screen is usually too full of Supernatural marathons for photo editing and Tumblr posting. Get ready for a flood of art stuff that will be used to deal with:

a.) returning to reality after a road trip

b.) moving to Durango

c.) managing the dog’s Giardia symptoms

d.) running out of Supernatural episodes.

Anyway. These are some vines at Longwood Garden in Pennsylvania. It is a magical paradise full of vibrantly colored flowers so naturally I found this dreary little corner for picture taking.

Nothing like the world’s cutest beagle to quell a rising existential crisis. Bingo does not care one bit if sleeping all day is the right way to spend his limited time on this earth. He is not bothered by mysteries that do not involve smells. He would, however, like his tennis ball— which I brutally hurled over a literal mountain— to be returned to him as soon as possible.

Nothing like the world’s cutest beagle to quell a rising existential crisis. Bingo does not care one bit if sleeping all day is the right way to spend his limited time on this earth. He is not bothered by mysteries that do not involve smells. He would, however, like his tennis ball— which I brutally hurled over a literal mountain— to be returned to him as soon as possible.

solongsunshine and I discuss our impending High School Reunion. May 2014.

solongsunshine and I discuss our impending High School Reunion. May 2014.

Whatever wish I may have made instead is irrelevant now. 

Whatever wish I may have made instead is irrelevant now. 

solongsunshine:

snowy mountain adventure to Evergreen today

Could everyone just behold Thea’s picture for a second? I dragged my expensive equipment out of the car, Pawn-Shop Tripod and all, to photograph this little valley on our Misty Mountains Misadventure and my pictures aren’t nearly as precious as this one is. 
I’m Photo-shopping a beard onto her selfie as we speak in an act of mature retaliation.

solongsunshine:

snowy mountain adventure to Evergreen today

Could everyone just behold Thea’s picture for a second? I dragged my expensive equipment out of the car, Pawn-Shop Tripod and all, to photograph this little valley on our Misty Mountains Misadventure and my pictures aren’t nearly as precious as this one is. 

I’m Photo-shopping a beard onto her selfie as we speak in an act of mature retaliation.

Tags: whines

There’s something to be learned from watching a dog enjoy a windy day. When the wind picks up and she closes her little eyes and takes in all the smells and her little dog brain interprets them all, who knows what she reads in all of those smells— maybe she’s thinking about all the foxes and coyotes and rabbits or maybe she’s just thinking “mmmPoop”— but she sure is content to sit for a while and sniff and sniff while all the smells blow by. Maybe, just maybe, this is like watching season after season of Supernatural reruns on Netflix blow by while, smiling to myself like the dog smiles at the wind, I soak them all in from the comfort of my basement couch. Or maybe I haven’t quite learned the lesson just yet.

There’s something to be learned from watching a dog enjoy a windy day. When the wind picks up and she closes her little eyes and takes in all the smells and her little dog brain interprets them all, who knows what she reads in all of those smells— maybe she’s thinking about all the foxes and coyotes and rabbits or maybe she’s just thinking “mmmPoop”— but she sure is content to sit for a while and sniff and sniff while all the smells blow by. Maybe, just maybe, this is like watching season after season of Supernatural reruns on Netflix blow by while, smiling to myself like the dog smiles at the wind, I soak them all in from the comfort of my basement couch. Or maybe I haven’t quite learned the lesson just yet.

My phone has always insisted on autocorrecting “rock” to “Rick” because I think it thinks that girls my age should be talking more about “Ricks” than “rocks.” My phone should stop being so old fashioned, is what I think.

My phone has always insisted on autocorrecting “rock” to “Rick” because I think it thinks that girls my age should be talking more about “Ricks” than “rocks.” My phone should stop being so old fashioned, is what I think.