Life would be so much better like this:

And the painted ponies go up and down

Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return, we can only look behind
From where we came
Joni Mitchell

My poster

In 1997 Santa left an oversized poster of the New York City sky line at night; with lit windows and fuzzy strips of orange from the trafficked streets.

I tacked the captured energy above my bed. It would be my home as soon as high school was done with me.

Anything to get out of this town.

Big plans. I had huge plans. Who doesn’t at thirteen.

I took that poster to college, where it lived in five different bedrooms. Was ripped during a party, gained bunches of push pin holes in each corner.

The pink glow of the night lights began to fade. I began to get older. Forget about my plans. Abandon pieces of that innocent expectation.

One day I rolled that poster up, and gave it to Goodwill. For someone else to find, dream about, live with. I remember staring at it, trying so hard to remember the intensity of my persistence in moving there. My tiny loft apartment found online. On my own. New beginnings. I walked away from it. I hate that.

In 5 days. In 2008, I am getting on an airplane to New York City. It will be my first time stepping foot on the floor of my dream. Now, the cold, loud, busy air will be mine to breathe in. Mine to exhibit.

The alleyway dive bars. Blues music purring from the doors. The resonance of my Winston Salem heels click-clacking on the concrete of Manhattan.

I have been packing in my brain for years. My suitcase is sitting on my bed, opened, ready for me to jump in. Thank you life for finally pushing me to this place in my heart, filling that empty corner

of pushpin holes.

Chandeliers define the word eloquent. They speak so daintily with each tiny crystal hanging in reflected light. Waiting for the perfect gleam to strike it, to scream out its story. As a child, I remember looking up at ceilings, watching for some sprinkle of fairy dust to come dancing to my head. I think this is what it would have looked like...and some days I think I am still a child.

Designer Maxim Velcovsky's amazing talent.

Found: My old book of poetry

Solitary Portrait

A window stretches
from floorboard to roof
in the attic of my grandfather’s
mountain home.
Wasps have nested
in each corner
as generations of dust
continue an echoing slumber
on sepia memoirs;
of shadowed kin.

Visits linger
in the back of my brain;
facing the glass picture.
The trees are turning shades of red
as they raise the nerve to strip
bare for their winter debut.

At the hill,
a rectangle of clods
left crumbling and crow-filled
from the fall harvest, while olive
green water moves
in wrinkles,
over the pond
full of dormant bass
awaiting Spring’s feast.

The fresh season
smells with unsullied bursts
of smoke
from the chimney;
released into gray mountain air,
where I am alone
with the ghosts of my dogs
whom I scattered on the brim of these frozen woods.

2005 Chapbook: Until You Release Me

'Tis the Season

If I was a single girl, and could choose the most girly, magnificent, wonderfully perfect holiday card, this would be it. Absolutely

Merry Everything.

Move over Rachel Zoe....I mean excuse me, please.

Grays and Yellow by MissEmmy

My New Heaven

To my person.

if only we had
played this for our
first dance
at our celebration
of forever and a dayness.

but it is so much better

barefoot
on our cool backporch
swaying in coordination
with the red wine in my
tumbler glass
whispering
this song
over
and
over
while the dogs watch us
wondering when we
will spill a drop
for them to drink up
from the wooden floor.

The Way I am by Ingrid Michaelson

Springtime on a vase. Fluffy Pink peonies anyone?

Check out Frances Palmer's lovely rustic creations.

Yes Please.

Check out the forever dear Sonia Boyajian and snag your own Blair Waldorf experience.

If only...

original French double ended copper bath with large roll; polished and lacquered interior and exterior, Circa 1880.
found here

Can you imagine how sophisticated you would feel taking a bath in this room? I think I would pretend to be living in my English Castle, and I am preparing for a large soirée in the ballroom. Soaking in sun heated water with rose petals, and staring out the window, thinking of the extraordinary chiffon gown I am about to adorn myself in.