music for your Monday

The Avett Brothers singing A Fathers First Spring. Such a sweet, sweet song.

When I'm in the sweet daughters eyes
my heart is now ruined for the rest of all time
there's no part of it left to give
there's no part of it left to give

I never lived til I lived in your light
and my heart never beat like it does at the sight
of you baby blue
God blessed your life
I do not live less I live in your light

music for your Monday

Last fall, thanks to my friend, Paul, I was introduced to the music of the Alabama Shakes. If you didn't check them out when I told you about them back then, give them a listen today. Lucky for me, I got the chance to see them live this summer and, just as I presumed, it was fantastic. Love them. And so will you.

Seriously. Go download their album, Boys and Girls. Now. I'm not joking. Right now.

"put them worries on the shelf. Learn to love yourself. Don't be your own worst enemy. Hang loose. Hang loose. Let the ocean worry 'bout being blue."

THE GLAD POST | No. 10

The coolest tree shadow. It makes me happy. I might have seen it a week or so prior to taking this photo and I might have gone back with a camera just to take a quick snap to remember it by. That's how glad it made me. Plus, you know, it's really close to my favorite sandwich shop. There's a win win for you.

THE GLAD POST | No. 9

Staying up late and watching The Conversation with Amanda de Cadenet. If you haven't seen any of the episodes, you should check them out, they're really intriguing. Just two girls, hanging out on a couch and getting down to the nitty gritty bits of conversation. 

Well, two girls, and you know, a film crew. 

THE GLAD POST | No. 8

My boss and I were having a conversation a few days ago, and in response to something I had said to her, she says,

"If my mother were here she would say that's very Pollyanna of you."

Pollyanna. The whole premise of my glad posts. Fancy that.

THE GLAD POST | No. 7

I'm glad for nights when you put minimal effort into your hair and somehow it does exactly what you want it to.

Because goodness knows how rare those nights are.

he said she said

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

roald dahl

THE GLAD POST | No. 6

I'm glad for friends. And wine. Definitely wine.

brunch and junkyards are my favorite

A few months back with old roommates. Brunch at Serpentine in San Francisco, ice cream at Mr. and Mrs. Miscellaneous, and exploring at a repurposing yard. It appears as though the color of the day was mustard. 

THE GLAD POST | No. 5

I'm so glad I've got my cat, Weezer. He's way cooler than any other cat I've ever encountered. And that's a lot of cats, people. 

Weeze is a bad ass outdoor cat, who greets me at the car most every time I come home. When I go for runs he waits for me in the driveway. He has a special hiding spot behind the bushes that he thinks is perfect for jumping out from when you're walking by. Weeze has never had a bath. Except for the time a few months ago when he laid down and took a nap in fresh chicken shit and I attempted to "wash" him with dog shampoo and a wet paper towel. Not so successful, that venture. 

His one pitfall is his allergies. He sneezes. A lot. I've never seen an animal with so much snot. Most people think he's pretty gross. But he doesn't feel sorry for himself. He just cleans up his mess and goes on with his day. 

I hope he lives forever. 

We just go down to the basement, drink for three days, and then surface to see what happened | ATLANTA

This summer, my friend Lia and I went on an adventure through the south. I never told you about it. So I'm telling you about it now. You're welcome.  

Dear Atlanta,

You were hot. So hot. I regretted flying in wearing my cowboy boots. So much. I suppose it didn't help that I was coming from San Francisco, where it was cold, so cold. So I had on skinny jeans and sweaters and socks. Oh Atlanta, you devil you, you ripped me a new one when I was walking down your cracked sidewalks, trying to take back control of my suitcase, that thing had a mind of it's own when it hit those cracks. You got me to sweat in places I didn't know I could sweat.

But I fell in love with you.

Your iced tea? Was that laden with sugar or crack cocaine? Either way, fine by me, say I. Your people? Some of the most genuine and kind-hearted I've encountered. Except that one bus driver. But I'm willing to overlook that.

I think my favorite citizens of yours were the electric guitarist in the revolving high rise hotel bar that we thought we were sneaking into (turns out, not), who recommended a restaurant, and then, upon us asking for directions, said he wasn't sure, he was supposed to play a gig there the night before but his car broke down on the highway, and he never made it. I'm willing to bet his car isn't there anymore.

The kids playing in the fountain were incredibly entertaining, thank goodness there were scores of them and even more adults watching, so I didn't feel like a creeper.

The woman in the pizza shop, who told me all about her husband and his obsession with salon visits and buying new wigs. And also the gentleman making the pizza. He was a charmer.

Sharlene, the woman who I rented the car from. We ended up chit-chatting for fifteen or more minutes. Sorry people behind me in line, but I had to convince her that she wouldn't need to cross any bridges to visit San Francisco. And she had to convince me that hurricanes are no big thing. According to Sharlene, you just go down to the basement, drink for three days, and then surface to see what happened. Her words. No big thing.

Then there was the man at the gates of the car rental company. He remembered me when I drove through a week later. I had remembered his name at the time, but now it's gone.

But the best, THE BEST, was Roberta. When we returned our rental car after a week of exploring, and were planning on checking out another car from another company, Roberta won a gold star. I pulled in to return the car, she directed me where to park, and then, when I hop (literally) out of the car on crutches, Roberta comes running. Baby, I didn't know you was on CRUTCHES! Roberta let us bring our new rental car from another company to her side of the parking lot so that we could load our stuff straight from one car to another, instead of us trying to lug two suitcases, two backpacks, two sleeping bags, purses, snacks, and big ass floppy Southern hats we bought from the Walgreens down the street from our hostel. We also bought a bottle of wine, a bottle opener, and face masks from that Walgreens so we could spend an evening on our third floor balcony being lazy.

Lia called you Hotlanta. I refused to. But you were. You were Hot. Lanta.

I loved you, Atlanta. I loved your people, your food, your cocktails, your houses, your parks.

I did not like your hostel quite as much.

Mainly because your hostel had cockroaches. And mattresses made of springs, and springs alone. And I kept imagining that a murderer was lurking in the shadows. Because there were a lot of shadows and not many light switches, you know.

I've never been a screamer, Atlanta, but you got me good a few times with those nasty ass cockroaches of yours. Those things just roam the streets, no shame. I couldn't handle the one in my hostel room. I trapped it under the plunger. Then, remarkably, the next morning it was gone. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT?

And what was up with that farmer's market that was supposed to exist but didn't? Not exactly cool, Atlanta.

But oh, Atlanta, your houses. They were beautiful. Dream houses. And your park swings overlooking the lake. And your people, have I mentioned your people? And your live music? That sax player and I are now best friends. Fo life, fo sho. Your popsicles were tastier, too.

Someday I'll return to you Atlanta, and I'm for damned sure drinking a few more of those Torched Cherry Mojitos.

Love,
Courtney

my travel buddy, Lia

the cutest little boy who was obsessed, obsessed with that scooter. 

Lia wanted to take him home. I wanted her to not say that aloud.

we keep things classy

our revolving cocktails

Apples, I love you.

One of my favorite Fall traditions (well, I wouldn't really call it a tradition, more like an every few years or so kind of a thing) is heading up to Apple Hill. It's a local region with crazy amounts of apple farms, many of which are open to the public. I used to go as a kid and ransack the Fudge Shoppe, not for fudge, but for rock candy (and actual rocks/gemstones to add to my pathetic rock collection that mostly consisted of gravel from our driveway). I've got a lot of memories up in those hills, and this past week I had the opportunity to drag my parents out to sample some apples and, my favorite, fresh apple cider. 

Although, to be honest, I didn't get any apple cider on that trip. But I did five days later when I lured my cousins with the promise of fresh apple cider doughnuts after we had been hiking nearby. Hey, a girl needs her hot doughnuts and apple cider, am I right?

Apple cider doughnuts so fresh they burned my mouth.

Searching for the best apple farm.

Old hardware stores

My dad.

Thrifting.

music for your Monday

I was in the mood to listen to Johnny Nash singing this song. Which led me to Joss Stone's cover. Bonus!




Joss Stone singing Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye