Back in White.

Summer is here, and the air hangs thick in Atlanta.

What better way to fool yourself into thinking you've dressed "lightly" than to frock up in glorious WHITE?

It's classic, it's crisp, it can be whimsical or stunning.

So take a cue from Anthropologie's new sister company, BHLDN, and Tom Sawyer himself. It's time to wash yourself white.

Go classic with Chanel, (no one beats this piping)

Or modern with Gucci.

Beach bound? Channel some Grace. Grace Kelly, of course!

While we're speaking of Princesses, we can't forget Kate!

This dress was princess perfect; what a Royal day.

If you're looking for regal, look no further than Carolina Herrera's signature shirt.

Be a little clandestine and grab a glorious hat, like Jean Shrimpton.

Or Transform yourself.... Okay. I'm embarrassed to admit that this post was inspired by Transformers 3. But Rosie Huntington-Whitely looked phenomenal in her white wardrobe. A white blazer with jeans and stilettos. (Were we supposed to believe those gorgeous black stilettos remained intact and on her feet during all that running and jumping and sliding down buildings? I'll buy the giant transforming evil-beating mechanically intelligent vehicles. But super-stilettos?

I don't think so.)

Or this gorgeous white dress.

Back on the runway- the detailing on this frock is art,

Much like Rodney Smith's brilliant black and white images.

White gloved art.

And Audrey, white gloved loveliness.

So take a crisp white page from some of these gals and put on your best white today. You'll feel cool, fresh, and chic.

Just don't forget your lipstick!

I'm Ready.

It hit the glorious 60's today. I'm ready for Summer. Mostly, the beach. And being tan again. Even just moderately-un-pale would be good. Here's to the impending Endless Summer, may it race toward us with the speed of a million famished seagulls heading for the trashbin by the hotdog vendor.

photos: Swim Dress by Tom Palumbo, image from kingdomcum.tumblr, vintage pin-up ad, image from Skinny Bitch, vintage image from stumbleupon.com, dress image by Tina Pelletier, vintage image from June 1951 LIFE, vintage image from January 1963 Vogue

Brooding...

The sky is dark and cannot make up it's mind. To storm, or not to storm...

And I, inside, torpid from the incessant heat, have made my retreat.

To pages:

And music:

Wuthering Heights and Vivaldi and Samuel Barber...

Summertime...

and the living is easy...

and otherwise... depending on the moment.

My cousin's Epic Vail/Beaver Creek Wedding is mere days away. I'm vigorously preparing, alternately worshipping the sun gods

and belting wedding music in my car. You see, it's been over a year since I've sung some of the songs I will be singing this weekend. And when I sang them, I sang them at sea level. I don't know how much water that whole "lung capacity at different altitudes" thing holds, but I can tell you that, as a singer, I cannot sustain or support notes the same way up here as I could in Philly. My anxiousness is of course compounded because Vail is another couple thousand feet elevation from where I am now. So as difficult as it is to struggle through the 10-beat, 3 note, formata'd key-change-climb at the end of The Prayer here in Boulder, it's gonna be a REAL TREAT up in the mountains.

All I really have to say on the subject is: Mags, I wish you were here... to give it to me straight and help me fix what needs fixing. I'm also thinking that Schubert's Ave Maria in Bflat is being optimistic. I think I'm gonna take G, just to be safe...

But enough about that.

Isn't summer glorious? When I'm not trying to figure out my life, I'm enjoying the relatively humidity-less hot days, and the immediate accessibility of a pool. Whoever first concepted water-filled giant tubs, miles from any lake or shore, was brilliant. To you, good sir, I say Thank You.

OH!

and: Look what I just got in the mail:

If you find yourself in The Big Apple, pick up an issue. My cover article on Ms. Howard is a 3-spread piece, and I've also got a little piece in there comparing American Politics to Wonderland. (The image is a delightful still from Tim Burton's AIW... of Tweedledee and Tweedledum looking particularly bi-partisan.) It's written under a pen name... but more on that later.

Back to Lovin' Summer.

photos: Art Pixie, vintage beach image, Kevin Costner & Christine Baumgartener wedding image, www.newyorkmoves.com, Summer Face by singareev, American Summer from tdbimg.com, image from danceistheway.com

A Room with a View

"She began to talk. Her thoughts darted like sparrows. I couldn't follow everything she said."

- from "Pictures at an Exhibition" by Sara Houghteling

I've been whisked joyfully out of reality for a small bit of time.

...That's not strictly true, but sometimes it feels like it.

Friends of mine have decided to jet across the Atlantic for a tour of the British Isles, and have left me in joyful possession of their mountain-top-bungalow house-keys, the temporary surrogate mother of two silly cats (Stormy and Lola, aka. Grouchy and Sneezy). Together, we aspire to be productive. And also to take catnaps in the sunshine whenever needed.

I enjoy evening views of Boulder Valley, which fades into dusk before lighting up like an earthly Milky Way, sparkling in the nighttime hours. Christine left me with a delicious book to devour during my first week here: Pictures at an Exhibition.

For the Musically Inclined, perhaps the name rings a bell, calling to mind the haunting music of Mussorgsky. Here's a bit of Promenade and Il Vecchio Castello:

The book briefly mentions Mussorgsky and the actual paintings that inspired this composition, but spends more time summoning visions of Manets and Picassos and Wartime Parisians. The irony was that I wrote down favorite quotes in a litte art sketchbook that had accompanied me to many museums. Even as I read about Degas' Little Dancer's provocative stance and innocent face, I wrote quotes in a notebook that held sketches of the very same statue. Books are adventures, aren't they?

"It had ceased to rain, though dampness was in the air, and the plaza and its stones and statues were washed and darkened. The sound of the fountain was joyous. The piles of leaves blown against the trees glistened. The sky cleared, as if a hand had brushed the clouds aside and left only stripes of pink against the blue."

As for me, it's time to be more accountably productive...

"I was a work on paper: weightless, sketchy, all impulse..."

photos: Dear Friend, Dear Sparrow from vi.sualiz.us, Sunset photo and lazy cat by Gloriosity Media: Boulder 2010, Pictures at an Exhibition cover - novel by Sara Houghteling, Olaf Hajek image from Google Images, Acqua 4 by Roberto from Flickr, Sketching Hand (mine!) by Eric Ian of ClarityMedia.

Think Fast.

Life is always happening. The omnipresent choice of "do something, or don't" becomes a whisper for the workaholic, a shout for the young graduate, a rhythmic mantra for the artist. Sometimes you're just rolling along, enjoying yourself, and Life screams "THINK FAST" across the schoolyard. You've got three choices: duck. run like hell. or open your eyes, throw out your hands, and catch it.

Now. Where was I?

Tracy and I had arrived at Hand in Hand. Imminently, Flock-of-Forty-Somethings spotted us,

and it wasn't long before one had swooped in for the kill. (note: it's very nice to offer to buy girls drinks. But if you're not literally standing at the bar, a little introductory banter is advisable. When you start with, "I'm buying you drinks," you end up gaged too high on the 'Likely to Rufie my drink' scale. In retrospect, however, thank you, Rufie-Bird, wherever you are.)

As RB leaned in to get our drink orders, I looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Tall, Dark, and Handsome, who was standing a few yards away. This wasn't your average, awkward, oops-I-looked-at-you-in-the-eyes eye contact....

And as RB disappeared toward the bar, I did what any girl with her wits about her would do. I beckoned.

So, (lucky us), TDH and the gentleman with him (we'll call him...RayBan...) sidled over.

"Would y'all do us a favor?" I said, dredging up the Southern accent that only seems to appear when I cross state lines into Mason-Dixon, Proper. "Can you just stand here with us for a while, and pretend you know us?"

Okay. So the fact that I managed to divert the threat of Rufie-Bird, score the attention of the cutest guys in the bar, and throw out what was an honest plea, but also a great Line - that's just luck. The fact that our little foursome clicked, quick - that was Serendipity.

And the "cutest guys in the bar" comment wasn't hyperbole. I mean it. Eyes like old amber and smiles like the sun. They were cousins, and clearly shared the family genes...

Fast-forward through the "Wow-it's-really-nice-talking-to-these-guys" realization and the first quakes of "Maybe-you-can-meet-a-nice-guy-in-a-bar." I was ticking off a checklist of evening accomplishments: Girl's Night Out? check. Meet boys? check. Talk with boys? check. "Suck out the Marrow of Life"? Thorough Thoreau living was pending. About 2 hours after eye-contact, TDH upped the stakes. He invited Tracy and me to a concert. A concert on the following day. A concert in a cave... in Tennessee... 3 hours away.

And you know what?

I said, "Absolutely."

I'll take a break from the narrative to say: Yes, I fully realize that was crazy. Yes, it was a shaky limb to climb. But I've got good intuition and had a lesson to impart to dear Tracy: When Life is knocking, open the damn door and go play.

"What would your mother say?" you ask? Well, I'll tell you what she said. She said, "Ooh. Sounds fun!" No joke.

Back to the bar.

Our foolish foursome headed to the Majestic diner on Ponce de Leon Ave and stocked up on 1AM deliciousness... like mashed potatoes and chocolate milkshakes. Then we bade each other farewell...for a few hours.

Because TDH and RayBan showed up outside of Christ the King Cathedral right after 10AM, to pick up Tracy and me from the steps of church after morning mass. By this time, we'd spent all of 3 hours with these boys. But don't worry; they met my mother. Next stop was Starbucks for some iced goodness, where we also picked up 6'4", the largest yoga instructor I've ever met.

Scene: TDH and me in the front seat. Tracy crammed in the back with RayBan and 6'4". Neither of us could really complain.

And we were off.

If you've never been crammed into a car with one friend of 22 years and three handsome perfect strangers, with three hours of I-75 ahead of you, I'd suggest you find the nearest opportunity to do so. It was riotous. And three hours + 1 pit-stop later, we emerged on the grassy plains of Tennessee, two clicks over from a cow pasture. The boys sprang for our tickets (Dear South, I love you, and I love the gentlemen you foster. This never would have happened in Boulder), and we found ourselves walking into the earth, feeling the temperature drop from 82 to 55 in a matter of seconds, the soft closeness of underground humidity brushing at our skin. Stalagmites, stalactites, underground waterfalls and pools of water, low ceilings, (-duck, 6'4", duck!) and dirt in your flip-flops. After about a 1/4 mile trek into the mountainside, the ceiling lifted into a huge cavern, with folding chairs set in rows, with stage lights set into the walls, with a soundstage beneath a natural arch, and a giant crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

And then the real magic began.

Caverns have built-in sound systems, and it was a matter of moments before we were awash in the sounds of Bluegrass Underground. Monty Montgomery, and then Darrell Scott, then the unforgettable lyrics of Will Hoge (who asked the startlingly apropos question: Where do we go from down?), and the quirky-isn't-quite-the-right-word Justin Townes Earl.

It. Was. Amazing.

I'd try to describe it more, but those moments belong wrapped up in that earthy cocoon, deep beneath the root systems of Tennessee Pines, some distant echo of Orpheus singing to Eurydice.

You know that feeling when you're coming out of The Mineshaft Ride at SixFlags, or finishing the It's A Small World caves in Disneyworld? After the concert, we emerged from the subterranean haven, back into the hot and sticky world of the South in Summer. We stopped in Chattanooga for dinner, and at about 10:30 PM, RayBan hollers from the back seat, "Hey guys! We've known each other for 24 hours!"

"Think Fast!" screamed Life.

"I got it! I got it! I got it!!"

photos: The Year 2008 in Photographs -The Big Picture- from Boston.com, seagulls {rose-coloured-rain} Happy (pretty) Monday from vi.sualize.us, NicoliNiki image from Phototree, Clock by Ejfel Utan Zita, Old door by Bogdan Dascalescu, Nighthawks by Edward Hopper, Harkness Tower clock face, open road from 500px by Yuriy_Nezdoiminoge, Cumberland Caverns chandelier, Cumberland Caverns concert image, Tennessee Hills at Sunset, North of Knoxville by sky scooter at panaramio.com, University of Rochester clock, Goodbye by Zara J