weekend song | Ribs (+ the fear of growing old)

About everyday three or four days this summer, the Massachusetts heat would culminate in a thunderstorm. One night a week I'd roll the host stand inside and spend my shift in the dim, air conditioned bar.  A few days before my 27th birthday, Jesse (the bartender) put on this song from the Lorde albumit feels so scary getting old. 

For February (and most of 2013 really) I couldn't shake a feeling, somewhere deep inside me, that I was almost dead. Not as a metaphor ... in real, existential terms. Scientifically, a third of my life is almost over and aging, it will never never stop. 

For my whole life, I'd had this image of being 30. It was like a plateau. Time would pause. And all the things that I imagined for my life - the house with the built in bookshelves, pushing a stroller through the farmer's market - I'd live them. Around 50, time would start again. My hair would go gray. 

Because that's how it looked. That's how I saw my parents when I was a kid. They were constant, until one day they were old.  But, the closer I get to the meeting point (to the point when my memories start, to the first image of my parents) the more I feel certain that time was only constant for me back then. For them, it was hurtling by.  

I felt - and I have felt, for the last two years - that it was all already over. 

But this summer made me feel young again. It sounds so silly, but all those evenings spent standing on the patio in a pair of cut-off jean shorts returned me to myself. I owe the brewery and my friends there everything for that. They reminded me that there is something alive in me, something wild. 

(p.s) this is actually Lorde's favorite on the album | with a Broken Social Scene reference
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a bike ride to the meadows.

it's the journey yadda yadda.
beach towel picnic blanket
grassy trail
Here we are, it's October.  It's just now that am I able to unpack the summer months; things I saw and things I did (... and unpacking literally too, in this case.)  Summer always holds a kind of urgency for me. Or, maybe I always feel that. My friend Cara once said to me that the experience of grief will fill the rest of your life with urgency. I think that's true. Especially in Summer. That there's something about losing greatly that makes you unwilling to do that anymore -- to miss anything.

In July, I got my heart set on going for a picnic. How many more beautiful days will we get in a summer? (It was July, so the answer was a lot. there will be a lot more beautiful days. But, again, with the urgency.) So, on our first unscheduled afternoon, Tyler and rode our bikes to the meadows. We made a few stops for all my favorite unreasonably priced items: french cheese (comtĂ©) and charcuterie (capicola) and the $3 grapefruit soda that I was in a real phase for.  

As soon as we laid out our towels the mosquitos started biting and Tyler entered the early stages of heat stroke. The picnic wasn't much, but it's still the source of my lasting image of summer: the two of us at idle at a stoplight, a baguette tucked into his backpack. 

(photos) on film with pentax k1000 | The Meadows in Northampton, MA
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been there | Cape Cod

Leah in Cape Cod
Beach Grass

more film photos and a story from Cape Cod on my portfolio!
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sunflowers marking the end of summer.

Northampton sunflowers.
it always seemed fitting to me that the sunflowers bloom last, like a flame that burns brightest before it's out completely.

(photos) on 120 film with hasselblad 503cx | Northampton, MA
(p.s.) an insta-video of the neighborhood gardens this time last year
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