A confession or Guilty pleasures or I blog therefore I am

xo

bb

p.s. caught you by surprise, didn't i, in the last frame. the essence of the guilty pleasure is of course guilt. knowing me, you know the guilt is not that i didn't attempt to bake these from scratch (don't have the skill or patience), but is instead eating something from a box when i have a baker around the corner. but while the local boys are magicians with muffins and even brioches, they have not mastered the croissant.

p.p.s. speaking of guilty, i have been very remiss at posting and reading your blogs. i'll be back to it soon! the fluguelbindery made me an offer i couldn't refuse - a one week work trip to india in exchange for a week of holidays, all decided at short notice. i've just finished the holiday, and now i have to pay the bills...

If you listen very carefully...

... you will hear the sound of spring tiptoeing toward us...

xo

bb

You decide (10)

Disturbing or fascinating? (Don't be afraid: click on the picture for an extra-large view.) You decide.

xo

bb

P.S. Sorry for the long silence in my posts. It's been one of those periods. Busy? Yes. But the kind of busy that saps your energy to do anything. It might well have to do with gyrations of temperature that we've been experiencing.

P.P.S. Though the spirit of "You decide" is that, well, you decide, in this case it is almost an "Explain, if you can". There was something about this that fascinated me. Yes, I'll admit (to you and my shrink): there was a beauty, pathos, don't-want-to-look-but-can't-look-away. I can't quite explain it. Perhaps you can...

You decide (9)

I went from this...

... to this...

Upgrade, downgrade, or apples and oranges? You decide.

The Mirror

I keep having the same dream.
It seems to be forcing me to return
to the bittersweet site
of my grandfather's house,
where I was born on the table
Forty years ago.

Something always prevents me from entering.
I keep having this dream.

When I dream of the log walls
and dark pantry
I sense that it's only a dream.

Then the joy is clouded
for I know I'll wake up.

Sometimes something happens
and I stop dreaming
of the house
and the pines by the house of my childhood.

Then I grieve
and wait for the dream
that will make me a child again
and I'll be happy again, knowing
that all still lies ahead
and nothing is impossible.

from The Mirror, directed by Andrei Tarkovsky, written by Aleksandr Misharin and Andrei Tarkovsky

xo

BB

P.S. I'm on a quest. Perhaps I can plant its seed in your mind. Through Tarkovsky's films I've come to admire his father's poetry. But so far I haven't managed to find a book of Arseny Tarkovsky's poetry translated into English. If you're browsing in a used bookstore somewhere someday and see such a volume, do buy it for me.

P.P.S. My first experience of such a viral, vicarious quest was through a friend of mine, who asked me to keep an eye out for a frig magnet of a cow. Silly enough. But whenever I would see frig magnets for sale I would think of him and look for a magnet of a cow. His quest had become mine...

A moment

A moment (over here) inspired me to post this moment. I felt strangely voyeuristic snapping this picture. Though it was the subway, it was so tender and intimate.

xo

bb

Brrr.... or A New York Weekend

It's snowy and cold in New York. You can see some strange and wonderful sights...

Some people are too cool to button their overcoats, no matter what the weather...

Others completely wrap themselves in blankets.

To me it looked vaguely like a large single-celled organism...

But it was still Madison Park.

I couldn't agree more.

I've always enjoyed looking down between the banisters...

This weekend I'm in Boston, and the "brrrrr" applies here too...

xo

bb