hey now, letters burning by my bed for you

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In the 1950’s, my paternal grandparents bought a summer-house. It had been both a bed and breakfast as well as a weapon storage for the military before they became its owners and the house had been the victim of many a remodeling. Walls had been removed and added on, doors put in places nobody could explain and storage units placed behind and underneath absolutely everywhere. It was, to say the least, a paradise for childhood imagination and adventure. Somehow, watching The Grand Budapest Hotel made me think of it once more.

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Having never watched a Wes Anderson film before, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect with this one. I knew he had been praised by many and that actors flocked to participate in any of his creations. This, though, doesn’t necessarily say anything about the quality of the film. He was, however, a favorite of many of the people I admire so I decided I would give him a fair shot. I hoped not to be disappointed the same way I had been with Woody Allen.

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The Grand Budapest Hotel centers around a young lobby boy and his experience with working a the Grand Budapest Hotel, his extravagant mentor Gustav H. and a country on the verge of war. The film documents the end of an era and the start of a new one in a way that makes you find comedy in the tragedy with characters all larger than life.

The film doesn’t pass the Bechdel test by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not sure how to feel about that. However, it is beautifully directed and poignant in a way that I did not expect. Truly a child of its time in many ways.

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I remember leaving the theatre with a sense of wonder. But also guilt. Guilt at laughing when I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to. This film highlights the fact that when things are bad, they are also good. Discussing the film later with my friends, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my observations. I wondered if I had taken the film too seriously. It had, after all, been marketed as a comedy.

I’m still not sure.

– Coco

Images found via IMDB

 

 

honey when i’m with you, i can only be your crown

IMG_5502-2 Adventure does not always necessitate leaving home. Sometimes finding magic means discovering you had nutella left in your kitchen or finding lost coins in old winter coats. Today, magic was spelled W-A-F-F-L-E-S. Lingering in the luxury of waking up slowly I looked out of my window and the clouds dancing across the sky reminded me of whipped cream somehow. That, or maybe I was simply reminded that I had picked up the item up during the week as a just-in-case with no real goal in mind. IMG_5489-2 IMG_5494-2

I dug out my waffle iron, one I bought on sale and that has mostly been used to grill sandwiches so far. I was curious to see how well it would perform its intended job. Well, waffle iron…

I think the iron and I might need to spend some more quality time together before a final verdict is made though. With music on shuffle the iron and I struggled along and with flour, butter and whipped cream finally produced around seven perfectly decent waffles. IMG_5500-2 IMG_5497-2 IMG_5501-2 Sitting down to eat, I looked at the tower in front of me and thought nervously that I hope I don’t die from this. You know, death is a definite side-effect of bad food. Scientifically proven and everything. I’m not being dramatic at all.

This little piece of every day magic didn’t seem to bring death in its wake though and I survived the first bite. And the second. Crossing my fingers that I will survive all the rest to. IMG_5507-2 Starting the week with a little love from food, imperfect and messy like every relationship, allowed this slow morning to stretch the minutes. It tastes a little like childhood and first tries and sweetness.

The crown on the head of morning as we run around, hoping not to have left anything behind.

– Coco

from my heart to my bones.

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For some reason summer, more than any other season, is about moments. Memories and pictures and tales of adventures had and lost and found. I used to admire enviously the kids returning home with scars on their knees, wrists dangeling from the weight of ribbons and bracelets from a summer well lived.

I never could afford to go to any music festivals. Never dared to drag enough people along to brave the elements in a borrowed tent among the ruins of puberty and endless sunsets. This weekend though, I did the next best thing. I went to a carnival. 

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A friend of mine had texted me, whispering of an event taking place once every four years. A weekend of wonder and frivolity, filled with performances and food and more than a tiny bit of every day magic. I had invited her over for brunch in the morning and, draging a couple other people along, took the fast train to an all-day circus.

We arrived to a city flooded with both people and water. Rain was staining our shoulders as we got ribbons tied around our wrists and were let into fenced in markets with a tent for everything imaginable. The theme of the festival was the future and had been organized by 6000 volunteers and had hosted around 400.000 visitors during the entirety of the weekend.

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We competed against each other in a race against time, were fake married to a bunch of strangers and spent thirty minute watching people dancing in the rain.

The day ended with us, starving and more than a little confused, finding ourselves listening to music so loud it made my ribcage rattle. I loved it. After stumbling around to the beat, laughing, we made our way to food and then back home again. We’d watched a parade of colorful festival cars drape themselves around the city and as we were leaving their music still echoed.

IMG_5364-2Coming home, the sun had set but my apartment was still warm. Everything smelled of summmer though I know we’re still in spring. Today, though. Today made me wishwishwish for the days to come.

For the sunshine magic in heart and bone.

– Coco

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