Reykjavik windows

Sunday morning wall planter--with egg

basement suite?
the first of Sunday's domestic windows

Iceland. On Sunday morning, I went for a walk and discovered the windows of downtown Reykjavik. I should have photographed more of them, but I was uncomfortable walking around with my tourist's camera on a strap, staring into people's homes. Good lord, couldn't I afford them any privacy? I fed my conscience some crumbs: They intended these windows to be peered at. In many, many houses and apartments, on the public side of the curtain, appeared little displays. Shop windows with nothing for sale, relics of Amsterdam, a lettuce.

(Why? Why here and not in Edmonton?)


Christmas roofs


above the egg

at the top of a hill, a grass roof

view from the hostel dorm room

my own window

favorite lettuce

I was charmed. In true character, on Sunday morning I was feeling anxious about being in Iceland. I wrote:

I've had a hard time being here. I've felt almost constantly that I am creating an inadequate experience for myself. I've been ashamed of needing to spend so much time alone on my bunk . . .  All useless, and really quite mean. I've seen and done a lot since arriving here, and I've had a Good Time (when not feeling paralyzed by shame, so much so that I couldn't even take photographs). 

When will I learn to be gentler?


view from other dorm window


that way

three old houses downtown

Sunday morning roofs and windows

concrete cathedral

some apartments 
pub window

In retrospect, the Sunday walk was a triumph. I was fretful. I felt lost and lonely. I felt like an imposter. Who was I? Those houses and windows and roofs illustrated so much of what I find beautiful and important to notice and cultivate in everyday life. Colours, lines, signs of people traveling, growing things, retreating home, displaying a chosen face, arranging their worlds. 

More pictures followed, so--more Iceland posts to come. 


And now in the garden . . . 

one tiny hot pepper


one tiny tomato






Please excuse a bit of a silence. I find myself easily tired and easily saddened lately. Dissatisfied but not driven. 

following in the footsteps of The Noisy Plume

mint tea

Today I feel:

- hung to dry
- rusty on the violin, but this is only because I actually practiced
- cold, with a headache
- hemmed in by new spiderwebs in all the windows
- reluctant to go out
- domestic/eager to bake an apple pie with a few from the 30-pound box of apples which was unexpectedly delivered to me on Monday by a regular (a beekeeper) at the cafe and which I carried 2 miles home without bruising a single one
- like a giantess, filling my house, but lovely nonetheless
- hopelessly un-genius
- hopeful for the products of hard work
- caught in overlapping birth-and-death cycles, none of them at the same point
- disappointed in myself
- glad for Winter coming, for Christmas tea and oatmeal sweaters, but also afraid
- like my jeans fit
- in love with Quince and Co.'s patterns and wool, planning
- icy and Scandinavian
- collegiate
- tired and hungry, but not lethargic
- loved more than I've earned
- very quiet


Tuesday afternoon was a horrible afternoon. On Tuesday morning, however, I decided to prune our pepper plant.

After I had groomed it, and was about to scoot it away to its doubtful winter dormancy in our front closet, I noticed.

This year, apparently, things are not allowed to die out.