wrap it carefully.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. 

But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

c.s. lewis

Ode to ock. too. burr.

Fall is by far the loveliest time of the year here, possibly lovelier than any season anywhere else. [No bias…] 

I live for

Breathing the scent of honeyed summer melting into autumn, the leaves of gold, auburn, burnt cherry.

Cinnamon-topped apple cider tingling my tongue.

Ambling through corn mazes, the brittle walls stretching for the sky, occasionally blazing our own trail out of the labyrinth.
Pumpkin…absolutely everything pumpkin. Pie to perfume. [to the delicious seasonal Jamba Juice pumpkin smoothie.]

Haunted houses. The thrill of fear shooting from nose to toes, wide-eyed with terror as I anxiously yank on my date’s sleeve.

Thank you, Ocktooburr.  You've been good to me and will be missed.

Come back soon? Please? Let's be friends again.

all my love.

Hi, I'm Paige, and I'm a sushi addict.

Tonight consisted of a much needed sushi night with muh gurlzz.

Sushi is not in the starving-college-kid budget.

But, we have a problem. A habit. An addiction, if you will.

An expensive one, rivaled only by my Steve Madden issue.

Thank the heavens for coupons.

Z & Kens

Z was going to have our waitress slip her number to a table of boys, but they beat her to the punch.

Cheers to eating outside of your economic and  caloric  budgets!
We all deserve a splurge every now and again, right?
Right?!

Hoping you had a lovely Friday.
all my love.

Streetlights and the bells.

via

Nights like this,

     silent nights

     riding my bike with its mint green basket

     hearing the bell tower toll ten

            and a single star in the sky.

    

Nights that cast a blue veil over the city

with only the faint, ruddy streetlamp light 

brushing the sidewalk.

Nights when I feel alone

and I can think.

I'm filled with peace.

And I'm happy.


All my love

i believe..

in wearing sweats on Mondays
   &
in taking a well-deserved break

i believe...
in tasting at least 2 flavors before choosing an ice cream
and dating one through all for seasons before getting a ring.

i believe...
in the oxford comma
that children should spend more time in the dirt and less in the dark

I believe..
that my Heavenly Father loves me

Nature's first green is gold.

I was fortunate enough to spend the weekend at my favorite place on earth...the cabin.

Unlike the popular "cabin" trend nowadays (that is, owning a second home in a smaller town and calling it a cabin), our cabin is in the middle of nowhere. Isolated.

My family [Gramps & his brothers] owns a few thousand acres on Kanarra mountain in Cedar City (southern Utah). We've affectionately renamed it Webster mountain, since the only people within a dozen miles are all kin in some way or another.

I fell hard for the golden aspen this year.

It's a sanctuary

tucked in the mountains

that lets me curl up 

and tuck inside myself. 

My little brother J knows how to party with no pants on.

Perfect for thinking. Nothing more. Simply sitting and being.

Heritage. Freaking proud of it.

Sistas reppin their schools.

Overlooking Zion's canyon.

Gramps.

We spent a few hours on Saturday taking down the sheep fence for the winter, lest it should break from the weight of the snow. It'll be back up come May.

Nothing brings more contentment than a fire, hot cinnamon apple cider, s'mores, & family..

 I assure you.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

-Robert Frost

Mother N must like curves or the world would be flat.

As a petite but curvy girl (5' 3" and a 32DD [yeah, I went there]), it can be HARD to find clothes that fit.  Don't get me wrong;. I work out consistently and am confident in my own skin. But that doesn't change the fact that dressing my small but voluptuous frame can be challenging. 

Most things fit awkwardly-- if I fit it tight to my torso, I'm busting out on top. Shirts are too low because the distance from my shoulders to cleavage is short, and I've yet to find a pair of pants I haven't needed to hem.

This is probably one of the biggest reasons I fell in love with dressing in vintage whenever possible [that, and I'm a sucker for anything old..clothes, furniture, art, history...]. Clothes used to be made for small waisted, busty women. Real women that were celebrated for their womanhood, with bodies that looked like they could actually work.  

Truly, where's the beauty in looking so fragile that the nearest gale would cause one to tumble away like a skinny weed?

We all have our body challenges.

That being said, check out this site. and this one. They rock.

peaches & pumpkins & pears, oh my!

Thursdays are Farmer's Market days. There's no better way to cozy up to fall than strolling in the crisp air and buying organic produce, hmm?

My beautiful friends Kens & Sar accompanied me this week.

           

         

Homemade honey butter on homemade bread? Divine.

How'd I get blessed with such lovely friends?

I live for days like this.

All my love.

Slides and Carpet.

It's important to learn how to live. 

It's more important to laugh about it.

Like when your friend texts you out of the blue saying

Or you save the apartment from being burned down (thank you, spacey roommates) 

and are rewarded with a hole in the carpet.

It happens.

Muse-ic.

Muse Music cafe with Kensie Greer.

Back in Bird's Eye

Meet Uncle Jim.

Uncle Jim is one of my favorite relatives. He's one of those hard-working types that gets up at 5am to bail hay.  There's something wonderfully soothing about him. 

He isn’t big city paced, businessmen trying to make a sale, talking so much and saying too little. He pauses before speaking; sculpting the sentences until deemed fit to gently set into the air.  

To me, he's a representative of an earlier era-- a slower time, when people sat on their porches to listen to the crickets chirp.  That’s not to say he isn’t brilliant – he’s a learned professional, owner of his own pharmacy, a well of knowledge on everything from cows to the cosmos.  

I spent Sunday at one of my favorite places-- the ranch, 60 acres tucked away in the mountains of Bird's Eye. [Even those of you familiar with Utah may be wondering, "Where is that?"  Exactly.]

It's a place with hills of rolling lavender

and mint growing by the stream

           

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;	5
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

Gerard Manley Hopkins