The Rusholme Lawn Bowling club has existed in its current location for over a hundred years, but this is the first I’ve ever heard of it. I’ve walked by it dozens of times, but it is hidden behind houses in a residential neighborhood, inconspicuous to anyone who wasn’t explicitly looking for a lawn bowling club.
Yesterday was my first time ever lawn bowling; before we arrived, I actually asked L if lawn bowling involved knocking down pins. Such was the extent of my familiarity with the sport.
In keeping with my word of the year, I learned how to lawn bowl, and within a few minutes, I was hooked. I didn’t want to stop. Sure, I wasn’t really any good at it, but it was fun to be outside in the sun with friends and loved ones, trying something new, something relatively active, something different.
I will no longer walk by the Rusholme Lawn Bowling club and be ignorant of what sits behind the old house in the front. I will return, there, or at some other club in the city, to bowl again.
Graphic designer Victoria Siemer has digitized the experience of heartbreak. Through a series of images that superimpose Mac error messages onto Polaroid pictures, the Brooklyn-based artist creates intimate narratives using language many computer users encounter every day. The result is surprisingly poetic; the photographs read like poignant one-sentence stories.
The entire series, titled “Human Error,” hits very close to home. The world of Siemer’s photographs is perhaps not too distant, a time and place where we’ll be able to upload not only the tokens of romance, but also our very feelings and emotions.
Inspired by Samantha’s meal from a few days ago, L and I decided to make grits for dinner last night. It’s no surprise that I’m a fan of grits — the cuisine of the southern United States has always been among my favorites — and the recipe that Sam shared looked delicious and not-too -complicated, either.
We picked up some scallops from a local fishmonger — and, while we were there, some fresh Arctic char that had just been flown in on Friday from Nunavut — and set to work. All in all, the dinner was a success (so delicious!) and reminded me once again that there are very few things in life better than spending time in the kitchen with someone you love.
The Japanese cherry blossom, known as the Sakura in Japanese, is the flower of a cherry tree that is cultivated for its decorative features rather than for cherries (it doesn’t bear fruit). The overwhelming beauty of the cherry blossom bloom has been known and adored for ages. The blooming period is associated with Japanese traditions, culture, aesthetics, and is a bittersweet metaphor for the ephemeral nature of life itself.
The blooming cherry blossoms herald the beginning of the centuries-old Hanami festival – the traditional Japanese custom of picnicking under trees rich with flowering Sakura branches and enjoying this short but striking first breath of spring. The blossoming wave usually starts in Okinawa in January or February and progresses through all of Japan until April or May. The cherry blossom front (Sakura zensen) can be conveniently tracked every year using this calendar.
Cherry blossoms remind me of many things: of a stroll through high park with my love, of springtime in DC, of my friend Sakura that passed away a few years ago, of my parents’ new house, and so much more.
People sometimes say that you must believe in feelings deep inside, otherwise you’d never be confident of things like ‘My wife loves me’. But this is a bad argument. There can be plenty of evidence that somebody loves you. All through the day when you are with somebody who loves you, you see and hear lots of little tidbits of evidence, and they all add up. It isn’t purely inside feeling, like the feeling that priests call revelation. There are outside things to back up the inside feeling: looks in the eye, tender notes in the voice, little favors and kindnesses; this is all real evidence.
Richard Dawkins, in a letter to his 10-year-old daughter (via)