Photos of kids in Berlin with Christmas tree branches, 1961. Taken by Paul Schutzer for LIFE and originally posted 12/19/2011, then again 12/22/2017.
branches and wire
Photos of kids in Berlin with Christmas tree branches, 1961. Taken by Paul Schutzer for LIFE and originally posted 12/19/2011, then again 12/22/2017.
imaginary outfit: jólabókaflóð 2024 + wish-listed books for 2025
Where has the time gone? I'm trying to resist feeling frantic; the days have seemed even shorter than usual for December, and many of the things I like to do this time of year are only partway finished or yet to be done. Oh well. They'll be just as enjoyable in the slow week between Christmas and New Year.
I'd like there to be five extra hours in the day today, and I'd love to spend a few of them in a bar—specifically, Auntie Mae's Parlor in Manhattan, Kansas. I stopped there on my big cross-country drive in August, inspired by "Somebody, Somewhere." The drinks were excellent, the atmosphere laid-back, and they had little glasses stuffed with old Trivial Pursuit cards: idyllic. I'd order a whisky sour and sit and read, or at least pretend to read while I eavesdropped on the conversational hum of people drifting in and out. And I'd take along some sort of treat for the folks behind the bar.
What book to bring? Rootling through my to-read pile, which has attained vast and terrifying dimensions, I find novels about questioning perception written by a collective, "weaving, programming, and pioneering women," and a fantasy originally published in 1981. There is a book about faux mountains, another about mountain hoaxes, and a new volume of apologies for stolen rocks. A beautiful edition of two special poems is in the mix, along with a memoir of life with 1,117 pomegranates, recipes for candied fruits, and an exhibition for a show I wish I could have seen. I find this collection of études, though I cannot play them, these photographs of apple trees, and while I'm dreaming, a first edition of Villette. I've somehow turned up a copy of this sold-out work, which is "a loose compendium of photographs and texts that picture, examine, explore, and / or suggest the human body in states of abandon, helplessness, terror, subjugation, serenity, and transcendence" and this "history of feminist designs for American homes, neighborhoods, and cities," described by Paul Goldberg as"full of things I have never seen before, and full of new things to say about things I thought I knew well." And Yoko Ogawa, one my favorite living writers, recommended this two-parter, saying it "portrays with devastating immensity how those on the dark fringes of society can be consumed by the darkness of their own hearts."
Wishing us all the ability to escape the darkness.
Merry everything, friends.
*
Baserange Mea beanie / Atelier Delphine Mana coat in porcini / Vintage wool skirt from Plain Goods / Rodebjer black Cisne ribbed turtleneck / Ersa Dandin mixed pearl earrings / Cirque mother-of-pearl nail polish / The Eleven Associates of Alma-Marceau published by Anomie Press / mendiant shortbread from Nature's Candy / Rosa Mosa Leo shearling clogs / cashmere knee-high socks.
*
Other jólabókaflóðs (Yule book floods).
gifts for somewhat practical aesthetes
An efficient all-in-one hat and scarf by Xenia Telunts, available at Folk.
A tree curtain by random clichés, for greenery that never needs watering.
Fleurs D'Hiver herbal tea lollipops, for a particularly lovely cup of tea.
An aluminum coffee pot by knindustrie, to add flourish to a daily ritual.
A minimalist cookie zine with just four recipes, each inspired by an artist: Halva af Klint, Sonia Dough-lanay, Anise Albers, and Almond Thomas.
A paper fan that recalls a sunlit forest canopy, for lo-fi a/c.
A spiraled basket made of coppiced willow by Rachel Bower Baskets, for corralling a collection of handmade wooden spoons.
An easy-to-find-at-the-bottom-of-bags Caro pen by Craighill, and an Ina Seifert lanyard to keep it (and keys) handy.
A chair by Cultivation Objects that recalls telephone seats, for texting and word games.
A cherry wood cable wrap by Naoto Yoshida, for keeping cords neat.
Miriam Murri's dog-waste bag dispenser for Alessi, for putting a little shine on a most unpleasant chore.
A cheery and sturdy Hender Scheme tissue case, because tissue manufacturers seem driven to choose THE WORST patterns for tissue boxes. Why?!!!!
gifts for the spaced-out
A glassy glimpse of celestial bodies by ilikoiart, for extraterrestrial gazing.
An eclipse viewer made for the total solar eclipse of January 4, 1925: "Of all the wonders of astronomy, there is no spectacle more fascinating than the total eclipse of the sun."
One solar system for suspending (Tour D'Horizon solar system mobile) and another one for wearing (Kapital Universe gabbeh scarf).
A bottle of ink the color of moon dust—Jacques Herbin Pouissiere de Lune.
A Keplerian solar telescope, for spotting sunspots.
A dish of stars, by Astier de Villatte.
Victorian Man-in-the-Moon moonstone and diamond earrings, for hanging the moon.
The 2025 Sora daily calendar, for keeping track of lunar phases.
A top made of vintage Japanese embroidered silk Obi that shimmers like starlight, from Stitch and Tickle.
Marking Time by Chris McCraw, for seeing the mark of the sun, or this book by Emily Sheffer, for seeing the mark of the moon.
An Astroblaster, for demonstrating gravitational rebound (and understanding supernovas).
A fragrance based on a scent NASA developed "to train astronauts on how Outer Space actually smells."
Dendera's double-layered shifting maze, for navigating ancient constellations.
A card by Noat that tells it like it is. (There are stars inside.)
gifts that warm
Nippon Kodo's porcelain animal incense burner, for wafting scents. (In addition to this dreaming rabbit, there is also an extremely charming cat.)
Twelve pieces of Grasmere gingerbread, plus a jar of rum butter, for gentle heat.
Handmade and reusable Mino Washi paper snowflakes, to make any day a snow day. (Photo found here; also available via the Cooper Hewitt shop.)
A draft-proof lantern, for a steady glow.
A basket-making kit from Underwater Weaving Studio, because handcrafts counteract doomscrolling's chill.
Sheepskin slipper boots, for toasty toes.
Amente's blanket coat, for bundling up, and Nishiguchi Kutsushita alpaca leg/wrist-warmers, to block drafts.
Kinto's Aqua Cuture vases, because a glimpse of green and growing things is always a light.
The Details of Our Escape, a roleplaying game that encourages players to think about communities and possible futures as they guide a caravan of 2,000 people searching for a new home. (Discovered thanks to Karissa's newsletter.)
A paper fireplace with sea-salt chocolate logs, to keep the home fires burning.
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