even*cleveland: circling the sun / birthday gifts some 46-year-olds might enjoy

circling the sun / birthday gifts some 46-year-olds might enjoy

Wearable October color: Anntian woolskirt in print C. Styled by Judith with a Studio Nicholson Gomes sweater and Caron Callahan Margaret platforms.

Iitala Taiko Sato dinnerplates, designed by Klaus Haapaniemi and Heikki Orvola.

A table-top reflecting pool: Debbie Carlos pond vase.

Shaker-style glasses box.

Adalbert Stifter, The Solar Eclipse of July 8th, 1842, handset and printed by Brother in Elysium.

Mints infused with blessed water. (I will take all the blessings I can find.)

A recording of Charles Ives' "Universe Symphony," "Orchestral Set 2.," and "The Unanswered Question."

Eatable of Many Orders Tin bag.

A wearable, seasonless garden by Kathryn Bentley.

A handful of swallow patches, to give something a little worn new life.

Asparagus candles. (The hazelnut cake with concord grape jam buttercream and filling that I spent the last two days making was a total bust BUT I am still gonna blow out some candles tonight!)

Bumper sticker by Nate Hooper for Working Loose, because to live is to spiral.

What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.

V. Woolf

Don't be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. In fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful for me. If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. The stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. But those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust.

Italo Calvino

Why didn't she try collecting something? It didn't matter what. She would find it gave an interest to life, and there was no end to the little curiosities one could easily pick up.

Henry James

circling the sun / birthday gifts some 46-year-olds might enjoy

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