On Waffles, I Guess

27 May

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My belly is full of an imitation Waffle Love waffle from my dear mother, who, after making the dessert twice has declared it to be her “signature dish.”

I was playing The Newlywed Game the other day, and one of the questions was about your parents–what is a quality you got from them.  Luke said I inherited my mother’s insistence that everything be the best in life.  Both she and I can’t just give a lesson, we must give a life-changing, earth-altering lesson, and we must fret about it every second of the way.

My mother can’t just make an imitation waffle, the imitation waffle must succeed the original and become her signature dish.

Fret, fret, fret.

I would say this is all pretty accurate stuff.

Shall we move along to the photos then?

I had a whole blog post planned about a recent photography epiphany that was sort-of inspired by these lush Huntington Garden photos.  But really, isn’t this place lush?  The lushest?

Lush is starting to feel like one of those words now that sounds really weird upon repeating.  I can’t decide if it’s a good weird like “splendid” or a bad weird like “Brazilian bikini wax.”

Oh hey, it’s almost summer!

The photography epiphany was centered around the idea that no matter how many photography goals I set, I just cannot lug that big camera of mine around in my life.  Can’t do it. Nope.

Just thought about aperture and had small, full-body shiver.

And for a long time I thought this dislike of real cameras meant that I disliked photography altogether.  Sometimes I even fretted about this.  Why didn’t I like photography?  I should like photography.  What does this mean?  What does it not mean?

And then, a few weeks ago there I was at the Huntington Gardens, snapping up a storm on my phone, taking picture after picture for no real reason but the love of a pretty photo.

And I realized it’s OK if I don’t take big camera pictures.  It’s OK if I’m only ever an iPhone photographer.

It’s 2014.

It will all be OK.

I actually got the idea to go to the Huntington Gardens and Library from an Instagram photo of a friend.  It’s weird how social media does that, introduces us to places and foods and clothings we never knew we always wanted.

Or maybe that’s just me and I’m a particularly susceptible consumer.

Hilary and I, susceptible consumers that we are, bought a box of “the best chocolate chip cookies in the world!” the other day at Vintage Grocers in Malibu simply because of their name and let’s just say, even when we followed the package’s directions to “air them out,” they weren’t the best cookies in the world.

In fact, I’m placing Famous Amos above them in terms of quality.

So they were pretty far down the list.

Speaking of Instagram! (whew, I was afraid this blog post was going to be scattered, glad this isn’t the case)

Speaking of Instagram! that same Hilary day, we ended up in a pool confessing our Instagram shames and watching the water slowly turn our skin into juicy prunes.  I talked about those people, you know the ones, the randoms you don’t actually know, but you sort of know because they are close friends with one of your Instagram friends.

And I have a few of these people.  I kind of feel like I know them even though I obviously don’t.  And occasionally I check up on their lives that I do not know and say, “Oh look.  They had brunch today.  How cute is that?”

And that’s an odd, 2014 thing.

I suppose this is sometimes the way those who read my blog feel about Caitlin.  I’ve had quite a few people who have never met her mention Cait in casual conversation. “That Caitlin, amiright?”

Caitlin, of course, loves this.  She’s Caitlin, after all.

And I mainly laugh.

I think that’s why we read blogs in the first place. Or at least why I do.  We read blogs, and tell stories and want to know details of other people’s lives because their stories might help us make sense of our own.

We connect to the world with our stories.

Or at least I do.

This is what I tell myself, particularly on days like today when my blogging is reallyyyyyy top notch.

Other things on my mind:

1. Kimonos

2. Pasta salad

3. Gas stations

Let’s go with gas stations, how about?

Utah has the best gas stations, and this doesn’t seem all that grand, but when you’re on a road trip and looking for somewhere with Nutter Butter bites and racks of licorice and Andy Capp’s Hot Fries, quality gas stations become terribly important and Utah becomes terribly nostalgic.

I know this because yesterday I took a road trip and my appreciation of Utah gas stations went up tenfold at least.  What is wrong with LA?  Why is it pretending to be a major urban center and yet failing so heavily in the gas station category?

What can I, personally, do about this travesty?

Real thoughts.  Real feelings.

It’s really almost summer, people.

It’s almost summer and I’m in Utah eating waffles.

It will all be OK.

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