sunday

Again, today is beautiful. And I'm in Ballard. And dying to move here. Outside I can see the Sunday Farmer's Market (honestly, how have I gone 3 years in Seattle and not really ever come here?) and a quirky jug band playing on the corner (is there any other kind?). And I'm sitting here, drinking the most delicious, tea-light-warmed (yes, tea light, apricot, hibiscus, pineapple tea, which sounds a little random, but is incredible. And a crêpe à la Christy: savory, whole-wheat, filled with spinach and topped with crumbled goat cheese, jamón Serrano, and a lightly fried egg. Next to me is a couple reading each other poetry, "ahh, love." Each time the door opens, I can hear the washboard of the jug band, the tin cans, the banjo. I love that North Face jackets and perfect highlights look out of place here. Uncomfortable.

The Poets have been replaced by a young couple playing some sort of a cross between mancala and tiddlie-winks.

I'm studying for a French midterm, going through virtual flashcards, working out the pronunciation in my head, causing flash-backs to reading Eloise's French tutoring session when I was little. It was my favourite part, though all I can remember now is yelling, "ALORS!" and then a lovely little string of words that I no doubt thought meant that I spoke French... intéressant...