A transition of sorts, Musing, Thoughts



Thank you for your post! I am so glad Midd is going well- it’s true: the anticipation to an event is generally SO MUCH more anxiety producing than the thing itself. I haven’t been very nervous about leaving for BC, but I find myself the night before departing, a little edgy… I get this way, at conclusions and beginnings of things- this feeling that everything is untied, that I have so much to do and also nothing at all. My solution is, of course, to bake a pie. Baking things + serial watching P&R = anxiety significantly reduced!

I have to be up at 4: 30 am tomorrow, so I’m going to keep this post short. 3 things:

(1) Mrs. Dalloway. Do you remember reading this in Foster’s class? Because: I don’t think any author has even come close to Woolf’s ability to make you feel the extreme pain and joy- the human up-and-down, that entirety- that can be contained within one precise living moment.

(2) Another poem, because I can never have enough of them. It’s called “The Quiet World”:

In an effort to get people to look

into each other’s eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided

to allot each person exactly one hundred

and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear

without saying hello. In the restaurant

I point at chicken noodle soup.

I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,

proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.

I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,

I know she’s used up all her words,

so I slowly whisper I love you

thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line

and listen to each other breathe.

–Jeffrey McDaniels

"The Quiet World"

It’s so simple, and so pretty. Jeff McDaniels actually taught me poetry at Sarah Lawrence that summer I did their creative writing program, and he read this poem for us.

(3) I love you, and I can’t wait to share with you stories about measuring alpine vegetation and telekinesis with hoary marmots (my parents could not stop laughing about the “hoary” part. Classic parents). Here is my address in BC:

c/o Round River

P.O. Box 91

Atlin, British Columbia VOW 1A0 Canada

And, since you are not supposed to read this, below is this entire post entered into Google Translate Japanese. Lol.

Much peace ❤ drewzz



あなたの記事をありがとう!ミドルセックスがうまくいっているので、メリー午前1時は、それは本当だ。イベントへの期待が、一般的にリヴァイアサン物事そのものを生産するので、ずっと不安である。 1、すぐに出発する前に夜少しエッジの効いた自分自身を見つける1、紀元前に向けて出発については非常に緊張していなかった···1はこの方法で取得し、結論と物事の始まり、彼はほどいすべてがこの気持ち、それは1ですので持っているまた、やるべきことと、全く何も。私の解決策は、もちろん、パイのパン屋に、である。ベーキング物事+ PとR =不安を大幅に削減シリアルましょう。

1は4で、最大でなければならない:30 AM明日なので、私は、短いこのポストを維持するつもりです。 3つの事:

(1)ミセスダロウェイ。あなたはフォスターのクラスでこれを読んで覚えていますか?選出されているため:1これらのイベントのすべてに責任はないと思うが、あなたは、AB上下·痛みと喜びと行の終わりを分割作るウルフの能力に近づく、that’s – その正確なリビング全体の重要性の一つに収容することができるだ。

1 ‘sはそれらを十分に持つことができるため(2)もう一つの詩は、選出された。それは「世界の静かな “と呼ばれています。


– ジェフリー·マクダニエル


(3)1木星あなたを、そして1は(私の両親は「使い古さ “の部分については笑いが止まらんでした。クラシック両親を)あなたと使い古さウッドチャックと高山植生やテレキネシスを測定についての物語を共有するために待つことができない。

そして、あなたは牛なしでこれを読むことを想定していないか、この全体のポストは英語をGoogle翻訳に入力されます。 LOL。

college, Memories, Musing, Thoughts

2 years…seriously?!

My dear Mo,

Last night, I was feeling all mushy and nostalgic (as, you know, I do), and started flipping through our old blog posts. In case you were wondering, they are awesome. But that’s beside the point. The point is- I finally got to the last one, and GUESS WHEN IT WAS PUBLISHED? That’s right: June 20th, 2012 — e.g. exactly TWO YEARS ago today.

Two. years. Absurd. Insane. Unreal –  is it real? I LIT.ERALLY feel as if we just started college.

I have no profound words at this profound impasse, besides that this feeling of time rapidly collapsing in on itself has made me quite bewildered and panicked. I can think of no poems or quotes to help me process this, although I’m currently frantically searching the interwebs.

Everyone tells you that time moves more quickly as you get older. But you never realize it until you realize it, right? In high school, freshman and sophomore year stretched out interminably, unending – Hell, each DAY felt endless. Now, our freshman and sophomore years of college have passed and it feels as if I got up to go to the bathroom during appetizers and came back to find dessert already ordered and eaten.

But then, despite their brevity, these past two yeas have been… what’s the right word here? Not tumultuous (although, at times they were). Eventful, perhaps? A lot has happened, and I have – I think we both have – grown immensely.

You ask: in what ways, exactly? Oh, I will tell you – I AM THE MASTER OF SELF REFLECTION. But, such reflection requires more than the allotted fifteen minutes I have before it is no longer June 20th, and this post no longer pertinent.

So, self-reflective post to come. And I love you. And I hope you are settling in at Midd –  I know you were nervous, but GO YOU for doing it and getting there and embracing that initial discomfort. That’s hard, yo! Send me photos and info ASAP before you can only speak Japanese.

🙂 love love love, Drew

P.S. Stellar post on your Seattle adventure… props to Carter on the photos. I could totally see you (us…? just gonna put that out there…) living in Seattle (provided the whole San Fran thing doesn’t work out). That food looks SO yummy.



Musing, T.V. shows, Thoughts

Dear Drew, An Update

It feels like I really have the reins now in the whole ‘making my way through the world’ thing.  (Obviously by ‘the’ reins, I mean- like- a few more inches of it.)

This is exciting.  Drew, I am terrified.

Perhaps I’m terrified because the way I realized I had control was through last-minute, get-your-shit-together-or-at-least-as-much-of-it-as-you-can moments (O.K. hours– sidenote: do people still write ‘ok’ like that?) to make up for not justly taking care of my responsibilities in a more timely manner.

Basically, Drew, I had to do an application for a summer language program and it has been stressful.  Wow.  I know right- really making my way through the world by planning out summer 2014.

Well, to that I would say– HEY NOW (cue appropriate childhood flashback to Hillary Duff), after summer there’s study abroad, then legit applications for summer internships and post-graduation job planning, then two capstone projects on things that interest me and (shoot, do I say it?  Make me a more marketable job applicant?), then pre-graduation jitters and brooding (that means…mono anyone?) then there’s graduation itself (thank goodness I have my wedding dress ready), and then there’s…


What’s next??

Then what’ll I do?!

Quickly! Tell me where the nearest ladder/field of hoops is!

Well, there’s a job or fellowship opportunity (but ugh- don’t those have cray cray applications?), there’s Mumzie’s futon (hopefully that’ll be gone by then though- so that’s up in the air, or rather- scraping some paint off our walls) or graduate school (yes, yes! School foreva!! Frealz- no sarcasm there), or… I don’t know.

And yet, I have this programmed answer to ‘what are you going to do after college?’

It vaguely outlines what type of ‘way’ I think would be nice to have/do/live out, but the more I repeat it, the more terrified I get.

The outline has started to sound more and more like the career path of somebody else, someone who, when I was younger (keep in mind this phrase is almost ok to use because I’m nearly TWENTY! Lolcatz. <– Exhibit A shows why it’s almost ok- [O.K.?!]) I unconcernedly labeled as ‘Adult Morgan,’ when I thought I’d have more time to become her.

But this is the good stuff isn’t it?  The whole ‘making your way’ thing?

I could expand on this point but I’m losing steam, so onward with this elaborate story…

In a moment of revelation this evening I found myself a lil’ bit of inner peace.  I’m going to (try my best to) stop agonizing over what way/path(/whatever you want to call it) needs/should be/look like (really good with words/word choice here, Morgan) and put all my energy into the ‘making’ part.  I don’t have to have and keep to a set, step-by-step plan, I just have to set myself towards getting better at the making of one.  BOOM.

GO VERBS!  Don’t you just love action verbs in particular, Drew?  Don’t you feel the difference between ‘be happy’ and ‘get happy?’  Sometimes I just need to focus on a few action verbs to get me to those seemingly passive ones.

Yup.  You can tell it’s 1:55AM in the morning can’t you?  Well, I suppose I should hit the hay.  Drew, I hope all is well and that you and the family are enjoying joyous New Year’s festivities!

Thanks for being an important part of my year; here’s to 2014!  May this year bring much love, and may we bring much love and laughter to this year.

Happy New Year.

Much love,


P.S. In other news:


❤ Matthew Rhys & Anna Maxwell Martin ❤

WHAT?!  Is that Mr. & Mrs. Darcy?!  Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus…opened again?!


Truth be told, I’ve already watched all three episodes.  I was very touchy about it at first– I had just finished my biannual viewing of 2005’s Pride and Prejudice (a tear-jerker for me during that last scene at Longbourn as always), when I googled a vague combination of words to research Matthew Macfadyen and his casting process only to find reviews on BBC One’s Christmas Special based on P.D. James’ book!  (I spared you the trailer- I’d just hop right in!)  Anywhos- I loved it.  Let me know what you think.


Oh hello…And a Happy New Year to you!

Musing, poetry, Thoughts, Travels

The curious incident of the deer in the nighttime


Tomorrow–or rather, today–I am leaving for Greece. I’m excited, if only because it’s a new place that I can’t fathom in the slightest. I haven’t even googled Syros, the island we’re staying at, because I like that I have no image of it in my mind… Sometimes, I think travel might have been more thrilling before planes and the onset of so much technology. Sure, it took forever to get to a place. I think two days is a long time to travel to Greece, but it’s nothing compared to months on a boat, eh? Still, all that anticipation, all that mystery… must have been true adventure.

For the most part, I spent today gathering my things together. Nothing too exciting; the Fourth of July passed somewhat unnoticed in my world this year. I felt a little sad about that, but it was nice talking to you on the phone, and knowing you too were enjoying a quiet evening in your room… Sometimes, perhaps, we need that uneventfulness. I felt I did, at least.

-4Yeah, that’s right, I’m bringing my uke

Not that my day was entirely uneventful, though. You know, as I mentioned, the coffee stain and the deer (the latter being the more unnerving experience, of course).

I’d driven downtown around 8 pm for a run, because its around that time that the air cools and the humidity eases. It was very calm; not many people were about, but there were folks eating dinner outside of restaurants, and here and there I’d see another person strolling on the sidewalk. As it got darker, the fireflies came out, and driving back up Maher, it seemed the whole street was a-glow with these flashes of yellow, and everything was still and empty except for those sporadic flashes. That feeling of stillness clung to me as I drove home, slowly, a Shins album playing–so when that doe sprang from the woods, its head smashing against the front, right side of my car, I almost thought I imagined it. The only thing that felt real was the sound, this eerie thump. I think I saw its tan head snap, an antler crack and fling…but it happened so quickly, I likely did imagine that part. And then my car kept going. My headlights moved on, illuminating the gray asphalt and the evergreen trees in front of me, and that was that. I was alone; there was no one else on the road; no one had seen it happen. When I pulled into my driveway, I inspected the front of my car. Some plastic pieces around the front right tire and light were missing, but that was it–that was the only evidence that it had happened, besides the deer of course, which, in all likelihood, I’d killed. I thought about stopping after I hit it to see if it was indeed dead, but I thought I better not, because it was dark and no one was around and if my car failed to start again for some reason, I’d be completely stranded. So I kept going. But that doe probably didn’t die easily, with a blow to the head like that. It probably stumbled, fell to the side of the road, head smashed, suffered.

It’s the most rattling and peculiar feeling, the feeling of taking another creature’s life. This feeling was worse because I had taken its–the doe’s–life for nothing. I killed chickens last summer, but their deaths had a clear purpose, worth, dignity–and this was so utterly the opposite. That said, to be fair to myself, I couldn’t have avoided her with any driving finesse. She didn’t actually jump in front of me. If she had, I could have braked; instead, she met directly with the side of my car as she leaped from the trees, making it impossible for me to change my course… And yet, it was still my fault entirely, because I was doing the unnatural thing. Driving my car. She was bounding forth, doing what she was supposed to do, what deers do, you know? I was the one not playing my the rules.

And all of it made me think of this poem called “Traveling Through the Dark,” by William Stafford.

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
Pretty, huh? Pretty and sad. Every time I read it I wonder about those last two lines. The thinking hard for us all, the swerving. It’s still a mystery to me. But in any case, I like the poem, if only because I can see it so clearly, the engine purring and the red exhaust and that hesitation.
And with that, sleep! If I can figure out the correct number of stamps, I’ll  send you a postcard from Greece.
Much love,
P.S. Thoughts? I think I’m in love with decoupage. And postcards. And journals. And this nifty app on my phone which lets me add captions. And your video (so beautiful). And YOU!
P.S.S. I’m excited for you to read Norwegian Wood. Tell me how you like it; I hope you find it as stunning as I did. I’m reading Donna Tartt’s The Secret History now–also brilliant, also a college-age narrator. It’s different, I figure, reading a book in which the narrator is in roughly the same position/station in life as you currently are…its unique to you (like being a freshman in high school and reading A Catcher in the Rye, you know?)
Goofy Awesomeness, Memories, Thoughts

Nostalgia Tuesday (or maybe thursday?)

Dear Morgan,

Today, I’m feeling pretty nostalgic.Image

Mostly this happens when I’m loafing around, as I’ve been doing today…my brother is in classes, my parents are out skiing, and I’m just sitting here, icing my achilles and listening to sad music on Pandora. #boohoo.

Music really does it for me, you know? Like, remember when I wrote about that band, Young the Giant over the summer? Now listening to their album kills me, because it reminds me of Maine, and farming; dirt; Cassie; driving back from the beach; fresh Maine bluebs. And those are all happy, happy memories–but it’s still painful, because nostalgia is inherently painful, isn’t it?

In fact, I’d argue the happier the memory, the more so–nostalgia is a “sentimental yearning” to return to a past time, which is, as we all know, impossible. So, the happier the past time = the more we wish to return to it = the more intense and painful our longing is. And the worst part is, Mo, I’m guessing it only gets worse the older we get, because they’ll be more happy moments to feel nostalgic about!

So today is Nostalgia Tuesday (actually, it’s Thursday, but I didn’t get around to publishing this post until now, so) and this is my nostalgic post. As such, I feel I must include some appropriately nostalgic photos.

I’ll just say this: you and I take some wonderfully candid snapshots.

PicMonkey Collage

We are goofs. 

I think this collage sufficiently proves that smiling, or for that matter, looking normal in photos is overrated.

So there you have it, nostalgia nostalgia nostalgia. This supremely human feeling. I mean, I have no idea if animals feel nostalgic–perhaps. But perhaps not. I reckon part of human’s distinctiveness from other species is our concept of time–namely, our concept of time past, time to come, and our own mortality. Our ability to feel nostalgia is tied up in our understanding of life as a hodge podge of ephemeral moments.

But then, if you turn it over in your mind, those moments wouldn’t be beautiful if they weren’t ephemeral. Nostalgia is painful, but its also the tell tale sign that we’ve had beautiful, happy moments–because if they weren’t so happy, we wouldn’t wish so painfully to return to them.

And that’s my sad little philosophic shpeal (jeez, how to you spell that word? schpeel? who knows). Hope your spring break is going well, that you’re getting lots of rest, and eating something besides honey nuts cheerios.

Much love, Drew

Art, college, Minnesota, music, Musing, nature, Thoughts, Travels, Writing

Some Things


Book Across the Bay was magical. I was thinking about you, and the way you would’ve loved the yellow candles in the snowy darkness, and the beaming moon and stars. There were thousands of people there, and I felt like I was crossing the Bering Straits in the Great Migration. Terrific.

Anyways, I’ve got loads of work (blah blah. The worst), but I wanted to share with you. I feel as if we remember periods in our lives less by dates and months, but by seasons, smells, and the art–the music, literature, whatever–that we are within.

So here are a couple things I’m in now:

*This beautiful video and song, called “John Wayne” by the Green Little Cars

*On The Road, Jack Kerouac. We’re doing the Beats in my Modern American Lit class. .

“because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a common place thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’ ” (6)

Now I’m feeling all moody and sad, because these things are so pretty and my work is so boring. Oh well! I hope you had a terrific weekend too. Love love love,


P.S. I’m still working on your birthday present. At this rate, you’ll have it by your 20th… ah, eventually!

Architecture, Dreams, nature, the environment, Thoughts

New Obsession: Tree Houses

Morgan, when you were a kid, did you ever go about drawing your “dream house”?

I’m sure we must have had some doodling session and done this together. I can’t count how many times, equipped with a fat magic marker, I sketched out my future abode. The result was always some winding, ramshackle, questionably sound structure, which of course included slides, trampolines, swings and other various play-ground-esque attachments. It was also always airborne, by which I mean, I think I fully intended on living in some abstraction of a tree house.

Wait, that past tense is misleading. I didn’t “fully intend”… I fully intend on living in a tree house.

Why are tree houses so fucking cool? I have no idea, but I also have no idea why I would deny myself the pleasure of living in one as an adult. Who cares about pragmatism, maturity, architectural challenges?  It’s a tree house.


Let’s face it. All the cool kids in movies and books had tree houses. Magic Tree House series, anyone? Or better yet, the Berenstain Bears.berestainbears_news

(nbd, bears don’t actually live in trees). 

And get this, tree houses can also be super sustainable, because–at least in forest habitats–they allow for development without the clearing of trees. Por ejemplo, the Finca Bellavista Rainforest Village in Costa Rica. Now, I’m not entirely sure what this Village is, but it looks like this:


Yeah. Craziness. And those are just a few of their plethora of tree houses. On their website (and in this sweet video), Finca Bellavista describes itself as a “sustainable tree house community,” which basically means, they grow 70-80% of their own food, are completely off-the-grid by producing their own energy, and harvest all their water from rain-water collection. Which is really all to say: Morgan, if I takeoff and disappear out of the blue one day, you’ll know where I am.

So can tree houses get any cooler, you ask? Oh wait, yes, they can–because, depending on your local regulations, they may be considered “temporary” structures, similar to garden sheds. Which means they may possibly be exempt from, ahem, zoning laws and taxes. $$ in the bank…. literally.

tumblr_lqgi2hdSGV1qej7x7o1_500  tumblr_lwyae1YNP21r6mskdo1_400  tumblr_m60e2ypbMz1qzfya1o1_500  tumblr_m4051h3uPA1qzl7pko1_500  tumblr_maiiqz002L1rbn74do1_500

Now all I need is a mate to come live with me in my tree house…I can hear my mother now: “Sure, okay Drew, good luck finding a husband to come live with you in a tree house.” (Hey mom, I’m an independent wo-man!) But seriously, how to find such a soul? Well luckily my roommiez and I have crafted  the perfect advertisement to attract such a male.

WANTED: woodsman who enjoys good literature, farming and loose leaf to tea, to live with me in tree house. Let’s have babies and educate them in the ways of the woods. Preferably tall and bearded. Conservatives need not apply. 

Mo, what’s your dream house? If you also share my desire to cohabitate with trees, we should connect our houses via ziplines.

Love, Drew