The streets are a mix of old world cobblestone and concrete.

The men are dressed lavishly in suits and pipes, giving them the appearance of wise scholars.

Bicycle’s are left here and there, leaning against buildings like wallflowers watching the lovers walk on by.

The streets look uniquely identical. Each building has its own character of its former owner.

Creating a patchwork quilt lining the street in this fashion.

They remind me of more romantic era’s where men would sit and write poetry while drinking espresso.

-I’m in the train station hiding away from a friendly downpour. It seems the crispy cold air is running too, wrapping its fingers around my form. I complain only a little to my sister patiently waiting next to me. I day dream of living in Oxford and riding my bicycle to the book store and picking up something by Walt Whitman. I entertain the idea of drinking cold refreshing beer at The Eagle and Child while reading my poetry.My mind wanders far into another reality before it’s jarred back by the arriving of our train.

Treasures bought:

Franz Kafka book and poetry book from the 30d’s. 

Hiding behind evergreens nestled in an English garden.

His stories spilled over into eager ears.

His eyes thin slices of wisdom.

His wrinkles story tellers themselves.

He crafted remembering’s of his journeys in war and living in foreign countries.

He told me of the hot summer days in Singapoore when his only solace was an open window.

He told me of living in Hong Kong and how strange it is to see photographs of this enormously alive city. 

(It wasn’t such a place when I lived there he exclaimed.)

Then he came upon his favorite story:

Indonesia,

It was like a love letter the way he described her. A great magic Island untouched by western culture.

It was magic, he told me, like a fairy land. He spoke in hushed tones.

Almost as if he was still in those years and his voice was only but vibrations soaring through time to find me in a lush garden. 

-In many ways he inspired me to pursue my dreams with bold thankfulness.

(You may meet someone ex-ordinary at any moment, who will change your life. Pay attention!)

Because of my food allergies I have been slowly gathering recipes I can make myself. One because I feel oh so accomplished making something from scratch and two so I know nothing in the recipe is unsafe…

My dear friend has been making his own Almond Milk for a while now and it’s the best i’v ever tasted.

SOOOO much better than what you buy in stores.

*It does take some thinking ahead.

Almond Milk:

What you will need:

Nut milk bag (for milking)

4 Dates

4 cups Water

1 cup Almonds soaked in water for 24 hours (Important)

1/4 teaspoon Vanilla exstract

Pinch of Salt

Directions:

Take your almonds that have been soaking, Wash very well and drain water out. You won’t use this water in recipe.

Take your blender or vita-mix and blend dates with water until there are no chunks.

Add all ingredients and blend well.

Pour into nut bag and milk until all the nut leftover is in the bag and liquid is in a bowl.

-I like to put mine in the fridge before drinking. Warm milk isn’t my cup of tea. Either way it’s ready to enjoy!!!  

A little baby bird I saved…

My Fruitive breakfast and first pumpkin spice of the season!

 Coffee time for a fall day.

 Two things I’m adoring…

 An amazing venue where I saw Beach House.

 A seriously incredible show…

 Playing with the kiddos… 

 I have been loving buying flowers for my home as of late, arranging them and seeing their life every morning.

It’s been a season of life, enjoying the small things and building excitment for my favorite things coming

FALL. 

I have so many FUN idea’s and travel plans and I’m just so jazzed about my future!

xoxox See you tomorrow for (Slices of Life)…