Lisboa, Portugal
(Source: turnsaroundyou)
The big papers are just killing it in lifestyle porn this week. First there was this WSJ article about greenhouses as “the new woman cave”:
By day, they are sunny, private, plant-filled sanctuaries filled with the sound of classical music or NPR. By night, they are sparkling spaces for cocktails amid exotic foliage. Either way, they are worlds away from the rinky-dink eyesores that backyard greenhouses used to be, all flimsy plastic and wobbly poles.
Plants are almost an afterthought. Ms. Preyer’s greenhouse is a home for her citrus trees and tall gardenia, but it also contains a comfy garden chair, tucked in a corner and reupholstered in a fern print. She displays her collection of antique water pitchers in the greenhouse and filled shelves by the entryway with garden books and magazines. Pots of blooming pink geraniums are arranged on wrought-iron shelves. “I’ll go out there with my magazines, listen to music and make phone calls,” Ms. Preyer says. “It is like a fairyland.”
She has a collection of antique water pitchers. THIS WOMAN IS LIVING THE DREAM.
Aerial view of Château de Chenonceau, France (by Baloulumix)
Sun Moon Lake, Taiwan via bibi barbie
I need to look at soothing pictures and take deep breathes and drink tea for the rest of the morning, because today’s commute was the shitshow of all shitshows. A train derailed downtown, so the 4/5/6 lines were all running on the same local track. Just imagine 50 people trying to squeeze into each door, with no one getting off, and everyone getting increasingly furious. I bet that shit doesn’t happen at Sun Moon Lake…
This turtle was totally unperturbed by Rufus. Rufus, on the other hand, flipped his shit. If he would talk, he would have been saying, “This rock can WALK and it is FREAKING ME OUT.”
And even after we left the poor creature alone, every rock, leaf, and stump we passed Rufus regarded as being Possibly Turtle, and therefore Extremely Suspicious.
I would very much like to meet Rufus one of these days.
Me, too!
(Source: beachley)