Don't call it 'Frisco. Trust me, it's tacky.

After an exhausting weekend, we are all moved into our new condo! Nearly everything appears to have survived the move, though I did break the top to our precious Brita filter. Dear Brita will be sorely missed-- after all, she's probably the only reason our intestinal tracks survived the South Salt Lake tap water for the last year. (Once, I let the tap drip onto a cloth... it dyed it orange. Safe? I think not.) The camera is buried somewhere, though, so pictures will be coming later. While the furniture is all in place, I have yet to hang much on the walls. In fact, there is a glaring bit of wall space near the kitchen table just begging to be filled. The following is the painting by Chris Harrington that I really want to hang there. I don't know anything about the painter other than he came up in a google image search and that I love this:




I am also in love with this one, however it wouldn't look quite as stunning against my buttery yellow walls:

My next move is to pray that the painter will email me back, though it'll probably just be to shatter my dreams of finding an affordable print for my home. After all, being a newly-wed, newly-graduated social worker filling in at a temp job in a financial office doesn't exactly leave me with a lot of discretionary income.

I'm sure you noticed a recurring theme above. My grandparents lived outside of San Francisco for most of my childhood, and the city holds a special place in my heart. Were you aware that Walnut Creek, California has a whole different smell? Occasionally I'll get a whiff of it and miss the funny shaped pool that was always approximately negative one million degrees because of Uncle Scott's crazy solar heating idea. Being from a land-locked state and all, we swam anyway. I think about the Palm Walk and Coit Tower and the Brown Bear Factory (long before Build-a-Bear, by the by) and seafood and torta-greenies and Papa eating the lima beans out of those disgusting frozen mixed veggie bags. Bleh.

Weird how absolutely foreign a place is when you've never heard of the grocery store chain before. I'm not sure Bandie and Papa will ever stop calling Albertson's Alpha-Betas.

Anyway, here's to hoping I can get lucky with an inexpensive reprint.

Also, here's to hoping that our Lake Powell trip is as truly awesome as last year's! We should be leaving in the wee hours of the morning, and returning Sunday with sunburns and some great pictures for el blog. Hooray for Independence Day!