There's a small part of me that's always imagined I'd be a beekeeper someday. It was a wide-eyed sort of dream, mind you. The type that forms when you're little, before you know what something is really all about. Before you realize that honey takes a truck load of bees and penchant for sticky. My childhood friend George always had bees though. And that convinced me I wanted them too. That and the stories he told of them. He was some years older then me, more a friend of my parents than a friend of mine. But he was ever-present throughout my childhood. Looking back now, it could have been the tins he brought the honey in, that I liked so much. They were that antique-sort-of-beautiful variety. You know the ones I mean. The kind that a six year old who really liked pretty things, might just have been into. It's of course possible that my memory embellishes the pretty they actually were. But I remember that violet honey that came inside and I remember the magic it all was to my little kid self. And as it turns out, honeycomb mixed with cream and eggs and sugar and frozen together makes for its own bit of magic too. xo, N
these
paws (
via) this
pot this
book this
video these
sandals this
swimsuit this
hotel (
via)
currently reading currently
watching cocktail cures photos:
michael graydon and
me 
[amd-zlrecipe-recipe:8]
