first time at the italian market

Sunday's trip to the Italian Market on 9th Street in Philly was my first time ever. It was a lot different than I thought it'd be, but I loved it nonetheless. Now, before I forget...here's what was on our produce shopping list (aka the shopping list that was 100% spur of the moment and completely unplanned).

• fresh asparagus
• grapes
• blueberries
• romaine lettuce
• baby spinach

Now, while the Italian market is very non-Italian in its look (and produce selection - pineapples?), the general feel was very bold,  tough-yet-loveable, especially once you're in line at Claudio's. We almost cut out a guy in front of us with his bag of De Cecco pasta, and we at once rectified our faux pas with a "sorry! you were in front of us!" He grunted back, "I know," and turned his shoulder to us.

Philadelphia is so lovely.

So while the produce market was the most photogenic, the stores selling the fresh-made pastas and aged cheeses were the ones that spoke to my soul. Claudio's and Talluto's (pictured) were the two that we poked into. At Claudio's, we surrendered to the most sumptuously sharp pecorino cheeses that were so crumbly and salty and flaky that my eyes rolled to the back of my head and took me instantly back to that tasting in Montepulciano. That was the day I became a cheese person.

We purchased a piccante pecorino, and another from Sardinia - both were fantastic. We also bought reeeeallly long spaghetti, pesto alla genovese, oh and more cheese smoked mozzarella (be still my beating heart), and marinated baby mozzarella. Claudio's was fun but tough. The guys behind the deli counter liked our passion for cheeses. I think by the time we left we were kind of buddies.

Then we rounded back to Talluto's for some arrabiata sauce, pesto agnolini (!!!), and a few more things that I can't remember.

All in all, a very successful first day ever of the Italian market. Mom and I gotta make it a monthly thing. When am I going back to Italy again??

ciao!! xo

scenes from my weekend

On Saturday afternoon I was feeling an itch to get out of the house. My mom and I took an aimless drive, crossing state borders and finding ourselves in NJ! It felt otherworldly, I'm not kidding. This weekend, there should have been a full moon because things were just weird. Something was just off. Do you ever feel that way? Perhaps the eerie light of the gloaming set the tone - it is indeed my least favorite part of the day.

However...there is something to be said for this weekend. Temperatures rose above freezing, people. This is a huge deal. Yes, snow still is packed on the ground in a great snowball consistency, and more is scheduled to come, but it was about 50 degrees out and it felt tropical. So of course the afternoon called for coffee hunting and exploring around otherworldly (seriously) territory. And this means crossing the world's skinniest bridge over the Delaware, seeing the pretty riverside lights, blurry shots from the car's windshield, and attempting to bring on the spring by wearing flats instead of fleece lined boots.

So...how was your weekend? ciao, xo

photography inspo: my mom

This summer my mother, the photographer extraordinaire in the family, ventured out west to beautiful Seattle, Washington. I've been there once when I was only twelve years old - I remember crying on my flight home because I loved it oh so much. I didn't want to be peeled away from the beautiful mountainsides of evergreen, the wondrous Puget Sound, or the city with the one-of-a-kind skyline. The Pacific Northwest enchanted my twelve year old heart and it does to this day. These are just a select few of her photos from Pike Place Market, and they completely inspire me. When I see them, they make me want to not only travel, but be a better photographer.

Those were her photos; captured in a raw, natural, bright, colorful light. Now, her musings on photography:

- - - 

Photography is a lot like poetry, only the imagery is the lyrical element.  Oftentimes, the photo finds the lens, and all I add is a shutter click.

How lucky we are to live in a time when capturing images is so easy.  Not long ago, I was stocking up on 400-speed film, and storing it in my refrigerator.  Remember rewinding the film in order to get it  processed, and the anticipation (!) of waiting to get those prints back?  Those days are long gone; now, you know which shots you will discard almost as soon as you take them.  Images fill our world, and the history of our daily lives is accumulating in a million cloud files from around the planet.

Still, I imagine what it would be like to have one photograph - just one - of someone like Julius Caesar, or Charlemagne.  Was Helen of Troy really beautiful?  A photo would recast her history in an instant.  Fast forward - what will those yet to come think of the photographic ghosts we leave behind?

Naturally, they will marvel at our hairstyles, and our quaint clothing. Will the voices be heard?  Will the life energy really transmit itself through frozen snippets of life?  I think so - as sure as I can stare into the     shell blue eyes of my grandmother Angeline, photographed as a young immigrant newlywed of nineteen in 1929.  I examine every detail of that picture, and I know her; I see myself, I see my children, I see my future, I see my past.  It is a gift, a photo that screams of laughter and joy, of the disappointments and trials of life; of the survival of hope, and of the promise of the future.

That is why I photograph!  My gift to the future is to capture the beauty of now, fleeting like quicksilver before my eyes.  Look at them, but I also ask, listen to them!