Bradley and I have been quarantined for just shy of 48 hours; yesterday I organized every junk drawer, rearranged our second bedroom into a functioning office and recording studio, prepared three meals, read two back issues of Texas Monthly, watched one-and-a-half movies, and worried that I would go mad with another day of isolation.

But this morning I went for a walk and discovered a street of old brick houses with balconies that look like stepped castle parapets. I made coffee and I sliced pineapple for a breakfast of fresh fruit and migas. I played doctor and I finished another magazine and I did some writing, which made me curious about the state of this ill-treated blog. Who keeps a blog anymore, anyway?

Now I think I'll see what I can put together for dinner. Perhaps this confinement isn't so bad after all. 

Greenery in and around Portland, Oregon.

Dear curious loved ones: I will accept anything (or everything) from Datter Industries for my upcoming birthday. Thank you.

Not to brag, but I have some pretty babely (not to mention unbelievably smart and talented) gal pals. On more than one occasion, we have been mistaken for a touring band.

And now, after seeing these photos from the amazing Darcy DuBose, I can see why: It must just be that we dress in complimentary tones, and we're always spaced equidistant from one another.