Showing posts with label noticings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label noticings. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 16, 2014




We drove up, up, up on winding roads in moving fog. We ascended so high into mountains that a lake of clouds lay beneath. We visited Mountainside on the mountainside and saw some friends I had forgotten to remember lately. We followed trails through the woods, asking each other what the other would do if they were in the Hunger Games, and we got a little sunburned. We got lost in a labyrinth of colored string and left with a bag of yarn and stories of French Huguenots and abandoned "ghost families." Lakeside, we took note of everything and peace was near in gentle waves and swimming mallard ducks and the sweetest breeze that dances with your hair. We ate the most delicious Himalayan food I have tasted in thirty years of life. And we drove, down, down the winding roads in setting sun, back to home to sleep in our own bed.


big bear, calif.
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Tuesday, April 1, 2014




The initial goal was exercise.

The growing reality is that exploring the highlands north of our home each evening is pure enjoyment. Time outdoors together, presents us with a simple-yet-changing environment where intimacy and intentionality find their way between and around us. Along with it, are delightful words and carefree noticings. Light turns to dusk turns to night as we climb streets and hills, side by side, taking in the world and each other.

Perhaps this is how a routine becomes.


and how
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Sunday, March 30, 2014




Today was spent amidst trees and light
at one of my favorite spots on this vast earth.
I wasn't expecting it because we were working,
but its vitality seeped in unobserved,
permeating and lifting us all.


lifting us all
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Monday, March 17, 2014





I am trying to do things that are good for me. Like taking walks.

But, my feet didn't want to tread Monrovia's sidewalks today. So, I found myself in my old, childhood neighborhood nestled up against the foothills of the mountains in all their loveliness. Streets lined with old trees and one-of-a-kind houses with personalities and presence.

I recognized so many of them as I walked with my shadow along familiar roads and streets and courts and avenues. I remembered which houses had occupants who smiled at tiny uniformed Brownie Girl Scouts. I remembered the houses we avoided and the houses that scared me--they always had long, curving driveways with overgrown, unkempt plants or hedges that made it so you couldn't see the front door from the street.

I remember sweet Mrs. Moser with her cotton hair and her springed screen door that snapped back the second you let go. And the old man who lived on Holdman Avenue who had a really gruff voice and was missing two-thirds of his pointer finger. I remember watching his grease-covered hands as he gingerly filled out the cookie order form in all caps, wondering how he lost is finger and if it happened a very long time ago. I remember the family who had a lot of little kids and they were so busy that it always took at least 3 attempts before we found someone home in order to deliver their cookies. I remember the chipper elderly couple who ordered an entire case of Thin Mints every year. I remember how short she was and how tall he was, and how she always seemed to be wearing a teal velvet robe with a zipper that ran all the way down to the ground whenever we stopped by. And every year, they would tell us how they put the Thin Mints in the freezer and ate them all year long until we came back again.

I think I'll make a habit of these hometown walks. I expect they'll do me good.


walking memories
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Friday, January 31, 2014




I lost a race with my mind, and it seems I've forgotten how to fall asleep. The welcome rain-friend sings its perfect lullaby in gentle, soothing strains that match my heartbeat and connect me to this place. Chill makes a home in my toes despite blankets piled high, but I curl them 'round and 'round until they come alive again. My surroundings go missing every time my lids flutter to a close as I try to latch on to dreams and steady peace.

The sound of rain makes everything else disappear. I can not hear the cars driving past on their way to somewheres. I can not hear the neighborhood dog barking at nothing. I can not hear Nadia crooning and clawing at the carpet beneath our bedroom door hoping for a midnight confabulation. I can not heard the ruffle of the sheets when Jason stirs. I can not hear my own breathing.

Such poetry. To find quiet in the sound of rain.


iphone  | in lightened - hermonville, france 
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Monday, November 18, 2013




A recent milestone birthday brought on an unexpected wave of reflection, introspection and an onslaught of thought bubbles with long, winding trains. Words and ink and blank pages are good for this type of thing. I need to stop reconfiguring and let thoughts be as they are as they are as they are.

The milestone is an interesting concept. What makes it more pronounced than the other years, anyway? Perhaps it's like a emboldened chapter title in a fancy little font so that you remember where you are in relation to the grand scheme of pages before and after.

A pause might be appropriate for relocating parts of moments and conversations, to piece them together to see them more clearly so that they don't go missing before I've learned what I need to learn from them.

Ten years is a long time to remember, friends, let alone a lifetime. So, I'll only try to remember the last ten years for now. I don't want a life of blurred memories if I can help it. So, I'll try to hold on to even the dark ones because they mean something, too. Maybe even more sometimes.

In the last ten years, I have learned...


...how to be okay

...that people have different definitions of the role of "friend," and maybe that's part of the beauty of finding what you'd call a "true" one

...that wearing polka dots has a high probability of elevating your overall countenance

...how to kiss

...that small successes are oftentimes more important than the ones everyone else tells you are most important

...where to go for the best chai tea latte in the whole wide world

...that a beloved childhood long-lost cousin was alive and well all these years, and that he is a kindred spirit for writing the most wonderful letters

...that I'm not stupid

...that going from no bangs to with bangs can change your life, and I should never ever ever-ever-ever go back

...that I can identify myself as an artist, and it can be true

...that making new friends who haven't known me since forever can be liberating because they won't naturally pigeon-hole you the same way

...that I can love far more deeply than I can hate, and it feels like a relief to know

...how much intentional thoughtfulness it takes to create a wedding day that is about community instead of individuals, and how many traditional rules need to be broken for authenticity's sake

...that I overuse the words "true," "quite," "lovely," and "wonder," and probably have too many commas in most of my sentence-strings

...how many of the beliefs I held growing up have been altered to something hopefully more loving, less judgmental, and therefore, more accurate if I really get the whole point of it at all

and,

 ...that every day is actually worth paying attention to (especially when it's cold out)



iphone | francine narnia - Île Saint-Louis 
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Tuesday, October 29, 2013




Last night, I fell asleep to comforting rainfall. Strings of raindrops traveling in lines down window panes and making a gentle barrier between.

I woke at 5:15 a.m. and could not find sleep again and it has made for a lovely morning. With crisp, cold air beckoning me to meet autumn outside for some quality time, I bid my little Nadia-cat goodbye and went for a drive.

Sometimes, I forget how quiet and still early morning can be. You see people out on the streets who you never see because they're already gone by the time you venture out for the day. An entirely different set of people who rise early, make the first footprints in the dewy grass, and witness the start to the days we share together, apart.

Perhaps I would like making friends with the morning.


impossible film | quiet (versailles, france)
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Thursday, May 30, 2013




2. Basilique Sacré Coeur / Montmarte - Paris, France



stair-climbing, city-scaping
a sudden hailstorm surprise, and we all rush for sanctuary

but a strand of rainbow cuts through the sky in simple poetry
and it all seems even more true



iPhone, PuddingCam | francene - Paris, France
 © kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Wednesday, January 9, 2013



iPhone 5, AltPhoto | muse
 © kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Friday, October 19, 2012






Once in a while, I remember to notice the pretty things amongst common everyday. Like a calico tabby peering through windows of cloudy fabric, reflections in the glass.



iPhone 5, instagram | a calico tabby and pleated clouds
© kimberly k. taylor pestell, all rights reserved