Thursday, April 24, 2014

yesterday. . .

"My shoe is off. My foot is cold. I have a bird I like to hold." ~ Dr. Seuss (One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish)

This little bit of magic happened on our deck yesterday. I shot these though the windows, which he and I cleaned not too long ago. There are two of them which means if I am lucky, I might see some babies in a few weeks. 

what is at your feeder?

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

eat your vegetables. . .

“Do you like vegetables?" Sophie asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards a slightly less dangerous kind of food.
"You is trying to change the subject," the Giant said sternly. "We is having an interesting babblement about the taste of the human bean. The human bean is not a vegetable.” ~ Roald DahlThe BFG

I am smitten with these chives because they are the only color in our very small yard here on the east side. I miss watching my huge flower beds on the west side. Miss watching them come to life, changing daily, growing. 

I have been spending the last few days catching up, organizing photo files, printing and working on a small video from Brandon's birthday. And walking the dog here and there. I also made some changes to the blog; adding some of my favorite places to spend a few moment. I know I have missed some and will be adding to the list as I go. I hope you will check them out. 

The fresh asparagus has hit the markets and folks are selling it on street corners in town. It is a big crop here and we love it. I have tired many different recipes, but when it come right down to it, I like it best steamed. I dump it into a bowl, sprinkle it with some fun salt (smoked maybe?) and we both eat it with our fingers. We are having it several times a week right now. 

A few months ago I signed up for a project life class and it started this week. Man those woman are amazing, but already I know I will be a drop out. I seem to have my flow down, nothing fancy, just simple and easy. I was four weeks behind when I came back to the east side last week. Yesterday afternoon I finished them all up. 

One last dreamy photo of a small bunch of chives I found growing under some bushes. I just purchases the monthly creative cloud for lightroom and photoshop and have been having fun with all the new sliders in lightroom. 

And in ten days this boy comes home for a couple of weeks, before he heads to Alaska. There will be competition for his attention I know, and I am not always the best at sharing. But I will try my best. 

thanks so much for spending 
a moment with me today, 
enjoy your wednesday, 

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

one question. . .

"There is only one question: how to love this world."  ~ Mary Oliver

Messenger by Mary Oliver 

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird –
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old?  Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?  Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly rejoicing standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

because Mary Oliver always says it better than I do. . .  
Happy Earth Day, 

Monday, April 21, 2014

wanderlust. . .

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.” 
― J.R.R. TolkienThe Fellowship of the Ring

There is this deep need inside of me at times to get it all figured out; to develop a life "lesson plan" of sorts I guess, and stick with it. My journals are full of ideas, plans, schedules and outlines. It scares me to think that one day my kids might read them. It is not how I had it planned. I pictured my journals beautiful tucked inside some special box and the three of them would lift the cover only to discover the deep thinking's of their mother, her wise words of wisdom. . .  and think wow, these are amazing. But no, I think they are more likely find them tucked into every bookcase and cranny and think, oh brother, look at all this gibberish. 

This creative road I am on is so new and foreign to me and my first instinct is to make sense of it, make it easier and less time consuming. And yet, it monopolizes my mind constantly. I have come to understand that I have yet to really give in to the flow of it and I often find myself swimming against the current. 

Recently I watched as my son's girlfriend worked on a painting she was creating. It was magical to watch the transformation of this piece; going from what I had in my head, from her earliest sketches on the canvas, to what it looks like today, and I don't think she is done yet. It made me wonder if she knew from the get-go where it was going or if she just allowed her creativity to flow through her. The process has been lovely to watch, and taught me something about art in general. So much of the goodness is the process and as we change and grow and try new things our journey becomes richer. 

Twelve years ago yesterday, my mother passed away. When we were cleaning out her drawers we came across several clippings from newspapers and magazines, many of them from Dear Abby. Little words of wisdom she wanted to keep; her idea of journals and gibberish I suppose. One of these was a beautiful poem called The Station by Robert J. Hastings. My sister and I loved it so we printed it up and handed it out to everyone at her service. 

For me it is a constant reminder to live life and enjoy the journey and not worry so much about arriving at the station. My creative road is very much the same and I need to work on enjoying the wanderlust of where it takes me; understanding that the journey is the important thing and the figuring it out, if I am lucky, is not going to happen. 

Ha! Caught in the act.... "I never feed him from the table," he tells me all the time. Well, this was not our table, we were picnicking, but I think it counts. 

You can read Dear Abby's post and The Station here if you would like. 

thank you for spending a moment 
with me today, 
hope your monday is perfect, 

Friday, April 18, 2014

grape hyacinths. . .

I will bring you the lily that laughs,
I will twine
with soft narcissus, the myrtle,
sweet crocus, white violet,
the purple hyacinth, and last,
the rose, loved-of-love

Hilda Doolittle 

she often left them to their own devises
believing that too much adult supervision
was not always healthy
believing that the world of childhood
needed time to make believe 
and practice working things out among themselves
but in reality she never took her eyes off of them

the two of them worked hard to create
pockets of privacy throughout their property
a makeshift fort in one corner
a thicket of trees in another
pockets of privacy where their sons could play and imagine
but still be within site
still be safe

there were often blankets erected 
hung from tree limbs and draped over the big moss covered rock
which lies between the vegetable garden
and their vast lawn
the space protected by the holly trees 
with all their thorns and thick branches
the rock creating the perfect place for bight red hot wheels to cruse over
and crash land in the soft moss on the other side
or for army guys to hide in, fighting wars among the moss
failing swiftly to their demise 
somewhere on the other side

and every spring
a small patch nearby 
would burst into the color of blue
we don't often see in nature
she would watch as they played among the patch
before it was in full bloom
and fight the urge inside of her 
not to yell a reminder to them
to be careful of the flowers
because she did not want to stifle the moment

then one day 
they would all come running across the yard
their arms behind their backs
smiles of love on their faces
and proudly they would line up in the kitchen
all three of them side by side
so anxious to show her what they had found
each trying hard to wait for the other, but wanting to be first
and suddenly chubby little fingers holding tiny bouquets of love
would pop out from behind their backs
and they would say. . . 
"look mommy, they bloomed!"

she would tenderly bend down to their level
and take the three bouquets 
placing each of them in its own tiny crystal vase
vases she had bought just for these love bouquets
from her sons and she would know that the season had started 
started with these bouquets of grape hyacinths 
knowing that later dandelions in all stages of bloom
would find a home on her kitchen window ledge 
along with tiny yellow buttercups
and she would be so glad she had left them alone
in their world of childhood
allowing them to notice on their own
the beautiful magic of their world 

ahhh... friday, 

hope all is well with you today,