books, fall, and scarves

I know it’s just the beginning of August, but I crave fall. My favorite season seems that much farther away since we moved deeper south. Still, I can sense a change in the air, a shortening of days; the casting of shadows lengthens, and the morning feels a bit cooler (well, maybe that’s just wishful thinking). The boys and I are already reading Halloween books; I’m thinking of spicy breads and beverages, and in the morning I add an extra dash of cinnamon to our oatmeal. I’m soooo ready for the coziness of autumn!Read More »

Masks

I used to make myself up everyday. I was in my twenties, and I had a great deal of self expression, which is good, but what was truly at play was a need to put on a mask so that people wouldn’t see the real me, the vulnerable and insecure me. I was a contradiction, I wanted to be seen and hide. I thought my self worth was wrapped in how I looked and what I did for others. All in an effort to like me.Read More »

Lessons

We all begin somewhere. Not one of us is born knowing everything or anything. I watched Quinn write the beginning letters of our names, having to instruct and guide him with proper placement. As an adult, it took me a long time to realize that what I didn’t know could be learned, and what I did know could be unlearned. That there is no shame in having to find the answers or ask for help.Read More »

I’m doing a thing

We’ve been in our new town for five months. It’s been a great transition for us, but not without its challenges. This has all been an adjustment with a new state, city, home, schedule, and two littles ’round the clock.

Lately I’ve been revisiting my purpose here, you know, who and what I am outside of mom and wife. I’ve gone from running a nonprofit at a historic site to planning activities for a four year old and trying to keep the one year old from putting toys in the toilet. Really, it is so much more than that, though. I love this time with them.Read More »

Under the Pecan Tree

We walk every morning in our new town.

One of the delights about our neighborhood are the abundant pecan trees,

Which Quinn requests every time we go.

We scour the ground on Tuskeena Street, under the shade of the pecan trees.

We look for the lightest colored shells, they usually give us the sweetest nuts.

We smash them under our shoe. Quinn brings his heel down, shoes flashing green.

The nut rolls, I bring it back to him.

He tries again, it’s almost pulverized. We check to see if it’s a good nut.

My little boy, so young, has already learned about bitterness.

“This looks like a good nut, Mommy.”

It was, plump, sweet, giving.

We stand there, sharing the moment.

I see the early Autumn sun shining on him, his brother. There’s a cool breeze.

I am reminded of these moments with the women in my life.

My memory is of picking black berries with my grandmother,

Watching her tat with strings pulled from grain bags.

Walking out to the field so that she can dig up thistles. She had her own personal vendetta against them.

They were as prickly as she was.

My mom gave me an appreciation of old things, antiques, historic sites, experiences.

We gardened together.

I remember her diligently taking care of me while I was sick.

She showed me what love is.

Imperfectly.

I look at my son’s darkening hair in the sun, his blond locks long cut off.

I have a thought that I am creating a memory for my children. For Quinn.

He, too, will look back on this with fondness.

He, too, will say my mother loved me.

Imperfectly.

August, Remembered

There are two dates that I alone remember outside of the boys birthdays and our anniversary.

They are the dates of the one I lost.

It was barely a whisper of time.

A faint heartbeat.

silence

And then such immeasurable loss.

I woke up on that August 22nd morning, knowing.

Feeling the weight, the sadness envelop.

Unable to control my body.

Powerless.

What is happening?

Nature, but…

Please, don’t go…

March 30, 2016 was supposed to be a day of joy.

Now it is of rememberance.

I feel this one was a boy.

August, potentially.

This is the one whose name I have written on my heart.

June 2015


Urban Garden

The five month old decided it was time to get up at 5:00 am. Usually I’ll put the stars and moon projector on to entertain him while I get the coffee percolating. We lay in bed together till the coffee is ready, just about the time the lucious aroma reaches the bedroom I know it’s time to get up. 

I love these mornings, when the house is still, the birds morning song is serenading us, and Finis is happily bouncing in his saucer, or quietly daydreaming. I take this time to knit or crochet, sipping guzzling my coffee in my favorite Sally mug. This self care fills me up.  

Two of these, please

I grew up on a farm during my formative years, it was a wonderful experience. After taking Quinn to the local fruit and berry patch, I knew I wanted him to have some kind of experience that resulted in outdoor life and developing an appreciation for fresh grown food and caring for our environment. The garden started when Quinn was two years old and quite the connoisseur of blueberries. Our purchase of two bushes happened just at the time that Calvin was over mowing the yard. So began our foray into urban gardening yardening. It seems like every time Calvin mows what’s left of the yard he comes in sweaty, sneezing, and covered in grass clippings with a new idea on how to get rid of landscape the yard.

My husband has created a little oasis in our back yard. 

Planting potatoes

This morning we met our neighbor and a photographer for a photo shoot. We will be featured  in a book of neighborhood garden stories. It’s so exciting to be part of this project. (Thanks, Terry!)

Our busy day ended with a neighborhood yarn bomb project for the marathon water stop. More on that in an upcoming post. But for now…