Fog

Foggy, misty, mysterious when
Shimmering halos adorn every light
The very air, soft, kisses your skin
Gentle caresses of water take flight

Unseen things seem to lurk
Just past my eye's periphery
Dancing magic in the murk,
Or just mine eyes' trickery?

Memorial Day 2010

Honor those who serve.
Remember the fallen.
Recognize your blessings.


R.I.P. Grandpa
Thank you.

A Toast

Warm sun on my face. A lazy breeze shuffles through the magnolia leaves, chilly reminder that even the lowcountry has winter. I watch a cat slink under the camellias, molten, merging into the shadows. Twittering birds erupt in a cloud of scolding. The cat stalks off, disgusted.

Laughter swells as someone backs out the door with arms laden. The storm door slams shut behind them, cutting off the cheerful din. Conversation drifts toward me on the breeze as some of the family stroll back from the nearby pond, where they'd been admiring the resident 'gator. Their voices mingle with the mouth-watering sounds and aromas of frying turkey. Children fly past on bikes and scooters. Somewhere, a dog barks. I stretch my legs out in the grass before me. Another car pulls up, bearing friends and family. The magnolia whispers overhead.

A child bumps my arm as I pour, spilling rich red wine over the rim. Sunlight shimmers in beads of deepest ruby clinging, sliding, as I quietly lift my glass in homage to this day. Thanksgiving, indeed.

October Night

The air is cool and damp, a soft mist is swirling down so lightly that I don't even notice at first. It simply feels alive, stirring against my skin, the breath of a kiss hovering just out of reach. The saturated atmosphere magnifies the orange glow of the streetlights, lending an autumnal brightness to the soft night. It shines over tree branches and driveways, casting stark traceries of golden light and shadows. I pause to drink in this night. Both intimate and infinite, it stretches endlessly between the cozy pleasures of the hearth and the wild promise of a deeply magical night. The gentlest of breezes stirs. I close my eyes to lose myself in the whisper of leaves and far-off windchimes. What secrets do the branches tell, one to the other, passing wisdom over the Earth? What spell does the windsong weave? I hear a soft tap in the dry leaves behind me, then another to the side. I open my eyes to the swirl of orange light. The air has thickened with promise. Tap, pop, pip. Individual sounds collecting together in soft percussive harmony. Gentle rain. I nod slightly in acknowledgment of this moment, a mental curtsy to the wild spirit of this night. Thank you.

August Meditation

As if someone has reached out and turned the wheel of the year a notch, quite suddenly I sense the birth of Fall. Summer still blazes, but her intensity is waning and she has let her guard down a few times. A couple nights ago I opened the door to let the dogs out, and felt goosebumps prickle my skin. Goosebumps! The air was cool, so cool, sliding hesitantly through the half opened door.

I opened the windows, and cherished every breath of breeze that kissed my cheek. The night insects sent up their prayers to the moon, a hallelujah chorus of sweet summer night, but with the liveliness now came a bare hint of mortality. Like the skull in the still life painting, with beauty lurks death. In death, beauty. The partners may change, but the dance goes on. Summer curtsies, and awaits her next dance with golden anticipation.

Campout 2009! Edisto Beach, SC- Day 3

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

Day 3 everyone was eager to check out the beach. It was a little chilly still, but we decided to ride the bikes out to the ocean anyway.
Holy sandblasters! It was windy. Relentlessly windy. Smack your face windy. Push you over windy. Cold, because it was windy.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

We stubbornly stayed to enjoy the beach for awhile, and it was a beautiful day. Mr. Sweetcheeks situated himself on the dry, sun-warmed sand near the dunes. Sitting low, the wind wasn't quite as bad. He was having a great time just playing around in the sand and looking for shells.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

Babyman was thrilled to go walking on the beach, and he wasn't even fazed by the vast ocean. He loved exploring.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

Littleman bravely changed into a swimsuit before exploring the rock seawall. He even ventured into the chilly surf! He didn't let me take pictures of him, though.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

Soon everyone (especially the blue-lipped Littleman!) had had enough, and we dusted the sand off the kids before loading them back onto the bike. Once out of the wind we warmed up considerably, and after the kids finished their sandwiches (intended for a beach picnic), we took them out for some ice cream. They were happy campers!

Next we headed down the park trails again, this time to explore the Spanish Mount, a 4,000 yr-old shell mound on the park's property.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

We enjoyed looking out over wide Big Bay Creek, and imagining life in the salt marsh 4,000 years ago.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

By the time we rode back into camp to start dinner, the kids were worn slap out.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

After dinner and a pleasant time telling stories while we roasted marshmallows at the group campfire, the boys were more than ready for bed. The adults however were eager to try some midnight bike riding, because word got around about the marvelous ride Billy and my brother had enjoyed. While Billy tucked the boys in and a whipporwill (which, upon researching, I now think was a chuck-will's-widow) sang them to sleep, I got a turn on the mooonlit trails.

It really was a remarkable experience, zooming quietly along in a line together, alternating sparkling moonlight with deep pockets of darkness. I found it most effective to let my eyes go out of focus slightly so I could rely more on my peripheral vision to guide me. Clumps of saw palmetto hunched on the side of the trail like misshapen gnomes, startling me with sudden lifelike movement whenever the breezes blew. The shadowy maritime forest welcomed us. I tipped my head back as I rode, precariously gazing upward whilst I flew along the path. The twisted branches over my head seemed to drip with quicksilver, moonlit above and in deep shadow below. Spanish moss hung down in spooky, romantic profusion. It was peaceful and exciting.

All too soon, we returned so I could trade places with Billy. Once everyone was gone I was left in the quiet campsite with the soft snores of my children and the sounds of the salt marsh wind. I sat beneath the full moon, gazing upward in relaxed contentment. Gradually all the varied sounds of the forest became known to me- the chuck-will's-widow still calling, the tiny rustles of night creatures, the nearly metallic knocking sound of the wind in the palmetto trees. Even though I could also hear the road off in the distance, it was a vastly enriching meditation.

From Edisto Island Campout 2009

(To read my account of Day 4, go here.)

Back, and a moment

Yes I am quite better thank you, and (knock on wood!) everyone else is well, too. Thank goodness. I am catching up and getting into the swing of things again, and it's taking quite a lot of time. I've fallen out of practice with my blogging! So, I finally decided to simply sit down and type up whatever came to mind (which hasn't been much, lately) and throw it out there. At least it gets me started again, eh? :)

* * *

Breeze through through the open car windows. Jesse Harper's CD quietly playing, subtle snores from Babyman in the back seat. The clatter of a shopping cart through the parking lot and happy chatter from children walking with their mother. Windchimes from the sidewalk outside the grocery store. The breeze smells fresh and clean- no particular scents to speak of, just the smell of promise. Lounging in the car's front seat, I am surprisingly comfortable. The sun is just warm enough to be delicious. I check on Babyman, still fast asleep. It's OK- I have time. Time to relish having time. Time for a stretch in the sun. Time to smell the breeze, and listen to music. Time to read a novel for fun. I turn the page, and settle in more comfortably. When he wakes, we'll do our shopping. For now, I'm taking this time for myself.

* * *

And, just for fun:

New, Ageless

It's a gilded afternoon, timeless like air in amber. Unseasonably warm, bathed in clear winter sunlight. Distant shouts and laughter wander far on the soft breeze.

Yarn running through my fingers. Click, loop, slide, slip.

Grandpa seated to my right, eyes gazing at distant unseen horizons. He is reminiscing for me (for himself), relating long ago army days- a time for him of ceaseless activity, of purpose, the promise of his young family, the adventure, times of horror and of valor.

Click, loop, slide, slip.

Young boys running, flying, feet skimming the grassy field. The dogs race. Someone falls, laughing.

Click, loop, slide, slip.

I watch my husband emerge from the woods, pinestraw in his hair, smiling. Watching himself, reincarnated gleefully in these noisy, boisterous little beings we call our own. Boyhood anew.

Click, loop, slide, slip.

The wheel turns. Our time of ceaseless activity, of purpose, of the promise of our young family. Our adventure. New, and ageless. Grandpa sighs.

Click, loop, slide, slip. I set aside my knitting.

And the breeze sighs with him.

City of Starlight

Out in nowheresville, on my family’s farm in Alabama, we walked out together to admire the night sky. Living in a large metropolitan area as we do, it’s easy to forget about the stars. But that night, huddled together in the grass, our breath frosting in the freezing air, I tipped my head back and gasped. Stretching out overhead was an overwhelming number of stars, improbably bright against the deep, inky black of infinite space. They exploded overhead in glittering profusion, winking and shining like living sparks of spirit-fire in the cold winter night. I cannot remember the last time I saw so many stars, or when they shone so brightly. I only wished the temperature outside was more condusive to lingering- as it was, we had just a few minutes to wonder before I hustled back inside to huddle by the gas heater.

Riding home the following evening, I scanned the night sky ruefully for some indication that the magic still shone somewhere overhead. Only the brightest stars remained- a handful here and there, veiled to a fraction of their former brilliance. Lights that pierced like beacons were now hard to pick out in the pinkish grey sheen over the endless highway. We drew nearer and nearer to Atlanta as I typed, watching the stars fade away. Suddenly ahead the city skyline popped into view like a sunrise on the horizon. For a moment I was startled by it’s beauty, towers twinkling like diamonds, thousands upon thousands of gleaming lights in this urban metropolis. Here of course was the main reason the stars had disappeared: the light pollution was simply too intense, too widespread for the starts to compete. And all at once I was struck with a vision of stars, countless stars, being pulled inexorably from the heavens down to earth, where they coalesced into the sparkling spires then dazzling my eyes.

What human conceit, to have stolen the stars.

Blood Mountain Adventure

So, I've already told you about our autumn hike near the Richard Russell Scenic Hwy. The next day we got up and headed out for Blood Mountain. It would turn out to be an epic excursion (and a long blog post). Typical for us, we had a rather late start- getting ourselves and the three boys up and fed, pottied or changed, packed and into the car takes determination. By the time we'd arrived at our destination, picked up some sandwiches, pottied or changed everyone again, and suited up for our hike, it was about 1:30 pm as we actually headed up the trail. Still, that gave us at least 4 hours before we expected nightfall- the hike is just under 2 miles to the summit, so we still felt we'd have enough time.

From November Hikes 2008

It was a chilly grey day, but we were well dressed in layers and the hiking soon warmed us up. It was perfect hiking- we were all in good spirits, enjoying the beautiful woods and the fresh, damp air. Littleman took the lead, and we continued on up the mountainside.

From November Hikes 2008

Damp autumn leaves covered the trail, and the air was thick with their rich, decaying scent. The palette of brown sparkled here and there with visions of color: flashes of fire, drops of golden amber, speckles of dessicated amethyst that delighted my eyes.

From November Hikes 2008

From November Hikes 2008

It wasn't long before we stopped for a quick bite. When hiking with kids, it's good to stop for snacks or sips of water pretty frequently. You don't have to stop long, but you will find they are much happier with frequent refueling in small doses. Happy kids make for a happy hike!

It was getting colder, so we were anxious to get moving again. Soon we could glimpse the summit of Blood Mountain looming over us. It looked so close, but we knew from long experience that it was probably further away than it seemed. We were having too much fun to mind that!

From November Hikes 2008

The trail gets much tougher as you near the summit. Before you know it, you are traversing steep switchbacks, climbing stairs and clambering up rock piles. I helped Billy put Mr. Sweetcheeks in another carrier, because it was getting to be a bit much for a 3-yr old hiker. Sweetcheeks probably could have done it all himself, but the pace would have been very, very slow- and we needed to beat nightfall. So we continued on up the mountain, careful not to slip on the piles of crushed leaves.

From November Hikes 2008

Unfortunately, my camera battery died sometime around then. I was SO disappointed, because the views at the top were stunning! Sigh. Sorry about that.

Anyway, we continued up, and up, and up. 2 miles is not far for us, but we'd forgotten how tough the trail is nearer the top. Littleman was fantastic, trooping right along, seemingly invincible. It was getting chillier, so we started pulling on hats and zipping up jackets again. Each bend we looked up the hill to see sky behind the trees, seemingly indicating that the end was just over yonder. But we knew that most likely, more hillside would materialize as we followed the twisting trail. We were all still feeling great, and the forest was gorgeous. But sunset was fast approaching, and we began to worry that we just might run out of time. Littleman started lagging at last, and near the top he began to cry. It was a tough hike for him!

But finally, we broke through the rhododendron thickets onto a wide rock face near the top of Blood Mountain. The dense grey sky overhead stretched toward the west, where clouds broke apart and sunlight streamed through in pink-golden splendor. The mountains marched away, ridge upon ridge, fading into sapphire sfumato. Light poured through the clouds in great shafts onto the hillsides. The wind was bitter, but everything was such a feast for the eyes that for a moment, there was nothing but elation. It was the sort of euphoric intoxication that makes all our toughest hikes well worth the trouble. When people wonder why on earth we would put ourselves through some of the conditions we face outdoors, I am at a loss to describe the pure joy and reward that such moments hold. The sense of accomplishment, of connectedness, of wonder- it defies description and simply must be experienced to be understood.

I did have a 12 month old on my back however, so getting out of the cold wind was a priority. Plus it was obvious that sunset was mere minutes away. Littleman perked up to see that we were almost there, so we pushed on to the summit and went straight into the shelter. The shelter on Blood Mountain was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps back in 1934. Inside it has two rooms with windows, a fireplace and a large sleeping platform. No fire for us, though! It was damp and chilly but at least we were out of the wind. We ate and drank, and made the kids run around a bit to keep warm. There was no time to explore the beautiful mountain top- that would have to wait for another day. Dusk was approaching fast and we needed to head back down the mountain. We knew it was more important to be rested and fed than to hurry, though- we could hike in the dark if we had to. The trail is well-maintained and heavily used, with clearly defined blazes all along- plus we are familiar with the terrain. Better to be fueled up and ready, hiking a little later, than to have cranky kids and our judgment possibly impaired by fatigue and hunger.

Soon we bundled up for the hike down, back in good spirits and still ready for adventure. We'd hoped to start our descent by 4 pm, but it was closer to 4:45. Still, we figured that wasn't too bad. As we came out on the rock face below the shelter, I paused to admire the sunset- the sun was sliding down from a strip of clouds, moments away from the horizon. It blazed an improbable fuscia pink, turning the very air rosy around me. It was freezing though, and I turned back to the trail. Just as I left the rock, I heard a far-off rumble. I stopped to listen- it sounded like thunder, but that seemed so unlikely. No rain was predicted for today, it hadn't looked like rain when we'd set out, and I couldn't spot any rain clouds now. I shook my head and started off again, wondering if there was a quarry somewhere off in the valley.

Though many non-hikers find it hard to believe, hiking down a steep trail is much harder than hiking up. Billy was carrying Sweetcheeks of course, and Littleman was doing a great job at climbing down. It was slow going though, and the light was fading alarmingly fast. We began to realize that we'd not considered the direction of the sunlight this late in the day- we were on the shadowed side of the mountain, and though sun no doubt still shone on the other side, here we would very soon need flashlights. I was listening hard, because I'd heard another far away rumbling. It still sounded like thunder. At least it wasn't close. Suddenly I noticed a tapping noise, scattered all around through the leaf litter. It was sharp sounding, and it took me a minute to realize I was hearing light sleet. Ice was falling on the mountainside.

I exchanged a glance with Billy- he'd heard it, too. It was still very sparse, so we just continued on. Besides, we'd (uncharacteristically- we must be out of practice) forgotten to pack rain jackets or gaiters. Doh! Soon the sleet was getting heavier and the ground was getting wet. Littleman asked, "Is it raining?" in surprise. "It's sleet", I said, "frozen rain. It's getting the ground wet and slippery, so we need to slow down and really be careful when we're climbing down these rocks." I reminded him how to use his walking stick to steady himself and find solid footing before he placed each new step down. He took his time, and moved carefully. In situations like this, we tell the boys they are doing "commando training"- it appeals to their sense of adventure and accomplishment. They are more willing to make an effort and enjoy themselves that way, and to pay attention to our instruction.

We stopped to get out our flashlights. Billy, myself and Littleman each carry one. Unfortunately, Littleman's was not where it should have been- he must have pulled it out back at home. oops. Then we discovered that mine wasn't working! So here we were, in the gathering dark, in sleet and cold, no rain gear, miles away from the van with 3 young kids and only one flashlight. We couldn't believe that we'd put ourselves into this situation. We are seasoned hikers! We should know better! We were all too aware that this was just the sort of situation that can snowball into a true survival nightmare- even experienced outdoorsmen can die all too easily on seemingly innocuous outings. There was no need to panic, though. We knew that we'd be perfectly fine as long as we kept our heads and didn't get injured. There was no hurry- it was already dark, and we had plenty of nice warm clothes in the van. The white blazes were easily spotted and the trail was usually obvious. The only thing now of concern was to not get injured, and to keep the kids on our backs nice and warm. (Littleman's physical activity kept him comfortable.)

Slowly, carefully we made our way down the mountain in the icy dark. Babyman decided he had had enough of this nonsense, and started to cry. I talked to him, and we sang, and soon the music and constant motion had lulled him to sleep. An exhausted Sweetcheeks had also fallen asleep riding Billy's back. Being that I was in the lead, I carried the flashlight. On difficult sections Littleman and Billy waited as I hiked ahead, then I would turn and illuminate the trail so that they could traverse the rocks and roots. It was very slow going.

The light sleet tapered off, then came back, then tapered off again- it continued in this way before finally fading away entirely. The clouds broke up and dissipated, and as the nearly-full moon rose the forest was bathed in a magical, silvery light. The wet leaves and rocks gleamed; the light misty air played tricks on our eyes. One by one the diamond stars winked into view. Everything was fresh and beautiful, and otherworldly in a way only night can be. Littleman was obviously tired- he had to be vigilant to avoid a fall- but even so he kept pointing out wonderful details in the magical landscape around us: the moon gazing through tangled branches, crystalline drops sparkling on the rhododendron leaves, a twisty gnarled wizard of a tree. Billy and I were stunned with his fortitude, his vision, his ability to appreciate the wonder of the moment. Our hearts swelled with pride over this 5 year old boy whom we love so very much.

As I turned to shine our light on some steps, I noticed a shimmering black movement in the leaves. "Oooh, look!" I exclaimed- it was a black salamander. Gently we uncovered it and watched it hurry back to safety. "Cool!", said Littleman. I was so pleased- it's hard for us to get a look at salamanders in the wild, since they prefer dark wet places and are easily frightened away. The boys are just too exuberant. Night can be a great time to spot one, but we are seldom out in the forest at night with the boys. I was thrilled that our accidental night hike had provided this opportunity.

Gradually the trail became smoother and less steep. It wasn't long before we were hearing the cars drive by on the road below. As the lights of the Walasi Yi center came into view, I sighed- both with relief and just a little regret that we'd come to the end of our day's adventure. We helped the boys get dry and comfortable, and then bid goodbye to Blood Mountain as we headed for a celebratory dinner out. Until next time!

Moon Moment

Hurrying to and fro, packing away leftovers, collecting toys, stray socks, and dirty glasses, stepping lightly over the dogs and the baby to drop everything in it's rightful place. Conversation, squeals and laughter fill the small space of my sister-in-law's house. Is everything ready to go? I glance around. There's nothing left for me to do, at least until we are ready to walk out the door. No one is paying any attention to me. The children are all attended to. My husband is in the middle of a story, sure to be occupied for a few more minutes at least.

I slip quietly through the sliding glass door, stepping out into the dark windy night.

The air is fresh, and just beginning to smell of dry grass and autumn leaves. Even though it's October, the night is warm and pleasant. The gentle breeze suddenly gusts, gleefully whipping the flower beds and making all the windchimes sound. I steal down the back steps and find my way along the rock path to the firepit's clearing. There, I plant my feet firmly and tip my head back to the sky. The moon's glow is just visible behind the racing clouds, perfectly centered in my vision with the waving pines all around. Stiff with tension, I stretch to loosen my muscles. As the wind whips higher, I throw my arms out and breathe deep, deeper. Suddenly the moon explodes through a break in the clouds, shimmering silver and blue. It's nearly full, and glorious. I drink in the sight. Feelings of peace, awe and gratitude mingle with sadness and longing. I want to stay right there, stay and listen to the wind in the trees. Stay to watch the clouds. Stay to talk to the moon. To feel the earth beneath my feet and remember what it's like to notice the subtle beauty. "I miss you", I tell the moon. I do miss her. I miss the quiet connection. I miss my spiritual self. I watch as the clouds hurry to veil her brilliance again. The wind whispers to me that I'm probably wanted inside. Still, I linger. The beauty of the night is a balm for me, a sip from the chalice to keep me going a while longer. Finally I turn back toward the house. As I near the door I can see the boys inside, bouncing and talking and hanging off their uncle. The shouts and laughter are audible long before I open the door. With a last longing look, I slip back into light and noise, love and chaos.

Until next time, moon. Until next time.

Bedtime Story

Careful not to bump my head, I duck into his domain. Awkwardly I get seated, back to the wall and legs stretched before me, feet thrust under the hanging sheet that defines our cozy little den. While the cat sniffs my toes, I reach for the first book on their stack, and they settle in on either side of me. Anticipation personified as little boys. The act of opening the book is the threshold of magic. Sometimes, I think the actual story is (at this age) of little consequence to them. It is language that enthralls: words, rhythm, intonation. The music of the printed page. Language and art, for picture books dominate our bedtimes still. I am as likely as they to get lost in an illustration, to feel the pull of these worlds conceived and translated so beautifully from the imaginations of others. And therein lies the true magic of course: it is my love, my admiration, my anticipation and satisfaction from these books that feeds my little boys. Without my presence and love, books would not hold such value for them. So the books bring us back again: a small tousled head on each mommy shoulder, three faces focused together on one book, marveling together at the beauty and power of the written word.

* * *

Thumbs-up tonight for this commencement speech by JK Rowling. Scroll down to find the text of the speech. I really liked it a lot!
Find the NPR story here.

Spring Rain

Sometimes, a rainy day is mystical. It has a soft quality, where the edges are blurred and grey shapes flit through a foggy landscape. Sometimes, a rainy day is powerful. The air is literally electric, tingling your senses and stirring instincts deep within your soul. Sometimes, a rainy day is peaceful and steady, quietly welcomed by the thirsty ground. But in the Springtime here, there are rainy days that manage to be all of those things and more- the rain is peaceful and steady, nurturing the youthful vegetation, which is just bursting into being all around. The misty edges of your vision are blurred into a gentle green illumination, like hope and remembrance bound up together in this journey's fresh beginning. And somehow, against all odds, despite all distraction and clutter and jaded perceptions, in spite of yourself, you drink deeply of the promise, and you smile.

Here comes the rain. . .

Thursday, January 31, 2008


Here comes the rain. . .
Current mood: peaceful

Just a moment ago, the rain really started coming down. I just love that sound, especially if the rest of the house is quiet. (Hell, I just like the sound of the rest of the house being quiet, as long as it doesn't mean the kids are up to something disastrous somewhere out of my sight- but adding in the rain sound is especially lovely). My ears had barely registered the subtle hiss and drip-drop of a quiet, gentle rain outside. Then all of a sudden, the sound builds and builds to a beautiful heavy roar that beats down on the roof and rushes through the gutters. There's a whole little symphony of plops, drips, shushing and gurgling out there, if I stop typing to focus in and listen.

Oooh, and there's the train, sounding it's horn off in the distance. All the way from old town, that magical sound comes drifting through the watery night. What is it about the sound of a train that catches our attention, bringing to mind half-acknowledged glimpses of life's possibilities? That feeling that, even in this chaotic, messy life you are living right now- this Groundhog Day of runny noses, dirty laundry, running late and sibling rivalry- that even here there is magic and adventure just outside your door. I don't know why, but just hearing that sound makes me feel better, and seems (in a small way) to put my struggles in perspective. Life is good, remember?

And it's raining. :)

* * *

Sweetcheeks is doing really well with peeing in the potty. On the poop front, well, we're still working on that. He pooped in his underwear twice yesterday, but he voluntarily went and pooped in the potty again today. (One step forward, two steps back?) I hope he catches on sooner rather than later, because I have to say I am getting VERY tired of cleaning up poopy accidents. VERY tired. But over all, I'd say things are still going well with the Sweetcheeks potty saga.

And Babyman actually seemed to like his little massage after his bath tonight. Which is nice, because when I actually have the time to do it, I love giving my babies a massage. I ought to try teaching his older brothers how to give me one- at least on my neck and shoulders! (They did occasionally rub my feet for me when I was pregnant!)

Oh, and speaking of teaching them to be helpful, the other night Littleman requested chicken soup for dinner. He'd prefer soup in a can, but I didn't have any that he wanted. I did have some chicken broth in the fridge though, so I told him I'd make some soup for him. He grudgingly agreed. While the broth heated I pulled out some carrots, celery, garlic and noodles. I started to cut up the carrots before thinking, "DUH!" as I realized Littleman could participate. He has this little wood-handled vegetable chopper, which he had not had the opportunity to use yet. I set him up at the kitchen table with the carrots and celery, and showed him what to do. He did a great job cutting up the veggies for me, and even Sweetcheeks was able to cut a few carrot pieces, too! They were very excited about the whole thing, and gobbled the soup down when it was done. Littleman made sure to tell Daddy about the soup "he" had made!

* * *

I guess we could say that today's thumbs-up is for that little vegetable chopper. Or for rain (we need it so!). Or for that distant train. Or for this Mom's version of the the William Tell Overture on youtube. But I think right now, my winner will be fresh, clean sheets and my nice warm blanket. Ohhhh, YEAH.

'Night!

the drive home

Monday, January 21, 2008


the drive home
Current mood: grateful

Big round moon glowing, framed in the van's sunroof.

A patch of white in the corner of my eye, still catches me off guard. (Amazing that it's stayed cold enough for the snow to stick around this long, even if it's only in the sheltered shady spots).

Snow reflecting moonlight off a mountainside.

Feeling good, watching the miles roll by.

Cypresses encrusted with diamonds, a delicate tracery of snow sparkling in glorious contrast to the feathery branches.

A lone lit window passing in the night.

A brick wall, the lightest dusting of snow still clinging to the mortar lines.

A velvet black sky, stars shining brilliantly through the frosty clear air.

A pleasant drive to end a pleasant day.

notes and transitioning

Sunday, November 25, 2007

notes and transitioning Current mood: mellow Well, we had a quiet Thanksgiving here at home. We picked our pre-cooked turkey dinner up from Whole Foods Market- supposedly a dinner just for two, but it was more than enough for our little family, including leftovers. It was quite delicious, and oh-so-easy. Billy had never been to the Whole Foods in Duluth, and he was very impressed. I'll have to keep him out of there unless I want to spend a fortune on groceries! "Whole Paycheck", indeed. Still, we had a lovely dinner and had some other nice gourmet treats, as well. We watched movies, hung out at home and took care of babyman. The boys got lots of good Daddy-time. It was nice, though I admit I did rather miss the whole family to-do. I just wasn't up for it so soon after having babyman. It's raining, now. Sounds so lovely. Looks beautiful in the late twilight outside my window, with the streetlight casting a golden hazy highlight- it's contrast with the misty clear blue is straight out of a Maxfield Parrish painting. NPR is on the radio downstairs, I'm nursing babyman, and Sweetcheeks is napping. The house is reasonably clean, and all is quiet- Littleman is with Daddy for the day. I even got a shower earlier! So it's a nice evening so far. I am gradually transitioning into a good routine, and the boys are trying to adjust. Sweetcheeks has his annoying ways of acting out, but mostly they're not too bad. He doesn't want you mad at him for long. Littleman, surprisingly, has been more of a problem. He went to the studio with Billy yesterday, and for the first time ever behaved so badly that Billy had to bring him home early. We are hoping he will do better today- we had a serious talk about it with him, and of course now he knows that if he is bad, he WILL have to go back home. I hope he shapes up, not only for our sanity, but also because he's decided what he wants to ask Santa for- and we told him he has to be good to get them! LOL. Lo and behold, after a day at the mall with Daddy recently, he decided he wants to ask Santa fir a scooter and a sword. How convenient! I've already ordered both. :D Well, my back hurts in this position, and I think babyman is done. Off I go.

Peace and quiet on the Blue Ridge Parkway

September 18, 2007 - Tuesday

Peace and quiet on the Blue Ridge Parkway Current mood: relaxed Quiet. So quiet. Just the breeze stirring the branches, the occsional bird chirp, crickets and the low hum of a dryer somewhere. The boys are off hiking with Daddy, and I am seated on our room's little porch, stretching my toes into the sun and gazing across blue infinity. The mountains flow softly into each other, ridge after ridge fading gently into soft and softer blues, until the far off horizon blends seamlessly with hazy sky. Just below me I can watch the birds and butterflies hop and flutter through tree tops and soft purple flowers. A carpenter bee just came barnstorming, and buzzed off again. It has been surprisingly cool here, easily in the 50s at night and chilly this morning when we walked to breakfast- but the sun warms my bare legs now, and the air is perfect. I brought books and crafts with me to pass the time, but have so far spent most of my day pampering myself with hot water, soaps and lotions. Ahhh. There is absolutely no cell phone coverage, no internet, barely any TV. Wonderful. (It takes an adjustment, though- that's for sure! Amazing how much I depend on cell phones and internet on a daily basis. . .) But it's so relaxing, not being "on call" in any way. At least for awhile. This may not be a luxurious getaway, but it is beautiful here, and the room is clean. The restaurant is pretty good, and the staff (if an interesting lot) are all super friendly and welcoming. It's a good place with the kids. We're at the Pisgah Inn on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. Good hiking around here, and (since I am supposed to be taking it easy, for the pregnancy) it's also a nice place to just relax. The food in the restaurant is good- great salad, hooray! - if a tad bit expensive. Excellent service though, and be forewarned: the kids' meals are huge. Nice little gift shop, gorgeous scenery. Very pleasant, and unpretentious. Recommended. We are here on a weekday- I don't know how busy or how much noisier it might be on a weekend- the Parkway is popular with motorcyclists. (Yeah baby!) :) Maybe I will take a nap, hmm. . .

garden

Friday, July 06, 2007

garden Current mood: tired The air is heavy, thick with summer humidity and redolent of tomato plants. I marvel at the recent explosion of fruit- fat green tomatoes hang everywhere, hidden amongst the leaves until you lean down to peer through the thicket. Standing out like rubies are the sweet little cherry tomatoes, a few here and there brilliantly ripe. I twist one off and pop it into my mouth; sun-warmed tomato sweetness explodes over my tongue. Mmmm, this is why a vegetable garden is so wonderful! I swear, there is simply nothing like eating a sun-warmed tomato straight out of the garden. Moving over I inspect the bean plants, gently parting leaves to reveal perfect little green beans that snap off easily in my hands. So delicious, fresh and green! I don't think any will make it into the house this time. The okra are not yet yielding, nor the squash and watermelons. The squash leaves prickle my skin. Very soon I should cut the glossy, dark eggplants from their stems- I lean down to admire the regal perfection, running my fingers over their smooth skin. Don't let them get too big, or they get too tough and the seeds are too hard. These are almost perfect, I bet. Hmm- eggplant parmesagn? Or maybe breaded, fried eggplant sllices? The basil is taking over the corner of the garden. I pinch some off and inhale deeply before enjoying the flavor. With a pocketful of cherry tomatoes for Sweetcheeks (the tomato king) and a couple green beans for Littleman, I leave the rich living confines of the garden for the cool air conditioned comfort inside. Soon I will begin to itch wherever the mosquitoes have gotten me- but the discomfort is well worth this soul-replenishing evening visit.

kid fun

Saturday, March 17, 2007

kid fun Current mood: indescribable Rustles, muffled thumps and murmuring voices. "Boys", I call- (sudden quiet) "Boys, go to sleep!" No response, of course. Here in the rocking chair in the next room, Mr Sweetcheeks is nearly asleep. I keep listening until I hear the rustling begin anew. I wait a few moments before calling to them again. Who knows how long it will take them to go to sleep? After all, I guess, isn't that part of the fun of your first sleepover? Littleman is so excited to have his 5 yr old cousin over to spend the night. I set up a little tent in his room for them to sleep in, and when they do finally drop off it's in a mingled heap of blankets, arms and legs. LOL, what fun. * * * (Sweetcheeks says excitedly as I start the yoga DVD) "Gogo! Gogo!" (translation: "Yoga! Yoga!) Speaking of yoga, when we were in Disney's Animal Kingdom Littleman was looking at the flamingos. He turns to me in surprise and says, "They're doing yoga!!" Sweetcheeks likes to say "Bye bye", but (like his brother did at this age) usually waits until you're out of sight. Littleman was looking at a picture in a National Geographic magazine with Billy. It was about tourists who go scuba diving with sharks, and it showed several scuba divers amidst a swarm of swimming sharks. The guide is off to one side, and next to him is a prominent underwater sign with the name of the Cove. Littleman points to the sign and knowingly informs his Daddy: "That sign says, 'Don't Eat Me'." Sweetcheeks will now say "please". It's the most darling little thing ever. Littleman is currently fond of telling anyone who will listen "I'm going to grow up to be a Daddy!" Then again, he also explains that "Daddy will grow up to be a boy".

ignoring the muffled crashes coming from upstairs

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

ignoring the muffled crashes coming from upstairs Current mood: cold I feel like I am in a state of suspended animation. Outside the world is silvery grey, all color seeped away, leaving nothing but cold and sleeping twilight. The furnace runs, but still I feel chilled and sluggish like some cold-blooded creature futilely resisting the pull of winter's sleep. I have accomplished some things today, but it's been like pushing rocks up a hill. My soul aches for a book by a fireside, long hours of idleness stretching ahead into the evening. Electra comes inside for a pat and I press my face into her cool fur, breathing the redolence of chimney smoke and dry leaves. She would be a willing participant in my little dream, getting in the way of my book as she pressed kneading paws into my thighs and belly, until I bear her pricking claws no longer and she curls up to purr. We would sit there, she and I, curled under a blanket by the fire, and I would wander other worlds through the pages of my book, guiltlessly relishing the warmth and quiet.