anticipation

 anticipation of fall. of tasting the slow.
of crisp morning mist.
of indian summered afternoons. of gold sunlight.
of the fair leafed aspen, yellow splendidly spread amongst the pine.

anticipation of pears, waiting to be sliced.
of cinnamon dashed across my cider, pressed there.
of the sting of nutmeg, across my nose.
heated ovens, of building pies late into the day.

of sitting, outside under a tree.

of pumpkins round and apples sweet. 

anticipation that lifts the salty sweat off our necks, our damp hair from our chin. 

anticipation calling as we wait for leaves falling, 

tender, crisp, hued red, purpled brown in the fairy lit fall air.

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foliophoto with bedsidesign

gratefulness

It is very early here on the west coast. 

I have, in this moment, before the sky stretches from black to gray-blue, a cat curled up next to me in the bed (purring deeply), hot coffee on my nightstand, crisp air floating in from the open windows and a profound sense of gratitude for all the tiny things in my life that make me smile and fill my soul with meaning. I truly love moments when I can stop all the churning in my mind, and all the busy making in my life, and just feel grateful.

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A while back, in one of those weird poetic moments that come over me, I wrote on Facebook

 that you don't have to be religious, or even believe in God, to know what it feels like to be blessed. Do you find that's true? I hope you do. happy monday friends. xxoo

capturing the week{'s end}

38 of 52 :: portraits of the boys

/the youngest playing with the branches of our felled tree in the early morning.

/the middle, bare-chested, content, practicing chords on his violin.

/the oldest with saturday morning french toast, maple syrup on toast the sole focus of the photo.

::blog love from last week ::

this lovely B+W, a portrait of intent desire to complete a task // these lovely two, lost in the moment // the sweetness and sleeping bliss in these two captures // these sweet moments, children being children.

how are you this week? xxoo

fodder+folly

follies of the week:
-forgetting my own sense and sensibility
-non-constructive critics of my self, and of others
-myopia
-too much rushing
-email overwhelm
-lego overload

fodder for the soul:
-re-arranging the "master" bedroom
-getting after the dust bunnies hidden behind our bed
-spending time in the boys' elementary school library
-pulling out my watercolors and gouache paints (for the library bulletin boards)
-painting & writing & writing
-reading aloud to the Hubby a Tale of Two Cities

provender for the days ahead:
-saying goodbye to our beloved tree that fell down in the front
-moving the wood from the tree out front, to the back
-planning a camping trip

-soccer (football) games with the boys
-time scraped out in between deep breaths and dirty dishes to work and create

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how are you this week? I would love, love to know. xxoo

thursday wanting

in thursday wanting. in desiring of. 

of deep breaths and of weary mornings. of steep cliffs and lungs tight pulling. 

the call of the canyon below me. of divided seconds. 

of diving under ruckus waves, under the tow. 

when I want to live way out there. on the edge of the quiet. 

on the edge between the mountains and the sea. 

on the edge of wanting. of all things civilized. 

taking my cardboard house pasted with all my imagined belongings,

 folded into my pack. then treading out there ever so hushed, 

as not to disturb the chatter of rooks, the foraging deer. 

these wantings wake me up, crushed coffee bean dreams. 

a hot mug of them as i watch the harvest moon say g'night, 

passing by the hurried dawn that peeks over trees. 

hope you have some thursday wanting too. xxoo

to thine own self. be true

Of objects left behind.
Remnants of the aged;
abandoned under blackened bridges,
lone encampments lost under the soot of covered archways.
Fleeing from the dying gasps of dreams.

Forgotten by children,
Cast aside by lovers.

We gather them up,
tripping through the junkyard of base plans.

We take apart, with hammer,
             with nail, with pen,
                                  and brush,
 the dilapidated, the makeshift, the weak,
the worm-worn wood, gray-eyed with age.

We gather them then,
sliding them back
into our frayed jackets,
our threadbare pockets,
the holes knotted closed,

and hearts shut tight.

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I suspect that no-one finds this assembled army of animals as beautiful as I do. It is silly really, but I stepped outside the other day, and I found my heart tugged upon by their stillness. So I grabbed my camera and took photos of them. To me, I saw something there in their forgotten-ness, in their loneliness. They seemed to be of some sort of forgotten plan. So I took the photos for me, my own stillness, for those moments when I see something that strikes my heart.

I was also so moved to take a course recently, called Write Now.

I have to say I loved it.

Perhaps because I took it indulgently (just for me) or perhaps because I have some unrequited deep desire to write more, I found it incredibly helpful and engaging.  It also gave me something more important: the affirmation of the soul's longing to tell one's own story, to sing one's own song. The beauty of the Write Now course is/was that I didn't ever have to ever aspire to be more than just who I am; never more than who any of us are called to be.

So I am thinking of these things this Tuesday. Of things I do, that are just for me, that end up being fruitful, engaging and soul-filled..such as linking up with bedsidesign for foliophoto.  xxoo

(Here is the link if you are interested in finding out more about Write Now.  The next course starts September 30th.)  xxoo

six | school ready:: a school, a zoo, whats right for you

When I was a young girl I attended a private parochial school. It was small, and very, very traditional.  I was, especially back then, a very much an out-of the box type of learner. On one hand I delved into books and art with great ease while simultaneously afraid that I would be called on to answer a math problem in front of the whole class. In all honestly, I would have much rather spent time cultivating gardens and friends than spend any true time on homework. I was a bit of a (okay, huge) day-dreamer, lost in stories, books, history, and science.  Perhaps because I was an unexpected type of child, one that didn't quite fit the devout feminine mold many of the Sisters' thought young girls should be, but I always felt slightly off kilter there. As if the whole world was trying to put a very round me in a very square hole.

So there are days when it surprises me that all three of my children attend traditional public schools. On the plus side, the schools are very different from the one I attended, and it is certainly a very different sort of world than the one I grew up in. I feel that we are quite lucky that the boys have access, not just to a wide variety of learning tools and instruction, but also to wonderful differences in learning, cultures and people.

There are times, though that I wonder what it would be like to homeschool them. I used to have idyllic daydreams about this when my firstborn was quite little, but then, it slowly became clear to me, that there were so many people out there with so many gifts that it seemed a bit selfish to keep them home, forever and always in my arms, or at least that is what I told myself. Yet, as I said, I still wonder, and in my wonder, I feel the same sort of delight I feel when gardening, as well as a scratchy panicky feel as in when I have to do a math problem...

How do you approach your child's education? What is important for you? (side bar note, over the summer and up until school started I was seriously considering keeping the Middle home... trying to get him what he needs (speech therapy and literacy skills) at home seems daunting, yet at the same time, I wonder if perhaps I would actually get him what he needs).

Please look for more guest posts on this series, school ready, in the coming weeks. Some will be on non-traditional schools, homeschooling and the like. I am hoping we are all able to engage in wonderful discussions on school (or un-schooling), on what works and on what doesn't for each of us and our children.

Finally, my husband sent me this article the other day. The title alone, School is a prison, makes me scared to read it, but I will, if you will. xxoo

37 of 52 :: portraits of the boys

Oh these silly boys. The first photo was captured last weekend at a church fair. The Youngest is in a bounce house. The second capture is of the Middle trying to smother our reluctant cat with kisses. Despite her laid back ears, she was rather pleased with the attention. Down below, the Oldest. Smiling for the camera.

its been busy around here. Fall and Spring always seem to have this quality to them where you can't find enough time for all the many things going on.  And there always seem to be so many things going on. 

Hope you all are warm and well this weekend.

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xxoo

Oh! The Tale End of Summer!

Oh Summer! The weekend before last, a friend and I picked and canned tomatoes. I met her outside her home in the early morning hours and we traveled out to the Valley to a farm where, on Labor Day weekend, you can pick your own roma tomatoes for 25 cents a pound. It was still cool when we arrived at the farm, though you could feel the hint of the day's heat steadily tugging round your neck.

There was something so striking about the long, early morning shadows stretched across the field. Children were darting in and out of the rows and the faintest drops of dew still hung on spider web's strung across the wooden posts.

poetic pause :: the me. alone. separate from all else.

I think about him from time to time.
Down on the beach.
Fishing.
Standing in the shadow of the pier.
The way he would dart across the water,
dancing lightly on tiptoes to the sound of the surf
and the call of his prey shimmering beneath the waves.

36 of 52 :: portraits of the boys

wanting to linger

i want to linger on this time. this end of summer. 

i want to linger here in sameness. 

linger in the never growing up and never growing old. 

linger in the good days, ignoring the bad. 

i want to linger here, longer.

linger in your milk dewed cries.
linger in the brush of your eyelashes, the tip of your baby skin elbows.
linger on the scent of dirt on your toddling hands, tied deep beneath your nails.
linger in the kitchen, small sous-chef underfoot.
linger in the tripping and the chasing and the hide-and-go seeking.
linger in the washing of hands, and the ordered brushing of teeth.

i want to linger on goodnight kisses.
linger on the stories and the slow turning of pages,
linger on the words that i read aloud each night.
linger on that small space before falling asleep,
                     exhausted from the day, the sun, the laughing and the learning.

i want to linger on this time. the small end of spared space, when you are so very young.

xxoo

autumn bends near

school is in. autumn bends near. 

in the early morning hours,  I forget the colors of Fall, only wanting to linger on the crushed flowered smells of summer. the hot haze. napping house afternoons.

in southern california, autumn arrives, but only in faded colors and muted summer memories. there are moments, in this hot heat and rounding end of summer, that I long for quiet, crisp afternoons, a catch of foggy breath in the morning and the brilliant reds and oranges of the oak and maple.

how are things these days for you?
xxoo