quiet. early. and morning.

it is quiet. early. and morning.

 i love it.

the heater just clicked on.

the dogs are curled up.

the dark still cradles the coast.

as much as i can loathe the darkest days of winter, where nothing feels right and your body feels off, there is something soft and sweet about the light that pours from the january sky. from the first light through dusk, it has a muted yellow to it that brushes my skin sweetly, softly, like the eyelashes of a baby.

xoxo

we live loudly, and dream ever on

 We live loudly,
dancing with parachutes,
eyes pressed against the plumes of wind
from the billowing sails.

xoxo

places

Out on the freeway as the dust of night stretches her lonely palms across the Los Angeles horizon.

 The windows in my VW wagon are wide open and my left hand, placed slightly ajar out the window, moves up and down in the racing wind along the highway as my right hand steers.  As much as this urban expanse is at times a disruptive blight on a once pristine desert, my heart swells with love for this place I call home.  It is a jumbled chaotic mix of heat and humanity: of palm trees, racing cars and soaring aspirations.  I breath in the cooling night air, tasting the plumes of passing diesel engines and the song of sweaty broken hearts. 

 It makes no sense to love this place, no logic at all, but somehow, I do. 

hope you are well my friends. xo

finding things

as november came and went, i found that while the boys were at school i was spending too much time in bed. missing my mother. wondering what to do. ignoring laundry. watching dust bunnies come to life in the corners of the room. counting the minutes until i went to pick them up.

as much as i was blue, i knew i wasn't deeply depressed as i craved life too much. but i found myself lonely.  and that this loneliness was interfering with my ebb and flow of life; the how of what i wrote, and how i perceived things;  i found that my desire for a colorful life was slowly fading into forgotten and flimsy cardboard boxes. and i could see it all unfolding:

i was alice through the looking glass -an aging alice, and my wrinkles were the dancing lines of the jabberwocky; and it was there i saw that no matter what i did, one day my bones would be dust and the imprints i made on this earth would blow away with the wind.

so i knew that i needed more human interaction. the face to face kind, the laugh until your belly hurt kind, the talk too much and then sit next to each other in silence kind. but los angeles, with all of its millions of people, can be just as lonely as an empty desert plain, so it became clear to me, i would have to go out, push myself up off the couch, ease myself up out of bed and go find humanity.

(to be continued on monday, i have boys to wake up and get out of the house for school)

xxoo

the clickety clack call of the week's end

It is early here on this Sunday morning and the youngest has crawled into bed with us. He smells of boy, and in particular of a Saturday spent in the heated Indian Summer Fall, playing sports, relentless movement from morning till early evening. He smells of a slightly sweet sweat with a musty aroma of yesterday's dirt trapped under his nails and peppered across his brow; the smell of memories in an exhausted autumn sun, too tired to bath, too tired to keep eyes open at dinner.

Last weekend he smelled of nothing but roasted marshmallows and the unseen cloud of a campfire.

All of these smells are filled up with memories for this mama, sitting here, sorting through photos and listening to the sound of our youngest breathe a sweet sleepy early morning breath. In my mind I am sorting memories of this moment, memories of this weekend and last; sorting memories of the arch of my life, the pulling back of the bow and the taught string that sends an arrow flying high towards its intended target.

So I write some down. Trying to trap the scents on paper as one would trap a firefly in a glass jar, trying to momentarily hold onto to something that really is intangible, that exists only on the threshold between day and night, in those stolen moments of the sun chasing the moon through the heavens across the sky.

how has your weekend been? xo

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.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

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

the quiet::holding onto time

It is quiet here this morning. The boys are sleeping in a smidgen. And I am taking the chance to relish in the atmosphere of it all. The dogs are at my feet. The sun is slowly waking up the world. I hear my husband getting ready for work in the back bedroom, but the boys dream on. I realize that despite all the glory of summer, there have been very few moments for me to just be quiet with myself; holding my soul in a space a part; slowing my thoughts and listening to my breath. I love summer in all its lounging and boyness, but it has been filled to the brim with my children and I hadn't realized until this moment how noisy my head has been with my busy bodied babes and their adventures (and in-fighting grumpiness that occurs when you are getting used to being around each other all the time again).

So far this summer has been interesting. The oldest is slowly pulling back from the day-to-day play of the younger two boys. He is absorbed in his books and his music these days and I sense that the younger two feel him pulling back a bit from childhood as well. He has always been an old soul, mature and caring, so it is not a surprise that he is entering into this phase, even though it makes this mama's heart ache a bit for the boy in him.

The younger two are growing in leaps and bounds as well. The middle is sprouting. And the youngest, lost his first baby tooth last night, just after I took these photos of him in our bougainvillea in the backyard (searching high and low for something red to photograph for Lou over in Littlegreenshed). There have been days where the younger two have fought like crazy, but they have also had days like yesterday, where they find a beautiful happy medium, immersing themselves in creative play and imagined adventures. I am so thankful for each one of my merry men. They have pushed me and pulled me; made me grow as a human in ways I never thought possible.

Yet I am ever so grateful for the moments when I can be quiet, stop for a moment and hold onto time. Taking in the slow breath of life. The slow brewed coffee. Yesterday's memories. Writing for a hushed small bit of time, uninterrupted. These are gifts for a mother's soul as well, just as the busy squishy hurried moments are.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

What ways are you finding the quiet (or are you) these days? Do you find it easier or harder when your children are home all day on holiday? How do you step back and hold onto time amidst the chaos? I would love to know. xxoo

linking with Lou, theme: red at Nature in the Home

midweek messiness :: paths and flowers strewn

Before you can blink your eye, midweek will leave us and the sweet slide to the weekend begins. This weekend is a long holiday weekend here, and an unofficial start of sorts to the joys of summer. There are grills to be turned on, campfires to be made and tents to be set up. Most of this, for us, will be done in our yard.

midweek messy :: finding flowers & reclaiming one's self

In finding these flowers, laying them out on the table, cutting off their ends and finding the perfect glass jar to put them in, I began to reflect on things I do that are for me, and things I do that are for others. I love gathering flowers on a weekly basis. I feel like it is a small gift Lou at LittleGreenShed has given me. (this week's theme pink). But somedays I need a bit more, something that feeds my soul daily. Somedays I just do. So in these cast out hours, small snippets of time, I think we often are trying to figure out who we are and what we are doing on this small earth. Is there something out there that you have found that nourishes who you are? Is it breathing deeply in bed before sleep? Walking, running in a neighborhood before dawn? Is it pruning your garden, pulling out weeds all by your self in the hot pouring sun? 

wilderness first aid kit for the soul

midweek messiness, grateful lists and flowery-goodness come a little late this week.  life is busy with the balancing act of boys back at school, homework, dogs, a broken washing machine and the ever classic oven door handle falling apart. At first I thought the oven door handle was the least of my problems until I tried to bake something actually in the oven. well guess what? you need a handle to open and close the oven door! sigh. it feels like our home is perched precariously up on a balance beam, there are some moments we have just the right amount of time to play and work and do all the things that need to get done; & other days, most days, even some years, it feels as if we are slogging up hill through the mud in the pouring rain, only to find out we have carried our coals to Newcastle and our oven door is broken. 

april in passing, art in healing, & art-ing around

it was a night filled full of soulful dreams 

caught up in nets cast about the heavens. 

& then.my body woke.& here i am.

in this early morning quiet, i am very much thinking in thoughts of black and white and gray, the look of healing, and of my mother. i am very much thinking of this april anew of now, & of april's that have already yellowed in the pages of their past. i am thinking of Owls, strange as that seems, silent shadows, hunting & living & quiet as they fly past my shoulders, clutching my soul in their talons.
I am caught    

midweek messiness & flowers to boot

life is often the dance of the stitch in between the thread of the needle and the cloth that binds it. that small space that closes down on the looping string and the scrubbed patch of cotton. the hollow embroidery & the test of the needle against your skin. 

life fills me up messy some days. even when the stitch is tight and the the day is all mended. life means messy. & beautiful. acrid. unclear. sweet. gooey. loving. unkind. passionate. dull. I keep searching for all the ways that I am supposed to make myself work a bit better. make life a bit neater. fix wounds and tie shoelaces and unlock the secrets shelved in

sunday forward into the week :: stills

sunday. morning. 

fog slowly peeling back the blue in the sky letting dapples of sun adorn the mountains across the bay. 

heart. longing.

lazy holiday and star smattered nights. inside tents. watching our cheeks blow our breathe across the remnants of the winter air. uncurling toes tight in covers. 

we are tumbling headlong into the spring holiday. TWO whole weeks of luxiurious freedom that will seem shorter than a baby sneeze; then it will be over with & the boys back into the last round of school before summer. I know it is just three months into the year, but with the mention of the holidays ahead & summer somehow in sight, we seem to have already had such. a very. full year.  

for that i feel blessed & so grateful.  

here are some stills from the past week & this weekend. we live with some wild & unfettered boys at times, so i am glad to capture a growl or two (ahem the youngest in this first photo on the right), but i also love all sweetness of moments caught with some of their younger friends. 

Have you been very mindful this March? I have been trying to make myself ever so more mindful of my taking in and putting out. but mindfulness is a day to day experience, so naturally i falter, almost all the time.  however, i hope when i am able to look back on today, i will actually see that i was able to sketch out a wee bit of meaning in these days of now. 

hope you had loveliest of weekends. 

xxoo

small reflection to start the week

Sunday is always a nice day to slow down. wear jammies, slouch around a bit. let your cup of coffee get cold, then make some more, just so you can let it get cold again. play board games with the kids and then start the whole thing over again. all over again: jammies. slouch. coffee. make more. play with kids. repeat.
if you can scratch out a few moments to just listen to all the sounds outside, the birds, the rushing sound of a car splashing through puddles, dogs barking off in the distance, all the while finding a second to gulp your coffee up while it is still hot, well, I think that would make it just so.

This week I am hoping to be a bit more mindful of the quiet and the loud. mindful of our family and the way we can create a bit more space for being together, even when we are at our separate corners of our (very tiny) house. I will try to be mindful of the quiet amidst all this chaos around me -some days it is just so hard to do. Though there are times I am not quite as present as I would like to be, I AM hoping to be a bit more mindful...maybe even mindful enough to: listen in on the quiet, gulp down some coffee while its still hot, all the while enjoying every second the boys are very loud, and very inside the house.

wandering about in west L.A.

wandering about ocean park blvd. in between volunteer spots at the boys schools. i was hungry & a bit blue. I needed to nourish myself. i have passed this lovely eatery many times and have never indulged in something for myself. a dear friend brought us food from here when my mom passed so when i wandered by, today seemed just the day to go in.

right there, that was my seat, close enough to the window so that I had lovely light, but tucked away from traffic so i could focus on eating, not people watching. i didn't know it when i took the photo, but it was waiting for me. i had forgotten how nice it was just. to. sit. & be. i hadn't been quiet with myself for a while. i did play peek-a-boo with a cutie-patotie almost big four year old. but i had oodles of time to just focus on this:

my belly said, "ahhhhhhhhh." my soul sighed relief. i was finally ready to go back out into the real world. filled up.

Thyme Cafe & Market in Santa Monica.

Mindfulness (of Spring & Things) in March

Way out here where the sun tucks itself into the ocean at night, it IS hard to notice all the different ways spring is arriving. The light changes a bit though. smells are a bit different. traffic seems a bit lighter too....less rushing to fight the freeways before dark perhaps. the boys notice the change though. their bodies are restless, they looooooonnnnnggg to play, & play & play outside. dashing out of doors and ignoring imperative duties such as homework and housework and the like.

I feel it. My body wants to move more, feel less, feel lighter. My body longs for spring. For digging in gardens and dabbling toes in the ocean again. For hiking in mountains where it is cool and crisp.  In the lovely children's book, The Year At Maple Hill Farm, the authors, Alice and Martin Provensen wryly describe the chickens molting in spring, the rooster losing his fine tail feathers, the sheep being shorn, even the farm dog getting clipped.

So perhaps it was this unknown longing, beating in my frame; a farm soul longing that whispered to me to clip my own hair a bit more. Perhaps it was a silly dream. A dream of things & sundry thoughts & a skipping through my heart...In all honesty I had often thought of having my hair cut even shorter than I first did, ever since we found out my mom was so very ill.  But I always hesitated, talked out of it by myself or stylists. But then on Sunday night,  I saw Her. Radiant and lovely, and there was me on the couch, coveting her hair.
Before I knew it, I was out the door, armed with her picture and stepping into a hair salon.

It was cool and dark in there. A hidden little place amongst a busy world. The stylist was thrilled I wanted something so "radical." She happily snipped away. Then it was done.

A different hair on me. I can't say that it all worked out perfect. I didn't want my bangs any shorter than they were and she seemed to have forgotten that by the end of it. Too short. Boo. When I stepped outside, the sun was bright and I was blue. Boo. So I spent the first day, scrunching my face and biting back tears. So much of my hair was gone. I didn't feel lighter, I felt naked. The Provensen's also write, "even though it's cool and comfortable, it must be embarrassing to lose all of your clothes at once." Indeed. All the worst features of my face seemed to blossom. I felt naked and ugly. So yesterday, I hid my hair under a cap and walked the boys to school. Came home, ignored laundry (again!) worked on other bits and things. Then, as the day passed, suddenly it was okay, well kinda okay. My friends from far away cheered me on and said I was brave. N said I was brave (& beautiful...but he always says that). The boys...well they have remained neutral. It is short. It is different. Children usually don't like different in their dependable adults. But I am glad I was brave enough to try. And I like change. I really do. But I realize I like change I can control a bit more; such as rearranging my furniture or cooking a new recipe. I don't like to place myself in positions where I can fail, or I can't go back.



So in March I am going to be more Mindful. Mindful of the ways I resist change, mindful of the dreams I cradle, and the way these two clash. More mindful of the dreams of others, Mindful of the way others walk in this world. Mindful of the way spring and change are emerging around me.

More mindful of the mad March Hare.
Less mindful of my own maddening hair.

Won't you join me?
More Mindful in this March?
     XXOO

My Heart is a Nomad

My heart is a nomad, my heart is a wandering Lover.  Ducking into trash bins, running down bright alleys, looking out across the back stoops of lives, weaving in and out across the Hidden and the Quiet.

My heart is a nomad, my heart is a wandering Lover. Passing through books, digging up tales of streams that feed towns and valleys and livestock.

 My heart is a nomad, a wandering Lover that climbs to the top of Palm trees on dark days and waits under the leaves until the patter of rain stops. My heart, my heart is a nomad, wandering from place to place, searching for some Braveness to hold her still. 


My heart loves to wander and wonder about things. I am not betraying any sort of marriage vow, but my heart loves to dream. So much so, that sometimes I have a hard time sitting still and actually living. I wrote this past Monday, "I am grateful for perspective on my home. Loving it for all of its smallness, for its views, for the closeness it offers us as a family. The small lessons it gives us in loving what you have and living into what that is.  This wee house has taught us to claim the life offered to us now, as our own, rather than waiting for the coveted moment in life when all happens as it should." Lovely Nina from the lovely blog ...Tabiboo... commented, "Home is where the heart is - I'm such a great believer." And this small sentence made me think about this heart of mine. How restless it can be. How much time my heart can dream about a better day and better times by stringing together these words in my mind, "If only I had/could/would/did do/had done..." There are all sorts of ways to finish the sentence as well, and all too often I find myself caught up in this wandering, this drifting away from what is Here and what is Now. If I follow down the path for too long, I find myself face to face with emotions I don't like such as jealousy, anger and resentment. AND, I always have a hard time letting those emotions go once I get there.

However, sometimes my heart does rest & breathe (sometimes because it has no other choice), and though things may not turn out as perfect as I desire, just letting go can be what exactly what I need to make things happen. Let me tell you the story of our home:
When N accepted the job offer out here, and we knew we were moving, I immediately began to search online listings for apartments, town homes and even houses to rent. Since we were moving across the country, I wanted everything to be perfect. I felt frantic and worried that if we didn't find the exact right address, the boys wouldn't be in the exact right school (especially my oldest, as he was starting middle school) and that would mean our life would fall apart before it even began in our new place. It was hard to be across the country and not Know what living out here would be like. Then one day, I must have been bouncing back from the frantic rock bottom place I was in, I felt myself let it all go. Somehow, I felt that whatever school the boys would be in would be good and okay, and that we, as a family, would make it all work.  So I said to N, "I am done looking. Next time you are out there, could you (please) find us a place to live." So he did. And it is good. And practically perfect. It IS small, quite small for our brood -but that is the nature of living on this coastline. However, we have a yard and that helps the smallness, the boys can safely escape to the outside; AND I do so love the way the house flows. It has an open kitchen so the first time in a long time I can cook dinner and watch the boys play in the living room. It has a little entrance and coat closet where I can hang guests coats and the boys can deposit their shoes. And the whole school thing, has most definitely worked out. The boys have great friends and good teachers and (for the first time ever!) They Can Walk to school. I love that part. I love that it is faster to walk the four blocks than to drive. And we didn't even know that part when we rented it. We had no idea at all. N and I both took a leap of faith, shelved (some) of our worries, then life seems to have opened up in ways I could not have imagined. It seems that the answers were already there for us, for me, I was just over searching. Over wandering it seems.

So I love that my heart is a wanderer, I love that my heart is a nomad. My heart invites in imagination ad creativity. She searches and wants more out of life. My heart's dreams and imaginings are food for my soul. All of this is good, but sometimes My Heart needs to learn to be a bit more in the present and let things go. Let Life in a bit, and see how things Unfold.

XXOO  Does your heart dream? Does it dream big? What does it dream? Does it over wander and lead you off your course from time to time?

Weekend Plans of Laziness

Out here, where the land watches the sun melt into the sea, there are moments in these first real warm days of almost spring, that I can't help but stare off into space and get absolutely nothing done. It feels so nice to be in this little nook of our bedroom and just sit.  I love watching the boys tousle through the yard, and despite the fact that my to-do LIST doesn't stop, I have plans to do none of them. Just enjoy the boys and the sun today. Maybe even wander down to the beach for a bit and toss our toes in the water.

But for this moment, I will just sit, stare off into the backyard, and feel just so glad to be lazy. 

XXOO

Stumbling From Mardi Gras Into The Wild

Sometimes, the next day after a lovely and loud party, I need a little bit of space to myself.  I need a bit of downtime. I need a time apart from the food and the drink, a setting down from the laughing and the talking and the loudness, I need space from the eating and the feasting, I need space from the rumbling children because they also have been out too long and are late rolling into bed. I need that space to myself, but have difficulty finding it in the wide expanse, finding it in the wild of the day to day.  I know that the quiet I long for is there. It is fleeting though and difficult to see amongst all the clamor of the living. It is here under the warm stone pressed tight in your child's palm. It is there in the sticky sweet smell of too much ice cream consumed lingering on your child's cheek. It is there, in the quiet moment at dawn, while grinding the coffee, watching the sun jump off colors pink and hushed purples against the garage. It is there in the coffee finally steaming warm pressed in hand.  A Quiet that suddenly rushes in over the clambering of voices and the sound of the television. It is found stuck behind the in-between click of the dishwasher finishing its run and the microwave after it stops humming.  But I have to catch it; I have to listen for it. I have to listen for it so that when I find myself in this absolute Solitude of Quiet, I can actually slow down enough to feel it.

 I have to listen for it, and be prepared, for as it so happens, this sudden unexpected moment of Quiet, will stumble back out the door faster than you can take your first sip of tea. It escapes back out the door during the loud intake of breath, or the rustling of papers from N in the other room, or when one of the boys coughs in his sleep. Most likely I watch the quiet ripple across the room, away from me as the dog barks, the phone rings, and the boys run into the room. I love when I feel it though. It is like the breath of a new born baby, delicate and strong all at the same time. I love feeling the quiet and knowing it was there. I don't believe you have to be religious at all to wonder what that quiet is, to want it and long for it. Sometimes it is a welcome and precious exhaustion after the wildness of a party. Other times it is unwanted and uncared for.

The day after Mardi Gras is the perfect day for me to try to find, to try to listen for this quiet before it slips away. A time to try to set apart, into the wild, to find the quiet, the dark, the unexpected, the clamor of silence. It is so difficult to obtain most days that I try to welcome the little space I create the day after the party is over.

It is still dark here, early on this Wednesday morning. Light from the hidden sun is slowly touching the buildings outside, cold and blue before the dawn. Restless and sleepy, I feel a strange disconnect between the new season of almost spring that is beginning and all the living that is set out before me. The list seems endless of small and large chores swirling around in my head: laundry, the boys, dinner, bills. Trying to check off each little note before the day unfolds with hopes that this or that will get done on time. The strong desire within me to just stay calm and focused seems so intangible. With so many winds blowing around a busy-boy-filled house, most of my living seems incongruous with what this quiet is trying to teach me. I feel a bit like the reluctant earth, wanting to stay in the cold, dark dew of night, under cover & hidden in the shadows.

There is a fruit tree out in our backyard. With so much life through the winter here, I was convinced that the tree had died. It was struggling so much when we moved in, that it should die during the winter seemed almost overly symbolic. But I was wrong. It it didn't die. It has been hibernating and struggling to find itself anew for this coming spring. I see tiny shots of white here and there. Dots of life, tiny dots of flowers smattered across the dark lines of branches at dawn. These tiny, flowers hold some sign, some hope that shoots of green will follow, leaves will grow and new life will form. The sign that Blahuary, that this here, will melt away into the ground, becoming something else.

Today I will keep holding onto this image. This image of hopeful and tiny blushes of white and pink dotted against the cold blue branches of dawn.

XXOO
PS. Is there something you do during this time of almost spring? Is there something you do after a big party to regroup? Also, sorry for reusing some images from other posts. Hope you will forgive me. xoxo

wishing you 5 minutes...

I wish you could see how still my house is right now.

 I have my coffee at hand and the twinkley lights are on in the kitchen, giving this small living space a tiny celebration of light. The house is so quiet and perfect in this early morning dark. 

It is a quiet that you can feel, a silence that you can listen to. I hear this quiet as it extends out beyond the snoring dog and the sleeping kitty.
 a quiet that moves past the cars rushing already for their early morning commute. It is a quiet that you know when you sit down on the beach and hear the slow gushing of the waves gently and evermore lapping at the shore. It is a quiet, a quiet you hear when you stand still on a walk amongst the pine trees in the mountains. A quiet that echoes in the pine as it whooshes with the wind, echoing as the pine hold onto errant gusts and let them go at the same time.
This is the quiet I feel right now. A tip-toe quiet that cradles me,
 cradles my coffee,
 cradles my tired head and wakeful soul.

today I am wishing to you some of this quiet.
whether it is in the stillness of a quiet cup of tea, or a moment in the middle of loud exploding homework time with your children,
or when you stand at your desk,
                   waiting for lunch, waiting for your workday to be over so you can return home,
 waiting for a fax to go through, or an email to be sent.
or maybe you will find it in the gym, in the hear pumping music, or in the voice of your yoga instructor.

I am wishing you a Quiet, a Moment, a Stillness, 5 seconds or 5 minutes, that brings you back to who you are, the you that is the foundation all you do.
 the you unblemished and unmarked
                           by all the failures of the world
            and all the ego-tripping successes.
just you. in the silence.
                 in the very loud world.

XXOO