My dad read it to us when I was around eight years old, after my mom protested his reading Zane Grey’s western romances to her innocents. Neither would she stand for “The Hobbit” and its swords and goblins at our young age (eventually we all eroded her objections to Tolkein and had the privilege of being raised on Dad’s winter night readings of all Tolkein’s major works…and I later smuggled Zane Grey into my bedroom to read All By Myself.
Hey there. How are you feeling lately? Any signs of Spring out your kitchen window?
(printable recipe at end of post)
For sure. And yep…you are what you eat. At least I hope so. Not that I don’t like what I am…I’d just like to be a little…healthier. I want to feel a little greener. I want my tummy to hum, happily (humming being way different than gurling). It’s the end of February, for crying out loud. Here in my neck of Utah, there aren’t any signs of spring out my kitchen window or even up close and personal on my morning runs. Just the same beautiful snow (aging of course) that we’ve had all winter long. [continue reading…]
We took the kids to Union Station on Wall Street for a stroll. With much cajoling. We brought two cameras along.We figured that if they got cold enough and hungry enough, they’d linger with us over dinner and congregate near us by the fire afterwards. Company, guaranteed. Maybe popcorn too. Can you believe that? I’m thinking of offering tutorials on manipulation…
What we got, when it was all said and done, were some sweet memories. I totally recommend this. Take your kids out in the cold winter air, just as the sun is setting and half an hour past dinnertime, point a camera at them, and see what happens. There is something magical about cameras. [continue reading…]
And if Homemade is making a comeback, where is it coming back from?
Or at least to appear crafty, thrifty, and homemade. Think macrame, for instance. A nation’s entire indoor fern culture embraced by crocheted plant holders. Every bathroom guarded by knotted and beaded owl sentinels. [continue reading…]
My Daughter Maurya volunteered to guest blog for me today, complete with video (her own). Here are her words, images, and video:
A condor is a bird. A really big bird. In fact, the condor is the biggest flying bird in the Western Hemisphere. The condor is kind of a big deal.
Simon and Garfunkel are also kind of a big deal. Or they were, before they split up. To me they are great still, immortalized by their music. Their song “El Condor Pasa” reminds me of my Papa’s shortcuts. His shortcuts are winding and long, but the most beautiful. I have memories of driving through central Oregon on gravel back-roads, with the windows down. Dewy summer night air and the smell of pine trees. Leaning out the window and tilting my head back, I could see what seemed like all of the stars in the universe, each placed carefully like diamonds in blue velvet. [continue reading…]
Valentine’s Day came and went, like one of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s lovers, and while I caught glimpses of romantic love here and there, none of it was ideal, not really. No Nora Jones theme music, no pretty kisses, no perfect lipstick, no red dress. [continue reading…]
It’s Valentine’s Week; I thought I’d share Love Stories as my own tribute to the general love fest. If there is anything I believe in (and there is) it is Love. Which Love (as some of us know), is A Many Splendored Thing. Manifesting itself in endlessly, beautifully different ways.
This is a sweet and tragic tale about a chicken named Moose, and Mozzie her sister, and the family who kept them as pets. And it really is a love story.
It comes from my Aunt Cynthia and her daughter Elle (and was felt keenly by the rest of the family), who brought Moose and Mozzie home as chicks and kept them as pets. I was visiting Cynthia when she bought the little chicken coop kit as a surprise for Elle’s birthday. Elle had been hoping for a chicken, and the coop meant that yes, she would soon be the proud owner of a chicken. I will share this story mostly in Cynthia’s words, in excerpts I’ve taken from emails she sent me as the story progressed. Cynthia is one of my dearest friends, and since I’m in Utah and she’s in Hawaii and “doing lunch” or dropping by each other’s couches isn’t practical, we email a lot.
(photos contributed by Elle and her dad, Chad)
[continue reading…]Rather, one more sick day of a long series. Frank is violently ill. Nora’s cold and cough linger. My chest burned this morning when I ventured out for a walk, and chills nagged me all day. Ez and Meisha stayed home from school, begging nausea and extra-indescribable malaise (and since they didn’t venture into the kitchen til late afternoon, I had to believe them).
Michaelyn dropped by to check in; she left early and blew a kiss goodbye. Maurya, a little disgusted at everyone’s apathy, had to get out of the house, and went to work to see if they needed her. It was all a little depressing.
And I can’t think of anything even marginally interesting (especially to me) to write about. Photo shoots await my eventual robustness (I do believe in fairies, I do, I do). My chicken love story (actually my Aunt Cynthia’s chicken love story) awaits a clearer noggin. Even humor about sick days is out of reach. I think, I type…nothing. Delete, type again…nothing. Blow my nose, make some tea, check someone’s temp…nothing.
Maurya is home again now, strumming her guitar. I should tuck in, but the melody is so sweet and haunting. Probably the nicest part of the day, barring Ezra’s kiss and Nora’s arms round my neck. I think she’s waiting up to skype with her far, faraway boyfriend. On that note, since even humor has evaded me, I will just leave a few pictures I shot the other day, before my respiratory system was compromised by snot. And…I’ll be back. Maybe tomorrow. Hopefully (for me) tomorrow.
EveryDay Bloom: Journal of an Attempt at Creative Living, Dappled & Imperfect. Possibly Ridiculous. 