just where have you been, young lady?

now that the quiet of hot august is present, i am getting the girls out there often to absorb the feeling of it.  also the weekend ahead brings my brother and his family coming to stay from connecticut and celebrating a grandpa’s birthday.  only three more days!

be back soon,



almost behind us

july brought:

+ camping out under the starry, sweltering sky at home and among the birdsongs elsewhere for miss C.

+ many listens to 24 popular show tunes courtesy of the drama class miss C is participating in. “Honey Bun” made the cut as her pick for the final performance.  it has been practiced so often around our home even sweet S has learned the tune and sings it baby-style.

+ three impromptu dance numbers performed by me and miss C.  mock broadway dancing made for wonderful laughter and connection.

+ fireworks flashing across the sky just beyond the back part of our country porch.  (i love fireworks.)  it was magical to see the surprise show of them as i stood beside my beloved r sweetapple and miss C.

+ an adventure together on a rarely cool saturday has inspired each of us since returning home.  it has encouraged me to consider more hours-long discovery outings. it is a gift to be able to watch each child process the experience.

+ r and i enjoyed a day together at home on our own.  i love the quiet, secret happy of date days.  he planted an oak tree in the morning.  we shared a terrible meal together at a local dive in the afternoon.

+ two goldfish selected by lovely L and miss C.  we took a break after the previous few had gone on to the fishy spirit side.  the glow and sound of the tank reminds me of lovely L’s newborn days.  we used to cuddle up and nurse by its’ light when she was still so tiny and working on getting used to being in the world.

+ sweet S’s first set of calloused feet.  i recognize this means i must finally accept her toddlerhood and my mothering heart must shift from swaddle to bravery mode.  she is ready.  i can pretend well that i am.


to burst like him. that is what i craved. to burst up and out — flames of leather and ink. but i was tethered by delicate snake print and the pride of a stubborn pace. my feet set quietly into the sand and my heart absorbed the nuance of the dunes.

we thought we were abandoned. why does youth do that to our minds? we had to scramble. and then we slid ourselves with so much caution through a window into the rooms half shuffled with sand and papers. even then i wanted to run away from you. i wanted to escape on the thick air and hide alone to wonder what kind of daydreams people sustained themselves on here.

the photos didn’t develop in a linear fashion. each exposure bent on the other and i am left with a single image. i wish i could step back for a few moments to walk the lost frames and say a silent, prayerful goodbye like i always do when it’s time to pack up my tangled heart and leave somewhere.

and when i am gone, off to the spirit side, will the images of my subconscious come with me? will i get to see any of these sorrows that are my undercurrents again?

i secretly hope so.


daydreaming on: kitchen walls getting pretty after the paint goes up, beauty of possibilities for transplanted flowers all the way from connecticut, quiet time

researching on: slavic folk patterns, romany culture, putting together our own curriculum, watercolor

obsessing on: kitchen trim — orange-gold vs. gray with folk pattern vs. stencil

a pine needle blanket

when i was a little girl i loved to explore and hide in the woods surrounding our housing plan.  the journey to them began with making my way down the tar-bubbled roads until reaching freshly tilled fields.  these were a tricky exercise each time as they required trying to find a balancing rhythm atop the deep grooves with my sneaker-shod feet. there were narrow creeks to cross through leading to the bold sense of bravery swelling as the icy water ballooned through my shoe seams. and finally, the magical entrance into the tangle that was soothing and haunting.

after hitting empty logs with sticks to remove rotting bark. or standing as long as i could with my head fully tilted back to try to unlock the sensation of light splattering through giant trees.  it would be time to play my favorite part of this game i engaged in with my solitary self playmate.  i would find a spot to hover and be tucked in at the needle-blanketed base of a pine to imagine if i could stay forever. i would move through the points in my mind of how i could subsist and be sheltered.  as i grew a bit older, the narratives would come to include wondering if i would be missed and for how long.  i was quite intoxicated by the distilled sense of being isolated, a lulling sense produced by twigs cracking, birds calling and the breeze that made the leaves brush against themselves.

my girls are not me.  i am aware that they each have a girl inside them that will find a secluded spot in childhood they will return to that i’ll likely never know until they are grown. sometimes i think i catch them in the act of being lost with their lonely playmate selves.  it reminds me that my role to care and give means also protecting that those adventures can be made.  i can watch closely, i can intercede if it seems their woods are luring them too far away.

today i have come to visit some woods near my home.  this time i am sitting in a clearing and listening to count the bird calls.  i am watching the bugs working among some stonework around me. there are grasses and weeds struggling to take over the planned nature along this path.  my present  joy is to sit and admire that which is not a woman, that which has no drive to analyze intentions.  it simply does.  i don’t truly fit here and can’t stay, but it is soothing to pretend.