Stuff and Nonsense

Natural beauty, natural oddity

Today was full of both.

Whatcha doin', snake? Oh, holy Moses!Vocabulary word for the day: ovoviviparity. [While I was capturing this on camera, Jane had found a mole hill and was throwing the dirt all over me, exclaiming "Feels good!"] Just the tiniest square of orange.

Here's one of my jars of quince paste, or membrillo, or pate de coing, or as the English say, quince cheese (definitely the least romantic). They all sealed properly, so I'm pleased. It's so good I ate all the little bits off the stovetop this morning (when it gets boiling it's like a volcano). If you haven't had it, please go find some. Membrillo is usually not that hard to find. Manchego and membrillo is a traditional combo in Spain. I was first introduced to quince paste in France. I was served an alchemical apple tart with a layer of pate de coing between the crust and fruit. Hooked. Anywhere you read about this stuff, you'll probably read how it suddenly turns from it's boring apple color into this carnelian loveliness at the end of cooking. I still have about five pounds of quince left. Stay tuned. Twins. This corn became Jacques Pepin's corn parfait which we highly recommend. We had it tonight with Deborah Madison's tomatillo salsa. YUM. And speaking of magical food, have you ever fried fennel? Easy peasy, and talk about alchemy. Trim it. Slice it up keeping core intact. Steam 5-8 minutes. From the steamer to a plate of flour, then into hot olive oil. Yum yum yum. Sometimes the meals where we use up the CSA veg to make room for the next box are the best. I'll be sad when it's over.

On an unrelated subject, the gnome I put up this morning was featured in a treasury with other "undiscovered" sellers. Here's a prayer we all get a sale!

 

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

It's really best to blog on a regular basis, if you're going to be serious about it. I try, really I do. Not to sound like a broken record, but it's so hard to find the time to sit down, particularly if you haven't blogged in a long while, and sort through all your photos and spit out a few coherent words. Because I'm always thinking about blogging, and I have at least adopted the habit of constantly taking photos when I'm in my little world. 

This is my way of apologizing for the long, rambling post I'm about to make (unless HRH wakes up in the meantime). I'll start with this morning, because it's really been a lovely day. We're in a weekly toddler/parent group, and I've been trying to adopt some of the practices and rhythms into our own routine. Rhythm really is the key--I know it, I've read it, I've tasted it. But it's amazing how hard it is to create one. We're getting there. We've been having "tea," or snack, together and that's lovely. Sometimes though, Jane can't get herself still and I have tea alone on the butcher block. It was one of those mornings. But I didn't mind. Other mornings lately have been more successful.

In the past couple of weeks, as I try to get my fledgling business off the ground, I've been slack in the baking and cooking department (and pretty much every housewifery department....and personal hygiene...), so I made "baby bear toast," which is cinnamon toast cut with a bear cookie cutter. As you may guess by the marketing (she also wears "baby bear slippers," but "porridge" was a fail), Jane has a will of her own and we go through periods where it is very hard to get her to eat. For a while, we have been giving her frozen chicken "sticks" (strips) for lunch. With a blob of ketchup and some coercion, this was a reliable way to get her some protein. Too much of a good thing--she won't eat them anymore. I'm sort of relieved. They smelled good, they were not so processed, they were pretty decent; but the breading left a taste of preservatives in my mouth, and I'm sure the chickens were farmed in the more industrial style. So the question is, whence protein? The question has really been, what should we feed her? What will she eat, and be happy and healthy? Mornings are the worst of all. But this morning, I finally acted on the conviction that's been slowly forming in my head that Jane wants different food groups at different times of day:

• first thing: fruit
• snacktime: fruit and bread/pastry
• lunch: protein
• snacktime: bread/pastry
• dinner: pasta/rice and veg

So this morning, she at a whole pear, instead of a bite of toast. For snack, she ate a good bit of pumpkin muffin, returning it frequently for "mo' bread and but'r," with only the slightest bit of actual muffin missing. And then came lunch, a major experiment. I set the table with flowers and napkins (those are gnomes resting after their photo shoot--on etsy soon). Got to do something about that annoying cord. Ugh! And then Jane and I ate hard boiled egg and arugula, with a tiny bit of salt. I'm telling you, the kid yummed it up. "Yummy egg! More lettuce!" It was the spiciest arugula I have ever encountered. She would eat it, screw up her face and smack her lips, and then smile like an angel and reach for more. She ate all of it but the couple of pieces she fed to rhino, and the entire wholesome egg, yo. SIGH. I am one happy mommy today.

I'm also happy because I've made three gnomes this week, with barely any time to spare. I love them all, but one of them--she is so lovely. Honestly, though I say it myself, she is just so nice. She, and he and he and he will be up on the Etsy site within the next few days, so help me. 

On the darker side of life, Bete is in semi lockdown. Day before yesterday, there were two coyotes in our yard. I was gazing into the distance--it was a gorgeous afternoon--and then I saw them. "Fox!!" I yelled to Matt, "Fox! Fox!" Duh. Bete was on the other side of the yard. Everyone hesitated, and then the coyotes left the yard, we got Bete in, and the quandary began. Bete has been in a lot of scrapes. She's encountered coyotes before, not to mention dogs, cats, and who knows what. She has an instinct for survival. We knew they came into the yard at night already. We find their scat from time to time. Hell, I even found bear scat in our yard, and a neighbor street reported seeing a bear on our street to the school, which was passed to the other parents by the bus driver. But, a coyote, in my yard, in broad daylight...and then again in the morning, and then the two of them back AGAIN the same day...that really freaks me out, and I'm not going to be passive about it. 

That said, I don't really want to hurt any animals either (besides the fact that it's illegal). I just want to say in the strongest language possible, this is MY turf. I might also add that Bete is not an indoor cat, and that keeping her inside is not an option. Matt or I would kill her before the coyotes even had a chance. Last night she treated us to a reminder of just how annoying she can be when not allowed outside. So after some consultation with my dad and sister, who combined have a pretty good knowledge of the subject at hand, I decided to get a slingshot, a serious one. We had one when I was in high school to ward of an aggressive dog, and since it was high school and I was bored, I practiced and was a good shot. I wasn't particularly keen on actually paying money for one, however, and then our neighbor presented us with a lender. This is the "you'll shoot your eye out" BB gun, in case you were wondering, and it is also on safety and in a safe place. For the record. We finally let Bete out and I've been hovering around the door, looking for her in the grass, looking for the coyotes. This is the corner where the coyotes entered the yard, and where the deer and other animals enter as well. It's hard to see, but there is a very small oak tree, "baby tree," and two aspen trees. There's something magnetic about that part of the yard. We always end up there during walks, and sit and play. You can see Bete there. She's been hunting in what's left of the tall grass. You can see by the brown patch just how much Matt mowed down last weekend. Slowly but surely. In this climate, at this time of year, green conquers all. The brown grass patch will be gone soon. The rest of the yard is lush as can be, and Jane and I have been making the most of it.
Jane really loves the wooly bears, naturally. They've become integrated into her imaginitive play. She'll pick one up--which is to say, nothing at all--and hold it gently in her hand, and pet it saying "Nice." That's the word of approval we used when she was a baby and pet the cat nicely. Now, it's a term that means both soft and gentle to her, and it usual accompanied by petting. She's been so good with the wooly bears. Until suddenly this morning she stepped on one. On purpose. "Squishy!" she shouted. It took us to a while new level of conversation, one beyond her reach. And so again, we move forward on the path called growing up. She's such a big girl. I can't believe it.




 

 

Rolling with my gnomies (Sorry. I promise I won't do it again.)

Boy, have we been busy, and I have been snapping pictures like a maniac. Blogging, however, is made impractical by the continual repositioning of the computer, which is also functioning as our TV at the moment. I am currently typing on tiptoe with the computer on the top of the media armoire, which is empty (finally sold our TV). I'll just give you a slideshow of the places we've been, including our CSA farm for all-you-can-pick day (I'll be busy with pesto and squash this evening) and my disaster of a studio, where I have been working on gnomes and trying not to listen to negative inner voices.

Me: You'll never make a living that way! Hey, that nose is way too big...
Me: Shut up shut up shut up! I like big noses! The next one will be even bigger. PBTHHHHHHHH...
...etc.

Anyway, I got stumped on the more detailed gnome and went on to the sweater gnome, and I'm pretty happy with that pattern at this point, so it's back to the detailed ones (lady prototype seen here). More about this adventure soon, you can be sure. In the meantime, what we've been up to, featuring snapshots of things that fill my cup.

downward Jane family junkyard aka my studio


Remember last post when I said I'd put more effort into dressing myself? Well this is it folks. Don't judge too harshly.  research with Jane ("Don't cry, baby gnomes!") (bad) coffee and reflection with a new friend
Jane's BFF: her rake (time to meet some people)
not just reciting, but counting for real happy at Helsing Junction Icelandic sheep from a farm down the road


 Hey, that's not a goldfinch! 

And later, a post about Handmade Holiday plans. I think I've been saying that since I signed up...                 

Wandering Wednesday...

...wandered all the way to Thursday. Nicole of Gardenmama did a great weekly blog thing called Wash Wednesday where folks sent in their pictures of and their reflections on the many facets of the clothesline. I kept wanting to participate, but 1) it was raining all the time, and 2) I hadn't put up the clothesline. So it seems fitting that my first entry for her new weekly blog thingy is the wash. Check out Wandering Wednesday on Nicole's blog. It is such a lovely, lovely blog. When I visit I find myself wandering through the archives. Anyway, here goes!

.:Wandering Wednesday 1:. [I'm even going to copy here pretty punctuation. I'm also going to try to keep these entries pithy...yeah right.]

Here I stand at the clothesline. While I waited for the rain to stop, I researched online about putting up clotheslines, and when the sun came out, it still wasn't up. Finally I bought a hank of clothesline and a box of bamboo clothespins at Fred Meyer. It strung a line from the porch to the big apple tree, and from the big apple tree to the cherry tree. It isn't even taut. But it's perfect. Sometimes things don't have to be perfect to be perfect.
I would love to fashion a pretty clothespin holder. They're important to have, if you hang washing regularly. It does take more time than throwing clothes in the dryer. But if you have a pin bag, there's less bending and grappling. The process becomes smooth and efficient. My impromptu bag was made in the same way I made a storage and drying bag for Jane's bath things. We buy lemons, onions, and potatoes in big bags from Costco. And when grandmas go to Carters, we end up with baby clothes hangers. While both these items are disposable, I know they must be useful for something. I can't bear to get rid of them, like egg cartons. Sure enough, so far I've found several uses. It may not be handsome, but I feel more satisfaction than I would if I had made a pretty pin bag because it was cheap, quick, and gets more mileage out of something that won't biodegrade for a few thousand years.

I can't really explain why I find hanging the wash and taking it down, fresh and crisp, from the line. When you hang each item, you treat it with a respect you don't usually show your clothes. I find myself appreciative of each garment, even if it's not one I particularly like. I see their value. I see they are colorful. I see that I have a bounty of possessions, which is both humbling and cheerful. And there's nothing quite so charming and satisfying as seeing the laundry waving on the line, like domestic prayer flags. There's an element of both reverence and celebration.

Another element of the pleasure I take in my clothesline is its location. It is on the east side of the house, between the studio windows and the garden. I've written before about how magical this area is to me (how different it looked in April!). You probably wouldn't think so at a glance, but I wander here often. There are neglected snap pea plants in the garden.
  I tramp through the weeds and pick them, look for strawberries and raspberries growing almost wild, neglected for many years and hard to find. The green italian prunes are hiding among the leaves. The little old apple is heavy with fruit. There are grape vines, old roses, mock orange bushes, a madrone, hidden rhodies and azaleas, and a host of other plants I can't identify tucked into this little area. If I were a little younger, I would be sure that fairies and other magical creatures lived there. 

I've never in my life lived so in touch with the natural world as I am able to now as a mother at home. We spend some part of every day outside, mostly in our own yard, and visit the same spots to see how the many seasons within the season have transformed our kingdom. The tall, tall green grass of several weeks ago (seven feet tall at least) is golden, purple, dry and bending.  
It shakes like a million tiny maracas in the wind. The vetches too, little legumes that they are, have formed their little beans, and on most of the vines they have turned black over the past few weeks. When I went out yesterday to hang the wash I heard a strange ambient sound. I took a moment to locate. It made me think of pop rocks, or clicking insects. The vetch pods--how many there must be on this acre!!--are bursting to release their seeds. The pod pictured here is about the length of my pinky nail. Mind you, I have long fingers and toes (see photo 1). 

When I solved the mystery of the popping vetch pods, I wandered out to the road along the front of our property. I had seen some blackberries there on the way back from a walk with Jane, but serious blackberry picking is not for toddlers. It's the smaller sort of bush, entwined with another woody bush. Have you picked many blackberries? Yes? Oh good. No? That's a shame! There are a few things you need to know. Roadsides are a great place to find them, but be sure they aren't sprayed by road maintenance. Really juicy blackberries don't wash well...if they even make it to the sink. Also, they stain big time. The upshot of this is your purple fingers will wear the most heavenly sweet perfume for a few hours. Before you gracefully plunge your hand into the bush (think of the way you wove speedily through the slowpokes at the end of church service as a child, if you did) observe which blackberries look very black, plump and large. Go for those first. If you begin pulling on berries which are not totally ripe, the decadent ones will all fall through the thorns to the ground, and your instant reaction will be to jerk your hand to catch them and you'll get stabbed. Blackberry thorns can leave welts or cut your arms. I remember my dad coming home with his face bleeding after his annual blackberry taming chores. With his sleeves rolled up, carrying a machete and wearing a hat like Indiana Jones. Aw. Love my dad. You must be sure to carry some sort of bucket or basket as well, or they will roll out of your hand as you greedily pick and pick. Lastly, whatever you must do to get to the blackberries is worth it. If you have only eaten blackberries from the store, you have not eaten blackberries. I'm not trying to be a snob, just trust me on this one. If you are already an avid blackberry picker and you know of a secret spot, email me, yo. Come mid-August I will be donning my leather gloves and heavy jacket to cut through the hundreds of nettles currently separating me from my blackberry patches, which are currently full of bees buzz buzzing. In the meantime, we'll be making do on the roadsides.
Happy summer wandering to you!! (So much for being brief. Also, I'm not proofing this. Things to do, cookies to bake!) 

Hooray July.

It's been a wonderful month so far, truly lovely. Perfect weather, and I've had moment after moment of that feeling, when none of the mundane annoyances of surviving in the modern world can touch you, because you're hanging up the laundry in the evening sun, or eating homemade hummus with parsley and tasting parsley as though for the first time, or being embraced by your loving child as you walk down the road, humming, smooching, and and picking flowers to "gift" to the goats.

Shall we do the boringish worky stuff first? I've put barely any work in to the dollbiz lately. It's frustrating, especially because I am the one keeping myself from getting with it, and I do so want it to work out. But you know, by the time Jane's in bed and we eat and clean the kitchen (sometimes) I am so brain dead, and I'd rather watch an old Hitchcock, know what I mean? I need a vacation, and it is coming soon. Huzzah! In the meantime, the doll I hoped to sell on Etsy didn't sell after all. It was meant to go to Australia, but the shipping cost was prohibitive, and the mother-buyer in question has a lot on her plate, which I totally understand. It's a bummer though. I hope he goes to Australia someday anyway. After I completed him I decided I couldn't bear the frumpo get-up I'd put the first doll in, the red head. So I made a new set of clothes for her. I tried to do photos for the shop yesterday but it was just a disaster. For one thing, the art direction. For another, the photography. I can't get the color quite right. It's somewhere between this:
and this:
I'm taking her down to Portland when we visit my folks this weekend, along with my cameras. If my mom (art director) and dad (photographer) can't help me with this, no one can. Going to go through the boxes of all my old doll stuff, too, for props and things. And, PLEASE HELP. This doll needs a name. Ideas? Comment if you have a thought! I'd be so grateful.

The weather here has been SO beautiful, and we've been taking advantage of it, at home and abroad. Would you like to see where we've been in the last week or so? We've been admiring the new crop of wildflowers in our neighborhood.


   

 
 This is Baby sniffing the flower, with foley by Jane. Jane has been refusing to walk lately (after a lifetime of refusing to do anything but walk, even before she could). She's been riding in our Maya wrap, which she has named the "pocket." Convenient. Piggy and Baby can ride in the pocket too. I can walk farther (further? Anything further, Father?) and with less exhaustion and frustration than before, since lately she's started demanding "Hold'ya!" (as in, "Want me to hold you, Jane?") within feet of the house. This also allows for lots of hugging and snuggling, another a strange sensation. I think even a little bit of weaning has had a profound effect. I've never really been snuggled by Jane before, unless a) she was nursing, or b) she fell asleep in my arms, after nursing. I have to admit, I love it. So, lots of walking in the pocket, along our favorite road.
 It's hayin' season, as the feed store down the road proclaims. Is there anything, anything more provocative, I ask you, than an open gate with a NO TRESPASSING sign? Besides her cuddling firsts, Jane fell asleep for the first time in some place other than her bed, the car, or someone's arms. A real first.
She's also working on her last teeth and has been acting completely insane. Like a toddler, in fact. Her growth in all areas has been staggering. Taller and taller, cuter and cuter.
She can climb a ladder, jump on solid ground (as opposed to from the couch to the ottoman, how many times will I have to say no?????), and swing on a big girl swing.
Well, an abbreviated version, anyway. This is at Twanoh State Park. We went there last weekend. It's about an hour's drive up the Sound, and as Matt said, is pretty much all you could ask for in a park. The water is warm, I tell you. Warm! This is not the Puget Sound of my childhood, where we waited until we couldn't feel our legs any more and therefore couldn't feel the cold. Then we could really have fun. It's on Hood Canal, a beautiful spot, mostly wooded with plenty of relatively clean restrooms and a snack shack. Lots of picnic tables. The air was filled with deliciously scented barbecue smoke.
On the day we went, it was a minus tide. The beach was covered with oyster shells. 
 It was almost impossible to walk. Fortunately Jane had the awesome swim shoes her Grama sent. Matt wasn't so lucky, but managed to avoid lacerating himself on the shells, broken shells, and barnacle covered broken shells. It reminded me of having shells bits removed from the sole of my feet with tweezers, needles, or the Waterpik when I was a girl. And the barnacles--there's nothing worse. Jane nicked up her knees a bit but we escaped without injury. A rainbow of tiny crabs skittered around in the shadows, scavenging broken clam shells and fighting like greco-roman wrestlers. Also, many starfish.

On the drive home, with Jane sacked out in the back, and the warm air breeze blowing in the window, all I could think was Summer summer summer, like a mantra. There's something about the Sound. As soon as I even catch a glimpse of it, I feel released. You know when you're short of breath, or stressed, or just thinking about breathing too much (happens to me in yoga) and all your breaths are shallow? And then finally you breathe a deep, cleansing, grounding breath that puts you in just the right spot between heaven and the earth? That's how I feel when I see, when I smell the Puget Sound. On the way home, we saw snow on the Olympics. Matt remarked that it's not a normal sight for him. I feel taken aback too, when I see them. I suppose I always saw them, when I grew up here, because now they are where I expect them to be. But I do feel surprised, now. 
They are remarkable to me after this long absence. It's been ten years since I lived on the Sound. I told Matt that someday, when we buy a house (which always makes me snort with incredulity), I'd like to be closer to the Sound. 

This post would not be complete without mention of my early birthday present. It's probably the best present I ever got, particularly because it was a total surprise. It's not my birthday for a few weeks, but when a box showed up at the door, Matt suggested I open my present now to get the most use out of it. He handed me the package--it was even tied with baker's string, and if you can't get your jollies from a brown package tied up with baker's twine, there may be no hope for you. As soon as I held it I knew what was inside.
These green beauties. For the past four summers I've worn the same shoes as these, but in a caramel leather. I bought them in Menorca when we were there in the summer of 2005. They are a traditional shoe specific to that island, and they are perfect. The mold to your feet (okay, so that part hurts) and stay on with just a perfectly placed ankle strap. The are comfortable, flexible, and if you buy them on the island, cheap. The soles are often made from old tires. The ankle strap can be flipped up and the shoe worn as a slide. There's also a version with a buckle for fishermen. They are the best, and I was passionately in love with mine. I still have them, but they are unwearable. And Voilà! The next generation. And it was such a perfect present, equal parts utility, novelty, and romantic nostalgia.
Menorca 2005

Yes, it has been a very good summer. Hope yours has, too. Here's to more of it.

First day of summer.

We started the day with some spam.
Honestly, people. For read your article, It looks like it is ideal? I know, we all miss Alexis Bldel, but that's no reason for you to spam my blog so I WILL BUY AIR JORDANS! Get a clue. Mark as Spam, indeed. I get really excited when I have a comment in my inbox, and people like Jordan Retro 13 Shoes just ruin it. So I want to take a moment to all human beings who have written nice, coherent comments on my blog.

Anyway. It was cloudy this morning, but warm. A walk in the garden with Jane revealed:

Vetch gone wild.
The manroot vines are getting their...erm, man roots. Supposedly they get their name from the humanoid shape of their roots. I guess that's probably true... 

But hey! Look! Right underneath is the elusive Scarlet Pimpernel. I mean, the elusive Robert Geranium. Or is it? Nope. I always think I've found some, but as I pluck it out and look closely I see it's Dovefoot geranium, which is similar but shorter and with less spiky leaves. Dovefoot geranium has velvety soft leaves that smell like good soil when you crush them. Oddly enough I don't know what the Robert Geranium smells like. Though I always mean to pick it, I somehow never do. Anyhow, this looks almost like a hybrid of the two. Anyone know what it is? Pojar and Mackinnon have nothing to say.Also forming, grapes.
During Jane's nap the sun came out. Then we had all sorts of fun. We had:

Baths. "Stash piggy! Stash bunny!"
Fits. "NO!"[Pause] 

"Sowwy shoe."
The first true realization of the pleasure of sand between the toes. Lots of giggles.
First popsicle.

Adequate sunscreen. Bare feet. My grandma Helen's gardening hat.
I always feel self-conscious posting picture of myself. But I tend to take self-portraits in moments when I feel very satisfied with my life. So a worthwhile addition to today's photo montage I think. 

With all this sun and sand and "stashing" (I didn't get photos of the pool), Jane was at the end of her rope before we even got to dinner. An exhausted, explosive bundle of nerves. So I caved. I admit it. I swore it was a no-TV week. It's only Tuesday for heaven's sake! After her bath, we nursed for a long time and then I bundled her on her chair and we watched Wallace and Gromit. 
 What can I say? I felt bad about it. But I'm cutting myself some slack this evening. I got some work done on Ari's doll's attire this morning, so I feel okay about just taking tonight for myself. Sort of. When I was a kid there was a book on the bookshelf called "When I Relax I Feel Guilty." I would look at it and shake my head and say, "What?!" Now I think of it and shake my head and say, "That's right! You should feel guilty!" Just kidding.... I think a long shower and a mystery novel are in order, don't you? Tomorrow is another day. 

  

   

A Northwest Solstice (with no summer in it).

Whenever I switch from last download to last 12 months in iPhoto, I get a little shock.
Whoa! Is that my baby? And on which terrible setting did I have my camera? Speaking of which, a couple of times in the last month I've had my camera in my pocket, turned on, and hit some button that makes my shots hazy and grainy. My camera knowledge is inexcusably poor for the daughter of a photographer. But I am a true point and shooter. Unless it is blurry, I almost always go for the first shot I take of a subject. And I take a bunch (photographer's daughter). Occasionally I'll rearrange something. A bit is okay. Too much and it just ruins it. For instance, I gathered these flowers from the yard. Got a bit out of hand actually.
Lovely, aren't they? But there was junk on the dresser and so much stuff on the floor around it that I cut it off. Then I tidied later in the day and "fixed" the flowers before I took the shot.
See? Not as good as when I just stuffed 'em in there. Oxeye daisie, peonies, wild roses, giant clover blossoms (I think these belong to an entirely different family, but I can't remember in which plant book I identified them. Anyone?), young maple branches and tufted vetch. I wish we had fox gloves. They're blooming like crazy along the roadsides. But this pretty thing doesn't mind.
Roses please! There's lots to eat in the yard.
For us, too. 

Jane says, "More beans! More beans!" We planted these snap peas in February. Then we thought we'd done it too early, so we gave up on them and let the plot grow in. Turns out they survived, as did the strawberries we must have divided with our double digging. If you click that link, you'll see it was much sunnier here in January. 

Today is Solstice. I am intentionally NOT calling it "the first day of summer," because it has yet to display any summery qualities. Another day of rain, warmer than the last few but still a chill in the air. So this morning I decided, To hell with it! I'm building a fire! I'm eating nutmeg raisin loaf and drinking spicy tea and baking bread! I'm wearing tweed! And I did. In fact, it was a very pleasurable day. We took a walk first thing. I mean, after getting up at 5 and trying to get Jane to eat SOMETHING, ANYTHING while sucking down mug after mug of English Breakfast. THEN we took a walk, to see the sheep of course.
On the way Jane picked a daisy ("Giffft!") for her doll to smell. She's crinkling her nose and making a buck-toothed sniffing face. Sniff sniff sniff.
"Oh sheepieeeeeees..." There was a beautiful mist on the ridge. Hard to get a picture of.
And I saw a flower along the road I've never seen before. Haven't looked it up yet.
Coffee and aforementioned breads back home.
Peonies rescued from downpour and vetch blooming over the kitchen sink. I'll be taking these upstairs tonight, a talisman for peaceful sleep (honest, it really works).
Don't take a picture of the stupid fire, take a picture of this awesome Playmobil "baby!"
You can see her nose is running. Only the one nostril. You know what that means... But here's the stove. You can't see the fire. All you can see is our mess. But the smell of the stove when it hasn't been lit for a while. I love it.
Jane and I read together. We found a book that interests us both: The Private World of Tasha Tudor. 
I've gotten all the books about Tasha Tudor from the library, blessed library. I think this one is the best. It is the least precious, and the most jolly. In her own words, with much quoting of Shakespeare and Mark Twain. This is going on my wishlist. I like that about the library. I see so many books on blogs and websites. And you just can't tell. If I renew it and renew it, I know it's a keeper.

Jane is teething again with a fury. I had almost forgotten what she's like in the throes. Tripping, not even falling, but bursting into agonies and weeping. Smiting her forehead. Holding her hands to her mouth and cheeks. You know the type of thing. Poor baby. Finally, mid Iafternoon, she lost herself in the 64 pack of crayons and no longer needed my attention.   

I managed to pull ahead of schedule. Really! And do mise en place for dinner.
Carrot soup. The kitchen was all clean by the time Jane went up to bed and we sat down to eat. A rare treat.

It wasn't a beautiful day in the garden or at the beach. But it ended up a lovely Solstice anyway. A joy bringing, sense pleasing, soul stirring sort of day. Crackling fire. Peppery carrot soup with fresh white bread. Cozy socks. A few stolen moments knitting. Many lovely blogs to read at nap time. Saying no and saying yes at the right times. Feeling good about my choices. A miniature new year's, in a way. A good day to make some changes, and get a fresh start. 

And now, on the longest day of the year, the clouds are giving us another unusual treat. It's dark before 10:30pm! I'm taking my peonies up to bed. Happy Solstice to you.

Is that you, Summer? (Or even Spring??)

We had just over 24 hours of very fine weather, starting Friday afternoon, and ending with rain during Saturday night. It is raining now (and I will have something to say about that in a later post). But you needn't fear, Northwesterners. The sun is coming back. Because I finally bought boots. I expect them this week, in time for the sun. I know--I'm sorry. I should have ordered them sooner. Jane and I were outside when the sun broke through, halfway through a wagon ride around the lower yard. Matt keeps a path mowed around the edges. Otherwise we've let it go. It is so beautiful. In my drive-by investigations, I've spotted no end of grasses and wildflowers. Just now there are glorious clumps of oxeye daisies coming into bloom. I can't help but love them, even if they are an invasive species. Something about them looks so medieval, sort of delicate and crude all at once. They look so natural among the grasses. Those are probably all invasive too, but I've been unable to identify any of them yet (so far I've counted five). I guess Jane will have to pick all the flowers and do her part for the environment. 

We had planned a spring cleaning this weekend. You know how that goes. The only thing I've managed to do so far is wash the sheets and do last night's dishes. Ah well. We went to the Tenino Farmer's Market yesterday. It was so disappointing we just kept walking by. Hoping for a better showing as the season progresses. We went to the playground at the elementary school, which was totally depressing. Just gray and...it was a vibe thing. Especially compared to the environment at the Waldorf School, where the whole place just radiates calm, good spirits and a joyful sense of purpose. We kept on through town and I stopped in the local art gallery while Matt and Jane went to the park. I chatted for a while with the owner about art, and life, and Tenino. She asked me almost right away if I were an artist. I hesitated:

"My parents were artists so I'm familiar with the Northwest arts culture."
"So, you're a shy artist."
"I'm a repressed artist."

She said she was too. I brought up that Picasso quote about every child being born an artist, and the problem being how to remain one in growing up. (Do you think he really said that? I wish I had a source. On the offhand chance that any art historian's specializing in Picasso should read this blog, please comment.) She said she had been taking painting classes and asked what I had been doing. I said, Dolls. She asked me to show some there. Simple as that. Of course, she hasn't seen them or anything. But it is a very nice gallery, and I would be proud to have a doll or two there. I doubt they will sell. But still. You never know.

Anyhow, the day wound up at the Oly market to buy greens from my favorite vendor and get a good whiff of the bay. Ah. There it is. Much ado about not much, but here are some pretty pictures of the sun dawning on our damp lives.
 









As we paused to enjoy the sun in the corner of the yard, Jane nursed and I watched the sparrows wheeling over the stand of Oregon ash trees. It was magical, and I thought how few pictures I have of her nursing. If you haven't been there, nursing is hard to learn, and can be difficult even after you've both become expert, but in the end (that is, in my experience, I know it's not universal) it becomes like breathing--no, like the deep cleansing breath you take instinctively. Like the long drink of water that quenches your thirst before you consciously recognize your thirst. It becomes second nature, but without the mindlessness of a blink, or the unheeded breath. Many women have pictures of themselves nursing. I only have a couple, all self portraits. It seems a shame, in a way. Every day I consider when the end of our nursing days will be. I don't worry about how "misshapen" my breasts are (and they are) or anything like that anymore. I worry I'll forget what it was like. So here's a bit of insurance, modest enough to share.          

Empty. Full.

I've been thinking about so many things lately. Important things. But without clarity. And I certainly don't have the gall to suppose you'd enjoy sitting with me while I untangle the knot in my head. Bless you, there are people who actually read this blog! Anyway, my heart and head have been full, and I've been worrying a lot, and feeling poorly. The last time I felt like this was on St Patrick's day.   I took this picture of myself in my Irish sweater during a photo shoot of Jane playing golf in her little green vest. "I look old in it," I said to a friend on the phone. "I look drawn." I spoke to my mother that morning, too. " I'm just so tired. I feel like I can't hold it together. Everything just feels...wrong." I thought I might be depressed, you know, Depressed. By the afternoon I was throwing up. The plague that struck our house lasted for weeks.  

I don't think I'm getting sick now. But I have my migraine. A frequent visitor--which also makes me feel old. And crotchety. I haven't been doing yoga, taking my vitamin, eating well, drinking enough water. I have been working hard, struggling with Jane's new developmental stage, staying up late, and living a very full life. Last night when Jane went down and it was time to work, I thought, "I can't do all this." There was a doll to work on, a birthday present to make, laundry to do, dishes (I abandoned them), blogging, a shower to take, a budget to balance, bills to pay, and many other basic things. I made a tally of everything I have going. In the end, I know that each item is essential, and cannot be cut. The only thing that could be cut was the sewing challenge I was going to do this week. I cut it. I stayed up late working on a doll wig, which I finished this afternoon. I'm happy with it, and that's a blessing. But I know I was just barely productive last night. I kept thinking all day, Something has to change.

I don't know what that something is. Besides all the wonderful but hard and time-consuming aspects of my life, there are things I have left undone, things that are no longer a part of my life. I think about Max Jacob every day. I think about the French language, and how even as I am losing it, I know it and understand it more deeply. I think about ballroom dance and rock climbing. I think about the friends in other cities and other countries I don't see and barely talk to. I don't regret choosing the things that fill up my life. But I still love the others tenderly. It hurts. 

After Jane went down tonight, I read through the blogs on my reader. They can be a time suck, but they add value and energy to my day. They inspire me. Sometimes they align in very meaningful ways. Today I happened across these two posts about mindfulness and emptiness.... I have nothing more to say, except they are significant to me at this moment. My mind "is like a tree of jumping monkeys." Tired monkeys who still haven't taken a shower.

So I'm going to take a shower, and take my Tylenol, and take myself up to bed, perchance to sleep past three. But I can't go without leaving you a selection of photos from Port Townsend this past weekend. Let them speak for themselves for now. Later I'll fill in the blanks.

Good night, reader. 








          

Happy.

This afternoon my nephew visited us. He looked a foot taller. He's been through a lot of change lately. He has a new house, new yard, new room. He's survived his first move, poor kid. So my sister got him a Play-Doh Barbeque play set to help him through the afternoon. The way our house is built you can hear everything, EVERYTHING in the house from Jane's room. Or anywhere upstairs really. It's a pain. Especially for an almost-five year old. He's really an exceptionally well-behaved kid, but he's also a healthy active kid, and naptimes at Aunt Ellen's house are a trial for him, I think. Today he couldn't wait for Jane to go down so he could play with his new toy. Sometime between the moment I gave up "putting" her down and the time she decided to jump up and down in her crib, he and I had a nice fifteen minutes together, each of us steadily working, with joy.
The doll pictured is going to be something a little different. More of a sprite. As you can see by the wig cap I am crocheting for her (him?) at the moment.  

The weather this afternoon was fine, for once, and Matt joined us in the yard. There was lots of running and playing with Jane's big blue marbled ball. "Kickit!" as she would say. Then she'd stop, her cousin wheeling around her like the house sparrows turning aerials in our yard, point both fingers to the sky and throw her head back. "Shkkkky!" Like a rockstar. It was so much fun to be in the yard with Jane, and with our nephew. I never had that--a cousin, or a sibling close by, to grow up with. Someone who's family. I hope Jane has that always. Which reminds me, two women I know are having their first contractions right now. They are both such strong, loving, prepared women. I'm proud of them, and praying for them. May your labor be short! My your child's head be healthy and narrow! Until then, may your sleep be peaceful and your days be restful.

We're heading to Port Townsend for a long weekend and a wedding tomorrow. Port Townsend is the reason we're here. Rather, on the way back from our honeymoon, we took the ferry that way, then down 101 through Olympia to Portland. We had a moment there. A landscape moment. You know--when a place overtakes you and...resonates. All the way to your core. You know what I mean. It's not an ecstatic moment. It's a grounding moment. I felt it once in England, on the sea. Ancestral voices. Blood ties to the earth. That sort of thing. I think without that Matt would have been less interested in moving west. And so would I, for that matter. So we're excited to go back. And it is a very special wedding. The only other wedding of a childhood friend I've been to was exciting. But I was also eight months pregnant and doing the flowers. I'm excited tonight in a different way. My friend and I have been out of touch, but she is almost unspeakably dear to me. And she seems so happy. I haven't seen her in eight years or something, and have never met the groom. It will be wonderful, I think.

And all the world says so, tonight.

We had a delicious dinner. Thrown together, but just the ticket.
Now it's time to pack our bags, and settle down with yesterday's rhubarb and apple crisp (OH! so amazing, from Veg. Cooking for Everyone, best crisp I ever had) and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. I might also get a start on Jane's sweater so I can knit in the car. Who cares if I get car sick! Let the glorious weekend begin.....NOW!