bleeding heart

That is the name of these stunning flowers I couldn't resist, very fitting for these little beauties. While researching how to extend their life in the garden, I discovered that they are entirely poisonous. So we will be keeping Naya far from them since she has been known to suck on a stray dandelion now and again. We've been spending lots of time outside enjoying the longer hours of sunlight and the yard that Josh has been working on. He built a wall with the help of some very kind friends) added a stone ramp and brick patio. After I just happened to mention how lovely I thought it would be to lay outside at night watching stars with an arbor full of dangling lights and flowers, he drew up a sketch and built me one.



Some things I love lately:
the smell of wet soil, perfect breezes and full blossomed trees, garden lights, and bare feet, reading books out loud with Josh,listening to Naya mimic words and animal noises and...

of course strawberries and whipped cream,(apparently enough to make ya go cross-eyed.)

slumber party

The above photo is my sweet niece Dove. Our home has been in constant motion lately as we've been having some bonding time with the girls while their folks are out of town. My kids are loving the extended slumber party. We've had dance parties, outings to the aquarium, art projects, movies and stories.









And here is the lovely miss Meadow...

beach days

Just in case you were wondering where I've been, we just got back from a wonderful week of vacation. Last week with the mini-van full of three babes,one mama, one papa, one Nana and backpacks bursting with sand toys, bathing-suits, sunscreen and books we hit the road for the Florida coast. I love that little burst of energy as the miles pass, the climate changes and the trees and flowers are different and you pass the groves of citrus trees heavy with fruit. Josh's grandma has an ocean front place there and this is the third year we have had the absolute blessing of vacationing there for free. There is something so wonderful about getting away, where the piles of bills on the desk and the clutter that makes it's home in corners doesn't taunt you while you are trying to relax. We soaked in the sunshine, played in the sand, walked and rested.

Naya was a brave little thing and could not get enough of the ocean. She would make a dash for the water every chance she got. She also loved watching the seagulls. My mom taught her to mimic their call and she does it every time she sees a bird.
My mom has a harder time getting around now than she used to, but she so wanted to get in the ocean. She doesn't let things stop her and her energy and joyful spirit far surpass any limitations.



Almost every morning I would walk on the beach in the darkness until the sun made it's grand entrance over the water bathing the day in newness. The solitude with nothing but sand and the forever ocean was a really good way to wake to the day. There is something in me I can't put my finger on that is filled, with my feet sunk deep in the cool sand, immersed in that ancient rhythm, the ebb and flow of the tides, the ocean in all it's power and mystery, rage and calm beauty all at once.


Mindful

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in a haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for-
to look ,to listen,
to lose myself
in the soft world-
to instruct myself
over and over
in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful,the dreadful,
the very extravagant-
but the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these-
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean's shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?
~by Mary Oliver~

the one

I love his creativity.
I love the calluses on his hands that remind me how hard he has worked for us.
I love how he makes me laugh when I'm trying to be mad at him.
I love how he is like a big kid when he plays with our kids,
but he is firm and wise when he disciplines them.
I love how sometimes I find a jar full of gleaming Sunflowers in the house for no particular reason.
I love his absurdity because things will never be dull.
I love that he feels a pull to the woods and the mountains.
I love to take pictures of him asleep because of those rare moments of calm.
I love that he dreams big and he makes me dream big too.
I love that the longer I am with him the more I can't imagine life without him.

on the bright side...

Last week, one by one, we all started getting some nasty cold and fever bug that Josh had. We're still not out of the woods but we've started to emerge a little from our hibernation. Here are some things that have brought a smile over the last week. Plenty of time to get lost in comfy blankets and stacks of good books:


My thoughtful friend who dropped off homemade bread and chicken soup as soon as she heard we were under the weather:

Baking yummy treats with the kids:

Naya's cuteness in my favorite apron:




The rain and other signs that it's March and Spring is just around the corner:


I could do without the fevers and runny noses but the extra time to read and paint and snuggle has been quite nice. If ya can't be healthy, at least be cozy.

roots

I love old pictures. I love the mystery they hold of another time and another place. Even old pictures of strangers are intriguing but even more so when they are of my family. I could get lost in the untold stories behind these moments frozen in time in stacks of yellowing photographs.


This one is my dad at about 4 years old I think. I was always enchanted by his stories. He was evacuated to Wales during World War II. When they returned home to London, their house and the pub were the only things on their block not hit by the bombers. What was, I'm sure, a nightmare for his parents, seemed like a delightful adventure in his memories of the beauty of Wales, seeing fighter planes in the London sky, romping around damaged buildings and collecting shrapnel with his brother. His family didn't have much. All five kids slept in one bed for a time with boys on one end, girls on the other, feet in the middle. But the stories of his childhood were nothing less than magical.

This one is of my Aunt Vigee. I think this photo is darling right down to her delicate dress and her coy expression. Her name is Kathleen after my grandmother. Her family noticed she looked like a child in one of Vigee Lebrun's paintings, and she has been affectionately called Vigee ever since. Vigee LeBrun was a French painter from the eighteenth century. I'm not sure which portrait was the one that gave my Aunt her nickname, maybe one of these.




This last one is of my grandmother, Kathleen. I never met her. Both of my dad's parents died before he married my mom. I think there is a peacefulness and strength in her face. I don't know much about her. I don't have anything that was once hers. I don't know how she met my grandfather or if they were in love. What I do know is that both she and my grandfather exhibited their artwork in London. She played the piano, her favorite wildflowers were Indian blankets and she loved to laugh. Sometimes I wonder what she would think of me. Do I have her eyes or her hands? I don't know, but I do know I have much more from her than this little box of curious photos. She is part of the roots of my family tree.