this week

I joined in on 31 days of photos over here a while back. I know I'm pretty camera happy but I definitely don't usually take pictures every day. I got a late start but I'm trying to keep up with it. I have always searched out beauty in things; my eyes always scanning the horizon for those bright spots in the mundane. What's amazing is that when you are attuned to light and color and shadows, fewer sights seem prosaic. I like looking at things through a lens and I often see events and encounters in a series of frozen frames of light, color, angles and textures. Most of these are shots I didn't end up using at the photo blog. Here's some glimpses of the last week through my eyes.

tea time

If you know anyone from England you probably know that those Brits are serious about their tea. I think I mentioned how my dad would try to urge me and my brothers and sisters to join him for his afternoon, (or morning, evening, or nightcap for that matter)cup of tea. To him it was more than just a little caffeine fix. It was part of what was his home, a few minutes to slow down in a hectic day and sip a hot cupful. Most of time, when the kettle blew, we'd dash back to playing but sometimes we would sit with him and he'd scoop an extra spoon of sugar and milk so we'd like it.

When the girls are resting in the afternoon I have a habit of sitting down with a cup of tea. Lately Juden has been wanting to join me, which seems like a great excuse to make more of an affair out of it. I brew a whole pot and set out some tea biscuits and we chat away in fake British accents which, mind you, Juden is pretty good at. I make his extra sweet and think to myself how it would make my dad smile. And I get it... it is much better than drinking tea alone.


Oh, and if you really want to do tea time right, go visit this place.

my friend

Here she is; the girl at who's house I should have paid rent. She's been my best friend since third grade. We were the kind of friends that were inseparable. We spent many summer days at Nana's pool, most weekends were spent together and we could make each other laugh till one of us wet our pants (not me). I was often the only non-family member at birthday parties. I was nervous and proud as I watched her piano recitals. She willingly helped tutor me in math. There was a deep and abiding loyalty between us even as children. If there was ever tension between us it never lasted long. We were quite a pair.
Once we went to her families beach house and stole away down to the beach just before sunset, much to the dismay of her very cautious mother. We went from girls to women by each other's side. Once we spent a summer living in Wildwood New Jersey serving on a mission team there. Sometimes we would sit in the lifeguard stands at night when the beach was wide and empty with the lights and noise of the bustling boardwalk behind us. We'd talk and pray and wade in the oil black night ocean. We went to college together and married a couple of good friends. I thought we'd always live life by each other. She moved back to Philly and I stayed here. She had five children in eight years and I had three in three years. And so our story goes, our daily lives have become quite separate, but the miles have not come between our bond and kindredness.

We recently had the pleasure of having her family of seven come visit, which was wonderful, bittersweet, and too brief. At their arrival my eyes immediately fell upon the nine month old little bundle in her arms whom I had never met before. I tried to breath him in and memorize this adorable little stranger as much as I could. It made me happy to watch our kids laugh and play together even if Juden did refer to them most of the visit as "that boy" and "that girl."

At night when all the kids were peaceful I went to fix our tea and called to Vanessa," How do you take your tea?" I felt a little lump in my throat. Funny how such a little thing could get to you. But it brought to mind how difficult the miles make it to stay in tune with our daily lives. I don't like that our children don't know each other. I don't like that I don't know how she takes her tea. But, such is this journey of seasons and chapters. And honestly I feel like such a lucky girl to have had, and to always have, such a treasure of a friend.

our little girls

she remembers

A little while back we went to spend some time with Josh's little grandma. My time with her always feels bittersweet. The first time I met her she was quick to link her arm in mine and immediately made me comfortable in that grandmotherly tender way. Though I never really got close to her before she began to suffer from Alzheimer's disease.

I can say unequivocally that I hate this disease, anyone who's been touched by it can echo its devastation. There is often a look of utter confusion and fear in her eyes as she has no idea where she is or who we are. Little things we take for granted have become the most troublesome feats, like what to do with a tooth brush or a spoon. It breaks my heart to see her strain for the memories or the words. We all feel a little lost and a bit like a stranger from time to time, but to live in a constant state of disorientation, I can not imagine. So we are sure to say in loud clear voices, "Look at your beautiful grand-daughter Naya." and "so your grandson is four years old now," to help her know she is with her family.

Do we ever anticipate our body or our mind betraying us? One day do you just look down at your veins through paper-thin wrinkled skin and wonder when did this happen? Do we not feel just the same in our hearts as the years pass? With ageing comes so many endings and losses: loss of loved ones, of health, of energy, of clarity. Even with the promise of glory, and as natural as physical deterioration is, I don't think we're ever really ready for it. Our spirits weren't made for endings; they were made for eternity. It is this that makes the most natural process feel so completely un-natural and painful. I didn't mean to sound so dismal; my mind can just get lost in such things.
Betsy is certainly anything but dismal; through so much struggle she still takes so much joy in watching all her little great-grand babies. She may not know their names or gender but she laughs as she reaches for their soft hands and still has that protective mothering instinct whenever she's with them. My hilarious husband can still make her crack up with the most contagious giggle.
I watched her try to sing along as I sang hymns. But perhaps most amazing is that though the most ordinary bits of knowledge fail her she can sit down at her baby grand piano and from somewhere deep in her soul, she can play. Though they may start slow and she couldn't tell you their titles, song after song they come, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", "New York, New York" and various other old-timey classics. She was once an accomplished classical pianist and by some measure of grace despite what she has lost, she can still remember how to play. As I watched her frail fingers grace the keys I thanked God that her passion for music was so embedded into her hard-drive that it now provides a place of peace and familiarity. How powerful music can be in that way and how much more beautiful.

studio attic

Josh and I used to joke when we bought our turn-of-the-century house that we lived in a Fight Club house. Meaning every square inch of it needed repair or updates. A half-lit fluorescent light dangled crookedly from wires over the greasy linoleum kitchen floor. The bathroom walls were spray-painted gold and sixties carpet adorned the floors. Broken windows and chipping paint abounded and, no lie, for about a week we washed dishes in a tub and went to the Conoco to use the bathroom. But we were first time home buyers, young and full of vision, so we just saw the history and charm of a beautiful old house with plenty of space to fill with wee ones. The stress set in later when we realized that every job would take twice the time and money we usually expected. Over the years with the helping hands of friends and family at times, he has done a wonderful job of restoring most of the house. He's had to do it all in his spare time and as children kept arriving, but I am so thankful for his hard work in making our home so comfy.
This summer project was to convert our decrepit attic,and home to the occasional pigeon, into a creative space to give drum lessons and record various musical projects. It is a relief to see it coming to and end, satisfying to be investing in our home and making a space to do something we both love. And check it out people, the finished product! I am so proud of him.






Juden and I have a new favorite place, this cozy reading nook.

I'll write more later on the music projects to come, but I'm gonna go hang with my love before he takes off for Ragbrai (which is a huge bike ride across Iowa) tomorrow for nine or so days. Oh, and to you ladies who will be on your own with the kiddos for the next week and a half, I'm sorry, I know my husband possesses some persuasive powers. But male bonding is good, no?

summer loves

I must just say how much I love summer, deep in my bones. It used to mean long days of bike-riding and firefly catching in the less humid NJ heat. Plenty of trips to Ocean City, eating the best Italian water ice, summer camp romances and so many sleep overs at my best friends house that I should have paid rent. Now I see it through my kids' eyes and I hope to help create some of what I remember. Which is just the wonder in the most ordinary moments of life. Do we ever fully grow up? I still feel the same excitement when the days get longer, or when I get caught in a surprise thunder storm or that deep contentment snuggling up with Juden with a heap of books after a long day of play.
One major change is that those endless summer days I remember with the occasional pockets of pleasant boredom are definitely no more. This summer is flying by. I'm trying to exercise more and working on a musical project with a good friend and I'm sure some things have fallen to the wayside. It's been busier than I'd like. I can barely tear my husband away from his summer project which I'll post about soon.
But I have been cherishing these sun-shiny days with my loves, the friendship of some of the most beautiful women ever, tending my flowers and pushing aside the thought that it is somehow a frivolous luxury as I marvel at the silky-petaled symmetry and perfection of my Fathers creations.

My very favorite part of the day is just before sunset when the shadows are long the day is calming down and coming to a close and everything drips with the golden hue of twilight.

little happinesses

These are some things that made me happy today: Naya's little punk hair and her fascination with "shoe-shoes," as she calls them. She insisted on wearing these and this coat for hours. I mean, can you blame her, there is glitter on those toes.




The handy work of this little artist. And his bedtime prayer that went like this, "Dear Jesus, Thank you for Marlow with her beautiful long hair. Please,help me to obey and thank you for ice cream too. Amen."


Small glimpses of the master Artist.

Ella

Here's my summer baby on her last night of being two. Happy birthday Bella girl.

father's day

Happy Father's Day to my dear husband. He's done his share of diapers and late night walks to lull sleepless babies. He's worried and prayed over sick kids. He's worked hard and sacrificed for them. He understands that the moment you become a parent selflessness takes on a whole new meaning. He's been delighted at their happiness and saddened by their tears. He disciplines them well and makes them laugh often. And I am just so very grateful to have this man to partner with in parenting. We have no illusions of being the perfect parents; as a matter of fact I think we tremble at how easily our baggage, and issues and sin can and will hurt our kids. But we trust that God gave us these three little people for a reason and that he will be our strength as we try to live what we teach. So we strive together in the best way we know how to help them be passionate about God, and learning and people, and nature and beauty.

I'd be amiss not to mention how immensely thankful I am for my own sweet dad for giving me life,and love and so much of what I now hold dear.
On a side note the above pictures were altered on this strange Japanese website. You download the photo, then click the blue box and voila! Your pictures look like vintage newspaper clippings. I'm just a little addicted to it at the moment.

nap time

Ella, my almost-three-year-old has been rebelling against the afternoon nap these past several months. I was dismayed at first, as that hour or so of quietness while the girls slept gave me just a little time to get done house work or have a little reading/rest time with Juden. While caring for and nurturing three little ones all day, those little breaks also just helped me keep my sanity and patience. I was even more dismayed when each night at dinnertime, Ella would set into a overtired whining that didn't cease till bedtime. In my desperate attempt to cling to that hour with one child instead of three, we have developed a new routine.
Ella now sleeps in a big girl bed which happens to be a full size bed someone gave us, and I might add she looks like a pea-sized little princess in it. I somewhat reluctantly decide to lie with her and push aside the thoughts of all the other responsibilities that are piling up. I figure that if I sing to her and rub her back, surely she'll drift off and I can get back to my housework and one-on-one time with Juden. So there we lie while she fidgets and squirms and rearranges her bears and lambs and I'm patiently hoping she'll remember how tuckered out she is and how oh-so-comfy her bed is. I glance around her bright, feminine, little girly room, and I think it's nice just to have these few moments to slow down. My eyes stop on this painting that my dad painted.
The painting is full of tranquility and simplicity. A couple in a canoe, a man reading on a park bench, a family feeding the ducks. The brush strokes are soft and muted. I look at the scene through his eyes and I wonder, is it England? Have we been there? Everything about it is so...him, and I miss him. I wonder why I'm missing him again so much lately. Was it when I was sitting behind the girl who gently leaned her head on her father's shoulder during church and I felt that ache in my heart. Was it sitting outside last night and watching the strange sky before the storm? I've always loved to watch storms- all the green-grey light, the noise and power of them. Remembering the thrill of summer thunderstorms when I was little, sitting on his lap with his big arms around me. Maybe it's the fear of the sound of his voice growing fainter. Maybe it's Father's Day coming up, or maybe it's marveling at these little grandchildren of his that I wish he could see.


My eyes close as the thoughts pass and I feel a restless Ella's soft little fingertips tracing my lips and brushing across my eyelashes, and I think to myself, at least one of us is being lulled to sleep. My thoughts turn to how ridiculously much I love this little bug. I love the dimple on just her right cheek, how funny she looks with her crocs always inevitably on the wrong feet, how she talks out of a side ways mouth. Heaven help me the day someone makes her cry, or teases her. Maybe some day she'll question where her worth is. Maybe she'll wonder if she's skinny enough or smart enough, or if the guys she's dating is right for her. Maybe she'll fall prey to messages of false securities. Maybe she'll doubt what she believes. Lord, give me grace for those times but for now I bathe this little one in prayers of strength, purity, wisdom, and love for this precious daughter. May she always be held by your grace. While my sleepy prayers give way I realize the desired result has come to pass... at least for a few minutes.