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... of photos and many experiences later we are home.
Today I'm writing. I want to capture our perspective and do this place justice in our memories. It was full of wonder, both cozy and stunning, and it was exclusive in the most literal of terms. As much as I heard from others that the Vineyard can be crowded, from this spot we encountered few other souls. At times it felt as though we were visitors in (though not necessarily intruders upon) a migratory bird's world.
The place is a treasure.
After dropping my daughter at school this morning, as I was scanning radio stations I stopped on Pastor Alistair Begg. I've never heard him before, but was drawn in, no doubt, by his friendly Irish brogue. The topic: leaving ourselves open to listen and learn. Obviously his point made reference to spiritual awareness, but it's relevant to practical, day-to-day living. We can miss the bigger message with too much unnecessary talk.
Having one of my girls at home this fall so far has been really good for us. We have long stretches of quiet together, which makes those discussions we do share seem stronger, more attentive to one another. We give more when we speak it. Going forward I know that I need to listen to her desires and goals even more as we figure out this home-schooling thing together.
As I pack and get ready to leave for a week I'm looking forward to that good road trip talk with Paul as well. Usually after some silence to let the weekly tasks fall away, we can get into some good ideas together. I need that significant interaction; I crave it as much as the destination itself.
In addition to some fiction, I'm taking along a small volume entitled Choice Words, recommended and shared by my friend, Frances. (If you enjoy reading at all you will love her blog.) In brief, the book focuses on how our language affects the way that children learn and why. I'm open and ready to hear this message.
I'll leave you with a related poem from an unknown author, as quoted by Pastor Begg, this morning:
If all that we say in a single day,
With never a word left out,
Were painted each night in clear black and white,
It would prove queer reading, no doubt.
And then just suppose 'ere our eyes would close,
we must read the whole record through,
Then wouldn't we sigh, and wouldn't we try,
A good deal less talking to do.
And I more than half think that many a kink
Would be smoother in life's tangled thread,
If half that we say in a single day
Were forever left unsaid.
I'll be back here again in a short while. Be well.
[double cap, taken this morning, September 15, 2008]
There is much to do and much to be excited about this week:
Rarely do I mention television shows in this space, however the the new PBS series: Spain -- On the Road Again, looks really fun, and is scheduled to begin 9/20. Check your local listings.
Getting a bunch of work done in a few short days, because I'll be ...
Packing up my wool sweaters, jeans, socks and boots to welcome in fall because we are ...
Leaving at weeks end for the land of John Abrams (who Paul and I have had the good fortune to meet) and Susan Branch. That's right Martha's Vineyard! Never been there. Can't wait.
September has been a month of hinge-points for us.
We have already celebrated the birthday of our oldest daughter, and our second child's birthday is near.
We'll enjoy the anniversary of our wedding day while we're away. Thinking once again fondly of that cold, COLD evening overlooking the Green Mountains of Vermont, grabbing bottles from a canoe full of iced beverages, pulling table linens to the ground to sit and watch the sunset as a blue grass band played under the tent. And there were cupcakes -- Black-bottom cupcakes -- made by my sister with a recipe from my Aunt. (not sure whether that link is the same recipe) Interestingly, I never really listened to blue grass before or since, which made the occasion all the more memorable.
New season. New mood. New music in my sidebar.
Let's hear it for September!
Let's bring it up a bit, shall we?
Thanks for the kind remarks yesterday, and to clarify, yes 9/11 is still my daughter's birthday, I just didn't mention it to her that particular day, that's all.
Nine years ago I became a mom on that day. Even though I felt myself becoming a mother and thinking motherly thoughts months before, having that little person to nurture really defined the moment. The celebration is no longer fairies and pink, and the gifts become books, journals and technology gadgets, but this Mom gig just keeps getting better and better. It really does.
Helen's birthday feels more like 'Mother's Day' to me than any Sunday in May ever will. This is the annual day that I rememberer that still-dark morning drive to the hospital, all of that amazing stuff that my body was able to get through, and the sheer exhaustion that followed in the weeks that passed. (Exhaustion, might I add, that has permanently changed my definition of tired and alert states of being.) The uncertainty about my abilities to care for such a tiny 5 and 1/2 pound human ... all of that comes back to me on this September day every year.
Yesterday was a great time for my girl. Though 9/11 is relevant in the education of a person's world view, we didn't mention any of the national historic events. It was simply her day to be with family.
Tomorrow comes the slumber party.
[work in progress, summer mini book]
A couple of weeks ago I set out to make something and well, it's been coming together in bits and pieces where time allows.
The truth is I like to take my time and consider the elements I add or detract as I go along. While sometimes I can lose interest or change direction, usually I enjoy the process of my own creative rhythm without urgency.
Cereal boxes became the chipboard framework for this project. It's time consuming cutting them to size, but I'm glad to be using something we have on hand (boy do we have a lot of those) and with paper and photos adhered it's pretty sturdy. The photo collages were no quick bit either, as I wanted to achieve the look of snapshots tossed together on a table, unlike what would have been a faster alternative method using mosaic-maker.
Inspiration for this little book started when I saw this fabulous photo collage on the small joys. I loved her treatment and knew I had to create something similar. I've also been admiring similar layouts by Laura Kurz.
The thing about little books (for me) is that they don't replace a standard photo album. I'll still keep the 4x6 prints with favorite enlargements arranged for that detailed view. The little book provides the essence. It's an emotive piece; an overview.
The more I work with mini books the more I appreciate the benefit in offering experiences and themes in small, touchable, personal packages.
Today: adding paint, text, acrylic ink and seeking a wire bindery this time.
More in a few days.
The moment I scooped a teaspoon of nutmeg this morning it happened.
It was the catalyst that triggered a series of pictures in my mind, slowly paging in procession like a hand-held flip book:
sitting on my brother's bedroom floor (off of which there was a small closet/attic) pulling item after item from the costume box, trying to decide what to be for Halloween
my brown velour skirt that I wore at twelve years old (with a groovy winter-white polyester blouse) to my grandparents house for Thanksgiving
conspiring with my sister in Grandma's kitchen, sheepishly untwisting cello wrappers from whiskey sour hard candies, and wondering how many we could eat before feeling drunk,
Grandma's silver tiered cookie tray atop her cotton lace table cloth, neatly arranged with confectioners sugar snowballs, twisty bow knots, and nutty/raisin pinwheels,
my green plaid kilt (how old was I then???)
another dark morning stumbling downstairs to a piney tree full of fat colored lights, Mom arriving sleepily in her green velour bathrobe ...
Lots of velour in the 70s, you know.
The season is near, believe it or not. The rainy morning pumpkin muffins tell me so.
All of that from the twist of a cap.
Regular baking is something relatively new for me, but it's just that -- the flood of vivid memories associated with the scents of the kitchen -- contributing to my growing love for what has really been family tradition all along.
