148

Dean has been eager to do some of his own gardening, and got under way by filling two large outdoor containers and claiming a section of the hill out back.


A photo a day over at Chicken Blog, too.

106

Easter morning. Is it time for chocolate cake, yet?

78

 Dean's quilt blocks, laid out on a bed sheet in order to make final design decisions. I tried the blocks in a number of different layouts, and Dean chose this one (also my favorite). And then Ken said, "well why not make it queen-size because then it will be more useful for him for longer?" So today I'll make 7 more blocks so I can add a column, and I'll make the run to the fabric store to find a nice steely blue for the borders. Tomorrow it's back to the office, so I probably won't be ready for basting for another week or so. Momentum. It's a thing.

And lunch, that's a thing too. A mid-day break for our favorite kind of snacky- tapas-y lunch, enjoyed along with watching the Liverpool game (a draw against Man. City leaves us barely hanging on to 4th). I think this is why Sunday was invented -- at least, for us.

75

I've got a few days off now; finally, the busiest of busy times at work has past, and with an eye on our school year-end, I've got vacation days that I'm actually allowed to use before they expire. I'm using a portion of my time to finish up the top of a quilt that's been in the works for Dean for too long (that is, too long in planning, too slow in the sewing) so that I can get it basted and start quilting it. I'm going to have it finished for him before he goes back to school in September (there, I've said it).

29

We went for a walk.

A photo a day over at Chicken Blog, too.

12

8

 Woke up to about 6 inches of bright snow; the storm began yesterday afternoon and it's always an adventure to go to bed while it's still snowing, not knowing what you'll wake up to. This, now this is manageable.

 Ken assesses.

 

Dean tackled the back deck; we are both so, so grateful for his help.

 

 

And I've still been stitching, playing, wintering, Christmasing. We were *going* to take the tree down this weekend (always have to keep it up until Epiphany, at least) but a quick vote was unanimous -- one more week.

 I see I was a little too speedy in cutting the outer disk with the scalloping shears, but I'm not too terribly concerned. I'll remember all the tricks and systems, the more I keep making.



A photo a day over at Chicken Blog, too.

3

Nothing like the warm lights on in your own house, greeting you as you pull into the driveway. Hullo, house! Takes a little of the edge off of having had to go back to work today....

A photo a day over at Chicken Blog, too.

Not that

grumpy, I hope. The sun shone while we three shoveled snow, and it only took about an hour, and we had the day off and I've come through the long weekend with only a couple of things still lingering on my to-do list. It's not so bad, mama bear.

Repose

One last winter vacation morning to relax, regroup, recharge. They just fly by, these breaks; never long enough for all the doing, and all the NOT doing, that we have planned.

Movement

I don't know how this proud, and perhaps slightly anxious boy is. This tiny photo, part of a contact sheet of three pictures taken at some kind of carnival/amusement park, was one of the things in a folder full of vintage photos from my grandmother's things. The sign in German (Eilt-sehr! -- Very urgent! so, caution for sure) makes me even more perplexed; this was the grandmother who did not come from a long line of Germans and Austrians (that was the other grandmother).  Her ex-husband, my beloved Papa Paul, was born to a German father and Irish mother -- but everything about the age of the photo wouldn't make sense and I have no reason to think that Paul would have ever gone to Germany as a child (and lots of reasons to think that never could have happened). My grandmother's things are mostly about my dad, her only child -- and he's the most reasonable boy to suspect except for the part about the signs being in German (he definitely didn't travel abroad as a child).

Most of the photos in this particular stack are without any kind of labels on them and I'm limited in the people I can identify.  I can distinguish family members I knew or knew of, and don't know which are photos of friends.  Makes me think about how it is that junk shops/antique stores end up with boxes and boxes of old photos; if the people who end up with them don't know who's in them, then the photos seem worthless.  Given that I'm the sort of person who buys old photos from junk shops and sometimes online, I'm going to hold on to these.  But, it's a good reminder to start labeling so that Dean doesn't end up with cartons of photos that seem worthless.

Meanwhile, I'm delighted and relieved to have him home after his month in Panama.  I am listening to his stories and looking for signs of change; it is the kind of experience, on the bring of turning 17, that dictates all kind of change.  I'm mindful of how hard it can be when you are growing up to know that you are changing -- to reach for and embrace change on the journey to becoming -- and yet to feel constrained in time and in being by your family.  We play a role in our families that depends in part on our being who they think we are, and that can be difficult to deal with when they don't see or acknowledge when we've grown past their vision of us.  I want to honor and see the person he is becoming, even as I acknowledge all the difficulties in that for me (I age less, for one simple matter, when he doesn't grow up).

"Riesenrad" -- that's Ferris Wheel.  Held in place, going around but coming right back. Moments held in time as people move on. I hope it was sunny that day.

Power makes all the difference

Stayed cleared of snow for a day or so, and now....  

 Ken is out there now, battling the coupla three feet or so (with drifting) that has fallen so far.  We are fortunate that it's so cold (in the low 20s) that the snow is pretty dry here, which greatly lessens the likelihood of power lines coming down, or roofs collapsing. Towns on the ocean are in rougher shape, with all the moisture from the sea, and the swells from high tide, causing serious damage. It's still extremely hazardous to have this much snow, in that as soon as it does go above freezing and starts to melt, the weight increases and it has to be off roofs and decks and porches by then; also all the roads are closed and so my heart goes out to anyone with need of emergency care.  We do seem to recover fairly quickly in this region, so I am optimistic that things will be all right (and figuring we have not tempted fate by failing to run out to a grocery store yesterday for emergency provisions). I continue to be thankful that we moved to where we did (this is our third winter in this house) because here we are on town water (which means that even if power is out the water still runs -- at the old house we had our own well and a pump that required electricity, so no water could be run, no toilets could be flushed without power).  We also have a gas stove here and so can still cook (it was electric at the old house).  We live in a more populated area with more businesses around, so that also means that power here does get restored a lot more quickly when it does go out (we went almost a week, one winter, at the old house, without power -- our tiny little street was the last. one. in. town. to be brought back online).

A new-house tradition, then, is the fresh-from-the-oven batch of chocolate chip cookies when major snow removal is underway.  Never thought I'd replace my old, best-ever recipe but again -- when King Arthur Flour tells me they have the recipe of the year, I have to try it.  AND right they are.

I've been trying to spend more time tooling around the blogsphere, and I am lately struck by the number of amazing, but abandoned, blogs.  Not one to talk (at least in terms of the abandonment thing) but it makes me so sad -- I discover people doing amazing things but who've lost the blogging mojo.  I get it; at least for me, I feel as though I still haven't really figured out what I'm doing here, or why. But not doing it hasn't made me realize anything, either -- but perhaps plugging away will.  In any case, I'm so grateful for the friends I've made as a result and that is more than enough reason to be here.  Powerful stuff.

Contrasts

Our offices at work re-opened yesterday, on Friday, for no particularly good reason in my opinion (although I'm not sorry to have had a quiet day to get caught up and ready for the back-to-action that Monday will bring); a cold, grey, bitter morning was made better by a warm, crunchy dinner out with my boys. Thinking about playing with this two-photo format for a while.

And on

(Click on photo for full image.)

I stopped carrying my camera with me today, because it is heavy and I already had a lot to transport to and from work and and and.  And I missed the opportunity to take a photo of the incredible praying mantis that was hanging out on a bush just outside my office door. So THAT tells me something....

I have an idea about doing some little something of clean up in my studio every day for the next thirty days, but the count will not coincide with the calendar because I don't quite have it in me to jump in yet.  I type that and instantly feel lame; I do just need to do it. Kind of so much to juggle every day in life already -- we're in one of those "just need to make it through the next couple of weeks" mode with a zillion things going on for each of us and me feeling in the center needing to hold it all together for every one.

Right. And that's really what's at the heart, for me, about the challenge of choosing to do something every day that will feel positively productive. I will try. I will start now, and I will try. And meanwhile I will see about remembering to carry my camera with me.

September twenty nine

(Click on photo for full image.)

September twenty eight

(Click photo for full image.)

September twenty one

(Click on photo for full image.)

We attended a magnificent 90th birthday party today in New Jersey, for Ken's uncle.  What a long-over due chance to spend time with this branch of Ken's family!  Dean hadn't been down since he was a toddler, so of course for him this really was for all practical purposes his first time.  Dean, left, is standing with Tyler, who is two months older than Dean.  Tyler is the son of Ken's cousin's son -- not sure there's any kind of name for this relationship (cousins twice removed? thrice removed? who knows?) but to me there is certainly a family resemblance.

Perfect

And so he moves on.

Dean's graduation was the ideal ending to a wonderful 10-year experience. The event was outdoors, on a mild, bright spring evening. Rather than endless speeches from self-important adults, each graduate took a few minutes to share some aspect of his or her experience -- Dean spoke from his heart about how much not only learning how to read, but learning how to love reading, has meant to him. One girl sang, several read poems. Then, the teachers took turns reading short poems written for each student.

Just the kind of celebration, and culmination, one would wish for.

Nothing waits

Our peonies bloom and then, in only a day or two, they are done and their petals scatter. We adore them, and understand that we must be vigilant and quick if we're going to see them on their glorious day. I love that I can spy a bud just coming out in the morning and then by the end of the day see the full-blown result.

Summer's coming just as quickly.

Dean will be graduated from 8th grade in 15 days.  He has school on only 5 of those days!  There's a hiking trip up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire next week, and parent-teacher conferences and, oh, field day (a day of fun and games) so really that's 4 days of school.  And then, if I'm counting correctly, 80 days of summer to relish.

Ready or not, here we come.

I want to be sure that in the insanity of moving we don't lose sight of making sure we make the summer count, that we carve out time for mini golf and ice cream and, because I'm free to dream, a trip to the beach.  I wonder if it will make sense to put the badminton net up on the lawn.  Probably not.  Maybe at the new house?  Sleeping in -- we can definitely try to do some of that.  And this really should be the year we go to the drive-in theater that's not too far from here, before we're too far from here.

What I realize is that while time is always whooshing by, there are certain points (big impending life changes and milestones being major ones) that make me so much more acutely aware of how there really is no slowing it down and that it's going too fast.  No turning back, just holding on tight and trying to enjoy the ride. Or, better, throwing your hands in the air and laughing all the way.

Where the heart is

I realize, suddenly, that I do expect things to go a certain way.

It's not that I'm not flexible (I think); I can often imagine veering off a particular path and am generally willing to do so.  When Dean and I get into the car at the end of the school day and I offer to take him out for ice cream, or mini golfing, or down to Cape Cod to go to the beach (quite a trek from where we are), I really mean it -- at that moment, I'm willing take a sudden detour (he's yet to take me up on anything, but someday....)

I'm grappling with an intense feeling of seller's remorse, now that it appears we're really on track to sell our home, and I think the reason is because it just all happened a lot faster than I thought it would.  I thought we'd have the house on the market all summer.  I thought we might still be in our house when school starts in September.  I never for a moment thought that 12 days after listing it we would be signing off on an accepted offer (and, as it turns out, to the first person who looked at it).

I do realize that the world of real estate sales is no cake walk, and that there's plenty that could derail this freight train.  But somehow I feel that it really is going to happen (or at least that there will be a back-up for this deal if we end up re-listing).  And that's not at all what I expected.

It's made me review the list of reasons we decided to move in the first place.  All solid, still valid.  It's made me consider my emotional attachments, which run deeper than I realized.

I've lived in many places, but really have only had 2 homes -- the one I grew up in and this one.  And though it totally blows my mind to say it, the truth is that I have lived in our current home for LONGER than I lived in that house in Chicago where I grew up; there's some kind of twist of time and memory at work to make that true in a way I have a hard time accepting.

And the thing, really, that's throwing me for a loop here is that we are NOT finding our next home.  Remind me, people, how ridiculous it is that I'm saying that given that we've only looked at 3 houses so far with our realtor and gone to 4 open houses on our own so far.  On the other hand, I've looked at EVERY house listed in our target towns online so many times that I can look over the list the realtor gave me of all listings in those towns and I know just from the address which house is which.

Why is it that the only people listing their homes are the ones who live in ancient houses, or on corner lots of two busy streets, or next to power lines or within spitting distance of a hospital?  I mean, I GET why those people don't want to live in those houses any more (while respecting that some people are quite happy there, thank you very much), but aren't there people like us with nice houses on nice lots in quiet neighborhoods who want to move?  In the Boston area, you can easily buy a home built in the 1800s, if that's your desire.  It is not my desire. You can also easily buy a home built between 1900 and 1935, and then between 1946 and 1969.  It's not that I don't respect and appreciate history, and it's not that I'm clueless about the benefits of going with what's there; but I'm realistic about our lack of handyman skills and our inability to manage a home that turns out to need drastic electrical or plumbing or mold mitigation work (or the many other pitfalls in owning older homes).

There's very little from the 1970s (which could be a blessing, of course), and then stuff built from 1980 until now is few and far between.  Although often enough, some speculating builder bought one of those older homes on a tiny lot, knocked it down, and replaced it with a McMansion that's STILL on a tiny lot on a busy street (and of course ridiculously expensive).

I did see one of the most beautiful and unusual homes I'd ever seen.  In our price range.  Nice town, nice lot.  We would have needed to add on to it, but there were some possibilities there. However, the owners smoke (cigars and cigarettes), and my research shows me that, particularly given the way this house is built, those chemicals and odors can never be fully removed.  Ken's allergies, not to mention moving Dean into the House of Second Hand Smoke, take this one right off the list.

Sigh.

I guess one reason our house sold so quickly is that we've taken care of it, maintained everything, renovated what needed updating (the house was built in 1990), made lovely gardens, and listened to our realtor's advice about price (most people seem to be living in their own private Idaho when it comes to setting a listing price).  Oh well.

We'll keep looking, of course.  I'll be all on top of those new listings as they appear, and from our research we will certainly know it when we see it.  And buy it, hopefully.  And be able to move in on or before August 1, because otherwise we're hitting the road.