Background When a November sky is kind, a maple tree is brilliant, spreading its red royally, like a regal bird preening. But when that side smile of blue sky turns cold, a resentful shade of grey, the leaves mimic an angry stop light and remind you of old blood on a dishrag that you didn’t…
NaBloPoMo
Where we sit
Point of View A beautiful day doesn’t care if you spend it outside where you can smell the leaves or behind glass, driving past so many more than the ones in your yard as long as your heart is open It’s been a long day. A good one. But I’m tired. That’s all I got….
Playing in the leaves
When we found out the neighbor we were going to meet at the park had to go back home for bad behavior, the leaf pile called us. I don’t know how we managed to have so much fun without anyone getting an eye poked out or losing a Croc. But it was a day when…
Old and wrinkled
The last professional photo shoot we had was when my daughter had just been born in August 2010. Today is November 12, 2012. I bought a shoot over a year ago on as a Groupon or Living Social Deal and just finally redeemed it today. Although I’m thrilled that we got some pictures taken, and…
How we see what we see
Tonight we held a Waldorf-inspired Lantern Walk for the coop group I’ve been involved in. It was our first social event at the new house. The magic of starting the walk at dusk and ending in darkness, with a circle of friends holding light in their hands, is something I’m grateful my children have a…
It’s the most ___ time of the year
Routine Whenever I worry that my middle name is inconsistency, that erratic behavior disrupts my chances at bliss and my children’s balance, stepping outside reminds me that the leaves turn only once each year. And not for 30 minutes every morning. Then they fall and a new generation, long waiting in promise before gingerly pushing…
Rediscovering play
This night, the children needed an extra dose of essential oil and a second tuck-in, and my house and husband need some serious love. So here we have a photo from my son’s school, one of the preschool classes, and the playfulness I loved in these paintings. Reminders To create simply for the sake of…
Haiku for a busy day
Okay, I’m going to see Barbara Kingsolver tonight so I’m posting now with a photo I took yesterday at the spot where the county pulled up the playground at my son’s school in August and determined it would have to go somewhere less wet. And here it lies… Uncovered water Forgotten asphalt and trash Replace…
Lessons from my children’s first teacher
What I want my children to learn from me Singing is your heart smiling out loud. Passion is that heart getting warm, and flexible, and strong. Quiet is laying your head on a pillow, gently, as though it were a feather on a cloud. Food is a gift we give ourselves, our mouths for joy,…
View from a purple state
This election business poses a challenge for me. Everyone is talking on Facebook about their hopes and fears, but, when I’m standing in my kitchen talking to my 6-year-old, I don’t want to talk too much about politics. My son just doesn’t need too much of the world on his shoulders. I wonder what truly…
What’s it like to be an adult?
Today skipped by with no chance for any fun photo shoots out in the fall air. But that’s just as well, because this commitment to photograph and write daily in November prompted me to snap some shots of my son and husband playing music together. Sometimes I wish they would both help me get dinner…
Reflections, literal and otherwise
After casting aside my poetry hat for far too long, my NaBloPoMo plan is to write a poem — and to take and post a photo — every day in November, spending less than half an hour on both. The hope is to drill down, to focus, to look for and create beauty. See below…
A bedtime poem
Here it is the second day of NaBloPoMo, 9:00 and just getting the kids to bed. They are 6.5 and 2, and just last week were we finally successful at putting them to bed together and just leaving for them to fall asleep on their own. The toddler does it fine at daycare three days…
The first day. A first poem
When was the last time I wrote a poem? Months? Years? Poetry was how I was first published, but after my son was born, it felt too exact for the kind of time and brainpower I had available to me. A few poems came out of mothering and writing workshops, including one published in Hip…