We Had a Blast Last Week

One daughter flew in from another state. Two daughters came to stay for days. When you live in an all guy household, some girl time is delightful. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate and enjoy all the guys, but the conversation topics are, well, different. I won't tell you how many times J rolled his eyes at our goofy conversations (because I lost count, or actually, didn't bother to count).

What do we do? Besides enjoy the rare minutes together...

We wander around the Scout Camp where one son works for the summer, appreciate the mountain air and scenery, inhale the resin smells of the pine trees, drink in the quiet.

We explore a hand-built castle, complete with a smoke breathing dragon when the huge fireplace is lit. They climb higher than I do, but are only half way up when they decide it is high enough for them.

We follow the path along the river, lush with cottonwoods and undergrowth, the desert moonscape like another planet just a few feet away. The desert becomes a close reality when one gal says, "Doesn't that stick over there look like a snake?" Another gal says, "Oh wait, it is a snake!" The snake poses for us, attempts to look inanimate, his head held high mid-air. We chase it away (I stand the farthest away) and find out later the Red Racer is known to have an aggressive attitude. Glad this guy decides we aren't worth the trouble.

We celebrate a birthday on the Fourth, with fireworks bursting over the roof of the house across the street, the city display a few blocks from our house. We have a burn ban after all the recent wildfires, and are grateful they can still do the fireworks - it is a birthday tradition for our July Fourth birthday girl.

We take hundreds of photos. No exaggeration. Of each other, of flowers, of trees, of clouds, of antics, of water, of the guys when they will cooperate, of whatever. Fun to watch what catches each other's eye, what captivates attention, what photo ops we create or notice. Lots of creativity at work, each an artist in her own way.

We play games, put puzzles together, attempt to cook healthy food (balanced with yummy desserts), watch old movies and a new one, relax and talk. Did I mention we eat?

Time with these adults, these children that once filled our house, makes me feel rich and full. Content. Grateful for who they are. Our unique history, our story as a family, written in the good times and the bad, built on memories and time, like this week, together.

thanks to G and H for great photos!

A Walking Stick

"Take this stroll through life; take a pencil as a walking stick."

-Jeff Olson, The Slight Edge 

We walk the dog, most days. We walk and talk, the son and I, about his Civil Air Patrol experiences, about the latest book he is reading, about news clips and how it will affect us, or not. Or, we just walk and gaze at the mountains, the space around us, the sky - if there is the sound of a plane or jet or helicopter, he looks until he spots it in the wide expanse of sky. The dog, she loves to get out, especially in the two open fields where we can let her off leash and she bounds around us. Blind, she bounds ahead and then back to make sure she knows where we are, staying on the familiar gravel of the path, feeling her way along, sensing somehow when it is time to turn back toward the road home, time to clip on her leash.

For me, the walk is a good time to clear my head. Release the tensions. To not think about what needs to be done back at home; instead, to absorb the space and the sky and soar with the birds.

Our daughter sent me this quote from The Slight Edge, a book we have both read, about motivation and working toward our goals, little steps at a time. She commented, "You don't have to draw life, you can write it out. Cameras can't catch how you feel when you see something picture worthy."

 The art of keeping a journal starts with the art of capturing our feelings, our responses to the life happening around us. Sometimes, I need to set aside the pen, the camera, the computer and pay attention to what is going on in the people, the sky, the animals, the plants around me. Pay attention to how I feel.

 Pick up that pencil walking stick: walk, talk, breathe, look and see, really see what is around you. Then, there will be words to express the feelings, the scenes, the events of daily life.


 

...on the wings of the morning...

title from Psalm 139
one way I am traveling lighter in January: few words, a photo each day

Cold Feet?

One way I am traveling lighter in January: few words, a photo each day. Okay, two today, I couldn't decide...

Bare Branches Swelled With Hope

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day

Thin Winter Sunshine

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day

Keep Looking Up!

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day.

It's Black and White (With Lots of Gray)

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day

Take an Afternoon Catnap

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day.

Beginning To Snow

January, a quiet month, few words, a photo each day.

Happy New Year

Close the door on 2012.
Open the door to 2013.

My blog plan for January is to spend a quiet month, posting a photo each day. I will probably toss in a few words here and there, thinking a picture can't possibly be worth a thousand words without my help. But mostly, I will try to stay quiet.

I know you all are busy with your own planning and re-grouping for the new year. I'll take the month to work on a few projects and find the space to breathe, deeply. Let's relax, take a deep breath together, and look forward to all that 2013 has for us.

Happy New Year!

Balance

At one of the houses we lived in in Colorado, I sat at our dining room table in the late afternoon, sketching the pine trees and the deck outside the window. Although I am not an artist (of the drawing or painting variety), sketching is a tool for seeing details, really looking at something in order to define it, a way to describe the details without words in order to find the words.

As I sketched the branches and pine needles hanging over the deck railing, I realized, saw, that tiny icicles had formed along the branches. Drips had frozen in mid-air, the drop suspended from the branch by an icy thread. As the sun settled lower over the mountains, the sunlight flickered through the icicles as the branch drifted in the wind, creating  a show of colors I could not reproduce with my pencil.

By that time, though, I was not drawing. I sat, struck by the beauty I would have missed if I hadn't been focusing on a small scene, just a small part of the beauty outside our bay window. I doubt I would have noticed the tiny icicles if I was busy around the house, as usual. Taking the time to stop and look, really look, opened a door to unseen beauty, a pause in the middle of life, a window to gratefulness.

In the last post, I said I try not to miss life by interpreting every event into a writing project or photo shoot. On the other side, the time taken to interpret what is going on in life, by words or a photo or a sketch helps me to see and discover the life that is around me. Seeing the details I might have missed completely as I raced by.

Balance. Sometimes one way, sometimes leaning another, sometimes writing and taking pictures, sometimes living in the simple things as I wander through the days.

Traveling Lighter, with balance.

Gift from the Sea

Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, is a book I have mentioned before, one I enjoy reading and re-reading. Her perspective on balanced, healthy living, written long before either of those topics was popular, challenges and encourages me.

She quotes a term, "Zerrissenheit," translated from German as "torn-to-pieces-hood." Does that describe any of your days, your life? She talks about life today (this was written in 1955)..."the feverish pursuit of centrifugul activities which only lead in the end to fragmentation...shattered into a thousand pieces. On the contrary, she must consciously encourage those pursuits which oppose the centrifugul forces of today. Quiet time alone, contemplation, prayer, music, a centering line of thought or reading, of study or work. It can be physical or intellectual or artistic, any creative life proceeding from oneself...Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day--like writing a poem or saying a prayer..."

Written during a seaside vacation, her analogies are related to the ocean, seashells, the beach. She relates lessons of life to lessons from the sea.
Another term I enjoy thinking about is her idea of having "island eyes." The ability to see through a lens to examine your life, your priorities, your choices; especially to be able to see the beauty all around you and how our lives are touched by that beauty:

"I must remember to see with island eyes."

 For her, the ocean helped her step back and see values, significance, signposts, and find balance for her life.

Lessons as we observe nature and the beauty of this world help us to understand the complexities of life.

What part of nature helps you to see more clearly?  Do you have mountain-eyes, garden eyes, desert eyes, or as Anne Morrow Lindbergh, island eyes? Wherever you prefer;

remember to see, really see, with [your] eyes.

Let's Play in the Sprinklers

A halo of tiny rainbows

What's a good romp in the sprinklers without mud in the toes?