Rainbow Garden

Last and best #summer #flowers #gardening #red #rose
My red-orange obsession--all blooming now. #spring #gardening #flowers #red
#orange blooms my July garden #summer #flowers #gardening
Summer yellows #summer #flowers #gardening #yellow
Just some of the greens #summer #gardening #colors #green
My blues,  blooming now #summer #flowers #gardening #blue
#summer #purple #flowers #gardening
Pink and peach #summer #flowers #gardening #peach #pink
I don't have a lot of white in my garden,  but this is what's happening now.  #summer #flowers #gardening #white

This is my garden in summer. These photos were all taken between the very end of May and July 7.

This is, of course, the very best of it. We are having a terrible drought in California, and I’ve been conserving water. I’ve not pictured my yellowed lawn or the roses with burnt petals. I’ve not pictured the patches of bare dirt or my lack of much-needed mulch (where does it go?).  I haven’t pictured how my hydrangeas have 90 percent fewer flowers than usual. Naturally, I don’t photograph the plants that perish. I kill things all the time.

This is the best that I can show in this hot time of year.

But I want to show it because I love it and because I have worked very hard over the last 11 years turning into this third-acre of weeds and potholes into my oasis, my home. This is my English garden, California-style, and infused with all the flare of a Brazilian Carnival that I can muster. This is what my dreams look like at night. A jungle of color. A rush of blossoms. A heaving of growth and urgency. A riot of shapes and textures.

I can’t explain why this garden is important to me, except to say, this is how I surround myself and my family with beauty.

Summer Solstice Camping

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#camping #summer #boys #nature #woods

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Playing poker #7yearold #summer #boys #games #camping

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Glamping #camping #woods #friends #summer

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We visited the Tunnel Mills campground in the Tahoe National Forest over the summer solstice weekend. A bunch of friends came and we had a wonderful group campsite all to ourselves. I never managed to have my camera with me when we were playing and rock hopping down by the gorgeous creek, so you’ll just have to take my word for it: it was a truly spectacular, magical place of huge, broad leaves, water snakes, clear, cold rushing water, warm boulders, dancing sunlight, and a million shades of green.

We had our Midsummer bonfire (which I wanted so badly), plenty of relaxation, games of Magic the Gathering and poker, reading, music and singing, shared potato chips, and friendship.

It was a little too chilly at night for my taste, but the warmth that these fine people bring to our lives makes it well worth it.

My Midsummer blessing for you is that you find the people who most uplift you, inspire you to be your best self, who understand you, encourage you, and delight you … and then hang on to them. Learn to be the very best friend you can be because love and connection, joy, trust, and forgiveness is what this one perfect life is all about. And we are all still learning.

Barefoot Boys

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It’s a celebration around here. There was a big class party for the sixth grade. The first graders had a swim party yesterday. They are done for the year, and are dreaming of lazy days of pure fun. In honor of this special day, the last day of school, I present this evocative poem by Whittier.

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,—
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Sprinklers!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,
Of the wild-flower’s time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole’s nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;
Of the black wasp’s cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,—
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

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Oh for boyhood’s time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

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Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O’er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

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Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

—John Greenleaf Whittier (1855)

Yay, Summer! Indeed!

Nightmares

Library love #7yearold #firstgrade #son #mamainthepicture #mamaandbaby

Asher has been having a fair (or unfair) number of nightmares lately. I feel for the kid, honestly. I still remember the vivid, horrifying nightmares of my own childhood. These bad dreams are freaky and they result in sweats and many tears. And, of course, they result in requests to sleep with us, or requests for one of us to sleep with him.

Tonight my little love is having a hard time going to sleep. It could be the temperature warming. It could be that he’s overtired—the boy runs solidly without rest from morning to night. It could be that Daddy’s not yet home. I suppose he could also be getting sick.

Whatever it is, I’ve put him to bed now four times.

As I was lying there with him in his bed, wishing that he would sleep, he sobbed: “Mama, I’m sooo tired! And I’m sooo sorry I keep making you come back and forth! I just don’t want to be without you.”

There’s nothing quite like when my child in need notices I am short on patience to make me feel chagrined. I took a deep breath and settled into my role.

“I am always here for you, my love. You are safe and I am here.”

He whimpered a while longer. I held him close and he wrapped my arms even tighter around himself. Gradually his breathing slowed. I shifted and then he said, “Mama, it’s just like always when you are underwater and …”

 

… and he finally slept. For now. And I’m free to read my book or get ready for bed. But what I said before is true: I am always here for him. He is safe and I am here.

Love Is …

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* A night out dancing and celebrating with my sparkling friends.
* Grandparents who take my boys overnight so I can be with adults at a nightclub.
* Friends who figuratively put on their wellies and step into the muck to help others, who sacrifice and do the work and give so much of themselves.
* Visiting my mother-in-law over coffee, and admiring how she has already thriving vegetable garden seedlings under a grow light in her dining room.
* New-to-us chairs from my parents; they’re more comfortable than any chairs we have, even if they are a shade or two too purple.
* Working all together on housekeeping chores that might not be fun, but that make our living together easier and our home the haven we want it to be.
* Giving away wonderful games and puzzles to my sweet nieces.
* A brief visit from my brother and his girlfriend, who brought us the chairs.
* Gardening time: I planted pansies, divided day lilies to make two new clumps, planted forsythia, planted two irises that have been in pots a while. I was able to divide each iris into several groups.
* Watching my garden come alive again with new shoots, daffodils, magnolia, and azaleas blooming, and tulips coming up. My plum trees are clothed in flower clouds, too.
* Rain. Yumptious, sloppy, wet rain that soaks the ground and demonstrates our persistent drainage problems.
* Flower and seed catalogs that come in the mail.
* Being done with basketball season, but also feeling so grateful for all Lucas learned, for his wonderful coach and teammates, and for a wholly positive experience.
* Having work to do, even if it’s not very interesting. I’m learning more about surgery than I ever have before.
* A reunion with my husband; although I hate it when he goes (and I try not to whine), I love it when he comes home.
* Taking my dad to a Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert this week
* Little Fur audiobooks, which are entertaining my little son while he’s home sick today.
* Window stars.
* Fractal vegetables and welcome-home dinners.
* The sixth-grade Waldorf curriculum, which is so brilliantly meeting our son.

Edible fractals #waldorf #math #food #wholefood #csa #farmfreshtoyou

Christmas ’13

Hearth this year is a little random Oh well #christmas #stars #Yule #home #holiday

Our Christmas was so nice this year. We eased into it. I had some downtime and the kids and I were able to prepare the house, little by little.

#stars #Yule #christmas #crafts #homemade #holiday #waldorf #wood

We spent some time stamping our own wrapping paper, making star ornaments for gifts, and making decorations for our home, like this evergreen garland that we hung above our front door and decorated with ornaments and a bow.

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We had our traditional sushi dinner with Ian’s father and his lovely girlfriend, Miriam (whom we call Mimi). Always a high point of our Christmas season—a moment of relaxation juxtaposed with great antici—-pation.This year we got to hear a little more about their recent trip to Peru, when they visited Machu Picchu and climbed to—I forget exactly—umpteen thousand feet above sea level.

Our boys woke bright and early on Christmas morning, just as they always do.

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Stockings and presents from Santa came first. Santa brought Asher this cool soccer ball in his favorite color!

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And he brought Lucas a calligraphy set, with three pens, and several different ink colors and a book to learn how to make fancy letters. (Waldorf sixth graders study the Middle Ages, you know.) Santa also brought a family present, one for the four of us to enjoy together: Castle Ravenloft, a Dungeons & Dragons board game!

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And some Magic the Gathering cards came in each stocking. These are a huge hit around here lately.

Then an amazing and touching thing happened: The boys allowed me to open my present first, and it turned out to be a scavenger hunt that they put together with Ian. I had to find notes and pieces of my present all over the house. Each note had a clue where to go next. Canvases in sizes I’ve never used before (two big ones!) and a beautiful HUGE paintbrush. It was delightful and such a surprise!

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The rest of our morning at home was about exchanging sweet gifts. Asher gave me a beautiful rose quartz crystal, wrapped in a rainbow silk—both his own precious belongings. He gave daddy a fairy jewel. Lucas was pleased with his gift to Ian: a copy of Fortunately the Milk, by Neil Gaiman. He sure knows his dad!

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One of my gifts to Lucas was a collection of prints showing Lord of the Rings actors and Tolkien quotations. I hope he likes them. (We still haven’t put them up yet.)

Such abundance! Books, modeling clay, LEGO Chima (Asher’s favorite!), new running shoes for active boys, sketch books and art supplies. Daddy and I both got some workout gear. I guess some families do just one or two gifts each. We do a bunch of smallish gifts that support each other’s dreams and hobbies. I like it. But this year was a departure from normal: The boys opened a big box containing Mickey Mouse ears and travel brochures. We are all going to Disneyland in February!!!

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It took a little while for this information to sink in …

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(Many, many thanks to my uncle Mike and aunt Julie for procuring the hats and brochures from the Magic Kingdom itself. They helped to make the deferred trip seem real.)

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I love moments like this one: Ian relaxing in his favorite chair, with his fluffy dog, a new book, new slippers on his feet, and a cup of joe.

On Christmas day, we also visited family at Ian’s parents’ home and my parents’ home. We were grateful to see grandparents, cousins, and aunts and uncles at both. More gifts, good food, and silliness were the orders of the day. Can’t beat it! Asher received a toy bow with nerf-tipped arrows that fly far and don’t hurt anything when they hit; it’s one of his favorites. Grandma VoVo gave the boys such a clever thing: a money-saving jar with a counter and a bunch of coins. She wrote Disneyland on it so they can save up for our trip next month. Lucas received what I think is one of the hottest toys of the season: a rainbow loom for making rubber band bracelets. Grandma Sydney sewed them each new pajamas and knitted them hats. Such lucky, lucky boys. Truly, we are all so very blessed in every way.

#christmas #games #home #boys #brothers #holiday

The days that follow Christmas are always some of our favorite days of the whole year. We are together at home, snuggly warm and content. We have lots of wonderful new diversions. We can play together. Slowly we clean up after the holiday party at our home; slowly we eat up delicious leftovers. The boys pored over many, many new Magic cards from Uncle Tate.

Santa brought Asher a soccer ball--in his favorite color! #santa #christmas #holiday

It has been unseasonably warm here for the last two months, as you can probably see in this photo. We played soccer with Asher’s new ball at the school field at the end of our street—in shirt sleeves and shorts!

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The new ball drew a crowd of neighborhood boys. 🙂

Santa brought us a D&D board game and we played last night!

And we played our new family D&D game. Thanks Santa!

#nofilter

There’s much more to say about the two weeks of Christmas vacation, I’m sure. But I’ve sat on this post for too long already. So I’ll sign off with this gorgeous winter sunset and say simply, we are happy and so blessed. I hope your winter holidays were equally magical.

Love is …

  • A proper night’s sleep, after several rotten ones
  • Another day to recuperate, feeling better
  • Daddy at home
  • Fresh banana bread
  • Convenience robots that work, creating some leisure hours and making life more than just prepare-a-meal–clean-up–prepare-next-meal, repeat
  • A bluster of boys (a blush, a blurt, a bluff, a boast, a brawl?) on our street for my kids to play with
  • An exciting first basketball game of the season, and a much longed-for win
  • Time to take down Christmas (so much Christmas to take down!)
  • Ian making burgers and fries, because I asked for them
  • “Avatar the Last Airbender,” a perennial favorite
  • Dreaming of this year’s running events; I can do this, right?
  • A plan for an early morning run with a friend, who keeps me accountable
  • (Only) one more day of the kids’ winter break

Mothering

There are some moments when I despair. I look at these two strange beings who bicker and occupy my home, who confuse and frustrate me, and are so different from me, and I wonder if I am having any civilizing influence on them at all.

Then I get sick, like I am now, and they come to me with soft small hands, stroking my skin and hair, bringing me cool wet cloths for my forehead, and rubbing my shoulders. They hold me close, cuddle up next to me, worry about me, and whisper sweet words of comfort.

And I feel their mothering and hear my own words coming back to me. It’s a mirror, and a window to their future selves.

Farewell, Grandma

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My sweet grandmother RoRo passed away on November 16. She experienced a slow and difficult decline over the last several months (or years, depending on how you look at it). I am relieved that she will no longer be confused, lonely, and uncomfortable, which she sometimes felt even amid her loving family and dedicated caregivers, as she always was. She died three hours shy of the third anniversary of her sister Nellie’s death. (This doesn’t mean anything; it’s just notable. RoRo and her sister lived together for the last 35 years of their lives, as well as during childhood.) This photo is from 2006. I think this is the best picture I ever took of her; this is how I will enjoy remembering her. Still robust, still active and walking, still full of jokes and mischief.

My grandma was a wonderful grandma. She was doting, kind, forgiving, and generous to a fault. When I was young, I quickly realized that she would give me almost anything I pointed at. When I matured, I realized that was no way for me to behave. I now feel that she should have said no to me and many others way more often than she did. RoRo loved giving gifts. I am so grateful for all the advantages she gave me, for her love and her faith in me. I think she often didn’t understand my choices, but she always loved me.

RoRo spoiled me. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that. I was her only granddaughter for almost 20 years, until my cousin Amy was born. RoRo wanted to dress me in pink, in lace, in elegant and preppy clothes. She took me shopping often when I was a kid and teen. She came to my high school plays. She bought me jewels, and a brand-new red Honda CRX when I graduated high school. She didn’t want me to go away to college; why go so far when there are colleges here in Sacramento?!? She didn’t really want me to be independent, self-directed, far away. But if I insisted upon going, well, she wanted me to have a good, reliable car to drive home as often as possible. While I was away, she gave me her credit card—in case I needed or wanted anything. She wrote me letters in beautiful spidery handwriting; they almost always included a check.

When I got married, RoRo came shopping for my wedding dress with me. She ended up buying my wedding gown for me, with veil, shoes, train, undergarments, etc. When I had my first baby she bought my baby’s crib, and so much more. When Ian and I bought our home, and I finally had some land for gardening, and I gained another thing in common with my grandmother. We used to talk about gardening and flowers. We use to go to the local nurseries together, to admire and to buy flowers for our yards. I don’t know how else to say it: RoRo showed her great love by giving gifts. Always. Until the end.

That is part of our story, however shallow it may seem. Eventually, I grew up enough to stop asking for gifts. Eventually, I learned that all I really needed was to spend time with her. It confused her when I didn’t want anything. I suppose I grew up; she maybe never understood that. Then, eventually, I grew up a little more; I realized she needed to give gifts.

I think she didn’t understand my parenting at times. She didn’t understand how I could let Lucas be in charge of his own hair. I think she maybe didn’t get Waldorf, or my no media rule, or my no-soda/little-sugar rules. She felt that children should be indulged, that life should be sweet. She loved my children deeply, and I tried to keep her up to date with their growth and shenanigans. She wanted cuddles, even when they didn’t want to cuddle her.

I will miss her very much now that RoRo is gone. But the truth is, I have been missing her for these last several years, while she became more confused and less like herself. She sometimes didn’t know who I was. She would have nightmares about being in charge of my children—they often were lost in the snow in her nightmares, and they needed rescuing. (I try not to worry about what kind of mom she thought I was, leaving my babies alone in the snow. Dreams are weird and I can’t think about that.)

This week has been tough. I thought I was prepared for her death, ready for it, resigned, mature, realistic—after all, she was 94. But it turns out I was not as prepared as I thought. It has hit me harder than I expected. I’ve been easily distracted and mopey. I have a difficult time concentrating right now.

At home, we have had a lot of good conversations as a family this week since her passing. My husband and sons have been very supportive, comforting me in many ways with my favorite foods, a marathon of “Avatar the Last Air Bender” shows, early-to-bed evenings, and, frankly, too much wine.

Asher is pragmatic about the whole thing.

“Are you still sad about grandma RoRo dying?” he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that her spirit is now free of the terrible sickness. I mean, now she can go into the world and see all the things we cannot see. … Like the insides of volcanoes.”

He is very wise for his 6 years.

Rose Anne Merkel

Anne Merkel, “RoRo” to family and friends, died Saturday after an extended illness. Anne was born to Otto and Josephine Mueller in 1919. She grew up in Sacramento with her three sisters, and graduated from San Juan High School. She was married to Gus Merkel until he passed away in 1962; they had two sons, William (Bill) and Michael (Mike).

With her sister, Nell Mueller, Anne owned the Hobby House (later the Graphic Hobby House) at the corner of Fulton and Marconi from 1957 until her retirement. Anne and Nell lived together for 35 years.

The most important things in Anne’s life were family and gardening, and shopping for both. She loved family gatherings, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. She enjoyed giving gifts to her extended family, which included Bill’s wife Sydney, Mike’s wife Julie, four grandchildren (Sara, Jonathan, Kevin, and Amy) and two great grandchildren (Lucas and Asher) as well as nieces and nephews. Anne could guess anyone’s size and was seldom wrong. Being surrounded by friends, new and old, gave her great joy. Her home was a warm and welcoming place—the more, the merrier. Easter was a wonderful occasion to celebrate in her garden, where friends and family would hunt for eggs and baskets. Flowers, especially roses, were her favorites, and until recent years she was an avid gardener. She passed her love of showy flowers to her son and granddaughter.

Anne was clever and admired for her crafting, which she did for numerous charities. Anne was a member of the ARC Patrons’ Club. She and her “Diamond Ladies” made many craft items that were sold on campus and supported scholarships. Anne also made elaborate Halloween costumes that were worn by many children over many years. Anne doted on children and babies.

Well known as an elegant and gracious host and a generous person, Anne will be deeply missed by all who knew her. She is predeceased by her mother and father, husband, and sisters Dorothy, Mary, and Nell. The family would like to thank her caregivers for their efforts in making Anne’s final days more pleasant.

Yesterday was RoRo’s funeral service. Due to longstanding, bitter battles within my extended family, I was terribly anxious in the days leading up to it, and it was a long, stressful, sad day. Ian was a rock for me and I’m so grateful to him. Somehow it was very important for my children to look nice. RoRo was always elegant, always fastidious. Usually, our casual dress or scruffy hair was a disappointment to her. Normally I wouldn’t care about that stuff, especially with regard to my children’s clothes, but yesterday we dressed up. My boys wore ties, slacks, and dress shoes: a small gift to RoRo.

Dad and Uncle Mike bought so many beautiful flowers for her service. My emotions are raw and I don’t know how to say how much I loved her, except with these: Roses for my grandmother.

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"Daybreak"

After the Rain

Birthday/May Day Roses

Farewell, RoRo. I will always love you.

And So It Turns

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I actually asked myself today, “where can I write about all these feelings I have to process them?”  Um … oh yeah! I have a blog.

It’s a full, exciting time and I am finding myself short on spare time. But, when I don’t write, I get kinda weird in the head, so I think it would be good for me to write more. This is a lesson I seem to have to relearn frequently.

Morning workout, 8-week fitness challenge, Waves Women

I’m back in the saddle with the whole exercise-for-fitness journey, which is my conflicted little hamster wheel. (It had been a long time since I was exercising regularly and I won’t bore anyone with the reasons why.) For the last seven weeks I’ve been going two mornings a week to a workout with a group of moms from our school. I call us the Waves Women, though our group has no official name. One lovely, enthusiastic lady recently became a personal trainer and she offered to whip us into shape in an eight-week program. I caught wind of this group a little late, but joined up. We’ve been exercising in the mornings in the park right next to the Waldorf school. The workouts at first were a little hard for me, but they’ve become much easier. And while I kind of hated it at first, as I have come to know these women better, I really have come to enjoy the whole experience. Because they are awesome. They show up and bellyache and laugh and try and modify and encourage each other. It’s very real and wonderful. (Many thanks to Black Francis for taking the photo above and letting me publish it here.)

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So, I would just like to say thank you to Meredith for giving her time and encouragement and energy, and thanks to all these super people for making this experience fun for me. Turns out I like working out with people I know!

I’ve also been doing a lot more walking and running lately. I’ve been walking with several friends semi-regularly and running a couple of times a week—but I had a cold for part of October and that slowed me down a bit. One day I walked 8 miles because I didn’t feel up to running, but walking was just right.

Good morning

It’s hard to go wrong when you can get out to places like this within just a few minutes. So, anyway … fitness. My motto right now is “Do more.” We’ll see where that takes me, but I can tell that I’m in a better place for it.

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This past weekend I acted as the officiant in the wedding of two dear friends. I was honored to be asked to do this work, and I am so happy for them. The whole thing was beautiful and I’m very pleased with how the ceremony turned out. Ian was the Best Man, and that meant that our boys were rather on their own for much of the day’s festivities. They were super good and I’m proud of them. There will probably be photos from the day floating about, but I confess I took none. I was too nervous before the ceremony to even think about getting out my camera or my phone.

Writing and performing this wedding ceremony has had me thinking a lot about love and commitment. About how two people can honor each other through time and changes and growth. How you continue to blend two lives in concert when people have differing needs and wants. I know that it takes work and patience and understanding. I know it takes open dialogue and discussion and that isn’t always pretty stuff. I know marriage includes a lot of unglamorous things that fall into the highly unsexy categories of “Daily Grind,” and “Working the Plan,” and “Roles.” I’m 18 years into my marriage and it’s frequently bewildering but always rewarding. It isn’t a fairytale, however, and no marriage can be—unless we’re talking about the kind of fairytale in which fingers get pricked and sacrifices are made and sometimes the woods are dark and scary.

Anyway, here’s what I know about love: It doesn’t fall from the sky or blossom at your feet without effort. You make it, and make it, and remake it, again and again, every day. You plant the seeds of love in a thousand little actions every day. What I don’t know about love and marriage is a lot longer than this paragraph, I’m sure.

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And now, about Halloween. I am feeling like I blew it this year. But I also know I don’t need to feel that way. I know that in the past I’ve set the bar for our Halloween costumes pretty high, and this year—well, the wedding and my work ate up Halloween. We will still go trick-or-treating. We will still see friends and enjoy our spooky night. Our kids will end up wearing something. Lucas has taken point on his assassin costume. He’s relaxed about it, and not worried about it being fantastic. Asher is going as a potion maker, and we have found a couple of items at the thrift store and he’ll carry with him tiny bottles of colored potions. That’s all his idea and I don’t have to control it. Right? Right.

I love Halloween, and I will have other opportunities to go mad about it. Just not this year. And that’s OK.

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So, maybe this post is about starting again, about continuing to try, about compromise and doing the good work, and about forgiveness. Maybe.

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  • About Sara

    Thanks for visiting! I'm Sara, editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother of two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster. This is where I write about living, loving, and engaging fully in family life and the world around me. I let my hair down here. I learn new skills here. I strive to be a better human being here. And I tell the truth.

    Our children attend Waldorf school and we are enriching our home and family life with plenty of Waldorf-inspired festivals, crafts, and stories.

    © 2003–2017 Please do not use my photographs or text without my permission.

    "Love doesn't just sit there like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new." —Ursula K. LeGuinn

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