Yes, I know it’s June 1 today but this post is full of May flowers that I’ve collected over the last few weeks. What’s crazy is that at this very moment, it’s hailing and pouring rain. This is not the sort of weather that summer roses are accustomed to around here. Yet perhaps I can conjure summer with these beauties. Above are “popcorn” roses at Mom and Dad’s house.

Bearded iris

Lilac dipping low over the swimming pool

Mom’s perfect calla lily

“Daybreak” rose

Zany gazania

Coastal California poppies and other wildflowers

Sunny ice plant

“The Earth laughs in flowers.”  —Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is some of Asher’s most recent art. The top is an oil pastel he calls “Map to Burning Man.” We are not allowed to call it a drawing, or art. It’s A MAP. It’s also the first time I’ve seen any ladder (or train track) in his work.

Then, just a day or two later, he made this one—all ladders. These are considered to be a sign that a child is becoming ready to write.

Wednesday evening he sat in my lap while I was editing on the computer. He wanted to draw, so I handed him the second page of my SMUD bill with lots of blank white space, which was on my desk and within reach. After a moment, he pointed to his paper, which was still mostly blank. “Mom, is this an 8?” He face lit up when I said yes. And then he carefully drew several more.

We all love to dance, but somehow it was our younger son who galvanized this passion into a family ritual. We didn’t set out to make it a regular part of our family life, but before long it was. We hold After-Dinner Discos—dance parties for four that let us all cut loose for a while and get the dishes done. They are one of my favorite family activities.

We finish dinner around 7 p.m. on most nights. My boys go to bed at 8 and they usually shower before bed. Most of the time, we have a lovely 10- or 15-minute window after dinner and we crank up the music and boogie. When the daylight stretches longer into the evening, I confess we party even more, and our dancing spills out into the backyard under the sky.

What kind of music, you ask? Truly, it’s not lyres and pentatonic flutes. The music we play depends on a lot of things: What mood are we in? Is it a night near a holiday? Have we been talking about anything over dinner that brings to mind a song, a style, or a period of history?

Around St. Patrick’s Day, we all kick up our heels to the Pogues, Black 47, and the Chieftains. During Christmas time, we enjoy the Pandora online radio station called “Christmas Lounge.” At Diwali, we might put on some Bollywood film music. We dance to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra and Aretha Franklin. We shake our booties to Lady Gaga, Cher, and Pink. My older son loves the White Stripes. The little guy loves the Beatles, Bob Marley, and Shakira. I’m fond of Michael Franti and OK Go, and Sting’s music has always been close my heart. My husband is a true musical aficionado, and he always has a fine suggestion for us. Perhaps it feels like ’80s night, or maybe a little big band music fits the bill. We sometimes play a CD called “AM Radio Hits of the ’70s.” Maybe it’s time for some Goa trance or techno. Did you know you could party to a fabulous, techno remix of an autotuned Carl Sagan lecture called “A Glorious Dawn” by Symphony of Science?

My younger son, who is now 4, feels music in his very bones. He’s really got moves, and he’s serious about it, too. He works on a new dance move for a while until he gets it to where it feels just right, to where it’s a facile part of his physical repertoire. Then he works on the next thing. Sometimes I see him mimicking one of us, working out how to make his body do the same thing. There’s no instruction of any kind, and it’s not mechanical or rigid—it’s just a natural learning about his body in space, how it feels to move through the air or place his feet just so. You should see his rock star power slide on his knees.

And he is driven to dancing to just about anything. Beethoven and Mozart work just as well for him as Katy Perry. When the spirit moves him, there’s no standing on the sidelines allowed: “Dance! Mama, Dance!” If I let a little too much of my attention stray to cleaning up our dinner mess, I hear about it. “Mama! You’ve gotta dance with me!” And heaven forbid I’m feeling under the weather. “Mama, I know what will make you better. Let’s dance!”

My older son’s dancing has changed over the years. The carefree quality of his young childhood is moving away gradually. Now, at 9 years old, he sometimes performs Eurhythmy he has learned in school, or attempts some fancy footwork, like a made-up jig or tap routine. He likes to head-bang to electric guitars (which pleases Daddy to no end), and I’ve caught my son playing the air guitar more than a few times. More often than not, these days, my older son’s dancing is morphing into a kind of acrobatic martial art of his own invention, with high kicks and blocking stances. He spins, punches, and dodges imaginary assailants in time to the music.

Before I had children, I used to imagine I’d one day be one of those moms who drives her daughters to frequent ballet lessons. I don’t do that (although if my sons asked, I would). Having boys doesn’t mean I can’t share the gift of music and dance with them, no matter the cultural forces that suggest that boys don’t dance. What better way is there to bring our family together after our long days than to crank up the tunes, revel in our bodies’ abilities, and express ourselves through dance? To get our hearts pumping and put smiles on our faces? What better way is there to have fun and celebrate life?

… make me happy.

We’ve had a very rainy, floody spring, but finally some plants in my garden are really starting to look good again. Some spots still look like hell; naturally, I don’t feature those in photos. This area above, where we planted ground covers last spring, took a beating both from the summer heat and the flooding rains. But these little plants seem to be trying to make a comeback. This is called chocolate mint ajuga.

I have one, solitary California poppy and I love it. These come back year after year and I’d love to have more of them.

This spectacular flower is a fancy poppy—oriental? I don’t know for sure. I planted a bunch of seeds last spring, but it seems only two plants grew. Still, this is a showstopper and I’m inspired to try again.

My white dogwood is getting big. This picture was from a week or so ago. Now the tree’s blossoms are fully white and big. I love them in all of their stages, though. I thought this tree was going to be a pink dogwood and it took a few years for it to start blooming and reveal it’s true nature. As it is not a pink dogwood, I have resolved to have another pink tree in the backyard.

My two purple robe locust trees are blooming like mad now, and the biggest, fattest black bees are buzzing around them constantly. These trees grow so fast and tall—I like that in a tree, given I’m not fond of waiting.

Mint. Some people hate the stuff, but I think it’s so pretty and useful. It’s wonderful to walk outside and pluck some leaves for iced tea or lemonade, or for a special garnish. My children walk past this plant and pick leaves to munch on.

This is my new dogwood, which we are planting for Earth Day. It is, in fact, very pink. The variety is called Cherokee Chief.

There’s other stuff blooming as well, like Spanish lavender, which is a great investment for its extended blooming time, and azaleas, which bloom only in March/April/May. The scarlet verbena is blooming nicely now, but I have to admit the hens’ scratching about has made the verbena look a bit scraggly. My watercolors rose is gorgeous, and the hybrid teas are in bud. All of the daylily transplants I did seem to have taken off. They’re still small, but surviving! This is great news for me because I have lots of mature plants that can be split and spread about into blank areas of the yard. This was my first time dividing them and I’m encouraged to do more of this. Free flowers!

Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Inspired by SouleMama {this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

I’ve been so busy that I’ve not had a lot of time to write lately. But while I’ve been working, spring has sprung! I did sneak away with Asher last week to visit the Sacramento Waldorf School farm in the late afternoon.

We wanted to see the black butterflies on the yellow flowers …

the seedlings in the pyramid greenhouse …

Princess the pony, grazing by the American River …

rows and rows of glowing lettuces …

Honalea, the school cow …

calla lilies growing in the shade …

But most of all, we went to see the baby lambs, Milkshake and Licorice. Asher says, “They are a-DOH-able.”

Happy spring!

With a little break in the weather, we were able to let the chicks out to graze a bit. This was only their second time outside in this pen. The first time we could only get six of the nine of them to come outside. The others were being too chicken.

This is pretty Buttercup (“As you wish!”). Remember how I used to despair that we would never be able to tell Buttercup apart from Sunshine because they looked so similar? Well, look at the top photo. Sunshine has a much taller, redder comb and the beginnings of red wattles. Buttercup’s comb is still yellow. I sense trouble of the cock-a-doodle-doo type brewing.

And this one, Chestnut, isn’t very chestnut-colored anymore. The feathers are coming in black and white. This bird is extremely aggressive (loves to play the Jump on Your Head game and bumps chests with Sunshine), which makes me wonder if this might be a male, too.

I put these blankets atop the pen for two reasons: I don’t want any hawks getting any big ideas about eating my chicks, and also, I don’t want my chicks flying out of the pen. I don’t think it would be very easy to catch them back up again and I don’t know if they have sense enough not to run off.

Whenever I go to the chicks’ pen inside our garage, Lightning flies up to sit on me. Many of the chicks gather around me or jump up on me. Perhaps some imprinting has happened.  Lightning always wants to cuddle.

Firefly is still sequestered in the house. She is doing great and seems recovered, but she’s still much smaller than the other chicks, so we don’t feel she’s ready to be with them yet. I am hoping she will grow, grow, grow. Ultimately size isn’t everything when it comes to a pecking order, as sometimes tiny Bantam hens can be bossy, but it’s often a factor—or so I read.

I should be working. That’s pretty much all I’ve been doing for the last several days now. I’m pushing hard to meet a deadline.

But, as you can see, it’s a damn fine day outside! The sun is out!

After all the rain we’ve had over the last several weeks, including freezing winds and hail, these signs of spring are so welcome to my winter-and-computer-sore eyes.

My yard is full of contradiction right now. There is vast devastation from the record rainfall—well, that’s probably too dramatic. What I mean is there are large areas in my yard that flooded, so they are mucky and muddy, with displaced planter bark everywhere it shouldn’t be. Many of my plants look like hell still, from winter freezes.

And yet, there are spots like these that are regrowing, emerging, blooming, and declaring yes, indeed. Spring is here!

It may be tentative. It may be tender and vulnerable. But it is tenacious. And I feel heartened.