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Head, Heart, and Hands

Thinking that no matter how simple I think my life is, there is always room for still more simplicity. How even when I have dedicated myself fully to this work of homemaking, I can be tempted by ambitions and the big ideas that seem in alignment with the values I believe in, seem worthy and good, and yet are not right for this season of life. They are too much, too soon, and pull me away from my center, rather than growing out of that grounded place where I try to live. Thinking that sometimes I just have to go along for the ride, and enjoy finding myself back where I started, wiser and with renewed commitment. That said,  I should add that sometimes it is the right time to stretch and take on more. Perhaps the indicator of whether or not something is in the flow or not should be how much sleep one loses over it. In my case, big plans were scrapped for simpler ones, and my how sweet the sleep is these days!

Feeling grateful and relieved when I remember that who I am and what I’m doing is just right. It is enough. In fact, it’s amazing. Feeling blessed and connected by the small rituals of the day: pouring dish water into the garden by hand, several times a day (thank you Erin for reminding me that sometimes the smallest acts are the most meaningful); singing the songs that the little one loves best; and every so often, spending five minutes in something kin to stillness, save for prayer and thanksgiving. I’m also feeling so relaxed, in this moment, about motherhood. I’m both grateful for  all the work I’ve done to reach this place, and wondering why I had to take it so seriously, to make it so hard. I came across this quote in an interview at The Wonder of Childhood:   “The parents are working hard. If they aren’t working hard to make the money, the parents are working hard to be PERFECT.” Gah. Just as our children are blossoming in their time, growing into themselves in their lovely way, so are we. Time to take it easy, mamas! Sit back and watch your garden bloom.

Doing a lot of spinning on my Navajo spindle. After a year of thinking I’d never learn to use it, that perhaps when I was an old Grandma the time would be right, a friend sat down and showed me and within five minutes I was on my way. Amazing how something can be both so complicated and simple. And so dang fun to do while the children bumble around the yard like drunk bees. Also tending the gardens, planting and transplanting, watching for rain, reading about wishes and wabi sabi, revisiting an old writing project, setting the sourdough to rise, holding little ones, and accepting the mess that goes along with all this as a sign of a life well lived. Oh, and still searching for the last mitten or two needing to be stored…

What are your head, heart, and hands up to these days? I really wish you’d say…

Thanks for visiting and have a lovely day!

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Confluence: On Creativity and Motherhood

Last month, my e-friend and mothering and soapmaking mentor, Renee of FIMBY, published a wonderful e-book called Nurturing Creativity: A Guide for Busy Moms. This little book is my cup of tea: inspiring, rejuvenating, down to earth, and only three bucks. It’s like manna, royal jelly, and super blue green algae all mixed up into a power bar for the creative soul. Yup, that nourishing. She writes, “My dream for this book is to tend the garden of your creative spirit.” And it’s true. This book is like a rich load of compost followed by a long soaking rain (or a week of sun, for those of you non-desert dwellers). While she was writing this book, Renee asked me and a few other bloggers about our experience balancing creativity and motherhood. She was looking for about a hundred words on some specific questions, but once I started writing I found I had a great deal to say on the subject. This the gist of it:

Confluence

Before I had children, I spent much of my time crafting poetry and fiction and nonfiction. In those days, I believed that writing was the most creative and important thing I could do with my time. When I was pregnant for the first time and just wanted to sit and dreamily crochet granny squares for a baby blanket, it felt almost like a waste of my creative energy. Shouldn’t I be doing something “real” like writing a poem? A good friend reminded me that however lovely it was, my poem would be virtually unread, while the granny squares would keep an infant warm. “How could that be a waste of time?” she asked me. Eventually I made peace with the question by writing a poem about crocheting a blanket for my unborn babe.

In the years since I have become a mother my creative life exists in the confluence of two streams that seemingly contradict each other. Out here in the West we have hot springs that send warm water into cold rivers. Imagine it as kind of like that. Except one of these creative streams has been Letting Go, and one has been Holding On.

Letting Go

The Letting Go Stream has been the release of my old ideas of what it means to be creative. No longer can I accept the idea that to be a writer one must write every day, for a certain amount of time. Or that I am only legitimate when I write a poem every week, or a few hundred words a day. As I let go of those notions out of necessity, I found that motherhood opened up a vastly more creative world for me.

How could it not, when every act in my daily life—from birthing and nurturing two daughters, to cooking our daily sustenance from simple ingredients, to keeping our home beautiful, to actively creating a positive outlook and being curious about the world around me—is a creative act. In fact, I have a hunch that while I might have to wait a few more years to complete my next book (and I feel the pull to do that strong as ever, even if it is simmering on the back burner), I will remember these years with small children as the most creative in my life.

Holding On

Because I am (like you) a complex creature, the other stream flowing through my life in the last few years has been the Holding On Stream. This is the one that reminds me that This Is It—my one life to live. Having a child and then another made me realize that I couldn’t wait to someday sit down and write a book—it had to be something I made room for and nurtured, or else I was truly at risk of losing my voice. And while it may not always be possible to have a regular, steady practice of writing, I can nourish my writer self by reading great writing, by keeping a freehand journal when I can’t work at the computer, by letting creativity not be defined as only one thing, but as a way of life.

It hasn’t always seemed this way. I have felt at times like I was sacrificing my writing self for motherhood (never mind that my first book was conceived at the same time as my first child, and born the same month as my second). I had a lot of old ideas about how much I should write and how disciplined I should be. Looking back I see that they did very little to motivate me, and a lot to hold me back.

While I was feeling guilty for not writing poems or chapters in my half-done novel about a tree pruner in 19th century New Mexico, I was busy with all kinds of other things. I embraced the domestic arts—things women have done for ages to bring creativity and beauty into their lives. Things that can easily be done alongside a child. I have taught myself to sew and knit, and make much of my children’s clothing. I sing and tell stories. I make toys: dolls, stuffed animals, books. I write Old Recipe. I bring together a circle of friends for a mothers’ circle each month. I have grown into a much more holistic view of creativity, and see it flowering in every part of my life as a homemaker. Writing continues to be essential food for my soul, but the diet has become more varied.

Like a Garden’s Seasons

Creativity comes from the joy of creating. It is a natural outpouring of a healthy life. And, it should not be a constant. Like the earth itself, our creative energy needs time to rest and lie fallow, while new seeds germinate and begin to grow. And so I accept that the creative spirit will move me when it does, and be ready to receive it when it comes.

While I go through long periods of not even keeping a journal, I also have intense phases of writing thousands of words a day. I no longer judge either of these times as good or bad. I welcome them both for the gifts they bring. If I feel especially in alignment with my sense of purpose when writing, I trust that the times in between are fueling that creativity in essential ways.

Eventually, the little seeds inside me go in search of light. I am filled with ideas and inspiration, and move naturally back into a rhythm that includes space for me to work alone.

And slowly, I find myself surrounded by handmade things. Slowly, I find new stories coming to life, new ideas that want to be manifested. I find myself in the midst of a beautiful and surprising renaissance, where every act is a creative act.

::

To read my simple technique for making time to be creative, you’ll have to get Nurturing Creativity. Which I assure you has much, much more to offer than my little bit of advice.

To see a little of my poetry in action, leave a comment in this giveaway for a new poetry anthology I am included in.

And do tell me, how has the confluence of creativity and motherhood shaped your life and work?

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Garden + Poems = Giveaway

“Read these poems and feel the rich earth crumbling between your fingers, see the precious seed covered over with dirt, hear the prayer on your lips asking for rain.” —Richard Vargas

“This collection will inspire you to grow chiles, follow an acequia, call an old friend, hold someone’s hand, watch your children sleep, try out Grandma’s recipes, bake bread from scratch, pick weeds in the Bosque and more.” —Stephanie Dobbie

I am honored to have a handful of poems included in How to: multiple perspectives on creating a garden, a life, relationships, and community, the latest poetry anthology from Albuquerque’s Harwood Art Center. It is a celebration of land, relationships, community, and heritage, all told through the metaphor of gardening.

It also happens to be so good that I want all of you to read it. But I only have one extra copy.

So, in honor of Poetry Month, and the land you live on, whether or not you call it a garden, and in honor of you, my dear readers, whether or not you call yourself a poet or gardener, it is my pleasure to give away a copy of this genius little book.

To win, please leave a comment (just say hi if you like) by clicking on that little talk bubble at the top of this post. Giveaway ends Sunday, April 22.

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On the Open Road

We fired up the old bus, Miss Shelley, for a springtime tour of the land. Up and down mesas, along dirt roads and highways and foot-trails we went, getting a little lost, but even more found.

 A night on the banks of the mighty Pecos river, doves singing in the willows, children playing in the dirt, light falling in unexpected ways, a burst of rain, an old lowrider cruising slowly past the cows.

Back in time to the old red rock villages hiding like forgotten gems in the piñon juniper scrub. Past acequias flowing full, and freshly tilled fields flooded with that snowmelt bounty.

We’ve traveled this stretch of land many times, but each time we crest the horizon it is to find the mountains and mesas opening anew, bigger than before. There are layers upon layers of history to peel back, roots to sink deeper, stories to discover and tell.

When we pause to listen and look, or at least travel very slowly (as Miss Shelley loves to do), it all comes pouring forth.

We’re Universe in a Grain of Sand people, my husband likes to say. Oh, New Mexico, you might be sandy, but you are home.

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Adorning the Birthday Ring

I always wanted one of these charming birthday rings for our birthday table, but the sheer number of parts–and the price tag they added up to–gave me pause. Then a dear friend gave me a spare ring. With a birthday coming, I set to work figuring out how to adorn it for, oh, about five bucks. And I thought some of you might like to hear how I did it.

First, I should say that I did consider buying the decorations, which are wooden and quite charming and no doubt worth the investment. But while bargain hunting (and getting heart burn from the thought of *gasp* buying something ready made) I came upon this tutorial on making your own. I have been in a stash busting mood when it comes to my wool felt collection, and so this was a win-win.

My husband, enrolled as the engineering brains behind this project, found flat mushroom top pegs in one of those many drawers filled with handy little things at the hardware store. They would provide the base for our ornaments. He drilled tiny holes in them to feed 22 gauge brass wire through. The tutorial I linked to above used  3/4 inch dowel sawed to size with a pushpin-made hole to hold the wire. Either way you are looking at some tool use.

Also, the holes in our birthday ring are actually not quite 3/4 inch wide, so there was a bit of sanding to open them up more. Nothing the Man of the Place couldn’t handle, and I probably could have done it too. But I had lady bugs and flowers to cut out.

 I used two layers of felt for each symbol, glued together around wire armatures threaded through the peg and bent to the shape of the felt to hold it all in place. We used regular craft glue, and left them overnight to dry.

I recommend keeping the shapes small, and the total height of the ornaments about 4 inches.

Insert sigh of satisfaction and relief.

There is an edge of fire hazard to felted decorations on a candle holder, so use good sense, always keep an eye on it, and if in doubt, blow it out!

The ring and brass candle cups came from here, where you can also buy the wooden decorations and beeswax candles if you like. The wool felt came from here.

Oh, and you could also get super crafty and make decorations for different seasonal festivals…

And lest you think I went totally uber mother for this birthday, let me just say our gift to the little birthday girl was bought new, something that is almost unheard of in these parts and has so far brought all of us joy unfettered by heartburn. Sometimes you just have to know when to spend and when to tap into your inner riches of creative abundance (and too much felt).

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Repairing a Broken World

The hebrew expresion “Tikkun Olam” literally means “to repair the world.” Ideologically it suggests a wholehearted acceptance of the world’s brokenness along with our ability to repair it, or at least our ability to try. It does not point to a particular time or transgression. It does not cast blame. It does not indulge the notion of absolute good or evil. It simply accepts that we live in a broken world and and can, or should (if and when we are ready), reach towards its repair. —Harriet Fasenfest, The Householders Guide to the Universe

I have learned a great deal of humility as I grow in my ability to join our collective repairing of this broken world.

I have at times found myself at a loss to define what “repairing” looks like to me. On the one hand I am impatient with small things like switching to cloth napkins (though please do it if you haven’t yet), and yet it can also take me a very long time to do something as basic as making my own household cleaning solutions. What’s more, as a high achiever, I’m drawn to the dramatic, all or none No Impact Man style changes. Eat only local food! Grow it all! No plastic! Don’t buy anything! No car! Repent!

Sigh.

When our family ended our plastic fast, I felt like a failure for returning to a relatively “normal” life. Still, I knew I had to go in search of balance, and so I surrendered my idea of what I should be doing. I focused my attention on nurturing my family and myself. I learned how to breathe through temper tantrums, to knit and sew, to discover how abundant life on a small single income can be. I carried on with my garden, with milking goats once a week, with hanging the laundry on the line, with building friendships and connection with my community.

I grew and grew and grew.

And the other day I looked around my kitchen and saw that yes, there are plenty of little bits of plastic packaging and such, but actually not very much. We have organically grown away from once ingrained patterns and habits of consumption. While the rules of our fast did foster amazing change and insight in a short period, over the last few years we’ve naturally come to embody that change more fully, more authentically.

For me, a big part of this repair work is an inner repair, one that moves beyond a Type-A Save the World mentality, and towards something infinitely more mysterious.

When we open our hearts to living in a way that strives towards repair, it is our own brokenness that is mended. That must be the first step, for it is our own healing that will guide us to heal the world we inhabit. We have a lot of learning and remembering to do. Just that is enough to fuel our spirits for the good work before us, as we discover the goodness of what it means to create things by hand, to grow things, to lift our voices in song, to really love and nurture, to be whole.

Sometimes it happens by accident. We begin with an action to heal the world, and find ourselves changed for the better. That’s good, too.

Here is something I never thought I’d say out loud: It doesn’t matter what you are doing. It doesn’t matter if you are doing big things or little things, nothing or everything. What matters is that we are all finding our way back to that wholeness. And changing the world from there.

Because I am at home, and it suits my nature, I do what I am doing. Mind the children. Search for beauty. Meet as many of our needs as I can by creating and repairing. Grow a few more vegetables every year, gather herbs from the mountains. Get a little more skilled at all this, a little less awkward. Not worry so much about what other people are or are not doing. Or if anyone is noticing what I’m doing.

So we raise our families and our gardens. We grow out of our radical youths. We may or may not get rid of the car, or have a solar panel array, or ever quite quit plastic. But we do get much better at many things, and also much humbler. Our work of repairing turns out to be about building a new way of life, rather than simply dismantling the old one.

And that will keep us busy for now.

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Clean House 1-2-3!

Here is my revolutionary three-step plan to a mess-proof house:

Step 1: Pick up the Mess.

Step 2: Get rid of It.

Step 3: Repeat until the mess is composed entirely of things you can’t live without, or consists of things that are pleasingly wabi sabi in their strewn glory.

I first got hard core about decluttering when I was pregnant with #2. For my birthday that year I told my husband all I wanted was get rid of 1/3 of our possessions. That meant: one teapot, two dozen cloth napkins, forty books, a garbage bag of clothes, a sleeping bag, and on and on. And on.

That was almost two years ago, and I’m still peeling back layers of stuff and excess.

My children charmingly believe that play is basically imaginative emptying of every possible receptacle in the house: cupboards, drawers, toy chest, sewing box, yarn stash, garbage can. I don’t want to keep them from what is no doubt healthy development but nor do I want to have high blood pressure.

So, I’m just getting rid of it all.

Just curious–does this look like a lot of toys to you, or a little?

A friend of mine is an especially inspiring de-clutterer. She says that she has yet to reach the point where she feels like she’s done enough. I did once get rid of too many spoons, but perhaps it’s a sign that I should pare down on knives and forks.

I de-clutter because it makes my house more beautiful and because it makes my life simpler. The constant picking up and putting away of our detritus takes a tremendous amount of energy from me. Our belongings take mental, physical, and emotional energy to care for. As we get rid of stuff, we are freed in surprising ways.

Where toys go when mama gets tired of picking them up. Visitation is allowed. The bottom floor is kept clear as a hidey hole.

Currently in the Out Box: Anything that annoys me, including, but not limited to

  • Small toys formerly stored in cute baskets. Things that seem to exist for the sole purpose of dumping on the ground and scattering.
  • Play kitchen food and utensils. One or two pots seem sufficient. Food can be found in the real kitchen.
  • Clothing. Out of season clothing, wrong size clothing, excess right size clothing, kid clothing only one or another of the mother-daughter dyad likes, but not both of us. It’s all outta here.
  • Crafting supplies: fabric, yarn, thread, notions. Too much of a good thing is still too much.
  • Books. I have officially reached the point in my Letting Go of Stuff phase where I can part with books. Mostly on the outs are novels and anything I haven’t gotten around to reading despite years of having on the shelf. I’m trying to think of my bookshelves as a curated collection.
  • Children’s books.  We own only a very small collection of special books. The rest come from the library in batches of ten or so at a time. (most of them ones we cycle through repeatedly) ensures that they are all treasured, and enjoyed, not to mention actually read.
Amazing things happen with this bare-bones kitchen.
Wait, there’s more!
  • Animal magnets on the fridge. Under the stove is more like it.
  • Linens–we just don’t need two dozen washcloths, I’ve found. Two sets of flannel sheets per bed keep us cozy year round.
  • Winter clothes. Crafty mamas are in extreme danger of drowning their family in handknits, and we need to help each other be strong against the well meaning onslaught of booties and pilot hats. If you have less of this stuff, you are less likely to lose them in the mountain of gear inside the front closet. Be fearless. And only make it if you really need it.
  • Mama-made toys that don’t get played with. This would be the cardboard barn and hand-knitted menagerie of farm animals, the adorable wee felt folk, the felt balls, the stuffed bunnies, the amigarumi bird family. Perhaps someday when there’s nothing else left, they will be treasured. For now, they are just too hard to dust to keep on the toy shelf.
 I say all this to wish you courage in making your home a place that takes care of you as much as you take care of it. Many blessings on each batch of no longer needed things that moves on to grace another family’s life. Here’s a little chanty for while you work~
Free the heart, let it go.
What we reap is what we sow.
Ps–I noticed Simplemom is in the midst of another Project Simplify. Check it out.
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Yarn Along

Joining in again!

We’ve been so happy that our library got Pocketful of Posies, a book of nursery rhymes by one of our favorite’s, Salley Mavor. It is such a feast for the eyes! (I loved the illustrations in another book she did, In the Heart, so much that it inspired a whole “line” of repurposed  and embroidered woolen clothes like the ones in the book.) The link on her name takes you to all her books.

 I believe so strongly that fostering literacy begins not with letters but literature. And for very small children, that means lots of verses.  It’s been hard to find a beautiful collection that doesn’t feature animals dressed as people, and save for This little piggy went to market, this book delivers. Gorgeous illustrations you will want to step right into, and a perfect assortment of our favorite rhymes with many new ones, too.

In knitting news I take back my words about size one needles–this bonnet turned out to be easy and fun and fast. I’d show you a pic of Maida wearing it but a) it would be so cute your computer might freeze up, and b) she’s asleep. So my third little baby here was kind enough to model. The pattern is DROPS bonnet in “Fabel.” It’s darling.

I’m also reading Unconditional Parenting at long last. So good to finally read the book that has indirectly had such a huge influence on my parenting, both inspiring and at times confusing me. I’ve really been mulling over this line:

“The reasons we parent as we do might be said to fall into roughly four categories: what we see and hear, what we believe, what we feel, and, as a result of those, what we fear.”

Hmmm.

Think I’ll pick my knitting back up to think about that some more.

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One Year Later: Remembering Birth

One year ago, around today, I was getting ready to have my second baby. Oh, I’d been waiting and waiting and waiting. Wanting that birth to come more than anything. And you know what? It just wasn’t coming.

My due date came and went. Then two more weeks passed by. I did everything I knew how, but my cervix was unbudging.

Acupuncture three times a week and hardly even a braxton hicks. In New Mexico, 42 weeks is as far as you can go and still have a homebirth. Oh, how I wanted a homebirth. Specifically, a homebirth after cesarean. Oh, how I grieved when I had to let go of that. And oh, how scared I was that another hospital birth would mean another cesarean.

My midwife called our local hospital and was told they wouldn’t induce me for a VBAC. It would pretty much be an automatic cesarean. So she called this Doc in Albuquerque who is known for delivering breech babies and other old school things. He said come on down. I was so happy for the glimmer of hope he offered. And so scared. Could I really be going to be induced again? The same procedure that had ended so disastrously last time?

 My dear friend had wise words for me then, about how this was not the same road leading to the same place I’d already been. She said, sometimes life gives us experiences that are remarkably like things we have been challenged by before, only we get to meet them with fresh wisdom and strength. I began to see this journey as one of healing as well as a birth. Whatever lay before me, I would rise to meet it as a love warrior, with an open and courageous heart.

Nevertheless, I whined to the doc, “My cervix is unpoenable!” He looked like a scruffy gnome with his long hair and beard and Navajo bolo. He was unphased. “It might take a few days, but I see no  hurry,” he said. And that was when I knew we were going to be okay (I wasn’t paying attention to the three days part).

It helped me to see myself not as a victim of pitocin, having an especially painful labor due to pharmaceutical augmentation. Instead, I just reminded myself I was in labor. This was my labor. Mine. And nobody said labor was easy (okay, maybe those hypnobirthing people do, but I wasn’t there for easy, I was there to have a baby!).

I stood swaying on my feet, leaning against a hospital table, moaning like a howler monkey. For oh, about 18 hours. Doctor checked me and said “Great news! You’re 3 cm!” And I did celebrate, just a little. After all, my cervix had never been 3 cm open before! But then I started doing labor math and figured out I had about 40 more hours to go, and began planning my epidural. But hey, if you can get through the first three years of motherhood without tv, then surely you can get through a 26 hour labor without an epidural, right? Not to be blithe about it, though, because I surely did scream for it after they broke my water and things got a-rolling for real.

My husband shooed away the anesthesiologist, pulled me back onto my feet, and we got down to the real work of having a baby. It was at that moment the tide shifted and I knew I was going to have this baby naturally, right there on my two feet. And I was so glad that hypnobirthing never worked for me because this was amazing. And harder than shit. I don’t like to curse, but it’s true. Birth is so hard and so so good.

The nurses kept telling me “You’re having your baby!” And I was like, oh, so that’s what’s happening. Because it just doesn’t seem possible that anyone could feel like that and survive. And to think every person ever to live on this planet was brought into the world in some way resembling this–it just boggles the mind. It felt amazing to be a part of all that. I was having my baby!

Things were cruising now. We were in, swept away and carried by the birth. Through transition, my body pushing of its own accord.

Doc asked, could a few med students come in and watch; they’d never seen a natural birth. Ha, this was not the candle lit water birth I’d dreamed of–this was better. It was my birth! Let them come in, I said. Let the whole world witness my might! My husband held me in a supported squat. The doctor knelt on the floor and delivered her onto blankets.

And so Maida was born.

 My child, bringing you into the world was the first gift you gave me.
My heart is full with you!
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Notes on the New Year

Hi Friends, Happy New Year!

I’ve missed you. I wish I could say hello here more often, and am glad you come by for when I do.

These days I’ve been:

::Resting. Home from a big family Christmas, it has been blissful to be back in our sweet little house, reclaiming our rhythms. I am so aware these days of how completely this humble space nurtures us.

::Resting also my hands and mind. December was low key enough, but still so goal oriented–things to make, to do, to feel. It’s been nice to sit idle, to gestate creativity and action through that stillness. It’s amazing to watch myself go from low inspiration and energy to slowly building until I can’t help myself, it’s time for things to happen again. This post case in point (though it’s taken over a week to complete!).

::Reveling in my new found love of La Dishwasher. Our kitchen sink is totally out of commission since my husband banged on the faucet in a moment of angst (it was leaking) and snapped it straight off. So we now have a hole that water sprays out of, and I load the dishwasher and it is, seriously, a revolution. And amazing to see how much less water gets used, which is a polite way of saying how nice it is to not be washing dishes all day.

::Practicing staying warm, not just with our hats and woolens and slippers (though keeping the kids well dressed is a practice of sorts) but with my thoughts and actions. Meeting my work as mother with tenderness and love, pausing more often to actively cherish the girls and Man of the Place, to let my heart overflow a little bit more through my words and touch. It’s not like I didn’t do these things before, but since I’ve turned up the thermostat (so to speak), I’ve noticed that my older daughter is especially calmer, more secure, and centered. And I’m happier, too, able to meet my day with more cheer and patience.

::Wondering how to be more cheerful and patient when the three year old starts whining and the one year old is crying and we’re all trying to get out the door but I can’t find the keys and my tea spills and then someone gets pushed and…has anyone figured that one out yet?

::Planning a deep winter cleaning and organizing and de-cluttering extravaganza. This post at Clean says exactly what I’ve been feeling about this. I’ve made a list of all the places that need to be sorted and cleared, and will dedicate Fridays of my housekeeping rhythm towards those efforts.

::Marveling that not only have I learned to knit and sew (against the odds, people!) in the last few years, but there are many days when my girls are dressed almost entirely in clothes I made…many of them re-purposed out of thrifted tees and woolens. I wouldn’t call it high fashion, but there is something very charming  and old fashioned about it.

::That said, I’m feeling so over knitting!  Note to self: Never knit on less than size 8 (10?) needles. Avoid purling whenever possible. Knit in the round whenever possible. Only two projects at a time, please! No cables, no counting. Ever. At least not until I’m a grandma. Cora’s little maxi dress (above) is about the perfect pattern for me these days. Maida is wearing Swing Thing.

::Feeling grateful for our time walking the land as a family, where our bodies and minds and spirits are renewed and our bonds with each other and our home land can grow stronger. Have you been getting out enough?

::And especially grateful for my community, the inspiration and discoveries I make here in the blog world, as well as the sweet ties growing ever stronger with my real world circle of friends. Especially the ones that gather around a kitchen table one night a week to craft and talk–oh that is my greatest pleasure (and they are on their way over right now)!

::Opening to the unknown life waiting for us to step into it–the discoveries to make, the passions to pursue, the growth that will happen. The books I’ll read, the things I’ll cook, the garden that we’ll grow, the travels still to come, the songs yet to be sung…

::

 Thanks for coming by, all. I treasure sharing this journey with you.

Tell me, what are you doing these days?