Live Free

 

My dear grandma, Cecile, passed away a couple of weeks ago.  She left such a mark on my life.  At five feet tall, she prodded through her yard and barnyard wearing work boots, tending to plants, chickens, and everything in between. She wore her gray hair wild and free. She was stubborn as a mule. She had a soft spot for border collies and persnickety cats. She processed her own chickens up until old age.  She woke each morning before the birds and always had a perculator of coffee on the stove top and a rocking chair to sway in. I grew up spending Sunday afternoons sitting at the foot of her kitchen hearth, listening to the adults in my family catch up on the week's happenings speaking in Cajun, their French dialect. I tried to understand, but mostly I didn't. 

Losing my grandma is like losing the very last straw of childhood. There is now a finality to those early years of my life. All of those family dinners under their backyard oak trees. The Magnolia tree I loved to climb and how my grandma use to hang her shade plants from its limbs. The cistern faucets were we'd help ourselves to drinking water  and to fill up basins to wash dishes outside in the afternoon after a big family dinner. The turkeys gobbling and the kids gobbling back. The mama cow and her calf. The pastures and their tall grasses.  The feel of St. Augustine under barefeet. Roller skating down her driveway. Holly berries in coke bottles as noise makers. Hiding beneath the hedges and the feel of the cool, damp earth on our feet as we'd squat and whisper. 

On the way back to Louisiana, I read through a stack of letters grandma had written to me over the years.  She wrote exactly the way she spoke, so re-reading them was like having little conversations with her.  She embraced the simple moments in life and was a no-fuss, no-drama, kind of woman.  She loved to bird watch and had a special fondness for bluebirds.  Her heart was big and good.  

In between reading her letters, we stopped a couple of times along the roadside to pick some wild grasses for her. I think she would have liked them. 

Life continues.

Today was my little one's first day of kindergarten. 

XO,

Nichole

 

 

Movie Night

I saw the movie 'Boyhood' last night.

 

I can't quite get it out of my mind. Oh, that Richard Linklater has a way about making movies and telling stories that just grips my heart and leaves me a bit breathless and yearning. It didn't hurt that it was filmed mostly here in Austin, Texas. Linklater seemed to captured everything endearing about growing up in Texas! Do you know anything about 'Boyhood' and how he directed this movie? He made the movie over the span of 12 years using the same actors, including the star who in the beginning, is six years old. 

This movie made me think about not only about my own five year old, and how fast it all skims by. That in 12.5 short years, she'll be 18, on the cusp of entering the rest of her life. And about just how short this all is. None of it is ours to keep, nor is it here to stay. We are always influx and on our path. Moving, aging, evolving. Going somewhere. Forever fleeting. Everyday, a little more innocence slips away.  It's all so touching and so mindboggling and I suppose it is the jist of what makes us human. This ache in remembering. 

Just as much as this movie plucked at my parenthood chords, 'Boyhood' triggered so much emotion about my own childhood. Because, of course, the two are always tangled up together for better or worse and we are always doing this part of our journey for the first time.  Our present selves are forever synced in with our past and our beginnings.  My childhood was akward and uneventful. It was worrisome and silly. It was ordinary and loving. It was so imperfect (as mostly everyone's is). Yet, it mattered, so much. The small moments add up. 

Oh, this movie...go see it. Then, let's talk and talk and talk some more. 

 

Postcards from Summer ~ Sunday, the 29th of June

Thoughts on Sunday night:

~  I finished sewing covers for a few throw pillows for the porch glider. I'm enjoying the adult seating space on     the screen porch now that school is not in session. It's looking like I'll be good and spoiled come late August when it's time to turn our home back into a schoolhouse. C'est la vie. 

~  Beatrix and a couple of her buddies harvested three ears of corn the other day. For dinner last night we had corn on the cob with our BLT's (and we picniced on the screen porch, of course). We might get to harvest a few more ears of corn soon. And that is how my garden rolls around here. There is something worthy to say about modern times and the luxury that is the grocery store. At the rate that we grow real, substantial, consumable food, it is as if I only pretend to garden - it's like my playtime. "Let's pretend to plant seeds, and water, and grow some food."  Which, now that I think about it, could not be a more correct statement when describing my gardening habits. C'est la vie.   

~   With the combination of not so boiling hot temps and the long days, we've been able to squeeze in nature walks after dinner. It's always so nice to get outside and listen to the quietness of the evening. I never, ever regret getting into the car, driving out to the woods, and walking. 

~   Alicia's post about cooking, reminded me to pull Apples for Jam off of my bookshelf. What an anchingly lovely read beyond being a great cookbook. I remember pouring through this one before I was a mother. Before we had adopted Beatrix.  Several years later, as much as the words meant to me then, they resonate with me even more deeply now.  This cookbook is about family, community, childhood, wonder, tender moments, growth, home, and everything wholesome and true and good in between. 

~   No matter how much gratitude I muster up about little and big things in life, I've come to the conclusion that there is a pocket of sadness and grief that always lingers in my being.  Sometimes, I can tuck it away neatly. And then there are many moments where I can only allow its presence and be with it. There is no will great enough to make it disappear.  It's an important part of who I am. It's the warp that helps to weave my story.

                                                          But gosh, it stings like a bee at times.  

~   Tonight, I had the sweet pleasure of hanging out with my mama friends at the park. They are such good bunch of women.  I'm so grateful for their friendship and support.  Upon pulling out of the park, I spotted a mama deer and her fawn sitting so peacefully in the orchard.   I veered over to the side of the road to take a picture with my camera, and of course, the mama deer stood up cautiously looking me over.   A few seconds later, her and her baby dashed off with the sun setting behind them.  It was just a brief, beautiful, ordinary, yet magic moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

baby, it's cold outside

 

brrr...it's 25 degrees outside right now. we plan on going to the winter fair at the waldorf school later on. it should be a balmy 27 degrees by then. the little house is having serious issues keeping warm. i wanted to blog last night but this back bedroom was too dang cold -- like being outside -- cold. we have insulation in the walls and in the attic (a lot up there), and a heat pump for heat (are those as heavy duty as a furnace? i googled last night because i was wondering what it meant when your thermostat read "auxilliary heat"). as usual, the google answers were confusing and after a few minutes, i just shut the window on that search. the floors are freezing (pier and beam), and those windows, well they are a lost cause, i suppose. i'm not excited to see our energy bill for this month. 

anyhoo. it'll warm up. this is texas afterall. in the meantime, i'm loving the for real opportunity to get cozy. it's non stop candles, wool, and tea around here. 

all of this cold weather had me brainstorming a way to get a woodstove into our house. and i finally found a rather obvious solution! if byron could make a built in bookshelf (ceiling to floor -- serious endeavor -- is there a way NOT to run out of bookshelf space?) in our hallway, we could clear a corner in our living room  and place it there. 

but you know, it's still hard to justify. the day before this cold snap it was 80 degrees. winters are all over the place over here. 

well, i guess that's all of my saturday morning rambling i have for now. 

here's a few photos from the past week. 

okay, now, that i posted these photos, i remember i have more to say about the holdiays and such.

we've been having a little advent magic around. no calendar, just little cards that bea finds laying around the house - inspiration from her beloved martin and sylvie from sparkle stories.  one card for each day. so far, we've decorated the tree, have had hot cocoa in our santa mugs, donated a toy and a jacket to those in need, celebrated st. nicholas day, attended the advent choral concert at the univeristy in our town...oh, and she got a new pair of puppy dog slippers. 

i'm doing my best to keep the days low key. we are all so sensitive to hype around here. we hibernate at home as much as possible and get out only for fresh air, important errands, or very special events (which we keep to a minimum). bea has a nervous energy about her that i haven't seen in a long time. her play is rambunctious, loud, and unfocused. i'm trying to ride the wave with grace, but that try certainly is far from full proof. to ward off the craziness of what is easily an over the top time of year, i keep the candles burning, the mulling spices simmering, the sufjan stevens and elizabeth mitchell playing, and the lavendar baths a comin'. we'll find our sweet spot soon enough, i'm sure.  

overall, these days are sweet. i'm so glad i still blog because the other night, i found myself reading back in my archives of all the decembers i've been writing here. it was nice walk down memory lane. there were lots of little things i wrote about that i'd forgotten. bea is so big now. she is so not the little toddler with pitter patter footsteps. sigh. it goes by fast. in a few years from now, i know i will look back to now and think that she was still so little and pure. sometimes, it's hard to believe that the years are linear. wouldn't it be nice if we could somehow dangle our toes back and forth between past, present, and future. then again, perhaps that's the purpose of all this journaling and documenting. 

have a lovely weekend, dear friends. 

ps: any other typepad users having issues lately. i'm experiencing some snarkiness from my blog when i try to format or add links. 

 

Yes, very thankful.

We have so much to be thankful for. Health and family. Love. A warm home. Nourishing meals. Hot tea. Coffee. Safety. The pursuit of happiness. Sometimes, when I let my mind wonder towards the myriad of ways in which humans suffer in grief, here, and everywhere, I could just about fold over in fear and nausea, wondering when my time will come.  

Why is it that I'm the lucky one, sitting here, on what seems to be the top of the world?  

When my mind wonders to this corner of my innermost thoughts, I run like mad, to my garden, to my duties in the kitchen, to a snuggle with my girl -- to something that keeps me busy. Because it is too scary to dwell upon the  fleetingness of this life. 

So yes, Thanksgiving was nothing but great. A sweet string of days with Byron's parents. A Macy's Thanksgiving parade, a home wafting in the scents and flavors of the season, a blustery walk around our favorite nature preserve, golden grasses at twilight, a flock of bluebirds. And on the Friday after, there was the multigenerational coup de main in the backyard. We are nearly spiffy in that department thanks to my in-laws. Followed by the lighting of our town square. Very sweet, very All-American, and always a tad bit cheesy. Hallmarky. So fun though, bumping into families we know and letting the kids play and hug all amongst the lit up town sqare and carolers singing on the courthouse steps as the backdrop. 

Very thankful, indeed, for every bit of it.  

Family trip to North Carolina

Last week, my husband, daughter, mom, and I took a road trip to western North Carolina. From Texas, the drive takes about 18 hours. We broke the drive up into two days coming and going, stopping in Louisiana. 

What a special trip! With the leaves changing, those beautiful old mountains craddling us, and my family to explore and dream with, my heart was brimming with peace and joy. 

There is something about fall. And the gentle rolling mountains of Appalachia. If reincarnation is true, then my soul must have spent a lifetime or two somewhere in her damp forests.

We all had such a wonderful time. Byron and I got to squeeze in two morning hikes, just the two of us. Quiet, brisk, and then slow, and quiet, listening, pausing, sitting, watching, breathing. There is no better date for the two us. Mom and Beatrix got to bond while being back seat passenger buddies. They enjoyed each other so much, playing all sorts of imaginary games, and sharing plenty of cute conversations for Byron and I to eavesdrop on, which made us grin and chuckle quietly.

Sleepy dreams were nudged awake.  The three of us were pretty much sold (again) on cabin life in the woods. One day, maybe, we'll find our way back to four seasons, tall trees, and mountains. 

 

 

And as if a family road trip and the mountains weren't enough to feed the soul, I had the wonderful pleasure of spending time with Amanda! We've been reading each other's blogs for a couple of years now and I've long thought it would be so great to meet her and her sweet family in real life. The first time Byron and I drove to her house, I knew immediately which one was hers without even looking at the address because it just looked like her (and the glimpses I'd seen from her photos). Quaint, homey, and oh so lovely...

And let me tell you, Amanda went far and beyond to make us feel welcomed - all while juggling work, a visit with her grandma, and a poor, sick little one.  I'm so glad we got to meet in person. Blog land is such a peculiar venue for creating friendships. Meeting her was all at once exciting, comfortable, and awkward. But mostly...it was just awesome.

On one morning, both our families went apple picking together. It was a perfect, fall day -- rolling hills, apple trees for acres and acres, two families, little girls and big girls giggling and getting to know each other.

Now we are settled back into life in Texas though a piece of my heart stayed in Appalachia, tucked beneath the mossy patches and the damp fallen leaves in those beautiful, misty mountains. 

the beat goes on.

 

I started to write this post on Saturday morning when Byron and Bea were out having breakfast with his parents and I had a couple of hours alone to indulge by myself. During those couple of hours, I mopped and swept the floor. Yes, that's intirely typical of me. Then, my mom called and put me on speaker phone with my grandmother and I heard grandma's voice over the phone. It's been four years since the last time we spoke. Her simple one word responses to my questions were magic. A second chance. A resurrection. I thought those moments were gone forever. 

Next, I wrote a letter to Bea's birthmother and included recent photos and tidbits describing this wonderful being that connects us to each other. 

The beat goes on.

Inside my grandmother's mind exists a whole lifetime of memories...family, friends, vacations, inside jokes, scents, seasons, meals, laughter, hard work, sorrow, disappointment, reflection, youth, pets, small moments, tickle spots, coffee, phone calls...

I know bits and pieces but we can never know the whole.

In one hand I hold hers and in the other hand I hold my daughter's. She who has almost an entire lifetime ahead of her. With memories so few in comparison...What moments will her memory fill up with?

During those couple of hours alone, I was overwhelmed with deep love for my story. Which is my grandmother's story. Which is my mother's story. Which is my daughter's story and her birthmother's story. 

An invisible thread binds our hearts together. 

I thought about the suffering we have all experienced in one manner or another. And our choices to love because it's the only true path to travel. Patched, bruised, broken, healed...beauty rests in us all. 

The beat goes on. 

I spent the rest of the weekend living lightly and enjoying the blissful fall weather that graced our parts just in time for my birthday. I always think to myself that one of the greatest gifts my mother has bestowed upon me was birthing me on October 6. Hardly a year goes by without the much anticipated and welcomed cool front that manages to blow through just in time...

It was a beautiful weekend. My in-laws had a sleep over with Bea at their hotel room so Byron and I got to have a date night AND a next morning sleep in! I finally felt inspired to do some yard work and gardening. We are still what I would consider a hardscrabble mini-homestead, but we are trying nonetheless. 

This morning, Bea and I scurried out the door as fast as we could go to enjoy every second of the brisk weather. We ended up walking down to the river and spending the entire morning at our little small town swimming hole.

We did nothing. Tossed pebbles into the water. Gathered leaves and wildflowers. Listened to the sounds. She climbed up and down the limestone bank. Stripped herself of her layers. Dipped her toes and her hands.

Created a scoop from a piece of litter. Fed her stick pony. Watered her stick pony. I sat and watched and regretted not having a book. I passed my time by taking plenty of pictures. And I also reminded myself to do nothing. To just be in the moment. With her. She played and played for hours with nothing but the elements.

On our way home we treked through a patch of woods that run parallel with the hike and bike trail. She perched herself atop a boulder and looked down upon her surroundings.

She delighted in carrying pieces of litter to the trash can in the distance all by herself. She loves little doses of independence which require her to venture off all by herself. It was a perfect little morning void of conflicts and struggles. It was just the two of us at peace and together. I hope when I'm my grandmother's age, this morning exists somewhere in my memory. 

And that was my 36th birthday weekend wrap up!! 

Sometimes, I click into my flickr account and I'm struck with disbelief and awe that this is my life that I get to document. I don't mean this statement in a pompous or self-righteous way, just in a grateful and humble one. You see, I didn't have a childhood of sunflowers and gardens. I've come a long way from the poor, little girl in rural Louisiana, journaling away in five subject notebooks. There, I dreamed with my back against the foot of the bottom bunk bed that I shared with my younger brother, and my feet propped up onto the windowsill. Lanky, uncertain, and awkward, I had a whole soul's worth of curiosity and wonder-lust. And I was hungry for a connection to a life that resonnated with me.  

Now, here I am. That childhood dream I had of sunflowers came true. And so did so many of the quiet, sleeping ones I never knew rested within me. Really, can this, these moments, this life, be real? Are they mine? It's hard to tell at times.  

Let's be real. None of the good stuff could be appreciated, noticed, or captured if it weren't for the gunk that comes attached to it. We are so full of grumpiness, sarcasm, exhaustion, and every other hard feeling that every other family deals with. But in between all that hardness - and I like to hope that the "between" part makes up a nice, lofty, buffer zone, there's a dream being lived out in our little land. 

Life is so strange. So full of hurt and fleetingness. Aching with an overflow of treausreable moments one can never truly contain, like raindrops sliding down a windowsill. Dreams of youth, the realities of mid - life, the yearnings of what never became and the absorbtion of everything real, here and now. Like these photos of our lives - this simple space where we spend our days. Of my dearest, sweet daughter. Of my ever-devoted, kind and good husband. 

This one life is a beautiful one and I must always remember to savor it all. 

Release.

Last week, on a foggy, cool morning before Byron left for work, Bea had a special request. The night before, one of our swallowtail butterflies that we'd been raising in our habitat emerged out of its chrysallis. This butterfly was ready to flutter and fly out into the great big world.

And so a request was made by Beatrix: Daddy can you come with us to the field to release our butterfly?

And how could anyone refuse such a request, right? Think about it: how many times in our long lives will be invited by a four year old to release a butterfly into a field of evening primroses covered in morning dew? Not nearly enough.

Tell me my story.

 

Beatrix has been asking a bunch for Byron and I to retell her birth/adoption story. "Tell me again my story, Mama." It's sweet. Tonight, she asked me to tell it because she says, "yesterday, Daddy forgot some parts." Well not really, we explain. He just told the story from his perspective. We all have different perspectives. 

Regardless, she LOVES hearing it. The part where I answer the phone on the day she was born. "A healthy, beautiful baby girl is waiting for you," said the social worker. The part where we get our neighbors to watch Sandy, our dog. The part where we finally all come together in the hospital nursery. The three of us, forever from that moment on. The way we became a family. In her mind, at this point in her life, it's such a happy ending. She finds us. We find her. And we all fall in love and live happily ever after. 

I expect that one day, her perspective will evolve. The black and white story of how we became a family will be seen in it's truer shades of gray. Our simple love story will include the bittersweet curves and bumps of it all - of love and loss. If and when that time of contemplation arrives, we hope she always feels it deep in the center of her heart, how much her daddy and I have adored being her mama and daddy and how natural it has always felt to us. This family. Curating our days to be full of love and beauty and freedom and exploration so that when she is grown up and travels beyond this safe, cozy nest of a home, she'll intuitively know the direction in which to seek - the one in which her life if full of meaning and joy.

I hope that no matter the journey we travel, no matter the complexities of love and family, she'll always, always know that here with us, she'll always belongs. We are a tribe. Unconditionally. And there's no reversing that. We can't be undone. 

Oh, this growing up stuff is big and beautiful and tender and sweet. 

 

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."   --Henry David Thoreau