tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-155710492024-03-14T01:41:53.012-05:00a net for catching dayskierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-62006981551425556232011-04-29T11:35:00.012-05:002011-04-29T16:09:00.719-05:00art house.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm a miserable blogger these days, but today i feel compelled to offer an update for my two or three faithful readers. it's now almost May, and time for that pitiful Christmas elf to move down the page a bit. at some point, i'm going to work on an overhaul of this blog, i think. it feels like a new start has been looming for awhile now. something about springtime maybe.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Most of the writing i've done the past few months has gone to the </span></span><a href="http://www.arthouseamerica.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Art House America</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> blog, where my friend <a href="http://jennisimmons.tumblr.com/">Jenni</a> is the editor. yesterday, i had </span></span><a href="http://www.arthouseamerica.com/blog/in-high-cotton.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a new piece</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> published--my observations on living in the South. A much better reason to visit, though, are the two </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">other</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> new essays in this week's edition.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In </span></span><a href="http://www.arthouseamerica.com/blog/food-as-gift.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Food as Gift</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, my longtime friend Christine wrote about the community farm-store she and her husband run in a Dallas neighborhood. Our little town of Kingston Springs recently started a Saturday morning market as well, with local growers bringing baskets of lettuce, radishes, and other fresh produce to sell. One of my favorite things about traveling to Paris was the beautiful open air markets in the Rue Cler area where we stayed. There's something about finding a bit of soil still clinging to the roots of my vegetables that I find oddly reassuring.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Alice, another dear friend, shared </span></span><a href="http://www.arthouseamerica.com/blog/believing-the-seeds-of-wonderland.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">an essay</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> on creativity and community that socked me in the heart. While I </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">am</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> someone who creates instinctively, whether through art or writing or photography, there are definitely times when I think, 'what am i really creating that means anything?' sometimes it feels like i do it more as an outlet, some sort of therapeutic, self-serving expression, than for the sake of truly pursuing beauty. So that's when I set it aside for awhile. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Alice expressed my feelings so well when she wrote:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What she said that day gave me freedom and permission to look into the eyes of a friend and see a painting in progress, to be surprised by the melodies of memories triggered at perfect moments, to tease out the poetic rhythms of any given day. I began to realize that while many of my friends make art with guitars or paintbrushes, my preferred medium is the fabric of human relationships: making lasting connections between people and seeking to illuminate the image of God that each person bears.</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So often lately, I am struck by how much of a 'painting in progress' I truly am. Most of the time I just want to hurry the process along, to force myself into a completed work, free of all the messy layers underneath. And lately, out of sheer need, it feels, I am much more drawn to the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">relationship</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> kind of making than I am to creating art. At least for the moment, the memory-making seems so much more vital, the forging of friendships a lot more important.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-90908140501041413142010-12-27T10:32:00.019-06:002010-12-27T23:30:47.512-06:00the day after Christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWWoKXepI/AAAAAAAACKw/oo7h2-k6gas/s1600/IMG_3651.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWWoKXepI/AAAAAAAACKw/oo7h2-k6gas/s400/IMG_3651.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555566562076228242" border="0" /></a>i haven't been able to post this entry until <span style="font-style: italic;">the day after</span> the day after Christmas, and that is because the day after Christmas was spent somewhat leisurely and far from my computer. we awoke to a living room covered with stacks of toys, books, and empty stockings strewn all about, then made our way to the kitchen for scrambled eggs with a side of leftover stuffing, and the biggest mug of coffee we could find.<br /><br />i surveyed the wilting garland on the staircase, droopy and scattering its needles, then tried to make some sense of the chaos before me. everything seemed to be leaning. a rumpled sprig of mistletoe hung over my head. weeble wobbles swayed between my feet next to a wisecracking spiderman doll. i persuaded Eli not to eat his entire chocolate Santa in one sitting, enticing him instead with half a dismembered gingerbread man and a dinner roll with butter before he headed out to play in the snow. he was clutching his new friend, Teddy, (<span style="font-style: italic;">"a sweet little bear, but not a real one because that would scare me"</span>---as described in his letter to Santa Claus).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWW6JXZGI/AAAAAAAACK4/w--d99o2BbA/s1600/IMG_3663.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWW6JXZGI/AAAAAAAACK4/w--d99o2BbA/s400/IMG_3663.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555566566903866466" border="0" /></a>jeremy spent a good chunk of the morning pulling apart the broken dishwasher, while i hunted around for appropriate-sized batteries, folded laundry, and stole quick glimpses of my fabulous new cookbook--<span style="font-style: italic;">Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights</span>, until Eli appeared at the back door with an ear-to-ear grin and presented me with a gift...a large chunk of snow encasing a petrified assortment of leaves, grass, and more than probably, chicken poop.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRbiVbtI/AAAAAAAACLg/JvLqeF31Rds/s1600/IMG_3725.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; display: block; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRbiVbtI/AAAAAAAACLg/JvLqeF31Rds/s400/IMG_3725.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555567572299378386" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(page from sophie dahl's cookbook.)</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRrqtXEI/AAAAAAAACLw/t9Rh-KMFpOM/s1600/IMG_3715.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRrqtXEI/AAAAAAAACLw/t9Rh-KMFpOM/s400/IMG_3715.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555567576629468226" border="0" /></a><br />we spent the afternoon with some dear friends who are like family to us, gathered around their table for Sunday lunch. it was nice to be amidst a larger group since we'd had our Christmas dinner as a family the previous night. it had been just the four of us, our dining table, and an enormous spread to give thanks over. jeremy and I roasted our first turkey together, carefully basting and poking at it every few minutes. while we cooked we munched on the stinkiest round of melting Camembert, spooned onto crackers with a dollop of fig jam. we caramelized shallots to mix with Brussels sprouts then sprinkled them with bacon and shreds of sundried tomato. we mashed butter and cream into potatoes, tossed a salad, then poured a glass of wine for me and a winter ale for the turkey-carver. for dessert, a buche de noel complete with a tiny, sugar-sculpted mushroom dusted in cocoa.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpDcXl_I/AAAAAAAACKQ/etPW59X4I5w/s1600/IMG_3622.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpDcXl_I/AAAAAAAACKQ/etPW59X4I5w/s400/IMG_3622.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565779125508082" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpSJD-3I/AAAAAAAACKY/vhR9cuU9tOo/s1600/IMG_3626.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpSJD-3I/AAAAAAAACKY/vhR9cuU9tOo/s400/IMG_3626.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565783071062898" border="0" /></a><br />one of the joys of being home this Christmas season has been creating our own family traditions, like chocolate-filled croissants for breakfast and the buche de noel for dessert. and yes, while most roads do tend to lead to chocolate in this house, we managed a few traditions that did not involve eating. we adorned each window of our house with a wreath, watched <span style="font-style: italic;">The Polar Express</span> ninety-nine times, and painted glass ornaments for the tree in our entry hall. Eli and i made reindeer food from glitter and rolled oats shaken in a brown paper sack, then flung it out across the lawn. of course there's also been cookie-baking and trying out French chicken dishes in our new enameled dutch oven, a gift from Jeremy's parents. both of these required liberal quantities of butter.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMfI-hUI/AAAAAAAACJg/Lgai9nYyeGo/s1600/IMG_3378.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMfI-hUI/AAAAAAAACJg/Lgai9nYyeGo/s400/IMG_3378.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565288344159554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRS7YvYI/AAAAAAAACLY/Jnm4wsgrMo4/s1600/IMG_3419.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRS7YvYI/AAAAAAAACLY/Jnm4wsgrMo4/s400/IMG_3419.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555567569988533634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMYkm8nI/AAAAAAAACJo/N9dO9NFjVqw/s1600/IMG_3406.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMYkm8nI/AAAAAAAACJo/N9dO9NFjVqw/s400/IMG_3406.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565286581006962" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpkE3mfI/AAAAAAAACKo/MmIKhI4SHv8/s1600/IMG_3648.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVpkE3mfI/AAAAAAAACKo/MmIKhI4SHv8/s400/IMG_3648.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565787885312498" border="0" /></a><br />as i navigated through the heap of gifts yesterday---Eli's pile of lincoln logs, Millie's ride-on ladybug, the beautiful quilt my mom and i gave to Jeremy (i chose the fabrics, she did all the cutting, sewing, and crocheting), and the breathtaking work of art that my husband commissioned for me from our friend <a href="http://eviecoates.blogspot.com/">evie coates</a>, i was struck by all we've been given. more than just the material things, as wonderful and lovely as they are, i was reminded that we are steeped in blessing so much deeper. how amazing to have this cozy home where we can sit and watch snow through the windows while listening to the church bells on Main Street chime the tune to "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem." it's a place where we can pile up together on a cold December night to read the Christmas story to our children, knowing that it's beginning to hold real meaning for them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXSP0YClI/AAAAAAAACL4/os1rcWUS2sk/s1600/IMG_3685.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXSP0YClI/AAAAAAAACL4/os1rcWUS2sk/s400/IMG_3685.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555567586333690450" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i>(artwork by evie coates.)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWW0h5oWI/AAAAAAAACLA/sc6tJkj3LaQ/s1600/IMG_3675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWW0h5oWI/AAAAAAAACLA/sc6tJkj3LaQ/s400/IMG_3675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555566565396160866" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRVZ9LWI/AAAAAAAACLo/sFd2DylVBQc/s1600/IMG_3722.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlXRVZ9LWI/AAAAAAAACLo/sFd2DylVBQc/s400/IMG_3722.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555567570653621602" border="0" /></a><br />i have heard a few other people say this recently, and i am finding it to be true. there is a new kind of wonder that comes at Christmastime when you have children, and it's found in two equal parts. there's the joy that comes from seeing their faces light up with excitement--a beautiful, childlike kind of faith. and there's also a rediscovery--a way that observing your children plunks you back into the magic you felt when <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> were a child. suddenly, i had all of these detailed memories of my own footed pajamas and listening for reindeer hooves, snuggled down with my sister in her canopy bed.<br /><br />this Christmas morning, i woke up at 6:30 to hear Eli whispering excitedly to the little stuffed animals in his bedroom. i tiptoed in and told him to go look out his window. when he saw the snow covering the driveway and treetops, he literally gasped in amazement. All four of us creeping down the darkened staircase in our pajamas a few minutes later, i re-lived that glorious Christmas morning feeling of giddiness and hope along with Eli. it's a feeling i wish would stick around when the day after Christmas comes, and the day after that, and the day after that. i've decided that even if it's only once a year, i'll take it and hold onto it for as long as i can, knowing that next December is just around the corner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMxuDgVI/AAAAAAAACKA/ZS-RyCXyxYg/s1600/IMG_3595.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMxuDgVI/AAAAAAAACKA/ZS-RyCXyxYg/s400/IMG_3595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565293331513682" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMnmUAsI/AAAAAAAACJ4/qTk22pHMSMs/s1600/IMG_3508.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlVMnmUAsI/AAAAAAAACJ4/qTk22pHMSMs/s400/IMG_3508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555565290614686402" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWXJynxdI/AAAAAAAACLI/316-lwVTxJY/s1600/IMG_3669.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWXJynxdI/AAAAAAAACLI/316-lwVTxJY/s400/IMG_3669.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555566571103438290" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWXX1TkDI/AAAAAAAACLQ/LF6gcgFtJxs/s1600/IMG_3670.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TRlWXX1TkDI/AAAAAAAACLQ/LF6gcgFtJxs/s400/IMG_3670.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555566574872793138" border="0" /></a></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-59908365167249301692010-11-08T21:50:00.003-06:002010-11-08T22:34:22.453-06:00happy girl.i could wait until i have time to download all of the party photos, the ones of Millie smashing into cake for the first time and smiling through a ring of purple icing. i could wait until i have time to properly describe it---how in the midst of joy, i also felt a little bit sad thinking of all the months that have gone by and how so many of them seem blurry. i could wait. but i also know that i don't get much time on my computer these days, and that isn't a complaint. it's because i am busy watching Millie grow new teeth (the top two have a huge gap between them that delights me every time she smiles). Or I'm busy searching for pajamas that are not only clean, but aren't stretched at the neck and shoulders where she's outgrowing them. I am occupied with watching Eli hop around the kitchen like a frog in front of his sister's high chair because of how she squeals with genuine laughter every time he ribbits. And then she scatters Cheerios across the floor and peeks over the edge of her tray to see where they possibly could have gone. I ask myself the same thing about the past 365 days.<div><br /><div>so I won't wait because before I know it, six more months will have passed and she'll be walking and pulling things from shelves, and then i <i>really</i> won't have time to write it all down. for now, before I forget, i'll just post this photo. My friend Keely took it yesterday of Millie, the birthday girl. I love how happy she looks, just crawling across the floor in her tutu without a care in the world. </div></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TNjFJRBizSI/AAAAAAAACJU/ZliwgvK8Aq0/s1600/mill_bday_photo.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TNjFJRBizSI/AAAAAAAACJU/ZliwgvK8Aq0/s400/mill_bday_photo.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537392504831397154" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-86743721595157245722010-08-14T14:50:00.006-05:002010-08-14T15:24:30.920-05:00tomato art fest, part 2well, we didn't last long at the festival this morning. millie, in her butterfly sun bonnet, heated up like a little toaster oven ten minutes into the event. it was just too miserably hot to be outside, so we said hello to a couple of friends, swept through the <a href="http://artandinvention.com/">art gallery</a>, and hastily headed for the car.<br /><br />i decided to go ahead and post the full views of my three art pieces here, now that the official "tomato art show" has happened. but just in case you missed it, the exhibit will be on display at the gallery for another month or so, i believe. i saw a lot of really unique work this year: felted pieces, some very detailed pen & ink, beautiful work by <a href="http://elizabethfoster.net/">elizabeth foster</a> whose paintings i admire, and lots of great pieces featuring animals and vegetables intermingled. so much talent in Nashville; i'm so inspired living here.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">{click to enlarge}...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb11Z9aQmI/AAAAAAAACIs/xdxa5rmg1Zc/s1600/tomato_study.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb11Z9aQmI/AAAAAAAACIs/xdxa5rmg1Zc/s400/tomato_study.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505357892357341794" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>tomato study</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">{acrylic & paper on wood}</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">8X8</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb5VFBwrxI/AAAAAAAACJE/l34iZiQw9Zg/s1600/vine_4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb5VFBwrxI/AAAAAAAACJE/l34iZiQw9Zg/s400/vine_4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505361735029141266" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>vine no. 4</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">{paper & string; acrylic on wood}</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">8X8</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb5UovY0BI/AAAAAAAACI8/1hHrU_8qGSk/s1600/farm_to_table.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGb5UovY0BI/AAAAAAAACI8/1hHrU_8qGSk/s400/farm_to_table.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505361727435886610" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>farm to table</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">{paper, ink, acrylic on wood}</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">16X16</span></div></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-26371848914507326792010-08-13T14:04:00.008-05:002010-08-13T15:03:10.749-05:00tomato art fest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdZ3MVqcI/AAAAAAAACIM/X5_3YlAfUDo/s1600/IMG_1443.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdZ3MVqcI/AAAAAAAACIM/X5_3YlAfUDo/s400/IMG_1443.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504979187168291266" /></a><br />everyone in nashville is grumbling about the weather. it's a sweltering August in our normally milder city, so i'm observing the seven foot tall sunflowers from inside, through an upstairs window with a view of the garden. their big yellow faces are bent, offering an umbrella of shade to the bountiful tomato plants, all tangled and bursting with red, yellow, and green fruit, some of them splitting open.<div><br /></div><div>a few weeks ago, i plucked real-life inspiration from my husband's vegetable and herb beds by photographing the tomato plants in varying stages of ripeness. i used the images to create three pieces for this year's <a href="http://tomatoartfest.com/">Tomato Art Festival</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>if you are around the east part of town this Saturday (tomorrow!), take a peek inside the<a href="http://artandinvention.com/"> Art & Invention Gallery</a> for a robust display of tomato-inspired creativity. we'll be swinging through for an hour or so in the morning and hope to see some friends and fellow tomato-lovers.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWiuLjW8MI/AAAAAAAACIc/3fNs5vQv57M/s1600/farm_to_table2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWiuLjW8MI/AAAAAAAACIc/3fNs5vQv57M/s400/farm_to_table2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504985033789075650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdYnsJccI/AAAAAAAACH0/lncbYIrVbqI/s1600/celery.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdYnsJccI/AAAAAAAACH0/lncbYIrVbqI/s400/celery.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504979165826871746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdaIkKcaI/AAAAAAAACIU/CPOEkPtga_I/s1600/IMG_14732.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdaIkKcaI/AAAAAAAACIU/CPOEkPtga_I/s400/IMG_14732.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504979191831622050" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdZkAk7oI/AAAAAAAACIE/QsCm3ovYhNM/s1600/tomato_study.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGWdZkAk7oI/AAAAAAAACIE/QsCm3ovYhNM/s400/tomato_study.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504979182018686594" /></a></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-71516917095921937552010-08-12T15:04:00.007-05:002010-08-12T15:41:26.305-05:00Maybe tomorrow.<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>O</span></b>ne day, i feel sure, there will be a season when:<br /><br />-i will no longer need coffee at two in the afternoon.<br /><br />-we will invite our friends over for dinner again. more than twice a year.<br /><br />-the tile around my toilet bowls will be clean.<br /><br />-it won't take me three weeks to return a phone call.<br /><br />-beds will be made.<br /><br />-all Cheerios will disappear from crevices, cushions, backpacks, floorboards, rugs, and the inside of my shirt.<br /><br />[hence, potentially, the ants will all go back outside.]<br /><br />-i could maybe own a white sofa.<br /><br />-we might finish a <strike>conversation</strike> sentence without uttering the words, "just a minute."<div><br /></div><div>-we might finish a conversation.</div><div><br /></div><div>-the car won't be filled with various twigs (used for killing lions, just in case i happen to see one on the way to the store).</div><div><br /></div><div>-i will have forgotten the perfect 3:1 ratio of water to apple juice. </div><div><br /></div><div>-the living room will contain more pieces of furniture than pieces of batman.</div><div><br /></div><div>THIS is definitely not that season. but i also feel sure that once this crazy, so so so tiring, sometimes overwhelming season ends, i will miss <i>a very many things</i> about it.</div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGRbjyPIuVI/AAAAAAAACHs/2fOoXMU2Yt4/s1600/IMG_1272.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TGRbjyPIuVI/AAAAAAAACHs/2fOoXMU2Yt4/s400/IMG_1272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504625314892396882" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-3201022972363919822010-07-28T10:31:00.006-05:002010-07-28T11:21:28.688-05:00birthday.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUOqZj4VI/AAAAAAAACHU/fKMuNmPrg7c/s1600/9201_087.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUOqZj4VI/AAAAAAAACHU/fKMuNmPrg7c/s400/9201_087.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498987755895775570" /></a><br />thirty seven began very well, over paper plates of oozy crepes with a dear friend. we broke at least four plastic forks cutting into them, while digging deeply into conversation that left me a little weepy, in a good way. <br /><br />i spent the afternoon with my husband, splitting tasty sandwiches and sucking down basil lemonade through a straw. we talked uninterrupted, something we seldom get to do. he even helped me shop. and then we came home to the two sweet, sticky little imps---eager to show off helicopters made with boxes, crayons, folded paper and broken twigs, and eager to be hugged.<br /><br />there was cake. and dinner out of Julia's cookbook after the kids' bedtime, something ridiculously rich with cream and port wine and tiny bits of onion that we soaked up with torn pieces of sourdough bread. we drank the french red wine we used to drink when we were dating, and decided neither of us like it very much anymore. <br /><br />the day, all in all, could be described as <span style="font-style:italic;">rich</span>. rich with indulgent food and drink. rich with meaning and conversations about real things, even sad things, but true ones. and rich with family: these three people who i love so dearly that it leaves my chest knotted most of the time.<br /><br />i finished the day, listening to my husband softly snoring on the bed, an empty cake plate next to him, while i scrolled through photographs. last week, we had <a href="http://www.inarastudios.com/blog/3312/nashville-childrens-photographer/">these</a> family portraits taken at our house, and i couldn't believe how well this amazing <a href="http://www.inarastudios.com/blog/3312/nashville-childrens-photographer/">photographer</a> captured our lives. looking at them from this angle, outside in, made me fall in love with our house again. sometimes living here, all we see are the shabby places, but she somehow made the dust and chipped paint so beautiful. <br /><br />looking into my children's faces, with their big, inquisitive eyes, i feel sure that this is going to be a year filled with good, messy and important moments to reflect on when i turn thirty eight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUPVMWkuI/AAAAAAAACHc/fSKj-ttgoAc/s1600/9201_319.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUPVMWkuI/AAAAAAAACHc/fSKj-ttgoAc/s400/9201_319.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498987767383102178" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUObD79_I/AAAAAAAACHM/eS35qilGdiY/s1600/9201_055.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUObD79_I/AAAAAAAACHM/eS35qilGdiY/s400/9201_055.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498987751778547698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUOKC31PI/AAAAAAAACHE/ipynAvxr_yE/s1600/9201_022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TFBUOKC31PI/AAAAAAAACHE/ipynAvxr_yE/s400/9201_022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498987747210679538" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-14592893149733936772010-06-17T15:17:00.007-05:002010-06-17T17:32:11.023-05:00On a Good Day.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TBqJG390FrI/AAAAAAAACGU/mRgyKTRuVa4/s1600/Eli_pasta.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/TBqJG390FrI/AAAAAAAACGU/mRgyKTRuVa4/s320/Eli_pasta.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483846247472436914" /></a>i love that my life includes:<br /><br />-a firefly named Fred "sleeping" in a jar on the kitchen counter.<br /><br />-gathering up handfuls of basil from the garden, little hands to help squeeze lemons and sprinkle pine nuts, and teaching my son to embrace his Italian-ness with a big plate of pesto fettuccine.<br /><br />-a sweet baby girl smiling straight into my face the moment I open my eyes.<br /><br />-dear friends who understand and don't judge when there's a messy house, a toddler tantrum, a scattered conversation that's interrupted by requests for more cheese and fixing broken helicopters.<br /><br />-a record player softly buzzing and a pile of my dad's old albums.<br /><br />-funny-looking chickens that trot around the yard like their feathers are on fire and remind me not to be so serious.<br /><br />-amazing coffee.<br /><br />-a million ideas of things to create.<br /><br />-mail that isn't a bill.<br /><br />-sips of wine on the porch swing with my husband at sunset. (the very best ending to any kind of day).kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-65755781065880360222010-04-23T16:54:00.000-05:002010-04-23T22:46:55.749-05:00this country life.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/S9IDsuE8xbI/AAAAAAAACFg/sTZRneXkeII/s1600/overalls.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/S9IDsuE8xbI/AAAAAAAACFg/sTZRneXkeII/s400/overalls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463433364771751346" /></a><br /><br />or so we call it.<br /><br />i guess it's not really as 'country' as it could be. we have our own coffee shop and i can be at the nearest Target in less than twenty minutes. but this time of year, with winter now melted away, i start to remember exactly why it is that we chose to exchange our former city dwelling for this, a slightly slower pace of life.<br /><br />it's mid-day on a friday and we're out on the porch. Eli, with a ketchup-smudged face and fingernails gritty from digging, is imagining his dump truck and fire engine are en route to Dickson (the next town over) to pick up some supplies. he personifies the word 'boy' and mimics jeremy whenever possible. Millie and I just sit on the swing where it's shady and observe.<br /><br />i'd like to say we moved out here solely for our children so that they could grow up close to nature--playing in creeks, running barefoot through the grass, listening to the whistle of the train that rattles the plates on our dining room wall. all of those things are true; we do love the idea of being close to fishing ponds and a river to canoe. we like that there are more trees than buildings and very few police sirens. but in all honesty, we did this for ourselves as much as our kids. <br /><br />i don't really bake, but the idea of making lots and lots of pies in summertime appeals to me. maybe <span style="font-style:italic;">this</span> will be the summer, i've been thinking lately. as i've mentioned before, jeremy has always considered himself an old soul. he likes wandering around dusty bookstores, planting things, working with his hands. so this home, tattered and torn up as it may be in places, really suits us both. <br /><br />also, now we have chickens. this Easter, we adopted six little peeps from a nearby farm and are building them a mansion in the corner of the yard. their names are Freida (aka Fred), Agnes, Penny, Lolly, Daisy, and Mr. Belvedere. yes, they are all hens.<br /><br />so sure, there are still days when we itch for a little more noise and better restaurants. we miss our friends being down the street. sometimes we think back to our old house and our old garden and frown at the numerous (though dwindling) projects still before us. but then one of us will stop and remind the other of all the progress we've made. i'll point out some bit of trim that jeremy installed, and he'll remind me of our beautiful, cozy master bathroom that we worked on together.<br /><br />here in our little patch of <span style="font-style:italic;">country</span>, and not just in a literal sense, the grass is slowly but surely becoming greener all the time.kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-35902638867558297372010-02-16T19:42:00.013-06:002010-02-17T10:48:01.570-06:00this was today.i confess: sometimes Eli spends more of his day with a floppy-shoed mouse and the man in the big yellow hat than is good for him. try as i might to juggle it all in perfect balance, there are just those days when, let's face it, a family really needs clean socks and the sheets changed and two week old lasagna removed from the fridge. so i have to do what i have to do to make it all go. <div><br /></div><div>and then there are days, like today, that are a closer picture of what i strive for. a better balance of time. i am not sure how it happens, really. i mean, i feel like i come into each day with the same amount of hours and as much determination as the day before. yet some days feel like flops, and others i'm actually able to shower, use my toothbrush before noon, kiss the boo-boos, fold the laundry, answer countless questions beginning with "why" and still have energy at the end of the day to make a decent dinner and clean up the kitchen. </div><div><br /></div><div>this morning began like most---feed Millie, find coffee.</div><div><br /></div><div>and then, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">nd i write it down here mostly just as proof to myself that these days are indeed possible</span>, i:</div><div><br /></div><div>made banana pancakes. got dressed, actually put some make-up on, AND deodorant, AND brushed my teeth, AND plucked a few stray eyebrows. got the little people dressed. washed a pile of baby clothes. put together an alphabet train puzzle with Eli and sang the ABC song every time we added a piece (so, um, twenty-six times). gave Millie a bath and put the yummy-smelling baby oil on her. fixed broken train tracks. made turkey melts while holding Millie. talked about life and cars and gardening and snow and chickens and schedules and vacation and kids with Jeremy over lunch. watched Millie smile while Jeremy sang to her. read a book involving a drum. figured out a way to make a drum EXACTLY like it out of a plastic container, some string, some tape, and two dulcimer hammers. taught Eli "Yankee Doodle" and "Deep in the Heart of Texas". took a quick coffee break while rocking Millie and watching a show about how see-saws work. noted parallels between life and see-saw. tried to help Eli build a see-saw EXACTLY like it out of a piece of wood, a plastic tractor, and a pair of headphones. (did not succeed). rocked Millie some more. added some ingredients to Sunday's leftover beef bourguignon to make a pretty fantastic pasta sauce. ate at the dining room table like real people. with a vase of flowers even. cleaned up. kissed Jeremy goodbye as he left for tuesday night work. made aprons into super hero capes for Eli and me. saved the planet forty-two times by running around the house and making super hero noises. baked brownies. let Eli lick the spatula and didn't freak out about salmonella. built a fort. tucked Eli into the fort and scratched his back until he fell asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>of course, in between, there was also lots of diapers and spit-up and crying and consoling and cheddar cheese goldfish mashed into the living room rug. </div><div><br /></div><div>days like these are good. they may be fewer than i'd like and tomorrow i might not be wearing a clean shirt, but what's so wrong with a teeter-totter rhythm to things? true, some evenings i look back on the hours of the day and feel that i accomplished nothing. i beat myself up a lot. i think this is normal though, and it keeps me clinging to the truth that I am loved regardless, and that my children are going to be okay.</div><div><br /></div><div>i also don't post here as much as i used to. i want to, because writing is a good outlet for me and i miss it when i stay away too long. but on days like today there's not a moment to write, and on those <i>bad</i> days, i'd feel much too guilty stopping to write a blog entry about how my three year old is in the other room watching television. but i think i still need this place sometimes, to stop and remember things. to take notice of them because they are small but important. like it or not, these days are flying by me (Eli just turned 3) and though I might be a super hero with clumsy legs wearing an apron on my back and brownie mix in my hair, i know i need to try my best to catch them.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/S3ttsDJ3Z1I/AAAAAAAACFM/22K2yLbMtO0/s1600-h/IMG_0752.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/S3ttsDJ3Z1I/AAAAAAAACFM/22K2yLbMtO0/s400/IMG_0752.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439061578508363602" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-42930196799714519202010-01-13T16:03:00.005-06:002010-01-13T21:51:28.433-06:00Just like George.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">T</span>he house is quiet for a change. baby millie and i are home while jeremy and eli are out buying the necessities: coffee and diapers. pretty soon i'll hear them rolling up the gravel drive. from this second story room where i sit, the baby asleep on my lap, i'll be able to hear eli talking as they tromp, lugging a jumbo box of pampers across the dry patch of winter grass to the back door. he'll have chocolate crumbs on his face from the cookies i sent in a bag for him to eat on the journey. and he'll run into the house and begin calling for me to come down so he can tell me all about his day at "hool" and ask me how my life is. though he's amazingly articulate (and <i>really</i> does frequently inquire: "mom, how's your life?" in the most sincerest of tones) he can't quite master the "sk" sound. so for the time being, school is <i>hool</i>, squirrel is <i>hurl</i>, and scratch is <i>hatch. </i>i recently read that two and three year olds talk so much because they enjoy the sound of their own voices. this definitely seems true in eli's case. he keeps us very much amused with statement-questions like:<div><br /></div><div><i>"mommy, can i have some chocolate chips because i'm curious and i want some."</i></div><div><br /></div><div>"because i'm curious" is his answer and his reason for just about everything these days. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">M</span>y millie, dear, dear girl, sleeps six to eight hours a night while i slumber ever so gratefully nearby. and if i may boast for a minute---she's absolutely beautiful, sweet, happy, cuddly, and a little on the plump side. jeremy and i are the only ones who seem to think she's chubby, probably because eli was so un-chubby by baby standards. it's fun to have cheeks to kiss and soft little leg folds to navigate the diaper around. she's up to almost nine pounds now and still has a full head of dark brown hair. she often wrinkles her forehead as if concerned, smiles crookedly, and makes it known that she adores her daddy and big brother more than anyone else in the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>this week i went to my monthly mom's group and came away with a bit of truth i've been trying to work my heart around. it's the reality that my children are not my own, but God's. as Scotty Smith, the pastor who spoke, reminded us, we do not <i>own</i> our children. they are borrowed; we are stewards of them, here to help and shape and guide them for a time until they go out into the world. mine are so small that i'm tempted to push the idea of them <i>leaving</i> out of my mind for at least the next decade. but in the past few days, i've found that in moments of exhaustion, exasperation, confusion, and worry (mostly over eli because he's trying to earn his toddler badge and working hard at wearing our patience into a thin remnant of what it once was) this idea has actually been comforting. somehow, oddly, there's encouragement in knowing that i've been entrusted with these little creatures, but they are not mine to keep forever.</div><div><br /></div><div>and now, the curious one has arrived home. his footsteps are approaching the bottom of the stairs and soon he'll get tired of waiting and make the climb to look for me himself. </div><div><br /></div><div>he has just now found me, presented me with a dinosaur sticker as a gift, and asked me sweetly, "mom, how was your day?" definitely time to close the laptop.</div></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-1129755221395234512009-12-22T19:49:00.002-06:002009-12-22T19:57:28.647-06:00a reluctant Santa.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rkMjIPI/AAAAAAAACEg/9c-6BxQn-Kg/s1600-h/IMG_0023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rkMjIPI/AAAAAAAACEg/9c-6BxQn-Kg/s400/IMG_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418244516549435634" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rUCN4TI/AAAAAAAACEY/EPoMPqYwRMg/s1600-h/IMG_0024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rUCN4TI/AAAAAAAACEY/EPoMPqYwRMg/s400/IMG_0024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418244512211132722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rGBDnWI/AAAAAAAACEQ/3zKw8MSwKeM/s1600-h/IMG_0027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4rGBDnWI/AAAAAAAACEQ/3zKw8MSwKeM/s400/IMG_0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418244508448169314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4qxeYVjI/AAAAAAAACEI/RRoRg4QSrWA/s1600-h/IMG_0028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzF4qxeYVjI/AAAAAAAACEI/RRoRg4QSrWA/s400/IMG_0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418244502934017586" border="0" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-88871782874509323772009-12-22T13:27:00.009-06:002009-12-22T16:34:36.320-06:00millie.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzExxR-4E5I/AAAAAAAACD4/SY9MKdosF1g/s1600-h/IMG_9678.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzExxR-4E5I/AAAAAAAACD4/SY9MKdosF1g/s400/IMG_9678.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418166549413893010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">O</span></span>ur sweet daughter was born on november 7th, weighing 5 lbs 15 oz. She arrived almost three weeks early due to some complications, so we are extra thankful that God's hand was upon her, bringing her to us safely.<br /><br />We named her Emily Harper Casella, and are calling her "Millie."<br /><br />Emily is a name I've always loved and was the first name that came to my mind for a daughter, even before Eli was born. Jeremy chose the nickname Millie, which means <span style="font-style: italic;">gentle strength</span>. Harper literally means <span style="font-style: italic;">harp player</span> which neither of us is, but it's a literary name (Harper Lee) and is obviously musical, so it reflects two things important to us both.<br /><br />Eli is adjusting pretty well to his baby sister, all things considered. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Christmas presents arrive in the mail for him almost daily, and the house has been stocked with cookies and chocolate since before Thanksgiving. It's quite possible he believes Millie is responsible, so his affection for her might lessen once our diet returns to normal.<br /><br />We're celebrating the holiday at home this year, cuddling our new baby, enjoying Eli's frequent U2 performances on the coffee table, cooking old family recipes, and watching lots of movies. We're carving out our own traditions; finding simple ways to celebrate new life and far too many blessings to count.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEu_0ceE1I/AAAAAAAACDg/MKsgtBZcGew/s400/DSC_2459+75.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418163500648108882" border="0" /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">jeremy & millie meet.<br />[photo by my dear friend <a href="http://www.keelymariescott.com/">keely scott</a>]<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEueCnk6yI/AAAAAAAACDY/VVZXUbwv4vY/s1600-h/eli_mill2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEueCnk6yI/AAAAAAAACDY/VVZXUbwv4vY/s400/eli_mill2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418162920337238818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">eli & millie meet.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEwm4ZIewI/AAAAAAAACDw/QZ80jBAH3Dw/s1600-h/IMG_9762.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEwm4ZIewI/AAAAAAAACDw/QZ80jBAH3Dw/s400/IMG_9762.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418165271234378498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">first week home.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEv3fwpZHI/AAAAAAAACDo/ZfzdLUziaVI/s1600-h/IMG_3742.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzEv3fwpZHI/AAAAAAAACDo/ZfzdLUziaVI/s400/IMG_3742.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418164457168266354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">eli performs "beautiful day".</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzE6HjA290I/AAAAAAAACEA/Vc1Ccs1N0Jw/s1600-h/IMG_9941.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SzE6HjA290I/AAAAAAAACEA/Vc1Ccs1N0Jw/s400/IMG_9941.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418175728035755842" /></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">millie at five weeks.</span></i></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-8323453782924686482009-10-23T10:46:00.016-05:002009-10-25T23:37:39.234-05:00new season.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SuTPMFLsviI/AAAAAAAACCs/3UI3Ah-E_lw/s1600-h/IMG_9095.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SuTPMFLsviI/AAAAAAAACCs/3UI3Ah-E_lw/s400/IMG_9095.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396666059953323554" /></a><br /><div>the clock is ticking. my belly button has lost all its subtlety. i can no longer put on my own socks. something tells me that very soon we will be a family of four. </div><div><br /></div><div>here i am, in full-blown nesting mode, lamenting our lack of matching coffee cups and wishing i could paint the hardwood floors a glossy white. i'm navigating a tightrope between needing everything to be immaculate, and throwing my hands in the air, letting it all go in favor of a nap and chocolate cookies.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>these are challenging days, i'll admit. we've seen as much of the airport as our own driveway these past few months, with all of jeremy's departures and arrivals. almost every thursday evening on cue, i pull out the ironing board and press the same three to four shirts for his tired black suitcase while he packs up CDs in the office. this weekend he's in ireland drinking boatloads of tea (and probably some Guinness) in between performances. i am secretly hoping he'll bring me back a scarf, but i'd be equally happy with a gigantic hug and time alone to take a bath.</div><div><br /></div><div>meanwhile, i attempt to gather a moment of composure while Eli pouts in the time-out chair. we've entered each morning with at least one crying fit before coffee, and then another when it's time to get dressed. more erupt throughout the day for various reasons, like my limiting him to just one cupcake and not allowing him to drive the car. yesterday, i kept him from climbing on the bathroom counter to investigate the blades of his father's beard-trimmer so he pulled my hair and growled at me. he misses his daddy and is growing impatient with this routine of saying hello and saying goodbye. i try to be patient, consistent, and firm, while also understanding and sympathetic of his two-year-old perspective on life and its cruelties. plus, he's adorable, so that helps his case dramatically.</div><div><br /></div><div>lately, i'm barely keeping up. i've slacked on everything from thank you notes to projects to mopping the kitchen floor. these days, in moments, feel unbearably exhausting. sometimes i wish i was a chipmunk and could hibernate under the covers until it's time to give birth and all the swine flu has left the galaxy.</div><div><br /></div><div>but then again, there's meaningful work to be done: like savoring the last precious moments of time with Eli before the baby comes to scoop up my attention. i'm also trying, with all i can muster, to be supportive of my road-weary husband who i know would rather be home if given the choice. he works harder than anyone i know, especially now. i would love to make him a fabulous roast chicken with rosemary and be cheerful and beautiful and slightly less reliant. lately, i'm doing well to pour jarred spaghetti sauce over soggy noodles. i am miserable with heartburn and achy legs and hair that needs combing. i know he deserves better (like U2 tickets), but i'm like the woman in that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OuE5Miymwo">Suave commercial</a> with everything in the world tugging at her until a bottle of shampoo comes along to put things right. </div><div><br /></div><div>there's also doctor's appointments, finishing the nursery, sorting through old baby clothes in search of onesies that can be worn again. at some point, i'd really like to paint my toenails too, if only i could reach them.</div><div><br /></div><div>despite all of this, every day we grow more and more excited for our baby girl's arrival. we've almost settled completely on her name, but we're not telling yet. i suspect that it suits her well. the bed in her room is covered with stacks of tiny clothes in every shade of pink: little bitty socks and hair bows and ruffled pastel pants all sitting in anxious wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eli started preschool in September. he goes twice a week and loves it. of course, he insists on carrying his own backpack, even though it comes down to the back of his knees and makes him walk awkwardly and weavingly, like a hunchback who has had too much to drink.</div><div><br /></div><div>obviously, i haven't had much time for art or writing. i did sell all three of my "<a href="http://kierstincasella.blogspot.com/2009/07/tomato-tom-ah-toe.html">tomato art</a>" pieces this summer, much to my surprise. i had kind of forgotten they'd been at the gallery since august, until one day this month when a check arrived in the mail out of the blue. good encouragement for picking up a paintbrush again sometime this spring when the flowers come out and the baby, maybe, naps.</div><div><br /></div><div>i would like to resume blogging with better consistency also. i think there will be more to say in the coming months when my brain becomes less foggy. for now, i splash cold water on my face throughout the afternoon, enjoy the breathtaking colors of autumn out our new living room windows, and hold on tight for this new season: for all the wonder, chaos, sleeplessness, and beauty it's bound to bring.</div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-24871438241163639182009-08-20T12:19:00.015-05:002009-08-20T15:32:23.271-05:00while the grass grows shortertoday is yesterday. i am sitting on the front porch---the "swing porch" as Eli calls it. he is carrying a stick, marching around in rain boots despite a perfect blue sky to match his t-shirt. there's even a little breeze here in the shade this time of day (toward evening). on the swing, i can sit with a clear view of him as he pushes his toy lawn mower up and over long blades of late summer grass.<div><br /></div><div>for amusement, i am wearing his straw cowboy hat with the sheriff badge on the front, pulled tight under my chin with a leather string and a smooth brown bead. my shirt, a st. patrick's day green and not exactly maternity, is pulled snug against a tummy that is serving double duty; currently, it's an incubator and a bookshelf. </div><div><br /></div><div>the stack of books: <i>Cold Tangerines</i> (a birthday gift), <i>The Time Traveler's Wife</i> (a novel from the library), and a pocket-size decorating book called <i>Old & New</i>, is for later. they balance in wait of being opened, should Eli's lawn-cutting take as long as i suspect it will, considering his little legs and all the distractions of bug and rock and things to shake a stick at. and the fact that he's using a bubble mower.</div><div><br /></div><div>the real mower hums from behind the house. Eli is back up on the porch with me now, plucking strands of lavender from the pots and pressing them to his small sweet nose. baby pumpkins spill across the ground just beneath us. we dumped our decaying halloween pumpkins there last november and forgot, until a month ago when twisty, thick mystery vines and curling leaves the size of dinner plates began to emerge. there are three yellow-orange globes nestled quietly in the grass among the chaos of sprawling green. they are growing just a little bit every day.</div><div><br /></div><div>i am craving fall. i always seem to be eager for the next season a month before its arrival. i think i grow tired of too much sameness. this lawn has already been mowed too many times, the same precise pattern of long, neat rows until they weave around the sunflowers at the edge of a vegetable garden now wilted from august heat.</div><div><br /></div><div>i don't have nearly the second trimester energy that i had last time, though my nesting instincts and desire to feather this place are just as strong. i attribute the lethargy to choppy sleep by night and chasing a busy, mess-making toddler by day, added to the full-time work of growing a baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>our floors are badly in need of sweeping, but we are enjoying our last summer as three, and Eli is getting used to the idea of a baby as much as a two and a half year old can. he is sleeping in a slightly bigger bed now, occasionally foregoing diapers, and starting at a little school a couple of days a week. as for me, i am trying to relish the baby that's still left in him, not pressing him to grow too fast. he is small for his age, so that makes it easy. and he still likes lullabies at night and being hugged tight when he's scared. he still needs help figuring out which rain boot goes on which foot. and he still requires my hands to hold whenever walking down a lot of steps to mow the lawn another time before the end of summer.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-67541556103710461092009-07-26T15:43:00.011-05:002009-07-26T16:11:36.499-05:00tomato, tom-ah-toe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzD4v5p03I/AAAAAAAACCM/UwYbCIp71Lk/s1600-h/IMG_9152.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzD4v5p03I/AAAAAAAACCM/UwYbCIp71Lk/s400/IMG_9152.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362876635989791602" /></a><br />hello.<div><br /><div>obviously it's been a little while since i've had a chance to post. lately, most of my inspiration seems to be devoted to projects other than writing, but i am hoping to get back to more frequent blogging very soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>i am very excited to have been asked to participate in East Nashville's annual <a href="http://tomatoartfest.com/">Tomato Art Fest</a> coming up in just a couple of weeks. yesterday, jeremy took eli fishing for the first time off our local pier, and i had a day to spend painting away in my studio. it had been so long since i put on some music and worked until my fingers were caked with glue and strands of my hair were dotted with paint. </div><div><br /></div><div>this morning, i rushed over and dropped off my three pieces to meg at the gallery. it's always hard for me to be objective about my work, especially because Nashville is brimming with so many amazingly talented artists. from what i could glimpse inside the gallery today, this is going to be a really great tomato art show. i'm always a bit nervous to have my humble pieces hanging next to these amazingly intricate works, but it's still fun to contribute something and i'm mostly pleased with what i created.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">[for now, i'll just give a peek at the details. after the art show, i will post the full images.]</span></div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzC6F-l_cI/AAAAAAAACB8/XqvDJ_81MSg/s1600-h/IMG_9115b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzC6F-l_cI/AAAAAAAACB8/XqvDJ_81MSg/s400/IMG_9115b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362875559584333250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzDoRV6fLI/AAAAAAAACCE/B0ldUtpRfZU/s1600-h/garden_party_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzDoRV6fLI/AAAAAAAACCE/B0ldUtpRfZU/s400/garden_party_3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362876352908917938" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzCpxlnm3I/AAAAAAAACBs/5wKVxnOdP0Y/s1600-h/clockwork_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SmzCpxlnm3I/AAAAAAAACBs/5wKVxnOdP0Y/s400/clockwork_3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362875279232965490" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-46889509745086041182009-06-05T19:39:00.008-05:002009-06-05T22:36:29.066-05:00growing and making.and pruning and harvesting. chopping and rinsing. sewing and adorning.<br /><br /><div>now in the second trimester, i'm feeling the need to nest. to create. well, i always feel the need to create, but now i finally have the energy for it again. as a result, i am either on the brink or in the midst of several projects in my wee spare time...</div><div><br /></div><div>-one artwork commission that i'm really looking forward to digging into.</div><div>-a writing assignment</div><div>-early thoughts and jots for the Tomato Art Fest at Art & Invention Gallery later this summer. </div><div>-getting ready (almost) to launch a little something i've been dreaming about for awhile now.</div><div>-countless house details as we glimpse the end of this lengthy renovation tunnel. we're finally hanging the tinsel on the tree, so to speak, even if there are still some lopsided branches.<br /></div><div>-planting. i potted a lavender garden on our upstairs deck, and on the ground below, jeremy's vegetable garden is flourishing. i'm amazed at the progress considering he grew a lot of the crops from seeds. tonight for dinner, i steamed our first pluckings: a big handful of green beans. the corn is almost as tall as Eli now, and in a matter of weeks we'll have bushels of tomatoes.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>soon, i will return to post about our recent family vacations and to share more. but for now, here's a little look at how we're welcoming summer (mostly by eating) & learning more and more to enjoy the simple things in life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing0y45hUI/AAAAAAAACAc/elycmJ_6ph0/s1600-h/IMG_8732.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing0y45hUI/AAAAAAAACAc/elycmJ_6ph0/s400/IMG_8732.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049630470047042" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1Vs2ShI/AAAAAAAACAs/UydL5H26Byg/s1600-h/IMG_8738.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1Vs2ShI/AAAAAAAACAs/UydL5H26Byg/s400/IMG_8738.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049639814744594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1Nz4wTI/AAAAAAAACAk/8YKEUJQkLKo/s1600-h/IMG_8733.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1Nz4wTI/AAAAAAAACAk/8YKEUJQkLKo/s400/IMG_8733.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049637696782642" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhG3w-LSI/AAAAAAAACBc/ROiJqg3vcxA/s1600-h/IMG_8967.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhG3w-LSI/AAAAAAAACBc/ROiJqg3vcxA/s400/IMG_8967.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049941016620322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhHIaaFpI/AAAAAAAACBk/op4HmFqAweM/s1600-h/IMG_8972.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhHIaaFpI/AAAAAAAACBk/op4HmFqAweM/s400/IMG_8972.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049945485383314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGkRN8-I/AAAAAAAACBU/ynIKSaSjXlo/s1600-h/IMG_8965.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGkRN8-I/AAAAAAAACBU/ynIKSaSjXlo/s400/IMG_8965.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049935783162850" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1a3LFzI/AAAAAAAACA0/0w9-LZOXBTs/s1600-h/IMG_8746.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sing1a3LFzI/AAAAAAAACA0/0w9-LZOXBTs/s400/IMG_8746.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049641200228146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGnG2JoI/AAAAAAAACBM/74zaJ2zZKrw/s1600-h/IMG_8765.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGnG2JoI/AAAAAAAACBM/74zaJ2zZKrw/s400/IMG_8765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049936544966274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGeJRy_I/AAAAAAAACBE/WPt2Knosd4M/s1600-h/IMG_8757.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SinhGeJRy_I/AAAAAAAACBE/WPt2Knosd4M/s400/IMG_8757.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049934139247602" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-27690044655295318672009-05-10T17:22:00.003-05:002009-05-10T18:12:05.789-05:00Sit, Mama.we celebrated mother's day on saturday because of jeremy's work schedule, and because we are busily packing today for a trip to houston to visit <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">my</span> mom tomorrow. hooray!<div><br /></div><div>this mother's day feels different for a few reasons. the living room is strewn with trains, pieces from a toy doctor kit, building blocks, and little plastic trucks. eli has grown into such a little boy, a busy, curious one, who without prompting will wrap his little arm around my neck as we sit on the sofa or pat the cushion next to him and say, "sit mama, sit." it is evident that his greatest sense of joy comes when the three of us are together as a family. i am fortunate to have such an involved husband who spends so much time with our son; there is always much togetherness.</div><div><br /></div><div>so it is different because eli has grown and changed, become more of a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">boy</span> with all of the grubbiness and diligence and energy the word implies. he has also become even more tender-hearted and sweet. he still loves to be rocked to sleep, switching shoulders every few minutes for variety. if one of us runs out to the store for a bit, he'll heartily pat us when we return, saying, "Home Dada! HOME!" just to reassure himself that we've come back and to make certain we know he's glad about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>this year is also different because now we've got another baby on the way! it feels odd to wrap my mind around being a mother of two, but i can hardly wait for this next phase of adventure and a new little life to fill our home.</div><div><br /></div><div>yesterday began with coffee, of course, in my favorite mug with the poppies that my mom gave to me a few years ago. eli shouted, "happy birthday mommy!" as i was escorted into the next room for sweet mother's day cards, a beautiful purple orchid, and a box of art supplies. my husband knows and loves me so well, it's humbling.</div><div><br /></div><div>after a busy day of errands, lunch, and gardening, J made the best dinner for us. everything (except the spinach salad, which might have been the tastiest salad i've ever eaten----is food always that much better when someone else makes it? this must be one of the laws of gastronomy) was grilled with cowboy charcoal on our patio: marinated steak, cobs of corn with the husks in tact and slightly charred, a fat yellow onion, and mountain bread brushed with olive oil. so delicious and homemade and summery. </div><div><br /></div><div>after dinner, as eli slept, we went out onto the front porch with small bowls of dulce de leche ice cream and sat on the swing, listening to the music filtering through the trees from main street. it was a clashing of bluegrass and something else coming from two neighboring "bars" but it sounded nice and went well with Haagen-Dazs. </div><div><br /></div><div>the air outside was perfect too. we just breathed in and felt thankful and dreamed about our future rose garden. then the mosquitos came around and i heard eli calling from upstairs. i opened his door and in the bit of light spilling from the hallway i could see him standing there, hair rumpled, clutching all of his luggage: a stuffed lamb, his pillow, two blankets, and his sippy cup. "want sleep with mama now," he said. </div><div><br /></div><div>well, maybe just this once. afterall, it was my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">birthday</span>. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-58704523631533101432009-05-03T18:56:00.003-05:002009-05-03T21:31:52.559-05:00Umbrella.Being holed up inside the house like a termite for days upon days is never good for anyone, especially when you’re coming off a bad head cold and really need to see something (any thing) besides a box of tissues. But we’ve had endless rain since almost the precise moment I started to feel better. I am tempted, at this point, to take a cue from my friend <a href="http://shipenga.blogspot.com/2009/05/rain-romp.html">Alison</a>, bundle Eli up in his sunshine yellow rain slicker, shake his rubber boots free of slugs, and venture out in search of suitable puddles for sloshing. We may just do that this afternoon.<br /><br />Until then we have windows, and as I look around out there, it’s almost as if I live in a slightly less quaint, less cobblestoned, Irish countryside. The fog is thick on the hills, a canopy over the verdant landscape popping out with every make of tree, frond, weed, and leaf imaginable. It’s almost like a rainforest, and I half expect to see a toucan or some sort of exotic monkey perched from above, instead of the wide-winged hawks that usually hover overhead when the sky is visible.<br /><br />It would almost be dreary if it weren’t so beautiful, the contrast of thick milky mist and brand new twists of fresh green life springing forth.<br /><br />Beauty aside, we are weary of being indoors, Eli with his train set on the coffee table, me with my shopping list as I scour the internet for intriguing recipes. While we long to go out, the ants are seeking refuge from the flood, squeezing in through narrow cracks around the kitchen windows and marching in diligent formation toward the breadbox.<br /><br />My friend <a href="http://katybowser.com/best-rainy-days/">Katy</a> wrote an entry about a rainy day, curled up in pajamas with a book and a perfect little snack. It reminded me that a day like this, even if it seems, at first, to be an annoying repeat of the past four you’ve had, can be full of sweetness and warmth if you know where to look.<br /><br />Before Jeremy left for work today, I made us lunch. I thought we needed something semi-gourmet but comforting at the same time. A can of Campbell’s condensed tomato soup would hardly do, and we were down to the last heel of bread. I ventured out beyond the rainforest and returned home with ingredients for one of our favorite now-extinct sandwiches. We used to order it at JJ’s Market, back when we were dating, before the place was sold to less ambitious cooks. I replicated the recipe in our kitchen as best I could:<br /><br />Slice a croissant lengthwise and open flat. Layer with very thinly-sliced green apple, narrow strips of rotisserie chicken (JJs got their chicken from a Japanese restaurant across the street so I had to make do), thin wedges of creamy havarti cheese (I was supposed to use Brie, but close enough), and a few squirts of grainy honey mustard. Place it under the broiler for a minute or two until the cheese is oozy, and wa-la! A perfect sandwich for a rainy day.<br /><br />We ate at the small kitchen table while Eli nibbled on leftover apple wedges and bits of cheese since I’d already fed him lunch. The dog paced the floor, looking for remnants.<br /><br />Once J had rolled down the gravel drive to go, the two of us waving to him as raindrops splashed our palms, it was time to flee for the covers. I filled Eli’s favorite sippy cup and piled a soft extra blanket in his crib. He didn’t protest naptime as much as usual, and I can hear him in there now, chirping away with his plush-filled friends, singing little songs. I love witnessing his imagination from beyond closed doors, where I can only hear him laughing to himself and to make-believe companions, conjuring simple stories and engaging his mind to wonder and believe in things far beyond what he can see. This is some sort of early practice in having a bit of faith, I think. It’s also the reason I’m okay with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and don’t get hung up on the notion that I’m telling my child a lie. I don’t know who I’d be today without having learned to hold tightly to the end of that string as my imagination pulled me every which way and beyond. [I had kind of a bookish, stringent phase in my faith years ago, and while the knowledge was good, helpful, even formative, I felt a little heart-deflated after awhile. It seemed less like love and more like geometry. And I was terrible at geometry.]<br /><br />I digress.<br /><br />I’m in my favorite rainy afternoon spot: our cozy grey half-done bedroom. I pulled a curtain to conceal the un-renovated portion and to make this feel more like a cocoon. On the bedside table, there’s a sample-size grapefruit and hyacinth candle that I won at Alice’s baby shower for coming in second in a game of Name That Tune. I haven’t burned it yet, but I leave the little tin lid off so the citrus-scented wax fills my quadrant of the room. Lately I’ve been finding it the best, most comforting smell in the world so I am hesitant to light the wick and send it burning into nothingness. This may sound odd, but actually, these days, I really cannot get enough of grapefruit in <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> form. I buy, at minimum, two fruits a week and slice them open in the morning, eagerly scooping out their bittersweet coral flesh with a demitasse spoon and drinking the yummy juice left in the rind. I must be Vitamin C deficient following the sinus cold.<br /><br />It’s 4 pm now, and the prospect of him actually sleeping seems iffy. He’s chattering away contentedly and a bit softer though, so I might read awhile to see if he drifts off. Currently, I am reading two books at once, which for me is a never-do. One is a classic, kind of ragged and heartwarming and innocent. The other is scarcely a literary masterwork but it’s keeping me amused and maybe even mildly, if somewhat shallowly, inspired. Also, Nora Ephron is making a movie out of it (with Meryl Streep no less) so how awful can it be? Depending on my mood, I flip between the two books. For the past several days with all the rain, I’ve concentrated more on the latter; I can’t really take ragged and heartwarming when there are so many clouds surrounding my house.<br /><br />As luck would have it, we’re being forced to get out of here soon, sickness/rain or not. It’s almost vacation time and I’m grateful. First, a trip to Texas for my mom’s dinners-to-knock-your-socks-off, and to pick up some of my father’s things. Which reminds me. During the ceaseless rain of Friday’s entirety, I took a long nap and had a sweet little dream that I was with my dad in his backyard. He looked good and healthy, and we just talked about nothing in particular except that I was glad he was alive and that the backyard looked really nice. Funny as it sounds, I love these dreams, simple as they are, because it’s the closest I can come (insert imagination) to spending time with him in real life.<br /><br />I woke up kind of happy and sad mixed together. Eli had just woken up too, so I scooped him up and said, "I just had the nicest dream about your grandfather." He looked at me with his big brown sleepy eyes, and said, “Can we go see him now?” Being hazy from such a deep rest, I burst into sporadic tears, but not in a way that scared him. He just continued on talking about apple juice and trucks, and chirping affectionately at Gottie--his beloved stuffed lamb. I held him in my lap as tightly as I could and pushed my face into his soft brown hair that smelled ever so faintly of grapefruit.kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-69252688706177570672009-04-23T16:11:00.006-05:002009-04-23T18:03:27.590-05:00Me and Cat.my sweet little boy & i have had the most miserable spring colds all week long. it is worse for him because he's not altogether skilled at nose-blowing and can't completely articulate what hurts. mostly, he's just been raiding the popsicles to get through it, while i have been pouting on both our behalves. one of my dearest friends gave birth to her daughter this week and i still haven't felt un-germy enough to go by for a visit; for me that has been the most frustrating part of the whole thing.<br /><br />today i decided i at least needed to leave the house for a few minutes, if only to breathe some fresh air and change my mood. so with Eli napping in his bed, wearing the daddy-appointed combo of a royal blue mickey mouse t-shirt and burgundy sweat pants with a bulldog on the thigh, i headed out.<br /><br />i decided to take Maude, my aunt's old VW bug. [i still can't get used to the idea that it's mine.] good Cat Stevens was already in the cassette player so i opened both of the smaller side windows, angled them at my face and zipped down the driveway.<br /><br />there is truly nothing like that old car and some familiar tunes crackling from the speakers to bring me out of a funk and into a nostalgically happy place. i drove the curvy snake roads at a medium pace, scooting over to let faster cars pass so i could enjoy the scenery. the hills between here and White Bluff, the next town over, were edged with pink and white dogwoods arching out over the road.<br /><br />for two minutes i felt like i was back in Palo Alto, on the winding California roads where this car spent most of its life and where i spent just enough of my childhood for it to feel like home in my memory. then a hint of some scent came through the windows and reminded me of how melting eskimo pies smelled at the neighborhood pool snack bar in Houston, where we sat on damp towels and let our shoulders bake in the sun, ice cream dripping down our arms. i made a circle and came back down Craggie Hope road, passing the entrance for Bethany Camp and then a yard with two shiny black horses eating afternoon grass.<br /><br />my head felt a little less cotton-stuffed, at last, so i drove to Sonic for a small diet vanilla coke because who can beat their crunchy ice on a hot day when you have the sniffles? i thought about that Nanci Griffith song, the one about the five & dime. i puttered along behind a trailer hauling a backhoe, and knew that if Eli was with me he would have shouted, "mama, look! a digger!" with such excitement despite his stuffy nose. that made me miss him, so i almost turned back when i saw that the Sonic lot was packed with rows of cars and several dozen high school kids hanging out of the windows yelling to each other. but once you have a vanilla diet coke in your mind, especially with the special ice, it's hard to let it go, so i waited. it was rather toasty, sitting in Maude with no a/c and no wind to blow through the slanted windows. i turned down Cat Stevens so the kids wouldn't think i was listening to old people music. in retrospect, i should have turned it up.<br /><br />ten minutes later, home again with a slightly clearer head and a better perspective. jeremy was waiting to take me out to the vegetable garden he planted yesterday. he grew tiny sprouted corn and green beans from seeds. we have tomato plants too, in several varieties, and i'm already thinking of oven-roasting a big salty pan of whatever we can't eat fresh or give away. want some?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJy8UrOI/AAAAAAAACAU/_lP2BfYmb5E/s1600-h/IMG_8409.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJy8UrOI/AAAAAAAACAU/_lP2BfYmb5E/s400/IMG_8409.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327998221007760610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJl3UZHI/AAAAAAAACAM/rfsqS_y2yIM/s1600-h/IMG_8411.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJl3UZHI/AAAAAAAACAM/rfsqS_y2yIM/s400/IMG_8411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327998217497109618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJtqYbeI/AAAAAAAACAE/u3rEM3F24Uk/s1600-h/IMG_8415.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDaJtqYbeI/AAAAAAAACAE/u3rEM3F24Uk/s400/IMG_8415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327998219590331874" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ8GBLVMI/AAAAAAAAB_8/CG9RCS27rwQ/s1600-h/IMG_8421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ8GBLVMI/AAAAAAAAB_8/CG9RCS27rwQ/s400/IMG_8421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327997985610224834" border="0" /></a><br />spring is good, i've decided, even with a little annoying sickness. sometimes a quick change of scenery is all you need. the ranunculus i planted a few weekends ago have uncurled, bloomed, and multiplied. when my nephew jake was born, there were beds full of bright red and yellow ranunculus outside the hospital waiting room window. it was such a happy morning and i remember thinking those were the prettiest flowers i had ever seen. almost like poppies but with extra layers of beauty. i've been wanting them ever since.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ8PqSjDI/AAAAAAAAB_0/fCw3ZXxcjIc/s1600-h/IMG_8426.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ8PqSjDI/AAAAAAAAB_0/fCw3ZXxcjIc/s400/IMG_8426.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327997988198583346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ79dPDsI/AAAAAAAAB_c/UdO9ymFKsjA/s1600-h/IMG_8431.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ79dPDsI/AAAAAAAAB_c/UdO9ymFKsjA/s400/IMG_8431.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327997983311990466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ7-4NVsI/AAAAAAAAB_s/loLUUsfmox8/s1600-h/IMG_8427.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ7-4NVsI/AAAAAAAAB_s/loLUUsfmox8/s400/IMG_8427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327997983693559490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ72LGQxI/AAAAAAAAB_k/SBfwaEd1r_U/s1600-h/IMG_8429.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SfDZ72LGQxI/AAAAAAAAB_k/SBfwaEd1r_U/s400/IMG_8429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327997981356868370" border="0" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-45501256179964045712009-04-06T15:38:00.012-05:002009-04-06T22:39:08.128-05:00april 6.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdppeEsYmnI/AAAAAAAAB_U/eKFu9rRF38A/s1600-h/IMG_6816.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdppeEsYmnI/AAAAAAAAB_U/eKFu9rRF38A/s400/IMG_6816.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321681875068557938" border="0" /></a><br />today is my husband's birthday and he's away in new orleans, working for us, his family. he just called from the french quarter, one of his all-time favorite places, to say that he's not particularly enjoying himself because we aren't there with him.<br /><br />in honor of jeremy's 33 years of life, i've compiled a list of things that make him so unique and lovable, and that always make me miss him when he's away.<br /><br />1. he is a connoisseur of coffee and is fanatical about <a href="http://www.peets.com/">Peet's</a>. he makes the coffee every night before bed so that all we have to do is flip it on in the morning.<br />2. he eats as much pasta as your average italian on a weekly basis, and especially likes spicy tomato sauce.<br />3. he keeps our monthly budget on a spreadsheet and has things figured to the dollar at the top of every month.<br />4. he possesses a large collection of bags--backpacks, small shoulder bags, mountain bags, computer bags, travel bags, bags to put inside of bags, bags.<br />5. he is handy with a hammer.<br />6. he loves to collect patches, even if they don't necessarily get sewn onto anything.<br />7. although he never wears it, he still has a very old, fairly oversized, faded jean jacket circa 1992(?) in our closet.<br />8. he loves being home and is a creature of habit.<br />9. he is a scholar of history and knows an astonishing amount of random but useful facts about almost any subject you might throw at him (much like a Jeopardy contestant). last night just before falling asleep, for example, he told me all about how thatched roofs are made and how they function when it rains.<br />10. he rarely watches any television except for news, but is an avid LOST follower and will restructure the day's events in order not to miss it.<br />11. his idea of a perfect day will always include a bookstore.<br />12. he also likes a good cup of irish or english tea.<br />13. he is one of the best fathers i have ever known.<br />14. he is not afraid to say he's sorry first in an argument, and often does, even if i'm the one more noticeably in the wrong.<br />15. when playing any board game involving words, he is more inclined to invent non-existent words just to amuse himself than to try to win the game.<br />16. he appreciates John Denver as much as I do, but prefers John Lennon or Johnny Cash.<br />17. he is a loyal friend and is not afraid to hug another guy or tell them he loves them. i've always admired this.<br />18. he is into trees.<br />19. he is <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> very good at keeping surprises because he can't hold it in for more than a few minutes. on the day of my 30th birthday SURPRISE party, he asked a friend right in front of me: "so are you coming to the um....shindig...tonight?" (thinking that would be subtle enough to keep me from catching on).<br />20. he almost always uses #2 pencils to write (ironic considering #18).<br />21. he has very nice teeth.<br />22. he wishes we had a yard full of chickens and a few goats.<br />23. he works much more than he rests and almost never asks for help.<br />24. he often reads the end of a book before he gets through chapter one.<br />25. he was raised in Pennsylvania but detests being cold.<br />26. on road trips, he usually tries to find a Bob Evans restaurant to stop and eat, even if he's by himself.<br />27. he always makes sure his family is taken care of before himself.<br />28. he almost always writes music before lyrics.<br />29. one of his most prized possessions is his vintage J-45 guitar.<br />30. he has been to Australia.<br />31. he always makes sure that the car is clean and has plenty of gas.<br />32. he thinks i am unusually short for a human, even though i'm 5'3".<br />33. he is my closest friend.kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-46537829404028532692009-04-02T15:06:00.016-05:002009-04-02T21:08:34.116-05:00observations on a lawnmower.Our upstairs bedroom has become my favorite spot to sneak away in the afternoons. Especially afternoons like this one, when the clouds are hovering and the thunder is beginning to rumble. Our bedroom is a bit cave-like anyway, but it’s just the sort of room I’ve always wanted. The walls are silver-grey and angled. Our lofty iron bed is covered in white, and is high enough that if I stood atop the mattress, my head would almost skim the ceiling. (I wasn’t sure so I just tried it.) The old grey velvet sofa is for once not piled with laundry to be put away, so were it not for the tangled springs beneath the surface, it would be a perfect place to curl up and read. We have only one very low window draped with something sheer enough that I can see the sky darkening fast.<br /><br />While Eli naps, I huddle here atop the covers, surrounded by a mound of pillows, and catch up on writing or steal a few pages of a book before he wakes and calls to me again. Last night, I started reading <span style="font-style: italic;">A Tree Grows In Brooklyn</span>. My friend <a href="http://www.melissamcallister.com/">Melissa</a> just finished it and it inspired me to dig out my unread copy. After a few days of sporadic excavating in piles of dusty books, I gave up and bought another copy for $3.60 at the used bookstore.<br /><br />It seems very still right now, and eerily quiet. I think this is the literal calm before the storm they talk about. I like rain on days like this, when we’re all home and tucked in, Jeremy downstairs with a hot mug of afternoon coffee, working away in his office. The dog is terrified of storms and is nestled deep on his polka-dotted bed inches from his master’s feet.<br /><br />Not thirty minutes ago, the whole group of us was outside in the backyard, swatting at bees and scraping grass clippings from our shoes against the pavement. With the entrance of spring, Jeremy has resumed lawn mowing, and for the first time, Eli has taken a special interest in this activity. He insists on watching the entire process, as his father weaves even lines up and down our acre lot. Two weeks ago, we bought him his own little toy lawnmower that blows bubbles while he pushes it. He proceeded to mow our entire lawn and our neighbor’s too.<br /><br />Today, upon seeing Jeremy lace up his work boots in the kitchen, Eli put down his fork mid-bite, pushed his plate away and insisted it was time for him to mow the lawn also. So off they went, and then completed the bonding experience by clinking their cups of Gatorade together an hour later. I do love raising a little boy.<br /><br />Lightning is flashing now and the thunder is definitely causing the dog to shake downstairs. I know this without seeing him. He is a boy too, but somewhat cowardly.<br /><br />Watching the grass being mowed twice, simultaneously, (once with a blade, once with bubbles), I couldn't help but feel really proud of Eli for choosing such a great man to look up to. I know he's only two, and maybe at that age every little boy sees their father as the most fascinating person to ever walk the earth, but regardless, their mutual admiration is my very favorite thing to observe.<br /><br />Every morning the two of them have a few minutes in the office listening to music (usually "Bono" or "Coldplay", at Eli's request). This morning, it resulted in coffee being spilled all over Jeremy's desk--and onto some expensive recording devices I don't know the names of. Eli said "Sorry, dada" without prompting, and offered a hug into the mix of flying dishtowels. In the evenings after I feed and bathe Eli, they watch fifteen minutes of a Disney movie together, bundled up on the couch while his hair dries.<br /><br />I'm not sure how long this season of Jeremy working from home will last---though we've never known anything different---but I know there's something important and possibly rare about Eli having the chance to begin and end every single day knowing how much his daddy loves him. Even when the coffee spills.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoa8oSb4I/AAAAAAAAB-s/zkVsRwVb56I/s1600-h/IMG_8343.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoa8oSb4I/AAAAAAAAB-s/zkVsRwVb56I/s400/IMG_8343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320202978224926594" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoa5qqNYI/AAAAAAAAB-k/nHlIlbOeGWE/s1600-h/IMG_8342.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoa5qqNYI/AAAAAAAAB-k/nHlIlbOeGWE/s400/IMG_8342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320202977429566850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">*better point out in case my mother is reading, he's not as close to the street as it appears. there's a little hill, and then a ditch filled with leaves.<br /></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUobA3vX0I/AAAAAAAAB-0/43ZJC-r_Et8/s1600-h/IMG_8347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUobA3vX0I/AAAAAAAAB-0/43ZJC-r_Et8/s400/IMG_8347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320202979363479362" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoaFETCUI/AAAAAAAAB-U/dnyG3DlMdX8/s1600-h/IMG_8334.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoaFETCUI/AAAAAAAAB-U/dnyG3DlMdX8/s400/IMG_8334.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320202963310020930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUonTihT-I/AAAAAAAAB_E/2LSUIc4URK8/s1600-h/IMG_8351.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUonTihT-I/AAAAAAAAB_E/2LSUIc4URK8/s400/IMG_8351.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320203190533181410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoaZp8x4I/AAAAAAAAB-c/B_ZM1FPZ0kk/s1600-h/IMG_8337.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUoaZp8x4I/AAAAAAAAB-c/B_ZM1FPZ0kk/s400/IMG_8337.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320202968836654978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUonFxOEwI/AAAAAAAAB-8/pQqv6-lrjZo/s1600-h/IMG_8349.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SdUonFxOEwI/AAAAAAAAB-8/pQqv6-lrjZo/s400/IMG_8349.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320203186836738818" border="0" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-80132161858113160192009-03-27T13:11:00.004-05:002009-03-27T13:24:22.974-05:00snapshot.yesterday, i bought a yellow sweater because i needed something sunny. no more brown. slowly, the redbuds and cherry trees around our town are springing forth with pink and white and there is grass again, just in the nick of time. phew.<div><br /></div><div>eli is celebrating being two with a vengeance lately, testing our patience and persistence to follow through. he is a lovable little elf, but prone to hourly tantrums this week. the yellow sweater is helping.</div><div><br /></div><div>today, i am loving this photo of my husband taken at our friends brannon & melissa's wedding last month. i hope he never stops playing music.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sc0Yb10k5cI/AAAAAAAAB9w/BOBHSL_XX34/s1600-h/Unknown.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/Sc0Yb10k5cI/AAAAAAAAB9w/BOBHSL_XX34/s400/Unknown.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317933601577559490" /></a><br /></div>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-7128979119923898152009-03-24T17:02:00.005-05:002009-03-25T22:11:11.803-05:00and i would like a lemon tree.this morning while stirring milk into our matching sea blue coffee mugs, jeremy spoke up and said rather rhetorically, "you know, what i would really love to have in the backyard is a goat."<br /><br />i laughed a forceful laugh, one of those bursts from between closed lips that sounds like air escaping a balloon as it zigzags around the room. fortunately, i had not yet taken a sip of coffee or it would have spewed everywhere.<br /><br />i don't know why i laughed actually. this is not the first time i have heard about this dream of goat-owning. i think i just wasn't expecting him to announce it right at that moment, as one of his first phrases of the day. we had just been talking about corn and onions, afterall.<br /><br />an hour later, my husband was gone with his guitar and eli and I stood at the kitchen window watching friendly nathan as he tilled a thirty foot rectangle at the edge of our backyard. we're preparing it for a vegetable garden, our first true plantings at this new house. well, aside from a few pots of pansies and a rosemary bush.<br /><br />our garden is what we miss most about the home we left behind. we had just barely seen the fledgling cherry trees start to blossom, and i had legitimately begun falling in love with the <strike>blue atlas cedar</strike> dawn redwood tree i'd been so reluctant to plant after learning that in winter it would resemble a fish skeleton.<br /><br />here, we have plans to convert our storage shed into a workshop for jeremy, with a small potting shelf for me. the little ramshackle tobacco barn adjacent to it will become a chicken coop, and sometime this spring we'll order a box of baby chicks from McMurray Hatchery (hmm, or possibly elsewhere since their minimum order seems to be twenty-five. i believe we'll start with six.) i can't wait to wander out in the mornings to collect fresh brown eggs with eli, or to pluck some tomatoes and peppers for an omelette.<br /><br />eventually to the yard, we'd like to add some river birch trees, a japanese maple just beyond jeremy's office window, a dogwood or two, and some hydrangeas. i have plans for a fragrant potted herb garden overtaking our upstairs deck with lavender, chamomile, russian sage, thyme, and lemon verbena. and maybe eventually we <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> adopt a goat, but what i would really love to grow is a lemon tree. i am not sure if tennessee has the right climate for it, but i'm hoping so. lemon trees remind me both of italy and northern california, my two favorite places besides home.<br /><br />once when i rented, my neighbors, the pearsons, had the most amazing wild flower garden that ben had given to his wife elayne as a gift. the bumble bees were almost as big as the enormous sunflowers, and there were long tangles of pink and yellow and purple and white leaning over the fence, dropping pollen on the sidewalk. it was as much <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> dream garden as i think it was hers.<br /><br />springtime is nearing and i have never been so eager for it, though i'm confident i feel this exact way at the close of every winter. as a welcome to the season, i made a little bit of new botanically-inspired art for the house. also, we have gorgeous hot pink roses blooming in the kitchen. eli's vocabulary now features phrases like "go outside" and "mama, i want lawn. mow." my breakfast included the ripest, reddest of strawberries, grown by someone named joe who clearly has a knack. while i drank lukewarm coffee, eli marched around the porch in green striped pajamas and converse sneakers, scooping up dirt because that's what boys do.<br /><br />today's list has and will include a loaf of banana bread, a walk to the coffee shop to say hello, a quick spring cleaning, and a leafy salad with sesame dressing for lunch. there will also be bubble blowing, and a short trip into the yard to scope out the tilled portion and make some plans for what we'll grow. eli has already requested a few of his favorite (most-obvious) crops: chocolate, rice, and salsa. i'm still thinking of lemon trees, and maybe a few rows of corn.<br /><br />[photo journals to follow below...]kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15571049.post-36085102913755164602009-03-24T16:44:00.004-05:002009-03-24T17:02:02.384-05:00after the thaw.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU5rXOzII/AAAAAAAAB9Q/oeZQ-mclojU/s1600-h/IMG_8170.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU5rXOzII/AAAAAAAAB9Q/oeZQ-mclojU/s400/IMG_8170.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316874184957021314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU5JMuZsI/AAAAAAAAB9I/Rv0JEuigv7A/s1600-h/IMG_8202.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU5JMuZsI/AAAAAAAAB9I/Rv0JEuigv7A/s400/IMG_8202.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316874175786149570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4xjrQDI/AAAAAAAAB9A/hvUVuJN8xks/s1600-h/IMG_8201.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4xjrQDI/AAAAAAAAB9A/hvUVuJN8xks/s400/IMG_8201.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316874169439961138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4los-MI/AAAAAAAAB84/umXbrx8hgTE/s1600-h/IMG_8172.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4los-MI/AAAAAAAAB84/umXbrx8hgTE/s400/IMG_8172.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316874166239819970" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4WjkztI/AAAAAAAAB8w/FxFE4P53LrU/s1600-h/IMG_8196.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_y4hpYmg54uc/SclU4WjkztI/AAAAAAAAB8w/FxFE4P53LrU/s400/IMG_8196.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316874162191781586" /></a>kierstinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09900589767569258003noreply@blogger.com1