Assortment

Winter Campfire

 

 

 

 

Two families, one pot of chili, two pans of cornbread

Dark night and bright stars

Warm campfire

Homemade marshmallows, roasted

Five boys running tag in the dark

Parents’ voices laughing

All kinds of light on a winter Saturday night

On Blue Velvet Evenings

 

There's the evening star. I saw it from the porch last night, and it reminded me of all the times I've seen it, clear back to when my dad first pointed it out to me when I was a girl. This time I thought it looked like crystal on blue velvet. It's one of my favorites. 

In other evening news -

:: When there is a crystal-on-blue-velvet evening in your world, please light a candle on the dinner table and serve something like this. You'll feel like a rich peasant.  

:: If there is no room on the table for anything but the lit candle because there is a boy who has taken it over and covered it with parts for making a hydraulic earth mover, don't worry. You can sit on the couch and eat your dinner while balancing your plate on your knees. You'll feel more peasant than rich at this point, but that, too, shall pass.

:: If the other two boys want only about half their normal portions, that's fine, because they just came in from their "cabin" (the van) where they had already eaten their "dinner" (a left-over sandwich from lunch). But, they might go for several slices of bread dragged one by one through olive oil.

:: They may or may not feel like rich peasants, they never really say. 

:: BUT, they sure don't mind eating among hydraulic earth mover parts.

:: FYI - there will be no toast for breakfast, or sandwiches for next day's lunch, or anything else served in the coming day that requires bread, because "several" slices of bread dragged through olive oil actually means every slice of bread in the house. (Except the heels. We don't count the heels. Heels can't possible be considered bread.)

:: That's why there's biscuit mix in the refrigerator, for such a time as this.

:: Speaking of biscuits and next day, here I am. Better get to them.

 

 

One :: Christmas Journal

 

Good morning, lovelies!

It's Christmas week

You will find a photo journal here

Everyday

Celebrating the season

And its wonders

See?

 

~A barn party at Christmas~

We Will

 

This painting. Love it.

Love.

There's hope there. There's life.

A bit fairy-tale, I know. But isn't it the fairy-tale that keeps calling to us?

Yes. Eden calls.

Through the deep tragedies of life on this Earth, Eden calls.

Will we answer?

Out of the lost, stolen, and broken of our generation and the ones before, we can answer and begin, for us and our children now, the beautiful, the memories, the grace and forgiveness. The forever devotion to each other, down generations' steps. An unbroken channel of love and commitment, protecting against the shards of life.

With clasped hands, our lips speak deep-wise words, bold with conviction and laden with true:

 

"As for me and my house, we will..."

 

And with those words, the gold of relationship reaches out from our upward gaze, into the generations to come. 

Yes.

We will.

 

  
Wishing you and yours the loveliest of Thanksgiving celebrations together! I'll see you Monday!

 

 

 

Soaked

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Yes, soaked!

In summer

In sun

In water

In family

Soaked! 

 

Everyday Wonder | 28

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 
| a month-long photo series of seeing wonder in the everyday |

 

 

Everyday Wonder | 12

 

 

 

 

| a month-long series of seeing wonder in the everyday |

 

 

Have YOU seen wonder today? 

 

 

Everyday Wonder | 7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

| a month-long series of seeing wonder in the everyday |

 

 

What's your wonder?

 

 

In a Word

 

 
 

Life

Sweet

Sun

Laugh

Warmth

Promise

Sing

Revere

Make

Thanks

Listen

Love

Treasure

Rest

 

In a word, how was your weekend?

 

 

 

Now, Even More

 

 

 

He and I, away for the weekend, right here at home.

The boy room, quiet, still, empty. Our three blurs of life away for the weekend, too. 

Dinner grilled, he my personal chef. Candles lit, table ready, food so fancy. I, set words to paper; he, from stoveside, cheered me on.

Then, together dined, together filled.

We fell under warm blankets as snow fell outside. Hand to hand, heart to heart, face to face, wrapped as one.  Nora Jones by evening, Patsy Cline by morning light.

Slow time.

Morning sun, shy across the eastern sky. Together in the coffee-scented kitchen. Breakfast in the skillets, biscuits in the oven, orange juice in the cups.

He said Grace.

Bodies nourished, plates pushed back, more coffee, hot. Long conversation.

 

I know those eyes.

I know that voice.

I know those lips, that smile.

I know the man.

Now, even more.