Life in Image

Just
Two
Girls
In
Nightgowns.

Distraction

Sitting in a friends home, on the way to another friends home, on the way home. The w key doesn't work very well, my husband strums a different guitar, the children play upstairs. The espresso is delicious, but unknown. The air quality is comfortable, but unknown. Yet there is familiarity everywhere, because friendship is a form of coming home. I can just go home by closing my eyes now. I can breathe in and have a smell in my nostrils and a feeling in my heart and a family to cuddle with. I can think of yogurt and lamb and potatoes and I will come home. Every tradition is old and new. Every friendship feels heart warming and troubled and comfortable.

The song I hear is sweet and gentle and a companion. But I miss her and I will for always.

Slowing Down/Speeding Up: A List

-I love my husband, the 35 year-old, the old man and the small child versions of him. The way he scrunches his eyebrows and shoulders when he dances and the way he cozies up as only an 8 year-old can do. His knowledge of decadent culinary delights; the way he places them lightly in his mouth, tastes, considers, chews deliberately swallows and then immediately goes in for another bite.

-The dichotomy of relaxing; having a luxurious celebratory time opening gateways to the sad wells in each of us. Laughing and Crying in the same breath.

-Leaning back into old family history while creating new habits to enrich our futures together.

-Knowing that the same little being can make you exhausted/restless/frustrated at one moment and in the next she can kiss you with insurmountable joy and peace in your heart.

-I love the skirts and bare legs of summer just as much as I love the hats-scarves-mitten of winter.

-Feeling completely open and closed in the same breath.

-Having Peace and missing the Suffering.

-Awake & Sleepy.

Boxing Day!

This is a special day in our family; it's the day our Puppa was born! That's right Mr. Raf is turning 35 today and we are going to celebrate with a quiet sleep-in, friends, lattes and brewing in the morning, Thai for lunch and festivities continue sans child into Portland. Raf and I have booked a Premier Room in the Eastland Park Hotel and will having a drink at the top of the city tonight before heading to a multi course tasting menu at Miyake. Last time we had this Rafi's smile became larger and his dimples became deeper than I'd ever seen them before. After all of that we'll meet up with Southern Maine friends at a bar with 25 beers on draft, plus cask beers and a huge selection of bottled! Does that all not have Rafi written all over it?!?

So Happy Birthday Husband, we're oh so glad you were born!

Life In Image

Calming Snow Fall.
At Least Someone is Waiting for Christmas.
Pieces of The Becky Collection.
Dining Room Table, Post-Solstice Celebration.
Home Again.

Right Now.

-An old soothing mix of music still soothes.

-Solstice Reigns Supreme Today.

-We will hold hands together at dinner once more.

-The girl eats the yogurt, the man bustles about, I continue on.

-The husband has a broken thumb wrapped in a Christmas themed splint.

-I'm so glad I did all that food preservation months ago, will make gift giving worlds easier.

-I want to climb back into bed and stay there all day.

-Instead I'll knit and drive the 4.5 hours and talk a whole lot.

-Happy Holidays Friends!

-Here's a poem that landed in my inbox this morning:

Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it
has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners.
They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be
human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our
children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we
put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the
shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for
burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and
remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing
and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Continue On

It's daily the changes happening in my psyche. Each morning seems to be filled with question, what will today bring? What state will I be in today? Will I need to sleep or walk or talk or listen or knit today? Will I be functional or borderline today? How many baths and sultry female vocalists will I find comfort in? Who will I connect with? Who will I reach out to? Who will I avoid on the street? Who will I wish would reach out to me? How much guilt will I feel for having Cecilia watch Sesame Street? When will I feel inclined to do household chores again? What appointments and systems can I set into motion that will help me function? What can I do to take care of myself and my family? How can I take care of myself? Am I being indulgent? Is wearing a flannel nightgown until midday healthy? Is it normal to be totally and completely overwhelmed by household chores? Am I allowed to empty our house of possessions? When will I face our finances and pay some bills and put into action our budgeting system again? How many lattes will I drink? How many glasses of water will I drink? How may cookies will I eat?

These are all questions that I will find different answers to everyday. I will try and accept every single answer as my present moment. I will try not to judge myself, try not to allow others to judge me. I will try to be present. I will try to be honest. I will try to accept myself for who I am. I will try to accept my family for who they are. I will try to accept my friends for themselves and I will try to accept my community for itself.

I have strength, pride and courage as my allies today.

My Present

I put my hands on the earth in yoga today. I mean really put them on the earth; grounding myself out energetically. I got my feet flat on the floor, hands from my heart center and released. I let my head hang to give my neck a rest from it's weight. I opened my heart and became a bridge. Miss Ce even helped show me how to roll on the floor and become a happy baby. I became a resting child. My shoulders touched the ground, my core supported me lovingly. I breathed. I centered. I balanced.

The Lights Were On.

Scaffolding at my back door I looked around to see the shingles, but I could not see them. My head was a blur. A friend and my husband met me at the back door. A Christmas Tree in the living room, it's Christmas? I cozied up in the security of the couch. Home didn't look like home. The ceilings were too high. I felt so disconnected. I kept thinking of having to meet all the people in town who have those pitiful mourning eyes to greet me. It's out of love and concern and care, but how am I supposed to respond when you ask me how I am? Which moment is my new response. Which 10 second interval?

I really went in to the emotion sitting on the couch. I called my family to tell them we arrived safely, but couldn't talk, could barely hear. They were in another universe and I couldn't explain, I was so closed. I read the whole pile of cards that people had sent, I took a shower and put on my own flannel nightgown. There was no comfort found. The couch became my solace once again. Confrontation with Rafi, misunderstanding, neither of us getting our needs met. "Put Joni Mitchell on," I said to him. "Leave me alone," I said. I felt anger and sadness and the need to rip something apart, but no strength to move. I felt currents of sadness pulling on me. And then it came, great gasping gulps of sobs of tears. It lasted a long time. Eventually my family came to me, Rafi holding my side, Ce sitting on my chest.

The girl offered me compassion. Truly she did, there's no other word for the love she gave me. She put her hands on my cheeks and penetrated my eyes with questioning half-gasps. She offered me a cat figurine. Rafi held my side, my hand, my body. I told her I was so sad through the tears and she wiped them away. When I had snot running to my upper lip I asked her to get me some tissues and she did. We wiped our noses together and she gathered the tissues and took them to the trash. She played the xylophone for me. Rafi kissed my cheek. Joni was playing. Adam reappeared. Inhale. Exhale. The next wave is here.

Life In Image

My Sisters Gather.
Best Friends.
Solace In A Cup.
The Energy Field.
The Distant Past.

Speaking At Her Service

What do you say at your mother's Memorial Service? What are the words that make sense, that bring peace? That celebrate and remember her? Do I speak of her role as a mother? Her soul as a being of this earth? Is it quiet tears that I shed or sweet beautiful hope that I spread? Do I create poetry or song or story for the occasion? When will the words come to me that I want to speak? Will it be the middle of the night, or halfway through a latte, while I'm holding Cecilia's hand, or holding my breath? Will I be sitting near her ashes or in the middle of the garden? Will I be clipping my toenails when inspiration strikes?

I want to provide peace, closure, solace in the words I speak. I want to speak of hope and her enthusiasm and joy. I want to remind people to meet someone new in the reception hall, because that's what Becky would do.

The Hope That Sings Out

A little girl wanting to draw. A long lost sister (or two). A husband wearing my glasses and playing baritone ukulele. A new kind of smile with deeper lines in the eyes. A new song to sing. A relationship deepening. Discovery of different espresso beans. Enriching of the heart. Being home. Holding hands with your father and never wanting to let go. Feeling the comfort of your husband. Being so proud of your growing little girl.

Being a sister and not a mother. Realizing your strength over and over and over again. Allowing yourself to sleep for hours. Trusting your family with your daughter. Trusting your community with your secrets. Calling out truths loud and clear and accepting nothing else. Allowing everyone a mood or two and the quiet to feel them. Breathing. In and Out and In and Out and In and Out.

Hurrah for this family of friends.

The Hole That Seems Unfillable.

Hi there. The second wave has hit. There's a depression, a grasping, a longing, a sadness. I have new fears; of crossing the street, of loosing a pencil, of saying goodbye. I have a new ability to panic that sits waiting below the surface of my functional exterior. The hands I hold will never be the size of hers, or as smooth. There will be no more phone calls every morning celebrating the glories of my life. I will not be told what is being made for dinner. I will not be told the events of the day. I will not hear her excited voice, or her check-in voice or her calls in times of anguish. Cecilia will not receive her silly packages.

I have a sadness that only I can hold. Others can lift me, others can reach out, they can hold me, but the well of sadness is mine. Edward has a different sadness, Nick has a different sadness. Only I can hold me. I feel the support, I hear the words and they all help, they are all comfort, but it is me who must bear the weight. Me who must feel the turmoil. It is I who will be ambushed by her handwriting, by an image, a smell, a story I cannot share. It is I who will lay awake unable to cry. It is me. This is me. This is my story, my path, my journey.

I feel ideas germinating, I feel art to create, food to digest, stories to tell. I feel knowledge and wisdom coming. I feel joy that will be boundless and inherent pride. A whole life to live for her. Another generation to infuse with her spirit, the gifts of creativity and education. I see textiles and artifacts in my future, a studio too small to house all of my ideas and plans, the creation is coming.

Every death brings a rebirth. Here we are all born again. The slate is wiped and it's time to start over. A life where I am the mother and Ce is the child. A life where I draw the lines and she breaks away. I pray for flexibility, for growth, for change in my body, in my life. I pray for peace in our family. Enough is enough, air your dirty laundry and move on!

Here's some of my laundry: Once in high school I hit someone's car and didn't tell anyone. I knew the person, but I was so scared of the reaction that I drove away. I have regret and shame to this day over this childish action, but here I am telling the free world of this action and moving on.

Step forward into the light of forgiveness with me.

Bebekah In Image.

In the rush to leave my home I didn't bring my camera,
(well that and it's not working properly right now anyway),
I wanted to share a few images of her, and things that brought her joy.

Hadley Ware Pottery.
Hedgehogs.
Marimekko.
Helen "Becky" Demetra Koulouris.
The Hopkins 3.

What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been

The rain has been falling for days now. It's not a hard rain, it's the kind that accompanies change of season, it reminds me of spring really, but of course we are headed into winter. We are headed into the cold and we are already in the dark. That's comforting actually we will soon have the longest night of the year which means that in 2 weeks time we will be having more light fill our days. This is one of our blessings.

The grief is so quiet right now. I am left wondering about our plan here constantly, and know that I have nothing but time to process the change within. I have a lifetime of processing ahead of me and an afterlife of peace.

When a life such as Becky's was so fraught with pain it creates an interesting dynamic in death. She was in severe emotional pain daily when she was living and now I truly believe she is free from that burden. We are free from her disease. I do not have to be worried about her anymore. There is no alcohol left for her to drink. There is no more judgment left for her to feel. There is no more hate to contend with. There is only love and it is a relief. I am not afraid of her any longer. I no longer have to guard my heart from her. A part of my soul has relaxed for the first time in my life.

So when I sound ok on the telephone, this is why. My mother and I have found peace for the first time. Exhale. I am thankful for this, and of course mightily confused by it. I keep wondering when the next wave of pain will come and am trying to conserve my energy for that time.

There has been a date set for her memorial service:
Saturday, December 17th at 10am.
Presbyterian Church in Topsham
There will be a reception to follow, please bring photos to share.

Here is a link to her Obit if you missed it.

I am also thinking of some sort of service in Washington County at some point, so do not feel like you HAVE to drive down if you cannot, we will have time to mourn her.

From Where I Sit.

The Silence Continues,

The Tear Well Feels Bare,


She Is In A Lighter Place.

From Where I sit I can see:

Hedgehogs everywhere.

Emails to respond to.

Her everywhere, with me in everything she's displayed.

A little girl looking for the ability to play, but trapped in fear.

Pride.

Creativity and beauty and a unique response.

Colors, Red-Oranges and Blues and White and cluttered Greys.

Devices meant to provide comfortable release to her body.

Cough Syrup everywhere.

Projects left undone.

A tired Puppa and Mumma who need to find some kids for this girl to romp with.

Christmas Presents.

Hope and Friendship and Fun.

The feeling of a storm coming, perhaps we're in the eye right now.

A sweet baby girl who really is our treasure.

Appointments with my long term psychologist Thur, Tue, Thur; a massage Fri and an appointment with her psychiatrist in 2 weeks.

The friendship and care of some serious ladying for me to melt into this weekend.

A whole community for me to melt into when I am ready to be home.

The new understanding that I have undergone a trauma over loosing a woman who was traumatic.

She was in recovery.

The hope that she will beable to somehow now come and play with Cecilia.

Light & Love

I began to dream again last night.,


Yesterday was so still,


Love is all around.

I promise that we are coping and I promise that we are taking care of ourselves. We are open and not closing. My mother's life was a hard one, she struggled with alcoholism for my entire adult life, which was her path of coping with being Bi-Polar and having a Borderline Personality Disorder (I still don't understand what that means). She was healing. I am left wondering many things which will come later.

My brother thanked me for knowing what to do the day we said goodbye to her body. And it's true, I have known what to do, for whatever reason my intuition is guiding this ship in our family. Perhaps it's because I have just become the matriarch of our little line at 18 McLellan Street. I realize that with the death of my mother that I have become an elder. At age 28 I am an elder. I seem to hold a wisdom beyond my years, and my action, my decisions affect EVERYONE'S mourning process. When I stand proudly others know that it's safe to stand proudly. When I laugh, they know that we are allowed to use humor in these difficult moments.

Of course I could be none of this without you mother. For all of the hard places her and I shared we were also working very hard to be loving and present for one another. I would draw places in the sand for her, lay boundaries where others could not and later, always later, she thanked me for it. She never hesitated to tell me how much our time together meant to her, especially of late. For all the fears she had in life, she was also so fearless to communicate. She instilled pride in me, creativity and the gift of the option to be exactly who I was. I have so much thanks for her life. So much thanks for my life.

I feel proud that I was able to give my mother her greatest joy in the last years in this human world. The gift of my family. For Rafi and Becky loved one another, he even used her childhood name, Bebekah, which meant little girl in Greek and was how she came to be Becky from Helen. We made Cecilia who was her beacon of hope and light and love. She brought her nothing but joy and don't we all deserve that? I feel so thankful for the gift of giving her that love. I know it will be what I always come back to as I mourn her, Love. I have discovered in this process that I am a conduit for healing. Allow us to heal together.

When I write these words, and you in turn read them you are healing me. It helps me to share. Keep the emails coming, it helps me write and to gather strength. You are never too much, and if you are I will tell you, so, worry not. Keep us all in the light and the love,.

Think of my family who mourns:
Edward,
Nick,
Barbara,
Molly,
Rafi,
Eileen,
Cam.

Think of our community who mourns and grapples and questions. Keep us all in light and love and help us all to find peace.

A Lifetime In 4 Days.

Let me catch you up. My mother died on Thursday, December 1st around 6:30pm. I was alone in my house with 3 candles lit, eating a salad dinner. She was on her way to a meeting in Bowdoinham, she got a little confused about where she was going and parked across the street in a group home's parking lot, spoke to 2 attendees who were outside to get permission to park there and they last saw her milling around her white Volvo. The state trooper Jonathan Leach fills us in from this point forward.

She crossed the street and had maybe 10 yards to walk to the mouth of the driveway, she was walking with traffic, wearing dark clothing on an unlit rural road with barely a shoulder. There were shrubs/hedges along the road which probably forced her to walk further over than she would have been naturally inclined to do. The pick-up truck was coming from behind a hill, another car was turning from the mouth of a driveway and the headlights were in Lisa Green's eyes. She did not see Becky there was an impact on the front passenger side of her truck and stopped immediately. She was not speeding and she was 3 driveways from her home. She got out of the vehicle, hollered out, heard nothing and found my mother. She had some EMT training and checked her pulse, she had one. She flagged down the next cars coming through.

Now our dear friend, and teacher Peggy Muir fills us in. She was also going to the meeting and was with my mother as she transitioned. She held Becky's hand. She told her not to leave us and that we loved her, over and over again. She was not in pain, she was glazed and her eyes were open and staring upwards. Peggy held her hand and told her that we loved her. She believes she knew this when she died.

The Times Record reported that they closed the road and cleared a place for a life flight helicopter to land. There was a helicopter circling, but never used it, which leads me to believe that she died at the scene of the accident, though she was pronounced dead at the hospital in Brunswick.

Becky's best friend Kathleen came to the scene as the ambulances were leaving. She wanted to be with Becky, but went to get Ed. She took Ed to the hospital where he saw her for quite a while. She was cold and he said he could not warm her, though he tried. Kathleen cared for him all night and stayed at the house until I arrived at noon the next day.

The house has been open and there have been a constant stream of people and food. We need vegetables and fruit, sweets and local organic meats. Edward loves pasta. Becky loved the farmer's market, so shop there if you're making meal. She left a vase full of daylilies and a house full of her. Everywhere you look she has decorated and filled and it's beautiful and comforting. We are SURROUNDED by friends and family and care and love and support and that helps tremendously.

There is more to say, but not today; I'll see you tomorrow. Forward my blog to anyone you think could benefit from reading it. This is an open mourning process. The memorial service will be in 2 weekends on the 17th or 18th in Brunswick. Thank you all for you blessings.

From Where I Sit.

There is a pile of Cow Manure the size of a vehicle in my driveway, a wedding present from friends.

I feel excited to spread the manure into future vegetable/hop/grape/flower beds all around the yard.

Feeling glad it's aged a year otherwise between that and the roosters this year we might not be the best neighbors.

Feeling conscious of protecting my back while shoveling all of that manure.

I am happy that there are meringues cooking in the oven.

I'm even more pleased that Miss Ce. helped me bake them.

Am already missing Raf and Cecilia/looking forward to my solitude/knowing that it will happen too quickly.

Scared/eager to turn the heal of that sock!

Glad to have a blog to tell you all about it and am thankful that you're reading!

Improvements Continued

I have big plans for this weekend. Rafi and Cecilia are going to Massachusetts to visit his family for 3 nights, I am taking this opportunity to stay home. This will be the longest I've been away from the girl since birth. This will be a long time to be home by myself. I'm hoping to get a lot done and not go stir crazy. I'm worried about being lonely at night and cooking just for one. What I'm not worried about is keeping myself busy! Here's a list of all the home improvements/activities I daydream about doing when I have 78 hours to myself in my own home:

-Knit 1 Sock (maybe a pair?!)

-Paint/Decorate the Back Hallway

-Paint the Upstairs Bathroom

-Organize/Rearrange the Kitchen

-Make Our Empty Closet Functional

-Shingle The East Wall

-Make Sense of the Music Room

I know that I will spread out and drink lattes very quietly and go for walks to the New 2 You and talk on the phone and eat popcorn for dinner. I also realize I probably won't know what to do with myself and will miss them horribly and will be very ready for the chaos maker and my sweet husband to return home. However I will be sure to savor this time as well, you don't get 3 days to yourself, in your own home as a mama very often, I'll be sure to be just lazy and productive enough!

Perfect Foam

Sometimes we make improvements to our lives. It could be painting an old chair, or cleaning something that went for too long, or hiring a house cleaner (how fantastically bourgeois is that?). Maybe its making a phone call or writing a thank-you note that you were feeling guilty about. Perhaps it's getting some slippers on cold toes or putting a pillow behind your tired back. Getting a new toothbrush, washing the sheets, putting the laundry away, rearranging the furniture. Sometimes we organize a messy drawer or clean up the yard or clean the garage. There are so many things we can do to make subtle improvements.

These are quality of life changes, some are purchased, some are time, but all of them are a conscious decision to make a change to enhance our experience on this planet. Rafi and I made one of these improvements recently. We had been fumbling along with an old, leaky espresso machine, the thing had bit it. For people who drink 1, 2, 3 even 4 lattes a day it is a luxury, a treat, a joy in our days. It's gets us jump-started, makes us happy and holds our hand at 7am. It feels like this bubble of solitude, treat and sweetness every morning. When something brings you that much joy and the machine your using cannot deliver it becomes time to make a capitol improvement. So we did. We dipped into our carefully hoarded wedding money and spent $300. We got this, and this. So what I'm saying is that our quality of life has improved, over and over again everyday. We get crema every time, our foam is billowy and soft. Our tongues get used to the sweet, bitter flavor of the bean and milk, and we're transported to a luxurious place. Every time.

Improvements, big and small, we make them every day, what improvement to your quality of life will you make this week?

Tis The Season

For my favorite song!

Happy Thanksgiving to you all, Merry Holiday and roll in the New Year!

shhhhhhhh. (i love the snow)

I have some top secret information. I love snowfall. I love winter. I love the quiet that surrounds you. The gift of cuddling up in flannel a little longer in the morning. The familiar rumble of the snowplow. The idea that you can't go anywhere except by foot. The fun of bundling and bundling and bundling to go over to your friends house and then unwrapping a wet pile in their entryway and putting on your slippers and enjoying the fun of a snow day together. We can watch movies. In the daytime. With no guilt. That's fun. Or we can make elaborate meals all day and have a fantastic meal before the sunsets. Or perhaps we'll trudge over to the IGA (which never closes) and get chocolate chips and bake some serious cookies, or a serious sweet. Or we can roll around in the living room and play blocks and make a fort or a nest and read books all day.

What snow days give you is the gift of quiet time. It feels wholesome and reminds us of being children. It makes us stay home, get cozy and enjoy our families. And those are some of the secrets of loving the snowfall.

A Year Ago...

Fits so easily in the sink!
Away goes the old bed.
Everything is different in this room.
Sucking on a little applesauce.
Cutie Rolls.

How Knitting is Similar to Carpentry

These past few weeks I have found myself entrenched in a few new/different pastimes. Knitting and Carpentry. Knitting feels like an obsession to me. Carpentry feels like a pre-winter necessity. They are both fairly new things to me and they both have a pretty steep learning curve. I am learning both as I go; I note the places where I'm stubborn, where I have to start over and where I have a comfortable ease. Mostly I'm learning that they're are both fields where you can really compensate for your errors as you make them, or perhaps in a few rows or courses of shingles. I also have to watch the posture of my body while I'm working, a little preventative work saves a world of pain later on. It's also a magnificent feeling of accomplishment as you finish up bits and pieces of projects! How fun it is to see these two very separate worlds colliding.

Life in Image

Snotty Nose Girl puts herself in a cardboard box.
I attack Double Pointed Needles.
Gorgeous.
Blocks.
Progress!

The Smell Of Cedar.

I have developed a new skill. I can install shingles. I can also use an air compressor nail gun. I can put a dummy up by myself, space the shingles properly and affix them to the wall. I can insure that each shingle is cupped to the wall, that the edges do not line up with the row below it, or the row below that. I can handle cutting around little features like electrical boxes and porches. I can feel equipped well enough that I buy my own speed square, utility knife and measuring tape. My chamois shirt already has nails and a pencil in the pockets. I can do all of this relatively adeptly and swiftly. I can also make errors and learn from them and fix them. I can step back from the wall of my house and feel pride in the work I have accomplished.

From Where I Sit.

There are 2 hats hanging on the wall.

My daughter has switched from 2 eggs for breakfast to 2 bowls of oatmeal.

I have 3/4 of my latte left.

The radiators will hopefully be warm soon!

There are 3 less crowing roosters in our coop.

I'm feeling pretty excited about the 3 new skeins of Icelandic sheep yarn I bartered for from Kilby Ridge Farm yesterday. It feels like knitting Christmas presents is a gift that gives twice, first to me for having a reason to buy beautiful wool and then to the receiver... Now to figure out Double Pointed Needles!

I'm feeling thankful for a caring aunt concerned about my decisions in life enough to ask the really difficult questions and start a very helpful dialog about what this business idea means for our family.

Of course I can't stop this business plan from percolating in my brain!

The girl has a runny nose, but good spirits.

The Puppa gets his morning to stay in bed (after 4 mornings in a row of Ce care).

We're all still loving local agriculture!

A Created Game

During family hangout time before Cecilia bedtime last night we observed her create a game for herself. It had very clear, specific rules and occupied at least 10 minutes. It was the first time I'd seen her concentrate so completely on a self defined task. She had a medium sized wooden truck, and 3 animal figurines, an ostrich, a golden retriever and a Shetland pony. The ostrich was to lay on the bed of the truck, the pony on the hood and then the dog was to balance on the top of the cab. The game was then complicated by putting little foam shapes atop each animal once it was in place. She would then push the truck along and inevitably everyone would fall off and she would start all over again. I watched many times where she would put the pony on the bed of the truck and shake her head, remove it and put it back in it's "proper place". The balancing of each animal was tricky as her little hands are not entirely precise and would bump pieces as she went. What amazed Rafi and myself was how specific of a game this was, with very exact rules. It was incredible to watch her busy body slow down and focus in on her task. We were both so touched by her precise thoughts and actions, what incredible development!

The Observant Eye

Yesterday I was laying on the couch (after shingling for 4 hours) "watching" Cecilia who was very busy playing. All of a sudden I realized for just how long she'd been busying herself in her play kitchen and decided to peek over the edge of the couch to catch a glimpse of the play in full swing. She had a bowl of food pile high that she was putting into the stove. She carefully placed it inside, adjusting pieces that had fallen in transfer. She then closed the oven door and turned the knobs, waited a moment then peeked inside. After peeking she adjusted the knobs again waited another moment and then in one quick motion she decisively turned the knob off, opened the door and took out the hot bowl to cool on the stove top.

Life in Image

The house with the yellow back door.
Girl + Duck Wing = Content
A Puppa and his girl.
The delights of a new espresso machine.
Note slippers...

Supporting Locally

I've been doing a lot of consideration about supporting not only local agriculture, but local businesses. We don't go out to eat much (though we love to!), mostly because it feels expensive. It also feels like a luxury. However there are some really fantastic businesses open in Eastport supplying our community with services that we have been saying for so long that we desperately need. So we've made a family decision that we need to put our pocketbooks there. I feel like we can't afford for these businesses to go out of business. So once a week I'm going to get a latte downtown. And once a week our family will go out to dinner. We're also going to buy a modest amount a of fancy cheese every week when Raf is in Machias. This is important, this is quality of life. We make have made sacrifices away from our urban roots to live where we do and if we can have the option of lattes and lamb and mexican and gourmet cheese in Washington County then we better use those businesses or otherwise they might not always exist. Your vote matters, shop local!


(Everything is just fine here in HopkinsLand, we just had an early, long day away from the house and poor little Hearts in Cobscook Bay was neglected.)

The House With The Yellow Back Door.

It's a little thing really, on the scale of everything we've accomplished on the exterior of our home this year. It's just 2 coats of paint. It took less time than a sunny afternoon gives you to work with. You can do it with an 18 month old at your feet (or on your back, or given snacks at the table in sight of a working Momma). You can even chat while you do it. You can sing a song, or whistle or think while you do it. All it takes is a steady hand and a few inexpensive materials.

The color is yellow. It's a feels like an old Yankee color to me. Bright in the sunlight, but gentle in the shade. Friendly, warm and safe. It feels like home. It feels like our home. There is personality in the color... cheerful, historic and somehow modern. There's a bit of orange in the bright yellow, but also a subtle tone of grey. It's a mark of character on a white home. It's an individualized touch against cedar shingles.

It's actually quite a monumental thing to paint the entry to our home. It creates a sense of completion, of care and of detail on our house which often feels like a work in progress. This is where we enter our family, where others are welcomed into our sanctuary. This is the safe place in which we raise our child and ourselves. It is where our cats come home to, and where our friends knock when they are looking for us. It is a place which is sacred. So really this small bit of time, of energy and care is really quite large. The two coats of paint feel like a baptism.

We are home.

Surprises

Waking up earlier because the clocks changed back and having an extra hour each morning to loll about is welcome.

Walking outside and discovering you don't need the gloves that you have in your hands and shoving them in your pockets.

Seeing your shadow against the fresh, brand-new cedar shingles that you put on part of your house this weekend.

Knowing that you learned so much about being a carpenter in the last 2 weekends.

Walking to the chicken coop to let the girls out and finding not only an egg in the nesting box, but some of our new younger girls were hanging out in there; which is a great reminder that you may receive more than 2 eggs every 3 days from your 13 chickens some day.

The number of lattes you start drinking when you get a new espresso machine.

The fact that recipes in cookbooks are for a commercial 4-5# duck and not the heritage breed 3# duck that you're cooking for dinner tonight.

How flexible you can be when wanting to accomplish a dream.

That your daughter is capable of throwing real honest to goodness tantrums now.

Other people have excellent ideas if you're not too closed to accept something different than your idea.

Life in Image

Hello White House; Hello not falling in on itself porch.
Feverish Teething Girl in Sweater by Great Grammy.
Too Sweet!
Anne does Construction (and loves it!)
Top of Shackford with friends.

Catering part 5

I just completed my fifth catering gig of the season. This is starting to feel like a regular thing. It was another lovely event for The Tide Institute, a lunchtime, finger foods meal highlighting our local farms! Dream Job!

The Menu:

Pumpkin, Caramelized Onion and Colby Tarts
Lamb Cove Farm, Kilby Ridge Farm, Sonnetal Dairy

Roast Beef with Horseradish Fromage Blanc on Baguette
Tide Mill Farm, Tide Mill Creamery, Homemade in Dennysville

Dill Pickles, Bread & Butter Pickles, Brine Pickles, Pickled Fiddleheads, Dilly Beans & Pickled Hungarian Hot Wax Peppers, Homemade in Eastport

Chevre Platter, Greek Yogurt Dip, Sliced Carrots & Baguette
Gardenside Dairy, Tide Mill Creamery, Tide Mill Farm

Apple Crumble Bars
Maine Grown Liberty Apples, Maine Grown & Milled Flour, Kate's Butter

I absolutely love making local food for people to enjoy. I love it. It is my passion. However I am outgrowing my home kitchen, majorly. So what's the next step? I don't know yet, but something is hatching in this brain of mine. Between my growing buying club, my informal catering and the Starting A Small Business Class that I'm taking the gears are in motion. I feel empowered to make a plan, we'll start with the family plan and move on to the business plan. Wheels are turning...