Berlin's Whimsy

At the end of the rainbow...

As it turns out, I am not one to choose the easy route. One of my (many) concerns in moving to a vastly more populated area was the intrinsic pitfalls of an extremely over-crowded suburban school. I couldn't imagine my children there.

They have not grown up with the latest trends and accessories---bullies didn't walk the halls of their small rural school, nor our homeschooling table and the hippie-like school they attended before that. They believe in myths and fairies, possibly dragons, and definitely the tooth fairy and Santa Claus. They probably are a bit naive and immature for their age but I prefer that right now.

I know I'm protective, perhaps overly so, and I know there are far too many evils out there in the real world. Evils and obstacles they will encounter someday; but not yet. I'm not ready for them to encounter those things now----not while they're in the midst of their own difficult family transitions. Nor are they ready to be apart from each other yet.

So, as luck would have it (and multiple addresses), they fall within a school district with the absolute perfect school---at least in my book. Small (only 24 students in the entire school of K-8), artsy, technologically savvy, with vastly blended ages in two classrooms guided by two friendly teachers with their teacher's assistants. It's as if in the midst of this storm a little rainbow emerged in the form of this school.

The caveat? It's a drive for both my husband and I. It's a 35 minute drive in good weather and probably a hairy-scary one in those three+ months of bad winter weather here. And it limits my employment opportunities, too.

When contemplating it all, I pulled out my metaphorical counterweight life scale and weighed it all: Income & employment opportunities for myself v. wonderful, positive school & opportunities for my children. Need I say that I chose the school? At least for now.

And I guess I'm hoping that it all will fall into place.

So, who knows, maybe there is a pot of gold at the end of that little rainbow within the storm clouds?

And I must share that I actually saw this freak of nature today!!! Upon driving down from the lake, we encountered a thunderstorm---the sky deep blue and ominous. But within that blue was a little swath of light, and within that light was the brightest smidgen of a rainbow! A rainbow within a storm! Alas, I didn't have my camera...

Treasures.

We're working on finding a little spot for all of our "treasures." And what treasure my daughter's jewelry box holds, mostly from my Grandmother. Beaded fish brooches, faux strands of pearls by the mile, a pink jeweled ring fit for a princess----did she really wear this stuff?

But now, the jewelry finds its way onto dresses and dolls. And I think my Grandmother is smiling somewhere...

Little things.

Just sitting there, waiting patiently and so close to my bed, the first thing I see in the morning: My sewing machine.

I woke up each morning knowing that I have boxes upon boxes to unpack and no where to put the contents-----contemplating yet another day of 'holding it all together,' for myself, for my kids, for my mom. And still, my sewing machine was there, ready to purr, with red thread slipped through the needle from my last project (I can't remember what that was?)...

Its debut in its new surroundings was not extraordinary by sewing standards; but I still think it will make a little girl smile proudly when she slips this latest version of Amy Karol's Heidi Headband into place.

I guess I've always believed that it is the little things that really count----the little sprinkle of that special spice in cooking, the buttons and and ribbons in sewing, the little drawing and note in your child's lunchbox...

And a new Headband to wear to a new school.

Clearing those clouds.

I can't say our move was painless. I have days of longing to go home. I know our bright little home is still there, with its expansive yard, evergreen trees, and sounds of the ocean. And it's sitting empty and lifeless. I try not to think about it that way, because in doing so I almost feel a sorrow for the house---as if it has a life all its own. And we abandoned it.

I wonder how those families did it in the 1800s, trying to homestead their own little piece of the earth only to be forced to abandon their home due to one failure or another----- a home built with their own callused hands and earnest hope. I remind myself that at least our family is healthy, with a roof over our heads. It could be so much worse.

But as the hours have slipped by since that dreadful, dreary day of loading and leaving our home, I am slowly coming to accept (and dare I say embrace?), our new home and its surroundings.

I guess in the midst of all the sadness, I forgot how much I loved the surroundings of my childhood. The desert. The sagebrush. The sun---oh, the sun! The eery calls of coyotes through the high desert air. The smell of sagebrush and juniper. The mountains always here, watching it all. The calm of a desert sunset.

As those forlorn clouds of my sadness slowly lift, just a bit, I now see those gifts of nature there waiting.   

Glimpses and wishes.

Within the rooms & life full of clutter trying to find a home, glimpses of serenity are precious. Like hanging laundry on the clothesline---something I wanted for some time but went without on the cool and wet coast of my previous home. Just the simple act of hanging the damp sheets in the full sun with the smell of the local sage on the air is enough to relax a tense mind.

I'm writing from my new haven that in its previous life was my childhood bedroom. The room is revamped into my sanctuary now----a place that I'm sure will see a lot of changes in me. I have my computer desk, all of my cookbooks stored on a rather tall bookshelf, and my sewing machine on my little table at the foot of my bed. The closet is small but holds my collection of linen and cotton fabric, as well as my wool yarn---all waiting for their debut as something fun.

This past winter, during a particularly hectic time in my family's life---- a time when I felt that the whole of our house and its care fell singularly upon me---- I read the book, Ahab's Wife. In it, one of the characters had a little room on a ship. At the time I read it, I longed for that kind of simplicity; some books, a few sets of clothing, handwork, and a comfy bed. Back then, with the winter rain falling outside and a big heap of laundry sitting in a pile waiting expectantly for me, I dreamed of having my own little room like that; a place all my own to hide away and dream. It was just a fleeting daydream during a hectic time; nothing I really wanted. Oh, but be careful for what you wish for! I think about that dream now in my little room and a life full of change...

Until next time.

Hello. I lived here for eight years of my life. When I moved here my son was three and my daughter wasn't quite one. They are now nine and 11.

We evaluated this little town for its livability when we were considering our move here that summer. I remember looking at our future house with its large yard and perimeter of windblown trees. The house's outside was not anything pretty to look at, what with that license plate on the end (it's a Manufactured Home) but the inside was roomy and bright. We were moving from an old cabin along the coast south of here and it had its fair share of furry vermin scurrying about. This pristine house was a welcome relief in contrast.

I remember looking at the tree without a top and speckled with bird holes; it fell five years later and we were lucky no one was under it.

I remember the house's pink carpet when we visited----it was removed before we moved in, thankfully.

We walked through the small town that day and I was thankful to find a natural foods store. I liked the town's proximity to our house since our current cabin was so far from any town. I remember thinking everyone was friendly but a bit reserved, for we were just tourists then; we hadn't joined the ranks of the "locals."

We made a lot of transitions here. Eight years can hold a lot of memories.

The kids & I spent many years at a small private school that was run by parents. I worked in the only administrative position the school offered. I humbly admit that with a few others, we built the school up from the brinks of closure.

My kids grew up in that school with its wall-to-wall windows looking out on the nearby forest and its hardwood floors, roughed from many years of kids scooting and playing. My daughter had a favorite tree in the forest---she used to claim it "talked" to her.

We met our very dear friends in that school. The friends that my kids have grown up with; like a big family, always all together. I can't think about leaving them without quick tears to my eyes, an immediate lump in the throat...

I wouldn't take back those years at that school, even with as much head-ache as it provided. Part of the reason my kids are as kind and open as they are is because of their impressionable years spent there---the school's primary focus on kindness and cooperation. Oh yes, I'll admit that some of the parents I could have done without, but I figure in retrospect, you take the good with the bad.

After all those years, we left that school for a brief stint of homeschooling. I'll never forget that bright fall; we were all full of wonder while wandering the huckleberry-filled woods near our house, discussing the local flora and fauna. We illustrated Nature Books and talked about our lives together; the transition we were in. Again, I wouldn't trade that year for anything. Anything.

Our years at the small public school here were good, too. My kids made many nice friends. I will miss my co-workers... So many kind teachers and students.

And all of my husband's employees, too----many of whom are such good friends to us. We almost bought a natural food store with one couple and I still wonder what that would have held for me... We will miss them, too.

Ah yes, how could there be a good-bye without mentioning the Beach. Though I still admit I will always be a "Mountain person" more than a "Beach person," the beach has grown on me.

A walk to the beach is always close at hand here---the familiar shoes, the dog leashes on the hook, down the same old road to our same welcoming patch of sand...

I will remember the fresh ocean air blowing off the beach forever. And I wonder what kind of imprint my kid's childhood here will place on them-----will they always want to return to the beach----a place that holds their childhood steady in its salty air. Will they remember this angelic time with so much love from everyone? I certainly hope so. I know I will.

So, in these pictures I'm saying Good-bye to the life we knew... the beach, the rain, our humble house, my beloved kitchen, our yard, our little town, our wonderful friends. We made our own imprints on these places, too.

And I'm also taking a bit of personal time to breathe, to adjust, and to welcome what life has to offer us...

It will be a bit before I post again. Wish us luck on this new journey.

M is for---Mom's cooking with a flair...

M is for...

Mom's Cooking with a Flair---my motto in the kitchen. I go for haute cuisine occasionally, but my true kitchen muse lies in the comforts of home through quality ingredients, allowing the flavors to mingle naturally. And I love comfort food from elsewhere, for all around the world there are people nourishing people. And, I didn't realize the phrase, "Mom's Cooking With a Flair," was my motto until I read it in a recent article in Sauveur Magazine, when one of the authors behind The Silver Palate Cookbook explained the book's origin. The minute I read that line, I owned it. It's mine now.

Marriage. Hmmm, what can I say. I believed in it. I still do. But, marriage for me has involved a myriad of choices, balancing acts, power-plays, friendship beyond compare, sadness, resentment, laughter, teamwork, fun, history, children, and anger.

I never looked at marriage with eyes of idyllic bliss, for I watched my own parents live through many travails, even with all the love we as a family felt for one another. Instead, with all the insight of a new 22-year old, I looked headlong at marriage as a journey of two friends, with hopes that our paths would stay connected. And perhaps that was our downfall, that at our young age we didn't fully understand; that neither of us were mature enough to know even ourselves well enough; that we wound up too busy in our day-to-day routines to notice that our paths had diverged way back yonder on our journey...

Melancholy. Me. Back when I bought the Smashing Pumpkin's CD, Mellon Colly and the Infinite Sadness, the title alone got me. I am melancholy. I admit that I revel in it. And it has bitten me back far too many times----teetering on the edge of melancholy and real depression and sorrow. Am I gloomy by nature? No. I call it mindful introspection... ;-)

L.

L is for...

Logan. My son, the emotional one. The one that cries during a sad movie or gets anxious over little things, resulting in tears. The one that cried during heartfelt songs in my Mom's Group when he was only six months old. The one that marvels at babies. The one that understands.

Linda. My mom. Caring, patient, sometimes moody, and always full of love & understanding.

Library. One of my favorite places on this earth. One of the things I'm looking forward to the most after our move-----a large, beautiful library system... Mine all mine!!! (She says with an evil laugh whilst rubbing her greedy hands together)... Can't wait for my new library card!

Loops. Loops in knitting. Loops in my life. Things kind of loop around---like when life turns sour, it usually loops around to being sweet once again. I'm reminding myself of this fact------that for many, many years life was pretty darn close to perfect for me here. My kids were happy, I was happy, we had a great place to live, I thought I had a good marriage, lots of wonderful friends and community members. And I never forgot that, for I believe in being thankful for what you have every single day. And now, with virtually everything crumbling at my feet, I feel a little more content knowing that I had the opportunity for joy here---that those memories are mine forever. I know that there are far too many others out there in the world that aren't even allowed a little snippet of wonder and fulfillment in their lives and I'm thankful that I was given this time. And don't get me wrong, I don't think that I'll never be content again, for that's where my loop theory comes in; my loop will come back around for me one of these days...

Love. Corny as it sounds, it's what makes the world go 'round.

A silent K.

K is for Knitting!

With one week left...

What do two best friends, (sisters really, having grown up together), do with only one week left together?

Well, they paint each other's lips with blackberry juice and a paintbrush.

They gallop around the house braying and pretending to be "sister horses."

They play in the pool and splash the other kids with woops of joy.

They cut doll's hair and dye it red, green & yellow, rendering it less "Barbie-esque."

They wear the same clothes two days in a row---not a care in the world.

They ask if they will see each other every single day until we leave.

They don't discuss the inevitable and the days ticking away.

They wear big smiles on their faces and matching mood rings on their fingers.

They live in the moment full of its joy.