five good things

first layers of the magic garden (acrylic, ink, oil pastel, pencil on canvas)

1. as an introvert, I do my best work alone, but I sure do miss regular exposure to work friends (I’ve been contemplating returning to full time work and work friends are in the “pro” column)

2. if there was an award for best tuna salad sandwich I would probably win it

3. I want to live in a world where the real life detectives in ‘unbelievable’ get the medal of freedom

4. we have so many low-tone chimes around the house that on a windy day I can close my eyes and be transported to a west coast pier. also simon’s bark sounds just like a sea lion, rounding out the daydream

5. painting is the gardening of winter

sunday grace

there is a week in summer when caring for the garden becomes less a joy and more a chore.  its tendency to delight me by the most mundane of moments--a tiny shoot of life, the seduction of a honey bee, the sun lighting up droplets of water clinging to its petals--is tempered by its insatiable need for maintenance.  maintenance that is tender one day and resentful the next.

the bright newness is replaced by the inevitability of change.  the carefree ease gives way to a mindful commitment of care.   the energy recalibrates to fuel less the outward show, more the network of roots forged over time that will see it safely through cycles of resignation and hope, spark and smolder, rupture and repair, death and rebirth.

summer garden

watering
planting
deadheading
deer-proofing (ha!)
weeding
bees
bunnies
foxes
chipmunks
woodpeckers
cardinals
drowning in gratitude
magic hour
gardener

dear pinterest

please stop showing me pins that you believe are inspired by my "recent browsing activity".  i have never browsed for, nor am i remotely interested in:

keto bread
keto anything ffs
badly painted faux wood signs/wall hangings
bathroom "art" with bathroom jokes about farting and butts
contouring makeup tutorials
dining room tables that conceal automatic weapons

please just stop.

titles of lists i'm contemplating

flowers to grow this year
ways to be generous
things to do instead of look at my phone
bringing me joy
today
dogs i have loved
streets to walk down

beautiful andrea jenkins has been creating little lists on her blog for a few months.  read them.  she never fails to make me smile and inspire me. 

return of the light

the dining room in winter light.  the art is jupiter and her moons, which i painted this january.

oh hello there.  i came over to get a recipe and realized that i have positively abandoned this little blog space.  it's been over six months since i've posted.  there is nothing earth-shattering or deep to write about, but i feel a wee update is in order:

• we are nearly one week past imbolc, the return of the light, that halfway point between winter and spring solstice.  i dreaded the coming of winter.  i believed it to be a primary source of my panic and anxiety last year.  with some minor hiccups, i've made it through this far without any issues other than some mild insomnia.  i'm still practicing most of of the nutrition and wellness routines i established last spring.  as we move toward march and the anniversary of my panic, i take one day and night at a time and remember the light will come.

• i am devouring garden catalogs and have placed a huge conifer order that will arrive from the pacific northwest in march.  this year we are focusing on carving out another large piece of lawn and converting it to garden.  we will also tackle the shady sloped side yard that has so much potential but has been very neglected for a decade.  gardening saves me.  and while i want to be present in february, i can't help but daydream of june:

magic garden, june 2018

• this weekend is cold (but partly sunny, so i'll celebrate it).  we will spend some time tending to the inside of our home with regular housekeeping and finishing some bigger, not-so-exciting  projects like replacing the baseboards.  this house has loved me through thick and thin and i plan to return that love through tiny gestures of care.

i hope you are well and safe and loved and can feel the light on your face, wherever you are.