a long strange trip

Of all the troubles that go with moving, with children, with pets, with stuff, it seems I have been able to skirt around many of them.  Only because of family.  Only because of the kind of love that goes without convenience.  Certainly it isn’t convenient to have two nutty little boys and their mama (who may or may not be needy as well) staying at your house while it is under construction and you have only one bathroom and no washing machine.  Certainly it isn’t the easiest thing in the world to have a whole slew of people stay at your house when it is planting season and everyone everyone likes to have  their garden planted by memorial day (at least that is what I am told).  A driveway full of flats of flowers, to the point where the delivery man asks if this is a nursery.  A busy week for all.  But no problem, we are a family.  That is what they do.

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It can’t be easy to be the one who has to drive 18 hours once with two loud children just to turn around and do it with two cats, a dog, a batch of beer, and a batch of kambucha.  Clean the old place in a frenzy, try to set up the new one with gusto.  Study at all hours of the night for a new semester has begun and all the same start a very new, very exciting, brand new job in a town where you know not a soul.  No, this can not be easy.  But, my man does it with grace.  I am have much to learn from these beautiful people I am so lucky to have as mine.


And most of all it cant be easy to be uprooted from all you know, all you can remember.  See your belongings in boxes, scattered about every room, stepping over things for days.  Dealing with a mama trying (oh so hard) to keep her cool amidst the chaos.  These two remind me to stay on course.  This is fun.  This is an adventure.  This whole entire thing.

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It is exhausting I am sure.


And I have run out of time.  For now.  There is too much madness, to much stuff behind me of which I intend to ignore, and in front of me I see precisely what is in store for us.  


Oh yes.  This is our backyard.  An adventure it is.

the wind of my soul

This weekend, at one last family beach trip with some of my favorite friends of the south, I looked around at a sand bar that formed islands as far as I could see, I promise it might have been longer than a mile, at pelicans hovering just inches above the thick salty sea, at my children and my dear friends children nestled in close to one another floating and frolicking in tide pools with grins plastered to their faces, and at my own two feet sunk deep into the sand with a rising tide swirling at my hips.  “This place feels like a vacation”, I thought to myself. “Just when you are leaving.” I admitted.  Waiting this long to realize that is too long.  I will never make the same mistake.  I think  back on all my days with my two feet on the ground I realized that they are all just that.

A vacation of sorts.

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I am glad I am alive.


Moving magnifies the lack of permanence in life.  It forces me reflect on how big my boys were exactly one year ago when we went to the beach for a birthday party, or how my friends babies have grown so since we were last at a picnic, or how much I expected of my oldest when we moved here and he was a mere four months older than my youngest currently is.  It makes me feel the difference deep in my bones and wish that I had a better way to hold on.  But we don’t.  It doesn’t work that way.  You have this.  You have here.

Saying goodbye three times in three years is a lot.  It is sad to see tears in your dear friends eyes when you embrace them until you don’t know when, it is sad to sit in the passengers seat and shed them silently so your children don’t worry with a speechless husband at your side knowing not what to do but stare at the road.  But, more important than a fleeting moment of sadness is the idea that I have these souls speckled across the continent with a bit of me stored somewhere inside them.  And that I had the chance to have all these wonderful memories filed away in me.

IMG_2101 IMG_2120 IMG_2111 Motherhood forms a different type of friendship all together.  The camaraderie and understanding is uncanny to any other stage in my life so far.  We can commiserate and congratulate all at once all with the best intentions and with the eye of a common soul.  These children of ours, they give us so much to think about.  So much to search for and strive for.  So much to smile at.

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I am so grateful for the days we have had here.  Things became quite real to me last night, when handing over some houseplants.  This step of the process always makes the whole thing come to life.  Pictures are stacked in a corner, the walls are bare.  Knick knacks are safely tucked away and the rest awaits for the movers expertise.  Though a constant weight of sadness tugs at my heartstrings, and behind that is a layer of fear, I am ready for the adventure that lies ahead.


I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul.  Where I will end up i think only god really knows.  -Cat Stevens

Thank you Georgia.  You have been good to me.

nothing to do but knit

While this is an absolute down right lie, it is precisely the way I am managing any possible stress.  Rather than concerning myself with petty things such as packing or finding a place to live, I have decided to just knit.  So far no panic attacks have occurred so I consider it a success!  Oh, those big blue eyes. I matched them perfectly to a well suited Rowan organic cotton blend.  This little boy has recently learned begun to say, “Your yelcome”  and the combination is like watching a puppy run.  You are knocked over with the cuteness of the whole thing.  So, I knitted him a little vest, thinking our new location will require such an item for months to come.  Believe it or not, I have had the chance to fancy him up a few times down here already even here in the sunny south.

I found vintage military buttons at Perlina, a perfect addition to the knitting store, The Frayed Knot, where I conveniently purchased the yarn for this project.  The owner is so very helpful and sweet.  I just love going there.  In fact, for the past two weeks I have even managed to escape for a full night to enjoy the company of a whole slew of knitters at their Tuesday Night knit night.  I have been quite inspired by these visits looking around at all the amazing projects being stitched up.

Well here it is- The Pebble, a free pattern on Ravelry.  (Are we friends on Ravelry?  Oh oh friend me! friend me!)

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Oh, and wait till you see whats in store next…  a handspun project… for a little sunshine entering our lives this summer. (As a niece mind you, I am NOT expecting) Oh a baby, a little baby girl.


Anything interesting on your needles?


a girl named Content.

Eleven.  Eleven pack up everything we own, clamber into the truck, drive far off into the distance, and attempt to set up something cozy and worthwhile once again.  As a couple, the number reaches eleven.  As an individual, I really don’t feel like counting.

Parts of the big move are appealing.  Shedding materialistic goods, discovering new sights, crystal clear seas, winding mountains, soggy grass…  Vowing to stay organized this time, having beneath your bed be clear of clutter (for a moment anyways), and your closet have clothing actually hanging on the hangers rather than below them… these things are all appealing as well.

The hunt for new friendships is even something to look forward to.  After goodbyes so painful, the wounds of lost sisters fresh in my thoughts, putting yourself out there is difficult.  Even paralyzing at first.  But after a bit of time, and a few lonely days, it’s not hard to get up and go, do some chatting and some laughing and some commiserating with a fellow lady.  It is just good.

Even the stints of loneliness are now somewhat appealing.  After the distractions are all but distant memories, all that is left is the real, raw you.  The you that you can’t escape with any ladies night, the one that your husband knows and your children are learning.  Which one is it?  Which little voice in your chattering mind do you shake hands with on those monotonous days of reminiscing of the old times?

I have now met them all.  My ugly side.  My fresh and sassy side.  My funny side, (I think I am hilarious).  And even my content side.  I like her the best.

So today we set out on a trip north, just to visit with the tried and true in my life:  The friends who I have compared scrapes with since we were nothing but munchkins playing Clue Jr. over some tgif television; The family who already knew all those different personalities before I ever even figured out they were there; The streets that I have trotted down to grab an ice cream cone, see my ladies, sip a latte, meet a boy, take a dip in the deep blue sea.

While I wish with all I have got I was going home to stay, a tiny piece of me wonders if it is in fact home I miss?  Or have I not gotten to know my girl named Content quite well enough.  Do I live for the move, or am I just moving to live?  I know in my heart of hearts I long for permanence, but I am not sure if there is a change that has to happen in me to make this dream come to fruition.


Because the truth is, when it all boils down to it, I can paint egg yolks on my face in the bath tub while sipping on a cup of chamomile anywhere.  Now can’t I?  

Wish us lots of luck and a sweet old lady on our big airplane ride today.  We will need it!


a new kind of spring

A bright golden sun and a blue bird sky is the weather report for this day in mid march.  Even with this unmistakably beautiful day I feel a little somber.  I remember last year.  I remember thinking I felt lonely.  I remember cursing that small town we found ourselves “stuck” in.  I remember lugging out my jogger and plopping my growing boy all bundled inside and squeezing my enormous belly into a much too tight winter jacket and heading out for yet another snowy slushy walk.  We would head to the coffee shop for a warm drink and a scone, head to the park, stroll the neighborhoods, check out some ducks on the bridge over the river or stop by the library.  It always lifted my spirits despite the bitter cold and desperately dreary weather.

Then one day, like magic, I found a little snow crocus snuggled in by our houses warm foundation.  And then a few more.  Then I noticed the snow was starting to turn wet instead of icy.  It suddenly didn’t feel like true physical torture on my bare toes to dash outside and grab my mail.  Tiny buds appeared on trees and I swear I cried.  It was so joyful when the sun finally felt warm on my shoulders.  Exhilarating is more like it.  It can only be described as pure honest to goodness happiness when spring comes to a northern town.  And of course, that small town felt like home.

While I am still so very new to this area and it always takes time to find every single bit of joy your geography has to offer (I swear I am trying).  Maybe there is sort of a three-month honeymoon when you are a gypsy like me.  Then you either get the itch to move again (not the case here unless it was to pack up all these men of mine and bring them home to my own mama, daddy and brother) or to become a little melancholic for what you had.  Oh no matter.  It is spring none the less.  Just a little different this time around.  Little wildflowers still are a-bloom.  The trees are almost in their full glory.  Birds sing with all their might.  Maybe not as dramatic.  Maybe a little more…gnatty.  But it is spring.  And the sun is out.

This poem, despite the title, sits with me today.

The Summer day

By Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

But truly, it is impossible to dwell on the past when you have this right here isn’t it?