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Overheard

Overheard…Emma talking to Dan:

"When I grow up, I want to be a BIG, GIGANTIC girl."

Overheard…Emma talking to Dan:

"When I grow up, I want to be a BIG, GIGANTIC girl."

out and about

Jumping Right In

I’ve had this blogsite established for
over a week now. I keep playing with it…writing here and there, but I
never post. So, today I decided it was time to jump right in. I’m
hoping this will be a place for me to keep friends and family
up-to-date, a place for me to work

on my writing– something that I’ve been wanting to do for some time
n
ow–and a place to learn more about this whole idea of blogging,
something that has me intrigued. I’ve even checked books out of the
library on this–Blogging For Dummies, or something like that…I hope
that as I spend more time learning about blogging, I’ll be able to add
to this site. I’ve already written down some ideas on a piece of paper
that I have tucked inside my journal. I’ve also bee
n spending way too much time reading other peoples blogs to get ideas and inspiration.
So instead of waitin
g
until I’ve mastered HTML, importing pictures, making links, lists and
charts, I decided to jump right in, with my basic skills and go from
there.

My
pictures are from last night at the beach. It was an absolutely
beautiful day, followed by a perfect night. It was Emma’s idea for dinn
er and a swim at the beach. I call her the family cruise director.
So,
we packed up our organic chicken dogs (highly reccommended!), corn on the cob, potato chips, carrots, nalgene bottles, and Dan’s beer (shh…not sure you can drink on the beach?!) and headed out. We put our blanket out on the jetty, a perfect spot. The water was deep blue, the waves were perfect for toddlers, and the air was a bit chilly. I felt like I was on vacation.
The rule was no swimm
ing until after dinner…that didn’t happen. Sometimes I make the silliest rules, that I later realize are impossible for a 3 year old to keep. A moment for grace.
So here are our pix from the eve
ning. No pictures of our dinner spread, but all of the post-meal exploring. We headed home afterwards for double baths and early bed. A good day.

I’ve had this blogsite established for
over a week now. I keep playing with it…writing here and there, but I
never post. So, today I decided it was time to jump right in. I’m
hoping this will be a place for me to keep friends and family
up-to-date, a place for me to work

on my writing– something that I’ve been wanting to do for some time
n
ow–and a place to learn more about this whole idea of blogging,
something that has me intrigued. I’ve even checked books out of the
library on this–Blogging For Dummies, or something like that…I hope
that as I spend more time learning about blogging, I’ll be able to add
to this site. I’ve already written down some ideas on a piece of paper
that I have tucked inside my journal. I’ve also bee
n spending way too much time reading other peoples blogs to get ideas and inspiration.
So instead of waitin
g
until I’ve mastered HTML, importing pictures, making links, lists and
charts, I decided to jump right in, with my basic skills and go from
there.

My
pictures are from last night at the beach. It was an absolutely
beautiful day, followed by a perfect night. It was Emma’s idea for dinn
er and a swim at the beach. I call her the family cruise director.
So,
we packed up our organic chicken dogs (highly reccommended!), corn on the cob, potato chips, carrots, nalgene bottles, and Dan’s beer (shh…not sure you can drink on the beach?!) and headed out. We put our blanket out on the jetty, a perfect spot. The water was deep blue, the waves were perfect for toddlers, and the air was a bit chilly. I felt like I was on vacation.
The rule was no swimm
ing until after dinner…that didn’t happen. Sometimes I make the silliest rules, that I later realize are impossible for a 3 year old to keep. A moment for grace.
So here are our pix from the eve
ning. No pictures of our dinner spread, but all of the post-meal exploring. We headed home afterwards for double baths and early bed. A good day.

everything else

Self Portrait Tuesday 1.17–Family History

Img_2484_1

This is a photograph of my grandparents farm in Maryland. It is a place filled with unlimited memories from childhood until today. This home was once filled with fifteen children, but now it sits quietly covering the head of only one, my grandmother. It still gets is grand share of visitors–family, friends, neighbors…
I really can’t begin to write about all the memories that I have here. They are so dear to my heart and such a part of me…this house has seen so much, and still holds reminders of its busier years….

I used to love staying here when I was little…making the two hour trip in our orange volkswagon bus, remembering that when we passed the fairgrounds we were half-way there, sleeping in a bedroom tucked away upstairs with my older sister, in beds with canopies and bright blue and green floral wallpaper. I used to love to look at the books on the shelves and giggle at the yearbooks from days gone by. Squeaky staircases and worn floors, deep window sills and walls of photographs.
The ring of the bell every day at noon, calling anyone who cared to join, for lunch. Soup on the stove that tasted so good, homemade croutons and a plate filled a few different cheeses.  If I looked close enough I could see remnants of dinner’s leftovers floating in the bottom of my mug.
Two long, dark-grained wooden tables with sets of benches in a dining room of sorts. A wall-sized map of the world that was useful for many a conversation. Canaries flittering in a cage by the window.
Rooms and halls overflowing with antiques and pictures and family and history, rich with history and stories untold.
Summer sunday dinners when any family in the valley gathered the farm. Tables covered in faded cloths, coolers of lemonade and ice tea, salads and hot dogs. An after dinner game of knockout or a round of softball in the Jersey field. And the faintest memories of instruments being picked up and plucked and strummed, lulling those present into the cool of night, basses and banjos, guitars and sweet voices.

My memories of this place could go on but for now this is all I’ll share. I love this place, the feel of this place. I want my home to feel like this–comfortable, well-lived in, well-loved, with evidence of life and family and history seeping from the walls and windows, the photographs and furniture.

I try to take little memories of this place and bring them into my home–making soup on the weekends, and remember my new dining room table? Sometimes I walk in to my kitchen and it strikes me–"it smells like Meemu’s kitchen." And I love it and breathe it in and wonder what’s on my stove that’s capturing this fragrance–a swirling of scents–bacon and tomatoes, chocolate chips cookies and grapefruit.
I planted two boxwood bushes outside my front steps. Each time I walk by and catch their smell, I’m reminded of a place that I love. That’s why I planted them.
I love going back to visit. Even though it’s a little quieter now, and the sheep barn is now just a shed and there aren’t calves in the stalls or a jersey cow that needs to be milked or a giant crab painted on the bottom of the swimming pool or a crowded kitchen at dinnertime, I still love this place. I love what it was that I didn’t see and what it was that I did. And I anxiously wait to see what it will be…what memories will be made here for me, as an adult, and for my children.
It is hard to be so far away but that’s the beauty of a picture or a memory or a smell, or a handed-down trunk or a scraggly bush in my front yard–each bringing me back to a place that I hold dear.

*more spt here*

Img_2484_1

This is a photograph of my grandparents farm in Maryland. It is a place filled with unlimited memories from childhood until today. This home was once filled with fifteen children, but now it sits quietly covering the head of only one, my grandmother. It still gets is grand share of visitors–family, friends, neighbors…
I really can’t begin to write about all the memories that I have here. They are so dear to my heart and such a part of me…this house has seen so much, and still holds reminders of its busier years….

I used to love staying here when I was little…making the two hour trip in our orange volkswagon bus, remembering that when we passed the fairgrounds we were half-way there, sleeping in a bedroom tucked away upstairs with my older sister, in beds with canopies and bright blue and green floral wallpaper. I used to love to look at the books on the shelves and giggle at the yearbooks from days gone by. Squeaky staircases and worn floors, deep window sills and walls of photographs.
The ring of the bell every day at noon, calling anyone who cared to join, for lunch. Soup on the stove that tasted so good, homemade croutons and a plate filled a few different cheeses.  If I looked close enough I could see remnants of dinner’s leftovers floating in the bottom of my mug.
Two long, dark-grained wooden tables with sets of benches in a dining room of sorts. A wall-sized map of the world that was useful for many a conversation. Canaries flittering in a cage by the window.
Rooms and halls overflowing with antiques and pictures and family and history, rich with history and stories untold.
Summer sunday dinners when any family in the valley gathered the farm. Tables covered in faded cloths, coolers of lemonade and ice tea, salads and hot dogs. An after dinner game of knockout or a round of softball in the Jersey field. And the faintest memories of instruments being picked up and plucked and strummed, lulling those present into the cool of night, basses and banjos, guitars and sweet voices.

My memories of this place could go on but for now this is all I’ll share. I love this place, the feel of this place. I want my home to feel like this–comfortable, well-lived in, well-loved, with evidence of life and family and history seeping from the walls and windows, the photographs and furniture.

I try to take little memories of this place and bring them into my home–making soup on the weekends, and remember my new dining room table? Sometimes I walk in to my kitchen and it strikes me–"it smells like Meemu’s kitchen." And I love it and breathe it in and wonder what’s on my stove that’s capturing this fragrance–a swirling of scents–bacon and tomatoes, chocolate chips cookies and grapefruit.
I planted two boxwood bushes outside my front steps. Each time I walk by and catch their smell, I’m reminded of a place that I love. That’s why I planted them.
I love going back to visit. Even though it’s a little quieter now, and the sheep barn is now just a shed and there aren’t calves in the stalls or a jersey cow that needs to be milked or a giant crab painted on the bottom of the swimming pool or a crowded kitchen at dinnertime, I still love this place. I love what it was that I didn’t see and what it was that I did. And I anxiously wait to see what it will be…what memories will be made here for me, as an adult, and for my children.
It is hard to be so far away but that’s the beauty of a picture or a memory or a smell, or a handed-down trunk or a scraggly bush in my front yard–each bringing me back to a place that I hold dear.

*more spt here*