appreciation

so lovely to be officially appreciated during the week set aside for teachers. flowers and goodies, lunches and cards. but the most meaningful instance was the mother who came to school to seek me out, to let me know the wonderful things her son had said about me, and how much he thought of me as a teacher. her kind word made my heart sing, particularly since i've been questioning my worth for many months now. such a small gesture, with so grand an impact.

sprung

this week, tree flowers fell from branches and translucent leaves began to fan open. this is such a beautiful time, when the sunlight begins to filter in through the trees. it illuminates the forest floor and makes everything look vibrant and alive. it will only be a few days until the leaves start to throw shade -and then, it will all become a different kind of beautiful.

fail x 2

see the wad of paper toweling i dried my hands with as i was walking down the hall, then shot into the wastebasket? i missed (and i never miss!). but then i couldn't even go recover it - because the basket was in the boy's room!

into the woods

today was our first time in the woods since snow melt. now the canopy is sprinkled with fat clusters of tree flowers and ferns' tight circles begin to poke up through the surface of the ground. the stream courses downhill as the little girl wonders aloud where the water is coming from. she adds many natural elements to the pool, predicting which will sink and which will float, then trying to adapt them so they will do the opposite. we sit together on the damp ground. there may be ticks, i think. but i silently promise to check us carefully - and there we sit, playing in the chill water and revelling in springtime.

compost flowers

tiny daffodils, greeting me as I make my first post-winter trip to the compost pile. likely they are survivors from some discarded potted plant. this happens every year but never ceases to surprise and delight me. it's really starting to look like spring.

rising green

here they come - at last!!

i am hopeful that tonight's rain will wash away all that's left of the snow. it's time for spring!

healthy

a good morning of coloring and reading, talking and laughing. after a full week of being away, being sick, being homebound and feverish, today the little girl visited for a while. it was wonderful to see her animated and healthy again - even if she is still snuffling a bit.

spring sky

cumulous clouds at sunset on the first evening of april. 

pink on blue after a winter of too much white & gray.

easter 2013

a suddenly quiet holiday this year as the little girl became ill mid-morning and her family could not come for dinner as planned - and greatly anticipated. there was a quick visit to the girl's house to deliver easter goodies and dinner, but for the most part, the day was oddly still and quite uneventful. i did, however, receive my easter balloon again this year. still wondrous after all these years.

i just realized this: it's the same balloon as the 2012 one. perhaps the easter bunny buys in bulk?

snow diamonds

i have long tried to capture this, the sparkle of the winter snow when it is new. and there it was early this fine spring morning - right there in front of me.

daylight

although it's hard to awake to darkness again, since the return of daylight saving time, i've been enjoying the extra hours of light in the late afternoon and evening. today was cold and gray but i bundled up and took an extra long walk anyway. with another big snowstorm coming, who knows when the roads will be as clear again?

sneakers!

first day i've worn these since november, maybe. what a liberating feeling to not be wearing something heavy and dark, with big ole grooved, slip-resistent soles...

march snow

more snow this afternoon. this is the time of year my love-hate relationship with snow peaks. it's beautiful in march - fat, fluffy, pillow-soft on the ground. whisper-quiet, it brightens the gray snowbanks from previous months. it sticks to trees but melts on main roads. but it covers grass and keeps growing things dormant. it necessitates winter things - hats and scarves, long coats and boots. watching this snow fall is mesmerizing and enchanting - but as i stand here in the march dusk, marveling at the beauty around me, i long for the change to spring. 

flake

winter & spring, all in one shot!
be sure to click to make this one bigger!

world of white

beautiful snowstorm this february saturday. fat fluffy flakes and a forecast of a prolonged event are sure signs that there will be snow to shovel in the morning. but for now, i stay inside and look out, trying to find color in a stark white world. 

heart day, the day after

best valentine ever. 

the fire breathing dinosaurs are my favorite.

hunkering down

you'd think new englanders might have a cavalier attitude about snow...but most don't. this morning our schools never opened, even though there's was nary an inch of snow on the ground. the local library announced yesterday they would not be opening at all today. our governor is urging businesses to shut down early and asks that motorists to be off the roads before dark. this in anticipation of an impending storm that will soon descend on the area with high winds and snow. a lot of snow. it'll be good for skiing and snowmobiling, they say. tourists will come. it will guard against drought this summer. all this is true - and so far, it's been a beautiful storm. but i can't help remembering a weather event thirty years ago that left us powerless for a week and housebound for three. i do hope it doesn't come to that. so while i wait for the storm to intensify, i'll drink my tea and read my book and wander from window to window, hoping that i'm prepared for what's to come.

early spring?

how do they know, she asks me, the groundhogs? what if some groundhogs see their shadows and some don't - what do they do then...vote? her curiosity astounds me; her reasoning delights.

for this robin's sake, i hope punxsutawney phil is correct. due largely to his proximity last month, i am fresh out of holly berries.

reading!

i always write short messages on this kitchen chalkboard, hoping the little girl might be just curious enough to attempt to read them. and today, she was. and she did! 

deep freeze

glanced at the temperature on my way home tonight to find it was a balmy 16°. this after two days of bone-chilling cold. single digits during the day, negative numbers at night and a biting windchill. cold at work, cold in the car, cold at home. my car groaned and turned in the morning before it finally sputtered to life. the windshield frosted up on the inside. the kitchen faucet spit water even though i left it dripping overnight. pipes in the basement froze. i wore fleece and scarves by day and flannel and socks at night - and a snuggie! i made cookies just to heat up the kitchen and i piled the bed high with down comforters and quilts. it was so cold!

so tonight, sixteen degrees is comfortably bearable. it's a bit like a heat wave, new england style!

pick a winner

here's the sort of process i go through to make what i know are ridiculously simple decisions. in the background, the shower curtain in my green and old red bathroom. in the foreground, fabric swatches for curtains. whaddya think? i obsess over matters like this and analyze them to death, particularly where money is involved. then i spend a small fortune on return shipping when i inevitably make the wrong choice! sometimes it's just easier to not change, to leave things as they are. but then, that's no fun!

sad times

there has been so much bad news these past weeks. the shootings. the tragic death of a colleague. grave illnesses for friends. the hospitalization of a neighbor. families so sick. the prayer list grows by day. and as it does, it makes the wondrous events even more so: a friend is pregnant, another recovers from complex heart surgery, a healthy baby is born, an old classmate has been declared cancer-free.

these sad days, i'll take a little bit of joy any way i can.

winter birch

it's just pretty, after today's snowstorm. 

all day long, soft wet flakes. that really quiet, beautiful kind of snow. 

no birds, no mice

this winter, in an effort to keep down the mouse population inside this old house, i have not been feeding the birds from the lilac tree outside. rodent-wise, my plan is working (i think). but i sure do miss seeing winter birds right outside my door. after years of being entertained by nuthatches, woodpeckers, and blue jays, i have seen nary a chickadee, all winter long.

shift

with an odometer ready to turn over to 60,000 miles, tonight i discovered, quite by accident, that my steering wheel is adjustable. no more peeking through or over the wheel for me - i can see!

a bright shiny new year

i believe this is the earliest i have ever taken down a christmas tree. ever. it still smelled piney fresh as i took off ornaments, which made me feel worse about taking it all down so soon. usually, it's christmas around here for a lot longer than only two weeks. don't get me wrong - the holidays were wondrous in their own right, with the little girl's boundless excitement, with cozy christmas festivities at the girl's family's long-awaited and lovely new home, with lazy days and a respite from the responsibilities of work. but i think i'm ready to be done with the holidays now. i am so curious and so excited about this new year and all that i anticipate it will hold. but right now, i'm looking forward to some routine and stability, to predictability, to quiet and calm. just for a little while.

this also seems a fitting time to thank you, so much, for your readership this year. it's been an odd year for me blog-wise, and i do so appreciate your patience and understanding with that. it still makes my day to find a comment from one of you. truly.

blessings to each of you, and to those you love, in this bright and shiny new year.

the fidget bowl

this tiny bowl has been in the center of my dining table for months now and seems to be earning a permanent place there. for lack of a better term, it's being called the fidget bowl.

in early summer, i put the bowl out and filled it with an assortment of shells, smooth stones, and sea glass collected on beaches over the years. in the weeks before our ocean get-away, the little girl and i sifted through the contents, remembering vacations past and planning for the upcoming one.  when we came back, we added this year's bounty to the collection. then fall came and the summer trinkets were packed away. the bowl was quickly refilled with acorns, pinecones, seed pods, indian corn kernels, and tiny stiff apsen leaves. through autumn, folks sat at the table fidgeting, sorting and stirring with fingers while talking of apple recipes and halloween costumes and preparations for winter. and now in december, the bowl holds the sights and sounds and smells of christmas. we rolled the sweet gum pods as we planned christmas lists and rubbed the cinnamon stick as we composed holiday messages to friends. we jingled bells absentmindedly, waiting for the kitchen timer to signal cookies were finished baking.

as it gets closer to the time of putting christmas away, i wonder what to place in the bowl for the winter months. i think people might miss it if it were empty and i'm pretty sure i've come to rely on it if only a little. even now, i crush the pine needles with my thumbnail to release a hint of their woodsy fragrance as i search for the right word or the correct phrase. as i write, i just fidget.

snowstorm

snow today is just breathtaking. this is the sort of snow that mesmerizes, hypnotizes, and keeps me from chores and work. tea in hand, i stand at the window, watching, hoping that everyone i know is safe inside, perhaps looking outside as well.

post christmas

the day after christmas and i am sick. thankfully, it's only a cold, but it's a good one and i feel dreadful. this is putting a damper on christmas week. but i'm so grateful that, up until christmas eve, i was having a simply wonderful holiday season!

gathering greens

a saturday walk in the woods to gather some last minute greens for inside the house. so still there, quiet, with only the sound of the stream coursing down the hill and my boots crunching in the leaves and the snow.

solstice 2012

it's the longest night of the year. we welcome the return of light. darkness has been with us long enough.

simple gilfts

one of the many joys of teaching - handmade gifts of love from small, important people. i don't know a single teacher who doesn't cherish these mementos. and this christmas season, they seem all the more beautiful and meaningful.

comfort food

tomato soup and a grilled cheese cheese sandwich. 

it just seemed like a good idea on a cold, snowy, sad weekend. 

the children.

the cnn breaking news feeds started midmorning and kept coming into my iphone and onto my feed reader. shooting in connecticut. elementary school. teachers shot. students killed. i knew knowing the details would only upset me, and i had students yet to teach. on the drive home, i got caught up with the horrific news. and when i walked into my bedroom and spotted this, the neatly folded scarf i had changed my mind about and decided not to wear today, i broke down. all those children.

home-grown holidays

from the outside, i have watched this annual christmas event since the time the girl was finally old enough to not believe. but this year, i jumped in and volunteered to help. santa's village, a mainstay of the holidays in our community, where adults and organizations band together to make a christmas memory for children. wide-eyed they come to watch elves making toys, to marvel at the holiday express zipping around the tracks, to sample mrs. claus's cookies, and to visit with the old gentleman himself, who calls each child by name. this year i played a small part in the magic, for only a few hours - but just being there helped to bring on the christmas spirit for which i've so been hoping.

snow at night

the first real snow of the season tonight, falling silent and peaceful. but with it comes the usual flurry of accidents and fender-benders. the girl and the little girl traveled the roads earlier and are now safe in their home. very thankful for that as i slip outside to try for some shots in the night.

procrastination

snow in the forecast makes me finally venture out to cut back the last of the perennials and rake the remaining oak and poplar leaves from the garden. each year i dread this job and i always put it off. and this fall, i have been so busy with home and work, i had resigned myself to the notion that this task would not get done this year.

it's good to be outside, though, and the sun shines warm through barren trees as i cut and rake. as the day goes on, my turtleneck and hoodie give way to barn coat and a scarf when the air grows colder and windier. as i work, the season's first frigid air comes sharp in my nostrils and, when clouds move in from the west, a few flakes appear in the air. my fingers are cold inside the leather work gloves, but i am getting the job done.

up in the woods, i can hear the turkeys before i can see them, scratching through the fallen leaves in search of grubs and insects. i count only seven of them now and am sure there were more last summer. my rake unearths several wooly bear caterpillars, their wide brown stripes suggesting a long winter ahead.

until dusk, i am outside in the cold. i take pictures, i sit in the adironack chair studying the trees and the sky, i sip steaming tomato soup from a big cup. i doze, lulled by the quiet of late november. and i finish the task of cutting back the dead stems, studying each empty seed pod and flower head, and marveling at the new growth on many of the plants, the promise of spring on this blustery late fall afternoon.

holiday's end

a lovely day. 

so blessed. 

so much to be thankful for. 

blaze orange

going to the compost pile during hunting season, we take no chances. do you want to wear my scarf or my hat, i ask her. both, she replies. and so she does.

early saturday

up very early this morning, second cup of coffee in hand, quiet christmas playlist streaming to the kitchen speakers. such a peaceful, magical time of day, so full of promise and intention. i so wish i were a morning person.

election day

election day is always such a source of community pride here, as i imagine it is in most places. good to see neighbors and friends at the polls, to visit with the ladies who bake for the scholarship fund, to stand around the wood stove and talk town politics. and to help shape the nation, from our small corner of it. 

tonight i am on pins and needles, like much of the rest of the country.

change

for a control freak like me, change can be unsettling, unnerving, and sometimes, downright terrifying. this has been such a time of change, both real and potential, and i can feel in my bones that i am handling it badly. always, i have found comfort in the steady rhythm of the seasons and the promise of renewal after a period of darkness and rest. i try to harken back to this now, and it's difficult. i know i need to close my eyes and breathe. trust. let go. even to remember the lilies of the field. but knowing that doesn't make things any easier...at least not yet.

what started as a normal saturday

today was the day for a long-awaited shopping trip with out-of-state relatives. we shopped all morning at the mall, buying shoes and scarves and kitchen gadgets, then drove to a nearby restaurant for lunch, to sit leisurely and visit and get caught up on each others lives. while we were there, many dark suits began appearing and, before we knew it, they were announcing the president of the united states was coming to the restaurant. the president. the president! and arrive he did. he came over to our table. he shook my hand. he smiled and asked my name. he looked me in the eye and told me we need more teachers doing what i do.

this must be what bieber-fever feels like to a teenager. today, i met the president of the united states.

orionids

up and out early this morning to see if i could view these meteor showers. although i was a little late, i think, i managed to see five faint ones in the predawn sky. bundled cozily in an adirondack chair in the still morning air, drinking coffee, watching the heavens resplendent with stars - not a bad way to start the day.

milkweed in fall

a late afternoon walk around the yard shows the first of the milkweed pods has split. neatly lined up seeds are ready to fly with the next strong wind. the other pods will soon follow suit. i hope it happens when the little girl is here to see.

raking the leaves

there's a little girl in there somewhere, one that moments earlier had raked all those leaves into a huge pile! a great saturday to be outside in the october chill!