this is the last of the official vacation blog photographs, taken a few days ago from the edge of a rocky spot near the dock, looking though the grass and across the reach. two vacations in two weeks was so wonderful that i really don't want july to end. and so, following the lead of a wise friend, i have chosen not to turn the calendar to august. at least not yet.
as much as i enjoy word games and puzzles, i am not a fan of board games and cards. but this afternoon for hours i played this new game with two old friends and a new acquaintance - a lovely but rugged 88 year old woman who maintains her own home and property, makes great cookies, and was a patient and understanding teacher to this student who, in spite of the many moments of admitted fun, was quite distracted and very far away.
the view out the window from the quilt covered bed in the charming white bedroom on a beautifully clear morning in maine.
while dining with friends, i was distracted by the appearance of this heron in the distance, fishing for his own dinner in the fog off the rocky coast.
no need for suntan lotion on a day like today. the rain is driving, the wind is whipping, the ocean is wild. later if the rain stops, perhaps a walk on the beach to see what the storm blew in.
the arrival of the little girl to the vacation spot unfortunately did not bring the sun. but it was still a perfect time to build a sandcastle (or a birthday cake!) in the summer's biggest sandbox.
years ago i went to ireland. the rugged western shore was strewn with rocks and it was difficult to pick a favorite as i always do on vacation. finally i selected an elongated rock, far bigger than i would normally choose, but as green as the irish countryside. a perfect memento of the emerald isle.
a dreary day at the beach, grey and rainy. a good day to visit, to read, to nap, and to practice with the new lens. it took many shots before i was even a bit satisfied with this one. can you see the beach?
day one: morning coffee at the window, reading on the deck, and snoozing in the sun. this afternoon, sandcastles to photograph on the beach, inspiration for an adventure with the little girl later on in the week.
what is this flower? a mammoth sunflower? a daisy? nay, it's chamomile, the most diminutive little flower ever, no bigger in diameter than the nail on my pinkie. here's another shot of it in a wee little windowsill vase. this tiny flower appears ginormous and detailed because i took the shot with my brand new new macro lens! if you click on the photo to make it bigger, which i hope you always do anyway, you will see the intricate sunflower-like pattern in the center of the flower. you may also notice two inchworms dancing on the flower's head. amazing!
the older i get, the more stuff i seem to have accumulated. it feels imperative, as i age, that i weed through my stuff and either organize it or throw it out, if only to save a loved one from dealing with my stuff after i am eventually gone. but the older i get, the more i like my stuff, with the memories they provide, the reminders of love and friendship, the mementos of happy times. so, do i need all this stuff? heck no. do i want all this stuff? i'm not sure. all i really know is this: it's not so easy to part with 
back in business with a new memory card for the camera. even though i still had the small cheesy camera that i carry all the time, i was feeling a bit inept and lost without the "good" camera. so i'm relieved to know the card is all formatted correctly and the camera is once again working as it should. from tonight's trial run of around-the-house shots, here's my favorite "vase", an old redware spice jar that once held "cloves & nutmegs".
a free concert on a village green on the fourth of july weekend. folk music with a celtic, french-canadian feel played on guitar, banjo, ukelele, and bodhrán. byob (bring your own blanket) and free popcorn at the back of the crowd. children dancing in the grass as the musicians sing and play. the american flag flying high above the gazebo in a cloudless blue sky as the crowd sings along at the chorus. a summer evening doesn't get more small town new england - or more wonderful - than that!
just an ordinary field down the street. but after weeks and weeks of clouds and rain, it's such a treat to be able to see the moon at twilight.
vacations to the ocean, family at christmas, snow days, birthdays, children, parades, stars and insects and just about every flower here in the garden. in addition, it's preserved sights and scenes that captivate me and recorded images that i've glimpsed and want to hold in time. it's been a steadfast extension of my mind's eye. that must be why it's called a memory card.
a child once shared with me that it was good luck to say "rabbit, rabbit" before anything else upon awakening on the first day of a new month. i usually don't remember to do it and don't even think about it until much later in the day. but today i did remember and now feel oddly satisfied with the fact that i said it! maybe i should go buy a lottery ticket!
the old galvanized type of watering can, with the sprinkler head, the kind i have wanted for years, restored and given to me this birthday by a dear friend. strange that i finally have the garden tool i so wished for but have not had much reason to use, given all the rain we've had this spring. i sure hope i get to use it this summer.
on the kitchen windowsill, chamomile and curly mint, with orange mint and peppermint just beyond in the window box outside. finally the herbs are all planted, a good six weeks later than usual. to encourage growth, the leggy tops of the dill were cut back, then the cuttings were used to make dill butter. it will be wonderful this summer on potatoes and corn.
babysitting with the little girl often includes a brief stint at the computer, learning to touch the keys gently and one at a time, and being rewarded with a brilliant shape or corresponding letter or number on the screen. the program's voice identifies the symbol shown and the little girl parrots the responses and counts the number of letters she sees. she sustains for longer than i expect she should, given her age, and i sometimes wonder about that. but then she calls out "two yellow moons!" - and she's right - and i figure it probably can't hurt.
forecasters have promised today the sun will shine and temperatures will soar into the 80s. if they are correct (do i sound skeptical?), it may be the first day this month that will feel at all like summer. they say we have had five times as much rain this june as we normally have. it's no wonder the morning glories are less than glorious and the peonies heads are all droopy and sad.
a good year for moths, perhaps. here's one of the luna variety, spotted clear across the yard hanging onto a stub of a broken branch. of course, there's nothing around with which to relate its gigantic size. but to have held a dime next to it to show that relativity seemed somehow wrong in such a natural setting.
as we slept, the earth momentarily stood still, hanging to the farthest edge of its orbit around the sun before undertaking its slow journey back to the opposite side. 
in the garden, a trio of tiny pink lupines, so dwarfed by their parent that i had a difficult time getting a decent shot and finally gave up. you'll just have to take my word for it that this big lupine is pretty tall.
in no place is the fleeting passage of time more evident than in watching the baby girl grow and change. another birthday has taken place, with balloons and presents and a lemon cake, this year eaten with a fork instead of fingers. so in honor of her second birthday, the baby girl's title (and tag) will be changing to "the little girl" - because suddenly, magically, in only the blink of an eye, she is.
for weeks i have watched new holly berries growing and maturing alongside last year's old red ones. the bright color, so cheery at christmas time, looked odd and out of place in the fresh green of spring and i secretly hoped they would quickly shrivel and drop. but a small flock of cedar waxwings has come along every morning and is slowly consuming them all, leaving the green berries to once again grace the winter landscape. i'm always amazed at how nature takes care of itself.
just making sure that, like the package promises, washable crayon really is. and it's a good thing it is!
up much too late tonight, doing some design work, having a glass of wine and winding down from a very busy and hectic week. finally, weather is warm enough to keep the door open even this late into the night - and look who just appeared with a bang and a bump and a flurry of gigantic wings.
what happens when you forget and you wash a 100% cotton, homespun, dry-clean-only shower curtain. i suppose it would be good for high water...
i am not a fan of irises unless they are the type with the gigantic flower heads that look substantial enough to actually be a flower. these smaller ones are what i have - and, although the colors here are drab and the flower is less than spectacular - this particular iris is my favorite. i like them because they came with the house, growing wild amongst the sedum and maple seedlings and hostas of an aged garden. transplanted closer to the house, i can now see them when they bloom - in all their nondescript beauty.
a lone red maple seed jolts the cool green of the grassy play yard on a brilliant spring afternoon.
i was standing four deep in the checkout line of a supermarket in a nearby town, holding my basket of 15-items-or-less and reading the covers of magazines. it was hard not to notice our cashier, a pleasant young man, as he smiled and greeted each customer, one by name even, making small talk about their purchases as he rang them through: how old is your baby? what kind of cat do you have? i love the way this smells, don't you? in each instance, he made eye contact, smiled, and drew the customer out with questions so they were fully engaged in conversation by the time he bagged their groceries. only as i came closer did i see his name tag and make the connection - this was jed, a first grader in my class so long ago. jed, a sullen and quirky child, a difficult student, the kind i worried about as i time after time tried and failed to reach him. precisely the sort of student a teacher might think would never find success in life. never get good grades. never go to college. never move away. yet here he was, in the fifth year of a job he loved and was good at, he told me. he shared an apartment with a friend. he had nieces and nephews and cousins. he had a cat. and he was happy. he was a careful and conscientious worker and his pleasant demeanor made people's days richer. i walked away smiling, knowing that, in his own way, jed certainly had found success.
a rouge clump of forget-me-nots, seeded from goodness-knows-where to an obscure graveled spot close to the granite foundation. if i hadn't gone to that side of the house, i never would have even known they were there.
today i wore yellow. normally i wear black, tan, sometimes brown, with a little red thrown in from time to time for novelty's sake. but today i felt compelled to wear yellow. it was our third day of rain and turn-on-the-heat cold. it was the end of a short but very long and trying week at work. it was the kind of day you long to stay home and do quiet things like read. so today i wore yellow, to brighten at least my own day. coincidentally, i was also dressed to babysit tonight. yellow, perhaps because of its brilliance, is first color the baby girl has learned.
tonight i was online investigating audiobooks for children when, at the amazon site, i again read about kindles. i have looked at these and wondered about them - how it would feel in the hand, what a page would look like, how cool it would it be to try one of these, should i consider buying one? i had been rolling these kindle notions around in my head when, wonder of wonders, i got an email from a contact saying she had just purchased one! not unlike the free samples i try at her house, now i'll be able to try out her kindle. see? life is indeed serendipitous.
rain, rain, and more rain in the forecast and it will surely bring an abrupt end to lilac season. still looking for the ultimate lilac shot, i venture out in drizzle to try for a photo. these soggy lilacs are nothing but that - all wet. luckily for me they still smell heavenly. too bad i can't photograph a fragrance!
from a tiny apple tree i pass by quite often, this morning awash with the vibrant pink of these beautiful blossoms.
this is the house i lived in as a very small child. a duplex, and we lived on the left. my family was there only a few years, moving on when i was about six. so how is it that i have such strong memories that go back to this locale and time in my life? i remember sitting on the concrete steps and waiting for the ice cream man to come in his pick up truck, the one with the little house on the back. walking to the corner store to get cigarettes, bread, and milk. watching from the window as a town bus detoured down our street when a hurricane laid a tree across the main road. dirigibles floating above the marsh beyond the dead end. hearing morning reveille and evening taps from the military fort nearby. dashing down the street before breakfast to wake up my friends. walking atop concrete walls and feeling so brave to be up so high. i am feeling older today, rightly so because i am. and i just cannot grasp how so many years have passed from a long ago time that i recall so very well.
this is the third such promotional gimmick i've seen in as many weeks. first a dancing bear, then a sandwich complete with lettuce edges, and today - this grinning tomato. seeing them has made me wonder what the people inside the costumes must be thinking as they stand there hour after hour waving at passing cars. their body language is saying "come on in and try our ice cream/sub sandwiches/pizza!" but in their minds are they thinking about going home and doing laundry? or remembering a song they heard this morning on the radio? or wishing they could have a coke or a beer? or are they muttering inside their costume heads, cursing those drivers who do not return the wave, who pass by with nary a glance in their direction? which leads to yet another question: how can they see who reacts and who doesn't? i mean, where are their eyes?
violets peppering the front yard, a sign that it's time for the first mowing. as the mower starts i gather as many flowers as i can, but i soon give up. these are the tiny variety, the sort that, when cut, don't last very long in water anyway. i sit on the step and watch as they are cut down, the heady smell of newly mown grass filling the air. in a few moment's time, this year's violets, along with the grass clippings, have become the start of next year's compost.
in these parts, folks don't usually plant until after the full flower moon in may, when the likelihood of frost is past. but this year the full moon has come early in the month, yesterday, and i have been fighting the urge to plant this weekend. i'm anxious to get in my potted herbs and windowboxes, but i'll wait. another may warning (courtesy of the olde farmer's almanac) is the days of the three chilly saints:Mamertus, Pancras, and Gervais were three early Christian saints. Because their feast days, on May 11, 12, and 13, respectively, are traditionally cold, they have come to be known as the Three Chilly Saints. An old French saying goes: "St. Mamertus, St. Pancras, and St. Gervais do not pass without a frost."
two diverse music events today each memorable in its own right. first, all the songs and dancing with the baby girl paid off when, at her first live concert, she spent the afternoon intently studying the musicians and bouncing and dancing with each song. for two hours, she was enthralled and entertained - and her grammie was blessed. then later in the day at church, as the congregation sang the alleluia, i heard my father's voice, clear and strong. his singing stopped me cold; it was as if he were alive and standing behind me. i fought the impulse to turn and look and just stood, listening, until the psalm ended. i never found the source, and did not hear his voice again with the rest of the hymns. but for just a few moments during mass, my father's daughter was blessed.
down the road there's a spot where trillium grow profusely between the road and a neighboring house, bloominng at the base of trees and stone walls, sprouting in crevices in the rocks, popping up randomly in the grass. and if that weren't enough, white bloodroot is sprinkled into the mix. it's hard to pass by the place this time of year without stopping to marvel at the beauty of spring in all her quiet splendor.
a short walk this morning looking for signs of spring growth. no flowers out there yet, but ferns have emerged, tall and unfurling, their tiny leaves exact miniatures of the full grown fronds they will be in a few weeks time.
