Fall at The Lot

I spent two nights at the cabin this week, which hasn't happened in a long while. Friday, I was with my family. Every year I think it can't possibly be more beautiful than the last.
But the sky turns an indescribable shade of blue on a Saturday morning. And the aspen trees mingle with the evergreens above the sagebrush, the combination of which takes your breath away.

It's especially fun when we get to be with this little one.
I gave her a taste of my s'more and it was over.

She went on several small hikes with Papa in her jammies on Saturday morning.

Last Tuesday, Karli called me in the late afternoon. We've been trying all summer and fall to get up to The Lot. It was a spur of the moment decision neither of us could pass up. We hustled to finish work, met for dinner in the city, and then drove up to the cabin. We started a fire and were roasting s'mores by ten.
We accidentally stayed up until 3:30 in the morning chatting (part of that time I was working, which helps me justify it.) We wanted to see the sunrise, something well worth getting up for--even with only three hours of sleep. We drove to the top of the canyon before heading home.
The snow on top of the Uintahs faded into the pale grey of the morning sky. The sagebrush was covered in frost. Everything was quiet. (Until we got out at the reservoir and started playing around with the camera.)

Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa. We love The Lot.

we gather together

The house is quiet -- the extra beds empty, the dishes washed, the platters put away, the candles burned down -- family on the road back home.

My nose gets a fourth and fifth helping of a pear apricot torte every time I open the fridge. The lone remaining pumpkin pie is being eaten inside out. We slowly scrape away at it on the counter, one bite at a time, all sharing the same fork.

Conversations evaporate above the dining table; the feeling of Thanksgiving now only an echo. Thursday afternoon and evening, when 32 of us gathered here for feasting*, I couldn't help but go around the table, adding each person to my list of blessings.

*And Turkey BINGO with prizes and guitar by Rog and philosophy lessons and baby holding and piano playing and picture taking.

The Oregon Coast & Portland

full album here

Who hath desired the sea?*

after a family gathering tonight, we're headed to stay

in a shingled house by the sea.

there's a cozy spot quite like this one in the main part of the house. Upon the sight of it,
I dubbed it as my sleeping quarters and my daytime lounging spot.
it's perfect for reading and looking out at the ocean.

we're each in charge of a meal and a day's worth of activities.
so far i've found four killer cookie recipes and
a list of local design shops.
chocolate marshmallow cookies and sea salt caramel brownies count
as a main dish. especially on vacation.
i pulled out the travel folder from my work files
and am excited to peruse the local design scene, albeit possibly solo.
i've looked up bookshops, too.
more will be in tow on those outings, perhaps.

mostly, i'm excited for sea and sand and uninterrupted time with family.

*"The Sea and the Hills," by Rudyard Kipling

hip to the hap-py birthday

i seriously love this dude. like, to no end.

Happy Birthday to The Bibbs

Happy, happy birthday, sister dear!

You are my most favorite person. Thanks for playing T ball with me and for teaching me to throw a football. Thank you for wearing matching Lanz nightgowns on Christmas Eve and for letting me ride your roller blades the next morning when I got a bow holder instead. Thank you for letting me sleep in the double bed with you at 1936. Thank you for sleeping downstairs at 1928. Thank you for saving me (on multiple occasions) from death by scooter slash ferocious little dogs on Nantucket and for taking me on killer snowmobile rides up Weber Canyon. Thank you for teaching me about politics in the Rose Shop van. Thank you for showing me how to make the yellow banana seat bike into an exercise bike by taking off the chain. Thank you for stealing rocks from the garden at The Ladies' House. Thank you for always mowing the lawn so I didn't have to. Thank you for teaching me how to fight, in multiple senses of the word. You are strong, strong, strong. You are a nurturer. You are a gifted teacher. You are a loving wife. You are a dear friend. Thank you for being my bosom buddy all these years. I am so glad we share a birthday month. Here's to new adventures this year. I cannot wait!

Nights at the Round Table

Today for work N and I went to look at tables. At one store we saw a round table with a long linen tablecloth that nearly reached the floor. What a tablecloth, we both thought. N began to design accent runners while I imagined making a secret hide-out underneath, perfect for pirates and princesses or an afternoon camp out on a rainy day. Regardless of its purpose, we both thought the cloth to be beautiful and filed it away in our minds for future use.

We have a round table in our kitchen at home. Dad built it at the family shop. It's been in all three houses we've lived in and I suppose life wouldn't be the same without it. It's the perfect size for two to sit and share the newspaper and serves as an impromptu music stand in a string rehearsal if someone has forgotten theirs. (I used to shift my violin music from stand to table just for a change of scenery and a chance to look out the window.) It's the place to perch in the fall to watch the crab apple tree turn brilliant shades of golds and reds just outside the window and in the springtime birds eat breakfast while we do the same. At Christmas it's where we put the Swedish starters like the goat's cheese and the limpa bread to be eaten before Swedish dinner. It's where the angel stands suspending the star and singing praises to the heavens announcing the birth of the Baby Jesus. It's where Mom likes to put the latest high school pottery masterpieces. Currently Rich's creations reign supreme. His brightly colored five-in-one vase is there round the clock. Anyone who comes to visit gets a mini history lesson on Chard's magnum opus.

Upon the table's belly are lovingly plotted purple and green Crayola marker doodles from a day at the red brick house when my sister and I were feeling mischievous. It served as the canvas for play dough sessions on summer afternoons. Once my brother made a big salt dough pretzel and set it out on the table to dry in the sun, all curled and crisscrossed. Upon pretzel removal, like a child's shadow outlined in chalk, was the outline of a pretzel, branded into the wood. I used to trace the lines with my finger when I got bored.

In line today at the store N and I professed our love of round tables to each other, and then bought a square one, but the space calls for square. Round tables foster conversation. They look visually pleasing in a square room, and are easy to cozy up to with a large crowd. And, if you throw a large tablecloth or giant sheet over the top, I'm certain they're the perfect framework for a pretty awesome fort.

what i've been up to

road tripping.family.softball.picture-taking.memory-making.girl talk.rocky mountains.zip line.helmet head.campfire.s'mores.birthday cake.long dinners.
wild flowers.m&m's.aunts.uncles.cousins.design scheming.daydreaming.colorado.reading.canoeing.baby-holding.surprise party.guitars.hot chocolate.pine trees.cabin.open air.fruit shakes.late nights.early mornings.bunk beds.rain.fishing.hiking.singing.dancing.

happy weekend, wherever you are and whatever you're doing.

happy weekend

My beautiful cousin, Emily, gets married this weekend. After a ceremony in the city, we're headed up to the mountains to celebrate. Happy weekend, all.

{image via this is glamorous}

ode to edward william elgar

Congrats to these two buds.

{do you think they're excited?}

old and new

Tonight I wore an old gold bracelet to dinner. It's old and new all at the same time. Tonight was its first night out in a long while. It's spent the past two decades in a pink box, deep in a dresser drawer. It belonged to my great-grandmother, for whom I am named. It has a medallion that dangles from its golden links, and is held together with a golden clasp. Upon it are our mutual initials. It was probably too fancy to wear to a casual Saturday night dinner, but I didn't care. The sight of it on my wrist made me happy and every time I reached for my glass of water it made the most pleasant twinkling noise.

The bracelet joined the rest of my jewelry tonight in a silver box atop my dresser. Before I set it inside, I traced my finger along the letters on the medallion. I wondered about the beginnings of the bracelet. I wondered how many nights out on the town that bracelet had with great-grandmother Martha. How many times her hands clasped it tight around her wrist. If it was a gift from my great-grandfather on a special occasion. If she wore it on Saturdays.

As I slipped it on my wrist for the first time since I was a very little girl, its life began anew; the jingling noise like a heartbeat, revived after a long sleep inside a pink box. That bracelet is a circle of life around my wrist, the round medallion a symbol of the past and the present. The old and the new. A reminder that I am a link in a chain. Continually connected, able to trace my steps back to a German great-grandmother who shares my same name.

99

I told nearly everyone I came in contact with today that today is my Grandmother's 99th birthday. Isn't that something? She grows ever-more remarkable. What a full, rich life. I love her dearly and feel so blessed to be among her posterity. When we spoke on the phone this afternoon Grandma said some of the great-grandchildren (who call her Grandma Great) had just been to shower her with cards which now line the mantle in the front room. We'll celebrate with all the cousins on Saturday. Happy Birthday, Grandma!

Happy Birthday Dad

This wise guy's one year older (wiser, too!) I'm a lucky girl to have such a Dad. One who tells the best bedtime stories about llamas and boys named Pedro. A Dad who sings with the MoTab, and whistles while he works. A Dad who'll go on long walks or galumphing through the pasture at the cabin. He likes good music and good literature. He'll let you have the last piece of chocolate cake. He leaves good luck notes before soccer games and draws silly pictures for me to find when I get home from dates. He's nick-named Bumlett and has a brother called Magoo. He speaks German and Japanese. He corrects English papers and writes crazy poems and has the most perfect handwriting. He's a Dad who stays up late to help with Algebra homework. He does "the lizard" and sings "Mrs. Goldfarb." He likes public transportation, college football, fresh fruit shakes, and the mountains. He knows everything about anything and is patient and kind. He taught me to ride a bike and drive a stick-shift. He's a Dad who has favorite trees in the city (I have favorite houses) and teaches me about nature and the nature of things. He gives good advice and the best underdogs and has literally given a stranger the coat off his back. I love his stories about Germany, the army days with Paul, and life on Cherry Lane. He was smart enough to snag my Mom. He never asks for much and makes everyone laugh. He's a Dad who likes bad puns and good ice cream. He carves excellent jack-o-lanterns. He wears bow ties, makes excellent crepes and the best homemade popcorn. He's trustworthy. Loyal. Honest and true. I'd take him anywhere. He makes me want to try harder at all sorts of things and life in general is much better with my Dad!

the red brick house

In the red brick house with the round table and the quilt with the big red square, my sister and I shared a room. We had matching bead spreads; white with blue and yellow flowers. We lined our stuffed animals up on the windowsill and at night, Dad would sit between our beds and make up bedtime stories. Sometimes he'd nod off, and from our twin beds we'd shout, "Dad! Dad! Wake up Dad!" There was a laundry shoot and we took turns dropping a bucket full of "surprises" down to each other.

Red tulips poked up through the soil in the spring. The droopy branches of the birch tree made for a shady spot and there was room to roller skate on the cracked driveway. Aunt B picked us up for teddy bear pancakes at Ruth's Diner on Saturdays. And, when the gardening was done, Dad gave us rides in the wheelbarrow, down the sloped driveway and across the street to visit Grandma and Grandpa. In summer, we'd pick mint leaves in the yard to flavor homemade lemonade. We'd set up shop on the corner, shouting at all passers-by and counting quarters when the red thermos was empty. Mom drove us to swimming lessons in the green Volvo. She let us stretch out in our wet suits in the back seat all the way home. In the fall, we walked to school with Emily and raked the yellow leaves that fell from the birch tree.

When we moved from the red brick house into the white house, our flower bead spreads came along. Sister and I no longer shared a room; she slept down the hall. Sometimes, when I was feeling brave, I would sneak into her bed just after she'd fallen asleep. The quilt with the big red square was still neighbors with the round table, as it had been at the old house. There was a bathroom with sparkly butterfly tile and a basement with lots of room to play. We hopped the fence to school, and after Dad got home from work, he'd take us to the playground to shoot hoops or run the 50 meter dash. For our birthdays that November, Emily made sister and me a swing to hang from the tree in the backyard. Dad helped us tie it tight around a strong branch above lots of yellow leaves. I met another girl named Emily who lived at the top of the street. I'd walk home from school with her sometimes. Her Korean nanny would make us Top Ramen for lunch on Fridays. We'd spend the rest of the afternoon playing American Dolls.

My parents don't live that far from the white house. Not far at all. The quilt and table are still the best of friends. The wood swing hangs from a cherry tree which drops lots of yellow leaves each fall. Sister lives in a house of her own, and our bedspreads are long gone. Soon Dad will give grandchildren rides in the wheelbarrow and tell them bedtime stories, perhaps about two little girls who lived in a red brick house.

between four walls

I spent part of my afternoon at 1932 today. Grandma and I spent time going through photos and rearranging art in the dining room. It was much needed; to be in that house, around her, among those things -- pictures of her and the family. Pictures of grandpa, handsome in his navy whites. A picture of the house in Iowa with the attic room long enough for the boys to throw the football indoors and far enough away from the rest of the house for noisy card games on Christmas morning before it was time to unwrap presents.

I spent time running up and down the stairs searching for a few things for our project today. One of my favorite views of Grandma's house is the one from halfway down the stairs, just as your hands hit the banister. The front half of the living room is visible, the mantle, the little desk and chair and the oil painting near Aspen Lane. You can see the alcove where the doorbell chimes hang and the little picture of the sunflowers right beside the latch to the front door. Out the window nearest the fireplace is the side yard where the peonies bloom along the picket fence in the summer, filling the yard with fragrance.

From that fixed point today, I thought, I hope someday to have a home as lovely as this, full of things with meaning and memory. A summation of a life well-lived. A place where children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren can come and sit and stay awhile and listen to stories about Cape Town and Stockholm, Pelham or Brigham. A place to send thank you cards and letters from far away places. A place where wedding pictures gather above bookshelves on the landing upstairs and mementos are tacked up on the bulletin board in the basement bedroom. A home that says hang your hat, rest your head and help yourself to the Snelgroves in the freezer.

Grandma's home is lovely from any angle. I have memories from every nook and cranny in that house. From the green laundry room downstairs to the off-white closet in the room where Mom and Karen used to sleep. I love that house. I love the feeling I get when I walk in the backdoor or drive up the street and see the shutters open or the light on over the sink where the green glass rests on the windowsill. But mostly, I love Grandma. I love who she is, what she has accomplished and the person I want to become after spending together.

Christmas Catch-up

Behind on my Christmas report. I'll blame my nose. It only seems fair. Here's goes.

Swedish Christmas Eve. Mom's Dup: divine. Being with just the CBF's for such a feast, a first.
Rice Pudding and poems: with the R's this year.
O's poem: free verse and hysterical, in the deepest of ways. (Something about a voice in the forest?) Luckily, we had the camcorder. All of the poems were noteworthy.
Charlie Brown Nativity: a delight as always, with new Lamby from the R's to make the shepherds watching their flocks by night even more realistic and ever so dear.
Mary Cassatt for sister and me on Christmas morning: framed and ready for hanging. Where? I'm not quite sure yet.
Mekki: Dad's nickname in Germany and what was found in chocolate form in his stocking.
(Thanks to Rich helping the Elves this year I got 8-legged chocolate creatures in my sock. The Elves know me so well!)
Breakfast and tea rings with Grandma H. Missed the W's this year most definitely.
Children in utter package-opening pandemonium at Uncle R's round their tannenbaum at noon, wide-eyes galore.
Homemade cinnamon rolls from Heidi wrapped up for the ride home. We made it all of three blocks before they were devoured. Delish!
Snow: all evening long.
White Christmas: fulfilled.
Yale Avenue: desolate at 9 p.m. Christmas Night as we bundled up and slid about the empty streets in a foot of freshly fallen snow on our OME walk past the Magic House. It's documented and dialogued forever, thanks to E. Rescue by our knight in white before we nearly froze to death, thanks to Daddah. See E's post for a much better synopsis slash proof slash pictures.

New England New Year's Eve

It seemed like such a good idea at the time; to spend even more time in a rental car with the entire family. Everyone was a "go," even Rich, which meant we seized the opportunity at its height. We were going to cruise down the Cape, shutter speed mach 90, making up for the millisecond it took to erase the memory card full of Nantucket mansions, which I'm never supposed to speak of again. (Typing is different though, right? And for the story's sake?) We'd be in a New York (up)State of mind by nightfall. Or, so we thought. Something like ten hours (and about 100 photos later) our Plymouth minivan rolled into the hotel lot near Buffalo. Our patience meters were as low as our gas tank, but my memory stick was full of gorgeous Cape Cod style salt box houses and I was a happy girl. I think I'm the only one who would dare say this, but I'd do it all again. I'd take the two-way road down the Cape in the middle of August. I'd listen to Chard's jokes about Cheboygan and bottles of water, Dad's puns, and Mom's complaints about Dad's puns just to spend more time in Salt Box House Heaven. I hope to take the same drive one day with my family. I may split it up into several days and stop, not once, but three or four times at the Mom and Pop ice cream shacks that dot the coast, but I've added it to the list of Things to Do With My Future Family.

Two years later, I found myself walking the salty soil along the same eastern seaboard, a bit farther north than Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We had taken a day trip to Maine and I was in love. It was like the Cape, minus all the commercialization. Minus the Ted Kennedy sighting and the near-death experience on the Nantucket scooter. I felt like I had just stepped into an L.L.Bean ad, golden retrievers running alongside the beach and all. And, as if the cake didn't have enough icing on it already, people kept stopping me on the street to ask for directions. Apparently, I looked the part. Needless to say, I came home with yet another memory card full of salt-air-weathered shingled houses and a new point on the map to obsess over.

When this played at the YBH a few weeks ago, I knew I needed to add another trip to my List: I'll celebrate New Year's Eve here and be among the first to ring in the New Year. With all the components of yet another New England Love Story: snow, firelight, a lighthouse, and a sunrise to beat the books, I'll be as happy as a clam, no matter the company. And sure, what the heck? Throw in four boys and a Subaru.
{photo of West Quoddy Lighthouse, Lubec, Maine via National Geographic}

Prayer of Thanksgiving

"Lord, behold our family here assembled. We thank Thee for this place in which we dwell; for the love that unites us; for the peace accorded us this day; for the hope with which we expect the morrow; for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies, that make our lives delightful; for our friends in all parts of the earth, and our friendly helpers in this foreign isle. Let peace abound in our small company. Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge. Give us grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. Offenders, give us the grace to accept and to forgive offenders. Forgetful ourselves, help us to bear cheerfully the forgetfulness of others. Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind. Spare to us our friends, soften to us our enemies. Bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavours. If it may not, give us the strength to encounter that which is to come, that we be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and, down to the gates of death, loyal and loving one to another."

{Robert Louis Stevenson}

I'm grateful for family. For a street lined with familiar cars, a table full of food, and the grand caravan to Alpine. I'm grateful for blackout BINGO, chocolate mousse pie, and Uncle R's strumming and singing on the guitar. I'm grateful for Suzuki duets in the dining room, post-dinner story telling, and Grandma's laugh. I'm grateful for a cozy house with cousins abounding. I'm grateful for family that spots the globe and the ties that bind us, no matter the distance. I'm grateful for health and heritage and a day to give thanks for scores of blessings granted by the Father of us all.

just you and me

I walked into the room and found her in the green chair. Dad was kneeling beside her, holding her hand. The television was tuned to the rebroadcast. I paused for a moment and then walked towards her. Hugging her gently I said, "It's me, Grandma. Martha." As her blue eyes gazed up at me she said, "Oh, hello dear. Let's go into the other room. Just you and me." I helped her up, and together we walked. She sat in her chair and I sidled another up beside her. Feeling one wasn't good enough, feeling as if I held them in mine I could keep her with me forever, I reached across and took both of her hands. I squeezed them gently and rested them in her lap. We sat beside the big front window for a long while, the Sunday afternoon sunshine streaming in. We talked about the past and she told me what she hoped for in my future. Not wanting to let go, tears rolled freely out and down both sides of my cheeks. I felt them curl under my chin. "Make this go on forever," I thought.

to sister

Someone has a birthday today.

One of my favorite someones. She is 28! She is smart and kind and generous. She is beautiful (with no make-up! I'm so jealous.) She is courageous. She is brave.
She is patient. She is fun to travel with. (Boston 2005, our own room.) She gives great advice. She informed me about the important contributions of Ivan Peterson. She is fun, creative, and selfless. Kids flock to her. She is a good artist. She is a good writer. She can rap. She can play any musical instrument (Including my violin. Not fair.) She is not afraid to try new things. She is the best baby-sitter EVER and there's a whole neighborhood to back me up on that one. She is good with people: young, old and in between. She once saved me when I was seated by the right filange on the plane. She is an optimist. She is an amazing cellist. We like to go get frozen yogurt together at The Mav and Shop N' Go. We like to run Saturday errands together. She helps everyone feel needed and loved. She serves and doesn't ask for recognition. She beats all the boys at basketball (and football, and swimming, and water polo, and tennis.) She takes good care of her husband. (She should. He's really great.) She makes me laugh. I can tell her anything. She laughs at my dumb jokes. (Turtley Turtle)
She likes to eat at Joe's Bar and Grill 'cause it's her favorite. She leaves five dollar tips for the waiters there. She helps me when I'm stressed out. She is outdoorsy and athletic.
She taught me how to drive a stick shift. She's got mad scrapbooking skills. She lets me come visit whenever I want. She helped me with my flip-turns. She rescues me when I'm in a jamb. We like to have dance parties late at night in the kitchen with Mom. She makes Christmas fun. She calls me just because. She is even-tempered. She is a gifted teacher.
She is a true friend. She is a wonderful daughter. I don't know what I would do without her.
She is my very most favorite sister!

She is my hero.

Love you, Bibbers!