Home Again

Dean and I have lived in four houses together.  Three cities. Two states. All in the span of 6 years. We have accumulated one dog, one cat, and one child. The cat is enjoying an extended stay at my mom's house. He put up his paws the last time we mentioned moving.

I've been thinking a lot about how my sense of place changes my perspective on life. I haven't truly felt settled since I left my childhood home. That was twelve years ago. When I move, I never fully unpack because at this point, I know how hard moving is. How much time it takes to pack up all the boxes. To organize, pile, stack, box, tape, label and ultimately shove all your crap into cars and trucks. Drive all this stuff to a new home; a broom resting on your shoulder and your junk drawer spilled into a flimsy cardboard box on your lap.

It's enough to make me vow I will never ever move again each time we do. I also to promise to get rid of all my belongings.

I haven't stuck to either of these vows.

I'm working on it.

Each time we move, we eventually settle in enough to make it feel like home. Though we are always living with one foot out the door.

I wonder what the feeling is like to have a home that is yours.  I pine for that. You paint walls without permission, put shelves up without hesitation.  I dream of so many shelves. I wonder how much of this longing is that thing of wanting what you don't have. When I am rested and feeling hopeful, I think perhaps our uprooted lifestyle allows us to live spontaneously, be open to change, ready for anything. Though when I am tired and drained, feeling empty and exhausted, I can't help but long to dig my heels in. To live with both feet in the door.

On the other hand, I suppose as long I have access to an oven to make these graham crackers, I'll be okay.

Wild Hunger

Watershed Park. It is wild and lush. 

Brimming with native plants, I didn't see a lick of English Ivy.

Moxile Creek runs thru the park and we point whenever we see it.

The water looks so clear and pure, I'm not sure if it really is,

But it takes restraint not to stick my head in and take a big gulp.

The creek used to supply all of Olympia's water until the 1950s.

The park was to be logged and sold at this time but great opposition led to a 

Supreme Court battle ending in the parks preservation. 

The sweetest woodland flowers delicately peer from the green.

Sawyer could walk for days on the trail as long as I provide enough snacks.

He continuously signs "more more more" with great enthusiasm 

for me to offer him bites of avocado sandwich.
He wants to smell each and every flower.
"mmm.." he says even if the flowers have no scent.

I like the sign.

9/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.
Every weekend we go to the woods for an excursion.
We are all so happy tromping around and meandering to the beach.
Picking up sticks and rocks, eating pb&js and pink ladies like there's no tomorrow.

8/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

    You love to play peekaboo.  Even when I can so clearly see you. It's the best.

Days and Daze

The past few nights we have ended up passing through years of photos on the computer. Watching time go by click by click, unable to pry ourselves away without a tug. There are so many to go through. I read here and here about nostalgia and happiness. It is interesting to me how days can feel hard, stuck, dark although looking back they are light, joyful, airy.

I like to look back, it gives me a feeling that life is full and I am not stuck. Some of the photos may just be a tree, a buried head in Hank's sun warmed fur, a common ferry ride; but they evoke a strong memory and forgotten emotion from such a quiet angle.

We are in movement and the days can feel like a daze but nothing is lost.

It's all right here, right in front of us.

7/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

We spend a lot of time in our yard these days. If you are upset, we go outside and all is better. 
You pick teeny tiny wild violets and offer them to Hank.  
You find a piece of wood and carry it all around.  
You pick up little rocks and carry them tightly in your fists. 
You point up to the sky at a bird, and mimic the dog barking next door.  
You find your ball and say "Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!"

6/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

no words. just very sweet. 

Girl Talk // Girl Run

Sawyer and I had our first solo trip up to Bainbridge Island. He discovered the beach. I basically had to pry him away.  He would have been content to never leave, set up a tent and just live down there. We'd have to eat kelp for breakfast but I think he'd be into that sort of thing.

Since we got in the car to head home, this poor little guy has been non-stop living in sad town. He is cutting some serious molars. Only wanting to be held by me, eating nothing, prefers nursing every single second, and only gives hugs to Hank. In this photo he is holding a portable jam box. We put on his favorite songs and he wanders around, happily singing his own sweet song. This is the only thing that makes him happy these days.

Today is Day 3 of this situation. He was clinging to my legs as I tried to get some blueberries out of the freezer for him (which he would eventually throw, each one individually, onto the floor for Hank to go bananas over and for me to feel sad over. Because they are really good blueberries) I had an epiphany.

I had to go for a run right that second. Seriously. I ran into the other room and relayed this information to Dean, grabbed the same running pants I've had for the past 10 years which are hideous electric-blue-shiny-spandex, kissed the baby goodbye and fled out the door. No time for the suggested "warm -up walk" bullshit. I hit the ground running. After a few minutes, I remembered it has been nearly 2 years since I ran; I better stop sprinting like I was running for my life and take it easy. I listened to Girl Talk and couldn't help but half dance / half run. Why isn't this a normal thing to do? The rain was coming down like I was in a movie; it was glorious. I was throwing fists in the air, laughing, high kicking, side kicking. I had to hold myself back from giving high fives to everyone I passed. At one point I had to pass a couple walking on the trail down to the lake.  I was barely running faster than they were walking so it felt ridiculous to pass them. But probably better than running in slow motion directly behind them. So I picked up my pace a little and confidently swept passed them.  Like, no big deal, I'm a runner. I was so distracted that I didn't quite see the biggest puddle ever just ahead. Over my shoes big. I just kept running. It was a really good time.

5/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

You are a tender heart.  Feeling the world these days with all of its emotions.
Playing little jokes. Peeking thru the crack in the fridge door
when it is opened and I am looking for something in there.
You wait for me to see you and you scrunch a sneaky smile.

4/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

I caught you two watching kids play ball in the street.
You were both mesmerized for a good 5 minutes.
I wonder if you think Hank is your mother sometimes.  

3/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

You are really walking now.  Once you even walked backwards a little.
I love to watch the joy it brings you to be up on two feet.
Even though you are becoming more independent you are still a little guy.
I will continue to dress you up in patchwork sweaters and striped pants for as long as possible. 

2/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

You love to be out in the air.  Winter walks are some of my favorites.  
The grey can get so heavy living in the northwest, 
it really helps to get out and notice that the world is still very alive. 
 You love to watch Hank run and tear sticks apart.  
I can't get you to laugh as easily as Hank can.

1/52

A photo of my boo, every week, in the year 2015.  See more here.

This first week of 2015 you turned one year old!  So big and so small.
We are introducing you to our new years traditions with eating hop'n-johns
and making paper boats to set off on fire into the sea with wishes for the new year and letting go of the past.
You are standing on your own and taking your first steps.  

Through and True: This is January

Inspired by my dad and by a new friend, I am going to give sourdough bread making another go. I've never had regular success and I think this is because I'm typically inconsistent.  To be honest, I'm a little haphazard in the kitchen. (And elsewhere in my life.) I'd like to think I am a wise old grandma, the kind who never measures, makes things on a whim, laughing and with one eye shut. And that somehow it always turns out.

"How do you do it, make-believe-grandma?"
"Well, I've been alive for 85 years, that's how."
"Oh, I've only been here 30."
"You got some time, kid."
"Ya, guess your right."

Deschutes Falls.  You know how you never do the touristy things in your town until someone comes to visit.  And then you think, man, why don't I always come here.  That is how I felt about Deschutes Falls.  The river was roaring and we were all mesmerized by the rushing water.  It felt so wild through all the manmade (people-made) constructions.  There is a nice little native plant garden and all the plants are labeled.  I love that kind of thing.  Little magical pools of water cascade down an embankment surrounded by delicate and perfectly secured ferns.  Sawyer liked to run his hand against their dewy tips.  The sun was beaming and the mossy dripping world felt bright and new.

January is a special birthday month.  Sawyer and Felix and Olivia.  Three very good names and three very important people to me.  Happy Birthday, you guys.

Priest Point Park.  Second home these days.  Damp woods and lime green moss, barnacle heavy beach lined with Madrones reaching branches to the sound. Fill our lungs with clean air.

You Don't Know Until You Know

Buckwheat noodles and steamed kale.

Chapter title in my life book.

Paper chains for days.

Because I am one year old.

 

 I forced my family into a new tamale tradition on winter solstice.  I think they are ok with it.

 Sawyer and Papi in the light.

 A dinner of Pirogies, a wall of family.

A cold Calliope Farm on Christmas Eve.  

Fingernail moon and a cozy Polish dinner with 

one brand new baby and also some older babies.