sorrow hangs in the air

faded colors.
a bit tired.
once festive.
leaky roof.
past its prime.

laughter fills the air.

good fun among friends.

everyone knows everyone.

everyone knows me.

tho' i don't necessarily remember them.

such are the ways of the small town.

sorrow in the air.

or maybe it's just hanging over me.

perhaps these are the right surroundings.

a bit nostalgic.

faded.

with a bit of color left.

and light pouring in.

and a few stains on the ceiling.

bruised.

battered.

but still there.

despite it all.

still finding a way.

to laugh.

to remember forgotten lines.

to stumble through.

and keep smiling.

even as sorrow hangs in the air.

ruffling the fringe of the crepe paper.

carried by light.

floating in the breeze.

hanging there.

waiting.

for tears to come.

signs of spring

sunny yellow.
small water droplets.
bright green to combat the grey.
signs of hope after a long, dark winter.
relentless winds blow,
belying the impending spring.

...or perhaps bringing it.

* * *

i know, i know, i'm all lego all the time. but i can't help it. the lego movie held onto the top spot at the box office for the third straight week. and these behind the scenes featurettes are so clever, i had to share this one.

i'll leave you with the film's earworm - everything is awesome.
just try to be in a bad mood after you hear this song.
i dare you.

here's hoping that everything is awesome in the week ahead. for you and for me.

vignettes of a life (while we wait for spring)

i can't believe it's almost friday.

the week is flying by.

things are picking up, getting busier.

that is both good and bad.

time hurries at breakneck speed.

but we still haven't seen spring.

we've hardly even scented it on the air.

the only evidence is in the birdsong.

and even they sound a bit chilly.

i took frankie to the vet today.

he has a sore on his haunch.

he's fine, but he's wearing a collar of shame.

seeing him in it makes me laugh.

which seems a little bit mean.

i'm aware this isn't a poem.

i just wanted to play with margins.

my writing is going elsewhere this week.

can you tell?

it's like i'm only allotted a certain amount of words.

and when they're used somewhere else.

i have none left to use here.

apparently they're not like doritos.

the horses were mysteriously out in the pasture today.

i couldn't imagine how they got there.

and locked themselves in.

turns out they didn't.

a kind person driving by saw they were out.

(no one was home.)

and put them back in.

isn't that fantastic?

the danes can be nice.

when they want to be.

they just don't want to be very often.

that's not really fair.

another dane was nice today.

she gave me a whole shoebox full 

of vintage embroidery thread.

in colors from the 70s.

ones you can't get today.

it was wonderful.

and it made me happy.

i could see it made her happy too.

i'm working on a project

that i'm finding difficult (what else is new?).

it's difficult because it breaks my heart

to hear the stories i'm hearing.

i'm not sure yet what to do with them.

what i have a is a chance to make a difference.

if only i knew how.

my family will arrive in a week.

i hope the weather improves.

because this house isn't great.

and it's not going to get better in one week.

but we'll make it through.

if we stock up on gin.

and laughter.

* * *

this made me laugh so hard today.

repeatedly.

and hysterically.

* * *

go see ulrika's gorgeous photos of kristina's wonderful home!

* * *

inspiration on making a difference here.

* * *

and a thing of dark, exquisite beauty here. 

skipping through my mind

distant friends.
fragments of ideas.
snippets of information.
snatches of inspiration.
questions, always questions.

beginning to make things again.

experimenting with photos and transfer glue and wax from our beehives.

why is making such a fleeting thing?

i feel it drift from me, just out of reach.

and then it drifts back.

i wonder how to make it stay?

pink and blue morning skies.
pink and blue felted stones.
we learned how to make them here.
ours are kind of lumpy and rather large.
but i learned a lot about wool quality.
no more cheap roving from the dollar store,
no matter how pretty the colors may be.
probably going to need some sheep.

just another rainy sunday in june

raindrops on the terrace roof.
a special quality of light - summer light, even tho' it's cloudy.
it has a greenish cast to it, as the trees drink in the needed rain.
kittens racing around, tumbling.
a mug of steaming tea and a fresh, light bun slathered in butter.
a moment of quiet contentment. 
the day hasn't yet really begun.

i need this moment.

the days start to feel busy, rushing headlong into one another.

as my calendar fills up.

in a good way, as the projects are now of my own choosing.

a photo class for kids at the library.

helping shape a new school.

writing about travel.

editing a book.

sharing a bit of my culture.

being part of creating new surroundings for the culture where i live.

just being more solidly where i am.

and always time with a horse.

it's the healthiest time.

and the greatest gift you can give your child.

because you can't fool a horse.

it knows if you're scared.

or if you're trusting.

or if you're bluffing.

they can just see right through to you.

the real you.

you can't hide from a horse.

and as always, dreaming of what's next.

a refuge in the garden.

a long, narrow, rustic building,

where the light floods in from windows along both sides.

but a safe, dark cocoon in which to work at one end.

and room for a long table.

where we could have meetings,

and not be ashamed to invite people from outside.

reshaping what an office means.

i'm unused to a full calendar.

and that means i mess things up sometimes.

like yesterday, when we showed up for a wedding at 2 p.m.

and found out it had started at 1 p.m.

and all that was left at the church was the rice on the ground.

i was very surprised and a little embarrassed.

but i find myself laughing about it now.

if you throw a whole lot of balls up in the air,

you're bound to drop a couple of them.

a happy list

because my last post was a little bit sad and i hate to go to bed on a sad note, i have to shake it all off with some positivity (sorry if it's insufferable, but it's where i'm at right now. and blogging is cheaper than therapy). and i know i'm not supposed to confess to happiness anymore (thanks molly), but just enjoy it. but still, we're made to think we should feel a little bit guilty about it, in the face of all of the unhappiness in the world...however, i give you a little list of things i like, and a gratuitous kitten photo.

i like:

~ instant coffee with a speck of cream. yes. i like instant coffee. and drink it all the time.

~ earrings that don't match each other.

~ pickled eggs.

~ being perceived of as a balanced person.

~ watching kittens play attack one another.

~ warming risotto when it's cold (and it's cold today, so you can guess what we had for dinner).

~ that my 11-year-old child's favorite program is called kontant and it's one where they expose consumer fraud (usually on the part of charter travel bureaus and people who sell fish from a truck).

~ that our baby bunnies have all found homes. :-(

~ that it's yet another holiday tomorrow.

~ and i'm going here.

~ i expect to come back fearless.

so watch out.

make hay while the sun shines

the weather is absolutely glorious.
the sun doesn't set 'til after 10 p.m.
we're soaking up the light.
and time with the kittens.
it's good to spend time with kittens.
they live in the moment like nobody's business.

my writing is all going elsewhere at the moment (they pay me for it there).
but i'm bursting with thoughts.
and pieces of sanity madness things that i need to share.
but it feels like there's no time at the moment.
like the words are all gone when i sit down here in this space, where they usually flow so freely.
or maybe i'm just called outside by light like this.

and perhaps my extra words are going to an old friend who just got back in touch.
and it feels like they belong to her right now.
and i like that.

but it's also because business is finally taking off.
and i'm busy.
in a good way.
unexpected projects came our way (two in the past week).
and they're giving me energy.
the good kind.

and i've got plane tickets in hand.
which always feels good.
and it's been far too long.
sabin and i will go to the states this summer, for three weeks.
we'll visit friends and family and play with horses.
and buy converse and go to the gap and starbucks and get a new iPad.

there's so much to look forward to.
but there's also so much to love and enjoy about here and now.
(they promise sunshine 'til next tuesday.)

sunday evening satisfactions

no bunnies were brutally killed.

there was sunshine.

there was lying on a blanket in the grass.

surrounded by playing kittens.

reading a good book (or at least trying to).

there was wine.

and interesting conversation.

and good food.

and fresh bread.

there were three fridays in a row.

there were interesting couchsurfers.
and the last episode of downton abbey (for now).

there were summer plane tickets secured.

and countdown calendars made.

there was rhubarb turned into juice. and crumble. and curd.

and fresh green beech leaves soaked in gin.
and the pure hope that is a garden.

there were horses traded.

and horses visited.

and horses turned out to pasture for the summer.
and horses dancing on their tippy toes.

there was dirt under the fingernails.

and the smell of freshly-mown grass.

and fields ablaze in yellow.

there were eggs gathered.

and chives chopped.

and a family project that succeeded.

it was everything a long weekend should be and more.

life is happy, full and content.

and we are fortified to face the week ahead.

on waking up with a headache and not having it ruin your day

i woke up with a headache.
outside there was a steady, grey drizzle.

you'd think that would make a girl want to bury her head under the covers.

and it did.

but the animals were depending on me.
so i went outside.
and tho' it was raining, the air was FULL of birdsong.
and it was quite warm. and still.
and beautiful.

the chickens clucked a greeting and got busy pecking around for tasty morsels.
the bunnies stood on their little back legs to say hello.
the horses nickered good morning.

and my headache began to fade.
and i knew it would be a good day after all.

* * *

if you read nothing else today, read this. lidewij edelkoort is more than just a trend forecaster, she's one smart, thoughtful woman. take what she says about politics today:

The word "intellectual" was coined in a time of great political distress. Does fashion have a political role? And in which way?

It might. It should. It would, if politics mattered. The current disapproval of what politics are makes it pretty difficult to discuss. What we discuss today is the need for another political engagement and another political possibility. We need first to admit the end of this era, and start reflecting about the new one. Fashion could do that. It does it in the sense that it reflects on what is regional. I believe that the regional is going to be a major influence in coming politics.

while i'm not certain i find comfort in that statement (look what regionalism did in the balkans), it is definitely food for thought.

* * *

happy weekend, one and all.

a glimpse of what lies beneath

on our christmas day walk, i kept noticing the reflections of the trees in the puddles.
i had a feeling that we had a rare glimpse of things down under the earth,
in to the roots of the trees, to what lies beneath.

and it was a clear reflection of the world above.

they say there is a root below for every branch above, so it sort of makes sense.

it was a strange, almost vertigo-like feeling it gave me,
standing on the edge of that secret abyss below,
through the window afforded by the still, clear water.
it felt like you could slip quietly in and explore what was below.

but instead, we walked on.

and a little shiver went down my spine.
i'm not sure we're supposed to know everything about what lies beneath.

sense of place: civilized sunrise

the sun makes its way slowly (and perhaps a bit lazily) towards the horizon.
blazing a trail of yellow, orange, red and purple more reminiscent of sunset than sunrise.
but sunrise it is.
at the very civilized hour of 7:40 in the morning.

the first frost carpets the grass.

a stillness fills the air, broken only by an occasional bird call.

everyone was sleeping in, even the birds.

smoky puffs of breath hang visible in the air for a moment before dissipating.

cool air rushing in on sleepy lungs,

bringing with it a cool clarity.

there's an expectancy in the air,
waiting for the sun to finally burst over the horizon.
and the day, with all its promise still intact, to begin in earnest.

hints of autumn in the air

autumn:

~ morning fog
~ crisp, clear air
~ crunchy leaves
~ a riot of colors
~ golden evening light
~ a sense of winding down
~ the bounty of the garden coming inside
~ the smell of sweet-spicy, vinegar-laden chutneys simmering on the stove.
~ hooded sweatshirts
~ scarves
~ crisp, sweet apples from the tree
~ amber honey
~ horses and bunnies growing fuzzier

...and it's only just beginning.

*  *  *

for a number of years, i've dreaded the autumn because it signaled our coming northern darkness. but this year it's different. i'm ready for the change in rhythm that autumn brings. for the slowing down. for the reaping of what's been sown. for the cool, clear air and the morning fog. i think i'm even ready for the darkness to eventually settle upon us. it's probably this life closer to the land and to the rhythms of nature that makes it feel right. it feels like the best season is just beginning.

a change of scenery

a lovely couple of days with friends and family.
in the midst of it, the sad and shocking news from norway.
which i'm still finding quite hard to believe.
it seems so unreal somehow.
incomprehensible.
like everyone else, i'm still processing what i think and feel about it.

but otherwise, i'm feeling relaxed.

it's good to get away.

but it's good to come back home -

to animals

and garden

and one's own bed.

time for reflecting on this project of ours.

this old farmhouse.

this garden, this simpler life.

and feeling at peace with it.

feeling it's right. 

even if it seems overwhelming at times,

how much work it will take before we're really there.

sometimes it takes talking about it.

and sometimes it just takes living it.

but best of all...

i feel a new surge of energy.

new ideas are being discussed

and some old ones are coming to fruition.

sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery.

even just briefly.

it's quiet around here

sabin is sailing.
it's endlessly raining.
it's awfully quiet around here.
i'm enjoying it less than i thought i would.

but there moments.
i get to finish whole thoughts.
all in my own head.
usually while sewing.

and that's a very luxurious thing.

i've also listened to regina spektor's far about 600 times.
because there's been no one to complain about it.
(husband has been in his workshop, listening to endlessly to eliza dolittle.)

and that's a very luxurious thing.

on friday, we'll go get her.

but in the meantime, i read this. and i'm reading this. and next i'll read this. (i'm loving the library.) you can read a lot when it's quiet.

but i'll be glad to have her back.
noise and all.

so i'm counting down 'til friday.

a little in love

a walk.
golden light.
birdsong in the air.
cows munching.

they're not our cows, but they're in our pasture.
and i'm a little in love.

did you know that cows are friendly?
they come running over when we go out there.
full of unrestrained cow joy
at the sight of us.
and wanting to say hello.

tho' they're strangely afraid of the cat.
and he only wants to play.

our couchsurfer sang to them in norwegian.
you should have seen them.
they were transfixed.
and a little bit in love.

one of them has a heart-shape on her forehead.
i'm a little in love with that.

but it's easy to fall in love when there's a few moments of sunshine.

*  *  *

a most beautiful blog post.

into the woods

we went for a walk down in our forest today.
it's a bit swampy in spots.
but mostly, it's deeply quiet.
alive and primeval in its silence.
timeless.
secure.
photosynthesizing.
and oh so very green.
i have this sense that it is enormously patient.
it has been here for years
and will continue long after we're gone.
there's something magical about that.

light

i am not my house.

my car.

my job.

my kitchen.

i breathe in golden evening light.

and a calm comes over me.

the very air itself shimmers golden.

liquid gold.

and realize that light is all there really is.

each in turn

cherry blossoms carpet the ground.

daffodils wither.

and begin to fade.

but new plants unfurl.

fiddleheads.

stretching their primordial stems to the sun.

time marches on in one continuous line.
and we can't do anything about it.

*  *  *

if you'd like to win a fabulous bread book, go here.

and if you want to see how my violet jelly turned out, go here.