We're house training Magnolia - so every time she potties outside, she gets a treat (and a lot of excited puppy-love-talk).  It's amazing how quickly you can see her getting conditioned by this sort of reward. 

I think I did the same thing to myself by accident. :/

Every time I go to Lowes or Home Depot, I get an ice cream cone. EVERY TIME. If John is going to one, I often ask to come along.  This is because I love flowers and plants and anything pretty to put in our garden. Or is it? 

Because Krispy Kreme told me last summer that they'd decided to keep their ice cream machine running all year this time - and then I showed up one day and it was gone.  They asked if I'd like a hot chocolate instead.  I KID YOU NOT.  Who thinks that hot chocolate is actually a great replacement for a person who wants an ice cream cone!?!? Sure, they're essentially the same thing, except one is frozen people, and I sit there licking it the whole way home, tail wagging and proud of the good girl I am for going to Home Depot. Hot chocolate? No thank you, donut man. 

I haven't been to Home Depot/Lowes much this winter.  And sure, that's because it's just not gardening season... but it is also because it's not Krispy Kreme ice cream season.  I know it's not Krispy Kreme ice cream season, because I insisted they tell me what day their machine starts up again and that day has been marked on my calendar for months - in all caps - highlighted.  Some people call that day Memorial Day- I call it "Krispy Kreme Ice Cream Day!" 

I still plan to drive by regularly and ask if they've started up the machine early - and if they haven't - refuse to take any replacement (I need them to know how I feel) and drive out of the drive-thru empty-handed. I did this last spring at least 6 times. And I've done it a couple times this winter too if I'm being honest.  One of my greatest strengths and flaws is an undying hope.  It has tortured my heart on many occasions (and now has tortured my husband a time or too as well) - for better or worse, sometimes I just can't make it stop!  And my heart hopes for ice cream!! (always.)  

To me, molly moons has got nothing on Krispy Kreme soft serve swirl.  

So Monday morning, May 30th you'll know where to find me and Magnolia! They give us the day off, because it's ice cream day!! Only 66 days to wait!!

Gardens

It's difficult to weed someone else's garden.

Years ago, when my mom was away for a bit, my sister decided to weed her garden.  By the end it looked beautiful - clean, plenty of dark freshly turned soil.

Too much dark soil. She pulled more than some weeds.

This past weekend was filled with yard work - the good kind that leaves you achy and sore in a fulfilling way. As I pruned the lavender and hedges, and weeded through the front beds, there were several times I had to pause and think "What is that?" A master gardener might know, but I think even they have to think twice in the first days of spring.  I'm no master gardener; I'm absolutely in the apprentice stage.  I sat there staring at the little leaves just breaking through the soil, trying to make out the shape and recall what bulbs I've planted and where over the past couple years.  Ah!! That's right!  That's what that is!  I thought to myself, thank goodness this is my garden, I think someone else would have pulled that.  Shoot, in anyone else's garden I would have pulled that.  It's difficult to weed another woman's garden. And yet, we do. The thought blazed through my mind, and began to take root.

How often do we look at another and determine what is weed and what should bloom on some sunny day?  How often do you think we're actually wrong about it?

I spent the rest of the day cutting, digging and planting, feeling thankful for all those in my life that haven't tried to weed my garden for me - grateful for those who recognize that they didn't plant anything in that dirt - the ones who've been willing to show up and water for me, willing to wait years and watch, willing to keep an over-eager weeder at bay even. Thankful for those who know a thorny ugly thing is just a rose in the winter. She'll be beautiful by spring and blooming by summer.

We're all a bed of surprises, so let's agree to not weed each other's beds, okay?  Chances are if you try, you'll pull out some daisies that really just needed a little sunshine and water from you. Or perhaps, just patience and a person for whom to bloom.

Maybe you think you're the exception because you're just good at reading people. Or, you're prophetic. Yeah, I've told myself that too. But I've had a few prophetic women tear me to shreds in a winter and I've still got some roses that just won't seem to bloom any more. If you're gifted in really seeing through things, look for the flowers.


PS
Feed, don't weed. ;)

Grass and Other Things

We planted grass on Fathers day.  My mom prepped the lawn with truck loads of top soil while John and I were in Boston and when we returned, she came over on Sunday to help me spread the seed and peat moss. Now there are little green sprouts popping up all over the yard, making our home more like a little green paradise - at least to us.

When we bought the house, it had deep green lawns all over. We didn't realize of course that, that was because the contractor had just rolled out sod on top of crummy dirt.  Once we realized our danger, we did our best to make it stay - fertilizer, root booster, water.  And for a while, it worked.  But by this spring, nearly no grass remained... and much of what did, I removed through efforts to landscape and level our tumultuous little yard. The girls didn't help.  Craving their greens, they moved up what remained of the lawn each day, killing it further and further. So after many, many months of brown and dust - the girls are in their new coop and our dirt ground is transforming all at once into soft green threads.

Dream a little dream for me

I have this strange affinity to things I can eat from the yard.  Not just tomatoes carrots and other things gardeners typically grow in their vegetable garden.  No, as a kid, my mom showed me a number of plants I could and could not put in my mouth.  Why? I don't really remember, but it probably had something to do with all the "salads" Elise and I would make for Tyson and Robert to "eat" - you know, the magically healing kind that restores great warriors from deadly battle wounds. 

Whatever the reason was, I learned that foxglove (the bell-like flowers scattered around the borders of our house in purple spotted hues) can stop your heart, pansies are safe as a piece of lettuce.  Rose petals are fine. Mint, obviously, just rinse and chew.  Somehow this came up in conversation last weekend, and I proceeded to make Meg share a pansy with me. 

Of course, I love picking rosemary, mint, basil, tomatoes and the array of other greens we've planted over the years too.  There is just something lovely about gathering from your own garden and tossing it in a salad, or on a cake, or in a tea.  That is why this weekend, I am definitely hoping to sneak away to the May Edible Plant Sale. 

Come to our May Edible Plant Sale and take advantage of the largest selection of organically, sustainably and locally grown vegetable plant starts in the Puget Sound region. The May Edible Plant Sale is FREE and takes place on Sat. and Sun., May 5 and 6, 9 a.m.-3 p.m at Meridian Park (4649 Sunnyside Ave. N, Seattle 98103). 

If any of you have been considering home brewing, it's also a great spot to pick up some hops (says the office home-brewer who shared this event with me). ;) 

About this time of year everything begins to change about "coming home."

The car may be in the drive, but the house is empty.  I walk in the front door and can smell it - the back yard.  The kitchen door is open, the heat from mom's tea garden (our "beer garden") pouring into the kitchen like her tea into a porcelain cup.  The afternoon sun sneaks in through the lace curtains.  This is my home in the summer.  A peak down that dark stairway shows you the back door is wide open - always is.  Mom's hands are buried deep in dirt somewhere.  Dinner won't be ready until 9pm - or much later, once the sun has gone down and she's remembered herself.  By then, the frogs have come out.  I don't always remember there being so many frogs at night, it seems to have happened over the past few years.  Two nights ago I stood at my door and just listened.  It's spring and even the ponds have remembered how to sing. Me and the stars, we listened.

It is hardly even April, and my mom has added two new gardens to the yard.  What's next?  I'm sure the pond will be experiencing its annual upgrade soon. ;) 

I came home to find this last Sunday... :)

Well, actually, he was reading to her.   But when he spotted me prepping for a photo, he raised the article up over his face.   When my mom insisted he take it down, he made a face.   My dad hates being in pictures.   And yes, I know I am going to get in trouble for this, but I thought it was worth it. ;)

My front yard. This clematis catches me every time. 

This was the view from my old room in high school. I loved laying in my bed and looking out at this, white lights sparkling on summer nights.

A dream. One day, I think I would like to have this on my back deck... and I think I could build it, though I wouldn't want to do it alone. :)

Book Club's at my house this month. ;)

Last July we met in my back yard for Jane Austen's Persuasion.

This month, it's Much Ado About Nothing. Feel free to join if you've read it, or care to this week. ;) The information is on Facebook. 

I'm plotting the decor and treats in my head. :) Next up: actually finish the play myself. :o

FYI: Boys, this will not be a tea party... do not be afraid to join. It will however be in one of the prettiest gardens you've seen.

Look what my mom picked up for me yesterday. :)



I've been wanting an herb garden. I love gardens. I hate spiders. Therefore, I do not garden (v.). But the older I get, the more I wish I did. My near-addiction to cilantro and now recent devotion to rosemary has led me to want an herb garden. I figure it will be a good start for me. A few weeks back my mom and I sat down and I listed out my herbs. She lost the list. (Kim, Kris, sound about right? hehe.) But it doesn't matter, because she got cilantro. AND, she picked up two different types of basil that look and smell amazing! I am so exited! However, the initial discussion involved a way of me taking them with me when I moved this coming fall... I think she's already come to like them too much herself now. She's building a little "herb shelf" on our kitchen patio (termed "the tea garden" by my mom, and "the beer garden" by my dad, Kristin and I... morning: tea. afternoons: beer. We also have the "wine garden" down below, and "the tree fort" on the balcony... we have a weird thing about naming. See where I get my eccentricities? Met my Dad and Mumsy before? If not, you've missed a lot of good evenings of laughter.)

As for the herbs and their new permanent home, oh well, I'm sure I can steal shoots next year.

The other day I stopped as I walking up to my front door. It is Spring, and my mother's garden is coming alive. This is one of my favorites... not even because it is so beautiful (though I realized anew, it is), but because of what it IS. I only spent my first 5 years of my life in Edmonds, but it is like I lived a whole, enchanted little life in that home. Our back yard was covered with plum trees (also apple and cherry trees), and the taste of a juicy sweet plum on a hot summer day will forever remind me of the happiness of summer childhood, being little and wild and home with my sisters. There are still stains in some of our family "furniture" from those plums. Years (and years) after moving to our new home, my mom planted this plum tree, right outside my window. I don't know if it was for me, but she did it shortly after I'd been telling her how much I loved those plum trees. It was probably for both of us. ;) My mom spoils me... she often cooks dinners especially for me, she finds things I'd love to decorate the house with, leaves me little gifts she came across that made her think of me, she plants flowers she knows I love... and trees.

I don't know many places around quite as beautiful as my own back (and front) yard. My mother's garden is LOVELY. I spent a good deal of time Saturday and Sunday mornings on the porch swing, drinking coffee, reading and just soaking in the beauty around me. I know I've said this before, but as I grow older and older I become more aware of just how much my mom has done to tend beauty around her. She's a gardner who's tilled through some pretty hard soil, and pours herself out like water into dry places. She's done her best to bring beauty to her home and family, her daughters and the story of her family, past and future.

PS, it's become a joke how each year the pond in the back get's re-done, and each year it manages to grow a bit bigger. Saturday morning, my mom explained her new 'plans' for the pond, while my dad sipped his coffee beside her on the porchswing. Oh momma. :)

My garden is me: wild, with borders.
My mom.

Perhaps that is part of why us girls feel so at home in our yard, it's an expression of our mother. And perhaps, a bit of an expression of us too. Whatever it is, I love few things more than spending a morning on the porch swing, coffee in hand, just being there. I might have a book, a journal, or absolutely nothing. It's a lovely place. It's a wild place with borders. It's a safe place. It's an enchanting place. It's a place that's always changing, moving, growing, nurturing, loving, and receiving. It is where I am about to go sit right now, with a blanket and a hot cup of coffee.

Thank you mom for how you've poured you into your garden. I am grateful the Lord gave it to you, and for the revelation He's given you about it. And I'm grateful that He created you to be such a nurturing and loving woman, one who loves to create and transform, one who turns the things she touches into something beautiful. And also one who loves to have fun in the process. One who is wild, with borders. I'm grateful you've trained us girls to be the same.

Love you. And love mornings like this, in your garden.

"There is nothing like weakness and danger to bring me into constant communion with God."

"That's true," she agreed quietly, to the stone wall and potted flowers we crowded up against, making way for another litter to pass. "Loneliness as well."

(Perpetua, 121)
____

Sometimes it is just weakness, and the danger of yourself that drives you into constant communion with God. I'm hungry to be like Him... but I feel less like Him than ever. And I feel less able to act like Him than ever. I'm in desperate need of His strength- I'm searching, and I'm also just waiting for that glorious exchange- my weakness for His strength. My selfish desires for His ultimate plan and ultimate self-sacrificing Spirit.... the Spirit of Sonship that says "Not my will, but Yours be done."


I'm longing for a garden lately. I know that the curriculum of my classes are not seperate from His orchestration of my life. I know that the sunshine and blossoming flowers and the sweet thoughts in my heart that are dwelling on all the memories in my mother's beautiful garden, and the class this morning where I learned about all the beautiful and unbelievable gardens of England are part of His workings in my heart. I know the promise of spring is near- around me, and inside me. I want to hide away in a garden and smell nothing but sweetness, hear nothing but the music of a fountain, and see tangible beauty around me. Beauty that is organized, cared for and tended, but uncontrived. Beauty that is silent, not shouting in an attempt to be seen or to be the center. No, beauty that is created and is beautiful by nature and be the careful tending of another.

I will not contend with others. I will not fight to be the focus or shout for attention. And my spirit is longing to be that kind of beauty that rests and is seen and smelt and real, not contrived. I want to surround myself with that kind of beauty and escape the noise of other attempts to be seen, noticed, praised, adored and all the rest. It's just too much to be around sometimes, tiring and discouraging. It seeks to diminish (or hide) the beauty all around in order to point out it's own loveliness. And when you are what is around, it seeks to make you forget your own... and to blind others to your virtues. You begin to believe you are unspectacular, dull, lacking what it would take to do anything great.

And the ugliness and darkness and pain- that is even worse (eg, all the Noir lit and films I've had to watch). Spring break couldn't come soon enough. I need to be immersed in Light and sweetness- the sweetness of the Living God. I need to find myself in a garden, just Him and me... and be so silent that I can hear Him remind me who He sees me as... remind me of my gentle, strong beauty. Remind me that He gives beauty for ashes.

Oh Lord, You are what it means to be beautiful.


Temple of Apollo, Stourhead Garden, England

Smoke in Eden

Jannie doubted this crisp air would ever fully warm. Her fingers tingled and newly shaved legs stung as the goose bumps spread up them. Not a human voice could be heard, and the birds were using this quiet to compose their morning eulogy. She watched as the teenage neighbor, Jason emerged in back of his house. How old was he now? Close to driving age? She hadn’t seen him since he learned to count; he’d followed her mother around all that summer, counting every daffodil, dahlia and dandelion in the yard. He reached for something behind the wood stacks. An axe. He began cutting starter wood, and then returned inside. Within moments, the biting cold air was strung with the smell of smoke.

She closed her eyes and breathed the comforting scent in until her soul felt licked by flames, and her nose was burning from the cold air. She refused to open her eyes. The cars, busily rushing to work on the hidden highway sounded like an ocean. She listened to the waves crashing as the tide came in. She could see her mom and dad lounging in beach chairs in the distance, her little brother Robert helping her build a mote for the sandcastle. The sand rubbed against her ankles and between her toes.

She’d stay on this porch swing all day, drinking her hot cup of coffee, forgetting the world, hidden in her mother’s secret garden. The royal purple dahlias, weeping foxglove, and the pink bleeding hearts surrounded the porch and kept her company. The entire lawn, with its elaborate gardens and hedged-in borders had been designed for perfect viewing from mom and dad’s special swing. She didn’t need to think about the “details,” Robert said he’d take care of them all. The smoke in the air brought her mind back to her old family room, beside the fire, reading a book or watching a film with Robert and their parents. Her hair still wet from a nightly bath, her red flannel pajamas on. All at once the smoke became ashy to her, cremating her past. Her nose stung, and her eyes blurred. The garden around her looked unkempt, and she realized her tears were the first good watering the flowers had received all year.

When she’d rung Suzanne yesterday, she’d been told to take the week off. “I’ll call the other girls and we’ll take turns filling in. Don’t worry, just take the time you need.” Yet, work sounded filling, and Lord she needed something, something more than the old garden that surrounded the back porch, with this creaking swing. She needed something more than mourning birds and an imaginary ocean. She needed her mother. Her mother who could turn any mess into a garden.

When they’d moved here she was only 6, starting second grade at a new school. Her mother had adopted the field of weeds and slowly created an Eden. Eden. Her mother always belonged in a garden, it’s where she knew to love. It’s where she’d held Jannie and promised her she’d make new friends. It’s where her mother told her the news, with a broad-rimmed black Hepburn-like hat covering her baldhead and a pink peony in her left hand. The smoke lifted from the chimney and reminded Jannie she’d better call Robert; let him know she was okay. And ask when the will was to be read.


[My final portfolio is due Tuesday for my "Beginning Short Story Writing" class. Some of you may have read the first version of this piece of flash fiction on my cretive blog. Here is version 2. The assignment was to write a piece of flash fiction (300-750 words). I chose to use a piece I'd begun earlier for the previous assignment in which we were to spend an hour or so in a place, describing it (sound, smell, taste, temperature, anything and everything!), and then write a paragraph, infusing the place with the emotion our character would feel there. I chose one of my favorite places, my back porch swing at sunrise and the hour that follows. I wrote about my mother's masterful garden.]