Tag Archives: weekend

saturday mornings.

” a look at my bedroom windowsill”

saturday mornings mean sleeping in.

maybe not sleeping but lying in bed with no rush to be anywhere.

sometimes girls in my bed, sometimes girls running up and down the hallway or behind closed doors playing with legos.

saturday mornings are about lengthy stretches and rollovers.  burying your face in the pillow or wrapping yourself around one.

saturday morning means lying around thinking about the weekend what we should or want to do.

saturday mornings mean drinking tea slowly rather than rushing  out the door to spill down your skirt on the way to the car.

saturday mornings mean a morning walk with the dog down the back path in the woods.

saturday morning means noticing the changes that are happening amongst the trees and getting excited.

saturday mornings are meant for egg sandwiches or egg wraps or omelets.

saturday mornings are about hoping for a lot to happen, which may or may not come to fruition.

still there is  a lot of promise in Saturday morning when nothing has yet started.

this Saturday morning there is sunshine and bird song.

it is one of those Saturday mornings I am in bed by myself and the girls are hidden behind their own door.

this Saturday i may hike or write or edit or stop by the farm.  maybe this saturday i will finish some collages.

regardless, Saturday is here and it doesn’t yet hold the tiredness or disappointment of Sunday evening.

it holds the promise of all those things yet to come.

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Just Now 3.6.2011

current time: 7:58 a.m, in bed listening to the girls up already, playing Scrabble in the next room.

in my mug: did you think it would be a hot cuppa tea?  well, you are right, although there is an emptly glass of Chardonnay on the bookshelf leftover from last night.

in my belly: roasted vegetables and crusty bread from last nght, dinner for one.

in my ears: Amber” by 311, and the sound of rain on the rooftop, ushering in Spring (i hope).

on the nightstand: ipod, a dollar bill, a scholastic book order, and a fly, guess spring is coming.

on the editor: a new blog header i’ve been working on, an  upcoming project perhaps i will see through

last watched: this movie, a random Itunes rental, but I fell in love with it.

feeling good about: 18 days until i hop a plane to Colorado.

feeling bummed about: my grandmother, suffering some medical troubles

last thing that made me laugh: listening to one of my grandmother’s stories in her living room in the afternoon.

and think: someone said last night regarding the health care issue “the problem is you see it as a right, i see it as a privilege”, is that the true nature of the problem?

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Home

“Begin their own family trees, teach them thank you and please
As they spread their own roots then watch the young fruit grow again
And this old trail will lead me right back to where it begins”.

-Jack Johnson

Was home again this weekend.  So was my brother and his girlfriend.  They drove almost three hours to spend another few hours before driving it right back again, with no air conditioning.  I am lucky to be so much closer.  For me I am lucky that home is always, right there.  And with us there, it is just like old times, only we are much bigger and the next generation is there, the smaller ones.  My Mom makes the same foods, but now we drink wine and beer.  Now we have jobs, lives, families apart from this place but when we are there I am sure it feels less like  an empty nest.


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A Short Weekend and Another Week

There was a lot of Halloween and a lot of ceiling painting (uggh) and now this Momma is just plain beat.  Usually I run around like crazy on Sunday trying to clean up the detritis from all three of us being home all weekend (yes, I’ll admit to being a major contributor), but today at 1:32pm I’ve decided to pack it in. I’m off to grab a cup of tea and settle down on the couch to go through some vintage church cookbooks and copy some recipes from a library cookbook and I may not get back up.  Well, except to make a meatloaf, but I’m the Momma so my choice.  This will mean I will be making up time this week because it’s all a trade off really.  Perhaps, a wordless Wednesday all week, ha, as if.

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Emmy’s Summer Breakfast

I have her exclusive permission to publish her recipe (Mama’s privilege).

She made it for herself this morning and then agreed to teach me, because it is so very delicious.

I give it to you word by word:

1. Put handful of blueberries and blackberries in a bowl.

2. Add banana.

3.  Put banana peel in the stinky compost jar.

4.  Mash banana into berries with back of spoon.

5. Push it down and kind of flatten it till it’s mush.  It’s okay if the berries get crushed.

6.  Mix it up a little, then keep your spoon.

7. Pour the yogurt in-just as much as you want.

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8.  Peel the fuzzy off the peach.

9.  Break off bits, but be sure the juice drips in the bowl.  You might want to lick the heaven off your fingers.

10.  Put the walnuts in.

11.  Put the chocolate chips in.

12.  Crumble in 1/2 a donut.

(Editors Note:  We use the very small cider donuts.  If using a regular donut, might want to use a 1/4).

Waa-laa!

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Thoughts From The Herb Patch

We just started receiving the fruits of our planting. One zucchini, two yellow squash, and two green peppers.  The zucchini was stuffed with a spinach, mushroom, couscous, parmesan mix, the squash were breaded and fried and the peppers are going into our spaghetti pie tonight.

I am  supposedly now, cooking dinner, the girls remain outside on the swings, but I had a few thoughts I wanted to get down.  It seems we are eating later during these summer months.  The daylight, lasting so much longer, tends to keep the sense of night at bay and therefore with it such things as dinner and baths and such.  So it is just a hair before 6pm and I am just now pulling myself out of the herb bed to come prepare our meal.

What starts as a sit down with a magazine and a cup of tea in the yard becomes a thought of, Oh, I’ll just pull a few of these weeds, which then falls into a sort of meditation.  My brain seems to stop when I am in the garden and (pause, look back) as blueskyhi commented so accurately on the previous post “having your hands in soil is a way of grounding oneself”.  My magazine (a British Country Living at that) lies forgotten in an old lawn chair,  my tea cup is set down amidst the dill.  I am still thinking but I don’t seem to care that my bum is poked out for the world to see and it is only too short a time before thumbs ache, dirt settles into the cracks of my hands and I am only noticing this blade of grass, that weed, the flowers on the dill, the sheer volume of the parsley, a spider here, a lightening bug behind the basil.  The earth is dry, water must be brought and possibly mulch are the only sense of “responsibilities” I am feeling.

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So now, I come in.  The bed is mostly weeded, minus a few thistles that need to be dug out and some lemon balm that needs to be repotted.  And so I re-enter the house with a mixture of scents on my hands and also vaguely surrounding me.  Dill, sage, basil, lemon, mint, thyme.  I wash the brown earth from my hands and gather what green things I need for my dinner.

There are lessons in my garden.  About insects, about plants, about food and taste, about spirituality and about peace.

So now off to cook, after I go out and fetch my teacup out of the dill.

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Sewing Sunday

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She got a sewing kit from her Aunt Karen for Christmas or her birthday.  I don’t remember.  I was changing out curtain rods in the three bedrooms.   She caught me in the middle to ask if she threaded the needle correctly.  I sighed and then remembered that this was much more than hanging curtains.  This was teaching my daughter to sew.  This was opportunity.  We sat side by side on her bed.  We lined up the felt cat pieces.  We pinned the top.  We chose the button eyes and decided on contrasting thread.  She learned to sew a button and do a blanket stitch.  She wore her measuring tape like a badge of honor.  She, always my daughter, tired of it fairly quickly, but next weekend, I will set aside the time and we might finish the head.  So much to do, so little time, but you only get so few of these opportunities.

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