remembering

that moment of silence gets me every time. every time. it's the collective nature of it for sure like how i tear up listening to choral singing but it's also the idea that we take a minute, just one, to remember.

sometimes i wonder what i'm supposed to be remembering so i think about wars present and wars past and millions upon millions of people losing their lives or taking lives or saving lives and soon i'm overwhelmed.

and grateful.

and humbled.

it's ironic (or maybe not) that the deepest, darkest, scariest place you can attempt to go to connect with humanity, sits completely in silence.

moe moves abroad.

one last look out the window before it's time to leave for switzerland!

travelling by mail it's important to have all your paperwork in order.

moe wonders if he shouldn't have removed his tam for the passport photo. concluding he looks stately, he dismisses the thought.

time to prepare the care package. will a turtle snack keep in the mail?

goodbye, moe! don't forget your manners and your good breeding.

top, middle, bottom.

this is our favourite tree on the lawn of our apartment. it's an american beech with a large door in its trunk where lightening or fire has gouged its tattoo. mushrooms grow in there and sometimes people put their junk but we always fish it out. we do other things to look after it also like sit under its low sweeping branches and have picnics.

ain't she a beaut?! she's getting ready for the cold right now with her yearly performance of brilliant orange art. even in winter, i will stop to remember she's in there.

shiny happy grapefruit

i'm reading a book called 'you are here', subtitled 'discovering the magic in the present moment'. the delicious (and humorous) allure of judging that title aside, i do think there's something to this notion that you aspire to live your life, fully, in the here and now.


there are times it's easier to live in this mindful way. like when you're preparing a grapefruit on a saturday morning and you find yourself completely taken by its smell and its shape and the way the sun is drawn to it like something it remembers creating.

you notice the asymmetrical segments of citrus, hinting at hearts or teardrops, and you understand in that moment, there's nothing more worthy of your full attention.

writing.

"all that i hope to say in books, all that i ever hope to say, is that i love the world."

e.b. white

boo.

jessica and i went as black swan together to pay homage to our love of ballet and theatrics. also our love of each other and halloween. it was a great costume because it was comfortable enough to party in but elaborate enough to feel like you were really going to town.


we put our faces on together in front of my bedroom mirror, all tutus and tights and a circle of makeup. bottles and powders and liners with brushes. silver glitter. hairsprayed buns.


HALLOWEEN! what of it, eh? what of the joy in playing dress up, and the value of pretend in our too often serious adult lives. i can't wait to start planning for next year! or, you know, for wearing this outfit to the library.

caramel candied pears (trick or treat)

yeah yeah okay fine, this will do.

friggen fall, eh? i'm reading 'a moveable feast' by hemingway now and as life and coincidence would have it, he spends a whole passage talking about fall.

"you expected to be sad in the fall. part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. but you knew there would always be spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen."

i know just what you mean, ernest. but aren't the colours fine.

we make teepees out of found objects

we start with some popsicle sticks as the teepee poles, frame it in birch bark and add some stones and acorns as little door stoop decorations.

jeremy draws a mother and child to live inside and a father on the roof to do some repairs but the light by that time isn't conducive to picture taking so we use our memories to mark the moment as one for the record books.

then we say LUCKY US for the fourth time that day.

someone's in the kitchen

i've gone crazy for baking loaves. or to be more accurate and way less dramatic, i've baked three loaves in the past two weeks.

the first was a marmelade tea bread i made for philip and the second was a marmelade tea bread i made for myself and the third was a molasses spice bread i made to use up the molasses from my other recent adventure in cooking - baked beans.


this isn't baking bread, to be sure, but it is a lot like it in the sifting together of the dry ingredients and the whisking together of the wet ingredients and the nice and accurate blending together of the two.

also the pan they bake in and the way they make the house smell both seem to be bread-like qualities, don't you think? mmmmm, baking things. and then mmmmm, eating them.

the trail

there is nothing, nothing, like a walk in the woods.

ode to the outdoors (and a sunset, for steph)

this is not that poem about the footprints in the sand

we saw many footprints when we were camping. maybe it's one of those things that you take notice of and then start to see everywhere, or maybe fall is unofficial footprint season.

we saw deer prints,


moose prints,


racoon prints,


and bear prints.


or maybe all these prints are made from bigfoot's special shoes he wears to throw off campers and photographers from the tabloids.

the edge of the earth

let's start at the very ending, a very good place to start.

leaving the campground before daylight, we hiked the barron canyon trail to visit the cliff's edge and watch the sun slowly, surely reach her warm arms down, waking and embracing every sleepy thing.

with jeremy's reassurance and the beat of my insides that long to be courageous, i scrambled forward, closer to the edge.


stopping to look now and then, eastward, at the tapestry of nature in all its complete and unforgiving splendor.


feet dangling over the edge, sun warming my face, husband behind me taking pictures, quietly waiting for me to get where i pushed myself to go,

in that moment i thought myself to be in heaven.