I wrote this poem when I was eighteen or nineteen years old. I was sitting in the airport waiting to board my plane to Massachusetts. I was writing a story for an English class when I noticed a painting on the wall. I flipped to a blank page in my notebook and started jotting down a poem to describe the painting. There were two horses, one black, and one white. The two horses were much larger than the men that were trying to catch the black horse as he fell, and the men who were trying to restrain the white horse as he climbed upward. I can still picture ever detail ten years later. The painting was vividly violent, but a beautiful display of power and struggle.
I’ve tried to find the painting over the years with no such luck.
I am a sucker for antiques and I just HAD to share with you the treasure I found this morning. We went to an annual antique trunk show that a local farm hosts. It was a total blast! This 48 star, American flag beckoned and I heeded its call. I’m so excited to hang this beautiful flag with pride. I draped it over our sofa for a quick picture (it’s not touching the floor).
There literally isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t thank God for my husband. His gentle touch calms our family, his patience and forgiveness humbles me. He is our hero. The look of adoration on my son’s face when he sees Miles confirms that I picked the best man to father our son. I will forever be grateful that our paths crossed and we walk the road of parenthood together.
Thank you Miles for being the incredible example our son deserves. Thank you to all of the fathers and father-figures in the world—this day is for you.
While you were gone, working your 9-5, our blue-collar-town changed. People smiled, talked, engaged. Movement slowed, tension reduced—We are the ones that stayed.
I used to go.
My body in a suit of automobile armor, leaving home before the sun came up. I engaged the commute war.
I drove quickly past wild flowers—I didn’t see them. The air conditioning blasted. The heated, wild roses of summer—I didn’t smell them. I could not hear the bird’s song over radio advertisement. I was not anywhere. I was everywhere.
Now I stay.
My heartbeat pulses to the rhythm of community. I recognize faces—Happy exchanges. We enjoy our town, we share this space.
Ok so here is the deal with Picture Pick Fri-yay. My husband Miles is an amazing photographer (I’m biased yes) but for real he is awesome. He has files upon files of incredible photos that just live there buried in our computer. So I want to share some of them with you guys-thus Picture Pick Fri-yay. Get ready, this is going to be “a thing” every Friday. I’m going to share some pictures that documents a moment/event in our lives–trivial or major. Also this post is my 50th post, so it seems fitting to try something new. This week’s photos are less about quality and more about what they captured: Chaos and lots of praying to sweet baby Jesus that our house didn’t flood.
The Flood of 2015
It’s hard to believe on this beautiful sunny day here in Washington that our front yard looked like this:
OMG right? Those are boats that floated out of our neighbor’s yards upriver. (Please ignore the leopard rain boots.)
We are fortunate to live with a beautiful river in our backyard, but every once in awhile that decision can bite us in the ass.
There I am at the bank of the river (our backyard). Luckily the river did not go over the bank, but it did flood up river. Which is why we had so much water in the yard.
Yep, our house was an island. We were blessed that we didn’t get any water in the house. When I look at these photos it makes me a little bit nauseous. Every winter we hold our breath that the water doesn’t rise.
So that’s Picture Pick Fri-yay: short, sweet, and visual. What do you guys think of this new ritual to my blog?
First off, sorry for any typos, I’m writing on my phone and that is a grammar disaster for me.
I received a formal rejection from an editor today. I took a “writing” test for a regular contributor role that took me days to complete. I put time, work, and emotion into this test and was told, “No.”. Ouch, it hurt, it STILL hurts even though I knew it was coming. It took weeks to hear back (never good in the writing biz).
When I heard “No.” I wanted to quit writing….then I wanted to write about it. Because rejection hurts, but writing heals. I WILL NOT allow this defeat to take the joy out of my writing.
Yesterday, the fam and I drove to my home-town of Orting, Wa. Growing up in a small town will: nurture you, raise-you-up, disciplined you, comfort you, and suffocate you all at once. For the kids raised in the small town of Orting, Mt. Rainier was our guardian and inspiration. Everyone from there claims it as, “their” mountain.
We made the 1.5 hour long trek to visit family and friends and watch the annual daffodil parade. Yesterday was the 83rd daffodil parade to march the streets of Orting. Miles and I were lucky ducks, and Grammy watched Leif and our dog Zeus. We got 3 full hours of grown-up time. We went to a bar and had a beer *gasp*. Latter, we met up with our friends and watched an army of cheerleaders, band members, princesses, horses, goats, clowns, cars, buses, and advertisements march down the main street of Orting. It was sunny, and we had a wonderful view of the greatest spectacle Orting has to offer, “our” mountain.
Yesterday I was basking in the sun next to my cat Keke, enjoying a cup of tea, and happened to look down and notice that the tea leaves had stained a heart on the bottom of my cup. The raspberry chamomile surprise made me smile, and was a beautiful reminder of the love that surrounds me. I felt grateful for my family, friends, and my life in general.
Cheesy sentiment? Maybe. I’m trying every day to be positive and live in the moment. I have a tendency to dwell in the past and worry about the future. It’s shocking how hard it is to remain in the present and notice the blessings that surround me. Gratitude is a beautiful state that’s rarely visited.
So on that note, I raise my mug of re-filled tea to life, love, happiness, and to you — my readers.