I have a sous chef in the house who likes to get creative with the spices. Lately, I have not been able to find anything in the cupboard because someone else has been using it. It was time to get organized.
I can find everything easily now, and Mark’s go-to spices have their own container. Why does this thrill me so much?
I did it to the medicine cabinet, too.
It’s pretty historic, but we are experiencing a snow day with everyone home and cozy. Oh, wait. Somebody’s got to clean up this mess.
I inherited many beautiful plates from my grandmother, and this unlocked the allure of seasonal decorative plates. I have added to her collection a few times over the years. I bought these with my Christmas money. I think they look like snowflakes. Their variety and beauty make me smile.
This is my favorite time of the morning, when the sun moves beyond the mountain’s shadow, usually an hour after the valley sees the sun.
I take pictures of the house because I am thankful for it. We look at magazines or Instagram for inspiration for beautiful spaces, but they are usually photographs of rooms without people. Why does this please us? Rebecca Solnit wrote about this, and came to the conclusion that we dream of possibilities when we see a clean, clear room. But what about when the empty room also reminds us of times lost? I have a beautiful, empty kitchen and I wonder how I came to this so quickly, when life was so full before. There were four children with very different needs and interests to keep up with. Homeschool filled my life. There were projects at the kitchen table, art supplies everywhere, books on every surface, and piano music throughout the day. We sang together and we went places. Now it is just the crumbs of connection after long days of school and homework. I am not saying I believe we can or should go back to what we had. It’s just that today, I ache for what was. We have entered a bristly phase at home, and lately I can’t say the right thing. Stillness will be my lot for a while, whether I am alone or not. But the home is beautiful and comfortable for us when we can be together. We have conformed. We have conformed to much. We have also grown and achieved more than these walls can contain. An empty kitchen is just one evidence of the progress of our children to independence. I will learn to bear it.
In 2018, I learned it was God holding up my children. Not me.
I learned that I do not like philosophical email exchanges. I prefer less theory and more practical planning.
My skin is failing me.
My children have all surpassed me in musical ability.
I learned that I am good at knowing what people need.
I learned that the things I wished for when I was young are still what I wish for now: a simple house, quiet evenings, and books. Oh, and dolls.
I appreciate cheerful, fun-loving sidekicks.
I learned to not define myself by what I do. I am more than all of that.
I learned that my patriarchal blessing has a whole paragraph devoted to what I am going through right now. I always wondered why that paragraph was there. Now I know.
I have caused hurt.
I am full of power to act.
It is easy for me to find something to be grateful for each day.
I learned a little more that Christ is always the answer.
In 2019 I want to know what to say. I want to go ice skating. I want to conquer some fear. I want to be better at diverting a couple of people from negativity. I want to savor every day with my children while they still live with me. I want to be clear with others of what I know. I need God’s grace to make me meek, open, and unencumbered. 2019, we have our work cut out for us.
We were able to do a video call with Daniel and we didn’t need all of those questions we planned to ask. He talked non-stop, with enthusiasm, zeal, and happiness pouring forth. I didn’t know how much I needed to just see him and hear him speak. I didn’t take a picture of the screen, but imagine light, clothed in the Christmas tie that I was told he probably wouldn’t receive in the mail, a short haircut, sunburned neck, and speaking a mixture of Spanish and English, really fast. That was Daniel. Nothing sad about that.
Paige is with us, and moves from her room, where she is catching up on some reading, to the piano, every few hours throughout the day. Chopin, Debussy, and Jane Austen scores are now in the mix played on our piano. She is all things lovely.
These pictures are my favorites from the week. We had a lovely time hearing Tim’s concerts and doing Christmas things.
At the beginning of the week, instead of filling my to do lists, I purposely left big gaps for rest. I was a little bit successful, considering it is the season of expectation. I find that Richard and the boys are clinging to traditions a little more this year. “When are we going to bake…,” and, “What Christmas movie will we watch tonight?” Maybe it helps fill in the holes in our family.
Cinnamon oil does burn your nose and throat if you breathe in the steam while making candy.
True friends find a way to bless our lives, whether we are together or not.
I enjoy having Timothy as an accompanist as I play the violin. He is expressive!
Every Hallmark Christmas movie fits into one of three storylines. And I enjoy them better with the volume down so I can focus on the decorations. Sorry.
Brahms makes a great Santa.
I was a witness to a few miracles this week. God is good.
New rock walls under rain showed their deeper colors and cleaner surfaces, and with a backdrop of new spruce trees and freshly gathered leaves, vintage decor reminded us of loved ones now gone. Little feet ran to familiar haunts as small hands appeared from below, reaching for good bites to eat. Men discussed the carving of the birds as women finished whipping potatoes and set out fruit and rolls. A cousin confessed she had been looking forward to eating this pie for weeks. Quiet readers emerged from the corners to fill plates before retreating again, and tween cousins, too full after appetizers, chose the smallest portions. Each in turn, we named something we are thankful for. I heard myself say with a cheer and hands held high, “I am thankful for a missionary!” There were quiet declarations and strong, and all were sincere. And just like that, the meal was over, the many hours of labor, consumed in minutes. This year, we didn’t wait to serve the pies.
While parents slept, Grandma gathered children for gingerbread house decorating. And the Christmas season began.
Dark so early, we slowed down as the sun sank and we watched Charlie Brown Mayflower Voyagers and snickered through Snowball Express. This year, we delayed watching White Christmas and visited instead. As we should.
This year, we stayed two nights, cuddled under handmade quilts and fleece blankets, without alarm clocks. Blessed rest.
Home again, the busy task of decorating began, one box, one string of lights after another, until the house was full of cheer. And thoughts of Daniel were everywhere, in the ornaments, the food, and the music. Tears are not incompatible with joy. Tim took an early morning drive in the first snow with a driving instructor, and I mailed my last Christmas package as the post office opened. But mostly, we stayed home, feeling peaceful and bright.
