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This old house. Smells bad.
This old house. It’s like a new adventure every season. These days are sticky. Humid. 70 degrees at 6 a.m. Our windows are open because we are trying to live without air conditioning for as long as possible. So all that outside stickiness settles right inside. And the wood floors in this house are aged and lovely, filled with their own rustic charm. But they are also retaining more than charm – they are retaining weird old bad smells. From dogs who lived here before we did. From a century of spills and stains and such. And I can only afford so many candles. So. What should I do? That’s…
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the several days of silence.
Writing this blog plays weird tricks on my brain sometimes. I don’t feel a slave to it, but I do feel an obligation to it. Or something like that. A completely self-imposed obligation, but an obligation nonetheless. And since I usually write a post every day of the week, when I do not, I feel kind of off-balance. Again, all my own off-balance problems. Brought on by myself. Not by some vast and wide array of readers who are double clicking their mouse(s) (mice?) in a rage and cursing under their breath, muttering to themselves, “Where is Lacey? Why hasn’t she written anything today?”. That doesn’t actually happen. At least,…
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it’s just a little thing . . .
My friend Mandy texted me the other day. “What are you up to?” And my response was something like, “I”m rearranging the game shelf upstairs. I have no idea why.” To which she replied something like, “I know. It’s the little things. I’m thinking I’ll rearrange the living room furniture today.” And I did rearrange the game room shelf. And it is the little things. But now our upstairs landing looks like a game room and I think it’s cute. And I love any excuse to hang a banner of any sort. That’s usually my mental bargain anyway – you have to tidy a space before you can decorate it.
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When The Relatives Came to Town
The title of this post is a title of a Cynthia Rylant children’s book. She’s a great children’s author. Do you know her? She writes a series about Mr. Putter and Tabby. And she wrote a beautiful book called When I Was Young and in the Mountains, which is just my favorite. (Because I love mountains. And I love prose that reads like poetry.) Oh, and Kevin met Ms. Rylant when she attended a program at his school when he was in the fourth grade so our family’s copy of the book is signed. And all of her lovely literary merits have very little to do with this post. Except…
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warning, warning: kitten cuteness overload.
Because Secret Agent Pilgrim 101 needed a pal to keep her from being lonely. (And from being hugged into oblivion.) And because we have seen the mouse in our house. That’s why we added a new kitten. (From the same friends, different litter). Oh, and we (I) might have been convinced into getting her because she is so beyond cute. Piper Finn, who spends almost every waking hour either holding a kitten or crying because she isn’t holding a kitten, declared the reason for her near insanity over the kittens today because (said in a shout), “They are just too adorable!” She’s right. I let school slip this morning as…
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Tricks of the Trade. 3.
Now, I already know, this one won’t work for everyone. Is that a weird disclaimer? Well. There it is anyway. And I’m not going to pretend this is an original idea. It’s not. I read it somewhere else a few years ago. I found the idea intriguing, but not suitable to our family at the time. But now, in this house, the idea has come full circle. It works. Beautifully, actually. What is it? Oh, yeah That. It’s a Family Closet. Sort of. Our house is over one hundred years old. A hundred years ago people had no washer and no dryer and no great wealth of attire. Or of…
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lo-mo
A sister is a little part of childhood that can never be lost. -Marion Gerratty
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the old.
I love a house filled with old. I like the trunks that used to be my grandfather’s and the hat that my dad wore as little boy. My favorite childhood stuffed bear perches on my pillow even now. I like that. Because it connects me Now to Then. I like the old because it’s an open door to tell my kids about The People Who Have Gone Before. You can’t walk through a room in our house without looking at or touching some piece of the past. And Kevin and I are always telling stories to our children about the objects decorating our home. Because I want the kids to…
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the simple beautiful. some more. eureka.
A few facts you may already know: Hawkeye loves birds. Our family is in a season of life where money is . . . uh . . . not free-flowing. God provides in wonderful ways. We have been blessed by having truly generous friends. We have lived in many homes in our sixteen-almost-seventeen years of marriage. (Seven homes. Three states.) And our friend base is rather far-flung. I believe in the simple beautiful. And here’s where I fill in the blanks: Last week a package was delivered to our door step. (Really. Right to our door step. The mailman in his black Jeep feels just fine about pulling up in…
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Mosely said . . .
“Something smells like it’s burning. Quick, everybody – check your bums.”
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perspective. on grandparents. and distance.
There are people who are blessed to live near their extended family. I have friends who regularly are privileged to have Grandma babysit at no cost! When they plan an overnight stay sans children, they just let the kids have a slumber party with Grandpa and Grandma, who live down the street, across town, within an hour’s drive. But those people aren’t us. For all but about three years both sets of grandparents have always lived far far away. Wyoming. Ohio. Florida. Not a few minutes away. Not a few hours away. Shoot, sometimes not even an entire day’s drive away. Which means that when we see grandparents, we’re all…
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if you were wondering . . .
Yes. We do have enough children to play our own birthday party games together. But sometimes we invite a pal over anyway.
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happy birthday son.
“What do you want to do on your birthday Otto?” “Hunt crickets.” Happy birthday three.
