Yum!

This week I made cinnamon rolls that would make angels weep. For those of you reading my other blog, I can proudly report that I only ate two and we gave most of them away. That said, I fully intend to make them again within the week.

Here's the recipe:

It's time consuming but oh so worth it.

Note, there is up to four hours of rise time involved. I hate being surprised by that so I thought I'd let you know up front.

Dough

1 T yeast

1/4 c warm water

1/2 c butter

3/4 c milk

1/2 c sugar

3 eggs

1 t. salt

4-5 cups flour (I used 4 1/2)

1/2 c butter

Filling

1 1/4 c brown sugar (more if you want)

4 t cinnamon

Frosting

1/2 pkg (or 4 oz) cream cheese softened

1/4 c butter softened

1 c powdered sugar

1/2 t vanilla

1 1/2 t milk

Dissolve yeast in warm water, let stand until it foams (5 min.) stir down. Melt butter in pan, add milk and immediately and immediately remove from heat.

Blend in sugar, eggs, salt and yeast. Gradually add enough flour to make a soft dough. Gently knead (will be sticky). Cover and let rise until double (2-4 hours).

Turn dough onto floured counter. Knead slightly. Roll into a rectangle 7-8 inches wide. Brush generously with melted butter. Sprinkle on brown sugar and cinnamon. Roll the long side up. Cut into 1 inch rolls with dental floss. Place on greased pan. Cover and let rise about 1-2 hours or till double. (I got antsy and only waited 50 min.)

Bake in 375 degree oven for 10-12 min.

Frost while warm.

Bon Appetite!

Wisdom

Two awesome quotes from a woman who still inspires me:

"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.

I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.

I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbor's children.

I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.

I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived."

~Marjorie Pay Hinkley

"We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are."

~Marjorie Pay Hinkley

How could I possibly add to that?!

Strauss and Sword Fights

It was 5:00 on Friday and I was in the slumps. The day, it appeared, was a complete waste. Somewhere amidst the doldrums I found a bootstrap and pulled on it. "This is not the way we are ending the day," I said and I began herding the children into the basement. We put on some Strauss, decked ourselves out in scarves and danced around the family room. Child #2 soon tired of dancing and disappeared into the toy room. Moments later, he was back with a wild look in his eye and brandishing a sword. He and I dueled and tickled and chased till both of us were out of breath.

Any day that ends with Strauss and sword fights is a good one in my book.

Oh, and I looked elegant wrapped in a pink sparkly curtain and headband bridal veil.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Best quote of the week

"English doesn't borrow from other languages.

English follows other languages down dark alleys,

knocks them over and goes

through their pockets for loose grammar."

No wonder I have problems!

That makes me want to read "Anguished English" again - that, or "The Mother Tongue."

David Case reads "The Mother Tongue" in the book on tape version. He has a magical voice. I once did Swedish weaving across an entire square of monk's cloth listening to his voice (that is an elegant way of saying I made a TV blanket.)

This is the part where I should warn you that I have "unique" tastes in books and media. I love black and white, gentle plots, obscure topics, gorgeous word-smithing, red-neck humor (Go Red Green) and sports movies. I hate watching sports, but I can't get enough of the movies made about them. Go figure. Basically, if you have never heard of it or fell asleep during it - I probably love it, can quote it and have purchased it at a yard sale.

Okay, I am going to push that little orange "publish post" button. My logical voice says to push the blue "save now" button so that I can edit this rambling jungle of thoughts, but I am rather addicted to the orange one. I must like editing after everyone has read the rambly version. That's a bit like patching the hole in your air mattress after your company leaves, but nevertheless, it is late and I crave the feeling of accomplishment only the orange button can give.

Goodnight.

V Power

With apologies to Rudyard Kipling

Now this is the law of the sky -- when geese are out on the loose.

The strength of the goose is the "v" and the strength of the "v" is the goose.

As we all know, geese fly in "v" formation for the aerodynamic advantage. That is cool. What is even cooler, is that if one goose falls out of v formation because of injury, fatigue or sickness, two other geese follow him to the ground, protect him, feed him and stay by him till he is ready to fly again. Then the three form a small v and fly to re-join the flock.

We have many "v"s in our life that are designed to work that way. We have family, friends, neighborhoods and church groups. These groups are perfectly situated to come to the aid of individuals in distress - if we let them.

Our family, church and neighborhood are reeling from the recent suicide of a mother in our area. She lived one block from me. Her youngest and my oldest played together. We served together in the church. She was among the most optimistic, loving, service-oriented women I have ever known. She had been struggling with mental illness and depression for a decade, but no one knew. Five years ago the information came to our then Relief Society President, but she was sworn to secrecy by this mother who didn't want anyone else to know. Now, I don't know if additional help and love would have altered her outcome, but I do know that additional help, prayers, and love would not have hurt. It might have pinched her pride a little, but that is nothing compared to the gaping wound of her absence.

I don't think we give ourselves credit for the heavy loads we cary. Our burdens look different than pioneer burdens, or ancient Nephite burdens, so we discount them. But burdens do not need to involve handcarts in order to be heavy.

Only last month I called to cancel a visit from my Visiting Teachers on account of a week-long illness rampaging through my family. "Well, can we bring food in?" my visiting teacher asked. My brain screamed "Yes! Yes! Yes!" but my mouth said "No, we're fine." Aurgh. Why do we do that? Okay, I know why. It was a combination of pride and a "this situation can't possibly be bad enough to warrant help" attitude. Perhaps my response should have been "No, we're fine, but if I'm ever battling cancer while being chased by grizzly bears I'll let you know."

We are commanded to bear one another's burdens and that means letting others help us so that we can, in turn, provide help. Balanced loads are always easier to carry. It seems natural to allow others to share the burden of our joys as well as the burden of our struggles.

The hearts of the most valiant are failing. It is time to ask if our version of "self reliance" is really stubborn pride in disguise. I want to allow the "v"s in my lives to come to my aid. That may mean being brave, and letting out a "honk" of distress. I know how liberating it is for me when I see that other people need help too.

Sincerely,

A Goose in Training

Elegant (Take Two)

elegant |ˈeləgənt|adjectivepleasingly graceful and stylish in appearance or manner: she will look elegant in black | an elegant, comfortable house.• pleasingly ingenious and simple
Ah, elegance. I want to "look elegant in black" and live in "an elegant, comfortable house." In my perfect, elegant world I wear pearls twice a week and clothes with "dry clean only" on the lable. I bake fresh scones every Tuesday. I have a personal masseuse named Helga and my hair is voluminous. (Brace for the jarring jerk back into reality.) My everyday elegant world involves a lot more Fisher Price and finger paints. I do make a great blueberry scone every year or so and I occasionally get to blow dry volume into my hair.
So where is my expertise? Am I audaciously writing about something I know nothing about? Well, maybe. I find Elegance in startling bursts of insight, in stolen, quiet moments to myself, in my children's laughter and in that one especially gorgeous burst of fall color on my carpool route. These things are my crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes. I have simple, pleasing moments.
This morning I had a taste of my kind of elegance. It began when I entered a -gasp- sparkling kitchen. (We had company over last night and one does like to keep up appearances.) I made whole wheat pancakes in a cast iron skillet and made an applesauce/apricot preserve sauce to go on top. My children sat happily at the table and loved the food. (ahhhhhh) Then child #3 went poop in her little potty. My life revolves around poop. Even the elegant moments get sucked into into the omnipotent orbit. This is a huge success because: child #3 is only 21 months old child #2 helped her do it and child #2 is still pulling out of a year long potty training regression and this moment indicates light at the end of the tunnel.
I am reveling in this. That is why I am blogging instead of scrubbing my bathtub. Here are my recipes, just in case you are interested.
Sauce Recipe: 1 1/2 quarts homemade applesauce + a generous scoop of organic apricot preserves. Preserves are clumpy, so I mixed mine with a potato masher. Elegant, no?
Pancakes: This must be made in a Vita Mix or similarly powerful blender.This is not for lesser machines. 1 c red wheat (whole and uncooked) 1 c milk (or 1/3 c dry milk + 1 c water) 2 eggs 2 T oil 2 t baking powder 2 T sugar or honey (I use sugar) 1/2 t salt
Blend. It is recommended to blend the milk and wheat first. I'm lazy and do it all at once. Heat your skillet. I rub the end of a frozen stick of butter on it before I put the first batch in and again between each successive batch. Frozen butter won't melt too fast or go gooshy on you.
Wishing you an Elegant day,Bethany

The secret of life

I am convinced that my mother-in-law, whom I adore, has figured out the secret to life. She is the mother of 11. (Pause for hushed and reverential thoughts.) She lives out in the country, over 30 min. from the nearest grocery store. She has raised, pigs, sheep, horses, alfalfa. Her raspberry patch alone is bigger than my living room. I have seen her serve in the stake Young Women's presidency while her husband was bishop, etc. etc. (believe me there is more.) And in nine years I have only seen her stressed once. She gets up every morning, works as hard as she can at the things that matter most to her, and then she lets the rest go. And I mean she really lets go. There is no stressing, worrying or berating. I have never been in a house where there is more love. It is never immaculate, but who cares? The little messes are evidence of the price she pays to give her life to the things that matter most.

I was recently talking to a friend whose children are all grown. She said "Why did I kill myself all those years trying to maintain a clean home?" Now, striving for order and healthful cleanliness is awesome. Stressing and "killing yourself" and making your family miserable in pursuit of Martha Stewart-like perfection is not.

Okay, let's give this a shot. There is mold growing in my toilet ... breathe ... I did run a pre-school this morning and read to my children and study my scriptures. I am letting go of my stress. I will not let you use my bathroom, but I will let go of the stress. Okay, ditto to my dishes, my laundry, the chaos in the basement, the sticky spots on the floor ... oh, oh, despair is building. I'd better go snuggle my baby, lower my heart rate and then get to work on the most important things.

Life's Keyboard

Last night I lay on the couch, both hands over my head in an attempt to keep it from exploding while I processed everything in my life that needs fixing. I need to update my 72 hour kits, build my year's supply, loose 20 lbs., do two weeks worth of laundry, clean the house, spend more quality time with my children, do more studying and pondering in the scriptures, write my talk for Young Women in Excellence tomorrow night, start writing the ward Christmas program, completely revamp the way we budget and do a deep sort of every room in my house. My husband sat with me, patting my knee and reminding me that I didn't have to do all of it at once. Way too often I think "be ye therefore perfect" means "be ye therefore perfect by Tuesday."

Durring a similar stressed out moment when I was banging my forehead on the kitchen counter my Dad pulled out a stool, sat down, and offered me some sage advice. He reminded me of the talk by Boyd K. Packer about the dangers of singling out one or two notes on the gospel keyboard. He pointed out that it can be equally dangerous to try and play all of the notes at once. "There is a reason," he said "that you don't often see young mothers in the genealogical library. There are times and seasons for that."

So, I sat down at my piano. I placed both forearms on my piano and went at it. Very theraputic, but not beautiful. I then fumbled my way through the snatches of Mozart and Bach that have stayed with me from my youth. I noticed that even with all the waltzing around the keyboard I was doing I had yet to play an E flat. E flat is a very good note. It is an important note. Without it Beethoven's 5th symphony "bum bum bum buuuuum" (the buuuuuum is an E flat) becomes Jingle Bells. This is one heck of a note. And yet, Mozart and Bach hadn't seen fit to use it in those phrases. I am quite sure they used it all over the place in other pieces, just not the phrases I was playing. My point? Apparently I need to learn that even very good notes may not be right for my life right now. This lesson may need to be taught two by four style before I grasp it but I am ready to give it a shot.

More Autumn

I found a few marvelous quotes about my favorite season on my friend Jen's blog. I am stealing them. I hope that is okay.

"Delicious Autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." ~George Elliot

"I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumn sunshine by staying in the house. So I spend almost all the daylight hours in the open air." ~Nathanial Hawthorne.

Today I took child #2 to his last follow up appointment from his surgery at Primary Children's. Just before the entrance there, they have a pooling sort of fountain on each side of the path. I glanced in and saw the usual smattering of dull pennies and winking dimes, but on each side, caught in the eddy above the filter, a cluster of bright yellow aspen leaves danced and spun. I think the leaves were by far the best offering.

One more fall morsel:

"There is a harmony in autumn and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been." ~Percy Bysshe Shelly

Stuff!

Yesterday I cleaned my house with a garbage sack in one hand. If I did not like something enough to pick it up one more time then out it went. I have been sick for the last five days or so and am now digging into the mountain of chaos that accumulated during that time. It is comforting to know that as invisible as my efforts sometimes seem, I am actually accomplishing something. But having a house look like this makes me start thinking stringent Amish-like thoughts. Do I really need all this junk? The answer is obviously no. The one thing that keeps me from reverting to monastic simplicity is the fact that I love stuff. I love my incomplete set of encyclopedias, my tea-pots, the china I only use once a year, and the bin of colorful, instep bruising duplos. They make me happy.

Of course I cannot possibly love all the things in my house that way. I have some serious work to do so that I don't spend my life doing meaningless and infinite picking up.

Guiding thoughts:

"The space for the stuff you want is taken up by the stuff you've settled for."

"Is it beautiful? Is it useful? Does it have a place?"

"Do I want the stuff more than I want the simplicity?"

Tsh Oxenrider wrote a great book called "Organized Simplicity." (Yes I know book titles are supposed to be underlined, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet. No, Cntrl "U" doesn't work) One of my favorite suggestions from her is to create a mission statement for your family and your house. That way, as I sort through my closets and my schedule I know what my purpose is. Anything that doesn't help me fulfill my purpose has to go.

Okay, this post needs an ending, a pithy denouement, but I am late to pick my son up from pre-school, so all denouementing will have to wait. Have a wonderful day my friends.

Oryoki

Ah peace. My entire household is asleep and the quiet is delicious. I feel content, happy and in the mood for some obscure Japanese trivia. Random, I know, but that is just how I work.

I recently read a book which was about Japanese begging bowls among other things. Buddhist monks take a begging bowl, or oryoki, with them wherever they go. They live on whatever food or money is placed inside. I love the image of greeting each day with an open bowl, ready to receive. To the monks, it is a sacred obligation to accept every offering with gratitude. Generous, stingy and mean-spirited offerings are received alike, with gratitude and humble acceptance. The scriptures tell us to "give thanks in all things." When was the last time I lived that as a sacred obligation? Can I keep myself as open as a bowl when I know my day is careening toward mayhem? What if seven toilet water disasters are being put into my bowl? What if a whaling, flailing tantrum is being put into my bowl? Do I trust the scriptures enough to humbly accept everything placed in the bowl of my day and return thanks to the Master who saw fit to put it there? It is a hard thing to trust that whatever I am given will be enough. Fittingly, oryoki means just that. The literal translation of oryoki is "just enough."

To begin each day with an empty bowl also means I need to end with an empty one. I once had an interesting conversation with someone about death. (Okay, my life is way less random than it sounds. Bear with me) They talked about going into the next world empty handed. "It's true" he said "that you can't take it with you. All our stuff stays here. But I hope I go back really empty handed. I would hate to get to heaven and find my pockets full of kind word I never said, compliments I never got around to paying, good deeds I meant to do but never did ... I want to use it all up."

Wow, this blog is getting very philosophical. I guess it's okay though. As Moonface says to Billy in "Anything Goes" (a terrific musical) "You know your problem, Billy? You ain't got no philosophy." Well I apparently have nothing but philosophy. I will stop short of singing you Moonface's "bluebird" song, although you have to hand it to a guy who can put his entire life philosophy in two verses and a choreographed chorus. Too bad he doesn't have a blog. Tra la, tra la, tra la.

Friends

God always seems to put the perfect people into my life, right when I need them most. I love the quote by Wallace Steagner from Crossing To Safety :

"And so, by circuitous and unpredictable routes we converged ... and are at once drawn together, braided and plaited into a friendship. It is a relationship that has no formal shape. There are no rules, obligations or bonds ... There is no glue in it but mutual liking. It is therefore rare."

To all my rare and precious friends, thank you for the ways you bless my life. To have a person know my quirks and foibles and want to be my friend anyway is an experience with grace. I am shaped by your influence more than you know.

Wisdom

Do you remember all those pithy bits of homespun wisdom you got at your bridal showers? Yeah, me neither. But there have been a few that have stuck with me from other people's bridal showers.

I love the thoughts: "Be publicly loyal and privately and honest." and "Never have unexplained expectations." My favorite, however, comes from my Grandma Bailey. She passed away over 15 years ago, but her daughters still share the words she gave to each new bride.

She would tell them that my Grandpa was the very kindest to her when she deserved it the least. Now, my grandmother was a saint and she and my grandpa had the kind of love affair most people dream about. It's hard to imagine them in a situation that would require this kind of advice - or maybe their marriage is proof that the formula works. Either way, her words come to me often. Sometimes the come to me just before my family gets _______ (insert adjective; ornrey, disobedient, difficult, whiny etc.) Sometimes they whisper in my mind after I have been less than kind.

Right now, my son - who is going through some kind of four year old phase - is stomping sulkily around the house. Nothing is going right in his universe. He didn't get enough sugar on his cereal. He only wants the books his sister is looking at. He couldn't reach his underoos. I am not going to the store right this minute to let him spend his money. And he got put in time-out for hitting. Life is grim. Okay Grandma, here I go . . . .

Proof positive. It works! I felt like I was trying to hug a porcupine, but after a few stories, hugs and tickles I saw sunshine breaking through. It is good to remember that, in my own way, I sometimes go stomping about on this planet with my own list of woes. God is so very kind to me, despite my thunderstorms. Thank you Father in Heaven. Thank you Grandma. Oh dear, my son is pounding on the piano and yelling at his sister. I need to start ordering kindness in bulk. Wish me luck.

Precious

My daughter lost her first tooth while we were out visiting teaching. Yes, I am one of those sisters who takes her children with her on her visits. I will pause here for any readers who need to wrinkle their noses in annoyance at that last statement. Faces all smooth again? All right then. My daughter was ecstatic! I put the tooth in my wallet for safe keeping, but she just couldn't stand it. She needed to have that tooth in her hands. As we drove to our next appointment I counseled her to leave the tooth in the car, or to put it back in my purse.

Oh no, that would never do. So the tooth came with us to our next appointment. Ten minutes later, her crestfallen face peered around the corner. She climbed into my lap and buried her face in my shoulder. The tooth was lost. Really lost. We searched, and prayed and searched. No tooth.

We got back in the car and began driving. A tear stained voice came from the back "Mom, my tooth was all smooth on one side and white like snow on the other. That is why it was precious to me. Does Heavenly Father know how precious it is to me?"

I had to blink away a few tears before I answered. In her words I heard the echo of every prayer I have ever prayed. "Father, this is so very precious to me. Do you know how precious this is to me?"

What a joy to look in the rear view mirror and tell her with absolute certainty "Yes, my girl, He knows you. He knows how precious your tooth is to you. He loves you and if it is right, He will help you find your tooth."

In the end, we drew a picture of the tooth to leave under her pillow, and that was all right. A few weeks later her second tooth came out. She still has it.

Writing

I love to speak. Teaching is my catnip. When I try to get those same words through my pen and onto paper they fall apart ... the words that is. Despite this disadvantage I have always wanted to write children's books, and (fanfare of trumpets) I finally have! I have two stories nearing completion. One of my peer editors, a wonderful and experienced writer, suggested that I start blogging to get more comfortable with moving the words out of my head, past my mouth and out through my fingers. I had wanted to try blogging for a while, and this was just the incentive I needed to commandeer my hubby's computer and get going.

Yes, I occasionally talk to the screen, but I think this writing business is starting to work out. Thanks for being here with me. It means a lot to know that what I write might actually be read.

Plink

(plink) That is the most gratifying sound in the world.

I've just set my aching muscles into a hard backed kitchen chair. (plink) Blissful exhaustion is what I am feeling right now. Fifty nine quarts of grape juice gleam gorgeously at me from my kitchen counter - 28 white and 31 purple. (plink) A few jars of grape jam and syrup cluster around the edges. While my tomatoes finish processing, I thought I would write a few words to keep me awake.

Those tomatoes are a victory to me. (plink) They are like seven bright red trophies. I have a deep and irrational fear of botulism (plink) which has kept me from doing tomatoes in the past. My husband, the grower of the tomatoes, has finally convinced me that canned tomatoes do not mean instant death. I am glad. I love tomatoes.

My daughter, the 20 month old, got in touch with her Italian roots today. One moment she was munching on grapes from a bowl, the next the grapes were on the floor being crushed into the linoleum by her bare feet. My own little vitner. (Wiki Answers assures me that vitner is the right word for wine maker. I am going to take their word for it.)

Well it took me seven tries to get the word "moment" spelled correctly in the last paragraph. That must mean I have more exhaustion than bliss. Goodnight friends.

Wabi Sabi

Wabi Sabi. What a funny name for a beautiful concept.

Wabi sabi is a Japanese concept for a special sort of beauty. Here is the definition which I am borrowing from Everyday Sacred, and which the author borrowed from some other book.

"Wabi sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent and incomplete. It is a beauty of things modest and humble. It is a beauty of things unconventional."

Is that not perfect? I want to take that definition, wrap it up, devour it, chisel it into my mind and frame it.

I am thinking of the imperfect, things in my life and how I have been missing their beauty these last few days - oh, let's be honest, more like months. In some cases I have never seen their beauty at all.

Thank you wabi sabi.

He said, She said

I am chuckling.

I just noticed that my husband had signed up to follow my blog. With looks of deep love and gratitude I thanked him for joining. I then asked if he read any of it.

"Yeah, I read the one about the Zen child," he said

"I didn't write one about a child," I said

"You did," he insisted "you wrote about a Zen child and a bucket."

If you read the post about the man the monk and the cup of tea you may be chuckling too.

As the French would say "Vive, la differe'nce." Thank heaven for that little difference.

And thank you honey for loving me as I write about my "buckets".

Overflow

I love the story about the Zen monk who is visited by an eager, would be student. This young man has traveled many miles to see the monk and has many questions. The monk listens as the questions pour forth, but he says nothing. The student becomes irked, then annoyed, then frustrated as his teacher continues to sit in silence

Finally, the teacher says "Pour me a cup of tea and I will tell you when to stop."

The student begins pouring - and pouring - and pouring. The tea fills the cup, flows over the edge and over the table.

Exasperated the student says "Can't you see that the cup is full?!"

"And so it is with you," says the teacher. "Your mind is full of too many things. Only when it is empty will there be room for more."

The image of an overflowing tea cup appeared in my mind this afternoon. I looked at my list of "to-dos" - 18 items all in need of urgent attention. I wondered if they were important or just urgent. After some debate with myself I looked and my children and knew what what I needed to do. I emptied my cup.

Two hours later, here is what had made it back into my cup:

Helping my four year old son shoot baskets with a beach ball

Going for a walk - adjusting our pace so my 20 month old daughter could walk beside us.

Stopping at the park we usually hurry past because we are too busy.

Watching my daughter walk through the grass in light blue overalls, a yellow t-shirt and sunshine in her rag-a-muffin hairdo.

Helping my son with the monkey bars.

At the end of the day, seven of the 18 suspended items got done. They say there is a time for everything. In my life everything seems to need attention right NOW and I overflow into an unnecessary mess.

Have I learned my lesson? Not likely. But I hope I am a step closer.

Tsunami

Tonight I ventured into the world of blog. I viewed 11 sites and am still spluttering from the deluge of personality and verbiage. The visible tech savvy alone was awe inspiring.

Confession: We just got the Internet for the first time in eight years. My ancient computer skills quaked when I saw just how much needs learning. I felt outdated and I hate feeling outdated. With my arms full of children, diapers and occasionally my handsome husband, I don't know how to fit this new endeavor in. If anyone out there with a high tolerance for interruptions, spontaneous dance performances and tears (most of these coming from my children) is willing to be a tutor please let me know.

Bottom Line: This adventure will have to come on my terms. Right now my terms are slow and stretch-marked. Someday I will be able to live fast and furiously again. Till then, I need to learn some patience ... and what the heck a tweet is.

Wish me luck!

Fall

Tonight as I soaked in the light of a September evening the words of one of my favorite poems came to me:

Vagabond Song

by Bliss Carman

There is something in October that is native to my blood-

Touch of manner, hint of mood;

And my heart is like a rhyme,

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry

Of bugles going by.

And my lonely spirit thrills

To see the frosty asters like mist upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;

We must rise and follow her,

When from each hill of flame

She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

Doesn't that just make you want to crunch leaves under your feet and hug the autumn blue sky? I want cable knit sweaters and spiced cider and sensible brown leather shoes when I read that poem.

Autumn does things to me. It is my spring. I feel I am comming alive - budding and blossoming all at once.

Happy Autumn!

~Bethany

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Launch

Well, here it is, my first post ... ever. I feel like I'm on the verge of something big. I am grinning like my son when he shows me glimpses of the dragonfly caught between his hands.

So, what is this all about? This is about all the little things that make my life elegant - the quiet, the quirky and the rampantly idealistic. This is about the moments that I want to seal in amber time caspuels and hold onto forever. This is about me - and the plain and glorious messiness that holds my universe together.

I can't wait to see where this adventure leads.

~Bethany