when words fail...

I made this a few days ago for some neighbors and friends who have just been through a very rough stretch, the kind that can't really be touched by cake - even chocolate - but the kind that, nevertheless, does demand some kind of baked good offering. I haven't received word if it was good but I can attest that the batter bowl was clean as hell prior to making it into the dishwasher.

I originally found it in the latest Yoga Journal (such pretty pictures of people stretching! What's that? A recipe for cake?...) but could not then find the link on their site. Thankfully, I was able to track it down here.

Winter

Here's hoping that I will take more pictures this winter. And that they're not all of Herself. Also hoping to try this some time soon. Homemade grenadine can't be bad.

What's so funny about peace, blahblahblah?

So, I saw a peace-sign inspired wreath a while back (not sure where) and thought, 'I like that. I would like to do that.' That was maybe 5 years ago and no wreath. I'd love to put the blame on lack of time, funds, skill or memory but the truth is I worried that it was corny. That, I find kind of sad. But there it was, a worry that a big peace sign on our house would be too earnest to the point of corniness. It wasn't a baby Jesus in a manger, true (although, sadly, most people we know would think this was ironic vs. genuine), but it is a sincere symbol of something we believe in, strive and hope for - perhaps all the moreso this time of year - and this blatant display felt like it might be putting ourselves out there in a way that was just "too much" (although I should note at this point that my husband had no such qualms).

Then, a week ago, I thought, screw it. I went to our local nursery, saw the $125 wreaths and asked - a ballsy move for me - if I might instead buy one of their wreath frames. I braced myself as the owner went to the back to go check on the prices as he'd never had this request before and so wasn't accustomed to selling them. In fact, I almost scooted out of there before he'd returned assuming that they'd be more than I should spend and, thus, I should take this as a sign to leave our siding free of any adornment beyond road grime. Then, my guilt getting the best of me, I returned to the wreath department where I was met with a friendly "There she is!" and a quote of $5 for the 30" frame. There was my sign. I happily paid, gathered some boughs from the woods nearby and tore up my knuckles making the above. I'm not fooling myself into thinking its presence will do anything beyond give passersby a moment of pause ala, "That wreath looks kind of funny..." but I'll know that I overcame my snobby self for a moment this season and that's reason enough.

onward, ho!

Every day that my daughter and I venture out in the car, one, then the other of us heralds our departure with this - "Onward, ho!" - cry. It's silly but, like most traditions we've adopted with Herself, it has, on occasion, done wonders in turning a surly, I-want-to-stay-home-and-play-in-
my-pajamas/naked mood around, if only temporarily.

I've stayed in my pajamas for a while with regards to this whole blog thing. I've been known to over-think things, most things. Thankfully, the resulting paralysis is sometimes broken by an impetuous "bug" I catch now and again. Good examples: bangs, leaving bad jobs, almost anything regarding our daughter, this blog which I began on such a bug-high months ago but - due to that old over-thinking habit - have only now decided to really start.

I know there are 10.7 trillion blogs out there, many of which will prove to be wittier, deeper and more replete with better-taken photographs of higher quality craft. Oh, well. I've reached a point where I need an added push to be creative, whether it be making a quilt, taking photographs, weathering motherhood or fostering relationships. I'm not wild about feeling as though I "need" to do this but have discovered that whatever used to push me to "just do it" hasn't been - wait for it - incentive enough for some time. So, here we go. Onward, ho.