7.11.2010
Outside Inside
When we take off pieces of our garden or when we inadvertently spray the hose too hard and pieces of the garden fly off... I like to bring the vestiges inside. It's like getting flowers, only cheaper. I think tomatoes smell better than roses anyway: I had not ever noticed their peppery, acid aroma before. Now I can't seem to get enough.
Collection
We just got this bread plate on Friday from our friend Cindy. When Cindy has a party, she cleans out her house and gives away her treasures as party favors. This is the same plate that was at our dinner table growing up. I wouldn't say I love the design, but remembering dinners where we laughed over the day together; that makes it worth keeping.
7.05.2010
Little By Little
Little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
These lines are from a poem Sam sent me when we were first getting to know each other.
This idea of "little by little" recurred in our lives together as we moved in to our new home. I have written about this idea before, but I seem to need to learn and relearn.
I am at peace with this.
I wonder is it just me that feels this compulsion to get everything done this moment? Am I a product of our culture? I need to see results, and I forget that the most important results take time, traditions and even daily rituals.
Over our fence, we hear lilting Italian music reminding our neighbors of home. The notes dance across our honey suckle fence from their earthy-layered garden to our fumbling tomato plants. As the voices crone and the notes strain, I imagine that our neighbors know everything about the earth and growing. I imagine that they know all about the rituals that make you deep and rich in ways that are impossible to articulate. I imagine that little by little and all by all they have become deep by deep.
Next door is where I want to be. I want to be rich and layered. I want to laugh, tend, create and grow.
For now it's back to writing here and little by little growing up and open.
all by all and deep by deep
These lines are from a poem Sam sent me when we were first getting to know each other.
This idea of "little by little" recurred in our lives together as we moved in to our new home. I have written about this idea before, but I seem to need to learn and relearn.
I am at peace with this.
I wonder is it just me that feels this compulsion to get everything done this moment? Am I a product of our culture? I need to see results, and I forget that the most important results take time, traditions and even daily rituals.
Over our fence, we hear lilting Italian music reminding our neighbors of home. The notes dance across our honey suckle fence from their earthy-layered garden to our fumbling tomato plants. As the voices crone and the notes strain, I imagine that our neighbors know everything about the earth and growing. I imagine that they know all about the rituals that make you deep and rich in ways that are impossible to articulate. I imagine that little by little and all by all they have become deep by deep.
Next door is where I want to be. I want to be rich and layered. I want to laugh, tend, create and grow.
For now it's back to writing here and little by little growing up and open.
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