in the rooms living

down the hall

laughter rings

bouncing off of walls

dipping underneath archways

coming my way

in the next room voices deep

in that room little ones are arguing

she pleads her case

while she stands her ground

the water running in that sink sings

along to the tune from that pocket

the twang hums

the birds chirp

the smell of toast taosting

wafting in and out

in this room tears

for the hard talks had today

and so many other hard things

from today and yesterday

and last month

and all those other hard things

and days

and words

and blood stained stones

hard things from so long ago

bags and wagons and pockets full

of yesterday’s sorrows

of yesteryear’s hurts

of long past offences

and a million years of loss

piled up here

in this space

beneath these beams

on top of my head

tiny

Tiny silver spoon

I’m so happy to have met you

Me in my jeans and flip flops

Shiny from car air and the miles

You in that trap made of logs

Did the sign say they were hand crafted?

Building square and tall

In the shadow of all those trees

Next to that highway

Brimming with tourists

And other tiny silver spoons

I picked you

Not because of your shine

And not for your blessed silverness

Or because of the wee acorn

Perched atop your end

But because you can so easily

Chase the sweet brown sweetness

That is my favorite hazelnut spread

And live cozily in any

Of the 53 pockets of my bag

day off

Tell all the things

From morning to end

The day

In that hotel

Or at that friends old cabin

And the trip to get food

And the suitcase

and the packing

and that coffee treat spilled in the lap

And the drive

And the flat tire

And the cat

And the mattress

and the inability to do anything at all except stare at the tv

and the lack of energy to enjoy or feel as if something had been accomplished

And then the panic as the hours tick by

And the one good thing

Seemingly mundane

That was the thing that took one over the line from exhausted to rested

And then noticing things that one hadn’t noticed before

Feeling warm from the sun

And thankful and hearing birds

And wondering what the bird was

and feeling one should learn these things

and the walk

And the crackle of pine cones beneath the shoes

And the mans dog barking at you on the path

And husband calling

And texting

And missing the calls

And semi terrible food

And craving wine

And all that thinking

And praying and hearing God

and feeling at once that one could go on

And then the breeze

And the packing

And the drive

And singing out loud

And crying at the freedom

And coming in to a toddler tantrum

And the glare of the teen

And the supportive but exhausted and done husband

And unpacking

And kids relaying their day

And all the fun

And the fish for dinner

And the cleaning of the kitchen because he is already asleep

And that bedtime routine

And the pillow

The sound of the fan In the bathroom

And his snoring

And tucking in kids again

And kissing of heads again

And prayers

And hand on cheeks

And feeling thankful

And sleep

And a dream that felt so real

Another man

Another life

Another chance to make choices and then in the middle of the dream remembering you already have a life

A man

A family

And you can’t live this strange dream

And waking up feeling guilty for having dreamt it

And feeling a little sad that the time is already spent

Big brown eyes staring at you then in the bed

Tiny people have joined

Sleeping like octopi

Feet in ribs

Arms in crannies

Hair everywhere

Tiny nose

Little mouth

Beautiful baby and then

The thankfulness is deeper than one has ever known

And you are glad the dream was a dream

Because you see for just a moment the meaning of life

From baby to toddler and cuddle bug to wiry gal and gent and man boys and young men and women

And the giving to them purpose with your own

To love others

To love others well

Because God loves you

and you loved them

And the next day

And then the pillow

And then sleep

And a dream

And your all walking in a meadow

A garden

And peace is like air

And you all feel loved

You don’t often feel loved

Or lovable so it’s a stark change but it’s like the sun on the skin and the water on your body

You are loved

All of you and it’s real

And there is such peace and

The alarm goes off

And your eyes open

Brown and blinking

Long lashes

Disbelieved hair

Sheets with tiny flowers on them

Sunlight slipping in through curtains edge

And he is there breathing

Warm

And you are happy

Away

The sun sets behind a building made of wood and stone and earth: time. She is a fireball in the sky. Burning orange with her shoulders wide, arms stretched out over the horizon, head back and into the sky.

I am passenger on swift moving train racing over the miles like wind past this scene. It is slow and beautiful and fierce and fast and sad.

Pale blues give way to deeper shades. I try to remember. I must stir. I must wake. I must write it down.

Lost are those long slender days when pain was less known to these bones. Fists clenched but the days have slipped through. The decades are left, waylaid and unremembered.

With the darkening sky weariness settles in as my eyelids close. And the gentlest wisp of cloud carries even these memories away, tucking them safely into its billowed folds.

A Letter To Luke

I don’t often come here. To the quiet place in my room. To the small brown desk with someone else’s name scratched into the bottom of its drawer. But here I am with tablet and pen and coffee hot and strong. I’ve dusted off my working wheels and pulled the pages from my shelf; pen atop my ear. I’ve gathered toys from tables and chairs and counters and placed them into rooms and closed their doors; clutter our of sight.

The sound of the bathroom fan and my breathing in and out. The click of the keys and the dog gnawing on his bone. Helicopter overhead and semi truck passing on the road. These are the sounds that fill my ears while I wait for…something. You put down your cup and look up at me and we see one another better. I understand what you meant by the things that you said last night and you see, in my brown eyes swimming, how it all might have meant very little in the light of this new day. Time and sleep and sunshine and coffee bringing us back to common ground.

What a subtle grace it is to love ones best friend. You hold my hand even though we fight and I call you terrible names. I stand beside you even when you make me feel small and alone. We cling to one another in the battles of the everyday and we don’t let go and we always mean it when we say sorry and when we forgive. Even if its hard, maybe especially when its hard.

When I am weak and tired and don’t think that I can make it you send me trudging onward with such clever words and laughter and strong shoulders to cry on. When you are low and defeated I take your hand and whisper truth and the curtains open or the clouds part and light comes back behind your eyes to hope and to strength and we go on together.

I know that I can smash my face into your chest and weep and you won’t shove me away because you are busy or tired or angry even if you are feeling any of those things. You know (or at least I think that you know, rather hope you know!?) that even if you need to show me how scared you are that I still trust you, still believe in you, still love you.

I am thinking of braids now; picturing them in my mind. Three strands of differing colors and textures folded in over and under and together making something new. One strand of gold, one of silver and one of silk; Father God, you and me; strong, unbreakable. I am thinking that I am so thankful that we met so long ago in those large rooms among the rows of seats and angst filled youth. Thankful that we stayed friends even after you went one way in the world and I went another. Thankful for plain rides and holding hands and waiting for kisses and all the rest of it. This great love, steeped in sweet friendship was worth waiting on love. Thank you.

Yours, t










July {yarnalong}

I must confess that the photos I stole from my Instagram while the house sleeps are from June and not July. Our five kids and two wee visitors, hubby, the two dogs and the cat are all still, amazingly, asleep. So I type with the phone held above my head in the dim morning light now, unable and unwilling to fetch all my projects and find some lighting and a spot to take real July pictures. My apologies.

I was doing that thing I do in the early hours of the day where I slide my phone from the night stand / desk and check all the places that I check before the world around here gets moving too fast. Email. Facebook. Instagram. Bible App for the verse of the day etc. I saw that Ginny had posted on Instagram her July Yarnalong was up and I felt I should join her.

I have been slow with the blogposts this past Spring. Weeks of sickness and then recovery left me unwilling to do more than the basics in life. I’ve been fairly productive on the crafting side of things though now that I’m feeling more myself. So here goes it.

I finished The Path Between Us by Suzanne Stabile and picked up (again) Becoming by Michelle Obama. Both are tremendously good books of differing sorts and I recommend them to you and to everyone.

I’m knitting socks (not pictured here) that I started in the Spring. I might add a picture later. I’m also knitting a sweater which is pictured that I started several years ago. Recently I decided that finishing things long left unfinished might be a good practice for me, a doing repressed four on the enneagram. We. Will. See. So far just working on the long neglected things feels really good. Feels like needed progress.

I did also start a wee hand quilted… something. I started out thinking it was a baby’s Summer quit. I’m not too sure of that anymore. As I work with the fabric bunched up in my hand and move the needle up down and over with my other hand I feel such deep joy in it’s making.

When the fabric is pulled taut in my quilters hoop and my eyes and fingers can run over the stitches in their varying lengths and colors, it feels less like a quilt and more like art. I wish every project felt this way. Maybe this is just because it’s a new kind of project for me, I don’t really know yet. It really is so lovely to work on though.

Thanks for stopping by and happy knitting or crocheting or crafting and reading!