tollipop

and the winner is...

 
Rose!  Congratulations, Rose darling!  I'm sooo excited for you!  Please let's get in touch and exchange addresses and a Sparkle Power print of your choice will be off in the mail soon!

I must also mention it is very worth a visit to Rose's lovely blog...

Dear reader, I am running like a maniac today, hence the lack of a traditional "winner's photo" (although I thought this one had a certain serendipitous relevance) and consolation prize wishes...but I will return soon and add those things to this post.  I promise.

Thank you so much for playing along...

alice in converse-land

 
Dear reader, if you find it strange that Caroline only recently learned to tie her shoes, it may be because:

a) you don't live in the desert, where 95% of the time children wear flip flops, and/or
b) you didn't have a left-handed mother try to teach you how to do it.

 
Anyway, this year for Halloween she's going as Alice in Wonderland.  Only, a red-headed Alice.  Who wears running shoes.  Because let's face it, what little girl goes chasing white rabbits through the woods in black patent Mary Janes anymore? 

No wonder she fell...

Costume credit goes to Sophie, who helped dress and style Caroline for her special Halloween event (cello group class), as I was running late and couldn't be home in time to get the job done. 

That is some impressively high hair, you have to admit...

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One last thing:

Sparkle Power print giveaway

Tollipop print giveaway

There still time to enter!

this is the map

 

This is the map.

 
This is the brother who got the map...............................(him.)

 
This is the girl who has the brother who got the map.

 
This is the place she ran with wolves, the girl who has the brother who got the map.

 
And (funny story) ended up in Vegas, the girl who ran with wolves who has the brother who got the map.

 
This is the place she wants to visit to eat the food, the girl who ended up in Vegas who ran with wolves who has the brother who got the map.

 
Also here...

 
here,

 
here,

 
and here.  Run for your lives!  She wants to eat the entire world, the girl who ended up in Vegas who ran with wolves who has the brother who got the map.

But for now she will simply adore the map.

Thanks, Jonny...I love it!   xoxoxoxo

sparkle power giveaway!

Dear reader, today I am excited to host a free print giveaway from Las Vegas's very own fabulous Sparkle Power!  Candace and Dylan are the creative forces behind this bright, happy, modern artwork. 

I can personally vouch for the brilliance of their goodies.  I purchased, then reluctantly gave as a gift, one of her lovely banners.  But I kept the La La Love You print for my girls and it brightens my day every time I see it. 

Is there a corner in your home that needs a little pep?  A wall that could use some zing?  Would you like to boost the positive energy flowing through your space?  Then by all means, please enter your name in the drawing for a Sparkle Power print of one's choice.  Because I honestly have not come across a team of artists more aptly named for the work they create.   

Sparkle Power.  

It's pretty awesome when you think about it. 

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p.s.  The winner will be drawn and announced on Friday!

Sparkle Power blog (a great read...and very much worth a visit this week if you want to get in on the Tollipop print giveaway Candace is hosting!)

Sparkle Power Etsy shop

it's spooky like that around here

 
Dear reader, you know how most scary movies begin with some sunny-faced teenager who thinks it makes perfect sense to take a babysitting job at the house on the hill where all the phone lines have been cut?  Or a group of kids who decide to celebrate spring break on an island where some sort of hit-and-run situation occurred the previous year?  Or some girl who looks out the window and sees a fine kettle of weather brewing in the distance and decides this would be a perfect day for a bike ride? 

And you watch as she gets ready to go and pauses to take one last picture of herself, blithely unaware of the madness which awaits and you are practically in a frenzy, screaming at the movie screen....DON'T DO IT!!!

 
But she does do it.  And once she is out there, it grows dark very quickly and the hanging clouds and steady rain can denote only one thing: the Dementors are breeding.  The girl begins to make low, keening sounds because it is finally beginning to dawn on her that this innocent bike ride has gone well past the point of no return.

There is freezing rain pouring down her legs and into her shoes and socks.  The bike spits sand and water up her back.  Her face is attacked by a thousand spear-like drops and she begins to shake uncontrollably.  Still, and make no mistake about it, she is happier in this moment than a kid who guesses the correct number of jelly beans in an institutional-sized pickle jar. 

When she gets home, she pulls off all her clothes and leaves them in a sopping heap on the garage floor.  What if there is company inside?  Too bad for them...she can only worry about one horror movie at a time. 

She crawls into the shower and huddles there like Gollum, letting molten temperatures of water cascade over her numb and shivering body.  When she gets out, the girl goes downstairs and curls up on the couch.  She touches her face.  It feels cold, like a corpse.  No one is home.  The house is quiet.  It is too quiet.  She is all alone...

 
Suddenly, a shadow passes over her feverish brow.  She opens her eyes but is too terrified to scream.  Edgar Allen Poe!  What spectre hovers by the stairwell?  What can it all possibly mean?!

 
Oh...well, I suppose not every scary movie has to be so predictable.

 
Not every scary movie must have a dark and fearful ending.

 
Or does it....?

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Dear reader, wishing you a thrilling weekend of the spookiest sort and an invitation to stop by on Monday for a fun and slightly different kind of giveaway...

three old men and a spider

 
Dear reader, I sometimes worry I talk too much about my bike rides.  I sometimes worry you'll think: "If that girl brings up one more episode wherein she attempts to race an innocent cyclist and compares it to the ancient gladiators of Rome, she is going to have a serious mutiny on her hands!"

Which is why I'm not going to talk about that.  I'm going to talk about little old men and spiders in their mating seasons and how one has practically nothing to do with the other.  I think. 

The other day, as I was stretching against my bike in preparation for a ride, a little old man tootled up to me in a golf cart. 

"Do you have enough water for your ride?," he asked.  I told him I did.  Then I waited to see if he would ask me anything else.  But he didn't.  He had all the information he needed and off he went, presumably to ensure the rest of the world was properly hydrated.  It struck me, though, that I waited.  I just have a certain thing for little old men, I suppose.  It catches me off guard when they express interest or concern and I'm always left standing there, mouth agape, like some ardent first-grader who nearly earns a gold star.

 
When I reached the final ascent of my climb, the desert felt like this. 

I stopped for a moment to take it all in and while I was at one with the universe, another little old man approached me.  This one was dressed in the dearest cycling outfit, with an unzipped shirt and a cap like the ones worn in the old days of the Tour de France.  I practically whispered, "Anatole?," but quickly came to my senses when he asked for information regarding the rest of the route.  Still, it was a lovely conversation featuring his vast knowledge of the mechanics of cycling and my uncanny ability to plumb the depths of his life story in less than five minutes.

Near the end of my ride, I encountered a tarantula.  I'll spare you the details but yes, I jumped off my bike and ensured his safe passage to the other side of the road.  Lest you think I'm being overzealous in my patronage of the ecosystem, I'll have you know I asked a friend who is a self-proclaimed expert on such matters, and he told me this time of year is mating season for tarantulas. So you can only imagine the favor I rendered this poor, romantic soul.

And finally, when the ride was over and I was in the process of securing my bike to the carrier on my car, I was approached by one last little old man.  Although he started out talking about the weather, his comments soon became just the least bit odd.  You know?  Like when someone seems terribly interested and terribly amused by everything you have to say?  Well, I didn't know what to think and I stood there as he moved in closer, wondering if I was about to get hustled by a veteran of one of the great world wars.  He asked me what I liked to do in my spare time and when I happened to mention my kids, his eyes nearly popped out of his head and he exclaimed, "Kids?!" 

To which I smiled and replied, "Yes, kids." 

Which would have been flattering enough, I suppose, only he repeated the question at least ten more times.  Finally he leered at me, violating all the rules regarding personal space and said, "You don't look old enough to have kids!" 

I don't know, dear reader.  I'm not sure what this says about me, but why is it such a scenario would almost certainly be charming coming from a little old man named Anatole, yet is decidedly less so coming from a little old man named Bud?

i should have announced my intentions to become a concert pianist instead

 
Dear reader, ever since I told you I was planning to write a book, guess what I've been doing?  Practising the piano.  Oh sure, there's a story...several paragraphs of it, at least.  But how is it that whenever I sit down to write, my fingers suddenly itch to play a little American salon music?  At the rate I'm going, le Bananier will be mine by the end of the month (just kidding...Gottschalk is going to elude me forever).

 
It's like that time I made a grandiose announcement about cleaning up my studio.  Guess what happened?  Sophie's closet received a new coat of paint. 

 
Nothing much has changed in here...

I'm not saying plans for a book have been scrapped, per se.  But I am saying I may have to trick myself into writing it.  I may have to tell myself I'm going to do everything but.

over the weekend

 
There was a lovely dinner party.  There was talking.  There was laughter.  A fierce match of table tennis ensued.  There were violins.  And there was a cello.  Yes, there certainly was.  When my friend added her cello to our sound, it was as if the earth moved beneath our feet. 

 
There was a music competition.  Izzy put her whole soul into the performance and I sat there in a state of awe, feeling all the days I've known her flood through my heart and that nothing could be better than this moment in time. 

Afterward, there were ribbons to be admired. 

 
There was a walk in the rain meant for me and my husband.  But then this little redhead decided to tag along.

 
And I'm glad she did.  Because she took the camera and documented proof that I did not spontaneously divide three times and end up with a tribe of girls all by myself, as I think this blog might sometimes imply...

the haunting

 
Dear reader, it would be too dreary if I followed my own rules on irregular posting.  Please just know if things stagnate around here from time to time, it's because I'm in the grips of a feverish creation or, more likely, overwhelmed with everything else I'm supposed to be doing.

And I thought today I would take a page from Soulemama and attempt a "this moment" photo...but then I realized the whole point of such an endeavor is to leave the reader with a wordless image.  And that would prevent me from telling you things.  Spooky things. 

Like how I love, especially at this time of year, to stay up late after everyone has gone to bed and wander through the house.  The lights are off, a few candles flicker, and I am so deliciously alone.  Maybe I will move some things around.  I wonder will anyone notice?  Sometimes I like to just stand and look at the little compositions of objects arranged here and there: the tapered candle, the old key, the fox looking so dapper in his moss green cravate.  Everything is quiet and I am quiet, too.  How do I feel?  Spellbound, as if there is a secret in the darkness and I am the only one who knows it.  

And today will be lovely, because tonight we are having a dinner party!  I am making, among other things, boeuf bourguignon, Julia's boeuf bourguignon, and after I finish writing this I will go downstairs where there is lovely music playing, tie on a pretty apron, and spend the rest of the morning chopping and stewing things and creating a layer of aromas guaranteed to intoxicate the human soul.  Then I will set the table with a lovely cloth and napkins and dishes, and everything will be arranged just so. 

And why will this make me happy? 

Because some of the best memories of my childhood center around having company over for dinner.  It was a very common occurrence in our home, yet always a special event.  My mother made it so with her beautiful dishes and flowers from the garden, candlelight, music, and delicious things to eat.  And the guests were always interesting, usually from another country, and so the conversations were filled with heavy accents and no end of topics which sparked my wonder and imagination. 

And I know, throughout this day, as I smooth the tablecloth down and decide upon candles and pause to straighten a knife here, a fork there, my mother's spirit will be with me every step of the way.

And that is the very best kind of haunting of all. 

perfect pitch

 
The other day I was in my bedroom folding laundry when Caroline came in and announced she would like to take a shower.  A few minutes later, she was in there doing her thing when I noticed she was humming the tune to I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen.  And she was humming it so sweetly, bouncing lightly on every note, clear as a bell.  But it sort of stopped me in my tracks.  Up until just the other day she was a bathtub girl.  She wanted me to wash her hair. 

Now here she was in the shower, singing about those years of angst and too much eyeliner. 

But before I could go too far down the path of despair over the hastening passage of time, I was brought back to my senses by her dear little voice.  How perfectly in tune it was.

And I remembered a time during the first year of her cello lessons, when the teacher asked Caroline to play a particular song and even hummed the first few measures, thinking the prompt would be helpful.  Caroline stared at her for a moment.  She had her hand in position, but then she adjusted it slightly and started playing the piece a few intervals higher than it was actually written...at the exact pitch her teacher had sung it.  Her teacher stared at me.  I stared at Caroline.  It was uncanny, to say the least. 

There is something in all of this which evokes the essence of that little girl.  She is as far from perfect as any other child, and if I could just stop her from giving mean looks to Izzy on occasion, how much happier certain rides home (from music lessons, at night, in busy traffic) would be!  And before you roll your eyes over the perceived benignity of a mean look, please allow me to assure you in our family, a mean look is the catalyst for a rapid and unprecedented decline in human behavior. 

I'm not even sure how Darwin would explain it.

But I digress.  What I really meant to say was Caroline has this ability to perceive things exactly as they should be, as if she is tuned to a frequency which doesn't miss a beat.  And even though she is coming along at her own pace, she still hears it.  She knows it's there.  And what fills my heart with wonder is to watch that girl's determination to head for the thing which sounds perfectly right to her. 

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p.s. Did you happen to notice the little Tollipop girl sitting in Adelaide's bedroom this morning?  What a wonderful start to my day!  And are you following the magical unfolding of the story of Soulemama's new home (and by magical I mean: one part magic, nine parts hard work)?  I love how her pictures and writing seem to include everyone in the adventure. 

It's such a thrill to think of my wistful girls living in corners all over the world.  It's almost like a little part of me went over there to visit, myself...