Oh So Sweet!

Happy 16th Birthday,

Sweet Lydia!

Another Letter from Lydia

Dear Friend,

 I love Christmas. Every ornament placed on the tree holds some sort of happy memory for my family. We call it our memory tree. All of the decorations are set out and ready to help us celebrate one of the happiest seasons of all.

I’ve been spending several afternoons and evenings behind closed doors making Christmas presents. I always like to make home-made presents for people at Christmas. Normally I don’t really get into doing a lot of crafts or projects, unlike my sisters who always have something they’re working on. But every year in December, I become infected with the wonderful Christmas spirit and my crafty, artistic side leaps into action.

 

However, one crafty thing I love to do all year round is knit. I like to knit hats, scarves, and I’ve even knitted a purse (it came out little lopsided but I’m still working on those). I first learned to knit a year ago in august. My Mom, my sisters, and I went to have tea with a friend and she taught us how to spin wool into thread and to knit. I did not really enjoy spinning but I fell in love with knitting. I found it difficult at first but after a few days I improved and my project (I started with a scarf) slowly grew. Now I can knit with very little effort and sometimes I can’t decide whether I want to spend an hour knitting or reading.

    

I also love to read. Two of my very favorite books in the world are Gone with the Wind and Up a Road Slowly. What is more fun than getting lost in a good book? Well, I suppose other people could think of things they would rather do. I even would sometimes rather spend time writing or just daydreaming. Reading novels always encourages me to write, especially when I read books about writers, like Up a Road Slowly or Emily of New Moon. It’s always encouraging to read those books and see that the dilemmas and problems I come across in my writing are normal for a writer and can be overcome. I wonder where these authors get their ideas, what inspires them? I get many of my story ideas from just daydreaming. There is a swing set in our gardens near the pond and ever since I was very little I’ve loved swinging. The motion of swinging and the beauty of being outside stimulates my imagination. I always love to swing as the sun goes down. I like to think about fantasy worlds, days gone by, and days to come. What will the future bring my way?

Sometimes I look forward to falling asleep at night and dreaming. The other night I dreamt I was on the beach right as the sun was setting into the ocean. All of the golden colors, the pink and yellow and orange that lit the sky and reflected on the bluish gray sea, painted a breathlessly beautiful picture that I still see clearly in my mind. I woke up longing to be at that beach, walking barefoot on the sand with the ocean roaring beside me as the sun goes down.  Next month, my Mom and Dad plan to take my brother, younger sister, and me to the beach in our motor home for a few days. I look forward to smelling the salty sea, hearing the ocean roar, and watching the golden sunsets.

I wish everyone in the world sweet dreams, a very merry Christmas, and a happy New Year.  

    

Sincerely,

Lydia      

 I so enjoyed being the hostess at our family's  

Colonial Williamsburg table setting 

at our church's annual Ladies Christmas Tea.

Perfectly Imperfect

“We don’t all live a Fairytale, you know!” sobbed a dear friend who sat at my table wailing of life’s injustices as I poured cup after cup of tea in another cottage during days gone by.

“Did she mean to imply I did live a fairytale existence?” I wondered in surprise as I mentally cataloged my life:

- Five young children (two with special needs)
- Husband I adore but rarely see due to work demands
- Budget screaming BANKRUPT at every turn
- Emotional baggage of sufficient quantity to sink a life
- And on the list grew . . .

Many years have passed and my children have grown significantly, my husband works at the jobs he chooses while occupying an office on our property, my budget stopped squeaking, and the baggage return emptied of much extraneous debris . . . and yet I still find much that belies a fairytale, despite the charge that still comes my way on occasion.

Now, I will not lie and say my life sags and groans with burdensome sorrows and such, but in an effort to “Keep It Real” around here, I felt I must speak up and say:

“I’VE BEEN HAVING ROTTENESS IN EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR THE PAST WEEK OR SO!! (And I don’t like it one bit! Nope!)”

[Hmmmm . . . I thought I would feel magically better somehow. If this were a fairytale that would have worked.]

Absent pixie dust or a magic wand, I have only to keep hanging on to God’s proffered hand and slop through the sludgey-ness while looking for something to celebrate rather than dwell on the gripes. Gripes like . . . a nasty infection on Lydia’s leg, which the pediatrician “on call” at our regular office diagnosed as MRSA and treated accordingly. Did I mention that he was wrong BUT THE OFFICE FAILED TO CALL WHEN THE TESTS CAME BACK NEGATIVE, or that the bill reflects a “NEW” patient charge – we have been with this group the entire nine years we have lived in this town? When I called to “correct” this error the assistant informed me that it had been several years since Lydia had been seen and thus they had to update her files and charge the “new patient” fee per standard billing practice. “Does that make us a new patient?” I queried, “I thought updating was standard procedure with patients. It seems to me you are penalizing us for remaining healthy.” She sympathized but did not remove the fee. Now I know why they didn’t accept Rachel’s updated info at the same time I updated Lydia’s chart, but preferred to wait for her next visit.

But I blather on without brightening the story by admitting that this $20 poke prompted me to do something I had been planning to do for some time—namely, remove all of my kids from the pediatrics mill in town to the wonderful family practitioner that Gary and I see when needed. Why did I wait so long? Because . . . I did. : (

So, that chewed up some of the joy-factor in the past several days, but resulted in good. How, I wonder, can a lost credit card statement with a late fee attached feel good? Well, it doesn’t and I fumed. Being particular about details and budgets (I am the Chief Financial Officer, after all), I constantly battle the whims of having an absent-minded professor for a husband/business partner who never frets over money or fees or any other foible of money. “It’s just money,” he shrugs. (*GULP!*)

Dare I even mention the blown valve on the propane tank last night that cancelled out Elizabeth’s invite to join her for a soak in the hot, bubbly spa for some girl talk? Further resulting in a total lack of hot water – read: “No Showers” – until today when the valve was checked and given the okay. And by the way . . . why did it blow in the first place? Reply: [SHRUG.] “It just happens.” FUME! And then . . .

STOP! I need to hit the pause button and get a grip. Are you reading what I am writing here? I just read it over and I cringed. With all the terrible stuff going on in the world and in the lives of those I know and in the lives of those I may never meet . . . I am griping because my spa couldn’t be heated. Now that’s SAD!

BUT . . .

I know these sniveling complaints merely distract me from the deeper fears and worries and woes and failures right here in my own life and heart. I prefer to sulk over a lack of comfort rather than address my real issues . . . because I can’t do anything to change them. Now I know I should simply turn all this fretting over to the Lord and let Him take care of me and the situation. That would alleviate the grumpiness building in my heart, but it doesn’t happen when I hang onto it. Lately, I’ve been hanging onto the little gripes and ruining goodly parts of each day. Why? It just happens sometimes, I guess. Regardless of why, I needed to switch gears . . .

Last night Gary took me out to dinner and then we sat down to watch Mamma Mia. I hadn’t rushed to see it when it came out despite the rave reviews, because I’d also heard some warnings of moral failure in the film. Hmmmmm . . . last night I decided to take a $2.50 chance and give it a go. With my twirly azure-blue print skirt topped by a white peasanty blouse, and full knowledge of the ABBA catalog of lyrics, I felt like a member of the chorus as I sang and danced my way through the frothy, colorful bit of nonsense that made me laugh out loud and shed a tear. Without the confession/forgiveness between mother and daughter I may have found it severely lacking, but that salvaged the earlier foibles somewhat and I enjoyed the party. Did Pierce Brosnan’s singing make me cringe? Yes, a wee bit, but the sweetness of his courage to belt it out in love touched me, for I married a man who can only carry a tune in a bucket. (Once long-long ago as a shy young suitor he sang sweetly to me. It was truly awful . . . and I loved every minute of it!)

As the mom laments over how quickly the daughter has grown up, my daughter Elizabeth turned to me and said, “Does it really go that fast mom?”

I stopped . . . a tear welled up . . .

"You can’t believe how fast it goes,” I choked up in reply.

I realized that it has gone far too quickly even for a mamma that chose to stay home each day to raise her children and keep her home. I used to joke, on those most tiring days, that I wished for a cryogenic chamber to pop my Littles into so that they would stop growing temporarily while I rested, thus I wouldn’t miss a bit of their precious growing years while I recovered from the day-to-day dose of living with them constantly. Sometimes, I confess, I wish I could freeze the blogdom so that I could keep up with all of you and your wonderful lives without losing track of all I have and do and experience here in my own life. Of late I just can’t make it around to everyone in a timely fashion (and some of you share so much and so frequently!), and I must just accept that. Just as I must accept all these little and BIG blots in my “Fairytale” life.

I admit I love my life and its road to Happily-Ever-After . . . even on those days when the Ogres roar and the slimy bogs sing with danger. So, will I ever learn to merely pass by the singing bog of *blech* without stopping by to orchestrate the song and tidy up the details before I journey on? My great-grandmother always said, “Let go and let God” (I think she learned that from attending al-anon meetings to help her alcoholic sons). Today I shall attempt again to let go the gripes and enjoy the joy.

As I cruise around the blogdom I find such sweetness and kindred feelings as each one of you opens your perfectly imperfect life up for a little visit. Your words encourage me, uplift me, touch me, call me to prayer, and beckon me to let go the ropes of slog and join in the celebration of life lived in the Palm of a Loving God who doesn’t expect us to be perfect. (In fact, He already knew how imperfect we would be and made plans accordingly.)

I dedicate this picture of two perfectly imperfect roses from my garden to all of you, my precious bloggy friends. When I took this picture I thought, “There’s a fine picture of friendship – full of holes yet exuding the most delicious aroma (maybe even becoming more aromatic due to the extra ventilation)."



Thank you, dear friends, for the gifts so sweet I find waiting for me at each of your blogsites.



---------
p.s.

Lydia just returned from a visit to the family practitioner who believes that the infection stems from a spider bite gone bad. (Dare I mention that when we visited the first doctor I offered that we believed it to be a spider bite?)

Oh well, I'm dedicating this day to celebrating my perfectly imperfect life; and so I will forgive the "imperfect" diagnosis and celebrate that our daughter's leg heals "perfectly" well despite it all.

Now, I'm off to the gardens for more sweetness . . .

A Glimpse into the Music Room

Oh my! I have trimmed the tree and decked the halls and dealt with all manner of Fa-la-la-la-la this past weekend. Frankly I don’t have a witty word or an elegant phrase to share. But, I do have a daughter willing to share a peek into one of her practice sessions.

Lydia (13) has played the harp since age 8. She began on a lever harp and graduated to a full Concert Grande pedal harp at age 10. Lydia loves to share the gift of music and finds performing a joy. She performs regularly at church and local functions. This Saturday she will share her gift of “O Holy Night” and “Silent Night” with those attending the Ladies Christmas Tea at our church.

My quiet, reserved young teenager has always been happy to go her own way and do her own thing. While others race around trimming the tree, she can be found quietly reading or penning her latest work. Her self-confidence and relaxed manner rarely leave her feeling anything but calm. While Rachel clamors to put something on the blog, Lydia shrugs and agrees to think about it.

Lydia arrived one day after her due date, while all my other children arrived a week or more early. She has always set her own pace and floats through life in an unruffled manner that some of us more “hurried” types envy. We have always referred to her as our “Faerie Child” for her love of nature, beauty, poetry, and music. Her differences from others have never caused her alarm. Her self-confidence has been high from the start. We laughingly recall when in a moment of frustration Elizabeth blurted out, “You’re not the favorite of the whole family, you know!” To which Lydia, then aged four, calmly replied, “I’m not? Then who is?”

Without further ado, I present a peek into Lydia’s latest practice session:


SILENT NIGHT




AN ETUDE (Fancy way to say study/exercise)




P.S.
I hope to have "O Holy Night" posted later this week. That's MY favorite!!! ; )

Thankful on a Thursday

A golden pink sunset

The rich aroma of fall's first pumpkin pie


Flaky dough remnants baked sweet 'round wine jelly


The heavenly tune of an angel in training


These simple pleasures make my heart sing with joy. : )

* * * * *

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts
. . . and be ye thankful.
Colossians 3:15

Friendship in the Gardens, Japanese Style

Well, it's been some time since I have taken this laptop and jumped on the web to visit my bogger dashboard. Forgive me, but I have been out in my gardens and dancing upon my new deck WITH railings. Hooray! The project is complete -- FINALLY -- but, I shall post about that another day. For today I want to share with you another beautiful installment from Lydia's birthday trip to San Diego.

* * * * *

After a good night's sleep we packed up and prepared to leave our darling inn. We walked out to see the ocean for a final farewell. We stocked our memory bank full of the sights and sounds and lovely fragrance of the Pacific ocean.

We took a final stroll though the lush gardens of our inn . . .


. . . And set out for a bit of breakfast and a brief drive through the Historical "Gaslight" District of Sand Diego before picking up Elizabeth and Whitney after morning classes.


We happened upon this jewel in the heart of San Diego.

The wedding-cake beauty of the architecture stood in sharp contrast to all surrounding buildings.

Lydia and I agreed that our next visit to San Diego must include a visit to the Grand Hotel for tea.

Time flew quickly and we found ourselves on the road back to Point Loma to retrieve the girls and then double back to the center of the city and Balboa Park. The lush acreage invited us to forget about downtown city streets and enter a magical place of art and music and gardens and beauty. Truly a wonderful place of respite and peaceful pondering.

We stopped for luncheon at the Japanese Tea House and enjoyed a variety of Asian delights. I bought a pair of bright red dragon-festooned chopsticks for Rachel in the tiny gift shop.

After chatting and eating we set out on a leisurely walk through the Japanese Friendship Gardens. The tranquil pathways invited us to explore the abundant foliage . . .

. . . and contemplative sculpture . . .

. . . along with the creative expression of bonsai . . .

. . . and inspiring stonescapes.

The peaceful flow of water engaged our ears around many corners enhancing the soothing nature of the experience.

This lantern symbolizes The Light of Friendship . . .

. . . an appropriate theme for our day.

As we approached the exit I just had to gaze back one more time, fixing the beauty and tranquility of our friendship garden walk into my memory bank under "enchanted moments."

Just beyond these peaceful walls lay many more treasures to invite the eye and intrigue the explorer. And so I must, once again, tease you with a tiny peek at the fabulous bounty just down the road a bit.

I shall leave off here, for now. I have more cropping and uploading to do before we can journey through the next phase of Balboa Park together. I better get busy! ; )

The Final Dance of Summer . . .

. . . should take place on a sandy shore where balmy breezes blow. And so, upon the crest of Lydia's thirteenth birthday, she and I boarded an uneventful flight to San Diego CA, procured a convertible car without incident (push a button -- TOP GONE!), and set out for the Hotel Del on Coronado Island to bathe in the fading days of summer's glory and Lydia's waning childhood.

Our wind-blown hair and sun-kissed shoulders rendered us well-dressed for dining along the seaside, strolling the lavish gardens . . .

. . . overlooking the splendidly groomed beach . . .

. . . and finally traversing the paths to the sand. We drank in the sights, sounds, and delicious aromas of life in view of the Pacific.

All too soon we headed back across the bridge and over to the peninsula of Point Loma.

We checked into our delightful accommodations -- a typical 50s apartment complex lately converted to an inn with all the necessary accoutrements for our all-too-brief stay. The lovely garden setting . . .

. . . sparkling clear pool . . .

. . . and cliff-side setting brought breathtaking views right to our fingertips.

After a brief unpacking and freshening up for dinner, we drove UP the cliffs to meet with Elizabeth and her dorm-roomie Whitney. We walked the gorgeous grounds of campus and ended up at this vista point. Elizabeth says she comes here often to think and read and be alone. God has surely blessed her with a picture-perfect view of His handiwork -- He knew how much she missed the Pacific Ocean when we moved inland to the mountains. What a marvelous daily reminder that God can do GREAT things. We sat contemplatively and listened to the wind rustle the palms until the growling of our stomachs bid us move on.

Onward to O'Bistro for a delicious dinner and a long languid chat about art, history, literature, music, and all the other lovely things that spill out so effortlessly when we take the time to relax and enjoy the moment.

Early classes and weary eyelids drew us back to our respective rooms, but the goodbyes were well-laced with excitement regarding tomorrow's foray to Balboa Park and the splendors awaiting us there. Despite our earlier thoughts of sleep, the pool beckoned and begged to be joined for just a dip.

Likewise we headed out to the rocky cliffs for one final good-night to the Pacific before it rocked us gently to sleep with it's crashing lullaby amongst the bulwark of boulders at shore's end. (Sadly those pics failed to make the grade for this post -- just too dark.)

Eventually we settled into bed for some very light reading followed by heavy slumber . . .

. . . punctuated with sweet dreams of special wonders to be found tomorrow as we enter the Jewel Box of San Diego: Balboa Park.

*[I shall return with more pictures and prose soon . . . do join me as the adventure continues.]*

Bon Voyage!

My Dear Friends,

By the time you open this missive Miss Lydia and I will have boarded the silver luck dragon and sped away on the wings of birthday celebrations to the land of San Diego. For you see, a girl only turns 13 once in a lifetime and we intend to celebrate in style as we join Elizabeth for a "Girl's Event" fit to be recorded in the memory bank of oh-so-special moments.

Once we land, gather our bags, and procure our magic carpet transportation (only a convertible will do, I mention politely to the reservationist), we will set out for Coronado Island and my favorite spot in all of San Diego: The Hotel Del Coronado, known affectionately as "The Del."




We will lunch at Sheerwater in the hotel and gaze out onto the pristine beach. Upon finishing the scrumptious meal we will meander slowly through the shops, including my favorite "emporium" of necessities for living the "good life," Babcock and Story Emporium -- named after The Del’s visionary founders, Elisha Babcock and H.L. Story, two mid-western businessmen who dreamed of building a resort hotel that would be the “talk of the Western world.” Need I mention . . . they succeeded?



Hopefully we will not exit the lovely shoppes too heavy laden to enjoy a walk along the surf. This beach ranks as the most pristine I have ever seen in my life. When Gary and I celebrated a "second honeymoon" here four years ago we had an ocean-facing suite that afforded us a full view of the beach. Each morning an employee "groomed" the beach, much as one would an ice rink. The results: Spectacular. So, Lydia and I will surely kick off our strappy little sandals, gather our sunny-day dresses in hand, and frolic in the gentle surf.

Once we satisfy our ocean quotient (remember, we used to live in Santa Cruz . . . Grass Valley is a loooong way from the seaside -- when we detect ocean air we tank up!), we will meander the streets of Coronado until it the clock strikes check-in time for us and school's-out time for Elizabeth.

After checking in to this delightful little inn by the sea, we will peer out the windows to this:

When we finally lay our head down for rest, we will drift off to the sounds of ocean waves meeting rocks and in turn rocking us gently toward slumberland. The tang of salty sea air will bathe our dreams and ensure that we awaken refreshed and ready to play. Ah, but before we even think about sleeping we have a full array of exciting activities to sample.

For starters we shall drive the short distance from our inn to Elizabeth's university for a joyful reunion and a tour of the gorgeous waterfront campus. Then we will cruise along the coast line until we come to Ocean Beach, a delightfully "Santa Cruzian" town with an atmosphere of "casual" that satisfies our homesickness for our Santa Cruz days. We will dine at O'Bistro and talk and laugh and build even deeper bonds over good food eaten en pleine air with the ocean as backdrop to it all.

When we place our napkins to rest and exit the retaurant our scripted schedule ends. In it's place lies a vast portion of possibility from which to fill our vacation basket to brimming. We may stroll on the beach at sunset or return to the inn for a dip in the spa (situated right on the cliffs overlooking the sea and glorious sunset). Our options seem limitless as we relish the holiday mood -- well almost limitless . . . Poor Elizabeth must return to the dormitory and sleep in preparation for a Thursday's class in World Masterpieces. (Hmmmmm . . . maybe we should tag along?) At 11:30 am on the dot we will whisk her away for another day of fun with us. But what will we do?

Hmmmmm . . .

We may visit the Zoo . . .

. . . or take in some of the many galleries and gardens at Balboa Park . . .

. . . or seize any number of splendid opportunities to enjoy ourselves until the clock bids us trade in our flashy convertible for a jet plane ready and waiting to whisk us back to home and hearth and our own comfy beds.

I shall be certain to gather a bounty of souvenir memories (and pics) to share and delight every one of you that stops back by to say "Hi." Be sure to bring a smile to wear, as we will surely be wearing ours for all to see.


I wish you joy 'til we meet again. : )

Me with My Precious Lydia

Little Girl . . . no more