Little Brother G

Autumnal shirt, navy blue sweater-vest, and light brown shorts make up the outfit. It's very small, but really, a six-month-old baby won't need a very big set of clothes. Of course, we couldn't help but buy tons of adorable little boy things (yes, we finally found out that I will have a little brother, Gavin Curtis, this summer!) and this little fall outfit is my favourite. Probably because autumn is my most cherished season and I practically need the subtle oranges and purples and vibrant shades of apple-red and sunset glow that make an autumn for me. Maybe my little brother Gavin will grow up to love the colours too!

I'm not sure I'm completely content with the fact that there are still several long, long months between me and holding little Gavin, but at least this gives me time to make lots of nice things. You see, there are numerous hats and blankets and such floating around in my head (figuratively) and I am glad that I will have time to knit or sew them up before my brother arrives, even though the time might seem to go slowly. That's okay, the more busy I keep myself the less time I will have to wish it would move along faster, and before I know it, August will be here!

So this post is to celebrate my little brother, Gavin Curtis, and the hope that time won't go too slowly for his overly-excited older sister :-) 

Saturday (there is no other word to describe it)...

There's something about a twilight walk that just makes me tingle (in a good way, to be sure). This evening I couldn't see any stars in the cloudy blackness, but there were one or two smudged glow-lights behind the clouds which at least suggested something akin to stars, and that delicious, balmy wind blowing out over the fields made up for the lack of sparkle. How can I expect many cloudless days in an Oregon March anyway? I can't.
But today wasn't all grey rain and cold air - it was actually very nice outside. I slept in late after an evening out, had a nice morning with my family, went into town with my big sister whose birthday we are celebrating today, and went on a gorgeous walk to my hilltop. There I sat on an old green gate, had a picnic lunch with myself, and read a book ( The Story Girl, by L.M. Montgomery) while curled up behind the shelter of a big row of blackberry bushes. I know, brambles don't seem like a perfectly relaxing spot to rest, but they weren't so bad, and were a nice barrier between me and the wind. I also wrote a letter to myself  ( which I will read again and laugh at sometime in the faraway future) and almost fell asleep in the sweet gold sunshine of the lazy afternoon. But I didn't quite; instead I came home and had another lovely evening with almost all of my family together, here at the house on the hill.

The Snow Garden

You see that small, rock-bordered area a little bit away from the house? I know, you can't see the ground (or the rocks, for that matter) because of all the slick whiteness that is still covering it, but it is there. Under our shrinking layer of snow is a covering of cut hay and dry leaves, and beneath that is a creeping growth of greenery which shouldn't be there, but has stealthily shot up anyway. That's alright, though, I'm okay with a few  weeds until it is time to plant. A myriad of ideas are popping into my head this week as I dream about my little flower garden, and the top items on my list are sorbet peonies, marigolds, primroses, daffodils (next year) and my little potted rose bush. It seems like such a long time until I can help all those bright, colorful blooms into existence, but the time will come - eventually... I can't wait!

Not Long Now, Moonchild

Just a few more minutes, said my little heart, which was pitter-pattering with a vengeance as the car rounded what seemed like the millionth corner on the road. It had been a good week spent with wonderful friends while Mama and Daddy searched for the "new house" which we would eventually live in and call home, but I was so ready to hug them and go back to all the normal things (our house, our family all together, Mama's meals, and even our yard, which was very important to me). So, as our friends drove me and my big sister to the home of some more friends, where we would have a potluck and meet up with Mama and Daddy, I was having a hard time living in the present of never-ending streets and stop signs. I don't actually remember very much about the potluck and the reunion, except for noticing the enormous pile of shoes in the entry (my family and our group of friends consisted of a lot of people, and thus a lot of discarded shoes at our doors) and liking the pasta salad because of all the cheese in it. So the only memories I have of that week are alternate afternoons of sunshine and rain, times for the playhouse and times for the woods, going to a long church service on Sunday morning (which I very irreverently fell asleep during) and having grilled cheese sandwiches with oranges for lunch when we came home from church. And, of course, the seemingly long drive to the potluck while my heart pumped in anticipation of seeing my parents (my best friends) again. That was a good week, and it had a very good ending to it as well.

This week has been good too, and I'm definitely looking forward to its ending; not because it has been bad, but, once again, I find myself almost dancing with excitement to see almost all of my family together again. When brother D comes home from AIT, and we can all be here together for a while, it will be an even better time. But for now I will be content to welcome home my two closest friends and hope that they don't mind this cold Oregon after a sunny, relaxing week with Grandma and Grandpa in Mexico! I can't wait to see you tonight, Mama and Daddy!!! 

Snow, sunset, and spring...

Somewhere in the countryside, perched on the cold top rung of an old green fence, was a young girl who loved to study the sunset. On a day like this, when the air was tingling with snow-charm and the wind blew crisp breaths of sunset air around her hair, she felt particularly inclined to sit there for a while and simply let the subtle colours and misted hills soak into her spirit and calm her.
"March 1st," she wrote in her notebook "on my old Gate of Dreams at the bottom of Sunset Hill". She smiled sheepishly as she read the fancy titles she had given these two things, but then, she knew that the rest of her writing would be ridiculously full of adjectives (especially colours) and descriptive sentences as well, so the names didn't really matter. "The melting snow has almost vanished now;" she continued to scribble on with her stubby pencil, "there is just a scattering of that coldly glinting white now. But those few cups of crystalline winter that are left now are incredible!They are clusters of frozen diamonds, clinging to one another and melting even as they reflect the silver-blue of the evening sky." Here she paused, deciding whether or not to form a new paragraph. She did it.
"Up there, where the north-flying geese create traceries of momentary grace, are the stories whispered by the snow. Each cloud, having released its burden of dry, feathered rain, has drifted off to the golden-rose horizon, and the half moon, not wanting to repeat the snow-starred earth, is coloured a honey-sweet cream..."
She looked up at the sky, knowing that it was an almost hopeless endeavour, attempting to capture that timeless shade of deep coolness in words, but if she couldn't do it then at least she could look. So for the next few minutes she just stared up, gazing at the disappearing light, the climbing moon, and those dark grey clouds  looming closer as they blew swiftly across the sky. They were very big, ominous clouds, and just as she was about to get up and start the walk home, the first cold, heavy drop splashed down across her cheek. The rain followed her all the way to her doorstep, but somehow it couldn't get inside, so it stayed out above the hill, pattering down against the yellowed grass of last summer.
The girl sighed as she heard the dancing of those wet drops against the windowpanes, remembering that it wasn't quite spring yet. Later that evening, as she warmed herself before the fire, she wrote once more in her journal: "I'm learning that the turning of the calendar page to March doesn't necessarily mean spring has arrived, but that it is a symbol of that season's coming in a while. There were geese flying north today (I wrote about them during my walk a few hours ago) and as I walked home the crocuses looked so fresh and green and alive as they poked up through the cold snow in the garden, but no, it isn't spring yet. That's all right though, I can live huddled next to the stove for another few weeks while I wait!"