Such a great visit with Mom and Dad. Lots of skiing and clear, bright days. I loved sharing my home and my girls and my life.
Playing in the camper cupboards. It is like a some kind of demented magician’s box - clown car mash-up.
I haven’t seen a mate around for this swan. No fear, this gaggle of gregarious mergansers is probably quite good company. (photo RML)
"I don’t like this saylight davings thing," said my older girl, groggy and rubbing her eyes, when I woke her for school an hour earlier than usual.
She dresses herself these days. And now I realize that I was stifling this awesomeness by dressing her in humdrum matchy-matchy ensembles that did nothing to reflect her true sartorially splendid personality. (Picture from last week.)
Such an assortment of things waiting on my kitchen table. In no particular order. A box of jams and jellies waiting to be sent to my aunt (cherry-blackcurrant, rhubarb-ginger, blueberry-lime, oh my!) A jar of homemade kirsch that my neighbor brought over, made with cherries from his trees, waiting for the right recipe, the right drink, but already reduced by sips. A piece of a ducks wing found under an eagle’s perch, just the metacarpus and the primary feathers, the radius and ulna already picked clean and snapped off. That is waiting to be examined under the stereoscope by the girls or stolen off the table by the dogs, whoever gets there first. Waiting to be read: the New York Times Book Review, the New Yorker, The Economist. Paperwhites, planted in a blue glazed pot and stretching towards the sun. (I am waiting for those to bloom.)
If, for some reason, you live here and you do not cross country ski, may I suggest that you reconsider…
This picture is called: ‘I don’t know how to take pictures of auroras, but it was really cool, believe me.”