Happy New Year

If a 7 month old doesn’t need any resolutions, maybe I don’t either.

dec. 30

In places where history

perpetually confronts you

it is easier to remember roots

but harder to follow new seeds.

Where I grew up

there were no old buildings.Only old trees.

All I can remember

is counting their rings

and following their seeds

on the wind.

To My Bride Become Mother


If there's a chance you'll forget

don't take it.

Slice clean through an orange


The veined lines are never straight

but nevertheless delightful.

To be perfect

is not to be precise

but to give delight.

You are flawless today;

Every day.

Take two onions and compare:

full of water, 

and increasingly inner 


Never two alike.

To be perfect

is an absolute state

of infinite degrees.

No matter how you change,

you are always the choicest variety 

of my happiness.

Huddle against the hurtling chill

the freezer breeze brings its own kind

of charm,

candles in the night

early dark and slower Dawn

Christmas, cinnamon, steam

and all the hope we need to carry on.

Little Wallybug

When I was little my mom called me and my siblings “wallerbugs” when we couldn’t sit still and would move all over the place on her lap. These days, I’m starting to think that’s a great little name for one of my favorite nephews, since every time he sees Wesley, he wallers all over him with affection and cuddles.

dec. 13

Boston from my camera :)

So grateful for boys <3

Boston (from my phone)

We recently got to go visit friends and family in Boston. One group is technically family and one group is technically friends, but thankfully we can’t tell the difference. 

Part 1:

Part 2:

The Penguin & the Gingerbread Man

These outfits are 30 years old that my mom saved. I just love you two together, even though you won’t sit still or look at the camera at the same time. Alfalfa & Spanky Forever


a letter


I’ve thought about what you said almost every day since you wrote it: “Let your love for him convict you of how much you don’t love other people.”

When I first read that, I wasn’t all that convicted. While I was DOING a lot of loving things for Wesley, I wasn’t feeling that much love for him all that often. But I’m the sort that has to earn a feeling. And these days, when I cup that little face, stroke those little cheeks, watch those little eyes look out a window, hear that little giggle, press into that warm little embrace… these days my emotions are swept up like a tiny speck of dust caught in a hurricane.

In this case, six months is a nonsense measurement. It measures something mathematical that is entirely mystical. And I’m no mystic, as you know.


One thing I love about your friendship, is that while I’m tempted to write you some simple factual updates about my circumstances and histories, I’m much more drawn to write you some simple factual updates about my soul. If only these were the kinds of annual letters sent out this time of year. I’d read those.

So now that I’ve touched on that whirlwind romance that is motherhood, I’ll share about the other piece. The ugly not loving other people thing.

I’ve been reading about how I need to be less cynical in conflict. I was considering writing “with people” after “conflict” but I’m not sure it’s necessary. So I guess I’m saying I just need to be less cynical, since every day I’m in conflict. I wish had some way to tie that thought to a pithy advent quote but it’s just a plain thought unfortunately. I’m waiting to be made less cynical. I’d like to love people better by storing up hope for them. I have more hope stored for Wesley than I could fit into all the pockets of all the coats I’ve ever seen.


(From Black Rook in Rainy Weather by Sylvia Plath)

Of whatever angel may choose to flare

Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook

Ordering its black feathers can so shine

As to seize my senses, haul

My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear

Of total neutrality. With luck,

Trekking stubborn through this season

Of fatigue, I shall

Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,

If you care to call those spasmodic

Tricks of radiance miracles.

The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel.

For that rare, random descent.

For my nephew, Hudson

Some stories

have dying 

in them.

Not all stories.

Today's story did.

Some stories

you will make,

some stories

will be made for you.

All stories 

will shape you.

Some stories

have dying

in them.

All stories

have living

in them.

Most stories

have living

and then dying.

One story

has dying

and then living.

Keep looking

for the story

that has dying

and then living

and living

and living.

Palm Springs From My Phone

What a life.