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I do not have a whole lot to say today.

The photos I am sharing, I took during the early evening in the old house. Besides morning,

it is my favorite time of day. The light is different at five in the evening. The old house is happy with a soft, warm glow. It inspires me to straighten up and decorate and listen to my favorite jazz stations.

We will be starting the smallish kitchen tune-up tomorrow. I am excited to share with you our progress,

so please check back in. Our part is slow-going... you know, the kitchen cabinet restoration. Sigh.

- traders joe's daffodils, vintage postcard, vintage flower frogs -

- the light from the dining room windows -

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I can't make myself crawl into bed before midnight. Morning is early and cold.

Blankets of white that give solace and warmth have been absent for much of the season.

Winter is lingering.

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pictures from friends

It's Sunday and it is snowing. It is a stay at home, family day. Not being a new city native, it only takes a dusting of snow (pretty sure we have four-ish inches) to keep us home. I love days like today.

There are about 14 posts I want to share with you, but more posts will have to wait until tomorrow and the next day. I needed the long break or perhaps the break was forced due to life.

I did, today, just want to share with you pictures that my family and friends text me.

- my sister-in-law's new lemon tree -

- my parents' new island, new kitchen, new house - chicken pot pie in the works -

- jessica's restored door - amazing! -

- my AZ friend's estate sale find - so lucky! -

- the handy work of our friends in AZ -

- my sister's black bean soup over cilantro-lime rice - um, delish! -

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I will post again. Until then, here is my text pic for all of you-

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disappointment

Why do we set ourselves up for disappointment?

Why do we expect the worst, but hope for the best (fingers crossed)?

I know I am writing about something that has long been pondered. I can sit here and list off numerous situations in my life when I have wrestled with expectations, or tried not to have any.

We tell ourselves not to have too many expectations or too much hope and excitement.

But, are we any less disappointed, crushed or hurt when it doesn't work out? Is the pain of rejection, miscarriage of a baby, failed cancer treatment, forgotten or neglected important days, and the pain of things not working out as we thought they would, eased any by our preparedness? For me, the answer is no.

But I believe disappointment serves a purpose. Without it, we lack resilience.

Without it, we lack motivation and perseverance. I do not want to dim my hope to guard against the pain or sadness of disappointment. Perhaps, when we do this, we are robbing ourselves of the full and pure joy
we can experience when our hopes and expectations are fulfilled.

What I know:  We all face disappointment, and at times we may feel like we cannot escape its grip.
Even in the face of disappointment, we have hope.

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You know, I have hesitated over publishing this post for a few weeks now.
I am not sure why. Maybe it's because all of those we's are really I's, and that is personal; it is more
personal than most of what I share.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

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something about summer

I realized today, that without thinking, I move through the old house in the mornings,

pulling open window coverings on half of our 42 windows. This summer when we had nothing but time,
I allowed myself to linger in front of certain windows, coffee in hand.

The kids went back to school last week. I dreaded that day.

You don't think about it as much at the beginning of summer; that day is still far enough away. You are

not saying to yourself with a pit in your stomach, we only have three more weeks. You say with relief,

we have a lot of days together.

I did not get tired of my children this summer, and I was not ready for them to be away from home.

We enjoyed our time together. We savored the moments we did not have last summer. Our season, our time, our opportunity for summer rejuvenation last year was consumed with packing and saying goodbye.

I think the children understood this. I think they felt it.

I wish I could tell you we have easily adjusted to our school year routine. I wish I could tell you
the first day of school this year was easier than last. This day marked one year. It has been a tough and exhausting year for all of us. I feel like I should explain, but you dear readers know the stories.

What I can tell you- I love my kids. They are strong and beautiful and full of life. I love my husband.
We have all needed to lean on each other this year, more than before. I do not know what our second year in the new city will be. And so, until the leaves turn and the air is too cool to keep shoulders bare,
we will live summer.

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Maybe when you drive a route so many times, you forget where you are.

Maybe you zone out. Then the sight of something known and recognizable brings you back. It has been a year now, but I still wave at the familiar make, model and color, expecting to see my friend as I pass that car. I cannot tell you how many times I have waved to complete strangers here in the new city.
Who are these people driving my friends' cars? And why are my friends' cars in the new city?
What is wrong with my brain? I know where I am. I am here, in the new city.

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a letter

Dear matching blue and white cars,

Please stop parking in front of the old house. Please stop sitting there looking, pointing and talking.

Please stop driving by multiple times a week. It makes us feel like we can't call the old house our home.
We do not need your approval for the variety of flowers we plant, for who sleeps in which room, for the wallpaper we take down, for any of the changes we make.

Please know that we would never compromise the beauty, age or period of the old house. Please know we will not forget the life and lives this old house knows. We will always honor and respect its history.

We loved this house when we pulled into the driveway last July, and we need the opportunity to feel like it is our home. Before, weeks would go by without a blue or white car parked, and I would start feeling that way. But now, when I float past the front windows and you are there, it feels like being cut off at the knees. And we start over again. We started over 10 months ago. It has been a hard enough journey for our family.

Please give us some space to feel like we are making the old house a home that is our own.

All the best...

spring trees and hope

A year ago I was still in AZ. It is spring there too.
Spring in the new city looks different. It feels different, but shouldn't I be happy? It's spring, and from every
window I see trees in bloom. All shades of green, white, fuchsia and lavender, perfectly planned and placed.

Am I happy in the new city? I do not know. Do we ever ask one another or ourselves, are you happy?
The question I get always:  how do you like it so far? So far, I have survived. The winter, barely over, was lingering and cold, but I survived. The last nine months have been emotionally painful, but I am surviving.

- flowering crabapple -

This tree sits in front of the old house. It was planned and placed many years ago to grow tall and
shade the front porch. When we moved in last summer, it looked like it was dying. No one had cared for it for a long time. An old support rope was embedded in the trunk and it was starved for water.
We removed the rope, as well as hundreds of twinkle lights that had been entangled in the branches for
years, said the neighbors.

I gave it water and pruned the dead branches. The local nursery guy said he was not hopeful. I was
not holding onto hope either, but the tree survived. Spring brought vibrant blooms and the tree looks happy. When I sit on the front porch, I cannot help but contemplate another life metaphor. While I may not be able to say with resolution, I am happy, I can say that there is hope. And, there is always another spring.

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last week

My dear readers, thank you for being patient with my unplanned days off last week.

On Tuesday, I got a text from my Dad- on my way to your place. I knew he was on a road trip to check on their new house, but this was unexpected. I panicked at first, thinking the old house was not clean enough for him. Maybe you remember he had a bone marrow transplant a few months ago, and with a transplant comes many restrictions regarding germs, kids, dust, pets. The old house has all of that.

Dad is not as concerned about germs as I am. Perhaps, I am too worried about it, but I used the
few hours I had to tidy up the place. Dad is doing great nine weeks post-transplant. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure he's really okay. He made cookies and played Legos with the boys. He watched E's swim practice and stayed with Koko when I took the kids to school. He even warmed up the car and
walked Truman on another one of our frustratingly cold mornings.

- after school cookies and E's homemade volcano -

Sometimes, one day with family, one day of help, even with the little things,
is enough to recharge for weeks.

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in the details:

do you want more information about multiple myeloma - click here, here, here

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E was home sick today. She rarely is sick, so when she is, it's usually bad.

I spent the day disinfecting and airing out the old house. The outside air was warm enough for wide open windows and short sleeves. Koko kept pulling on his short sleeves saying uh-oh.

I guess he doesn't remember life with bare arms. I do.

I have a friend who is moving away from the new city. I saw her a few weeks ago and we chatted.

They moved here a couple years ago, and I think they were just feeling settled. She shared this quote with me. I can't tell you how many times I have recited it to myself.

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in the details:

thanks for the frame idea, Guinn

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Is it the first day of Spring? Or was that yesterday.

I do not know and it seems irrelevant. It was snowing when I woke up this morning; I could tell without opening the shades. There is a distinct glow with morning snow. Spring morning sun and summer
evenings have their own glows, too.

I did not see beauty in the falling white today. I know after the coming seasons pass, I will long for another first snowfall. But right now, I want to sit on the back steps, in warm morning sun,
and listen to the church bells.

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Instead of blogging this afternoon, I watched a movie with S and napped.

Instead of blogging this evening, with the kids tucked in their beds, I spent nearly two hours on the phone.

The rest and conversation with my friend was needed.

Goodnight friends.

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It snowed all day.

I got a how to use the snowblower lesson from my Dad, similar to the how to use the lawn mower lesson
I got as a kid. Dad is not allowed to do this task, but I think I did okay pushing it around.

There are so many restrictions after a bone marrow transplant.

The immune system is stripped down to nothing. All childhood vaccinations have to be repeated.

No crowds, no being around children, heavy dietary restrictions, if you have to be out in public you must wear
a mask. No dusting, mowing, washing cars, cooking, driving, exercising (except walking).

It is a forced break from your life. Maybe not your life, but your routine.

This is a break from my routine, too.

It has been nice to just sit- nice to just sit with my Dad. We rarely have this opportunity.
Usually when I am here, it is a holiday and the house is busy and loud.

My age was six the last time I was the only child in the house.

Things happen in life. People change and grow, but I still feel like a kid when I come home.

- this desert rat had on a few layers -

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I just told my hubby I don't have a blog post in me today.

I have several posts started, but I am tired and my brain is fuzzy. It is too fuzzy to reflect and edit.

He told me not to worry about it. He told me it's okay and I can post tomorrow.

I  needed that. Thanks, hubby.