Winter is finally here!

Friday's bliss was waking up to new snow! After shoveling the driveway and getting kids off to seminary and school, I took advantage of the sunshine and blue skies to trek down to the lake in 8 degree weather. Quiet other than the squeak and crunch of my boots on the snow and the whirr of duck wings lifting off the water. My footprints first on the beach. Happy! Even better was knowing I got to go home to laundry and cleaning and bill paying. While I enjoy my job, working away from home has made me treasure quiet time to do basic house chores. Beautiful day!

Saturday, Sam requested his own quiet time at home to work on a school project, so Zoe and I decided to go on a mom / daughter date to Leavenworth. We planned cross country skiing, hot cocoa and a quick stroll through the stores. I am a lucky mom to have such a sweet daughter. I love her very much, and we had a lovely time. I am blessed indeed!

And now fast forward to Monday and TONS of new snow. We shoveled the driveway three times today. I was so proud of Zoe - she did the first shoveling all by herself while Sam and I finished a project inside. It's beautiful, and I'm crazy happy to have winter finally arrive, looking forward to making snow cookies with kids and making our way to Echo Ridge this week.

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From a treehouse

I sit in a treehouse. I ran here on morning muddy trails that sucked at my shoes, straddling puddles, wet ferns brushing my knees and thighs. I ran past a pool printed with spirals from the rain and cinnamon gold candles melted low to hollow bowls of wax. The Temple of the Blue Moon treehouse to my left, then down the hill to the Raging River flowing high with froth.

The Hermitage

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Birds call from branches close to where I rest, perched far above the river. Some of the branches are furry green and draped with moss. Others feathered like lace.

My tiny treehouse is named The Hermitage, and it's shaped like a nautilus shell built on the side of a towering cedar tree. I've propped my damp feet on the trunk itself, which forms a thick and heavy wall. It would take three of me to embrace the tree, hand in hand like a ring of paper dolls. I brush my palm against it, and it's surprisingly soft, despite the strength of the chocolate-colored plates of bark.

There is a window open in front of me, two tall panes folded outward, overlooking the river. More windows to my right, split door to my left. The house sits at the top of a twisting ladder made of bent branches shiny from the rain. It is just big enough for a built-in writing table tucked under the open windows and a wood and rattan chair, where I sit, its polished arms ending in full drooping bulbs. Tulip seeds turned upside down.

Open to possibility

A writer's nest

I'm tempted to flip the chair over, wave my arms around a bit and shout "Grow!" to it. I'm not sure why, and I'm too chilly to do more than write about the idea, but the thought makes me smile.

I think sitting in the tree tops makes me feel a bit mythical, grounded by the roots below but open to possibility so far above the earth, cradled in trees, drenched in the heavy scent of cedar and lulled by the river. I could reinvent myself here. An empty book, a handful of water colors. I feel content and nourished, blessed.

The owner said couples often write their wedding vows in this treehouse. I will write vows as well, nested high, the river's first thunder fading into a long sigh of relief that matches my own.

• I will have faith and hope.
• I will move forward.
• I will take time to run in the rain and mud.
• I will write a lot and draw a little.
• I will love.
• I will reach out and not pull back in fear.
• I will live gratefully, writing in my gratitude journal each day.
• I will grow.
• I will do yoga, because it quiets my physical being.
• I will remember personal and family prayer and scripture study, because those quiet my spiritual being.
• I will remember from whence all blessings flow.
• I will climb a mountain with Sam.
• I will listen to Zoe.
• I will seek wisdom through prayer and personal revelation.

Refiner's fire creates space for new light

Rekindling old friendship - Love you Vidette!

Morning Run

Worth the climb!

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Santa Lucia and other quiet moments

Friday was a crazy day. In reality, it was a crazy week following a crazy month. I'm tired, worried about kids and racing work and volunteer deadlines that leave me in the dust. Wednesday, Zoe and I fly to Houston to see Phillip, Tiffany and Lizzy. I can't wait to see them! But I've had a hard time hanging on to the Christmas spirit amidst the rush. Thank goodness for....

1. Zoe's Saint Lucia presentation Friday. Santa Lucia's Day is celebrated on December 13th in Sweden. It commemorates the life of Santa Lucia, who is best known for carrying food and supplies to Sicilian Christians hiding in the catacombs in the darkness of night. To keep both hands free, she wore a wreath of candles on her head. The holiday celebrates the beginning of the Christmas season and is a celebration of light – at the time of year when the world is darker.

The tradition on Santa Lucia Day is for the oldest girl in the family to dress at Saint Lucia, wearing a white robe with a red sash and a crown of candles and lingonberry leaves and berries. The other girls dress in white with silver crowns and sing Santa Lucia songs. On the morning of Santa Lucia, the children in the family will often wake their parents with a breakfast of Lussekatter (a special St. Lucia bun made with saffron), ginger cookies, coffee and glögg (hot spiced wine). The children also parade through the streets in white, holding candles and singing.

Zoe's seminar class learned about the holiday, including the traditional song in Swedish, and planned to visit several classrooms. I promised to come watch. I love the tradition, and the angel on top of our Christmas tree is a Saint Lucia. But I arrived to the school breathless. I'd hurt myself lifting snow tires and was almost in tears. No Christmas spirit in my heart, I'm afraid, rather a hard little lump of coal.

Then we walked into a dark classroom. I snuck to the back. The girls, dressed in white and holding candles, came in two by two, singing a beautiful tune in Swedish. Zoe stood at one end, looking like an angel with a ring of silver tinsel in her hair, the color of moonlight. They switched to English, and as I listened to the message of light coming from darkness, my little lumpy heart started to melt. I felt love and gratitude for my many blessings. A peace settled on my tired mind. It felt like Christmas. I felt the quiet love of God.

Deep in the northern sky
Bright stars are beaming
Christmas is drawing near.
Candles are gleaming.
Welcome the visions rare.
Light glowing in her hair
Santa Lucia. Santa Lucia.

2. Music. Tonight I sit at Fromaggio's in Manson, next to a blazing fire, listening to Sam play Christmas tunes on the keyboard. It feels good to take another moment to reflect. He plays, "I wonder as I wander." I remember sitting on my living room couch with my friend Vidette in high school, listening to that song played on our old record player, candles burning, singing along. It reminds me of our friendship and love for the holiday.

3. Nativities. This morning the kids and I visited our church's nativity festival and enjoyed a collection of more than 100 displays from around the world. Soft music. Gentle art. A reminder of why we celebrate the holiday in the first place.

It's easy to lose the spirit of Christmas as we run to and from holiday concerts and activities. I am grateful for the quiet moments that keep my heart soft and open. Merry Christmas.

 

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Apple Cider Day

A few weeks ago I saw an open invite to apple cider making on Dale England's Facebook page. I've always been a little jealous of the youth at church who go to Manson Growers each fall to make gallons of cider, so I marked it on my calendar. So happy I did!

The air smelled like apples in the packing shed Saturday. Bins piled high with red and yellow fruit stood next to the cider press, and empty gallon jugs were piled on bins turned upside down. Dale handed Zoe a cup of the sample batch, and she took a sip, approving the final cider recipe: two boxes of Red Delicious to one each of Golden Delicious and Granny Smith.

The kids and I stood next to the bins, filled cardboard boxes with apples and lugged them to the press.

More families joined the party, packing, pouring, turning the press and swapping out the buckets of pulp. The littlest kids lined up to hold paper cups under the spout and catch the golden cider. Janet Jones brought warm homemade doughnuts thick with glaze and cinnamon sugar. Bits of apple flew high. Juice puddled. Friends and family told stories, worked and laughed. The perfect mix of sweet and tart.

It was a recipe for something even better than cider. I took a break, standing high above the crowd, watching my kids happily work and visit with their friends, looking so content. I watched people I've known for years pitch in to make a big sticky, wonderful, delicious, sweet ruckus and felt gratitude.

It felt like coming home. I am grateful for my small town, for friends who lift one another, who laugh and cry together, who give so much. My heart is full of love and gratitude for my church and community family. I am very blessed.

 

 

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Introducing Mrs. Chubby Face

Today after school Zoe brought home a new pet, a tiny guppy from the ecosystem she made out of two stacked 2-liter pop bottles. The ecosystem, divided into a terrarium (on top) and an aquarium (on the bottom), originally included snails, guppies, crickets, isopods, mustard, grass, alfalfa and duckweed.

When I drove to pick up Zoe, I expected a Mr. Chubby Face, but Zoe excitedly told me the fish was now a Mrs, and she was pregnant. According to Zoe, you can tell the fish is expecting from the 2nd dot that appeared on her tail. Not knowing the details of guppy reproduction, I'm taking her word for it. Anyone want a baby guppy?

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Bad Day

Zoe had a bad day Sunday, like the children's book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. After a particularly hard moment she ran upstairs. I followed and found her curled up tight on a pink beanbag. I plopped down and wrapped my arms around her as tears started to fall.

"It's been an awful day," she wailed. "Why can't we ever have a perfect week or even a perfect day."

I reminded her of lots of many wonderful days we've shared, but she pointed out a flaw in each one. "None of them was perfect," she said. She was right. Something had gone awry during each of them, even if it was just a small bump.

I tried to explain that sometimes it's best to judge life in moments. "Like right now," I said. "This is a perfect moment. Even though you're sad and have had a bad day, you're cuddled in my arms getting lots of love. That's a good thing."

I shared the following quote from Gordon B Hinckley with her.

“Life is just like an old time rail journey ... delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”

I love that imagery. My life seems an awful lot like an old train lately, rumbling along, choking up clouds of smoke, occasionally even getting derailed. But I picture myself leaning my head against the smooth window as we near the end of yet another mountain climb, straining to see that new vista though the hazy glass. I know it will be worth it in the end.

 

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The Temple

We all have our favorite places. For Sam, it's the top of a mountain. For me, it can be a big rock for sitting in a grove of trees or the wild Washington coast, waves crashing at my feet, seagulls calling overhead. Closer to home, I love my porch swing in summer. Or the sun-drenched Lake Chelan beach - sand, driftwood, blue and mountains to cradle my soul. Snow-covered Icicle Creek in Leavenworth calls to me when I click on my cross country skis in winter, and snowshoeing at Echo Ridge, high above the valley's cloud cover, fills me with all sorts of warm fuzzies.

But one of my favorite spots to untangle is the temple. There are three Mormon temples in Washington state (each about three hours from my home), and this year I've managed to visit one monthly, with friends, with Sam or alone. On each building there are words that read, "Holiness to The Lord." Temples are peaceful places where time slows down for me. Sometimes, when I visit, I meditate in prayer, seeking answers and inspiration. Other times I sink into the quiet, allowing God's love to smooth the wrinkles in my heart.

I've come to depend on the healing balm of temple attendance.

Earlier this month, Sam and I attended the Columbia River temple after his state cross country meet in Pasco. In our faith, youth can go to the temple when they turn twelve and do baptisms. We believe in performing baptisms by proxy for those who have passed away, so our youth can be baptized by immersion for those people. The temple fonts are held on the backs of twelve sculpted oxen representing the twelve tribes of Israel.

Both Sam and I, dressed in white, performed several baptisms. It was an honor to watch Sam serving others in such a selfless way. I was very proud of him.

It's hard to describe how the temple is different from how I feel God in natural settings. I know I've recognized His strength in the gnarled bark of a weeping willow and in the smoothness of stones washed to shore. I've felt his tenderness in both the sun's warmth and the coolness of a mountain stream. My spirit has lifted heavenward as I watched golden leaves fly past in a wild dance of abandon. I savor those moments and seek them out.

But being in the temple adds new perspective. Perhaps it is the act of faith to attend that opens my heart more fully to God's love, I'm not sure, but I do that know the temple has proven a great blessing to me and my family.

 

 

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