pappa

Traveling is tough on us sometimes.

Imagine being 90 and traveling into Phoenix summertime weather.

It. Is. Exhausting.

Yet the heart wants to go and visit.

Take sauna, drink coffee and eat pulla.

He and Joe spent part of the weekend with us.

Memories.

Isn't that why we take photos?

So we can relive the days that are either too full for our heart to capture

or so very painful that we aren't able to.

Yet, we can look through the photos afterward and relive little pieces at a time.

We aren't really a people that needs to fill our life with nonstop activity.

We are busy people, I don't deny that.

We certainly enjoy discovering new places and experiences.

But we most enjoy visits of the heart.

Time spent with our loved ones in quiet conversation.

Those are the times that warm our hearts.

Those are the moments we treasure while we still can.

creativity

cre·a·tiv·i·ty

• the use of the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work

She might be mine

If you take a close look at this photo, you're going to find any manner of craziness.

Once in a while I open the door and Sebastian, aged 4, walks in.

The other house was even worse/better.

He walks in, stands still, looks around and says "cool!"

We quickly exit and close the door.

Our youngest daughter was planning her move away.

In some ways, she isn't me at all.

I plan and pack well in advance.

I work at things slowly because I have many irons to take care of.

Even then, my irons aren't always hot when they need to be.

This one? Not so much. 

And at the same time .... oh, so very much.

She was sewing some princess dresses for a few little special girls.

No pattern.

No sewing experience.

Sheer determination.

They were delivered before she handed me her gate clicker.

And they were darling.

She just asked me for a sewing machine for birthday/Christmas. 

They were done before her room was packed.

Sounds a little familiar.

As much as I was ready to pull my hair out at the undone parts of moving .... 

I had to silently fist pump this child of mine.

Cuz I get it.

Oh, do I get it.

Have you been to Ikea?
Those big blue bags?
Yup.
Shoes for days.

All of a sudden it was here.
The waiting was over for her.
Brock flew in on Thursday ...

Friday morning they drove out of the yard.

I really wanted to cry.
I did want to.
I think this is it.
The moving on.

Instead of crying, I took my pen and started writing about birds.
I wrote of eagles soaring.
My heart is full at its lifting.
My heart rejoices in its flight.

Maybe there were a few tear shaped raindrops that kissed the eagles wings as she glided.