Hedgebrook, Day Twenty-two

Willow Cottage with the only blue door at Hedgebrook

I've said my good-byes and am sitting in Willow Cottage, waiting to be picked up and driven to the shuttle that will take me to the ferry that will take me to Seattle airport that will take me to my plane that will take me to my sons and daughter.

I never did see that owl, but last night a bat flew into the screen window at about 2:00 am while I sat up in bed, reading. At first I thought it was a moth, then realized it was a bat, and then fell to my knees in prayer and thanksgiving that the screen was in place. I suppose there's meaning to be made from not seeing an owl and having a bat encounter instead, but I'll leave that up to you to make of it what you will.

I've girded my loins for re-entry. I'm feeling good.

What we see

If this beautiful corner with the red gate weren't my own home, I'd stop while walking by and take its picture. The bougainvillea has self-seeded there and reaches for the sun. The oak hydrangea is chartreuse and about to bloom. The asparagus fern has recovered from the digging last winter and reaches up beyond the lens of the shot. Some would say it was onanistic (not me). But if it weren't my own home, I wouldn't know this, perhaps wouldn't even see it. The gate would invite me in to somewhere cozy and enclosed, a secret garden of twittering birds and laughing children, an easy chair, a beloved book. Would that I had new eyes to see and be grateful.

Back home for the duration

When we flew over the vast expanse that is Los Angeles and glimpsed its tiny skyline poking through a bluish haze, I felt relieved. To be home.

Are you my mother?

via NY Times

This appeals to me, as do the other getaways featured in the article Twigitecture: Building Human Nests.

See more nests here.

We planted a vine,

and it sprouted flowers and leaves and grew right up the walls and over the doorways and everything is going to be ok.

What I wondered about today

Botticelli

This morning, the first day of spring break for my chilluns', I chose to stay in my bed for a couple of hours and leaf through the stack of magazines that I subscribe to and am reluctant to stop. I love glossy pages, you see. Oliver sat next to me on the floor, on top of all the pillows that I'd thrown there, and played with his iPod Touch. The Husband was puttering around the kitchen as he is wont, and Sophie was humming in her room. Henry slept. I read a profile of an interior decorator who is nationally famous but who lives here in Los  Angeles. I've actually seen her about town before, because one of her sons is the same age as mine and plays sports in our local park.  In any case, the interior designer is fabulously chic and hip and beautiful. It's hard not to stare at her. She looks a little like Botticelli's Venus, except that she's thin. I read about her daily regime which consisted of this:

1. Rise and go to Barry's Bootcamp at 5:30 am SEVEN DAYS A WEEK
2. Stop at the local juicery and juice
3. Juice for lunch and maybe later that day
4. A "normal" dinner of grilled chicken and vegetables or a salad

That was IT. Every single day. Exercise and juicing and one meal. The interior designer reported incredible well-being and energy and rarely deviates from this regime. 

I have no desire to do Barry's BootCamp every single day or even one single day, as I understand it to be grueling and I'm not into gruel. I also have no interest in juicing all day and grilled chicken with salad at night. However, I wonder if I worked out that hard every single day and then juiced would I feel full of well-being and energy? I am not being judgmental here or snarky or even snide. I also wondered if the interior designer had my life, would she go to Barry's BootCamp and juice every day and would that help her to cope and do the job well?

Which comes first, Reader? The chicken or the egg?

Titian

The whole feast

I woke this morning at around 6:30, and in lieu of entertaining too-early thoughts, I finished Toni Morrison's book Home, which like all of Morrison's books is quietly lyrical when it isn't shocking, and when I put it back down beside my bed, I lay back and fell asleep in the grey light and dreamed of a baby, nursing at my breast and then I woke to blue sky and an implacable sun. The weather today is, again, astonishing, warmer than usual and knowing I'll offend, I feel annoyed by the pressure to enjoy it when I actually would rather sit inside and start up another book. Oliver is playing with the dog in the hallway, making her bark, she's a circus dog, he says when Henry shouts Stop wrapping that belt around her! and I tell them both to go outside for god's sake! and Michael feeds sauteed apples and waffles to Sophie. We are a fortunate bunch, I'd wager, the sun perpetual if weary, the books stacked up no matter, the dog a prancer, the whole feast.

Black spiders on white door with white dog

Halloween tchotchke hell abounds.

What Christmas Eve Looks Like So Far

Caramel Sauce with Sea Salt

Peppermint Hot Fudge Sauce

 Pecan Puffs Recipe from old Joy of Cooking

Still Life with Clutter

 Christmas Tree

Village Under Christmas Tree

Outdoor Vintage Santa, sort of creepy but classic

Our Front Door

 Silly Hat with Saint

 Saint

Blurry Saint, 

but it made me realize how people assign Jesus and the Virgin Mary to a slice of toast and such

Excessive Video Game Playing

Choux Pastry for Paris-Brest Order

Toe-Soak in Epsom Salts

Sunshine Girl in Purple Boudoir