'Tis the season...

...that I pause and share my random thoughts.

Christmas lights need snow to twinkle brightly.

Dreams of Santa do not motivate teenagers.

Suddenly, I miss the dreaded Christmas music that seemed to be playing in every store I entered for the last six weeks of every year...until now.  Now I have nothing to complain about, AND I miss it.

Brightly colored flowers should only be in bouquets adorning the holiday table.  Did I mention my daffodils are blooming again?

I scraped the first light frost off my window this morning in my flip-flops.

I intensely dislike shopping after Thanksgiving and every day for the rest of the year.

Thus, I apprehensively started shopping yesterday. Imagine my delight to discover that procrastinators are fun to shop with--they smile, wait patiently, and even chat!  (Very unusual in the Bay area).  It was just like my favorite childhood song, "Silver Bells."

Though I have discovered my favorite Christmas carols do nothing to ease the tension of 6 lanes of gridlock on the freeway.

One more day of school left this year!  No homework over the break!  Yipppeeee!!!

I am freed from my nagging mother role for two weeks.

Now, about those presents that need wrapping.

I suppose I should get started before my children start nagging me!  Though tormenting them is tempting...and I am tired...

Top Gun

At the 75th Police Explorer Academy Graduation this evening, our daughter was awarded Top Gun.  She was also honored for placing third in physical agility amongst the female cadets.

As she accepted her trophy, the audience applauded and whooped appreciatively at her accomplishment--though I think I love the smile her comrades have for her the most!  Teamwork is an essential component of the Academy, as it is in the field!

After the formal ceremony, her local police captain asked a family member to pin on her new badge!

Congratulations, Nikela!  You embraced the challenges of the academy and excelled!  We are so, so proud of you!

Yellow Thread

Once upon a time a little girl was transformed into a butterfly on a cold Halloween night.  That butterfly had bright pink, blue, and yellow spots.

The primary yellow thread from that project still sits in my sewing box.

Yesterday, I carefully threaded that bright yellow thread through my sewing machine.  Then I meticulously stitched the the patches on my daughter's police uniform for the Academy graduation.

Threads weave through our lives in the most unpredictable ways.

Thus a yellow thread as bright as a summer day is wound gently around my heart.

Paper

In grade school, I would spend hours carefully folding the paper, meticulously cutting creative designs, and unfolding with anticipation the snowflakes I was creating.  I loved it.

In grade school, my son crafted beautiful paper stars.  He made me one the other night.  I carefully hung it by an unseen thread to twirl and dance next to twinkling lights.  I need another one for the column on the other side of the fireplace, yes?

He makes little ones too.  I want a whole snowstorm above the table.  I want them to twinkle in the low light, so I am off to in search of sparkly paper for this project.  Then with an evening fire, it will be perfect!

Just a bit o' paper and a little boy's love for his mom and...holiday magic!

Toasty Memories

The little blaze dances and leaps while making toes in cute socks toasty.

For me, this is what December evenings look like.

Then the strains of familiar carols should drift from the radio.

"Oh the weather is so frightful,
but the fire is so delightful,
and since we've no place to go
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!"

Of course all my favorites include the images of snow and cold, frosty air because that is where the child in me grew up.  Bundled like little snowmen, my brother and I would trek outside to play for brief intervals--and then tumble back in the door wet, snowy, and cold.  One of my favorite treats was my grandmother's hot chocolate.

"Dashing through the snow
On a one horse open sleigh
Over the fields we go
Laughing all the way"

Though our one horse open sleighs were replaced with snowmobiles.  My grandfather loved to load the grandchildren up and cruise around the farm, but my dad was more fun, as he zipped over the fields!

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know..."

The ones I knew as a child...I want my children to experience.

I love to play in the snow.

One of the teenage neighbor boys was asking what it was like to go sledding and it never "truly" occurred to me that many kids really don't get to go flying down the steepest hill their brother can find.

There may have been a day when I would have willing traded my ornery brother, but now that it is merely a memory I cling to it.

Perhaps a bit like the snow itself.

Early Hours of the Morning

The shroud of fog moved into the Bay area in the night...and in the early hours of the morning a young lady lost her battle with cancer.

Eighteen months ago, she was standing on the beach in Santa Barbara with a few girls from the track and field team.The girls walked down the beach in the warm sunshine with the waves lapping at their feet.

Before we reluctantly bid the beach farewell, the girls posed for one last photo!

Then they tumbled into the suburban for the trek home.

Nancy was 17 years old and a senior in high school with a vivacious personality.

My heart aches for a young life cut short...for her dreams...for her family...for her friends.

Amidst the sadness, I am thankful she touched my life...to remind me to live with courage and zeal.

My Hubby

Thanksgiving morning found my hubby relaxin' and chattin'.

Of course, all good things must come to an end!  Then he donned the traditional turkey apron and started carvin' the turkey!

The next day brought us to Mount Lassen for some wintry fun!  The daredevil took a tumble,

but he recovered in hot dog style!

A wonderful Thanksgiving weekend wrapped up with a birthday...today.  Happy Birthday!  I love you!

My Grandpa

*A 12 year old grandson had to select a family member to write about using a metaphor as part of a family research project.  In his words...

       My grandfather is like the big old red barn.   First he was born and raised on the farm just like the barn. Throughout the years of hard work from sunrise to sunset, he has gotten stronger. With his years of hard work with the sheep trying to keep them safe from the coyotes and wolves, he has become very clever like the barn’s hay loft . He has survived the prairie storms throughout the years just like the barn for almost 100 years. He is also like a weather vane when we are lost in the parking lot or when the girls are lost in the mall parking lot. He knows exactly where we are like the south forty. 

One of my favorite things is all of the great-great memories they both hold. It is like having the best thing ever. I mean both are filled with doors and behind each one you can open there is a hidden treasure—like my mom’s old bike or grandpa sharing the best places for boys to play.

My grandfather isn’t old. Neither is the barn. I just think with all the years of hard work, he worked the color out of his hair, and now it matches the trim on the barn. For the people who do call him old, they don’t know all the different opportunities there are in that great heart of his. His arms will always open as wide as the barn doors, even if it may harm him. His arms will bring anyone in because he has just as much room in his heart, like the big old red barn. 

So to conclude this, my Grandfather’s spirit and soul will always be there even if he or the barn isn’t. He will be in the fields of the farm and in the blowing dust traveling across the prairie. He always has something to do or somewhere to go. He is amazing and no one can top him!!! 

Sunday Morning

My Sunday morning pews are a bit cold some days--though the hockey action generally warms up quickly.

Slowly I have figured out the basics of the game, so I tried to capture a few images.  I discovered sports photography is tougher than it looks!

Skating backwards Kade keeps an eye on the puck, preparing for defensive action.

Speedy Gonzales is often the first to reach an errant puck.

Skating down the ice he is ready to receive the pass.

My favorite player is small but persistent as he navigates the ice.

Face to face with the goalie means skillful execution is the only way to make a goal in a breakaway.

Kade maintains control of the puck under attack.

Ready.

And he chips--the puck flies through the air over the opponents. (Look closely)

I love to watch the action (as long as I am dressed in layers)!  

*yawn*

Into the wee hours of the night, I searched for clues to my children's family history.  Intrigued by the bits and pieces I found, I kept looking and scribbling notes to myself.

Genealogy is definitely a tedious process.  An occasional birthdate or year to help expand the search is a celebration, and it may take hours to unearth that one clue.  Patience is mandatory.

At midnight though, I hit the jackpot.  I followed the link to a grave searching for dates for my husband's great- great grandfather.  There was an article attached from the Lead newspaper regarding the events of December 27, 1907.  Rauvala had fallen down the shaft to his death (all details of the investigation included).  He had only arrived a year earlier.  He left an expecting wife and small child almost destitute.  The Finnish Temperance Hall would take care of arrangements.

He rests in the Lead cemetery in an unmarked grave.

The young couple immigrated from Finland around 1905.  When they landed in Massachusetts their first daughter was born, and they immediately set out for Dakota territory.

A young couple taking a chance in life--trying to make a better life.  I, too, once was a young miner's wife, so I felt a powerful connection to this young widow that would soon have two little girls.  She would work hard her entire life--the mine employed her as a "janitress" according to the census.  I suspect that it was their feeble attempt to keep the family of the man who died in their mine fed.  Then she would supplement her meager income by ironing for the office employees.

The story haunted me, so I woke Ron up to tell him the story.  He groggily responded before drifting off to sleep again.  Of course, the next morning he called wanting to know what I had said :)

As I shared the story with our children, Kade immediately responded, "We need to mark his grave."

Me?  I want to spend a couple days in Lead unearthing the rest of the family story.  I want to sit in the library and pour over the newspaper.  I want to find the mine employment records--not just for great-great- grandfather, but on the other branch of my husband's family for a great-grandfather and grandfather.  Of course, my husband started mining there too--though unaware of the full family history.  Mining brought his family to America and Dakota Territory.

I want to find that unmarked grave too...and the one of his daughter that died in her 30s...and the matriarch that outlived them.

I want to walk on the street where they lived.

I want to honor the immigration legacy of hardship and tragedy by pausing to remember and teach my children from whence they came.

End of a Season

The last water polo game of the season was played this week.

The team played tough even though their opponents were rough.  At half-time the score was 5-6.

It was a great game.

Afterwards, the girls were all smiles--they had played their hearts out for this senior game...for the two girls that helped build the emerging water polo team.

Even though not a game was won the entire season.

After the game, as I drove home I had a lump in my throat as I thought back to their first game.  Each girl grew stronger and stronger as the season progressed--and therein lies their success.  A small team quickly becomes family!  It was Nikela's first season--she had so much to learn at the beginning, but she finished having learned so much!  Not to mention the new friendships she forged!

Proud of all the girls...proud of my daughter.

Watch Nikela (#9) in this video from the final game.  Don't miss her goal!

My Ghouls

Since my children were little I have affectionately called them "my monsters".  The nickname was inspired by Sesame Street and the furry little monsters that captured their attention.

My monsters transform themselves on Halloween.

First was Chayse's mommy inspired costume for the school parade.

Later the tough hockey girl was transformed into a ghoulish china doll for trick or treating with her big sister.

The trio before departure--full of smiles despite their ghoulish appearance.  Nikela's friend good-naturedly embraced our Halloween traditions--even "gutting" her first pumpkin!

Love this moment.

My rocker sported his drum sticks with style!

He completely rocked the 80s.

Kiahra was MIA when the camera came out, but she sported her Steeler spirit with attitude which is rather ghoulish in 49er country!

In the rain of the evening, the freshly carved jack-o-lanterns glowed as the ghost hovered in the window.

In the morning drizzle, Kade noticed a snail that had found shelter in his pumpkin sometime in the night.

Father and Daughter

On Sunday the Steelers were playing, and my two biggest fans plopped and watched the action unfold.

As a fifth grader, Kiahra attended her first game at the Pittsburgh stadium with her dad, and she has been a fiercely loyal fan ever since.

A teenage daughter and her dad sharing their team spirit in their matching jerseys!

Right outside my window this morning, a little hummingbird flitted to and fro.

As I stood and watched, I couldn't help but dream of my children flitting out of bed and heading off to school as quickly.

Well, I would be pleased at even just an eighth of that speed.

Alas, no hummingbird speed here...but everyone did make it school!

TGIF

"Take Me Home, Country Roads"

When I was very young, I loved riding in my grandfather's ol' pickup truck.  It had a great seat--with 'real' coiled springs that always guaranteed a fun ride across the bumpy fields and country roads.  My brother and I would bounce along in sheer delight!

A layer of South Dakota prairie dust coated everything in this old farm truck with the big steering wheel.  With the windows rolled down, the scent of the farm drifted in...though I was always partial to freshly cut alfalfa.  And my grandfather had his ol' radio carefully tuned into the nearest AM station...KBFS.  Of course, old country tunes came through those speakers.

And it was on the freeway in 6 lanes of rush hour traffic, that this memory so vividly flooded over me.  I was listening to Sirius, and I had tuned into old country music (primarily to try to slow down my emotional pace to avoid the inevitable frustration), and the songs were as old as that old truck.

And instead of sitting on the California freeway, I was nestled between my grandparents in that ol' truck driving down the dirt roads of the family farm listening to my grandfather talk about the crops as his elbow rested on the open window.  He would point out the occasional jack rabbit all while I was patiently waiting for the next bump to catch a good bounce.

A Rather Blustery Day

Hum dum dum ditty dum
Hum dum dum

Oh the wind is lashing lustily
And the trees are thrashing thrustily
And the leaves are rustling gustily
So it's rather safe to say
That it seems that it may turn out to be
It feels that it will undoubtedly
It looks like a rather blustery day, today
It sounds that it may turn out to be
Feels that it will undoubtedly
Looks like a rather blustery day today

~Winnie-the-Pooh

Far far away...where I grew up, it is a blustery day.  I remember blustery days--and I didn't always embrace it as Pooh does.  

But today I would exchange my calm, sunshiny, 85 degree day for the blustery day.  

Because today my sister is getting married, and like any good country girl she wanted to embrace the outdoors for her wedding--like a farmer gambling on the weather.  It is in her blood.  

But what she doesn't know as her frustration mounts this morning is that is will all be okay--even if she gets married in the old farmhouse that has been in the family for almost a century.  

In life very few things go as planned, and like Winnie-the-Pooh just rolling along with it is often the best.  

From far far away I sit here wishing I could share her blustery day...wishing I could see her beautiful face...wishing I could hear my nephew strumming on his guitar

...wishing my sister the best on her wedding the day.

End of an era

Thirty years ago my father brought home the lumber to build a bunk bed.  I remember my anticipation as I watched him measuring and sawing.  Slowly (in my child's mind) the bed was finished, and soon I was an excited twelve year old girl sleeping in my new bed with a younger sister below.  I think we may have even been snuggled under Smurf bedspreads!

Eventually, I traded the bunk bed for a dorm bed when I went off to college, but the dorm never compared to my cozy bed at home.

As the years rolled by I found myself with two beautiful little girls whose brother would be arriving soon.  I asked about the old bunk bed, and soon it was delivered to my Montana door!

We have carried that bed around the country for years.

Now the two girls are big.  My littlest girl is growing fast, and I decided it was time to update the ol' bunk bed to a twin bed.

The bunk bed that solidly and proudly bore its scars of love came down for the last time.  We carried it into the garage.

Within a day, a young couple with two little girls came to pick up the bed.

And I wonder if it once again will become a fortress of adventures.

Sunflowers

Sunflowers remind me of my rural roots...of a little farm girl curious how sunflowers could follow the sun throughout the day.  Then at the end of the day the giant heads would bow as if in prayer.

Sunflowers and the vibrant leaves of autumn mark my favorite time of year.

Except it really doesn't arrive here in California, so I sulk throughout the fall waiting for the world to change color....waiting in my kitchen to warm the crisp air with a simmering pot of soup...waiting to curl up in a blanket with a good book.

Nostalgic, I snatch up fresh cut sunflowers at the farmer's market instead.

Keenly aware that Sunday afternoon drives in the Black Hills are irreplaceable.

Keenly aware that yesterday on my Sunday afternoon we were only several minutes behind the freeway shooting.

Keenly aware I am homesick.

Forgive me...water polo again!

The water cascades off her as she rises out of the water to hurl the water polo ball.  Her face grimaced in determination.  No fear, the ball will fly through the air!

Though the next quarter brought her into unchartered territory.   Goalie.  She lurks like Jaws.  Her brother insisted the photo needed to be set to the scary music.

Then she springs to life propelling herself out of the water and blocks the shot!

Cadet

As my cadet stood atop one of the Santa Cruz mountains, I watched the morning sun come up over the glistening San Francisco Bay with the city skyline outlined in the distance.

I squinted in the bright rays, as I watched her stand at attention patiently and listened to the barking orders.  My emotions were a cocktail--partially proud and partially worried what the day would hold.

As I breathed in the morning air, I noticed a quietness in her face that not all cadets had.  It was in that glaring light I realized that my cadet had done this before.  Relocation bootcamp has been brutal through the years.  Just stare straight ahead and move through the day with hope that it will eventually get better.

As I reluctantly walked away, I knew in my heart she would be fine.

11 hours later at the end of the day, I watched as she dropped for push-ups with her comrades.  Exhausted, she waited in position for all the cadets to be in proper position.  The grueling day showed in her first push-up, but she quickly regained her strength and persevered.  The final whistle blew and the cadets were dismissed.

A few minutes later I watched her smiling and chatting with a reporter.

Nine more weeks to go.

The evening sky enchants.  

With a flourish, the sun often paints a dramatic farewell to the day.

The transformation is my favorite time of the day.  It puts life in perspective.

************

Though after the darkness descends, one should drive with the car lights on.  

Ironically, my daughter just arrived home to inform me that a police officer pulled her over and commented, "It is a little dark, isn't it?"

Oops.

Luckily she produced all the necessary documents--registration, insurance, and license.

Of course, she isn't legal to drive with passengers yet, but her sister leaned over and waved and smiled and introduced herself as the younger sister.

Luckily the very nice policeman did not revoke her license, as he was easy-going about siblings.

I suspect the "little sister" who continually expresses her frustration that everyone thinks she looks like her "big sister" is grateful this time that their relation is so obvious...so her mother doesn't have to drive her to school!

Tutorial

Water polo.

My first encounter with the sport was in Pennsylvania at our neighborhood pool.  The kids would practice for swim team throughout the week, and on Fridays they would play water polo--introduced by their passionate high school coach.

My girls hated it.

I never saw the official game until I caught glimpses of water polo during the summer Olympics.  Ironically, it was the first Olympic team sport in 1900; however, the women were not included until 2000.

Yesterday, I watched my daughter in her first water polo game.  Then I had to come home and search for tutorials-- which I will continue to do today.

My daughter's team is small--just a handful of girls.  The program is still emerging at their high school.  One of the senior girls was delighted after the game, as she proclaimed, "It was our best loss yet at 7-11.  We have never been that close!"  

Nikela (#9) is trying to block the pass.

Waterpolo is a rough, aggressive sport.  It also requires being in excellent shape as the six players and goalie tread water or swim the entire time--no touching the bottom.  Games average one hour with 7 minute quarters plus extra time for calls, then the teams break for five minutes between quarters. 

Nikela loves it.  She has a good arm and can hang onto the ball with surprising skill.  Her aggressive defense shocked me, as she has always tended to be an observer.

Now if I can just figure out what is going on, I might be able to keep up with my daughter's game as the season progresses.

Chayse and I try to ride my tandem bicycle to school every morning.  I prefer this foremost because of the traffic, and secondly because it gives me a workout without carving out extra time for exercise.

This morning I received numerous offers from acquaintances to pick up Chayse which I politely declined.  Perhaps I need to clarify that we are riding our bicycle because I can and because I want to...not because I have to (which would still be a good reason).

On my return home today, I followed the trail along the waterfront in the quiet foggy mist of the morning versus the fumes and roar of traffic.  I rolled by a blue heron standing quietly in the water.  I watched three pelicans swim in formation.  I paused.  I breathed deeply.  Admittedly, the trail is a bit longer, but it is worth the extra mile!

As a child I recall my parents reminding me to go the extra mile, but frankly as children my brother and I were more fascinated with creating shortcuts through the farm.  Admittedly, our shortcuts usually held all kinds of adventures and exploration--nonetheless who would go an extra mile??

The lens of age clarifies the wisdom of parents and grandparents.

Labor Day Fun

'Twas a grey and foggy San Francisco morning, as the fireboat idled in the background and the anticipation of the kids grew as they waited for their ride.

Slowly, the sun broke through and the sky cleared...just in time for our ride which we were sharing with my cousin and her family!

The upper deck granted magnificent views of the bay.

A new pilot was all smiles!

Nestled beneath the Bay Bridge the firehouse also includes a firetruck.  These firemen respond on land or sea!

Afterwards, we dined bayside at a seafood restaurant before heading back home.  The beautiful afternoon warranted a kayak excursion.

12.

"Mom, it is hard being 12."

I gazed at my son curiously and waited.

He continued, "Because at school we are all cool and mature, but the second you get home you just want to be a kid and play."

Play, my son, play.  I thought to myself.  Life and responsibility will quickly take these carefree days.

"But I have a little sister to play with."

Ah, a sibling to keep you young and let you play free.  I remember my little sisters gave me an excuse to swing at the park--my favorite though I was far beyond the years that it was cool.

"Play, my son, play!" I advised.

And two more...

headed off to school this morning.

One reports to his seventh grade classroom a bit sluggishly while the other trots off enthusiastically to the second grade.

And I pause amidst the quiet of the mid-morning--though I promise you my little birdies are squawking in the early morning rush!

Friday Morning

5:45 AM--Alarm(s) beeps obnoxiously

6:00 AM---Sleepily making breakfast and lunches.

6:20 AM--My teenage girls cruise off to school together hoping to stop at Starbucks for a Friday morning treat.

6:30 AM--Tea and my morning paper

7:16 AM--Telephone rings.

Me:  Hello?

Hello, this is Foster City Police Department.

Me: Speechless.  Subconsciously holding my breath.

Is this Nikela's mother?

Me:  mumble an affirmation, still not breathing.

Is Nikela home?

Me:  No.

When would be a good time to reach her to schedule her final interview?

Exhaling...Me:  She starts school at 7 AM, so I am not sure, but I can leave her a message to call you.

My heart was still palpitating when I hung up the phone in utter relief that my daughters were safely at school.

Somehow I had momentarily forgotten that my oldest daughter applied for the discovery program with the local police department.  It all started with a 12 page application a couple months ago--complete with certified documents.  An intensive background check was run as she was interviewed at different department levels.  References were checked and neighbors interviewed (some were concerned about why...)  Then there was the surprise visit at our residence complete with a room check and then more interviews.  Today she had a computer voice stress analysis today...and she passed!

She has reached the final interview with the chief of police next week.  If accepted she will attend a 9 week police training academy.

Obviously the program has an intense screening process which has been an excellent learning experience for my daughter.

I am so proud of her.

I am even happier that the phone call was so simple.

I can't believe that I panicked.

Well, yes, I can.  I am her mother.

Basil

I was enticed by the big beautiful basil plant at the grocery store for $2.99.

Fresh basil in the produce section is nearly the same price, so I figured why not?

My first lesson was basil likes water--lots of it.  The generic plastic container it came in drained quickly, and my lovely basil plant would be sad and wilted by nightfall.

Thus I made a trip to Target for a new garden pot.  As I looked at the limited, end-of-the-season selection, I quickly narrowed it down to ones that had drainage holes and a drip tray built in for another $2.99.  I suspected that it would be the only way the plant would survive me!

A quick transplant left my basil smiling.

Then I had to ask my sister how to harvest my new herb.  Evidently it is important to pinch it off at the stem where new leaves are forming because then it can split and grow again (rather than plucking a few leaves which just leaves barren stems)!

I added it to my fresh veggie pizza that we grilled a couple nights ago.  Yummy!

Plus I love the gentle aroma of growing basil in my kitchen.

I am thinking about a fresh pesto sauce and pasta for supper.  Maybe my son should make some fresh crusty country bread.

There's a spider in my room!

Kiahra scream reverberated throughout the house.

No one moved. (Not even the spider.)

"Somebody kill it!"

"Kade?"

She started with her little brother.

Without any luck, she texted her big sister who was not sympathetic either.

Finally she called over the bannister for her father.

"How big it is?"  he inquired as he ate supper.

"It is a spider," she disdainfully proclaimed with the undertone making it clear that size didn't matter.

"As big as a tic?"  He persisted.

"Dad, it is over my bed.  If it falls into my bed I will never be able to sleep again!"

"Well it is probably crawling into bed as you stand there."

"No, it won't," she protested half-heartedly as we heard her footsteps return down the hall to her room to check the spider's location.

Did I mention her father's eyes were twinkling?

She returned pleading, "Daddy, will you please kill the spider?"

Finally, he pushed his chair back and climbed the stairs.

Then I heard shrieks from her room.  Her daddy was tormenting the spider making it run along the wall.

Finally the commotion ceased.

The spider was eradicated.

Her daddy descended the stairs chuckling.

Waving from the driveway,

I watched my teenage daughters cruise off to high school together this morning.

It left me feeling nostalgic, so I am flipping through the years of photos.

I am not sure where my little girls went??  But I remember them in pigtails well...

Kiahra is a freshman this year.  Nikela is a junior.

Just yesterday Nikela and I were stylin' our Christmas Eve hats.

And how could I forget their elementary school days--my crazy kids with crazy hair!

I really don't need the photos because I have thousands of precious pictures tucked away in my heart.

Sometimes I have to blink to bring the present into focus.

Snail's Pace

My son was up early with his friend, John, and they were out the door without so much as a nod from me as I worked to make breakfast.  

The boys stopped to smell the flowers--literally and discovered a snail!  Then as they looked closer, they discovered there were lots of snails of all shapes and sizes.  Inevitably, the snails were soon transported by curious hands right into my kitchen!  Even I couldn't resist pausing to study the snails (though no escargot on the menu).

Those two little boys never have difficulty finding adventure or embracing the world with exuberance.

We lived in Greycliff, Montana when Kade was born, and his friend John was merely 3 months old and one of his first visitors!

As our first (only) son, I remember reading a card or two with the famous words welcoming the arrival of little boys into families...and I suspect I may have mumbled about the stereotype.   

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails

That's what little boys are made of!

The truth is I love those little boys--snails and all!  

I only wish they would grow at a snail's pace

Wine Country

We finally made it to Napa Valley.

The land of endless vineyards.

The land where wine caves were first dug by hand in the 1870s, and the caves are still being dug today but with fewer blisters!

As a man who works underground, the caves intrigue my husband the most.

The land where we paused with my sister and her husband to celebrate.  This year marks our 20th wedding anniversary and their 5th wedding anniversary.  The location was perfect for them, as they started their wedded bliss exploring the Italian vineyards.

The land where we could bask in the warm sunshine (compared to the cool Peninsula of the Bay area) and chat uninterrupted.  Laughter rolled easily along with the day....which is now a fond memory to be aged like a fine bottle of wine!