We have sprouts!

Starting a garden....

Things change, and then they change and change and change.

Im struggling for work-life balance and failing, desperately, miserably, hopelessly. My job is good, the weight it demands is not.

I want to live on acres and acres. I want to build a simple meaningful home with my hands, with my mind, with my soul.

I want to plant a garden, preserve a harvest, sustain my family with fruits of my own labor, from my own dirt and clean flowing water.

I want my children to know hard work, rich soil, sunshine, mountains, peace, pure joy, themselves. I want them to lust for simplicity and goodness, not for commercialism.

I dont really think this is too much to ask. I just have to figure out how.

Made this one for Miss Tiffany, and loved it so much I made another just like it for Baby Molly :)

Waves?

It's been a long time since I've written here. Lots going on, but nothing super interesting to read about I suppose. It's funny how life comes in waves. Some of them drive me to write, and others just drive me to live and breathe and do. That's the wave I've ridden this last year or 2 or 3. I'm alive though. Work is stressful and doesn't make me feel all that great. My girls are growing into amazing young women. I've been quilting, and I've been spending a lot of time with a crazy little mare named Logan. The quilting is creative and relaxing and mind numbing. Logan has trust issues, and she strikes out at people who try to help her. Sort of like me. She bit me yesterday, hard. I was pissed. My arm is bruised and nasty looking today, but life could be so much worse.

My throat feels raw and tight

I miss you. Making a place for myself, making time for my thoughts, my heart. I have to find some direction before I'm lost forever. Even progress doesn't seem to make much sense anymore.

Another late night in a pitch black room

4 months in this new house and I still feel like I'm in some strange
foreign place lying in bed at night. When will this feel like my room,
my space? When will this feel like home? Will this ever feel like
home? This house, these people, this situation, this life? Its odd
working so hard for this only to feel like its not really mine anyway.

Laying here in the dark with my sprained ankle wrapped in an ace
bandage, some reprieve from the torture device of a splint the doctor
gave me. Not being able to walk is hell. Living in a trilevel house
with no bathroom on the main floor is hell. Bruised armpits from the
stupid crutches are hell. Back to work tomorrow. Hell.

Breathing

Straining my eyes to see through the pouring rain
In a metal box hurtling down the freeway at 75, but not 80
Crooked shirts and shoulders
Mix tapes in french
The warmth of his body next to mine
Sweet scissors stabbing at my sanity
That intoxicating scent spreads my heart so thin

I'm sailing away...

or at least I wish I were. Stupid song is stuck in my head. I'm so tired of holding up the facade of this strong woman who can handle anything while really on the inside I'm walking around on the verge of tears.