Summer has dwindled into the hot, humid days of August where some of us mommies begin to say, Now, when does school start? The structure and enthusiasm of earlier weeks has turned into something less shapely, where too much television might be consumed and motherly motivation is lacking.
It was on one of these lazy, hazy days that Livia and I emerged from our pseudo-naptimes (Quiet Time in our house) and simply had to find adventure. Here I was, reading all the Facebook statuses about friends being in cool Colorado, and it was high time to entertain myself in the city of Lincoln, Nebraska, instead of merely being envious.
So we wandered through Indigo Bridge Books, picked up the best ice cream in town at Ivanna Cone, and wandered among the trains for a time. Deciding the wandering should be extended, we quickly drove out to Pioneers Park and pet turtles and snakes at the Nature Center. Livia caught—and released—a toad and a moth. I snapped photos and filled up the creative space in my own heart.
I’m still soaking in the fun of the past two days. First, there was the art gallery with my work on display! Here’s just a brief glimpse at the photography series I posted of the Bradley family. I hope to share more with you soon. For now, though, I will say that the night was a success and we had a great turnout of friends and family.
Then, last night was the grand community theater/backyard spectacle of Dr. Quinn: The Musical! This photo was snapped an hour before show time and, as you can see, the audience is getting settled. Go check out Renae’s photos to see what it looked like during the musical and to admire the primo seating one gets when such an event occurs in one’s own backyard! Our gardens have never seen so much excitement, and neither have we. The night was a blast.
A few days ago, Livia told me that I’m very smart, “like a robot with a brain in it.” That’s not exactly how I’d describe myself… but I’ll take it!
It reminds of the this conversation I recorded some time ago…
Liv: Mom, I love you. You’re great! You’re kinda like a servant.
Me: Aw thanks. I kind of am!
And finally, the line that earned her a trip to college and a pony:
Livia: Mom, you have skinny legs.
The End.
Everybody’s favorite honorary aunt, Joie/Jojo/Jojg!
There’s nothing like a post-dinner popsicle and a buddy to share it with.
Plucked from a pot of herbs, Scrubby became a household pet for a brief time. With the help of Google, we learned Scrubby was a Papilio polyxene who liked to eat parsley, among other things.
For four days, Livia carried Scrubby’s jar to her room during quiet time. She would sit in her room for an hour, quietly letting the caterpillar climb all over her hands and arms. I was pretty sure that such frequent handling of the insect would prevent him from turning into a butterfly, but I was wrong.
Scrubby began to do what he was made to do. He had a really odd poop, climbed onto a twig, strapped himself in with one strand of silky thread, then stayed still for about 24 hours straight. I went away to a mini-retreat at church and came home to a green chrysalis. Livia said Jeremy kept looking at the jar and only seeing leaves and that she was the one to point out Scrubby’s chrysalis.
For 11 days, we kept vigil by the side of the jar. Towards the end of the time, Scrubby’s chrysalis turned grey, then one night it was almost black—apparently the chrysalis becomes transparent before the butterfly emerges.
We awoke on a Tuesday morning and Scrubby was no longer his green striped chubby caterpillar self; he was a glorious Black Swallowtail butterfly. Livia wasn’t home at the time, so I took the jar, with its transformed inhabitant, and picked her up from my mom’s house. Liv’s jaw almost hit the floor when she saw Scrubby—it was awesome. She chose to release her winged friend and he was last seen testing out his new wings over the lake in my mom’s backyard.
I was surprised by how fascinated I was at Scrubby’s transformation. I knew Livia would love it, but really, I loved the whole experience too. I’m amazed at how God created such an interesting life cycle for this fat little caterpillar. The Master Artist clearly spared no detail in his creation.
**Photo disclaimer: These tomatoes are in my dad’s garden, not mine!
It’s getting to that time of year where I have to force myself to work in the garden. It’s mid-July, which, in Nebraska means it’s pretty hot and ridiculously humid outdoors. The mosquitoes find me irresistible while the weeds find my garden patch irresistible. Plus, the vegetable garden, by this point in the season, is doing well and doesn’t seem to need as much TLC anymore. It’s easy to throw up my hands and surrender to the elements by staying indoors with the AC cranked up. However, I need to resist that desire because my garden is growing like crazy and someone, moi, needs to keep up with it.
This year I planted kale, mixed lettuces, white onions, bush beans, cherry tomatoes, slicing tomatoes, zinnias and sunflowers. Oh yeah, and broccoli. Tender, sweet little shoots of broccoli, which made a delightful meal for some foul beast back in May. And yet, in an odd turn of events, a broccoli plant sprouted up among the beans and when I peeked at my garden tonight, there was a green head on the plant. Awesome.
We’re enjoying Year Two of our neighborhood garden. Again we were allowed a portion of the old Zion Church lot (now it belongs to our church, Redeemer) and again our awesome neighbors measured out plots, tilled the ground, and fenced off a bit of earth. It felt like a good old-fashioned moment of Americana when we gathered together for a BBQ outside the garden in June. Everyone was introduced, or re-introduced, food was shared, the young garden admired.
So tomorrow, I absolutely have to get into my little space and pull some weeds. Perhaps it’ll rain tonight and my task will become a bit simpler. The kale is growing like mad and I’ve promised bags of it to my mom and a friend. I am sure the beans are ready for picking and an empty vase awaits the zinnias. And maybe, if I’m lucky, a tomato will be ripe.
My heart has just started to thaw from the harsh and frozen memories of last winter. I’ll take the heat, the humidity, and even the darn mosquito bites if it means I get to enjoy summer for a little bit longer.
“Every artist was at first an amateur.” – Ralph W. Emerson
I wanted to poke my eyes out while reading Emerson in high school. Yes, it was that painful an experience. But I felt like kissing Mr. Emerson when reading a few quotes this morning. As I prepare for my first ever gallery showing (!) I feel like amateur hour times a thousand.
