Chowder's Garden

Last October we lost our wonderful siamese cat, Chowder, after only having him for a year.
It was so rainy and dark.  Everything was stones and gravel and frozen dirt; and we had to burry him late at night, in the wet cold beginning of winter.
It was horribly sad.  Really unthinkably sad.
We still miss him; his eyes were the color of peacock plumes running toward me in the morning begging for breakfast.

In the week after he died, I found this paper sack of tulip and hyacinth bulbs that my mom had given me, shoved in the closet behind the summer sand toys.
Still trying to figure out how to deal with all the sadness of losing Chowder, Violet and I decided to plant a little garden for him.
So we went outside and sat in the dirt planting bulbs for an hour.
And it helped, just a little.

Well, it's spring now, and Chowder's garden has come into bloom!
It was hard to think, on that horrible stone cold October night that it ever could have happened.
You think life is gone, permanently, and then in the rosiest shade of rose, up it comes, and stands proud on the straightest green legs you've ever seen.
Your tulips, Chowder-- They look like flamingo eggs waving in the wind outside our window.  
We wave back.
They've made us happy.

Easter Birthday

When we brought Violet home from the hospital after she was born, I was terrified to take her outside.  I couldn't believe that she had made it safely into this world, and that we somehow had survived the first car ride home;  She was so tiny and I had no idea what to do with her, so I decided that the most sensible thing to do was to lock every door, swaddle her in a blanket, and just sit on my inflatable donut cushion for the rest of our lives together.  

Well, after two days of that, Tyler and I, coaxed by our parents, decided to take her for one very short walk around the block.  

We were petrified.  

I remember looking down at her-- this itty bitty little squish faced person rumbling along the sidewalk in an oversized stroller-- and I thought this is it.  She is not going to survive this.  There is no way.  Also, why is our block so big?   

But, somehow, I also remember looking up at the sky for the first time in probably a week, and it was blue as all get out, and the cherry trees which had been sticks when we left for the hospital were now in full blushing bloom.  Like the world was celebrating the arrival of my baby girl.  

  

It was spring, and it was gentle.  Thank goodness she wasn't born in winter.  I really don't think I could have handled snow.  

WELL, what I am trying to lead up to is that I always enjoy Violet's birthday partially because it usually falls in the middle of the rushing welcome into spring.  

And this year, as luck would have it, her birthday was the day before Easter.  Really, what could be more fun?  

And, as an extra bonus, it was a gorgeous weekend, probably the warmest we've had in months.  

So, without hesitation, we moved her entire party (all of my uncles, aunts, cousins, etc), outside onto our driveway/lawn strip.  

And with Violet's flashy new turquoise bike perched against the house, I couldn't help but think how far we've come from that first terrifying walk with her.  

Photos!  

Violet's new big-kid bike; I might have to be terrified again.

Easter-birthday decorations are so fun, easy, and sweet.  Just bring in the bunnies, eggs, and flowers!

A few of the honorable guests!

We went to Kwanjai Thai for dinner; V's favorite restaurant.

The new marble game is fun for all!

Violet's new Hourglass shoes.

Now we match!

Four tomorrow

Four is so big.  Really, so much bigger than three.  And what's so crazy is that it seems like it was not yesterday, but maybe just last Tuesday that we were flying home from India and she was turning two.

Four climbs trees.  Four is sassy with these twirked and questioning expressions.  

Four is wanting to help with every single thing.  Making pancakes, digging flower holes, feeding the animals.  

----

I remember so well when you couldn't hold your head up; when you couldn't chew a bean.  

And now you are asking for more chutney at the dinner table, and we're giving you a bike to learn to ride.  

You are so independent with strong opinions about coats and teeth brushing, and you drive me crazy when you holler about the bath-- both getting in and getting out, giant protests.  

But mostly you are my snow day, and I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.  

Sleep well, Violet.  Tomorrow you are four, and four is so big.  

All of the Good.

One year ago my job was a mess.

And I hadn't exercised in 7 years.

And I was having severe stomach pains and migraines, completely unaware of what was causing them.    

And we were making plans to move to Kansas.  

I was depressed.  

I am not joking.  

That was one year ago, almost exactly to the date.  

I don't think we stop often enough to realize and recognize the good that has happened in life.  And today I just can't help but sit here, almost in near shock, as I think about everything that was going on a year ago-- 

--and now where we are today.  

It seems like it's all very sudden--  until I realize how crazy hard the past year has been.  It has been a year of settling ourselves-- mind, body, and soul....  and working our booties off to get ourselves together.  

And now, officially, with my husband (the newly made Professor Sprague), we get to call Seattle our forever home.

Do you know what that means?  It means the world.  It means I get to wrap myself in the amazing community of friends we've made here over the last several years, and hug you all and tell you that we get to watch our kids grow up together.  It means I don't have to figure out how to participate in this beautiful business painting shoes from 8 states away.  It means that we maybe eventually might possibly move out of our tiny apartment, and find a little house and buy a paddle boat for the summer evenings.  And adopt a dog, and have backyard birthday parties.  

It means I get to watch Tyler do what he was put on this earth to do.  And I get to dream of a real studio space that is larger than a computer desk.  

I am in love with my job.  I am in love with this city.  I am in love with our YMCA and the way it has made me feel alive in my own skin again, especially through these stressful months of uncertainty and medical issues (especially recently).   

Mostly, this week, I am in love with my husband who has spent the last 6 years pursuing his dream of becoming a professor at the University of Washington.  He never gave up.  And now, after so many years of worry-stress-uncertainty, we get to breathe, and plant our feet into the ground.
Afternoon champagne??  Yes please!   

Waiting for Spring

Thank goodness spring comes.  Every year.  

Something consistent is needed right now.  

What joy to see the tiny turned up noses

of the flower bulbs from fall 

just sniffing the air, ever so slightly out of the ground this past week.  

As if testing and asking the question 

is it safe to come out yet?  

Yes, by all means.  Yes.  Come fast.  

We are so very ready for winter to finally end. 

Come by bike, by train, by bus-- 

Use the trail 

we live right near the bakery.  

We are watching out the window 

we are keeping on our porch light.  

We are ready.  Come on in.

Don't even bother taking off your boots.  

Sit down, that chair is fine.  I have lots to tell you. So much took place while you were sleeping.  

  

March 1st

The 1st of March, and I had the most wonderful day with Violet.
I'm not sure where this enchanting day came from; it was like waking up, and seeing snow.  How did it come so quietly without my knowing?
We went to the thrift store and found a huge sack of play jewelry for $2.  We potatoed on the couch with our lady cat (Pigeon), and watched cartoons.  She told me that we were going to have soup and corn, and grapefruit for lunch.  And so we did.  
She hovered over my shoulder for over an hour while I tried my darnedest to assemble this wooden penguin model (also a thrift store find).  And finally she told me that it was ok, and that we should just play a game instead.
We stopped by the studio and saw Lisa and Kira, and they gave her a purple balloon, which immediately flew away once we were outside.  So then they gave her two more, and she held on with every ounce of her being onto their yellow strings.

Fridays are always funny and fun because we don't have preschool, I don't have space or time to work, there's no ballet, we don't usually go to the gym, and it usually is raining.  Sometimes the freedom of having nothing to do, even for one day a week, is a little daunting (especially with an almost-four year old).
But today was nice, and I realized two things:
1) She is turning 4 soon, which means this will be my last year with her before she is sucked into kindergarden all day (for better and for worse).  
2) I could watch her eat a grapefruit half forever.

Seeing the Girl with a Pearl Earring

Vermeer's painting, Girl With a Pearl Earring, has played an interesting and ongoing role in my life.
When I was about 12 years old, my grandma Daisy (who loved art and was an artist and was one of the kindest and cleverest souls this world has ever known), cut a picture of the painting out a magazine and stuck it in a thrift store gold frame and gave it to me.  She said, Rachel this looks just like you.   


I remember sitting at the dining room table in my grandparent's house, and staring down at this magazine painting, and it honestly was like looking in a mirror.  But some sort of bizarro mirror, where everything I knew to be awful about myself was reflected back as beautiful.
I know this all sounds a little arrogant.  I mean, who compares herself to a famously beautiful painting and gets away with it?
Well, maybe I should preface this entire thing by telling you that I was absolutely and completely the embodiment of awkward when I was 12.  (Well, at least that's how I felt about myself). I was so incredibly tiny-- short and skinny and pale with eyes that were way too big for the rest of me and that weren't really any color at all.  Not brown, not green, definitely not blue.

Whether or not I actually ever looked like that painting, something about it struck a chord with me.  She was so odd and snowy, just like me.   And caught in this moment of having something important to say, but being a bit startled by everything.  And that large dangling earring, just hanging there like some secret life ready to begin.

Anyway, I hung the picture in the bathroom basement, next to my bedroom.  And looked at her while I brushed my braces (I mean teeth) every morning.  And I would try to decide if I was oddly beautiful (like her), or just plain odd.

Well, I pretty much grew up, and moved away.  Then when I was 20-something I was teaching art to these wretchedly over-priveledged children, the Girl  reentered my life.  One day, this kid (who was 6 and always sort of an outcast to his fellow classmates), was flipping through an art book and happened upon that picture.  He brought it up to me and said Why are you in this book?  
I kind of just stared at him speechless.  I think I sputtered out something about how it wasn't me, it was a famous painting.  He looked at me like I was nuts and walked away.

Anyway, what I'm trying to lead up to is that over the weekend I actually got to see this painting in person for the first time in my life.  I was down in California visiting my family, and there it was too--  in the de Young Museum in San Francisco.
It's this whole exhibit of Dutch paintings.  It's all just gorgeous.  But they have her in a room all to her own, and when you see her, down the hall, it's this huge tunnel of darkness with her face just glowing, staring at you from across the view, as if you just called her name to ask when she'd be home, and she turns and looks and almost answers.
I have seen this painting in books, magazines, on busses, posters, mugs, puzzles... I have stared at it in my basement bathroom for years.... but seeing her in person.  There are no words.

It almost felt like I was 12 again, seeing her for the first time.  Could she really be that strange and beautiful?
I started crying, just a little.  The shock of seeing something you've always known, but then realize you're really just seeing it for the first time.
I don't feel like I look much like her anymore.  I've sort of grown up and into myself they way we do when we hit 30.  Which is not a bad thing.  But there is a huge part of me that is so protective and in love with that weird little person I was at 12.  Maybe it's because I have a daughter of my own now, and I want so desperately for her to know that she is gorgeous and funny and interesting at every age, even, and especially, when she is 12 and 20 and feeling lost and snowy and startled.