Wishing and hoping and thinking and praying...

There is a song that I hum in my head whenever I stare longingly at this tantalizing picture of Canon-sweetness. "Wishing and hoping and thinking and praying, planning and dreaming each night of his charms that won't get you into his arms..."

I have kept journals since I could write. Later in life I began scrapbooking as a creative source of journal keeping. Since I can remember, I've felt a desire to document my life and my thoughts. Perhaps my life might be of some use to my posterity one day. I write for me and I write for them. I have always thought that journals, personal histories and family albums are precious heirlooms.

I was able to read some of my own Grandmother's journals. When my children were very young, my mother wanted me to compile them (not the children - my Grandmother's journals) into a book. I have yet to return to that project and complete it but complete it I will.

I didn't have a chance to know my Grandmother. As I read her words I felt that I was getting that opportunity. What a great gift I was given. I felt lifted by her strength of character. There is something very powerful about linking yourself to past generations. It can be therapeutic to the soul. Because she lived I live. Parts of her have been passed down to me. I am connected to her. What she has to say is for my good on a very personal level. That reverences and inspires me.

When Hurricane Katrina hit and I heard account after account of all those precious family heirlooms destroyed - lost, I began to think about my own. How could I safeguard my 'life's work'? How could I preserve parts of myself for future generations?

At first I began scanning my journals and saving them on disks. I packed my precious scribblers in large Rubbermaid containers. I know I can't perfectly cover my bases. Anything can happen but I feel that I must do all I can to preserve my writing.

What has this all got to do with a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi?

Well, it all started with SouleMama. She is the reason I keep an online journal. It is through her that I saw the value of mixing pictures with text. A new world of journaling opened to me. Not only can I write to future generations but I can share these records with extended family and friends!

I've been using my little 735 hp photosmart digital camera and she has been a good little friend but she can't do all the things that a Rebel can. It's time to hand her over to the children and upgrade!

Not only that, I have joined with two other women (Peggy Hillyer and Karina Witbeck) in creating Lift. We each will be blogging for the website and I want to be able to take some great pictures to mingle with our website, blogs, essays and books - but that is a whole other entry. I'll save that for later.

I can't resist...she's too inspiring...

I have a few favorite blogs I read faithfully each morning...I am not much into reading the daily newspaper...I am into a different kind of news...a more intimate news...one that inspires me and brings me joy.

I love my diarists. Several I know very well. They are my close friends.

A few diarists I have never met and they don't know I visit them each day (which sounds rather creepy when you think about it ... I'm like a virtual-peeping-tom...anyway, as I was saying...)

Their lives touch mine. Jane Brocket is one of those diarist. I love the way she views the world. She lives in color - literally. I hope you visit her blog but I must first warn you dear reader - reading Jane's entries leads to weight gain. Yes, some posts consist of at least 350 calories.

Yarnstorm makes me happy. When I read her words and digest her photos I feel like there is some hope in this big mess of a world. I feel myself lifted into that part of me who wants to dance in the grocery isle, wear a big feather hat to church, walk barefoot in the park and drink hot chocolate from vintage tea cups. I am lifted into that higher part of me who sings a little louder, talks a little brighter, loves a little deeper - lives a little truer. I value this beautiful globe we live in because it is filled with beautiful places, beautiful things and beautiful people.

Some Bad News...

Tristan came home from school yesterday with some bad news...
He looked at me in all seriousness and I felt a sudden surge of alarm.

"What's the bad news?" I asked.

"Mom,"
He paused in dark reflection, my concern mounted.

"When I grow up I'm going to get pimples and hair on my butt..."
His eyes grew big and round as he exclaimed in dramatic horror,

"... puberty!"

I suddenly remembered the consent form I had signed the week before so that Tristan could go to a special 'health' class - you know, the one where they separate the girls from the boys to talk about the changes they will go through as they get older.

I still chuckle when I think of his face. Of course, he wasn't sincerely concerned. Like his father, our Tristan is quite the comedic actor. I laughed so hard I think I pulled something that day.

Happy Thanksgiving

I wouldn't feel right if I didn't take a minute to express my gratitude for the multitude of blessings I enjoy. I feel like the Lord is smiling down on me this season. We have a new addition to our family but I have to also share how grateful I am for my precious other 3.

Tansy is growing up into such a beautiful young woman. She is a second mother to Emma. It makes my heart soar when I see them snuggling and smiling at each other. She is inventive and sensitive. She is independent and a leader. She aches to spend time alone with me - just us girls thrifting and shopping for clothes. She is coming into her own. She has her own unique style. I am blessed.

Tristan is my little prince. Each morning he gets himself up, unloads the dishwasher, makes himself breakfast, feeds the dog and pops his head in my room to say goodbye for the day. Some mornings he leaves breakfast for me. Today we were digging in the garden- breaking up clumps of dirt, happy just being near one another in the fall sunshine. Every now and then he would bolt off in comic terror as the wasps made love to the multicolored sweater he was wearing. I am blessed.
Liam is more than a boy - he is a force, an energy, an untameable spirit. Like the wind, he can not be contained. Liam calls me 'my lovely'. He can't keep his voice down in church. He needs to kiss me and Emma at least 100 times a day. I am blessed.

My Jim. My love. My best friend. He isn't content unless he is rushing out to save someone having a heart attack. He chases seagulls, brings me ginger ale when I feel down and thinks Bruce McColloch's open letter to the guy who stole his bike wheel is absolutely hilarious.

He laughs even harder at Bruce McColloch's open letter to the people who watched the guy steal his bike wheel.

I don't quite get the humor but he actually throws his head back and laughs at this stuff. He makes me laugh. I am blessed.

We bought a new home. It is just the home I imagined having. I feel blessed to have all this space and all these windows. I feel blessed to have a library, a sun room, a laundry room, a cold room and a jacuzzi tub.

I have my health. I live in a free country. I am able to stay home with my children. I am able to worship as my conscience dictates. I have a loving family - good friends. I have books in my library. This list could go on and on and I would still be missing something to add. I am blessed. I am blessed. I am blessed blessed blessed!

Happy Thanksgiving my friends.