Proverbs 31 and a pop culture purge

So I had the idea during vacation to embark on a pop culture purge. I am definitely not what other people may consider "celebrity-obsessed" by any means, but my three-to-four-times-a-day love for People.com (and the magazine) was starting to get to me. Yes, it's entertaining- who wouldn't want to be informed about Suri Cruise's $150 shoes or see a photo of Gwen Stefani -gasp!- food shopping? My days were undoubtedly enriched by an article detailing the "Saved By The Bell" reunion and Jessica Simpson's relationship advice. Okay, maybe I'm getting a bit sarcastic...
Anyway, we all have our favorites when it comes to movies, TV etc. and I am a card-carrying member of that club. But what began to eat at me was the fact that I was constantly ranting to myself about what empty lives most celebrities live, yet I was still giving them my attention. The fact that I found time every day to visit People.com but never took time to read my daily e-mail devotional from Proverbs31.org was the icing on the cake. That made zero sense. C.S. Lewis wrote that "anyone who is honestly trying to be a Christian will soon find his intelligence being sharpened". Suffice to say that I wasn't getting any spiritually "smarter" by gazing at a shiny magazine cover proclaiming "Body After Baby!"
Proverbs31.org, if you're not familiar with it, is a wonderful website dedicated to encouraging and uplifting women through God's word. Every single time I read my daily e-mail devotional it speaks to me in some way. And it feels great! It's edifying- makes me feel peaceful, energized and encouraged. It's such a blessing to be reminded of God's great love for us and how He wants us to live. And I love that it's exclusively for women! The site has a ton of other resources, too. Check it out!
It's now the fourth week of my PCP and I'm glad. I'm not missing anything, and I'm thankful for this little opportunity to be more mindful of God's hand on mine. Too bad, though, that there's no such thing as a Facebook fast...;)

There is no better end to the day than a long, solitary walk on the beach. I was able to indulge in such a walk tonight, soaking in the crashing of the waves and the sorbet-colored layers of sunset that sank slowly into the ocean. There's something about those surroundings that is so calming to me.
I've been in Pawleys Island, South Carolina for the past two weeks. How lucky am I??? Not only in the location, but in that my entire family (pretty much) has been here too. We are celebrating my mom's retirement from teaching, and what a perfect first vacation it's made for our precious Maia. She is well on her way to becoming a full-fledged beach girl and can't drink in her surroundings fast enough. Anyway, our time has been chock-full of what the Italians refer to as dolce far niente, which loosely translates as "sweet to do nothing". Sweet indeed! I've been to South Carolina a couple of times, and always enjoyed the slowed-down lifestyle that permeates every nook and cranny of lives lived here. Plus palm trees just make me insanely happy.
It was (and I write "was" because he returned home today in time for his ice hockey team's championship game) so much fun to live with Todd the last couple of weeks. Even though we are adults, our lifelong comraderie remains firmly intact. We still crack up over the same things and experience small moments of panic each day when our slightly introverted selves start craving solitude amidst the family whirling and spinning. A moment I really loved came when he and I were both sprawled on the long sofa in the loft, doing what we love best: reading! I was savoring Frances Mayes' newest book and he was engrossed in Norse myths. I was in the middle of a sentence when I realized what we were doing, and that was just great. We were also able to watch one of our favorite YouTube clips of all time, which is the Irish step-dancing guylinered phenom Michael Flatley performing in "Cry of The Celts". It is hysterically funny, what with his facial expressions and "legs that flail about as though independent from his body" (thank you , Chandler Bing). That man clearly believes he will impregnate every woman in his screaming audience. But I digress.
My grandmother will be 94 years old next Saturday, and it has been incredibly special to have her here with all of us. She is so content to sit and enjoy talking with and watching all of us, especially her beloved Maia. We celebrated her big day a bit early with delicious cupcakes and coconut macaroons on the screened-in porch that overlooks the saltwater marsh. She is so precious to me. I hope I'm doing a good job of treasuring every minute with her.
Tomorrow we're headed to Charleston, a city I love. I'm looking forward to wheeling my sweet daughter around its lovely old streets, showing her the splashing pineapple fountain, the pastel-colored houses with their flower-abundant window boxes and plantation shutters, and maybe even indulging her with a beautiful hand-smocked dress. Lunch at the Hominy Grill and some snacks at Fast & French should be fabulous, too!
I'm so thankful for my time here, and thankful for the walk this evening that cleared my mind and helped me remember what's important in life. It will be pretty hard to return home, where there is no beach ninety seconds from my front door! I'm thinking about uprooting a palm tree, though...

Beam Me Back To Wyoming, Scotty...

You know you've taken a really incredible trip when you still miss it two years later. And that, my friends, is the pretty little saddle in which I find myself sitting (English teacher mother= not ending sentences with preposition).

At the end of August 2008, John and I headed out to the great state of Wyoming to spend a week at Bitterroot Ranch and three days in Yellowstone. He and I have been to some amazing places together, but this trip really took the cake. I was completely unprepared for the mind-boggling beauty of the Shoshone Valley, which is fifty vast miles of unspoiled lands bordering Yellowstone. The Bitterroot itself radiated a kind of peace that enveloped your entire body, with its fields of sweet yearlings, tiny beautiful cabins, determined peacocks, self-righteous llamas and a slice of the Wind River whose cadence lulled us to sleep each night. The silence was delicious and I couldn't get enough.

And the horses...oh, the horses. John and I spent over six hours each day in the saddle (on Gannett and Ginger Two, respectively, among others) which to me is pure joy. One of the best things about the Shoshone Valley/National Forest is the varied terrain. We traversed meadows, pine forests, rocky hillsides, streams arid plateaus and mounds of powdered clay so huge we were pretty sure we were on the surface of the moon. We saw antelope, a coyote and a herd of black cattle belonging to the neighboring Shoshone Indians. But the one thing that resonated with me the most- so much, in fact, that I used it as a visualization tool during Maia's birth- was the sky. The adjectives "huge" and "endless" don't do it justice, but I suppose they'll have to suffice. I distinctly remember an afternoon ride in the bottom of the valley, surrounded by mountainsides peppered with lodgepole pines, and looking up at that sky. Never in my life had I felt so tiny, yet so secure. It was a life-changing moment. I'm so thankful for that experience.

Perfect riding, wonderful friends and some of the best food we've ever had. What an incredible week (did I mention we drove cattle? Best. day. ever.)!!! And to then head on to Yellowstone was truly gilding the lily. I could go on and on, but I'm fairly certain blogs are not supposed to be long-winded. Hopefully with this little snippet you can get a sense of our experience and why John and I are still talking about it two summers later. I really hope to return one day! If you'd like further information, please visit http://www.bitterrootranch.com/.

P.S. For all my fellow LOST fans...the Bitterroot has been owned for over thirty years by Mel and Bayard Fox. Bayard Fox is Matthew's uncle, and Matthew spent quite a few of his growing-up years on the ranch before getting on Flight 815. ;)

My new life

I was never sure I wanted to have kids. Did you know that? Probably not. I can recall being fifteen and coming to that conclusion. This sentiment followed me over the years, and despite its truth, it never made sense. I did loads of babysitting, taught swim lessons, volunteered at a children's hospital, interned as a child life specialist and taught preschool. I loved kids. Yet friends would gush over how they couldn't wait for motherhood and I could not understand their desire. I would think "But there's so much to DO in life!" Flash forward to nine years of marriage- years that held so much of what one is supposed to DO in life, according to me!- and in the palm of my hand a stick that had just turned blue.

My precious, beautiful baby girl Maia Eden is fourteen weeks old on the day I am writing this. She was ushered into the world by my incredible midwives, Meredith and Christy, in the peace and comfort of our home. I was blessed with a flawless pregnancy, meaningful and empowering prenatal care and a really great birth experience. I love being Maia's mom and I feel a unique sense of accomplishment. Pretty good for someone who wasn't sure about the whole motherhood thing, right?

Looking back, especially now that Maia's been with us for three months, I understand better my former ambivalence about parenthood. Some conclusions aren't fit for blogging (because they make sense only to me) but there is one conclusion I am happy to share: there were some things I needed to go through before I became a mom, period. In the last three years or so I've experienced struggles and pain that brought about personal and spiritual growth that simply could not have been attained through any other medium. I am endlessly thankful for that. By leading me through my wilderness, God gave me a new sense of security in not only who I was, but who He was. So when that stick turned blue, I felt happiness, excitement...and peace. I was ready for my new life.

And Maia? She's a glorious girl. She has blue eyes, dimples and a shock of light brown hair that she loves to have brushed. She lights up when I sing to her and snuggles into John in a way that reduces him to Jell-O. She is a happy soul, clearly mesmerized by every element of her new world. There are still moments when I look at her in disbelief that she is all mine. Becoming a mother bears with it a richness that is beyond my imagination. I am loving every moment of my new life, confident that He who is before all things and holds all things together will continue to mold me into everything I can possibly become. Good thing I did all that babysitting :)

Mooshinsky

It doesn't matter how we refer to Maia, she loves most all attention she can get even if she's being called Godzilla, Killer or Big Nasty (let me note that I, her father, am the sole custodian of such nicknames).

Maia has to be one of the most pleasant-tempered babies around. She never (really NEVER) cries unless it's one of the trifecta: food, diaper or sleep. Even then she's pretty forgiving as we've spent the last three months learning how to navigate one another.

We never get tired of watching her coo and squeak, intently surveiling all the goings-on around her. And, of course, when she smiles like a sunrise on the beach, she wins our hearts every time.

Welcome!

I'm really excited to start my foray into the world of blogging. I hope it will be the perfect outlet for the many musings swirling around my gray matter. I would not like, however, to be known as a "blogger". To me, that word conjures up the decidedly un-feminine images of a logger and a blob. Instead, I've come up with the word "bloggerina", which is much more to my liking because it makes me think about pointe shoes and ballet.

The title of my blog is a line from the classic song "The Garden Song" by Peter, Paul & Mary. I grew up in a beautiful town not far from a little island the Lenni Lenape Indians referred to as Mannahatta, and one of its most popular radio stations was WOR. Every Sunday morning, John Gambling's radio show featured a gardening segment ushered in by the opening bars of "The Garden Song". I thought it would be perfect for a blog title, as that's pretty much what I'm doing with my life: making my proverbial garden grow. Please click here to view a great cover by the equally great John Denver! On a side note, my original title was going to be borrowed from Bernstein's humorous and moving operetta Candide, but Blogger.com informed me that "We'll build our home/and chop our wood/and make our garden grow" was too long. Oh well. Less is more, I suppose!

A big thank you to my wonderful husband for putting the final design touches on the blog (always a work in progress) and for being a guest contributor! Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you will do so often! xo

The Fourth of July

Not to be confused with July 3 or 5, the FOURTH of July is a big deal in our family since it is a time to celebrate generations of Americans' Christ-like sacrifice so that we all could have freedom. It is a time where we find ourselves enjoying the company of family and good friends, too much food and (of all things) large explosions in the night sky.

At any other time of year, you would likely find people bothered by loud, thunderous cracking that echoes off the trees and rattles windows. But one weekend each year reveals boys discovering fire as they shoot off rockets and people supportively look on as Roman candles blaze. Even though by the following year you can hardly remember the previous year's fireworks show, there is something that inspires wonder in every age as we peer into the darkness overhead and anticipate the decibels bulging in our chests.