Noraleigh's Mountain Vacation

 Now that we find the crisp days of autumn nipping at our heels, I wanted to relive some of my favorite summer memories through words and pictures before we officially trade in the long golden days of "making hay" for sweater weather and pumpkin-everything!

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The second week of August was the most delightful, action packed, sleep deprived, memory making, fun-filled, adventure seeking, exhausting week of the summer. Hands down.

It was the week that our three year old niece Nora came to visit.

This was to be her longest (and furthest) time away from mommy, daddy, and Lolo (her little sissy) and we knew the probability of homesickness was high. But that notwithstanding, my sister (her mom) and I thought we'd give a week a go - knowing full well we might end up delivering her back to her own bed several days earlier than planned if she just decided she couldn't handle it.

But "handle it" she did! This girl was livin' her best life up here in the mountains!

On the drive to our house, Nora kept commenting on how big the mountains were. And why were there so many? And were we going up them? When we confirmed that we did indeed live where the mountains were, she started referring to her time here as her "Vacation in the Mountains". I'd ask her what she normally did for this or that, and she'd say, "Well, I don't know! I've never been way up in the mountains before, so maybe I do things differently here!". She was delighted to discover that we actually have a Target store in the mountains (girl's got priorities), and on every trip around town she was constantly on the lookout for both the mountain signs that point out local sites/attractions, and Mill Mountain, our cities central hill with the huge star on top.

My goodness, did we pack in the fun! Coloring, painting, chalking the sidewalk, scooter-ing, swinging and sliding at the park, egg collecting, coming to work with me, visiting her Great Aunt and Uncle, going to the library, eating mini cupcakes, splashing at the water park, poking around the craft store, having pizza and movie night...  Whew! And that was just some of what we did!

Knowing myself as I do (someone who could slip into obsessive photographer mode at the drop of a hat), I purposefully decided to leave my camera in its bag for the entire visit, and really try be present. Noraleigh soaks up quality time like a sponge and having people play with her is her jam, so I wanted to give her the best version of me. Not the "smile!" or "could you do that again and hold it" version of me...

I did take a few quick cell phone snaps throughout the days to send to her momma who I knew must be missing her like crazy and wondering how she was doing. But that was it. No social media documentation, no selfies, no big girl cameras snuck out at all.

And ya know, it made me soak...slow down...savor every little memory to tuck away in my mind in vivid detail to remember once she was back home in South Carolina and we were missing her.

There was one exception though. On an evening where there was still a hint of magic left clinging to the long blades of grass after a quick summer storm, Nora indulged her Auntie with a full on photo shoot. We dressed her up like a princess, complete with sparkly crown, and though she was not convinced that her mom would actually know it was her in the pictures, you could tell she was lovin' every minute of wearing make-up, having her hair done up fancy, and slipping into an impossibly enormous ball gown.

She has no idea what a gift this was for my romantic fairytale photographer's heart.

So, all the other memories, they're not sitting on my phone for me to scroll through whenever I want. But the many sides of Princess Nora that we captured during our shoot that evening, will help bring each and every one rushing back to mind in the crystal clarity that only memories made while being fully present can provide.

Hard for a taker of pictures to adopt that m.o. sometimes. But I'm glad I did. And I hope in the future, I'll choose to do it even more.

Roses In Winter

I've never been a big fan of roses... Perhaps just for the sake of being different? I tend to shy away from the overly prosaic as a rule, but like any rule, there is usually an exception.

And my exception is the glorious Bluebird. It's held me under it's enchanting spell since I was a teenager apprenticing in a family-run little flower shop. Building order after order of yellow, pink, white, and multi-hued florabundas without batting an envious eyelash... One too many young starry-eyed boyfriends ordering the overly-cliched red dozen perhaps, had skewed my appreciation for what many consider the mother of all flowers.

But then one day a new shipment appeared on our loading dock that would change the way I would look at roses forever. Out came the boxes full of heady blooms, and straight into the walk-ins they went for safe keeping. The afternoon carried on, and toward closing time one of our chief designers started working on a hand-tie for his wife whose birthday was close on the morrow. He disappeared into the fridge for some fresh materials, and emerged with the most magnificent rose blooms I had ever beheld. Enormous...soft...velvety...luxuriously abundant chalky blue-lavender petals with slightly deeper centers...equal parts vintage and modern. I think I audibly caught my breath.

Turns out they were his wife's very favorite, and it was easy for any casual observer to see why. Every rose ever after would pale in it's shadow. Those many years ago, it was one of the first true lavenders on the market. They were expensive and hard to come by. And I was head over heels.

Each time they would come in by special order, I couldn't get enough...hovering over the work table of whomever was filling the order, burying my nose in their soft fragrance... They quickly became my cultivated soul flower.

Months passed, and I came into work on the morning of my 16th birthday (a little gray-ish feeling to be working that day, truth-be-told) to find waiting on my work table

16 Bluebird Roses

displayed in an arrangement fit for royalty.

I cried.

I had never (and perhaps have never since) received a gift that made me feel so incredibly special. I did not deserve such a gift. From co-workers/a boss no less. I did nothing spectacular. We were not super close friends. Yet the time and thought that went into ordering them (a month or more in advance), the exorbitant cost, the artistic time and love that went into presenting them in such a grand fashion. All of these things that went over and above the usual status-quo effort expended on a gift...it was overwhelming. And for the week or two that they were alive, my heart nearly burst from the purest form of human kindness they exuded. This gift of all gifts.

So what is the purpose of this tome? To educate you on the virtues of the Bluebird? To cram as many superlatives into one blog post as is humanly possible? To simply pass the time on this snowy weekend?

No, dear ones. My purpose in writing is perhaps less obvious, it is to share with you the joy of being known. My co-workers saw the simple delight that these particular roses brought to my life. How they spoke to me, and made my heart sing. - Perhaps that seems strange to some of you - but us romantics often feel rich, deep connections with objects and creatures of the natural world.

And not only did they see it, they remembered, and they chose to go out of their way to make me feel like a million bucks. This insignificant 16 year old apprentice.

Since then, lavender roses have become a dime a dozen on the market...you can easily find them everywhere, and though only a dim whisper of the glory of their forerunners, every time my husband brings me home a dozen, my heart swells again. Because he knows me. And he knows this story. And I love how he reminds me of it each time they grace our home.

As they are this very moment.

Birthday Wishes

My birthday was Sunday. Marked by another candle on the cake/cards/calls/texts from family and friends, and the most wonderful weekend of celebration executed to perfection by my husband.

One aspect of birthday merry-making that, while a part of my life for several years now, really gave me pause for reflection and gratitude this year, was the long line of well-wishes from my Facebook friends. So many of those (you) dear people I'm not actively in touch with anymore (the definition of a "Facebook friend" I suppose), but seeing the messages roll in from around the world - every year starting with my sweet Chemistry compadre Rachel now in Cambodia, moving through Europe and the beautiful souls I've had the pleasure of meeting there, then finally to the United States when dawn breaks on the east coast, the parade of wishes this year really seemed to trace a sort of map of my life up to this point. Bringing to mind so many happy memories, activities, trips, jobs, hobbies, and friendships as I scrolled down my wall.

Friends I've known since the day I was born, my first babysitter's son who was like a brother when I was young, dear friends from my quizzing years, fellow bunheads (ballerinas ;-)), my first youth pastor, choir friends, singing school friends, blog friends, blog friends-turned-real-life-friends, piano students, piano student's parents, stamping customers, photography clients, photography peers, fellow creatives I have collaborated with, exercise clients, our old mail lady, the guy we bought our Patty from, and of course many other friends and family of the dear and everyday variety! Each of you have been a piece that makes up the quilt of my life. And I am so grateful for you.

And even more grateful that you took a moment out of your incredibly busy Decembers (ask any December baby, we sure get the short end of the birthday stick!), to write a wish on the wall of someone you knew...maybe a very long time ago, maybe for only a few short months, maybe we've never even met in person, but your notes meant so very much - each and every one - and helped to make my birthday weekend a joy-filled celebration!

Thank you.

White Christmas

Growing up, my dad was a teacher. And teachers live for snow days. And teacher's children live for snow days. And New England transplants who are teachers and teacher's children really live for snow days.

Somehow, I don't really know when, the old Bing Crosby movie White Christmas became our family's "lucky snow movie". Whenever the weathermen were calling for even a chance of flurries, evenings would find Posh (our dad) correcting papers on the couch watching White Christmas, and we would all willingly gather round and enjoy the classic song, dance, and romance. It was a powerful movie, that. In the mornings, more oft than not, we would wake to find a sparkling world covered in a fluffy white blanket!

Many, many years (and snow days) later, I think I probably still have the entire movie memorized. Even my husband regularly throws out quotes from Bing and Danny (Kaye), and readily breaks into their arpeggiated 

"snow, snow, snow, Snow, SNOW"

  with me whenever we spot the first flakes of a new winter storm starting to fall!

So this December, how delighted was I to find that our local theatre was performing White Christmas The Musical over the week of my birthday?! The tickets are purchased, the dog sitter secured, and I just can't wait to go and sing along to all my favorite songs!!! 

There will likely be tears. Because that's what nostalgia does to a girl who was a teacher's daughter from New England that loved snow days once upon a time. 

(Ok, who am I kidding. I still totally love snow days. And we still might break out our now-DVD version of White Christmas whenever the weathermen start getting our hopes up for a winter storm!). And speaking of winter storms, God: we're ready and waiting!!!