tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76831252231003039212011-10-11T19:05:26.786-04:00Musings of a philosopher's wife...annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.comBlogger5941100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-22077462967321183082011-06-16T14:15:00.004-04:002011-08-04T17:26:01.333-04:00

Dear Friends, I have a very exciting Announcement! At least, I think it's very exciting.  I am positively giddy about it. With a growing interest in and love for photography, the opening of my Etsy shop (more items coming soon!), and a deepening enjoyment of writing, I have been feeling little pin-pricks of change in the air. When I started On the Way back in 2008 (wow, just three years?)

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-50133297245289310592011-06-10T18:27:00.002-04:002011-06-16T10:57:00.809-04:00

Today I am flying to California to see my family. My WHOLE family. Except for baby girl.. She has to stay on this coast. My flight was delayed 15 minutes, so I took the extra time to wander the terminal a bit, knowing I would be sitting for six hours.  I'm not worried about the time.  Jetblue tends to arrive earlier than scheduled, and I know my husband will be waiting for me. I went to use the

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-27623491530562048532011-06-06T12:29:00.025-04:002011-06-10T11:42:28.484-04:00

It was so much more than simply saying goodbye to my husband for a few days, or a week, or several.  It was more than knowing I would be facing an empty house coming home from work, or going to bed alone every night. Hugging Taylor goodbye at the airport on Sunday was the concrete realization that so much that we have hoped for has, thus far, been withheld.  It was saying goodbye to the hope we

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-9536323764953319672011-06-01T18:45:00.002-04:002011-06-15T12:16:36.806-04:00

With my head perched on the sill of my bedroom window, I hear birds in neighboring trees through my wire-grid screen.  When I focus closely, every part of the world fits into neat little boxes.  Everything lines up with the coarse wire lines keeping the bugs out.  But when I fix my eyes far away, the lines become blurred; faint outlines of the little pixels that make up the picture of the larger

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-84781474975295168662011-05-23T10:54:00.004-04:002011-06-10T10:31:50.629-04:00

The other day, I read a post by a recently-delivered mama of twins.  [Please read it, it's wonderful!]  While her boys are mostly healthy, they were born a bit premature, and so they had to spend some time in the NICU, which is always hard for parents.  And not less so "just" because their babies aren't severely sick. Her experience with her twin boys really resonated with me.  In my struggle

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-49333072048110684562011-05-17T12:16:00.002-04:002011-06-16T11:59:17.341-04:00

Not of the baby variety, unfortunately, but (in a way) of the "dependent" variety. I've officially opened my Etsy shop.  *cue dramatic music* That is, there are things in it.  Two things.  Two mei tai carriers that a friend ordered.  So even though you can't buy them, they're in the shop, and I think that counts for something. I have one more purse to make for another friend and then I can

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-48130824264705399602011-05-15T12:18:00.000-04:002011-05-27T12:19:52.393-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-61289540512069185052011-05-12T11:50:00.000-04:002011-05-17T11:55:20.436-04:00

**apologies if you are reading this for a second time--blogger hiccuped sometime last week and deleted a few of my posts, so I'm re-posting them now** I am in limbo. Hovering, or perhaps falling, in an empty space I didn't even know existed in the realm of "becoming mother." This "loving a baby who may or may not come home with me" is a wholly new experience for me; nothing like what I

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-38175850492536585522011-05-09T12:47:00.000-04:002011-05-09T12:47:46.015-04:00

Oh dear, I haven't been nearly as good at keeping up on my sewing lately as I should.  And I haven't even been good about sharing the things I have done with you.  But I can share a few pictures (at long last--processing and uploading is slow for me too. Hmm..), with links to my inspiration, if you are interested :) So, to begin. A skirt, based off the obi apron pattern on Burdastyle.  I used

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-42191013960659093022011-05-08T12:15:00.001-04:002011-05-27T12:17:21.155-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-60588084287943891702011-05-03T20:15:00.004-04:002011-05-03T20:16:32.280-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-88197179005384070622011-04-29T11:47:00.001-04:002011-05-09T12:48:29.730-04:00

Today is my anniversary.  Five years ago today, I declared before an entire church filled with friends and family, that I would love Taylor forever, come rain or come shine. 2006 Five years. That's a whole hand!  Do you remember when you were five years old?  How new and exciting the world was, how happy you were all the time, and how much fun it was to run and play and jump and smile and

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-9142860480272819492011-04-26T20:16:00.000-04:002011-05-03T20:17:39.186-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-77409584941932281242011-04-26T11:57:00.000-04:002011-05-17T12:07:25.438-04:00

**sorry for any duplication--blogger hiccuped last week and deleted a few of my posts, so I'm re-posting them now** When I reached for my Flour cookbook on Holy Saturday, I was a bit taken aback at the length of time the brioche recipe took. I wanted to make this egg- and butter-rich bread for our Pascha this year, but Saturday was the first time I'd looked at the recipe. "Still," I thought, "

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-3361026634069761152011-04-25T13:56:00.002-04:002011-05-09T12:49:01.461-04:00

Indeed He is risen!! St. John Chrysostom's Paschal Homily If anyone is devout and a lover of God, let them enjoy this beautiful and radiant festival.  If anyone is a grateful servant, let them, rejoicing, enter into the joy of his Lord.  If anyone has wearied themselves in fasting, let them now receive recompense.  If anyone has labored from the first hour, let them today receive the just

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-38275917734098380622011-04-23T15:39:00.004-04:002011-05-09T12:49:54.093-04:00

Did you ever wonder, as a kid, why they called it "Good Friday" if it was the day we remember that Jesus suffered so much on the cross for us?  I know for me, at least, it was always a bit counter-intuitive.  I could understand the logic that our salvation came out of His death, but it still didn't sound like it was a good day.  I'll bet Mary didn't feel very good that day, I thought to myself.  

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-59088535476928388402011-04-19T20:13:00.001-04:002011-05-03T20:14:37.292-04:00

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annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-70732595490899087872011-04-12T20:48:00.001-04:002011-04-12T20:48:00.390-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-17118128987957206952011-04-11T12:44:00.001-04:002011-05-09T12:50:09.958-04:00

I have been remiss in posting here.  I have been silent because I feel like I have nothing to write about.  Stagnant.  Stuck.  Stalled.  It's all the same. Everyone knows how I feel right now.  What else is there to say? Some days I feel it is all I can do to get to and from work and put dinner on the table.  Three nights within the last week we've had leftover soup.  The same soup.  With the

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-82117680949004009322011-04-05T20:47:00.000-04:002011-04-11T20:48:42.613-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-60820857455266276122011-03-30T09:59:00.003-04:002011-03-30T10:00:16.631-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-48383832508525087562011-03-29T13:16:00.001-04:002011-03-29T13:16:59.531-04:00

As I shifted positions under Sleeping Baby Girl, smoothing her soft hair over her forehead, the foster mother continued her story:  "They tell me: 'Fostering must be so difficult--don't you get attached to those babies?  Isn't it hard to let them go when it's time for them to leave?'"  So I tell them, 'Well, yes, we do get attached.'" "And that's the point," she told me during our visit last

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-75197664421656806352011-03-22T09:58:00.002-04:002011-03-28T10:12:23.551-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-50726271503624466712011-03-21T12:48:00.001-04:002011-05-04T10:29:45.415-04:00

Excited to see a post title like that?  I wish, more than most people could possibly know, that I was the bearer of better news than this. This morning I learned that the birth father has, indeed, filed an objection to the adoption.  So a court hearing is a certainty at this point, and the lawyer for our agency will try to get an idea of when the hearing might be scheduled, but it could take

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-71888251547247871142011-03-18T12:55:00.000-04:002011-03-18T12:55:38.558-04:00

Yesterday evening, much to my dismay, I found out from our agency worker that Monday is not quite the auspicious court date she thought it would be. Instead of being the day when a judge hears the case as presented, it is, rather, the day when the agency's lawyer goes to the courthouse to check on the case, to see if the birth father has filed anything contesting the adoption.  Somehow based on

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-76138574645042251172011-03-17T12:30:00.000-04:002011-03-17T12:30:55.057-04:00

Today, two years ago, my family buried my mother. In many ways, it was the hardest day of my life. In other ways, it was most blessed.  If only you could have seen how full the church was that day at her funeral, to hear my family and our Church singing of God's promise and Hope in the life she lived, the life we have left to live before we see her again.  To be there with family and friends

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-1373579728926820952011-03-16T13:19:00.000-04:002011-03-16T13:19:38.422-04:00

I am overflowing.  With excitement, anticipation, joy, anxiety, adrenaline.  Sometimes tears.  My body simply cannot contain the emotion that I am feeling. I sometimes have to sit by myself--door closed at the office or in front of our icons at home, quietly breathing "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God.  Have mercy on me... a sinner."  Over and over again, just to get my heart rate back down to

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-40541754497571597962011-03-15T22:33:00.002-04:002011-03-28T10:12:07.024-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-64976380873896734752011-03-11T12:41:00.000-05:002011-03-11T12:41:59.433-05:00

Has it been two years already?  Twenty-four months is not a very long time--ask any parent of a toddler--and yet, it seems ages ago that I first learned my mother had died. Last year, I shared the story of my mother's death, and how we celebrated her life in remembrance.  This year, unexpectedly, I am a strange mix of emotions: happy and sad; peaceful and unsettled. I miss Momma more than I

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-57671964454300599212011-03-09T22:31:00.002-05:002011-03-28T10:12:30.941-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-43985988678983124132011-03-09T10:14:00.000-05:002011-03-09T10:14:55.858-05:00

I was scrolling through my google reader this morning, and one of my college friends has posted this wonderfully apt poem on Death. You should go read it!  And if you like it, do let Margaret know :) Isn't it great how we can experience so much more in life through the experience and urgings of our friends?

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-619378310834842902011-03-08T14:54:00.000-05:002011-03-08T14:54:35.356-05:00

In just two short weeks, we will know if we can take a Certain Baby Girl home.  In 14 days, when we hear the result of the hearing, we will either get a rush of adrenaline (and tears, I'm sure) as we prepare our home and hearts for her... or we will prepare our hearts to say our final goodbyes. When I was younger, in high school and college, Momma would always tell me to "claim" Good Things in

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-60899249977584877342011-03-02T10:57:00.001-05:002011-03-28T10:12:34.572-04:00

wordless

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-67760136675542074602011-03-01T22:53:00.001-05:002011-03-01T23:31:31.897-05:00

Our Little Girl is three months old today.  She has already outgrown the hat I made for her.  It was so big when she first wore it... And as I think about having a three (nearly four) month old baby later this month, I find myself fighting against jealousy of all those parents who have had the chance to hold their babies the whole time.  I think about all the nursing I've missed already, all the

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-21639047538938491222011-02-28T23:10:00.003-05:002011-03-01T23:36:04.882-05:00

Popcorn's a pretty neat thing.  Whodathunk that drying out corn kernels would reveal such an amazing canvas for so much creativity when it comes to butter + accoutrements...  Did you ever read Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder?  Do you remember when he and his family are still back east and they are inside one evening, listening to their mother read?  Do you remember the popcorn? Hot, crunchy

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-68232550818225580372011-02-22T23:02:00.002-05:002011-03-01T23:04:12.613-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-70225106301843963112011-02-20T12:58:00.010-05:002011-03-01T23:31:04.787-05:00

With Taylor in his second year of law school and our eyes firmly fixed on a long road trip to Washington without looking back come May 2012, I've been giving some thought to the idea of packing (ick), moving (ick), and leaving our Boston home... I didn't realize it until a few months ago, when we really started planning to leave Boston, that we have grown up a lot together in our small apartment

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-64306852899740354672011-02-18T11:09:00.000-05:002011-02-18T11:09:55.289-05:00

The waiting is hard. I think it (might) be different if we were still waiting for the baby to be born; or if we were still waiting to make a connection with an expectant mother.  I don't know if it would be easier, but it would certainly be different.  When I think back on our before-waiting, it didn't seem this hard.  It didn't seem so hard to wait for an email from the agency telling us "

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-6269073934263981652011-02-16T15:46:00.001-05:002011-02-18T11:11:49.459-05:00

They're not so different, really.  Squishy, squeezy, squirt-y. Though I guess breasts that are feeding babies are mostly the ones that are squirty.  And most people know that breasts only get squirty (ok, we'll use a grown-up word), that is, bring in a supply of milk after the woman has delivered a baby and the hormones + baby suckling cues the body to start producing milk. But what does a

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-23585952545276411262011-02-15T22:54:00.002-05:002011-03-01T22:57:13.762-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-38579233042289693632011-02-14T14:50:00.002-05:002011-02-14T14:52:11.046-05:00

I really have to hand it to Google today, guys.  When I first saw the link in my twitter stream this morning, it didn't quite occur to me how awesome the idea was. My first "map your valentine" for Taylor today was only our apartment address: "My home is where you are, my Love."  Simple, sweet.  I didn't think of any grandiose locations to send him on a heart-shaped map. But then I got his

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-33447264528459813052011-02-08T23:25:00.005-05:002011-02-08T23:25:00.042-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-8079834423346951732011-02-08T11:26:00.001-05:002011-02-14T14:52:42.920-05:00

We don't shop for fruit. Or vegetables. In fact, I never know what I'm going to get each week in our CSA produce share.  But I like it that way.  It adds more adventure to my kitchen-life. In fact, it's been so long since I had any stickers on my apples that I sliced right through a sticker on an apple from work and nearly ate it up.. oh, to have produce straight from the source. During the

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-7436461048803486902011-02-07T23:30:00.001-05:002011-02-09T09:43:03.842-05:00

no hands!  Guess who snuggled up perfectly in this new mei tai.. and went right to sleep?   That's right--(hopefully) our little girl :) 

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-74477470998537369052011-02-07T20:10:00.000-05:002011-02-07T20:10:54.169-05:00

I've had this song from VeggieTales stuck in my head for the last few days.. or maybe it's been the last few weeks.  Months?  I don't know, really, but it makes me think of Baby, and we saw her on Saturday, and we will see her again this Friday.  Of course, it sounds better when Junior's mom sings it to him as a baby, but I can't find the audio anywhere online.. so you'll have to listen to his 

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-91133668783292044062011-02-04T11:53:00.127-05:002011-02-11T11:05:48.302-05:00

The great front door slammed with a bang against the wind and a strong young man of 18 tramped through in heavy boots into the sitting room, to find his sister cozily reading on the couch. "Where have you been?!" he bellowed. "Where do you think I've been?  I told you!" she said, looking up.  "I'm sure I told you before I left.  I thought you heard me--the way you nodded your head." He stood

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-91350822770191898722011-02-01T23:31:00.002-05:002011-02-07T23:33:06.221-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-76898960415504896222011-01-28T11:31:00.001-05:002011-01-28T12:17:40.562-05:00

Back and forth. Back and forth.  She gently rocked her new baby in her arms in the warm, dark bedroom.  Gentle baby coos issued from that perfect little mouth as his eyes fluttered up and down, resisting sleep, but smiling at his body's own frustrated effort. Contentment.  Pure contentedness.  It flowed from the pair of them the way rain flows down a well-paved hill, gushing and spurting over

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-61318671861470580172011-01-26T23:33:00.001-05:002011-02-07T23:34:35.678-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-34603878283575520692011-01-25T12:32:00.001-05:002011-01-25T12:33:55.110-05:00

My mother-in-law, bless her heart :) has been good enough to order Taylor and me the "baby essentials" so that we're ready--whenever it happens--to take a baby, maybe a certain baby, home with us.  We have received a changing pad and cover, the crib we picked out, and the ever-essential car seat. When the UPS guy buzzed our apartment and I came downstairs to sign for the package, he offered to

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-71398244966522149272011-01-22T19:52:00.001-05:002011-01-24T09:52:34.389-05:00

You know Taylor and I very much want children in our lives, and that we have started the adoption process.  We are nearly done with our home study and hope for a placement in the next few months.  It is an exciting and unusual time--expecting a child with no known due date... But today, on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, I need to say something.  I'd like to put this case in a slightly

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-9763494725973581912011-01-21T23:22:00.005-05:002011-01-24T12:37:23.606-05:00

... Once a month, Sophie's mother organized a community recital at the Home for the Elderly, and anyone could perform who wanted to.  Sophie's mother always signed her up to play the piano.  First she'd play, and then she'd recite the poem she memorized that month.  The applause were never very loud, and there were never enough cookies and punch afterwards and it was so long before everyone had

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-5951074858520684942011-01-19T23:56:00.004-05:002011-01-20T23:58:03.866-05:00

[there's more snow on the way this weekend!]

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-77347667652610308142011-01-19T00:10:00.000-05:002011-01-19T00:10:32.064-05:00

that is to say, CUH-hold! I'm staying inside on Saturday. What are you doing?

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-21511355076524501302011-01-14T12:51:00.005-05:002011-01-18T23:00:33.175-05:00

"I don't want to GO!" She stomped her foot emphatically.  "I don't like it there."  The brown curls on her head shook emphatically with the motion.  She didn't like dressing up, and she certainly didn't like wearing shoes.  Especially her dress shoes--they were tight and stiff and she had to keep them extra clean, which meant no running and no climbing. "I know, Sophie," her mother said.  "But

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-91110086322273187392011-01-12T11:13:00.023-05:002011-01-19T09:45:29.176-05:00

I've heard of "pregnancy brain."  If 95.8% of your friends were pregnant, you'd have heard of it, too.  And while I'm not pregnant, I've been totally distracted lately.  By lately, of course, I mean the past 6 weeks.  I can't get anything done in a reasonable amount of time.  Thank goodness for deadlines (like Christmas and airline schedules) or much would not have been accomplished at all.

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-75969391802886392732011-01-11T11:00:00.000-05:002011-01-11T11:00:03.878-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-48339861603502081562011-01-07T12:57:00.001-05:002011-01-07T12:58:50.063-05:00

The door closed and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.  He often had his hands in his pockets, especially on nights like this. It wasn't that his hands were cold, of course.  They always found his pockets after he saw her.  He'd never really thought about it, but it was his own small defense mechanism--hands in the pockets was a sign for anyone to read:  "Leave me alone.  I don't want to talk

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-7599614735565141422011-01-05T12:42:00.001-05:002011-01-10T12:43:59.520-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-31829632175583935912010-12-28T14:11:00.002-05:002011-01-07T12:47:09.698-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-70462540390987458742010-12-24T18:03:00.001-05:002010-12-28T14:05:16.819-05:00

This is the hymn that is sung in Byzantine Churches for the Christmas Eve Liturgy.  Though the tenor of this video doesn't do Fr. Joseph's deep, resonating bass justice, it is a beautiful hymn, which brings Christmas home to my heart just hearing it. Christ is born! Glorify Him!! .... You mighty ones, be humbled; even if your strength returns, you shall again be defeated, for God is with

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-7158446535699729212010-12-23T15:41:00.036-05:002010-12-28T14:05:55.329-05:00

Nothing happens at the Black's but the Two Little Girls know about it.  Especially in the kitchen. If you pull out baking bowls or flour or sugar (particularly sugar) or vanilla, you will soon hear the familiar (sometimes dreaded) sound of their little wooden high-chairs *scroooooonkeeeeenkskenrrnenssk* scraping across the dining room, squeaking slowly (but steadily) into the kitchen, and up to

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-62257126095822980912010-12-22T15:29:00.005-05:002010-12-28T14:06:22.473-05:00

Christmas trees are a serious business here at the in-law's.  The sagas of tree-getting are many and varied (and hilarious).  There was the year that Dad brought home 4 trees. Yeah--four.  Because they were all that the lot had left.  They were so lonely, I guess.  Then there was the year that they got a 16-some foot tree, since in their old house they had cathedral ceilings.  And the year they

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-356440102688750212010-12-21T16:49:00.000-05:002010-12-21T16:49:53.708-05:00

[miss this little girl...]

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-26036304615315423342010-12-20T23:24:00.000-05:002010-12-21T16:50:53.676-05:00

Husbands are awesome because they do things like this when the Wife is having a hard week.. He loves me.. He loves me a lot. I love you too, my own Sweet P'Taylor.  And I'm so blessed to be your Wifey-Love :)

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-69362114997878832862010-12-19T15:30:00.000-05:002010-12-19T15:30:38.591-05:00

Things I'm pretty good at:  bringing my camera with me wherever I go being not-too-shy about getting it out of my bag to take pictures taking a photo (or seven) a day Things I need to improve:  uploading and processing my pictures more regularly (um, less work, right?)  posting them online more frequently being even less shy about taking my camera out to take pictures "street" shots (of random

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-53347920152896043932010-12-18T18:26:00.001-05:002010-12-28T14:07:45.208-05:00

I've held lots of babies in my life.  My sister when I was very young. Nieces and nephews. Siblings-in-law. Friends' babies.  Babies I've only just met. But always it was just holding them. For a moment.  Here and there.  The baby was always someone else's baby.  They were mine only in Love and far-off relationship. And I've given lots of baby gifts over the years.  Hats, blankets, carriers,

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-51920451248622267082010-12-17T10:24:00.000-05:002010-12-17T10:24:00.017-05:00

Tomorrow we'll meet her.  A baby girl who could be ours.  A baby girl that God has placed in our lives for a time--who knows how long--to remain in our hearts forever. I've never met a baby that could be mine.  I've only ever held other people's children.  Children who had parents close by, who knew mommy and daddy from the first moment of life, who would never need to ask "who are my birth

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-12205808792761222762010-12-16T16:26:00.003-05:002010-12-19T15:31:11.481-05:00

Posing for self-portraits in a pretty handmade Christmas dress leave husbands irresponsible for their actions:

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-63808625524324150162010-12-15T23:06:00.045-05:002010-12-28T14:08:55.864-05:00

To me, Christmas is a time of creativity.  It always has been.  From my earliest memories, Momma was always cooking, baking, gifting, sewing, painting, and decorating.  She loved the holidays.  Momma's nativity sets, for example, took countless hours of hard, detailed work from start to finish.  She even poured the ceramics herself, and had them fired.  Then there was the basecoat (which we

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-44340312731574019262010-12-14T11:41:00.000-05:002010-12-14T11:41:00.507-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-77590993266097353342010-12-13T11:24:00.000-05:002010-12-13T11:24:06.010-05:00

It takes a certain kind of woman to be a student's wife.  I'm not tooting my own horn, here--it takes a certain kind of woman to be married to any one kind of man.  I know I couldn't be a Navy wife, and I don't think I'd be very good as a rock star's wife.  I might be able to manage as, say, a dentist's wife, or an engineer's wife, but the life of a student's wife suits me best.  At least for now

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-21344041367002984352010-12-12T08:04:00.060-05:002010-12-12T08:04:00.824-05:00

My very own Christmas dress.  A good friend sent me a pattern she thought I would like, and I finally cut it out last week.  I started sewing Friday evening and hand-stitched the hem yesterday afternoon, watching Wall-E with my Sweet P'Taylor...   I remember Christmas dresses when I was a little girl.  Sometimes we would buy them; sometimes, Momma would make them.  On Christmas Eve we would all

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-1285388788962613582010-12-11T17:43:00.009-05:002010-12-11T17:43:00.292-05:00

Kris Kringle has been working on some ornaments this month.  Each one stitched by hand.  Each one emerging slowly from pattern pieces and teeny tiny stitches.  Each making an appearance on sometime close to Sunday morning.  A labor of love, though, no matter when they are finished. They tell a story of a snowy afternoon... coming home from the library. Wrapped in a warm wool coat.. Three gray

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-11648418563847446012010-12-10T15:25:00.000-05:002010-12-10T15:25:21.252-05:00

I really need one this week.. hope yours is wonder-full!

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-9457652525084037362010-12-09T16:41:00.009-05:002010-12-10T20:16:53.959-05:00

If I could re-arrange the entire academic world's idea of when it's a good idea to have finals, it would be something like this:  Most of January would be vacation.  Since T is in law school, I will state that I think January's a great month to meet with firms and other lawyerly folk to hopefully get that ever-illusive job.  New Year's resolutions, re-focusing on work, all that stuff. School "

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-54394386818636442492010-12-08T14:05:00.002-05:002011-02-16T15:24:36.447-05:00

I'm not sure if we should share.  I don't know if it's something that one would blog about or if it's better to keep it closer to the vest, all in the family.  I want to ask for prayers but I don't want you to think that I'm anxious or hopeful for one certain outcome or another... Last Wednesday, a woman had a baby--a baby girl--and she wanted to make an adoption plan for her daughter. She had

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-43610228665762338052010-12-07T16:01:00.002-05:002010-12-10T20:18:16.096-05:00

The first time I visited Taylor's family was during Advent, just after Thanksgiving.  Raised Roman Catholic, I was used to starting advent sometime in December, but Byzantine advent starts two weeks earlier.  The colors, instead of purple and rose (a red-headed Jesuit once emphatically told me it was not pink), are a somber, but still lively red--the color of fasting. The fast moves through

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-79411491985572968912010-12-06T19:24:00.001-05:002010-12-08T09:45:43.131-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-81738965693365215802010-12-05T15:05:00.007-05:002010-12-06T15:21:04.490-05:00

Just a quiet Sunday today. We woke earlier than usual and had a simple breakfast (of curried rice.. go figure), tidying the house a bit before heading into Mass.  I grabbed this picture of Taylor because Bonobo's is having a contest.  Taylor loves these pants, and winning a shopping spree wouldn't be a bad deal :) So, if you have a moment, go vote for Taylor.  Because, really--doesn't he look

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-65780243423100083602010-12-04T20:07:00.002-05:002010-12-10T20:18:47.181-05:00

My sweet husband and I spent a lovely evening together attending the Handel and Haydn Society's annual performance of Handel's Messiah.  It was beautiful. Every year, Taylor's family attends a Seattle performance of Messiah in Benaroya Hall and we have been lucky enough to have an organization like the Handel and Haydn society to facilitate our continuing the tradition.  Before I met T's family

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-33138319143091327372010-12-03T18:06:00.003-05:002010-12-10T20:19:17.781-05:00

Our little home is getting ready.. we're all getting excited. I'm so glad to see my favorite ornaments, too. Some made by siblings.. or friends.. or picked out on our honeymoon... Christmas always reminds me of the people who love me the most. What a lovely time of year :)

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-37231064221375084132010-12-02T22:06:00.000-05:002010-12-03T12:14:09.114-05:00

in skirt form pattern from a wrap-around jean skirt I've had for years, which isn't dressy enough for the workplace. warm. cozy. stylish. adjustable (to wear on the hips or at the natural waist). buttons. pockets. I like it :)

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-83975201686567701422010-12-01T19:27:00.001-05:002010-12-01T19:27:00.226-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-88370164198067932372010-11-30T22:33:00.002-05:002010-12-02T11:07:22.122-05:00

This afternoon I attended a memorial mass for a friend's father, who died 5 years ago.  For me, now, any memorial mass for a parent touches very close to home, and I found myself reflecting on Momma's death, too. I saw my friend and her mother in the front pew, and I could tell my friend was crying. I thought of Momma's funeral and my family in the front rows.  Daddy, me, Taylor, Vivian. My

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-8044057261155653222010-11-29T18:11:00.011-05:002010-12-02T11:07:51.767-05:00

As promised, here's my favorite recipe for Thanksgiving cranberry-ness . there's no cooking involved you can make it several days (even weeks) ahead of time--the longer it sits the better since there's no cooking, all the natural enzymes of the fruit are intact and help you digest all that turkey it's way tasty adapted from Cold Weather Cooking 1 1/2 pounds fresh cranberries1 lime1 tangerine1/2

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-55891189682216132652010-11-28T14:07:00.000-05:002010-11-28T14:07:14.781-05:00

Yep. That's me. Not sure why, today, but it remains the case, despite my best efforts. Ok, maybe not my best efforts. In fact, maybe not any efforts. I should probably go work on that.. maybe a Harry Potter movie might help. Well, Happy Sunday anyway :P

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-45183808593241641352010-11-27T14:09:00.082-05:002010-12-02T11:08:17.120-05:00

The first year Taylor and I were in Boston, he worked a lot on the weekends at a church in Belmont.  He was gone all day on Sundays and often a good deal on Saturdays.  So I had a lot of time on my hands.  I filled the hours with crafting, mostly, and I made an Advent Calendar for us. I had grown up with a felt calendar which my grandmother had made for our family.  It was so exciting to take

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-13931587720441368032010-11-26T23:01:00.001-05:002010-11-29T14:08:18.068-05:00

In case you were wondering what we did today, there was a lot of sleeping in. a lot of sitting. a fair amount of eating leftovers. much movie watching--the first three Harry Potter movies, actually. popcorn eating. and chatting and laughing. All in all, the perfect follow-up to an intense food-fest that went off successfully. In fact, we pretty much looked like this all day: I even mended a

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-18308890017534279262010-11-25T23:57:00.000-05:002010-11-26T00:26:33.952-05:00

success.

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-35176459679692689582010-11-24T12:25:00.001-05:002010-12-02T11:09:13.218-05:00

Thanksgiving was always Momma's favorite holiday.  She told me it was her favorite because all she had to worry about was food. And--let's be honest here (in case you haven't figured this out yet)--my family was really into food. Especially Momma.   And boy did she "worry" about the food.  Not that she stressed out about it, but she planned and planned for it. I think she really looked forward

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-91959740243905370072010-11-23T16:08:00.000-05:002010-11-23T16:08:14.664-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-55680535633776324202010-11-22T11:06:00.038-05:002010-12-02T11:10:21.118-05:00

I recently started forcing myself to read more.  I wasn't not reading because I don't like it--really, I think I like it far too much.  But I have to force myself to read more because I always feel like reading is being lazy, that I should be doing something else.. I wasn't reading just more in volume, but more frequently, and a wider variety of books.  The adoption process was one cause, since

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-56708417281088680912010-11-21T22:15:00.024-05:002010-12-02T11:10:50.367-05:00

A couple weeks back, pausing during Mass and looking ahead to a particularly busy week, I found myself distracted from the liturgy, thinking instead about the many and varied little things I had to accomplish before I would sit in that pew again.  It was going to be a very full week. I thought, "If I can just make it through this week, next week will be easier. I'll just muddle through and then

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-50884078691334547602010-11-20T09:50:00.027-05:002010-11-24T15:02:05.688-05:00

So, you may be wondering what our Hawaii vacation was like.  If I were you, I'd be wondering, but (knowing myself as I do) I may not really want to hear about it because I'd be jealous.  But you're a much better person than I am, I'm sure, so I'll go ahead and share. T's parents took the whole family to Hawaii for a week to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary.  Most of the family arrived in

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-12611110191142041192010-11-19T12:59:00.001-05:002010-12-02T11:11:11.220-05:00

Such a funny word, huh?  All-most. To be all of something that isn't quite. It's similar to being all muddy. Or all giddy.  Or all blue.  Right? But that's not what it means, really.  That's now how we use it when we say "almost happy" or "almost pink."  If one is almost-something, what is usually meant is that it is close to something, but not actually something. Almost happy is not,

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-39712825322845944332010-11-18T10:49:00.001-05:002010-12-02T11:11:27.693-05:00

I've always loved to bake.  I get it from my mother.  My earliest memories of her in the kitchen, especially around the holidays, were her baking.  She probably made something of everything over her lifetime.  Cakes, cookies, candy, baked decorations.. it was wonderful to see how she loved to make. Her mother loved it too.  As Thanksgiving approached, Big Mom (that's what we called my maternal

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-76872809866063159292010-11-17T16:14:00.000-05:002010-11-17T16:14:01.072-05:00

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-17073995409764799862010-11-16T13:42:00.000-05:002010-11-16T13:42:54.119-05:00

Ok, fellow eaters of the world. Here it is, less than two weeks from Thanksgiving, and I have yet to nail down which recipes I definitely want to do.  I have quite an arsenal at the ready, but I don't know what to do. The turkey, for a brief moment, was hovering between a maple-butter turkey which Momma made for Viv's birthday dinner one year (which was. delicious.) and a boned turkey a la

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683125223100303921.post-77546594377125994802010-11-15T16:22:00.000-05:002010-11-15T16:22:02.424-05:00

Fall has always been such a sense-filled time of year for me.  There's the change in the air, the crunch of the leaves, the holiday cooking smells that begin to waft from the kitchen, the lessening daylight and cozy indoor evenings, and the smell of burning leaves or wood fires in the chill air when you step outside.  The season of fall is all about preparing, storing up, buckling down, and

annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16374996142473482343noreply@blogger.com0