Faces I love, 1 and 2.

Charlotte Josephine, aka Charlie

Augustus William, aka Gus

The little ones, my little rays of sun. We most definitely made our last day count. We danced, high-fived, and gave kisses enough to last us until September. I don't know if I've ever met two people more excited to hang out with me. Charlie has become so talkative, so beautiful, so genuinely sweet. Gus has gotten bold and rambunctious, but has the biggest heart of any little guy I've ever known. It's such a blessing to contribute my share to such growth. These little people have a little bit of me in them, I like to think :)



Spring is wrapping up.
I'm ready to be done with papers
and exams and landlords.
I see California on Thursday
and 20 years in 12 days
and Colorado in 32 days
and Romania in 43 days.

I'm    r - e - a - d - y.


I had a very nice weekend.

Oregon is beautiful. I spent Saturday winding through mountain roads, driving across the expanse of farmhouses and orchards, layed on the beach by the seastacks, and strolled along downtown Portland. Mom time was filled with artisan coffee, books, and good conversation. What a beautiful life I lead, I say. 

There are blue skies out! This calls for jump rope and possibly some studying on the lawn. I've been very busy in though and planning lately, and it's coming the time where I need to carry them out. That being said, I will be increasingly busy the next few weeks with papers and research and proposals and final exams. 

Diving in, full speed.


Mother-Daughter weekend starts tomorrow, which meant deep cleaning today. Deep cleaning and making sure there are jars of freshly-picked lilacs around the house. And neatly folding clothes. And perfuming the air. And removing any visible signs of roommates' alcohol paraphernalia. Oops.



I did a lot of things this weekend, and one of them was practice my Italian.

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,
E questa siepe, che da tanta parte
Dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.
Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati
Spazi di là da quella; e sovrumani
Silenzi, e profondissima quiete
Io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco
Il cor non si spaura. E come il vento 
Odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello
Infinito silenzio a questa voce
Vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,
E le morte stagioni, e la presente
E viva, e il suon di lei. Cosi tra questa
Immensita s'annega il pensier mio:
E il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

Giacomo Leopardi, "L'infinito" 

I only understood about half of this, and had to look it up in English. I like to think I'm pretty top notch, though, reading it out loud in my terrible accent. You were almost impressed, weren't you? 

Always dear to me was this lonely hill,
And this hedge, which from me so great a part
Of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.
But as I sit and watch, I invent in my mind
endless spaces beyond, and superhuman
silences, and profoundest quiet;
wherefore my heart
almost loses itself in fear. And as I hear wind
rustle through these plants, I compare
that infinite silence to this voice:
and I recall to mind eternity,
And the dead seasons, and the one present
And alive, and the sound of it. So in this
Immensity my thinking drowns:
And to shipwreck is sweet for me in this sea.

Translated in very broken English, just how it should be. Anyway, I printed out the manuscript and posted it next to Tia's postcard from Cinque Terre. I'll probably have it memorized by the end of the month.


Fact of life: people disappoint you. 

So what do I do about it? I take it out on a delicious pear. I laugh extra hard with the kids. I run a few miles. Call my mom. Drink a coffee. Read. I remind myself that there are things to be grateful for, always. 

I once heard it said, "If the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead." 

So what do I do about it? I remember that it is good to be alive. To eat a pear. To laugh extra hard. Etc.


A beautiful, restorative night.

We drove over to the Barn tonight, and watched Heima projected on the giant wall in the basement. We watched our favorite parts twice, and I think I might watch it again by myself one of these nights. It is incredibly therapeutic. Quiet, still, music and vast, ethereal landscape.

Afterwards we drove to St. Mark's Cathedral for Compline. Half an hour of lying on a blanket with our eyes closed, gazing at the expansive ceiling and feeling the chants echo the walls. It was so wonderfully holy and good.  
I felt right today. I feel like it should keep going and pour into my week.  From church to a quiet afternoon at my favorite coffee house, to a night with great company and good music--today was full of "thank you's" sent upward.