Cakes, Capes and witches Hats

There is a pattern to my creativity and I really don’t understand it fully.  All I know is that since Eric’s birthday on Monday I have been itching to make.  Cakes, capes and witches hats are just a couple of the things that have been turned out this week.  I have my heart set on another cape but I fear that time will not allow today. We are off to celebrate a birthday with a beautiful almost three year old on Saturday and I would love to arrive bearing a creation.  Perhaps if I shift from this blog post and talking about being creative to some more pressing admin I will be able to steal some moments at my machine later in the day.  Just before I go this is what I have my eye on ….

http://biglittletales.blogspot.com.au/2011/09/mini-baby-cape.html

A coming of (school) age!

The heat is thick outside our back door but inside the coolness is clear and thoughtful.  The kids are pottering and I am having a moment that I know already will be only too brief.  I will, I have decided fill it with writing in the hope that this creative burst may project me faster through the other tasks at hand.  The holidays have ended free of drama and as if by some magic we are catapulted toward the end of the year and all that means for our family.  2014 marks the end of a season in our lives.  Our boy will no longer be a preschooler and with his coming of school age comes an overwhelming flood of mixed feelings.  It feels there will be an ease, not that Kindergarten is without its challenges but it is also a year of maturing, of changing. I am excited about a year of new and creative moments for Master five and for his mumma.

Soon my boy, soon...

Change

In the face of a weekend full of fear - fuelled messages and results that create apprehensiveness at best I am choosing to set my own personal and political tone. One of gratitude and engagement over criticism (which I am a little prone to at times).

I am grateful that I live in a country where I can continue to speak loudly and clearly when I see injustice.

I am grateful that I can make my own contributions financially, practically and emotionally to community well being.

And I am grateful for my family and friends who form a wise and nurturing community around me and are like-minded about caring for others and being inclusive.

I am grateful for the sunshine that propagates this optimism and proactive feeling in me.

A baby on the way (not mine)

There is something about the anticipation of a birth that I find utterly thrilling. The miracle, the mystery, the longing, even the anxiety that hold an ancient drawing. An excitement even in its mention. Perhaps in part it is an excitement founded in my own experience. The changing that happened in birthing for me. Perhaps it is the connectedness that women find in the life event of giving birth... Maybe it is just where my heart is at this time. Whatever its cause I feel good and alive and strong. What a privilege being a Doula

Traveling with four - stories and more

I’m standing in our cold Randwick kitchen boiling the kettle for a late night hot drink.  The bedrooms are quiet.  ‘The Churros in Barcelona are amazing I reminisce absentmindedly to husband’.  He smiles.    It has only been two weeks since our return and despite the memories still being strong it feels like a lifetime ago already. 

Before embarking on our 5 week trip with our four children who are 7, 5, 3 and almost 1 year old I read many things, it feels right. First I search for blogs, then packing checklists, things to do with children, famous playgrounds, I googled it all.  Surprisingly there aren’t a huge number of people travelling with four small children, three of whom are preschool age. Even less people are writing about it.

In reality the ratio of unplanned events on this holiday were far higher than those I organised based on my research. It was in essence the unprompted acts of kindness and the plethora of unpredictably serendipitous moments that made our journey what it was – a crazy, eventful, delicious and at times insanely stressful adventure. 

There are so many things I want to be able to say to somehow cajole those teetering on the brink of the decision to travel with small children. While talking about Rome, Barcelona, The Andalucía coast, Lisbon or Bintan Island may be impressive (or make you question our sanity) it feels a poor attempt at sharing the essence of the holiday that was the catalyst the change, love, growth, awe and excitement I saw every day in each little face that we dragged on ridiculous numbers of planes around silly numbers of countries.  Five weeks away from home with family exploring outside our world is good for the soul.

Just like a recipe (for life)

It's a small white table, pre loved... With two wooden chairs tucked neatly under. Tonight it is the homework table. Some nights it is a dinner table. It is a place miss Seven likes to sit. She is not happy right now though. We have tried for some minutes to come to a shared understanding of her homework question. We have failed. I stop, we are silent, I can see she is tired and now increasingly frustrated. So much like me at times it is heartbreaking to watch. I think hard and in a moment of clarity I say lets read it like a recipe and step by step the question is answered beautifully. I tell miss seven that I am so proud that she persisted past her frustration to understanding. I tell myself the same.

Time with my (big) man

I am eager for tomorrow, it is my second 'special' day with my boy...

We decided a while back that the kids could do with some extra individual Mummy time. Presented with this realisation we set about working on the logistics. Wednesday is Master four's day.

We still have 'the baby' but its not all about him on our day. Last week we spoilt ourselves with a hot chocolate all to ones self and then a bike ride unencumbered by cries of 'my legs can't walk and I tired'. The whole day was a treat... So we have been quietly exchanging knowing looks waiting for our next adventure which at present involves a trip to an infamous indoor play centre. the thought of it fills me both with love (for the squeals of joy it will produce) and terror (about the inevitably high volume of similarly squealing children in one poorly sound proofed space).

Handprints to remember

It's silent and I know that I will be weary in the morning but some times it just takes time to wind down... Time, such a commodity. Today was an emotional day. We swam, as we do on a Saturday. Miss three had a her first lesson last week. This week after a moment of contemplation she happily slid into the water to her very fabulous teacher, on her own without any request for me to accompany her. I was full of pride for my little lady and her thirst for life.

Then drawn by the warmth of the sun and my depth of belief in the cause we headed to the Cancer Council fundraiser Relay for Life in Centennial Park. And while the kids bounced on the jumping castle and collected show bags from the police stall we chatted and shared food with friends to remember the loved ones that had been lost from among us. My loss is not new, like my friend's. Still as the kids dipped their hands in paint one by one and carefully placed them on the canvas of remembrance something stirred in me. My voice was shaky as I asked if I could do a print of Hubba bubba's hand. I quietly willed my mum to watch and enjoy the moment.

As we drove home I told husband that the thing I find hardest is that the kids will not have memories of their Grandma Inara. They will know about her, feel the tenderness in my telling of her but she will not be a physical person in their growing lives.

This was the meaning I made of the tears I cried. And they caused me to hold the kids one by one purposefully tonight and hug husband just a moment longer than normal.

Words

Miss Seven had to complete a writing exercise titled noun groups where she had to use two adjectives that matched a noun.  It made me think about words to describe my goals for our home and our family for the future (I know a slight leap but are you surprised?) 

Honest
Inclusive
Nurturing
Welcoming
Corageous
Extravagant (not to be confused with wasteful)
Safe
Comfortable (not to be confused with complacent)
Active
Creative and....
Engaging 

Just some descriptives

The back step

I am sitting on our back step... A sanctuary I adopt in the cooler months. The sun is flooding past the neighbours roof and warming my soul. There is a vast discrepancy between the temperature in the house and the one outside. With the sun comes waves of gratefulness. I have not written a lot lately which is unwise for me as writing is my catalyst for reflection, for dreaming, for change and for positivity. So today I am back and I am thankful.

That place in Flemington

The dishwasher is clattering towards a clean load of dishes I have found a 'sugar free mum' recipe I am hoping will divert my growing chocolate craving. Brownies with a secret ingredient. I guess my baking urge is really just the hangover from our family sojourn to Flemington markets yesterday.

After devouring plates of Crispy skin chicken, lemongrass beef and salt and pepper squid at a Vietnamese restaurant that I sadly can only identify as 'the place next to' Pho 97 we head round past the renown bakery serving red bean filled donut like balls, to the markets.

Eric and I are both gob smacked by how cheap everything is. (No really I made sweet potato and white bean fritters tonight with a salsa salad and the whole meal cost me $6! Not per head, in total).

We all loved the market experience, Eric and I have childhood memories of our trips with parents down these bustling aisles, so there was a healthy amount of reminiscing about some fun and crazy moments.

The kids also had their share of fun. Miss seven loves the cheap nail polish and the even cheaper lollies. Master four and the goo, win the hearts of all the stall holders being offer Fuji fruit, mandarins and plums at every turn. Definitely on the cards again. And I'll tell all about these brownies soon. X

Zambezia at the Ritz

Very fun... Totally not Disney nor Pixar and an added sense of achievement that with a mixed bag of diversions I was able to keep my almost 9 month old awake and content through it. Produced in South African with the notable credit at the end to Samuel L Jackson; Adventures in Zambezia was a very G rated feel good flick that made our ANZAC afternoon at our favourite old school cinema really enjoyable. Definitely a crowd pleaser with our preschool aged crew.

I choose you

I don't love you in spite of your cheekiness... I love you because of it. I don't love you in spite of your incessant mimicking of everything we say...I love you because of it. It's not in spite of what seems an in aptitude to listen when I ask you not to drag Hubba bubba clumsily down the hallway to join your game of tent building, its because of it. It is you that I love my babies, even when I am close to bubbling over with frustration, even when I do. In the quietness of reflection it is you I choose. Each of you.

Stop the world I want to write

Days are long and leisure activities (for me that is) are minimal... But I am loving the school holidays nonetheless. Less planning, more spontaneity. Time with friends, potting seeds, throwing a ball. All things that make me feel a little less regimented, a little freer. Good times with my school aged baby. Writing can wait for these stolen late night rendezvous

Swedish fun

It's one of those relationships, you know it's not healthy and really it has little long term value but you keep returning. Its just so enticing, captivating in the short term....

Ah Ikea, if only I could stay away. Your clever designs, your eclectic marketing you had me at hello.

Big Red Sofa

I am perched in the sunroom on our new red couch. I am in love. The cool breeze on my arm is saving me from dozing off. It is my retreat. The place where I have been hiding myself away. Sometimes to re focus, sometimes to just breathe. Alone, uninterrupted. I have been juggling this week and it has left me feeling like a circus clown. Still happy if a little chaotic. It is 2.47pm on the last day before the ‘weekend’. The days surrounded by the children are catapulting towards me at break neck speed and there is still so much to be done. This week I have discovered the joy of baking goods with coconut flour and Miss Seven now requires these muffins every day. My other less inviting discovery is that my Resume is like a dinosaur and that my filing system for professional development certificates is haphazard to say the least. But strangely its all ok when i am on my red couch.

Movement

The need for movement is always there in me but sometimes it is stronger than I can carry without a release. A walk along the extravagant coastline we are blessed to live near, other times sending a bag to Vinnies is the action that propels me into a different space. An overseas trip such a lovely prospect that dreaming it up can be enough.

Tonight we had a dance competition in our lounge room and it was good for the soul. Varied forms of the movement I crave but all beautiful reminders of the power of momentum.

The art of talking oneself round

I am sitting on the spare bed in the sunroom. Overwhelmed. Sometimes the speed at which life happens stops me. My eyes flit between the laptop screen and the cascading water that is embracing the gutter beyond our fence in a frantic journey to the bottom of the street. It looks displeased that the tyres of our car has interfered with its travelling. Disjointed.

I’ve nothing to be so fractious about really but I am. I was up last night for almost an hour, for the first time in months. Teeth maybe or perhaps the runny nose that Hubba Bubba is sporting. I don’t really need to know, but it has left me a little unaligned. I coach myself to concentrate on tasks that need to be done while trying not to embrace the grey mood the sky is projecting at me. I feel a list may be in order. Small, measurable, manageable achievements I hear myself say to anyone but myself, perhaps I will listen to myself.

My visual journey

I don't really know what drives me to them but I have these moments of delusion semi regularly. The last was over a year ago when I decided to scan into my laptop every piece of artwork Miss Seven had ever created. In total there were 276 paintings, collages, etchings and sketchings.  

 For six movies over three night I sat wedged between pillows, a scanner next to me and the laptop on my…lap.  Until finally the project is complete.  It is a project born from antenatal insomnia but despite this a year later I am ready for another organisational task that potentially outweighs this effort, immeasurably.  

 

 A timeline style album of pics of the kids… pregnancy, birth, 6 weeks, six months, first year, first Christmas… and on it goes.  The album may never materialise but the journey it is submerging me in is an outcome in itself.  I have almost been swallowed by this pictorial evolution of my life now. Transported mythically through the past eight years; the narratives that accompany each shot are full of duality, raw and wild, cultivated and nurturing, inclusive and intimate.  I am immersing myself in the energy the task is creating that feels indescribable with words because it is visual in its essence.  It is enticing me away from my pen and page and I am allowing this…For now.

 

Ice Cream Parlour Love

 It's a balmy Friday afternoon. Its ice-cream day.  It's just what we do now, the walk up the hill is slow with four kids but it makes the ice cream taste all the better...
Miss H, A young twenty-something year old, hip kindy teacher is also at the famous inner city ice-cream shop.  She is fun, gorgeous and embracing and loves not only Miss Seven but her siblings also.  She spots our little gaggle and sidles up to master Four on the vinyl bench seat.   She asks him what flavour he is having and then when he replies chocolate, inquires whether it is yummy.  Without warning  he in an declaration of affection lunges his pre-licked and rapidly melting scoop toward her mouth suggesting she 'try it?' Taken aback Miss H forfeits the offer purely by hesitation and Master 4 gives her a look of absolute disdain.  I would be pressed to think of another incident that has left him looking so discombobulated.
I have always suspected that Master 4 feels quite affectionately toward Miss H but this confirms this notion (a Four year old does not share ice cream with just anyone) as well as a knowing that she will no longer be at the top of any list after this rejection.  

Such a grown up disappointment for my little man.

Bear Marmalade and lunchbox letters

This moment of creative cuteness greets me this morning as I reached my desk in our sunroom. It entices me to reciprocate with a wee note to pop in miss Sevens lunchbox for tomorrow. Just a little thought for her to enjoy at recess after the inevitable 'put your shoes on, brush your teeth, is your homework in your bag, where is that home reader that has been eluding capture and return for over a week now?'

All you school mummas know how that script runs at 8.40am...

Spring rolls and pillows

There is a take away container of frozen spring rolls in Miss Three's bed. To be more exact there is a a take away container under Miss Three's head; she is using them as a pillow. Its complex. After hours of fun, swimming, eating, hunting for (dairy free) chocolate Easter eggs and playing with the friends who joined us for this sugar driven race around the garden, we all slump in front of a movie. I use this distractedness to my parenting advantage brushing their teeth and pyjamaing them while they are watching - I'm flying solo tonight. Soon after, I am surprised with the ease that they transition to bed. It isn't until I am strewn lazily on the couch (after a clean up that sees the clock racing for 9pm) that I see a little set of fingers curved around the door. Miss Three looks bewildered. 'I need an ice pack..' she uses one when her eczema is itchy at night. I still haven't retrieved the icepack from last night to re freeze it. Miss Three won't be appeased by this. In fact, the more I reason the more I see her winding up to begin bawling. Hubba bubba is finally asleep after huge efforts so with visions of him to waking up i open the freezer door with frantic enthusiasm. I am desperate. If it were for daytime use I'd offer a pack of peas but I don't really want them going to waste. Spring rolls! In a moment of genius I wrap these Asian delicacies in paper towel and offer them.. I hold be breathe. Miss Three accepts this package as an acceptable option.

Half an hour later I sneak in to retrieve it... It had been re wrapped in one of her (party) dresses and is under her head. Remove it? That would be madness. So there it is... Frozen spring rolls and party frock under her head. One more try before bed, but I'm not gonna tempt fate, or the feisty Miss Three.

Some days all it takes to get through is a double shot coffee and a vitamin B tablet

I could either do a 5 km run or sleep for a week and both sound equally appealing. I know it’s strange, in another life I think I would have called it fatigue, now it is more commonly referred to as having four kids. Some days all it takes to get through is a double shot coffee and a vitamin B tablet.  Today wasn’t one of those days.  By 4pm the toys strewn from one end of the house to the other where just a minor annoyance.  The hole cut in our less than year old couch was slightly more notable.  When asked the reason for this handiwork Master Four replies that he was getting rid of the pen mark on the fabric – what a logical solution, why had not thought of this. There is more but I feel like retelling more would not be so therapeutic.  

Do I love these crazy kids? Indescribably. Did I want to be lying on a deck chair on a beach in Mexico (without them) today? Without a doubt. 

Everything in Moderation, Even Moderation

Three weeks ago Miss Seven declared that she hated school and that she wanted to go to another school. When I asked her if she would really want to leave all her friends she said no but that she could come back next year.  

Two weeks ago Miss Seven asked if she could move to the other class  – she made it quite clear she did not love her teacher this year.  

Yesterday the lovely Miss Seven drew a very elaborate picture complete with pop up people standing back to back.  She advised me that it was herself and her teacher and that she would give it to him today. When I asked her how her day went she beamed that her teacher had put her picture up on the side of his (insert specific details about the size, shape, colour and location - she really can talk) cupboard so that everyone could take a look. 

This is what I love about my girl.  She is fire and ice.  Win her heart and she is yours but do anything she perceives as unjust and heaven help you.  I don’t know where she gets it from?

These past weeks have been hard as a mumma, trying to find the balance between hiding her under my wing and teaching her how to find her way in the difficult relationships which will occur throughout her life.  I'm so proud of you Miss C you have given me an increased confidence that my little girl really can hold her own in the big world.    

One March day

I am sitting outside a cafe on the main drag. But today the cafe isn't the relevant fact. Suffice to say it is a busy locale with a steady trade of health professionals and local business owners and their staff...

Hubba bubba and I are sitting outside so I can feed him lunch... I am smiling, cajoling, absorbing him. Our animated interactions make him squeal and giggle between each mouthful and sometimes during. It is as though the crisp air on this sunny March day suspends us here.

The attention our play is attracting neither distracts Madd now deters me. I know now these moments are to be prized.

Our new addition

I need to come out with it. I'm not sure how to say it. We have a new addition to our family. Breathe.... It's not another baby!

She is a beautiful nine year old Brazilian girl. Miss Seven has been asking for a pen friend for ages so we finally sponsored this little lady through Compassion International. Both Miss Seven and I are overjoyed by the whole experience.

I feel like there will be much for us to learn from this new adventure and that it will help remind us of the much bigger world beyond our very middle class dilemmas.

I am away now to write a wee note to our little lady instead of a note about her.

Welcome home

I wait for it, every day for seven years now I have devoured it. The moment, when the children see their daddy after his day at work. I watch hungrily the smile in his eyes, the response in them, the softening in their tone, in their play. He kisses each of his loves on the head, the cheek, sometimes hands or feet. Enthusiastic, jumbled recount of the events of the day, stories reserved for his return fill the room and I am overwhelmed again by their shared delight. I was not gifted with this as a child. I had a mumma who was a strong and loving woman who worked to fill the longings of my little heart as best she could.

It was in the absence of a daddy that I knew what I wanted one day for my little ones if and when they would come....

Thank you for loving them and in that loving, loving me.

Velvet cheeks

It's as though there is a force stronger than my will dragging my eye lids down. I've not felt this sort of exhaustion since Hubba bubba's early weeks. It's two weeks until he is eight months... Today I worked, outside our home that is, work that involved financial remuneration. It is the cause of my weariness tonight. But this is all I have to say about it. Instead I want to cradle my boy as he feeds and stroke his velvet cheek. It is the longest he and I have been apart and we both felt the absence. He by refusing his sleep and me with an edginess that is not my usual demeanor. But not again, well not too soon my little love.

People Watching versus stalking

I am sitting in that little organic bread bar in the leafy stretch of South Dowling Street with Hubba Bubba and a double shot Latte. I'd like to say I am minding my own business but - I am not.  I never really do I've realised. People are enchanting, watching them, listening to their interactions with other people.  I find it all fascinating. A women walks in.  She is a little older than me, on her own, smartly dressed, buying bread she has collected and put in a brown paper bag from the bread boxes beside me. I am staring (unaware at this point that I am doing so). She is not unaware of this and looks over, smiles and asks whether I am waiting to order. I smile sheepishly and fumble with an excuse 'No, no, sorry, I'm in another place this morning, just staring into space, sorry.'
Ugh, I've never been completed sprung in the throws of 'people watching' or if I have never confronted about it.  I will need to revisit my observation strategies to avoid appearing a stalker I feel.

Would you like some beetroot with that Chocolate Cake? or 'Little Lisa's Fruit Cake'

A few weeks ago I declared to Husband ‘I’m bored of eating’.  So on one of my google obsessed days I went in search of some new inspiration and clicked across a fabulous blogger – Jules Clancy. Her blog Stone Soup - http://thestonesoup.com/blog/ is so where I was at that I devoured the content like it was bible. Her mantra is 5 ingredients 10 minutes, along with an ideology of using what is on hand. Her result? Easy, healthy, tasty meals.  What is not to love?

As I am not one to keep new passions to myself, I have been sharing this recent evolution in my cooking journey freely.  So on Friday when I collected a fabulous friend for a morning in the park with small people, coffee and treats, I was excited to hear that my cross pollination of these ideas had motivated her to bake a chocolate, beetroot and cardamom cake purely because she had these things in the cupboard. 

 

The colour, the texture, the something, momentarily took me to a morning when I was no older than six.  Awake early, I crept past my mum who was sleeping her last minutes of sleep before a day with her girls.  This was a more difficult feat than one may imagine as her bed was in the corner of the lounge room which then led on to the kitchen of our one bedroom duplex. I tiptoed across the over sized black and white checked flooring, pulling a chair awkwardly to the cupboard to retrieve the ingredients I believed would make a good fruit cake.  I mixed it and poured it into a tin ready for my mum to wake up –I knew I mustn’t use the oven alone.  Mum masked her initial alarm at the carnage my production had created brilliantly. And what was emblazed in my memory is a glow from knowing she was proud of my culinary attempt. She even managed to smile her way through the eating of it. I have no memory of how it tasted but I am guessing I was no Junior Masterchef. 

Back to Friday's cake and the taste was delightful and the texture amazing an experience I want replicate in the near future. 

Coffee isn't Coffee....

It was with hesitant gratitude that I accepted the gift of one of those pod type coffee makers last weekend. After an initial cup and then another and another in the name of experimentation I declared in a hushed tone to husband 'its not evil'. And later....'On the very long continuum that is barista made coffee it is somewhere up the good end'.  I know, I may have to renig on these comments at some later moment of realisation but this week they are my truth.  

However, after a couple of days of satisfactory usage, I sense there is a problem that I can't quite put my slightly jittery finger on.  Then it occurs to me! My issue is not with the quality of the espresso shot but rather in the gaping hole this machine has put in my morning routine.  I realize that coffee really isn't about coffee. Coffee is my connection, in fact it is community.  I need do need caffeine to function but more so I need people, and I need to be part of the world that is outside mumma land! 

So on Wednesday after two long days of no cafe visits I am in withdrawal.  I crave the experience. The leisurely walk to the 'local'. The knowing that I will be greeted by the young nonchalant owner, and chat about something topical before he makes my piccolo.  I will smile and nod at familiar faces. Hubba Bubba will smear his brekkie across his face and smile his gummy grin in innocent joy over the whole sensory experience.  I smile similarly (but with teeth) knowing this lightening of the morning is in fact about a sensory experience for me also. 

What to do with the 'do'

Can I preface this by saying that I am aware that this is not a critical issue in any way – to anyone really – not even me!  But, sometimes we all need to think about something of no great significance or long term consequence right? Just to forget that there are far more important thing happening (just for a sec).

So following that disclaimer, here is my dilemma.  My hair was long, for quite a long time, then it was coloured and straightened and coloured again (and again) to the point where it was very blonde and very shall we say - lack lustre. Gradually it got a little shorter and then a little shorter until at some point a decision was made to go short – really short, boy short in fact. I loved it! I still love it, for about a three week period after it is cut and then? Then I have in between length hair that is now impossible to style… thanks to the recent departure of all hormones that grow a baby and other fabulous things like thick healthy hair and radiant skin.

  So the long and unmanageable short of it is that I am heading back, back to hair that is long enough to be styled or not styled, as required.  And while I know that there will be mixed opinions amongst friends, Miss Seven is excited by this decision - she has asked if I can grow it to my feet, 'we'll see' I tell her, but here’s to enough hair to tie a pony tail to hide a bad hair day.

A little note to a little lady

I guess I've know for a while that relationships need different levels of care at different times. And, that sometimes I have far more emotional capacity to give than other times. And that these two thoughts can be terribly incongruent.  Today I am acutely aware that our (no longer littlest)baby girl is in need of some nurturing. So to help get myself in a place where I can give her what she needs I am writing a little love letter to remind us both how special she is. It feels like the writing may have the same power in it as the reading. 

Beautiful Miss Three,

 

There are so many things that I love about you, and in the busyness of life perhaps I have forgotten to say them.  I love that you lunge at life – that you approach every event with enthusiasm and force. And that you feel everything feeling in its entirety.  I love that you are determined and courageous even if it involves saying no, a skill that will serve you in years ahead!  I love that you are curious about so much and so open to learning. I love that you are kind and thoughtful, that there is always a hug or a toy for a friend who is down.  I love that this is a list about a three year old, because I marvel when I think what a beautiful soul you will continue to become as you grow if this is what you are capable now.

Mum x

A change in the Air

Oh My! I believe I have started a blog.  I said that this was not in the writing plan, but...  The breeze that is meandering through the open window is different to yesterday's. And there is something about the change that has allowed me to commit to this new little project. It is the gentleness of autumn. The in between season that I am soaking in this morning.  Good things happen in Autumn. Almost three years ago I got married in March and last April I trekked the kids to Taiwan to spend time with my sister. So it seems that my Autumns are a time of inspiration.