One Fine Day.

It's a much longer walk than our walk to the same in Depew, but we've found our new cemetery, our new train tracks, and our new river-- the Susquehanna (or, as Annika calls it, the Ducksahannah Wizzer).

The new cemetery is small and on a hillside. Most of the toppled gravestones date from the mid to late 1800's, and there's a wide, crumbling stump in the center that's ideal for Miss Muffet or for two girls on a picnic.




Relaxing.



Running.



Roaming.



Resting.


Rampaging.


Millie licks her lolly in the niche of a tree.


Sits alone.


And makes me swell with happiness as I watch her glee.



Girls above the train tracks.


Annie and the Ducksahanna.



Susquehanna River and the Millie.


The long walk home. Millie's legs ached, so she smushed in the back for a rest. I don't blame her (I was tempted to do the same myself).


I think Annika was sitting on top of Millie at this point. At least someone had enough sense to sleep...



And now the icicles have begun to again reach downward (though not yet this long).

Turn the Page

You know Where.

You know What.

You know Who.

How Now

My sister-in-law Wendy is very cool and very kind. She stands in red holding my cousin Leah's baby. She's also a demonstrator for TAC, which explains why I attended my second ever stamping party. (The first was last year, also directed by her and hosted at my aunt's house on Mount Hunger.) I bought trees last year. This year I bought leaves. My sister Becky, bless her bones, saw me eying the birds and bought me some for Tax Day.

This was the inside of the house.
A room full of crazy women full o' stamping fever.


This was outside. A blurry view from Mount Hunger, courtesy of Aunt A's porch.

Miscellany

I did our taxes two weeks ago. We mailed them. The girls celebrated with tightrope walking.





It's snowing now, but it wasn't then. Susannah loves the outdoors. On the ground,



n windy swoosh by the sleeping garden,


and walking by our good neighbor's good fence.



Annie rides her horse, the wellpump,


Her horse the wellpump jostles her off with a buckity buck,


and she makes peace by feeding him some grass.


Mildred received the highlight of her year(s) when we pulled out the packing material that displaced Vermontonians use when they ship boots. Pinecones of mythic proportions-- we'll festoon the outdoor stump with them when spring arrives with some measure of permanence.



We stopped by the library, where books drown in a sea of plush animals.


Guess what this little girl sniffed out.

Grow the Roses of Success

Slumping next to our slim laptop is a giant beast of a thing. (It’s not me, although there are similarities.) John borrowed an old desktop monitor last week and hooked it up to our laptop. We type on the laptop while looking at the beast, and— voila!— blog posts spring forth!

Before I forget, if you’re either a Pakistani or a Blueberry, go to buildabelly for recipes.

___________________________

Each year staid January and unyielding February uncharacteristically produce March, a temperamental trickster. We fold the disappointed short sleeves we wore on Tuesday to again unfold winter’s bulky sweaters and coats on Wednesday. We exult after walking outdoors in those woolen layers on Thursday to find a tropical paradise and birds all a’chatter in the sunlight. March is a regular grab bag, only we’re not allowed to choose. Since the perfect bridge between winter and spring is found in its intermittent warmth, I’m not complaining. I can only imagine how jarring it might be to go directly from the icicles of February to the taste of April's sweet and balmy air. March softens us up for spring in small doses and makes that air even sweeter when it arrives for a longer stay. At least that’s what I tell myself as I glance out the window at the present thick fall of flakes after having spent Wednesday soaked in sunlight, heady in the unexpected gift of sixty-five degree weather.

The advent of spring intensifies our game of musical chairs with box elder bugs. Sun again, cold again, sun again, freeze means that they wake and stretch their legs several times a week, blinking in surprise when I toss them outdoors. About ten minutes ago, I looked down to find one crawling on me. The cheerful bits of orange on its black shellback weren’t a saving grace, though I did watch his deliberate progression up the knob of my knee before I sent him outside.

Birdsong increases each day, heralding the advancing steps of spring. Our bedroom is my favorite room in the house, for aesthetic reasons, mostly, but also because of the noises that surround us as we sleep. Ugly stepsisters they may be, some starlings made it their nest last summer and, shortly after our move, we saw four young birds booted out to find their way in the world. I don't know if some of those same birds grew up and moved back home, but I like their flap and flutter when I toss in the night, and on mornings like this one, I like awakening to Susannah squawking out a request to nurse on one side of me, while the rattling echoes of harsher, smaller notes sound on the other side of the drywall. Fingers of sunlight reach through the blinds, I indulge in the luxury of a good stretch, while the birds in the walls and the Bird beside me join voices.

There's more to life than spring and bugs and birds, but I’m tired of being on the computer.

Another time.

Abrupt End.

Birthday Be Late (d)

John's parents are wonderful people, and I love visiting with them whenever and wherever we can. They drove up the weekend before Susannah's birthday for a pre-birthday celebration, and we had a grand time. John's mom has got to be the world's best mom-in-law, and I'm not just saying that because she spoils us so. She and Dude have enormous hearts and are kind to shower us with gifts (and fill our freezer full of meat and take us out to eat!), but it's the love behind those gifts that makes them so special. The girls soaked up every drop of that love while they were here and stored it up until the next time.

They threw Susannah a Fake Birthday Party the Saturday before her birthday, but the pictures of that party are inside a Long Island camera, so here are a few of the girls basking in the last minute-bits before they drove home.


Even Susannah wanted Grandma to read her a book.



Poor Susannah. She missed out on the airplane rides Grandpa gave, too. Then again, she did get her very own party.... and cake.


On her actual day of birth, John, the girls and I celebrated again, and Susannah got her second try at cake. She's getting to be quite the pro. I made her a nest and bird cake, but, unfortunately, the perky bird I made flopped and sagged, so I had to turn it into a sleeping bird. And the tail feathers fell off. And I didn't make enough frosting to cover the back. You know what, though? Susannah couldn't have cared less. See below.

Flimsy

She's one year old and deserves this. (Actually, it's just an excuse to dump all of these pictures of an adorable nestling on you.)




Here she is holding her new baby, a gift from Grandma Owen, while wearing her new dress from Grandma Johnson (made for when she's a bit bigger but still awfully cute). She loves her baby and acts more motherly than some mothers. She pats her back, hugs her close, and says, "Awwwwwwwww." Then she drops her precious baby on the floor and waddles away.



Little lips in the sun.




Zebra on the loose! I found this creature in our bathroom, and I'm keeping her, no matter the laws against housebound zebra-birds.




Everyone knows that zebras cause lots of mischief.


Remember this dress? There are many benefits to having three girls in a row, and this is one of them.



The week before Susannah's birthday, Millie kept wrapping up toys for her to open. She was as happy as if they weren't toys she played with every day, so we only bought her a ball for her birthday.


Reading a Jan Brett book at Barnes and Noble.


Sunbathing in winter.