Wednesday, December 30, 2009

3 Generations

xmas part 3

This xmas was a good mix of old traditions and new memories being made. Unity received a lovely tea set from Great Great Grandma Tillie. Such fun to arrange. Unity also played with the music box that my neighbor Rosemary gave me when I was a child- still works! It was also so wonderful to see Grandpa Bill meet Brixton for the first time and to enjoy playing with him.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Xmas part 2

And did I mention the familyness that we were surrounded by this Christmas? So much of it. It was really wonderful to see our different family members sharing and interacting, some for the first time. To see the ways we keep building and connecting this love- parents and children, siblings and cousins, partners that are starting new stories, new families that are building on what came before, passing things down. Chris's family were represented by Grandma Ann, Aunt Kristine and Uncle Patrick and cousins Frankie and Amy. My family was represented by Grandma Cindy and Grandpa Bill, and Uncle Michael. All told we had a houseful of children aged 3 years, 2 years, 1 year and 2 months. (Throw in another child with Down's Syndrome and that was my Grandma Rene's daily life- wow! What a lady.) Such a wonderful Christmas chaos, just the way I like it.

Xmas part 1

Lots of fun holiday activities and visitors! First we went to catch some Winterfest at the Seattle Center with Uncle Michael...

Friday, December 18, 2009

Saturday, December 12, 2009

In this chapter

under the tree...smiling with GG Bette's ornament...hanging with Sophie...a sleeping boo...a ring of fairies.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Friday, December 04, 2009

RIP Bailey Coy Books


A little bookstore used to call to me.
Eagerly I would go to it
hungry for the news
and the sure friendship.
It never failed to provide me
with whatever I needed.
Bookstore with a donkey in its heart,
bookstore full of clouds and
sometimes lightning, showers.
Books just in from Australia,
books by madmen and giants.
Toucans would alight on my stovepipe hat
and solve mysteries with a few chosen words.
Picasso would appear in a kimono
requesting a discount, and then
laugh at his own joke.
Little bookstore with its belly
full of wisdom and confetti,
with eyebrows of wildflowers-
and customers from Denmark and Japan,
New York and California, psychics
and lawyers, clergymen and hitchhikers,
the wan, the strong, the crazy,
all needing books, needing directions,
needing a friend, or a place to sit down.
But then one day the shelves began to empty
and a hush fell over the store.
No new books arrived.
When the dying was done,
only a fragile, tattered thing remained,
and I haven't the heart to name it.

James Tate

under the tree