A Passion for Presents

I love presents. It's no secret. I just love them. I love the wrappings, the trappings, the loving thoughts behind them, the big gestures, and the small. I love giving gifts and receiving them. I'm the kind of girl who gets excited over a post-it note that says, "I love you." I'm the mom who wears a two foot long plastic purple beaded necklace to work because my daughter thinks its her most beautiful possession, and she gave it to me. How could I not wear it?

I'm the kind of girl who keeps scissors and curling ribbon in her glove compartment; blank cards in her purse. You never know when you might have a little gift to pass along. And. Everything looks better in curling ribbon. I just love occasions.

But, do you know what I love more than occasions? Just because presents. You know the kind. The drawing a child shyly hands you. Slightly crumpled from being clutched in a sweaty little hand. The fresh strawberries brought home just because you love them. The chores that were finished and you never had to ask. The card out of the blue that says I'm thinking of you. The CD sent to your daughter because your friend knew she would love it. Just because. For love. No birthday. No occasion. Just because.

Announcing my first ever give away - and it's just because. I thought I would have a 100th post give away. Oops. That one came and went unnoticed. Hmmm... OK. I'll have a give away for my birthday. Oops again. Oh well. Christmas? Not quite. OK. I'll do it for my blogiversary. Oops again. There are a million reasons why I want to give something back. I'm telling you, if I had showers of blessings before, the past few weeks (OK, it's months now.) have been a flood. To those of you who have been so generous and full of love, let me just say again. Thank you. You make my life richer, happier, more full of joy.

To say thanks, to end my month of passions with a bang, and because I have a passion for presents, I'd like to give away one or two gifts. Just because. I guess I just want to share the love. If you would like to participate, please leave me a comment. To make it more interesting, won't you tell me the story of the best gift you ever gave. I'll draw the names in one week. I can't wait to hear your stories.

You may be wondering what presents I'll be sending. I'm not telling. Surprises are better, yes? Of course, anyone who knows me at all knows of my passion for books. You have one guess as to one item in the gift package.

A Passion for Tango

Today's guest is the first bloggish friend I ever made. Through her generosity of spirit, I have made so many more personal connections. By simply being herself, Tangobaby has made my life a richer, lovelier place. If you don't know her already, you've been missing a daily delight. Ladies and Gentlemen, please meet Julie of Tangobaby. ~ Relyn


Well, here I am, amongst Relyn's handpicked blogging friends, and I'm so happy to be here. I think this series of guest bloggers has been brilliant. I'm thrilled to be part of this diverse and interesting group. When Relyn asked me write about tango, at first I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to say about it, only because it's hard to describe this dance and the influence it's had on me to people that haven't danced it. And by tango, I mean Argentine tango. For anyone who knows the difference, there is no other kind.

I came to tango late in life. I guess I have finally gotten over my feelings of "what would have happened to me if I had started this dance 20 years ago" because now my priorities have changed. I don't need to be a world-class dancer and live in that higher echelon of tango addict that I used to encounter often. I don't dance as much as I used to, in my heyday of obsession, and that was a phase of life I thought I would never leave but all things change, even the things we swear will never change--those things do too.

Tango is the subject by which Relyn and I became acquainted, and although I have a lot to say about the dance itself, I think talking about tango actually forces me to talk about what I really want to say: the deeper issue of connection.

But to digress, and to distill...

Imagine you are sitting in a dimly lit salon, people around you in various aspects of the dance milieu: some putting on their dance shoes, some chatting with friends, some dancing. From across the room, a man you've never seen before catches your eye, with that look you both understand. Unspoken: Shall we dance? You nod your head once and he acknowledges your nod with one of his own. He rises from his chair, and you do the same. You meet in the middle of the dance floor. And then you dance like you have danced together for years.

That is tango.

The orchestral music from generations ago-- from the 20s, 30s, 40s-- fills the room. You know all the songs by heart. The person you are dancing with knows all of them too. He is humming the tunes softly to himself, almost in your ear. Your eyes are closed. And you dance. After the music is finished, you realize that neither one of you speak the same language. And you laugh about it because you cannot talk to one another. But when the music begins again, you dance because that is the language you both speak fluently.

That is tango.

When the rest of the world's cares disappear, and you transform yourself into a person who lives at night, just for yourself, who can experience passion or heartbreak in three minutes' time-- the time of a single song, when you can imagine yourself here and now but at any time in history because nothing else is real except your partner's arm around your waist and the other hand holding yours and your feet moving in unison.

That is tango.


I am not a dancer. I'll be plain. I'm a horribly laughable belly dancer and a bumbling ballerina. My brain might have been able to eventually learn flamenco, but my knees and feet would never have survived. For some reason, tango clicked for me. I can't tell you why, because some people find it very hard to learn. I think it's true of the adage, when you find the thing that suits you...

I had seen Sally Potter's The Tango Lesson years before I worked up the courage to take my first lesson. And when I did, I was so focused on it, to the detriment of all other activities and relationships. That's a normal phase that most tango dancers go through. Then there comes a time when the basics are dealt with, and you feel comfortable dancing with people outside of the classroom, that you begin to see the bigger picture. That you have a way to communicate with someone, at times a very profound and real way of interacting with people on an individual basis where your name, what you do for a living and any other trappings of life mean nothing and all that matters is how two bodies navigate a crowded dance floor.

Let's not confuse tango with sex. In popular culture, it's the image we are fed and is fostered by a lot of caricatures that make tango dancers crazy. However, let's do look at tango as a way of enjoying maleness and femaleness in ways that are not readily accessible in our society, or in a lot of societies. And I don't mean that is a sexy or sexist way either. I dance with men and women, and I know a lot of other dancers do too. Gender is not the issue, but the energy you bring to your role as a leader or follower that makes the dance happen. People that dance tango often find the dance full of spiritual or psychological lessons for themselves and in their relationships with others. One of my tango blogging friends, Johanna Siegmann, wrote a book on this very subject called The Tao of Tango.

What I have learned from tango is so much more than learning to dance a particular dance: it's shown me that it's possible to embrace a stranger, a person you don't know and might never see again, to hear the music interpreted through how someone else leads you in the dance, to feel a universal closeness that makes up for all of the horrible things that bombard us subtly and not-so-subtly, that to be human is a gift and to hold someone close to you does not require much.

It requires some trust and an open heart. And some music.

That is tango.

***

PS.: for a little more visual, you can read my post Let's Face the Music and Dance here.


All words and images by Tangobaby.

Passionate About Little Joys

I'm the sort of girl who gets excited about a pretty postage stamp, a heart rock, a handful of thistles from tiny loving hand. I'm the silly Momma who will sing loudly and off-key just to get a laugh - or a groan. I'm the teacher who has a party the last Friday of every month - because a month of learning is worth celebrating. I'm the aunt who accidentally embarrasses her nephew because she can't help but cheer for both T-ball teams.

I believe that it is the small things that make a life. That adding small joy + tiny moment + quirky thrill + easy delight = a life well lived. A life full of happiness.

I believe that life is rich and full only when we take the time to count our blessings, to notice all that is wonderful in this world, and to say "thank you" for all we've been given.

I am passionate about the little things that bring joy, a smile, a moment of pleasure or recognition. I choose to live this way. Yes, I get just as annoyed as anyone else. Yes, I have bad days and struggles and stress.

But.

I am a woman who has been blessed. And I know it. And I choose to focus on those things. I choose to live a celebratory life. I choose to be delighted rather than jaded. Enthusiastic rather than bored. Happy rather than frustrated. I do fall off my own bandwagon - far too often. But, when I do, I choose to climb right back on. I choose joy. I'll say it again.

I choose joy!! I choose little things! I choose delight!!

And. Because I love my dear readers and I love lists, I offer you a list of delightful little things, precious tiny moments. For you. For me. To savor. To add to. To help us all choose joy.

Easy Delights
* blowing dandelion heads * reading aloud * music, music, music * the funny way a song can get caught in your head * finding a new magazine in your mailbox * a pen that feels just right in your hand * that Rice Krispies really do "snap, crackle, pop" * double rainbows * rewatching Disney Sunday Night movies - and still laughing * the way a child will tell you a "joke I just made up" that was old the first time you heard it years ago * the smell of freshly mown grass * family movie night * when you fill up your gas tank and realize that gas has gone down 2 cents a gallon * a brand new toothbrush * the "Kshhhhhhhhhhh" sound when you pop the tab on a soda can * tossing a Koosh ball * Spring sunshine * freshly painted piggies in strappy little sandals * windblown hair * daffodil borders * an email just to say, "Hello, friend." * the smell of a used bookstore * the ticklish feel of a really good sneeze * love notes signed with Xs and Os * laughing till you need to pee * second grade tooty humor * the tickle of grass on newly bared feet * bird feeder antics * mooing loudly at any cow you happen to be near (note: they always look up) * that slightly-embarrassed feeling you get when you realize a Far Side comic applies directly to you * the delicious way laughter feels when it is inappropriate, say in church * a pretty rock, shaped just like a heart, an egg, or a rock * slipping food scraps to a neighborhood dog * a personal letter via snail mail * lists * daydreaming * doodling * a new coloring book * swinging * the delighted smile when a child earns a medal or a trophy * Easter bonnets on tiny heads * art walks, art shows, art museums, art galleries *bubble gum flavored toothpaste * expressing appreciation * crunchy, juicy apples * the start of strawberry season *animals * books * a puzzle table * grandmas * stuffed animals (the best invention in the whole world, according to Sloane) * a new box of 64 Crayola crayons * strawberry or banana Laffy Taffy * pipe cleaner crafts * root beer in a frosty mug * hot coco on a day when you've been rolling in the snow * blog and Flickr friends * simple kindness * generosity * balloons * stick ponies that neigh when you squeeze their ear * treating yourself to pretty office supplies instead of settling for the plain ones * kids running around in homemade masks * noticing the scent of things * the pleasure of a fleece blanket on a chilly night * the purr of a cat * the lick of a dog * someone to listen to your stories * hugs * hugs * hugs * kisses * laughter *kisses * hugs * hugs * hugs *
What's delights are on your list? Happy Spring, dear friends.



All pictures are by Yvette Inufio and are used with permission. Please visit her Etsy shop to bring some of her talent into your home. Nearly twenty years ago, I bought a book called 14,000 Things To Be Happy About. Talk about a perfect book. Grab a copy for yourself, won't you?

Madagascar In My Heart

When I first met today's guest blogger, she signed all her posts, "your devoted blogging hostess." Devoted hostess is a perfect description of Lala and her style. She is glad to have you visit her home. While you are there, she'll make certain your are comfortable, then will bustle about filling your senses, making you smile, and likely teaching you something. Please welcome Lala Ema of My Castle In Spain. ~ Relyn

When Relyn asked me to be a guest blogger and talk about one of my passions, I first thought of my boyfriend who is my adorable muse, then my design work, then flamenco… In the end, the recent political upheaval in my country of origin Madagascar brought back lots of cherished memories of the faraway island which I haven’t visited for a long time. And I felt like sharing the muted passion I have for this island, its people, its customs, its music and its colours.

When I think of Madagascar, I have vivid remembrances of a myriad of colours. I remember quite well landing in Ivato airport near the capital city Antananarivo. The earth was red and here and there, spots of colour made a funny pattern. As the plane was descending, I could see the spots of colours were sheets and clothes drying on the ground.

I was born in France and discovered Madagascar when I was 8. It was my first time in a tropical country and also the very fist time I knew what real poverty is. Children begging in the street were a shock to me and most often my sisters and I were at a loss when in the end, we would have no more coins to give. "You cannot give to everybody" my parents would say.

During these holidays, we usually stayed at my uncle's and aunt’s place in Antananarivo. It was swarming of kids, my cousins being quite numerous (7 or 8, I can't even remember), plus some children who would stay to share the meals, my aunt prepared in a very basic kitchen. My sisters and I quickly got used to eat rice three times a day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, served with dried manioc leaves or corn or meatballs.

We spent the afternoons with my cousins, playing around, going to the zoo, answering endless questions about our life in France but the most brilliant time was the music sessions. There was always someone playing the guitar, other kids beating the rhythm on tins. My sisters and I did our best to sing along. We learnt by heart the songs of the Mahaleo group. I think my sisters will never admit it but I’m sure, like me, their eyes are filled with tears when they listen to this group in particular. Mahaelo writes songs about the endless struggle to get rid of poverty and corruption in Madagascar.

One day in the week, my aunt would take us to the enormous market, the zoma, which since then has been shut down for hygienic reasons. It’s impossible for me to describe the powerful impressions this place made on me….so many colours, the piles of raffia baskets and hats, the fabrics with exotic patterns, the small piles of fruits. The butcher's sector was by far, my less favourite place in the market and I would help my aunt reluctantly when she'd decide to buy a hen.

On the other hand, I was mesmerized by the jewelery workshops usually owned by Indians, where I learnt all the different precious and semi precious which can be found in the island.

Years later, I went back on holiday again to visit another uncle and his wife on the coast in Tamatavo. My aunt lived quite an easy life, she had numerous helpers, a nice house but she dreamt of crossing the ocean to have what she thought would be a better life. She would take me to her favourite place in town, an ice tea parlour with pale green walls. I can still remember the amazing taste of home made pistachio ice cream.

Watching my aunt cook was a real treat for me. She had an outdoor kitchen where fish was brought fresh from the sea. She prepared food on a coal burner. Her meals were just like her, colourful, sensuous, generous and nearly always flavoured with a slight touch of coconut. The smell of coconut always reminds me of Malagasy women as they use coconut oil to smooth their long dark hair.

Besides the walks in the rainforest, the long days on the beach, the impossible task of pounding rice with an enormous wooden mortar, my best souvenir was an entire day spent waiting for a train, in the middle of the forest. The whole quay was converted into a giant picnic. It was such a joy to watch the happy confusion.

After having spent many years in France, my parents decided to go back to Madagascar. They kept their house in France though so that they could come back from time to time. Since the recent takeover (which is now seen as a coup by the African Union), by former mayor of the capital city, Andry Rajoelina, they’re thinking of going back to France and stay there for a while until things stabilize more or less.

As for me, I still hope to make a trip to the red island, next year if possible. My boyfriend and I have been dreaming of it for quite a time now.

For now, I say veloma, veloma Madagasikary...!..(bye bye Madagascar)


Words by Lala of My Castle In Spain. Boababs by Wildmadagascar.org. Limestone Peaks by National Geographic.

Passion for Possibilities

Today's guest blogger lives in an enchanted neighborhood full of azaleas, camellias, and purring, happy cats. She knows the secrets the moon whispers and carries magic with her wherever she goes. If you listen to her, you'll remember the magic, as well. Please welcome Debi of Emmatree. ~ Relyn

There are rolls of paper stacked here behind me - cream colored paper embossed with white shooting stars, ivory tissue paper that shimmers like pearls underwater. Metallic golden polka dots on pale, pale taupe. Paper with silver squares that rub off on my hand when I touch it, leaving my fingers the color of an Indian goddess. A pale blue paper - silk, almost not there. Paper I am afraid to use because it is no longer made. Gold & silver ginkgoes on ecru. A paper that reminds me of giraffes, another that carries herd of elephants across the page. White silk paper with silver glitter. Will this one be the sky in a new painting? And these tiny embedded flowers - should I use them separately or splurge and cover the entire canvas? The entire page? Will this damask white become a book's cover or should I choose another?

I use them in paintings, in books, in collages. The color actually matters little because I will paint over them. But, I have a weakness for wedding colors, metallic embellishments, embroidery. I am constantly surprised by the reaction of a paper to gesso or paint, constantly made happy by details which emerge, which engage me in a new conversation. Leading the painting in a direction I hadn't planned or foreseen. I build textures with newsprint and other less expensive papers, adding paint as I go. More gel, prettier paper, paint. More pretty paper. More paint. Sometimes the paper is left to show through. Sometimes not. I save every little torn off smidgen, every extra corner. They are perfect for small areas, for last-minute details - a metallic polka dot becomes a star in the sky, the eye of a bird, the center of a flower. Wondrous possibilities.

I can, and do spend hours online searching for enchantment in the form of the perfect paper. Even the names & descriptions are enticing – “wedding garden” Indian non-woven silk, embroidered pearl white on sage green, vellums, translucent white flower chains, ivory batiks, gossamer tissue with gold flecks. I spend my time at discount stores in the paper & stationery sections, buying brown mulberry envelopes, buttery yellow cards embossed with butterflies, exquisite wrapping paper with hand-painted hearts. What I will do with these treasures I know not, but ah, those possibilities.

Perhaps this isn't about the paper – perhaps this is about a passion for possibilities. When I tear a column of copper & silver squares, the rough edge suggests a tree, but I may instead use it as a border. Or perhaps I will tear it into even smaller pieces, and suddenly this handmade confetti will become snowflakes drifting through my painting, eventually to be painted white, or maybe . . .

You understand, don’t you? You stand in front of the paint-chip samples at the hardware store, and feel overwhelmed, not by the colors themselves, but by the future they represent. Will the room be quiet, simple – the color of whispers – or will it sing to you, convince you to dance to Cuban music, the volume turned all the way to 11, the walls the color of mangoes? Ahhh, those tempting possibilities. If you are like me, you stand in front of an empty canvas and feel the same way. It can be anything! What power! What possibilities! What color to start with? What paper to choose?

Today my canvas is covered with silver paper & pearl white paint, the sky a pale aqua glaze. There are embroidered clouds (or are those treetops?), and the ground is full of metallic seedlings, themselves full of possibility. There are birds and flowers and unfurling ferns, and the paper background seems a map for them to follow.

I follow it also. You never know where it will lead. the possibilities are amazing.

Words and images by Debi of Emmatree.

A Passion for Treasure Hunting

So often it seems to me that modern mother-daughter relationships are doomed to simply surviving each other. Books, movies, even friends' relationships seem to be full of aggravated tolerance. I find myself looking at my own sweet daughter and praying that I don't annoy her some day. Praying that we don't spend her teen years only tolerating each other. Praying that I can be as patient and understanding as my own mother was. Praying for a relationship like today's guest shares with her daughter.

Taylor is a freshman in college. Leslye is alone for the first time in 18 years. Spread Your Wings is their blog, and how they share a piece of each day together, across the miles. Lucky us, they share it with the world. I've long admired Leslye's mothering style and dreamed of an adult relationship with Sloane like she shares with Taylor. Today she shares her secret. Thank God. ~ Relyn

a little nest we found, March 2009

When Relyn asked me to be a guest blogger, I was very touched to think that she thought enough of our blog to ask me to write on hers. When I read further and saw she wanted me to write on my passion. This scared me a little bit. I enjoy a lot of different things and feel that I am passionate about them. But, I have never really thought I felt "strongly" passionate about any one thing. Plus, I certainly don't express myself as eloquently as you all do. I kept thinking, "What am I passionate about?" or "What makes me the most happy at the moment"? And that's when I knew the answer clearly: precious time with my daughter.

My daughter is a freshman in college, which made me an empty-nester this year. Many of you may not be able to fully comprehend what that means. I know I didn't understand what it would mean to me many years ago. I am a single mother and have been since Taylor was 2, so it's just been the two of us for a very long time. When she went off to college I knew it would be very lonely at home. I can actually say that I feel like I've adapted very well. I cherish the time spent with her even more. So, I would say my passion right now would be making the most of the time we have together.

I can't title this post "A Passion for My Daughter". Every parent is passionate about their children. Since we have a mother/daughter blog, I will share with you a passion that Taylor and I share together. We are passionate about our "photo adventures" or what started out, in her younger years, as the search for treasures...

Taylor, 1996 - Taylor, 2009

Taylor always loved the outdoors and collecting treasures from nature. When she was just 4 years old I started taking her camping. We would go camping many times during the summer and into the autumn. It was our time to go on nature walks and find special treasures together. We would set up the items like a still life and draw them together. We always did a lot of crafts while camping. She loved spending the day in the sun, hiking to a waterfall, or just hanging out at the campsite playing in the dirt with the little matchbox cars I played with as a child. Taylor loved wading at the waters edge - always finding something of interest that she would want to take home with her. I had a special box that she kept these treasures in - treasures from nature. Beauty that sometimes only a child holds so dear - a feather, a rock, an acorn, a seashell, a stick that struck her fancy.

Taylor finds a geocache box, 2002

When she was around 12, we discovered a new way of getting out in nature. We started the great adventure of geocaching. What a wonderful activity this was for us. If you have never done this I highly recommend it. Geocaching is a high-tech treasure hunting game played throughout the world by adventure seekers equipped with GPS devices. The basic idea is to locate hidden containers outdoors, called geocaches, and then share your experiences online. Geocaching is enjoyed by people from all age groups, with a strong sense of community and support for the environment.

We really became addicted to it. It is such a thrilling challenge - breaking the code for the clue and then using the GPS to find your way to the treasure. We found caches everywhere from "Atlantis" in the Caribbeans, all the way to a state park in Canada and many, many places in between. Some of them would take us hours to find while others would be very easy. When and if you find the box, you log in with your code name, date and time of find, and a little bit about the experience. If you take something from the box, you leave something behind. Taylor's code name was Painted Pony and she named me CurlyQ because of my hair.


I wish I had time and room to tell you of all of our adventures, or at least paint a better picture of it. But, believe me, we have so many incredible memories. Geocaching took us to so many places that we would have never ventured otherwise. We had a big box at home filled with "treasures" that were usually dollar store items which meant nothing to us except "I found it". That sense of satisfaction and accomplishment is so important to a young child.

abandoned shack, Daufuskie Island, SC by Taylor

As Taylor grew older, friends became more important. I feared that time with mom would become non-existent or certainly not something she would look forward to. We found another activity that took us out on adventures together: searching out the perfect photo - a treasure in itself. These adventures were no longer simple nature walks looking for pretty flowers or a hidden box. Taylor now founds beauty in the decay, in unexpected places. These things got her excited. What might she find hidden beneath all the rubble? Maybe not my favorite subject matter, but if it made her happy and she saw something of beauty in it all... then, I was going to look for it too. Now instead of looking for a treasure in a hidden box, we look for hidden treasure in old abandoned homes and buildings. There is nothing we enjoy more than heading out with the GPS in the car now, instead of hand-held. Taking the back roads, finding something of interest, pulling over and exploring it.

AME Church near Burkittsville, Maryland, built in 1870 by freed slaves

I have remind her to be cautious, but there is some sort of thrill about it all. Carefully peaking into a abandoned building, and seeing an old piano and church benches. Finding out that it was an 1870 AME church built by freed slaves. Creeping down the rotting staircase and seeing " He is In Us ALL" written on the wall. Then realizing we are in a church that was part of the Blair Witch Project. So creepy to me, but she is so intrigued. We stay.

Taylor has taken some awesome photos in these abandoned locations. We go home with "treasures" in the camera. If we still used film cameras we would have a box filled to the brim with prints (treasures) that make her happy and satisfied - indicative of a day worthwhile, filled with adventure and excitement for more.

AME church interior, 2007

For a time our passion was camping. Then it was very much for geocaching. Now it is for our photo adventures. Our passions change from year to year. Those treasures we gathered are memories we will always share together and carry in our hearts. Treasured forever. The one thing that will never change is my passion for my daughter. As sappy as it sounds, I can't think of anything else that I am so strongly passionate about. ~ Leslye


All words and photos by Leslye and Taylor of Spread Your Wings.

A Passion for Art Museums

If given a day all my own, to spend as I choose, I would pick an art museum every time. Did you know that about me?

As I considered which of my passions to write about, I realized that I've never written here about how much I love art. Especially art museums. Quiet time in an art museum with my journal is as soul renewing for me as poetry, laughter, and the ocean. Something magical happens after I've been in an art museum for about 15 minutes. I can feel my shoulders relaxing; knots of tension I didn't know I had - dissolving. My breath slows, deepens; fills me. My mind stills. And spins. Seems to listen. With my eyes. Do you know what I mean?


This happens for some people at the ocean, at church, while watching a sleeping baby. Me, too. But, never so reliably as at an art museum. To me, art museums are a soul place. The sacred hush, the near-reverent whispers, the overwhelming beauty... all feed my soul. Many, many times I've stood in front of an old favorite, or a new discovery and thought this. This exactly:

Imagine, Relyn. Imagine! The world is full of such wonders. And you are alive to witness them.


That's it, I guess. An art museum holds the best of us. No, that's not quite right. It holds the best of us, made tangible. They are amazing treasure troves. Storehouses that connect us backward in time, the threads reaching back for centuries. Yes, even then, people worshiped beauty. People cared about their homes. Men were handsome and women loved clothing. Yes, even centuries ago, people felt lost and lonely. People were found, loved, cherished.

And always, always, people ached to express themselves. To create beauty that outlasts them and stands as testament. To create something that says, "I was here. I lived. I laughed. I made this. With my own two hands, and all of my heart. See? Look. Look. It's my gift. To you."


I remember exactly when I fell in love with art. I was 17 and headed to college. I needed a planner for the first time. I chose one called American Impressionists that had reproductions on every other page. It also had a little blurb about each artist and painting. That's it. A consuming love affair began with a calendar. One glimpse of a Pissaro landscape, and I was in love.


About a year later, my family was in New York City for one day. I absolutely insisted that I spend some of that time in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. How could I not after Claudia's adventures? My family loves me, so they spent hours in a museum they cared nothing about. Just to please me. I went in to see my beloved Impressionists. And. And...


I discovered an entire world. A world I never knew existed. Impressionists? YES! But. But there is so much more. Just within painted works, you could spend a day listing all the isms and movements. There is so much to see. So many worlds to encounter. So many dreams to enter.


Years later, I remember thinking that I did not care for modern art. And then I attended La Vista Modernista at the Philbrook. Oh, yes I do. I absolutely love modern art. Art has so much to share. If only you'll listen. Listen with your eyes. With your slowed breath. With an open heart.


There is no place like an art museum to fill you with beauty, to challenge your preconceptions. To make you think, to make you dream. To fill you with longing, to take your breath away. To remind you, above all, that it is a very wonder to be human, to be alive, to bear witness to such beauty as this.


The images in this post are just a few of the many paintings (plus one sketch) that I love. Title and artist are listed below in order of appearance. Chop Suey by Edward Hopper, Villas a Trouville by Gustave Caillebotte, Cakes by Wayne Theibaud, Hide and Seek by Tissot, Yeats by John Singer Sargent, Woman with Black Feather Boa by Toulouse Lautrec, Almond Blossom by Vincent Van Gogh, Allegory, Boy Lighting Candle in Company of Ape and Fool by El Greco, Around the Lamp by Carl Larsson, Golconda by Rene Magritte.

A Handful of Candies

Today's guest holds a special place in my heart. I wrote to her recently that every time I read her blog, I know my heart has found another home place, another friend. I always think, "I wonder if she'll reserve one of her boys for Sloane?" Some people just have a gift for living. They use their time and their talents to enrich the lives of others. Our guest today is just such a woman. Please welcome Stefani of Blue Yonder fame. ~ Relyn

I've had this feeling before.

It is the same feeling I had a couple of winters back when I put on my coat for the first time that season and found a crisp $10 bill in my pocket. For about 3.5 seconds I was ecstatic. Yay! Found money! And then... "but what should I do with it?"

Save it?

Put it toward the unending pile of bills?

Share it? (The man that stands on the corner with his "Dreaming of Change" sign comes to mind.)

Splurge on a "just for me" treat? (coffee - yes I'll have the whipped cream on top please- and a glossy magazine? Flowers for the window sill?)

Splurge on a "just for all of us" treat (popcorn, M&Ms and a rented movie)?

I kept that $10 in my pocket for ages. Each time that I needed to warm my hands, I felt that bill and the surprise of it tasted like sugar - sweet, on my tongue but with it came the bitter, indecisive aftertaste all over again, every time.

So when you asked me, Relyn, to come and sit by your fire and share a passion. I felt at once honored and excited and then... Oh. Oh no.

Oh this means I have to make a choice! I have to choose just one passion to share here.

I've made lists. I've chosen and then re-chosen. I've piddled and pondered and ran around in my wishy washy little circle.

One passion.

Just one?

And then I took my boy to a baseball game. I bought him a bag of candies and watched, awestruck, as he handed them out to every kid in shouting distance. He never hesitated.

He never stopped to think about sharing because it wasn't just about the candy. He genuinely wanted everyone around him to share in his excitement... for the game, for being out late, for the big lights and the crisp uniforms and the crack of the bat. He wanted everyone to share in his joy, in his passion for that moment in time. He could do that, because for him, life and passion aren't like dollar bills at all. They aren't things that you spend and then they're gone... they are seeds that grow and bloom where you cast them.

As I watched him, I understood why it has been so hard for me to choose just one passion to share with you here...

See, I am very very blessed. I live in a world filled with stories, thick and fluid - stories to swim in, stories that make you forget to come up for air.

I get to reacquaint myself with the freshness of life all over again, everyday, through the eyes of my little boys.

I have two hands capable of making and baking and drawing and holding onto the people that I love.

I have two eyes with which to watch a spider spin her web, a child sleep, a feather fall to the ground.

I have dreams, and it shocks me every single morning to wake up and find that I'm living them out.

I have a lot of passions, but I think I'm seeing that what I'm MOST passionate about is noticing the everyday kinds of blessings that surround me, and then sharing them, like a handful of candies, with everyone I meet. Because we're all in this thing together, and really, each of those passions grow, a hundred times a hundred fold, when shared.

I want to stop doing the dishes long enough to notice spring's first green slant of light through my kitchen window. And when I see that, I want to ask myself, "How can I add light to someone else's day?"

I want to revel in the sweaty grubby little boy hand that has slipped into mine and wonder, "What small gesture will mean the world today to someone that I love?"

I want to remember the smell of simmering plum jelly in my grandmother's kitchen, her apron tied tight, and Johnny Cash on the radio. Then, I want to tie my own apron, fill my own kitchen with a ruby red scent and sing, "I hear the train a comin'" at the top of my lungs with my young men. I want to know that they will make plum jelly with my grand kids, too, because jelly is just jelly. But, when shared through generations, it is love, jarred and saved up, to warm you on another day.

On a chilly night, I want to pull my granny's quilt round me, the one she made when I was new. I want to sidle up to a warm fire to do a little stitching of my own, because my new nephew should have a quilt too. Quilts are love notes written with needle and thread.

If I hear a poem that moves me, I want to read it out loud to everyone, or no one at all, just because poems should be spoken into the world. It makes it a nicer place to live.

When I find that my dreams have grown wings, I want to use them to help another mama reach her own heights, too.

When I receive grace, I want to be quick to forgive.

I want to look at life like a little boy at a baseball game - eager to share my handful of passions with everyone around me.

So there it is, my passion is sharing my passion with the world, because it is a beautiful, scary, amazing, blinding, terribly, awfully, gloriously, fantastic world - made so much better when experienced with an open heart and an open hand. ~Stefani


All words and images by Stefani of Blue Yonder.

A Passion for Adventure

Have you ever been a distant admirer of someone; a kind of secret fan? Have you ever been given a chance to know them; even just a little? If you have, you'll know how I feel about my guest today. Delighted and slightly giddy. Please welcome Tara Bradford of Paris Parfait. ~ Relyn

"All my life, I've tried to avoid becoming a bird in a golden cage."

When Relyn graciously asked me to participate in her fireside chats, she said, "I know you have many passions; please just choose one." Since then, I've thought hard about what passions have really informed my life. Collecting is an obvious one; in the last nine years, I have acquired many beautiful, rare, valuable antiques and collectibles. But that's probably to compensate for the years I was constantly in motion; for all the things lost along the way.

My favorite, lifelong can't-live-without passion is collecting friends and adventures. And except for the costs of travel, they're free. I have been fortunate to have many intriguing adventures and fateful encounters. Some adventures were joyful and wonderful; others heartbreaking and angst-ridden.

I could tell you about being with a friend and my then two-year-old daughter, enjoying a picnic in a lemon grove on a mountain in Jordan, when some rather menacing-looking men with daggers at their belts helped themselves to our food. Or having tea in the desert in a Bedouin encampment, where the hosts were determined to kill a goat in my honor. Or informal lunches at the Royal Palace.

I could tell you about visits to the Dead Sea, where Muslim women wearing long dresses were floating on the salty surface. And huge areas of the countryside were marked with danger signs, because maps to landmines planted in previous wars are lost.

"Freedom is the most important part of adventure."

I could tell you about Palestinian refugee camps, where children innocently played alongside streams of raw sewage. Or the schools with no heating and hard wooden benches for desks, but eager-to-learn children could speak two or three languages. They knew education was the only way out of their situation.

I could tell you about the famous leaders and politicians that I came to know personally; about the ones who "disappeared" or were assassinated. I could tell you about the compassionate future Nobel Prize winner who took care of me when I was sick. I could tell you about being questioned by the Muhabarrat (secret police) for hours. I could tell you about my once-fianceé, who was murdered.

I could tell you about the times I was harassed at Middle East airports, because I was a single woman traveling on her own. Or the time in Kuwait, when I couldn't read Arabic and wearing a dress and heels, almost entered a small mosque, by mistake. Thankfully, a woman wearing a veil shouted at me and waved her hands, motioning not to enter.

I could tell you about the times I got on a plane headed West and sighed with relief, thanking my lucky stars I could leave a region rife with conflict. I could tell you about flying to London for rest and recuperation, only to be evacuated in a bomb scare at the hotel. Or the crooked magazine editor, who blatantly lied to the publisher, making my article too dangerous to publish and my position untenable.

Birds and golden cages photos at Selfridge's, London.

I could describe the magical moonlight on a balcony overlooking the Nile, wondering if I'd ever find lasting love. And returning to Amman, only to be summoned to the US Embassy, for a slap on the wrist over an article I'd written criticizing the administration's failure to address the root causes of terrorism.

I could tell you about long, sleepless nights at the United Nations, waiting for important decisions. I could tell you about interviews and friendships with people from all walks of life, from kings and presidents to paupers and a reformed jewel thief. Or complimentary stays at luxury hotels and restaurant meals with $300 bottles of wine, while worrying how I'd pay my rent. I could tell you about the kindness of strangers. Or about hours stuck in a darkroom with a creepy Texas publisher, while trying to salvage a front-page photo.

"All that glitters is not gold."

I could regale you with stories about dancing in New York clubs with Tommy Tomasi from Brooklyn, the best dancer I've ever met. Or dancing on the table at the Copacabana. Or being invited by a Yugoslavian hockey player for the New York Rangers to go to a "disco," which turned out to be a polka parlor in Queens filled with grey-haired immigrants. Or the invitation to go dancing with a Long Island middle-management guy to a "hot new club," which was - surprise, SURPRISE - Plato's Retreat. Or the beautiful peach stone villa in Kuwait that a man I once loved built for me. To this day, it remains empty, because I couldn't be a bird in a golden cage.

I could tell you about le coup de foudre when meeting a Dutchman on the Ides of March in Bahrain and how it changed everything. I could tell you about the New York clairvoyant or the Arab numerologist who foretold my future with uncanny accuracy. I could tell you about the tears and fears and joys and thrills I have experienced living abroad, but that the worst heartbreaks were in the United States.

All these things and more I could tell you - but I'll save these stories for upcoming books. Meanwhile, I'm still collecting adventures. Hope you are too!

Thank you, Relyn. Such a pleasure to visit here!


All words and images by Tara Bradford of Paris Parfait.

A Passion for Photography

As you probably know, I'll be having guest bloggers all month long. I am so pleased to have a chance to introduce you to the people I admire and have come to call friend. Meet Beth from More Doors blog. ~ Relyn

Hi everyone.... I'm so excited to be here with Relyn, drinking tea and sitting by the fire....okay, fine, I'm at my computer in chilly Wisconsin, but at least that's what it feels like to me....and you should see how cute her house is !! I've never posted anywhere other than my own blog, so this is quite an adventure for me and I hope I can keep you somewhat entertained and not become too wordy with my little love fest here.

If I had been asked a year ago to write about a personal passion of mine, I would have turned around and ran as fast as I could trying to get away from you, feeling silly that I didn't have an answer. Sure, I could have come up with lots of things I love, but nothing that was an "in my heart" passion. At the time I was being very "arty" and it kept my hands busy, but it wasn't in my heart.
Six months ago I picked up my camera, looked at it and it hit me...this is what I was in love with. Sure I had used this camera before for so many things...holidays, vacations, new home pictures....things that I felt needed to be documented, but I had never used it as a tool to fill my hands with and to replace the scissors and glue sticks that were now starting to feel like strangers to me and just didn't feel right anymore.

So I had an affair with my camera....we went off on sunny afternoons to play in the warmth, returning exhausted and satisfied and with smiles on our faces. We disappeared into the woods, hand in hand and shared secrets while looking at the little mushrooms sprouting through the moss. We became inseparable. Taking pictures, I found out, wasn't something I had to make time for. It quickly just became part of my life to see the things I see everyday, but in a new and different way.

I didn't keep this affair from my hubby...thankfully he's a kind man who understood my new love and quite often, he comes with us on our dates and adventures and together we trespass on marked land, do u-turns where they're not allowed because I saw something beautiful "over there" and we come home smiling, wondering how our day disappeared so quickly.

Being inspired to take photos has come in so many forms and this blogging world has been such a huge part of that. I have learned more through blogging, than any teacher ever taught me during school....which wasn't too hard as I was an awful student and always had this in the comment section for my parents..."Beth is such a delight to have in class, but SHE TALKS TOO MUCH and that can be disruptive to the other students"....to those who know me, go figure !

Seriously though, through blogging, I have a macro lens that my hubby gave me after I mentioned that I might need one because they do cool things. That lens and an old box camera and a contraption he built for it because I wanted to be part of the "through the view finder" group....all because of other blogs and wonderful women who openly shared their loves and ideas with me.....me, a complete stranger. And then I met Jen Gray at SQUAM last year and she's a REAL photographer and she talked to me and I got all sappy and fell in love with her because she's really cool and funny and she loves photography and life and love....and I want to be just like her when I grow up !!

When my sister told her friends that I was wielding a camera and calling myself a photographer, they called me for photo shoots....YIKES...CRAP....now what ? Well, I didn't charge anything and I made "no promises" as far as the finished products and that took a ton of pressure of off me and guess what ? Every photo shoot I did, was beautiful and the pictures were wonderful and my head grew a size larger....well, maybe not a whole size, but close. And then friends saw my portfolio and wanted pictures for Christmas cards and they wanted to pay me for my time and and editing and I had to sit down with my head between my knees and take some deep breaths before I jumped up and did a little happy dance while I shouted, "life is good!"

Everyday I now see the world and things and smiles and life in a different way....a bigger, brighter way, as everything looks different to me. I have discovered that on the days I feel the need to write, all I have to do is go through my picture files and find one I like and almost instantly the words come pouring out of me and I have something to share on my blog. Try it sometime, seriously, it does work.

Thanks for your time....and thank you, Relyn, for being such a sweetheart and inviting me over. And the next time we get together I'll talk about photo editing and my love for that....which is quickly becoming another personal passion of mine.


All words and images by Beth.