Friday, April 30, 2010

120::365

yeah. ok. i really don't have anything to say.

let's just put it out there to say: i so rarely do.

um.

happy birthday, LL.

you are the best person i've ever met (well. i do like tim a lot, and my kids. and your kids. and my parents. but you know what i mean. you rank up there.)

hi everyone. i promise to do better next time. but really, what's better than saying happy birthday to your best friend?

nothing.

xo.

tt.

Thursday, April 29, 2010


hi.

those sweet, sweet ladies at habit have invited me to join them there for the month of may. i'm more than a little bit in awe of the company i'll be keeping.

i'll be there starting tomorrow (and here still, too.) come visit!

the month of may. habit.
so, so good.

thanks for reading.
tt

Tuesday, April 27, 2010



you and i
both know
that things
are hard.
and yet
once again,
i am bent
on looking for
the small,
pure
pleasures
among
what all else
is unyielding.

i take a walk,
and stop
when my feet
are surrounded by
pink petals,
and have, perhaps
just a single moment
in which
i can see
that even though
there is hard pavement
beneath,
it is beautiful
soft
and fresh
if i am just looking
for it to be
so.

xo,
tt

Sunday, April 25, 2010

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i know that i should be here more often, and that i've been slipping, lately.
but i just can't help it.
it either comes,
or it doesn't.
and sometimes i'm too busy
treading water
and i get out of breath,
and can't describe the feel of doing it.

other times
it comes flowing out of me
so that
from the first word
to the last
it is like one
long
exhale,
and even when i myself
go back and look
i can't be sure
of where that breath
began
and
ended.

i'll be back
when that happens
again.

best wishes.
tt

Thursday, April 22, 2010

annagrassrunningsm
a few things that i am grateful for tonight::
kids that respond to the answer to the question of what's for dinner with "yum."
friends who ask to come over.
being able to open the doors and windows.
my mother.
the extra box of tea i found in the cupboard.
a kind man at the camera shop.
a promising weather forecast.
mail.
sisters who can run a bath.
daughters who can fold the laundry.
neighbors with white lilacs.
tim being able to walk to and from work.
tim.
peonies and lily of the valley thinking about blooming soon.
bedtime.

best wishes and goodnight.
tt

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

nest
lake grasses

hi.
with the riot of color and blooms out there, which are all gorgeous, i like these two photos, still.
the quiet side of spring.
things are changing and growing and being renewed in all sorts of ways. some not as showy as others, but all a part of the hopefulness and potential of these in-between months.

today driving home i heard a song by allison krauss, and was reminded of how i felt when i very first heard her sing, in the movie down from the mountain. i had never heard a voice quite as pretty. this just seems to suit a gentle spring day.

more tomorrow. thanks for reading.
tt

Monday, April 19, 2010


this is where i grew up
and where
i still
call home.
tt

Sunday, April 18, 2010



today:
waking at two a.m. with the half-lucid knowledge that the kitten was not inside.
walking, barefooted and nightgowned around the yard
pshhhhpshhhhpshhhhing.
but.
nothing.
back to bed,
dreaming, in rolling fits and starts, about lost kittens and children and opportunities.
and then
again at six,
barely better clothed.
and then finally at eight,
tim goes out with plastic bags ready for the worst.


anna says: "she goes this way..."
and so we go this way.
and we hear the faintest of plaintive cries.


the little orange cat way up in the tree.
all night.


big ladder, and mommy, is needed.
i. am. mommy.


she comes to me.
sap covered and collarless.
tired and scared,
but sweetly heavy in my arms,
i walk her into home,
and she drinks as if at a mirage,
and she falls asleep in the laundry.


i am so relieved that i have
what will be merely a story
by the end of the night
to tell lindsey,
and not a bad, ugly truth
that we are left dreaming about
and reworking
in our minds
for a long
time
to come.


oh,
does it ever stop?
do the days ever become predictable
and manageable?
or are we really left
every day
to handle what lies
around every hours' corner?


i say goodnight to you
happily,
with girls
and cats
curled up safely.
for tonight.


thanks for reading.
tt

Saturday, April 17, 2010

107::365



my mother tells a story.
when she was a young mother, and she was adopting a baby girl, and she had four little boys of her very own already, a social worker came to her house to check in on how things were going.
the woman came in and sat down in the livingroom of the little cape cod house that was home, and began her interview. and then the door burst open and some of those boys ran in, one of them bleeding.
nothing serious. just one of those little catastrophes that play out almost daily when you have a house full of kids.
so my mother excused herself, and scooped up the injured boy, and went about tending to the knee or whatever.
when she came back, the woman remarked that she couldn't believe that my mother would get up from such an important meeting, and leave her guest there alone, waiting.
and my mother's point of this story-although she is much too modest and practical to even think of it this way-is that she had her priorities straight. she knew where she was needed the most.

::

today i went to the farmers market. it's still indoors. in the town my parents live in now. i've watched it grow in size in the last two years and you can get everything from fish to bread to pickles to coffee to plants to samosas to cider donuts and meat and on and on and on.

i came home with bags heavy with all sorts of things...goat cheese, eggs, and those donuts nestled on top like the delicates they are. i unbundled them and washed what needed to be washed and wrapped things up in dish towels, taking pictures (of course!) all along.

i am seduced by these spoils.

i looked behind me, at my littlest girl. she had spent her first night away from me in her entire five-years-and-fifteen-days last night. and she had been a trooper. a happy, happy, proud trooper.

but she was crying.

i said: do you want to go get smooshie? (this is the made-up danish word we used originally for "cute", and now just means to cuddle.)

and she, thumb in mouth and laying on the kitchen window seat, all warm and tired, just nodded.

::

i've always taken that story of my mom's for granted. i've told it over the years, but i can't say i've ever thought through what i would have particularly done in that situation.

of course, i'm not in that situation.

but i can say that i learned a lot about priorities from my mom.

thanks for reading.
tt

Friday, April 16, 2010

PAPER
happy friday to you!

much news about goings on at the gallery, but we're still finishing up the details of putting all the work online and on the walls. up way too late last night, and way too early this morning, and the scanner has been working overtime. but i'm so excited about all the wonderful work that's passing through our hands.

so in the meantime, click here and see who all's a part of our new show, PAPER.
works on paper by an outstanding list of artists. good stuff people. good stuff.
more later. back to work.

tt

Thursday, April 15, 2010




i started this post a full twenty four hours ago.
that i never got back here to finish it is a sign that:
i lay out in the back yard with anna for a long time yesterday morning,
looking up.
i visited with some friends, and took some photos.
i waited for the girls to come home, sitting on the front steps with my tea.
i cooked dinner for eight for the first time in a while; we're all back together now, in one place.
i walked out to the park afterwards,
and watched one more little girl in our neighborhood learn how to ride a two wheeler.
i cleaned up the kitchen and folded a load of laundry.
i looked at a japanese craft book that a friend lent to me.
i kissed tim goodnight and left him to finish up our taxes.
and i went to sleep.

and today is a new day. thanks for reading.
tt

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

wickermyrtlesm
winewatersm
fronthallsm
sometimes i just don't know what to say.
if you know me in real life, this may be a virtually incomprehensible statement.
but.
not knowing what to say differs from not having anything to say.

i remember a quote from somewhere or someone that says something like: if you want to be witty, work on your character and say what you think.

it always gave me a bit of an inferiority complex, that quote.
but now that i'm so damn old, it doesn't scare me off anymore.

obviously.

best wishes for a good day. thanks for reading.
tt

Saturday, April 10, 2010

a whole new world of inspiration opened up to me today.

100::365

insideonesm
insidethreesm
insidetwosm
insidefivesm
insidefoursm

i went looking for around fog linen at a japanese bookstore called kinokuniya. i didn't find it, but i did find a whole new world of inspiration for both decorating my home and taking photos. so, so good.
i came home with (of all things) a craft book on basketweaving. i fell in love with it in the store and couldn't walk away from it.
now i want the fog linen book more than ever. but could someone explain to me...do i really order it in yen and have it shipped from japan?

ok. that's my question for tonight. thanks for reading.
tt
ps:: that's my new teatowel from elisabeth bentz there, under the tulips. she's having a baby, and a sale in her shop. but not in that order. there's not much left, but what is, is really lovely.

Friday, April 9, 2010

flourhandsm
isn't it all about touch?
the feel of the cat's tail, so soft.
how it's just as good to rub somebody's back
as it is to have your back rubbed?
how making matzoh balls is as much about making them as eating them?
about how once you decide to get your hands dirty,
you don't mind at all to plunge your hands into the soil
to plant the flowers in spring?
about how while you're swishing the bubbles around in the kids' tub,
you're having fun, too.
about how when you're cutting paper for collage,
you're a little surprised at how much physical work it is,
that your hands hurt from cutting.
and that when you look in the mirror,
just before bed,
and you are caressing into your own skin
the same old lotion,
to make your face
stay the same,
it is all so familiar,
and yet.
not.
you are used to touching someone younger.
you are used to your old self.
it's all ok, though.
here we are.


thanks for reading.
tt

Thursday, April 8, 2010

i took about a hundred flower photos yesterday.


plantingpansiesm
open lemonade.
yellowandwhitesm
i think it's safe to say it's spring, now.

::
this morning
breakfast was a baguette with butter and honey.
anna's blowing bubbles in the back yard.
and there's a cardinal in the tree out front.
i'm making a long, long grocery list.
the town came and took down the fort the kids had made in the park out of the broken trees.
bikes are left scattered around the neighborhood.
i'm planting pansies in the window boxes.
the windows are wide open.
what's left of our japanese maple is budding leaves. i think that might define something- hope, or resiliency.
i'm finishing up the rainbow chard; the farmer's market on saturday had seven different kinds of greens.
i'm wondering how to make celery soup.

and

i could listen to this song all day long. it makes me feel like i'm floating.

best wishes, and thanks for reading.
tt

Wednesday, April 7, 2010


what i love most about having all of these girls
is having all of these girls
have the same
sort of
experiences
and watching how
they all experience them
differently.

we have a new kitten.
she is soft and skinny and growing
and playful
and sharp-
both toothed and witted.

today she killed her first mouse.
she slayed it out on the patio,
and batted it around
and brought it onto the porch,
now all mottled and limp.

i remember my own cat,
when i was maybe callie's age,
carrying in a whole, grey, weighty
squirrel
and depositing it
upon the crossed ankles
of my brother,
like spoils and riches
to the king.

today,
our new little orange kitten
killed her first mouse.

but,
she will still curl up in the small
of my back
tonight.

just as anna,
with her gangly legs,
full of bruises and cuts,
emblems of a day spent outside,
still slides her thumb into her mouth,
and her hand into my shirt,
and falls asleep
dreaming of
things i can only
imagine.

more tomorrow. thanks for reading.
tt

ps:: what inspired me to write tonight was reading this book to anna.

Monday, April 5, 2010



pondreflectionsm
good morning, monday.

a few things:
these photos from our walk yesterday seem more colorful and lush than it actually was out in the woods, still with much grey and snapped branches hanging like so many swords of damocles above our heads.

lonely is the five year old left alone after having her sisters home from school for ten days.

breakfast today: leftover raspberry apple pie, eaten standing up at the counter, straight out of the pie plate with a fork.

on my list to cook today: lentil soup, granola, and chocolate chip cookies.

and on a related note: i am rereading laurie colwin's home cooking, just 'cause.

i did not buy this dress for anna the other day, and i so wish i had. but honestly, she doesn't need it.
i, however, would love the very same one in my size. can anyone recommend where i might find such a thing, or if they know of a place to find a similar pattern that i can talk my friend beth into sewing up for me?
i'm totally serious about this.

tim's out front bundling up sticks, and anna's playing near the creek. it's lunchtime now. a little breezy, but i think we'll eat outside.

enjoy your day. thanks for reading.
tt

Sunday, April 4, 2010

i am so not above getting on the ranunculus band wagon.
94::365

aren't we just all waiting for a little sunshine,
an excuse to eat candy,
and a time where for one more day,
we can feel like the rules don't apply?

well.
tomorrow morning,
the rules will apply.
if you could all give us a wake up call at about seven a.m.,
we'd really appreciate it.

but for now,
we'll go to sleep with soft, vague memories
of a week of no wake up calls.
no pressure.
a week of just being us.
it wasn't always so good...
there was an awful lot of yelling.
but it felt like it used to feel;
more than it has
for a while.
it felt
like
home.

i mean all of that.

thanks for reading.
tt

Saturday, April 3, 2010

dishesm
onionskinsm
wineboxsm
this is what our house looks like.
this feels like a sunday. i think it's saturday,
but frankly, it feels a little like tuesday, too.
it's all mixed up.
we've been off for more than a week.
off at home.
i could not ask for more.
today it was as perfect as could be.
bright sun and enough breeze to remind you it's only april.
things i would never before have done,
i did.
like walk away.
walk out of the house and say
i'm going out right now.
see you in a bit.
or,
i'm sorry you're sad.
i'm going to go out to the park...
would you like to come with me?
no?
i'm going to go out to the park.
and everyone came,
and we hid plastic eggs,
and ate bread and cheese,
and some of us took
and some of us gave
rides in the garden wagon.
and some of us sat,
and talked,
and one of us felt
that it was exactly
what she wanted
to
be
doing.
and now one of us needs to go
fill the shoes
of the easter bunny.
goodnight! and thanks for reading.
tt

Friday, April 2, 2010

bk1sm
bksocialsm
bkfireescapesm
brickflowersm
91::365
photos from yesterday in brooklyn visiting with one of my favorite people. one of yours too, i bet.
the whole city blooming, all of a sudden, in symphony with warm air and bright sun.

i'm so exhausted,
but today, full sun again,
a full house of exuberant girls,
and a newly minted five year old.
i'm looking around for my babies, but they are all on their way to big.

so much good stuff. catch it while you can.

more later, perhaps. thanks for reading.
tt