Piper Joy Interlude: Dancing

I have recently been working on Piper's knowledge of ballet. Here it is in action as captured by our friend, "Di-nanna" at the Agave Art Gallery during Fredericksburg's monthly Art Walk.

"let's see your ballerina moves, Piper!"

"Ballerina spin with arms up"

"take a bow"

"look at the ground and take a bow"

free style

arabesque wind up

"arabesque"

exit stage

Comments

Enough

At 1:30 p.m. today, my sister, Nurse Cori, arrives back in the U.S. after a two week medical missions trip to Costa Rica. This is the third in a series of trips, one to Mexico, and one to Jordan. We haven't heard much from her while she's been gone, so everyone is chomping at the bit to get a phone call. All I know at this time is that she got to give a fancy wheelchair to a kid who's been bedridden his entire life. That's so fantastic it makes me cry. At 10:30 a.m. yesterday, my mom and I were walking with a giant red stroller full of sweet baby Piper Joy. Piper was trying to fall asleep and I was trying to rouse her enough to keep her awake through the walk so I could take her home for a good nap. I employed such tactics as jumping while singing and flapping my arms as well as racing ahead of the stroller and executing a 360 to end up facing Piper with a giant grin. Neither of these tactics worked and Piper insisted on falling asleep. On our walk with a sleeping ...

Easter Fires

We used to live on top of a hill. It was so densely covered in live oaks that you had to drive halfway up the granite driveway before you could see our house - grey and white and tall in the midst of the trees. I can't even imagine how many times I drove up that driveway and caught the familiar glimpse of my home. First, as a high school-er in my blue minivan, then home from college in the old Lexus, then back from Austin in the Miata. I even drove up the drive as a married woman in my beloved Tom's black Jetta. But we do not live on that hill anymore and I was reminded of that this Easter as I brought my sweet baby Piper to visit her Nan and Pop in their new home. It was not my parents' initial choice to move to a new home. They as well as I pictured their grandchildren coming up the live oak hill for visits. As little as I consciously thought about it, I had always expected to be able to bring my kids back to see where I grew up. But, after last Easter, a fire started ...

Becoming a Traveler

And so I begin the blogging. It's like starting a trip with Tom Bowyer, my beloved. He takes off full speed ahead before he does anything else. No effortful, intentional planning needed, no calculation of cost, no anticipation of possible problems, he just goes. You'll see this trait in action if you hang around on this blog long enough. It defines our story together. Makes it glorious, actually. He has told me many times to start blogging. "You're a writer," he says, "so write and let people read it." And I think it through and excuse myself under pretenses of not knowing what to write. "Write a journal," he says. "You do it all the time." And I have little to say against that. Then, it comes to me, "But what if no one else wants to read what I write?" The conversation usually ends here. Until today, when a friend of mine, Mrs. Katherine Suzanne Ramsay Rhodes, brilliantly undermined all my efforts to keep from keeping a b...

Earth's Crammed With Heaven

Search This Blog