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The Porter House (aka A Little Dream of Mine)

May 27, 2012 – 9:51 am

This is the post in which I confess my obsession with a house that (according to Andy) we will never buy. We don’t want or need to move. I love our house. I love our community. The schools are great, Andy’s commute to work is reasonable and we have many good friends here. But, from […]

By kara | Posted in All | Also tagged glendale, historic, home, porter house | Comments (15)

A Perfect Dream

February 5, 2012 – 12:46 am

I had a dream the other night. In it, I slept the entire night without being woken up, once. In addition to this indulgence, the sheets I slept on, and the duvet I slept underneath, had just been freshly laundered. AND I was wearing the most comfortable, new pajamas. It was the best dream. I […]

By kara | Posted in All | Also tagged parenthood, sleep | Comments (0)
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    Twelve candles in a homemade cherry pie. A friend sneaking over early morning to fill the yard with pinwheels and the sweetest sign. A huge flower delivery from Grandma. Pork with the magic green sauce, layered scalloped potatoes, Caesar salad, warm bread. Tea from the glass pitcher you made earlier today. Red high-top Converse that look impossibly big. Brush markers in all the colors. Twenty-some of the sweetest notes, pictures, drawings and texts from family and friends. Pop pop practicing all day on his new guitar to play “Happy birthday” for us all on Zoom. Clapping and laughter and loved tinged with sadness in the acknowledgment that the world is different right now, you want your grandparents at your birthday dinner, a canceled sleepover is a bummer and the bitter is sometimes a bit brighter than the sweet the older you become. Growing up can be so hard but all your genuine smiling today and hugs reminded me of the grace that comes with maturity and, despite the eye rolls, how much you’ve learned. 12, almost 13. How? I’m so lucky I get to be this kid’s mom. This is from Tomie dePaola’s Book of Poems (a fitting poem, by Emily Dickinson, art by Tomie dePaola). Strega Nona was one of my favorite childhood books ... “Bubble, bubble, pasta pot; Boil me some pasta, nice and hot.” He was one of the first people in the picture book field to accept my FB friend request despite my having no fame in the field, and I always thought that was so gracious of him (even if it was an intern or assistant who did it). I loved his Art-Mail, which he so generously shared with all of us. I was so sad to hear of his death. First meal of the year outside and playing on Sophie’s new yoga swing. I told them if they cracked their heads open Mom and Dad would have to play doctor to fix it ... (they love this thing!). After spending all day working on a story, I had a date dinner of takeout @grassrootsandvine with this guy on our front porch. I even wore the velvet top I had planned to wear on our date to see Tommy Emmanuel at the Taft (which was rescheduled for July). Grateful for work and this weather. For strings, Sophie has to record at least 20 minutes of practice each day. Today though, her teacher said if they submitted a picture of them practicing in a silly place, they could skip practice tomorrow. Hence, this picture. (We made sure she was totally safe.) Thankful for creative, fun and flexible teachers during this time. (It was a bit of a nightmare after when the boys insisted they wanted to play their recorders on the roof and we refused but that’s another story.) Also, we have a teddy bear in our window for any local kiddos going on a bear hunt! Love? notes while working. (Second one refers to electronics of course.) This is the most beautiful game I’ve ever played. Wingspan, Christmas gift to the kids from Nini and Pop Pop. Also, Went up to the attic and found ALL my wallet-sized school pictures! Remember those? So many have notes on the back too! And then I found my 4th grade picture. Best school picture ever. (It was a very unfortunate haircut.) 275, Friday night. Quiet. Friday vibes: sunshine, windows open, long walk up next, virtual happy hour on deck, this tee. (To be fair, the kids bother — I mean, ask us for help — equally. But Andy’s office is in the basement so I’m more visible. Today though, all I gotta do is point to the tee!) Also, I don’t know how to take selfies. This rain! But I have this guy (whose hair is going to be super long by the time this all over) to help me make chocolate chip cookies today. Mom, we each ate a spoonful of dough (sorry!). Dad, halfway through Owen said, “You know there is no chance these are going to be as good as Pop Pop’s.” This was my “in my spare time” project at @lostartpress Four years later it’s done and, as long as society hasn’t collapsed, it will be shipping in May. If you are an artist, writer, crafter, creator of any kind, I promise you will love this book. It’s a book of essays and it’s some of the best writing I’ve read on art, work ethic, building, making, literature, craft, war, spirituality, history, poetry, nature, societal expectations, industrialism, hobbies, home, gardening, self-sufficiency, writing, progress, the past, the future and life in general. Written in Britain in the 1930s through the late 1960s, these essays have basically been hidden away (from anyone who isn’t a woodworker) in back issues of The Woodworker magazine for half a century. I promise you this book isn’t just for woodworkers. It’s for anyone who has a hobby, a passion, of any kind. And despite the time period, it all relates. It’s remarkable, actually, how much in life is cyclical, the same, despite all the change. Like a book of poetry, it’s meant to be picked up and read sparingly, an essay here, an essay there. My colleague Megan did a beautiful job with the design. And I was so pleased to see Chris (who was very patient with me as I worked on this) price it on the low end at $34 (it’s 474 pages and super high quality). Lost Art Press publishes books on woodworking. This one is a stretch. I say woodworkers and the general public alike will adore it. Chris is worried it will flop (not that he cares financially as he believed it was a book worth doing — I’m so lucky to work here). Creative friends especially, I’d love to prove him wrong. We chose Honest Labour as the title and you can pre-order it at lostartpress.com. COVID-19: Sophie cut up catalogs which she then used to make an accent nail. I was impressed! She also said I’m out of OPI Top Coat ... 1! Owen is the only one who will let me post a home school picture. Already they’ve all told me to quit asking if they need help. Thankful for their ages, and the clarity and detailed prep work from the teachers. Good luck, all! After spending two days wrapped up in (important! helpful!) news (no media-bashing here, pandemics need to be — carefully — reported) I’m turning off notifications (S showed me how, 11 year olds are great) and I’m spending the day at home doing work I love and feeling awfully grateful for that. My grandma has been talking a lot about her mom, Mabel. She’s the beautiful woman in the dark shirt, on the right, sitting with her girlfriends. I was sick earlier this week, just a cough/cold picked up from the kids. Yesterday I found a blue hyacinth bulb in a glass vase on my front porch. I’m not sure who it’s from but I am sure a girlfriend left it (thank you friend). I’m thankful for the trip to the Womenfolk Craft Market with my mother-in-law today where I bought strawberry jam with pink peppercorns (made by a woman); the long phone call I had with my mom today that we tried to end three different times but kept finding more to talk about; today’s sermon on badass women and the importance of intersectional feminism given by the always-eloquent Rev. Connie Simon (who is a pretty badass woman herself); my trip last weekend to visit my sister; and my now-closer relationship with my sister-in-law. Circling back to girlfriends, I’m thankful for all the weekday check-in texts; the last-minute family dinners; the best support not only for hardships and successes related to motherhood but also my career and marriage; surprise porch drop-offs; never-ending attempts to wrangle impossible schedules to get together; and knowing that if I even whispered help, my girlfriends would be there. Women have relied on their female-centric villages for generations, and I’m forever thankful for mine. Parenting is much more rewarding if you reward yourself. This one is currently pinned to my duster vest for ignoring the fact that James decided to serenade the entire street with his recorder this morning by playing it on the front porch after Owen told him to stop playing in the living room. (We do try to keep the playing of musical instruments to a minimum pre 7:30 a.m. and coffee.) I knew the cold would bring him in soon enough (and it did). #sorryneighbors Cuyahoga Valley National Park is just a short drive from my sister’s house, currently half frozen and gorgeous.
    TAP

  • Favorite Essays

    Choosing Compassion in a Culture of Fear

    Seeking the Bigness in the Everyday

    The Love in Trying

    The View from Up High

    Season of Innocence

    The Huffington Post guest post: Apologies to the Parents I Judged Four Years Ago, a TIME's top 10 opinion piece in 2012

    Simple

    Changing Love

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