Wednesday, June 10, 2015


loving:: June roses

eating:: these nectarines are so sweet and succulent and beautiful.

smelling:: all during one hour's run this morning: swoony honeysuckle-bloom perfume. Fresh, clean laundry wafting through the air from a home's dryer vent. Someone must be having pancakes for breakfast.

smiling:: some smiling strangers' encouraging waves bring lingering smiles to my own face. 

listening::  Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man. Remembering how much I love this song when it came on the radio tonight on my little after-dinner drive. (I found such a charming little house to photograph. Oh, and that "golden hour" light made the shot even nicer, don't you think?)

thinking:: 12:30 late last night, a little worrisome and a little frightening with someone urgently banging on the front door. And me, usually such a light sleeper, not hearing and zonked out and Eliza still up and scared. A few minutes later calling me on her phone and we're wide awake now, and today still wondering if someone truly needed help or if it was just a prank. 

realizing and thanking:: that yes, I've still got it in me.

outing:: picking up Jane early from work this afternoon to meet with the reception venue people/florist and later, taste-testing possible gluten-free cake options. Tomorrow night we meet with the photographer. Every day it seems like there's some sort of wedding to-do, but things are slowly coming together and it's all going to turn out beautifully. I need to remind myself that these nows, these tasks, and these errands are all going to be the precious mother-daughter memories of tomorrow.

celebrating:: this beautiful daughter's 22nd birthday today. Re-reading this four year old blog post tonight expresses some of my tender feelings today.

Daughter, Teacher, Friend

A gift

The daughter 

dreamed of 
Her cries
quieted, soothed
by holding her bosom-close
With trepidation
I explore
I wonder
unwrap her
such long toes
just like her Father's
such long tapered fingers
not knowing
they were made
to one day 
pluck and press 
those strings 
so beautifully.
That cute little tilt of the head
high chair spaghetti faced squeals
a joy bringer.
Braids so tight
so watchful
so trusting
learning from all she sees
in me. 
Mother's little helper.

Now, today

the girl-child I once knew

blooming into
Needing me still
for closeness
for touch
for time
for talk
that won't change,
I see.
slowly crystallizing into
to friend.
Me to her
and now
her to me.

Happy Birthday, dear Jane.

Loving you always,


1 comment:

  1. Oh Emily, you are so beautiful with words. I love your poem to Jane. Love the photo of the roses against the white fence. hours run! Woot, woot! That a girl! Virtual high five!