Three hundred sixty-three

So, in an effort to learn to use my camera better, to make documenting our lives more a part of living, I've begun project 365. Only I began a couple of days late, so for me it will be 363. I'm too chicken to open my whole set up to a broader audience yet, but I'll share a few images here from time to time. Taking photos everyday really does help me appreciate the beauty in our routines, in our little house. The growing set of candid snapshots of some of the tiny pieces that make up our days is really making me happy, too.

Christmas stockings

The first (ahem) several years that we were married, I kept promising my husband that I would get around to making us some Christmas stockings. Some new stockings to hang in our new family home. I even started a couple of stockings with Hillary Lang's elf stitchettes, but although the stitchettes are dang cute, they didn't feel substantial enough, special enough to anchor the family stockings that I wanted to make. When the baby came, the pull to make the stockings got much stronger. Here is what I finally decided on, knit and lined in time for Christmas.
These are just what I imagined. Soft and substantial and huge. Homey and cozy. I love them-- they're probably some of the best things I've ever knit. Just before Christmas, my mom talked me into buying more yarn in other colors, enough to make more stockings for any other little ones who might (we hope, we hope) come along.

Pattern: Falling Snow Stocking by Jennifer Hoel, a free pattern on Ravelry
Yarn: Malabrigo Chunky (has to be my very favorite chunky/bulky yarn-- so so soft)
Needles: U.S. 9 dpns
Lining: Very nice cotton interlock that my mom gave me, sewn in by machine

PS: Here's a photo of our baby-friendly Christmas tree in action. I didn't want to set up a full tree and then put a gate around it, and we didn't want to be constantly pulling the baby away from tree and ornaments, or worrying about the whole thing toppling down on his head as he tried to pull up on it. So, tiny tree on a table it was (is, actually; it's the 12th day of Christmas, so the whole thing's still set up). H loves to lie underneath and stare up at the lights, wiggling and pumping his little legs. Sweet boy.

Happy New Year

Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. -- Frederick Buechner, from Now and Then (Oh how I love Frederick Buechner!)

Happy New Year. The photos are from a trip to the farm just before Christmas. I love them. It is still very cold here, and the remnants of this storm still cover our lawn. The wind is bitter. But the expanses of white feel very apt for the fresh start that is the new year. Clean and uncluttered. Ready for more moments of fathomless mystery.

Friday nights

On Friday evenings, I knead the dough alone. But by the time it has risen and the pizza needs topping and baking, he is usually home. We talk about the week. He spreads the cornmeal on the pizza peal carefully, and I give it the final olive oil drizzle before it goes in the oven. We've got a comfortable rhythm going.

Another hunting post

How charming the sight when Aurora first dawns,
To see the bright beagles spread over the lawns;
To welcome the sun, now returning from rest,
Their mattins they chant as they merrily quest.

Then hark in the morn, to the call of the horn,
And join with the jovial crea,
While the season invites, with all its delights,
The health-giving chace to pursue.

Well, this was a very different meet than the last Thursday meet I wrote about, and not very much in keeping with the sun-filled verse above. We met at a misty Oakland Green. The field was small, and since the corn's been cut and turned under, the pack was a little slower in finding a scent. Still, we were on our way and I was breathing deeply. And then. We went by Dr. Marion's and two of his family's horses jumped a coop to follow the field. So there was a long period of cowboy/cowgirl work to get the loose ones contained before we could be on our way again.

Then, almost immediately as we moved off, it started to really rain. The whole time we had been out, the cloud ceiling had been slipping down in the sky, until it felt like it was sitting on our shoulders. But then, from the clouds, steady rain. Most of us headed for home. Something about this fixture this year. It really rained the last time we met there, in October. I didn't get quite as soaked this time.

Still, it was beautiful. I always think that the damp in the fall makes the colors more clear and bright and crisp, set off as they are by the dark black branches of wet trees. Until next time.

Happy H-owl-oween!

Our little family had a pretty low-key and very nice Halloween. H happily went as an owl in the felt costume I constructed with this Martha Stewart "tutorial" as a guide. I use the term tutorial very lightly as there was much filling-in of the blanks. It was a good costume for a wee one, however, because all of the annoying pieces were easily removed and nothing about the costume hindered crawling.

On Halloween day, lucky Henry got to see both sets of his grandparents and his great-grandparents. We ate North Carolina barbecue on a Virginia back porch and went to a baby party to see our buddies, baby Raggedy Ann and the Cowardly lion. There were many trick-or-treaters to greet at the door, and the weather held out long enough for baby H to visit all of the important neighbors. I think having a baby really enhances my experience of the changing seasons and the holidays. Something about the wonder in his eyes prompts me to experience everything anew.

A Hunting Song

Away to the field, see the morning looks gray,
And, sweetly bedappled, forbodes a fine day;
The hounds are all eager the sport to embrace,
And carol aloud to be led to the chace.
Then hark in the morn, to the call of the horn,
And join with the jovial crew,
While the season invites, with all its delights,
The health-giving chace to pursue.
We had a great day's cubbing from the Glebe a couple of Saturdays ago. We began the day with a viewing-- the youngest riders saw him first across a hilly field. We lost the pack a little bit in the middle of the first run, but recovered nicely and covered a lot of ground. Up Mount Gilead and then down to the swinging bridge through vineyards. Back through the bottom to Askari's, where we ran through fields of wild mint, that lovely scent wafting up from fleet hooves. Crossed the Goose more than once, wading at one point, pony riders picking up their knees. Even on a less-than-eventful day, this is a sport that makes me feel alive and connected. Beautiful day.

The verses above come from a very old book that my mom put in my Christmas stocking several years ago. I don't know anything about it, except that it is a book of songs titled "Roundelay, or the New Soren, a Collection of Choice Songs including the Modern," and was published by Sondon, and "printed for W. LANE, Leadenhall Street", maybe in London? It's about a quarter of the size of a piece of typing paper (trigesimo-segundo, or thirty-twomo size, google tells me) and bound in leather. There are many other verses to this song, and many other songs about the fair sport of foxhunting, so you may see more here in the future. I wish I knew what tune this song might have been sung to!