tonight, the stars are thick in the night sky. they are so clear that i can see the milky way and the bow of my old friend, orion, as he shoots an arrow up into the blackness.

tonight, my breath is shallow and i cannot stop sneezing because my body is protesting the dear little kitty. i thought i had mostly cleared my cat allergies, but it turns out that major transitions exacerbate them.

tonight, i am thinking about my beloved pup, who woke me up at 4am last night to eat grass because his tummy was not happy – possibly also due to the transition. my mother bought him a rotisserie chicken and made him rice for dinner so he was a happy happy dog.

tonight, i am thinking about the simple pleasure of sharing tarts with my grandparents and walking with my dad and my pup and playing tennis with my mother and talking about name of the wind with my brother and trading back rubs with my sister.

tonight, i am thinking about the challenge of holding onto hope and possibility and wonder even when others around you seem to have forgotten them.

tonight, i send you love.

i am just popping in to say that atlas and i are in michigan! it was a long journey, especially the second to last day, but we are here and we made it safe and sound.

i will tell you some stories and share some photos once i get my computer set up. also once i rest a bit; i woke up this morning and realized that i am exhausted. hopefully soon.

atlas was an angelic traveler. i appreciate him immensely.

he is exhausted too. he is not getting much sleep, what with the kitty-related excitement and the need to keep me under constant surveillance. i suspect he will crash at some point.

(in unrelated news, apparently atlas likes beets, because i just had to stop writing this to see what he was nibbling on in the kitchen. he had taken some beet ends out of the garbage and was enjoying a snack.)

there are a few photos of atlas the traveler on his facebook page.

happy wednesday!

in the grassy savannah,
a lion
lifts up
his head,
opens his mouth,
and roars.

on the other side
of the world,

a girl – not yet a woman – feels
a whirlpool of emotions
tossing and turning
inside her.

it is uncomfortable but familiar.

she wants
to lift up her head
and roar
and let it out,

but she doesn’t
know
how.

she is familiar with silence,
with worrying “what will they think”,
with nice and safe and good.

and yet,

there is a wildness
within
that wants
to be unleashed.

not the fierceness of
“i will eat you.”

but the fiercely loving
“i will stand for
all that i am and
all i can be and
all that i know.

and i will stand for
all that you are and
all you can be and
all that you know.

because i am
the lion
and the savannah
and the entire universe
and you,
and we are all part of the beauty of everything.”

as i prepare to turn off my computer and hit the road, i thought i’d share two photos of our day yesterday.

we spent almost all of it at the auto repair shop and the tire shop, waiting for serendipity to be made road-worthy (apparently, she was most definitely not). i had a million other things to do, and at first was worried about the cost and the lost hours, but it wound up being a day full of good conversation, a walk with atlas, and camera play with the fountain (something i have always been meaning to do, only it was always full of children).

and everything i needed to do still got done anyway, plus there was time for a spontaneous goodbye dinner with a friend.

atlas was the most patient wait-er ever. i adore him times a million and seventy four three twenty-seven. i have decided that moving without a dog is easier and possibly slightly more enjoyable, but i wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world and i am so glad that he is here for our adventure.

i leave you with a wish for moments of sweetness and magic, particularly when they are least expected.

atlas and i are leaving for michigan this week. most likely on thursday or friday.

isn’t it pretty!

i have always thought that the upper peninsula is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and i am excited to share it with you.

(in case you saw this post in your email, or are reading it for a second time, the sale has gone away. my sincerest apologies to anyone who was interested and did not sign up. i did not realize how overwhelming the act of adding something new to my plate this close to a move would be, and i had a moment of clarity where i realized that the most congruent thing would be to close the sale and devote my time to the things already on my plate.)

many many years ago, when i was twelve, my father brought a tiny violin home from his travels.

he had been gone for many months and i was so excited to have him home again.

“look what i brought you, son!” he said, and pulled out a box.

inside the box was the tiny violin. it was smaller than my thumb, impossibly small, and it was impeccably crafted.

as i feasted my eyes on the violin, i could hear the faintest hint of music, as if a musician across the valley had just finished a performance and the last echo was still lingering in the air.

i wanted nothing more than to be able to play that beautiful instrument. i set the box carefully on my dresser and checked on it many times a day.

one summer afternoon, i went to my room to check on the violin, only to discover that the box was empty. i let out a cry of shock and disappointment. my parents had been outside in the yard all morning so i didn’t know where it could have gone.

just then, in the quiet that remained after my cry disappeared, i heard music. it sounded like it was coming from the yard so i went to the patio door and stepped outside.

{to be continued in the story club}

want to see where we’re moving through atlas’s eyes? you can click on the images to see a larger version.

the apple tree is on my grandparents’ old potato farm, not very far away. the rocky beach is eight miles down the road, perfect for a morning run. (there is another beach even closer, though i haven’t been to that one in years.) the sandy beach might be 20 minutes away. the sand dunes might be 20 minutes away. the trail is almost literally a block away.

and in case you’re wondering, that was my beach towel. i always lay a towel out for atlas. he always steals mine. unless someone has an even larger towel or blanket, in which case he will steal that one instead. it’s hilarious.

if you’re wondering what i am up to over here, i am thinking about packing and writing a love letter to oregon. at my current pace, both items will be done in my next lifetime, and i will be all out of tears.

(just to be clear, i am still excited about going. i am just sad that it means leaving oregon, and it is better for me to feel the sadness when it comes up than to squash it.)

at any rate, i am in the mood for something lighthearted.

as far as i am concerned, a day with a ferris wheel to photograph is a very good day.

i took this photo last month, when the county fair was in town. you know what i just realized? while i was there, i was trying to decide whether it was smaller or larger than the county fair in my hometown. little did i know i might have the chance to compare them. this one did not have an entrance fee, so it might be the overall winner.

i ate a deep-fried twinkie while i was there. it was delicious; it tasted like a donut. i am marking that item as complete on my life list. next up, i think, is a deep-fried oreo.

have you eaten one of those unexpected deep-fried concoctions that are popular at fairs? how was it? should i add it to my list?

th-th-th-at’s all for now, folks!

so!

atlas and i are moving to michigan.

(now there’s a thing i never thought i’d say. except for many reasons, it feels exactly right.)

the plan is to move at the end of the month, so if i am quieter than usual, you will know why. i am trying to remember that if there is anyone that can pull this off, it is insanely organized me. (i had the idea this afternoon and within an hour or two, the entire downstairs had been reviewed and filed into three categories: goodwill/give, storage, and car. maybe i should hire myself out.)

atlas looks a little woebegone – the act of packing is stressful for him – but when we arrive and he learns that there will be a kitty, he will be over-the-moon with glee.

the kitty is his cousin kia. she did not love him when they met in 2007, but now he is older and a little calmer, and he will have more than two weeks to win her over. i am confident that he will be able to pull it off.

i am a mixture of so many emotions.

but for now, i am sleepy, and so i will let this be the end.

(though i do want to say that i am so so so happy that atlas will get to spend quality time with a kitty. also, we will be closer to my east coast sister, who has three kitties, at least one of whom might actually like atlas, so there is the possibility of more kitty adventures! i have a huge smile on my face at the thought.)

if you have been wanting to buy something from me, but just haven’t gotten around to it, now would be a lovely time!

the story club is still pay-what-delights you. and if you wanted something from my etsy shop, you can enter MICHIGAN as the coupon code for 20% off your order.

oh, how i wish i could wave a magic wand and fill you with wonder. it is one of my favorite qualities.

wonder is a cousin to magic and enchantment but, for some reason, it is easier to remember that wonder can be found in the ordinary, not just the extraordinary, even though that is true of all of them.

wonder includes elements of beauty, appreciation, presence & amazement.

when i am full of wonder, i feel like i am seeing [whatever it is i am seeing] the way it was meant to be seen, the way it really truly is.

when i am full of wonder, i am anchored fully in the moment.

while on a walk the other day, i kept falling into wonder, so i thought i would share some of the ways i find it.

listen to the grass.

have you ever stopped and listened to the wet grass? if you stand next to or in the grass when it’s wet – maybe after a rain, or when the morning dew is heavy on the grass, or right after the sprinklers have gone off – and you listen closely, you will hear a rustling sound. it sounds like the grass is whispering, murmuring to you.

i like to imagine that the grass is calling, “run! play! come join us!”

watch the bees buzzing among the flowers.

have you ever really stopped to notice the bumblebees in a flower patch? when you watch round fuzzy bumblebees flitting from flower to flower, even if you’ve seen the flowers many times before, it can feel like you’re seeing them anew. the bumblebees take such joy in the flowers that it’s contagious.

i like to imagine what it might feel like to find myself in the heart of a flower, surrounded by vibrant color.

notice creatures in flight.

have you ever watched tiny birds at play? they make giant circles in the air, and swoop down until they’re barely brushing the ground and back up again, over and over and over. it looks like they’re dancing, often in unison. or butterflies? you can see their tiny but mighty wings flapping back and forth. it looks like they are sauntering along, with no need or desire to hurry. or dragonflies? they whizzzzzz by and their colorful body shimmers and sparkles in the sunlight.

to me, birds and bumblebees and dragonflies epitomize the joy and freedom of flight.

name something: maybe a tree, a bird, or a spider.

there is something about the act of naming that creates a warm connection. every time you see the object you named, you experience the joyful surprise and delight of seeing a familiar friend again.

i have three regular pairs of bird visitors: harold & kumar (bluebirds), harold & maude (blue jays), and harry & sally (doves). i can’t tell you how happy it makes me when they pop in for a visit and some birdseed.

find a regular walk.

there is something about a regular walk that helps you notice the way nature changes with each season. there is also something about a regular walk that helps you notice how quickly nature can change. a bush seems to grow over a foot overnight. the same with a patch of blackberry brambles. blossoms emerge, flowers open, dandelions change from yellow petals to white puffs, petals drop, leaves fall.

it might be harder in a city, but i suspect it’s still doable.

listen to your heart.

(i got this idea from a martha beck book. it is probably an advanced practice, mostly because it might take a while to hear it and because allowing yourself to connect with your heart in this way might bring up deep feelings.)

close your eyes, sit quietly, focus on your heart, and try to feel it beating. sometimes it helps if you hold your breath for a second. (my heart sounds more like a ba-dump ba-dump, rather than the thump thump i was expecting.) when you can feel it beating, imagine blood rushing throughout your body on the beat and flowing back into the heart on the pause.

there is something about this practice that really connects you with the wonder and miracle of life.

here’s to wonder!

may you find it in your today.

and if you feel moved to share, i would love to hear about things that fill you with wonder.

a post script.

this is one of the best ways i can describe the essence of both the story club and hope floats.