(inner) five-year-olds

When cousin J & I found a kit for a gingerbread house at CostPlus, we knew we had a winner of a Saturday night ahead of us.

No baking, no fuss--plenty of muss, we found out.

The icing provided was not at sticky or glue-like enough.

and the roof kept sliding off

another couple of sets of hands would have been handy.  

but we had fun and got a couple of photos before....

it gracefully splatted into a sugary heap.

back to our regularly s'hedule programming

(Eric [Jakarta] and Fred [Shanghai] rolling out their first American cookies.)

Nice to be back into the mundane routine of school, after shoot-outs and assault rifles in my driveway.  For our last day of class, I cut up a recipe and had the students figure out the amounts and sequences.  Since they know non/count nouns, they did very well with guessing the ingredients amounts.  But as some of them have never cooked/baked before, the step by step instructions were harder.

There's a teeny kitchen at the school with limited equipment (which I will be remedying with some Goodwill trips), so they had to take turns rolling out and cutting out the gingerbread dough.

The backs of Leonardo (Brazil) and Lily and Cecilia (Schezwan Province of China).

They were delighted with the final product and swanned about the school with their plate of fresh cookies.  Happy December, indeed!  Now we need some snowflakes.

the wild brilliance of light

 December, and it would be a Saturday, some milk
out for the cat, as the long grey evening expires with snow.
He would read, and she would color,
her face pressed right up
against the window of the paper. What does she
see?—Her little heart one joy as the crayon-thick sun
pours yellow out onto the green trees
and large white box, beneath whose triangular hat
they will argue, love, dream, fight, and grow
up in. House. The very word's
a breathing out of so much
breathing in, —a book, a brain,
a wild brilliance of light trying to comprehend the dark air.

"Domestic" by Mark Irwin

This is one of those kind of poems that hook into my brain; not sure of the meaning, but know that it resonates.  Perhaps because I am pondering what 'home' means.  Perhaps because I am wondering what my life will be looking like at the next Christmas season.  While my gypsy soul is still alive, I am wanting--perhaps for the first time--to put down deep roots.

As a former boss always spouted:  "Time will tell."

On the counting of pennies side of the day, I am grateful I was back from my walk before the swat teams descended on my street.  Quel drama.  You can see the edge of my car.  I've seen many things out windows (volcano erupting, car crashes, etc), but never watched men gearing up for gun fire.

There were over 25 police and sheriff cars strewn about the street (made me want to go out and speed to my heart's content [there are FAR too many traffic cops on this island]) and myriad helicopters buzzing our skyline.  Don't know the entire story yet, but when they went to serve a warrant, someone in the house pulled a concealed weapon and shot the officer.  The fire was returned.  Women/children were dragged out of the house for safety and our neighborhood was locked down for several hours.

Who knew that country life would be wilder than my years in the Capitol Hill vicinity?

Time to plug in some Christmas lights and light some candles.  And breathe in some calm.

Indianolo

Trying to use my rare days of leisure to explore my new community.   Always happy to find towns along the beach front, so when someone said that Indianolo was a cute community, I popped around the corner this morning to see.

Very cool feeling to walk out that far above the water.  I could natter on about the history of this pier, but was too enchanted with the ambiance to absorb all that historical blah-blah.

 Looking up the beach towards my neighborhood in Agate Pass.

 Was deeply amused to keep finding pieces of kelp that looked like Stripples (or bacon, for the carnivores among you) strewn all about the rocks.  And for the Austen fans, have to wonder what the Sanditon crowd would have done with this species.

 I find ancient barns and abandoned pilings to be compelling visuals; conjuring up vignettes of a busy and bustling past.

Quick little outing with the Doodles; we took turns mugging for the camera.

 Stylin' the t-shirt/tie combo (difficult to see with the seat belt, I now realize).

And!  The best bit of the day was finding that an elf had left this charming green hat in my post box.  I shall be wearing it all winter.

città di notte

Another fun little jaunt into the city.  Had not seen the Olympic Sculpture Park at night before, but I was stuck in traffic, so I hopped out of my car and snapped a few shots between traffic lights and trains crossing.  (Who thinks it's a grand idea to have freight trains go through the center of the city during rush hour is rather moronic.)

 The little Christmas tree atop the Needle amuses.

Oh-so-artsy shot of Calder's Eagle.

Enjoyed some sushi at a fun restaurant with this enormous glowing tree of cherry blossoms.

Stile Antico

is the name of the exquisite group I heard last night.  Twelve gorgeous voices, filling St. James Cathedral.  A truly lovely evening.

It was also a treat to wander around the city and see the decorations--here's the cool star of Macy's by the holiday carousel.

St. James on 9th.

poetry & coinage

So the country waited awhile to share cents with me, but then it started in with a dime.  Think that is a nice precedent.  And while today's poem specifically states 'November', I think the sentiment works for any wintery month.

Never mind

      that guests no longer come unannounced
      or that the photo album contains pictures
of much younger people than we remember being

     never mind that swallows etch Sanskrit
              on the wrinkled sky

                 it's November
     and the present is emptying its wine
                into our glasses

     never mind that we're not touching now

because our shadows are holding hands
         in the dark behind our backs

"Never Mind" by Denver Butson, from Illegible Address.