angelbirdflies

Here are a few photos from a recent trip to a fabulous cabin above Idaho Springs.  Colorado, I LOVE you!

Two of my favorite things in the world are art and children and when these two forces of inspiration coalesce- WOW!  Here Bodhi is pictured drawing an elaborate story.  Watching young children draw is utterly interesting and intriguing.  Typically their art is an evolving communication, each line and mark represents a part of their story and an evolution of thought.  Here Bodhi draws a box, a fox and a wild tale of adventure, misfortune, death and bugs.  In the end he made a number of hatches signifying words and an interesting insignia while saying, "B-O-D-H-I". Meanwhile Owen began his rough draft for an upcoming comic he is creating, entitled "Angry Cow".  Do you LOVE this Bovine!!!! Look at those eyes, those teeth, those udders.  I feel sort of giddy when I see things like this and I immediately want to copy him.  His innovation and creative expression inspire. And believe it or not, they worked side by side for almost 20 minutes before holler...

Dear reader and adoring public...Owen is back.  He has been back for a few weeks.  It has been anything BUT smooth.  Infact I have seen some of my worst mother moments in the past few days, at one point I even found myself yelling at my two boys, with head spinning and foaming at the mouth, "Do you want a spanking?!!" HELLO, what kind of question is that.  I don't even approve of spankings but in the past weeks I have seriously contemplated dipping them in honey and dangling them precariously over an ant hill.  Trust me, Mother Theresa I am not and all my years of trying-to-be-the-perfect-mother are flying out the window with alarming speed.  I wonder how one remains peaceful amidst the onslaught of motherhood and yet most days it is relatively easy, natural and even nourishing. Primarily the issue stems around two boys fighting constantly, something that I imagine might drive even the Dalai Llama to consider corporeal punishment or, at the very ...

Getting to know yourself isn't some mountain you summit, after much toil and work, to finally look out beyond the vista of self, comforted by the height.  Nope.  It is a constant evolution, a tearing down of false ideals and a relinquishment of protections and walls no longer needed.  It is a constant flow, ebbing in and out, in and out, encompassing the flow of human thought and experience, ebbing in and out, in and out.  Somehow, with time, perhaps we learn to identify with the spacious holding that scaffolds the ebb and flow.  Perhaps, with time, we can just behold the splendor without a thousand little judgments and comparisons.  For now, I learn daily how to be humble in the face of my own stumbling ignorance and baffling splendor, of my insecurities and trivialities, of myself.  One of the beauties of growing is that I am becoming acutely aware of how little I really know, how much I actually talk, how little I often say and ...

Okay where to begin...I have so many photos I wish I could share...so many beautiful flowers and captured moments, but instead I will opt for an overview of Bodhi and I's magical trip to heaven via Crested Butte.   Our trek took us from Denver via 285 to 50 to 135, finally landing in Crested Butte, Colorado several hours later.  We had to pull over along 285 to fully indulge our need to oogle over this spectacular cloud display.  The sky was simply dazzling with white puffy imagination. In Poncho Springs we ate at a bizarre little cantina, peopled primarily with a vast array of leather clad bikers, whom Bodhi immediately took a shine too, no doubt assuming that anyone driving something that loud and attired in that much black had to be worth talking to. Once we arrived in Gunnison we spotted a sweet museum complete with trains, old school houses, thousands of vintage clothing, telephones, farm tools, cars and antique oddities for every sensibility. In no time (well...

Here is an insider's peak at our squash and corn bed (Bodhi planted a bunch of my popping corn from the farmers market, eager to be a gardener too and shockingly they are coming up). Some ripening, or soon to ripen toms... and a bowl of newly harvest onions...I'm thinking of portobello reuben sandwiches, with sautéed onions, sauerkraut, swiss cheese and lots of caraway seeds on gluten free bread (or maybe ditch the bun altogether).  Yum.  I love the inspiration of a summer garden.

Well Bodhi loved the chaos and helped to soften the blatant "sell, sell, sell" extravaganza. He particularly loved the stocks, a gorgeous fairy and an elephant walking down main street.

I can't really express the delight I feel when I spot these treasures in nature. Whenever I try, I babble insensibly. Without the grace of a poet, I stumble amidst the impossibility of words.  Syllables loll around in my mouth, dry and unworthy- profane. Such awe is indescribable and the only word nearing its evocation is gratitude.  I gasp.  I ooooooh and aaaaaah.  I stand with the reverence of a devotee, astounded and for a moment, brief thought it may be, the seer and seen merge and life simply is.  Then I snap a picture.  It really doesn't last long...sometimes only a fraction of a second, but I return again and again like a lover hungry and eager for more. Here is a taste: Note:  All photos taken on a hike at Meyers Ranch...if you live nearby...GO...it is a lovely four mile trek off S. Turkey Creek Road.  

Ever wonder how to get really creamy hummus?  I did, every time I made a thick, mealy bowlful.  Well leave it to chef Mojo to enlighten me....drum roll please... you take the skins off and voila'.

My mama came for a visit with no less than four, furry canines in tow.  Now, you really have to love someone to embrace a brood of barking, smelly, shedding, somewhat neurotic, albeit well behaved, dogs into your home.  So if there was ever a doubt, it should be put to rest.  We hiked. We ate. We laughed.  We cried.  And then we said farewell and now she winds her way homeward in a jeep with four tails.

These are photos of the same blossom taken from two different directions on a recent hike in the mountains above Golden.  A simple reminder of how much a shift in perspective affects how we see what we see.  I love these little treasures glimpsed on hikes or forays into that heaven on earth...NATURE.  I am always inspired by the details.  Details are my doorway into beauty.  Often, when I am confronted with the awesome splendor of life begetting life, I feel a sort of surreal detachment, an inability to commune.  And then I find a detail: a flower, a leaf, an eye popping color, a flash of feather or fur, a bird call, something small and immediate, something accessible.  Then the doorway opens and I tumble through the rabbit hole of beauty gasping in the face of one breathtaking moment after another. Breathless with gratitude.

My boy broke his left arm this weekend, while being drug across pavement behind our dog, on his face.  Now how's that for a shitty day?  I love this child with an abandon that keeps stretching my heart to new bounds.  I love him for so many reasons, selfless and selfish.  One of them is that Bodhi teaches me to love myself...to dive into life without making apologies.  Bodhi is not ashamed of his all-boy attitude. He gladly dons a pink tutu in public, wears black nail polish and makes a gun out of anything remotely resembling a weapon.  His favorite color is pink.  He loves watermelon, candy and meat.  He doesn't "get" why so many people are wearing clothes when it is obviously too hot.  He pees wherever he is and doesn't really comprehend the social propriety of toilets and hiding.  He talks in unnatural octaves about whatever is on his mind and experiences life fiercely.  He says "Hello" to everyone.  If you are old he says "...

I ran across this grateful dead song and I fell in love with the lyrics.  I must confess that I am not a grateful dead follower, their music drones a bit for me (sacrilege in some circles) and I can honestly say that I have never really listened to the LYRICS of many songs.  When I read these I felt moved.  Cliche'?  Maybe but true none the less. In the attics of my life, full of cloudy dreams unreal. Full of tastes no tongue can know, and lights no eyes can see. When there was no ear to hear, you sang to me. I have spent my life seeking all that's still unsung. Bent my ear to hear the tune, and closed my eyes to see. When there were no strings to play, you played to me. In the book of love's own dream, where all the print is blood. Where all the pages are my days, and all the lights grow old. When I had no wings to fly, you flew to me, you flew to me. In the secret space of dreams, where I dreaming lay amazed. When the secrets all are told, and th...

We spent fourth of july weekend camping in an old miners cabin above Nederland, complete with outhouse and gas lamps.  It was positively DREAMY! Shane enjoyed miles of mountain biking, Mojo and I enjoyed miles of hiking and Bodhi enjoyed hours with Baba.  A good time was had by all.  Here are a few photo ops: