Alina's Adventures

And we skittered through CHOM at light speed.

Prophet shares a cup of tea with her cousin.

The farmer's market pleased everyone.

Isla melted me when he changed truck gears.

What we've been doing these holly-filled days.

Watching the last leaves change color and look like flames on the top of the grass.

Collecting the leaves where we find them and stitching them together with a needle and a long piece of embroidery floss, a hanging mobile collection of autumn leaves. Soon, the leaves will be too crinkly to withstand movement. Then we burn the mobile.

Going on picnics with a vat of Manna Grocery African Peanut soup..... because the cumin helps our sore throats.

Paying our respects to last year's holiday tree who resides in the woods behind our house. Don't ask me how his name became "Hairy" but that's the name by which the kids address him.

Welcoming Bunica from her long trip to Romania, where she voted in the presidential election and saw another little piece of history change for the better.

Hanging out with fantastic cousin Isla Alina, whose name still makes me want to cry a little when I say it in its entirety.

Wandering around the University of Alabama quad with dear old friends.

Playing dress up and then wrestling in high heels and fancy dresses. Because nothing says wrestle like sateen.

The Second Annual Fall Ball.

Late last weekend, we celebrated our Annual Fall Ball, an acknowledgement of the glorious seasonal cycle in wear their most flamboyant dresses for one final dance before dropping them. The origins of the Fall Ball event were inspired by George Cooper's poem, which I modified to suit our circumstances. 

Prophet lingers near a corner of the yard, hunting for "orange leaves". She returns with a golden leaf instead.

The King helped Prophet identify the warm golden leaf she found using our favorite tree ID book- an out-of-print Little Golden Books guide from less sophisticated days.

Gnome participated this year for the first time, adding her own leaf chronicle of colors. She was our most enthusiastic leaf finder.

As you can see, however, the leaf identification was less than thrilling for her. Fortunately, the King relished leaf ID.

The Eldest took his sweet time, wandering through underbrush, considering vines and shrubs as well as trees. I snuck a photo of his work in progress while he dallied near the garden, which still bears green tomatoes, and continues to fruit despite recent freeze.

Sweet Isla on our hike in Tannehill last week.

"And then the party ended, the season's lost and found." 

If you'd like to add your own tradition of a Fall Ball, the printables and description from last year are free. And they exist for you to enjoy.

A brief foray into the Gnome's world.

Gnome and Cleo, a burgeoning love story.

Although our Gnome is nearing the fantastic age of four, the fact of age is almost irrelevant in the life of a hearty, busy gnome. Her fascination with animals now includes Cleopatra (or Cleo) the cat, a Persian who most closely resembles a barred owl. Gnome tries to pet Cleo whenever she gets the chance to visit Bunica's house.

Gnome is also a steadfast member of the Cousin Isla fan club- the only fan club permitted in the Coryell Castle.

Our fan club policy stems from one of our theme songs, Kill Yr Idols by Sonic Youth. But we make an exception for Isla. Because we date our doctrines rather than wed them.

The longest nurser and co-sleeper in our household continues to be the most independent of its younger members. Gnome plays with blocks alone on a regular basis, building entire worlds filled with stories and secrets. 

She maintains a magical sense of connection with the goings-on of a different dimension- one we might call "irrational" or "foolish" if we were foolish enough to think that way. For example, while we waited for the Eldest to finish his chicken-sitting tasks, Gnome started chuckling from the backseat of the car.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Ha," replied Gnome, wondering if I could be trusted with the more elusive aspects of metaphysics. 

"Why are you laughing?" I persisted.

"Because that house has funny eyes," Gnome announced with a grin. "It got eyes like a fly so it can see us really good," she continued, pointing towards the house.

I nodded, laughing. The King cackled. Gnome added that our castle was blind because it's eyes "didn't work at night for a long time". 

Enter Prophet, who quickly explained that's why the fireflies come to our yard- to help the house see at night. 

So the Gnome grows like a wildflower, and the joy she brings multiplies every day's bounty and blessing. Do you have a Gnome at home?

Isla cuts two teeth in time for her first birthday.

I offered her a wooden shaker.

She took it and shook it. 

Then she looked around.

The shaker had nothing on that Hello Kitty box.

But the Hello Kitty box was carefully tended by B.

B. couldn't stop laughing:

"The baby touched my box!"

But there was more to explore- more boxes filled with mysterious fabrics and colors.

Like that brown box over there.

So she balanced herself on the box; tried to creep around its corners.

All the hubbub distracted her from the task at hand.

 

Isla's first Christmas- the one she won't remember.

The one we will never forget because it is the first Christmas we share we her.

Ono Island and private confessions.

A portrait from a few weekends ago at Ono.

The last week flew by in that characteristic blur of the best writing experiences. Pages upon pages and complete absorption my subject matter. I am trying to re-enter the dailiness of life, and finding it difficult to focus my attention on nothing but the objects and people around me.

Still seeking the subtext. Re-reading Ingmar Bergman's Private Confessions, appreciating how new things strike me upon second readings. The plot is summarized as follows:

Anna, a vivacious, beautiful, and headstrong woman who rushed into her marriage with Henrik - a marriage that, for her, quickly became pleasureless. She feels how truly stifling it is only when she falls passionately in love with Henrik's young friend Tomas. For the first time, she finds pleasure in love; now her husband's touch, even his devotion, has gone from unstimulating to intolerable.

The guilt, however, is at least as thick and heady as the pleasure. Desperate for some joy in either her marriage or her illicit love, Anna embarks on a series of confessions - to her childhood pastor, to her husband, to her mother, to her best friend - seeking the advice or the absolution that will direct her to happiness.

In light of past lights, Anna strikes me for her measured and constant state of panic. At one point, she says something which still turns aorund in my mind as if there remains a meaning to mine or discover. In her words:

"We act out many roles. Some because it's fun, some because others want us to act out these roles. Mostly because we want to protect ourselves.... then I imperceptibly lose what is not a role. When I keep on living, I get away from what is.... myself."

There is some way in which Anna's confession can still be teased and untangled...

A weekend at Ono with extended family.

Carla and Isla get their kicks on the dock.

A few weekends ago, we drove down to the Gulf and spent a weekend with my sister, her man, and their baby as well as my father and stepmother.

Isla can't help herself from giggling all the time.

Watching Isla grow and giggle her way through the day was a delight, and being close to so many people that I love ALL AT ONE TIME blew my mind.

Isla's super-strong little grip and tiny fingers that hold on to mommy.

Carla's devotion to Isla's needs- both physical and emotional- warms my heart. It's a pleasure to watch and experience. I've had such a hard time in the past spending weekends with family and friends who were sleep-training. Wine glasses in hand, everybody smiling and "letting the baby learn to self-soothe" meant that we had to pretend a baby wasn't screaming it's little head off for forty minutes at a time. No amount of wine in the world can drown out that sound for me. 

Being a mom means ignoring the fact that you have a silly facial expression in a photo where your baby looks plain adorable.

While I respect parents' perogatives to parent as they see fit, I confess that it's hard on my soul to be a captive audience to the tears of sleep training. Carla did nothing of the sort- she nursed when Isla was hungry or needed a little soothing and she napped with Isla when the opportunities arose. Rather than tote around a Pak-and-Play, the Newsomes traveled light and managed to share a full-sized bed between the three of them.

Pamela rocked Isla for a little while so Carla and I could venture out on the
most lazy, dysfunctional kayak ride ever confessed.

The King and the Germ got along great, and my dad kept rolling out the comments on how "nice it is to have my two son-in-laws together at the beach" (which is another way of saying he enjoyed having dudes with which to share beer).

Milla scribbles on the cement under the Baba Yaga house after a good swim.

Amid the chaos of life vests, plastic beach toys, wet swimsuits, "that's MY shell" or "she took my shovel", we enjoyed delicious food, good music, splendid sunsets, and a whole lot of love. Even Germ and the King did some cuddling. What can be more entertaining than that?

Princess Isla and the ponies.

Isla loved it when Micah and Milla chatted with her about the ponies and breast milk- two topics that run heavy currency.

The girls decided to set up a pony train to visit Isla because "Isla has a throne and the ponies should visit her in her throne all nicely lined." 

So the royal pony procession was carefully arranged and prepared for Princess Isla's satisfaction.

If that isn't the markings of a happy tiny ruler, I'm afraid I am clueless as to aristocratic social signalling.

Isla was, however, somewhat horrified when Milla made the ponies kiss her purple-socked feet. Just to show she's a democrat at heart, I suppose.