Full on Spring

Spring has made its way to our doorstep. When I walked out this morning to check the mail the Maple tree that had been bare (except for that last brown leaf that hung on for dear life) now bourgeoned with delicate light green leaves; tiny hands fluttering in the wind greeting the sun. 

And so goes the wardrobe, clothes, make-up, accessories and all the necessary ducks in tow; thick clothes tucked into corners of the closest, boots kicked back, sandals and wedges surface up front along with all the pastel shades that I have recently, very recently,  become friends with. 

Betsey Johnson. Homemade baby clips. Chatterbox and Viva Glam V. Cath Kidston. YUM.

Exactly one year ago today, I was in my second trimester recovering from the throes of hormone shifts, unexplainable cravings, and superhero senses. I distinctly remember looking out the window and being awed by so much roses that seemingly grew out of nowhere. Our backyard, an otherwise drab oasis of cement, weeds, spiderwebs, and two stalks of the most stubborn persimmon trees that refuse to grow and bear fruit, comes alive with the surprise of color, complements of Spring. What a sight to behold considering we don’t pay much attention to it. Such happiness in its blooms; nothing short of a message of renewal. 

I was never a big fan of roses, until Rachel Ashwell made them chic and shabby- but even then - years ago I was in denial of a side of me that was so incredibly florid and feminine.  My pregnancy was a culmination of all things maternal, effeminate and pretty.  The floodgates opened the day I cut those roses, arranged them with glee in an old blue and white pitcher, and placed it in the foyer so it can greet me every time I go downstairs.   I was forever changed, my daughter had given me the gift of insight. 

Our roses pink, red, yellow, and plum- wild yet unperturbed, a revelation in an otherwise drab backyard.  They are reminders of nature’s renewing force within and all around me. Today, the buds rest quietly like hands in prayer pointing to the heavens, sleeping beauties waiting for the kiss of Spring. It’s no     that they’re referred to as Ovoids the buds, egg shaped, is probably the best symbol of new beginnings.  I can’t help but feel that I would have come full circle when I take the blooms back in the house as I did exactly one year ago. 

Easter too, is a two days away. Another chance to celebrate, as evidenced by the sweetly colored chocolates in grocery isle, the abounding stacks of eggs, and migration of a certain bird specie:

And their gruesome fate... 

There is rabbit food too, of course. 

We can feel new as we purge our closets and our spirits of its clutter to make room for all the good things the year has to bless us with.  And suddenly we feel much lighter...

and smile wider

My sweet penguin...

laugh louder

Thank God for Blackberries to capture moments on a whim

we savor the small things like sunshine after a week of rain, or tiny green leaves, or the fact the tiny human you are lovingly raising is saying "Dada" and "Mama" even if she doesn't know what it means just yet. And so we switch gears and move forward with optimism on overdrive for all the good things the year has yet to give, with an open heart and a spring in our steps.

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What is Paradise but a Garden.

Sunday at the park ( San Francisco Botanical Garden )was the perfect weekend local getaway. Just the three of us, walking through the arch of Magnolia trees with winding pathways that led to various continental cloud forests, ancient plant gardens, a waterfowl pond, and a great meadow and a redwood grove. It’s still too cold for a picnic by the pond with friends, family, and the curious waterfowl skimming the pond along with the rest of the wild and wondrous ecosystem that thrives in the park. 

I’m feeling it. The spring fever of quilts and picnics. Sandwiches. Poetry. The wind, sun, and mild weather - so many afternoons to spend. 

“In the Spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt” - Margaret Atwood.

And there were benches...everywhere, were you can sit and watch the sunlight move across gardens and groves. There is a familiar stillness in the park. Like when fog moves through the trees in a state of peace, it is a vision of calmness that resonates from the cloud forests to the inner garden of our quiet soul. 

And though most (if not all) the benches in the park were placed in remembrance of lives that once were, they are undeniably inviting - to sit in solemnity and celebrate the life that continues to unfold before you; ever changing.

What is paradise but a garden!

It helps that every single plant, flower and tree had tags otherwise it would’ve just been “oooooh that pink- hanging- thing is soooo pretty” and “Puuuurple flowerrrrs!” 

Our little Love, always fascinated by trees and flowers was quietly observing the beauty that surrounded her, a change from her usual afternoon babble - the language of trees that effortlessly lulled her to sleep.  

The vast expanse of the park draws out the creative spirit in each and every one of us. 

The annual flourish of Magnolias is a BIG event at the park! Ad and posters everywhere - how FABULOUS is that?! Only in San Francisco.  

This is by far the most fascinating and largest botanical garden I’ve been to (can’t say I’ve been to much, really). Like I always say, the possibility of how much dynamism thrives in the park will surely be stunning, and when spring comes forward and everything is in bloom our bearings will be set back to the garden. 

Magnolias bloom mid-winter and is a sure sign that Spring is a turn away.

And so...

The park beckons in Spring. 

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Let it be known that I am on the hunt for the perfect quilt. One that I can carry with me through the seasons. I want the organized chaos of printed fabrics squares preferably hand tied backed with a simple fabric that can withstand years of grass laying, sandy beaches, bedroom ruffles, drools, tugs, and hugs.  Let’s not forget affordable. 

Looking through the usual shops, I see a lot of vintage varieties - I think a prefer a new quilt with a bohemian look; perhaps in this case it’s best to start with something new and build new memories that will weave into the fabric itself rather than buy something that is actually vintage (albeit tempting as those that I’ve seen are gorgeous). 

Well, If Man can shop globe, Mama can shop Ebay or Etsy. Game on. 

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