i could eat you up, i love you so.

9.12.09

see ya'll tuesday :)

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fly,

sb

the rest of the nest...

soooo....

you've seen our house...

our love shack if you will.

now here's a peek at our yard.

still a bit neglected,

but we have plans.

our love is not contained by the walls of our home.

here's our firepit that paul made.

he dreamed it up and built it with his own hands.

by himself.

can you tell i'm proud?

he wanted to be able to share fires at night with

friends and each other.

and we have.

i love the glow of his fire on my face.

my (empty) birdfeeder.

oops.

a Christmas gift.

you should see the flock of birds

that come in the winter.

cardinals, blue jays, and

little black heads (what i call them, anyway).

i'm a bit of a bird watcher, really.

anything that flies captures my attention.

our old swing.

it was left here by the previous owners.

not the best,

but still the best.

it reminds me of my neighbors growing up.

faye and melvin and their blue swing.

it's perfect for talking and thinking and relaxing...

the pool on the hill.

a summer gathering place if i've ever seen one.

i love the side of our garage.

old and scruffy, yes.

full of character, yes.

the site of many photo projects.

the pups...

the hen and chicks.

further proof i'm morphing into

my great grandmother, reba.

plus they are easy to take care of.

my favorite.

our driveway.

not the easiest on the tires,

not the easiest to drive up in the snow...

or the easiet to mow.

but i walk it almost every afternoon with the pups

to get the mail.

even mentioning the word "mail"

sends the dogs in a frenzy.

apparently so do the words

"fail", "tail" and "whale"

as we found out today.

but i love the little break in the day.

a mini tradition of sorts.

i love the idea of mail.

there's so much possibility from day to day

(and sometimes treasures!).

i love the sun on my face

and the flex in my legs.

i love being engaged in the neighborhood.

our marshall sign.

silly, huh?

but i got it for paul a few weeks

before our wedding last year.

i got it at the pumpkin festival,

the same place he asked my mom permission to marry me.

AND

paul loves marshall football.

and i love paul.

and i love marshall, too...

because that's where we met :)

and now we're the boekells.

i promise here in a few weeks new work will be featured

and listed in the shop.

i've started saving (sorta) for supplies

to create my jewelry.

and i've taken new photos for some illustrations.

so, bear with me.

it won't always be me blabbing about myself.

almost Heaven.

perhaps you've heard of john denver?

i thought so.

have you heard of tamarack?

it's in beckley, wv.

here's a shot:

(courtesy of wvtourism.com)

it's such a grand place.
i've wanted to go for a long time...
it's only about an hour or so from my home.
a dear friend took me on wednesday

because she knew i would love it.
and i did.
and do.
it's a place filled with spectacular arts and crafts,
all from wv artists.
some mind blowing work.
i mean, wow.
it's an honor to have your work for sale there...
and on display there.
maybe some day.
if you haven't gone,
go.

let me brag on my home.

here's a poem from wv writer lewellyn mckernan
i found in a book i picked up while i was there entitled

And Now the Magpie

:

The Unicorn on the Picture Postcard

is about to take off.
He looks back once, erasing
the footprints that took him.

to this beach, where the sand
turns dark just before it's
lifted up into the white flower

of a wave. He reduces the sun,
stuck in the upper left corner,
to a lollypop licked to its edges,

his diamond-hard eyes glancing
off the rainbow the rims
the china-plate sky: gold, ruby,

sapphire burst into a thousand
champagne pieces. The unicorn
blinks, pawing the pink sand

with his woven black hoof, shaking
the pale dream of a mane that
whips the circuituous wind to

whipped cream as it sends the tide
on its hummingbird rounds
all glittering gutter and green.

His ears perk as if suddenly he
hears a voice just outside the
vision of the artist that made him

that makes him so excited his black
tails curls up and his orange lashes
sing. He neighs, a sound not unlike

goodbye in every language. He leaps
to the edge of the card, kicking up
his heels hard, and with a dazzling

softshoe that rivals the best Broadway
tapdancer, he exists: leaving behind
the most beautiful landscape, ringing

with absence. Somehow, somewhere
a bigger better landscape called
to him. And he answered.

-by Lewellyn Mckernan (1985)

...GO