My boy and I have new rhythms and new favorites, new jobs and new home offices. He learns to drive on a cherry red Ford pickup. We spend time with sisters, cousins, and uncles. Our voices echo through empty rooms with bare floors and walls.

It feels right that we came here in winter. My heavy heart needs a resting, fallow time. I burrow under, and curl to lick my wounds.

On the second to last day of this year, I stand at the clothesline and pin damp sheets and pillowcases still smelling of lavender. They snap and twist in the cold wind. I’m surrounded by all the[…]

Inside, I watch the bone broth simmer through the glass lid. The bubbles wiggle the chicken feet floating on the surface of the golden liquid.

And I’m sick and worn down to just the warp in spots. My eyes burn and my ears are blocked and ringing still with the leaving, that final gift that pricks and throbs like so many tiny shards of […]

I drape the dried sheet over the mattress and make crisp hospital corners at the foot of the bed, and the smell of petrichor rises from the linens, warding against evil in the new year to come.

• I could barely believe the beauty of Manhattan Beach. Lemon trees and succulents in nearly every front yard, warm and fragrant breezes, my feet in soft sand after a painfully long winter.

• I’d never before attended a wedding held outside in the rain, but now I can heartily recommend it: huge smiles peeking out from under dripping raincoat hoods and umbrellas, steam rising from the pavement, the sound of water all around.

• I made a cake, sewed a colorful bunting and watched a newly minted teenager dive into blue water over a long weekend.

• Bonum est praestolari cum silentio salutare Dei.

As I write this, a loved one of mine is snuggled up in his bed, recovering from his second surgery in three months. Nothing life-threatening, but surgery nonetheless. His recovery will include several days spent in bed, followed by several weeks of crutches and physical therapy. I’m by no means an expert on natural healing (really I have so much to learn) but I believe in the power of preventative care, am learning more and more about nutrition as medicine, and am wide open to ancient and naturopathic healing wisdom. I thought it might be worth sharing about how I prepare our home for convalescence, and the natural remedies I use to encourage rest and healing.

A calm and serene environment

Before the period of convalescence begins, I make sure to thoroughly clean the bedroom where my loved one will recover. I remove clutter, wash, fold and put away laundry, and clean off all surfaces with a non-toxic natural cleaner. I also wash the bed linens and dry them on the line outside, to bring fresh air and a bit of nature inside. Once my patient comes home from the hospital, I tuck him or her into a bed that smells of sunshine. I also vaporize a mixture of orange, patchouli and ylang ylang essential oils to create a peaceful vibe in the room.

A plan for things to do

Hanging out in bed can be a little tedious, once the novelty wears off. I always check out a stack of new-to-us books from the library for my patient to read. Once a trip to the television becomes possible, we choose a movie series and spend the next few days and/or evenings watching a movie while snacking on freshly-popped organic popcorn. Family favorites include the Back to the Future trilogy and the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies.

Nourishing food for healing

Again–I have so far to go in this department, but do have certain items that I keep on hand when someone has a need of healing. We drink several cups of organic tulsi tea each day, incorporate organic turmeric into our diet via golden milk or vegetable curries, and make smoothies with whey protein and green superfood powders (thanks to my stepdaughter for the recommendation) to get some semblance of greens into even the most reluctant of bodies. We supplement with multivitamins and vitamin C drink mixtures as needed. It’s good for me to remember that even the tiniest of baby steps in this area moves my family forward towards better health.

A way to get clean

Eventually after a period of extended convalescence we all reach a point where we long for a nice, hot shower. I’ve found all kinds of neat products at Walgreens that keep incisions of all shapes, sizes and locations dry. But waterproof dressings aside, you don’t have to purchase a bunch of medical equipment just to assist your patient with bathing. For me, helping an injured loved one into the shower is a precarious ballet that includes strategically placed towels, a waterproof limb cover from Walgreens and a small plastic step stool from IKEA sitting under the water stream, ready to be repurposed as a shower seat. It feels wonderful to put on clean clothes and towel off sweet-smelling hair for the first time after surgery.

A good night’s sleep

We all know sleep is necessary for healing. Melatonin, no screens for the 1.5 hours before lights out time, and adequate pain control all contribute to a good night’s sleep. I don’t hesitate to give the pain medication prescribed by the doctor, as pain really does interfere with rest. Once pain is under control, we move to over the counter pain relief, but we are in no rush to stop taking stronger medicine because of fear.

I can say with certainty that these measures are a great comfort to a person weakened by pain and dependence on others. I prepared in this way for my own surgery a few years ago, and was much more comfortable during my recovery than if I’d been surrounded by mess, in pain, and bored to tears.

The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Southern Mail, 1929, translated from French by Curtis Cate

The truest, most loving friends in the world helped us pack our truck and clean our house on a Friday night. Kids raced around, got underfoot and played hot potato. Crazy Phil discovered some 20 year-old homemade pickles in my basement. Despite the corroded lids, despite the fact that the pickles were floating around in a murky, green water filled with unidentifiable objects of plant origin, he ate them. Then he passed them around. Video of that disgusting event here. There was pizza and a little drinking and my girlfriends washed my bathrooms, packed my food, washed my fridges, and slipped care packages of new toys and goodies into the truck for us to discover on our arrival. Their acts of kindness that night filled my heart to overflowing.

Even more blessings awaited us at our new home in Virginia. Our new housemates had vanilla candles burning in every impeccably clean room, more dear and devoted friends helped us unload what we had loaded just hours before, and we shared a meal of very good Chinese food in our dining room to celebrate this new beginning. The next morning, running on adrenaline, I dug into the work of creating a home, but had to pause to satisfy a mysterious craving for fresh salsa. And as expected, eventually the migraine came, forcing me to bed and to rest. But we’re here, and we’re loved, and will forever be indebted to our dear ones.

Other garden notes:
–> Killed my seedlings that were started way too late by overfertilizing them. Too much love, hyper-vigilance, overparenting, the story of my life. But I found some lovely heirloom transplants at my friendly neighborhood garden center and adopted them.
–> Lettuce is growing and I cannot wait for the first homegrown salad of the season.
–> Peas, melons, peppers, cukes, herbs, they’re all growing away, but this time I am determined to avoid a jungle mess, and so am studying pruning techniques.
–> My garden is child’s play compared with the restorative agricultural work being done by my Regrarian heroes, but we all must start somewhere.

We are moving in two months, so I am taking William Morris’ words to heart. I am making choices, selling off, giving away. I feel stripped down to a ribbon inside. I move from room to room, pulling items out of corners and closets. I hold each thing in my hand, feel its weight, and I whisper to myself: And this? Does this matter to you? Will its loss tear through you, leave you broken and wanting?

The whispered answer:
Just let it go.

I bought a fluorescent light fixture with two full-spectrum grow bulbs and installed it in our basement pantry. I made pots out of newspaper and we planted seeds. I water them twice a day and imagine them tall and strong in the sunshine.

Today is dark, cloudy and brooding. I’m listening to Pandora, making applesauce and enjoying the darkness.

Happy Friday. xxoo

More music on our front steps. The kids played hide and seek in the dark spaces between the buildings. One nearby door slowly opened a crack, an unseen man or woman probably peering out to pinpoint the source of the sound. I sat on my stool, listened, swatted away mosquitos. My neighbors’ television sets cast strobing stripes of light on their front lawns.

Our house is featured in the July 2013 online issue of Ikea Family Live Magazine, a digital publication of Inter IKEA Systems B.V. The mag’s editor Helen reached out to me via email and asked if we’d like to be featured. When I accepted, she sent me a digital package containing photo guidelines, interview questions and FTP instructions.

I styled our place myself. I used my Canon Rebel XT and my 18-55mm kit lens to take the shots, used my free Gimp download to gently edit the shots, and used my brain and rusty writing voice to craft some explanation of the crazy that is our place. And our place is crazy, make no mistake.

My interview emphasizes how well our space suits our needs, and it does, but we have to constantly stay on top of* the clutter or all bets are off. I spent quite a while staging these photos, and like any other magazine, they show our place at its tidiest.

I thought it would be funny to look at the shots in the mag, taken after a day of staging, and compare them with shots of the same rooms taken with my iPhone on a normal day.

These comparisons make me laugh so hard. If all magazines published “reality” shots, Pinterest stress would be a thing of the past. But in that case I suppose no one would be inspired to do any better. This process reaffirmed for me that beauty exists in my life, in every moment and every where: in a car held together with duct tape, in the weeds dotting our lawn, in a flea market painting of a cat and a family room bursting at the seams with mess/life.

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*”staying on top of” may or may not involve yelling, semi-violent pile-making, and the waving around of trash bags in a menacing fashion.

After building up my courage with coffee and Ella, I spent the morning sewing a hefty curtain to replace the broken bi-fold door of our coat closet. I’d been waiting for five years to cut into this Ikea fabric, and couldn’t have used it for a better purpose, as the length of this curtain really shows off the pattern.

As predicted, the record player is getting a real workout. What is surprising–but probably should not be knowing this boy and girl of mine–is that most every selection they make is classical. I’ve raised them on a steady diet of jazz, classic rock, and cheesy 70’s love songs, but there is no denying their visceral hunger for strings, piano, brass. Mozart was his choice one afternoon this week, and the sounds of the quintet filled the first floor of our house.

I rearranged the living room this weekend and made a spot for the turntable we bought two years ago. It had been about 20 years since I’d actually listened to any of my records, so I spent this afternoon with Wings, Led Zeppelin, Roxy Music, Blind Faith. I’m looking forward to digging into the Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn from my husband’s extensive LP collection.

I’m staying cocooned in my home this week, working through each little pain and complication of last week’s surgery. The pain brings clarity of focus, and I find myself considering small details, like the banding on this teeny hand-thrown vase, for long moments.

I hear giggles mixed with serious discussion drifting up the stairs to my sick bed. I haul myself to standing, hobble to my camera, and tiptoe down the open stairs to see exactly how this day of their summer vacation is starting.

I can’t describe what a joy it is to have a son. This bedroom of his speaks volumes about the person he’s becoming…if you can read the clues.

I wanted to sleep through this very grey and rainy day in Virginia last week. Instead I stared at the green of this cutting and imagined spring.

It was slippery outside this morning, too slippery to run. I made maple oatmeal scones instead. We sipped coffee and read about dinosaurs, then I retreated to the home office to begin my day.

This is my office away from the office. Wooden bowls on my windowsill hold treasures gathered and formed by little hands.

We have many nests in our home. They are filled with rocks, shells, eggs, toys, and husks. The cicada husk reminds me of one hot summer in Virginia when my daughter was small and the cicadas flew thick and loud. I found the fuzzy bee body on the back deck one fall morning, but I haven’t had the time to figure out its species.

One packing problem specific to LP owners: I keep getting distracted by all the eye candy. I’m a sucker for album art. Check out the LPCover Lover blog for more awesome album covers.

The first time I visited the website of accomplished Stockholm-based illustrator Ingela P. Arrhenius, she was coincidentally having a giveaway. I entered, and to my great surprise I won this studly little Swedish man. He now sits on our nature table and watches over the children as they do their homework. He has found a compatriot in my grandfather’s Dala horse.

Warm cookies and gloomy skies are the October norm in central New York. He was home all week with the flu. We sat next to each other on the couch, our respective laptops at hand. She wished for fl[…]

Post script: Our chalkboard wall was [featured on the lovely Ohdeedoh today](http://[…]

When they got home from school they began filling the boxes with their plans, hopes and dreams for the month.

It was hard work. I had to lift heavy pine branches over my head to finish the lean-to, and while I held still to staple the sides of the tee pees, the mosquitoes nearly ate my face off. In fact, one bit me on the left side of my lower lip, and I have been doing dead-on Silvester Stallone impressions all afternoon. Adriaaaaaaan!

I wanted to tell them no, because I am old and tired and over-caffeinated. But this was the first weekend after the first week of a new school year, the end of the first week of our new days spent more apart than together. So I said yes instead. Yes, I will play with you. Yes, I like what you do. Yes, I love you.

I found this little guy sitting on a table at the church rummage sale today. His ticking is loud and he sits on my desk and keeps me company.

Canon ink cartridge shipping material. I saw these happy dude faces the minute I laid my eyes on them. Not everyone sees them right away, though.

Not done yet. We’re going to IKEA this weekend for the finishing touches. Boy, am I glad those curtains are finally up, sewing them almost killed me…

If you live with a guitar player, you must be prepared for one unfortunate truth: you, your children, and your children’s children will be tripping over guitar cases as long as your guitar player draws breath and you share a roof with him or her.

After the fourth time in a week that one of my poor, innocent children tripped and fell over a guitar case left in the middle of our living room floor, I threw up my hands. Then I cried, Uncle! Then I ate some Doritos. Then I Googled “hang guitar”, which brought me to this tutorial, the perusal of which ultimately resulted in me hatching an evil plan to rid my home of random guitar case leavings.

What You’ll Need:

• Laser level

• Stud finder

• Electric drill with drill bits and screwdriver bits

• Length of handrail appropriate to your wall

• Mounting hardware appropriate to your wall (I used drywall screws)

• Padded tool hangers, enough to accommodate your guitars (I bought these)

• A friend to help you, if your handrail is loooong

What To Do:

1. If you want the handrail to match your wall, prime and paint the handrail and let dry.

2. Use the stud finder to locate the studs in your wall.

3. Mark the location of your studs on the wall.

4. Hold the handrail against the wall where you plan to position it, and mark the location of the studs along the length of the handrail.

5. Drill pilot holes in the studs and handrail.

6. Use a screwdriver bit to drive screws through the handrail pilot holes and into the studs to mount the handrail

7. Drill pilot holes into the handrail where you want the hangers to go

8. Screw hangers into the pilot holes. You’re done!

All of this took place at 11 o’clock at night, after my kids were in bed, when my husband was out of town, with smooth jazz blasting from my iTunes radio to try to calm my drill-frazzled nerves.

Music stores charge at least $15 for a hanger that supports one guitar. I spent $30 in materials and ended up fitting six guitars on my wall.