First Friday

First Fridays are important in our family. The first Friday of the month is, as you know, set aside as a day of special devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and I have, at some points in history attended First Fridays adoration and Mass. Small children I could name have made this practice a bit more challenging, but this past Friday I was able to attend Mass with Miss Hattie in tow. Hattie amused herself by reorganizing the hymnals and I was able to grab a quiet moment, for which I am so thankful.

But First Fridays are important to Thomas More and Myself for other, secular reasons as well. Namely: Good JuJu and the vintage markets in the West Bottoms, which are only open on the first weekend of every month. I usually go down on Friday morning with my lovely friend Anna, but since she now resides in Our Nation's Capital I have been lacking a shopping buddy.

This month I headed down with some Bible Study friends and my husband, who took some time out of his busy schedule to hang with the ladies.

A view of the warehouse.
Thomas More and Harriet trying out a Bentwood cafe chair.

Chandelier sideways.
Bridge at sunset. After shopping we ate at a delicious vegan restaurant off Summit.

I liked their stripy wall.

And their metalic gold wall. I entertained Hattie by taking pictures of her and showing her the results on the little screen on the back of the camera.

This is probably the least flattering picture I have ever seen of either of us.

Coming Home Again

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

-T.S. Eliot “Little Gidding”

Growing up, my parents took us up to Weston, Missouri, each October. We picked pumpkins and looked at the animals at Red Bard Farm and spent the day at Westbend State Park, which sits above the bluffs above the Missouri River.

The trail at the park is a three mile loop; my brother and I rode our bikes around while Mom and Dad walked. Sometimes, if we were feeling particularly strong, David and I would ride around again and catch them up from behind.

This year we took Harriet with us for a second time. Last year she was just a tiny baby, and Devin carried her around the trail in a sling.

This year she isn’t a baby anymore, but though this loss of baby-dom at times makes me unutterably sad, it was delightful to watch her interact with her surroundings with her boundless toddler energy and insatiable curiosity.

For me, going up to Weston is always a lesson in memory and nostalgia, and taking my child to my old haunts adds yet another layer to my experience of the place. This year, as I looked over the bluffs and down the river, the forested landscape pristine, turning gold, I thought about our childhood bike-trip around the Westbend Loop.

Now, I thought, I’ve really come full circle. I have caught my parents up from behind: I have become a mother myself. I’m bound to watch my daughter experience these places that are mine.

There is something rich about moving back to the place where you grew up. Richness and a strange kind of sorrow in watching a new child in your old place. Sorrow because you know you can’t be that child again. Sorrow because your daughter’s childhood is—though *yours* in one sense—in another sense completely inaccessible. Hers.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am so glad to be home, biding here in these familiar parts. Home, I find, is not the dull wasteland I feared it might be. Your house is, after all, your castle and your hometown a country of terrible beauty.

Remember 2010

I built this video intending to post it in January 2011. Life happened and my technological abilities are...nil. So, um, six months later I present to you my 2010 remembrances.

2010
was
a
very
good
year.

Cooking Class at Bella Napoli

my mom and i took a cooking class at our local italian delicatessen.

we made gnocchi and other lovely things.

(apparently i need to acquire a potato ricer.)

Snow

Anna from New York

My lovely friend Anna came from New York to see me in Kansas City. We did a bit of wandering around the metropolis. It's not New York, but it's home.

Anna and I have been friends for 18 years. So she gets to be Harriet's "auntie."

Weekend

This weekend my grandmother came to meet Harriet--her great-grand daughter.

And suddenly, this weekend, it was fall. The temperature dropped. Today you can smell the dry leaves in the sunshine.

Thomas More and I took Hattie down to the West Bottoms, because it is just so bizarre down there.

Kansas City in July

Hot here: the sun is like iron weights. Bright and heavy.

I love

drinking iced coffee in Broadway Coffee. Sun through the huge panes. Sun and shadow wavering in the heat on the white tile. Clatter of mugs and voices. Steamed milk. Outside there are dogs, bikes, and a row of guys sitting on chairs in the heat.

I love

the farmers' market on Saturday morning. Huge tomatoes, tomatillos, eggplant. A five-year-old sold me espresso cookies. A woman sold me bread. There are flowers in buckets, babies in slings. Morning murmur amongst fruit, potted plants, tents flapping in the hot wind.

I love

cicadas in the evening as we eat ice cream. Ice cream melting. Cold and heat. Heat heat--even into the night. Ceiling fans at night. My pregnant body sweating.

I love the skyline. I love the sun blinding. I love the huge trees in Hyde Park. I love the brick streets in Westport. I love the smell of grass.

I love

I love