"may you stay forever young..."

While I'm on the subject of bibliomania, here are pictures of Isaac's birth announcements. They marry my love for all things related to books with my fondness for bits of nostalgic paper goods.



photos by suann of simplesong design

I hired Suann of simplesong design, one of my absolute favorite bloggers and letterpress designers, to create the old-school library card design. Her attention to detail was spot on, right down to the perfectly sized card holder and hand-stamped birth date. To finish them off, I used a little red paper clip to attach a small black-and-white photo of Isaac (not pictured).

I can't even tell you how much I ADORE them. Seriously.

Quote on the card is a line from Bob Dylan's song, Forever Young.

book recommendation: bibliomania

"He loved a book because it was a book; he loved its odor, its form, its title. What he loved in a manuscript was its old illegible date, the bizarre and strange Gothic characters, the heavy gilding which loaded its drawings. It was its pages covered with dust -- dust of which he breathed the sweet and tender perfume with delight." -Excerpt from Bibliomania, by Gustave Flaubert

I like to read but, oh, I love books. Gustave Flaubert's Bibliomania, a slim volume that I found while rooting through the stacks at a book fair a few years ago, speaks to me perfectly. It's the based-on-a-true-story of Giacomo, a bookseller whose passion for books drives him to the brink of insanity. It is funny and dark and even has a little twist at the end. It's full of little gems that will warm the heart of any true bibliophile. If you are a lover of books, this is definitely one you want to have in your library.

P.S. So sorry for the quiet blog! Things have been busy around here - mostly just trying to keep up with my child, who, once he learned how to pull himself up, determined that EVERY OBJECT IN OUR HOME was placed there for his own personal climbing pleasure. (Stack of folded towels? Clearly a jungle gym, duh. Vacuum cleaner? Rock climbing wall, obviously. Computer cords? Rope ladder, of course.) Oh, and did I mention that he recently got two razor-sharp teeth? And that I'm still breastfeeding? And he's very aggressive? Sigh. This too shall pass, right?

I've also been challenging myself to take more pictures, and experimenting with new ways to display them -- like the square crop and the diptych, both of which I'm absolutely loving (seen above).

[Photos by me, taken August 2009]

strangers / lovers

A couple days ago, my mom gave me a copy of a local wedding magazine she'd found that had published a few photos from my wedding. Apparently our photographer had submitted them; it was odd to see them on public display after existing solely in our personal album for so many years. There, under the table of contents, was my handsome groom affectionately kissing my cheek, my eyes closed in a state of euphoric contentment.

Yesterday, a friend brought over a stack of old photos from our college days. I stopped when I saw a photo of my husband that I hadn't seen in years. I remembered the precise moment it was captured. He was a little bit leaner, a little bit blonder, taking the first steps on the joint path we'd happily, almost recklessly, set ourselves on.

Today, while Isaac napped, I pulled out the photo album that holds the pictures from our honeymoon. Quietly, over my lunch of leftover homemade chicken noodle soup, I thumbed through the pages, my eyes flickering over the unbelievably tan, skinny, well-rested versions of ourselves. I lingered on a photo of his reflection in a window.

Tonight, I recalled and re-read some writings he'd penned about me. They are silly yet poignant. They make me think of myself in a warm light.

I feel something tugging, something searching. I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for.
A finger pressing a tender spot. A callus, softened.
A small ache, just a little.

A peace offering from the past, soothing my baby-frazzled nerves and encouraging me to extend more grace, more love, more affection to the man who, upon reflection, hasn't let the stresses and challenges of grown-up life change him as much as I sometimes think it has.

A couple years ago, I wrote a little something to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the day I met my husband. I'm reproducing it here, for posterity and because I love revisiting that night, a night that quite literally changed my life. [Apologies to those of you who may have read this already.]

Originally written August 1, 2007

You wore a maroon-and-gold striped shirt that fit snug against your well-defined, well-tanned chest and arm muscles. I might have noticed that first, if it wasn't for the shock of platinum blond hair that stood out conspicuously from your head like a red door on a white house. It was obviously unnatural, but strangely appealing.

I wore a plain white top with faded blue jeans and black wedge-heeled sandals, the ones I picked out specifically because they added three inches to my short frame. I had no jewelry on, except for a small iridescent blue flower toe ring on my right foot. My hair was the darkest brown, and I wore it long and straight.

I stretched out my hand expectantly to meet yours. Your handshake was confident, your smile was magnetic, and your eyes danced with a mischievous sparkle.

We walked into the restaurant and out of the hot summer night, strangers.

**************************

You wore the maroon-and-gold striped shirt.

I laughed when I saw that you had put it on. It is faded now, but the cotton still clings to your chest in the nicest way. Do you remember, a few months ago, when you tossed the shirt into the giveaway pile? I protested on grounds of sentimental value, and then hung it back up in your closet.

I wore a plain white top with faded blue jeans, but my wedge heels have long since been retired. I put on a pair of generic flip flops, but fished out the tiny blue toe ring from the bottom of my jewelry box -- you know I haven't worn it in years -- and slipped it onto my right foot. I pranced into the bathroom where you were getting ready and wiggled my toes at you. You laughed, and then reached for me.

We are nerds, you said with a kiss. I know, I replied with a hug.

I love us, you said.

I stretched out my hand across the table and slipped you a small, celebratory card. Five years ago today, everything changed and nothing changed. Your smile is still my magnet, it connects me to you in inexplicable ways. Your confidence is still my rock, I am anchored and grounded by your calm. Your youthful spirit is still my joy, I discover happiness and laughter with you every day.

We walked out of the restaurant and into the hot summer night, lovers.

Silence

"Silence is very important. The silence between the notes are as important as the notes themselves." - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

and the winner is...

Katie, who said: My lovely thing for today, as cheesy as it may be, is my husband. He is so kind and optimistic, and I learn so much from being around him! I am truly blessed.

Email me at marisawritesblog [at] gmail [dot] com so I can get the moleskine journal out to you!

Thanks so much to all of you who took the time to say hello and share your inspiring thoughts. I truly enjoyed reading about the things that make your life lovely!

the lovely list + a giveaway!

I'm featured on The Lovely List today!

Some of my very favorite bloggers have already been featured, so to have my small blog included among them was an unexpected and happy surprise.

For those of you stopping by from The Lovely List - hello! A few things about me: I started this blog about a year ago, not long after I discovered I was pregnant with my first child. I write because it helps me process change; admittedly, I don't roll with the punches very well. Okay, FINE. I'm sort of high strung. When my son was born, I quit my job in communications and event planning and began life as a stay-at-home mother. It's been strange and wonderful and not anything like I expected, for better and worse. I enjoy taking pictures, but I'm nowhere near as good as my photographer-husband, whom I adore and whose photos I feature here occasionally.

To celebrate my love for the blogging world and all of the lovely ladies out there, I've decided to do a little giveaway of something that every woman should have: a classic moleskine notebook.

Use it for notes, use it as a journal, or use it to keep your grocery list. In any form, writing is always a lovely pursuit.

Leave a comment with one thing that makes your life lovely today. Comments close on Monday, August 31 at 8 p.m. PST. I'll randomly choose and announce the winner on Tuesday!

be light

It is easy to be heavy; hard to be light.
-G.K. Chesterton

I've loved this quote for many years. It must be my melancholy temperament that draws me to it, I tend to be (to my great consternation) a glass half-empty type of person. I have to consciously decide to think positively and be optimistic.

At different times in my life it has meant different things -- and that's why I keep it near. It captures my inner struggle in a way that resonates.

Mad at my husband? It's hard to forgive.
Too many commitments? It's hard to say no.
Gained a few pounds? It's hard to be disciplined and go to the gym.

(Really hard. Really, REALLY hard. I hate the gym.)

Partly by necessity and partly by choice, the major theme I am working toward in my life right now is simplicity. We're a growing family, crammed into every nook and crevice of this small apartment. We're a single-income family, watching our pennies during the worst economic recession in recent history. We're a fledgling business, working on weekends to make a small dream become reality. There is simply no room for extras, financially or otherwise, and occasionally - it does feel overwhelming.

But when I re-read this quote tonight, I decided to think "light:"

We're crammed, but we're cozy. We are where we are by choice. I'm glad I even had a choice. We're watching pennies, but only because we've financially prepared for this. Watching pennies allows me the privilege to stay home with Isaac. Given a choice, I wouldn't trade it for an extra paycheck. We're working hard for what seems like little reward, but it is immensely fulfilling in a different way. Being able to build something together with my husband is truly exciting.

It isn't enough to just be positive and have an optimistic outlook. I think the lightest hearts are the ones that actively seek contentment and gratitude.

[Photo by my super-talented husband, taken April 2006]

hatched

Remember my winged tenants from a few months ago?

Not long after I wrote about them, the three tiny blue eggs hatched! I heard the chorus of chirping and knew that the babies had made their entrance. I was excited, but quite nervous for their well-being in the nest, because I knew that many unfortunate things could happen between hatching and the time they were ready to leave.

I was so nervous, in fact, that once they were born I refused to set foot on my patio, not even to water my flowers and plants, because I didn't want to disturb or agitate the parent birds.

The babies thrived. My flowers and plants, on the other hand, did not.

After a few weeks, I started to notice that two of the birds had begun to fly. The third bird would just hang around the nest while his brothers were off exploring.

I think he liked the peace and quiet.



Doesn't he look majestic?

Just a few days after I took that picture, the entire family packed up and left the nest. I'm convinced that they hustled away in the middle of the night so that I wouldn't make a scene.

I'm telling you this happy bird birth story (hatch story?) because soon I'll be posting Part 1 of Isaac's birth story and I wanted you to have a happy memory since Isaac's story is decidedly more... graphic? toe-curling? bloody? cringe-inducing?

Just kidding. It's not really going to be that kind of story. But, if human birth freaks you out (particularly unmedicated, natural birth), then feel free to refer back to this post and simply imagine that Isaac hatched himself painlessly out of a little blue egg.

Come to think of it, that would be pretty darn cute.

There is an epilogue, of sorts, to the bird story. It'll be awhile before I post it, but just keep it in mind.

you'll never know dear, how much I love you...

hello sunshine,

You stayed overnight at your grandparents house this weekend because your dad and I had to go photograph an out-of-town wedding. It was your first time away from us since your early stay in the hospital NICU and, if you must know, well... yes, I did get a little choked up while packing your things and sending you on your way. I might have made numerous, sighing references about "my big boy" and his "manly ways." Possibly I whispered for you not to forget me.

There may or may not have been tears. Maybe. I don't know. Who can really remember such things, anyway?

(By the by, if in your youth you are ever embarrassed by your blubbering, sentimental fool of a mother, kindly note that I was NEVER LIKE THIS until I met you, okay??)

When we returned to pick you up the next day, I fast-walked to the door with plans to pounce on you and smother you in a million kisses. But you were napping, as luck would have it. So I squashed my motherly affections and instead contented myself to watch you sleep. And as I watched you, completely and truly astounded by how much you'd GROWN and CHANGED in the mere 24 hours that I was gone, the thought bashed me over the head repeatedly occurred to me that I really need to get my act in gear and start consistently documenting our sweet days together NOW, because soon I'm going to be waving and sniffling my way out of your college dorm room or wedding reception or whatever.

So, here I am. And tonight, I just want to document one thing, one thing that I want you to know and remember.

My mom used to sing the song "You are My Sunshine" to me when I was little. Even now, all these years later, I love the melody and it makes me think of her fondly.

Every night I sing it to you before I put you down to sleep. You stare at me, watching my face intently. I stare at you, marveling at your perfectly turned nose and dimpled hands. Sometimes you reach up to grab my hair or play with my moving lips. It's adorably distracting, but I keep singing.

Those sweet moments with you bring me deep joy. You ARE the sunshine in my days and even though you can't understand it now, I hope in the days to come you'll never forget it.

[Photo by me, taken June 2009]

remembering simple things

Numbers and spreadsheets and contracts and lists, oh my! My husband's part-time freelance photography work (for which I handle the business side of things) is currently on the upswing - and while it is mostly fun and exciting, it can also be quite time-consuming and a bit tedious.

So tonight, since I can't seem to pull myself away from the computer long enough to actually go and do something relaxing, I 'virtually' refreshed myself by thinking about those lovely days we spent up north last year. The endless cups of chamomile tea by the lazy fire, those melt-in-your-mouth pirouline wafers, that colorful tangle of embroidery thread...

Take time to document -- in words or pictures or both -- the small, simple things of your life. You will return to them, eagerly, again and again.

(Photos by me, taken October 2008)

obliterated

"You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm Of Fireflies" by Yayoi Kusama

My best birthday present this year was from my husband, who gave me a membership to our local art museum. A couple weeks ago, we finally found some time to go and explore their new modern art wing (really wonderful + super sleek if you haven't been) with our cameras in hand.

The museum is lucky to have a permanent installation by Yayoi Kusama entitled "You Who Are Getting Obliterated In The Dancing Swarm of Fireflies" (seen above, photo taken by my husband). It's basically a small, dark room with thousands of tiny, hanging LED lights reflecting off of every surface. The lights, which are controlled by a computer, shift color slowly and in different patterns.

Hand-in-hand, we stepped into the room a little unsure of ourselves. The effect was dizzying, exactly what I would imagine stepping into a black hole in outer space would be like. I dramatically whispered into his ear that I couldn't feel the floor beneath my feet and I would probably puke. ("You won't" he said in that voice that I've heard a million times, the voice that feigns sternness in an attempt to disguise amusement. I love that voice.)

It took a few minutes for our pupils to adjust.

Soon after, I felt like I'd passed into another world.

Loose. Sinking. Peaceful. Swirling.
Excited. Drifting. Uncontrolled.
Endless. Floating.

I have been thinking about those feelings ever since the museum, because they are how I feel most days. Going from the workforce to full-time motherhood is a similarly disorienting transportation. There is so much I want to do, but instead I find myself standing still.

I am searching for a structure. A way to make order as the new lights of my life beckon with unfamiliar beauty.

"he who laughs"

Someday, when you're old enough to read this, you'll understand.

By then, you will have witnessed years of our fake quarreling, the all-in-good-fun teasing, the impassioned pleas to "stop the tickling!" You'll have rifled through photo after photo of he and I making silly faces for the camera. You'll have heard the stories -- like the time your dad threw snow in my face and I cried and he -- what else? -- laughed. You'll know that I adore your father's lighthearted spirit, and you'll watch him thrive on the the fact that I laugh at all of his corny jokes.

You will have come to know (and hopefully love) my often inappropriately loud voice and his penchant for sarcastic one-liners.

You'll know why we named you Isaac.

Earlier this week, after a particularly rough day, I held you in my arms and tried to get you to stop crying. I walked you up to the mirror, pressed my face to your chubby cheek, and started singing "The Farmer in the Dell." We bounced back and forth (the farmer in the dell! the farmer in the dell!) and back and forth (hi-ho the derry-o!) until your sniffles turned into a smile (the farmer in the dell!). You watched yourself with great interest, and your gummy grin was all the encouragement I needed to be louder and more animated with each chorus.

And then, for the first time in your short little life, a chuckle escaped from your lips. You couldn't help it.

I was euphoric. I'd been waiting for this since that moment in the hospital room when we looked at you, then looked at each other and said, "Isaac?"

Yes, we nodded in agreement.

Isaac.


[Happy Mother's Day to all the beautiful mom's, my own included! I had a wonderful day - my little boy sent me flowers and gave me a card (isn't he so advanced for a four-month old? ha.) and my darling husband made me breakfast and wrote me a sweet letter. Then they both took me out for a little retail therapy at anthro & urban where I picked up some new summer clothes. I am truly blessed!]