Cath, etc.

Christmas Greetings from Our House to Yours

It's been a year now since Mark and I left our home in Utah to begin a new life in New Hampshire. We've been busy, busy, busy settling in, adjusting, and making our house a home. And while it has been one of the most challenging experiences either one of us have ever been through, there's nothing like a little Christmas to make you feel right at home.

We've decked the halls (quite literally):

...and added a faux mantel to the new fireplace:

(Who knew? All you need is some bookshelves and some screws and voila! Instant mantle!)

Our snowfriends are happy in their customary spot--the kitchen window--where we get so much sun in the wintertime, I'm worried they might start to melt:

There are some sparkles in the sun-drenched dining room:

...and some carollers in the entryway:

Outside, the lamppost is festive:

The wreaths add some cheer:

(And like good New Englanders, there are candles in every window.)




Even the birds seem to be celebrating:

For little by little, bit by bit, this house is starting to feel comfortable and familiar:

A cherished spot where we wake up to sunrises such as these:

Our daily dose of enchantment from this magical place we {now} call home.

Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine in the 'Shire!

The Gesture

Image Credit

I placed my wrists at my laptop, positioning them just so, readying my fingers to form a sentence.

And by placing them, I mean I lifted my forearms, settled the inside of my wrists against their customary resting place, and watched my knuckles round in a high, graceful arch, as though I were at the piano. Index fingers on "f" and "j," the remaining digits spanning the row, as though the keys beneath would play a scale or an arpeggio beginning on middle "C."

And I am five years old in Carol Hurst's piano studio, learning proper hand position as passed down from the masters. Wrists down. Knuckles high. Fingers round. Pads flat. Elegant as a ballet.

When scales become sentences, arpeggios morph into paragraphs, etudes--poetic blog posts, and concertos become other large-scale works that lie dormant on a CD-R someplace dark.

My hands at the keyboard, my daily practice.

The best of all instructors.