Encyclopedia: Z

Z is for Zydeco

I had no idea what zydeco was until my first trip to Louisiana. You probably don't either (unless of course, you're from Louisiana). It's really fast, accordion and "rubboard"-based music which originated in the Creole communities of South Louisiana during the 1800s. Now you can hear it at pretty much any crawfish boil or cajun restaurant. It was intended to be played at dances, although the beat is so fast, I don't know how you could dance to it, unless, of course, you have some Creole blood in you. Louisiana is a fascinating place. The people there are incredible, the food, delicious, the old plantation homes, fascinating, and the culture as a whole, very different from what I was used to. I always feel like I'm in a different country and time when we're over there. We're planning a short trip during our Christmas break. Neal wants to be sure our kids get a little taste of what life was like for him growing up there.
Now back to zydeco, it isn't something I would play in my car while driving, let's just put it that way. But nothing says Louisiana like a zydeco band on a makeshift stage and a spicy something in your hand.

This is Ophe & Lennis Romero, and although they're not playing Zydeco, they are involved in one of my fondest memories of traveling in Louisiana with Neal and his mom. We stopped in the quaint village of St. Martinville, located in the area first settled by Acadian people from Nova Scotia (where my people come from, although they stayed up there). We sat along Bayou Teche, listening to 'The Romero Brothers' sing and play traditional Cajun songs under the famous Evangeline Oak. With only an accordion, a triangle, and their strongly accented voices, they sang songs of love and loss in Cajun French.

And here we are listening. Let's see, this was springtime, 2000.

You can scroll down on this Amazon page to listen to some Cajun Zydeco for yourself.

Z is also for Zero.
As in I have Zero things to blog about now that my "encyclopedia" is finished.
Phew.

Encyclopedia: Y

Y is for Yardwork

If it's a pretty day and the kids are happy, I love to do yardwork. My love for it is pretty conditional though. Throw a few mosquitoes, temperatures over 80 degrees, and blaring sunshine into the mix, and I'd much rather watch Neal do it. I'm prissy like that. :) I really do prefer yardwork to housework. Something about it is just more satisfying. Maybe because it takes Mother Nature longer to mess it up again than it takes 3 kids to mess up the inside. I'll pull weeds, trim hedges, deadhead flowers, and rake leaves much more readily than I'll clean a toilet or do my mirrors.
We have all sorts of plans for our yard and different types of gardens we'll one day have (I'll have a formal one with boxwood hedges and gravel paths AND a kitchen garden from which I can snip fresh herbs & tomatoes. Neal would like a water garden and a native or tropical plants garden.) Of course, these completely depend on which zone we end up living in, but it's fun to dream. Anyway, give me a rake over a mop anyday. Just don't give me the lawn mower. I tried it a few weeks ago and it wasn't a pretty picture. It was a funny one, but not a pretty one.
Just ask Neal.

Y is also for Yuletide and Yogurt

image from Martha Stewart.com

Encyclopedia: X

I seriously can't think of a single X word that means anything to me, so I recruited my family to think of some for me.

Parker: XLR8 (He was watching Ben 10 at the time.)

Audrey: Xipohosura, "The strangest of all 'living fossils,' four species of horseshoe crab that lived along the eastern coasts of Asia and North America. Most members of this group became extinct about 400 million years ago." From her Extreme Animals Dictionary.

Neal: Xray, Xmen, Xeriscape

Encyclopedia: W

W is for Wedding Day

*n i n e * y e a r s * a g o * t o d a y * w a s * o u r s !*

Encyclopedia: V

V is for Verdant

I mentioned earlier that my favorite color is green. Well, my favorite landscape would look something like this. Thankfully, it's very green where I live. We get about 50 inches of rain each year, and each month receives about equal amounts. So it's lovely, verdant & lush all year long. I love that about living here. Even in the dead of summer (and believe me, it feels like death), there is at least life outside the window. So often in the middle of July, it LOOKS like a beautiful day, even if it's quite unbearable once you step outside.
So hooray for trees, grass, green, green moss & lots of waterways to reflect it all!

V is also for Voluminous (my favorite mascara), Vitamins (take 'em), & Villa Park (my hometown)

photograph by irene suchocki & found here. looks like an old Louisiana plantation. i love it.

Encyclopedia: U

U is for Unicorns

Somebody in my house has been obsessed with unicorns for about 4 years now. So much so that I have acquired an extreme weakness for all things unicorn, too. So much so that I just purchased this map of Unicornia for her on Etsy. Because I know she will completely freak out when she sees it.


Just yesterday, Audrey was reading this book, wherein a young girl who owns a horse chants a magical poem and her horse turns into a unicorn. Audrey fully believes that unicorns are real. You can not argue this point with her. She will not back down. She whispered to me that one day, when she has her horse, she's going to try this magical spell so she can prove to Parker that unicorns REALLY ARE REAL.

That Parker, always the skeptic.

You can read about Audrey's unicorn musings over on her blog, Unicorns in the Mist.

Encyclopedia: T

T is for Texas

I remember the first time I found out Neal was from Texas. We were walking out to his car, which was parked on my street in Provo. It was our first date, and I saw his license plates and said, "You're from Texas?!" I don't know why that was so unexpected, and, at the same time, so very cool. (Probably had something to do with the fact that he was cute and taking me on a nice date.) Turns out, 3 years later, I was moving here with him. And I couldn't have been more excited. I loved all the time I had spent at his parents' house in Tyler, grew to love the people, their funny way of talking, the storms, the noisy night time bugs, the big sky full of stars, and the barbeque.

Texas really is a great place. Sure, our kids learn the Texas (national) anthem. And pledge. Sure, they sing "Deep in the Heart of Texas" during the seventh inning stretch at Astros games. Sure, the Texas flag can legally fly at the same level as the US flag (it's the only one that can). These are just some of the things that make it so fun to live here and be a part of it all. Did you know that the British equivalent to Home Depot is actually called TEXAS? I love that. There have been so many times since we've lived here, that I've thought, "Oh wow, that is SO Texas," or "(s)he is SO Texas." (Of course, you can do this in any state, but Texans are one of a kind.) These comments have never been derogatory, of course. Just amusing. And sometimes amazing (like in the case of the extravagantly large blonde hairdos [accompanied by some extravagantly large diamonds] you can see at the big fancy Galleria mall. I thought that was passé. Apparently not.)

I'm proud that I've borne three little Texans and that we've made such a lovely home and even more lovely friends in this wonderful place. We'd really like to stay somewhere in the state, and we're working on that as we speak. We shall see, but whatever happens, Texas holds a special place in my memory.

Here in Texas:

• It is illegal to shoot a buffalo from the second story of a hotel.
• To be elected in the state of Texas, one must believe in a supreme being.
• Forty percent of the farm-grown catfish in the United States is consumed by Texans.
• It is illegal to spit on the sidewalk. (I wish had known this so many times.)
• Rodeo is the official state sport of Texas, though High School Football is more popular.
• In Texas, it's illegal to put graffiti on someone else's cow.
• Texas is the only state to have the flags of six different nations fly over it. They are: Spain, France, Mexico, Republic of Texas, Confederate States, and the United States.
• The last battle of the Civil War was fought on May 12-13, 1865 at Palmito Ranch, Texas. It was a Confederate victory.
• The official dish of Texas is chili.
• El Paso is closer to Needles, California than it is to Dallas.
• In Texas, it is still a "hanging offense" to steal cattle.
• You can be legally married by publicly introducing a person as your husband or wife three times.
• Texas is as large as all of New England, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Illinois combined, in fact, the Dallas/Fort Worth airport is larger than New York City’s Manhattan Island.
  

So, in the immortal words of Davy Crockett,

"You'all can go to hell. I am going to Texas."

T is also for Toile, & To Kill a Mockingbird

special thanks to this fun website, and my image was found here

Encyclopedia: S

S is for Sculpture

Cupid and Psyche, Antonio Canova, 1796

Sculpture is one of my favorite art forms. There's just something so powerful about a figure carved out of stone. Looking at a sculpture is very different from looking at a painting, obviously. I prefer painted portraits because I love to study the use of color, or the face of the subject, to look into their eyes and wonder what their life was like. But with sculpture, it's all about shape, form, proportion and pure wonder at the skill and time required to produce such an object.

While I was studying in London, I took a trip one day to the Victoria & Albert Museum. I didn't know much about it, and, truthfully, wasn't really all that interested in the collections they had on display. Until I sauntered down to the lower level and came upon the Cast Court.

Basically, it's a huge room with very high ceilings, filled to the brim (and seemingly very disorganized) with a cast of almost every single famous sculpture in all of Europe. It was so unexpected when I walked in, it was really breathtaking. Michelangelo's David, the Gates of Paradise from some baptistery in Florence, plaster casts of effigies of Queen Elizabeth I and Richard I (we're talking 13th century here), architectural pieces from all over Europe, etc. Most everything is just kind of jumbled in there, like some big storage space for incredibly famous art. But since they're only casts of the real art, you get to see them all at once. You could honestly spend hours in that room.

I really prefer ancient Greek and Roman art, since all this other stuff is based on their forms and esthetic anyway. But this is another one of my favorites, found in the Tate Britain. It's a very powerful piece in real life. Pictures just don't do it justice, unfortunately.

An Athlete Wrestling with a Python, 1877, Frederic, Lord Leighton
(Who was mostly a painter. This was a study he did. Not bad.)

S is also for Stephanie and Stella (who comes FRIDAY!), Sundance, Santorini, Swing dancing, Study Abroad, Spelling champ, Simon & Garfunkel, & the Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park

Encyclopedia: R

R is for Ribbon

I love to collect ribbons. Cheap ribbon, fancy ribbon, embroidered ribbon, satin ribbon, I just love it. (although I don't really like wired ribbon. dunno why.) I remember loving it as a teenager, and even being crafty (nerdy) enough to stitch plaid ribbon onto my navy blue Eddie Bauer backpack (this was in my preppy phase). These days, now that I'm a bit too old to tie them in my hair (which I also did into my late teens), I don't really have that many occasions to use the ribbons in my collection, except for the occasional gift-wrapping session. I'll pop them in Audrey's hair every so often, but now that she wears a school uniform (with matching hair accessories, of course), her ribbon stash has been neglected.

There's a lovely fabric shop in Houston that sells imported French ribbons (and grosgrain in every shade and every width you can dream of). It's one of those places you can only go when the kids are somewhere else and you feel like you have about twenty bucks to burn. Lately, I've been using my ribbons to display some of the earrings in my Etsy shop, and for the clipboards that are there as well. But it's gift-giving season, and although it's hard to part with my ribbons, I feel happy making a package look pretty and hope that the recipient of said package can reuse the ribbonious treasures. One day, when I feel like I have time and space to sew, I'll do some more ribbon-applying, but for now, I'm mostly just content to gaze at them in their Rubbermaid box every so often.
Do you love ribbon, too?

image found here

Encyclopedia: Q

Q is for Québec

I've never been to Québec, but I do want to go there one day. My mom's French side of the family emigrated there from Paris in the mid 1600s. They were Huguenots, members of a reformed Protestant sect, many of whom ended up escaping Catholic persecution by leaving France altogether. My ancestors lived in many different parts of Québec, (St. Levis, Kamouraska, Rivière-Quelle), until Jean-Charles Levasseur moved to New Brunswick in the mid 1800s. Ms. Severine Bellefleur eventually married a Levasseur, and her granddaughter is Stephanie's baby's namesake (Sadie Stella Vasseur). Isn't Family History fun? :)
Most of the research on this family has been done. In fact, there's a whole exclusive Levasseur Organization I may one day join when I can focus more of my energy on Family History Research. But until then, I just want to go to Québec. Doesn't it look pretty?

Encyclopedia: P

P is for Parker can read.

P is also for Peonies, Plumeria, Piano, Project Runway (NOVEMBER 14th!!), & Pappasitos

Encyclopedia: O

O is for Ocean

I grew up not far from the beach, but we didn't really go that often. Probably because we are all very pale, there were three children younger than me, and my mom's idea of relaxation is not six children on a beach. (I don't blame you, mom.) As we got older, my brothers surfed practically every morning in the summer, and a couple of times a week during the rest of the year. Once or twice, I tagged along with a friend and sat on the beach or be acted as the "quick, stand in that parking space" person, or the runner back to the NB parking meter, but I didn't really develop my love for the ocean until I was about to leave for college. Maybe it was because then I could drive, and when you're a teenager and things are going bad, you want someplace to think or you need somewhere to hang out with a crowd and be noisy, the beach is just a really good place to go.

Well, the water in the California portion of the Pacific is cold, in case you don't know, and so when you're an 88-pound 16-year-old with protruding ribs and elbows so sharp they could put an eye out, the cold ocean is not that relaxing for actual swimming purposes. But the sound? Perhaps the most dreamy thing I can think of. When we'd go to Hawaii, we'd actually swim in the warm water and go out past the sandbar to where your feet don't touch anymore. I always remember thinking that, in a way, when you're suspended in the ocean like that, you've sort of left the world behind. You can be in the ocean, look back at the land, and think, that's where everyone and everything I know is. And here I am out here, not touching any of it. (Am I weird or what.) It's amazing how far away the shore can look when you're just a hundred yards out into the swells, and I absolutely love that feeling.

Now we only live about 30 miles from the coast. Well, the beach here is completely different in so many ways (most of them bad). The water is warm, at least. Like bathtub warm, but no matter where you go, waves crashing on the beach sound the same. So when we're down there at the coast, I can close my eyes and listen and it immediately relaxes me. All I can say is, when I get to heaven, there better be an ocean. I should say IF. IF I get to heaven. Excuse my prideful presumptousness.

photo from flickr

Encyclopedia: N

N is for Naps

Flaming June, Lord Frederick Leighton

I love to nap. Sure there are a million other things I could do, certainly the dishes need to be done. I could exercise or something like that. But every Tuesday mid-morning, when I crawl into my bed during Miles' nap, I think to myself, "this is about the most luxurious thing in the world. Look how lucky I am, that in the middle of the day, when all those other people are working, or my kids' teachers have probably had enough, or my kids themselves could probably use a little lay-down on the floor, or Neal's just starting to drill into someone's tooth, or that poor woman in southeast Asia is out in a field with her baby strapped on her back, here I am laying in my bed falling asleep."

I'm so lucky. And yes, I really do think that almost every time.
Maybe I should start calling them "Grateful Naps."

N is also for Neal and NPR

Encyclopedia: M

M is for Moments

More specifically, Mama Moments. The kind of experiences I've only had since I became a mom almost seven years ago. There was the time right after Neal's mom died that we saw a rainbow while at the park and Audrey said (she was barely 2), "Oh! Look what Gee made!" Or the time, when Parker was about a week old and was sleeping in my arms and my mom and I saw him have what looked like a prolonged conversation with someone unseen. He smiled, laughed and was gesturing with his hands like he had gone back to heaven just for a moment.

Or there was this moment I had with Miles in California, or all the times my kids have defended each other on a playground, or when Parker just out-of-the-blue tells Audrey he loves her, or any number of other touching and, in the end, spiritual experiences I've been lucky enough to have since these little people came into my life. These times have always left me full of gratitude and emotion, feeling closer to my Savior and, upon retrospect, more loved than I ever knew possible.

I had a little experience last Friday afternoon where the whole universe came together and I felt like the luckiest mama in the world. I had to sneak into Miles' room, assuming I'd have to wake him from his nap to put him in the car for school pick-up. I very quietly opened his door and saw that he was awake in his crib, but sitting down, quietly and tenderly holding a little Elmo doll. He didn't see me as I slowly walked in, but then I stopped and put my hands over my mouth because I was just so touched by what he was doing.

(Remember, he's only 14 months old. And he's my baby, so this was extra sweet. Excuse my gushing.)
He was sitting there looking at Elmo's face, smiling, then he brought the doll up to his shoulder, squeezed him a bit and patted his little back. All while he thought he was completely alone in his room. Then he saw me and I quickly scooped him up and gave him the biggest, longest hug. I just couldn't let him go. I love that sweet little boy.

I tried to call Neal because I just had to share the cuteness, but he was with a patient and didn't pick up. So I called Stephanie to tell her. (Because the only people who love your babies almost as much as you do are your parents and your sister.) She, of course, concurred that it was extremely precious that he was so tender with little Elmo and then she made me cry a bit by telling me that he only really knew to do that because that's what we do with him.

And that's when I knew that maybe I had done something right. Because I very often wonder if I am any good at this mama thing. But it's little moments like these that help me see that the kids are at least getting the message that they're loved and that's the one I try to teach them the most.

BTW, Thanks, Steph, for making my day.

M is also for Miles

Encyclopedia: L

L is for London

It was the Queen's birthday, 1998. Check out the pomp!

I could talk forever about my favorite city in the world, but if you've been to London, you totally know what I'm talking about. I'm coming up on my tenth anniversary of studying there for Spring Term with BYU. Luckily for me, that was not my only trip to London. My parents had provided a way for that to be my fifth trip and so I wasted no time during my short stay there. I knew just what I wanted to see, was able to complete some of my assignments without actually going to the assigned places (Tower of London), but basically lived every day there to its fullest. I miss it so much and hope to go back sometime. I'd love to go with Neal and I know my kids would eat it up. We'll get there! In the meantime, I can look at pictures of myself there all those years ago and know that I thoroughly absorbed every waking moment.

This is me waiting for a bus on Bayswater Road. Across the street is Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. I took the tube a lot when I wanted to get somewhere quickly, but spent lots of time on the buses, so I'd really see the city. I loved those shoes.

While I was in London, I met some fantastic girls. Like this one, this one and this one.

L is also for Linen, Libraries, Laundry, Latin, La Madeleine, Lost, & Louisiana

Encyclopedia: K

K is for Kilravock

Kilravock is a castle near Inverness, Scotland, which is owned by the Clan Rose, from which my dad's family descends, through my grammy's maternal line.

"The lands of Kilravock have been in the Rose family for 25 generations (acquired by marriage in the 13^th century). This castle was started with a tower in 1450 which was later expanded in the 17^th century. The castle is also an active bed and breakfast. It is open for tours on Wednesdays in the summer. The castle was erected in 1460 by Kilravock VII under charter by John, Lord of the Isles and Earl of Ross, and has been continuously inhabited since that date. It is the only Scottish castle of that era to have this distinction."

Cool, huh? We're still working on finding the direct line from a Mr. Edward Rose in our line (from Baltimore in the 1770s) to the castle Roses. It's tricky business. But, nevertheless, we claim it as our ancestral home in Scotland. My mom took Stephanie and me there in 1997.

I took the picture below from one of the ramparts.
(I think. I didn't notate this album well. Mom? Help? Castle identification?)

Here is the Rose Clan Crest:


And you can see the tartans here.

Hooray for Scotland!

I got most of my info from the Clan Rose Society of America website and from the Kilravock Castle webpage. Also good info here.

Encyclopedia: J

J is for Julianne


Julianne's cute shoes in the National Gallery in DC

Julianne is my youngest sister and is living her absolute dream life right now. I may have mentioned it before (like 300 times), but she's getting a graduate degree in African Studies at Oxford. Julianne is unlike any other girl I've ever met in so many ways. She can talk her way through a discussion about African politics better than anyone (not that I know anyone else who talks about that), but loves spending time holding a baby, watching a movie or taking a walk. Julianne has a tangible passion for so many things in life, and that's why she is where she is. People who meet her are immediately stricken by her, um, refreshing uniqueness. Well, it just so happens that next Monday is her 23rd birthday. Unfortch, she's in England and I'm not, so this will have to do as her birthday wish! As a little birthday present for all of us, Julianne has gone public with her blog. You can check in with her here and sort of get an idea of what life is like when you're a young woman who's trying to change to world.

She studies in libraries that look like this.

And this is her front door.

Sigh, Jooj.

Oh, J is also for Jewelry.

Encyclopedia: I

I is for Ice Cream

Some of these letters are hard to think of things for! So bear with me through the not-so-great ones. ;) I am always in the mood for ice cream. I prefer it in a waffle cone and tend to stick to pretty basic flavors. Because if it's really good quality ice cream, those are the best ones. I must admit, the best I've ever had was in a neighboring town to Elliott & Ginger's in Indiana. What's it called, guys?
My long-time store-bought favorite: Haagen Dazs Vanilla Chocolate Chip (pictured above).

Encyclopedia: H

H is for Home

When I was young and single, I liked to think of myself as sort of an adventurer. I loved to be alone, in a city with a journal, at a film or a play, visiting a museum or just people watching. While I was studying in London, I thought, "I could do this forever" (the whole urban exploring, culture imbibing, traveling kind of life). Of course, I still would love to travel the world, visit the cities and learn about the people.

But not right now.

Now that I have three kids, I make a huge effort to be home as much as possible. (Some of that has to do with Miles needing naps and having to be carried everywhere still.) But home is where I want to be. When we lived in Los Angeles, we had a very small apartment. I never felt "at home" there and pretty much spent most of my day outside of that place. I just never really liked it. I never even fully unpacked. We spent most of our waking hours on a playground or taking walks, going window-shopping, spending the weekend at my parents', or exploring West LA. But since we have moved here into our perfectly-suited-to-us house, I crave hometime. We also live about 20 minutes from "town," so often I try to limit our trips out in the car to one a day. Our home is the place where we can all be ourselves. Where the kids (or me) are free to cry when they're sad, to admit they need hugs, to play on the floor with their baby brother, to read books and giggle, to run out the front door and hop on their bike with the neighbor kids, and to fall asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Those are the things that should combine to make their life a happy one and they can only happen here. Not at t-ball or gymnastics, not at a friend's house or in the car on the way to something meaningless.

I am grateful every single day that I don't have to take my baby someplace else while I go to work. I am grateful that I am the one picking my kids up from school and taking them back here, to a peaceful, quiet place. I am grateful that we can eat dinner together every night of the week and that this is their norm. It's a tremendous blessing.

H is also for Hawaii, Hot chocolate, & Houston

Encyclopedia: G

G is for Green

Green is my favorite color. I gravitate toward it whenever I'm shopping or magazine-browsing. I wear it all the time, and it's the main accent color in most of my decorating. I keep wanting to buy Neal green sweaters or polos. Even my car is green. I love it because it looks good with white, black, khaki, brown, navy, yellow, blue, etc. There is just something about it that speaks of freshness and it can be bright, but still natural. So green it is. Over and over again. I can't help myself. For example, I purchased this green jacket for a little layering this fall (and it will work in the spring),


and these shoes are sitting in my cart at Oldnavy.com. See, I already have two pairs of green flats, so I'm having a hard time justifying a third . . .

G is also for Grammar, Gregory Peck, and Grateful Sundays